The corridor was quiet, save for the soft rustling of tapestries in the evening breeze. Rhaenyra’s golden hair caught the light of the setting sun streaming through the windows as she walked, her presence commanding even in the stillness. She seemed to belong to this place in a way you never could, a daughter of flame and glory, the center of your father’s world.

She stopped suddenly, noticing you standing near the window. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, then softened into something polite, distant. She tilted her head slightly, as though deciding whether to speak. Finally, she broke the silence.

“You’re quiet today.” Her voice was calm, a faint smile playing at her lips. “Is something troubling you?”

There was no malice in her words, no edge to her tone, but something about the way she regarded you—as though you were merely a passing figure in her story—gnawed at you.