𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙎𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙉 :
𝗜𝗳 𝗜 𝗞𝗻𝗼𝗰𝗸, 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗟𝗲𝘁 𝗠𝗲 𝗜𝗻?
< 𝙄𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙙 𝙤𝙢𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙋𝙊𝙑 𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝. 𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙. >

𝑺𝒀𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑨 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑰𝑵𝑽𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑫𝑰𝑵𝑬 with the royal family under one roof and not in her private quarters as usual. Many days to a week and a half had passed since she last spoke to any house members aside from mere greetings in the corridors or spotting them from afar. It seemed their relations with Dorne and this nation kept them busy.

The ladies certainly helped with blurring time though Sylvia spent it most with Lady Mercia and Lady Emma, who had quite the charming spirit and humorous stories to tell. So she wasn't as lonely as before.

The three would lie in one bed gossiping to Sylvia about scandalous rumors around court, and spent more breath explaining who these people were and their contributions to the realm for her to understand their importance. She still wouldn't know, her head heavy with information Master Ollins would jam in her brain. Or they would share delicious treats sent by Prince Viseron.

Sylvia was interrupted the next day, contemplating how to deal with Lord Ellin and Lord Benjamin without killing them. Finally deciding to prove their suspicions wrong by ignoring the prince altogether — a personal attendant arrived with a basket of ripe mangos, plums, and pomegranates. The next, infamous Dornish creamcakes and small viles of Dornish spices. The next, a full-course supper with unique dishes to try for the first time. And the next, more fruits and sugared sweets and cooked meals.

She was convinced the prince was fattening her. His reasons for these gifts were unknown. It certainly didn't help with her firm decision, or that she accepted them. Why waste what was never experienced?

And sharing them with the ladies kept Sylvia's mind from deteriorating as she patiently and so humbly awaited her mother's return. Her positive outlook was slowing by day.

Upon entering the dining hall, new faces sat around the oval table, catching up and laughing amongst each other. A tall woman of brown chestnut skin and coily silver strands at her shoulders blended into thick braids with gold beads in random areas, stood from her seat once spotting Sylvia's awkward figure. "You've finally came."

She tensed as her face was crushed to the woman's chest, her arms engulfing her. "You were expecting me?" Sylvia was able to get a better look at the woman when she pulled back. It was someone she didn't recognize, but her beauty was undeniable. A charm that ran through the family, judging by her hair that she was family.

"Quite some time, yes. I first learned of your existence rather late through letters my father collected, hidden, and burned behind my husband's back. I wrote back soon after his death."

Sylvia stepped back with surprise. "What?"

"I called you to court," said the woman, presumably her father's former wife, with much hesitation and confusion. "To meet your father and say your goodbyes before his body had turned to ash. Did you not receive them? I wrote twice and assumed your silence was the answer."

That's impossible! Her mother would've said something. She should've. As obsessed as she was to be free of Toland, Sylvia found this hard to believe. All those hours waiting by the window, peeking out the door, hauling down the messenger boy — just for her to ignore her one and only chance? Even after his death, she waited.

This woman was lying. She had to be.

"My mother never mentioned this," Sylvia said.

She couldn't help but see this woman as a pathological liar. This insatiable highborn was making her mother out to be the bad person. . .But why would she lie? What reason could she have? If anything, it made sense for her to burn the letters and ignore them completely as if Sylvia never existed.

If so, and she was telling the truth, why didn't her mother mention this? Why did she withhold information that overtook her entire life and their relationship? Was it not in her image? Was she convinced otherwise that in the end, it was Daemon and him only who would save them?

"Perhaps she had her reasons. Nevertheless, I'm glad to have you here. Not even the slowest ship or dragon could stop me from coming. I see much of Daemon in you." The woman reached out and brushed her knuckles along her face and Sylvia let her. It was a motherly touch she ached. "You must think me a stranger, but we are family now. I am Lady Vana Velaryon and this is my son, Vaerys Targaryen, second to his name and promised heir Lord of Dragonstone."

The purple-eyed boy no older than six was beckoned at Lady Vana's side and told to greet Sylvia. He didn't say anything, too shy to utter a word that he hid behind his mother. Despite this, his manners were far better than any child Sylvia had met, even better than hers.

"He can be shy around new faces but he will talk your ear off if you let him. Especially when it's about Jhegar." Said Lady Vana, reaching down to rub his back in a comforting manner.

