Chapter Text
219 AC
The Sept of Dragonstone had always been a place of peace.
It was said that Aegon I Targaryen himself had prayed there on the eve of his conquest, locking himself within the chamber away from both his men and his dragon. From dawn until the rising of the moon he knelt before the Seven whilst the sea warred against the cliffs and the world held its breath. Some septons claimed he prayed for wisdom, while others believed he begged the gods for the strength to unite an entire continent.
Whatever truth lay within the story, when Aegon finally emerged from the sept, he was no longer fully a man, but the Warrior himself made flesh. The world had never seen such strength and ferocity, and before long the continent bent the knee to Aegon I Targaryen, who became the first king to sit upon the Iron Throne of Westeros.
Those same gods who had blessed the Conqueror still watched over Dragonstone in the form of towering wooden statues carved from the masts of the ships that had once carried House Targaryen from Valyria. Over many generations the statues had been decorated with bright paints and jewels, but time had not treated them kindly. Dust coated the thousands of precious gems, and the harsh sea air had caused the delicate paint to peel and curl away. The weathered figures, though poorly maintained, still stood tall, facing the open archways and the restless sea beyond.
The sept had slept, wholly forgotten, until that very night.
For hours nothing had disturbed the two girls kneeling within the prayer hall.
Then the walls began to shudder. Dust and small fragments of stone fell upon their heads as the sacred peace was broken by distant rumbling.
"Your Grace, we must leave!" the handmaiden pleaded.
The disheveled girl paced anxiously through the chamber, her brown eyes wide with fear at the growing disturbance. Dark curls had slipped loose from their pins, hanging messily around her flushed face. Every few moments she cast nervous glances toward the doors before looking back at the silver-haired woman kneeling at the altar.
Serenya did not rise.
She knelt before the statue of the Warrior at the exact altar the Conqueror was said to have favored. The figure stood taller than the other six, painted in faded shades of silver and gold. A broadsword was carved into his hands, its blade studded with red rubies that resembled drops of blood, stretching outward as if blessing those who knelt before him.
Beneath the tip of the sword, Serenya bowed low, pressing her palms flat against the cold stone as she whispered her prayers. Her knees throbbed after hours of kneeling, yet still she did not move.
It was a worthy sacrifice to the Warrior.
She prayed for her soldiers, that they would not falter in battle. She prayed for her father's blade to strike true, to cut down any Targaryen foolish enough to stand in his path. She prayed for a steady mind, and for the trembling girl behind her to find her courage.
But more than anything, she prayed for her husband.
For his victory. For his crown.
After years of bloodshed and exile, she begged the gods to finally place a black dragon upon the Iron Throne.
As she whispered her prayers, the walls trembled louder, and she knew in that moment she had asked too much of the gods.
They had already lost.
So she changed her prayer to one of mercy. She prayed that those she loved would be granted a swift death, and that when the Stranger finally came for them, the gods would spare them needless suffering.
Though thoughts of death and the Stranger’s dark embrace clawed into her mind, Serenya forced herself to breathe slowly. She sat up, eyes still closed, and turned the small locket her father had given her between her fingers, letting the cold metal and sea air steady her racing thoughts.
"Your Grace, please," Lela said urgently, stepping closer. "It sounds as though the castle has been breached."
May the gods be good to them all.
Serenya lifted her face toward the ceiling and drew in one final breath before opening her mismatched blue eyes. As she rose, pain shot through her legs, and from the dull throbbing beneath her gown, she knew dark bruises would soon bloom across her skin.
“Do you think His Grace has been captured?” Lela asked.
“No,” Serenya said bluntly. “He is either still fighting... or he is dead. He swore to me he would never kneel to a red dragon. He would sooner be gutted and left for the crows than bend the knee to those bastards.”
Lela stilled at the thought, her hands twisting tightly in her skirts. “If he truly is d-dead, Your Grace-”
“Then we will mourn him,” Serenya said sharply. “Later. First we must find a way off Dragonstone.”
