Chapter Text

Chapter 01: I hold Death's hand in mine

August 30th, 2009

RHAENYRA

It always begins the same way.

The chill of the night lulls her like an old friend, the sound of distant birds; lulling in their nest, fluttering their wings and creating terse, distant sounds that Rhaenyra has counted in her mind for months. She hears the same thing every time, the five wing flaps, far away but close at the same time, as if the little flying creature is circling around her head, getting further and further away each time she blinks. It flaps five times. Rhaenyra cannot tell whether it is a pigeon or a bird whose name she probably does not know—something, a deep, unfamiliar voice in the recesses of her mind, whispers to her that it is a raven.

There is mist under her feet, scattering down her sides and into her face, until her eyes begin to burn. Rhaenyra must blink to soothe the burning that settles into her eyes, a single tear sliding down her cheek. Her lungs fill with mist; Rhaenyra breathes it in, inhaling as if it were fresh air despite knowing it is not. Her chest tightens, her heartbeat echoes five more times against her ears. Five times. Five seconds later, the mist beneath her feet clears, as if something has frightened it away; it is then that she catches sight of it—the moonlight, fractured, caught in the lake's reflection. Rhaenyra knows this lake, her mother used to bring her here when she was little. She remembers, sadly, very little about it. But still, she remembers enough; she remembers the smell of the waters of the lake, as well as the sound of the ducks that inhabit it. 

Today, there are no ducks, there never are, only the five flaps of the bird's wings above her head, only the sound of her heart beating five times against her ear, only the fractured reflection of the full moon that always serves as a witness in her dream. Rhaenyra has had this same dream enough times to know that she is dreaming.

She always tries to do something else, to walk along the dark road, or even to try to go into the forest behind the lake, but she never manages to move from her place; her feet are screwed into the asphalt and soon a shadow rises behind her. Rhaenyra can never turn around, her two eyes fixed on the reflection of the lake, on the small waves created by the wind that cause the reflection of the full moon to fracture, again and again: endlessly. 

She can sense the presence behind her, the scent of a cologne she is almost certain she has smelled somewhere else, but she cannot know it clearly. Her brain floods with the haze, a small gasp escapes her lips, on which she can feel the lipstick she had put on that day she fought with her ex-boyfriend, Harwin; she knows it is that lipstick, because it is a new one, she had tried that one time and hated it forever. Though, Rhaenyra is pretty sure, sure as hell, that it is not Harwin's figure that sits behind her. No, Harwin always smelled of pine, of sweat from football training for the school team. He, whoever it is that sits behind her, smells of lavender, smells of metal. She almost dares to say he smells like he's covered in blood from head to toe. 

Blood is metallic, Rhaenyra knows that well. Such a scent is the only memory she has of the accident; of the last memory she has of her mother. 

The stranger smells of metal. The stranger smells of fresh blood.

"You lie," the shadow tells her, chuckling softly. Its voice, low and pleasant, as if it were whispering, though Rhaenyra does not hear its voice as a whisper; perhaps it is the mist, affecting her memories. Although this is not a memory, it is nothing more than a repetitive dream that she cannot decipher. She doesn't quite know what the shadow is accusing her of. You lie. You lie. He always accuses her of the same thing, but Rhaenyra has no idea what he is talking about. Her voice is lost in her dream, lost in her throat—she can't speak, only listen, listen to him . "You want what everybody wants," he continues deliberately. 

The shadow begins to move, closer, so close that her back is almost against his chest. Her heart seems to stop, as no more heartbeats bombard her ears. Moving like a dark cloud, the man ends up at her side, where Rhaenyra, as she does every night, tries—and fails—to look at his face. 

All she can see, however, is his neck and the mole that sits beneath the spot of his pulse.

And what is it that everybody wants? She wants to ask him. In some strange way, she feels she has already asked him. But her voice doesn't come out of her throat, it remains trapped, trapped like the moon on the lake.

The shadow snorts behind her. "You want a love that consumes you."

Rhaenyra tenses in place, trying with all her might to crane her neck to get a view of the man's face, but her eyes go no further than his neck, his mole. The relatively calm waters of the lake begin to swell like a raging ocean. The mist drowns her once more and the man's body is dragged back, further and further, until everything remains as if he had never been there in the first place. 

The fog blinds her.

That's when she wakes up.

Argh, shit. 

Rhaenyra stretches her arms out to her sides, looking around her room. The morning sun continues to rise outside her window, where her head rests, realising that she had fallen asleep while waiting for her half-brother to get ready for school. Straightening up, she curses once more in her head and reaches out to grab her cell phone. The bright screen causes her eyes to sting immediately. Looking at the time—noting that she still has a few extra minutes before she has to leave—she realises, just the same, that she really should change her wallpaper. The sight of Harwin's smiling face as he hugs her from behind; his football uniform complementing her old cheerleading uniform, makes her nauseous. She and Harwin called it quits months ago but school starts today, which means she'll have to see him again. Oh, and, how embarrassing would it be for him to see how pathetic she is to have her wallpaper with an old picture of the two of them, when they were still a couple. 

Truthfully, Rhaenyra hadn't changed it not because some part of her misses her ex-boyfriend, but because she had actually forgotten about it.

Her lips tighten, a heavy sigh escapes her lips. 

The clock strikes 6:00 AM. School starts in an hour and she still has to wait for Aegon to be ready.

Irritated by the big green eyes of Harwin in the photo, Rhaenyra moves her fingers quickly on her mobile phone, changing her current wallpaper to a picture she took months ago, when she had gone out with her best friends, Laena and Elinda, to the mall. Her eyes linger on the image for a few minutes, on the carefree smile that hugs her face, as well as the pink clips that cling to her golden hair. Laena is to her right, smiling in the same way, her lips tinted with a pink lipstick that Rhaenyra had begged her to lend her. Elinda is to Laena's right, her straight brunette hair looking tousled, her smile smaller, though the joy in her eyes was noticeable. It was a good day. It was a day when her father was still alive. It was five days before the accident happened.

As if her mobile phone had insulted her horribly, Rhaenyra closes its lid and tosses it to her side, onto the cushions that hug her. Her phone, a pink cover with a few fake pearls glued to it, was the last gift she received from her father on her sixteenth birthday. 

A small tear threatens to slide down her cheek. Rhaenyra takes a big breath of air and forces herself to calm down. Her hand reaches to her left, where a pen fell from her hand once she had fallen asleep waiting for her odious half-brother to get ready. Aegon takes longer in the bath than she does. Her red-covered diary rests on her thighs, clad in flared denim trousers. Picking up and opening her diary, Rhaenyra notices the last few lines written by her own hand.

“ Dear diary, 

The nightmares never end. There are times when I feel like my whole life has been taken over by an endless nightmare. It's been months since Dad's death and things can't get any worse. Alicent has taken over the family accounts as well as every corner of the house. Last week we had a big fight because she wanted to pull down Mum's favourite curtains, which my dad never dared to take down. Alicent is loud and obnoxious, there is no doubt that Aegon is her son, born of her rotten womb. She has frozen my bank accounts, though Aunt Rhaenys has been giving me cash from time to time. All the money now goes to Aegon—Aegon and his foolish needs. Really, what did he need that video game console for when Dad had bought him one just like it only a year ago?

The days in my house are getting colder and colder. I try to avoid my stepmother as much as I can, although sometimes I feel like Alicent is standing still in every corner, just waiting for me to come closer so she can start yelling at me. 

Those dreams don't ever cease. Every night it's the same dream, I've started to think it's some kind of lucid dream, since I'm aware I'm dreaming. I've been writing things down so as not to forget them, like the place, the figure of the lake in front of me and the reflection of the full moon, also the same words that repeat like incessant echoes in my mind. A love that consumes me. Holy gods, what the fuck does that even mean? 

