𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙎𝙄𝙓 :
𝗟𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗙𝗼𝘅

                    𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒, Sylvia was the fox.

        The hounds — the rest of the ladies who were patient enough to wait outside until Maester Ollins was finished — explained ground rules and permitted only the ground floor of the castle, including the royal gardens that was a maze of land to keep the game from lasting all day throughout the night. Once led into the center, they counted down from twenty.

        Sylvia gathered her skirt and broke into a full run, leaving Meya behind. Her short legs wouldn't have been able to keep up and being followed would take away from the fun of the hunt. Certainly would give away her position.

        She turned the corner down a narrow pathway of crafted arches made of spiky branches, decorated with strings of green plants and blooming flowers the color of fresh blood. It led to another pathway patrolled with armed knights. Two highborn ladies in arms greeted Sylvia with a bow, but she felt their glares as they gossiped about the new girl running with no sense of direction. The hounds were still in range to be heard.

        "Fourteen. . .thirteen. . ."

        There was nowhere to hide until the late bell that rung each day around the same time. Should Sylvia last that long, she win. But each groomed bush she attempted to crouch down, crawl and hide into was a struggle to squeeze through without getting scraped and jagged. Her braids would unravel its neat placement, curls tangled in branches and ripped at her scalp. Thin red lines that stung her arms and legs, and small rips in random areas of her gown. She knew then she wouldn't hear the last of it from Meya.

        And that she should have hidden behind the bushes instead of inside of them.

        Childish barking and laughter made clear the hounds were on the hunt. And still, Sylvia was left exposed.

        She gathered her dress, hiked up to her knees and bolted through the gardens until the castle was closer into view. She figured her chances at winning were higher if the ladies assumed she was still in the gardens and not hiding in a nearby room until the bell.

        Sylvia turned another corner and her steps halted, catching a glimpse of a ghostly figure. Lady Anya hummed a tune similar to a nursery rhyme as she checked behind every tree and bush with a soft 'ha'. Disappointment followed quickly behind when no one was found.

        Sylvia held her breath and stepped back, carefully retracing her steps. She prayed her presence was just a passing moment from the girl's point of view, but as if the Gods limited their support, Lady Anya caught sight of Sylvia mid-spun.

        She dropped her dress with a soft gasp and pointed her finger. "There you are," a shriek of giggles bubbled up her throat. "I've found the sly little fox! This way!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, alerting others of their current position.

        A course of shouts echoed behind Lady Anya who rushed off her feet to catch Sylvia. She managed to avoid her grasp by inches, and nearly tripped over her dress as she attempted her escape in the opposite direction from the commotion. A laughter of her own warmed her chest.

        The thrill of the chase relieved that sense of freedom that kept her caged. A certain warmth never yet been discovered sent tingles throughout her body and relished in the fear of being caught. And a shared moment with, in a sense, friends. Sylvia wasn't sure if friends were the right term to call them, but it was certainly better than what she had at home.

        Finally entering the ground floor of the castle, Sylvia picked a random door and rushed inside. Quickly shutting the door behind her, she fell against its structure, struggling to catch her breath. Both her arms and legs burned with odd aching comfort.

        "Where did she go? Did you see which way she went? Are you certain you saw her?" Lady Clarice's voice was heard on the other side of the door, further from the echo it carried. Sylvia clamped a sweaty hand over her mouth to control her loud panting.

        "I lost her — "

        Someone, Lady Clarice, groaned out. "I told you not to lose sight of her. How hard is it to follow the only bloody bastard with dragon scales?"

        "I have short legs!" Lady Anya defended. "Have you not seen Lady Sylvia? She is as tall as the mountain compared to me. I was not built for this. I was built for lovely strolls on calming mornings, not hunting human foxes because you want to catch her first."

        "And I must catch her first. She can't win." Lady Clarice was determined to find Sylvia for reasons she didn't know why. It wasn't starting to feel like a silly chasing game to burn off energy and pass through the day, but something more. "If she wins, we will hunt for hours until I catch her."

        "Are you that desperate to catch her? You are spoiling a fun game for your selfishness." Lady Emma sounded further but her voice grew closer as she spoke.

        "No game is fun without gain. Now, she couldn't have gone that far. Let's split up. You two check the gardens. Mercia, you are with me since you have good instincts and are quick on your feet."

        Sylvia waited until the coast was clear before she removed her hand and took in the room. It was smaller than her chamber with a wall of curtains that led to a bedroom, possibly a guest chamber. Or a room of importance given the rectangular table in the center of the room decorated with melted candles, leathered books, and a half-eaten roasted chicken. Someone had been here.

