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i.
He cannot remember what it was he said that made her laugh. Maekar will think on it, later in the day and years later, after they are wed and then after she is taken from him. He said something within earshot and it was cutting but he doesn’t remember what was said, or who it was about, or what might have made him say such a thing. He knows it wasn’t nice, for he is not often nice, and it is a thing he has often been scolded for.
What he will remember best is the sound of her laughter. Dyanna Dayne, whose family has long lived at King’s Landing, ever since his grandfather died and his mother’s Dornish roots made it a welcome space for other Dornish houses, laughed. Not at him, but with him. She has a beautiful laugh. He notices that first, and then he turns his head and notices her. She is a beautiful girl; he notices this second. Her hair is darker than his, but then most is. The color of honey, not quite golden in the sun but nearly so.
The laughter stops, but her smile remains. The third thing he notices: her eyes are blue, the same shade as the sky in winter. She uses them to look at him. She dips her chin, but she smiles as she does so, and she says, I agree with you, my prince, and it will haunt him that he does not remember what it was that they were first in agreement over but he is glad, he is always glad that they were.
ii.
There is familiarity but Dyanna is a mystery, perhaps because she is a girl and he a boy or perhaps because she is Dyanna and he is Maekar. He is a prince of the realm, he is often reminded, but he is also on the cusp of manhood, as he is often told. He has not mastered either the courtly manners that Baelor has perfected and Aerys knows but rarely practices and that Rhaegel is allowed to ignore. Maekar ignores them as well but he is not allowed it, he knows, and so he works at being a warrior instead, that this might make his stubbornness and his meanness and his unsightliness somehow more acceptable.
It does not, but that does not seem to bother Dyanna Dayne, whose mother and father alike live in the Red Keep and seem to carry the same queer Dornish customs that his mother does. And because Dyanna is not a prince nor a princess it seems she has been given freedoms that neither Maekar nor his brothers are allowed, which means she laughs when Maekar makes a cutting remark and does not mind it when Rhaegel asks her to dance when there is no music to dance to. She is kind and beautiful and she lately meets Maekar’s eyes when they pass each other in the corridors and he thinks there may be a secret hiding in the corner of her smile, one that she might even want to share with him.
iii.
Dyanna kisses him first. That is the secret she was hiding: her plush mouth against his, but not for long enough. It is in the library. They sit together but not together, for Maekar was here first, reviewing a lesson that he had once had and that he has been reminded of, lately, with all that transforms itself in Westeros and Essos alike. Dyanna finds him and invites herself to sit a respectable distance away and she asks him questions about the tome and the lesson and then when she grows bored with that she asks after his day and what he normally does and what he would prefer to do, if he did not have such responsibilities.
It is a strange question. He does not know how to answer it. And so she speaks of Dorne instead and of Starfall and the Watergardens of Dorne though she has not been there but she wants to and has he been there, being his mother’s son as he is?
I have, he says, a long time ago when I was a child.
Tell me, she says, or maybe she demands, and perhaps she should not demand anything of him but he cannot remember the last time someone sat and wanted to know something of him and so he sets aside the tome. He sets it aside and he turns to her and when he speaks she listens and when he finishes she asks a question anew and they go on like this, trading stories, until it is nearly time to dine with their respective families.
I must take leave of you, my prince, she says. Her fingers pinch at her sleeves, lilac and comely against her skin. Your company is quite appreciated. Something makes her brave maybe or perhaps it is Maekar herself that tempts her, unfamiliar a thing as that is. She leans in too close and kisses him once at the corner of his mouth as if he too has a secret there and then when he stares at her in shock she tilts close for a second one except this one is a real kiss. Her mouth against his and it lasts for a long breath and then she’s gone from the library. Maekar stares at the space she once took up. His mouth carries hers like a phantom.
iv.
At nearly six-and-ten, he does the only thing he can think to do, which is ask his brothers how to move forward.
