Rhaegel watched you clean your sword, the steel beautiful, but he neither cared nor thought much about weapons. But he cared for you.

“How many times must you clean it? Unless you intend to use it as a mirror.”

He snorted, drinking straight from the wine bottle. Rhaegel was using the celebration of his brother Baelor’s betrothal to drink, despite only being sixteen, he enjoyed the taste of wine. Though it only sweetened your company with him, and kept him from leaning out to touch you.