༻|—꧁𖢻•♔•𖢻꧂—|༺

" The love of the Seven is holy and eternal. The source of life and love. We stand here today in thanks and praise to join two souls as one. "

" Aōhon nyke, ñuhon ao issi. "

༻|—꧁𖢻•♔•𖢻꧂—|༺

Burn Them All has reached 50k and I'm so thankful for everyone whose read this little book I'm so in love with and decided it was worth their time, ghost readers and all. 🥰 It honestly leaves me speechless this book has reached so far with its few chapters and I really could never express my gratitude and awe to every single one of you readers with enough words to say how happy and proud it makes me. 🥹

This book is only just beginning, and I cannot wait for everything it has in store and I certainly cannot wait for all of you lovely readers to read it! ☺️

The votes are in, and as you can see from the gifs above ( ignore Tom's brown hair btw, just pretend its silver lol 😂 ), Maela & Aeg's wedding won! 😆 I thought of just writing a preview of it, but I think you lovely readers deserve the wedding itself, so enjoy:

༻|—꧁𖢻•♔•𖢻꧂—|༺

     𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖇𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖑𝖞 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖎𝖙𝖘 𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖕𝖊𝖊𝖐 in the azure sky that morning, seagulls chirping as they flew over the Blackwater Bay in flocks. The day of the wedding between the Princess Maelera and Prince Aegon Targaryen had come.

Whilst the cobbled streets of the city flowed with hundreds of wheelhouses, carrying the Royal Family and lords with their lady wives to the Grand Sept, a pair of young girls stand within the bride's bed chambers.

   Helaena ties the last of the laces of Maelera's white gown with threading as golden as the dawn shaped like the scales of dragons down the draping sleeves, across the chest, and around the bottom of the dress, and sharp shoulders. Beneath, she wore her leather trousers and heeled boots.

   Pale white fabrics 'twere wrapped around her wrists like bracelets and stretched down to her ankles, gently swaying with the slight breeze on that warm summer day. 

   Beginning to braid Maela's thick brunette mane veined with those silvery-white streaks; the silver 'tis woven into a pair of braids along the sides of her head, all four meeting together in the back to form a neatly woven circle, the dark brunette flowing freely down Maela's back in wild waves.

   Entwined midst the silver braids, 'twere bright flowers from the Royal Gardens.

   Sweet Hel admires her work with a smile, before shuffling through the box of jewelry on the vanity the girls stand in front of. She slides few silver rings down her soon-to-be sister-in-law's slim fingers and clips a silver, three-headed dragon pin to each of her shoulders.

   Plucking a pair of familiar necklaces from the box, Helaena moves around Maelera to clasp them around her neck–first, the one she gifted to her on her eighth nameday, the first Maelera ever spent in the capital, then her mother's.

   With a smile, Helaena says, "There. You are ready." Maelera gifts her a grateful grin through the polished mirror, "Thank you, Hel."

   Helaena rests her hands on her always so gentle–with her, that is–friend's shoulders and leans her chin atop one. The older princess' soft lips curve with a grin full of pride as she looks at herself in the mirror. But then, her purple eyed gaze falls to the bronze sun necklace, and a frown drags her lips down.

   Her mother. Sorrow laces her dragon eyes as she fiddles with the pendant. "I wish she could've seen this day." Hel softly grins with sympathy, "I know, but she watches from the stars."

   With a smile, Maela twists her head to plant a sweet kiss to her dear friend's pink cheek, before she turns to face Helaena and weaves her arm through the silver-gold haired beauty's.

   "Let us go then, I shan't be late to my own wedding." With a shared giggle, the girls leave the chambers.

   The halls of the keep are quiet as they wind their way down through various staircases, but the cacophony of noise from beyond the walls grows louder the lower they descend. Through the windows, Maela could see thousands of nobles flocking into the Grand Sept.

   Thousands of eyes whom will witness her union to Aegon Targaryen. And suddenly... her belly is swarmed with vicious butterflies. It must be those pre-wedding nerves she always hears about.

   Yet, amidst those nerves, 'twere an unyielding excitement to marry the boy she loves.

   "You are nervous." 'Twas not a question Helaena spoke, as if sensing her thoughts.

Maela expels a soft breath, "Yes." Then, her lips quirk with a smirk. "But I think the.. anticipation to marry Aegon repeals the nerves." Helaena giggles.

