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Chapter Text

Hour of the Eel,

Rhaena IV

He was in her rooms in the middle of the night.

Rhaena loved this dream above most others.

He stood by her bed, body turned to hers, hands braced against her shoulders. She held his attention in entirety. There were no distractions. Just the two of them together in bliss.

A pretty silk nightgown adorned her and Aegon wore far too many layers. They’d soon be bare as was custom. However, tonight’s dream held oddities. Aegon was forceful, rougher than she often imagined. His grip was harsh and passed the point of comfort. Rhaena didn’t mind. That could also be fun.

They spoke as one.

“What did you do!?”

“Couple me like one of the tapestries.”

He was angry, and perhaps a bit fearful. Much too loud. Still, her seductive cajoling had effect. Aegon turned strained and loosened his grip.

“What?” he breathed the question.

Rhaena tilted her chin, exposing her neck to encourage him. His advances were welcome. She didn’t understand why he was hesitating. The Aegon of her dreams was always enthusiastic.

“The tapestries,” she repeated. “Choose whichever most pleases you.”

Aegon didn’t move.

In truth, not much was familiar about this. He’d not began to disrobe her. Her pink nightgown emphasized her features well, but she’d prefer to be without it. They were separated. It wasn’t right or natural. And yet Aegon looked at her the same way he always did. Through fear and through anger, he remained captivated as she was.

Rhaena cupped his cheek without thought. Her fingers traced along it, from his brow, to his ear, nose, lips. She marvelled at the softness. “I love you,” she whispered. Then she reached further behind. His hair was a tangled mess. It lightly wisped against her hand, more soothing than any prayer. She stopped when she felt the back of his neck.

It was warm – Aegon was always warm – but it was also damp.

She applied gentle pressure, urging him to her. He went with the motion.

A droplet of sweat fell onto her forehead.

Wet.

“Aegon?”

He stared at her.

Another fell on her chin. This wasn’t a dream.

She didn’t care. He was so close. She nudged him once more. He didn’t refuse and she revelled in the power. His breath smelled of foul liquor. She let herself be enveloped in it. Their noses brushed.

“The boy,” he whispered roughly, like it was an effort to do so. Aegon was panting. His chest touched hers with every inhale. And sweating. Another drop fell into her eye. She could’ve gone without that. “What did you do to the boy?”

“You ran here,” she realized and sat up. Their noses smashed together as did their foreheads. She hurried to reach behind some of her many pillows. “Is there danger? I have an axe.” Rhaena pulled it out and grabbed his hand. For security.

The moon and the stars illuminated her rooms. He was ethereal.

He pulled his hand free and distanced himself, sitting on the side of her bed.

“Whose blood is that?” he asked, anger and fear reappearing and reaching the point of terror.

Rhaena frowned. It wasn’t so bad. Just a bit dirty. Tila had been scared too, but she hadn’t opposed Rhaena’s request to leave it be. Her servant had found her in the morning with an axe on her bedside cabinet. Last night’s adventure had resulted in an extended bathing session. However, she didn’t wish her weapon cleaned. The state of it soothed Rhaena – it was proof of her might.

“What did you do to the boy?”

“What boy?”

“The boy, Rhaena,” he snarled.

She’d asked for clarification. Her feelings were hurt. He didn’t need to use that tone. Besides, Rhaena was cranky too. He had her alone in bed and was doing nothing about it. He was perpetually angry with her. Weeks had passed and each day she attempted to convince the king and fought the urge to murder him. The task was frustrating and her heart ached. She could barely remember how it was before. Rhaena yearned for the sweet voice he used in her dreams. Yet – deep down – she understood that this was better. Aegon was actually with her. They were actually talking.

“The boy in the fighting pits,” he said with more bite than she deserved. “What did you do?”

Right.

He cared for him. She knew he did. He’d only come to her rooms because of a –

“Bastard,” she corrected, remembering she was cross with him too. “Your bastard! You tried to hide him from me.”

Aegon grasped her shoulders and pushed her down into the mattress. Fun. She shifted a bit to bunch up her nightgown, then locked her ankles around his legs.

He stuttered and swallowed. She loved it when he was in awe of her. “With good reason…” Aegon found it difficult to remain on topic. “... you are mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m trying.” She gripped the handle of her axe tighter. Couldn’t he see that this was difficult for her too?

“Did you kill him?”

She’d been certain from the moment she saw the boy. His parentage and Aegon’s deception.

How one could overlook the resemblance was beyond her. Such beautiful eyes. The prettiest in the world. The boy was Aegon’s spitting image. It was impossible to hide – but Aegon hadn’t wanted her to find out. He didn’t trust her. He thought her a monster. It wasn’t fair! He cared and he didn’t ask for her help. He suffered alone. He shut her out. She wouldn’t have been tempted to kill the child if she’d known beforehand.

“Aegon,” she whispered and reached for his cheek again. He hesitated but still leaned into her touch. “He’s fine. I didn’t harm him.”

“You didn’t?”

Rhaena hated the way he cared. He had no business caring. The child was a bastard. Aegon shouldn’t have contact with bastards.

“I didn’t.”

“And the blood?” he questioned.

“No one important,” she assured him.

“Meaning?”

“Some man’s – the one who called them into the ring. I didn’t get the owner. Don't worry. I’ll be more thorough when I return.”

She smiled at the memory. Far from her to be sentimental about bastards, but the boy’s current safety was a victory of hers. Further proof of her power. The excursion had done her good. Some died, others would follow, and Aegon appeared in her rooms as a result. Everything turned out perfectly. And there was more to look forward to.

“We’ll put him in a crow cage. We can do it together.” It could be a bonding activity.

That place was unseemly. Rhaena didn’t like it. The violence… it disturbed her. Blood was sometimes good and sometimes bad. Comforting and distressful. The establishment couldn’t go on. It was a bad look and she hated it regardless. There was something wrong about it.

“I’ll return to kill the rest,” she extrapolated. “The gold cloaks too. You should join me. We’ll have them whipped through the streets and fed to our dragons. Except the owner, I want him to suffer.” The boy wanted the owner to suffer too. Normally, she wouldn’t take a bastard’s wish into account, but she’d make this single exception.

Rhaena smiled up at her future husband.

Aegon was very lovely when stunned; she tightened her legs around him and winced as it jostled her injury. The pain was worth it because he shuffled closer to keep his balance.

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not.” She wasn’t. “It’s necessary. That horrid place must be shut down and we must ensure that none will attempt to replicate it.”

He was staring. She smiled wider.

“You didn’t harm him?” Aegon went on.

Rhaena was eager to reach the bedding part of the night. “No. I told you.”

“They said you took him. Where is he?”

“He’s safe. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

“Where?” he repeated, calmly.

And calmly, she replied, “It doesn’t matter. Stay with me.”

Aegon did not smile and melt at her command. If anything, he became even more tense. Stiff, a word better associated with his brother. However, Rhaena knew. This was reluctant restraint. Aegon still liked her. His feelings were easy to read and – as she glanced down between them – his attraction was plain.

Yes, he was angry also. She understood. But when she managed to kill – convince, convince. When she managed to convince the king, all would be right. Sunfyre would be free and Aegon would be happy.

“I want to see him,” he whispered and moved his hand from her shoulder and to her eye. Rhaena closed them and parted her lips, waiting for the inevitable. It didn’t come. Aegon touched her lids and lightly traced over them. She did have gorgeous eyes. “Tell me everything.”

Rhaena couldn’t deny him when he was this wonderful.

She didn’t want to and yet she told him everything.

A story, lengthy, dramatic, and true. She’d heroically rescued the boy after trying and succeeding to curb the impulse to kill him. Rhaena paid special attention to Aegon during the parts which involved Blackwood. She told him of Blackwood’s annoying interruptions and inappropriate tunnel behaviour. Blackwood had groped her – he’d touched her breast. The man couldn’t control himself in her presence.

Aegon didn’t offer to murder him. Rhaena would learn to live with that. He wasn’t the type, unfortunately.

During the recollection, they’d taken to sitting side by side on her bed. She was leaned against him and smiling as she talked. This newfound closeness was fulfilling. It eclipsed the pretence of her usual dreams. So Rhaena was off-put when Aegon stood as soon as she finished the story.

“What are you doing?”

Aegon wasn’t relaxed, not in the slightest. He looked between her and the bed and the door with great pain. “I have to see for myself.”

“Don’t insult me. I’m not lying.”

“I know.”

“Fine. I’m going with you.” Rhaena stood and winced.

Aegon pushed her back onto the bed. His gaze lingered on her throat. “You’d better stay. Have you seen a maester?”

“I have.” She’d elected to ignore his recommendations.

Rhaena stood once more but was pushed down again.

Perhaps she’d take the crown for herself.

He was pretty.

“You’d make a good consort,” she said from her bed. It wasn’t often that she felt annoyed at Aegon, but this was certainly one of those times.

Her future husband smiled. Faint. She swooned, and he said, “I don’t have time for this.”

Then he left.

Rudely.

Rhaena was done with him leaving and followed, but not before grabbing her slippers – pink, to match her nightgown – and her axe.

There was no Aegon when she exited her quarters, slow and hindered by injury as she was. She asked the nervous gold cloaks of his whereabouts. They readily directed her towards the correct path.

These guards were jumpy. Many had viewed her with caution this past day. The change was drastic. It had started last morning – hours after her heroic escapade in Flea Bottom. The men of the City Watch stood alert wherever she passed. Luthor Largent had also taken notice, and so had Jasper Wylde.

As they should.

The matter was yet to be resolved. Those who’d entertained themselves in Flea Bottom would die. She debated whether to talk to Commander Luthor Largent before or after she put them to death. With her father long gone, they’d grown lazy. Rhaena would fix that.

She passed another guard. He told her where Aegon went without being asked. She thanked him and continued limping her way in the right direction. Her bloodied axe dragged across the stone floor.

This was good. Nice even. The guards’ eyes did not wander. They averted their gazes from her state of dress. None attempted to stop or question her. They were learning.

Her outing passed without incident. By likes, Aegon was heading for the secret passageway that she knew about. Rhaena removed the gaudy tapestry, pressed on the correct stones, and entered the darkness.

“Aegon,” she called as the wall clicked shut.

No answer.

He was already in the streets then.

Rhaena ventured a few steps further, wincing, then decided the Grand Maester might’ve had a point. Stairs weren’t much doable in her current state. She lowered herself to sit on the stone steps and let her axe rest nearby. She’d wait for Aegon. He’d return the same way he’d gone.

Blackness consumed her. Alone and in the dark, her focus wavered, her thoughts strayed. They did not stray pleasantly. She did not think of Aegon. No. Rhaena was assaulted by a horrid truth she knew.

Her sister’s betrayal.

She couldn’t believe Baela. She’d lied, said she’d come and didn’t. Baela considered a doomed coup more important than her. She’d rather visit the sheeplands than her own sister. Rhaena had once liked sheep. She didn’t like them anymore. They could bleat in the seven hells. Sheep taking precedence… ridiculous.

What’s more, Baela had lied and sent Rhaenys as an envoy.

Rhaena didn’t want a stupid envoy. She wanted her sister. A hag - miserable, old and wrinkly - was no replacement.

Rhaenys had woken her one morning. Rhaena had been relaxing in the realm of dreams. That particular scenario still tempted her. Aegon sitting on the Iron Throne, she on his lap, both nude apart from their crowns. He’d been inside her, they’d nearly finished and the hag had ruined it all.

Grandmother ought to pay for her sins. She hadn’t visited. Rhaena had spent ages on Dragonstone, a short flight away from Driftmark. Meleys was hailed as the fastest dragon alive. Rhaena didn’t even mind that her grandmother preferred Baela. Her sister was great. A treat. But that was no reason to disregard her. Mother had always been fair. She’d loved them both. She’d loved them equally.

And now, Baela had abandoned her too. She’d chosen Father, she’d chosen Rhaenyra. Rhaena would forgive her. She’d allow her another chance – the one person she’d allow it. Baela was her sister. Rhaena couldn’t hate her. She was hurt, but it would be fine. Baela would return. Rhaena would make her see reason.

Yet the anticipation of her sister’s arrival and subsequent disappointment had been difficult to bear. With Aegon ignoring her, Helaena nice but distant, and Aemond a twat… Rhaena hadn’t had anyone to turn to. Nobodies didn’t interest her. She'd been alone.

Then Joffrey had come and she’d been happy. Up until their walk in the gardens, where he’d confirmed what she’d already known. He’d leave like everyone else. He wasn’t there to stay.

Joffrey was annoying. He popped into her mind often, always unwanted. This unique bother had started with Jace’s letter. Or did it start with Aegon’s distance? She wasn’t sure and she didn’t care.

It was good of Joffrey to come and tell her how things stood. He’d leave with the tourney’s end. He wasn’t on her side… and he kept suspect company. Any past fondness was a mere illusion. A trick that loneliness liked to play on her.

Was that how Helaena felt? Mind playing tricks on her, not knowing what was real and what wasn’t?

Rhaena couldn’t relate. She’d been confused about Joffrey, but no longer. He’d leave and she’d focus on those who’d stay.

The princess, in particular, had been a help. She’d invited Rhaena to join her carriage. That had meant much and their talk even more so.

Glorious.

Helaena had called them.

She’d claimed that they’d fly and be glorious.

Rhaena had enquired further and asked Helaena to explain, but she’d become sad and absent. Helaena was unfamiliar with her own claims. These truths were strangers to her. She knew something would come to pass, but didn’t know what.