She kissed you, says Rhaegel. His eyes are alight with joy, for he quite likes the young Lady Dayne and she has always been kind to him.
She kissed you? says Aerys, but he says it like it’s a ridiculous thing for her to have done.
She kissed you! says Baelor and he smiles wide and bright as if he’s the one who’s been given such a gift.
Maekar’s face burns. Yes, he says, for he’s already said it and he doesn’t understand why they must hem and haw over this like clucking hens instead of men, for Baelor is betrothed and Aerys and Rhaegel both are being discussed by the council for their own betrothals, but what am I to do now?
Do you want her to kiss you again? asks Rhaegel and Maekar flushes.
Well what do you want to do? says Aerys and Maekar scowls.
You must court her, Baelor says, ever the logical one, though he must think Aerys is onto something for he adds, If that is what you wish, of course.
Courting, Maekar says.
Courting, Baelor repeats. Surely you have heard of that?
Maekar has not stopped scowling. Of course I have.
And do you know what it entails? Aerys asks, one pale eyebrow raised.
Yes, Maekar insists, but knowing is not the same as doing and he feels as though he does not actually know what would be the correct way to do all of this. He is no poet: he will not write the flowery things he knows his father once wrote for his mother. An expensive gift seems impersonal, and worse, assumptive—what does he know of what the young lady might like? Will she think he thinks her shallow, only after little trinkets that she has no real need or desire for? Nor are there any upcoming tournaments, where he might ask for her favor. Maekar is not a creative person, and this his brothers already know and cannot rectify for him, which makes them nearly useless in their assistance.
They don’t appreciate his judgement, and soon enough he’s left to himself to decide what he might do to catch Dyanna’s attention again.
Perhaps he need not try so hard, he thinks to himself, and loses a moment or two remembering how Dyanna smiled at him in the library, how she smelled of cardamom when she leaned in to kiss him. But still, what must he do to show her that he did not mislike her kiss? Or worse, what if she thinks that he is only after another and ceases her kind smiles and knowing eyes and paying any attention to him at all? He thinks of her greeting him as they pass each other in chambers, of the way her eyes are bright and kind every time they meet, and feels a pang at the potential loss of any of it. He tries to banish the thought from his head.
His path does not cross with Dyanna’s the next day, or the day after that. It is not until the third day that they do, outside the Sept. Maekar is simply passing by, but it seems Dyanna has just stepped out of it. He pretends it does not affect him to see her eyes light up at the sight of him, or that her smile does not seize his heart just so.
My prince! she says, and it sounds familiar in her mouth and not like a title that might keep him separate from her. I hope you are well.
Lady Dyanna, he says, and he should answer thus: I am well, thank you, I hope the same for you, but he does not for instead he says, I have not seen you in many days, as if three days is a lifetime or as if he is somehow owed her presence. He realizes the mistake, and flushes red for it, can feel it on his face.
Dyanna’s mouth twitches. For a moment he is unsure of what she might say next but there is another secret at the corner of her mouth again, a little grin there just for him, and she says, Apologies, my prince, I did not realize my company was sought.
I, he starts, for he has no good thing to counter with, and he looks at Dyanna for a long moment while she looks at him, her expression rather pleased if he might say, and he looks at how her fingers pull at the silk of her sleeves, a soft blue with silver and purple details. When he looks at her face again she is still smiling.
Rhaegel had asked if he wanted her to kiss him again and the answer is yes but he also wants her to sit next to him and ask him questions and this time, he thinks, he will ask her some and he can listen to her tell stories instead. He would like that.
He says, Would you join me tomorrow? On the morn?
Of course, Dyanna says. He tells himself he is imagining how quickly she replies.
Good, Maekar says, and then, I am glad.
Dyanna nods. She bites her lip and Maekar does not track the movement. She says, Where…?
Maekar can feel himself flush. Here, he says. We can meet after you finish praying.
