She had to take more dancing lessons.
The Septa had informed her of that this morning, right after she had finished torturing her with more needlework.
“Her Grace the Queen has commanded it.
The King’s name day celebration is coming up, and he has requested that you and Princess Helaena lead the Maiden’s dance.”
Luce’s mouth hung open.
Her?
Leading a dance?
That would certainly spell disaster.
Still, it was not the worst thing about this arrangement.
“But…
but…
I cannot take more dancing lessons!
We are already doing an additional hour of needlework.”
“Need I remind you that that is by your own doing?” the septa chided.
The smirk on her face looked too self-satisfied for Luce’s liking.
“But…
if I take more dancing lessons, then I will not have time to do my afternoon readings.”
It had been the one bit of joy she had managed to scrounge of late, besides wandering the beach or playing with Arrax.
Secreting herself in the library was her escape, a way for her to enter into a world that was not her own for a change.
“Those books will be there after your grandsire’s name day has passed.
For now, dancing must take precedence.”
Luce opened her mouth to argue more, but the Septa arched her brow in warning.
Knowing how agitated the woman had been these past few days, she settled down and spent the rest of her lesson sulking in silence.
It seemed she was forever doomed to do things she despised.
Blessedly, they had finished the needlework half an hour early, so she was allowed some respite before the real torture began.
Eschewing the Septa’s company, she decided to sneak into the library to scout the shelves for titles to read in the future.
Jace put an end to that.
She heard him just as she was rounding the corner to descend the stairs into the courtyard.
He was laughing, a shrill, mocking sound that sent gooseflesh pricking her skin.
She gritted her teeth.
She hated that laugh.
He had picked it up from Aegon and only used it when he was being particularly vile.
What stupid thing has he done now?
Barreling through the corridor, she came upon him standing in the archway of a secluded antechamber.
She thought of using the element of surprise to jump him but stopped herself.
He was not alone.
“Books, books, books, all you ever do is read books,” he jeered, arms crossed on his chest.
“You are just like my sister.”
Aemond squinted at him, clutching a hefty tome to his chest.
Huddled in the corner of the cramped antechamber like that, he seemed so small, like a child half his age.
“Shut up!” he fired, his voice cracking.
That seemed to goad Jace on.
“A pair of little maesters, the lot of you.
They should ship you off to Oldtown so that you can finally have something useful to do.”
Luce cringed.
If she were to close her eyes, she could fool herself into believing she was hearing Aegon speak.
“My mother would never send me away…” Aemond countered, gritting his teeth.
“She sent your brother away, and he was leagues more useful than you.
Maybe if you stopped burying your nose in books, you would finally get a dragon of your own!”
This time, Aemond could not bring himself to answer the jab.
He shrunk further into himself, all the color fleeing from his cheeks.
Lucera could not stand Jace’s laughter a moment longer.
“And if you spent more time with your nose in books, mayhaps you would learn how to read more than two sentences.”
With the quickness of a snake, she jumped him, clipping him behind the ear as hard as she could.
A yelp of pain choked out the laughter, and Jace whirled on his heels, pudgy cheeks hot with fury.
“Luce?
What are you doing here?
Go away!”
He lunged, trying to seize her by the arm.
Being smaller and of lighter build, however, she easily dodged his grip.
“The Septa sent me.
She is looking for you.”
That seemed to take him aback.
“What, why?”
When his fingers went to play with the buttons on his black and red doublet, she could not help but smile.
“I do not know; you tell me.
You must have done something truly stupid for her to be this wroth.”
It pleased her to no end to see the reddish tinge flee from his cheeks.
He blinked, swiping the strands of brown hair that had wandered into his eyes.
“No, I did not.
You are a liar!”
“Am I?” she mused, taking a lock of hair to twirl it.
As if the gods themselves had decided to aid her fable, the sound of thundering footsteps echoed down the hall.
Jace ceased fiddling with the doublet at once and gripped the fabric in his fist so tightly, Luce was certain he would tear it.
“It looks like you are about to find out.”
The words hardly left her lips before he bolted, barreling down the stairs into the courtyard, faster than the finest racehorse.
