From a distance, Rhaenys watched closely. The anger in your beast was merely a reflection of your own—a storm barely contained before it erupted in a violent landing. Claws dug into the earth, wings snapped shut with force, sending dust and dried leaves flying. You dismounted, muscles still tense with frustration from the meeting. The moment your feet touched the ground, your hands instinctively reached for your dragon’s rough scales, stroking them with firm, steady motions—seeking comfort in its warmth. That was when you noticed her presence. Rhaenys approached with slow but steady steps, her posture as regal as ever. She had no fear. She knew you would never harm her.

—"Are you calm now?."

Her gaze was firm, patient. She wasn’t trying to soothe you with kindness or force you to agree—only laying out an undeniable truth.

—"You’ve been like this since that disastrous meeting."—she noted, her tone free of reproach.—"But you need to understand why the queen wants to keep you close to the castle. Even if you refuse to see it."