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“Joff, are you sure you don’t want to wear something more colorful?” asked Lucera.
Joff ran her hands down the skirts of her black velvet gown. “I see nothing wrong with my attire.”
“You look like you’re attending a funeral.”
If Joff were a more melodramatic sort of person, she would respond with something like, “That would be fitting, as I am in mourning.” But she had never approved of people who exhibited histrionics in order to get sympathy. Besides, she had no right to be in mourning when her choices were the reason for the current state of affairs.
“I am wearing the colors of our house,” she said instead. “It is acceptable for the wedding of one of our kin.”
Lucera frowned as she fiddled with the dragonglass ring that Aemond had given her years ago, before they married. “You don’t have to pretend that you’re happy, you know.”
Joff’s mouth was set in a grim line as she stared at her sister. “Do I seem happy to you?”
Lucera snorted. “You rarely do.” Then she bit her lip. “Tisn’t too late. If you say something to him—”
“Daeron and Floris are a good match,” Joff said firmly. She straightened the ribbon tying the end of her braid. “We should go, or we’ll be late.”
The ceremony was held at the royal sept. The wedding of a third son and a third daughter, neither of them heirs, didn’t merit the same city-wide extravagance as Jacaera and Aegon’s wedding nearly a decade ago. But they were still a prince and the daughter of a lord paramount, so a lavish celebration in the heart of the Red Keep was deemed perfectly suitable.
Joff and her family sat in the pews on the right side of the sept, the bridegroom’s side. She busied herself with counting the tiny dragonglass beads on her necklace. She continued counting when the bridegroom entered the sept and took his position beside the altar. She sensed more than one of her sisters looking at her in concern, but she kept counting.
One hundred and ninety-six beads. Fourteen fourteens. A most propitious number.
The bridegroom’s stare bored into the side of her head. She refused to look up. If she looked up, his sad, pleading gaze would break her resolve. Daeron had always been her greatest weakness. That was why she couldn’t marry him.
She recounted her beads, again and again, pausing only to stand when the bride arrived. Floris Baratheon was even more beautiful than usual. Her blue eyes shone with joy and adoration as she glided up the aisle.
As they should, Joff thought dully. She wouldn’t have allowed Floris to marry Daeron if Floris were anything less than utterly devoted to her soon-to-be husband.
Joff resumed counting during the sermon. When the couple began to exchange their vows, her fingers inadvertently gripped her necklace so hard, she almost broke it.’
She stared at her feet as Daeron wrapped the marriage cloak around his bride. When Daeron kissed Floris, somebody touched Joff’s shoulder.
Daemon didn’t say a word. He just squeezed her shoulder.
During the feast, Joff was seated at the very end of the table, far from the newlywed couple. This suited her just fine. She concentrated on her food, ignoring the toasts and speeches. When Daeron and Floris stepped out onto the floor to open the dancing, Joff dedicated her entire attention to her second helping of dessert.
Eventually, Aegon got up and circled around to her corner of the table. “Oof,” he said, leaning against her chair. “You look like you need something stronger than fruit juice.”
“I hate feasts,” Joff said flatly. “I am waiting until it is socially acceptable for me to depart.”
“Since when did you do the socially acceptable thing?” Aegon nudged her out of her chair. “Come with me. I know something that’ll make you feel better.”
Joff didn’t ordinarily let Aegon drag her around. The fact that she did so now was an indicator of her truly unsettled state. He led her along the walls until they reached the back of the hall, where wine and ale spilled as liberally as the crude jokes uttered by the lower-ranking guests.
When Joff realized to what—or to whom, rather—Aegon was leading her, she snarled, “I’m going to kill you, Aegon.”
“You can thank me later!” Aegon made his escape, abandoning her with Daeron in the shadowy corner of the room.
Now Joff had no choice but to look at Daeron. Their clothes matched; he was also wearing the colors of their house. Although Daeron didn’t usually wear red and black, he appeared striking in them. And Joff hated to admit it, even to herself, but he was very handsome.
He wasn’t smiling. It felt unnatural for cheerful, good-natured Daeron to seem so grim as he gazed at her. “I haven’t been able to talk to you in weeks,” he said.
“Weddings make everyone busy,” she replied. “The bridegroom more than most—”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he cut in. “Don’t prevaricate, Joff. We both know the truth.”
Her fists were clenched. She could not, for the life of her, unclench them. “Fine. Yes. I’ve been avoiding you.”
“Because you know this is wrong,” he said fervently. “I shouldn’t be marrying Floris. I should—”
“You have married Floris,” Joff pointed out, striving to speak as emotionlessly as possible. “You spoke your oaths. It is done.”
“The marriage isn’t consummated! It can be annulled.” Daeron grabbed her hands. “If you and I stand together before the king, if you and I speak to our mothers, we can change things. We can still get our happy ending. We—”
Joff interrupted, “Floris is your happy ending, Daeron. She is beautiful and kind, and she will be a very good wife to you. She is the sort of lady whom a prince ought to marry.” She tried to extricate her hands, but his grip tightened.
Daeron’s eyes were filled with unshed tears. “I don’t want Floris. I want you. For as long as I can remember, my heart has been yours, Joff.”
She knew. She had always known that Daeron loved her, just as she had always loved him. She wasn’t sure when exactly her love had transformed into the heated, uncontrollable, dangerous love of romantic songs. But when she realized she loved Daeron like a maiden loved her knight, like a woman loved a man, it was too late. She couldn’t stop it or change it back to what it used to be.
And she couldn’t marry him.
“Now I’m giving your heart back to you,” she said. “Keep it. Or give it to Floris.”
Daeron suddenly looked angry. He was never angry with her. “That isn’t how it works, Joff! My heart isn’t some object to pass around as you please. It’s yours, and it will always be yours, even though I wish it weren’t stuck with someone so—so cruel.”
Being the object of his anger was an unsettling experience. Joff didn’t like it. “I don’t enjoy hurting you. I’m only doing this because I must.”
“Why must you?” he demanded. “We are friends. We love each other. Nobody would have stopped us. Our whole families would have been happy for us to marry.”
“It’s just the way the world is! A husband has control over his wife. That is the law.”
As Daeron stared at her, the tears vanished from his eyes, replaced by disbelief. “That’s it? That’s why you won’t marry me? Because you think I’ll—what? You think I’ll mistreat you?”
“Of course not,” Joff said impatiently. “You are sweet and gentle and kind. But the law says that as my husband, you can rule me. Even though I know you would never intentionally exercise that right, it is still your right by law. I won’t risk it. I won’t let anyone else rule me. I won’t marry anyone. Not even you, Daeron.”
Especially not Daeron. He already had so much power over her. She couldn’t afford to give him any more.
His hands clenched around hers. “So that’s it? You’re going to let the law scare you off?” He scoffed. “I used to think that nothing ever scared you, but it turns out that all it takes are a few words on ink and paper.”
“Daeron—”
His hands slipped away from hers. “I should go. The bedding will start soon,” he said bitterly. As he walked away, he didn’t look back at her.
Joff felt cold. She felt even colder when the musicians began the bawdy song that signaled the bedding. She rapidly strode out the doors into the corridor, determined to be in her own bed by the time that raunchy tradition was underway.
Someone followed her. Not Daeron. She was disappointed by that realization, even though she had no right to be disappointed.
“For what it’s worth,” Daemon said as he walked beside her, “I think you made a mistake.”
She didn’t deny it.