"Calm down, Meleys," Rhaenys murmured, pressing her palm against the dragon's warm snout. The Red Queen huffed, sending a gust of hot air through Rhaenys' silver-gold hair before reluctantly allowing the dragon keepers to guide her back into the depths of the pit. The massive crimson beast moved with surprising grace for her size, her scales glittering like rubies in the afternoon sun.

  "Princess!" A breathless maid came running across the pit's stone floor, her skirts fluttering. "The Queen asks for your presence in the gardens. At once."

  Rhaenys removed her riding gloves, tucking them into her belt. "I'll go immediately," she said with practiced politeness, though her stomach tightened. The walk from the Dragonpit to the gardens would give her just enough time to compose herself.

  As she stepped into the sunlight, Rhaenys let out a quiet sigh. The message from her father and grandfather had been clear - they were enjoying the Lannisport tourney too much to return as planned. A few more days, Prince Aemond had written in his precise script. The Lannisters' hospitality knows no bounds, and His Grace wishes to see the final jousts.

  Her boots clicked against the stone pathway as she walked. The Queen had already been displeased with her frequent flights on Meleys. Now she would have to deliver news that would only sour her grandmother's mood further.

  A warm breeze carried the scent of blooming roses from the gardens ahead. Rhaenys absently touched her lips, remembering the stolen moment before her flight. The memory made her cheeks grow warm despite herself.

  If only we hadn't been interrupted...

  Corlys Velaryon had cornered her near the library, his sea-blue eyes alight with mischief. At sixteen, the heir to Driftmark carried himself with a confidence that made her pulse quicken. Their conversation had started innocently enough - talk of ships and dragons and the latest court gossip. Then he'd stepped closer. Then closer still. The kiss had been brief but electric, cut short by the approaching footsteps of a servant.

  No worries, Rhaenys thought, a determined smile tugging at her lips. You won't escape me so easily next time, Corlys.

  The garden came into view, its manicured hedges and flowering bushes arranged in perfect symmetry. At its center, beneath the shade of an ancient oak, Queen Alysanne sat waiting. Even at rest, the Queen commanded attention - her silver hair braided tightly, her violet eyes sharp as they tracked Rhaenys' approach.

  "You summoned me, Your Grace?" Rhaenys curtsied, keeping her voice level.

  "Yes, sit," said the Queen, gesturing to the opposite bench. "How fares the King and Prince Aemond in Lannisport? I trust they're dutifully watching... what was it? Ah yes, the tenth round of grown men hitting each other with sticks instead of attending to their royal duties." Her tone carried the sharp edge of long-honed sarcasm.

  Rhaenys settled onto the bench, resisting the urge to fidget with her riding gloves. "They... they wish to stay for the final jousts. They'll return in three days' time."

  Alysanne's knuckles whitened around her goblet. "Three more days? Of course. Why rule a kingdom when one can watch hedge knights bruise each other for silver coins?" She took a measured sip of wine. "And the Small Council matters piling up here? The petitions? The harvest reports?"

  "I believe Septon Barth is handling-"

  "Seven save us from Barth’s handling'," the Queen snapped. Aegon startled beside her, his small hands clutching the edge of the bench. Alysanne exhaled through her nose, visibly collecting herself. After a long moment, she waved a dismissive hand. "Very well. Go take a bath, you still smell like dragon. Then return to accompany Aegon in the garden."

  "Yes, Your Grace." Rhaenys rose and curtsied again before retreating down the path, her shoulders relaxing incrementally with each step away from the Queen's displeasure.

  The royal baths welcomed her with tendrils of steam curling through arched doorways. Four maids awaited in the tiled chamber, their arms laden with scented oils and soft linens.

  "Help me with these," Rhaenys said, raising her arms as the maids descended. Quick fingers unlaced her riding leathers, the stiff material peeling away to reveal skin flushed pink from hours pressed against Meleys' heated scales. The maids worked efficiently, their hands neither lingering nor hesitating as they divested her of each layer until she stood bare in the humid air.

  Nothing like a good bath after riding a dragon.

  She stepped into the sunken pool, the heated water enveloping her in instant relief. The maids followed, their own light shifts clinging damply as they set to work. One began loosening Rhaenys' braided hair while another poured lavender-scented water down her back. A third maid took up a pumice stone, gently scrubbing her arms.

  Rhaenys leaned back against the pool's edge, letting the warmth seep into her muscles. At fourteen, her body had begun its gradual transformation from girl to woman. The water lapped at the newly rounded curves of her hips, the subtle swell of her breasts barely breaking the surface. A maid's skilled fingers massaged jasmine oil into her shoulders, working out knots left by hours gripping the dragon rider’s seat.

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  Another maid knelt beside the pool with a bowl of rosewater, carefully rinsing Rhaenys' face. The princess kept her eyes closed, enjoying the ministrations. For all the Queen's reprimands about propriety, these moments of quiet indulgence remained unquestioned - a Targaryen privilege as unquestioned as their dragons.

  Should go now to look after the kid.

  With reluctant movement, Rhaenys rose from the water. The maids descended again with drying linens, their practiced hands blotting moisture from her silver-gold hair before wrapping her in soft robes. They dressed her in fresh layers - a light linen shift first, then a flowing gown of pale blue silk that complemented her violet eyes. The final touch was a delicate silver chain around her waist, its links cool against her still-warm skin.

  One maid began combing through her damp hair while another fastened tiny pearl buttons at her wrists. The familiar routine soothed her - the certainty of each step, the unspoken understanding between princess and attendants. No awkward glances at her changing body, no comments about how much taller she'd grown since last moon's turn. Just efficient service.

