90 AC. Driftmark
The spacious chambers in High Tide were flooded with soft morning light, reflecting off the sea waves outside the tall arched windows. Sunlight danced upon the walls lined with rare, pale green marble and lost itself in the thick folds of heavy draperies. Viserra Targaryen stood before a massive, full-length mirror framed in carved mahogany, holding her breath as she gazed at her reflection. She wore a magnificent wedding gown of thick, snow-white silk, embroidered with silver thread in patterns resembling a tangle of churning sea waves and flawless dragon scales. A long train cascaded down the carpets, while the finest Myrish lace draped softly over her shoulders, creating the illusion of light sea foam.
Several handmaidens bustled around the princess. One carefully smoothed invisible folds in the hem, another with reverence adjusted the slender silver cord of the bodice, trying not to breathe upon the precious fabric. Viserra remained motionless, though inside she trembled with barely contained anxiety. Carefully, so as not to ruin the tall, complex hairstyle of interwoven silver braids, she took a white gold necklace, thickly encrusted with large diamonds, from a velvet cushion. Slipping matching earrings into her ears, she fastened the clasp around her neck. The brilliance of the gems - delivered to her at dawn as a wedding gift from Corlys - perfectly accentuated her Valyrian beauty, making her violet eyes appear even darker and deeper.
Rhaenys Targaryen, sitting on a silk sofa nearby, watched the scene with a slight half-smile. Unlike the other women in the room, sixteen-year-old Rhaenys had thick, raven-black hair inherited from her mother, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon. Yet her eyes shone with the same pure, ancestral violet hue, and her bearing betrayed the true pride of noble blood. She lazily swirled a silver goblet of watered wine in her fingers, and, waiting until the handmaidens stepped back, did not miss the opportunity to tease the bride with sisterly mischief.
"You look as though you are about to win back the Stepstones from the pirates," Rhaenys remarked with a chuckle, tilting her head. "Pray tell, why grip the edges of that poor table so tightly? Are you afraid it will run away, or that Corlys will change his mind when he sees that fierce look of yours?"
Viserra turned her head sharply, causing the diamonds in her ears to chime, and snorted, trying in vain to hide the slight tremor in her fingers.
"I would rather mount a dragon right now and face a dozen Dornish raiders in open combat than spend the whole day under the scrutiny of thousands of eyes," Viserra admitted with a strained smile. "Have you seen how many lords have arrived on this island? They look at me as if they were appraising a prize filly at an Oldtown fair. My every move, my every breath will be the talk of the realm for the next half-year."
Queen Alysanne, standing a little ways off by the window and checking the readiness of the festive garlands, smiled gently. She approached her daughter from behind and placed her warm hands upon her shoulders. In her eyes, which had witnessed many a royal wedding, shone boundless pride.
"Let them look, my child," the Queen said softly yet firmly, meeting Viserra's gaze in the mirror. "It is good for them to remember what true greatness looks like. No princess of House Targaryen has ever looked so dazzling on the day of her union. Corlys Velaryon is the luckiest man in all the Seven Kingdoms, and he knows it well. Cease tormenting yourself with doubts. You were born to rule, not to hide from the stares of others."
Viserra let out a breath of relief, feeling her mother's confidence wash over her. At that moment, ten-year-old Gael, who had been quietly lingering near the massive chests, sorting through remaining ribbons and silk scarves, ran over to her eldest sister. Her eyes burned with genuine delight, reflecting the shimmer of the diamonds around the bride's neck. The little princess stood on her tiptoes, comically stretching her neck as she tried to reach a finger toward the glittering stones.
"Viserra!" Gael exclaimed, her eyes widening in wonder. "Are those stones... aren't they too heavy? I think Lord Corlys climbed into the sky last night, gathered the brightest fallen stars, and brought them to you. They are magical, aren't they?"
Viserra could not help but laugh heartily. The tension that had bound her shoulders since dawn finally dissolved. She knelt down gently to be at eye level with her little sister, letting her examine the jewels closely.
"They are not magical, Gael, but they are very rare," Viserra replied affectionately, tapping the tip of the girl's nose with her finger. "They were brought from very distant lands where the sun never sets below the horizon. But I promise you: when it is your turn to marry and don your bridal cloak, I shall personally ask Corlys to commission his finest ship and fetch stars even larger, brighter, and more beautiful than these for you."
Gael clapped her hands joyfully, jumping up and down so that her fair curls became tousled.
"Then I have decided!" the little princess declared resolutely, tossing her chin up. "I shall only marry a lord who possesses the biggest and fastest ship in the whole world. So that he may sail for new stars for me every single day - otherwise, I shall simply stay in King's Landing and feed cats."
This answer provoked a chorus of warm laughter from all the ladies present in the chambers. Even the stern handmaid holding the jewelry box could not suppress a smile at the innocent earnestness of the King's youngest daughter.
While the handmaidens put the finishing touches, pinning back unruly strands at the nape of her neck, Viserra cast her gaze out the window, her thoughts drifting back to the past. The last six months since she and Corlys had returned to King's Landing after her first visit to Driftmark had flown by like a single heartbeat, filled with bustle, hope, and anticipation.
Corlys Velaryon had entirely justified her father's trust. As Master of Ships, he threw himself into his work, spending days and nights at the royal shipyards and the harbor, reorganizing the supply of the royal fleet and establishing new logistics routes. Yet, despite the state importance of his office, not a single day passed that he forgot his betrothed.
Viserra remembered how, in the very first week after their return to the Red Keep, Corlys had sent a whole delegation to her chambers. They were the finest jewelers, weavers, and seamstresses to be found on Driftmark and in the Free Cities. They brought with them dozens of bolts of the finest silk from Yi Ti, velvet from Pentos, and the choicest Myrish lace.
"Lord Velaryon commanded that Your Grace should deny yourself nothing," the old tailor had said respectfully, bowing low. "We are bound to fashion a wardrobe worthy of the future mistress of High Tide."
Corlys personally selected the designs, desiring his future wife to shine not only at the wedding but in their subsequent life together. He visited Viserra every single day without exception. Usually, it was toward evening, when the sun began to sink, painting the walls of the Red Keep in crimson hues. They took long walks through the shaded gardens, far from the prying eyes of court gossips, or sat upon the terrace, watching the lazy flow of the waters of Blackwater Bay.
On one such evening, as a cool sea breeze stirred the skirts of his dark blue doublet, Corlys took her hand.
"Do you not regret your choice, Viserra?" he asked softly, searching her face intently.
Viserra had only squeezed his palm tighter, feeling its calloused, masculine strength.
"King's Landing is too stifling with intrigues and lies, Corlys," she replied, looking out at the distant horizon. "Beside you, for the first time, I felt I could breathe fully. My home is where you are."
