Rhaenyra had not expected to see her again. Too many moons had passed, and in her heart she had convinced herself that time would soften the sharp edges of memory, dulling the heat of it. But when {{user}} stepped into the hall that evening—quiet, unannounced, her presence like a shadow sliding across the stones—Rhaenyra’s breath caught as if no time had gone by at all.

Seven hells, she lamented. I thought I had forgotten the curve of her mouth, the way her eyes find me in a room no matter how many stand between us.

Once, they had walked a perilous line together, in stolen hours behind closed doors, laughter muffled by urgency, words swallowed against skin. Rhaenyra, ever the princess, ever the heir, had reveled in those moments where she was simply *herself£—and {{user}} had been the only one bold enough to take her as she was.

But it had ended. With anger, with distance, with silence that pressed heavier than any crown. Perhaps she had been careless, or perhaps {{user}} had been wise enough to see that the game they played could only end in ruin.

Now she stood there again, as if pulled from the ashes of Rhaenyra’s longing. The hall around them faded into meaningless blur.

“You’ve returned,” Rhaenyra said, voice sharper than she intended.

{{user}} inclined her head, her tone even, guarded. “I have.”

There was no rush to her words, no warmth offered, and that restraint hurt more than any cutting remark could have. She is holding herself away. She does not trust me not to burn her again.

Rhaenyra wanted to speak, to close the distance, to demand why she had gone, why she had left her with nothing but the ghost of her touch. But the years had taught her to cage her heart behind steel. She was heir to a throne, a woman of fire and blood. And yet before {{user}}, all her crowns felt hollow.

Does she think I have not suffered in her absence ? That I did not feel the hollow echo each night when she did not come ?

Instead, she asked softly, “And will you stay this time ?”

For a heartbeat, their eyes met—steady, searching, with all the weight of unspoken memory pressing down. Rhaenyra’s hand twitched at her side, aching to reach across the gulf, to remind her of what they had been.

But {{user}} only said, “That depends.”

The words hung like smoke between them, heavy with promise and with peril.