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Chapter One, The Heir's Tourney
THERE WAS NO QUEEN AEMMA WITHOUT JOYCE BARATHEON.
Aemma Arryn was never born to wear a crown, though one was still placed on her brow when her husband was named Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Before then, she'd been a simple lady of the Eyrie who'd fallen in love with a prince.
She truly had no taste for playing the games of King's Landing. But luckily, she didn't have to.
Her Lady Baratheon had sworn herself to Aemma when they were young girls, swapping secrets for lemon cakes while perched on high balconies overlooking the mountains of the Vale. Instead of a sword, Joyce had offered up her sowing needle and pledged to always protect her dearest friend.
And while Aemma had giggled sweetly at what she thought was simply another joke amongst friends, Joyce had meant every word.
Much like her husband, Queen Aemma struggled with the politicking that came with the iron chair Viserys now sat upon. Too kind-hearted and innocent to muddy her hands in the game of thrones. But Joyce wasn't blessed and cursed with the same naivete.
She'd taken her oath to heart when she followed Aemma to court after Viserys' coronation, even though her fostering under the Arryns had long since passed. She stayed by her side, even after the tragic death of her betrothed. She'd remained and attended to Aemma — from courtly duties through all six of her pregnancies and labors.
"I swear to the Seven, you're fussing more than Rhaenyra," the once-again pregnant queen moaned in complaint.
"You exaggerate, your Grace," the Baratheon woman replied warmly. "Rhaenyra doesn't hold a candle to how much I can fuss."
Aemma let out a light chuckle, a sound that had been so scarcely heard since the beginning of this interminable pregnancy of hers. It was a balm to Joyce's ever-worried soul.
"Speaking of Rhaenyra, do you know where she's gotten off to?" the girl's mother muttered. "She said she would stop by before the small council meeting but—"
Queen Aemma's words were cut off when the very aforementioned girl walked into the room, her companion, the Lady Laena, hanging off her arm. Standing there, the depiction of beauty and delight she'd been named for, the Princess's mother calling out to her in relief.