With every such meeting, their affection grew, transforming from a political alliance into a mutual understanding, a conscious and powerful emotion. Corlys conducted himself with impeccable courtesy. He never allowed himself to cross the boundaries of propriety, limiting himself to tender touches of her hand and long, lingering looks full of hidden passion. Because of this noble restraint, Viserra felt a slight inner flutter now, on her wedding day. Thoughts of her wedding night made her heart beat faster, she understood that today all barriers would fall, and they would finally belong to one another completely.
The preparations for the celebration on Driftmark itself proceeded on a truly royal scale. Corlys proved to be not only a capable lord but a subtle diplomat. Three moons past, he had sent a respectful yet subtly proud letter to the High Septon in Oldtown. In it, Lord Velaryon reported the imminent completion of the Great Sept of Driftmark and invited His Holiness to personally consecrate this grand temple, performing within its walls the first marriage ceremony between the head of House Velaryon and a princess of the blood of House Targaryen.
The reply from Oldtown came without delay, secured by a seven-pointed wax seal. The High Septon wrote:
"We learned with great joy of the pious deed of House Velaryon. The construction of such a majestic and grand temple in the name of the Seven on the island of Driftmark is a true blessing for all of Westeros. It shall be Our greatest honor and spiritual joy to personally arrive upon your lands to consecrate this holy sanctuary and bless the sacred union between the valiant Lord Corlys and the noble Princess Viserra of House Targaryen."
Following this, Driftmark turned into one giant, tirelessly working festive machine. Corlys dispatched invitations to every corner of Westeros, sparing no expense for the swiftest ravens and most reliable messengers. Invitations were received by all the Lords Paramount and the most vital bannermen of the realm. Of course, Dorne remained apart - this independent, fiercely resistant kingdom lived by its own laws, and to send invitations there would be not only pointless but insulting to her father's policies.
While the ravens carried the news, the ports of Driftmark received merchant ships around the clock. The cellars of High Tide and the immense stone warehouses of Spicetown were filled to the brim with imported and local provisions. From the Reach came hundreds of casks of the famous Arbor Gold, sweet and thick as nectar. From various stores and through trusted merchants, Dornish Red was bought up with gold dragons.
Yet Corlys did not forget the pride of his own island. Sent to the stores were spirits produced on Driftmark itself, which had already earned fame among the nobility of Westeros and Essos: the purest, searing wheat vodka, fragrant brandy aged in oak casks, and strong island whiskey. Kitchen scullions purchased livestock across all the Riverlands and Stormlands. Whole flocks of sheep and fattened bulls were transported to the island. Local woodswrights and visiting hunters were paid in pure silver for live, wild boars. The animals were kept in specially constructed pens on the outskirts of the town, so that on the day of the feast, the cooks could slaughter them and serve the tenderest meat upon the tables.
Viserra, along with the Queen, Rhaenys, and little Gael, arrived at High Tide a fortnight before the scheduled wedding date. Even then, stepping off the deck of the royal ship, the princess understood that the upcoming celebration would be the grandest event of the decade. The island hummed like a disturbed hive. The port of Spicetown was choked with ships so densely that their masts seemed to blot out the horizon.
Every single Lord Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms accepted the invitation of the Iron Throne and House Velaryon. A week before the wedding, the horizon turned crimson and gold as the fleet of the Warden of the West, Lord Tymond Lannister, approached the wharves. His arrival was staged with true Lannister opulence. The lord was accompanied by a vast, dazzlingly wealthy retinue consisting of the most important representatives of the houses of the West. Disembarking with him were Lord Alastor Reyne of Castamere, whose garments of dark velvet were embroidered with silver, Lord Roland Westerling, and Lord Denis Marbrand.
Each of these powerful lords was escorted by no fewer than fifty heavily armed knights in armor polished to a mirror sheen and long silk cloaks. This was done with a single purpose - to emphasize their lofty status before the King and the wealthy masters of the island. Shortly after, following their liege lord, other houses from the Westerlands began to arrive: the Crakehalls, the Leffords with their golden banners, the Farmans of Fair Isle, the Morelands, and the Lyddens.
The Riverlands were represented by a delegation led by the Lord of Riverrun, Grover Tully. The seasoned lord arrived accompanied by a whole host of river lords: the Blackwoods, the Vances, the Mootons of Maidenpool, the Darrys, and numerous Freys of the Twins. Amidst this motley procession, to everyone's astonishment, were the Brackens as well.
Viserra recalled with a smile how three days ago Corlys, standing with her upon the tower's watch-walk, had watched the rivermen disembark onto the pier, vigilantly clutching the hilts of their swords.
"By the gods, Viserra," Corlys had whispered with a chuckle, leaning close to her ear. "I am truly amazed that Grover Tully managed to fit the Brackens and Blackwoods into a single retinue and still deliver them to our island alive. I thought they would slaughter one another at the crossing of the Trident. I shall have to order the Sea Guard to double their patrols near their camps, lest our wedding feast begin with a blood feud."
The Stormlands were represented by the Lord of Storm's End, Boremund Baratheon - a mighty, broad-shouldered man with a booming voice, who was Princess Rhaenys's maternal uncle. Following him were lords from Houses Buckler, Connington with their griffin banners, Morrigen, Estermont, and the stern warriors from the island of Tarth. From the nearby houses of the Narrow Sea, long-time allies and neighbors of the Velaryons, the first to arrive were the Celtigars of Claw Isle and the Lord of Sharp Point, Bar Emmon.
The Reach demonstrated its eternal splendor and numbers. The procession was led by the Lord of Highgarden, Mattos Tyrell, whose servants brought entire wains of fresh flowers to adorn the castle. Arriving with him were Lord Lionel Hightower of Oldtown, the stern warriors of House Tarly of Horn Hill, and the proud Oakhearts of Old Oak.
Even the distant, cold North did not remain aloof. The head of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Benjen Stark, personally made the long journey south. He was accompanied by Lord Manderly of White Harbor, whose men brought lavish gifts of walrus ivory, as well as the grim Karstarks and Dustins in gray woolen cloaks lined with fur.
Corlys Velaryon personally met each Lord Paramount at the gates or the quay, showing them due respect and emphasizing their status. His younger brothers, Daeron and Veylor, took upon themselves the colossal, exhausting work of receiving the lesser lords, arranging for their retinues, servants, horses, and supplies.
The town of Spicetown was literally overwhelmed by the influx of guests. In addition to the Westerosi nobility, the wealthiest merchants, magisters, and representatives of various merchant guilds arrived from the Free Cities of Essos: Pentos, Volantis, Qohor, Norvos, and Braavos. The most important guests, the Lords Paramount and members of the royal family, were quartered within High Tide itself, in a massive eastern wing specially designated for the occasion. Given the incredible, truly titanic size of the stronghold, it was no surprise that they were all accommodated with every possible comfort without crowding one another.
