𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙒𝙀𝙇𝙑𝙀 :
𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝗗𝗲𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗢𝗳 𝗙𝘂𝗻

"𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬. That was the last one, my lady. I have finally finished."

Meya and multiple other hands pulled back. Their fingers aching and their feet sore from standing on them for hours, braiding Sylvia's thick hair individually like Lady Vana's.

"Do you like it, my lady?" Meya anxiously peered through the reflection, taking in her work from another angle. "My apologies if it is not like Lady Vana's. My braid work is far beneath the Velaryon's hands, though I am grateful for the few we discovered in the city that were talented enough to aid where I lack."

Sylvia leaned further toward the mirror to observe their handwork. Each equally-sized braid was about the size of her pinky, with golden threads and jewelry weaved in random spots. They were far smaller than Lady Vana's thicker style, but this size suited her best. Low maintenance, beautiful, and perfect for her hair texture, just as Lady Vana said.

Excitement bubbled, and she couldn't wait to show off her hair and the many possibilities of styles never introduced to one who was a boy for the majority of her life. Lady Mercia would love this. She could feel her jealousy seething because such styles weren't ways of House Rosby, though there was always a braid or two implemented with curly hair like hers.

"I love it. Your skills are exceptional and I'd like to show my gratitude toward our helpers."

With a bow, Meya escorted the women toward the round table and offered each helping hand a small pouch of coins with more than enough to live beyond surviving. They expressed gratitude, presenting themselves at her feet even if their bones restricted their mobility. This made Sylvia uncomfortable. She helped each of them up, touching each tattered clothing of filth, their best presentable clothing with no care of where it's been and whom it touched. Meya kept a close eye to ensure no sneaky hands stole, not that Sylvia minded when it could be easily replaced.

She escorted them to the door and ordered one of the guards to see them safely returned. One of the women even left with the compliment of comparing her heart to gold, as did the mother on the streets a while back.

The princess with a heart of gold.

Once they were gone, Sylvia skipped to view her hair with an outfit another maid had prepared for fitting. A midnight blue tunic dresses her frame with intricate gold designs embroidered along the chest area and down the buttons. An under dark shirt fitted beneath the tunic and her long arms, cuffed at the wrist. Underneath was a pair of trousers, which she was most excited about. A leather belt accentuated her feminine curves, with dirt gray boots hugging up her calves.

Still feminine, but it was as masculine as any lady could get. Sylvia loved it and deemed this outfit her favorite.

She looked even more of status. Different and new. A must living in King's Landing under her father's name. It was Meya's duty to dress her appropriately and stay ahead of the trends and Sylvia was excited for this one. The other two maids stood in awe with constant praise.

"And your fingers, do they hurt?" Sylvia asked, remembering she was the one who did her hair. Not her.

"You need not pity me, my lady. Serving you is a death wish but a privilege. I will gladly endure the labor when the outcome comes with such beauty and grace."

It wasn't pity she felt, but genuine care for Meya's condition. Aside from her position which forced her to present herself as likable not to end with her head on a spike, Sylvia considered her a friend. Someone she trusted and needed by her side longer than life gifted.

Knock.

Knock.

Pause.

Knock.

Only Prince Viseron knocked in that rhythm. But why has he come?

Meya stepped back from adjusting the hem of the tunic. "I shall answer it."

"No, I will."

Sylvia was already off her feet before Meya had the chance. As expected, the prince stood dressed in a similar style but in grey and black leather material, and far less detailed than his status required. He noticed her hair immediately, following the braids as his litted eyes took in her attire and felt her face warming. Too bothered to greet her properly.

His attempt to enter her chambers forced Sylvia to close the door with only her frame filling the crack. "A wise man told me never to allow men beyond this door. And here you are, going against those wise words." She recited his advice or it was a warning, in a teasing manner while kissing her teeth.

Impressed she remembered anything from those lips, Prince Viserson failed to bite back his smile. "After dark." He corrected. "Tis midday and I travel with Ser John."

Ser John stood a few feet behind. Always on guard and always wherever the prince went. At least he had the decency to greet Sylvia even without words.

Still, Sylvia refused his entrance. "So what brings you here, my prince? What do you want now?"

"You."

Inside, the maids who heard this giggled. Meya was quick to hush them and give them something better to do than eavesdrop.

Prince Viseron allowed his response to settle long enough for Sylvia to stop breathing. She eased off the door and rubbed her hand along her jaw as she cleared her throat, unable to decide where else to look when his violet eyes took pleasure in this reaction.

Only then, when her parted lips attempted to utter something cohesive, did he quickly add, "to accompany me on a stroll for some fun."

"Fun?" Sylvia rose her brow with mild humor. She could breathe again. "Are we dancing again? Or I dance and you make no exception to join me?"