It's certainly not Harwin, Harwin was never so eloquent... ”

The pencil dances between her fingers, Rhaenyra looks at the window for a few seconds, her eyes lost in the soft movement of the leaves of the tree in front of her window. A few cars pass by on the road, but they are few, it is still too early in the morning. Looking at the ink on the page of her diary once more, Rhaenyra bites her lip before pressing the pen's tip to the page.

“ ... he was always clunky, like every great football player. 

This man, this thing that haunts me, is different. Taller, definitely. His cologne is different, reeking of metal and lavender. It's a rather manly scent, I'd say. I know the shirt he's wearing is black, but I can't be too sure. What I do remember, with dazzling clarity, is the shape of his neck and... the mole under his pulse point. ”

Rhaenyra, over the past six months, has developed—strangely—a sixth sense, one that allows her to perceive her stepmother approaching even before her slender, bony fingers settle on her doorknob. Perhaps, Rhaenyra thinks, it is the sound of her heels against the dark pinewood floor that envelops the floors of her home, or, perhaps it is just her bad energy—something like sensing a wicked weed behind her; or even the thorn of a green rose before it digs into one's skin—flooding the only remaining space of peacefulness in her own home. Her home, the home where she was raised, the home Dad had bought for her mother, years before she was born. 

Through gritted teeth, Rhaenyra tightens her grip on her pen, removing it from the page and closing her journal at once, tucking it prematurely under her bum. Her head is already turned towards the door before Alicent's pale face peers out. "I have told you to knock, please ," Rhaenyra tells her immediately, not letting the woman—vulgarly, years much younger than her mother was when she died—say anything. 

Alicent looks the same as she does every morning, her hair as red and orange as a goddamn grapefruit—Rhaenyra has told her countless times that the dye she puts on her already reddish hair makes her look like a safety cone. "It's late," she tells her, her lips pursed. Rhaenyra knows better; Alicent doesn't want her here, doesn't want her in the place she considers properly hers after her father's death. She has never liked her. And, well, the feeling is quite reciprocal; a hatred, sort of, she thinks graciously, like the love at first sight she loves to read about in books—undeniable, strong and very mutual.

Rhaenyra shrugs, lifting her chin to her stepmother's tall, slender figure. Though the years have passed since Alicent came into her life; almost forcibly, she still looks very young. Just as slim. Just as tall. Just as annoyingly false. "Aegon is not ready," she answers her dryly, teeth nibbling on the inside of her cheek. Alicent looks at her with annoyance, but she doesn't roll her eyes, no, she has a reputation as a proper, educated woman to uphold-despite, of course, having no university degree. Why would she need it? All the gold she has now, on her narrow wrists, on her languid neck, on her bright orange head, once belonged to her father, her family. Everything Alicent has is because of her father and that was all she sought in him, not love, not even companionship. But Dad was as blind as he was benevolent.

"You always do the same thing," she complains. "You spend so much time in the bathroom, and you make my son late."

Rhaenyra wrinkles her nose. "Aegon has his own bathroom, Alicent."

She waves a hand, downplaying the matter dismissively. "You know well enough he doesn't like his own bathroom. Why can't you be nice and give him yours?"

Maybe, Rhaenyra thinks, because it's her damn bathroom. Good heavens, why should she care that Aegon doesn't like his fucking bathroom, which, it should be noted, is identical to hers? She refrains from rolling her eyes, tensing only her grip on her pen. "Alicent—"

"Have you eaten this morning?" she interrupts her, straightening up in her place. Today she wears a braid all over her head, not made by her, of course, but thanks to the maid she has following her around and exploiting her by making her do unnecessary work. Rhaenyra frowns at the sudden change of subject. Her lips part to reply, but Alicent continues before she can. "Ah, my dear, I have told you to try this wonder of intermittent fasting. It would certainly help you. You look plumper. Try more green tea and less coffee."

Rhaenyra's eyes widen without being able to help or hide it. Her own hand instinctively reaches down to her own belly—clad by the red shirt she is wearing today—attempting, somehow, to hide it from her. Her cheeks redden and her gaze drifts to the window. She takes a deep breath, counting numbers in her mind before she can grab the chair from her vanity and hurl it at her head, at her very orange and ludicrous head. 

The words choke in her throat.

Alicent just sighs. "Look who's appeared!" she suddenly exclaims, her tone turning into a fetchingly sweet thing, but Rhaenyra just stays static in her place. "My sweet love, good morning. You should eat something, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, I've heard." There is a moment, as Rhaenyra keeps her eyes glued to the green leaves of the tree outside her window when she thinks someone is watching her from afar. A shiver runs up her spine. Perhaps she's been spending too much time writing about ghosts...though, if she's honest, all her life death has always been lurking around her. 

Turning her head, Rhaenyra can see her half-brother, standing next to her stepmother. He looks awful, with dark circles under his violet eyes—a shade lighter than her own—and slightly sunken cheeks. This time she does roll her eyes. She knows that Aegon has been sneaking out during the nights to drink with his idiot friends in the cemetery. Though, of course, none of that worries Alicent; Alicent worries about not missing her appointments at the beauty salon and not missing her favourite reality show every night.

Rhaenyra rises from her comfortable seat, instinctively clenching her stomach to prevent Alicent from feeling free to say anything more about her weight. She's always done it, always poked her nose into the same matters. When Rhaenyra was younger, she didn't understand what she meant when she held her father's hand on the table, looking falsely worried as they all ate dinner. Dearest, she would always say quietly, don't you think the girl is eating too much? Now she certainly understands what she means. She also wants to throw her out of the window every time she dares to mention the two pounds she's gained in the last six months since her father's death.

While she mourns her father, Aegon just gets drunk and maxes out his credit cards over and over again. He didn't even deign to show up at his funeral, while Alicent shed cold crocodile tears, pretending not to be grateful to inherit most of her father's assets. Though, of course, only for now. In the will, her father made it clear that his money would be divided among his children, though Rhaenyra got a larger amount than Aegon did, which certainly offended Alicent.

Even in his death he keeps disrespecting me, Rhaenyra had heard her tell the lawyer, while she and Aegon had to wait outside what was her father's office. The lawyer, who, moreover, Rhaenyra is sure would commit any falsehood for the sake of getting between Alicent's long legs, Aegon is his son—his firstborn son. The girl isn't even fit to inherit that much money, it'll rot her head off, you know? I only care about her. If it wasn't for me, the brat would be nothing but a sad orphan now. Ungrateful child. 

Taking her bag from her bed, but not before stowing her diary in it, Rhaenyra heads in the direction of her half-brother, where Alicent is trying to fix her short silver hair with his fingers, digging his long emerald-green painted nails into his skull. Her stepmother wears a long skirt and an elegant blouse, also, never missing, the huge pendant with her beloved seven-pointed star hanging around her neck. Aegon grimaces and grumbles, and even, for a second, seems grateful that Rhaenyra grabbed him by the lapels and dragged him with her down the hall and under the stairs. 

"Aegon, don't forget to talk to your Maths teacher!" Alicent shouts from afar, as Rhaenyra is already walking out the front door of the house.

"Yeah, yeah, bye, Mum!" Aegon shouts back, rolling his eyes and following her towards the car.

Dad gave her this car as a gift on Christmas, some months ago now, shortly before he died. His car remains impounded by the sheriff—Elinda's mother—due to police proceedings that Rhaenyra hasn't bothered to read carefully. It seems silly to her, anyway, it was an animal attack; that's what the coroner said. A mountain bear, she read in the papers, but no reporter or doctor seems to be sure which beast took her father's life.