It was slightly upsetting that the princess was as good as useless. A dreamer by likes. A defective one. The kindness Helaena had shown was nearly overshadowed by the frustration Rhaena felt afterwards.

Her success was a certainty. She’d free Aegon’s dragon and they’d fly. Rhaena had already known that. Failure had never crossed her mind. Sure, the king was more stubborn than she’d hoped, yet she’d emerge victorious. Either by persuasion or by killing him as he deserved to be killed.

Helaena had also offered a titbit of advice. Something Rhaena hadn’t known and which puzzled her greatly.

The princess had warned her.

Rhaena was to be wary of carriages.

Helaena had a bad feeling about them. Rhaena thought that was ridiculous. However, she’d take heed. A dreamer’s words shouldn’t be disregarded. Despite everything, Helaena indeed had a gift. A miracle because Viserys was no true Targaryen and the queen… a Hightower. Aegon had beaten all odds to become so wonderful.

This is what she chose to focus on, to ponder, because thinking of Aegon was easier than thinking of others. It passed the time and before long Rhaena heard his footsteps coming from far below.

“Aegon?” she called and got an answering sigh.

“I told you to stay,” he called back.

Cute.

“I trust you’ve assured yourself; the situation is handled.”

“You put him in an orphanage.” He was steadily climbing towards her.

“He is an orphan,” she explained, “and a bastard.”

“You do know that I’m his – I…” he trailed off.

Rhaena nodded to the blackness. “Of course. As I said, a bastard and effectively an orphan. His mother won’t be returning to care for him. She sold him off. And you certainly won’t either.”

“He’s suffered enough. You know this. Gaemon cannot – fuck.”

Gaemon.

Gaemon.

Gaemon.

“You named him!” she screeched.

“I didn’t!” He hurried his gait.

“You named him! If I’d known that you –”

“Rhaena, I didn’t name –”

“– that you would give him a name, I wouldn’t have… You didn’t tell me. You kept this from me. And now you give that bastard a name!” she yelled, voice breaking at the end. “How could you!?”

“I didn’t! The woman – his mother named him that.”

“Where is she!?”

“In Essos,” Aegon said, out of breath. He ran, slower and slower up the stairs.

“Alive?”

“I don’t know – yes?”

“Not for long.”

“She’s gone,” he emphasized with difficulty. Rhaena heard no more running. Aegon had paused to take a break. He panted loudly from the exercise. “One of the men working in the… where the boy had been held – he told me his name. I’ve not seen the woman. I don’t even remember what she looks like.”

Rhaena would find her. Rhaena would kill her.

Aegon resumed with middling haste.

“Are you calm?”

“I’m always calm!” she snapped. “Hurry. We’re returning to my rooms.”

“You –” Aegon started and cut himself off. “You know that the boy has suffered. He cannot stay in an orphanage.”

Seven hells! What was with him tonight?

“I could bring him to the Keep, as a –”

“No! No. Either he lives elsewhere or dies in this castle. You will forget about him. I will give you better sons.” It took effort to keep from yelling.

“You can’t –”

“I hate him.”

Her statement was punctuated with finality.

Aegon’s echoing step filled the vast space.

He grew closer and would’ve passed. In the blackness, nothing could be seen. Rhaena reached out and tapped his arm or his side, she couldn’t be certain.

Aegon didn’t startle. He was surprised, but he did not startle. Aegon wasn’t unnerved by her. He’d never be.

He stopped and turned. His hands searched across her shoulders and settled at the base of her neck.

“I know. I understand,” he said, surprisingly sad. One hand travelled up to cradle her jaw. Would he kiss her? “Thank you.”

Why did he sound so grateful? Couldn’t he care less? She didn’t like this.

She wished to make him happy. She wished to forget about the boy. She wished for him to forget about that boy. She wished – to discuss something else. Her complaint was a faint whisper, “I hate your three stooges too. Get rid of them.”

Aegon let out a breath, still sad but less so.

Was she forgiven? This was her chance. “I’m speaking with the king. I haven’t missed a day trying to convince him to end the punishment.” The dragon was Aegon’s priority and Rhaena wished him happy. So much that she’d suffer her uncle’s presence. “We break our fast or sup together. You must understand that I’ve made little headway and that our best option is to kill him.”

She’d hoped for full reconciliation, but her confession had the opposite effect.

“No.”

She persisted. “Aegon, we must act. The king will not change his mind. He won’t even consider it.”

“He is my father.”

“He’s done nothing for you.”

“He is my father. I do not want him dead.”

“But I do! Nothing of value will be lost – you’re the only good thing that came from him.” Aegon released her and stepped back. “Helaena’s alright too, I guess.”

She searched her way around and was happy to feel him away from the stairs’ edge. “So there. We should do this. Our problems will be solved. When you’re king, we’ll –”

“You promised me. You promised there’d be no more of this. You’re mad. You can’t be. You… please, enough.”

Was this what saddened him?

“I’m not mad.” She urged him to understand. “I promise I’m not. But my way is best. You’ll get Sunfyre back and we’ll be rid of him. The king deserves to die.”

With that, Rhaena leaned against the wall, wanting to alleviate some weight from her ankle. Orwyle had recommended to stay in bed for a few days. That wasn’t going to happen.

The dark was limiting. Rhaena found Aegon’s arm, then followed it down and entwined their fingers.

“I’m tired of talking in circles. You won’t kill him. We – you will find another way.”

Aegon limited her also.

He was wrong. She was right.

Rhaena had ruminated at length. She’d had much time to reassess her actions. At first, there’d been shame and regret. She didn’t wish for this – she disdained violence. If it were up to Rhaena, she’d never kill again. Not a soul. Yet the act was inevitable. Ser Harrold shouldn’t have died when he did, but his death would’ve come regardless. He favoured Rhaenyra and he’d agreed to spy for her. He’d been a danger to them, a problem in the making.

What she did regret were the consequences. Aegon was cold. He’d lost his sworn shield and his dragon was chained. Rhaena was friendless and made a mockery by the court ladies. And… and she felt bad for Ser Arryk, individually. He seemed to respect the late Lord Commander. Perhaps they’d been friends.

She did quite like Aegon’s knight. Ser Arryk was acceptable. Sometimes, when not-so-nice dreams plagued her, she’d wake feeling guilty for causing him pain. It wasn’t fun to mourn.

“Rhaena?”

He pulled on her hand to get her attention.

Yes. “Yes, another way,” she said, dazed.

Would Aegon mourn his father?

His pain wouldn’t compare to hers – she hoped that he’d never feel a fraction of it. Mother had loved her. The king didn’t love Aegon.

The eternal fires were a mild punishment for some. Rhaena often prayed for the king and select others to meet the ends they deserved. She prayed that the gods would be merciless, that they’d deny respite to those she sent their way.

These prayers were good, not as good as Aegon, but good still. She found comfort in them. They were a growing companion ever since her mother died. She shared that pain and that comfort with the queen. Maybe that was why Rhaena was inclined to think kindly of her.

A part of Rhaena wanted to bash the queen’s head in. She’d slapped Aegon and likely hurt him many more times. Rhaena hadn’t cared for him then as she did now, but her memory was intact. Aegon had said that his family was off-limits. Rhaena was yet to decide what to do about it.

As if sensing the dilemma within her, Aegon squeezed her hand and changed the subject.

“The Baratheons have extended a marriage proposal.”

“Good for them.”

She cared little for the dealings of minor houses.

“This doesn’t interest you?” He sounded disappointed.

“Their affairs are irrelevant.”

“To me, Rhaena.”

“To you?” She sidled closer. They mean to steal him?

In notably higher spirits, Aegon spoke, “Mother told me this afternoon. They’ve extended an offer for a wedding between me and one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.”

“I saw both. Ugly cows.”

“Are they, cousin? I find them quite pleasing.” Aegon was smiling, she could hear it from the way he talked. Was he for real? “And we haven’t even seen the whole set. There’s two more.”

“Like to be similarly hideous,” she said with haste.

They’d not steal him. She’d not allow it.

Rhaena smelled a ploy. Elenda Carron – the current Lady of Storm’s End – was friendly with her hag grandmother. Why would she push for this… alliance, was it? Through Aegon no less. As if he’d wed the four forgettable sisters. They overstepped.

“Mother’s contemplating the offer.”

“Oh, she cannot be serious. You – to a Baratheon. I’ll end their line before an agreement is reached.”

“There’s four in total. You can’t get them all.”

Rhaena considered.

“You can’t get them all.”

“I could.” Aegon went to flick her forehead and got the bridge of her nose instead. “And you can’t marry them regardless,” she added.

“I could be Lord of Storm’s End,” he said with some mirth.

A pensive mirth.

“Aegon!” Nothing was good about this. “They insult you! You’re heir to the throne. To suggest the match…”

“Stop with that.”

“It’s true. War approaches. When the king dies – soon if the gods are good – you will be the one to –”

“Stop.”

“Deny it all you will,” she hissed. “It’s yours – your birthright. I won’t allow that whore to steal it like she stole my father!”

“Enough!” Aegon raised his voice. It echoed through the tunnels. His breathing was laboured, as if he’d walked a dozen steps, or less. “Why can’t you just… leave it. For once, just let it rest.”

He was much too overdramatic. “I look forward to it and you will too. It’ll be great! You’ll be happy. We’ll rule Westeros together. Perhaps we could even expand, conquer –” 

“Tonight, Rhaena. Tonight. Let’s just… I’m still angry with you, but let’s do anything else.”

I miss you.

His voice seemed to say.

She missed him too.

Aegon sounded tired and she wasn’t heartless.

“Very well.” If he so wished. “Sit.”

He did. Rhaena lowered herself next to him – sitting was much easier on her ankle. She would’ve preferred they do this elsewhere, but now arose a need to adapt. She felt her way to him, patting over one thigh and the other, and his stomach, to ascertain that she really understood where everything was.

Then she moved herself onto his lap and faced him.

Rhaena ground forward. Aegon made a magical squawking noise and grabbed for her hips. Her nightgown was a barrier best removed; she’d leave that to him. She pushed against him once more. They ought to set a rhythm. Aegon stilled her mid-motion.

“What – what are you doing?!”

“You do not like it?” Her form should be correct. “This was depicted on the tapestries.”

“The tapestries,” he swallowed and repeated.

“Yes. I’ve not been with another so they’re a rather useful guide. I must admit, the apparent vastness of these activities has surprised me.”

He didn’t answer.

“Aegon?”

“You, and you want…”

Aegon was usually better spoken.

“Would you prefer it elsewhere? We can return to my rooms. Or… do you not want this?”

Did he not want her?

“No – I mean, yes. Yes. Wherever,” he hurried to affirm. “But what about – weren’t you… No, never mind. This is the alternative? Brilliant.”

This time, when she pitched forward, Aegon aided her.

It felt nice, being alone with him did. She’d missed him terribly. Yet Rhaena couldn’t focus. This deserved attention that she couldn’t gather, not at the moment.

Aegon finally kissed and it wasn’t as she’d imagined.

Her soul wasn’t light. Far from it. Worries remained present at the forefront of her mind. It’s been so long, she’d not told anyone of her troubles, and she felt the urge to share…

“Baela hasn’t come to see me,” she said as they parted, slightly out of breath and losing more as he pulled her down against him.

Aegon moaned into her neck.

Rhaena repeated herself.

He moaned affirmatively.

“She – she went with father.” His hand sneaked up her nightgown, bunching it up to her waist. Rhaena helped him. “He invited the bastard with them but not me.”

Aegon hummed and pulled her against him a bit harder. Rhaena gasped, “I have a dragon. Why wouldn’t Father invite me?”

His clothing obstructed them. She was bare from the waist down, so he should be too. Rhaena paused to sink her hands beneath the cotton. She grasped him with both and yanked.

“Gentle! Rhaena, gentler with it,” he said in a panic.

Rhaena adjusted her grip.

She’d not thought men so fragile. Warm too – or was that particular to Aegon? Warmth was a trait she’d come to associate with him, but this part was hotter still. She marvelled at the foreignness.

Aegon shifted, likely to better adjust his breeches, and grasped her behind to resume their coupling.

Good. With him taking charge – and oh the friction was outstanding and so were his wandering hands – Rhaena could continue caring for her mind.

“I heard them talking about it. Our guests. They said three – there Aegon.” His cock slid wonderfully against her skin. But she needed to focus. “Three dragons. Yes. They said three dragons.” Aegon made a guttural noise of approval. Was he listening? Did he care? “Prince Jacaerys. Can you believe it? They call – they call him a prince. Have they seen him?” She sighed with venom and pleasure, “Bastard.”

His hands left her behind and slid up.

“Are you listening?” He didn’t reply. “Aegon?”

“Tomorrow.” He kissed her.

“Today. Now. My sister’s there with him. He’s poisoning her against me. No, not like that. No, no. That’s no good.” He kept to the most wrong, frustrating angle. “And that hag Rhaenys. Baela sent her in her place.”

Rhaena helped herself with her own fingers. Much better.

“Rhaenys,” she moaned. “Were I the queen, she’d be sleeping in – in the black cells.”

Aegon batted away the hand between her legs.

“Can we focus on this?” he asked with a hint of impatience.

He didn’t want to talk to her. A burning reached her eyes. Rhaena tried to blink it back. “She hates me, you know. My grandmother. She always preferred Baela but now she truly hates me.”

Aegon sighed, deep and annoyed.

And when she went to continue, he stilled her again. Why did he do that? She’d never reach release.

