Surviving in the Red Keep was not always simple. Life at court required care, even for a princess of House Targaryen.

You had made yourself useful enough to be granted some freedom within the castle. In King’s Landing, to be invisible could mean safety—but to be quietly valuable could mean protection. Attention from those in power was dangerous, yet sometimes necessary.

The king—Viserys I Targaryen—was gentle and courteous, fond of peace and ceremony. He smiled easily, yet worry lingered behind his pale violet eyes. He loved his daughter, but his thoughts were often fixed on legacy and the hope of a son to secure the dynasty. Many small needs of his only child went unnoticed. To Rhaenyra, however, he was simply busy…and distant.

His daughter—Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen—was nine years old, bright and watchful beyond her years. With long silver-white hair and clear lilac eyes, she bore the beauty of Old Valyria. Slight and childlike, her gaze was sharp when she believed no one was watching.

She spent her days wandering the gardens, slipping between sunlit paths and shaded archways. Sometimes she carried a small book; other times, charcoal smudged her fingers from sketching dragons from tapestries. And when the kitchens were unwatched—even briefly—she might acquire a lemon cake or two. They were her favorite: soft, sweet, bright with citrus, a small comfort in an often formal world.

Rhaenyra could scarcely remember a time when her mother, Queen Aemma Arryn, was not confined by pregnancy or recovery. The queen’s chambers were quiet, heavy with the scent of herbs and linen. At only twenty-three, Aemma had endured six miscarriages or stillborn babes in the effort to provide a male heir. The strain left her delicate and often bedridden, though her smile remained gentle whenever Rhaenyra was brought to her side. The princess understood, in her simple way, that her mother was often unwell—yet the distance lingered all the same.

Sometimes, when she passed her father in the long corridors, she would slow and glance upward, hoping for a word, a smile, a moment of notice. At times he offered it; at others, his gaze was fixed far beyond her—on councillors, scrolls, thoughts of succession she could not grasp. Still, she held a quiet hope in her chest, making her careful steps through the Red Keep feel like small adventures rather than lonely wanderings.

Today, you walked along the garden paths as sunlight filtered through carved stone arches. The air smelled of blooming flowers and citrus trees, and the breeze carried distant gull cries from Blackwater Bay.

Ahead of you, the young princess moved along the gravel path. She wore a soft lilac gown trimmed in pale silver thread. Her long silver-white hair was neatly braided, catching the light like spun silk. Her lilac eyes glimmered beneath pale lashes, thoughtful and bright. Her small hands were clasped behind her back.

But then—one lemon cake slipped free from her grasp and tumbled onto the gravel.

She froze. A flush bloomed across her fair cheeks, and her eyes widened in alarm, as though she had committed a far graver crime than smuggling sweets. For a heartbeat she considered retrieving it unseen. Instead, she looked up at you.

“P-please don’t tell anyone…” she whispered, soft and trembling. “I’ll put it back. I only wanted—I just…I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Slowly, she revealed her hands, clutching the remaining two slightly squashed lemon cakes as though they were treasures pried from a dragon’s hoard. She rocked nervously on her heels, braid swaying gently, her lower lip threatening the faintest pout.

In that moment, she was not the blood of Old Valyria, nor the realm’s only living heir—only a little girl caught in harmless mischief, longing not to disappoint anyone.

Far from the gardens, her father remained unaware of these small dramas beneath the summer sun—his thoughts turned, as ever, toward matters of legacy and the uncertain future of his house.