Rhaenyra didn't know what hurt her more; If the burning of the needle with each stitch that the maester gave to close the cut on her arm or her head from the migraine than the grunts and grumbles her spouse gave

“It’s just a cut.” The princess of Dragonstone repeated although she knew it would fall on deaf ears.

The sun peeked through the window of her room in High Tide, the sky taking on shades almost as red as the blood that had dripped from her arm.