        Hopefully whoever resided would not return until after the bells. When Sylvia won.

        A terrifying shriek in the air followed by a thick heaviness like thunder, scared Sylvia half to death that she screamed. It was the same heard during her lessons with Maester Ollins or at night when she struggled to sleep and would stare at the ceiling — though this shrieking sounded different. More gutted and full. A shadow blackened the room for mere seconds. Sylvia rushed to the open window and looked up. The sky remained clear and blue, no sightings of the mystical creature told in various stories, but could've sworn she caught a thin tail.

        The tail of a dragon.

        She kissed her teeth with dissatisfaction. All this time spent in King's Landing and missed every available chance to see a damn dragon with her own two eyes.

        "Found you."

        Sylvia spun to Lady Mercia standing within the room with a wide smile on her face, breathing heavily.

        "Did you. . .?" Sylvia pulled away from the window and trailed toward the table. "Or did I lead you here?"

        Lady Mercia shut the door behind her and met the girl halfway, stopping opposite from her. "You can't take all the credit; I have been following you the entire time. I knew you would whine up here one way or another."

        "Yet you wait until now to catch me? When you're alone."

        Lady Clarice was nowhere to be found. She didn't seem like one to allow Lady Mercia out of her sight given her hidden skills, so either she was ditched or this was a tactic to trap Sylvia. But her quick response confirmed the truth.

        "I don't like sharing my wins."

        "Oh, Lady Mercia, how you surprise me. And here I thought you played fair." Her hand trailed along the wooden edge, watching Lady Mercia as she circled the table like a predator certain of their kill. "But for you to win, you must catch me. The sly fox versus a single hound."

        Without warning, Sylvia pushed off her feet and headed toward the door to escape. Lady Mercia was quick to reach it in time and blocked her path, so Sylvia recalculated and ran back, not knowing the girl was on her tail. The two ran around the room with no sense of direction like cat and mouse rather than fox and hound. Until it felt less competitive and more fun.

        There were many occasions when Sylvia could have escaped but chose not to. Instead, wished to indulge Lady Mercia and waste enough time until the bell. Anytime now it should ring.

        "You're faster than I expected. No wonder Lady Clarice keeps you close." Sylvia praised, digging her fingers under her ribs as if it would help regulate her heavy breathing. The sweat pouring down stung small cuts, and her legs ached for comfort.

        They now stood on opposite sides of the bronze couch stuffed with embroidered pillows, taking a minute to catch their breath. A mutual agreement. The resident had yet to come but they weren't out of the clear either. They could show at any moment.

        "My castle is not surrounded by giant walls like King's Landing. Neither are our villages closely built or overpowered by the stench of shit — if not counting our stables and the hoards of healthy trained steeds we raise to trade." Said Lady Mercia, pushing back her curls that appeared more red with soft brownish tints at this angle. Her hand pressed flat against her puffing chest. "There is so much land, green, that it could cover the sun. And because I lose patience readying the carriage, I walk to my destination. Or run. Which isn't wise for my status, but my attendant accompanies me."

        "I'd like to see this castle. Venture further into Crownlands where green is endless." Sylvia then boldly added, "and visit you."

        An appreciative smile tugged her plum lips. "It's not as loud as King's Landing, I fear. Quite slow and mundane."

        "I don't mind. Certainly better than the deserts."

        "I would like the see the deserts. Where you are from, in Dorne. I've never been or heard an accent as fascinating as yours."

        Likewise.

        "It's not as green or as lenient with water. The desert is no place for new pretty faces, I honestly wouldn't recommend it. The heat would kill you faster than a sword. You are constantly hot and sweaty. Your lips dry and soft skin prone to blisters. And given this world's fashion sense, you wouldn't last long in the clothes you wear."

        "I don't mind. I'm open to new adventures." Lady Mercia lowered her head, playing with the sleeve of her dress. "This dress is long with thick complicated patternings but easy to come off. I can adjust well with you as my guide."

        They go at it again when their energy restored. A giant huff could be heard from behind Sylvia causing her to break into a small fit of laughter, prolonging what could've been finished if the will was overpowered. But to her dismay, got caught in the long curtains while passing through. It was too late for Lady Mercia to stop before the two clashed and fell to the floor.

        "Got you!"

        Laughter rung in her ears and all the breath knocked out of her lungs when Lady Mercia's weight crushed her. Then moments later, the bell rung. And Sylvia lost. Fuck.

