CHAPTER ONE.

It started with a scream.

Lord and Lady Vanros ran to the shared chambers of the girls. They watched as Hesperia clutched her arm, she was only nine but the girl was terrified for her life. Their youngest, Ysella, held a knife which she managed to snatch from dinner hours ago. Tainted red, blood dripped from the tip before it fell onto the floor.

"Ysella," her mother murmured under her breath, eyes wide as she looked at the scene in front of her.

The young girl turned to look at her mother, eyes bloodshot red as tears streamed down. "I didn't want to do it," she answered, her eyes darting between her parents. "They— they made me do it."

"She tried to hurt me!"

"They told me to— mama please!"

The very next morning, Ysella was moved to a different bedroom, one which sat at the other end of the castle.

⃘໋ׅ ᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏ ⃨۪̃۟ ▊-ཻུ͎ ⚔️

Hesperia has been all too familiar with how the story goes— though she grew to believe it was just a story.

She and her sister were raised knowing only one of them would survive, that one of them would live to inherit such beauty, intelligence, and pride. But when she overheard some smallfolk talk as she walked past them during a trip to town, their words clicked a gear in her head.

"They probably say these things to scare the lords of other houses," a merchant sneered. "Killed their women to prove some point."

Maybe the voices in her head were just her imagination— something she was taught to believe. Afterall, they did tell her soothing words of advice. Lulling her to sleep, peaceful words that brought Hesperia out of her misery— they were doing the girl a favor.

For Ysella, it was a different story. Hesperia watched as her younger sister would claw at her ears, begging her parents to make them stop. She should've been afraid— she should've recoiled from her sister when she saw her again, but when Hesperia found Ysella in the garden nights after the incident with the knife, knees drawn to her chest as she sat amongst the wild roses, the older sister did not turn away.

Instead she sat beside her, silent.

Ysella dared not to look at her. "I didn't want to do it," she whispered. Her voice was small, hoarse from crying. "They told me I had to."

Hesperia picked at the petals of a flower, tearing them one by one. "They lie, you know," she murmured.

The younger's head snapped toward her, eyes wide. "No, they don't—"

"Yes, they do. They tell you what you want to hear, or what you fear the most. They don't tell you the truth."

Ysella trembled, her fingers curling into the fabric of her gown. "If you don't accept your fate, then I have to do it," she said, her eyes remaining on Hesperia. "That's what they told me. If you don't die willingly, then it must be my hand."

"Do you want to kill me, Ysella?"

The girl flinched at her words. "No."

"Then don't listen to them."

She buried her face in her hands. "You don't understand, they don't speak to you the way they do to me." Suddenly, a gust of wind rustled the branches which caused Ysella to shiver. "They're angry."

Hesperia could only exhale slowly. "Let them be."

⃘໋ׅ ᭢˚̣̣̣͙͏ ⃨۪̃۟ ▊-ཻུ͎ ⚔️

Ysella just turned nine, Hesperia nearing ten, when she met Daeron Targaryen.

He had arrived at Ebonspire on horseback, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar lands with quiet curiosity. The boy rode between his uncle, Gwayne Hightower, and her brother— Dyron Vanros, with men of House Hightower riding behind them. Daeron was younger than his brothers, smaller— but there was something about him that set him apart. The boy didn't look Targaryen, his hair darker than the silver haired princes Ysella heard about.

"Your son has been excellent company," Gwayne greeted, dismounting his horse. Ysella watched from the balcony above, trying to make out the faces from below. Her brother stood tall, as he always did, it was hard to miss Dyron in a crowd. "Apologies for the unexpected company, we have some matters to discuss."

Lord Vanros only laughed. "A Targaryen prince in my own home is never a disruption." With that, the man led them into the castle– the voices beginning to whisper in Ysella's ears again.

Dinner settled rather quickly, Daeron sitting directly in front of Ysella. "A match between House Vanros and House Targaryen," Gwayne said smoothly, pulling the young girl out of her thoughts. "The prince is of good stock, and Ysella... Well, your daughter is of particular interest."

The young girl squirmed under his gaze, finger tightening in her lap as Hesperia cautiously ate her food. She had learned that men looked at her and Hesperia differently– that they whispered about them the way they whispered of ghost stories.

Lord Vanros sipped from his goblet, unimpressed. "Daeron is the youngest, why would I wed my daughter to a boy with no standing?"

Gwayne stiffened at the insult. Alicent had hoped for this match– to tie her son to a house that held such strange power. But Lord Vanros saw no advantage in a prince with no throne. Quickly, the matter was dismissed– and yet for those few days that the Hightower company stayed at Ebonspire, Ysella found herself drawn to Daeron.

He was different– different from the men of her house. The boy did not look at her with wariness or intrigue. He did not speak to her as if she were something to be feared.

Instead, Daeron laughed.

They met once at the gardens, where their strange trees grew tall, their scent thick in the humid air. "You're not what I expected," Daeron admitted as he plucked a fruit from a low hanging branch.

Ysella could only blink. "What did you expect?"

He smiled. "A witch."

"I might be."

Daeron's grin widened. "Then cast a spell on me, Lady Ysella."

She plucked a single leaf from the tree, twirled it between her fingers, and flicked it at him. "There," she declared. "You're cursed."

He gasped in mock horror, clutching his chest. "What have you done?"

The girl giggled, and for the first time she felt light. He really wasn't like the others– he did not speak in riddles or whisper in fear.