“Don’t you hate her too?”

Didn’t he understand? “I do! But that’s not the point.”

“Would you care to clue me in on it?!”

Oh.

He was annoyed for real.

Rhaena sniffled. Her voice came wobbly, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to annoy you. It’s all my fault and –” She stroked his cock, gently and with great love. Aegon groaned.  “– and I didn’t want you to lose Ser Arryk. I like Ser Arryk. And now he isn’t there to protect you anymore. I thought bringing that loser in would get Ser Arryk back, but he’s not back. Not yet.”

“Rhaena, please, please don’t mention Arryk. I’m about to go soft.”

She tried to slide against him with more force.

“No. No, that’s… do you intend to fuck or to talk? Because I’d suggest the former.”

“Why can’t we do both?” she stressed.

Why did she have to choose? Can’t she have everything? Didn’t she deserve it? It could’ve been different. She wouldn’t have needed to choose. If Baela had just come like she’d promised...

Aegon kissed her, first catching her cheek and then orienting himself to her lips. He was quick to pull back.

“Don’t cry.”

“I’m not,” Rhaena said, trying to stifle her tears.

“There’s snot on your lips.”

She swiftly wiped it against her shoulder. “There’s not.” There wasn’t snot on any part of her, she was a lady.

Aegon kissed her again and smiled. “There’s less now.”

He mocked her. He was still hard beneath her, and he mocked her.

“We can continue?” he asked.

I’m sorry about your dragon.

Weeks have passed and she’d failed to lift the punishment. But she couldn’t mention that. That would most certainly kill the mood. It was selfish not to say it. She’d apologized yet it wouldn’t ever be enough. If someone had done that to her Nagga, she would’ve… she would’ve killed them. Rhaena valued life and all but – at that point – they’d be asking for it, which is why Aegon’s decision frustrated her. He wouldn’t consider the best, easiest, most obvious solution.

“Rhaena?” He brushed up her sides.

“We can, yes,” she said. This wasn’t the time. Aegon wanted her present. “I’d like nothing more.”

It didn’t last long, their uninterrupted coupling.

Aegon soon spent over her stomach. Unexpectedly sticky and heated. Salty, bitter too – she’d been curious.

Rhaena wasn’t much satisfied with the sudden end and urged Aegon to hurry up and continue. However, just as she found something that pleased them both, and everything was hot and sweaty and great, Aegon stilled her.

Again.

Things would be perfect if he were unable to do that.

“What?!”

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered against her ear.

“Well it isn’t me.” He held her and she was unable to move – to her intense frustration. She hated interruptions.

“Quiet.”

Truly, there was someone down there by the entrance. She heard the lower door click shut and saw a light. The person carried a torch. Clumsy and weak. She’d make short work of this. A tragic fall over the edge.

Rhaena leaned sideways and searched blindly for her axe.

Aegon dislodged her from his lap and pulled her to stand. Then he pulled her in the direction of the exit. Away from the intruder. His grip urged her to make haste.

Did he expect them to flee?

Rhaena pulled back on his hand. Both because she had no intention of fleeing, and because her ankle hurt.

Aegon realized one but not the other and tried to carry her. Nicely, like a princess. His arm swept beneath her knees. Any other time, Rhaena would’ve been overjoyed, but now she protested. She flopped around until he could no longer hold her and happily fell back to the floor.

Aegon and Rhaena’s commotion alerted the person. The light of the torch stopped in place before resuming with surprising swiftness. Perhaps their bickering wasn’t as subtle as it could’ve been. She’d intended to surprise the one who dared interrupt them. She’d adapt.

This person had covered impressive ground in short time and their breathing was even, from what Rhaena could hear – and she did hear much. Hers were the best ears in the crownlands.

She took a breath before booming, “Who goes there!?”

“Quiet, idiot,” Aegon hissed and grabbed for her arm. However, Rhaena had managed a step down and it was dark. So, in a fortunate accident, Aegon placed his hand upon her breast.

Rhaena covered it with hers and squeezed – assurance. They wouldn’t retreat. They’d stay right there and continue having a wonderful time.

“Well!? Name yourself!” she yelled.

The person had much nerve. Cowering in silence after interrupting them – at a crucial time! Aegon might’ve passed the precipice of pleasure, but Rhaena most certainly had not.

Their torch moved as they took a step back. Silent, she could barely make out their steps. They wished to retreat, but she yearned for a confrontation. The crown prince and his future queen weren’t to be intruded on. Ever. It was unacceptable and she wouldn’t allow the perpetrator to go unpunished.

Rhaena pitched back with her axe, keeping care of Aegon’s position, and threw it with all her strength at the source of light.

Fire flickered as the person evaded. Heard was the deafening clatter of her axe hitting stone, and then falling over and down and down and hitting the bottom.

She frowned, suddenly axeless.

The figure resumed with growing confidence. They’d not even cursed.

Aegon had. Again, he tried to pick her up and run. Or see if he was able to. Rhaena stood her ground. She wouldn’t suffer the indignity of fleeing and persistently wrestled with Aegon’s attempts to wrangle her away. They were to stay.

Soon the man entered their field of vision, illuminated by the torch he carried. Dressed as a beggar, in stained and tumbled clothing. There was a drying blotch on his bottoms, similar to the one on Aegon’s. Nothing but a single dagger betrayed his usual occupation.

Rhaena’s smile was cruel.

“Ser Rickard Thorne,” she started with a worthy gasp. “Bereft of armour and making a mockery of the Kingsguard. Does the white cloak not bind you to chastity? You dishonour your calling. Such deviant behaviour…” She tutted. “I fear the consequences, don’t you?”

The knight’s gaze strayed lower.

Aegon quickly yanked on her pretty silk nightgown, the side of which had remained bunched at her hip. Now it flowed freely again. She turned to her lover, grateful, and allowed Ser Rickard time to ruminate over whatever pathetic excuse he’d give.

Aegon was bright behind her. The sun paled in comparison. At least one good thing came of this interruption – she could see him. Relaxed and fuzzy in expression, though the faintest hints of astonishment lined his features. With the intruder revealed, there was nothing to worry about. Rhaena leaned back and kissed his jaw. He really was wonderful.

Then she faced Rickard Thorne with a lifted chin. “Have you no shame, Ser?”

Aegon’s astonishment was mirrored tenfold in the knight.

He coughed.

“Well!? What have you to say for yourself?”

Ser Rickard Thorne kept glancing behind her. At Aegon. He spoke carefully, “My lady, I am most regretful to… force this unbecoming sight upon you. Please, forgive me. And yet, I must note that by rights, the Kingsguard aren’t explicitly sworn to…”

Aegon signalled something with his hands. Rhaena couldn’t see what but felt the displacement of air behind her. In any case, it caused Ser Rickard to trail off mid-sentence.

She wasn’t appeased by his measly apology. “Do men of honour, like Ser Arryk, stay woke and vigilant while you fuck through the streets of King’s Landing?”

“I beg you, my lady. I’ve done this only in my resting hours. I would never abstain from my duty.”

“No,” she agreed, “I imagine abstinence isn’t a strong suit of yours. Half of Westeros is present in the Keep. The other half swarming the city. You are compromising the royal family’s safety.

“What if there were an incident? Say… a Baratheon suddenly dies. Accusations could be levied against us. The enemy grows violent and our protector is lounging away on a piss-stained rug in the Street of Silk!”

Once more, Ser Rickard glanced at Aegon then back to her. He wisely kept quiet.

“And,” – Rhaena stomped her uninjured foot – “and I am a lady. I shouldn’t be confronted by the horrors of your indiscretion.”

The left sleeve of her nightgown kept sliding down her shoulder. She pulled it back up and fixed her hair away from her neck.

Ser Rickard’s mouth opened. He swiftly averted his gaze.

“The Maiden bids me to remain pure. How am I to do that when lechers like you run rampant in the early hours of the morning? Am I supposed to avoid these cleverly made secret corridors? My delicate eyes could be accosted at any moment. So for your punishment, I consider it fitting that –”

Aegon slapped a hand over her mouth.

Rhaena licked it.

It tasted dusty… and sweaty. Gross.

To Ser Rickard, he said, “You’ve not seen us. We’ve not seen you.”

The knight looked from Aegon to Rhaena then back to Aegon. She would’ve preferred his attention settle on her rather than her future husband.

“My honest gratitude, Prince Aegon.” He bowed his head before doing the same for her, though shallower. The man, in truth, did appear honestly grateful as well as greatly relieved. Rhaena tried to get a word in but Aegon wouldn’t remove his hand. “If there is anything I may help you with, at present or in the future…” Ser Rickard let the sentence hang.

“You can leave the torch with us,” Aegon stated simply and thanked Ser Rickard for it.

They didn’t need a torch. They weren’t wimps.

But she wouldn’t argue in the knight’s presence. However, as soon as he left and the top wall clicked shut, she spoke, “We don’t need the torch.” Perhaps he was thinking of her. “Did you mean to retrieve my axe with it?”

Her future husband sighed.

Rhaena was stunned by his beauty. Fire danced across his features, soft and harmless.

“If we’re to continue, I’d prefer to see you.”

The torch was dim against the stone steps.

Later – a long time later, she was faster when alone – happy and sated, Rhaena lay in Aegon’s arms with a giant smile on her face.

They were reclined against the wall.

She looked up and Aegon kissed her with a similarly wide grin.

No wonder. He’d finished thrice in total. Imbecile.

Everything was perfect.

She was in bliss.

Smiley, Rhaena suggested, “We should elope.”

Aegon traced patterns above her breast. His fingers slowed as he considered.

“I’m surprised you’d want a hasty wedding.”

“So am I.” She looked to the dying flames by their side. “I’ve always imagined my wedding as a grand affair, to be spoken of for years to come. Everyone there. My mother would gift me her maiden’s cloak – the one she’d never used. Father would be present. He’d give me away with pride. And Baela. To help ready me in the morning and support me throughout.”

Aegon tightened his arms around her. Rhaena thought she’d ascend into the heavens. He really was listening.

“But none of that matters. Not anymore. My greatest wish is for us to be together.”

If they could stay here for the rest of their lives, peeking out to kill the bastards and watch Rhaenyra’s execution…

“You… you really mean that?”

“I do.” She tilted her head and kissed his cheek. “With all my heart.”

Aegon pondered this for less than moments.

He spoke, “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To marry.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“No!” she admonished, incredulous. When faced with his sudden hurt, Rhaena softened her tone as much as possible. “Are you mad?”

“Why not?” he asked, eyes downcast.

She’d not intended to make him feel unwanted, however – “This will be my only wedding – yours too. I want to look nice!”

Aegon was particularly enchanting tonight. The light of flames suited him. Fondness grew as his worries abated.

“But you always look nice.”

She’d never been so happy. 

However, she had to remain stern. This was imperative. “Nicer, Aegon. I am not getting married in these garments.” Stained and… moist as they were.

“You intend to parade around the city wearing one of your fanciful –”

“Watch it.”

“– fanciful, septa-approved monstrosities,” he continued, heedless. “With worlds of clutter falling from your hair. Isn’t the point of eloping not to be seen?”

Men.

“No, the point is to be wed. I don’t care who sees us, but I must look my best.”

Aegon scowled. “And when, dear cousin, might I expect you to be ready?”

“With the tourney’s end, when everyone leaves." The king wasn't in any state to force her to wed. “I mustn’t be stressed for the ceremony. And I will bring my axe, worry not. None will be able to stop us.”

“Yes, heavens forbid you resolve a situation with words alone.”

“Exactly,” Rhaena agreed and poked his cheek. “It’s what I’ve come to realize in these past weeks. Murder is sometimes often a necessity. I cannot rely on others.”

Aegon rolled his eyes.

“Don’t give me that. My way yields results. Did you know? I’ve tried being polite and declining Larys’s offers for help, but he’d persisted in hounding me. Then one day I kicked him and he’s not bothered me since.”

“You’ve – what?”

“A heavy hand. Crude but useful. It freed me of bothers and it freed the boy. He can now live his bastard life however he wishes. And when I deliver on my promise of crow cages and dragon meals, Flea Bottom will submit. The cruelties won’t ever repeat.”

Aegon held less understanding with each word she spoke.

“I’ve got it under control. You all should meddle less. If Aemond hadn’t intervened – rudely, you should talk some sense into him – Cassandra, Ellyn, and similar whores would no longer be trying to steal you from me. That is the truth of it.

“What I do is right.”

Aegon was serious as he said, “You promised to reign it in.”

“Yes, but you don’t understand. I shouldn’t hold back. You shouldn’t hold me back. I’ve made one mistake, I admit. Ser Harrold’s death should’ve been better paced. But if Jace hadn’t –”

“No. You’re at fault. Not Rhaenyra, not Jace. You. You did that,” he counted, growing angrier with each word until he stood. Aegon stared down at her, still on the floor, and yelled, “My dragon hasn’t seen light in weeks because of you!”

“Neither have I!” she yelled back and stood too. “I cannot bear your coldness. How do you think it feels? Losing you. The one person who truly cares –”

“Give me a break. Fine, your sister’s a cunt –”

“Do not call her that!”

“As is Rhaenys. So what? Your father cares. He comes here literal days after your arrival. You betray him, betray your entire family –”

“Those people aren’t my –”

“And still!” he roared over her. “And still – he comes for you! He flocks and folds to see whether you’re alright, when you’ll return, why you’ve left. Even now, he’d welcome you back with open arms, likely proud of your accomplishments.”

