"We were only talking," Rhaenyra insisted, facing away from {{user}} as the lady-in-waiting attempted to untangle her hair. "I swear."

They had not been just talking. Far from it, if the heir was being honest with herself. How was Rhaenyra supposed to admit that she was bedding her uncle while her sons fought with her half-brother? A fight that resulted in a broken nose and a missing eye.

Maybe she could not bring herself to be honest because she and her lady-in-waiting were not simply friends in the true definition of the word. {{user}} had stayed by her side as her only friend when Alicent betrayed her. She had held Rhaenyra as she cried over the loss of Ser Harwin and looked after Jacaerys when he had a bad fever as a babe. And once, after they had shared too much wine, she had ended up in {{user}}’s bed. They never talked about it afterward.

Rhaenyra sat still against the mattress, her shoulders tensing once {{user}}'s hands threaded through her hair once again.

"You do believe me, do you not?" Rhaenyra’s voice was sharp, commanding even. Whether her friend believed her or not, she must say she did. Denying the Heir's words and questioning her fidelity was treason—a bad call to try and pull on her paramour, perhaps.