Chapter Text
It rained on Lucera’s wedding day, which reflected her mood very accurately.
She refused to smile during the ceremony. She didn’t want to give anyone the impression that she was in any way pleased with this turn of events. Clement, however, either didn’t notice or didn’t care about her stony expression as he happily wrapped her in a cloak in the Celtigar colors of red and white. When he bent to kiss her at the septon’s prompting, she deliberately turned her head so he only kissed her cheek.
She also refused to look at her family. They all fell into one of two categories at the moment. The first category consisted of those she was furious with—namely her grandfathers, both of them—for coercing her into marrying Clement “for the sake of her reputation.” The second category consisted of people who would make her want to cry if she glimpsed their upset and sympathetic faces. This wedding, and the scandal that preceded it, were already humiliating. She wouldn’t shame herself any further by weeping at the altar.
The “celebratory” supper afterwards was mercifully small. Only the Targaryens, Velaryons, and Celtigars were invited. Lord Celtigar had wanted a grand feast so he could boast to the entire court that his house had finally secured a marriage with the royal family. But Queen Alicent insisted that discretion was more prudent, considering the controversial circumstances that had led to the marriage.
Lucera wasn’t especially fond of the queen (mostly because the queen didn’t seem especially fond of Lucera) but she was grateful for the queen’s insistence in this regard. If Lucera had to spend a whole evening accepting well-wishes from courtiers for a marriage that she would never have chosen, she would probably scream, cry, and throw up all at once.
As it was, the private supper was horrible enough. The Celtigars kept making toasts every few minutes. At some point, most of the Targaryens and Velaryons in attendance began to merely feign drinking from their cups.
Most of them.
During the fish course, Lucera gave in to her morbid curiosity and sneaked a glance at Aemond, who was seated near one end of the long table. He had barely touched his food, but he was refilling his winecup, even though he wasn’t fond of the drink. Without looking up from his plate, he took a long drink from his cup.
“A toast to my son and his bride!” Lord Celtigar stood for the third time that evening. “Ever since they were children, I knew Clem and Princess Lucera were meant for each other. Clem has loved her from the moment they met, and it gladdens my old heart that she returns his profound affection.” Lord Celtigar winked. “The impetuousness of youth, eh?”
Only the Celtigars chortled in response. Everyone else just shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Lucera folded her arms, making no move to reach for her winecup. It wasn’t Clement she had expected to meet in the library that night. She had mistaken him for another in the darkness. Before she knew it, Clement had planted his lips on hers, trying to shove his tongue down her throat while his hands squeezed her bum, and a bunch of his father’s men burst into the library to catch them in the act. Mayhaps the scandal could’ve been contained if Lord Celtigar hadn’t gleefully shouted, “Clem, Princess, this is most improper behavior!” for everyone in the vicinity to hear.
She sneaked another glance at the man she had been hoping to find in the library. Aemond had already drained his winecup and was refilling it again. His face was flushed. Normally Lucera would be concerned by this rare bout of overindulgence, but at the moment, she thought he had the right idea of it. She was currently far too sober to get through the rest of the supper and—
Oh, Merling King’s arse! She had determinedly been avoiding all thoughts of the wedding night. Now it loomed like an axe over her head, ready to fall as soon as the dishes were cleared. When a servant tried to take her plate of fish, Lucera snatched it out of his hands and snapped, “I’m not finished!”
Despite her attempts to prolong the meal, however, the dreaded moment came all too soon. “Time for the bedding!” cried one of the Celtigars. He planted one hand on the table as he rose from his chair and turned his eager, hungry gaze toward Lucera.
In the blink of an eye, a knife was embedded in the table between his splayed index and middle fingers. The Celtigar man squawked in alarm and yanked his hand away.
“There will be no bedding ceremony,” Daemon said as he casually released his grip on the knife’s hilt.
“It’s tradition!” Lord Celtigar protested.
“It’s unnecessary,” Jacaera said, leaping into the verbal fray. “I think we can trust that everyone will do their duty without needing to strip a young woman of her clothes. Or do you feel as if you have been cheated in some way, my lords?”
The Celtigars couldn’t answer in any way except to shake their heads, muttering reluctant denials.
Jacaera began to get up from her chair. “As a newly married woman myself, I would be delighted to escort my sister to her wedding chambers and offer any advice—”
“No need for that, Princess,” Clement chirped. His words were slurred from the wine he’d consumed during the endless toasts. He also stood, tugging Lucera by the arm to urge her to stand beside him. “You are correct, the ceremony is unnecessary. My bride and I shall proceed to our marital bed with all due haste.”
Lucera caught the dismay flashing across Jacaera’s face. The sisters exchanged a silent look of commiseration. Lucera hoped her eyes conveyed how much she appreciated Jacaera’s attempt to delay the consummation, even if her efforts were unsuccessful.