Aegon looked to the ceiling, quieting as bitterness took him. “Those aren’t the actions of one who doesn’t care. No one’s ever done that for me.”

She should kill the king and the queen and his siblings and the whole of King’s Landing.

But Aegon didn’t allow her the chance to answer.

“Tell me. When you – in all your madness – realize you’re wanted back, how long will it take you to leave?”

Imbecile.

“Imbecile!” she repeated aloud. “I’m to marry you. We’ve just agreed to elope! If we manage to find a bed, Prince Laenor may begin growing tonight.”

“Who?”

“You think I’d throw this away to return to that wretched island with Father?”

“Daemon –”

“I will not share him with the whore! Like Baela, you speak nonsense. Father is nothing to me. He’s weak. He was bewitched. He denied Mother’s wishes, he allowed her death. He forced Baela and me away, parted us from her in her final hours!” The chant became strenuous as a headache pierced through her.

Father had failed at every opportunity. He was the reason it was like this. He did this. Him, alone.

Rhaena reached up and held the bridge of her nose.

It was supposed to be different. It was too late now.

She looked at her lover.

Aegon held no expression she'd ever seen before.

He laughed, manic, mad - at his wits' end.

He thought he knew better than her. He didn't.

“Everyone’s at fault. But you,” he stated, laughing a disturbed laugh. “Rhaena can do no wrong.”

She didn’t like this Aegon. He was unnerving. This wasn’t like him.

Rhaena reached out and touched his shoulder. Like magic, her aches dulled.

“Aegon?”

He turned his back to her. Head bowed and shoulders starting to shake.

“Who will die next? And who will you blame it on? When will you stop?”

“The king,” she answered, stepping forward and hugging him tightly from behind. Was he crying? Had she made him cry? “His end is his fault. I’m sorry. I cannot allow him to hurt you.”

She would stop. One day, she would. When Aegon is happy, and she is with him, and none can pose a threat. Then she would stop.

“Rhaena,” he said, reaching to hold her hand and pressing it even harder against his chest. Good. They were progressing. “How many times must I explain it? You cannot murder my father.”

“Why do you defend him?” she whispered. “He’s done nothing for you.”

“You are mad,” he said, voice breaking.

She wasn’t. She wasn’t.

“You yearn to become a kinslayer. You want me to become a kinslayer,” he listed the accusations, the faults he found with her.

They made no sense.

“We will all be kinslayers,” she whispered into his skin. “Aegon, wake up. Do you think my father and that whore will bow their heads and allow us the throne in peace? We must act.”

“Do you have any idea how it will look if my father is murdered?”

His grief was misplaced. He’d get over it.

“Look? To who? You will be king then. Your word, truth and law.” Rhaena kissed the back of his neck. “They will fall in line or we will make them.”

The lords would swear allegiance. If not, she’d burn them and their families.

Aegon shook his head.

He was afraid.

She stepped back and Aegon reluctantly released her arm. Rhaena limped around to face him.

He was crying. This wasn’t the time. Regardless, he must hear it.

Rhaena held his cheeks and wiped the tears away.

“You will rule us, Aegon. You. Not Rhaenyra,” she poured all her love into the words.

He was so needlessly fearful.

“I don’t want to hear about it. Not from my grandfather, not from my mother, and especially not from you. My whole life, this hounds me. I don’t want to hear it! I want nothing to do with it!”

It broke her heart to see him like this.

She went to kiss him but he shoved her back and Rhaena hit the wall. By the time she got her bearings, Aegon had already stomped off.

Why was he leaving her behind?

Rhaena hurried after him and yelped at the pain in her leg. Stairs were difficult. She saw him stiffen and hesitate, steps slowing at her cry.

“Aegon!” she used the opportunity to call after him. “Wait for me.”

He did. He waited.

Almost against his will, he waited for her to catch up and then – still stiff – he hugged her side and helped her up the remaining steps. He helped her hop and hobble to her rooms. The gold cloaks guarding the halls didn’t so much as blink. Axe or not, they were already better disciplined than they were before.

Once they made it to her rooms, Rhaena pulled Aegon inside and kicked the door shut. She did so with her injured leg and blinked back stars as the sting travelled up her spine. It was worth it for the chance to kiss Aegon.

She did so while he stood rigid and unmoved.

Underwhelming, in all honesty.

“I don’t want to fight,” she whispered against his lips. “Stay with me. Please.”

Aegon stayed. He was sullen and sad but he must’ve loved her because he stayed. On one side of the bed, under the covers, right hand entwined with her left. The end of their night didn’t go as she’d imagined it would, but Rhaena was happy nonetheless. Aegon was with her – she could be nothing but happy.

Rhaena remained awake until his breathing evened out, then kissed him again and fell asleep herself.

Rhaena awoke to a pressure by her side.

“What?” she muttered, reaching for her axe. It wasn’t there. She tried to sit up – an attempt stopped by someone biting her neck. “Aegon? What are you -”

“You still owe me, right?”

He was nude.

Fantastic.

“Rhaena,” – he stopped what he was doing, annoyingly – “the favours you owe me. This is fine, right?”

Whatever was he prattling about?

“Incredible, yes,” she hummed, battling the haze of sleep. She intended to be fully awake for this. “Get on with it. Which tapestry shall we emulate?”

Aegon stared – growing more beautiful with every breath – and laughed, as if she’d said something funny.

One day, after their rule was secured, she’d tell the bards of what transpired in that brief time. Before the sun’s greeting. She’d tell them and their songs would be immense.

She told this to Aegon too. He laughed again.

“It’s good we’ll soon marry.” Aegon watched transfixed as she spoke, “Prince Laenor should not be born a bastard.”

“Who – shut up.”

A great groan accompanied his realization. Rhaena smiled as he burrowed his head into her chest.

A babe, created at dawn, to grow happily inside her.

She smiled wider when he glanced up from her breast. His purple eyes were mesmerizing. She hoped that Prince Laenor would inherit those same eyes.

“Could you say it again?” he asked.

“What?” She’d tell him whatever he wanted.

“You know… what you said earlier.”

“Prince Laenor –”

“No, not that,” Aegon said impatiently. He was flushed. Embarrassed. “The thing you told me before.”

Oh.

He sought comfort.

“We will kill Rhaenyra and her bastards,” Rhaena assured him. To soothe further, she ran her fingers through his matted hair. He could do with a bath. And she could do with a few more hours of sleep.

Aegon lowered his gaze. “No. What you said, when you thought it a dream.”

What she’d said when…

She traced his jaw and angled it so their gazes met.

“I love you. You know that.”

Rhaena kissed him, nestled around until he got the hint and hugged her, and fell into a beautiful sleep.

Morning came and her bliss continued. Rhaena awoke bright. Content. Gorgeous.

She basked in the knowledge that they’d soon wed. She’d be his and he’d be hers. Unquestionably so. They’d marry somewhere in King’s Landing. A minuscule sept. She’d bring her axe. The septon wouldn’t cause problems. And she’d glow. She’d bathe in her finest salts and wear the best gown she owned. Her hair would be regal and she’d cherish the ceremony as if it was the most opulent wedding ever to be held.

Their disagreements were a minor inconvenience when compared to the incomparable joy of waking next to him. She hoped to wake like this every day for the rest of her life. He slept soundly. She kissed his forehead and extracted herself from his arms. Aegon didn’t stir.

Her maid was a bit surprised and a bit more scandalized when she arrived, but that was alright too. Tila wouldn’t speak a word of it. Unfortunately, she did keep glancing at the bed, at her lover, at the covered parts of him.

“Tila. You value your eyes, yes?” Rhaena jovially reprimanded.

Her maid jumped and blushed, squeaky as a mouse, all poor and apologetic and – again – poor. The sight softened Rhaena. Ogling Aegon was a riveting pastime that she often indulged in. She’d not judge Tila – this once.

She spent long readying herself. Aegon remained fast asleep throughout. Rhaena left him to it. With the stress and the activity of last night, and the night before, he needed the rest. And though she yearned to be by his side, she had business to attend to.

It was the second day of the jousts. Tomorrow it would all end. She had to be present and stunning.

Everything was in order as she descended to the courtyard.

Helaena’s warning fresh in mind, Rhaena steered clear of carriages and set to finding someone to take her along.

Ah, there. Perfect.

This could be a bonding opportunity.

Aemond was twiddling with the saddle and checking the stirrups of his horse. He would soon depart for the plains in front of the kingswood where the tourney was being held. She hurried to him, wincing at the pain in her leg.

He turned to check the other side of the horse. Rhaena waved. She could’ve sworn he’d seen her, but maybe not. Aemond hastened his motions.

“Cousin,” she called. He didn’t hear and moved to pull himself up onto the saddle. “Wait! Cousin!” she called again, much louder.

Aemond still didn’t hear. His ears were damaged. Perhaps the Grand Maester had a remedy; gods knew remedies were beyond Gerardys. Rhaena strained her uneven gait into an uneven run. It was not among her most elegant moments.

“Cousin!” she yelled, already near.

Was he ignoring her?

He urged the horse forward – into a gallop – and Rhaena painfully jumped ahead and in their path. The animal neighed and protested as he pulled on its rains. Aemond averted them to the side, angled facing the walls of the Keep.

He’d almost run her over. He should be more careful.

Rhaena approached.

“Cousin!” she yelled, loudly so he could hear.

She didn’t know how he’d fare against her father. She hoped that misfortune wouldn’t pit them against each other. Father had great hearing, second only to hers. Aemond’s deafness was a grave disadvantage.

“What.”

There was no reason to be grumpy on such a lovely day. The sky was brighter, the air fresher, and her soul lighter. She smiled her largest smile. “We should ride together.”

Aemond did not smile. “You will be more comfortable in a carriage.”

True, she would. However, “Helaena said to be careful of carriages.”

“Did she?”

“She did. You shouldn’t take one either. Just to be safe.”

A foul mood emanated from him. Aemond didn’t understand that today was a good day. A great day. Aegon and she have reconciled and everyone should rejoice. She could feel it all around her. The sparks of love and music and triumph and delight.

He didn’t feel any of it and scowled. “I’ve not taken a carriage in a decade.”

He was surely exaggerating, but Rhaena wouldn’t alert him to it. She was making an effort and sharing her graces with a full heart. “That is just as well. Help me up so we may safely depart and bond on the way.” Aemond was still scowly so she added, “If you have nothing against it, of course.”

“I do have objections,” he started.

“Great!” she exclaimed; glad they could be open with each other. “We can discuss them as we ride!”

Aemond was everything but pleased when she went to pull herself up and – since the courtyard was close to full – took her arm to help. She settled behind him.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting.”

“You’ll fall off.”

Rhaena frowned. “You don’t expect me to sit astride, do you?” No chance. Not in this stunning gown. She was not a barbarian seeking crinkles in her fabrics.

Aemond didn’t comment so she took the burden of carrying the conversation.

“It would be best to go slow. I’ve spent ages on my hair and wouldn’t wish the wind to ruin it.” She thought for a bit. “And I’m sure you wish for yours to remain intact also.”

He scowled ahead. She saw it. They were off without warning.

She grabbed hold of his middle. The leather was distant and uninviting, so unlike Aegon’s cottons. Frigid, the word. Stiffness suited Aemond. He wasn’t easy to connect with. However, she resolved to try. Vhagar wasn’t around. He was simply a Targaryen prince, her future husband’s brother, and he was plenty nice considering their past.

“Are you enjoying the tourney?”

He considered the question much too carefully. “I suppose so.”

The silence spanned long.

Rhaena was happy. She was.

But she also felt alone. Often. In company, yet alone still. Lelia was nice but stupid. Patricia was nice. Still, she had trouble forging friendships with them and others… They were beneath her, perhaps that was why. For Helaena and Aemond, it was different. It was supposed to be. Dragonriders. Trueborn Targaryens. Special. However, a similar trouble remained. She wanted to connect but was lost to how.

Aemond didn’t take initiative to ask about her thoughts on the tournament.

Rhaena was determined to keep a cheery air. “I am enjoying it too. Now, in any case. Aegon and I have made up.”

“That is… news.”

It was possible that he was inept at interactions and needed someone to fill the silence.

“It was very sudden, but I am certain Aegon will tell you all about it. He came to my rooms last night, worried that I’ve killed –”

“I do not wish to know.”

She laughed. “It’s alright. Really. He shouldn’t have stressed; it was nothing like last time. I didn’t kill… well, not the child.” Aemond tensed. “In any case, we talked a bunch in the tunnels, and other stuff too. Oh, it was marvellous. A tad fumbly, but marvellous. I’ve never experienced anything like it. The best of nights. Aegon is –”

“Rhaena,” he interrupted again, very much annoyed. He was informal with her. Like good friends, or family.

“Yes?”

“Let us bond in silence.”

Later, sure. “But I’ve so many things to say. You’re yet to hear about Prince Laenor. Will you teach him to be a warrior?”

“Who – fuck.”

Swearing didn’t fit Aemond.

Her cousin inhaled twice. “Are you implying…”

“Your nephew, yes. He grows inside me. If not now, then soon,” she told him the happy news.

“Ah,” he confirmed his understanding. “Would you care to join me for tea this afternoon?”

This sounded like progress, but Rhaena sensed inexplicable foul play.

“Aegon will be waiting for me. We are to ponder over tapestries. However, I’d love to have tea with you on the morrow.”

Aemond disregarded that offer. With venom, he asked, “And where is my brother, presently?”

