𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙊𝙉𝙀 :
𝙏𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙

𝑺𝒀𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑨 𝑷𝑨𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑫, letting the air within her lungs expand and release through her lips as she listened to the earth move around; the brushing wind as hot as a blowing breath and the sun, beating down sweat against her deep brown skin that clung her dirty beige shirt like water and clay. What was once loosely fitting, now tight and wet.

The wooden bow she made for herself rested at her side. Her sweaty fingers covered in dry sand curled around the thin string and held the arrow in place to release whenever.

With her shoulders tensed and ears open, Sylvia stepped over browning leaves and hopped rock to rock to cover her footprints. Yanis' words replayed in her head, reminding the girl to move with the earth and not of the ground. She never understood his silly sayings but loved the way it sounded off his tongue. Proof he cared for her more than he led on.

She stood on the heels of her worn-out boots when leaves shuffled somewhere to the left. Backing against the tree, a clear view of an antelope with pointy antlers chewed on plants. A beautiful brown creature it was. Sylvia lifted her bow and leveled the sturdy weapon with the tip of her nose. Stretching the arrow as far back as it could, she released it and allowed the wind to carry the rest.

The antelope fell.

Sylvia lowered the splinter-prone bow with a victorious smile suppressing her youthful face.

"Yes!"

She jumped off the rocks and followed wet trails of a failed escape, finding her prey bleeding out with an arrow sticking out its head. Using her foot to help pull out the arrow, even more blood poured. Its legs twitched.

"How did I do?" Sylvia asked, wiping its blood along her trousers, still too big for her waist.

Over her shoulder stood Yanis, leaning against a towering tree with his arms across his ash brown attire, head slightly tilted, with not one spec of shared delight. His expression was more grim, disappointed. He jumped off the hill in one clean movement and headed toward her. Even then, Sylvia couldn't stop the blood from rushing her cheeks.

There was a reason women fancied Yanis. Besides his thick accent, his adventurous encounters around the world, and the obvious fact that Dornish people were most beautiful, he was perfect. Glistening golden skin, thick dark curls reaching his neck, deep mud-brown eyes. A skilled swordsman, a former knight, a true seeker of the world, and a great lover — which she only knew because he'd spend his leisure time at pleasure houses, one where she and her mother resided.

Women loved when Yanis came around. He had the power of making those around him feel beautiful and loved inside and out. It was why her cheeks burned often, why her pulse spiked and warm tingles were felt between her thighs — she liked him. A lot. He made her feel both beautiful and loved despite her unique features.

Silver hair.

Grey eyes.

Scales.

The scales she bore since a babe weren't any ordinary scales often mistaken as Greyscale — they were dragon scales.

They stretched along the center of her left cheek to her chin and scattered her neck on the same side. Few along the blade of her left shoulder, and back thighs. Black as the night sky but shined a dark shade of purple and blue even green against the rising sun or close-up. Thick loose curls white as fresh fallen snow with a warm undertone. Eyes grey like pouty clouds during a terrible storm with a mauve tint mixed into the pallet, known when it's bright out. And to those who have yet compared her to a monster or an unknown disease, she was quite a beauty. But hid her feminine frame beneath men's clothing and her beauty, beneath a black scarf.

Unlike a mother who cuddled her children from the dangers of the world and left unprepared in a life that waited for no one, Sylvia knew herself well. She's a bastard. Her father whom gifted her uniqueness, Daemon Targaryen, was prince of Dragonstone and a commander. He fought wars for the king, his brother who ruled the Seven Kingdoms, and won.  A fearless warrior with a heart of stone, skin of burning fire, hands stained of innocent blood, and a stare that lugs fear. But he was kind too. At least to her mother, he was. He granted her knowledge of his world during his stay in Dorne and sought only her comfort before he left.

There is pride in what you are, Sylvia's mother often reminded. And she was proud of her inheritance. To be born a bastard with royal blood in her veins made her feel special even if her father knew not if she existed. Yet, not too prideful that she must cover herself so as not to stand out.

There weren't any white-haired people in Toland. None with grey eyes or dry scales. They were all of black and brown with black and brown hair and black and brown eyes. Sylvia stood out regardless.

