The hart was found, but it was not white.

Rhaenyra was not there to see it, still lost in the wind with Ser Criston. Admittedly, Daella found it strange. She noticed Rhaenyra was close with Ser Criston, but he was a knight of the Kingsguard– her sister could gain nothing from such affections. Daella found him handsome, of course, but he wasn't attainable. She would never cross such a boundary.

Ser Harwin Strong was one of the men helping to hold back the hart. She'd admired him from afar a few times, in the brief moments where he wasn't working with the City Watch. He was handsome, truly, and quite muscular. A kind man always who offered her a smile each time he passed, he grinned now with sweat beading down his brow, telling her father, "He may not be white, Your Grace, but he's a big lad."

Jason Lannister made himself at home beside Viserys, offering him a fine spear with an ornate golden hilt and a sturdy shaft. "Your Grace... for the kill." One ought never refuse a gift, but Daella found this all underwhelming– the hunt overall included. She remained seated on her mare, more interested in how Ser Harwin dug his feet into the dirt than with how her father lifted the spear and struggled to ready it for a strike where the royal huntsman pointed.

Her father drove the spear too far from its heart, failing to kill the stag on the first try– it flailed and cried out in suffering. Awkwardly, the huntsman urged him to try again. Daella winced as her father finally killed the hart, eliciting a final squeal of pain. The hunting party clapped, and Daella joined them only to be polite, though she didn't think her father had done the best job.

"A problem, Daella?" said Viserys, breathing heavily as he lifted the spear out of its body. He said it playfully, the way he used to when she was little. He really was glad to have her there, she noticed.

"No," she said, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Your aim could use a bit of work, Father." The other men smirked amongst themselves, knowing the King would never be insulted by this.

Viserys raised a challenging brow. "Do you believe you could do better?" When she nodded, he gestured to the hart, which now lay motionless. Daella kicked gently at her mare, guiding her a bit closer. Without waiting for her mare to stop, she removed from her sleeve the knife she carried. She let it twirl and jump in her hand once all the way before she flicked it down where the wound seeped blood. On the first try, it lodged into the hole left by the spear. The blood no longer flowed.

"Well done, Princess," said Ser Harwin admirably. He might've teased Viserys if he had the station to do so without it seeming like an insult. Viserys admitted defeat, playfully bowing in her direction. It was Ser Harwin who took the knife from the hart, cleaning it off with his sleeve and walking it back to Daella.

For the first time in years, she smiled shyly as he dropped it into her palm. Oh, this sensation is new. How had she not taken enough time to notice him before? He seemed much kinder, the sort of man she would want in her bed... and she'd not be so far from King's Landing or Driftmark if he took her to live at Harrenhal. Had she found what she'd been looking for? Had he been here the whole time, while she thought anew of Ser Gwayne, so far away?

She was in much better spirits on the ride back. A feast awaited them at the camp, and all cheered when they saw the hart strung up on a log, carried in for all to see the King's kill. Daella felt like a new person, pleased to walk beside the hart, presenting them to everyone who was waiting to see what the hunt had reaped. Perhaps not a white hart, but a regal portent as Otto had said. He was quiet now, but perhaps because Viserys had dismissed his suggestion of betrothing Aegon and Rhaenyra the night before.

Talk began once they sat themselves down. Daella helped herself to roast chicken while her father told everyone how much her aim had improved with her knife. For a moment, many praises came her way. Then, they all stopped talking and stopped staring. She turned to where two horses were returning– Rhaenyra dismounted from the first, covered in blood from head to toe. Behind her was Ser Criston Cole and a dead boar.

All anyone could talk about after that was the boar. Daella didn't wish to resent it, yet she did. Once more Rhaenyra was the center and she was only near the edge, hardly acknowledged. The sole person who seemed to like her all the same was Aegon, who babbled her name over and over while everyone else spoke of Rhaenyra.