Oh, I was not praying, Dyanna says. My mother is there in the Sept right now. I said my head hurt from the candles and came out here instead.
Maekar blinks. Are you ill?
No, of course not, Dyanna says, I simply did not wish to be in the Sept.
I never thought to feign illness, Maekar says, thinking on his mother and father’s steady hands on his shoulders as a child, when he could still be forced into visiting. He knows the high septon well, thinks kindly enough of him, but he does not study the scripture as others in the family do, and he certainly does not visit the Sept unless there’s cause for it such as a holy day that his mother bids him attend.
Dyanna shrugs, palms up. I was simply bored of the silence. Will you walk with me to the gardens? I promised to join some of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting.
Yes, Maekar says, perhaps too quickly, and offers her an arm. What of your mother?
Oh, she’ll guess where I am, she says, and squeezes her fingers over his arm. Thank you, my prince.
When he leaves her, she looks at his mouth. He is not imagining it, he tells himself, and the thought is both a relief and an overwhelming new truth for him to consider.
On the morrow, they meet outside the Sept, though soon enough they wander to the godswood. Maekar’s guard trails after them, a good enough chaperone if Maekar has any say in it, though perhaps he should wonder if that’s actually the case. Dyanna doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, in truth, their arms linked as they were the day before and conversation flowing freely, though less because of Maekar than because of her.
He has done well, he thinks, to ask her after Starfall, remembering how she described her brothers some days past, and then they compare the different stories of House Dayne they’ve each been told, and she laughs when she says his mother’s house has remembered history different than hers, despite the Dornish blood in them both.
She should probably not speak so freely, Maekar thinks, but he does not say so, and when their walk together comes to an end he looks towards his guard, who look away from them both, and when he leans in to kiss Dyanna he can feel her smile against his mouth.
v.
Maekar ignores his brothers when they ask How goes courting?, not that it stops them from their exaggerated whispers in his presence. It’s just his luck that their father happens to overhear while their family dines together one evening, a few weeks after their successful walk in the gardens, which has led them to more walks and more days in the library and more conversations where they compare old histories and mock the stuffy court rules they increasingly eschew in favor of each other’s company. Increasingly, this leads them to corners away from prying eyes where they might kiss, Dyanna’s mouth open against his and her hands clutching at his doublet instead of her own sleeves.
What’s this about courting? their father asks, and Maekar flushes a brilliant red, he knows it, while his brothers fall silent and look to him as if he isn’t the victim of their clucking. Their mother leans forward, a glint in her eye exactly like his brothers’ when they discover new ways to torture him.
Maekar, she says, voice deceptively sweet, do you have something to tell us?
No, he says.
Rhaegel? Myriah settles her unnerving gaze on him, and he squirms, looking from Maekar to Aerys to Baelor and then back to their mother.
Don’t say anything, Baelor says out of the side of his mouth, and Myriah pins him with her eyes next.
What do you know? she says, this time sounding like a Master of Whispers.
Nothing, he lies.
You lie.
I’m just teasing Maekar.
Which means there’s something to tease him about, no?
Mother, Baelor says. He’s sweating.
Maekar wonders if he might be able to throw himself from a window before this conversation ends.
Aerys, their mother begins.
No, he says, and then stands. May I be dismissed?
I suppose, their father says, but he’s smiling like he finds this all quite amusing. Maekar scowls, which captures the king’s attention. Maekar, if there is a girl…
He stands. I’m not hungry anymore.
Oh, Maekar, Myriah says, don’t be shy!
I have never heard anyone describe Maekar as shy, Aerys says.
I am dismissing myself, Maekar says, stiffly.
I don’t think that is how that works, his father says, still smiling, but you may leave if you so wish. You may also stay and tell us more.
Goodnight, Maekar says instead.