The remaining guests, knights, ship captains, and merchant partners of the Velaryons stayed in the numerous hostelries of Spicetown. These buildings were the pride of Corlys, who had constructed them according to his own designs. Unlike the filthy, dark Westerosi taverns with shared straw pallets upon the floor, the hostelries of Spicetown were spacious three-story structures of ashlar white stone with wide, glazed windows. Inside were private rooms with massive oak doors, beds with soft goose-down featherbeds, and clean silk linens. The ground floors housed common dining halls and private stone bathhouses where servants maintained hot water around the clock, allowing weary travelers to wash away the dust of the road. Each hostelry possessed a spacious courtyard with stables and armed guards.
Two days before the wedding, the sky above the island shook with a mighty roar - King Jaehaerys himself arrived on Driftmark alongside his sons, Princes Baelon and Aemon. Their immense dragons descended upon the rocky cliffs behind the castle, causing the horses of the visiting lords to whinny in terror within their stalls. This arrival sealed the wedding's status as the ultimate triumph of House Velaryon.
Viserra's reminiscence was interrupted by a quiet, delicate knock upon the massive oak door. The handmaidens immediately stepped back, folding their hands at their waists. Lady Alice Velaryon, Corlys's mother, entered the chambers unhurriedly. She was two-and-forty years of age, yet she retained a striking, statuesque beauty, a noble bearing, and the clear, discerning gaze of violet eyes. She wore an austere yet exquisite sea-green gown with silver embroidery along the collar.
Over the course of Viserra's frequent visits to the island, an uncommonly warm, sincere, and trusting relationship had formed between them. Alice, devoid of courtly hypocrisy, had immediately discerned a strong character and a sharp wit within the princess, while Viserra valued her future good-mother's wisdom and quiet dignity.
Alice approached Viserra slowly, affectionately touching her pale cheek with her palm, and smiled gently.
"You are beautiful, my child," Lady Velaryon said softly, a maternal warmth in her voice. "The time has come. Corlys already waits at the altar, and the wheelhouses have been brought to the inner courtyard. All the smallfolk of Driftmark have gathered in the streets, eager to see their new lady. Are you ready?"
Viserra took a deep breath, feeling the pride of her conqueror ancestors stir within her.
"Yes, Lady Alice," the princess replied firmly, squaring her shoulders. "I am ready."
As the women stepped regally from the chambers, Thea and Elisa Velaryon, Corlys's good-sisters, were already waiting in the spacious corridor. The young women were dressed in festive attire of blue hues. They curtsied low in perfect unison and with great courtesy before the Queen, casting warm, approving glances at Viserra.
The procession descended slowly and solemnly down the broad marble staircases of the castle, passing lines of guardsmen frozen in salute. They stepped into the main courtyard of High Tide, where three luxurious wheelhouses awaited them, adorned with carvings, gilding, and the blazons of the two great houses. The wheelhouses were drawn by thoroughbred, snow-white horses.
In the first wheelhouse, notable for its exceptional size and dark blue velvet upholstery, sat Viserra herself, Queen Alysanne, Princess Rhaenys, little Gael, and Rhaenys's mother - Lady Jocelyn Baratheon. In the second wheelhouse, the men of the royal family took their seats: King Jaehaerys, Princes Aemon and Baelon, along with young Viserys and Daemon. The third wheelhouse was occupied by the matriarch, Lady Alice, alongside Thea and Elisa with their husbands, Daeron and Veylor.
No sooner had the wheelhouses passed beyond the wrought-iron gates of High Tide and begun rolling along the spacious, smoothly paved streets of Spicetown than the very air shook with a roaring cheer. Every street, balcony, rooftop, and square was packed with a cheering crowd of smallfolk, sailors, and artisans. People waved their hands, flung armfuls of fresh flowers beneath the horses' hooves, shouted greetings, and praised House Velaryon, the royal family, and their new lady.
Inside the first wheelhouse, a joyful animation reigned. Queen Alysanne, looking out the window at the happy faces of the townsfolk, gently squeezed her daughter's palm.
"Look at them, Viserra," the Queen said softly, tears of joy glistening in her eyes. "These people accept you with all their hearts. Your husband has wrought a true miracle. He turned this once-barren island into a thriving heart of commerce. Now, it is your jewel as well. Rule it with the wisdom I have taught you."
Rhaenys, adjusting the folds of her travelling cloak, smiled mischievously as she turned her gaze toward Viserra.
"Judging by the crowds gathered in the squares, not a single smithy or shop is working on Driftmark today," she remarked with a touch of irony. "I suspect the merchant ships in the harbor stand entirely empty right now, while their captains wager on whose retinue looks wealthier—the Lannisters' or the Hightowers'."
Gael, pressing herself almost entirely against the windowpane, waved enthusiastically to the crowd.
"Viserra!" the girl cried out shrilly. "Do you hear them? They are shouting your name so loudly, it is as if Vermithor himself were roaring nearby! They are all as happy as if summer had come today and there would never be winter again!"
Lady Jocelyn Baratheon laughed warmly, wrapping her arms around the little princess's shoulders.
"To them, this is summer, sweet Gael," Jocelyn said softly, patting the girl's head. "The marriage of their lord to a princess of the blood is a guarantee that their homes will be safe and that trade will bring even more gold. The smallfolk can always sense strength and prosperity."
Meanwhile, in the second wheelhouse, King Jaehaerys closely scrutinized the cleanliness of the streets and the architecture of Spicetown. He noted with satisfaction how the townsfolk received his daughter.
When the wheelhouses finally came to a smooth halt before the majestic facade of the Great Sept of Driftmark, the sight made Viserra catch her breath. An immense, colossal temple of snow-white stone towered over the spacious square. Seven lofty towers reached high into the blue sky, while giant stained-glass windows caught every color of the rainbow under the rays of the midday sun.
The entire vast area surrounding the sept was cordoned off by dense rows of Velaryon guardsmen in their ceremonial, sea-green scale armor and grim warriors of the Sea Guard holding long halberds. Despite the guards, thousands of smallfolk had gathered behind the cordons. They stood on their tiptoes and climbed onto fountains and posts, eager to witness this historic event.
The passengers of the wheelhouses began to step out one by one. Queen Alysanne, Rhaenys, Gael, Lady Jocelyn, and the remaining members of House Velaryon, accompanied by servants, made their way unhurriedly inside the sept to take their seats in the front rows near the altar. Outside, upon the broad stone platform before the massive doors, remained only Viserra herself, King Jaehaerys, four knights of the Kingsguard in their snow-white cloaks, and Ser Adam, who froze in place, ready to protect his future mistress until she crossed the threshold of the sanctuary.
A few minutes passed, allowing the guests inside to fully quiet down and take their seats. King Jaehaerys turned to his daughter, his stern face softening, and offered her his strong arm, bent at the elbow.
"Well, daughter," the King said softly, with deep emotion. "It is time. Your husband awaits you. Walk with your head held high, as benefits a dragon."
Viserra confidently rested her palm upon his arm.
"Thank you, Father," she whispered.