Daella took off on Vermithor as soon as they returned to King's Landing. She took Aegon with her and personally requested that Ser Harwin see them back into the castle, for they'd be returning late. The sun had nearly set when she landed again, Aegon sleepy and clinging to her with his head on her shoulder when Ser Harwin found them and opened the door of the carriage for them. Daella smiled kindly, nodding her head and accepting the hand he offered to help her in.

When she'd freshened up and entered the Red Keep, having left Aegon with his wetnurse, she learned that her father would be sending aid to the Stepstones, and that he'd allow Rhaenyra and Daella to find a match that pleased them. The only catch was that they would have to listen to all who made their claims in person. It was reasonable enough to Daella, though both she noticed Rhaenyra disliked it. Maybe someone would surprise them.

But if no one surprises me, I know that there may be someone closer to home that I can think about... Ser Harwin Strong is there, and I am sure I can find more reasons to talk to him. Perhaps my true love, my good husband, my proper lover is not amidst the men of the Realm, but already protecting the city I love.

She almost wished to ask him to come along and supervise their journey, but she knew he could not be spared. Instead, Ser Criston Cole would be sent along as their personal protector. At least he was nice to look at, and he listened to them all the same– though mostly because he had to.

Her new sister was born several months before they left for their little tour of the Realm. Alicent had spent many hours in labor to deliver a girl that her father named Helaena. She was a beautiful little thing who Daella loved immediately. Helaena would be her new companion, something Aegon minded a bit the first week when he noticed Daella was more attentive to their little sister. He soon calmed, however, when he realized that Daella loved him all the same.

Helaena joined them now in their rounds to say goodnight to everyone– Daella had decided that little Helaena would join her and Aegon in their sleepovers. What was better than one adorable babe asleep next to her? Two babes. Otto had certainly smiled when she arrived with Aegon on one arm and Helaena in the other. Even he had said that she looked ever ready to be a mother. He'd been there the day she set off on her tour, wishing her luck in finding a good husband. She'd made him promise to look after Aegon and Helaena, and he said he would. Otto didn't break promises like that.

Their first stop had been in the Stormlands, and for the first time, Daella felt sad to be away from home. She missed Aegon and Helaena dearly. For their sake, and her father's, she tried to take this seriously– he wanted her to do this, wanted her to find a husband and do her duty. If that was his wish, if that was what her mother had taught her to do, then Daella would do it. Who knew, perhaps she would find something she did not expect now that her perspective continued to shift (and her curiosities continued to grow, urging her to wed and become a mother to her own little sweetlings).

"And so it begins," said Daella as the men began to line up before them. It was the third day of hearing these petitions, and they still had several more to go before they could move on to the Reach. Lord Boremund Baratheon presided over it with them, to whisper to them who was who if they did not properly introduce themselves. "Oh... how many are there?"

"Too many," said Rhaenyra dully. She certainly wasn't happy to be there, but Daella at least understood her side of it– their dragons had not been allowed to come. Not that Daella thought many would be brave enough to come and talk to her if Vermithor was nearby.

One by one they came up, the majority of them seeking Rhaenyra's hand in particular, while others spoke generally to both Princesses, hoping that one or both might find interest. A few were handsome, but they were also stupid or arrogant as Jason Lannister had been. The kinder ones were far too old, already on their way to meet the Stranger and yet finding it in themselves to try for one last bride.

"...the walls of Blackhaven are unscalable vassalstone," droned the aged Lord Dondarrion as she and Rhaenyra listened to the words of their suitors. "And the castle is surrounded by a deep, dry moat. It is well fortified against any future Dornish incursions. And though my seat may be lesser in size, it is situated most pleasingly–" the man cleared his throat, pouring himself a cup of water. "The view across the Marches is inspiring, so said Queen Alysanne herself when she honored my father and I–"

"And tell me, Lord Dondarrion," interrupted Rhaenyra, irritated, "did you think our great-grandmother as beautiful as they say?"

He squinted up at her, as if not understanding her question. "This was half a century ago, Princess."

Rhaenyra smiled tightly, "Yes it was."

