The Tourney had quickly ended, and though one knight had been victorious there was no celebration to be held. Instead the noble houses gathered in an empty field outside the city's walls, solemnly staring ahead at the two pyres. Darla stood at the King's side, an unusual place for a servant but none would dare question a supposedly grieving man, let alone the King.
She wore her usual attire, a single speck of red in a sea of morose black, overtop she wore an ill-fitting black tunic, one of the King's own articles of clothing. A silver girdle cinched the fabric around her waist, a new addition to her wardrobe. Darla suspected it had been taken from the dead Queen's own collection.
From her place at the King's side Darla glanced back, dark eyes instantly found the Hand and his daughter. The older man glared at Darla, the muscles in his jaw twitching. She smirked, turning back to look at the King and laid a hand on his shoulder. Viserys glanced at her, smiling softly as he took her hand in his. If anyone were to look closely they would see the impropriety between royal and lowborn, but Darla didn't care if anyone saw. In fact she hoped Otto Hightower took notice, she prayed that it would set his blood alight and cause his mind to race. She depended on his ambition for her plan to begin, she needed him to send his daughter her way.
The princess stepped forward, Darla followed the younger teen's line of sight, seeing the yellow dragon perk up. Princess Rhaenyra tore her eyes from her dragon and turned to her father, her gaze hardened as she met Darla's gaze.
"Dracarys." She ordered.
The dragon lumbered forward, lowering her long neck. With a roar, fire shot from its maul, setting the pyres aflame.
★・・・・・・★
The sun had long since set over King's Landing when Darla received word that an emergency small council meeting had been called. She rolled her eyes as she followed the King into the room, instantly regretting the action as her vision spun. The King had ordered pitchers of Arbor red be brought to his chambers following the funeral. Three had been easily finished between the two, leaving tongues loose and bodies uncoordinated.
"What is the meaning of this?" Viserys questioned as he dropped into his seat at the head of the table.
"Your Grace," Otto began, his voice already beginning to annoy Darla. "This is the last thing any of us wish to discuss at this dark hour, but I consider the matter urgent."
"What matter?"
The Hand paused for a moment before finally drawing the courage to speak. "That of your succession. These recent tragedies have left you without an obvious heir."
Darla couldn't help the grin that pulled at the corners of her lips. If Otto was bringing up the matter of succession it meant that he had a plan. Darla had watched the man long enough to realize how he rarely acted without having an idea on how to manipulate others to get what he wanted.
"The King has an heir, my lord Hand." Lord Corlys interjected.
"Despite how difficult this time is, Your Grace," The Hand continued, ignoring the Master of Tides. "I feel it important the succession be firmly in place for the stability of the realm."
"The succession is already set, by precedent and by law." Lord Strong spoke up.
"Shall we say his name?" Darla couldn't help but like Lord Corlys, the man was dramatic, she thought as he threw himself into his chair and spoke the Prince's name.
"If Daemon were to remain the uncontested heir, it could destabilize the realm." The elderly Grand Maester spoke slowly.
"The Realm? Or this Council?" Lord Corlys questioned, though he had a point. The Prince couldn't stand the other members of the Small Council.
"No one here can know what Daemon would do were he king, but no one can doubt his ambition." Ser Otto spoke again irritating Darla further. "Look at what he did with the Gold Cloaks. The City Watch is fiercely loyal to him. An army two thousand strong."
"An Army you gave him, Otto." Viserys argued, annoyed with his hand and friend. "I made Daemon Master of Laws, but you said he was a tyrant. As Master of Coin, you said he was a spendthrift that would beggar the realm. Putting Daemon in command of the City Watch was your solution!"
Darla always found it attractive when Viserys raised his voice at someone. She could almost pretend he was a true man and not a puppet on her string.
"A half-measure, Your Grace. The truth is Daemon should be far away from this court."
"Daemon is my brother. My blood. And he will have his place at my court."
"Let him keep his place at court, Your Grace." Mellos once again droned on in his slow voice. "But if the Gods should visit some further tragedy on you, either by design or by accident-"
"Design?" The King interrupted. "What are you saying? My brother would murder me, take my crown? Are you?!" At the council's silence, Viserys continued. "Please. Daemon has ambition, yes, but not for the throne. He lacks the patience for it."
"The Gods have yet to make a man who lacks the patience for absolute power, Your Grace." The Hand spoke up yet again making Darla question if the man knew when to shut up.
"Under such circumstances, it would not be such an aberration for the King to name a successor." Mellos pointed out.
"Well, who else would have a claim?" Lord Strong asked.
"The King's first born child." Otto spat out as if the mere suggestion caused him pain.
"Rhaenyra? A girl?" Lord Lyonel laughed. "No Queen has ever sat the Iron Throne."
"That is only by tradition and precedent, Lord Strong." Mellos argued.