They began to slowly climb the broad steps of the Great Sept, step by step. The heavy, bronze-studded oak doors swung open smoothly before them, and they entered the grand hall.
The immense interior of the sept was packed to capacity with guests—the very flower of Westerosi nobility and the wealthiest men of Essos had gathered here. Hundreds of lords and ladies in their finest festive attire of silk and velvet fell still, and a deep silence enveloped the hall, broken only by the soft rustle of gowns. Every eye was fixed upon the bride.
Viserra and the King walked slowly down the broad central aisle toward the altar, which stood upon a high dais. There, illuminated by rays of multicolored light filtering through giant stained-glass windows depicting the Seven, stood Corlys Velaryon. He wore a magnificent, tailored doublet of dark blue, nearly black velvet, thickly embroidered with silver seahorses along the collar and cuffs. Massive silver buttons adorned the doublet, and a wide belt of white gold cinched his waist. Beside him, composed and serene, stood the High Septon himself in his shimmering, snow-white silk robes, a heavy crown upon his head.
The long train of Viserra's wedding gown glided across the perfectly polished stone tiles of the floor with a soft, rustling whisper. As she drew nearer to the steps of the altar, Viserra raised her eyes for the first time on this long, hectic day and met her future husband's gaze. In Corlys's eyes shone such genuine love and unshakeable confidence that the last remnants of the princess's fear and anxiety dissolved instantly without a trace. She knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.
King Jaehaerys gently relinquished his daughter's hand into Corlys's warm, strong palm. Then, the monarch stepped back with dignity and descended to his family, taking his place in the front row. He smiled warmly with relief, noticing how little Gael beside her mother, completely forgetting the strict rules of courtly etiquette, was craning her head in all directions with wide, enchanted eyes, taking in the grand, soaring ceilings of the sept and the exquisite frescoes, until Queen Alysanne gently checked her, placing a hand upon her shoulder.
The High Septon majestically raised his hands toward the dome, calling upon the Seven to witness this union. His deep, clear voice, wondrously amplified by the temple's magnificent acoustics, rang out over the hushed crowd, invoking the blessing of the Father for justice, the Mother for fertility, and the Smith for the enduring strength of this marriage.
When the time came for the concluding rituals, Corlys and Viserra turned to face one another, clasping hands tightly. King Jaehaerys approached the altar slowly once more. He came up behind his daughter and, with a gentle, fluid motion, swept the light maiden's cloak from her shoulders—the cloak bearing the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen on a black field. At that exact moment, Corlys took another cloak from his brother Daeron's hands—a heavy one, fashioned from thick, dark blue silk, upon which the sigil of House Velaryon was masterfully embroidered with silver threads and seed pearls. Corlys carefully and tenderly draped this cloak over his wife's shoulders, securing it firmly upon her breast with a heavy silver seahorse clasp.
"In the light of the Seven, I declare you my wife," Corlys said, his voice firm, deep, and confident, looking straight into the princess's eyes.
"In the light of the Seven, I declare you my husband," Viserra replied, her voice ringing out clear, resonant, and without the slightest hesitation.
Then, having sealed their union before the face of gods and men, they spoke the sacred words of the ancient vow in unison:
"With this kiss I pledge my love and my loyalty."
The High Septon solemnly lowered his hands and declared them lawful husband and wife, one flesh, one soul, and one destiny, from this day forth until the end of days.
Corlys leaned down slowly to Viserra and kissed her for the first time as his wife. There was no haste in this kiss—it was wondrously tender, long, deep, and full of genuine emotion. Viserra felt as if the ground were literally slipping from beneath her feet, and she seemed to dissolve into the moment, feeling the warmth of his lips and the reliable, unyielding strength of his hands gently supporting her waist beneath the heavy silk of the cloak. When they finally broke the kiss slowly and turned to the hall, Viserra's face shone with such genuine, pure, and dazzling happiness as none of her family members had ever seen in her before.
The members of their families were the first to hasten to the young couple. Queen Alysanne and Lady Alice, tears welling in their eyes, embraced the newlyweds, whispering words of blessing. King Jaehaerys gave Corlys a firm, manly handshake and kissed his daughter on the forehead. Corlys's brothers and the Targaryen princes congratulated them boisterously, exchanging hearty handshakes. Afterward, Corlys and Viserra, holding hands tightly, were the first to make their way toward the exit of the Great Sept.
No sooner had they appeared upon the top steps of the temple than the crowd of smallfolk thousands strong, filling the entire square to its brink, erupted in a single, deafening, and triumphant cheer. The people praised Lord Corlys and his young bride, Lady Viserra. Under a literal rain of rose petals, fragrant herbs, and small silver coins flung by the servants, the newlyweds descended quickly to the carriages and boarded a private, enclosed, and luxurious wheelhouse. The horses moved, and they made their way back to High Tide castle, where everything in the Great Hall had already been prepared for the commencement of a grand wedding feast of unprecedented scale.
Before crossing the threshold of the bustling banquet hall, Viserra paused for a second in a spacious, quiet corridor of the castle. Two efficient handmaidens, who had been waiting for her there, unfastened the long, heavy silk train from her gown with swift, practiced movements—the train that had previously trailed behind her like a beautiful waterfall across the sept's tiles. Now, freed from the extra weight, the princess could move completely unhindered, easily and gracefully.
An incredible animation reigned in the Great Hall of High Tide. The immense chamber, its high vaults supported by massive columns of polished stone, was filled with hundreds of noble guests who had arrived from every corner of the known world. Gathered here were not only the greatest lords of Westeros but also high-ranking, exceptionally wealthy guests from Essos.
A massive, stunning surprise for the majority of the Westerosi aristocrats was the personal presence of the Sealord of Braavos himself, Ferrego Otheris, who sat surrounded by his personal, richly garbed guard. A little ways off from him sat the emissaries of the Iron Bank, standing out amidst the motley crowd in their austere, somber garments of expensive dark velvet and heavy gold chains around their necks. This very fact of the presence of the ruler of Braavos and the representatives of the financial giant underscored, eloquently and without words, the colossal, undeniable influence of House Velaryon across the Narrow Sea and their solid, reliable business connections, causing the lords of the Reach and the West to cast thoughtful and wary glances at one another.
Long oak tables were arranged across the hall in such a manner that no guest felt neglected by the hosts. The tables literally groaned under an unimaginable abundance of exquisite delicacies and costly dishes. The cooks of Driftmark, reinforced by the finest culinary masters, had outdone themselves, turning the feast into a demonstration of gastronomic triumph.
Traditional Westerosi delicacies and exotic dishes alike were served on immense silver and ceramic platters. There were delicate tarts with lemons and spices, whole roasted swans served in their own, skillfully recreated snow-white sauce, succulent suckling pigs stuffed with ripe apples, wild chestnuts, and herbs, roasted ducks in a honey glaze, and immense carcasses of roasted wild boars, whose fragrant meat melted in the mouth. Thanks to the rare spices that Corlys brought in abundance from his far-flung seafaring voyages, guests could also savor entirely unusual, exotic dishes: the tenderest venison simmered in a pungent, sweet-and-sour sauce of rare pepper varieties and overseas citrus fruits, flaky tiered pies filled with minced beef, caramelized sweet onions, and cinnamon, and giant sea crabs boiled in a rolling broth of white wine infused with aromatic eastern herbs.