  "Leave it down to dry," Rhaenys instructed as the maid reached for braiding ribbons. The girl nodded and stepped back with the others, their heads bowed as Rhaenys smoothed her skirts.

  She took a final glance in the polished bronze mirror - cheeks flushed from the bath's heat, hair cascading in damp waves - before turning toward the door. The maids fell into step behind her as she exited, their soft footfalls fading as they branched off to attend other duties. Rhaenys alone continued toward the gardens, where a four-year-old prince and a displeased queen awaited.

  Aegon watched as Rhaenys returned to the gardens, her silver-gold hair now unbound and slightly damp from her bath. The afternoon sun caught the strands, making them gleam like spun metal. At fourteen, she carried herself with the unconscious grace of someone raised in royal courts—chin slightly lifted, shoulders straight, the hint of Targaryen arrogance in her violet eyes.

  She could’ve won Miss High School back on Earth, Aegon thought, studying her features. High cheekbones, full lips, and that distinctive Valyrian beauty, even at her age, she outshone most grown women he’d seen in his previous life.

  His grandmother rose from the stone bench, smoothing her skirts. "Aegon, stay with Rhaenys. I have matters to attend to." She gestured to the nearby maids and the Kingsguard standing at a respectful distance. "Behave."

  Aegon nodded dutifully as the Queen departed, leaving him alone with his older cousin. Rhaenys sat beside him, her expression unreadable. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant chirping of birds in the garden.

  Time to break the ice.

  "How was the tourney?" he asked, swinging his legs childishly.

  Rhaenys glanced at him, as if surprised he’d spoken. "Usual. Knights jousting. Crowds cheering. Lords making wagers."

  Aegon nodded sagely, as if he understood. "Why don’t ladies participate in tourneys?"

  That earned him a raised eyebrow. For a moment, he worried he’d overplayed his hand—a four-year-old shouldn’t sound too perceptive. But Rhaenys seemed to dismiss it as childish curiosity.

  "Men won’t allow it," she said, a hint of sarcasm creeping into her tone.

  Aegon put on his most innocent expression. "When I grow up, I’ll ask the King to let girls become knights."

  Rhaenys chuckled softly, the sound light and unexpected. "Then I’ll wait for it."

  Score one for me.

  She tilted her head. "How are your lessons with the Maester?"

  "They’re fine. He says I’m smart." Aegon puffed out his chest slightly, playing up the childish pride. Then, with a grin, he added, "I have a riddle for you."

  Rhaenys arched a brow but humored him. "Go on."

  "If you have ten apples in one hand and fifteen apples in the other, what do you have?"

  She considered it for a moment. "You’d have twenty-five apples."

  "Wrong!" Aegon smirked. "You’d have really big hands."

  For a heartbeat, Rhaenys just stared at him. Then, to his delight, she burst out laughing, a genuine, unfiltered sound that made the nearby maids glance over in surprise. Even a few muffled chuckles came from the attendants.

  Jokes work in every era, Aegon thought smugly. And now I’ve got her attention.

  "Do you want to hear more?" he asked, widening his eyes in exaggerated eagerness.

  Rhaenys wiped at the corner of her eye, still smiling. "Alright, little prince. Amuse me."

  Aegon cleared his throat dramatically. "Why did the knight bring a ladder to the tourney?"

  "I don’t know. Why?"

  "Because he heard the competition was highly regarded!"

  Another laugh escaped her, though she tried to suppress it this time. "That’s terrible."

  "But you laughed."

  "Against my better judgment," she muttered, though her lips still twitched.

  Aegon pressed his advantage. "What do you call a knight who’s afraid to fight?"

  Rhaenys shook her head, already anticipating the punchline. "What?"

  "Sir Render!"

  This time, even the stoic Kingsguard snorted before quickly schooling his expression. Rhaenys covered her mouth, shoulders shaking.

  "You’re ridiculous," she said, though there was no bite to it.

  Aegon grinned. "But you like it."

  Rhaenys leaned back against the bench, studying him with newfound interest. "Where did you even hear these?"

  "The Maester tells me stories," Aegon lied smoothly. "Sometimes they have jokes in them."

  "Maester Norren must be more amusing than I remember."

  Aegon seized the opportunity to steer the conversation. "Do you like stories? I know lots of them."

  Rhaenys shrugged. "Depends on the story."

  "How about one about a princess who tamed the fiercest dragon in the world?"

  That caught her attention. "Go on."

  So Aegon spun a tale, loosely based on a children’s book from his past life but adapted to fit Valyrian lore. He embellished details, making the princess clever and bold, the dragon majestic and untamable until the heroine outsmarted it. Rhaenys listened intently, her earlier amusement replaced by genuine interest.

  When he finished, she tilted her head. "Not bad. Though real dragon bonding isn’t quite so... poetic."

  "But it’s more fun this way," Aegon said with a grin.

  Rhaenys exhaled, almost smiling again. "You’re an odd child, you know that?"

  Aegon just blinked up at her, all innocence. "Grandmother says I take after Uncle Aemond."

  That drew another laugh.

  They lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment before Rhaenys spoke again. "You’re smarter than most boys twice your age."

  Because I’m technically thirty-four, Aegon thought but wisely didn’t say. Instead, he shrugged. "I listen a lot."

  Rhaenys studied him a moment longer before standing. "Come on. Let’s see if the kitchens have those honey cakes you like."

  Aegon scrambled to his feet, hiding his satisfaction.

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