Terms of Endearment │Part I: The Princess and the Rogue

Chapter 34: Costume

"In the later years of his reign, King Viserys was easily swayed by the entreaties of his two younger daughters—King's Landing became a haven of balls, parties and masquerades of all kinds, and highborn guests were frequently dazzled by the style and comportment of the royal ladies of the Realm. Indeed, it was these occasions that allowed the rival factions of Green and Black to come together in the years following the conflict at Driftmark, uniting in a show of splendour that reminded all of the glory of House Targaryen."

- 'Dragoness: A History of the Women Who Shaped House Targaryen' by Maester Harewin

* * * * * * * *

THE PRINCESS

"Are you sure about this?" you ask Senna dubiously.

You stand in front of the mirror in your chambers, alone save for your lady's maid and the serving girl Gita, staring critically at the figure in the glass before you. Attired in an unflattering, plain-cut woollen gown of drab pewter, you appear every bit as common as a member of the smallfolk whom your father presides as King over. Gita had sourced each of the components of your outfit—the itchy stockings, the shabby linen undergarments, the tight-fitting slippers—and while you are grateful, you cannot help but to grimace in discomfort, all too aware of the privilege of your own position as a Princess as you shift awkwardly in the scratchy clothing.

"Absolutely, Your Highness," Senna says, pinning the remainder of the wig to your tightly braided hair.

This eve marks yet another occasion in which your father had elected to host a festive gathering, this time in celebration of your husband's name day. While the date in question had passed a sennight previous—a quiet day in which Daemon had been plied with gifts and then proceeded to while away the remaining hours abed with you—and he had voiced his refusal of a party, Papa was not to be swayed.

And thus, it had been with irritated resignation that your uncle had obeyed the request of his King, travelling once more to the capital to endure the festivities foisted upon him.

"A costume ball? How ridiculous," he says, sneering, examining the letter atop his desk with a furrowed brow and consternated expression. "Why in the Seven hells would Viserys think I'd want to attend such an event?"

You seat yourself upon the arm of his chair and settle into his side, carding your fingers through his hair. "I do not know. But we need only brave the eve, and then we can return on dragonback the next morning."

He grunts, staring darkly at the parchment. The impassivity of his response is softened somewhat by the seemingly unconscious lean of his head into your touch, temple coming to rest against the flesh of your clothed breasts. You know that his disapproval has less to do with the notion of an ostentatious celebration and more to do with his unresolved resentment toward your father, both for allowing that terrible eve on Driftmark to unfold as it had in the first place and then for refusing to punish the Queen for your injury. No amount of redirection or cajoling had swayed him from this view thus far.

"It is only a night," you speak into the silence.

He looks up at you, sighing. "I suppose... Fine, then. I'll go to this fucking costume ball. But I want it known that I'm not happy about it."

"Yes, my love," you say teasingly, encouraging a reluctant half-smile from him.

Your husband has been sullen all day, making it abundantly clear to all who had crossed his path that he is present in King's Landing against his will. Upon their first interaction with him in the morning before leaving for the city, Rhaenyra and Laenor had promptly decided to make themselves scarce, leaving you to weather the brunt of smoothing ruffled feathers in the wake of his displeasure upon arrival.