Spirits flowed like a river—servants could barely keep up with unstopping new casks. Abundant upon the tables was the famous, sweet Arbor Gold, thick Dornish Red, and the island's own pride—the celebrated Driftmark Red wine, which boasted a deep flavor and a berry aftertaste. For those who preferred stronger draughts, crystal decanters were filled with the purest island vodka, aged brandy, and whiskey.
At the high table, which was set upon a special dais and presided over the entire hall, sat the members of the two newly joined houses. In the very center, drawing every gaze, sat the guests of honor—Corlys and Viserra. To one side of them sat the Velaryons: Lady Alice, retaining her refined attractiveness, Daeron with his wife Thea, and Veylor with his wife Elisa.
To the other side sat the royal family. King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne looked out over the hall with pride. Beside them sat Prince Aemon with his wife Jocelyn Baratheon and their daughter Rhaenys. A little further along sat Prince Baelon, the young Viserys and Daemon, who were thirteen and nine years of age respectively, and Princess Gael.
The appointments of the Great Hall astonished even the most discerning nobles with their scale and opulence. Massive oak tables were draped in heavy, flawlessly clean cloths of snow-white Myrish silk, the edges of which were embroidered by hand with intricate patterns of silver thread. Unlike most Westerosi castles, where meat was traditionally served to even noble lords on thick wooden trenchers or coarse pewter dishes, here, before every single guest without exception, stood elegant, painted ceramic plates brought by merchant ships from Volantis. Wine and strong spirits were poured not into the customary pewter, silver, or wooden mugs, but into the finest, delicate chalices of pure Driftmark glass and crystal, whose masterfully cut facets played and sparkled beautifully in the warm light of hundreds of wax candles burning in massive chandeliers beneath the ceiling. All the cutlery—knives, spoons, and forks—was cast from pure, high-grade silver and adorned with the family sigil of House Velaryon. All these details clearly demonstrated to the guests the colossal status, wealth, and boundless capabilities of the island's masters.
The guests were entertained by the finest musicians of Essos and Driftmark, whose training and upkeep were fully funded by Corlys in Spicetown. Upon a special, richly decorated dais sat a large orchestra, performing both traditional Westerosi ballads and complex, polyphonic Essosi melodies. However, the attention of absolutely everyone present in the hall was arrested by an entirely new, hitherto unseen musical instrument—a pianoforte. It was a massive device of perfectly polished, gleaming ebony, resting upon elegant, curved legs. Its keys were masterfully carved from expensive ivory and rare ebony wood.
Corlys had spent colossal financial resources, gold, and long months of painstaking work, passing detailed blueprints and diagrams brought by him from his past world to the finest craftsmen and engineers of Driftmark. It was an incredibly complex, labor-intensive, and bespoke piece, requiring filigree precision in the tuning of every string and wooden hammer. In the entire world at that moment, there existed only three such instruments, and all of them were in the possession of House Velaryon on Driftmark.
When the invited musician sat at the instrument and softly struck the keys with his fingers, drawing forth a pure, incredibly resonant, and multifaceted sound, the Great Hall literally froze in genuine astonishment. This sound resembled neither the familiar lute, nor the ringing harp, nor the sharp harpsichord. The melody flowed smoothly, filling the entire space beneath the high vaults, now soaring upward in triumphant chords, now sinking to a tender, barely audible whisper. The wondrous, noble instrument unconditionally conquered the discerning ears of the Westerosi and Essosi nobility. Lord Hightower even leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he tried to examine the internal workings of the mechanism, while Queen Alysanne nodded her head admiringly in time with the music.
When the invited musician sat at the instrument and softly struck the keys with his fingers, drawing forth a pure, incredibly resonant, and multifaceted sound, the Great Hall literally froze in genuine astonishment. This sound resembled neither the familiar lute, nor the ringing harp, nor the sharp harpsichord. The melody flowed smoothly, filling the entire space beneath the high vaults, now soaring upward in triumphant chords, now sinking to a tender, barely audible whisper. The wondrous, noble instrument unconditionally conquered the discerning ears of the Westerosi and Essosi nobility. Lord Hightower even leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he tried to examine the internal workings of the mechanism, while Queen Alysanne nodded her head admiringly in time with the music.
The feast proceeded in its turn, and under the influence of good music and potent wines, the guests' tongues loosened, and the atmosphere grew increasingly relaxed. The time arrived for the traditional presentation of wedding gifts to the newlyweds. The Lords Paramount of Westeros, one by one, observing a strict hierarchy and protocol, began to rise from their seats and approach the high table to deliver speeches of praise.
First to step forward was the Warden of the West. Lord Tymond Lannister, clad in a sumptuous crimson doublet with gold embroidery depicting a roaring lion, walked with a confident, unhurried stride. Two of his servants bore a heavy wooden chest before him. Making an elegant, flawless courtly bow, Lord Tymond spoke in his smooth, well-modulated voice:
"Your Grace, Lord Corlys, Princess Viserra," Lannister began, a thin smile playing upon his lips. "The West has always valued true greatness and the strength of alliances. In token of our respect, House Lannister presents you with this humble gift. May it remind you that you always have reliable friends in the West."
The servants opened the chest, and the entire hall gasped. Resting within was a magnificent, finely detailed statuette of a warship, cast entirely from the purest, high-grade gold. Its sails were fashioned from thin plates of white gold, and large, bright crimson rubies were set into the eyes of the dragon figurehead, glittering in the candlelight.
"May your holds always be as full of gold as the bowels of Casterly Rock, Lord Corlys," Tymond added, inclining his head.
Corlys rose and replied politely, "My thanks to you, Lord Tymond. This ship shall occupy a place of honor in the guest hall of High Tide. I value your gift, but I value the peace and concord between our houses even more."
Following him, the grim and tight-lipped Warden of the North approached the table. Lord Benjen Stark, whose figure in a loose gray doublet seemed carved from northern granite, walked with a heavy, steady tread. His piercing, cold gaze fixed upon the newlyweds. Two of his guardsmen held massive, incredibly plush bundles of furs in their arms.
"The North is not rich in gold and overseas silks, Princess Viserra, Lord Corlys," Benjen spoke in his deep, resonant, and clipped voice, entirely devoid of southern guile. "But we know the worth of true warmth and faithfulness to one's word. House Stark presents you with the pelts of the finest, rare shadowcats taken from the woods beyond the Wall, and the furs of northern snow bears."
Lord Stark gave a brief bow and added, "Our furs will keep you warm even in the cruelest, harshest winter, should the sea winds of Driftmark grow too cold and biting."