"Come on, hurry up, we're late," Rhaenyra rebuts her half-brother, taking the keys from her bag and unlocking her carriage door. Aegon climbs in beside her, in the passenger seat, tossing his satchel into the back seats. Rhaenyra starts the engine, fixing the mirrors before hitting the road.

"Yeah well, it would all be sorted out if Dad had given me a car too before he died," Aegon replies, complaining carefreely and speaking of their father's death as if it were that of a stray dog. 

Speaking of animals, she should buy Syrax some food before she comes home from school.

Rhaenyra grits her teeth, rolling her eyes. "You're not old enough to drive. You don't even know how to yet, you moron."

Aegon snorts. "Who says I need to know how to drive to own a car?"

"There's not a single functional neuron left in your brain, or is there? Did you let it die with all the liquor you guzzled last night?" she replies in a huff, looking up at the blue sky and the morning rays of the sun. Rhaenyra opens the window, momentarily enjoying the cool, fresh air against her cheeks. For some reason, King's Landing has felt colder since her father's death. Rhaenyra sometimes thinks that Dad did not go in peace and that his spirit continues to roam the streets of the town. Of course, she may just be trying to catch his scent one more time. One last time.

Then again, she might just find some amusement in chasing ghosts. After all, ghosts have haunted her all her life, as Death herself has held her hand all her life. First her mother, now her father. 

As Aegon turns to her, Rhaenyra notices his suddenly pale, green face. And, of course, her peace ends. "Turn the car!" 

By the time Aegon has finished emptying his stomach on the pavement and Rhaenyra has spread her perfume all over her car to keep the festering smell of vomit from permeating her seats, before driving off again—and watching the minutes tick by quickly on her mobile phone; holy gods, they're too late—Rhaenyra has the strange, wraithlike feeling, that not only is the ghost of her late father wandering the streets of the town. And whoever this ghost is, he doesn't seem to want to take his eyes off her.

🩸

It takes Rhaenyra a few minutes to lose sight of Aegon in the moment, when finally, thanks to whatever Valyrian God gave her the patience not to leave Aegon stranded on the side of the road and skip several traffic lights to get to school, she reaches the locker room. Her trainers clack against the freshly polished floor. There is no one in the halls, which is a terrible sign that indicates to her that everyone is already in class; sitting at their desks with a book in hand. It is the first day of school. A curse escapes her lips, blaming Aegon and his rotten stomach for the cheap booze. Because, yeah, the jerk doesn't even steal the good fine wine in their basement! He spends hundreds of dollars on the cheapest, most bitter liquor he can buy at the supermarket with his fake ID. 

Almost slipping on the floor, Rhaenyra hastily slings her bag over her shoulder, the paper indicating her schedule in her hands. History class. History. History. Where was the History class? Ah, crap. Hadn't they moved it down the hall thanks to the renovations? 

Her own hair, loose and freshly dried, falls over her face thanks to a big gust of wind whipping her cheeks. Her hand instinctively falls to her face, brushing away the golden locks over her eyes in irritation. And, then one of her rings tangles with her strands and... Dammit. Not a good morning. No. First, she falls asleep against her window, then Alicent, then Aegon, then the vomit, and now...

Rhaenyra blinks. Her body collides with a cold, firm wall. The smell of leather embeds itself in her nostrils before she can realise, she's collided with a guy, who was coming out of the male bathrooms. Her hand falls on the guy's chest, her silver ring—that one studded with tiny amethyst stones; Laena gave it to her, something about her Grams telling her that crystals are good for luck, well, it doesn't work!— has tiny strands of her hair pulled out and her cheeks are red from the cold and, oh, the embarrassment. Her face slowly rises. 

"I'm so sorry!" she manages to utter, her voice sounding slightly shrill as her breasts begin to throb with pain after the hard blow she just took. Her violet eyes meet... other violet eyes.

Odd indeed, as there are few people in King's Landing with the attributes of a person of the Old Valyrian lineage. Very few, like her family, the Targaryens and her cousin Laena's family, the Velaryons. Rhaenyra is used to looking different; with her golden hair, a shade so light that some would say it is white, and her violet eyes, a shade darker than those of her own brother, who, it seems, was born with his violet eyes diluted with blue. Though Aegon may have been born with all the characteristics of a Targaryen, as the years pass, his face becomes more and more like Alicent's. At times it is even uncomfortable to look at. However, her father used to tell her the same thing about her late mother Aemma, he always said it as a clear compliment—as well as with the nostalgia that has stayed with him ever since her mother's tragic death, not even after he married a second time—and Rhaenyra has always treasured such an attribute close to her heart.

The thing is, there aren't many people with Valyrian characteristics in King's Landing. If it's not her family or her cousin's, it's foreign families—usually from the Free Cities in Essos—arriving in the capital of Westeros. It's not impossible, of course. Though, Rhaenyra wasn't expecting it, and the man's distinctly Valyrian face threw her off for long seconds.

Blinking heavily, Rhaenyra swallows hard in her place, something causing the hairs on her arms to stand on end. The guy, Valyrian-looking—as only paintings of the ancient Dragonlords are—like no other. He is incredibly tall, his skin is pale, perhaps too pale, and his irises are coloured the same shade as her own. His nose is straight and his jaw is set as if chiselled into a statue. In some strange way, Rhaenyra thinks, he looks like a statue carefully crafted to try to honour and bring immortality to some old prince from the history of Westeros that she has read about all her life in history classes. 

Speaking of History...

Her hands crumple the sheet in her hands. 

"Are you okay?" the guy asks her, a half-smile on his thin lips, his head tilted to one side. 

Rhaenyra blinks again. The scent of the leather of his jacket swirls around in her head. She straightens, adjusting the hem of her blouse and looking back up at him. "Yes, yes," she assures him, frowning to herself. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

The guy lets out a laugh like she just made the funniest of jokes. "No, you didn't," he assures her, his hands, strong and icy, coming to rest on her shoulders. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He is handsome, almost devastatingly handsome.

And, Rhaenyra is very, very late for class. 

"Yes," she stammers, her hand moving up to her face, trying to arrange the unruly hairs in her fringes, which don't seem to want to settle into place today. Taking a step back, Rhaenyra fixes her eyes on his; violet, deep, with a strange glow that makes her wonder if her own look like that too. 

Her mouth opens again, but all that comes out of it is a curse as the paper falls from her hands. The guy kneels on the floor in front of her, taking the paper with his schedule first and offering it to her with a soft smile. "Here, I'm—" he starts softly, but she is soon spitting words out her mouth without thinking about it.

Rhaenyra is late for class. "Thanks! I, uhm, I should go. Right now." 

Without letting him say anything else, Rhaenyra hastily pulls up her bag again and walks down the corridor. Who the hell is the new guy? And, why the hell is her heart beating so fast?

By the time Rhaenyra makes it to her classroom, almost stumbling over her own feet, a rueful smile spreads across her face. Her feet are planted in the doorway, her arm brushing against the doorframe; the students already seated at their respective desks, notebooks on surfaces and pencils in hand. Her eyes search through the sea of heads for the eyes of her best friend—Laena, who looks at her with widened eyes, as if blaming her for being late. Rhaenyra stands respectfully under the doorframe, waiting to be noticed by the new History teacher, who soon finishes scribbling some things on the blackboard. The new teacher's back is broad, founded in a plaid shirt that reminds her of the awful shirts her father used to wear in the office, even though Rhaenyra always gave him fancier shirts. His hair is medium-length, chocolate-coloured curls framing his face. 

He looks at her with clear disdain, some annoyance perhaps, also with that look older men often give her in the streets when she walks alone that makes her want to wield a sharp object against their jugular and watch them bleed.

A rather grotesque thought, perhaps. But Rhaenyra enjoys horror stories. 