"Sloppy." Yanis replied.

"Sloppy?" Sylvia repeated with much distaste. "I killed it with a clean shot! What do you mean I was sloppy?"

He snatched the arrow from her hand. And instead of wiping it clean as he normally did, he pointed the sharp end toward the stain on her trousers, careful not to pierce her. Blood.

"That is what's sloppy. Might as well admit your guilt while its blood still drips wet. Because you are a woman, no one would expect you to be strong enough to kill a man. That is why no evidence of your kill should lead its trail back to you unless you wish yourself an early grave." He tapped the rounded side of the arrow against her forehead with two taps. "Keep that in mind. Your body can please everyone, but your skills can build a kingdom. Your blood is a kingdom."

Sylvia rubbed her forehead, no care for his words. "That is why I have you to teach me this stuff."

"Only because of your silver hair do I give you the time and day."

Sylvia drew blank as Yanis curled his finger around a loose strand of her white hair. His tall frame hovered like a tree shading the sun as his breath blew warm against her burning cheeks.

Her brows rose with mild shock at his obvious response. "Is that so?"

"It is," Yanis said, and while she knew he was teasing, there was a vein of seriousness beneath his voice.

"And that is all?"

Stepping closer to minimize the gap, Sylvia looked into his eyes for more than he offered. A sign that all this hunting and pointless preparation for whatever reason was in fact courting with an end goal of being wedded. Why else would he choose to stay in a shithole for five years when the world called for him? Why else would he tease her with gentle touching, even once almost kissed her, and profess his need to protect her from the dangers ahead?

He must know his power over her. How her body responded to everything that involved him. And if not a coward, Sylvia would have stood on her toes to kiss him. To end this vacancy and choose their future for them.

Sylvia had recently turned nine-and-ten years (19) and he was six-and-twenty (26). Still a maiden, still young enough to birth children though she was crossing the line of being considered too old to marry, and they got along well. He was the only man at her side, the only she wanted to keep forever.

But as affectionate as Yanis was, he was naturally nice and welcoming which was why Sylvia failed to decipher between the two. It was why she couldn't kiss him no matter how desperately she wanted to.

The corner of his lips tugged upward. "That is all."

Yanis didn't look at her but was rather intrigued by her hair, as he stated once too many times.

"If my hair intrigues you so much, why not take me as your wife so our children may share the same trait?" Sylvia boldly asked, and at that, Yanis chuckled. She could tell he saw her as a child and not a woman. "Don't let my clothes fool you, I'm a woman through and through. A woman who will need a husband. A husband who not only provides and protects, but a husband who knows how to fuck."

His chuckle grew into a full-blown laughing fit, as though what she said was funny. Even Sylvia was convinced and didn't know how to react besides copying him. Her teeth were shown, slightly parted, yet nothing came out. She possibly appeared more confused than humored. This wasn't a laughing matter...was it?

"And what do you know about fucking? You're still a virgin, yes?" Yanis' laughter never died and it was starting to irritate her.

"Yes."

"Then what do you know?"

Untouched by a man, but not by a woman. Not that it was important or he needed to know.

"So teach me." Sylvia flung her arms around his neck, his beautiful head of curls soft beneath her fingers, and they were now inches from kissing. "Teach me how to fuck. Teach me as your wife. You obviously know more than I do, why keep it to yourself? Why waste another second on hunting when the prey you seek stands before you, ready to be consumed?"

If her mother was standing in this very predicament, watching her daughter fling herself onto a man, she'd be gravely disappointed. It was the man who should do the chasing, not the woman. Her mother taught her better than that. How to lure a man without outwardly doing so. Be seductive while being seduced. Speak of lies with small truths, enough to gain his trust and feel as though she would have his back against the world. Know her options, and within those options, know which games to play to keep a roof over their heads and a man running back for more. For only a woman can do so much, but a man with wealth and power can open true doors to eternal happiness.

But Yanis wasn't a game. He was just a man Syliva wanted.