The words tasted bitter even as she spoke them. The thought of abandoning her soldiers and the people she loved felt unbearable.
She had argued with her husband for hours, her voice eventually turning hoarse from shouting across their chambers. Serenya had begged him to let her tend to the wounded as she always had during past battles. She knew she could not wield a sword like the men, but she could still make herself useful.
Yet he would not listen to her pleas.
He insisted this battle would be different, and if Dragonstone fell, she was to flee the castle immediately with Lela and whatever men remained loyal to them.
Save yourself, he had said.
Even now the memory of those words made anger burn inside her chest. They had felt like an insult not only to her as his queen, but as the daughter of a general who had spent her entire life surrounded by war. The thought of fleeing while her people bled and died for her family’s cause filled her with shame. To survive while others were left behind for slaughter felt cowardly.
It was only when Haegon kissed her and threatened to have her locked away within the abandoned dragon pits that she finally relented.
“But how can we escape, Your Grace?” the girl asked shakily. “They are surely stationed at all the entrances.”
"Not all," Serenya said. "There is a passage in the throne room that leads down into the island's caverns. My father showed it to me the day we arrived. If we can reach it, we may find refuge there until the reds withdraw to their king."
Lela hesitated. "And then what do we do?"
"I don't know," Serenya admitted.
Lela's voice dropped to a panicked whisper. "Your Grace… what if we run into their men?"
Adrenaline surged through Serenya as the girl asked questions she did not know the answer to. Even she was startled by the sharpness that crept into her voice when she finally replied.
"If we do, then we must be ready to fight."
A pathetic cry escaped the handmaiden, and irritation immediately prickled across Serenya’s skin. For one brief moment she wanted to strike the trembling girl for her fear, but forced herself to take a slow breath instead.
“Lela,” she said, gripping the girl’s shoulders. “Very soon you may be forced to choose between fighting and dying. As your queen, I order you to fight. I do not want you merely wounding those red bastards. I want you to kill them. Stab them in the back if you must. Do whatever you must to survive.”
"Y-your Grace... I do not know how to use my dagger," Lela squeaked.
"Then you will learn."
Serenya silently drew her own dagger from her belt before bending down and slicing the handmaiden’s skirt from the hem to just above the knees. Lela let out a startled sound as the silk tore beneath the blade.
"This will make it easier to run," Serenya said, quickly tearing her own skirts. "We cannot afford to be confined."
"B-but you can see my legs," Lela stammered.
"Don't be foolish. If we are taken, do you think the Targaryens will spare us for the sake of modesty?" Serenya snapped.
Lela shook her head, her brown eyes wide with fear. Serenya knew the harshness of her words was doing little to calm the girl’s nerves, so she gently placed her hands on the handmaiden’s shoulders in an attempt to steady her. Though she did not show it, the same fears stirred deep within her own chest.
"You must listen to me," she said, her voice hushed. "From this moment forward, you will remain silent and do exactly as I say. We cannot be heard, or else we will be dead before nightfall. Do you understand?"
Lela nodded, and Serenya slowly released her. The two girls stood in silence for a moment, looking at one another while the walls continued to rumble around them. Lela’s eyes kept darting toward the doors with each shudder before Serenya finally reached for the girl’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"May the Warrior give us strength."
After whispering their final prayers, the girls slipped quietly from the sept and into the dark halls of Dragonstone.
Serenya hurried through the labyrinth of narrow corridors, the walls jagged and uneven like broken shards of glass. As she pulled Lela behind her, she watched each step carefully, making sure her adrenaline did not send them stumbling into the sharp rock splintering from the walls. Her confidence slowly began to grow as corridor after corridor remained silent and eerily abandoned.
Then the sudden bloodcurdling screams of men pierced the silence.
