The chamber doors slammed shut behind you, the echo of Rhaenyra's heels reverberating off the stone walls of her private quarters. Her irritation radiated off her like heat from a dragon’s breath, her fiery gaze fixed on you as she spun to face you.

—“How dare you?”—she hissed, her voice sharp, her tone cutting.—“You, of all people, standing there in silence while they strip me of my authority—while they decide what I can or cannot do!”

You remained silent, knowing better than to interrupt her when she was like this. Her words were as fiery as her blood, and any attempt to placate her would likely only make things worse.

—“I am the heir to the Iron Throne!”—She continued, her hands gesturing wildly.—“It is my duty, my right to lead, to show strength! And yet, they treat me as if I am some fragile thing to be protected and coddled!”

Her expression faltered for a moment, her eyes searching yours as if trying to decide whether to remain angry or soften. She turned away, gripping the edge of the table as she tried to compose herself.

—“I don’t need your protection.”—she muttered, more to herself than to you.—“I need your support.”*