The attendees began to laugh. "That was unseemly, Princess," said Lord Boremund Baratheon at Rhaenyra's right.

"The man is older than my father. It's unseemly for him to put himself forward as a contender for my hand."

He nodded. "Next." Daella and Rhaenyra shared a look, almost daring to giggle. A younger boy strode up, bowing. Rhaenyra was in shock and Daella was reminded of Otto's recommendation to wed Rhaenyra to Aegon. "And now a child."

"The Blackwoods are an ancient house with a formidable army," said Lord Boremund. "In the Riverlands, they once ruled as kings. The blood of the First Men still flows in their veins."

"'Once,'" pointed out Daella. "Blood is not everything." The man shrugged in quiet acknowledgement. "Go on," Lord Boremund beckoned the waiting lad.

"My Princesses," said the Willem Blackwood, "ours is a bond that has long endured, since Lucas Blackwood, the grandsire of my grandsire, aided the Dragon in his war of conquest–"

"Aye," said Jerrel of House Bracken. "The Blackwoods truly turned the tide on that one."

The attendees laughed as the boy tried to continue, "Coursed with the blood of the First Men, our history is deeply rooted in this land, which your house has made its home. If chosen as a match to either of you, your days shall be easy and nights safe under my protection."

"'Protection?'" repeated Jerrel. "The Princesses have dragons, you dumb cunt. Vermithor alone could swallow you whole."

Rhaenyra giggled. "I could learn to like that one." Daella didn't quite like how he interrupted, but he did seem more bold, like the sort her sister might like. She didn't want to entirely dismiss the young lad, though, he might be the sort to be attentive to his lady wife the way most of these other men wouldn't be. Though, Daella did want a man in her bed, not a boy. "Ugh, let us have the next so we may go to supper."

Jerrel sneered as Willem walked away, "Craven." The boy unsheathed his sword, advancing toward Jerrel. Ser Criston immediately escorted the Princesses out as the two began to duel.

"Send word to the harbor and have Captain Oswin ready the ship," Rhaenyra instructed Ser Criston. Even Daella was surprised to hear this instruction– that was not the plan, they still had to see all the other kingdoms. Daella was even eager to go to the Reach, perhaps Ser Gwayne would be there, or someone else to her liking.

"Princess, we're due in Bitterbridge in three days' time," said Ser Criston. Even he knew that this wasn't what Viserys wanted, what they'd promised him they'd do.

"I would happily row myself back to King's Landing if it brought an end to this ridiculous pageant."

Daella turned as a loud shout echoed through the chamber, accompanied by the slash of metal. Willem had succeeded in defeating Jerrel. "Don't look, Princess," urged Ser Criston. She stared anyway, impressed. Perhaps if she were younger, or Willem six years older, she might've liked him for a husband. He had seemed sweet and she certainly appreciated someone who could defend themselves well.

She'd opted not to accompany them back to King's Landing once they reached the docks. Daella felt it inappropriate to ignore their father's wishes when he was already being generous enough to let them wed for love rather than a strong alliance— the least she could do was try, even if she felt she'd already met the man she wished to marry. Rhaenyra bade her good luck at Bitterbridge, and had left her with more than half the guards, keeping for herself Ser Criston in particular.

It was lonely to journey to Bitterbridge without her sister. At least with Rhaenyra, she could make true conversation. Her guards had to watch what they said; they weren't free to joke with her. She knew that her father would probably forgive Rhaenyra easily for abandoning the tour, though he would've scolded Daella to no end for the same thing. She informed the guards that if naught came at Bitterbridge, she would like to return home. None argued with her.

She held out on the hope that a familiar face would present themselves as part of the Reach, the Westerlands, and Riverlands— it made it easier on her to justify not stopping at Lannisport or rounding back up to the Vale and the North. She'd miss out on the Iron Islanders, though, who might be the sort of rugged men she'd like— even if her father would likely be horrified with her marrying one of them.

