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TEN;
『 MIDNIGHT AIR 』

author's note; since the past
few chapters have focused
mostly on the growing plot
in terms of war, etc. this
chapter is going to focus
mainly on jacaerys' &
cerilla's relationship! ++
it will be a shorter chapter
due to writers block;(.

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ㅤ THE FOLLOWING WEEKS ARE STRANGE ONES. Princess Cerilla writes to her uncle frequently, who is still ruling of Dorne, to tell him of the travels she has come to see, the dragon she has won to her side, and the fall of King's Landing. She remains certain not to mention anything about Jacaerys or their relations. Her uncle is a kind man, yes, but perhaps it isn't the best time to mention any romantic relations with another, Cerilla decides.

After the successful fall of King's Landing, Rhaenyra sent word to Dragonstone, to the rest of her children and to the dragon seeds, that the capital has fallen to the Blacks and that they may venture here. Within a few days they arrived, and have taken up refuge in their chambers. Rhaenyra seems to be slightly more comfortable now with all four of her children here, also including the dragon seeds. The more dragons the Blacks have, the less likely an attack would be made on them, or so the Queen hopes.

Otto Hightower was beheaded just minutes after being taken from his cell, with a small audience consisting of few people. Rhaenyra made it clear then and there that any traitors would be treated the same way. Alicent still sits in her cell, rotting away as the days pass by. She knows her crimes are unforgivable, but she also understands why Rhaenyra won't take her life. The two, despite their now hatred for one another, were one close friends. Rhaenyra would not be able to stand and watch as the head of her former closest friend rolls away.

Each day, the Greens forces move closer to the Blacks. Aemond and Ser Criston Cole lead their troops towards King's Landing from the north. Prince Aegon has just departed from the side of his brother, and has since flown to Dragonstone with his troops. He has taken over the island, slaughtering every single one Rhaenyra's men before they could even send ravens stating that the island had been attacked. Aegon nests peacefully on the island, at least for now, with the company of his soldiers and his dragon, Sunfyre.

Princess Jaehaera has safely arrived at Storm's End under the watch of Willis Fell, a swim protector of hers. Helaena and Dremfyre have not been seen by anyone since the initial attack on the capital. Townspeople had seen her fly off on the icy scaled dragon, never to be seen since. Some believe that she simply flew away out of fear, and others believe that she took this chance to fly away from her duties and her child. Perhaps there was too much pressure surrounding her future.

Queen Rhaenyra sits on the Iron Throne, listening to a hearing from a commoner that lives in the city. He's speaking of the fate of the realm. Jacaerys, being in line as the next successor after Rhaenyra, stands beside his mother, taking note of the situation for the time whenever he will be sitting atop the throne. Cerilla stands beside him. She has been trust by the Queen as a loyal ally, perhaps one of the most loyal that she has. The council consists only of those three individuals, and of course knights for protection.

"The realm's current leadership will remain. I was the named heir of the Iron Throne, not Aegon. He was named the next heir by a Queen Alicent, not the King himself." Rhaenyra answers simply. The commoner man bows and tips his head in response. He is led out of the great room by a knight, just to ensure he makes it out of the Keep.

Rhaenyra claps her hands together. "I believe that's enough for one day." She says, in dismissal. There is a long line of people daily, waiting to ask their question or make their remarks. The remaining individuals are led out by gold cloaks. Rhaenyra stands up, and as she does so, cuts her hand on a sword near the throne's armrest. She clenches her jaw but says nothing.

Jacaerys, who had caught the action, takes a step closer to her side and examines her hand. "Mother, are you alright?" He asks. The fresh cut turns red immediately. There are other cuts on her hand as well, ones that had not been there before, that seems to have scarred over. The Queen nods and waves him off.

"I am perfectly alright." She says with a faulty smile. She steps off the throne and walks down the steps, her trio of gold cloaks just behind her. The prince watches as she walks out of the room, disappearing around the corner.

Though some believe it to be just a fairytale, those that the Iron Throne cuts should not be taken as a coincidence. The throne cuts only those who are unfit to rule, only those who's rule will be short. Rhaenyra, of course, is aware of this fact, but she chooses to ignore. She knows that she is the rightful successor. She tells herself that it is the throne that seems to be in the wrong.

The prince and the princess, now alone in the empty room, decide to take to the gardens. The past weeks have been full of sword training and dragon riding, as led by Jacaerys. He is a fine teacher indeed. In private, Cerilla has taken it upon herself to study the language of High Valyrian. Perhaps a teacher would be better, and not a book, but if she asks Jacaerys to teach her, then he will stop saying those little words to her in High Valyrian. The princess' plan is to learn the language then figure out what he's saying herself.

It was a sunny day, but since then the sun has gone down and the moon has taken over the sky. A cool breeze causes the leaves to dance and the grass to wriggle. The days have been fairly warm here in the capital, compared to Dragonstone. The prince bends over and collects a flower, offering it to the princess with a grin.

"Why thank you." She says with a smile. She picks up the flower, a delicate item indeed, and holds it tightly. The petals are a deep blue, rich and beautiful. The two of them cross the path to a wooden bench and take their respective seats. The stars in the sky seem to shine much brighter here than they had in Dorne.

      As the princess fiddles with the flower in her hands, Jacaerys speaks from beside her. "Do you ever miss your home?" He asks, his gaze strictly on her as she studies the flower in her hands.