"Jhegar?" Sylvia inquired.

"My dragon," the soft voice belonged to Vaerys. His silver curls sprouted from his scalp without direction, flopping as he stepped aside from his mother's dress. His head was down but his violet eyes would lift every few seconds. "Jhegar hatched a year ago and he is now the same height as me, still growing by day. The Dragonkeeper says he is strong and soon, I will be able to ride him like my father."

"I see," she kneeled before him to minimize intimidation. By blood, they were siblings. By Dornish laws, they were equal. By desire, she wanted to get closer. "I think you will make a fine rider. I have no knowledge of dragons, but I'd like to learn about them. See them at a closer range. Would you help me with that? In return. . ." Sylvia thought of what she could offer a boy who already had everything. "I can teach you how to handle a longbow better than any instructor you have. I'm a great shot. Never missed. Yet."

"Women can do that? You can do that?"

Sylvia laughed and Lady Vana joined in though it was light and hidden behind a graceful smile. "You have no idea what I can do." She then realized where she stood and sought permission. "If that's alright with you? I don't want to overstep any boundaries or customs."

"Of course. I believe extra practice would do Vaerys well. He might even listen as stubborn as he is. But after we eat. I am starving and I'm sure you are as well." Lady Vana took her arm and led them to the oval table, long enough to seat three full families with five or more kids each. "The King has informed me that he wishes to marry you into a noble household and sent me not only to guide you, but to find you a good and proper husband. A perfect match. Here, sit next to me."

Sylvia took the empty seat next to Lady Vana with Vaerys on the other side. . .across from Prince Viseron, Lady Julie, and who must be her father Lord Ellin, the man who feared a bastard would take his daughter's light. Prince Aelor sat further down the table already drinking himself drunk.

"My lady," Prince Viseron greeted, dipping his head.

Sylvia lowered her head into a greeting. "Your Highness. And Lady Julie. So nice to meet you officially." She added since it would've been awkward to exclude her when she was staring directly at her. There was no bad blood between each other, so she felt. Her father on the other hand was ignored.

He didn't seem all that threatening up close. Quite easy to silence given his weak stature. Shaggy thin hair flat down his squared face with a nose big enough to scent the entire room, possibly could identify the oils seeped in Sylvia's scalp. He wore the colors of his house with pride, yet it didn't translate well on his face and felt his deep pepper-green eyes burning a hole through her face. He and his daughter shared the same expression.

At least one had manners even if her smile felt forced. "Likewise. I have heard much about you."

"Good things I hope?"

Lady Julie stilled before she nodded. "Only the best."

She could lie better at least. If her father's delusion was strong there was no doubt that the girl was oblivious to the gossip around court. Sylvia offered a small smile before she stopped a servant from filling her glass with wine and requested herbal honey tea. Even in this life that provided protection, Sylvia wished to remain clear-minded. Only herself did she trust.

Lady Vana turned to Sylvia with her filled cup in hand and a smile so warm and genuine it was unsettling for reasons unknown. "I have always longed for a daughter, and Vaerys despises he has no one to bother and protect. It's unfortunate I missed out on your youth, but I do hope we make up for those lost years in the little time we have before your heart is taken by another."

Sylvia only smiled to wash away the feeling that bothered her.

It wasn't uncommon for a woman to accept a child born from another woman's womb with open arms. At least in Dorne it wasn't. Children were almost always welcomed as long as there was enough food to feed their mouths and income to keep a roof over their heads. This new world was different which was why Sylvia didn't expect Lady Vana to be so. . .welcoming.

Why would she?

The bastard who took her late husband's name was recognized as his firstborn by law, born before their marriage took place, though Sylvia held no legal claim over lands and titles that were promised to Vaerys; he was born in a recognized marriage blessed by both the Gods and the King. Not that she had the ambition to take anything from him. Now their lives were disrupted by a mistake, having to leave their comfortable castle built on the high mountains of Dragonstone to deal with what the King burdened them with.

But after getting to know Lady Vana — who was quite a talkative woman with many stories to share, whom invited her for a short stroll around the dinner hall while they awaited the King's presence — Sylvia learned of her struggles to bear healthy children, and her long history of stillborns and babes unable to survive past their first month. How she felt broken and useless to perform her duties as a wife even after her husband's assurance that they wouldn't give up easily without a fight. How she feared Vaerys would grow up alone without the experience of a sibling's love — no longer a problem with Sylvia here.

