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CHAPTER TWELVE. ━━━━━━━━━ For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse. So collapse. Crumble. This is not your destruction. This is your birth.
ZOEY SKYLAR ━━━━━━━━━
PEOPLE AT COURT GOSSIP, as they are wont to do, of how Prince Aegon has been bewitched. They notice the hand he rests on her back, pay attention to how his face softens when he looks upon her.
It is she that he casts away all other ladies for, to vacate a spot for her in his life, to erase any other possibility. They are all ghosts, flickering phantoms who pass him by, but Clarysse is a faery, glowing bright with the embers of her soul, hooking him in with a flash of those blue eyes. With a touch, she dismantles him, tears down his defenses without effort, with only a soft breeze, a faint breath. With a kiss, she destroys him, separates his mind from his body, sends a fire blazing from his head to his toes, until he grows dizzy with desire.
Of course, most of this is exagerrated, but there is some truth to it.
No betrothal has been announced, yet there is no doubt that Clarysse Tyrell will one day be a princess and later — a queen. The queen.
SINCE THEIR FIRST KISS AFTER THE FEAST, they have come to each other many nights, in front of the crackling fire surrounded by heavy tomes. It is a good thing that Aegon knows the castle's hidden corridors so well, or else someone would've certainly caught them by now. Every time he feels the softness of her bare skin he knows that he will never be able to let her go again. That she belongs here, with him. And if someone were to take her from him, he would set the world on fire — no matter that House Targaryen no longer has any dragons.
Every time they part, Clarysse swear it to be the last. That tomorrow, she would tell him that they must stop and meet each other only in public. At least until a betrothal is officially announced, until this can no longer be her ruin. After all, Clarysse is well aware of this risk she is taking — if soneone were to find out, she would be disgraced for eternity — but it is so hard to deny Aegon anything. It's one thing to know that Valyrians are beautiful, ethereal, but it is another thing to see it in person. Whatever Dornish genetics there are swimming about in Aegon, they've been thoroughly wrestled into submission by the Targaryen side. At least in his looks.
Aegon kisses her with fervour, and Clarysse laughs softly against his lips. "I love you," he whispers. It is not the first time he has said those words, though most times during an act of passion. She knots her fingers in his hair, but doesn't repeat his words.
What would it be like, a love like this? To have Aegon the way she has had these past few weeks, all to herself, allowed to be herself? To have that all the time? Then again, she would never simply have him for herself. He is the crownprince. In a few years, he will be king. And a king's duty is to his people. A wife doesn't come first, not even if she is the queen.