The princess nods. "Indeed. Frequently. Although, my home is different now because the people that were there aren't anymore." She explains, speaking about her mother and her brother. Her home seems much more empty now that they're gone.

"I still think quite often about that first time I saw you, laying on the beach." The prince says. Cerilla looks up with knitted eyebrows, confused by the sudden change in topic. The prince takes in a deep breath then continues speaking.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Cerilla arches an eyebrow. Jace shakes his head and looks away.

"Nothing," Jace says quickly. "I just wonder, if i had gone to the keep without looking on the beach, would I have ever met you?" He looks at her and his eyes sparkle. Perhaps it's the moonlight, or the stars, or perhaps his eyes truly light up when he sees her.

Cerilla thinks for a moment. "I reckon I would have died there, from hypothermia. Eventually I would have been found, or washed back into the sea, I presume." She answers factually. The prince grins and shakes his head.

"That was just a simple way of me saying I'm glad that I met you." Jacaerys' eyes glimpse to the ground, suddenly feeling very unable to keep eye contact. Cerilla reaches out her hand and takes his chin in her grasp. Slowly, she turns his head in her direction. The prince's gaze is brought to the princess. He inhales a sharp breath at the sight of her. Even now, after so many weeks together, after so many sights of her, he still finds himself rather paralyzed by her beauty.

Cerilla smiles. "I'm glad I met you, too." She whispers.

The prince leans slowly towards her. His eyes flicker from her eyes to her lips to her eyes once again. Despite the way his heart pounds uncontrollably behind his skin, he finds his body swaying towards her and his lips searching for hers. Cerilla, with her hand still on his chin, leans in his direction, too. Within a second their lips have met and they move against each other, hungry and needy. The prince's hand wraps around her back. His hand touches her skin, revealed by the open back of her dress. He takes note of how warm her skin is, how smooth and soothing it is.

For a few moments, neither of them can breathe, neither of them can think. They are utterly consumed by the other, lost. Jace realizes, in that moment, that he will never love another as much as he loves Cerilla. She is the most perfect construction ever made, the perfect match for him. No person would ever compare to her, no person would even come close.

Cerilla pulls back and catches her breath. Her hand drops loosely from the prince's chin. He keeps his grip firmly on her back, keeping her unable to move. Their faces are only inches apart, their lips are unbearably close. The princess catches her breath calmly, whilst the prince breathes in ragged waves, with heavy, desiring eyes.

     "I can't wait until we are married." The prince admits with a hasty breath. Cerilla realizes what he means when he says this, but just to make sure, she asks the question.

     "And why is that?" Upon her question, Jace looks to the sky, tipping his head. He closes his eyes briefly and his jaw clenches. Slowly, he turns his head and looks back at the princess, opening his eyes with a flutter.

      He clears his throat. "If I can barely kiss you without loosing my mind, I can't imagine the emotions that will consume me on our wedding night. I think the world may collapse." He admits. He said just what she thought he had met. Cerilla takes his hand in her lap and clenches his fingers dearly.

     "Well," she begins. "I guess I will have to make sure you keep your sanity about you." Cerilla tilts her head. Jacaerys pulls his gaze away and nods, deciding that sounds like a splendid idea.

      He has thought of the day for so long- his wedding night. Jacaerys always assumed he would marry Baela. Now, as he has grown, the prince has realized the different between marriage and love. You can be married and be in love, but it is a difficult thing to find. Jace believes, after weeks of thought, that if he married Baela, they would be happy, but they would not be in love. They have many common interests and dreams, but neither of them truly have the capacity for romance in their relationship. Their marriage would be solely to strengthen their houses and produce heirs fit for the Iron Throne.

      Though, with Cerilla, he finds himself clawing for the day of their wedding. Being able to call Cerilla his wife would make his heart lurch. With the princess, he could have marriage and love. Of course, her being a descent of old Valyrian blood would still give their heirs a full chance of becoming successors of the throne, but he does not care about that. She could be a lowborn woman with nothing to her name, but still her pure heart and he would still love her nonetheless.

      "Nyke jorrāelagon ao." I love you. The prince mutters beneath his breath. Despite having been learning High Valyrian for a short extent of time, Cerilla is a quick learner, and, is it so happens, the words that the prince just muttered were some of the first that she learned, so she could speak them to him.

      "Nyke jorrāelagon ao, tolī." She replies in a whisper. Jace swivels his head around after the first word. His eyes widen as he looks at the princess. She grins back at him.

      "You know High Valyrian?" He bats his eyes in shock. The princess shakes her head.

     "I've been studying it since we arrived here. What you just said to me was one of the first things I learned how to say." She admits. The prince's skin suddenly goes hot upon her words. She knows what he said. He takes in a deep breath.

      She clenches his hand tighter. "I learned those words first so I would be able to say them to you as quickly as I could, in your ancestor's language." She continues to explain. A slow smile spreads across the prince's dace.

     "You never fail to amaze me." He says. The princess shrugs and swipes her thumb over the palm of his hand, running her skin over the calluses underneath his fingers. He trains often, for long periods of them, which causes these calluses on his hands. The princess likes them. She likes the contrast between the softness of his palm and the hardness of the calluses. It is a perfect insight to his personality, hard faced and cold on the outside, soft and gentle on the inside.

      "You know nothing about how amazing I am, Jacaerys Velaryon." She replies slyly.