Whatever her role was to play.

It seemed her main objective was constantly changing.

"Are you picky? What do you look for in a husband?" Lady Vana sat along the window, patting the empty spot for Sylvia. Meya was spotted ensuring the servant wouldn't mess up her peculiar taste until she ended up doing it herself.

There was a long list her mother created but as she answered the question, started to realize she was using Yanis to create someone better. Perhaps a better him if the future had allowed it. "Someone who sees me as a woman and treats me as such. He has to be a decent swordsman to protect not only me but himself too. He can't be a drunk who gambles his earnings into debt. He can't make promises unable to fulfill. He can't leave me dry or break my heart or. . ." Sylvia felt herself getting off-topic, her eyes burning with tears begging to escape. She wiped them quickly and stirred back without fault. "He has to be pretty to look at." She tried to laugh but it was painful in the end.

Lady Vana regarded her before deciding to leave it be. "That leaves only a handful to choose from. Maybe three good men?"

"Are they pretty?"

"You won't care if you gouge out your eyes. Could even be a happy marriage if you don't mind the smell of rotten cheese sleeping next to you. Certainly won't be a long one if the Gods answer your prayers."

Sylvia's smile felt more genuine this time. "This will be a challenge I see."

"A challenge I accept." Lady Vana stood when catching sight of two white-armored knights who were always seen with the King. Many servants took their place in preparation for his arrival. "I admit, your standards are basic requirements every man should uphold. Neither are easily fulfilled but isn't impossible to find. You are a Targaryen now; you will have better. I will make sure of it."

Sylvia wished she listed off the conditions her mother created first. Maybe then her answer wouldn't feel immature.

"I only ask," Sylvia lowered her voice the closer they arrived at the table. "Is there a way to remain in King's Landing or Dragonstone with you even after my marriage?"

"Are you expecting someone?"

"My mother," she revealed and was relieved Lady Vana didn't seem offended. "She will meet me here one day and I want to be here when she arrives."

There was a faraway look in her eyes while nodding, "I don't see why we can't settle an agreement when we get there, though my love, you should prepare yourself another home to meet her in. Sometimes we women aren't lucky to have what we want no matter the blood we share."

They returned to the dining table when more arrived.

King Aul's young daughter, Princess Halaena Targaryen and her husband, Lord Jacael Velaryon — young brother of Lady Vana — Lord of Driftmark arrived. Their children Daena and Aemon Velaryon too. Although Aemon didn't last long before the wetnurse had to take him away for getting fussy.

With them, Lady Queen Alice, King Aul and Lord Hand arrived and dinner was finally served.

Conversations sparked from every corner of the table it was hard to keep track of the subject. Not that Sylvia did much to keep up, too busy dipping roasted pig bits in her creamy chestnut soup diced with baked carrots. Salad of spinach candied with nuts and plum skin. Assorted cheese, sausage, fruits, and sliced bread, and much more to fulfill her hunger which only intensified with more options. Never to eat leftovers or eat last or eat at all if Madam Marget wasn't satisfied with Sylvia's labor.

She ate herself full not knowing someone was watching her the entire time. Prince Viseron was watching her.

The excuse could be their seating placement being directly across from one another, but his attention never shifted. Whether she was eating, drinking, or smiling through conversations that excluded Sylvia, he watched it all. She couldn't tell if was mere disgust at the way she ate — which was very lady-like and manners were minded — or he enjoyed her appetite. His emotionless demeanor didn't help much to decipher his thoughts.

Sylvia cocked her head and stared him down. His black tunic of intricate hand-knitted designs shaped his frame and cuffed his neck. His beauty was unmatched that it almost felt like a sin to acknowledge. He copied the gesture, most of his wavy hair falling over his shoulder. She shook her head slightly and shifted her gaze elsewhere with a quick look, telling him to stop staring at her. That it made her uncomfortable. He crossed his arms and shook his head, refusing the order.

She rolled her eyes and decided to ignore him. If she could. Let him be weird and stare. For the slightest of moments, could've sworn the corners of his lips had lifted with victory.

"Are you not hungry, my prince? Do you wish to retire?" Lady Julie tried for a conversation. She knew what occupied his attention and wasn't the only who noticed.

