There's something off about the King's Personal attendant.
Something sinister.
***Used to be Savage***
***Currently Being Edited***
Female!OC x Viserys Targaryen
Female!OC x Alicent Hightower
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The Tourney had quickly ended, and though one knight had been victorious there was no celebration to be held. Instead the noble houses gathered in an empty field outside the city's walls, solemnly staring ahead at the two pyres. Darla stood at the King's side, an unusual place for a servant but none would dare question a supposedly grieving man, let alone the King.
She wore her usual attire, a single speck of red in a sea of morose black, overtop she wore an ill-fitting black tunic, one of the King's own articles of clothing. A silver girdle cinched the fabric around her waist, a new addition to her wardrobe. Darla suspected it had been taken from the dead Queen's own collection.
From her place at the King's side Darla glanced back, dark eyes instantly found the Hand and his daughter. The older man glared at Darla, the muscles in his jaw twitching. She smirked, turning back to look at the King and laid a hand on his shoulder. Viserys glanced at her, smiling softly as he took her hand in his. If anyone were to look closely they would see the impropriety between royal and lowborn, but Darla didn't care if anyone saw. In fact she hoped Otto Hightower took notice, she prayed that it would set his blood alight and cause his mind to race. She depended on his ambition for her plan to begin, she needed him to send his daughter her way.
The princess stepped forward, Darla followed the younger teen's line of sight, seeing the yellow dragon perk up. Princess Rhaenyra tore her eyes from her dragon and turned to her father, her gaze hardened as she met Darla's gaze.
"Dracarys." She ordered.
The dragon lumbered forward, lowering her long neck. With a roar, fire shot from its maul, setting the pyres aflame.
★・・・・・・★
The sun had long since set over King's Landing when Darla received word that an emergency small council meeting had been called. She rolled her eyes as she followed the King into the room, instantly regretting the action as her vision spun. The King had ordered pitchers of Arbor red be brought to his chambers following the funeral. Three had been easily finished between the two, leaving tongues loose and bodies uncoordinated.
"What is the meaning of this?" Viserys questioned as he dropped into his seat at the head of the table.
"Your Grace," Otto began, his voice already beginning to annoy Darla. "This is the last thing any of us wish to discuss at this dark hour, but I consider the matter urgent."
"What matter?"
The Hand paused for a moment before finally drawing the courage to speak. "That of your succession. These recent tragedies have left you without an obvious heir."
Darla couldn't help the grin that pulled at the corners of her lips. If Otto was bringing up the matter of succession it meant that he had a plan. Darla had watched the man long enough to realize how he rarely acted without having an idea on how to manipulate others to get what he wanted.