“He’s had an arduous few days and is in my rooms. Resting.”

“As befits him.”

“You could afford to be more charitable,” she said at once. “A serious ordeal has troubled Aegon in the weeks past and you didn’t even notice.”

“You overstep.”

Impossible. They’d soon be family.

“We are bonding.”

“Then let us do so in silence,” he repeated with little patience.

She didn’t want that but would give him a respite. She was very giving today. Happy. It’s been forever since she’d last been happy.

Rhaena sighed in contentment. She still felt the lingering pleasure of Aegon’s touch. Her skin tingled with it. The sting of her covered neck was just as potent, as was the calming soreness around her hips. A wonderful morning indeed. The woods were vibrant. Butterflies here and there and everywhere. A squirrel winked at her. Rhaena winked back. Birds chirped the merriest songs. Leaves swished and enriched the music that filled her ears. Nice tunes, jolly tunes. Baela would’ve loved it had she deigned to come. But now was not the time to think about that. Rhaena returned to her happy place. Relaxed and without trouble, she breathed in the bliss around her.

The crisp scent of nature and…

“Is that your sister’s hair oil?” She sniffed. “A very gentle fragrance. Dainty – delicate almost. It does smell nice. I was meaning to ask her about it.”

She wasn’t sure if he’d heard – his hearing damaged as it was – and lightly tapped his back. “Aemond?”

“The reequipment of mine had been delayed,” he said with a raised chin and gritted teeth.

Rhaena nodded. “It ran out, you mean. You could always continue with Helaena’s. Perhaps this is a sign from the gods.” She sniffed twice more. “Though I must admit, it is somewhat womanly.”

He kicked the horse’s sides. They began to sprint.

“Are you mad!?” she shrieked. “Slower, Aemond! Slower! You’ll ruin our hair!”

They went faster.

She pulled on his arms and tried to reach the reigns, urging him to slow, but the rough terrain made her lose balance. Aemond caught her by the waist before she could fall.

They slowed.

“I told you so,” he said, ill-tempered as ever.

She’d once considered pushing for a marriage between Baela and him. He’d taken her mother’s dragon and she wanted to wring his neck for it, but that was not all there was to Aemond. He was very Valyrian and could be quite fearsome. Rhaena had been sufficiently entertained during the few times when she’d watched Ser Criston and him spar in the courtyard – early, very early in the morning. Aemond took care to wash often and was pleasing to behold. He was also knowledgeable, if big-headed about it. Disagreeable as well, but he could make a fine husband.

However, that wasn’t to be. They were too different. It wouldn’t work. Baela – Rhaena didn’t know when she’d come to her senses. And Aemond… well, he was terribly boring.

To not push her cousin’s irritant nature, Rhaena swallowed most of her complaints and mournfully adjusted her hair while he adjusted his. One of her silver baubles had fallen loose. The intricate style she’d chosen this morning didn’t agree with the wind, and the bauble was lost forever.

She spoke in the most measured tone she could manage, “I feel there is a strain in our relationship.” He didn’t reply so she went for the heart of it. “I really am sorry, you know, about aiming to kill you. I won’t do it again. And about attacking you on Driftmark. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have –”

“Do not speak of it,” he interrupted.

His ever-growing gloom threatened to consume her. She’d be very happy if he were elsewhere.

However, she did regret the pain she’d caused him. He’d been an ass and still was, but her actions had led to a permanent disfigurement. Rhaena knew she’d be forever furious if someone messed with her perfect features. Aemond likely felt the same.

She could admit to initiating the whole night.

She’d started it. She’d waken Baela. She’d attacked first.

True, her sister had also made a mistake – Baela had taken the bastards along, and they were at fault for most of it. Baela still wasn’t’ aware that bastards were treacherous in nature.

Also… as for recently, Rhaena hadn’t meant to go and kill Aemond. Honest. She felt a bit silly apologizing for it, but it did seem bad from an outside perspective. She’d wished to kill Jace, dump Harrold’s body somewhere, return with Aegon and forget about it. Unfortunately, seeing Aemond on Vhagar had muddied her thoughts until she could no longer control the impulse.

Aemond appeared to be thinking about the same ordeal. He started, sudden and without prompt, “You can achieve nothing against me. I do hope you acknowledge that.”

Alicent’s children had a penchant for speaking nonsense.

“What do you mean?”

“Had my brother not stilled your madness,” he paused to find a diplomatic conclusion, “it would’ve been the end. For you and for your… dragon.”

Rhaena raised her eyebrows.

What did he find lacking about her dragon?

Her dragon was way better than his old and saggy nightmare. She was better than Helaena’s respectable mount, when all was considered. And – as much as she loved Aegon – Nagga was better than his oversaturated eyesore.

Rhaena hadn’t yet met the youngest sibling, but her dragon was the best and the prettiest in the world. None could hold a candle.

She opened her mouth to say just that, but Aemond’s spiel came faster. “Dragonstone awaits you. You are a detriment and I pray for your swift departure.”

How dare he!?

With all her might, she pushed against his back.

Aemond did not fall from the horse.

He did turn to glare at her with one mildly attractive eye.

“My place is here,” she stated, wistful of her axe. “However, the fear you hold is understandable. I’ve not seen much action or resolve from any of you. It is time that changed.”

“Fear. You think that we, that I fear you?”

It didn’t matter. “Embrace this, Aemond. Let go of your apprehension. I do not wish you harm. Not anymore. Regardless of the chances of success.”

It was the truth. She didn’t. Sometimes. Other than – she didn’t. She’d get over it. Or she’d not think about Vhagar. Her mother’s dragon. He’d taken her. Claimed her on the night – she wouldn’t think about it. She was making an effort. She was making an effort. They were bonding.

Aemond wasn’t moved by her openness.

“You are mad.”

“I am not.” Aegon mistook the same thing. “Is that why you’re cross with me?”

“You know what you did.”

She did much as of late. “Indeed. But to avoid misunderstandings, could you perhaps repeat it?”

“You attempted to murder Cassandra Baratheon and do not tell me of anything else,” he hissed in one breath.

Rhaena frowned. “The whore had it coming.” It wasn’t her fault that Cassandra was so intent on stealing Aegon. She’d needed to intervene.

“Try to follow,” he started in a most patronizing tone. “Cassandra Baratheon is not a whore. She is a lady, like you, who accepted a dance proposal, like you did many.”

Insufferable. She almost tried to push him again. “I’m not a child. Don’t speak down to me.”

“You had a fit and nearly caused an irreparable incident.”

“She danced with Aegon!”

“You tried to take my dagger – repeatedly and in full view of everyone,” he said, becoming more disagreeable by the moment.

This was going nowhere. “Look, perhaps I shouldn’t have done that, but I wouldn’t have needed your dagger had you allowed me the fork.”  It was a good fork too. The ornate fruit ones were by far the best.

Yet Aemond behaved like she was unreasonable. Self-reflection would do him good.

“The means are irrelevant. You cannot stab Cassandra Baratheon – not with a fork and not with a dagger.”

“I’ve acquired an axe.”

“Get off.”

Terribly boring.

“Oh, loosen up,” she laughed. “It was a joke.” A sound plan too.

“Get off,” he repeated. “I’d rather deal with my sister’s dismay.”

Was he serious?

“You cannot leave me here, in the middle of the road.”

The horse was pulled to a stop. “Yes, I can.”

Very presumptuous of him. Rhaena crossed her arms, glad for a respite from his frigid leathers. “Good luck with that. I’m staying.”

Aemond pushed her.

Sitting side-saddle, she slid off and hit the ground with a yelp. Her ankle hurt and the abrupt landing forced another silver bauble to fall. Fortunate for Aemond that the pain in her leg numbed this injustice.

Rhaena went to protest, but Aemond trotted off before she could. He left her there without a word.

Rhaena suffered the indignity of standing by the side of the road like a common beggar.

At least the road was well-travelled. Everyone was attending the jousts so she’d have plenty offers to help her along. Sure enough, as she glanced to the side, many were approaching her place of wait.

Her optimism dulled with the following events.

House Hayford’s carriage passed. Ermesande had definitely seen her. So did the Wylde carriage. Tyana’s jealousy overcame her manners. Then the Darklyn carriage. Selyse was a birdbrained twit.

After them, a knight of the Vale atop his steed. He was immune to her charms and passed like the others. He was most likely attracted to men.

The first to stop was Raylon Rivers.

Rivers.

Great.

She’d hoped for someone better. Corwyn Corbray, perhaps. That man was somewhat charming and not a bastard.

“Lady Rhaena, I wish you a good day,” Raylon Rivers called, jumping from his steed in one smooth motion. “It is a surprise to meet you here, but not an unwelcome one.”

Rhaena didn’t respond.

“I was meaning to speak with you, actually. I have news that –”

“I am in the mood for solitude,” Ser Bastard. “Do leave.”

“I would be remiss to leave you by yourself. Perhaps you would consider riding with me and I can tell you the news along the way.”

Her wishes were being ignored. It was irritating. She’d dismissed him. He was dismissed.

“No.”

“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind my company here, for a short while. I swear, it is important.”

“Solitude, ser,” she spoke the title with disdain, making it clear what she thought of him. Why could bastards be knighted? Who’d allowed that?

Raylon Rivers appeared sad, like a kicked dog – a mongrel, to be precise – but nodded in resignation.

“I see. Apologies, my lady.”

As she watched him mount his steed again, two more carriages and three horsed men passed her. Why didn’t anyone stop? They’d been enthusiastic to dance with her. They’d downright drooled. She’d had no shortage of men lining up for her hand. And now – nothing. She could understand the carriages to a point. The women were jealous and those nasty rumours about her had spread far too quickly to be natural. Ellyn no doubt. They whispered of her, hid their laughter as she passed, pointed and stared. Rhaena didn’t care. She was better than all of them.

However, the men… what was their excuse? Why weren’t they stopping to help her? She was lovely. A delight. Surely the other ladies hadn’t already poisoned their minds. Here she was, a helpless, distressed maiden on the road, and no one would fucking stop! She had half a mind to burn them for the impudence.

Whatever the reason, Rhaena would not stand to be embarrassed by those lesser than her. She wouldn’t wait nor would she approach. She would return to her happy place.

One limp at a time, towards the trees of the kingswood she went. Maybe the winking squirrel had followed her. Her eyes searched the branches. No such luck. And yet, as she made the strenuous walk and horses and carriages passed in the distance, she did begin to reunite with happiness.

Nature was calming. Butterflies, birds, and missing squirrels.

A bee landed on her shoulder. Rhaena swatted at it.

She should spend more time here, away from the Keep. The air was nicer and the wind too. She could visit often, plant her desired herbs and watch them grow through the years. What’s better, after Aegon ascends, she’d have full dominion over the castle gardens. Rhaena would decorate them exactly to her tastes. And in the spirit of effort-making, a corner or two would be left for Helaena to do with as she wished.

Giddiness enveloped her. They’d soon be married! Every night, they’d share a bed. Every morning, she’d wake to him. They’ve made Prince Laenor! Maybe. They’d kill the whore and her bastards for sure. They’d do it together. Then the world would be great and sunny, their lives filled with song and dance. She’d love him forever and he would return that love in kind.

These truths filled her. Rhaena strained and progress was slow. However, she found vibrant blue daises to enrich her hair. They were well worth the trouble.

Before long and through the woods, Rhaena reached the site of happenings. The twat was waiting by the ever-growing row of carriages for whatever reason. She continued her limping until a white cloak took notice. Ser Willis helped her to the royal dais and bowed as she settled in her desired seat.

Helaena and Aemond soon joined. The princess led them to sit in front of Rhaena. Aemond remained ill-tempered. He acted like he was the one who’d been wronged.

But a far worse pair caught Rhaena’s attention.

There they were – right across from her, on the large noble stands. Two overreaching tarts, likely wishing they could have the honour of sitting on the royal dais. They’d banded together and now giggled with malicious intent. It was no small wonder. Ellyn Beesbury and Cassandra Baratheon were the same.

They’d soon be faced with the bitter truth. Their pathetic laughter changed nothing. Let them do what they will. Aegon had chosen her. Yes, he had.

Rhaena smiled back at the whores.

She no longer wished to wrap her hands around Cassandra’s throat and watch the panic seep into her eyes as she suffocated to death. She didn’t want her lips to turn blue, nor did she want her to fall over the railing and land on her head. Likewise, feeding Ellyn to her dragon could wait, if only because Nagga might be repulsed by that wretched scent of honey.

She was calm. She’d found her inner peace.

There were other things to stare at.

Lady Caswell’s attention was on a giant Wode guy. Mother had once told her a story about their tragic meeting and the many conversations she’d been forced to endure. Jennis Caswell had all but taken her mother prisoner during one short tourney. The dullest two days of her life, Mother had said.

Another curiosity was Aegon’s uncle, soon to be her family. He must’ve had something stuck in his eye because he blinked it harshly in the direction of Raylon Rivers. The horrid bastard smiled at his misfortune and mocked him further by imitating the gesture.

Then there was the humorous figure in front of the dais. The young squire was missing two of his front teeth. He’d lost them during the archery event – an impressive accomplishment. She’d been too caught up in her misery to follow the proceedings. Rhaena dearly regretted that.

And chatting with the unfortunate boy was Joffrey, mindlessly enthusiastic and skipping around the place. Curse her sentimentality, it was an uplifting sight.

However, far more important were the Hand’s dealings. He’d approached Lord Redwyne. They dismissed Patricia – and Lord Redwyne’s squire – to converse in private.

