[Event] The Princess Returns to her Tower.

12th Moon, 338 AC

Helaena

When she had reached her sixth year, Helaena had been given chambers of her own, free from the confines of the royal nursery. They were not so grand in scale as those of the King or Queen, or even the apartments intended for the most significant visitors, but they were enough for the lone princess.

Her chambers were in the ninth storey of the southwestern tower. There was a solar, far smaller than her father’s but big enough for her and a few guests, as well as a bedchamber for herself and three smaller chambers for ladies and servants. Many of the walls were curved, owing to their location in the tower, and had alcoves cut out of the thick walls to allow one to get close to the windows.

For years, this had been her refuge. The small part of the world over which she was undisputed mistress. Where no one would judge her for the dozens of books, the gowns tailored in bizarre foreign styles, the instruments she seemed unable to master but frequently tried. All of it had been a comfort, all of it had been home.

But it didn’t feel like home anymore. She had given this part of the world up, come to terms with the life at Casterly Rock that was supposed to be hers. Hers were the apartments of the Lady of the Rock, and had felt far more marvelous than the solar and bedchamber of the King’s second daughter.

Her baggage was left half-unpacked in her solar, with gowns and books and collections lain out or still packed away in heavy wooden chests. She and her handmaids had begun the task of unpacking, when the princess had lost all heart for the matter and instead called for a bath. It was not what was old, it was what was new. The wedding gifts stood out amidst her belongings. The golden goblets with dragons and lions, the beautiful banner, the jewels, and most heart-wrenching of all...the lion claw. She had intended to wear it every day, a constant reminder of her husband, held forever to her bosom. Now it gave her no fondness, no joy.

A souvenir from the slain beast.

She felt cold, and had to stop herself from shivering. The warm bath helped, but only enough to feel futile. She could not stay fully submerged, and if ever her scrawny shoulders or small breasts peeked up from the waterline, they were covered with goosepimples and caused her to shudder. Eventually she gave up, and left the water still steaming.

After being dried and dressed in a long linen shift, she dismissed her handmaids and trudged to her bed. Tears formed in her eyes, and she curled up into a ball beneath the heavy covers covers. She’d never realized how painful it could be, to have a big bed to oneself. She could almost feel the kisses, clumsy and sweet, upon her lips and cheeks and neck. The way he’d sheepishly asked if he could kiss her breasts as well, and how the two of them had laughed. What a wonderful night it had been, what a wonderful beginning to what could have been a wonderful marriage. But instead of laughing in the arms of her husband, she was softly crying in the bed of her childhood, once again under the guidance of her father and the dominion of the crown. Once again the second daughter, the other princess. Her time as Lady of the Rock would barely get a paragraph in the annals of history. Some lesser accomplishments would get all the attention, and men would forget that, for a few days, she had been the lion’s mate.

She watched through teary eyes as the door to her chamber opened, and she perceived the one person she would’ve wanted to see at a time like this.