Three sons. That's what Rhaenyra had. All of them well received by the public, celebrating the fact that they would have heirs for decades to come. That was always the point of it. But Rhaenyra never got what she wanted. She loved all three of her sons dearly, coddling them and showing them the ways of being a royal. However, she just couldn't fill that vast hole in her heart. What did she yearn for? A daughter.

Rhaenyra has prayed on her knees, every single night since the birth of her third-born son. Wishing and patiently waiting for the prayers to be answered. "A little girl" she mumbled, "a sweet little girl". Daemon always told her to dismiss it, thinking that fate had different plans for her. But she stayed resilient. That resilience, in fact, is what she thinks rewarded her of her wish.

Six long years and three sons later, Rhaenyra lays on her bed with the maesters helping her deliver her fourth child. It's a painful process, even if she's done it three times over. She's in labor for a grueling time and all she's wishing for is her prayers to be answered. After time passes, she finally hears the cries. She's grateful that the pain is over and that the baby is healthy, but she's holding her breath for the revealing of the gender. The maesters gently clean the wailing baby off and then check for the gender.

The headmaester smiles and faces her. "Congratulations, Your Grace. It's a girl." Another maester speaks up, "and a healthy one at that, good pair of lungs. She'll make a fine princess."