The Blood Heir

Cena delectat

As soon as Praelia stepped through the doors she was surrounded by the maids and rebuked by her mother for her lateness. She was whisked away, upstairs to the right, to her bedroom to get changed into a better suited attire for the occasion.

Her aurburn curls were braided into a bun with loose locks escaping at the sides, framing her oval-shaped face. She fidgeted as she was clothed into a powdery blue, wool cloth dress that pools at her ankles and long puffy sleeves that cuff at her wrists. It was loose around her shoulders and tight at her waist to accentuate her curves. Her mother forced her to wear a belt as well to try and hide her stomach from sticking out too much but Praelia didn't dare. It didn't matter to her if her body was up to societies standards or not, she wouldn't dress to impress anyone if she had the choice. She must admit though, the blue against her copper skin did create a wonderful contrast.

The maids swat her hands away as she itches, irritated from the yarn fibres. She slipped on some comfortable shoes whilst the head maid Maria and her mother started arguing over which bracelets would look best on her and hurriedly escaped the room.

As she was dashing down the stairs she heard someone to her left loudly clear their throat. Her own amber eyes looked up to meet curious ones of stormy grey. They were like the dark, cold version of Alyx's. She noticed his sleek raven locks would most likely go down to his ears, if it wasn't so harshly pulled back.

His facial features were as sharp as the edge of Ferrum Iustitia and his mouth was pulled up into a smirk. He was dressed in black and his was tunic embellished with silver embroidery, the symbol of his kingdom sewn onto each sleeve.

Praelia hides her shock as she realised that standing before her was none other than the self absorbed and spoiled brat, Prince Lucian. Memories of her childhood being poisoned by his selfishness flooded through her mind.

He flashes a smile at her and bows, his hungry gaze lingering on her body longer than it should. She scoffs in reply and raises her chin, refusing to properly acknowledge his presence.

"Don't be so imprudent to the prince." William chides.

Praelia fights the urge to roll her eyes and obeys, softening from her father reprimanding her for her poor manners and gives a little curtsy.

"It's a pleasure to have you here your highness," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Believe me darling, the pleasure is all mine," he replies, his eyes wondering down again before slowly looking back up.

Anger flares inside of her when he has the nerve to smirk at her again. If she had the chance she would wipe that off of his disgusting face in a matter of seconds.

Moments later Melisandre descends the stairs gracefully with little Thomas clutching her right hand. He's  the splitting image of Will with Melisandre's cheekbones. It looked a little out of place compared to the softness of everything else.

Mel shoots a glare towards Prae, quietly reproaching her for leaving the room without permission. She ignored her expression and walked off to fetch Ophelia.

They've been friends for years, ever since they were infants. She's been living with her family ever since she her family was murdered when they were four. Praelia knows that Ophelia's never been quite the same since she lost them. Especially Elene.

Elene.

A wave of anguish rolls over her. Elene was Ophelia's younger sister by seven years and she was like Praelia's little sister as well. She remembers her innocent smile and little giggle all too well. She swallows down a sob that tries to surface, plastering a smile on her face.