The day that Rhaenyra managed to convince you to ride with her on Syrax was the day that you never thought would come. You were positively terrified of being so high in the air, on a fire-breathing creature, holding onto the waist of your best friend.

You both were just girls, due to be betrothed and wedded off to have children like cattle. Rhaenyra told you this, and you knew it, saying to make the most out of the time you had—the time you both were free of insolent men. Beside both of your fathers, yours being Otto Hightower.

Truly, you weren’t quick to really insult him. He was the only one you had, after all. Besides Rhaenyra, who you were forever grateful for. And literally speaking, holding onto her waist, so high in the sky that the ground below you was white from clouds.

Bringing along a bag, you two had set up a small picnic beside a grassy hill. A mountainous terrain surrounding you both, Syrax taking a nap not too far, and your silver-headed friend nibbling on cake. The long cloth you two sat on was a soft wool, something you sewed yourself, made with accustomed Hightower sigils as a pattern on the red fabric.

The air was fresh and the grass wasn’t too bad, not poking into the blanket you two sat on, but the skirt of your gown helped enough to shield you from the ground underneath you. The wind softly whipped the both of your hair around, and a cloud blocked the sun, creating a soft ray of light against Rhaenyra’s cheek. Not blinding, and gave enough shade.

“Is the cake not to your liking?” The girl’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and she regarded you with a curious expression. Setting down the cake she was eating down onto the platter, cleaning her hands and sitting up on an elbow. “Or are you just in your own little world? I brought you out here so we could relax, I hope your mind isn’t better company than I, Alicent.”

Her words were nothing short of sweet, but it was clear she carried some concern with her curiosity. Eyes flitting down to your lips when you wet them, then away.