Who is this girl? he hears his mother ask as he makes his escape just a few steps behind Aerys, He need only ask…
What an embarrassment, he thinks. As if he’d bring Dyanna up to his mother of all people, or worse, his father. Bad enough that Aerys is choosing between brides already, Baelor due to wed by the end of the year, just after the harvest. Maekar is simply spending time with Dyanna; he does not need the court setting their sights on him like he’s another prince in need of marrying off. That’s what his older brothers are for, Maekar thinks. His parents would only meddle.
In the meantime, he is content to keep Dyanna to himself. He does not offer details to his gossiping brothers, though he cannot help how he blushes when Rhaegel asks if he managed to get another kiss; the truth is obvious.
vi.
It happens thus:
There is an alcove in one of the lesser-used halls in the Keep. This does not mean it is always empty: servants use the hall as needed, but it is not a place where one might think to look for a wayward prince and his lady companion. It is a good place for privacy, as Maekar and Dyanna have discovered, and they have secluded themselves there before, to kiss without guards or servants or chaperones. Maekar is quite fond of this little alcove, which is made more private by a heavy tapestry, though it is true that they have happily found themselves kissing in halls where any might come upon them, shameless in their desires as they are.
He is assuming no one has. He will not investigate further.
Lately, their hands have been wondering: fingers restless, tugging at hair and fabric and skin when perhaps they shouldn’t. It is a hard urge to quell, Maekar tells himself, and he and Dyanna suffer it together.
Today, Dyanna guides his hand where she wishes it. She kisses him with tongue and teeth. He follows her lead, swallows the sounds she makes, and does as she bids. And so—
Like this, she says against his mouth, and she puts her hand over his and moves it where she wants it. It happens quickly: she hikes her skirts up, and puts his hand underneath them and beneath his fingertips he feels warm skin and the fabric of her underclothes. She pushes his hands further, beneath the fabric, and first he feels the fine hair that grows there and second he feels the wet heat of her, that secret space he has heard of, that secret space she is pushing him into.
He kisses her harder and she keeps a hand on his wrist, guiding his hand and his fingers where she wants them.
Like this, she says again, and shows him what she likes, and says, a gasp against his mouth, Yes, like that.
He kisses her even as she struggles to kiss him back, distracted by how he touches her. He feels himself grow warm, but he would rather touch her, he thinks, than try to touch himself. Her hands clutch at him: they move from his arms to his shoulders to his waist. Her touch is desperate. It is new. It is different. He likes her like this, he thinks, he likes kissing her and touching her and holding her, how she pants into his mouth and grinds down against his hand and leans into him so that he is holding her up, his free hand on her lower back, the hand in her smallclothes growing wet from her pleasure—
She goes tight around him all at once, crying out against his mouth, and she holds him close for a long moment even after it stops. He does not let himself think on what it would feel like to spend inside her while she finds pleasure like this, but the thought plants itself in his head anyway. What an honor it would be, he thinks. He pulls his hand from her underclothes carefully, finds that he misses the feel of her already, and she reaches down to wipe him clean with the fabric of her skirt.
Still, they kiss. Dyanna puts herself back together, smoothes down her dress, but she kisses him, still, and he is helpless to kiss her back, to clutch at her waist like if he lets go she might disappear forever.
When they part it is with as slick a sound as his fingers inside her. He wonders at how flushed he looks to her, for she is pink in the face even as she smiles that lovely smile at him, eyes bright as the morning sky. She bites her lip and he wants to kiss her again but he doesn’t, he doesn’t. He files the feeling away for later. He will revisit the memory, he tells himself.
She says, That was nice, and he huffs a laugh. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, and he does the same around her waist. He does not want to leave her embrace but he knows they must separate soon, for they have been alone long enough as it is and he is sure someone will come upon them, no matter that they have missed what they may have tried to prevent.
He does not know what overcomes him but he kisses her on her nose, sweeter than he has ever been in his life but it is worth it for how it makes her giggle, the way her eyes scrunch up. Something tender has grasped his heart and he knows not what to do with it but kiss her eyelid and then her chin and then the careful arch of her eyebrow.