She was almost tempted he would finally give in and make her his. . .until he was no longer laughing, a grim expression overtook despite his smiling attempt that grew smaller and smaller. Until he removed her arms from his neck and placed them at her side. Until he realized there was no enjoyment from his humor because she wasn't teasing, she was serious.

"Cover this up." Cold air rushed between as he removed himself from Sylvia's vicinity, and she frowned, feeling embarrassed and an ache in her chest unable to decipher. "Help me get this to the butcher, then we and the house shall feast tonight."

He took Sylvia's bow and arrow to bury in the bushes — a spot they picked together — and bent to grab a strong hold of the antelope's antlers to drag. Her black scarf was back over her head to hide her braided hair and wrapped around her face with only her eyes showing.

Sylvia then helped drag the antelope to the town's butcher without another word or rash confession. Once the animal had been dropped off, Yanis instructed her back home before her mother grew worried, not that it would be a problem as she was to be washing and drying sheets outside before he distracted her.

She quickly unpinned sheets drying under the sun and shoved them in the straw basket where it was last left. Rushed into the white-bricked house built three floors high, hoping she wouldn't run into Madame Marget and her pissy mood swings. The smell of sex and shitty ale burned her nostrils, passing various rooms of laughter and moans of pleasure, even those who didn't have time to make it to a room.

It was a house that attracted men and women from around the world when docking at Toland either to trade, hide from their crimes, or stop for supplies to be on their merry way. Sylvia loved when outsiders would visit. She'd listen to drunk stories of their world and silly customs and marital problems and wars that were waged on bets, pride, and revenge, learning more from them than her own mother.

As she hurried room from room replacing dirty sheets — god knows what substances were spilled whether it was vomit, bodily fluids, blood, alcohol, and worse — with clean sheets, the basket fumbled out of Sylvia's grip when she bumped into someone exiting a nearby room.

"S-sorry," Sylvia was quick on her knees shoving the sheets back into the basket. She kept her head lowered not to attract any unwanted attention. As she was taught; when your head is kept down, no curiosities are to be made.

The blazing sun stitched delicately along the hem of the man's shirt was clear indication he was a man of status. A man who could do great harm just for the fun of it, if his peaceful day was ruined.

Kissing his teeth, he kicked at the basket which tilted everything out again. "Watch it, boy." He insulted as he took his leave. The musk of sex lingered behind.

And the breath she held finally released itself.

Another pair of brown hands decided to help with the mess. "No need. I can do so my — " Sylvia's words choked down her throat when her mother stood before her. " — mother."

Her sheer dress of yellow hung off her shoulders, the roundness of her brown nipples pinched through the fabric, and her loose curls hung lushly at the blades of her shoulders. The deepened crease between her soft brows conveyed disappointment, yet Sylvia had no idea what she had against her now.

"Have you gone hunting with that man again?"

Well, that was something to hold against her.

To avoid the conversation and further disappointment, Sylvia shoved the sheets into the basket with one big scoop. The basket hugging her chest as she stood. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Been busy with chores all day." She lied with ease, rushing to get away from her.

But she grabbed at her trousers. "And this?"

Sylvia didn't need to follow her gaze to the smeared blood, evidence which Yanis advised earlier.

"I told you to stay away from Yanis," now she remembered his name. How funny. "Yes, he is handsome and treats the women here well, as he is wise with his words. But I don't like the way he looks at you. Or the fact he knows about. . ." Her narrowing eyes completed the sentence.

About her defects. Which she was to be proud of, but couldn't if she was to be treated like a creature of the night.

"All the women here share the secret of my white hair, so what if one more person knows?" Sylvia slipped her trousers from her grasp and continued her journey to the kitchens. Her mother tagged along. "And I don't like the fact you fuck him knowing I l — " She caught herself from spilling truths. " — that I meet with him every now and then."

"This is my job, Sylvia. My life. Our survival. And he pays for my services as he has paid for countless women here. Should I turn him down?"

"Yes."

Sylvia picked up her steps.

"Sylvia," her mother called. When she didn't stop the first time, her mother then grabbed her hand and forced her to look into her brown, sadden eyes. "I don't wish to fight with you, I am sorry. I failed to consider your feelings and I will do better. Do you truly hate me?"

