The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts.
She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches...
>CHAPTER THIRTEEN : BREAKBONES AND THE REALM'S DELIGHT<
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A dozen moons have passed, the seasons have changed from summer to fall to winter to spring and back to summer. Lady Alicent has turned into Queen Alicent - and my sister has become the wife of Ser Laenor. Daemon follows me - as the moon follows the sun. My heart reaches and heaves for him - but I am married, no longer his as much as I'd like to think otherwise.
Leila is lost to childbirth - her son, Tygos, lives.
I think of her at night, if I would have the same fate as her.
My grip on Caraxes' snout tightens. The fate of childbirth scares me. "Did you miss me?" I ask, petting him with the same tenderness as I would to a babe. "The both of us did," my uncle's velvet voice floods my senses. I love him, truly - but my morals would not allow me to lay with him.
I turn to look at him - his face mirroring a thousand sleepless nights. He was beautiful, I wanted to worship him.
Something has changed within him. His eyes that shone like stars became dull and lifeless. His lips that were filled with plumpness, were now dry and peeling. His hands that were naturally placed on my waist, now laid on his side - staring at me with familiar longingness.
"Are you well, kepus?" a frown formed between my eyebrows. He was a sweet man - never intending to worry anyone of his pains. He kept his sorrows to himself. "I am well, darling." he lied, taking a step forward, his body pressed against the warmth of my back and his hands atop mine as we pet Caraxes.
I could not stare at Caraxes after that - I only wanted to look at my kepus, and to search for any forms of treachery on his face. He takes a deep breath, aware of my gaze upon his godlike features. I had a lot of ambitions about this life - but if Daemon were to be my husband, there would be no need for ambition - no need to prove myself against my father's lackeys. I would merely lay on our shared bed, drinking the finest wines and feeding him the sweetest cakes.
"I can feel your sorrow." I point out, his body moves uncomfortably.
"Tis' nothing." he mumbles, yearning for the same things as I.
I keep my hand firm on the snout of his dragon. We were one soul - the purest of blood with the purest of blood. I could see it in his eyes and the permanent line etched on his forehead.
"You can always tell me," my eyes softened. A year was a mere blink to the gods, but a second without him felt like an eternity. "Do not worry about me, my dragon." he responded with his familiar coldness.
My mind flashes back to the years before us.
There was no tenderness inside him, then. Only wanton and dark desires that radiated throughout the realm. He was reserved - he'd show me his vulnerable side, but make sure to keep his crassness. He wouldn't say that he loved me- no. He'd say that he fucking loved me.
