Rhaenyra liked Criston Cole.
His green eyes, his jet-black curls, his handsome face.
And the way he reacted every time.
Passive and shy, with those soft, feeble protests whenever she teased him.
Rhaenyra moved closer to Cole.
Ser Cole caught Rhaenyra’s distinctive scent.
It was neither sweet like flowers nor fresh like lemon or mint.
It was a mixture of burnt charcoal and leather, pungent and heavy.
There was a warmth to the scent, like a dragon’s heavy breath and sturdy scales.
Then the soft hem of her skirt brushed across his hand, leaving an itch in its wake.
Rhaenyra’s skirts were embroidered with intricate patterns.
Sometimes blazing flames, sometimes branches of roses, sometimes myrtle…
Rhaenyra had many dresses.
Cole lowered his head.
The broad skirt spread out in layer after layer, the bright red dragonbreath grass embroidered along the hem enveloping his hand.
Cole’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
His fingers clawed lightly at the grass, but he did not move his hand away.
Rhaenyra watched with great interest, her eyes fixed intently on Cole’s reaction.
She raised a hand and gently ran her fingers over his large, sword-calloused hand.
Then she slipped her soft fingers into Ser Cole’s palm.
They were in the Godswood, where someone might appear and see them at any moment.
Ser Cole was terribly nervous.
He was a member of the Kingsguard, one of the seven bravest knights in the Seven Kingdoms, a man countless knights aspired to become.
The King had commanded him to serve as Rhaenyra’s personal guard.
If anyone saw them, his reputation, his honor…
With those thoughts in mind, a secret thrill rose within Ser Cole, and he closed his hand around Rhaenyra’s.
Rhaenyra let out a satisfied sigh.
Their palms pressed together, their fingers intertwined.
She nestled against Cole’s cool white armor and rested her head on his hard shoulder.
Cole put an arm around her shoulders.
They drew closer and closer.
At that intimate moment, another face suddenly flashed through Rhaenyra’s mind.
Daemon’s face.
Targaryens had silver hair, violet eyes, and an almost inhuman beauty.
Daemon, her uncle, was naturally no exception.
Lean, striking, with a touch of danger and debauchery about him.
He was entirely different from Ser Cole.
She bit her lower lip.
Then she thought of Ser Swann, his powerful build paired with that simple mind of his.
That had a charm of its own.
Unfortunately, she had to be careful.
When a man did such things, they became romantic escapades worth boasting about.
When she did them, they became a stain upon her reputation.
Suddenly, Cole hesitantly asked, “Rhaenyra, what are we to each other now?”
Rhaenyra was puzzled.
“Why would you ask something like that?”
But Rhaenyra was fond of Ser Cole.
She was willing to be gentle with him and spare his feelings.
So she said softly, “You are my knight, and I am the Princess you swore to protect.”
Cole seized Rhaenyra’s hand and gazed at her with deep affection.
“I’ll give up being a Kingsguard, and you can give up being a Princess. Why don’t we leave together?”
That way, perhaps he could recover at least a little of his honor.
Rhaenyra admired the heartfelt expression on Cole’s face, thoroughly pleased.
Just look at those little green eyes.
An idea suddenly came to her, and Rhaenyra smiled.
“Ser Cole,” she said, deliberately softening her voice.
“I am the mistress you swore your allegiance to.”
“How about calling me ‘Mistress’?”
“Let me hear you say it. It would make me very happy.”
Rhaenyra relaxed and waited patiently for Ser Cole to indulge her.
Cole fell silent.
His face twisted with pain.
“I truly am willing to give up the honor of the Kingsguard for you, Rhaenyra!”
“What?”
Rhaenyra stared at him in shock, her violet eyes going round.
“You actually have any of that?!”
She leaned back and looked Ser Cole up and down in astonishment.
Give up the honor of the Kingsguard?!
Hadn’t you already failed to uphold that from the very beginning?!
