ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ - House of the Dragon

CHAPTER TEN

Bright, crimson drops falling to the ground caught everyone's attention.

"Forgive me, Your Grace." I said, respectfully bowing my head with almost a boring gaze I could barely hide.

"Do not worry, little dragon. Come and join us." Grandsire Viserys murmured with the tiniest of smiles.

I grinned back, eyeing my mother's raised eyebrow, and cleared my throat doing my best to ignore Daemon's own insightful glance.

A young servant brought a wooden bowl full of water, swallowing as I plunged my hands in it, rubbing my fingers against one another until the red substance disappeared from my skin.

By the time I made my way to the table as if I owned the place, they were already sat. Lucerys and Rhaena shared an end, with Daemon and our mother at their right and Jace and Baela at their left. Aegon was right next to Jacaerys, with his sister-wife beside him. Otto and Alicent sat across the table, leaving the King in between his first born and his second wife.

Uncle Aemond sat on the other end, face to face with Luke and Rhae, and had an empty chair next to him that almost made my snort.

Joffrey, Little Aegon and Viserys were not invited. Rather said, Daemon had refused to have their presence there, possibly sensing there was a chance someone was to bleed at some point during the gathering.

"Is that blood?"

Lucerys' question brought my mother to her feet, a hand in her swollen stomach as the other made it's way to Daemon's shoulder. Of course, she had seen the crimson in my hands the moment I set foot inside the room, but Rhaenyra knew best. Her raised brow let me know, she knew it was not my blood.

"Yes."

"Are you hurt?" Jace then asked.

"No."

My older brother only nodded, expecting such answer already, and drank a sip of his wine, eyeing with glowing eyes a (possibly) red spot still staining my neck or jawline.

"Whose blood is it?" Alicent had to clear her throat before repeating her question, grabbing hold of my grandsire's hand as if it was enough to give her strength.

"A knight's."

Ser Criston Cole stepped ahead as I approached them, half grabbing hold of his sword pommel as if he expected me to flinch or even stop walking, and narrowed his eyes when I softly kissed my grandsire's head with a grin of my own.

"You look lovely." I whispered, feeling a warmth in the left spot of my chest as his lips curled up in a side smile.

Whatever they were talking about before I interrupted them began again as I passed next to Lucerys, stirring his hair, and playfully winked at Jace after he pointed at the spot right under his chin, signaling the place I had supposed blood still stained my skin.

"Uncle." I said as I sat on the chair.

"Niece." He replied, hiding his mouth behind his cup as if he was taking a sip. But Aemond only wetted his lips. "Have you not bathed? You stink of sea and blood."

A chuckled escaped my throat, leaning back on the comfortable chair and crossing one leg over the other with the cocky grin I copied from him as children. 

"I know."

I doubted he pointed it out because he couldn't stand the smell. Aemond was one with the violence ever since he claimed Vhagar. Blood, sweat and smoke were natural smells for us Targaryens (even though the salt part was my Velaryon side he so much hated and mocked).