I will visit you tomorrow, he says, let us break fast together in the morn.
Yes, my prince, she says, and as always she says it not like a title but like a little secret between them, like he has done her a favor and not the opposite, and they kiss on the mouth, once, twice, three times before they separate, her arm tucked into his elbow the very image of propriety, as if his fingers do not flex still from the feel of her all around them.
(How goes courting? Rhaegel will ask again, later.
Maekar will think: her eyes are the color of the sky and she has many stories to tell and better yet she seems to find mine interesting and when we are not spending time together I am thinking of her all the same and she has kissed me many times without my having to even ask and her smile is one I would like to see every day.
Maekar will say, It goes well.
Rhaegel will say, Do you like her?
And Maekar will say, Yes, even if the word feels too small for the feeling in his chest.)
vii.
Dyanna takes him into her body on an otherwise nondescript day. Maekar does not expect it nor would he ask it of her for he knows how such things might come across. He is a prince of the realm after all and she an honored guest, though in some ways it feels as though the Keep belongs to her for some time too. He would not risk a bastard of her, not with his father’s warnings in his ear, words from long ago, all of them said to the King’s four sons: There will be no bastards born of any of you, for if word reaches my ears you will be wed and sent off to whatever castle will have you, and Maekar cannot blame him for it, not really. In truth he had not thought much of bastards nor even of women for most people are not interesting to him (and perhaps more importantly not interested. He did not think it important until Dyanna looked at him.)
But then there is Dyanna. Dyanna with her golden hair and sky blue eyes and her mouth that kisses him and her body that bids him open her up, weeks now of this secret they share. He does not ask for more than that nor she does ask for more than that though her hands move under his doublets sometimes as if she too wishes to possess. He can understand the temptation, he thinks, but he would not sully her good name so, at least he thinks he wouldn’t, though he knows too that he might do whatever she bid of him including that.
And that, of course, is what she asks of him today: their walk becomes shared kisses where no one can see becomes Maekar’s hands on her and then she says, Will you take me?
He says, burning up, from the want of it and the want of her so constant, Are you sure?
Yes, she says. I would have you, if you would have me.
Tis a thing we cannot undo, Maekar says. He thinks of the Sept, untoward women sent to the Seven, this thing that grows between them that he can almost name.
Why would we need to undo it? Dyanna says. Her eyes are an endless blue. Maekar cups her face in one hand and she leans into the touch. She says, Maekar, I love you. I will give you this.
He can feel how he flushes. It makes her smile, and she turns her head to kiss his palm and then reaches towards him, and things move quickly after that, their bodies together a feeling unlike any other and—
That is when it all comes apart, of course: after the peak, at least, a small mercy, but a gasp that is from neither of them echoes and the two of them turn their heads in the same direction and Maekar’s stomach drops. It is worse than he could have imagined, far worse, for Dyanna’s skirt is still hiked up and their hips are still pressed together and there is his mother standing with panic painted across her face.
Behind her, a Queensguard looks carefully past them, but Maekar feels himself go very, very red, and he hears Dyanna whisper to herself, Seven preserve me, I am a dead woman, and then the two of them scramble to separate themselves and all Maekar can worry about is whether or not his mother has seen his cock.
Perhaps he should worry about more than that. He takes a half-step, so that he might provide Dyanna some privacy with his body, but his mother cares little for that, it seems, for she takes the too few steps it takes to cross the corridor and reaches up and grabs him by his ear as if he were still a child and not nearly a man grown.
Have you lost your mind! His mother’s eyes are huge and dark. They are brown, darker than her skin, nearly as dark as her hair. They have a wild look to them. Her fingers pinch at his ear, and he has to bend to take some of the pressure off it. Maekar, what have you done?
Your Majesty, Dyanna says, wringing her hands, but Myriah does not let her go on.