But nothing drew her attention. She missed Vermithor, Aegon, and Helaena. The men were not as eager to present themselves when they realized Rhaenyra was not present. Annoyed that she was not enough to more than a handful who saw her true beauty, she set back for King's Landing, back to those who appreciated her. And might realize they appreciate me when I make my own appreciations known.

By the time she returned to King's Landing, she got the sense much had changed. For one, Daemon was back. He's returned the day Rhaenyra had, arriving as King of the Stepstones and offering his brother his crown to show he and Lord Corlys had crushed the Triarchy. She hadn't missed him one bit. He was always causing some sort of trouble, and he had never seemed to like her, not even when she was little. Her mother used to say that she reminded him of himself. She was too wild and he didn't care to find a way to bond with her.

Still, he'd always favored Rhaenyra and Daella despised him for it, for pretending his other niece simply didn't exist. She knew why; everyone knew why. A part of her hated him even more for it. Daemon, the Targaryen Prince who lusted over his eldest niece. A constant reminder that Daella wasn't as pretty as Rhaenyra, or so she'd taken to heart when she was younger.

"Princess," said Daemon, present at the Dragonpit as she came to visit Vermithor immediately upon her return to King's Landing. He caught her with her forehead against Vermithor's snout. "You've claimed your dragon at long last."

She turned to him slowly, feeling Vermithor sneer beneath her palms— he knew when she was around someone she didn't like. "Yes. He's larger than Caraxes, though his size does not make him clumsy. Your Red Wyrm may learn a thing or two from him."

His eyes glittered mischievously, amused with her response. "Perhaps we might fly together in the coming days," offered Daemon. "We will see then what Vermithor can manage against Caraxes. I was convinced you'd be dragonless, ñuha byka lēkianna." (T: My little niece.)

"And I was convinced you'd return from the Stepstones headless, kepus," she quipped. (T: Uncle.) "Pity the Crabfeeder's sword caught only your hair and not your throat." She had wished him dead many times since his jape about her brother Baelon being 'Heir for a Day.' Maybe she wished him less dead now, but she still didn't like the trouble he always brought with him.

He gave a laugh. "Yes, a pity for you. Come back and without a husband? After all that touring... with nothing sown."

"I made my effort," clipped Daella. "Rhaenyra gave up. I know my father went through a great effort to arrange the tour and I did not wish to further frustrate him. And besides, I may yet revisit those I met with."

He didn't seem to believe that, raising his eyebrows mockingly. "Revisit, yes." She was sure he meant something more, perhaps further insult of no one being confirmed to want her, of her not being as good as Rhaenyra was always perceived to be. She would have liked to remind everyone in the Realm who had done her full duty and who had shirked it.

She ignored him, for she knew his comment was meant to get a reaction out of her. She felt him staring at her as she slipped on her riding gloves. For a moment, she turned back and caught his eyes tracing over her figure— he acknowledged that she'd grown. Eighteen now, she was every bit a woman. Every bit the ghost of her mother, and everyone knew Aemma had been beautiful, even if gentle. Daella had more fire than that, she stood out.

Daemon might've seen it, might've acknowledged that perhaps it was unfair to not have complimented Daella when he said years ago that Rhaenyra was the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms. Daella didn't care if he wanted her or not. She wouldn't want him for a husband. Her uncle fit the mold of the certain man she thought about in her nights exploring her body, but she doubted he'd be as selfless as she wanted. No, it was too late now, if Daemon had ever changed his mind, he'd need to make a grand gesture to show it.

He said nothing more and she knew it would always be Rhaenyra for him. Daella almost wished Rhaenyra would pursue him, if only to infuriate their father. Perhaps then he'd see that Rhaenyra was too chaotic to remain heir. She made decisions on a whim. Better to name Aegon now, early on when he could learn. Daella would help teach him, just as she'd teach Helaena to be a lady.

There was another cruel realization to be met upon her return, once she made it into the castle. Somehow, amidst everything, Rhaenyra and Alicent had rekindled their relationship— Daemon's presence had clearly made some change and for Daella, it was unpleasant. Suddenly, there wasn't room for her anymore. She was an outsider.