Both girls jumped, and Serenya halted at once, tightening her grip on Lela’s hand as her heart began to pound. She held perfectly still, trying to determine where the enemy soldiers were within the maze of halls, but the screams only grew more distorted as other distant sounds of misery joined them. After several moments, the echoes seemed to be coming from every direction, and a strained breath escaped her lips.
For her own peace of mind, she told herself the sounds could still be her soldiers fighting to hold the castle, and that the screams echoing through the halls belonged to the Targaryen men. Perhaps there was still hope her forces were driving the enemy back. She had to believe it, had to trust that the gods still favored the black dragons. That was what Haegon had always told her to remember whenever doubt crept in. It was the same thing he reminded her of when they first chose to take Dragonstone.
Serenya had protested the plan from the beginning, believing it foolish to trap themselves on an island. Yet both her father and husband insisted Dragonstone would be the safest refuge after their failed attempt to seize the Crownlands. They claimed taking the ancient Targaryen seat would prove the gods still favored the black dragons.
The victory itself had come surprisingly easily. With the Prince of Dragonstone seemingly absent, the fortress had been left lightly guarded for years and had fallen within hours. Yet she knew neither her father nor Haegon were fools. Both understood the true trial would begin once the Targaryens returned for their ancestral home.
That trial had come at last.
The Targaryens had fully breached the castle, and the girls now moved carefully through the halls as the distant noises continued to grow louder.
Serenya paused at every corner, quickly assessing which turn to take before moving again. Relief slowly stirred within her with each corridor they cleared as the jagged stone walls gradually turned into intricate engravings and stained glass, a sign they were nearing the throne room.
Her heart fluttered with hope until a man’s voice suddenly echoed from around the corner. Serenya immediately seized Lela’s arm and pulled them both sharply against the wall, retreating into the shadows. Peering cautiously around the corner, she caught a glimpse of red and black armor and instantly jerked back.
"Check every corridor," the first soldier barked. "Orders are to kill any golds on sight. No survivors."
"Aye, ser," another man replied. "And if we find any bastard spawn?"
"Take them to the prince," the first soldier said. "He'll want to put them out of their misery himself."
A brief silence followed before a third man spoke with a crude laugh.
"And if there are any whores?"
The first soldier only shrugged. "Do with them as you wish."
The man chuckled darkly. "Aye, that's more like it. Been too long since I've had a woman. They're always more fun when they scream."
Lela let out a small cry at the words, and Serenya reacted instantly, clamping a sweaty hand over the girl’s mouth. The muffled sound quickly died beneath her palm, but it was already too late. The chuckling abruptly stopped, and nearby armor rattled as the soldiers shifted uneasily.
“Seven hells... what do you suppose that was?” one of the men muttered.
A moment passed in complete silence.
"Maybe a ghost," another voice said quietly. "They say Dragonstone's full of them. Dead dragonlords wandering the halls."
"Don't be stupid," another soldier scoffed. "It's only the rats. This cursed castle's crawling with them."
"Quit your prattling and do your bloody job," the first soldier snapped. "Or the prince will have you fed to the rats."
The men muttered in annoyance and began moving again, their armor clanking as they continued their search. Serenya’s heart thundered inside her chest as she held her breath, praying to the gods they would not turn the corner.
As the soldiers continued their grumbling, Serenya slowly twisted her dagger between her fingers, ready to strike at whatever red and black crossed her path. She knew what awaited her if she was ever caught by men like this. A brutal, primal violation at the hands of enemy soldiers. The thought alone made her stomach churn and her skin grow hot with revulsion.
She would rather die fighting than look an enemy in the eyes as he claimed her against her will.
Eventually the sounds of the Targaryen soldiers began to fade, and Serenya finally released a deep breath before removing her hand from Lela’s mouth. The girl was still trembling from the soldiers’ words, and for a moment neither of them spoke as they stared silently at one another. Serenya understood the girl’s fear. The soldiers’ words had frightened her as well, but there was no time to dwell on it lest the men returned. She gave Lela a small reassuring nod before sheathing her dagger and pulling the girl forward once again.