        Sylvia managed a smile even after hitting her head so hard that her vision blurred. A pretty face brought her back, no care in the world that she had lost. "So you've won. What happens now?" She asked.

        Lady Mercia held Sylvia's contact before it traveled along her scales at a closer range. So fascinated the Gods had apparently blessed her over royal blood. but she didn't feel like an animal beneath her eyes as oppose to Prince Aelor but appreciated. Beautiful.

        Then she lifted from Sylvia and helped her to her feet. She was kind enough to apologize for being too rough and feared the cuts along her arms were from her. "There is another rule we neglected to inform you. More like Lady Clarice didn't wish you to know in case you refused to play." A brow lift forced her to explain further. "When caught, you must share a secret with the one who catches you. But not just any secret, one not even the Gods would forgive."

        It made sense as to why Lady Clarice wished to catch her first. Even during their journey in the gardens, she shared hiding spots no one would dare search. All but her. Made Sylvia wonder what secrets Lady Clarice assumed she had that she must know.

        "Is this secret exchanged?" Sylvia asked. "If not, I'd like to make a last-minute suggestion."

        Lady Mercia chewed her bottom lip pink as she considered it. Then with a nod, crossed her heart with a finger. "I will not tell a soul and neither will you. It stays between us until death calls us home." She swore.

        Sylvia crossed her heart, promising this.

        There weren't many secrets Sylvia had. Not because she was an open book but because there was nothing in her life that held such value. She had lived the same day since birth praying for an intervention few provided, and once prayed her father would save them. Her greatest secret was her identity that came as a blessing in disguise. But she had to think of something as it was part of the game and fair on Lady Mercia.

        "The King asked if there was another in my heart. I said no, but it was a lie. There was someone. Yanis." Memory of his burnt corpse seared into Sylvia's mind. The arrow deep through his skull where specs of brain matter splattered with his blood, the taste bitter along her tongue, and his beautiful face unrecognizable. "I thought he would be in my life forever. As confusing as he was, I loved him. He offered something I needed, that I lacked. If I had pressured him, he'd be my husband and I, his wife. . .but my mother was against it and he never saw me as a woman. It was doomed before we started."

        Sylvia often wondered if life would have been different had Yanis seen her as a woman. If he made her his wife, left Toland to explore the world as promised, would he be alive? Would they have housed healthy children, born in various lands beyond the sea? If their adventures were fruitful and Yanis proved her mother wrong by manning up to provide, would it have been enough to send her mother to come live with them? To take her out of that house and offer her something more? Then they both would be safe.

        She pondered these possibilities that kept her up most nights. Longer than dragon noises.

        "You speak of him in the past. Is he. . ."

        Sylvia nodded, looking elsewhere to stop her tears from forming. "On the same night I lost my mother." She swallowed. "And what brought me to King's Landing."

        Lady Mercia took Sylvia's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry. I would never wish that form of heartbreak on anyone, not even my worst enemy."

        Her apology took Sylvia off guard. She didn't understand why she would apologize for someone she didn't know. Another man's war that had nothing to do with either of them. Though it was nice to hear for once, a word not often heard nor used. It explained why she didn't know how to react.

        So she removed her hand and cleared her throat. "Your turn."

        "I have. . .a sickening desire. An unholy one. No matter the limits I push, the boundaries I have crossed to rinse myself of these sins, it consumes me. But I'm too afraid to face them so I shove it back."

        "What do you mean? Are you ill?"

        She lowered her head as shame warmed her cheeks. "Men never excite me, not in the way women do. I have tried to develop attraction toward the boys in my village and toward Lord Edwin whom my father wishes us bethroed. Nothing works. I will have to lie with a man and birth him healthy sons. My duty is to my house, and I must make them and my father proud." Her words had no meaning, spoken as if it were recited lines to convince herself of a life she clearly didn't want.

        Her lips parted with a gasp as Sylvia trailed a curly strand behind Lady Mercia's ear, forcing their gaze to meet. "These aren't sick desires; it's where your heart belongs. It is a healthy thing to follow it and not what your father wants. What do you want?" She asked the girl.

        "To be free."

        "Then be free."

        "It's not that simple." She lowered her gaze with a sigh but didn't pull from Sylvia's touch. "I — we are women. We have no life if not tied to our fathers or our husbands or a slave to their pleasure. No titles. No funds. No protection. I would hang myself before I beg on the streets."