   Rounding the last corner that will lead to the courtyard, the young girls trek down the steps below the great oak -and-iron doors and are met with the awaiting pair of wheelhouses.

   One for Helaena, the other for the bride.

   Before she enters her wheelhouse, decorated with white streams of fabric and golden flowers with pale white mares to pull the carriage, Maela brings her sweet Hel into an embrace.

   "Thank you, Hel." She breathes, resting her chin on Helaena's shoulder. "Even though you've always been one to me, I cannot wait to call you sister."

   A smile lifts Helaena's lips, "Me too."

   Pulling apart with chaste kisses to their pale cheeks, the girls then step up into their royal carriages, Hel's beginning to roll off toward the towering Sept the second the door closes.

   "Walk on!" Maela hears the driver shout a second before the wheelhouse lurches and the ride to the Great Sept begins. She expels a breath.

   In just several minutes, she will be married to the boy she's been in love with for... well... ever since the day they met nine years ago, really.

   Aegon. A giddy smiles blooms across her lips at the thought of her beloved prince. Aegon's charming smile with that dimple on his cheek. Aegon's bright lavender eyes with those lilac flecks. Aegon's warmth, as if sunlight rests beneath his flesh. Aegon's softness, as if his being had been woven from the most expensive silk. AegonAegonAegon.

   She sighs, like one of those lovestruck girls at court she deliberately avoids, but she doesn't give two shits how she sounds.

   Today, she marries the boy she loves, today, is their day.

   And she doesn't allow those dark thoughts of her mother not being here to witness her marriage, nor her father, to linger. No. Today is a day of only rejoice and delight, of bliss and radiance. Of celebration. Not sorrow nor grief.

   The smallfolk of King's Landing fill the streets with joy, tossing petals of beauteous flowers and rice to the regal wheelhouse, crying out in exuberance for the Realm's Jewel.

   "Hail Princess Maelera!"

   "Gods bless you, Maelera!"

   "Good fortunate to you and the Prince!"

   "May the Gods bless your union!" They all cheer, so gleefully, so merrily.

   By the time the wheelhouse stops at the bottom of the polished marble stairwell of the Sept, it feels like hours have passed, yet 'twas the shortest ride of her life.

   With a long breath, Maela stands from the cushioned seat just as the driver opens the door, offering the girl his hand. She takes it with a grateful grin, stepping down the mounting aid.

   Standing at the bottom of the broad steps, with Ser Melvan shielding her back, Maelera stares up at the towering crystal towers of the Grand Sept.

   Seven slender towers, the silver bells of which ring loudly across the city to announce this joyous occasion, for each of the gods. Whom, for those that believe in the Faith of the Seven, will stand witness to her marriage to Aegon.

   Maelera Bloodmoon does not hold herself to any gods, Old nor New, hasn't for many years now, hasn't needed too since the night she and her dragons hatched.

   But, her soon-to-be husband, and his mother, do, thus she had no quarrel in marrying in the Grand Sept under the Faith... though, 'twouldn't only be the words to bind them this day, for she had wished for the Old Valyrian traditions, as well.

   Ser Melvan's voice breaks through her thoughts, "Are you ready, Princess?"

   Through another breath, "I am." She grins up at her loyal knight, "I think I've always been."

   He snickers, then his expression softens with a mixture of pride and nostalgic sentiment, "'Tis been nearly a decade since I began my service to you, my Princess. And 'tis my honor to escort you to your groom this day."

   At his words, Maela's expression softens and her deep violet eyes begin to glisten under the soft light of the morning sun, "You honor me, my good Ser."

   Flattening her palm on the brown stubble dotting his cheek, Maelera lifts herself onto the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek so sweetly. "You're the father I've never had, Ser Melvan. Thank you, for all you've done for me."

   He grins down at her, bowing his head in a light nod, not needing to say anything else.

   Straightening out the creases in her dress, and with a final breath, Maelera begins to ascend the steps.

   Whilst within the Grand Sept, hundreds of noble lords and ladies stood gathered around a platform laid in the center of the regal building, light reflected into rainbows by the crystals hanging in front of the high windows and the glass dome. Flowery incense sweetening the air.

   Upon the raised platform, with two grand marble pillars holding up a golden curtain with a white three-headed dragon, stands the High Septon Eustance and two younger Septons, whom shoulder either side of a table with lightened scented candles among other trinkets for the binding ceremony upon it.

