Prince's Angel

Fears and Promises

She still possessed her Veela charm from another world away. The only difference was her hair seemed more silver-metallic than blonde, like purest woven silver, and her eyes were a rich violet.

The sea was calm today. In a way, she was proud of what she had accomplished, as meagre and restrained as it might have been. She was no longer just another beauty or potential brood mare, no matter how outstanding she looked. The thing about Muggles, which always irked her, was that they had very rigid roles that were designated between men and women. Men were superior in their eyes. Handsome princes and knights in armour rescued fair maidens locked in tall towers. Did the maidens ever think to rescue themselves? No, not unless they were witches. Perhaps that was another reason why they feared magic- because it meant a woman would take control.

But Seraena had broken through that. As a scholar she became fluent in High Valyrian, the 'Bastard Valyrian' dialects of Lys, Myr, Volantis, Pentos, Norvos, Tyrosh, Braavos, Qohor and Lothar and Slaver's Bay. Old Ghiscari too, And she could read a reasonable amount of Yi Tish. But she didn't stop there. All medicinal texts and herbs, she read of, all known cures, whether they were crude and rudimentary, refined and excellent or a charlatan's trick. Seraena would not stop being a healer.

Nor did it stop her from travelling all throughout Essos for things she sought to breed herself. Some potion ingredients, such as honeywater, bezoar stones, bat wings, sea salt, frogs, toad warts, eagler owl feathers, daisy roots, rose petals, lavender and other things were easily found. If she wanted boomslang skin (not that she would be making Polyjuice Potion), aconite and scarab beetles would be hard to find. Fairy wings, acromantula venom, basilisk venom, dragon claws, fangs and blood were impossible it seemed. But there was such a thing as substitutes, making potions with those ingredients of the same quality were challenging but not impossible. And that was what Seraena aimed to do. She had first requested for her birthday, a plot of land for a garden, which her father agreed, after some thought. But when he tried to force slaves upon her, she had protested. First, because she loathed slavery, second, because she could only be trusted to tend the garden herself. Some herbs and plants were dangerous. In the end, she managed to win over her father, though not without him giving her three slaves for her own use.

The three slaves were Lorenna, Dorea and Alia. They were of the same age, granted to her when she had been young, and quickly she took them in her arms, unshackled them (though they were forced to keep their collars, or else political repercussions would be had), and tended to their raw wounds, caused by beatings and sores. She fed them nutrient potions and better food than any slave could dream of, and ensured they were better clothed. That was the start to treating all the slaves better. It was certainly something which needed encouraging.

She had healed countless peoples, from those that worked in the family's stables, tended their lands, cleaned their home and cooked their meals, and even those who were freeborn, rich or poor. Her potions were a closely guarded secret, and she had made a name for herself, as a healer, particularly as Jacaenor spread the word on her skills to the Braavosi. Soon, word had spread throughout Lys and many of the Free Cities, and yet was it enough for her parents to rest assured of her future? Enough to prevent them from marrying her off to someone she didn't love, a complete stranger?

"My lady?" It was Alia's voice. Seraena blinked. She entered. "The messenger from the lord's estate has come. Your lady mother wishes for you to return to the city this evening."

And her own private retreat... Gone. Seraena thought, sighing inwardly. But she put on a brave smile for Alia. "Very well, come, have you eaten?"

Why all of a sudden? She asked herself, frowning. She had made it clear, and her parents had given her their permission, to be in her private retreat outside the city walls where she could tend her gardens to her heart's content. Why was she required to come now?