In her ugly and inappropriate boots, her friend climbed the steps and flumped beside her. Rhaena asked at once, “Why is your father speaking with Otto Hightower?” He had no trouble approaching Lord Redwyne and others of lesser blood but had yet to show interest in her.

Paricia shrugged. “I’m just glad they let me leave.”

“I sympathize. The Hand is tiring and very weaselly indeed.”

Helaena and Aemond turned to glare at her. Aemond’s glare was particularly menacing. Rhaena didn’t know why. She’d be fine with them insulting her grandmother.

The rest gathered quickly. Lelia sat on her other side, and the queen and Otto settled in front. The king was ill and unable to attend. He’d been absent for nearly half of his own tourney.

Tragic was the absence of Aegon, but Rhaena was glad that he was resting. He’d spent the last two nights with little sleep and much stress. They’d come together later in the day.

The newfound peace between them allowed her to focus on the jousts. In particular, the squire’s tourney was a spectacle that ended too soon. The knights were dull in comparison. They rode around on their horses. Up and down, and up and down again. It was all very monotonous and Rhaena wished to see the squires go at it again. At least they were entertaining. This current bleakness went on forever. Two somewhat capable knights would lance a few times before one fell from his horse. Riveting.

Then Blackwood trotted to the front and everyone clapped and cheered.

Personable fuck.

He carried her favour. The favour he’d asked of her. Not a wreath – she’d not spent time fashioning one of those – but an intricate handkerchief that she’d purchased with care.

Yellow with brown stallions detailed on it.

Rhaena had searched for any item bearing the Bracken sigil. Unfortunately, such alluded her and this was the closest she could find on short notice.

The yellow had been stark against his black and red.

She’d given it to him yesterday, still sleepy from the events of Flea Bottom. Blackwood must’ve been tired too, but he did not show it. The only thing he’d shown had been a grimace. Later in the day, her handkerchief had accidentally slid from his lance and into the mud.

He’d still not found the time to clean it and so around his lance remained a brown blob.

In any case, Rhaena clapped an unenthusiastic clap as Blackwood unhorsed yet another opponent. He bowed before the dais and winked at her. He did so after every victory.

Again, everyone cheered for him. Blackwood wasn’t even that likeable. He should not be so popular.

Rhaena glared at Aemond… sitting there in a foul mood. Unresolved and passive.

Lazy twat.

She sighed. It wasn't the time. He'd learn.

Apart from Blackwood's every appearance, not much of interest happened.

Until George Graceford.

To avoid defeat, George Graceford stabbed his lance through the eye of Lord Sunderland’s horse. The sight was gruesome, Rhaena had to admit, and the crowd gasped and shrieked appropriately. Sad was the horse’s fall. He’d died instantly, but Lord Sunderland was still alive with his leg bent in a most curious way. Rhaena heard the interesting, familiar sound of it.

Her headache came and went as a reminder.

The lord’s pain was fascinating. He appeared to be in agony. The definition of a wuss while he writhed on the gravelled ground. There was no blood of his, only that of the horse. Little mess. Quite tidy.

Blood was like dirt.

Sometimes good and sometimes not.

Good when she could sink her hands and properly care for it. It reminded her of a harvest or even the planting of flowers. Her fingers would be dirty but she’d be happy.

However, Rhaena often misliked blood. She’d ruined a second gown the night before last. It had been wine-coloured; she supposed she could’ve kept it. Yet the hearth in her rooms had burned brightly and she’d watched it turn to ash.

Fire and blood had taken another of her beautiful gowns, but it had also brought satisfaction at a problem resolved.

Yes, blood was like dirt. Sometimes good and sometimes not.

Lelia was pulling on her sleeve. Rhaena had opted for teal lined with silver. Far from the colour of blood.

“What is it?” Why was she interrupting her musings?

“Are you alright?” Patricia asked. “You appear… absent.”

Right, yes. She’d found her inner peace. “I’m great. What were you saying?”

“This’ll take time to resolve,” Lelia commented. “They’re quite bad at jousting.”

“That poor horse,” Patricia added.

The horse was very heavy and very dead. It had been pretty.

In any case, Lelia was correct. The situation had turned messier with the arrival of another Vale lord, a friend of the injured Sunderland. He was arguing with Graceford about whether he’d done it on purpose or not.

Lelia was ambivalent to it. Graceford was quite plain and the others involved were very old indeed. Rhaena thought Graceford interesting, but it wouldn’t be wise to help him in this matter.

Plus, Lelia had a much better suggestion, “We might play wed, bed, behead in the meantime.”

Rhaena adored the game. It was a simple pastime – perfect for Lelia. They’d discuss and laugh at others and, due to portraits, the game often included historical figures. All court ladies liked to play. The liveliness was a stark contrast to Dragonstone. She’d known about it then too, but hadn’t had anyone to play with – and there hadn’t been enough men to make the choices interesting. Her father had been by far the handsomest of the bunch.

So Lelia’s suggestion hit heart and Rhaena clapped with joy. “Me first!”

Patricia was off-put by her enthusiasm.

“You mustn’t be a bore,” Rhaena admonished. Baela wasn’t a bore. Baela had never been a bore. She would’ve gone along with the game, if only to please her.

Rhaena addressed Lelia, “Who do you give me?”

“Ser Criston, Ser Willis, and the newest – Ser Lorent,” her friend said without hesitation. Lelia was in her element.

So was Rhaena. “I’d wed Ser Willis, bed Ser Criston, and behead Ser Lorent.”

“You were insistent that he join the Kingsguard,” Patricia pointed out. She understood nothing.

Rhaena didn’t care who joined. She’d shove a bastard in there if it meant Ser Arryk could go back to guarding Aegon. Viserys could have whoever – even a loser who was bested by Blackwood. It wasn’t yet important. However, the Kingsguard would be different after Aegon ascended. She’d cull it to her liking.

“I like the other two better,” Rhaena explained before turning to Lelia. “Your turn! Aegon, Aegon the Conqueror, and Maegor the Cruel,” she stated happily.

Aemond turned and looked at her with a most disbelieving look.

Fair enough. It was true that King Jaehaerys would’ve been more suitable than King Maegor, but most of his portraits were from a time when he’d been old and wrinkly. For all his faults, King Maegor was remembered as a stunner.

Lelia was troubled by another thing.

“Who… who is the first Aegon?” she asked, more nervous than the situation called for.

“My Aegon, of course.”

She grew paler.

Her caution was needless. She’d threatened Lelia only once, with good reason. Aegon had ignored her, yes, but he’d had no qualms about making her jealous. He’d approached Lelia from behind and whispered something into her ear. Her treacherous friend had giggled.

When they’d returned to Rhaena’s rooms to gossip and whatnot, well… she’d deserved it. Rhaena hadn’t harmed her, she’d wielded a kitchen knife, nothing sharp. It was just words, and it had been smart to warn Lelia and remind her of her place.

Aegon and she were back together. Rhaena had long recovered from her friend’s treachery and this was a game that they both enjoyed. Lelia had nothing to worry about.

“Could you perhaps pick someone else?” her friend asked with some panic.

Before Rhaena could answer, Helaena did. She spoke in that dreamlike, loony way of hers, “Whyever the need? My cousin has chosen a fine combination.”

Helaena was correct, but Lelia remained hesitant to play. When she did, she was especially slow with her words.

“I would wed…” she paused and Rhaena nudged her, “Aegon – Aegon the Conqueror.”

Rhaena nodded in understanding and smiled to encourage her.

“I would bed… Prince Aegon.”

She would bed Aegon. She wanted to take him.

“You would bed Aegon?” she hissed.

“No!” exclaimed the tart, frantically shaking her head. “I’d – I’d wed him.”

“You’d wed him!?”

She was mad to think she could wed Aegon. She’d sooner be found dead with a kitchen knife in her throat. Or an axe seared into her chest. Blood pooling around her unmoving form, mouth forever frozen in a scream. Severed limbs, colourless cheeks. Gouged by nails.

“No, never. A mistake.” Laughter, nervous and shrieking, confirmed her guilt. “What I meant was – is that I’d – I’d… behead him?”

Lelia wanted to kill Aegon. Lelia was a traitor. A spy working for Rhaenyra. She was a danger to them. A danger to Aegon. She needed to die.

No. No. No. Yes. Wait. Rhaena took a breath. Rhaena took another breath. It was a game, wasn’t it?

But the traitor was still chuckling, panicked as she should be. “Princess Helaena!” she gasped, winded with reason. “Might you play with us!?”

Did she think Helaena would save her? The siblings had heard her traitorous declaration. She’d receive no sympathy from them.

“Me?” Helaena asked, sweet.

Aemond turned to eye Rhaena. She tried to interpret his aim. Was he telling her to attack? Rhaena had meant to wait until they were somewhere less public. Perhaps he was right. Better to solve the problem now. She discreetly nodded her head to tell him she understood. He quickly shook his. No? Someplace else then.

“Yes! Please, it’d be an honour!” Lelia said, too high-pitched. Rhaena steeped in her falseness. Lelia disdained Helaena but pretended otherwise, going whichever way to save her skin.

“Very well.”

“Right! Great, that’s great!” Her former friend was still feverish, but less so at the princess’s agreement. She glanced at Rhaena, then quickly glanced back. “Prince Daemon, Prince Jacaerys, Prince Lucerys. I know years have passed since you’ve last met with them, but I’m certain you remember their qualities and will –”

“I’d behead them,” said Helaena.

Rhaena laughed.

Helaena laughed too.

Lelia looked ready to faint. It served her right. “What of you!?” She jumped to her feet, stumbled in her skittishness, and went around – a large circle – to sit beside a befuddled Patricia. “Tell me yours. Join us! Corwyn Corbray, Gwayne Hightower, and Raylon Rivers.”

For one who feared Rhaena and wished to be far from this situation, Lelia was oddly insistent on remaining in her general vicinity.

Even the normally bold Patricia waited for Helaena and her to quiet before speaking.

Rhaena was interested in her answer. Her traitorous former friend had presented an odd lineup. Two second sons and one bastard. She’d still kill her, but Lelia was good at this game.

“I’d wed Ser Raylon,” Patricia said. “He is the handsomest and I’d be free to –”

“He’s a bastard,” Rhaena interjected. Baela would often speak without thinking. Patricia didn’t realize she’d proudly expressed the desire to wed a bastard.

“So what?” she jested to cover her blunder.

“Come now, I wish to hear your true thoughts.”

“As I said,” Patricia repeated, clipped, “I would wed Ser Raylon.”

“Oh, you are serious?” When Patricia continued to glare, Rhaena clarified, “Well, surely you can’t prefer him. A bastard’s very nature is rotten. It is known. He is to be beheaded. And I’d wed Corwyn Corbray and bed Ser Gwayne, but you’re free to decide differently amongst the two.”

“Am I? Well,” Patricia continued, badly imitating her tone. Rhaena wasn’t stuck up as she implied. “I’d wed Ser Raylon. Happily. And I think I will go wish him luck. Then I shall return to sit with others of my station, across the field.”

Her friend rose with a huff and left the dais.

Bastards ruined everything.

She liked Patricia and they were fighting because of a Rivers.

Annoyed, Rhaena dismissed Lelia and told her to go away. She had no business sitting with the royal family. She’d soon be dead anyway.

It was hours before the day’s events concluded. The dispute between George Graceford and Lord Sunderland’s sympathizers had been overlong. It wouldn't have yet ended had Otto not weighed in and helped resolve the conflict.

Still annoyed, Rhaena imagined what awaited her. The pain spiked sharper than this morning and she’d need to visit a maester, but afterwards she’d meet with Aegon and they’d be happy… better yet, she’d first find Aegon and then go to a maester.

What was left was to rid herself of the bothers obstructing her path.

Blackwood again waited near the back of the dais.

Joffrey too, leeched to his side. His loyalties were fickle. That was the truth.

Joffrey had never liked her. This barbarian had drawn him away from Rhaena. It was good to confirm. The bastard and the trueborn, Joffrey would always be against her.

Despite this, Rhaena’s heart was softer than she wished it. Joffrey was engaging… in a disappointing, inept sort of way. She’d forgotten in the months they’d been parted. Their walk in the gardens had been fun. She’d missed him – she hadn’t. Loneliness had grabbed hold of her, that was all.

Aemond and Ser Criston conversed and waited agitated for her to finish descending the steps, as it would be the height of impropriety to pass a lady in distress. Ser Criston even helped her. However, when her slippers touched grass, they continued their conversation heedless of her, Blackwood, and Joffrey.

And as they passed, Blackwood sniffed disdainfully.

His squire was no more subtle.

Joffrey asked in a failed whisper, “Why does he smell like a lady?”

Blackwood ignored him – Rhaena had always done her best not to ignore Joffrey – and sleazed up to her. “My lady, how are you faring?”

“Well.”

She should find someone to get her back to the Keep. Not a carriage, and not Aemond either; he was too far ahead and had embarrassed her in the morning. A Kingsguard would be best. Ser Arryk if he was available, or Ser Willis. Ser Arryk would be preferred. He had a keen sense of Aegon’s whereabouts that rivalled Rhaena’s own.

“I thought we may –”

Rhaena was about to dismiss him too, but then remembered her grievances. “The favour you demanded I give you.”

Blackwood sighed with apparent fondness. “What about it, my lady?”

“He is now carrying it,” she pointed out. Indeed, in Joffrey’s hands was her handkerchief. It was barely recognizable.

