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"I have survived, but I have not been spared."
― Catherynne Valente
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𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆.
Jadewing would soon shed his winter scales, the buds would unfurl into blossoms, and the fruits would swell with juices and fall into open hands.
Daemon and Rhaenyra had been married for some time. Maella wasn't sure about it at first; the grief that came with Laenor's death was overwhelming. It was hard to get out of bed sometimes. She missed her father.
But her true father—Maella came to know him in ways she never had before. Jadewing and Caraxes got along, and so her favorite pastime became riding their dragons together. They shared quiet moments too, sitting beneath the stars as Daemon regaled Maella with tales of his adventurous spirit and indomitable will.
It wasn't long before Daemon's brash nature rubbed off on Maella, and soon she found herself spitting barbs and jests at the knights around the castle. Rhaenyra scolded Daemon for being a bad influence, but he only laughed in response.
Maella came to love her father dearly.
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Maella was almost seventeen.
Sixteen was Maella's last year of childhood, the year before she'd be named heir. Marriages would be arranged for Jace and Luke, and she might take a husband. She thought of the lifeless eyes of the common lords. Maella recalled the few exchanges she had overheard between the girls in the village: the talks of men and sex.
He's like honey, he's that sweet.
Once he's inside you, you'll forget your own name.
The girls' voices had been crisp with eagerness, their excitement strong. But when Maella tried to picture what they discussed, her mind wandered. She did not think of men.
Her thoughts were replaced by other images: a velvet gown of green, auburn hair gleaming in firelight, hands picking at cuticles.
It had been a year.
An awful, terrible year since she last heard from Alicent.
Maella wondered how the woman was faring. Wondered whether she was well and happy, or if she too felt the sting of their fractured relationship.
It was hard to face the bitter truth. Maella missed her.
And not just Alicent as a whole, but every little thing about her: the warmth of her embrace, the gentle lilt of her voice, the reassuring presence that had always been a constant in her life. She longed for it all. Her heart ached for the bond they had once shared.