"I'm so—" her words die in her throat, as a noticeable presence looms behind her.

Rhaenyra tenses in place, restraining herself from jumping in fright the moment she felt a guy stand behind her, his body tall and wide enough to be very visible even with her in front of him. She recognized the scent immediately; leather, leather and something like the smell of wet wood, maybe a hint of the smell of freshly cut grass—a forest scent. With his chest against her back, he stands like a pillar of protection behind her, but his presence is akin to that of a ghost or a memory, as if, deep down, Rhaenyra knows that he—whoever he is—is not supposed to be here.

"Sorry for interrupting, sir. It's my first time in these halls, I got lost and she was very kind in helping me find this classroom," the guy replies, his voice low and soothing behind her, almost against her ear, almost brushing the skin, a ghostly caress that felt like the touch of fine silk.

Ghosts, ghosts... Rhaenyra must stop seeing ghosts everywhere.

The professor doesn't look happy with any of them. Rhaenyra clutches her fingers to the crumpled sheet in her hands, her nose permeated by the stranger's woodsy scent, so much so that she can no longer smell her own perfume—and it's a very good perfume.

"Come on, get in, guys. Don't delay me any longer, and close the door," the professor replies, letting out a weary sigh. Rhaenyra notices, looking at his face once the man's back is turned, that he has Dornish features. An exotic type from the far reaches of Westeros. Handsome, indeed, though there is one thing, Laena would insist perhaps about the energies, that gives her a bad taste in her mouth; a sour taste flaring on the tip of her tongue. 

Laena looks at her from a distance, beckoning her to enter the classroom. There is an open seat in front of her, and it takes Rhaenyra less than ten seconds to scurry between the desks until her bum is secure and fixed to the metal seat. Her eyes dart away, glancing sidelong at the new boy at school, tall and coolly kicked hair, violet eyes and fresh forest scent, the boy hums in agreement, his hand settling on the door handle to close it—a large ring stands out between his broad, pale fingers. It looks like an antique family ring, with a D embedded in it.

Rhaenyra forces herself to stop looking at him, focusing instead on the letters on the large blackboard. Mr. Cole. History teacher. Her bag drops to the floor, her fingers quickly reaching for her notebook and pink pencil with an adjacent cloud-shaped eraser. She senses that the new boy has taken a seat a few rows behind her, but Rhaenyra doesn't turn to look at him.

Laena's slender finger rests on her shoulder. "Have you brought a model Valyrian prince with you, girl?" she whispers in her ear, a chuckle quickly caught by Mr. Cole, who, with a sour, unfriendly face, urges them to be silent. Rhaenyra's cheeks turn pink, she relaxes her body as she leans her back against the backrest, also with the light touch of Laena's fingers leaving her shoulder.

"All right, let's get started." Mr. Cole talks for several minutes, basic things like the dates of her upcoming exams, the topics to be covered, the dynamics of the class, the number of essays due and their corresponding due dates, also this odd thing about the dress code—preoccupied with talking only about girls, which makes her roll her eyes and snort silently, but Mr. Cole doesn't seem to notice. After about half an hour, the new teacher prepares to begin his lecture, taking a large, rather heavy-looking book in his hands, but Mr. Cole seems to have no trouble keeping it steady as he stands with his hips leaning against his desk. "The first topic assigned, as I have already indicated, deals with the history of the founding families in King's Landing, as well as the royalty that ruled at the time. It was the famous Targaryen Dynasty that laid the foundations of our capital, but the infrastructure, however, was largely provided by another noble family, the Hightowers, who—"

"The Hightowers provided no infrastructure in the city besides the great chapels that worship the Seven." A voice, that voice, corrects Professor Cole without a hint of regret. Rhaenyra refrains from looking at him, no, she looks straight ahead, at Mr. Cole's contracted face in a grimace. She hears Laena let out a soft laugh behind her. "Sir." The guy adds as if that softens his earlier words, bathed in mockery and perhaps some arrogance.

Rhaenyra bites the inside of her cheek. Oh, a smartass, great. He certainly couldn't be a shallow, empty-headed blonde, no, he had to know history too.

Every student present in the class quieted, even the whispers and gossip of some of the girls sitting at the back of the class. Eyes fell upon the new guy, who simply stood with his elbows resting on the wooden surface of his desk. Rhaenyra's eyes—treacherously—fell on him, helplessly, a few seconds after the rest. His ring gleams, too bright not to notice—expensive polished metal, silver-white gold, whatever; it looks ancient and as bright as a glint of sunlight on glass. 

Laena chuckles softly behind her, Rhaenyra can hear her clearly. Mr. Cole, on the other hand, seems less amused by the new guy's insolent comment. 

"The Hightowers did supply the entire capital, mister...?"

The new boy offers him a smile, teeth pearly white; it's as if, rarely, everything about him is perfect. No more ghosts, but statues—pristine statues, made of the finest marble she's ever seen. "Taergyn, sir," the new guy replies easily. There is something in his smile, something in the way he pronounced his own name, as if he is performing the funniest mischief of the year, as if he himself has an inside joke that, admittedly, only he has understood. "And, I'm sure if you pay more attention to the book in your hands you will realise the truth of my words."

Mr. Cole blinks, his swarthy cheeks turning scarlet with fury, or perhaps embarrassment. Several students begin to rummage through their own books; and, chaos quietly breaks out as several of them realise that the new guy is right. Amidst the commotion, Laena leans over to her, whispering in her ear, "Taergyn? Is he our distant cousin or something?"

Rhaenyra shrugs, her tongue flicking across her lips, tasting her strawberry gloss. "No idea, Lae. I've never heard it before in my life," she whispers back.

"Silence!" the teacher shouts, causing his voice to echo off the walls and bounce against the ears of each of his students. An awkward silence grows quickly, like a scavenging bacteria in an apocalyptic world—okay, maybe she shouldn't have stayed up late watching that fucking zombie movie with Aegon, shit. Mr. Cole purses his full lips, his jaw clearly tense.

"Mr. Taergyn?" he asks, pronouncing the surname poorly. The new guy nods with raised eyebrows. "As in Targaryen?"

Rhaenyra feels several eyes on her at the question, but none of them burn as much as his. 

"Kind of like a variation," the new guy replies after a few seconds, shrugging, his two violet irises set on the professor once more. For some reason, Rhaenyra feels that he has imprinted his gaze on her skin—and it burns. "My ancestors were bastard children of the many Targaryen Kings in the Dynasty eras. They adopted the varied name many centuries later from what I understand." That, Rhaenyra thinks, makes sense. There are many families that sprang from bastards of their lineage centuries ago, as well as the Blackfyre. It makes sense, yes. Still, his name tastes strange on her tongue.

"Ah, I see," Mr. Cole replies, clearly irritated by the history lesson. His fingers fumble over the dusty pages of his book. Minutes pass, some kids mention to the teacher about the page they found that backs up the new guy's words. An annoyed hum comes from his lips, but Mr. Cole seems to want to handle the situation calmly; at least for now. "Hmm, yes. Do you have a postgraduate degree in history, Mr. Taergyn? Maybe you shouldn't be taking High school history." the professor jokes bitterly, his eyes listless.

The new guy offers him a half-smile. "I'm good at History," he mentions. 

Mr. Cole grows more bitter with his response. "Oh, yeah?" he hums, closing his book scandalously. Rhaenyra jumps in place, and exchanges glances between Mr. Cole and the new guy with the glowing ring. "Year of the Conquest?"

"Year 2 BC."

"Year of the ascension of King Jaehaerys, the Conciliator?"

"48 AC."

"Year of the Usurpation of Maegor the Cruel?"

"42 AC."

"Year of the Death of Queen Visenya?"

"44 AC."

"Year of the Death of Prince Daemon the rogue prince?"