Prince Viseron sighed at the pitch of her voice, forced to acknowledge her existence, and lifted his cup after signaling for a refill. "I shall eat when I'm hungry and retire when I'm tired." He snapped and Lady Julie started fidgeting with her sleeve.

Finally, he stopped staring.

Lord Hand was no better, though he was respectful about it this time around and actually greeted her. This game remained unclear and whether he had Sylvia in his best interest was unclear too.

"So tell me, cousin, how is Dorne?" Princess Halaena asked Sylvia. Wide grey-like eyes with hair black like coal with silver tendrils rather than a full head like most. "I've been once but I was just a babe so my memory of that world is shit. And it's not like I can travel these days given the circumstances." She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her very pregnant belly.

"Last I remember it was hotter than a dragon's ass. And I hear your people can survive the desert heat days without water. Is that true?" Lord Jacael commented, laughing with his mouth full of roasted pig. He tried to rub his wife's belly but she smacked away his hand.

A bitter chuckle left Prince Aelor's lips. "Her mother's a bloody whore. It would be a miracle if she was able to go outside given her busy profession." He was still salty about their earlier exchange a week and some days ago and purposely failed to hide his comment under his breath.

Silence flourished at the table.

The prince noticeably peered around in hopes someone would acknowledge him and few might have. Lord Ellin certainly enjoyed it though it was short-lived once the King inhaled a stressful breath, still chewing on his food.

"Aelor," his name was spoken with such disappointment. "Apologize now."

"For what reason? Did I lie? Should I apologize for speaking the truth?" He leaned back in his chair, circling his thin finger along the rim of his cup. "All they do is drink and fuck."

"And we don't do the same?" Prince Viseron muttered under his breath with a chuckle. Loud enough that most heard him.

"I don't see why our dear cousin is exempted from her true lineage, which goes against our holiest vows. We have all heard the rumors, have we not?" His head tilted far back as he emptied the cup. Then slapped the cup against the table with a long exhale, signaling for another round. His lips lifted as his purple eyes narrowed on Sylvia with ill intent. "The little whore has already started her royal tour. No wonder your feet are heavy, your shoulders slumped and eyes thick with exhaustion. Can't keep up?"

Sylvia jerked. "Excuse me?" She questioned at the same time Lady Vana did who was just as offended if not more.

Of course, she was aware the rumors of her arrival and background were traveling quick, but had no idea the extent of any of them. They were making her out as a whore the same as her mother but cheaper. And honestly, they could have been more creative.

It wasn't energy Sylvia wished to give as it wasn't part of her original plan and mindless words that meant nothing. But it also wasn't a good image to pertain as a noble lady, especially one who was to marry soon.

The Queen didn't seem to care much that her son slandered Sylvia's image publicly seemingly because she wasn't of her blood. But when noticing the King's unsettling posture did she decide to take the blame before he opened his mouth. "You will have to forgive my son and his poor usage of words. As you can see, he only has half of his head and words tend to slip when he's not careful. He's only a foolish boy growing within his emotions." She apologized for her son but was watching her husband the entire time. In her lap sat Princess Daena, playing in her grandmother's hair. It's easy to say the apology was for the King rather than her.

And he seemed mildly satisfied.

"No, it's alright. Since it's been brought up, it's best I address it now." As angry as Sylvia should have been, she was a lot calmer than expected. Then they expected. It wasn't her first time dealing with this conversation and emotional boys, and she had to choose her battles. "My mother is a whore and has been long before and after I was born and there's nothing I can do about that. I stuck to daily chores. Even my hands could prove the labor, but never once has another joined my bed aside from my mother. And yes, I went outside plenty of times. It's very hot. I imagine hotter than a dragon's ass, and people have died seconds without water."

She answered their questions with more to add. "I forgive your son. I understand boys with limited emotional capacity are unable to hold mature conversations or develop unique outlooks as they are. . .growing. And might slip under the influence, as any boy naturally would." The heat in Prince Aelor's gaze grew as Sylvia molded her expressions mislead with genuine care for his well-being. One that easily fooled the King and many others. "I hope someone, maybe the Maester or any respective figure, guides him well."

The Queen snapped her eyes from the King to Sylvia who went back to eating as if nothing happened. All she had done was highlight what she used to describe Prince Aelor and gave hope there was room for growth. Hardly anything to make a big deal out of.

