Daenerys slid deeper into the bronze bathtub, allowing the warm water to envelop her completely. The luxurious bath, a part of her chambers, had been crafted long ago for Princess Viserra Targaryen, at her specific request. The walls surrounding the bath were made of polished marble, their surfaces veined with shades of gray and white.The tub itself was large enough for two people as her slender frame felt almost lost within it.
The hot water was infused with fragrant oils, filling the air with the soothing scents of lavender and rose. She remembered how the servants had looked at her in shock when she had stepped into the tu .They had even tried to stop her, concerned that the temperature was far too hot. But she found the heat comforting. It was what she was accustomed to; she was the blood of the dragon, after all.
As she gently washed herself, her silver-gold hair clung to her face, the strands sticking to her pale shoulders, now glistening with water. She felt the tension in her muscles melt away as she massaged the oils into her skin. It had only been a short time since she arrived in the capital, and while the grandeur of the Red Keep was impressive, she found herself missing the foreboding yet familiar halls of Dragonstone. The ancient fortress had been her home for so long, it's dark and stormy shores a place where she felt safe. She had longed to come to King's Landing, to see her eldest brother and the rest of her family, but now that she was here, she found herself yearning for the isolation of her former home.
Maekar had been the one to point out that she was homesick. The term felt apt, and she couldn't help but smile at the thought of him. He was the one she had looked forward to seeing the most.
After their first meeting, she had found herself thinking of him more often than she cared to admit. She was pleasantly surprised when, a moon after his visit, a letter from Maekar arrived. It had been unexpected; she thought he might have forgotten her like so many others had—like her nephew Aegon, who had barely acknowledged her existence, or like her niece, who had been in Dorne, caught up in her own world. Even Rhaegar, her older brother, had always seemed more consumed with his duties, leaving little room for her in his life.
But Maekar was different. His letter was the first of many, and they began a correspondence that would last for months. Each letter from him was like a breath of fresh air in her otherwise isolated life. He described his adventures in the capital with vivid detail, recounting his brave tales with the Fire Guard and his fight against the corrupt commander, Hayford. In return, she would tell him about her life on Dragonstone. She had been afraid at first that her tales would bore him, that her sheltered existence would seem dull compared to his. But Maekar never lost interest. He would ask her about things she thought he would find uninteresting—the storms that swept across Dragonstone, the ancient dragons' lore that she had studied, even the little garden she had nurtured in the shadow of the great fortress.
She didn't know what this feeling was. It was new and unfamiliar, a mixture of excitement and anxiety. She would wait eagerly for his letters, her heart racing whenever a raven arrived. When his letter didn't come when she expected it, she would feel a pang of disappointment, a sense of emptiness that she couldn't quite explain. She found herself thinking of him constantly, wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of her too.
She was pulled out of her thoughts by a familiar voice calling her name. She turned to see Naerys Celtigar, one of her closest friends and loyal handmaiden, standing by the door.
"Dany, the servants told me you've been here for some time," Naerys said, her tone gently chiding.
"Oh, has it been that long?" Daenerys replied, somewhat surprised as she began to sit up.
Naerys quickly walked over and handed her a soft, plush cloth. Daenerys took it and began to gently pat herself dry. The warm water that had soaked into her skin was quickly replaced by a coolness that made her shiver slightly, especially as she moved the towel over her shoulders and down her back.
"I'll go join the others. We were selecting your clothes for today's occasion," Naerys said with a knowing smile.
"Oh? Have you decided on one yet?" she asked. She knew her handmaidens well—they would have been fiercely arguing which dress would best suit her for the day's events.
"You know exactly what happened, Dany. Now come, you need to make the final choice," Naerys replied with a playful roll of her eyes before leaving the room.
Daenerys smiled to herself as she finished drying off, then moved over to her chambers and stood in front of the full-length mirror. The chamber was cold. She could feel the coolness prickling her skin as she stood in front of the mirror. Her pale skin was dotted with goosebumps, and her nipples stood erect.
She stood and looked at herself in the mirror longer than she intended. The chamber was illuminated by the morning sun. Her hands gently roamed over her nude body, caressing the contours of her form. Her skin was pale and unblemished. She touched her firm, demure breasts, her nipples erect, and couldn't help but moan softly at the sensation. Her stomach was flat and taut, and her hands found their way to her shaved mound—she had started doing it after hearing that some men preferred it that way. She then turned and looked at her rear, full and rounded, her best feature, as she had often been told by her companions.
