The Mother had extended an invitation to all of them for breakfast, a gathering that included the noblewomen attending the imperial wedding.
It was a grand occasion, meant to welcome guests to the capital and provide the women of the harem with an opportunity to converse with others outside their secluded world. At least, to speak in person rather than through letters.
Joana knew only a few of the attendees, and though the event was relatively small compared to the grander festivities being planned, it was still significant. Only ladies were permitted to enter the harem, but she assumed that most of these women had arrived with their husbands, sons, and brothers in tow for the wedding celebrations. Among those she recognized were Lady Stak, her sister, and her two daughters, as well as the mothers and grandmother of Margaery and Desmera. These were the familiar names.
From the list that Jeyne had secretly slipped to her, Joana noted other names she did not recognize—Lady Janna Fossoway, Lady Stokeworth and her daughters, and several others. There was also mention of Lady Myrcella's mother, who was expected to attend, though Joana was unaware of her name. Since Myrcella's godfather was still alive, the woman was not yet Lady Velmont in full right.
This gathering would be an excellent opportunity to forge friendships, but Joana was also keenly aware of the need to remain vigilant.
Margaery and Desmera had close familial ties to some of the guests, which was a fact she could not afford to overlook. Connections could be powerful tools—or dangerous weapons.
She dressed Jaehaerys in a white gown delicately trimmed with red velvet, a gift from Aegon, and fastened a white silk bonnet upon his head to shield his fair skin from the relentless sun. The day was bright and hot, the golden rays beating down without mercy. The baby squirmed restlessly in her arms, clearly displeased by the bonnet's presence.
She smiled at his fussing and whispered, "Calm down, my son. Why are you so upset?"
Jaehaerys fixed her with an offended stare, his large violet eyes filled with displeasure. She let out a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to his round cheek. "We're going to see your grandmother, so you best give her your brightest smile."
Joana turned to her vanity, taking in her reflection. Choosing the right attire for the occasion requires thought. Wearing gold and green—the colors of Margaery's house—would be unwise. So, too, would wear blue and purple, the colors of Desmera's house. Instead, she opted for a silver gown with intricate grey satin markings. The dress was elegant and form-fitting, with sleeves that draped gracefully to the floor, lined with delicate white silk. The neckline dipped just enough to bare the tops of her shoulders.
She adorned herself with the diamond set Aegon had gifted her, the precious stones catching the light as she moved. Her hair had grown considerably in the past year, a change she attributed to the steady, healthy diet she now maintained within the harem. She marveled at the weight of her long locks, appreciating their softness as she ran her fingers through them.
Her hair was styled with care—part of it twisted into a delicate circlet braid, the rest pinned high before cascading in soft curls down her back. Since only women would be present at the feast in the gardens, there was no need for veils to conceal her face and hair. She relished the freedom, enjoying the way her unbound curls framed her features.
As she turned to leave the room, Jaehaerys reached out with his small hands, attempting to grasp one of her curls. She gently shook her hair free from his grasp, smiling at his persistence. He was a curious, eager child—always reaching, always exploring. That much was certain.
Joana made her way toward the gardens, gently rocking Jaehaerys in her arms as she walked. The warmth of the sun streamed through the arched windows of the keep, casting golden patterns along the stone corridors. She could hear the distant sounds of the celebration being prepared outside, the laughter of servants, the occasional clatter of dishes being arranged for the feast. But as she passed beneath one of the open windows, voices carried down from above, their hushed yet urgent tones catching her attention.
She halted mid-step, instinctively pressing herself against the cool stone wall. The words spoken by a woman cut through the air with sharp intensity.
"Mother is quite upset at everything that has happened," the voice declared. "Something must be done."
Joana's heartbeat quickened. She held her breath, straining to listen. The woman's companion—another lady, though her voice was softer—muttered something in response, but Joana couldn't quite make out the words.
"Yes, I know, I'm not an idiot," the first woman replied, her tone snapping with irritation. "I'm just saying what she said. It has to be either the First Prince or the Second Prince. We can't allow the brown-skinned son of that commoner to supplant them."
Joana's fingers tightened instinctively around Jaehaerys, her body stiffening at the venom in the woman's voice.
The second woman scoffed, her tone laced with bitterness. "It has to be Daeron, you mean. Why should my daughter play second fiddle to Margaery? Both boys have an equal claim to the throne."
Silence followed, stretching long enough that Joana almost believed the conversation had ended. Then, at last, the first woman spoke again, her voice quieter but no less firm.
"Either way, it cannot be Jaehaerys. On that much, we agree."
Footsteps drifted away from the window, their voices fading as they walked deeper into the keep. Only then did Joana release the breath she had been holding, her chest tight with anger and sorrow.
Slowly, she looked down at her son, nestled in her arms. Jaehaerys gurgled contentedly, his tiny fingers grasping at the fabric of her dress, completely oblivious to the cruel words spoken about him. He did not know that some despised him simply because he was hers, because he bore the distinct Dornish features of his mother's lineage.