Lord Husband

Chapter 8

You've never looked so beautiful in your life. You know that to be a fact as you stare at your reflection in the looking glass. You made all the handmaidens leave as soon as you were readied, wanting to spend your last few moments as an unmarried woman in solitude. Now, you aren't sure if the solitude is something you can even appreciate. You've waited all day for your mother to arrive, thinking she would want to spare some comforting words but now you're starting to wonder if you'll even see her before you become Cregan's... before you're no longer her's. It's disheartening to think about how desperately you wish that you could revert back to your childhood. It's almost all you can think about, swimming in the sea with Jace and Luke, playing dolls with Baela and Rhaena, resting your head in your mother's lap as he fingers run through your hair, Daemon's voice whispering a story about Valyrian dragonlords in the background. They're such fond memories but you hate it when they fill your head because you'll never feel that way again.

"You're a vision." You didn't hear him come in.
You didn't even hear him knock. Did he knock?

"Thank you, kepa." father. Sometimes it feels strange to call him that. Especially when you know you used to call Laenor the same thing.
Daemon walks over to you. "You will do well here." He says as his hand grasps your chin gently but he is still forcing you to look in his eyes.

"Will I?" You ask just as gently as he touches.
"Is that how you felt about Runestone? Is this what you wanted for me?" His grip tightens.

"My clever girl." He says thoughtfully. "Clever enough to know it's different. This marriage is necessary."

"At least it isn't one of your daughters being sold to the North, right?"

"You are my daughter. You also know that Baela and Rhaena help your brothers through marriage." It's left unsaid but it's in the air.
Baela and Rhaena make my bastard brothers look more legitimate.

"And I suppose I don't need such help?"
He sighs. Of course you don't, is what he's thinking. You have a claim to nothing. You inherit nothing. You're just a girl.

"Can you believe me when I say that Cregan Stark is the best match for you? Your mother and I didn't have you betrothed on a whim. We would not be so careless about your future."

Your mother said nearly the same thing and you think you could open your mouth to agree with him but Rhaenyra arrives at the door.

"Mother." You hate how you breathe out the word in relief.

There's tears in her eyes. "My perfect girl."
You notice the dripping ruby earrings in her hands.

"For me?"

"Of course. They were your grandmother's." She comments as she walks over, taking your own earrings out gently before putting in the rubies. They're more simple than what you have on but clearly the better choice. "She wore them on her wedding day."

"Did you wear them on your's?"

"No... I didn't." The fact seems to hurt her. "She would be happy to know that you're wearing them."

"Thank you." Is all you can seem to say. Even Daemon senses the tension in the dynamic.

"They'll be ready for us soon. You ought to make way so you don't miss the ceremony, Rhae." Your stepfather says and your mother seems to agree.

She grabs your hands, giving them a fleeting kiss before she's out the door.

You think you dissociate for the next ten minutes. Actually, you know you do because there can't be another explanation for how you've come to be at the edge of the Godswood. Your breath freezes up in front of you. It's snowing; you wonder if that's a good thing. Brides often dread rain on their wedding days. Should you dread the snow? You can't imagine doing such a thing when it's this beautiful. The little flakes drape themselves on your eyelashes, across your hair. They melt into your warm cheeks. You wonder if it makes you look prettier because as your eyes follow their way up the aisle to Cregan, you think they make him look prettier. He's shrouded in a fur cloak. Tiny snowflakes decorate it and his hair. He's the embodiment of a northernman.