Princess Halaena broke the awkward silence. "I like you already." A few eyes shot in her direction but didn't hide her amusement and more respective questions about Dorne. Lord Hand was the second to be seen with a hidden smile as though he knew of his endeavors and Lady Vana appeared mildly pleased though she might have encouraged Sylvia to say more.

King Aul summoned some music to lighten the stiffened mood. With all his family together in one room, he wished for them to get along and hoped the music would excel in his plan.

A hand came between Sylvia and Lady Vana while she was sharing a story from her early days with her father. Days when he searched the hot caves himself for the perfect dragon egg to lay in Vaerys' crib. They waited his fifth month to ring the bells, sure this fragile babe with a head of white and a strong heart was here to stay.

"Would you care to dance, my lady?" It was Prince Viseron who interrupted their conversations. "To make up for my poor manners."

The request came as a surprise to many, especially the Lannisters. Sylvia spared them no mind but felt their burning pepper gaze as if warning her to decline. Lady Vana gave an approving nod to accept the gesture. This did nothing to prove to Lord Ellin that Sylvia was no threat to him and his daughter.

"I'm not good at dancing." Sylvia, in some way, tried to let him down. And warn him.

"It's only a few steps, I will teach you."

Before Sylvia could protest, the prince took her hand gathered in her lap and guided her to the open floor. Next to Lord Jacael dancing with his daughter Princess Daena. She stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do next.

Dancing wasn't a skill Sylvia harbored. It was often a tactic used to lure in clients aside from street performers and local festivals, something she couldn't do in shabby, loose-fitting clothes made for men and having to conceal her identity. There were times Sylvia would dance with her mother. Dressed in her thin gowns too short for her long legs, privately with no proper rhythm to outside music or the music in their heads.

But never with a partner of the opposite sex. In front of others. And organized rhythmically.

Prince Viseron's lips tugged upward at her stance. "Follow me."

When he jumped left, Sylvia jumped to her left. When he jumped right, Sylvia jumped to her right. When he twirled his finger in a perfect circle, Sylvia spun in a not-so-perfect circle. And when the circle was almost completed, the prince was closer than before. Much closer that she held her breath within his proximity. He looped an arm around hers, guiding another circle for them to complete together. And then the other way around.

"I never knew he danced." Lady Queen Alice muttered, picking a grape from its stem before plopping it in her mouth. "He hated dancing since he could walk. . .or so I thought."

King Aul watched joyously. "As I did too, but he is a man. We tend to change our minds quicker than we stick to it."

"Hear hear," agreed Lord Hand.

The Queen rose her brows with a silent scoff, playing with the braid her granddaughter plaided.

"What now?" Asked Sylvia once the circle was completed.

"We do it again at a quicker pace."

Sylvia was starting to get the hang of this random dance far cleaner and more organized than back in Toland. A burst of giggles erupted in her lungs as they jumped back and forth, repeating the movements at a quicker pace that left his foot a victim to her missed steps. He looked content with Sylvia's quick learning, an expression finally easy to read.

"You're good at this. Did you learn from watching women or did you force them to dance for you?" Sylvia teased the prince. He seemed in a better mood so she went for it.

Entwining their arms, they walked in another circle. "I learn from the common folks." Instead of finishing the second circle, the prince lifted both of Sylvia's hands with her palms facing out. This wasn't part of the routine he taught her.

"I'm starting to think you're a pervert."

"At free will."

"Hm."

At that, his lips twitched but it wasn't a smile. Nowhere near. Just close enough before a stoic expression took place. Again.

He pressed his palms against Sylvia's, holding her gaze as he led her to complete another circle at such close proximity. "After dark," he whispered low enough for only her ears to hear. "If you wish to learn as I did, I will wait at your door. Then knock three times."

Sylvia's breath hitched at his fingers trailing along the lines of her sweaty palm. She closed her hand by instinct, holding his right hand while the other was still flat against his palm. It didn't stop his thumb from stroking her wrist. If he pressed hard enough he could probably feel her thudding pulse.

His gentle touch twisted her stomach in strange ways that almost felt guilty allowing these feelings to fester while she still mourned her first love. While he was still betrothed to another. While she was still trying to prove she wasn't a threat to anyone.

No longer small under his gaze, Sylvia didn't know what to make of this. Most importantly, how to feel about this.

"Will you let me in?" Asked Prince Viseron.