   And with them, Prince Aegon Targaryen stands in wait for his Princess' arrival.

   He fidgets with the silver-clasped cuffs of his sleeves for nearing the hundredth time that morrow, much to the chagrin of his Mother Queen.

   The Prince 'twere donning a royal doublet falling to his knees in the shade of dark jade green, with the emblem of House Targaryen sewn into the chest with silver and gold threading dotted with fragments of Petalite and Citrine embedded within, the high collar clasped at his neck with glinting silver dragon wings and more silver dragon clasps cut a diagonal line down the chest to the black, leather belt. A cape, mirroring the shade of his doublet, hangs from his shoulders with drooping silver chains dangling down the left. The chains on the shoulder were thin and wound together like long chainmail braids, so delicate it draped softly and weightlessly as to not misshape the doublet. He wore leather trousers and boots beneath.

   Nerves, unlike any he's ever felt before, were ever so slowly devouring Aegon's belly.

   Here he is, standing upon the altar, awaiting his beloved dragon, and... what if she didn't come?

   Aegon knew the thought were stupid, ridiculous, preposterous, the second it invaded his tumultuous mind, for Maelera had been the one to offer their betrothal little over half a year ago.

   He loves her, and she loves him. She will come.

   And not some several moments later, all of the softly-spoken chatter of the awaiting crowd falls silent as the towering outer doors screech open, soft golden light spilling over the suspended globes of colored leaded glass and the polished marble floor of the Sept.

   All of the hundreds of eyes fall to the opened doors, and there the Bronze Dragon stands, clad in her white and gold dress with her unique hair styled beautifully, the bright flowers woven within and her silver jewels catching the light of the sun.

   Aegon lost his breath, as Maelera slowly inhaled the crisp morning breeze.

   Her purple-eyed gaze sweeps over all of those gathered within, her heart in her throat, but then... she sees him, awaiting her upon the altar, and the sudden unease at such a crowd fades away. Aegon, his silver hair reflecting the pale light.

   Go to him, a soft voice whispers to her, and she does.

   The Princess treks down the short stairwell beneath the doorway that raised her above the crowd and walks down the carpeted aisle, her head held high and back proudly straightened with a grin quirking at her poppy-pink lips.

   Maelera had no father to gift her away, thus, as the dragon she is, had decided to give herself to her future husband.

   Whilst walking down the central aisle to her awaiting beloved, Maela looks at the faces of her family. They all smile at her–Alicent and her children. But what makes her smile just that much more brighter, is the sight of her uncle-king, whom spent many a day bedridden with sickness, beside his wife.

   All but slumped in a regally crafted chair, but Viserys 'tis here nonetheless. And it meant everything to her... and Aegon, she knew.

   Upon the altar, Aegon gawks at his soon-to-be wife with awestruck eyes. Maelera Targaryen were always so fucking beautiful, but with the white dress, she 'twere like a Valyrian godess.

   Maela ascends the steps onto the raised platform, gliding to her place in front of Aegon. A soft smirk tilts her lips as she lifts her ringed fingers to his chin and closes his parted lips, "You don't want to catch flies, now." She whispers, and he softly chuckles.

   "Maelera, you are... breathtaking." He says with so much awe, gazing into her kohl-lined eyes–the plum of her irises beautifully striking against the black. Her heart flutters. "As are you."

   She adoringly tucks a stray lock of his silver hair behind his ear, his shoulder-length locks having been done up into a half-up, half-down style similar to Aemond's.

   After a moment to admire each other, the young Targaryens turn their gazes unto the High Septon, his billowing robes with seven points and elaborate head accessory glittering like the glass globes above their heads. With a smile, the elderly man lifts his arms, shouting so all heard him, "The love of the Seven is holy and eternal. The source of life and love. We stand here today in thanks and praise to join two souls as one."

   The High Septon takes the shiny black dagger one of the younger offers him. A dagger made of dragonglass, Maela recognizes, or in her mother-tongue: Frozen Fire.

  The dragonglass dagger 'tis laid in Aegon's awaiting palm. He lifts it to Maela's bottom lip and slices down its plumpness. She does not even flinch at the sting, more so resists the urge to lick her lips. With every movement, he heard the soft jingling of the chain detailing.

