𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐭

𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬

"You know," Maella sighed, "I intent to lead a content and joyful life. Without a husband."

Jace blinked. His mouth fell open childishly, and then he slammed his jaw shut. "Mother will never let you do that."

Luke nodded while sitting cross-legged on a tree root. He seemed happy to just be involved. "And if we have to marry one day, then you do too!"

"I do not!" Maella argued.

It was a lie, of course.

If she was to be queen one day, that meant bearing as many offspring as the Gods allowed. The idea of it made Maella cringe; childbirth would do nothing except make her ankles swell and her breasts sore and, quite possibly, go bald.

Septa Neina once said that women can lose hair after having children. Maella decided she'd rather die than look like Otto Hightower.

Rumors said that raising a family can be joyful, fulfilling—but Maella didn't need to have a child to be fulfilled or to have a purpose. Satisfaction could be found in the simple joys. Today, she ate the sweetest cherry tart and impressed the Septa with her High Valyrian. That was enough purpose for her.

Maella dismissed Jace with a roll of her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed, a subtle wave of her hand emphasizing her words. "I have far more pressing matters demanding my attention."

"Like what?"

"Like annoying you." Maella elbowed Jace in the side, and he yelped. Luke snorted from the sidelines. "Anyway, I'd rather rule with a strong hand than be distracted by matters of the heart."

"You still have to marry," Jace insisted. He was squinting at her, and it gave him a cheeky look that went well with his gapped-tooth smile. "You're the heir."

"And you're a child. Eight, are you not? What do you know about all this bother?"

Jace opened his mouth to speak—perhaps to correct her on his age—and then Luke spoke. "It smells like fruit," he sniffed.

"I smell it too," Jace nodded. "What is that?"

Maella shrugged. "The peaches, mayhaps."

The two of them stared at her, waiting.

Maella did not readily share her secrets, but her brothers had a knack for coaxing them out of her. She rose from the tree, revealing a few peaches that had been hiding under the fabric of her skirts. "I swiped them from breakfast," she confessed, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Carried them in my dress."

They all laughed, and the air filled up with the smell of peeled fruit.

───────────────

The moon shown brightly that night, hanging heavy in the velvety dark sky. Maella was stargazing from her bedroom window when Ser Criston Cole arrived. She knew what he was there for, as he had come for the same reason every few days—to escort her to the Queen.

This was the latest Maella had been summoned, though she expected it nonetheless. She had taken special care with her face and clothes for tonight. Maella had swiped a bit of rouge to both cheeks, and chose her favorite silks. It had taken thirty minutes to plait her hair into a single braid; each strand had been delicately anointed with oil, and she combed until her scalp tingled with rawness. It proved to be a worthwhile venture, for her hair shone like spun moonlight, bright against her baby blue dress.

"Good evening, Princess," Ser Criston said. "Her Grace awaits. Shall we go?"

Maella closed the shutters and turned away from the window. "Of course."