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── ୨୧ ──
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As night settled over the Red Keep, the air hung heavy with worry for the king's condition had worsened.
The castle whispered of failing breaths and the slow march of death, and so, the wedding had been moved sooner than anyone had planned. By the morrow, Saera would be a wife.
She stood still in the center of her chamber, her arms slightly lifted as three handmaidens flitted around her like birds, adjusting fabric, taking measurements, muttering quietly about seams and stitches. The dress would be finished before dawn. It had to be.
The red robe she currently wore clung softly to her figure, warm with Valyrian silk and the weight of tradition. It was then she heard the door creak open, followed by a familiar voice.
"I heard you'll be wearing the traditional marital robes of Valyria."
Saera turned her head toward her mother, who stood at the doorway with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her tone cool and unreadable. Alicent's eyes scanned the red fabric with quiet disapproval.
"Mother," Saera said gently, "Princess Rhaenyra wished for the old ways of the rites of Valyria. I intend to honor that."
Alicent stepped into the room, her brow furrowed. "It's not our custom. It's not the way the Faith would approve."
Saera held her mother's gaze for a moment before lowering her eyes. "It's the Targaryen way. If I am to marry a prince of dragon's blood, I will do it as our ancestors once did. I owe her that, at least."
A silence followed heavy, suffocating as the disappointment settled plainly on Alicent's face. Saera felt it without even needing to look. She stared down at the hem of her robe, fingers fidgeting with the crimson fabric, until another voice broke the tension.
"Oh, you look beautiful."
Saera head snapped up, and even Alicent turned in surprise as Rhaenyra entered the chamber with a soft smile.