His smile widens. "130 AC."

"Ha!" Mr. Cole exclaims. " Incorrect, his death was recorded in 129 AC."

The new guy sighs, frowning slightly. "Prince Daemon's death was in the early 130 AC, there are theories that he died days before the start of the new year, but archaeologists, who found his body in the waters of God's Eye, revealed that his death was, in fact, in the early 130 AC, sir."

Rhaenyra watches silently as Mr. Cole's mind begins to struggle to put in order all the dates that must swirl around in his head. Students, pulling out their laptops and betting on who possesses the rightness, quickly find out that... Indeed, the new guy is right.

Mr. Cole's cheeks turn green with embarrassment and anger and the name of the very dead Prince Daemon echoes through the mouths of his classmates until the bell rings.

Rhaenyra starts picking up her pencils as soon as the class is over. A tremendously boring class, with the exception of the little show the new guy put on in the middle of it. Her eyes wander over to him, there is nothing written in his notebook, Rhaenyra notices it before the guy closes it and puts it in his satchel. As tersely as he appeared in her morning, the new guy disappears from her sight. All Rhaenyra catches sight of for the next few seconds is his broad back disappearing through the door. Her teeth brush her lower lip as, thoughtfully, Rhaenyra prepares to put her stuff in her bag.

"We should go get Elinda," Laena mentions, waiting for her, her eyes on her mobile phone. "Oh, she just texted me. She's waiting for us at the lockers. Come on, hurry up."

Nodding, Rhaenyra slings her bag over her shoulder and rises from her seat. It is when they are almost to the door that a voice rises behind them. "Miss Targaryen, may I have a second?" Mr. Cole asks before her foot can land on the floor under the door frame.

Rhaenyra turns to him, also sharing furtive glances with Laena, who nods to her and gently strokes his arm before walking through the door. "I'll wait for you in the corridors," she lets her know with a smile. Rhaenyra only nods.

Mr. Cole remains standing, his hip resting on the edge of his large desk. In truth, his hideous shirt fits distractingly snugly against the clear muscles beneath it. Despite being a clearly attractive man, Rhaenyra has trouble loosening up next to him the further she walks and approaches him.

"Yes, sir?" her voice is sweet enough to make her intention clear—Rhaenyra doesn't want any more trouble today, it's not even half a day yet! 

Mr. Cole tenses his lips, but his eyes drift down from her chin. He has no decorum. And, Rhaenyra ends up crossing her arms in an effort to cover her breasts from his view. "I wanted to talk to you, miss. Nothing untoward," he assures her, reaching across his desk to pick up some papers resting beneath his heavy dusty book. "I understand your final grades in History last year slipped."

Rhaenyra tenses. Yes, he's right. She likes to keep her grades up, she was a star student and the school's best average until last year, months ago, when her father was found dismembered on a highway. "It wasn't a good time, sir," she replies in a slightly shaky voice, taking a small step backwards.

Mr. Cole's hand slips from his papers, falling to her own hand. His fingers brushing hers. Rhaenyra freezes in place, having to tilt her head up to look at her teacher, who nods deliberately. "Your father's death. I understand, sweetheart. But a death is recoverable, your grades are not."

Her blood freezes—ice spikes making her bleed.

Mr. Cole only sighs, his hand leaving hers readily. "Tell your mother to please schedule an appointment with me in the next few days, to talk about your performance."

Her nails dig into her own palms. "Stepmother," she corrects him dryly. There is a moment, where Rhaenyra imagines her new teacher's body bleeding out in front of her—the moment his eyes lose their life and somehow nourish hers.

"Ah, yes. That's what I said," Mr. Cole excuses himself, turning away. "Have a good day, sweetheart. Give my message to her."

🩸

Rhaenyra is twirling the combination on her lock when she catches sight of Elinda charging through the crowd of students, her brown hair bouncing with each determined step, her eyes alive and glinting. Laena is only a few steps behind.

“Guess what?” Elinda says in a hushed tone, her whole face basically beaming. Rhaenyra arranges her books in her locker, pulling out the notebook for her next class. “There’s a new student in our year!”

She stops, turning to look at Elinda.

“A new student?” Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow. Could she be talking about her new mystery classmate—the boy with the violet eyes? “You’re acting like you’ve spotted a unicorn.”

“Well, he might as well be! I mean… I walked past him on my way here. He’s like… heartbreakingly beautiful, Rhaenyra. You have to see him.” Elinda presses against the locker with an exasperated sigh.

“That good, huh?” The more her friend describes this mysterious new student the more she becomes sure of the fact that they are talking about the same person. It had to be.

“Yes!” Elinda’s voice rises with each word. “Blond hair, tall, sunglasses, dressed all in black like some tragic hero out of a romance novel. And he’s so… intense. I swear, the way he walked, the way he looked at the people around him…”

“And you got all that from seeing him for a minute in the hall?” Rhaenyra teases, but her tone comes out colder than she wanted. Was she… jealous? No—absolutely not. Her mind wanders back to the boy from her history class… His beautiful features, his intoxicating smell, and then she’s back to those beautiful violet eyes. She is sure Elinda is talking about him. Laena who has been silently putting away her books joins the conversation.

“Do you even know his name, Elinda?”

Elinda spins toward her. “I don’t have to know his name to know he's devastatingly handsome. He must have family here but from what I hear he moved here alone. And he’s so beautiful—like, in a dangerous, I-could-break-your-heart kind of way.”

Laena rolls her eyes but she’s clearly amused. “You say that about every guy with good hair.”

“Oh, come on, Laena. You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen him.”

“I did,” says Laena, pulling her locker open. “Rhaenyra and I had History with him earlier today.”

Elinda’s eyes grow wild and she spins around grabbing onto Rhaenyra.

“You have class with him? You have seen him up close and you just let me go on and on? Tell me all about him, what is he like? What does he smell like?”

“Elinda!” Rhaenyra and Laena say at the same time, before breaking into soft giggles.

Their friend huffs, clearly annoyed but grinning. “What? It’s a valid question! I mean, if he’s going to be the topic of our lives for the next few weeks, we need details.”

Laena, still rummaging in her locker, shrugs. “Well, I don’t know what he smells like but he certainly was… Mysterious? Intense? Like he was hiding some big secret.”

Elinda’s face lights up as if she’s hit the jackpot and she grabs onto Rhaenyra’s arm again, squeezing it softly. “I knew it! So, he’s like the quiet, brooding type? You know I can’t resist that.”

Rhaenyra hesitates, a light shiver running through her at the memory of his gaze. She didn’t want to admit that she’d felt something strange, almost electric, when his eyes had locked on hers. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been looking right through her, like he knew things about her she’d never told anymore.

“And he was weirdly good at history,” says Rhaenyra.

“Hot and with brains?” Elinda pretends to swoon, making them giggle.

“Must be one of those loners who know everything about everything,” jokes Laena but Elinda is too busy daydreaming.

She claps her hands in delight. “This is it people! Mark my words, girls, he’s going to fall madly in love with one of us. And you better believe I’m going to do everything in my power to be the one. Soon, we’ll be planning a June wedding…”

Rhaenyra scoffs, though a tiny blush dusts her cheeks. “You’re getting way ahead of yourself. We don’t even know his name.”

“Well, then, I’ll find out.” Elinda declades. “New mission, ladies. Uncover the mystery of the heartbreakingly beautiful boy.”

Elinda’s gaze drifts past them as she catches sight of another group of friends down the hall. She waves at them, turning back to Rhaenyra and Laena. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

With that, she bounces off down the hall, leaving Rhaenyra and Laena behind. The two girls shake their heads before falling into step together. When they make it to an emptier part of the hall, Rhaenyra throws a glance at her friend, who’s quieter than usual.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you? Usually, you jump at the chance to laugh at Elinda’s antics and now you’re just being… very quiet.”