Rhaenyra had someone else to spend time with, someone else to talk to. She resented how easy it was for Rhaenyra to turn her back on her. Even still, after so many years, Daella got the sense she didn't matter as long as Rhaenyra existed.

Four years, four good years where Rhaenyra had come to Daella for most every problem. Everything she said, she would say to Daella first. They read together, walked together, sometimes even flew together, not as often as Daella might've thought suitable, but Rhaenyra had been her friend. The past four years were the closest they'd ever been.

Daella still remembered the day Rhaenyra flew them both to Dragonstone so she might claim her dragon. She had returned as a new girl that day. Vermithor instead of Silverwing. Flying for the first time with her sister at her side. Believing she and Rhaenyra could get along, could be happy.

Had she been bitter? Yes. The entire time, the closer they were, the more she was reminded how often the court preferred Rhaenyra. But she had endured it because her sister stood by her, confided in her, loved her. They had lost their mother and Rhaenyra had lost her best friend. Now Daella had no friends. That enraged her— she'd screamed into her pillow and stabbed at it with her knife until she felt better.

She began to loathe the castle again, save for her little siblings. If Daella could, she would have whisked Aegon and Helaena away to Dragonstone or a further away land where none could bother them. Laenor and Laena could visit whenever they pleased, but only they would be trusted with her location. It wasn't as though her father tried to bond with his new children very much, and Alicent wasn't exactly fond of her babes. She could hardly calm them. Helaena was a fussy one, and only Daella could hope to ease her.

Daella kept her distance from the rekindled friends as much as she could. When she wasn't on Vermithor, she was with the babes, or in the library, or practicing with her knife. Ser Harrold had found some young squires to practice with, and her aim was improving each time. She'd asked the old Kingsguard to find her a knife fighter from the streets of King's Landing, so she might learn a 'dirtier' way to fight, but she wasn't sure she'd convinced him just yet that it was a good idea. She'd had to resort to being rougher on the squires, unleashing her anger and trying to goad them into fighting back harder.

"You improve every day, Princess," said Ser Harwin, who'd been supervising her that day. Ser Harrold had assigned him, perhaps because he knew better what fighters in places like Gin Alley could do. Maybe it meant she might get a proper opponent soon.

Daella twirled the knife in her palm, casting him a smile. Behind her, the boys assigned to train with her were struggling to catch their breath. "If only the squires did not go so easy on me. I need a real challenge or I won't be sure if I've learned enough." The good thing was that Laenor never went easy on her. But, unfortunately, the older they got, the more Laenor would have some boy to spend time with. She missed her dear friend and cousin, but was glad to always have Laena.

Ser Harwin cracked a smile. "It is difficult for them to show their strength with your protector flying overhead." Far in the clouds, Vermithor circled, always one to supervise her. He didn't enjoy the Dragonpit much without Silverwing there. She wasn't entirely sure Vermithor trusted the men she had around her, either. "The Bronze Fury does not even take kindly to Ser Harrold scolding you."

"Vermithor will not do anything without my leave," Daella assured him, coming to stand by him. He was nearly a foot taller than her, but she stood with the confidence of someone nearly his height. "Are you afraid of fire, Ser Harwin?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Everyone in their right mind should be, Princess."

She wiggled her eyebrows. "Perhaps I am not in my right mind, Ser Harwin."

"You ride a magnificent beast," said Ser Harwin. "The only dragon I've seen that is larger is Vhagar, and she is quite old. You are brave. In your right mind, I cannot say."

"I promise not to have your tongue removed, no matter what you say."

"Oh, I don't imagine you would. But Vermithor may disagree." He smiled when she did, but saw how quickly she glanced away. She was shy, talking to him, but ever pensive. She wished she enjoyed living here, the place where her mother raised her. How sweet the few years she enjoyed had been. "Something troubles you, Princess."