They hurried down a long corridor decorated with red and black stained glass. The panels displayed giant dragons locked in battle, claws bared and fire colliding as the red and black beasts dueled as though predicting the war now unfolding within its halls.
At the very end of the corridor was the entrance to the throne room, a pair of crimson doors within the maw of a massive stone dragon. Once they reached them, Serenya pressed her ear gently against the wood and listened. When she heard no voices, she whispered a silent thanks to the Seven before heaving them open and stepping inside. She quickly pulled Lela in after her before shutting the doors tightly.
The intimidating walls of the throne room curved inward like the ribs of a beast, swallowing the girls whole as they moved deeper into the hall. Iron chandeliers hung overhead, while sconces shaped like dragon talons cast a dim glow across the dark stone. Though battle now raged throughout the castle, the throne room remained untouched by the chaos.
Long tables were scattered throughout the room, their surfaces still cluttered with abandoned bottles, plates, and the remains of the feast from the night before. Her husband’s banners, the black three-headed dragon upon red, alongside her father’s golden standards, now lay forgotten on the floor.
The girls moved quickly, weaving between the tables and climbing the steps toward the throne looming at the far end of the hall.
The throne looked less like a seat and more like a jagged rock formation thrust violently from the earth. Massive slabs of volcanic stone leaned together to form the long structure, the sharp edges stacked unevenly as though the mountain itself had erupted into the hall.
Serenya remembered the first time she had seen it, her heart leaping at the sight. Her father had stood beside her then, resting a hand on her shoulder whilst she stared up at it in awe. In the dim sconce light, he had told her that one day her children would sit there as princes of their house. Haegon would rule as king, but their sons would inherit Dragonstone as heirs of the blood.
In that moment, she had believed him.
That promise seemed hollow now as she dragged Lela through the rubble left behind by the invasion, quickly reaching the left side of the dais where a dragon had been carved between the ribs of the wall.
The creature was magnificent, its wings outstretched wide, with thousands of scales carved into the stone in intricate detail. Flames stretched across the wall around it, and its massive snout protruded outward with bared teeth as though guarding the throne. Yet it was the dragon’s eyes that caught Serenya’s attention. One had been carved from ordinary stone while the other was dark polished obsidian.
"There," she breathed quietly.
She pressed her palm against the dragon's eye and pushed. Her heart stopped when the stone did not move, and she let out a breath of disbelief. She was pushing it just as her father had shown her only a few nights prior.
Then Lela suddenly let out a small cry as the sounds of men talking and armor clanking echoed from somewhere beyond the hall.
"Hush," Serenya snapped.
Even as the sounds of soldiers slowly bled into the hall, Serenya forced her mind to quiet. Her fingers traced the grooves of the dragon’s eye as she searched for something, anything. Sweat began to gather on her palms as panic slowly tightened within her chest.
Left, she thought. Father said push left first.
Her fingers suddenly found a narrow crack hidden along the left side of the dragon’s eye, and her heart lifted as she dug her nails into it. She grunted as she pushed with all the force she could muster. The mechanism groaned, and dust began falling from the dragon’s feet. Serenya watched as a thin line slowly cracked open along the creature’s silhouette, a rush of cold air kissing her face from the darkness.
Relief flooded through her as the stone eye slowly turned beneath her hands, the hidden passage finally beginning to open.
Almost there.
And then it stopped.
Her pulse thundered in her ears as panic began to set in. Ignoring the whimpering girl behind her, she wiped her slick palms against the silk at her thighs and shoved her fingers into the crack once more, pushing with all her strength. Pain shot through her fingers, but she did not stop. She forced them deeper into the seam, scraping her nails against the stone until blood began to trickle down her hands.
Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest as a deep voice suddenly rang out from behind them.
"Who goes there?"
Serenya whipped toward the voice and saw two Targaryen soldiers standing at the entrance, both men immediately pushing up their helms to stare at the girls.
"Well now, what do we have here?" the larger of the two jeered.