        "Do women not inherit their father's or husband's name, lands, and titles should death come? In Dorne, it goes in order of birth regardless of gender. You are second in line." Information gathered while Sylvia said nothing and allowed the ladies to speak of themselves to refrain from asking her of the same. Lady Mercia was second-born out of five and the first daughter out of another who was the youngest. "And if married, the wife is entitled to her husband's, stronger if you give him an heir." She hinted that should the girl be forced to wed and carry his children, it wouldn't have to be for long. Becoming the eldest child shouldn't be challenging either.

        "It passes to my brother next and my husband's brother if I don't choose to carry his children. Women here aren't entitled to anything." She spat. "You were better off in Dorne. We are doomed before birth, alone and long forgotten after death. That is our purpose in life, our faith."

        Her words were true and the more this world uncovered itself and the deeper Sylvia transitioned into her new role, the more it scared her. Perhaps she was doomed before birth, but it was luck that brought her to King's Landing and the grief of her father's death that bestowed his name, making her apart of this house. Their history.

        Sylvia had no desire of being alone. Forgotten was okay, but she refused the cold lonesome feeling of only her breath to warm her through her final moments. All she had was herself and her mother and while that was enough, she wanted more. Gaining a taste of it made it challenging to let go. Possessive even.

        There were no words to comfort Lady Mercia because Sylvia's attraction expanded beyond this world's norms, a place for both men and women in her heart. Never repressed from an environment where exploration was in her palm. Though her faith was bound to wed a noble lord, it wouldn't take away from herself. The best she could do was assure her friend these wicked desires weren't shameful sins to hide and should she wish to take off in the middle of the night or become head of her house, Sylvia would offer her assistance.

        Her attention redirected from her thoughts with a gasp. She touched her lips and followed the invading floral scent to the red-faced girl who kissed her. It was quick that Sylvia didn't notice until strands tickled her chin, almost like a ghost. A desperate ghost.

        Realizing her action, Lady Mercia's colorful eyes grew wide and scattered back into a quick curtsy. "Forgive me. My impulse got the best of me and I so desperately wanted to feel the warmth of any woman's lips to confirm my heart is in the right place. L-like you said."

        Nowhere near offended by this offense, Sylvia tilted her head with a growing smile. "And? Is your heart in the right place?"

        "I believe so," the elastic feeling didn't last long until Lady Mercia bowed again. This time, she remained in her position. "Please, don't tell anyone of this. T-that I kissed you. My father would have me hanged if he knew his precious daughter was a stain on our house."

        Sylvia assumed crossing their hearts was promising enough, but if she was in her shoes sharing the same faith with a stranger just met, she too wouldn't rest well at night. So she stepped forward, grabbed her pretty face and forced their lips to collide. Not a ghostly peck, but gentle and forthcoming. Lady Mercia hesitated before she fed into her desires and kissed her back.

        Her lips were soft like the petals soaked in her bath, the salty taste of playful sweat licked along her parted lips, collecting her soft moans. Long enough to bring her to feet from her lowered position and clear her mind from what was labeled as a mistake.

        "There," Sylvia whispered, brushing their lips. "Now we both will hang for our sickened desires should either of us go against this promise. Tell a soul and I bring you to hell with me."

       Lady Mercia touched her lips with a blushing smile. "I promise." Her breathy words managed to form.

        Sylvia released her and inspected her cuts where she discovered a twig tangled in her curls. Definitely won't hear the last of this from Meya. "Good. What happens when this round is over?"

        "Another round perhaps?"

        "God no. I have no more secrets to share and I'm hungry."

        Lady Mercia shook her head with a chuckle. The two made their way toward the door — just when Sylvia found herself pushed to the floor with Lady Mercia beside her. She had opened her mouth to question her intention and if this was another experiment from the heart, but the bedroom door swung open and voices fled the room.

        "This is madness. Lord Hand is an unpredictable man who cannot be trusted. For what reason would he parade this bastard around court if not to provoke us?"

        They crawled quickly behind the long bronze couch closest to the window where Sylvia almost caught a dragon. She reached over for Lady Mercia's peeking dress and clutched it over her legs with a tight grip. With a finger to her lips, the two remained as quiet and still as a mouse.

        "He spares little attention to the bastards the King produced — nearly can count their heads — yet this viper whore shows up and secures not only her father's name, but a place in this house's legacy. Even has the bloody King's protection!" An angry deep-voiced man tossed a cup of wine that spilled in their direction against the wall. Red specs found itself in random spots. "What is his gameplay? Does he wish to fuck her dragon cunt? Picture her face as Prince Daemon to teach him a lesson beyond death. Or has he already and this is payment?"