His dash was made all the funnier when, in place of the Septa, an unassuming serving girl appeared, a tray of pomegranates in hand.
The Prince Who Flees Before Pomegranates.
That made her almost double over in laughter.
But the soft shuffle of fabrics made the sound die in her throat.
When she turned around, Aemond was still there.
Huddled in the confines of the antechamber, he sat hunched on the stone bench, spindly limbs pressed tightly to his slender frame.
The green of his wool doublet was a sharp contrast to the pale purple of his eyes, as he regarded her in stony silence.
Luce sucked in a breath, her hand going for the ring on her index finger.
Say something.
That would be the right thing to do.
But what?
She could not recall a single time she and Aemond had spoken to one another.
The silence between them was growing so unbearable, she just about turned on her heel to run.
But her foot slammed into something solid, and she paused.
A dragon toy lay discarded on the floor.
“Is this yours?” Without a second thought, Luce bent down to pick it up.
The polished oak felt cool to the touch.
“No,” the force in his voice startled her, and she withdrew.
Her reaction seemed to bring him back to his senses, and the anger vanished from his angular face.
“I mean yes,” he cleared his throat, awkwardly rising from the bench.
It seemed almost surprising how much taller he was when standing straight.
He had half a head on her.
“It is Helaena’s.
She gave it to me, and…
and…
I should give it back.”
Faster than she could blink, he snatched the dragon toy from her hands and crushed it to his chest.
Luce stood frozen, the silence descending on them again.
She did not know what bade her to speak.
“It was stupid, you know,” she announced, her voice paper thin.
“What they did with the pig.”
His nostrils flared, and when he averted his gaze, she wished she had not brought it up at all.
“It is fine; it has passed.”
“It is not.
It was not even funny.”
He snorted, his jaw still tight.
“A half-witted monkey could have come up with something more clever.
Which is probably why Jace went with it in the first place.”
That seemed to shatter the rage.
He smiled, finally deigning to meet her gaze.
“Is it true he cannot read?”
Luce frowned.
Aemond blinked, awkwardly crossing his arms on his chest.
“You said, uh…”
She choked out a laugh.
The sigh he heaved seemed heavier than stone.
“Oh, that.
He says he has trouble making out the letters.
It is why he hates books so much.”
His pale brows knitted together.
“Truly?
He never seemed to struggle during our lessons with Maester Orwyle.”
She smirked.
“That is because he has me read him out the books, so he knows the subject beforehand.
It is the same with High Valyrian.
Besides the dragon commands, he cannot speak at all.
Our mother is at her wits end with him.”
His laugh deepened, and he unfurled his hands.
“Aegon is much the same.
He can speak it well enough, but he gets confused over the nouns and their gender sometimes.”
Now, it was her turn to smile.
“That is the easiest one.”
“I know,” he said, biting back a smirk.
“I tried helping him with it, but he is hopeless.
He insists on calling a chair a she and assigning gender to nouns that are neutral.”
“Perhaps that is why he and Jace get along so well.” She pulled a face.
“Stupid calls to stupid.”
This time, the laugh they shared was loud and hearty.
“What are you reading?” Luce inquired, moving into the antechamber to examine the book he had left there.
When she spied the title embossed into the tome’s thick leather covers, her breath caught in her throat.
“The Fires of the Freehold?” she exclaimed, immediately moving to crack it open.
“You know it?” Aemond said, scooting beside her on the bench.
“Of course, by the Valyrian historian Galendro?” she scoured the pages, going through paragraphs of carefully copied text.
To her delight, the words were interspersed with occasional drawings of Valyrian glyphs, images of armor, and models of cities.
“It is the only surviving account of the history of the Freehold.
Where did you get it?”
He shrugged.
“Maester Orwyle gave it to me.
He thought I might find it enlightening.”
Luce paused reading mid-sentence to pin his gaze.
“He gave it to you?”
He nodded, arching a brow.
“Yes.
Why?
Did he not let you read it?”
“No!” she fired.
“I have spent months begging him to let me have it.
He refused.
Said it was not proper for a princess to read tales of blood and war.”
Aemond made a face.
