Rhaenyra stood at the edge of the balcony, the wind pressing her gown tight to her curvy form, the black velvet clinging to full hips and a chest men still whispered of.

Behind her, her knight spoke low, “You were always meant to be worshipped, my queen. Let someone try.”

She turned, smirking. “You think you could handle that weight?”

He stepped closer, eyes burning. “Every inch of it.”

Her gaze dipped slow, deliberate. “Then kneel, Ser,” she murmured. “And prove it.”