"Many things," she said, unsure if she should divulge it all. "Mostly, I think of my duties. I wish to leave the castle, to wed and have a family. I am unhappy here, if I am being honest. One of my joys is bettering myself at this... feeling protected. Though, I am not yet sure I have reached my full potential."

"Chin up, Princess," he said encouragingly. "I am certain there are many you can best and many more eager to have your hand in marriage. They'll be glad to whisk you away to their keeps. We'll find a proper instructor for you, perhaps someone better than a street thief... a Braavosi, mayhaps. The squires are intimidated, though one cannot blame them."

Daella knew he was trying to be kind, and mustered a smile. "I do come from the line of Rhaenys, and my grandmother Alyssa was quite a wild woman. I have a distant aunt in Visenya as well, my mother used to say I likely had her same narrowing eyes."

"Narrowing eyes, perhaps, but many here say they are round like those of Rhaenys, full of wonder." She found it flattering for him to say so, especially since she received compliments of resembling the young Queen.

She eyed him closely, wondering if perhaps she had an opening. "Your father approached my father at Aegon's name day celebration last year. The King thought he meant for you to be betrothed to Rhaenyra."

Harwin let out a laugh. "My father would never offer such a thing."

"He didn't, but my father assumed. Would you hate it? Being married to a Princess?"

"I'm to be Lord of Harrenhal someday," he said pensively. "My duty will lie elsewhere." He seemed to know what she was implying. "Princess..." He took her hand. "I am an honest man, and because of it, I am compelled to tell you that I do not feel it is my time to be a husband. Nor even a father. I am honored that you would think of me, but I do not wish to cross this line with you, as your protector."

What you really mean to say is that you don't see me that way. Daella was more crestfallen than she would've liked to be. She withdrew her hand but tried to be calm. "I understand, Ser Harwin, and appreciate your honesty. Forgive me, I ought not have said anything."

"It is quite alright." He clearly had no idea how to remedy the situation. She was staring blankly at her hands. Was it because Ser Harwin preferred Rhaenyra, or he simply saw her as more of a sister? She hoped it was the latter, at least that would hurt a little less. It would mean he was a good man, that he kept boundaries and did his duty as he ought to. "If I may, Princess, I do know of a knight you may not have considered for marriage. One who will share your sense of adventure and not be as serious as I."

She wasn't sure if she ought to ask who it was. Her curiosity got the better of her, however. "A knight?"

"Yes. At the Heir's Tournament, I heard Ser Gwayne Hightower intended to ask for your favor before the tourney began. He was startled when your uncle chose him as an opponent and completely forgot. That was the last I heard of him here, but in Oldtown it is said he is a brave knight... one I am sure has not forgotten you."

She didn't know what to say. Once more, Ser Gwayne Hightower returned to mind, the boy she'd looked up to for so long. She hadn't seen him at Bitterbridge, hadn't opened communication with him... perhaps that had been an oversight on her part. There was no harm in trying. "I suppose I ought to write to him. Thank you for your honesty, Ser Harwin."

Upon return to her chambers, she prepared herself to write, heart beating with excitement as she imagined how it would be received, though it was not even yet created. Feeling she'd lose her bravery, she forced herself to start drifting the quill over the page.

-

Dear Ser Gwayne Hightower,

I begin first with greetings and wishes for your good health— I lament not having offered this sooner. I find myself thinking of the rapport our families had many years ago when both our mothers lived and I find myself wishing to remedy the fractures with some reconnection.

If you are interested in a continued correspondence, send your reply with a note about what your favorite dessert is. At present, I still prefer cake.

I look forward to receiving a raven from Oldtown.

With admiration,

Princess Daella of House Targaryen

-

She sent the raven off before anyone could talk her out of it. Who would have? Rhaenyra had spent the morning with Alicent and the afternoon with Daemon, both pairs as thick as thieves. It was her secret to keep, at least until she heard back and had something to say to Laena and Laenor.

Maybe this is it. I pray to the gods that what is right shall come to pass. Please... free me from this place. Bring me to someone who will love me wholly. I am so tired of not being anyone's first choice.