And you! Are you mad? This is not Dorne, says Myriah, and her expression twists up, something mournful in how she says it. She does not speak of Dorne, Maekar’s mother, but missing it is a wound that is plain to see. Anyone could have found you two! I’m sure someone has already seen, and who knows what rumors are spreading as we speak! You are a prince, not a stableboy allowed to rut in the mud!
We were not in the mud, Maekar says, and does not flinch when she pinches his ear further. I can explain.
What is there to explain? Myriah releases him. She looks from Maekar to Dyanna, her gaze unflinching. You and Lord Dayne’s daughter. Do you think this would pass unnoticed? That none would wonder why Lady Dyanna might have to disappear from the court months after being seen with the youngest prince?
Why would she disappear?
Do not be foolish, she warns, and then fixes Dyanna with a look. He can see from the corner of his eye how she winces. You, girl. You know what such an act brings, Dornish as you are. Why would you do this?
Dyanna says nothing for a long moment. She looks at Maekar, her blue eyes shining, and then the Queen again. She says, finally, voice startlingly clear, Because I wanted to, Your Highness. I wanted it with Maekar.
Myriah’s face does a strange thing, her pinched expression somehow softening even as she purses her lips. Her voice is caught in her throat as she speaks, like she can’t decide how to sound. Fools, the two of you. Come. We must speak with your fathers.
It goes thus: Maekar and Dyanna across from the King and the Queen, Lord Dayne close to Dyanna but far enough that Maekar must work to avoid his accusing gaze
We thought her a good match for Rhaegel, Myriah is saying. There is something soft in her dark eyes when Maekar looks at her, though his heart jumps at the thought of Dyanna married to Rhaegel or in truth anyone at all. Such a thing would take her from him and he feels ill at the thought. That cannot come to pass, now.
Of course, Your Majesty. Lord Dayne bends his head. Maekar can see a flush spread down his neck. He is a bearded man, hair the same golden shade as his daughter. Forgive my daughter, I beg. She is young. She forgets herself.
It is us you must forgive, my lord, says Maekar’s father. Our son should not have taken such liberties with Lady Dyanna.
Maekar bristles. Father, I—
Maekar, his father says. He looks disappointed.
Maekar feels anger and embarrassment and frustration tangle in a knot in this throat. He must speak. He must say something. He glances at Dyanna, sees her wide eyes, sees how she pinches the fabric of her sleeves between two fingers, how her knuckles turn white from how she clutches at the purple silk.
Lord Dayne comes closer, then. He takes Dyanna’s hands in his own, and Maekar is not jealous but perhaps he is. He should like to soothe her thus, he thinks. His comfort should be offered first—
The King sighs. Why would you dishonor her so, his father says, and his voice is mournful like how Myriah’s was, and Maekar does not like the sound of it. Dishonor, as if anyone could deny Dyanna her desires, as if Maekar has enacted some great crime against her, as if he would ever—
He hears Dyanna say, low, not to the King but to her father, He did not dishonor me. I love him. And her father puts one hand over her nape and the other he uses to press her head against his chest as if he needs to protect her. From what Maekar does not know but he knows at least one thing.
I love her, Maekar says, and he looks at her and she looks at him and her eyes are that brilliant blue, the same color as the winter sky, wide and wondrous, like Maekar has given her a secret or a gift or something impossible to truly contain and yet, somehow, she has it.
He loves her, he thinks.
He says, I want to marry her, and then he looks at his father and his mother and he corrects himself, I will marry her. He lowers his voice. He says, and he is loath to say it, he hates to ask for anything but this he must be allowed, Let me marry her.
My prince, says her father.
Maekar, says his mother.
Maekar looks at Dyanna. Her smile is a brilliant thing and his heart, tender in his chest, is pounding.
My son, says the King and his expression is softer now. Soft like it was in childhood. Soft like Maekar has so often seen it. You only had to ask.