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CHAPTER THREE. ━━━━━━━━━ Who in his mind has not probed the dark water?
JOHN STEINBECK, EAST OF EDEN ━━━━━━━━━
THE TYRELL'S ARRIVE IN KING'S LANDING in a swirl of silk and grace.
As they are walking along the endless corridors, her sister smiles at Clarysse encouragingly and she finds some reassurance in her company.
"Don't fret, Clara. It will be over before you realise that it has begun," says Margaery.
Letting out a small sigh while looking out of the window, she replies, "It is not the visit I fear, per say, but the purpose of it."
Before Clarysse is given the chance to reply, their party comes to a halt as they reach their destination.
As guards admit them into the throne room, her brother Loras gives Clarysse comfort. Her arm in his, they sweep up the steps together. Clarysse's pale pink train is heavy behind her, forcing her spine straight, her chest proud, her chin up, locking her squarely into place. A smartly dressed herald announces them and they step inside, her eyes magnetised to the heavy gilded throne at the far end of the room. Entering, she looks about; the great dragon skulls that adorn the walls, the stone pillars that rise high up to the ceiling. The throne room is crowded with lords and ladies alike, the most honourable members of the court huddled together on the two sides of the room, whispering between themselves and eyeing her from head to toe, making their judgements quickly.
Their footsteps echo throughout it.
There is a great scarlet banner hanging behind the Iron Throne on the wall, with the Targaryen badge stitched in with fine thread. Clarysse feels a tingle in her spine as she looks at it, a crowned dragon on red background. She drops her gaze to the man sitting on beneath it, her breath freezing in her lungs.
She almost flinches, something foreboding slinking into her chest and she rests her eyes on the king, the one man who holds all of Westeros in his fists.
His wifes stand idly by his side, unmoving, like they are made of stone. Princess Rhaenys seems almost radiant next to them, her dress a bold shade of gold. She is the sun made flesh.
Prince Aegon stands to the king's right, dressed in fine burgundy velvet.
Gods, he's pretty, is her first thought when she lays eyes on him. A dragon prince, the blood of old Valyria, with silver hair and lilac eyes that seem like the fanciful creation of a bard. Aegon Targaryen is easily the most beautiful man Clarysse has ever seen. He is not handsome the way Quentyn Martell is — broad, wide-chested, with a strong nose and jaw. No, Prince Aegon is as comely, she knows, as she is beautiful.
