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Jacaerys hears his betrothed before he sees her.
The halls of Dragonstone are vast and never with a quiet alcove but he recognizes her voice instantly. Like an angel’s hymn she coaxes him closer to her.
“Jace,” she calls out to him gently. “Where are you going?”
Her tone is laced with fatigue, which is to be expected. It hasn’t even been a week since news of Rhaenys’s battle in Rook's Rest, leaving the princess injured and bedridden. Poor Baela took the news hardest of all, sobbing into his arms about how she should’ve been there for her grandmother.
“It’s my fault, I should’ve never allowed her to fly alone.” She ridiculed herself again and again. It took Jace hours to cease her tears and finally get her to rest. And even then she only obliged him if he stayed in her chambers and slept beside her.
Jace now turns the corner and sees her violet eyes are similarly worn with the same fatigue her voice brandishes. Baela’s violet eyes that he loves so ardently, that are usually brimming with such passion and laughter.
They hold nothing but weariness now.
A sight that makes his heart squeeze in anguish.
He shares the pain of her grief, she is not alone in her feelings of helplessness. But more importantly he’ll soon share her burdens. And he hopes it’ll be some consolation to her.
“Jace?” Baela sweetly calls for him again. They’re eye to eye now, which makes this all the more difficult for the young prince.
He wishes to ignore her questions, same as her inquiring gaze that always makes him squirm in his seat. Baela has a knack for persuading Jace’s innermost thoughts from him. He cannot keep things from her, least of all lie about where he’s going. He should do this swiftly then, he decides.
“To Harrenhal,” he tells her flatly, not properly meeting her eyes. “To aid the King Consort in his ground battles against the usurpers.” Jace then moves to quickly make his way past Baela but her hand halts him before he can take another step.
And he allows himself to be pushed away from the exit. Away from his mission. Instead he stays rooted in his place even after she stands from her chair.
Her smaller hand rests on his firm chest, hardly applying any pressure. His attention is split between her words and her fingers on his armor. “You spread yourself too thin my prince. My father is more than equipped to handle the Riverlands.” Baela still speaks so softly to him, not an ounce of displeasure can be detected in her voice but Jace knows the underlying truth, Harrenhal is a trip wasted.
He scoffs in annoyance.
And she responds by drawing small circles on his chest. He feels comforted by her touch, which aggravates him all the more.
“My mother gladly sends you away.”
It’s Baela’s turn now to sigh.
“Jace, please you know it’s only because—”
He doesn’t let her finish. “She sends you to scout, to fight, whilst I’m here forced to play their coddled princling.” Bitterness consumes him. Baela is his betrothed, his future wife, the future queen of The Seven Kingdoms. She’s just as important to his mother as Jace is, yet it seems he is the only one forced to be content with his house arrest. “It’s humiliating Baela.”
She removes her hand from his chest and reaches for his own instead. “She means only to protect you, you are the succession.” Baela understands his frustrations, Jace is as capable as the rest of them but a mother will do what she does, worry.
“No,” Jace grabs her other hand and brings them both up to his own beating heart. “We are the succession my lady.” They’re equals, him and her, and it’s about time they’re treated as such. “The kingdom cannot survive without its future queen just as much as their future king.”
Baela’s face warms at his words. “Yes my prince,” she agrees. “We’re the succession, but—”
Jace pouts. The word but is never a good thing.
“That does not change my earlier standing.”
He caresses his thumb over her knuckles. “Then what would you have me do my lady, how may I be useful to our cause?”
Baela smiles at him. “You are beyond intelligent and capable my love, believe me when I say you will find a way.” Her tired eyes are illuminated by the dim glow of the candles, she’s breathtaking to him. If the fates were kinder they wouldn’t have to spend their days plotting and scheming, instead they’d spend it racing their dragons and sharing heated kisses on the shores of Dragonstone.
If only.
Jace kisses the back of her hand as a thank you for her pretty words. “You are much too kind to me Baela, soon it will all go to my head and you’ll have a rotten cocky prince for a husband.”
“Oh no, we can't have that. You’re already much too boastful, perhaps I should tease you more?”
“You’ve been teasing me less, beloved?”
The corner of her lips waiver between a smile and a mischievous expression. “Ohh on occasion, but you wouldn’t notice since you’ve been much too busy staring at my lips.”
Jace smirks. “Can you blame me, my lady?”
She places a thumb on his bottom lip. “No my prince I cannot, I too I’m guilty of the same.”