Laena hesitates, her eyes shifting as she draws in a breath. “Alright but don’t laugh. It’s… It’s weird, I know that. But you have to hear me out first before you call me crazy. Promise?”

Rhaenyra bumps into her friend, knocking her shoulder softly before giving her a warm smile. “Always.”

“So… over the summer, my father wanted to visit his mum and asked me to go with him. I hadn’t seen Grams in a while so I was excited to spend time with her. And we had this… really strange conversation.”

“Strange how?”

“She told me I have a gift,” Laena says slowly, her voice tinged with both wonder and embarrassment. “She said that in our family, on my dad’s side, we’re all supposed to have this connection to nature. She called it magic.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows lift, and she regards Laena with genuine curiosity. “Magic? Like, real magic?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t have enough time to talk—my dad walked in and it got weird. She made it sound real, though. She said I could learn to see things, to feel things that others can’t. Apparently, I just need to open myself up and focus. Whatever that means.”

Rhaenyra’s hand tightens around her bag strap, her steps slowing. “And what do you think?”

She shrugs, looking torn. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t feel very magical. But she sounded so sure. It didn’t seem like she was joking. And she’d always had this way of knowing things before they happened. Remember how she’d predicted Obama before the elections even started? And the storm last spring before it even hit? She’s just… different!”

A shiver runs down Rhaenyra’s spine, though she tries to shake it off. If only Laena’s grandmother had predicted the accident, then she wouldn’t be alone right now. Could magic be real? If it is, how far can it go?

“Do you think… you’d want to try it? See if it’s real?”

Laena’s lips press together as she considers it. “Maybe. Like, what if it works? I’m getting excited just thinking about it but I’m also scared.”

“We wouldn’t have to study for midterms anymore,” Rhaenyra jokes, making Laena laugh softly.

They reach the end of the hallway, where some students are putting up flyers on the message board. Rhaenyra looks at the yellow poster. Back to School bonfire party.

“Are you thinking of going?” Laena asks.

“Hm?”

“The bonfire party tonight. I didn’t want to ask you in case you weren’t feeling up to it, but I want to go. I would love it if we went together.”

Rhaenyra forces a smile on her lips. She had spent the entire summer locked in her room, ignoring everyone—avoiding friends, avoiding life. Even the thought of leaving the house used to terrify her. But the moment she realised she preferred spending time in the same space as Alicent than going out with her friends, she knew something had to change. After all, she couldn’t stay the ‘sad girl with the dead parents’ forever.

A fleeting thought crosses her mind. Maybe the new guy will be there. Her pulse quickens just by thinking about it, a small spark of excitement blooming in her chest.

“What the hell?” Rhaenyra blurts out, surprising even herself. “Why not? Let’s do it!”

Laena’s face breaks into a wide grin.

“Yes! You have to come to my house after school, then. I got this new skirt from the shops near Grams’ house and it is to die for—” She freezes, the words hanging awkwardly in the air between them. Her eyes widen with horror as she realises what she’s just said. “Oh… Rhaenyra, I didn’t mean—”

Rhaenyra swallows, forcing herself to hold Laena’s gaze. She reaches out, giving her friend’s arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. Really. It was… a terrible thing, but that’s life.”

The words taste bitter on her tongue, and she can feel the lie sitting uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. She says it because it’s what people expect her to say, but deep down, she’s not sure she believes it. Laena looks relived, though a touch of guilt stains her beautiful features. She opes her mouth to say something else, but Rhaenyra interjects.

“Actually, I—I have something to do after school. But send me a photo of the skirt. I’ll meet you at the party later.”

“Oh, okay!” Laena nods, her expression brightening again. “I promise it’s gorgeous and you’re free to borrow it whenever you want. And the party will be so much fun, just you wait.” Rhaenyra forces herself to smile back, nodding along, though her thoughts are miles away.

They walk together down the crowded hallway, the sounds of laughter and chatter filling the air around them. But for Rhaenyra, it all fades into the background as her thoughts turn inward. She’s not sure what she expects to feel at the bonfire. Hope? Relief? Normalcy? She doesn’t know. All she knows is that, for once, she’s tired of feeling numb.

🩸

In the quiet solitude of the cemetery, Rhaenyra sits cross-legged on the damp grass, her journal open in her lap. There’s a stillness here, a peace that’s almost suffocating—but Rhaenyra loves it. Here, away from the chatter of the outside world, away from Elinda’s boundless energy and Laena’s reassuring smiles, the sadness returns. It’s heavy and insistent, like a weight pressing on her chest. Yet, she can’t seem to get away. She chases that feeling because this is the only place she can feel close to her family.

Rhaenyra sighs and stares at the graves before her: two simple stones, side by side. The memories press against her mind, unbidden but familiar. The screech of the tired, the smell of burned rubber, glass shattering, metal bending. She remembers the freezing water biting her skin, filling her lungs. She can still feel her wet clothes clinging to her little frame, see her mother’s hand, fingers outstretched… reaching for her even in the last moments.

She swallows hard, trying to push the image away, but it’s impossible to forget. She was only a child then, left to grow up with the memory of a mother who would never watch her first day of school, never tuck her into bed again, never see the person she was becoming. And now, the ache in her chest, the one that had dulled over the years, has a fresh wound layered on top—her father’s sudden death, just six months ago. An animal attack, the police had said. A freak incident, another impossible tragedy.

The edges of her journal are frayed but she runs her fingers across them. She picks up her pen and begins to write with a deliberate, almost aggressive force.

“It’s been six months, and I still feel like crying. But the tears don’t come. It’s like I’m emptied out, hollow, with nothing left to give. Ever since I can remember, I’ve been the girl with the dead mother. I’ve been here for so long, it’s almost like that’s all I am. But now… now I’m the girl with the dead father too. ”

Her hand stills, trembling slightly, and she clutches her journal to her chest as if holding it close might somehow fill the emptiness inside. Over the summer, she had tried so hard to piece herself back together, to pretend she was alright, to laugh along with Elinda and Laena and to let herself forget, just for a little while. But here, in this place, she can’t pretend anymore. She looks around at the graves, feeling a strange kinship with them, as though she, too, is rooted in the past, felt behind while the world continues to spin.

Her pen touches the page again, and she writes, her hand steadier this time:

“ I feel like I’m stuck here, somewhere between who I was and who I’m supposed to be. But I don’t know if I can move forward. I don’t know what I want. ”

You want what everybody wants.

You want a love that consumes you…

Rhaenyra shivers and closes the journal. She rises, dropping it next to her bag and steps closer to her parents’ grave, letting her fingers run along the carved letters of their names. Aemma and Viserys. Together, in death, just as they’d been in life. Her hand trembles as she leans forward, resting her forehead against the cool, solid surface of the gravestone, her breath slow and shallow. The grief wells up, a storm beneath her ribs, raw and unchecked. She knows she should be used to it by now—this emptiness, this ache that’s become as much a part of her as her heartbeat. And yet, the pain feels new each time she thinks about them, a jagged cut that never heals.

She thinks about her father, and how, in his quiet, broken way, he’d never stopped mourning or loving Aemma. On the nights when he drank a little too much when his usually steady voice turned soft, he’d speak of her mother as if she were in the next room. As if she were still alive and breathing. He’d tell Rhaenyra that he would see Aemma again someday, that they would be reunited. She’d never seen a man more excited to die, she came to realise. The kind of love her father had for her mother is something people spend their entire lives searching for. What she had always wanted for herself. But now… The wind stirs, gentle but cold, brushing against her cheek like a ghostly caress.