“Gonzo is my noble squire. He cares for my most treasured possessions.”

“It is muddied and was so even before the day’s events began. I could barely make out the horses.”

“An unfortunate happenstance.”

Rhaena scowled. For one attempting to impress her, he was surprisingly unaccommodating. “You must wash it before tomorrow. So the stallions can be seen as it blazes proud, yellow and brown.”

Benjicot smiled. “A knight’s day is busy.”

“You have a squire.”

“His day is busy also.”

Joffrey appeared very apologetic to be caught in the middle of this.

Her patience wore thin. “Have an afternoon,” she said, frustrated at not getting her way.

Fuck Blackwood. Their every interaction grated on her, and for all his idiocy, he was excessively difficult to deal with.

At least his nose was still swollen and ugly.

Blackwood disrespected the dismissal by blocking her path. “Let us throw duties to the wind and spend the rest of the day together.”

“Clean my favour.”

“We can make time for each other. I’ve always had a zeal for gardening, my lady. Did you know that? We will marvel at greenery and go traipsing in the woods.”

“I cannot. I must pray for the king’s health. To the Seven – the true gods that I worship most ardently.” He’d still not left. “I’d be overjoyed for your company. It is past time you… northern folk be enlightened. We can bring about change, one house at a time.”

In truth, Rhaena somewhat admired House Blackwood’s persistence. Forced south and surrounded by the Faith, and yet they remained true to themselves. She’d not admit this to Blackwood, naturally. Especially as he soon excused himself and took Joffrey with him. She’d guessed correctly. The Faith was a sensitive topic for the barbarian.

She searched around for a Kingsguard to take her back but found only Lelia. Her traitorous friend was waving her over to a carriage. Rhaena ignored her. Lelia was to be killed and regardless, she’d heed Helaena’s warning.

But as she noticed Ser Lorent Marbrand – the newest and only white cloak in vicinity – Rhaena did reconsider. Was she to ride with a loser?

“Lady Rhaena,” Raylon Rivers called from the side.

She ignored him too and continued in search of Ser Arryk… or even Ser Willis, her preferred knights. Perhaps Ser Rickard Thorne would do. He was wanton but not without sense.

“My lady,” Raylon Rivers again called.

She didn’t know where it had gone wrong. Common bastards thought it fit to speak with her. Patricia’s actions aided it. One considered them equal, and they started believing themselves as that. Raylon Rivers was Amos Bracken’s older brother. Both were sons of Lord Humfrey Bracken. It was true that the bastard was Amos’s superior in combat, and Rhaena felt sorry for Amos. They seemed brotherly. Raylon pretended, but he’d steal his brother’s throne at first opportunity. Their father’s sin would rot the earth for as long as he lived.

Raylon Rivers positioned himself in front of her. “My lady.”

He’d estranged her from Patricia.

“Yes. What is it?”

“Apologies for disturbing you, my lady.” He wasn’t much apologetic. She’d told him no in the morning. She wasn’t interested in whatever he had to say. “You spoke with Ben Blackwood earlier. He’s been hounding you for days.”

Ah, another one jealous.

It was true that Blackwood was struck dumb by her beauty. He believed he couldn’t live without her and was insistent that they marry. She couldn’t blame Blackwood for his obsession. However annoying, it was natural.

A bastard had no right to trouble her with his jealousy. Then again, this was a day of giving. She’d give Aegon her undivided attention as soon as she returned to the Keep, and if asked, she could tell him she’d been open – as he wanted her – to stuff and that she’d not been hostile to any except that traitor Lelia.

“What’s it to you?” Rhaena asked, indulgently.

“Blackwoods are cunts.”

She was wary but nodded, “They are.”

Blackwoods were cunts. Lord Samwell Blackwood smiled at her too often. She was beautiful, that much was true, but it was creepy to feel his eyes on her. His wife had died a long time ago. It was probable that he had delusions about marrying Rhaena, same as his son.

A point for Rivers to say it as it was. He was frank. She liked that. But he was also crass. Fitting.

“Deceptive cunts,” he added. “Ben Blackwood has haunted your steps since the beginning.”

“He is smitten by me.”

“Forgive me, my lady, but his is no ordinary infatuation,” the bastard spoke nonsense.

Again, it was natural, perfectly logical. Blackwood had gone mad with want. He’d proclaimed his intent to marry her, failed to seduce her at every opportunity, made himself a bother and followed her into Flea Bottom, mind gone and filled with thoughts of Rhaena. He’d promised to make her the Queen of Love and Beauty.

All of that was expected. Of course he’d crown her. There was no one else, no one close. Well… Her Grace was a vision, she could admit it to herself. But Rhaena was more so. She suspected every man in attendance would crown her if given the chance.

Fine, there were exceptions; those married and those peculiar. The married ones couldn’t due to etiquette, even if Rhaena clearly outshined their wives. And the peculiar ones wouldn’t due to their poorly contained lust towards their sisters.

So it was with confidence that she asked the bastard, “Do you have eyes?”

“Lady Rhaena, you are very beautiful indeed,” he said with some exasperation.

It was the tone Rhaena had used when answering her septa’s questions; when she’d been a child and had only one man interested in her.

The bastard remembered himself and tacked on, “If I may be so bold. However, I must urge you to rethink the cunt’s motives.”

What drivel.

“They are plain to all except you.”

“You’ve not been informed.”

“Informed of what, ser?” she snapped, mocking his title. “I’ve places to be.”

He tried to hide the effects of her insult, but Rhaena saw him flinch. “I think this prudent to mention. The Blackwood cunts – Ben and his father – have recently visited Dragonstone. We are not privy to what discussions were led there, but we can suspect their nature. There is unrest amongst the Riverlords. If hearsay is true, Lord Blackwood – the cunt – has hosted many and plans to travel more.”

Dragonstone.

He suspects.

Dragonstone.

Their nature. The nature of their talks.

Dragonstone

Ridiculous.

The truth is that we would use you same as they would.

No. There was no chance.

For an alliance and for war.

They’d have to speak to her father along with the whore, and he’d never allow something like that. He’d failed her in every way imaginable but not this. He wouldn’t. Not a Blackwood. For her. He’d never agree to it.

But he’d been fine with giving her to a bastard.

No. Raylon Rivers was jealous and lying. She hadn’t danced with him. She’d danced with the most men by far, but she hadn’t danced with him. He’d not asked and she would’ve refused if he had. He was jealous of Blackwood. The bastard wished to curry favour.

“My lady, are you alright?”

But if Rhaenyra pushed for it… she’d most definitely sell her off for a meagre house’s loyalty. Jace had said so himself. Father. He wouldn’t. A Blackwood for her, the trueborn daughter of two great houses.

The bastard must be lying, surely.

But she needed to be certain, needed to know, needed –

Duram Bar Emmon was dragging his feet around his horse and staring at her. Lord Bar Emmon’s overgrown son spent much time on Dragonstone. In wretched past years, he’d made advances at her far too often.

“Ser Duram!” Rhaena yelled.

The idiot near fell over himself to reach her, his horse abruptly left for a page to catch. Duram Bar Emmon’s beard was hefty and unkempt, and his hair was too thin to match it.

“Lady Rhaena! What joy to have you call on me!” Pathetic. “How did you enjoy the –”

“The Blackwoods,” she interrupted. “Has my father entertained them?”

He drooled. However annoying, Rhaena was used to this treatment. It was familiar and much preferred to the bastard’s oddness. He drooled some more.

“I asked you a question.”

Duram Bar Emmon blinked dumbly. “What?”

Seven hells.

“My father and the Blackwoods.”

“Yes, yes, all was well, my lady. It’s nothing for you to trouble yourself with. Prince Daemon is most impressive, yes.” The only person Duram Bar Emmon liked more than her was her father. And he drooled over them in equal measure. “Nearly every morning they were in the courtyard. He beat Ben Blackwood bloody, yes, and Blackwood had drawn blood too – at times. Their duels were outstanding. I naturally was also fighting and can claim with veracity that…”

Blackwood had impressed her father.

Father had sold her to the first barbarian who could hold a sword upright.

She laughed.

“My lady?”

Rhaena would be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms and they wished to give her to a Blackwood.

They were mad. They’d sold her to Blackwoods.

Father continued to betray her. A bastard and now a Blackwood. He’d never thought much of her and yet… she’d hoped. Rhaena had been foolish to expect anything. Another mistake. Father disdained her. Even when she had a dragon, he did. He’d never give Baela to a Blackwood. This humiliation was reserved for her alone. He hadn’t the will to oppose his whore. Rhaenyra controlled him. He was an embarrassment.

Who was to blame? Father? The whore? Or Jace?

Jace lied. He had the nerve to write that letter and fill it with lies. The bastard had called for her return. He’d not told her that she was already sold. And presently he whispered poison into her sister’s ears. Baela was trapped with him in the Vale. He was keeping her there, away from Rhaena.

The whore didn’t care. However, under these circumstances, Rhaena was curious about how she intended to keep Driftmark.

“... it was with a tightly-controlled grip, one passed down through the Bar Emmon family for generations, that I –”

“Your recount is fascinating as always, Ser Duram. However, we must part. Sadly.”

The man was crestfallen. “When will you return, my lady, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I do mind.”

The bastard was surprised when she turned her back to Duram. Rude as it was, Duram Bar Emmon knew when to leave and did so. He didn’t possess the will that Blackwood did.

“You do not like him,” Raylon Rivers said.

She didn’t grace that with an answer. They were ruining her day. She’d had such a calm, soothing night with Aegon and now the gods were punishing her for the happiness.

Bastards hounding her. Blackwood somehow passing her keen sense of discernment. Father, worst of all. He thought a courtyard was enough to determine the man’s worth. Aegon was wrong. Father didn’t care. He didn’t give one fuck about her.

Rhaena would never betray Aegon but they surely jested with this insult.

She glared at Raylon Rivers.

Bastard.

“I am only a messenger, my lady,” he stated pre-emptively.

“You told me and your brother did not. He had plenty opportunity.”

Another grievance. She’d shared dances with Amos Bracken. They’d spoken at the feast and before, during the archery event. He’d not told her. The bastard had.

“I see conclusions when there often aren’t any. My brother knows better.”

His brother was an oaf, but Raylon Rivers had taken the time to ponder the situation and had come to this unfortunate conclusion.

He figured it out. His brother did not.

“Do you desire his birthright?” He was a knight and raised beside his brother. Raylon Rivers was older than Amos, better with a sword, and wiser too.

He didn’t like that question. Raylon Rivers loomed. “Lady or not, I don’t take kindly to such insults.”

“Good.” Rhaena nodded. She didn’t believe him, but he had helped. “What you fear will never come to pass and those involved in the meeting will come to regret it.”

Raylon Rivers was stoic as he said, “That is what I’ve hoped to hear.”

Their business finished, Rhaena made to leave but hesitated… and glanced back.

“I wish you luck tomorrow, and pray for your best.”

Thank you for telling me, bastard.

It was difficult to make peace with. Rhaenyra was already making preparations to steal Aegon’s throne. And as she watched Raylon Rivers saddle up and leave, Rhaena faced another frightening realization. Blackwood might not be in love with her. Her charm, inadequate. How was it possible that he’d fooled her? Rhaena was smart, wise, clever. Her mind was as fierce as the rest of her. So how could this be?

She needed to tell Aegon. A Blackwood. As if.

Burning Raventree Hall to the ground would be the first thing she did when the war finally started.

It’s what they deserved for lying to her and siding with Rhaenyra.

Tell Aegon first. Right, she needed to tell Aegon.

But there wasn’t much in the way of acceptable transport. Few noblewomen remained, all waiting for carriages. A scattering of knights, but none she’d deign to share a horse with. Not slimy Duram Bar Emmon, to be sure. Even when he waited for the slim chance that she’d call on him again. Not Ser Lorent Marbrand – a loser.  She’d already scared Blackwood – a winner, unfortunately – away.

Lelia then came for her again. At a swift pace, fiddling with the sleeves of her dress, eyes apprehensive. “I’ve arranged us a carriage,” she said.

“I’ve grown bored of carriages.” She’d sooner walk than disregard Helaena’s warning.

Lelia smiled, still twitchy and fiddling. “You’ll like this one, I promise.”

“No. I won’t.”

“It’s Ellyn’s.”

Ellyn Beesbury, the tart. Rhaena would never ride in her carriage.

“We’ll steal it,” Lelia clarified. “And then she’ll have to walk back.”

That did make her pause. Rhaena looked around.

The Baratheons had already left. Other familiar carriages were departing as well.

Ellyn was across the clearing, speaking with a harried Lord Beesbury. They’d have to walk together, the fat old sod and his whore daughter. Flush and sweating, they’d return to the castle. In a state of disrepair. By then Rhaena would whisper a sordid tale about seeing them alone in a tent. Ellyn undressed and Lord Beesbury mad for her as if she were his niece.

Lelia and Tila will spread the word to nobility and servants alike, and Rhaena would laugh, encased in the love and warmth of Aegon’s arms.

Most acceptable.

Rhaena allowed herself to be led to the carriage in question. Quite similar to the one from yesterday. Identical, to her eye. The carriages must’ve come from the same source.

There was no observable sigil on it and it was rather shabby too.

Honey was cheap, it seemed.

Despite their head being Master of Coin, the Beesburys must be very poor indeed. Perhaps all their income went into fashioning Ellyn’s wardrobe. In vain, because her wardrobe was hideous. Or maybe moon tea was sucking their coffers dry. Rhaena imagined the whore drank a barrel of it weekly.