Viserra smiled warmly at the Northman, touched by his plain-spokenness.
"My thanks to you, Lord Benjen," the princess replied clearly. "Your honesty and these gifts are a kingly gift indeed. It will please us to remember the harsh and proud North during long winter nights, wrapped in the furs you have provided."
Then the Lord of Riverrun rose from his seat. Grover Tully approached the table accompanied by his sons, with servants bearing a massive ashwood coffer before him.
"Lord Corlys, Princess Viserra," Grover began, his eyes twinkling. "The Riverlands are glad to welcome this great union. Our gift was born in the clear waters of the Trident."
He opened the coffer, displaying to the guests several long strands of large, exceedingly rare river pearls of a perfectly round shape, which shimmered with a soft pink and silvery light.
"May your lives be as pure and long as the rivers that nourish our lands," Tully said. "And may these pearls adorn the princess in days of peace."
"My thanks, Lord Grover," Corlys replied with a smile. "I am glad to welcome you to my hearth and home, and I thank you for your gift."
Lord Mattos Tyrell of Highgarden, clad in green silk and smelling of costly oils, approached the table next. His servants brought in elegant clay pots and several small, richly decorated casks.
"The Reach bows before the beauty of the princess and the valor of the Sea Snake," Mattos purred with truly southern eloquence. "We have brought you the rarest seeds of exotic flowers from the gardens of Highgarden, which will take root in your soil and delight the eye all year round. And also—six casks of our legendary golden wine, aged for a century, from the personal cellars of my grandsire. May your love be as sweet and intoxicating as this wine."
Corlys courteously thanked the Lord of the Reach, raising his cup in his honor.
Yet the most memorable, grand, and weighty gift came from an overseas guest. The Sealord of Braavos, Ferrego Otheris, rose from his seat under the close scrutiny of the Westerosi nobility. He approached the high table with a broad, commanding stride, his robes rustling against the floor. In his hand, he held a thick scroll of costly parchment, bound with a silk cord and sealed with the likeness of the Titan of Braavos.
"Braavos ever honors its true friends and reliable partners," Ferrego spoke, his voice, thick with a distinctive Essosi accent, ringing through the Great Hall. "Lord Corlys Velaryon is a man whose name is known at every wharf from Ibben to Asshai. His young bride is a princess of the great House of the Dragon. Our city could not confine itself to mere baubles of gold."
With a theatrical, sweeping gesture, the Sealord extended the scroll directly into Viserra's hands.
"Princess," the lord said, a spark glinting in his eyes. "This document, witnessed by the signatures of all the key magisters and the seal of the Iron Bank, confirms the following: in our finest, private shipyards in Braavos, construction has been completed and a magnificent, mighty war carrack has been launched. She is built of the finest Braavosi oak, fitted with a triple layer of hull planking, and bears the swiftest sails in the Narrow Sea. Carved upon her prow is the beautiful figure of a Valyrian maiden. This ship bears the name Princess Viserra, and henceforth she belongs to you alone."
"My thanks to you, Sealord Ferrego," Viserra replied firmly and with dignity, meeting his gaze. "It is a great honor for me to own a ship built by the finest shipwrights of Braavos. I promise you that the Princess Viserra will sail the seas only to protect our shared trade and the peace between our shores."
When the tide of official congratulations and gifts from the lords drew to its natural close, Corlys Velaryon slowly rose from his chair. He made a slight gesture with his hand, and the orchestra upon the dais instantly ceased their playing. The hum of voices in the Great Hall swiftly died away, and hundreds of pairs of eyes turned toward the master of the castle.
Corlys turned to Viserra, his expression solemn, but a boundless tenderness shone deep within his eyes. He spoke, and his voice, accustomed to throwing itself over the roar of the fiercest storm, carried to every corner of the hushed hall:
"Honored guests, lords and ladies, friends from Westeros and Essos," the Lord of Driftmark began, sweeping his confident gaze across the still hall. "I am truly grateful to each of you for the magnificent gifts and warm words that have echoed within these walls today. But on this momentous day, when House Velaryon and House Targaryen are joined in holy matrimony, I could not fail to present my lawful wife with something entirely special. Something that symbolizes the eternity of our feelings and the enduring strength of our union."
At his brief nod, an old, faithful servant approached the high table with quick steps. In his hands, he carefully bore a massive casket, lined entirely in expensive dark blue velvet. Corlys took the casket, turned to Viserra, and with a fluid motion, flipped open its lid directly before her.
Within, upon a cushion of soft, snow-white silk, rested a jewelry set of such unimaginable, fantastic value that a single, loud gasp of astonishment and shock rippled through the Great Hall instantly. Even King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne leaned forward simultaneously, their eyes widening in surprise.
In the casket lay a massive necklace, earrings, and an elegant ring. All these adornments had been forged by the most skillful smiths and jewelers from true Valyrian steel. The metal bore its characteristic smoky hue with faintly visible rippled patterns on its surface. But the crowning glory was the stones—embedded within the steel were immense, flawlessly cut, and perfectly clear blue diamonds that seemed to glow from within with their own cold, maritime fire.
This gift was not merely expensive; its worth equaled the ransom of an entire, wealthy kingdom. To find so much Valyrian steel, let alone command masters to forge it into delicate feminine jewelry rather than blades of war, was a task well-nigh impossible for any mortal man.
Corlys, smiling gently at Viserra who was struck dumb with amazement, spoke softly yet clearly: "This is my humble gift to you, Viserra. A gift to the woman who gave me her heart, and the mother of my children to come."
With these words, Corlys gently and carefully helped his wife unfasten and remove the white gold necklace and earrings she had worn during the ceremony in the sept. Setting them aside, he placed the heavy, cool Valyrian steel necklace around her neck with his own hands, helped her don the shimmering earrings, and tenderly slipped the ring onto her slender finger. This done, he leaned down and pressed a long kiss to the back of her hand.
The Great Hall literally exploded into a thunder of deafening, unceasing applause and cheers of approval. Lords Lannister and Hightower exchanged glances of profound shock, realizing that the Velaryons had just demonstrated resources far eclipsing their own. Corlys raised his crystal cup high, filled to the brim with whiskey.
"To my wife! To Lady Viserra Velaryon! To the unbreakable union of the Dragon and the Seahorse!" the Lord of Driftmark bellowed his toast.
"To the Lord and Lady of Driftmark!" the entire hall answered in unison. Hundreds of lords rose from their seats, and the clinking of crystal cups merged into a single, victorious roar. The feast resumed with renewed, even greater fervor, and expensive wine flowed like water once more.
While the noble and wealthy guests made merry to their hearts' content beneath the sturdy vaults of High Tide, a no less grand, magnificent, and joyous celebration unfolded across all of Spicetown, Hull, and even the most far-flung fishing villages of Driftmark. A week before the wedding, Corlys had given strict orders to his stewards: no one on his island was to feel neglected or go hungry on the day of his nuptials.
