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Rhaenyra lounged across her dear Laena’s thighs, the thick chiffon and silk making a lovely pillow for her head. Aelinor sat by her feet, running her hands over the ankle chains the princess had received as a nameday gift only six moons ago.
“Again,” Rhaenyra called, and Mushroom sucked in a deep breath before pressing his lips back to his instrument and filling the afternoon with dancing music.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Dania said with a sigh, arms spread wide in the grass and her eyes closed, basking in the sun. Rhaenyra hummed in response, twisting one of Laena’s curls around her pinky finger.
“It’s so lovely here,” Aelinor agreed.
Rhaenyra snorted. “Everywhere is lovely compared to Claw Isle.”
Aelinor pinched one of her toes in response, and Rhaenyra flexed her foot in demand for more. There was a put-upon huff, but Aelinor obeyed the princess’ silent request and began to massage her foot. “Because Dragonstone is so beautiful, hm?”
“In the summers.”
“Everywhere has been beautiful this summer,” Aelinor argued. “We have been blessed.”
“So we have,” Rhaenyra hummed. “The gods must be happy with us.”
There was a beat of silence. Rhaenyra had to fight her smirk. For as close as her court was, they still had a stiffness to them when reminded of her Targaryen customs. Everyone knew her family paid no attention to the Seven, and while Rhaenyra was rarely as disrespectful towards them as her uncle, her ladies knew her distaste for the realm’s religion.
“They say it’s my father’s reign that has continued the summer,” Rhaenyra continued. “Brought on by the Old King, and carried by the Young. What shall happen when I am queen, then?”
“A summer as long as your life!” Mushroom declared, his music meeting a squeaking end as he brought the instrument to his chest. “Flowers will bloom just for the privilege of being tucked behind your ear! The sun will shine through any cloud, just to grace your pale skin! The rains will–”
“Mushroom,” Rhaenyra interrupted, voice calm but cold. “Did I not ask for a song?”
Laena hummed, drawing a soft fingertip over Rhaenyra’s nose. “Let the fool speak, Nyra. Do you not keep him around for his humor?”
“Oh, my reign is a topic of humor to you?”
Laena tapped the tip of her nose. “Why are you looking for a fight? Enjoy the sun, your grace. What is it your family says, Shyra?”
The Northern girl shifted at Laena’s side, head pressed back into the Weirwood tree. “Winter is Coming, Your Grace.”
Rhaenyra sighed. “I suppose it is.” The princess shifted to her side to smile up at Laena and press a hand to the girl’s stomach. “Shall we cuddle for warmth, Laena? Maybe Dania can convince Breakbones to join us, surely he can cover us all?”
Dania made a sound of disgust, rolling to her stomach so she could frown at Rhaenyra. “I would rather not imagine my brother in bed, if it’s all the same to you, princess.”
“You would not? I find it to be quite a lovely image. Those curls, those broad shoulders…”
“Shush!” Milah shrieked, covering her ears. She was the youngest of Rhaenyra’s court, and still blushed at even the hint of discussion surrounding the marriage bed. “Princess, you can’t!”
“Oh, relax, darling,” Rhaenyra said with a giggle, flopping back to lay on her back again. She stretched out her leg to nudge Milah with a slippered foot, grinning. “Weeks at my side, and you still blush like a maiden.”
“I am a maiden, Your Grace.”
“Yes, yes, we all are delicate maidens, saving our innocence for the husbands that will be chosen for us.” Rhaenyra sighed, frowning. “Don’t remind me.”
“I–I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t–”
“Oh, quiet,” Rhaenyra huffed. “It’s my own damned fault. I simply cannot avoid the specter of a husband.” She frowned, crossing her arms across her chest. “Do you imagine we might be sisters, Laena? Or maybe I’ll be paired off with that brother of yours, Aelinor. No offense meant, of course, but I’d much rather take Ser Breakbones than either of them. But Father seems quite set on the Lannister.”
“A rich family,” Shyra offered.
“Not as rich as the Velaryons,” Rhaenyra bit back. “If my choices are a lion or a seahorse, I suppose I shall get more comfortable on beaches.”
“I overheard my father negotiating my marriage the other night,” Laena said, pretty face twisted in a scowl. “He’d have me sent to Storm’s End.”
“A Baratheon?” Aelinor asked. “There are worse Houses.”
“But Borros Baratheon? They say the man has hardly room for a mind in that fat head of his. Am I to sit on the arm of his chair and watch him blunder away his family’s fortune, while my own sits gathering dust in my father’s keep?”
“Oh, they’ll send the money with you,” Dania said. “Dear Borros will be spending your coffers too, my dear.”
“Gods be good…” Laena sighed. “Save us from useless men.”
“Your gods are not that good,” Shyra said. “You’d be better off praying to your father.”
Those words lowered the mood quickly, a thing the Northern girl was particularly good at. Rhaenyra shuddered to think of how Winterfell must be, with all the pessimists running about. Lady Stark had described her daughter as cheery before she’d been sent south.
