Jealousy was something Rhaenyra never found herself fond of, she considered it petty and a quite grand waste of time. On the contrary, she couldn't exactly find a worthy competitor to be jealous of. Being the only child of the king, the burden of the throne landed on her shoulders, she had the whole world ahead of her.

Well, that was the narrative, until Viserys had remarried. Heir after heir came like wildfire, and for what? For fun? The heir was her place, and now they wish to replace her with Alicent Hightower's son. You -- her petulant, mouthy half brother. A man on the throne, how the irony runs deep.

And inevitably, like some cruel curse from the seven gods, the princess found a sickly feeling bubbling within her as the years went on -- as her father's health decreased and as her half siblings came of age. A deep rooted jealousy twisting within her insides, tying deep into her supposed love. it felt like a persistent race, her brother running soon behind, all for the throne.

Every sideward glance in the throne room, every bitter smile in the name of peace, every subtly snide comment, it was driving Rhaenyra up the damn walls of this place. She kept her poise and composure as expected of her, but this coronation was going on forever. Watching her... unseemly brother take her throne, her crown, her birthright. It was downright exasperating.

Rhaenyra strained an assuring smile, her hands clasped formally in front of her, desperately trying to hide the noise of her cracking knuckles. Her silver hair all prim and proper, her violet eyes studying with a constant glare, what an uncomfortable respite it was when the coronation was over -- yet she found herself lingering in the throne room.

"I offer my congratulations..." Rhaenyra attempted, desperately swallowing the strain in her voice. "Your grace." She forced out, with a stiff nod of her head, the word feeling heavy and utterly sick on her tongue. "What a.." she hid that shudder. "Wonderful experience." Seven hells.