The Hidden Princess° Aemond Targaryen

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Rhaella looked back at her reflection and sighed, "I do not recognize myself, Dorothy."

"Princess Rhaella, makeup does not alter your features. It enhances your beauty. If I had even a sliver of your beauty, I shan't need to lather in the comfort of face paint. However, you are a princess, not a commoner such as myself."

She nodded. "Well said, miss."

"You will make such a beautiful bride!" Dorothy breathed, her hands adjusting the crystals of the girl's hair.

Rhaella grieved the reminder of the marriage. Her voice cracked, "Indeed..."

The servants led her to the edge of the bed as they placed the dress over the young princess and tightened the laces of the bodice, causing Rhaella's ample breasts to lift and her waist to shrink only slightly, as her waistline was naturally slim.

"Breathtaking, your majesty!" Cecilia exclaimed.

Rhaella breathed sharply, "Breathtaking, indeed! I haven't a single bubble of air in my lungs."

"Nevermind that, lovely girl! Beauty is pain, and pain is worth it."

The girl looked down at her figure. "May I have a cloak? I feel a bit, uh, exposed...."

Dorothy chuckled, "Oh, child! If I looked half as beautiful as you, I'd flaunt my figure at every opportunity."

She sighed, looking at the servants with a look of insecurity. "I have always been dressed in rags, little scraps of clothing made for my frail figure as a child, and it was all created by my other mother, Akira. It feels wrong to enjoy these luxuries without her...."

"You sweet, poor thing," Cecilia cooed, embracing the young princess in a tight squeeze. "I may not know your lovely other mother, but I am certain she would be proud of you, and she might want you to embrace your sensuality and privileges."

A bright smile stretched across Rhaella's delicate features, "You remind me a bit of Akira. Thank you for your help, Dorothy and Cecilia."

The mother and daughter duo bowed before the princess. "We are more than glad to help! You are as breathtaking on the outside as you are within." Dorothy said.

Rhaella smiled at the two, then turned to leave her chambers. She held the gown at the bottom and began walking towards the banquet hall. After a few minutes of scurrying towards the hall, she reached the entrance and stood at the doors, looking down at herself with uncertainty.

She hadn't liked green much, nor had she fancied the idea of flaunting her figure. Though, in this environment, she needed to learn to adapt. With a deep breath, she nodded at the guards to open the doors.

At the dining table, each member of the Targaryen family sat at their respective seats. On one side, Rhaenyra, Lucerys, Jacareys, Daemon, Alicent, Viserys I, and on the other side, Aegon, Helaena, Joffrey, Baela, Otto, Rhaena, and Aemond, who had an empty chair next to him.

"At last," Aemond exclaimed with a smirk, standing up with a cup in hand, "my beautiful soon-to-be wife!" his eyes flickered from the bodice that clung to the girl's waist to her perky breasts, then back to her flushed cheeks and plump, pink-tinted lips.

She noticed the man's lingering gaze on her figure and immediately felt cornered by attention as the eyes of each member in the room looked into her direction.

Rhaella breathed a sigh and forced a smile. "Where should I sit?"

"Next to me, my love!" Aemond bellowed. For once, he felt triumphant. As if having Rhaella as his betrothed would be more of an accomplishment than any of the Strong boys could obtain.

Looking down, the girl made her way toward the only available dining table seat and adjusted to the chair.

"Might I add, my betrothed-you are looking ravishing tonight," Aemond purred in High Valyrian.

Her face scrunched up. "Keep your comments to yourself, Aemond."

On the other side of the table, Alicent glared daggers in Rhaella's direction but quickly plastered a smile as the girl returned the gesture. "My darling, Rhaella," the Queen announced, shushing the others in the room, "I prepared a special dinner for you, one that welcomes you to your new life, and prosperous beginning with your real family!"

"Oh?" Rhaella quirked an eyebrow, looking at the circular silver lid placed over the dinner platter. What lay underneath piqued her curiosity-could it be the radishes of her old cottage or the freshly picked parsnips from her old garden?

A nearby servant lifted the lid, revealing the gruesome sight of Akira, whose head laid upright on the platter, her skin a sickly grey as if she remained dead for a while, and the inside of her mouth hung agape. The eyes, now lifeless and drained, once bright with joy-were gone. All that remained was the head of her beloved platonic mother.

"A-Akira," Rhaella shrieked, stumbling from the chair and onto the ground. "O-Oh my god! What have you done!" she cried out in fits of sobs.

The other members at the table held their mouths, some confused and others horrified by sight. "What the fuck is that?" Daemon asked, baffled. "Christ, Alicent! Have some fucking manners!"

"My wife, what have you done...." Viserys I shook his head, disapproving of her actions. "You killed a woman, and for what purpose?"

Aemond's eye flickered between the woman's head and his betrothed wife, who shook uncontrollably on the ground. For a moment, he considered embracing Rhaella as she seemed distraught, but as it would seem, neither his mother nor his betrothed felt affectionate towards him.

Queen Alicent marched over towards Rhaella, towering over the girl. "You will be a respectable young woman, obedient and loving towards my son! If not for your mother's mistake of allowing her son to take my youngest Aemond's eye, or your beloved servant of a mother adding to the crime of hiding a princess, then I sought someone not of royal blood to pay the unforgiving price. Do not fret, child. Your dearest Akira did not die a slow, cumbersome death," Alicent smirked maliciously.

"You are a monster," Rhaella sputtered, looking around the room to find her mother. Upon seeing Rhaenyra, the woman appeared to be defeated and remorseful. Though she said nothing, her eyes told a million truths, one of defeat and shame.