And then there is Alicent…

Alicent, who had taken Aemma’s place with a kind of sweetness and grace that was almost insidious. Rhaenyra feels a tightness in her chest at the memory of that day—her father’s funeral. It’s a sombre haze of grey clouds and murmured condolences, of blurred faces pressing into her with their sympathy, while Alicent performed her grief for all to see. She remembers the careful way her stepmother had dabbed her cheeks, the delicate way she’d pressed the tissue to her thick eyelashes, every movement graceful and calculated. A perfect widow in mourning.

Rhaenyra’s teeth clench. Alicent had clutched Viserys’ memory to herself as if it were her own, had hugged each neighbour and friend who came to pay their respects, her voice thick with gratitude. Thank you, she’d whispered in the voice of a sorrowful saint. Thank you for coming. He was… so loved.

Rhaenyra had felt trapped in that house during the wake, suffocated by the sweet scent of lilies, by the way, Alicent had occupied the space as if it had been her own. In a way, it had been—slowly but surely Alicent had taken over. Her father had been quick to marry again soon after her mother’s passing. She had come to realise it had not been for love nor lust but for her, no, Viserys was eager to find a mother for Rhaenyra. A three-year-old girl needed someone to love and take care of her. And he couldn’t do it alone—not when he was drowning in his own grief.

The morning after the wake, when the house had finally grown quiet and empty, she’d hoped to find some solace amongst her parents’ things. But when she stepped into the living room, she found the walls stripped bare. The photographs of Aemma and Viserys, the ones her father had insisted on keeping even after he remarried, were gone. Alicent had taken them down, every single one. She was alone.

Rhaenyra closes her eyes against the sting of her tears. She presses her forehead harder against the stone. She feels it first as a tingling at the back of her neck, a creeping sense that slithers down her spine and roots her to the ground. her breath hitches as she becomes acutely aware of the sudden stillness around her. It’s a feeling she’s had before—just a few days ago—that strange, prickling sensation of being watched.

She glances around, her eyes darting over the mist that has begun to curl around the gravestones. The fog is thick, dense like smoke drifting low to the ground. Her heart begins to race, a steady thrum in her ears. It’s just fog, she tells herself, trying to steady her breathing. But the fog isn’t normal. It’s thicker than it should be, almost alive in the way it clings to her feet and swirls around her ankles, winding up like vines.

Exactly like in her dream…

The memory makes her stomach twist, and she swallows, casting a quick glance over her shoulder. The cemetery stretches out behind her, but something feels wrong. It’s as if the air itself has thickened, like something is moving within the fog, just beyond her line of sight. Gathering her things, Rhaenyra takes a step back, her movements slow but deliberate, her sense straining to detect any sound, any hint of movement. Her heartbeat thuds loudly. She tells herself it’s nothing, that she’s just imagining things, that there’s no one there. But as she turns to leave, she hears it—a shrill, piercing cry that slices through the stillness like a blade.

Her head whips up, and she spots a raven perched on a nearby tree, its black eyes glittering in the dim light. It lets out another harsh caw, and the sound seems to reverberate through her. The bird’s cry is almost human, a sound twisted and dark, like a warning, like it’s meant just for her. She begins to walk again, forcing herself to stay calm, but her pace quickens as the fog seems to thicken, pressing in closer. Her pulse hammers in her ears, the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath her feet blending with the rustling of her bag and the thud of her footsteps. The raven’s cry echoes behind her, sharp and relentless, and she feels an urge to break into a run.

It’s just a bird, she tries to tell herself. But her body doesn’t believe her. She can feel her legs moving faster, her breath coming quicker, her heart pounding with each step. She casts a quick, frantic look over her shoulders but sees nothing through the thick fog. Panic blooms in her chest, wild and unrestrained, and she finally breaks into a run, her feet pounding against the cold earth.

The raven’s cry shatters the silence again, louder, more insistent, as though it’s urging her to run faster. Its wings beat against the air—one, two, three powerful flaps. She swears she can feel the rush of air against her skin, the brush of feathers, as if the creature is right above her. Another scream. Rhaenyra gasps, quickening her pace, her steps clumsy and desperate.

Relief floods her as she spots the wrought-iron gates, the way out. Ignoring the burning in her legs, her focus narrows on that one point at the end of the road. One, two, three, four, five wingbeats, pounding like her heart. A suffocating, relentless force.

Finally, she reaches the gates, stumbling to a halt just beyond the boundary of the cemetery. She turns, breathing heavily, her chest tight. The fog is gone—there is nothing there now, only silence. Rhaenyra stands there, panting, her hands trembling as she clutches her bag. The raven is gone, vanished into thin air. The graveyard lies still, as if nothing had happened, as though she’d imagined it all.

“What the hell was that?” she whispers, her voice unsteady. But there’s no answer at all.

🩸

The night air is thick with the scent of smoke and pine, mingling with the sound of laughter and music. A large bonfire crackles in the centre of the clearing, casting warm, flickering light across the circle of students gathered around. Shadows dane across their faces, lending a lazy, dreamlike quality to the scene.

Rhaenyra has been here for a while now, shifting from one group of people to another but never staying long enough for them to start asking her questions. They know they’ll be the same every time.

How are you? Are you okay? Do you need to cry?

How terrible… I’m so sorry. You are so strong. It will get better.

But right she doesn’t feel like crying and she doesn’t feel strong. She only feels numb. Rhaenyra watches the flames leap up toward the star-studded sky, feeling the anxiety prickling over her skin. Before long, she catches sight of Laena walking towards her, holding two brown bottles of beer.

“Hey, there you are!” Laena calls, flashing her a warm smile. “I’ve been looking for you. Have you seen Elinda yet? She said she’d be here early, but I haven’t seen her anywhere.”

Rhaenyra shakes her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not yet. But you know her, she’s probably getting caught up with the latest gossip. She’ll find us eventually.”

Laena studies her friend. It’s almost as if she can feel how uneasy Rhaenyra is feeling. “Hey, are you okay?”

Rhaenyra gives a faint smile, shrugging as she looks back toward the bonfire. She wants to tell Laena about the dreams. How every single night, without fail they continue to haunt her. She wants to tell her about what happened at the cemetery. But she doesn’t. Instead, she stirs towards a topic she’s used to talking about. At least with Laena, it’ll feel easier.

“I just thought it would be easier being back. Everyone looks like they are having fun and here I am, just… trying to remember how to be normal.”

“Well, if it helps, I talked to my Grams today. She thinks I should try practising, you know, the whole gift thing. She gave me some advice on how to focus, how to, like, tune in. Guess that makes us both abnormal.”

Rhaenyra’s interest piques, her anxiety momentarily forgotten. “Did she, now? Alright, then. Tell me my future.”

“Are you asking about your future, or maybe the handsome new student’s?” Laena smirks, folding her arms.

Rhaenyra’s cheeks flush, and she nudges Laena with a huff. “Please. I’m just curious. It has nothing to do with him.”

“Sure, sure. I mean, I did see you looking around for him earlier. Just saying.”

Rhaenyra laughs, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. Enough teasing. Just do it already.”

Laena takes a breath, closes her eyes and holds her hands out for Rhaenyra to take.

“Okay, let’s see,” she murmurs, her voice dropping to an exaggeratedly mystical tone. “I see a beautiful girl with silver hair and a devastatingly hot friend. Seriously, you should see the ass on that girl.”

“Very funny.”

Laena opens one eye, grinning. “Alright! Let’s see…”

She takes a deep breath, lacing their fingers together as she tries to stifle a laugh But then, her expression begins to change. The laughter dies on her lips, replaced by a frown the deepens into something closer to fear. Her brows knit together, and her grip tightens, enough for Rhaenyra to feel the tension seeping through. It suddenly feels like the temperature has dropped by several degrees.