As Clement led Lucera out of the room, she glanced one last time at Aemond. He was hunched in his seat, head in his hands, while Aegon prodded him in concern.
The new chambers given to Lucera and Clement were in a distant wing of Maegor’s Holdfast, far from her family’s residence. Flames roared in the fireplace while rain battered the windows as the storm picked up outside. A tray of mead, fruit, and pastries sat on the bedside table, no doubt intended to replenish the couple’s strength during their nighttime activities. Lucera glared at the pomegranate, which lay beside a small paring knife. The symbolism couldn’t be any more obvious.
Clammy fingers touched her back, clumsily yanking the laces of her gown. Lucera yelped and whirled around, gripping her bodice around her chest as it started to fall. “Stop that, Clem!”
He stared owlishly at her. “I’m helping you remove your gown.”
“I don’t want you to!”
“Oh. Would you rather do it yourself?” He sounded disappointed.
“I would rather not take off my clothes at all,” she grumbled.
“Won’t that be uncomfortable during the consummation?”
Lucera’s grip tightened on her gown. As she recalled Jacaera’s attempt to stall the undesirable event, a desperate idea sparked in her mind. “I’m not feeling well,” she said, which was true. She’d been feeling sick to her stomach from the moment she was told she would marry Clement Celtigar, or else she would be disinherited. “I don’t think we should consummate the marriage tonight.”
Clement’s brow furrowed with characteristic confusion. “But it’s our wedding night.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean we have to consummate it today. I could just prick a finger and leave a little blood on the sheets. Then we can wait a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” Clement cried with obvious dismay.
“Just until I feel comfortable with the entire situation,” Lucera pleaded, trying to appeal to his better nature. “We can take the time to get to know each other better—”
“We already know each other! We’ve been friends for years. How much more time could you possibly need?” He shook his head. “I don’t understand why you are uncomfortable now.”
Her temper snapped. “Because I don’t want to be married to you! I never wanted to marry you.”
Clement’s eyes widened with hurt. “But…but you told me to meet you in the library that night. You wanted to confess your affection.”
“I told you no such thing!” Lucera screeched. “I went to the library because I thought I was meeting Aemond!”
All was silent except for the crackling hearth and howling storm. Clement looked utterly dumbfounded, his face twitching as his drunken brain struggled to comprehend her words. “Aemond? Prince…Aemond?”
“Do you know any other Aemond?” Lucera replied, exasperated.
As Clement continued gaping at her, something changed. His guileless eyes, which had always reminded her of a sheep’s, turned hard and angry. His mouth, which was usually curved in a silly smile when he gazed at her, fell into a deep scowl. He clenched his fists at his sides as he took a step toward her.
Lucera reflexively backed away. For the first time in her life, she felt a little afraid of Clement, her bumbling but good-hearted friend. “Clem…?”
“You’re always looking at him. Not me. Him.” Tears welled in his eyes. “Why? I’m the one who’s been here for you the last three years while he was playing hero in the Stepstones. It’s not fair. He may be a prince, but what use is an empty title? I have an actual inheritance! I have the blood of Valyria, same as you and him!”
Her heart raced. “You have been such a good friend, Clem. The best of friends! Please calm down, we can talk—”
“Did you know that he used to laugh at me when we were boys? He and Prince Aegon. Every time my family came to court and our mothers encouraged us to spend time together, the two of them would just snicker at me.” Clement gnashed his teeth. His pale face was even redder now, from fury as well as wine. “They thought I was too stupid to realize they were making fun of me, but I’m not. I’m not stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” Lucera assured him hastily. “That was very unkind of them. I’ll make sure they apologize—”
“But now I get the last laugh. I’m the one who married you, not him. He looked miserable at supper.” Clement chuckled meanly. “Did you see him getting drunk, because he doesn’t want to be aware of what you and I will be doing all night?”
All night seemed a gross overestimation of his abilities, but Lucera wisely kept that comment to herself. “Clem, you’re upset, and understandably so.” She inched toward the door. “I’ll ask a maid to bring some calming tea—”
She shrieked when he yanked her arm, almost hard enough to pull it from its socket. As she fought against his grip, she released her hold on her gown, which pooled in a silk puddle on the floor. The gown caught her feet in a tangle. As she was distracted, he picked her up—she hated being picked up, even in the best of times—and hauled her to the bed.
“Let go of me! You lackwitted, cocksucking, son of a doxy—” Lucera spat out all the worst swears that she’d learned from Corlys, Daemon, Baela, and the sailors she overheard at Spicetown and Dragonstone Village.
She managed to kick Clement in the gut. He cursed and grabbed her ankle. His grip was painfully tight, and she howled as she shook her leg, trying to get him to let go. Her slipper fell from her foot.
Clement was unabashedly crying as he pinned her down on the bed. “You’re my wife now. Stop looking at him! I forbid it. You’re supposed to love me.” He lowered himself on top of her so he could kiss her, all snot and tears and saliva.