"If order and stability so concerns this council, then perhaps we shouldn't break a hundred years of it by naming a girl heir." The Master of Laws argued.
"Daemon would be a second Maegor or worse. He is impulsive and violent. It is the duty of this council to protect the King and the realm from him," Ser Otto snapped, before turning to address the King in a softer tone. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but that is the truth as I see it, and I know that others here agree."
"I will not be made to choose between my brother and my daughter."
"You wouldn't have to, Your Grace. There are others who would have a claim."
Lord Strong laughed upon hearing Lord Corlys's words. "Such as your wife, Lord Corlys? The Queen who never was?"
"Rhaenys was the only child of Jaehaerys' eldest son. She had a strong claim at the Great Council, and she already has a male heir." Lord Corlys argued for his wife's claim.
"Just moments ago you announced your support for Daemon!" Ser Otto yelled.
"If we cannot agree on an heir then how can we expect-" Lord Lyonel began.
"Stop this! My son is dead! I will not sit here and suffer crows that come to feast on his corpse!" Viserys yelled, standing up and leaving the room. Darla quickly followed after the King, trailing behind him as they made their way back to his chambers.
He threw the doors to his chambers open, storming into the room. Darla watched as his feet carried him back and forth, before he picked up one of the empty pitchers and threw it at the wall. The glass shattered and fell to the ground in a thousand tiny pieces.
Darla finally moved to his side, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head against his heaving chest. Viserys buried his face in her ebony locks, breathing in her sweet scent. He swept her hair back, nipping at the skin of her neck.
"How can I serve you, my King?" Darla asked breathlessly, tangling her fingers in the man's silver strands.
"Just," Viserys murmured, littering kisses across her skin. "Just be here."
"Always." Darla whispered, nudging his chin up so she could press her lips to his.
She pondered her position as Viserys laid her out across his sheets, and how completely cuntstruck the man was. She had no worry of being cast out by the King, he was too captivated by her to even entertain the idea.
★・・・・・・★
Night had truly fallen over King's Landing as the hour of the wolf drew nearer. Darla stretched across the King's bed, enjoying the feeling of her bare skin against the soft sheets. She had never dreamed of such luxury in her youth and now that she had felt it she would be remiss to give it up. An open book laid in front of her though Darla's attention laid on the King. She watched as he worked on his model of Old Valyria, a soft scraping noise filling the room.
"What are you working on, my King?"
Viserys turned to look back at the dark haired beauty, his lips parting to answer her. A knock at the door interrupted the moment, causing the room's occupants to look to the door. A kingsguard entered the chambers followed closely by Lady Alicent Hightower.
"The Lady Alicent Hightower, Your Grace." The kingsguard announced, before slipping back into the hall and closing the door behind him.
"What is it, Alicent?" Viserys questioned.
A grin spread across Darla's lips as she realized the Hand had played right into her plan. He had sent his daughter to the King hoping for her to catch the widower's eye, not realizing this was just what she wanted.
"I thought I might come and look in on you, Your Grace." Alicent spoke, her voice wavering. "I brought a book."
"That is very kind, thank you."
"It is a favorite of mine," Alicent stepped closer, holding the book tightly to her chest as if it might protect her. "I do know how passionate you are for the histories."
"Yes, I am."
Lost on how she was meant to proceed, Alicent sat down on one of the nearby stools. Her eyes darted around though she still did not notice Darla. Oh but how Darla noticed her. Alicent's hair had been twisted up, exposing her slender neck and making her appear more mature. The dress she wore was darker than anything Darla had seen her in before, parts of the sleeves were sheer and the neckline exposed the entirety of her shoulders. Darla slipped from the mattress moving to lean against one of the bed boats at the foot of the bed.
"When my mother died," Alicent's gaze remained locked straight ahead, as if the words hurt to speak. "People only ever spoke to me in riddles. All I wanted was for someone to say that they were sorry for what happened to me."
Alicent looked to the King, her lips parting to say more yet the words died on her tongue at the sight of Darla stepping out of the shadows. The younger teen's face burned as she took in the older girl's state of dress, the fire burning in the hearth cast a golden glow on the girl's nude body. Alicent averted her eyes as Darla drew closer stuttering out an apology.
"It is alright, Alicent. You came so late, I was wondering if you wished to join us." The attendant's voice was breathy, a siren's call urging Alicent into treacherous waters.
She couldn't ignore the call, glancing at the naked woman from the corner of her eyes. Darla stood behind the King, draping herself over his body and wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. The King seemed to enjoy the touch, lifting one of the girl's hands and pressing a kiss to it.
When her stomach didn't turn at the sight and her gaze remained on Darla's figure, Alicent panicked. She jumped to her feet, not caring as her book crashed to the floor.
"I shall take my leave, Your Grace." She apologized, tearing her gaze from the King and his attendant and scurrying from the room.