“Father at least chose his own bride,” Rhaenyra mused. “You’d think he’d extend the same courtesy to his heir.”
Laena hummed and the other girls were silent, always careful when Rhaenyra began to even hint at speaking negatively of her father.
“Though,” the princess continued, “I suppose it wasn’t truly the King who chose his bride. Wedding bands chosen for the King’s hand and by the King’s Hand, hm?”
“Your Grace…” Aelinor hedged.
“Am I wrong, then? You truly believe it to be just a coincidence that–”
“Rhaenyra,” Laena said. “There are many ears around.”
“And eyes as well, to see clearly what we all have. Should we not speak comfortably of the obvious truth?”
“It’s Alicent, Your Grace,” Dania hedged.
“You think I don’t realize who she is? My father has taken one of my dearest friends to bed, taken her right from this court and elevated her above even myself. They say she is with child and already, she proclaims it is a boy.” Rhaenyra pushed herself onto an elbow, baring her teeth. “A princess does not share.”
“And you would tell a King not to take?” Shyra said, voice quiet. “A dragon not to conquer?”
“I am a dragon,” Rhaenyra sneered at the Northern girl. “And Alicent was not conquered. She gave herself willingly, and my father took her easily.” She huffed and laid back over Laena’s lap. “I should have fought him. He could have found any other girl.”
“He could have had Aelinor, to please her brother,” Laena reminded, her words sharp. “Or myself, for my father’s coin. He was always going to choose one of us. It is meant as a gift, Rhaenyra.”
Rhaenyra scoffed, but the Velaryon girl only continued past her interruption. “Who else do you think dear Alicent could have married? A girl from a minor branch of House Hightower, who’s greatest claim is her father’s role in the king’s court and her brother’s knighthood? She would have been sent away to the Vale, or perhaps even the Crownlands, and when would you see her then? But your father has kept her here. Do you think the rest of us will stay so close?”
“You are members of my court,” Rhaenyra said, stiff. She sat from her position, leaning away from Laena so they were no longer touching.
“And women nonetheless. Already they plan to send me to the Stormlands. Do you imagine Shyra will stay with us forever? Or that Milah will not be sent back to Harrenhal at her first bleeding? Aelinor’s brother will have her back on Claw Isle the moment his war is finished. And you will live on Dragonstone.”
“With my husband.”
“And your children. Heirs of your own. All just a short flight away from the Red Keep. From your father. From–”
“You are mine,” Rhaenyra hissed. “Each of you hand selected by myself, by my mother. You think I will let you go so easily? Have you taken by something as useless as marriage?”
“What choice will you have, against the men deciding for us?”
“I will be Queen. What man will matter then?”
“You are not Queen yet,” Aelinor said quietly, reaching out to lay a slim hand on Rhaenyra’s arm. “Gods willing, your father will live many more years. Life must continue Rhaenyra, even in directions you may not want it to. We must grow up.”
“And growing up means marriage? Means leaving the Keep for a man you’ve never met, a House whose words you’ve never said? No. No.” Rhaenyra shook her head. “We have lost Alicent, but I know better now. The rest of you will stay.”
“You can’t guarantee that,” Aelinor said. “And we haven’t lost Alicent at all. You simply refuse her.”
“As she has refused me. As she continues to do so. I have heard what she says about me, what she whispers to the maids and her own ladies-in-waiting. I am no fool, and neither is she. What do you think it will mean, if she has a son?” Rhaenyra asked. “You think she won’t whisper about a boy to my father? You think her own father won’t speak through her lips?”
“Nyra,” Dania scolded. “You’re rushing moons ahead. Alicent is only just pregnant, and none of us are engaged. What do you have to worry about, right at this moment?”
Rhaenrya turned to face the dark haired girl with further words on her lips, meeting her stone eyes and soft face. The other girls were quiet, and Rhaenyra could see the offer for what it was. A reprieve.
She considered not taking it, continuing to rant and scold her ladies and most likely to end up storming off to Syrax, spending another evening alone. She would fly high above the city until she could plausibly pretend she had forgotten about dinner, shaking off Viserys and Alicent for another night in her chambers, another tray taken at her window. Or…
Rhaenyra sighed, and though she didn’t lay against Laena again, she shifted until the skirts of their dresses were pressed together again. “Mushroom!” She called. “What did I say about a song?”
“Of course, Your Grace! Mistress of beauty! Lady of grace! Beautiful vision of–”
“Mushroom!”
“Yes, Your Grace!” The small man puffed his cheeks out, bringing his instrument to his lips and blowing into it confidently, playing for them a jaunty tune that made young Milah begin to clap at the first few notes.
Laena hummed along for a moment, before pushing herself to her feet and offering a hand to Rhaenyra. “May I have this dance, princess?”
Rhaenyra grinned up at her cousin, letting the other girl pull her to her feet and into a messy too-fast pattern of steps, giggling together as their skirts twirled through the grass.