He locked his arms below his back. "Not today. It is better than that I assure you."

Sylvia hummed. He had yet spared her his time the past week and returned as though nothing happened. It wasn't the best feeling despite it being for the better.

Foolish of her to even consider the side quest until a presence appeared behind the prince that quickly reminded her of her duty. "I wish I could, but I have already been invited on a stroll with Lord. . ." Sylvia glanced back to Meya for his name which slipped her mind. She mouthed something but she was unable to comprehend the syllables. ". . .a lord. Excuse me."

He refused to step back as Sylvia squeezed through the door frame to greet the lord of something, his gaze never straying and she never coward. To her disappointment, it was another old fucker. Not as old as the last suitor but much older than her. Green and yellow made up his outfit, and he had a funny step in his walk that swung his body left like a strong gust of wind and multiple blackened teeth on display whenever he smiled.

"Your Royal Highness and Lady Sylvia," Greeted the lord, averting his gaze from Prince Viseron, who dared not speak a word but rather glared like a stubborn child. His smile wide and gummy.

Sylvia's face molded in mild disgust before lowering herself into a bow that was less graceful than she had been taught. "My lord."

She hoped his name would come to her but accepted it wasn't of importance. This stroll would be over as soon as it started.

Just as Sylvia lifted herself to join the lord, Prince Viseron blocked their path by stepping between them. "Surely you can reschedule? Lord Tannish wouldn't mind if Lady Sylvia spends the day with me instead?" She couldn't decipher his demeanor with his back facing her, but was well aware he was trying to intimidate the man, and it was working.

Was that his name all along? Lord Tannish? His house still came of nothing.

Both men exchanged a long and quiet stare that said more than words ever could. Lord Tannish appeared very confused about the encounter until he lowered his head in defeat with a frown deepening the crease between his brows. "Of course not, no. Your highness beats me to it again. Always quicker than a dragon, I say."

"Are you sure, my lord? I know you've been waiting quite a while for my audience." Sylvia only pretended to care because Meya was unhappy with how quickly excuses formed to leave her suitors stranded and because she had a habit of unintentionally wording her sentences rudely — which she strongly believed was due to cultural differences. The Dornish tongue was straightforward; words first, thoughts last. But here they edge on glass; thoughts first, words last.

But no matter how much Sylvia complained, Meya's advice was heeded. Her unknowing personality would leave a bad taste in their mouth and enemies one couldn't afford.

His thin lips pulled into a forceful smile, sending an anxious look toward the prince still with his back faced Sylvia. He stepped back with a thick swallow. "I am quite sure of my decision, Lady Sylvia. Do enjoy your time."

"Looks like you're free after all, my lady. Shall we?" The prince gestured forward as if to wait for Sylvia to take the first step before joining at her side, a cunning look carving his features.

With a hum, Sylvia accepted. His excitement was questionable, although she could use some fun — in whatever definition of fun he had.

𝑴𝑨𝑫𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑬𝑽𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑰𝑹 𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑩𝑬 𝑨 𝑺𝑰𝑴𝑷𝑳𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑳 through the royal gardens turned out to be a stroll to the carriages parked outside the gates, then a long ride through the city to a giant stone wall with a large gaping opening higher and wider than sand mountains.

Gravel rocks rolled and pinched beneath Sylvia's boots when taking the prince's hand as he escorted her down the steps. She noted he removed his leather glove the moment the carriage halted, his thumb seamlessly caressing the back of her hand that sent chills throughout her body. "Thank you." She managed to say and caught Meya eyeing the interaction before quickly slipping her hand free.

He placed back on his glove. Upon his order, Meya and Ser John were to stay back near the carriage. She and the prince continued forward toward the dark hole guarded by what looked like two palace guards.

"This is fun? A dark cave?" Sylvia questioned while slipping on leather gloves Meya had long prepared for whatever the reason may be. "You have funny definitions of the meaning fun."

Prince Viseron shrugged, a playful smirk tugging his pink lips. "You shall see soon, my lady."

She crossed her arms with a huff. He is an odd man, Sylvia admitted, far odder than anyone I have yet met. Which wasn't many to begin with, but said a lot already.

Without wasting another moment, Sylvia was ordered to stay put while Prince Viseron conversed with men in beige clothing. It was similar clothing to the woman who helped tame Vaerys' young dragon when she became unpredictable or to help Vaerys regain control to strengthen their connection.

Sylvia's head perked when they conversed in High Valyrian. Its tones were distinctive enough to know when it was being spoken, just how people knew she was Dornish the second she spoke, though an entire language was different than a strong accent. Only this time she was finally able to pick up basic wording, but not enough to understand the overall subject. Though she did pick up one thing; Is she ready?

What for? Sylvia wondered but never brought herself to question it. If it was about her, she didn't like being spoken in the third person as if she wasn't just a few feet behind.