As she looked at herself in the mirror, a wave of insecurity washed over her. What kind of woman did Maekar prefer? Would he find her attractive, or did he have someone else? Her mind immediately went to Rhaenys, her niece.
They had gotten along well, and Rhaenys had been very helpful in adjusting to life in the city. But there was no denying that Rhaenys was taller, her figure more statuesque, with a presence that commanded attention wherever she went. Her breasts were fuller, her curves more pronounced. Daenerys couldn't help but wonder if Maekar might prefer someone like Rhaenys—someone more developed, more obviously womanly.
Then there was Arianne Martell, who had a way of turning heads whenever she entered a room. Arianne's beauty was undeniable, with her voluptuous figure, her dark, seductive eyes, and the way she carried herself with an air of sensuality that seemed to draw the gaze of every man in her vicinity. She had seen how men stared at Arianne, their eyes lingering on her large chest, their gazes filled with desire. Would Maekar be drawn to that? Would he prefer a woman who was so bold and confident?
She sighed softly, her hand drifting down to her own chest. Her breasts were smaller, her frame more delicate. She was beautiful, she knew that, but in a different way she was almost fragile. Would that be enough for Maekar? Would he find her lacking in comparison to the other women who might vie for his attention?
She felt a pang of jealousy, followed by a sense of inadequacy. How could she compete with women like Rhaenys or Arianne? What if Maekar was simply being kind to her out of duty, out of familial obligation? The thought made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
She heard footsteps and the door opening she quickly grabbed a cloth, covering herself as she turned to see who had entered. To her surprise, it was Melisandre. The Red Priestess stood in the doorway, her presence both commanding and unsettling. She wore her usual red robes, which clung to her tall, graceful figure, highlighting her full breasts and narrow waist. Her skin was flawless, unblemished, and her heart-shaped face was framed by fiery red hair. But it was her eyes that were most striking—red as burning embers, they seemed to pierce through Daenerys, seeing into her very soul.
"Princess," Melisandre called, her voice smooth and melodic.
"Melisandre," Daenerys greeted, trying to steady herself. "Why are you here, my lady?"
Melisandre began to walk slowly toward Daenerys, her gaze never wavering, her steps graceful and deliberate. The way she moved, as if gliding across the floor, made Daenerys feel almost cornered. The Red Priestess's eyes were fixed on her, and she couldn't help but look down, feeling a bit intimidated by the woman's intense presence.
"I am here to make a request, Princess," Melisandre said, her voice low and almost hypnotic.
"A request?" Daenerys asked, her voice softening. "What is it?"
"I request your help in granting me an audience with the king," Melisandre replied.
Daenerys hesitated. "I…," she stammered. Since arriving in King's Landing, her brother Rhaegar had barely spoken to her, his mind clearly occupied with matters of state. She wasn't sure she had the influence to arrange such a meeting.
"I… will try, Priestess," she said at last, though her voice was uncertain.
"Thank you, Princess," Melisandre said, her voice smooth as silk. Then, her expression changed, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she were studying her more closely. "You seem troubled, Princess."
Daenerys glanced away, feeling those unsettling red eyes on her. "I… I'm fine," she replied, though the words felt hollow.
"Come now," Melisandre said, her tone soft and coaxing. "We are friends, are we not? You can tell me what troubles you."
She turned back to the mirror, her reflection pale and small. She felt like she was compelled to speak.
"I was just… looking at myself," Daenerys admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "There is someone I… I think I like. But I fear I may not catch his eye. I'm too small, my breasts are too small… I'm not… like the others." Her words faltered, her insecurity laid bare before the Red Priestess. She felt vulnerable, exposed in a way she hadn't intended.
Melisandre moved closer, her presence both comforting and disquieting. The priestess remained silent for a moment, as if contemplating Daenerys's words, her eyes still fixed on her.
Melisandre laughed softly, the sound unexpected and almost musical, filling the room. She blinked in surprise, not understanding what was so amusing. The Red Priestess's laughter, however, was not mocking; it was warm and genuine.
"Forgive me, Princess," Melisandre said, her voice filled with amusement. "But it's almost unbelievable to hear such words from someone as you."
Daenerys looked at her, puzzled.
Melisandre stepped closer, her eyes never leaving Daenerys's. "You, Daenerys Targaryen, possess the most exquisite features of Old Valyria. The blood of dragons flows through your veins, and with it comes a beauty that is unmatched. Your silver-gold hair, your pale, flawless skin, those violet eyes that hold the fire of your ancestors... You are the most beautiful of your family, perhaps the most beautiful woman in the world."