Of course, Sylvia could never truly hate her mother for what she does to provide for them. She was born and raised in this house, therefore, her world was only within these walls. But was she selfish to want more? To experience more? To see more of the world that has yet been discovered in her gaze?

That was what Yanis gave Sylvia — hope. The many people who visited the small town of cultured backgrounds which lies at the mouth of Greenblood River, gave her hope.

She held no judgment toward her mother's sacrifices nor her promiscuous lifestyle. Beautiful inside and out and quite young when Syliva was born, the two almost like sisters, she was everything to her and most girls here. But she has wondered. . .if she wasn't like most children who would drown in discomfort and with shame to learn their mother fucks men and women at any time of the day, and often in the bed they slept in. To hear conversations of lovers who described her skills in detailed manners, or seeing nothing but balls and tits daily.

But it was just them. Sylvia and her mother.

And when one was born into a life that seemed no more than ordinary, it was hard to view it as. . .unordinary.

With a sigh, Sylvia leaned forward to kiss her mother's cheek. "No, I could never hate you. I just don't see why you hate Yanis so much."

"I don't wish my life to be yours, Sylvia. Why do you think you're scrubbing floors, washing pissy sheets, and cleaning up after shitty men until your nails are weak and bones brittle? If the madam had it her way, you would've been warming beds long before you bled, starting even younger than me." Her mother continued with great passion. "I've protected you as long as I can and will continue doing so because you deserve better. And with Yanis, he won't give you what I want you to have."

"And what is that?"

"For one, a husband. You deserve a man who will love you as you are as a person, a woman, and not by the color of your hair. A true equal who sees you and one you can learn from. Two, a generosity of wealth and titles. He's a drunk and spends his leisure time in pleasure houses. You'd be broke by the day of your wedding. Your children will inherit nothing but sand and you will be unprotected, left on the streets begging for scrapes. Yanis has his charm, but you're no ordinary woman. You are the daughter of a legendary Targaryen, a ruthless prince. Should my letters reach him and he comes to claim you, you will be a legitimate princess, a noble lady. And a princess deserves better."

Sylvia said nothing. She doubted her father would acknowledge her after nineteen years. Countless days her mother would spend by the window watching and waiting for a sealed letter or her father to come swoop them away to a life of riches and wealth. Even Sylvia would wait and braid her mother's hair to pass time, or be rocked on her mother's lap as she sung and spoke of promises her father made.

Together they would wait and wait, until one day, Sylvia accepted the truth. No man will come save them. Her father would never come. But her mother thought otherwise. Still, to this day she waits.

Her mother meant well and their views aligned when it came to finding Sylvia a husband. Although, she was unsure how they would find all of that in one man when Sylvia had spent the rest of her life within these walls cleaning and cooking after everyone. The men here were no good for her, as her mother said. But, she would love to see her mother try. Or that day to come.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑫𝑨𝒀, the antelope Sylvia killed was ready to cook. The knights monitoring the area would set campfires along the street and outside of the pleasure house, or hang around the diner area to drink their asses to death and fuck any lover they please.

Sylvia sat far from the gathered group around the campfire playing with her soup and picking at the cooked meat. After a long day of chores and avoiding curious outsiders wanting to know what's hidden beneath her scarf, she looked forward to nights like this. Where she hid best and where the most interesting stories were told.

The air was cooler at night and stories of battles and petty fights filled her ears. Men would project their scars and penis' to prove their manly hood and wow whichever whore stuck at their side for the night.

A pair of boots filled her view.

"Why don't you join our campfire rather than sit so far away?" Asked Yanis.

Sylvia shrugged while playing with her food, the steam warm against her face which was exposed. He knew the reason she sat away from everyone when guests were around, and was surprised he came up to her after her foolish confession. It still left a shameful bitterness on her tongue.

"I like being alone." She told him. It wasn't a lie, but she preferred friends over loneliness.

"Why not be alone with me? At our campfire?"

A beautiful smile stretched his lips when Sylvia lifted her head, her breath caught in her throat. Such a contrast to earlier and it was confusing. Men were confusing. No, he was. What he wanted from Sylvia was unclear and it was infuriating playing a constant game of tug-a-war.

