"𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑, 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄, 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍?"
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Born on the Sands of Dorne with no title yet to her name and a bastard to a vigorous Targaryen Princ...
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Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
𝑺𝒀𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑨𝑾𝑨𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑽𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑫𝑻𝑶 𝑫𝑰𝑵𝑬 with the royal family under one roof and not in her private quarters as usual. Many days to a week and a half had passed since she last spoke to any house members aside from mere greetings in the corridors or spotting them from afar. It seemed their relations with Dorne and this nation kept them busy.
The ladies certainly helped with blurring time though Sylvia spent it most with Lady Mercia and Lady Emma, who had quite the charming spirit and humorous stories to tell. So she wasn't as lonely as before.
The three would lie in one bed gossiping to Sylvia about scandalous rumors around court, and spent more breath explaining who these people were and their contributions to the realm for her to understand their importance. She still wouldn't know, her head heavy with information Master Ollins would jam in her brain. Or they would share delicious treats sent by Prince Viseron.
Sylvia was interrupted the next day, contemplating how to deal with Lord Ellin and Lord Benjamin without killing them. Finally deciding to prove their suspicions wrong by ignoring the prince altogether — a personal attendant arrived with a basket of ripe mangos, plums, and pomegranates. The next, infamous Dornish creamcakes and small viles of Dornish spices. The next, a full-course supper with unique dishes to try for the first time. And the next, more fruits and sugared sweets and cooked meals.
She was convinced the prince was fattening her. His reasons for these gifts were unknown. It certainly didn't help with her firm decision, or that she accepted them. Why waste what was never experienced?