Daenerys felt a blush creeping up her cheeks at Melisandre's words. She had never thought of herself that way, always comparing herself to others who seemed more... noticeable.
"And men," Melisandre continued, her voice low and persuasive, "men do not care for much beyond what they see. They are simple creatures, easily swayed by beauty. They already want you, Daenerys. You turn heads wherever you go, even without trying."
As Melisandre spoke, her hands moved gently, almost without Daenerys noticing at first. When Melisandre mentioned her beauty, her hand softly brushed Daenerys's hair aside, caressing her cheek. When she spoke of her features, her hand traced a line down her arm, sending a shiver through her. And when Melisandre mentioned her breasts, her hand lightly grazed them, almost as if by accident, yet it lingered just long enough to make Daenerys notice.
Daenerys felt her confidence growing with each word. The insecurities she had felt just moments ago began to fade, replaced by the certainty that Melisandre's words were true. It made her feel powerful, desirable.
"You are a queen in every sense of the word, Princess," Melisandre said, her voice barely more than a whisper now. "And those who see you, who truly see you, will be drawn to you, like moths to a flame."
"I will take my leave now, do remember my request" Melisandre said bowing and leaving the chamber.
As Melisandre left the room, the door swung open, and Daenerys's four handmaidens and friends entered, each holding a dress draped over their arms. They —Vaelaena Velaryon, Naerys Celtigar, Alyssane Darry, and Myranda Bracken—immediately began arguing over which dress the princess should wear, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of opinions.
Vaelaena, with her long silver hair and piercing blue eyes, held up a flowing gown of deep blue silk, embroidered with silver threads that caught the light. "This one, brings out the color of her eyes and complements her Valyrian heritage. She will look like a true dragon queen!"
Naerys, her dark curls framing a delicate face, shook her head vigorously. She held a gown of soft lavender, with intricate lacework around the neckline. "Nonsense, Vaelaena! This one is perfect. It's softer, more regal. The lavender will highlight her natural grace and elegance, showing off her gentle side."
Alyssane, tall and with a willowy frame, brandished a bold crimson dress, the color of blood and fire. "No, no, no! This is what Dany should wear! The crimson will make a statement—fiery, commanding, just like the dragons of old. You need to be noticed, Daenerys, not blend into the background!"
Myranda, the youngest of the group, with her dark auburn hair and mischievous green eyes, held up a gown of shimmering white, almost translucent, with delicate silver accents. "You're all wrong! This one is simple, pure, but undeniably captivating. It will make the men stop and stare, and they won't be able to look away!"
The four of them continued to argue, each trying to outdo the other in describing how their choice was the best for her. Their voices grew louder, and the room was filled with the sound of their bickering.
"She needs to look like a queen!"
"She should be soft and approachable!"
"She must make a bold statement!"
"She should captivate them all with her beauty!"
Finally, Daenerys, who had been watching their exchange with a mix of amusement and slight exasperation, raised her voice to get their attention. "Ladies!" she called out, her voice firm but gentle.
The four handmaidens fell silent immediately, turning to look at her with expectant eyes.
"Why don't you show me your selections?" Daenerys suggested, a small smile playing on her lips.
One by one, they stepped forward, holding up their chosen dresses for her to see.
Daenerys looked at the dresses laid out before her, each one beautiful in its own way, but none felt quite right for today. She had already decided on what she was going to wear for today, one that had been a special gift from someone she cared about deeply.
"I'd like to wear the dress Maekar gifted me on my name day," Daenerys said softly, a warm smile spreading across her face as she remembered the gift.
Her handmaidens exchanged knowing looks and smiled at her request. Vaelaena was the first to speak, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Ah, I see," she said, her tone teasing. "A special dress for a special day."
Alysanne nodded in agreement, her own smile growing. "In all our bickering, we forgot what our princess is doing today. How could we overlook the significance?"
Naerys added with a gentle smile, "Prince Maekar did promise he would show you around the city today, didn't he?"
Myranda, the youngest and most playful, couldn't resist teasing Daenerys further. " I wonder… Will he start courting you today?"
Daenerys felt her cheeks flush a deep red at their words, her heart fluttering at the thought. The idea of Maekar courting her was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, and the handmaidens' teasing only made her blush harder.
"Just bring me the dress," Daenerys ordered, trying to maintain her composure despite the growing warmth in her cheeks.
Her handmaidens giggled as they left the room to fetch the dress, their laughter light and playful. Daenerys turned back to the mirror, her blush still present but now accompanied by a shy smile. The thought of Maekar courting her did sound very pleasant indeed.