Yanis didn't give Sylvia an option to respond before taking her arm, dragging her over to their campfire, and sat her next to him. The flames were awfully close her toes grew hot and sweat lined her upper-lip, but it was oddly comforting. The campfire was shared with two knights who were too drunk to sit properly and one who couldn't keep his hands to himself.

"Is this not nice? Alone with company." Yanis said.

"I guess so."

He then offered a cup of ale and held her breath at his lips brushing the rim of her ear as he whispered with breath thick of shitty alcohol, "Don't worry too much tonight. I will look over you." He nudged the cup until it was in her hand. And pulled away.

He knew what he was doing. He did.

The bitter taste soured her face and nearly choked swallowing it down. Sylvia never been much of a drinker and because her tolerance was quite low and given the environment, she likes to remain clear-headed in case she needed to defend herself. However, Yanis promised to protect her. So one cup became two, then four.

Laughter echoed at her sixth or seventh round before ripping through her meat.

Brianne, a close friend and whore sold from Myr — a woman Sylvia has kissed twice — sat across the fire. A knight was currently kissing roughly into the crook of her neck while fondling her tan breast. "Why not take off your scarf, Sylvia? You'll be comfortable, yes? Men here are too drunk to remember, and we are familiar." She proposed.

The guard kissing her neck looked to the girl who struggled to hold up her head. "Aye, the boy is a bitch?" He questioned with interest.

"Be quiet!" Brianne slapped his hand away from her breast. "Or you don't touch me again ever."

Wiping the ale from her greasy lips, Sylvia looked to Yanis for an answer she could've answered herself. Something she would never do but her stupid brain thought him closer than he actually was. He shared the same concern with her mother when it came to keeping herself covered to avoid future conflicts.

As though he felt her gaze and knew why she looked at him, Yanis shrugged nonchalantly. "Do as you please. At your pace of drinking, you won't remember either."

Yanis slouched over the wooden bench and rested his elbows on his knees, staring out into the fire.

But Sylvia knew he was watching from the corner of his eyes as she unraveled her scarf finally revealing her bold hair braided down her back, then placed the scarf in her lap.  She waited for comments to roll in, but as Brianne said, they were too drunk and occupied to care.

"Pretty like your mother." Brianne gleamed. "Don't you agree, Yanis?"

A weird but warm feeling expanded her belly when Yanis turned his head to view Sylvia under his curled lashes. He's witnessed her a million times without the scarf, so why was it different now? Was it light from the fire which glistened in his eyes? The dark stubbles outlining his handsome face? The frizzy curls being pushed so that he may hold this gaze with her? Was it a drunk illusion of what she wished would happen?

"Yes," his voice barely whispered, which only she heard, then grinned brighter than the moon. "Very beautiful. Always have been."

His grin found her face. Sylvia lowered her head to hide the blush creeping red amongst her already flushed cheeks. Everything her mother listed about Yanis not being a perfect match was thrown out of the window. Their earlier encounter, thrown out. And as confusing as he was, one fact stayed true — I think I may love him, a lot more than I intended to.

But her thoughts were erupted by a piercing scream filling the smoky air. Her muscles tensed when a wet substance splattered across her face, almost blinding her. She lifted her shaky fingers and touched her face. Blood. But she wasn't hurt nor did any pain send signals.

Thump.

A figure beside Sylvia fell at her feet. The color from her face fled and her pulse spiked at an arrow shot deep and clean through his skull, out his eye socket, now catching fire.

Yanis.

A U T H O R S  N O T E

— Thank you for reading the first chapter 🫶🏽 I hope it's intriguing enough for you to continue on. It's still the beginning and many introductions needs to be made , but the plot will get to the point and not drag.

— I confess, I will never be as good of a writer as R.R, but I'm not saying I'm shit either. I'm saying we have two different writing styles. Because I'm clearly a foreigner to his world, dialogue and vocabulary may not live up to your expectations since I'm writing through my eyes. Therefore, I hope you enjoy the story I wish to deliver you and not compare me too much.