The soldiers slowly began climbing the steps toward them, the heavy sound of armor echoing throughout the hall. As they advanced, both men casually sheathed their swords, smiles curling on their lips. Instinctively, Serenya stepped forward, placing herself between Lela and the approaching men.
"Who might you two be?" the larger one asked as his gaze slowly raked over Serenya.
Her heart pounded wildly inside her chest, and disgust twisted within her at the way the man looked at her. Only a few tables separated them now, and she desperately tried to think of a plan, an escape, but her mind had gone completely blank.
"Two Blackfyre whores, I think," the thinner man said at last, sneering.
"I wonder," the larger man said to his companion, "what it's like to be with a Blackfyre woman. Do you think they're as good as they say?"
"I say we find out," the thin man leered.
They both laughed, and uncontrollable heat immediately began burning through Serenya’s body. She let loose a snarl of disgust as she met their lewd gazes. Behind her, she heard Lela let out a small whimper. The soldiers heard the frightened sound and grinned cruelly.
"Oh, come now," the larger man said gently. "No need to be afraid. We won't kill you, we only want to be friendly."
He nodded toward his thinner companion, who immediately split off to corner the girls. The larger man continued advancing toward Serenya while the other circled sideways, his attention fixed entirely upon Lela. Serenya understood then that within moments they would be forced to flee.
Running was the only chance they had.
Serenya didn't dare move, but her hand slowly slid to the dagger at her hip. The larger soldier noticed at once, and began to chuckle.
"I wouldn't do that," he said, eyes narrowing. "It'd be a shame to kill something so pretty."
Serenya glanced back at Lela and gave a subtle nod. She could not tell whether the girl understood what was being asked of her or if she had been overcome entirely by fear, but there was no more time to hesitate. She then uttered her command to the handmaiden.
"Run."
After she spoke the word, there was a brief pause, and then chaos erupted as the two men lunged for the girls.
Lela suddenly bolted from behind her toward the entrance, and the thinner man immediately rushed after her. Serenya, on the other hand, did not run as the remaining soldier slowly walked around the table. Instead, she backed away, refusing to take her eyes off him as he prowled closer.
When he was only a few feet away, she finally drew her dagger. The movement made him pause, his eyes widening briefly at the flash of steel.
"I told you not to do that. Any whore who tries that isn't worth keeping alive."
Good, she thought. Maybe he'll kill me instead.
"But..." he continued. "I've always wanted to fuck a woman with silver hair, so you'll be the exception."
She let out a yelp as he suddenly lunged forward.
Serenya slashed toward his thigh, praying there was no protective layer beneath the black leather. The blade sliced across his leg, and he let out a sharp cry of pain.
"You bitch," he yelled rabidly.
She tried to strike again, but her heart sank as his hand suddenly snapped around her wrist.
He twisted with brutal force, sending the blade clattering to the floor before striking her hard across the face with his gloved fist. The blow spun her sideways and sent her crashing violently into the nearest table.
Her vision blurred and she barely heard his heavy footsteps advancing before he suddenly slammed her down onto the table. Serenya screamed as glass bottles shattered beneath her, searing pain erupting across her body as jagged shards embedded into her bare back.
She gasped as his grip tightened around her throat, his foul breath assaulting her nose. Her hands clawed desperately at his wrist, bloodied nails scraping uselessly against his gloves as she thrashed beneath him. He growled something at her, trying to force her to meet his eyes, but she refused to look at him.
Somewhere to her left, Lela screamed. The sound sent a violent wave of rage crashing through her. She knew exactly what the soldier was doing to her handmaiden, yet she could do nothing to stop it.
Her vision began to speckle with darkness, and slowly her hands started to fall slack.
The moment she stopped struggling, air rushed painfully back into her lungs, yet everything around her felt distant and spinning. She could barely react as she felt the tearing of her dress and the cool wood beneath her bare legs. Panic hammered through her chest as her legs were forced apart, and she finally understood what he was about to do.