This carriage was inadequate for someone like Rhaena, but she’d bear it as long as it inconvenienced Ellyn.

A servant with honey-brown curls offered her a hand. She took it and entered the small space.

Lelia was right behind and sat across from her.

The carriage rolled to a start.

Silence reigned. Rhaena supposed the traitor had grown wary of her, as she should. She’d convene with Aemond tomorrow. For tea. They could then discuss how best to make Lelia disappear. She was Lord Lannister’s third daughter, and her uncle was Master of Ships. Their relationship was distant, but still – it may be wise to take precautions.

The carriage continued rolling and soon Rhaena felt foreign bumps on the road. The windows were uncommonly small. She strained to see and was shocked when she did. It seemed House Beesbury hired whoever for their servants.

“Stop,” Rhaena called. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Halfwits.

“Stop!” The carriage continued rolling over the gravel. “I said stop!”

It stopped.

One of the servants opened the door. “My lady?”

“You’ve missed a turn. We’ll be lost in the forest if you keep this up.”

He opened the door wider and went to enter. He was odd. And familiar.

She didn’t like him. “What are you doing?”

He slammed the door shut and rapped against the front part, signalling to resume their journey.

Rhaena was appalled. “Get out.” A servant had no business sitting with two ladies.

Lelia said nothing.

The servant didn’t listen and the carriage continued rolling. He smirked at Rhaena.

And – he was familiar. She’d seen him yesterday, hadn’t she? When Lelia had found them a carriage. What was he doing in service to the Beesburys? Plus, as she paid attention… his honey-brown curls were unmistakable.

Perhaps Ellyn really did have incestuous tastes. The story Rhaena would spread would now also include a presumed bastard brother.

No, it was obvious. His likeness to Lord Beesbury couldn’t be explained otherwise. The resemblance was uncanny. Another bastard. They were out for her.

The situation was becoming clear.

It was no surprise that Lyman Beesbury would father bastards. He was the root from which Ellyn’s whorishness had sprouted.

Thinking off, Lelia had sprouted. She’d sprouted to her feet at some point. Perhaps she’d tell this servant off herself.

“I’m to leave.”

She did not spare Rhaena a glance.

“I don’t think so.” The bastard reached for his boot, which hid a dagger. He was grinning. At his belt was another weapon.

A servant who carried weapons?

Lelia was nervous. Avidly so. “No. I must leave. We’ve agreed to it.”

Agreed to it? They?

The man laughed. “That’s no agreement I’ve ever heard of.”

Lelia looked between Rhaena, the bastard, and the closed door. Her shoulders shook with panic. “You are mistaken! He swore I’d –” she cut herself off and begged. “I must leave! Please!”

She begged a bastard. Disgusting… and unusual too.

Rhaena looked to her for answers, but Lelia avoided her stare. She seemed to fear them both in equal measure. Another oddity. Rhaena was far more fearsome than this servant. If there was anyone to be scared of, it was obviously her.

“Deary,” the bastard tutted, behaving like one who knew something that they didn’t, “you’re a loose end. We can’t have you getting away.”

“Quit your babbling, bastard. Do you aim to abduct us?” Rhaena was quick on the uptake and alert to danger. Her keen sense of discernment was sharp as ever.

A Beesbury, a bastard, and one who meant her harm. She’d murder him with glee.

The bastard grinned at her and Rhaena grinned back.

Lelia lunged for the door. The man caught her by the hair and threw her back onto the bench. He grabbed hold of her neck.

“Let go!” She pounded against him, flailing without success. “He promised! I’m to leave! I’m to leave!”

“It’s nothing personal. I do this for him and he does something for me.”

“No, no. No! You’re wrong, you’re mistaken. You’re supposed to get her! There’s been a mistake. I’m to leave. Please, I’m to leave,” Lelia desperately called, voice giving out as the bastard began to strangle her.

The nerve of that fucking traitor.

Swiftly, Rhaena yanked the long dagger strapped to the man’s waist. He felt the movement and turned. She stabbed it through his eye.

They hit the front part of the carriage, she and the man. He was screaming into her ear. She’d grow deaf like Aemond. Hands weak and uncoordinated, the bastard tried his best to grasp her, but Rhaena hurriedly plucked the dagger out. He fell to the floor and she fell to the far bench. She gave him no respite.

Rhaena was upon him, dagger raised – dagger lowered and slashed deep below his jaw.

The bastard slumped dead and nothing of value was lost, other than her slippers and her gown.

She straightened to regard her former friend.

“Thank you!” Lelia gasped out, weeping and clutching her chest. Hands shaking and sight hazy from tears. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she blubbered. Snot slid down her chin. “I had no choice. You must believe me. I didn’t want to. I didn’t. I had no – no don’t! Please –”

Rhaena slit her throat.

She watched as Lelia gurgled and gasped, reaching for the door and falling short. She squirmed pathetically over the bastard’s body, still trying to distance herself from Rhaena, staring at her with terror, before dying.

Sad.

Aegon was likely waiting for her at this very moment. The gods have decided to delay their reunion.

She sighed.

The noise, the bastard’s screams, had caused the carriage to stop. Rhaena gripped the dagger and waited.

For all of Lelia’s simplicity, she’d once considered her a friend. No, she’d not grieve the bitch – the traitor. She’d kill them all. The traitors and the bastards and everyone who wished her harm. Blackwood had fooled her and so had Lelia. How? Who else was hiding their true intentions?

The carriage door opened.

And – none were there.

She gritted her teeth and jumped out.

Bushes weren’t soft as they seemed, but Rhaena had known that. Nevertheless, the sleeves of her gown ripped. They’d all pay.

Behind her was the enemy. Two men, hiding behind the carriage door. She could smell them from here. The dregs of society.

Her ankle protested. Rhaena stood. She’d not cower and flee and she couldn’t outrun them in this state anyway.

They rounded her, one with a sword, the other with a knife.

Rhaena threw her dagger at the closest. Her aim was off – must be the wind – and it missed entirely. The closer man lit up. He laughed. A deformed sound was heard.

The farther became closer and grabbed for her hands. Rhaena scratched over his face but was subdued by the other one. She threw her head back – her neck hurt – and he let out a mangled yell. Another silver hair bauble rolled across the grass. She kicked and caught the second man’s stomach. Pain spiked up her injured leg.

And then she was winded.

She could not breathe. He’d punched the air from her.

Rhaena fell to her knees and with waning strength tried to grasp the man’s sheathed sword.

The other struck her back and her vision blurred.

They’d overpowered her. These two nobodies.

She tried to stand.

Something hit the side of her head. The pain didn’t register.

“I’ll kill you,” she whispered blindly.

They hit the same place again.

Warmth trickled down her scalp.

As blackness encroached her vision, Rhaena managed a final plea, “I’ll kill you all.”

She awoke to pain.

Searing pain.

Rhaena yelled and twitched and caught sight of her deformed ankle.

The man was still twisting it.

She fell unconscious again.

It was night when she came to.

Agony roused her.

She heaved and lurched, and upon seeing the deformity, Rhaena vomited.

She couldn’t move it. She couldn’t dance. It faced the wrong way. And it hurt.

They’d tied her to a tree. Rhaena tried to stand. With one foot injured from earlier and the other bringing tears from the slightest movement – the slightest brush of air – it was impossible. She cried out and alerted her captors.

There were five of them.

Three she’d not seen before, and two that had captured her.

They sat, but they did not talk.

One came to check on her bindings and – curse her cowardice – Rhaena was frozen in fright. They’d not repeat it to her other ankle? Would they? How would she dance? Wedding. Aegon. How would she dance?

She was fearless. She was not a coward, but she must dance at her wedding. These men – these men… vermin, they were ordered – weren’t they?

One leg injured from before, another twisted to deformity. Whoever had planned this was wary of underestimating her. Five, six counting the dead, seven Lelia the traitorous halfwit. Their ends were justified.

“I’ll kill you,” she told the man as he checked the bindings on her arms.

He spat at her.

She spat right back and was slapped for the effort.

The force knocked her against the ground. She shrieked as her ankle jostled.

Rhaena tried to gather herself. She tried to be brave. She gathered her courage and repeated, voice wobbling with tears, “I’ll kill you.”

He laughed and so did the others. It was no ordinary laughter. These men couldn’t speak. None of them could.

The man gagged her. Another piece of coarse rope would chafe the delicate skin of her injured cheek. Her baubles, they’d removed. The exquisite blue daisies, they’d stomped on without care. She was lacking a necklace as well as her beautiful rings.

Who was directing these fucking barbarians?

Ellyn.

She’d sicced her bastard brother on Rhaena. Lord Beesbury’s progeny continued to worsen. He’d once had a trueborn son, but that man was long dead. He did have a grandson – a boy too little to be of use. And a bastard just as vile as Ellyn. Ellyn, who was overcome by jealousy. She intended to kill Rhaena and steal Aegon.

But…

But something felt off.

Her deformed ankle flashed in tandem to her thoughts.

She couldn’t blame Ellyn for everything. She could be working with another, more sinister party. A person revolting, unrepentant, who despised Rhaena, who’d wish her gone –

It was Jace.

He wanted Rhaena gone so he could steal her sister. He wanted Baela all to himself. He’d dishonour her and steal her birthright. Baela wasn’t meant to be queen. She’d become Lady of the Tides and Mistress of Driftmark. The most magnificent leader of House Velaryon to ever be. Jace wanted to take it from her. And not just that! A single birthright wasn’t enough of him. He wished to steal Aegon’s too. Rhaena wouldn’t allow it. Jace thought he knew Rhaena. He’d sent Joffrey here as a distraction, to mellow her. He wanted to lower her guard so another bastard could swoop in and kill her!

Or Rhaenyra.

Yes, her. It was always her.

And when it wasn’t, it was.

She hated Rhaena. She was jealous of her beauty. She wanted her dead.

Rhaena should write to Father. She should tell him of the ploys his whore plotted from the safety of Dragonstone. Cowards, her entire brood. Would Father care? No, he wouldn’t. He’d already sold her to Blackwoods. Blackwoods. Her. Inconceivable. She was meant for greatness.

Rhaenyra had torn her family apart. She’d stolen Father. She aimed to hide Baela’s brilliance, disinherit and shame her, marry her to a bastard. And now the whore saw Rhaena as a threat and plotted to snuff her out.

They were eating. Rhaena was hungry and the nobodies were eating.

One came bearing an apple.

He undid her gag and held it to her mouth.

She’d rather starve.

“I will kill you,” Rhaena rasped.

The man redid her gag and kicked her twisted foot.

Rhaena swallowed bile. Her headache returned. There was nothing left to vomit.

She shook her head.

No crying. It wasn’t the time. She was fine. This was fine.

She could bear this.

It hadn’t even been long. How long? She fell and rose from consciousness. Maybe it had been long or maybe it hadn’t. The carriage was here, by the trees, under their canopies. Would they take her elsewhere? They wouldn’t. She’d be fine. She was fine.

She’d make a plan and drag herself out. She’d done it before. Dragonstone was worse than this. She’d drag herself up and away and return and feed them to her dragon. She’d drag herself into Aegon’s comforting embrace. They were together. She’d drag –

Larys.

It wasn’t the whore, or Jace, or Ellyn. It was Larys.

Her foot screamed the truth.

This was a message.

It was Larys and he wanted her to know.

He was mad. Surely, he understood that she’d kill him. He. He thought himself worthy. He thought himself equal. He’d dared to – he’d bested her.

He’d bested her.

Larys had bested her.

Had he? He had. Not for long. She’d return, but he had, but she’d return. He’d die. She’d be back and soon – but he’d done this to her. How had he? It wasn’t possible. Had Lelia worked for him? She had. Did others? Who? Ellyn? Lord Beesbury? Did they work for him?

No matter. He’d die. For besting her? Yes, Father would – Father liked to be challenged, but Rhaena was nothing like her father. She’d kill Larys.

Larys had bested Rhaena and it bothered her.

She’d kill him for besting – denying her wedding dance.

Yes, she’d be back and soon. Soon. Larys would die. Very soon. Father would rescue her – No, no. He was the enemy.

But he’d come for her – wouldn’t he?

She was his daughter.

No, no. She didn’t want him to come.

But there were five men. Her spine hurt and so did her head, and she couldn’t stand.

Father could cut through them. It would be easy for him.

But he didn’t know. And she didn’t want his help. Yes, she didn’t want it. No, she didn’t. She wanted to be as far away from him as possible. She’d rather die than accept his help.

Would he come? If he knew, would he?

Baela claimed that he loved them.

Would he kill Rhaenyra and Larys for this?

For her.

He was her father. It was his duty to murder them. And the bastard.

Rhaenyra and Jace needed to die.

She’d forgive him if he killed them.

If he brought her mother back and killed them, she would.

They drank. Rhaena remained parched.

She yearned for a cup of water.

One cup.

One sip.

The night was dark.

She’d been with Aegon. In a dream. That was good. Maybe she’d dream of him again.

He could save her.

He’d done it before.

She’d be fine.

Aegon would come.

Aegon would come.

She didn’t need Father.

She would kill these men. She didn’t need help. She’d kill them.

And Jace.

And the whore.

Father was late.

The whore’s claws were sharp. They seared deep.

His priorities were skewed.

She didn’t need him.

The whore had stolen her father.

The bastard would steal her sister.

Aegon couldn’t be stolen.

He was hers and she was his.

How would she dance?