Something hard pressed against her belly. Lucera knew immediately what it was, and she wanted nothing to do with it. She could barely breathe, what with Clement slobbering into her mouth. Then he stuck his hand between them and squeezed her breast.
She panicked. Blindly, she groped for the paring knife on the fruit platter beside the bed. Her hand landed on the blade at first, inadvertently slicing her fingers. She quickly found the hilt, and without thinking, she swung the knife at Clement.
He made a strange choking sound. He coughed, and something warm and metallic-tasting filled her mouth. She turned her face away, spitting it out. Red spots stained the pillows.
“Shit!” Lucera squeaked. She instinctively removed her hand from Clement’s neck, taking the knife with her. Blood spurted from his neck, spraying her face and hair. Gagging in disgust, she dropped the knife, which clattered on the floor.
Clement’s entire body sagged on top of her. She grunted beneath his weight. He was much taller than her, as tall as Aemond. His legs were tangled in her shift, and she was unable to shove him off. She whimpered as he seemed to become heavier and heavier, crushing her. Her lungs struggled to expand, fighting for the space she needed to breathe.
More blood dripped into her eyes and nose. She slapped Clement’s shoulders, his sides, anywhere she could reach. “Clem, get off! I can’t breathe!” As she spoke, blood seeped into her mouth too, and she wanted to scream. But then more blood would get into her mouth, and then she would choke, and then she would die just like—like—
Thunder boomed, reverberating throughout the room. Lucera tensed from head to toe. She hated storms. They were so damn loud, and dark, and wet, and a storm was the last fucking thing she needed right now while she had Clement’s corp—Clement’s—
As she let out a sound that was half-sob and half-scream, she mustered all her strength and finally pushed Clement off of her. He tumbled off the side of the bed. His legs were still tangled in her shift, so he took her with him.
Lucera’s fall was cushioned by the rug—and by Clement. He landed first, and she landed on him. Her limbs felt like jelly as she rolled off him. Face-first in the rug, she took deep, gulping breaths. The stench of blood continued filling her nostrils.
She trembled so violently, the room seemed to shake as she looked over at Clement beside her. “Clem? Clem, are you alright?” she whispered, voice quivering as much as her body.
He didn’t respond. He lay sprawled on his back, staring glassily at the ceiling. There was a gaping wound in his neck where she’d stuck the knife.
“Clem, get up. It’s not funny.” She shakily poked his arm.
He didn’t react. He just kept staring upwards, unseeing.
Lucera could still taste blood in the back of her throat. All of a sudden, she was desperate to wash it out. She tried to get up, but her legs wobbled and she collapsed on the rug again. After several more attempts, she finally managed to heave herself up to a standing position by using the bed as support.
The pillows and sheets were soaked in blood. Too much blood. She didn’t think a single person could even hold that much blood in their body. “Clem, I think you should see the maester,” she said faintly as her head swum, dizzy.
Then she turned to the mirror.
Her eyes were wide, wild. There was blood everywhere. Blood in her scalp, blood in her curls, blood on her forehead, blood in her nose, blood on her teeth, blood on her neck, blood soaking her shift, blood blood blood blood blood. She looked like a madwoman.
She looked like a murderer.
Slowly, Lucera looked down at Clement again. He hadn’t moved an inch. Of course he hadn’t. He was dead.
Because she killed him.
She staggered against the vanity, knocking several bottles over. The glass smashed to tiny shards on the stone floor.
Lucera was a murderer. She murdered Clement. She murdered the heir to one of the foremost houses in the Crownlands, and nobody looked kindly upon a woman who struck her husband for simply trying to take his rights. The punishment for murder, especially the murder of a highborn, was hanging. She was going to be hanged.
She began to cry. She didn’t mean to kill Clement, but nobody would care about that. She was still guilty. She didn’t want to be hanged. She didn’t want to die. She was a married woman, but she didn’t feel like one. She didn’t feel like an adult at all. Right now, she felt like a child, and she wanted someone to tell her she was going to be alright—
Jace.
Hiccuping, Lucera used a non-bloodstained corner of her shift to wipe her face. Jacaera had always fixed Lucera’s problems when they were children. Jacaera would know what to do now. Lucera wanted her sister. Lucera needed her sister.
She looked for her discarded gown. It was stuck underneath Clement. Lucera would have to roll him over to get it. She didn’t want to touch him, so she remained clad in only her shift. Then she looked for her missing slipper, but she couldn’t find it, so she remained barefoot.
Lightning flashed across the sky, and another piercing boom of thunder echoed in the night. Lucera’s tears resumed as she fled from the room.
Jace, help me, she thought frantically as she raced through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast, drenched in her newlywed husband’s blood. I think I just killed Clem. What do I do now, Jace?