Long wooden tables were set up under awnings across all the main squares and broad streets of the towns. The tables groaned with simple yet hearty and savory fare: immense hunks of spit-roasted meat, freshly baked wheat bread, boiled fish, cheeses, and succulent vegetables. The Velaryons had paid in advance, down to the last copper, for all the stocks of ale, beer, and wine in every tavern, inn, and pothouse on the island. The sum had been rendered with such a colossal surplus that the common dockworkers and sailors could not physically have drunk away so much gold even in several weeks of continuous revelry.
Special castle stewards and heralds went through the residential quarters, distributing handfuls of copper and silver coins to needy families and the poor, so they might buy clothing and food. Great wagons loaded with provisions, grain, salt beef, and dried fruits were delivered to all the orphanages, septries and houses for the destitute—supplies meant to ensure at least two months of absolute abundance and comfort for all the wards.
The only souls on the entire island who had no lawful right to touch a cup of wine or ale on this festive day were the men of the Sea Guard and Velaryon's personal household guards. Clad in their armor, they patrolled every street, alley, and harbor dock on heightened alert, keeping vigilant watch to ensure that the general merriment did not devolve into drunken chaos, rioting, and fires.
Yet their stern and faithful service was handsomely, princely rewarded by their masters: every guardsman and officer who stood watch that day received a festive bounty equal to his monthly coin wage. Thanks to such motivation and vigilance, order on the island remained immaculate. Save for a few inevitable, minor drunken brawls among carousing sailors from foreign vessels—which the guard quelled instantly and firmly, yet without unnecessary cruelty or bloodshed—the whole populace celebrated the wedding of their beloved lord with genuine, joyous uproar.
As midnight drew near, when the feast in the castle reached its zenith, Corlys Velaryon rose once more from his seat. Gently taking Viserra by the hand, he invited all the gathered lords and ladies to leave their tables and follow them out onto the vast, spacious open terrace of High Tide, which hung over the cliffside like a grand stone balcony, offering a panoramic view of all Spicetown by night and the trackless sea.
As hundreds of finely dressed guests filled the terrace with cups in hand, conversing and wrapping themselves in light cloaks against the cool night wind, Corlys stepped to the edge of the parapet and raised a burning torch high, giving the prearranged signal to the towers.
A moment later, from all the high towers of High Tide and all the Velaryon warships riding at anchor in the bay, dozens of fire-arrows and projectiles soared high into the black night sky with a piercing, deafening whistle. Reaching their zenith, they burst with a roar, transforming into vast, dazzling, and shimmering globes and blossoms of color—fiery red, emerald green, sparkling gold, and deep blue. Fiery sparks rained down in a slow, beautiful shower, illuminating the night-bound surface of the sea for a heartbeat, before a new, even more powerful volley of multicolored lights shot skyward.
The lords of Westeros, having never in their lives seen or even heard of such a thing, gasped aloud in a collective surge of terror and indescribable delight. Many stern knights and storm lords paled instantly and instinctively reached for the hilts of their swords, believing the castle had come under assault by some dark, sinister sorcery, witchcraft, or unknown dragonflame. King Jaehaerys raised his brows in surprise, while little Gael shrieked happily, leaping with delight.
Corlys Velaryon laughed heartily and loudly, raising a hand to placate his agitated guests.
"Be at ease, lords and ladies! No need to draw your steel, no harm threatens you!" Corlys shouted with a smile, throwing his voice over the thunder of another explosion in the sky. "This is no sorcery, no magic, nor any curse of Valyria. This is an ingenious, wondrous invention of craftsmen from the far, mysterious Golden Empire of Yi Ti, situated at the very edge of the East. There, they call this powder 'fireworks.' The people of Yi Ti ever launch such lights into the heavens during their most important, festive, and joyous occasions. I brought this secret and the masters back from my latest voyage to illuminate this night in honor of my beautiful wife!"
Hearing this explanation, the lords gradually relaxed, moving their hands away from their swords, and with a mounting, childlike wonder, continued to gaze upon the grand spectacle, whispering among themselves of the incredible wealth and boundless capabilities of the Sea Snake, who could command the very fires of heaven.
When the final multicolored sparks at last faded into the dark sky, and the guests, dazed with wonder, slowly drifted back into the Great Hall, the general atmosphere of the feast grew still more relaxed and rowdy. Many lords could scarcely keep their feet, and the jests became louder and more ribald.
Corlys, gently wrapping an arm around Viserra's waist and feeling her lean slightly against his shoulder from exhaustion, stepped into the middle of the hall and announced loudly, "Dear friends, lords and ladies! Our feast has been magnificent, but the time has come for my wife and me to retire to our chambers. I bid you all continue to drink, eat, and make merry within these walls until dawn! The castle is entirely yours!"
No sooner had these words left his lips than a group of young lords and knights, deep in their cups and high-spirited, prominent among whom was Lord Alastor Reyne of Castamere, exchanged meaningful glances. Bold, knowing grins played upon their faces. They began to close in a tight ring toward the newlyweds, clearly anticipating the start of the ancient, ribald Westerosi tradition of the bedding ceremony. According to this custom, drunken men with laughter, jests, and shouts would forcibly tear the wedding garments from the bride and carry her to bed in their arms, while the ladies did the same to the groom.
Lord Reyne took a wide step forward, reaching his hands toward the embroidered silk of Viserra's gown, and bellowed, "Oh no, Lord Velaryon! You shall not escape so easily! Tradition is tradition! We are bound to see the Targaryen princess bedded properly, and find out if she is as fine..."
But he did not manage to finish his sentence, and his outstretched hands froze in midair. From the shadows behind Corlys, where a massive high-backed chair had previously rested in peace, a huge, muscular black panther named Ares stepped forward silently, as if materialized from the night itself.
The beast stood directly before Viserra, shielding her with its powerful body from the advancing crowd. Ares lowered his massive head, his heavy paws with slender, sharp claws digging slightly into the expensive carpet, while his upper lip slowly curled upward, baring long, snow-white fangs as sharp as daggers. From his throat issued a guttural, low, vibrating growl of such primal, ferocious power that icy shivers ran down the spines of everyone present in the hall. The panther's yellow, predatory eyes locked onto Lord Reyne's face with a sinister, unblinking glare.
Corlys Velaryon did not so much as flinch. An ironic smirk played upon his lips. He swept his gaze over the guests, who had frozen dead in their tracks, and spoke loudly and clearly enough for every knight in the chamber to hear:
"My faithful friend Ares, unfortunately, cannot abide noise, sudden movements, or drunken crowds. And I wish to officially warn every man present here, before all: if any of you dares lay so much as a single finger upon my wife, let him be prepared for Ares to rip that arm off at the elbow before you can even summon a maester."
In confirmation of his master's words, the black panther let loose another growl—this time short, loud, and deafeningly affirmative—and the thick hackles on his neck rose.