Still, Rhaenyra truly did like Ser Cole.
“Cole, we can keep things exactly as they are.”
“That way, you can be with me while still maintaining the illusion that your honor remains intact.”
“Isn’t that better?”
Cole’s face contorted in anguish.
“How can you be so…”
How can you humiliate me like this?!
Rhaenyra suppressed her impatience and gently coaxed him.
“Don’t think so much.”
“Now kiss me!”
“Be rougher. I like you a little wild.”
Ser Cole stared fixedly at Rhaenyra.
Intense and feverish.
Cole felt as though he were adrift upon a boundless sea.
Then, without warning, lightning split the sky.
“Princess Rhaenyra!”
It was Ser Harrold’s voice!
Cole shoved Rhaenyra away and whipped around.
A tall knight stood imposingly at the entrance, clad in gleaming white armor with a spotless white cloak draped over his shoulders.
Ser Harrold!
Captain of the Kingsguard!
Cole’s face went deathly pale.
He was finished.
Ser Harrold spoke calmly.
“Princess Rhaenyra, the King wishes to see you.”
“I understand.”
Rhaenyra rose calmly and straightened her skirts.
Cole instinctively looked toward her.
Rhaenyra was perfectly composed, every movement leisurely and unhurried, as though nothing at all had happened.
Still sitting on the ground, Cole found himself steadied by her composure.
A trace of hope crept into his heart.
Perhaps Ser Harrold had not seen anything from where he stood.
“Wait for me to return, my white knight.”
Rhaenyra patted him on the shoulder and left.
As Ser Harrold turned away, he cast Cole a single glance.
A chill pierced Ser Cole’s heart.
He felt as though he had been plunged into an icy abyss.
He could not describe that look.
The Kingsguard looked down at him coldly from above as though Cole were some rat crawling through a sewer, some filthy insect.
Rhaenyra disappeared from sight, a Kingsguard following respectfully behind her.
Now Ser Cole was completely gripped by fear.
Terror consumed him, leaving him cold to the bone.
What was he supposed to do?!
Would Ser Harrold tell the King?!
He would!
Of course he would!
What would happen to him and Rhaenyra?
No, no, that was wrong!
What would happen to him?!
Cole clenched his teeth bitterly.
Rhaenyra!
Rhaenyra!
Rhaenyra!
This was all her fault!
That bitch was to blame for everything!
She was the one who had seduced him!
She was the one who had brought him to this!
In that instant, Ser Cole began to hate Rhaenyra with complete sincerity.
After a long while, he scrambled to his feet and hurried toward the Tower of Knights.
He could not simply sit there and wait for his doom!
The Godswood fell silent.
From behind the tangled flowers and leafy branches, a limping figure slowly emerged, leaning heavily on a cane.
…
Elsewhere, on the Street of Silk, Daemon awoke groggily, reeking of wine, amid five or six naked prostitutes.
He pulled his favorite, Lady White Worm, into his arms and stroked her slightly swollen belly.
The dancer from Lys had skin as pale as milk.
Mysaria, the Lady White Worm, said, “I’m carrying your child. A Targaryen.”
Daemon’s eyes were hazy.
Whatever crossed his mind brought a smug smile to his lips.
“If he is my child, then by House Targaryen tradition, there ought to be a dragon egg in his cradle.”
Mysaria brushed Daemon’s hand aside, her expression cold.
“You won’t do it, and I won’t get a dragon egg.”
Daemon did not care for that answer.
“I’ll choose one for you myself,” he promised.
“It’s a pity Baelon’s dragon egg has already hatched. Otherwise, I could have given you that one.”
His spirits rose at the thought.
“My brother’s reaction will be fascinating!”
He could hardly wait.
Daemon rose and hurried toward the Dragonpit.
…
At that moment, Baelon was sniffing his liquid gold.
A little thing that had brought him countless gold dragons.
What a wonderful scent.