Blood of Dragons

On a brilliant autumn’s afternoon, with the Blackwater gleaming under a sky of flawless blue, the royal progress to White Harbor set sail amidst grandeur, gossip, and more than a few surprises. Though the day was fine and the wind fair, one could not ignore the chill—not in the air, but in the absence of the King himself, who did not descend to the docks to see his son off. Rumors were rife that they had been quarreling ever since the marriage of their cousin, Princess Elaena, ended as swiftly as it began.

Daeron, the Prince of Dragonstone, stood at the forefront, flanked by his famed uncle Prince Aemon, the Dragonknight. The great royal galley _Prince Daemon_, a fearsome three-hundred-oared vessel, dominated the quay, escorted by a flotilla of smaller warships and galleys. Among these was the sleek _Royal Spear_, captained by Ser Orbert Farman, whose House banners danced beside the royal standard.

A crowd of nobles and commoners alike thronged the piers. Lords and ladies arrived in procession: House Caswell in golden finery, Lady Jannia Buckwell cloaked in wolf’s fur, and Ser Otho Royce on horseback with a grim expression. From the Reach came Ser Jon Roxton and his squire-laden entourage. The palanquin of Princess Mariah was carried onto the stones, her face serene but distant. She would not be going north.

Whispers chased her retreat like a trailing veil: that the princess had not forgiven the King for sending her husband in his stead, that her absence was a rebuke, or worse, a sign of factional tensions within the royal household. Still, Daeron bore it with regal poise, thanking those gathered and proclaiming the voyage not a mere wedding journey, but a royal embassy to the North.

And then—just as the tide turned—a commotion stirred the rear of the crowd. The gates of the city parted, and through them rode a silver-haired figure in black brocade, golden dragon pendant glinting at her throat.

“Princess Daena!” came the cry, echoing from dock to ship. Daena the Defiant, eldest daughter of the late King Aegon, had not been expected. Indeed, rumor held she had been forbidden from the journey. Yet there she was, mounted and smiling, her attendants and trunks in tow, as if the matter were already settled.

“I decided I wanted a change of scenery,” she declared with easy charm. “And I’ve never seen the North.”

Was this bold gesture a defiance of the King’s will, or a sign of new favor at court? Was she sent to temper her reputation, or to be its herald? Prince Daeron received her with courtesy, his tone cool but correct. Prince Aemon, it was noted, helped her from her horse with a gallant flourish—though none believed she needed the assistance.

As her belongings and ladies were loaded aboard the _Prince Daemon_, a final call rang out and gangplanks lowered. Daeron embraced Mariah briefly, and nobles made their farewells. The Caswell children waved their parents off with wide eyes. Servants scrambled, guards shouted orders, and the court began to file aboard.

The ships set sail not long after, beating away with the tide as onlookers watched.