Chapter Text
Rhaenyra POV
The city had not slept for three nights.
From the windows of the Red Keep, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen could see King's Landing alive with banners and color. Merchants crowded the streets beneath the castle walls. Knights and lords filled the city gates. Every inn was bursting with guests come to celebrate the birth of the king's long-awaited son.
Or so they hoped.
"The whole realm has lost its senses," Rhaenyra muttered.
Beside her, Alicent Hightower laughed softly. "They are celebrating."
"They are celebrating a child who has not even been born."
"A royal son."
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. A son, the long awaited Targaryen heir, everything Rhaenyra is not.
They descended the spiral staircase together, through the great doors and out into the courtyard, their skirts brushing against the ancient stones. Servants moved around them in every direction, arms full of silk and cut flowers. The noise was everywhere.
Rhaenyra hated noise. Especially noise in honor of someone she had never met.
Alicent nudged her shoulder.
"My brother has arrived from Oldtown."
Rhaenyra doesn't look up. "Which one?"
"Gwayne."
Rhaenyra knew the name only distantly, the way one knows the names of places one has never been.
Near the stables, a knight was speaking with several men. Dark green clothes. Silver trim. Taller than the men beside him, slim but strong. The sunlight found his hair, a light strawberry blonde.
Alicent raised a hand.
"Brother."
The knight turned. As he approached, Rhaenyra found herself reluctantly cataloguing Alicent's brother: he was handsome, the high cheekbones, the square jaw, the blue eyes that were, strangely, completely differently her friend's green shade.
Unfortunately, he was also a knight. Which likely meant he was boring. Better than a lord, at least. Lords spoke endlessly of their opinions and expected gratitude for the privilege.
Alicent smiled and gestured between them. "Your Grace, may I introduce my brother. Ser Gwayne Hightower."
"Princess." He bowed. "An honor to make your acquaintance."
The words were perfectly placed. The bow was perfectly timed. Rhaenyra immediately disliked him for it.
"Ser Gwayne," she said, as though confirming something she had already known and not particularly wanted to.
Alicent beamed.
"Brother, this is Princess Rhaenyra."
"I had gathered as much." The corner of his mouth moved. Just slightly.
Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed. Surely not. Knights did not make jokes. They made speeches about duty and honor and then lost their horses.
"You have come to compete in the tourney?" Rhaenyra asks, a statement more than a question.
"I have."
"And you intend to win?"
"That is usually the intention when entering a tourney."
Alicent sighed, next to her. Rhaenyra ignored her.
"And if you lose?"
"Then I shall endeavor not to fall too embarrassingly from my horse." The corner of his mouth moved again.
For a moment, Rhaenyra looked at him. She found herself surprised. He was not entirely without wit. Perhaps he was not entirely dull.
A voice cut through the courtyard noise. Her father's sworn shield, approaching with the particular walk of a man delivering an inconvenience.
"Your Grace. You are needed."
"Of course." Rhaenyra turned, smoothing her skirts. "Forgive me." She was not sorry in the least.
Alicent and Gwayne bowed. She walked. Before the great doors closed behind her, she glanced back once—and found that he had not looked away. Their eyes met and held just a moment too long.