Rage surged through her veins as her ears filled with the vulgar sounds of the other soldier alongside Lela’s cries. Summoning what little strength she had left, she blindly moved her bloodied hand across the table, searching for anything she could use to defend herself. Then her fingers suddenly caught on the jagged neck of a broken bottle.
She did not hesitate.
Wrapping her hand around the shattered glass, she let out an anguished cry and drove it upward into the soldier’s neck. The grin spread across his face vanished at once, dying in a wet choke.
She tightened her grip and wrenched the shard sideways, tearing it violently across his throat. Hot blood sprayed over her hands, her neck, and the front of her dress as she gasped in shock. The man collapsed heavily onto her, gargling and choking as he struggled for breath.
Serenya quickly shoved the man’s body off her and stumbled away from the table, her chest heaving. She stood frozen for a brief moment as her vision slowly focused, her silver hair now stained with blood. The sound of Lela’s screams immediately snapped her out of her daze.
Turning sharply, she saw her handmaiden struggling beneath the soldier’s grip, her sobs ragged and desperate as he forced himself upon her against one of the tables. The man was too consumed by his own pleasure to notice what had become of his companion.
Rage consumed her as she ran at him. She crossed the distance in three quick strides, snatching up her fallen dagger along the way. Without hesitation, she drove the blade deep into the man’s neck from behind.
More blood sprayed, and he collapsed onto the trembling handmaiden.
Wiping the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, she straightened, her shoulders pulled back despite the shards of glass still embedded in her skin. She shoved the man off Lela, and the girl immediately collapsed onto the stone floor.
Crouching beside her, Serenya tried to help the girl stand, but Lela only clung to her as shaking sobs tore from her throat. Then she noticed the blood pooling between the girl’s legs and felt her stomach churn.
Before she could utter a command to Lela, a cold voice echoed through the chamber.
"Now, what is going on in here?"
Serenya turned toward the voice.
Three men now stood at the entrance. Two were Targaryen soldiers like the ones she had just killed, but the man standing between them was something else entirely.
The man in the middle stood a head taller than the soldiers at his sides, dressed in a full suit of armor and a blood-red cape, his appearance clearly meant to invoke fear. Dark plates overlapped across his chest and shoulders like scales, while sharp ridges ran along the armor’s sides, giving him the silhouette of something more reptile than man.
An intricate helmet concealed his face, shaped in the likeness of a dragon skull. Its jagged points were tipped in red, though he hardly needed paint to bear the color. Fresh blood coated his armor, dripping steadily onto the stone floor beneath him. The gleaming sword he carried was stained with the same dark crimson.
He did not rush forward or raise his voice. He simply stood there, surveying the dead bodies of his soldiers as though they were little more than an inconvenience. Then his gaze slowly drifted from the dagger in Serenya’s hand to the cowering girl on the floor.
With one lazy motion, he raised the bloodstained sword and pointed it directly at Serenya.
"Bring them to me."
The two soldiers moved at once.
Lela surrendered easily, still dazed from the assault, allowing herself to be pulled forward. Serenya kicked and twisted as the other soldier tried to seize her. She slashed at him several times, but he quickly dodged out of the way, cursing beneath his breath as he struggled to restrain her.
The armored man said nothing, merely tilting his head as he watched the struggle unfold.
“Hold still, you bitch,” the soldier snapped in irritation.
When he finally twisted the dagger from her hand and forced himself behind her, she bucked violently again, slamming the back of her head into his jaw. He let out a pained grunt, and for one brief moment she nearly pulled herself free before he seized both her arms and forced them painfully behind her back. Stone scraped beneath her boots as he hauled her forward across the chamber.
When they finally reached the armored man, the soldier roughly kicked her legs out from under her. Serenya hissed sharply as her knees struck the stone floor, pain jolting violently through her body.
Behind her the soldier spoke eagerly.
"What do you make of this my prince?"