The man nodded in response before disappearing into the darkness.

With his arms below his back, Prince Viseron made his way back to Sylvia's side wearing a cocky grin as if he knew something she apparently didn't. Which was true. She had no clue why they were here or what was to happen next, or even how this was to be fun.

A few moments later, a deep-gutted shriek rumbled Sylvia's insides. She tore her gaze from playing idly with her gloves, mouth gaping open at an enormous figure moving through the dark entrance. The same man as before appeared, but behind him, something continued to move and it got bigger and bigger and much bigger. Prince Viseron watched Sylvia's frightened reaction with sinister delight.

Another high-pitched shriek nearly scared her shitless but not when a dragon appeared.

Sylvia stumbled at the large beast with a gasp that left her breathless. "Hells of one," she caught her balance, her heart beating triple its speed.

She watched in shock as the prince met the threatening creature halfway and embraced it with a tender hug, rubbing its long neck like a dog. It purred like a cat and its demeanor softened like it was. . .happy? Not that Sylvia could tell as this was her first time meeting a dragon as big as this and not the dragon babes younger family members possessed.

A joyous smile filled the prince's face, eyes bright like a child. "This is Midnight. My she-dragon." He introduced.

Midnight was the color of night, darker than each strand on a Bareathan's head with hints of midnight blue coating the tips of the dragon's scales. Like Sylvia's scales, the rich color was only visible under the given sun or any brighter light. But unlike her, the dragon lacked various colors, yet was the most beautiful creature her eyes ever laid on. Nothing a girl like her back home would ever believe even presented with clear evidence. She could only imagine the dragon her father rode across the Narrow Sea if rumored such creatures could grow even bigger. Its shadow nearly shaded the entire pathway.

"T-that is a fucking dragon! Not like Vaerys — but a real breathing dragon! What the fuck?" If not obvious, Sylvia exclaimed. She admired the dragon from afar.

"It is, yes."

"Yours?"

Nodding, Prince Viseron offered his free hand while the other was still petting Midnight. "Would you like to pet her? Come." He beckoned her forward and she stood further than where they originally stood. She felt safer from a distance.

Sylvia locked eyes with the dragon paying her no mind. One glance at its razor-sharp teeth and her feet were glued.

Noticing her hesitation, Prince Viseron blocked Sylvia's view of the dragon held back by Dragonkeepers—the word finally came to mind from extensive studying. "You begged to see a dragon, now your tail's stuck between your legs?" He regarded her quietly. "This is not the fun I imagined."

Her lips parted but nothing came out. Another wave of chills flushed throughout her body as she was forced to meet his softened gaze by him grabbing her chin, redirecting all the attention onto himself. He remembered. Their conversation weeks ago—her desire to meet an actual adult-sized dragon and acquire the knowledge about these majestic beasts.

But now that an opportunity presented itself, fear turned her legs to stone. He wasn't enough to distract her.

Prince Viseron jerked her chin again, forcibly snatching her attention from his whiny dragon. "If you are scared, mask it. You are a dragon and the dragon courses your veins. You do not showcase your fear in public or anywhere where eyes are watching. It releases a savory scent my dragon knows well, because I feed it to her." His advice did help but frightened Sylvia more than she already was. How could she keep her emotions in check when presented before a flesh-eating dragon?

"Do you trust me?"

Looking between him and the she-dragon Midnight, Sylvia swallowed a shaky breath. "I don't wish to die."

Prince Viseron removed his grip, but his touch quickly returned, trailing his gloved knuckles along the side of Sylvia's face and brushing her scales in a gentle manner. He stepped forward so only his shadow cast over, sure to capture her attention fully until she realized he was hiding her panic from the Dragonkeepers. His touch continued down her neck and swallowed against the light pressure. "But do you trust me?" He reasked while stroking her thudding pulse, and as if it was magical-imbued, felt herself calming down.

"Sure," was the only reply her mind uttered, and a smile so beautiful stretched across his face.

"Then you have nothing else to fear. Come."

Midnight found Sylvia in view when Prince Viseron led them over and placed her ungloved hand against her rough, warm spiky skin. Her black eyes dilated and seemed calmer when her rider was nearby, directly behind Sylvia to keep her from losing her balance against the dragon's weight as it shifted. A strong force of air had Sylvia's hair floating in those mere seconds Midnight got a good whiff of her. She held her breath with her eyes squeezed shut. Any sudden movement could panic the dragon to eat her or force her off her feet and back to the carriage. Hopefully she could outrun a literal giant.

A hand slid itself alongside Sylvia's waist, holding her in place and canceling any impulsive thoughts. She didn't remove it. It was calming in a sense, and if the dragon decided to eat her, it would have to take her rider too.