This was an invitation to visit the city with him during late hours. Sylvia could easily reject his offer as she was no stranger to the custom but didn't bring herself to refuse him. She longed to travel beyond the castle and hadn't because Meya and the Maesters deemed her as not ready. It is too early, they said, It's not safe and you're not yet ready.

Sylvia saw the prince fight and he was quite skilled. Should anything happen — though she highly doubted he would allow danger within their range, knowing their importance to the King and the realm — she trusted he would protect them both. She needed a guide. Besides, when he wasn't demanding her naked presence, he was tolerable to be around. Which hadn't been much.

She accepted his offer with a nod but realized he wanted a verbal answer. "Yes," her voice was suddenly small. "Yes, I will let you in."

A crooked grin tugged his lips. "I like you better when you're compilable."

"I wasn't aware you liked me at all, my prince."

"I like you now."

"And before?"

They stopped dancing when he stepped closer. Heat radiated between the two by how close they were that Sylvia smelt the alcohol on his breath yet he seemed of mind. Underneath the smell lingered an earthy scent unique to him. Another inhale could probably have her drunk if it was possible.

Sylvia attempted to step back but he tugged on her hand that still held his, hitting against his chest. The crease between her brows deepened with mild confusion. But the prince didn't care to address his actions — he took the opportunity to explore Sylvia's features at a closer distance. Desire coated his dark gaze as they outlined each scale along her brown skin, the alluring shape of her full lips, traveling to the necklace gifted by her mother warm around her neck or was staring at her breast cut low in the grey dress that hung off her shoulders. It was then he discovered more scales along her shoulder.

It took Sylvia a minute to realize the heat burning along her skin was Prince Viseron's hand, feeling her scales beneath his curious fingertips. She had so much hair she couldn't tell. "I still liked you then. Though I'm contemplating on which version I like best." He tugged on her necklace, inspecting the rare jewel before meeting her gaze. "Refuse me again so I can be sure of my judgment."

Her head shifted from his touch but didn't entirely pull away. She couldn't bring herself to. She didn't want to. She just stood there conflicted, allowing this man to explore his curiosities in ways she wished Yanis had.

"May I cut in?"

Sylvia pulled away from Prince Viseron when Lady Julie appeared. She had forgotten the girl existed and where they now stood. "O-of course. He is your bethroed." She reminded the prince, but herself too of these weird feelings that consumed her.

The prince purposely lingered his fingers near hers, not wanting to break the connection that had rudely been interrupted. In front of Lady Julie and whoever else was watching, not that he noticed because only she filled his view. Where was his shame?

Sylvia snatched back her hand and then departed to the table with quick steps. She rushed to fill her seat next to Lady Vana and signaled for a fill of wine. She needed it. The taste was bitter but sweet down her throat, yet did nothing to clear her mind of these growing thoughts.

Her heart pounded against her hand. Damn thing. Where is my shame? How dare my heart betray one for another over a simple touch. A simple look. Simple words.

Sylvia downed her second cup in desperate need of a distraction.

"You dance well with the prince. I watched you the entire time. Did you have fun?" Lady Vana asked. There was a look gleaming in her eye, light in her tone, that knew something others didn't. That Sylvia refused to acknowledge.

"I did. Thank you, Lady Vana."

"Please," she touched Sylvia's hand lightly. "Call me mother. If it is comfortable."

It wasn't that it was uncomfortable but strange to call another woman her mother while awaiting the safe return of her true mother. She pitied Lady Vana's situation and had been nothing but sweet and forthcoming to someone she wasn't obligated to waste her breath on. She wasn't asking for much in return. It was the least Sylvia could do.

"Of course. Thank you, mother." Sylvia corrected herself.

Her face brightened upon the address and released her hand so she could attend to young Vaerys, needing his mother's attention too.

When Sylvia focused her attention back on Prince Viseron and his betrothed, Lady Julie stood gleefully for their dance to begin at the change of music. He looked at her differently than he did Sylvia. Visibly bored and uninterested that he couldn't fake it before those who were watching — like Lord Ellin who had much to say behind closed doors. Bottom lip chewed bright red, fist clenched tight and white, waiting for something to happen.

It was so bad to watch Sylvia wish he would dance with her.

"I'm tired now and wish to retire." Prince Viseron said monotonous. Instead of heading to the table, he left the dining hall. Ser John followed after him.

Lady Julie smiled through her embarrassment and left soon after.

His words lingered in the back of Sylvia's mind.

        Will you let me in?