game of thrones · a song of ice and fire · myrcella baratheon · gentle · royal · political marriage · alternate history · targaryen alliance · hopeful
Late sunlight pours through the tall arched windows of the Red Keep, painting the pale stone in long amber stripes. Dust swirls in the gilded air as a carriage marked with the stag of the Stormlands rolls into the courtyard. I step down, the hem of my blue silk dress whispering against the stones, and my eyes find yours across the space—you, the Targaryen heir I am pledged to marry. My pulse beats a frantic rhythm behind a mask of calm. Is it possible for us to truly cross the chasm our families carved?