        It didn't take long to piece together the viper whore was Sylvia. She hadn't been here for long and had already caused a ruckus, accused of fucking a man older than time itself. Her stomach churned at the thought of his hands ravaging her body, his wheezy breath hot in the crook of her neck, shoving his shriveled cock into her after a few rounds struggling to get it up. He wasn't as old as King Aul, but old enough that she gagged.

        Their reflections through the silver cup weren't faces she knew, but their tailored clothes were of noble status. Close to the King given their argument.

        "I don't understand it myself. My house has been loyal to the realm for centuries, yet the King failed to consult us before making this haste decision. Now he refuses to hear our concerns. This is as much our business as it is his!" The man of shorter stature said. His brunette hair was short and shaggy, or long? Their figures were distorted through the cup.

        "This is a threat. He is to use her to garnish Prince Viseron's attention and push Lady Julie off the table. Therefore excluding our house from court and my seat in the council." Said the blonde-headed man.

        "I doubt Lord Hand is that bold, my lord."

        "You do not know him like I do. Once a stag lays its trap, prey will follow. I am never wrong about this."

        Sylvia peeked around the couch to get a better look at these men. They stood around the rectangular table, quite close as if there wasn't enough room to move about. The shaggy-haired man blocked sight of the other but saw minor similarities to Lady Clarice especially her arched brows. She snapped back before one almost caught her.

        "The Prince pays the girl no mind — "

        "He pays no mind to my daughter either, my lord. That arrogant white-haired prick." Ah, there it was. His identity had been revealed. Father of Lady Julie Lannister, betrothed to the crowned prince. "This is bigger than we think. We are underestimating this bastard's value. Since news of her intentions to wed, lords are divorcing their wives or whine up dead in their sleep for her hand as we speak. Logically speaking, the bastard holds more rights than Lady Julie and we all know how uncharitable this house is when it comes to sharing blood. If we don't play our cards right, we just might lose everything. I will lose everything. I refuse to allow this lowly bastard to dismantle everything I have built. I don't care how long it takes or how bloody the road becomes, Prince Viseron will wed my daughter as promised." The Lannister said. "We came with a purpose and I won't leave empty-handed."

        There was more movement until Sylvia realized it was just them who remained.

        "We must tell the King of this." Lady Mercia took Sylvia's hand to her feet, still watching the door in case they returned. "I recognize their voices. That was Lord Benjamin Hayford, Lady Clarice's father. And Lord Ellin Lannister, Lady Julie's father. No good comes from them plotting together."

        Sylvia's gaze snatched from the door to the girl with a frown. "We tell him nothing. Not a word."

        "You are new to court so of course, you don't know the danger you're in, but know this; a vicious game is constantly being played. Whether you're directly involved or on the sidelines — we are disposable pawns in the hands of men unless you move first. I've accepted my faith, but you don't have to. Be smart and let the King handle it before I lose a friend."

        Sylvia knew well enough that no man was nice without wanting something in return. Yanis taught her that when in danger and the enemy had been revealed, to quickly silence their thoughts before they share their ideas. They were now revealed. But for some reason, it felt too easy. That there was a bigger enemy more viscous and hungrier, and worried the box she'd open if she hastily got rid of two noble lords.

        "No, I will handle it. The King will know when I want him to." Sylvia stated and Lady Mercia's shoulders slumped as her features molded with frustration.

        "I am loyal to the King, and you're my friend. I don't wish you hurt."

        "Then be loyal to me and do nothing until I say so." She snapped. Her attention shot to a space beyond the curtains where she could've sworn the walls were breathing. A soft creak that felt there was another presence though only they remained when she checked.

        Lady Mercia grew quiet with a taste that left its bitter mark along Sylvia's tongue. She meant well and was the only one thinking rationally, but even with the King supposedly on her side, who's to say he won't protect them before her? As it's known, she was a bastard. Will always be one no matter the titles and pretty dresses.

        Sylvia didn't know what to do. This was her first problem at court that no one prepared her for and the only solution taught might just send her head on a spike.

        But one thing was certain; Lord Hand was indeed an unpredictable man. His motives were unclear. Since at court, he hadn't called on Sylvia or made any social attempt, as if she was invisible and he hadn't risked much by bringing her to King's Landing. Turned out he had been playing his cards behind her back while her mind was distracted, whatever those cards were.

        She was already a pawn in a game with no title. A game awaiting her first move.