¹ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 ━━ 𝐝. 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

iii. frayed bonds

    What a man he was.

    And so the knowledge that he was actively seeking her out, going as far as to send her sworn shield on a goose chase to locate her in the corridors of the Red Keep, did wonders to her rapidly heating heart. What could he possibly want?

     "Did he state his intentions, Ser Loren?" asked Valerys in a soft voice; anyone could deduce is quivered with unspoken uncertainty.

    A frown etched itself on Ser Loren's face. "He did not, Princess."

     "Very well." Valerys waved him off, worrying her fingers against the soft fabric of her dress. "I shall discover his intentions for myself."

     "Would you like my company?" questioned Loren, obviously not entirely thrilled with dumping Valerys into the gaping jaws of a dragon — even if it were her own uncle.

    The princess clearly became weary of the conversation. "That is most unnecessary, though I thank you for the offer. You may report back to my chambers for when I arrive."

    With her plans of clearing her worrying mind successful soiled by the bothersome request of her uncle, Valerys began down the halls towards the Godswood. Ignoring the prying eyes of maids, she held her chin high, shoulders straight, as she'd been taught to since the moment she was old enough to understand such commands. Never let them see you falter, she recalled her great-grandmother, Alysanne, saying, they will use any means to belittle you.

    For a moment, Valerys felt unnecessary disdain for Alysanne. The woman was highly beloved amongst high borns and smallfolk alike, held in such high regard that they referred to her as the Good Queen Alysanne. Why had she been received with such warmth and acceptance, while Valerys was locked out, stuck in the frigid blizzard of ostracism. Why was she the exception?

    When the small, though strangely thriving Godswood came into sights, Valerys felt a sudden sense of dread descend upon her like a swooping hawk. Warm light of the sun bathed all that it touched in a golden hue, preening the grass as it danced gently in the wind. There was no soul available to the eyes as Valerys stared out upon the garden, and yet, a haunting tune in her heart told her that her uncle was nearby.

    Against her better judgment, Valerys strode out into the grassy plain, leaning down to remove her heels, longing to feel the plush grass tickle the betweens of her toes, the soft kiss of the earth. The ground felt as she believed it would: warm, yet not blisteringly hot, and padded to the touch. For a brief moment, Valerys allowed her eyes to shut, basking in the sunlight provided.

     "Raqagon aōla, zaldrītsos?" came a low voice, reverberating around the speaker's chest for a moment before tearing through in a husky drawl. Valerys, for the second time that day, stiffened.

     Enjoying yourself, little dragon?

    Little dragon. It was a nickname her uncle had bestowed to her, though for what reason, she still remained oblivious to. Perhaps it was her affinity for the scaly beasts, or a flame that grew within her they said only could be akin to dragon-fire; whatever the case, she no longer felt giddy when she was called upon by it. No longer felt the childish sense of pride that her powerful and fearsome uncle had seen her intriguing enough to label her his little dragon. Now, it was a stinging reminder of their frayed bond, of her growing understanding that he was not a good man, nor a good uncle. The biting loss of innocence rang heavy in her mind.