“But that is stupid.
It is history.
The history of House Targaryen.
It is our duty to learn it.”
“He does not think so.
Gave me A Maid’s Companion instead.
Said it was more suitable.”
“Never heard of it.”
Luce groaned, leaning against the wall.
“Consider yourself fortunate.
It is about needlework.
And animal husbandry.
All those womanly skills a proper lady must possess to run her lord’s keep.”
He chortled, “Why would you need to learn those things?
You are a princess.
You will have an army of servants to do that for you.”
She sidled to him, positively incensed.
“That is what I said!
But they all insist on punishing me with more needlework and more singing lessons.
And dancing.
Gods, the dancing.”
The corners of his small mouth kicked up into a shy smile.
His lips had a funny shape to them, she realized.
Thin and curved, like a bowstring.
“I like dancing.
It is not much different than sword fighting.”
She bit the inside of her cheek.
“Shall we trade places then?
I would much rather whack a straw man with a stick than do one more step and spin.
Though I do not much like fighting either.”
“What do you want to do then?”
The question stumped her.
Only her mother had ever shown genuine interest in her passions.
Even Jace, when he was in a charitable mood, could scarce stomach to listen to her for longer than a few moments.
The excitement just about undid her.
“Travel.
Make maps, fly atop Arrax to see the great wonders Lomas Longstrider had written of in his books.”
He blinked at her.
“Who?”
She gaped.
“Lomas Longstrider.
The greatest adventurer who ever lived.
He has traveled the whole known world, chronicling all the wonders he saw, both natural and man-made.
You have never heard of him?”
He shook his head, strands of silver hair falling on his forehead.
“No.
I always preferred history.
Never really cared much for adventure books.”
Her hand brushed against his, nudging him gently.
“You should read his.
I think you might like them.”
He blinked, hooded eyes going as wide as dinner plates.
Periwinkle.
That was the exact shade of his irises.
Not as vibrant as her mother’s blazing lilac or as dark as her grandsire’s deep amethyst.
Just a soft, delicate purple that matched the petals of the trailing shrub.
She thought it suited him.
“I will.
I have to finish reading Septon Barth first.”
“Unnatural History?”
He scarce managed to nod.
“Yes.
He has a few chapters on dragon bonding I need to go through.”
“You should not bother.”
It was only when the words left her mouth that she realized how they sounded.
Stiffening, he jerked away from her.
The harshness returned to his face with a vengeance, and he squinted at her as if preparing for a fight.
“Why?
Because I am not worthy of a dragon, is that it?”
She shrunk into herself, fiddling with her ring.
“No.
I did not mean it like that,” she paused.
“They choose us, you know.”
“What?”
“The dragons.
Everyone says how we are the ones who have to get them to bend to our wills.
But that is not true.
They have to claim us, too.”
She scooted closer to him again, uncertainty making her fingers tremble.
“Your egg never hatched, is that right?” Visit g.com for the full chapter.
“Yes,” he swallowed, forcing the word through his teeth.
“Well, that was not because you were not worthy or because you were not a true Targaryen.
It is just that the dragon in that egg did not choose you as well.”
He held her gaze for the longest time.
“That is nonsense.
Our parents choose the eggs that go in our cradles.
They do not jump in there of their own accord.”
“Yes, but the dragons choose whether to hatch or not.
They can feel the rider in the cradle.
And if they do not sense the connection, then they remain in the egg.”
He rolled his eyes.
“What, do you mean to tell me Arrax spoke to you when you were a babe?”
A grin bloomed on her face.
“Yes.
He speaks to me now as well.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“Mhm.
Well, he does not really speak because he cannot form words, but…
I feel him.
I feel his frustration, his sorrow.
It is why I keep insisting Keeper Maerys let him fly free once in a while.
I can feel how much he hates being chained in the pit.
I always have.” She paused, regarding the ring on her index.
Shaped like a coiling dragon, she had received it from her mother the day she had gotten Arrax to burn something on command.
“It is how I know he chose me as much as I chose him.”
Aemond glared at her with apprehension, uncertainty in every harsh line of his face.
“But…
what of those who claim adult dragons?”