"Easy," Prince Viseron cooned. Whether it was meant for her or Midnight, she listened.

Finally sensing familiarity, Midnight turned her head with a huff and allowed the action the partake.

A nervous chuckle filled Sylvia. "My brain can't wrap around this. I-I am so scared I could shit my pants, yet excited at the same time I feel nauseous and could still shit myself." His chuckle vibrated against her backside as she continued to pet Midnight. Spikes of all sizes sprouted along her skin, sharp enough to cut if not careful. "Everyone back home would think me mad if I told them of this moment. My mother would believe me though. She always did — does. . ." Sylvia refused this moment to sour and focused on the now and this wondrous creature. A moment she would never forget.

Her excitement snuck a prideful grin on the prince's face when Sylvia glanced back to be sure her slip-up hadn't reached his ears. If he did, it wasn't obvious. But it was clear by everything that this wasn't the only intention on his agenda today especially when he stepped away.

"Let us have some real fun."

Sylvia stopped petting Midnight when Prince Viseron hooked his foot in the leather loop when the dragon lowered itself. Pulling himself onto the leather saddle not big enough to fit two people, he offered his hand awaiting her support.

"And if I fall?" Fear made itself known she was sure Midnight could smell it. Her dark eyes watched Sylvia intensively with what looked like hunger. The churn in her belly returned.

"You said you trusted me, thus, it is best not to doubt my judgment. I am still your prince and future King. I could command you to come but there is no fun in that."

"I don't wish to fall to my death."

"Then I will hold you tight."

Sylvia must have lost her mind putting her trust and her life in his hands. She had never ridden a dragon before but her father and his father before him have. It was in her right to follow in his footprints even without a dragon of her own, a thrilling opportunity she dreamed of.

She took his hand, stepping forward to fit her foot in the loop. Prince Viseron pulled her up to sit in front of him. He positioned her body and corrected her posture before wrapping his long arms around Sylvia's waist to reach for the steel handles encrusted with gold. Not only could she feel his steady heartbeat against her backside, but his growing bulge too. Even worse when resting his head on her shoulder, breathing in her neck and pulling them closer in the tiny space that nearly merged them as one.

Meya appeared with a worrisome gaze as opposed to Sir John who was used to the prince's daily activities.

Sylvia inhaled deeply. "I am convinced you've always wanted me this close, Viseron. You chose a perfect activity." She commenced his sly tactics and, instead of denying these accusations, snuggled further into the crook of her neck.

"And now, I shall have you to myself with no chance of escaping."

She refused to give him the satisfaction of making her uncomfortable. And she wasn't. Though, this was her first time so close to a man's erection — aside from the few times back home when men would press their bulge against Sylvia's backside or forced her hand to rub on them, desiring a boy over a woman.

"I can jump off."

"You can. I'm not holding you hostage. By all means, I am sure there is an old cunt awaiting your presence." Even if Sylvia decided last minute to get off, she wouldn't be able to with his hold around her body, keeping her secure against the steel structure of the saddle pressed against her chest. "But then you shall wonder how it feels to ride a god-like creature. With the wind through your hair, breathing in the blue skies, above narrow-minded individuals where no laws can bind you. The rich are as visible as the poor; free of burden, titles, laws, and conditions. Where freedom is no longer a concept but reachable. Now."

Sylvia said nothing. His words were true and he knew well enough she would give anything to ride a dragon as her father had. Such God-like creatures only her household have tamed.

"That's what I thought." He chuckled.

A High Valyrian command alerted Midnight. The she-dragon stretched her large wings casting shadows bigger than the moon, walking toward the pathway's edge. Specs of blue bled through from the sun. Sylvia squealed out in delight mixed with fear, unprepared to be violently shaken at such simple steps the dragon took and clenched her thighs for dear life. She would have long fallen If it wasn't for Prince Viseron's secure hold. Wings hitting the air like a sharp whip with each flap, a gust of wind glued Sylvia to this man when the edge was no longer beneath Midnight.

They were flying.

"Keep your eyes open. Don't miss this."

A scream left Sylvia's lungs dry but they would have to nail her eyes shut to get her to miss this moment. "They are open!" Abnormal heat radiating from the dragon's body kept them warm as Midnight soared for the clouds.

The world appeared smaller as Midnight glided through the clouds, leaving behind a wet residue along Sylvia's gloves hoping to cup it in her palm. They were like tiny ants below. The sun was bigger above. The ocean was wide and the sky and land stretched for miles. Laughter warmed her chest and even felt vibrations against her backside from the prince's chuckle.

He was right — riding a dragon was far better than her imagination.
aim.

A U T H O R S  N O T E

⎯ I need to sit down and make multiple chapter banners for here cause ao3 is getting all the cute graphics every five chapters with more to come. But I wanna show them off here too even if they don't get acknowledged.