The young lords who had wished to partake in the merry tradition recoiled several paces in a single, unified motion, turning pale and sobering instantly. Lord Alastor Reyne hastily hid his hands behind his back, swallowing hard. It became blindingly clear and obvious to everyone in the hall that the dubious, fleeting pleasure of gawking at the bare charms of a princess of the blood was by no means worth the real and terrifying prospect of being maimed or slain before the King's eyes by a tame predator's fangs.
Viserra, unable to suppress a genuine, triumphant smile at the sight of the frightened and bewildered faces of the men who had just quailed before a wild beast, gently and boldly lowered her palm directly onto Ares's broad head. She stroked him softly across his sleek, warm black fur between his ears.
The touch was clearly to the beast's liking; he immediately ceased baring his fangs, shut his jaws, and let out a low purr.
"My thanks to you, my noble, faithful knight," Viserra said sweetly, loud enough for those around to hear, continuing to stroke the panther. "You have just saved my honor and my gown from these brave souls. I promise you that tomorrow morn, you shall have the largest, juiciest joint of pork from the kitchens. You have truly earned it."
Amidst the approving, but now strictly respectful, low cheers and chuckles of the guests remaining at the tables, Corlys and Viserra left the Great Hall through a side door and made their way down long corridors toward Corlys's chambers—which henceforth and forevermore became their shared, lawful marital apartments. Ahead of them, like a personal kingsguard, the immense Ares stalked gracefully, silently, and commandingly. All the castle guardsmen, tray-bearing servants, and belated drunken guests they encountered along the way hastily pressed themselves against the stone walls in deep reverence, yielding the way to this unusual procession.
Having at last reached the massive, heavily carved doors of their chambers, the newlyweds smoothly slipped inside. The great Ares, as if having fully discharged his duty and acting as a true, reliable guarantor of their absolute privacy, let out a heavy, noisy sigh, turned about, and laid his massive body straight across the corridor, tight against the threshold. He rested his head upon his powerful paws, letting all the world know that until the morning, no living soul would dare so much as approach this room.
Corlys, slowly drawing the bolt across the heavy double doors, cast over his shoulder with a warm, grateful smile, "My thanks for your faithful service and help, old friend."
Inside the luxurious, spacious bedchambers, a pleasant twilight reigned, softly dispelled only by dozens of wax candles burning in elegant wall sconces. The room held a subtle, soothing scent of fresh lavender and cool sea breeze, which drifted freely inside through a half-open arched window looking out upon the shore.
Left alone at last with her lawful husband in the heavy, absolute silence of the vast chamber, Viserra suddenly felt a wave of sharp, uncontrollable anxiety rushing back into her throat. All the masks of royal pride and confidence she had so diligently worn throughout this endless day dropped away in an instant. She laced her fingers tightly before her, bowed her head, and dared not raise her eyes to Corlys, feeling her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
Noting her sudden tension and timidity, Corlys did not rush matters. He approached her slowly and noiselessly, closing the distance between them, gently took her trembling hands into his warm, strong grasp, and urged her to lift her head, looking intently and openly into her frightened, violet eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was wondrously calm, soft, and devoid of the slightest hint of demand:
"Viserra, look at me," Corlys said softly, his fingers gently stroking her wrists. "I see plainly and feel how terribly anxious and strained you are right now. Please, listen to me closely. Yes, today we became husband and wife before the eyes of gods and men. Yes, I have sworn sacred vows to love, honor, and protect you all my life. But I want you to know the most important thing: if you feel tonight, at this very hour, that you are not yet ready for intimacy... if you need time simply to grow accustomed to me, to this new station, to this chamber—I am willing to wait. I swear to you that I will wait as long as it takes. I will not touch you nor demand a thing of you until you truly and genuinely desire it yourself. We can simply lie down upon this bed right now and sleep side by side. You are entirely safe."
Viserra gazed intently into his face, catching every word. Deep within his clear, confident eyes, there was not a spark of lust, beastly impatience, or selfish desire to swiftly claim his rights to the princess. This noble, sensitive gesture from Corlys finally and unconditionally shattered the last wall of her inner fear, doubt, and maidenly timidity. Viserra felt a wondrous, intoxicating warmth instantly spread through her entire body. She shook her head gently, a tender, confident smile gracing her lips.
"No, Corlys," the princess answered firmly and quietly, squeezing his hands tighter in return. "I have no need to wait. I... I am ready. And I love you truly, with all my heart. I was just... indeed a little unnerved by all the bustle of the day, the ceremonies, and the foolish traditions. But now it has passed. I wish to be your wife in all things."
Smiling with the very corners of his lips, Corlys stepped back slightly and went to the bedside table. He poured cool, fragrant wine into two elegant crystal goblets from a flagon the servants had thoughtfully left for them shortly before their arrival. Returning to his wife, he offered her one goblet.
In silence, never breaking their gaze, they drank the wine, standing in the flickering, warm light of the dying candles. The cool vintage burned Viserra's throat pleasantly, completely washing away the last remnants of the day's tension and fatigue.
The princess smoothly set the empty crystal goblet aside upon the chest of drawers. Then, continuing to look intently, with defiance and hidden tenderness, straight into her husband's eyes, she unlaced her wedding attire with slow, graceful movements. The thick, heavy, snow-white silk of the gown, along with the blue cloak, slipped from her shoulders with a soft rustle and fell to the plush carpet at her feet.
Viserra remained standing before him in naught but a gossamer, near-transparent shift of snow-white silk, brought by seamstresses from Lys. The fabric hid virtually nothing, serving only to advantageously and seductively accentuate the flawless, sculpted curves of her young form, her high breasts that defied gravity, and her rounded hips. Yet about her neck and ears, the precious adornments of Valyrian steel with the immense blue diamonds continued to gleam mysteriously, creating an incredible, mesmerizing contrast with her soft, warm skin.
For a heartbeat, the sight truly stole Corlys's breath away. He took one decisive step forward, closing the space between them. His palm, warm and trembling slightly with reined-in passion, rose to her face. He gently brushed the back of his fingers against her smooth cheek, slid lower to trace the line of her throat right at the necklace, and came to rest at the nape of her neck, drawing her slightly closer.
Leaning down to her face, Lord Velaryon whispered directly against her parted, warm lips, "Viserra... By the gods, you are more beautiful, desirable, and perfect than I could have imagined even in my wildest, maddest dreams."
With those words, he covered her lips with his own in a deep, passionate, demanding, and yet endlessly tender kiss. With a soft sigh, Viserra yielded entirely to the sensation, throwing her arms around his neck and responding to the kiss with all the strength and passion that had gathered within her. Together, never breaking their embrace, they slid down onto the broad, soft bed, and the thick silk bed-curtains closed around them, finally concealing the newlyweds in the deep, intimate shadows of the night.
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A/N
Read ahead on P@treon!
• Navigator Tier: 4 advance chapters & images.
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