Red-hot anger rose within her at the realization that she was kneeling before a Targaryen bastard. She wanted nothing more than to drive her dagger into his throat and watch him choke on his own blood just as his soldiers had.
The prince’s attention passed briefly over Lela, lingering only long enough to determine she held no interest for him before returning to Serenya.
Slowly, he stepped closer.
He lifted his sword and placed the blood-slick tip beneath her chin, tilting her face upward as though inspecting some interesting creature.
"Who are you," he asked lazily, "and why have you made such a mess in my throne room?"
His throne room?
She nearly laughed at the audacity of a bastard's spawn claiming this as their throne room. She said nothing, answering him only with her glare.
"Nothing to say?" he mused gently.
"Blackfyre whores, I assume, my prince," one soldier offered quickly.
The prince ignored him, tilting his head slightly as he studied her with curiosity. Through the slits of his helmet, she caught a glimpse of violet eyes and bared her teeth in a low snarl.
He didn't react as he bent down and gently took a strand of her silver hair between his fingers, lifting it toward the dim chamber light.
"Silver," he cooed. "An odd thing to see on a whore."
He let the strand fall before slowly sliding his hand through her hair, his fingers moving intimately through the bloodied silver. As her head tilted slightly beneath his touch, he noticed her eyes. One was a deep ocean blue, while the other was a pale icy shade.
He paused when he saw them, his hand stopping its movements.
Then he snapped.
His grip twisted in her hair, and he suddenly wrenched her head back so he could look closer. The movement was sharp and painful, but Serenya did not cry out.
"Tell me," he continued, his voice still soft, "are you a whore?"
With a sudden motion, she spat directly at the prince’s helmet.
The wind was instantly knocked from her lungs as a brutal blow struck the back of her head. She collapsed onto the stone floor and the soldier behind her quickly pinned her beneath his boot. Pain exploded through her body, and a strained cry escaped her lips.
The prince calmly wiped the spit from his helm, then studied the smear upon his glove.
"Not a very clever thing to do," he said mildly. "Perhaps you truly are a whore after all."
She grit her teeth and tried to move, but the soldier drove his boot harder into her back.
"Should we kill her for that, my prince? Kill them both for what they've done?" the soldier spat.
"No," the prince said almost lazily, as though her offense had not troubled him in the slightest.
"But, my prince," the soldier protested, "they killed two of our soldiers."
"If any of my soldiers were killed by a woman," the prince said, amused, "then they were never worthy to fight for the dragon. Men so easily beaten deserve to die."
The soldier grunted in disapproval but did not argue further. The prince ignored the man entirely and stepped back slightly, his gaze never leaving Serenya.
"The one with the silver hair comes with me," he said at last. "A whore she may be, but possibly a useful one."
"And the other girl?" the soldier asked.
The prince spared Lela only the briefest glance. The girl had curled in on herself, her shoulders shaking as she stared fixedly at the floor, her lips moving in quiet prayer.
"I do not care what you do with her."
Serenya's head snapped toward Lela, horror and panic striking her at once. The word caught in her throat before she could force it out fast enough.
"Wait-"
The soldier’s grip tightened painfully around her arms as he forced her to stand and shoved her forward after the prince. Behind her, she heard the rasp of steel sliding free from its scabbard.
For one terrible moment, there was silence.
Then Lela screamed. The sound pierced through the throne room before it was suddenly cut short by the brutal sound of steel cutting through flesh.
Then the hall fell silent once again.
Serenya froze before a rough shove from the soldier forced her forward. The world around her narrowed to the dying scream still ringing in her ears as her stomach twisted violently.
Rage flared through her veins so fiercely it nearly choked her. She wanted to scream until the ancient walls cracked and the gods themselves were forced to listen. She wanted to tear them apart with her bare hands. To feel their blood spilling across her skin and watch them bleed out on the same cold stone floor where they had taken Lela’s life.
She wanted the red dragons to suffer. Every last one of them.
Starting with the Targaryen prince.