What if the Disney princesses were from Westeros? What if each of their stories ended when the Dance of Dragons began? Snow Targaryen. Cinderella Lannister. Aurora Teague. What does war look like through the eyes of freshly married women, watching their lord husbands lead armies into a conflict that divides families and nations?

Chapter 1

The Black Wedding

Snow and Florian held each other's hands as they raced through the castle hallways. Snow had only been at Dragonstone for a few days, but she had already fallen in love with it. Running through the halls felt like running through the belly of a great dragon. She was giddy with excitement, but it could be because she was here with her brother, Florian.

Florian grew up on Dragonstone, but Snow had only ever known King's Landing. She had few friends in King Viserys's court. Her regular correspondence with Florian made others call her "Black Snow", even when she considered herself green. Still, with Queen Alicent around, it wasn't safe to be considered black anymore. Florian had arranged for her to come to Dragonstone and they were together at last.

They reached the small hall, where they'd find the children at their lessons. They opened the door hurriedly. Septa Hadwise was leaning over Prince Joff's vellum scroll. The crown prince was struggling very hard to look at the banners of the Crownland Lords, but his eyes kept darting up to the septa's cleavage, a fact that did not go unnoticed by his elder brothers. They sat further along the bench, stifling their laughter. Among them also were steward's children and the "hatchlings", which was what Florian called the Dragon Master's children.

Prince Joff's face burned red, and Snow could hardly blame her cousin- the septa was young and beautiful, barely a child herself.

"Your Grace," the septa said, curtsying dutifully to them each in turn. "The children are at their lessons."

"We know, but this is important," said Florian, grinning broadly. "My sister and I wish to be wed. At once."

The septa looked taken aback. The boys all whooped and jeered.

"Forgive me, your Grace," she said, once the princes were quiet. "But the faith does not recognize marriages between brother and sister."

The room was suddenly silent. Florian looked at the septa somewhat quizzically. He slowly stepped toward her, his hand on the sword at his belt. Snow smiled. It was their little secret- Florian was no more a swordsman than she was. But he carried his decorative blade with him everywhere.

"Septa," he said slowly. The boys watched eagerly. Joff was practically trembling. "A dragon does not fear the gods."

Moments later, they found themselves in the castle's sept, a wooden construction, the Andal's only influence in the Valyrian architecture. The seven faces of god were carved from the Targaryen mastheads. The statues were old and needed repainting, but Snow didn't care. She was marrying her brother, the man she loved more than anything.

The septa wed them, in law if not in spirit, and Florian swept her away to their bedchamber where he made love to her. It was as exhilarating as she'd always imagined it would be, tucked away in her chamber at King's Landing, with only her handmaidens and her own fingers to teach her the ways of love. He spilled his seed inside her twice that afternoon and she relished feeling him inside her.

As they lay together, they heard thunder brewing outside the window, or maybe it was the dragons roaring. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

When she said as much to Florian, he listened closely. "Those are the dragons." They listened to them a moment longer before Florian sat up. "They're upset."

He'd barely said the word when another long, mournful howl came from the pit. There was a knock on their door. "Florian- Maester Aalot has called a meeting." It was their lord father, Prince Daemon.

Florian crossed the room and opened the door, revealing his and Snow's nakedness. Snow smiled widely.

Daemon didn't look surprised. "Too impatient for a proper wedding?" he said. "Come. There's news from the king."

Florian dressed and left her. Snow watched her go, feeling giddy. She lay back on the bed and pleasured herself once again. It wasn't quite the same as feeling him on top of her, inside her.

After a while, she started to drift off to sleep. She dreamed of flying her dragon, Omes, a handsome black and brown dragon. Feeling his powerful form in full flight between her loins reminded her once again of Florian and she was once again in ecstasy in his arms. Omes roared as Florian entered her and his roaring sounded like thunder, repeating in a fast and ferocious beat.

Boom boom boom boom boom.

"Princess!"someone was knocking on her door.

Snow woke suddenly from her dream and realized she must've fallen asleep for hours. Her mouth felt dry and her breath smelled. She wondered where Florian had got to. She leapt from the bed and opened the door to see who was knocking.

Her cousin, Rhaenys was at the door. Rhaenys was the granddaughter of Jahaerys I, who was Snow's great-grandfather, which she supposed made them cousins in some way. Rhaenys was a classical Targaryen beauty, even now at five-and-fifty years.

"Come quickly," Rhaenys said. "Rhaenyra's in labor."

Snow donned a nightgown and silk robe, the only thing she could dress quickly in and fled with Rhaenys down the hall toward their princess's bedchamber. Outside the door, the men were all gathered, including Florian. He looked nothing like she remembered him from earlier that day, rough and handsome looking. His eyes were dark, his hair unkempt and he looked terrifying. "You should be with her," he said.

Rhaenys led Snow through the door. Inside, it was chaotic. Serving girls were running back and forth between the bath and the bed, hot water on the floor where the towels they carried dripped. Maester Aalot was commanding Rhanerya to breath heavily, but all the princess could do was scream.

"I'm here, my child," said Rhaenys, rushing to her cousin's side and grasping her hand. "And look- the bride has joined us as well."

Snow crossed the room to Rhaenyra's other side, and she stopped her screaming long enough to greet her. "Snow," she gasped, "sweet cousin. You eloped with Florian?"

"Yes, your grace," Snow admitted. "We're in love."

"Blessings on your marriage," Rhaenyra gasped, then her face twisted in pain again and Snow instinctively grabbed her hand. Together the three women wept and prayed together while the servants and Maester Aalot worked to keep Rhaenyra comfortable.

Snow was on her knees at the queen's side for hours and the labor went on. Each moment brought more and more screams, each one worse than before. At one point, Snow thought her ears might burst but she dared not release the princess's hand. During the few calmer moments, Snow heard the dragons screaming from the pit again.

After the night passed and the rising sun shone through the window, Rhaenyra still labored. Surely this was irregular, Snow told herself. After all, the princess had had five children before this one. All five were undoubtedly just outside the door waiting to meet their new brother or sister.

Another hour passed and Snow had trouble staying awake, even with the princess and the dragon's screaming.

Just stay awake, she thought to herself. It was several minutes before she realized she was saying it out loud. "Just stay awake, your grace," she whispered.

"Listen to your step-daughter," Maester Aalot said. His forehead was shining with sweat and one of the serving girls had taken to wiping it with a wet rag. "Your grace, stay awake!" he commanded. "Your grace!"

It was too late- Princess Rhaenyra had lost consciousness. The sheets were soaked with hot bathwater and hot blood.

"Forgive me your grace," said the maester. He drew a dragonglass blade and reached between her legs.

Snow screamed.