Jace reddens at her forwardness and tries to play it off by rolling his eyes at Baela’s flirting. She always has this effect on him. In an attempt to turn the tables on her he tries to nibble the finger she rested on his mouth but Baela gasps and quickly retrieves it before it could be caught between his lips.
He smiles slyly, before laughter spills forth from her and he joins in soon afterwards. They stand like that for a moment, holding one another through their giggles and filling the dreary halls of Dragonstone with their happiness.
Suddenly, Jace is struck by an idea. “The freys.”
Baela tilts her head, “The freys? What about them?”
“They control the crossing at The Twins. If I was to meet with them and convince them to grant our allies a direct passage into the Riverlands we would be—”
“Able to quicker aid my father with more soldiers.” She finishes for him. “But your mother won’t be too happy.”
His mother, of course. She would never let him leave Dragonstone after what just happened to Rhaenys. Jace then draws Baela closer to him. “Then don’t tell her.” He begs.
She melts at his touch. “Jace—”
“Please my lady,” he whispers to her lovingly. He pushes her even closer to him, her bodice scraping against the silver of his armor. “Not until I’m far away from Dragonstone, then you may inform her.”
The proximity makes Baela putty in his hands. This is the effect he has on her. Reluctantly she nods her head yes. This mission is something Jace needs to do, not only for their cause but for himself. “Okay,” she sighs. “I’ll keep your secret Jace, but I’ll still be informing your mother. I don’t wish for her to be cross with—”
Overcome with happiness at her support Jace finally closes the distance between them and eagerly smashes his lips onto his betrothed. A whimper leaves Baela’s mouth at the sudden kiss but she eagerly responds, flinging her arms around him as he walks her back to the awaiting table.
“Thank you my love. You mean everything to me.” Jace confesses between kisses, sliding his hands down the expanse of her body. He wishes to remember every inch of her, to engrave her curves into his palms.
Baela’s hands tug on his curls, if she is to send her future husband away she’ll make sure to do it well. “And I you.” She swears to him in return.
The candles burn faintly yet the room is ablaze with heat. Baela presses her thighs together in excitement, while her older brother never once stops as he expertly explores her smaller figure. A hand on her throat, a touch on her breast, Jace is ravenous.
Is this how wives feel when they send their husband’s off to war Baela wonders? Longing to give them something to remember them by?
“Baela, my love, my future queen.” Jace mumbles into her skin. Biting her neck and holding her ass firmly in his hands. And Baela responds with her own playful grabs and moans of pleasure, always ready to meet him halfway.
Vermax is at the dragonmount waiting for his rider, but Jace is more occupied with thoughts of getting his little sister to ride him. And it’s not until he sets Baela on the table and their lustful kissing ends up with a cup of wine flying across the room, does he remember to have some decorum.
Instantly Jace backs away from the heat of her body and tries to right his armor and smooth back his tousled hair.
Baela doesn’t make much of an effort to make herself presentable.
He coughs into his hand when she doesn’t immediately speak up, “My apologies my lady, I got ahead of myself.”
Baela fixes him with a teasing smile. She’s still sat atop the table which makes her eye level with her betrothed. “No harm done, besides,” she giggles as she runs a fingernail down his arm. “It’s not the first time you’ve lost sight of your gentleman ways, right?”
Jace falls into a coughing fit. He should know better than to take such liberties with her before they are wed, and to do so constantly? To say he’s embarrassed is the least of it. “Nonetheless, I’m deeply sorry.”
She hops off the table, reaching in Jace’s belt to pull out his riding gloves. “Well, I’m not.” She tells him truthfully, if she had it her way? They would’ve been wedded and bedded months ago. But alas, her Jace wishes to do everything the proper way.
Jace takes his gloves from her hands. Of course she isn’t apologetic, the blood of Daemon runs thick in her and he’s known that since he was 10.
“The hour grows late my prince, you ought to depart now.” A gentle smile graces her Valyrian features. “I hope your send off was to your liking.”
He can’t help but laugh, he decides he won’t indulge her teasing with a reply. “Be good while I’m away.”
She steps closer to him, counting the moles on his face like she does every time they must part ways. “I make no such promise.”
Jace is the one to close the distance again.
“But will you make me a promise lēkia?”
“Anything to make my hāedar happy.”
Their foreheads gently press together.
“Be safe my love.”
Jace kisses the tops of her silver curls.
“I promise I’ll return to you my lady.”