   Pressing his thumb against the cut in her lip, Aegon then marks the ivory skin between her brows with the runic symbol for fire in Old Valyrian–a line of dark red blood entwined with two sharp v's, sprouting like slender branches on either side of it.

   Aegon lays the dagger in her hand and Maela raises it to his lips, but, before she makes the cut, she looks into his lavender eyes and he gives her a barely noticeable nod, I want you, I want this, I want us, it spoke, therefore, she drags it down his bottom lip.

   She mirrors his movements and marks the skin between his brows with the Valyrian rune for blood–a symbol mirroring an arrowhead with a small, upside-down v between it.

   With the symbols in blood between their dark brows glinting with an eerie beauty, the Targaryens cut the palms of their hands. "Now join your hands." Septon Eustance says, grabbing the black goblet from the younger boy's outstretched hand. They do, connecting their bleeding palms to squeeze over the goblet, their conjoined blood dripping into its depths.

   Once 'twere deemed full enough, Eustance lays the goblet in Aegon's grasp, whom lifts the rim to his lips and swallows an entire mouthful of metallic-tasting blood. Aegon struggles to withhold a grimace as he passes the goblet to Maelera.

   The girl merely tilts her head back and swallows, as well, a mouthful of their dragons blood. Although she admits to herself, 'tweren't the most pleasant taste in the wide world, she needn't hide a grimace as she places the goblet back into the Septon's hand.

   Septon Eustance then lifts his arms high above, speaking to the heavens, "Father.. Mother.. Warrior.. Smith.. Maiden.. Crone.. Stranger. Hear now their vows."

  With their bleeding hands still joined, they stare so lovingly into each others purple eyes as they speak in High Valyrian at once, "𝐀𝐨̄𝐡𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐲𝐤𝐞, 𝐧̃𝐮𝐡𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐨 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢. 𝐊𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚̄𝐳𝐢𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐤𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐞." ( i am yours, and you are mine. whatever may come )

   "Here, in the presence of Gods and men, I proclaim Prince Aegon of House Targaryen and Princess Maelera Bloodmoon of House Targaryen to be man and wife. One flesh.. one heart.. one soul.. now and forever."

   As one they speak, still staring into those familiar and so damn beautiful dark and light purple irises, "With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you for my lord/lady and husband/wife."

   Aegon holds her cheeks, and by Gods, Maelera loved it. Loved the way his fingers wrapped around her. One caresses her jaw so tenderly, as if holding delicate glass that could shatter with but one touch, while the other ran through the flowing brunette of her locks. He smiles so gleefully at her, and she mirrors it.

   "𝐀𝐯𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐚̄𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧, 𝐡𝐮̄𝐫𝐚 𝐧̃𝐮𝐡𝐨." She tastes the sweet air he breathes. "𝐀𝐯𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐚̄𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧, 𝐯𝐞̄𝐳𝐨𝐬 𝐪𝐞̄𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚̄𝐬 𝐧̃𝐮𝐡𝐨." She murmurs back, before standing on the tips of her toes as he lowers himself to meet his lips in a kiss.

   They taste of blood and wine, so fucking sweet.

   Maela licks her husband's bleeding lips, relishing in the true taste of her Aegon Targaryen as the applause of the crowd 'tis but a mere echo in the depths of their minds. Rice and white roses are tossed towards the newly wed, symbols of fertility, eternal love, and purity, yet neither truly notice.

   Too lost and consumed in the taste of each other, pledging their love for hundreds to see.

   Aegon kisses his wife with fervor, passionate and needy, stroking her high cheekbones so tenderly all whilst he devours her so, craving his Maelera Targaryen.

   They separate only for air, chests heaving and lips swollen, gazing into one anothers eyes with smiles that outshine even the sun, itself, the purity of young love that 'twill last until the end of their days... mayhaps even beyond then.

   In this moment, 'tis just Maela and Aegon, just them, always.

༻|—꧁𖢻•♔•𖢻꧂—|༺

Alright, imma go melt because of all this cuteness, 🥹. My babies, 🤧. I love them.

I hope you lovely readers enjoyed this preview of the first big wedding, 😘! Once again, I thank each and every single one of you who has given this book a chance, and I sincerely hope you will stay for the rest of what Burn Them All has coming, because its only just beginning, 😌.

__________༻♕༺___________