Luce shrugged.
“I do not think there is a difference.
It is the feeling that matters.
It is why you cannot force it.
You have to wait for the right dragon to call to you.”
He chewed on her words for a bit before lowering his gaze.
“I never felt anything like that.” His voice was frail, distant.
“Perhaps I truly was not meant to have a dragon.”
She smiled again, reaching her hand to take his.
The gesture was so simple.
She had done it so many times with Jace, whenever he needed comfort.
Yet now it felt different.
Aemond’s hand was larger, his fingers longer.
His flesh seemed to burn much hotter, and when she squeezed, he stiffened, as if no one had ever held his hand before.
“Do not be silly.
You will have a dragon one day.
Maybe a hatchling, or one of the adults.
You will see.
When you need it the most, your dragon will call to you.”
She thought he might pull away, wrestle his hand out of hers.
Instead, he squeezed back.
Slowly, gingerly, like he was prodding some unfamiliar animal.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
Luce’s stomach clenched, and she found herself feeling strangely warm all over.
“You can keep the book, you know.”
The declaration threw her off.
“What?”
“The Fires of the Freehold.
If you would like to read it, you can have it.”
The warmth gave way to elation.
“Truly?!” she exclaimed, seizing the covers to crush them to her chest.
“Thank you, I…
wait.
Will you not get into trouble?
If Maester Orwyle discovers you gave it to me?”
He shrugged.
“I will not tell him.
I will just say I misplaced it.”
“I think that would make him even more cross.” She gave him an uneasy smile.
“Not if I bring it back later.
After you are finished with it.”
She blew a breath, just about ready to start jumping for joy.
But a shrill sound made her heart drop right into her toes.
“Princess?
Princess, where are you?” the squawk echoed through the halls.
Lucera bit back a curse.
“Gods.”
“Is that Septa Melara?” Aemond asked.
“Where are you?
You are late!” Her voice was growing louder, and she could just about make out the faint thundering of brisk steps.
“Yes.” Luce vaulted to her feet to peek through the entrance of the antechamber.
“The dancing.
Gods, the dancing!
I was supposed to have another lesson with Mistress Veera today.
It completely slipped my mind.”
She glimpsed the sour crone, right at the base of the stairs, doughy cheeks flush with red.
All the joy she felt melted like snow in sunlight.
“I am here, Septa!” She sheepishly announced.
“I will be right down.”
Gods be good, child!
Where have you been hiding?
I have been looking everywhere for you.
Mistress Veera is waiting.
Come, come!” She waved her hands in a fury, the loose sleeves of her gray robes flapping like oversized wings.
“Right away!” Luce quickly straightened her skirts, ready to dash down to her, lest she incur more punishments for herself.
But Aemond’s voice stopped her.
“Wait, Lucera,” he rose to his feet awkwardly.
“The book.”
She whirled to face him, catching a glimpse of the tome in his hands.
With shaky fingers, she seized it.
“Princess, come!
Do not make me come get you!” the Septa warned, and Luce almost lost grip on the cover.
“In a moment,” without a thought, she leapt at Aemond, wrapping her hands around him in a quick embrace.
She hardly gave him time to react before she brushed her lips against his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered when she pulled away.
She expected him to grimace and roll his eyes, the way Jace did whenever she showed affection.
Instead, he stared at her, frozen.
He looks like he might faint.
A pinkish flush had ravished his ivory cheeks as his jaw ground down his teeth to powder.
Luce was certain he had stopped breathing too and would burst like an overripe melon at a moment’s notice.
Jace was right.
He is strange.
Somehow, that did not seem to bother her.
Book in tow, she rushed out to meet the Septa.
The terrible witch spent the entire trek to the upstairs apartments scolding her ear off, vowing to give her thrice as much needlework as punishment.
Luce scarcely heard a word she said.
Her mind was alight with stories hiding in the pages of the book she received.
She could hardly wait to crack it open.
Mayhaps today was not so terrible at all.
She had discovered a new tale to sink her teeth into and managed to wring Jace’s neck.
And who knew?
Perhaps she had even made a most unexpected friend.
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