“Uh… Laena?” Rhaenyra’s voice wavers as she watches her friend’s face turn pale, her breathing quickening. “Laena, what’s wrong?”

Suddenly, her eyes snap open, wide and unseeing for a moment, as though she is still somewhere else entirely. She lets go of Rhaenyra’s hands, stumbling back slightly.

“Laena?” Rhaenyra asks. She reaches out trying to steady her. “What happened?”

Laena stares at her, stunned, her mouth opening as if to speak, but all that comes out is a choked breath. After a long, tense pause, she finally meets Rhaenyra’s eyes, her voice hushed and trembling.

“It’s… I don’t know what I saw, exactly. But there’s something dark around you, Rhaenyra. Something I can’t explain. I… I just felt this presence—this… this weight. I know it sounds insane.”

Rhaenyra’s heart hammers against her chest. She glances around at the other students who continue to drink and laugh, completely oblivious. A dark force? Could it really be? Could it be whatever was following her around at the cemetery?

“What do you mean, a dark presence?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. It’s like something is watching you, lurking around you.” She bites her lip, clearly disturbed. They stand in silence for a moment. “But, I mean… It’s probably nothing, right? I’m just letting Grams get into my head. Or maybe I’ve had too much beer.”

She holds up her half-full bottle, trying to smile, though her eyes betray a lingering fear she can’t quite shale. Rhaenyra nods, but her eyes remain fixed on her friend, her mind churning with questions she can’t bring herself to ask. She tries to laugh it off, telling herself it’s all just a weird moment. Right?

Rhaenyra’s gaze drifts across the clearing, her breath catching in her throat. There, just beyond the firelight’s reach, stands the boy she met earlier. His gaze is fixed intently on her, his violet eyes catching the fire’s glow in a way that makes them seem to shimmer, like two amethyst jewels. The way he is looking at them… It’s like he heard every single word of their conversation and found it amusing.

Laena, following her friend’s line of sight, spots him instantly. Her face lights up with excitement, and she nudges Rhaenyra’s arm, breaking the spell.

“There he is! The boy you’ve been not-so-subtly looking for.” She smirks, her earlier unease now completely forgotten. “Go talk to him.”

Rhaenyra blinks, a faint blush colouring her cheeks as she tears her gaze away from his and glances at Laena, flustered. “What? No, I wasn’t looking for him—”

“Oh, please.” Laena rolls her eyes, her grin widening. “You’ve been glancing around since we got here. And now, here he is, basically staring right at you. It’s a sign, Rhaenyra. Go.”

“But… what am I supposed to say?” she whispers, her confidence faltering.

“Anything!” Laena laughs, giving her a gentle push. “Just go introduce yourself. He’s looking at you like you’re the only person here, so don’t keep him waiting.”

She takes a step forward and then another. His eyes—those beautiful violet eyes—stay locked on her, pulling her in, filling her with a strange sense of anticipation, like with each step, she is bringing herself closer to something she’s always been waiting for.

As she gets closer, the boy’s expression shifts ever so slightly, a hint of a smile playing at his lips as he watches her approach. She opens her mouth to speak, but her foot catches on a tree root sticking out from the ground, and she stumbles forward, a gasp escaping her. Before she can even process what is happening, his hands are on her, steadying her before she can fall. His touch is surprisingly gentle, yet firm, and she finds herself staring up into those stunning violet eyes, her face hearing up.

“Well,” she says, laughing nervously, “this is the second time today you’ve saved me from certain death.”

“I wouldn’t call it certain death but I’m happy to help nonetheless.” His voice has a quiet confidence, a smoothness that sends a shiver through her.

Rhaenyra straightens her clothes and hair, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “We met earlier, you know, in school. We… We have History together, right?” she asks, hoping she sounds casual.

“History, yes,” he replies. “And English… and Math.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, you remember!”

“I have a good memory for faces and it’s not every day someone falls into your lap. Makes you hard to forget.” There’s a hint of something more in his tone, a suggestion that he’s noticed her as much as she’s noticed him, and it makes her heart beat a little faster.

She takes a breath, shifting her weight, focusing on looking everywhere but his face. “You just moved here, right? You have family or…”

For a moment, his face tightens, his expression guarded. He glances away briefly before nodding. “Yes, actually. My uncle lives here,” he says, his tone careful, as if he’s choosing his words with deliberate caution.

She blinks, genuinely surprised. His uncle? Rhaenyra thought she knew everyone in town—despite its name, Kings Landing isn’t a huge town. She would remember if she’d seen someone with the same violet eyes.

“Wait your uncle—”

He tenses slightly and before she can continue, he clears his throat cutting her off. “Anyway, I don’t even know your name,” he says, his tone shifting, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he looks back at her.

“Right! I’m Rhaenyra,” she says, offering her hand with a smile, though her mind still lingers.

“Rhaenyra,” he repeats, her name rolling off his tongue. He takes her hand, his grip firm, his eyes never leaving hers. “Nice to meet you, Rhaenyra. I’m Daegar.”

For a moment, they stand there, hands still clasped, his intense gaze fixed on hers. She feels the strange pull of him, like he’s someone she’s meant to know, someone she’s drawn to, even if she doesn’t quite understand why. But just as quickly, she slips her hand free, trying to ignore the flutter of excitement in her chest.

“Daegar,” she repeats.

Just as she is about to say something else, she notices a flurry of movement from the corner of her eye. She turns, catching sight of Elinda practically bouncing on her toes, her eyes wide and sparkling as she gestures excitedly in their direction. Laena stands beside her, shooting Rhaenyra a thumbs-up. Rhaenyra feels a wave of embarrassment and glances back at Daegar, offering a small apologetic smile.

“Oh, um… well, if you don’t have other plans, would you want to come and say hi to my friends? They’re, uh… very eager to meet you.”

Daegar raises an eyebrow, glancing over at the girls with an amused look. “I’ve noticed,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

They walk across the clearing together, Rhaenyra feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. As they approach, Elinda’s eyes go wide, and she clutches her hands together in barely contained excitement.

“Hi, I’m Elinda,” she says, her voice a little too loud as she tries to keep her cool. “You must be the new guy the whole students seem to be talking about.”

“Guilty as charged. I’m Daegar, it’s great to meet you all.” He turns to Laena, extending his hand. 

Elinda’s face lights up, and she bites her lip to stifle a grin, shooting Rhaenyra an excited look as if to say, I told you, he really is that gorgeous.

“I’m Laena,” she reaches out, her hand slipping into his. But as soon as their fingers touch, her face changes. Her expression shifts. Her eyes widen, and for a split second, she looks as though she’s seeing something far beyond the clearing, something distant and unsettling.

Everyone notices the moment, even Elinda, who stops mid-sentence, her smile fading as she glances between Laena and Daegar. Laena lets go of his hand abruptly, her fingers dropping as if his touch had burned her. She stammers something incoherent, her gaze averted, and Daegar—if he’s noticed anything—keeps his expression carefully neutral.

“Uh, yeah, great to meet you,” Laena manages, her voice softer, almost distracted, as though she’s still trying to process whatever just happened. A brief, uncomfortable silence settles over the group before Elinda, always quick to fill in any gaps, jumps back in with some cheerful, irrelevant story about a teacher who’d just assigned an impossible project. The laughter resumes, the conversation flows, and the night seems to carry on as if nothing strange has happened.

But as the evening wears on, Rhaenyra can’t shake the feeling that something has changed. Laena is quieter than usual, and every now and then, Rhaenyra catches her stealing glances at Daegar, her eyes filled with something that looks almost like suspicion… or fear. And as the night stretches on, she finds herself wondering what it was that Laena felt… and what secrets Daegar might be hiding behind those violet eyes.