As I strolled by the gathering of young women, each standing in a row and batting their eyelashes, I pondered the superficial.
If alien anthropologists happened upon this scene, they would think the human race a strange, ritualistic bunch. Gods forbid the monkeys ever figure out feasts and balls; it would be game over.
I ignored the wishful thinking of the maidens of the realm and beelined toward Alicent, the lone sweetpea among the wreath of plastic roses that is House Hightower.
"May I have this dance?"
The dress was made from the finest silk, a deep shade of Jasmin that clung to her form. The bodice was tightly laced, enhancing her curves, and was adorned with delicate golden embroidery that shimmered in the torchlight.
Alicent maintained her prim and proper composure, but I spied a subtle smile on her lips.
"You may."
I took her by the hand, soft as the clouds.
"Brrr, why are your hands so cold?" I asked, squeezing her fingers between mine.
"It's chilly in here."
"Are you kidding? It's so stuffy I can barely breathe."
As we reached the centre of the dance floor, I drew her closer by the waist.
She gasped softly but didn't resist. I clasped her other hand and brought her into the traditional ballroom dance position.
Our faces almost touched, and I could smell the subtle fragrance of orange blossom on her skin.
"This ought to warm you up."
However, I failed to understand the cultural incongruity of our position. The entire room gasped at the promiscuity before them, and I realized I had just put Alicent's reputation at risk.
"Apologies, my Lady," I said, disengaging from our lock, "I wasn't thinking."
She rolled her hazel-oak eyes, "You never do."
I ignored that, "What can I say? Your ways are infectious."
With a grand gesture, I clapped my hands twice, signalling the start of the music.
Alicent and I moved into a routine appropriate for our age and status, a typical dance one might see at a Westerosi ball.
It was a polite routine, with minimal physical contact and a few happy-clappy's thrown in here and there.
The crowd around us faded into silence as we danced, creating an atmosphere of unnecessary formality.
The expectation of the moment could have overwhelmed anyone, yet as we swayed together, we became lost in the enchanting rhythm of the music. It was as if time stood still, and nothing else mattered.
Only the two of us — lost in the movement.
Each time our eyes locked, the world melted away.
Our hearts filled with a joyful warmth, and soon we exchanged giggles like two children sharing an inside joke. The confusion on the onlookers' faces only made it more amusing.
Archmaester Vaegon was perhaps the most perplexed.
"What do you make of this?" he asked Theodore.
"I think the scholars call that 'laughter'…"
The Archmaester scoffed, "As if we figured that from experience."
"We should thank the gods for the power of observation," said Theodore.
By the time Alicent and I finished the dance, we could barely keep it together enough to hold our final pose.
Our chests heaved up and down, our faces lit with wide grins until the applause from the crowd grounded us back to reality.
"That was all your fault!" I teased, "As soon as you started laughing, I couldn't keep it together!"
Alicent feigned like she was insulted, "Me? You started it with that absurd face!"
"Face?" I said, twisting my features into a grotesque mask, "What's wrong with my face?!"
"Hahaha!"
I took Alicent's hand and led her off the dance floor as we caught our breath.
"Thank you for that."
"No need to thank me," she said, "I can hardly deny the Prince."
"I meant for not making me look utterly terrible, but whatever you say."
As the night wore on, the number of guests dwindled, and Lords bid their servants to escort their children to bed.
I spent the remainder of the evening nodding along to whatever political rhetoric each Lord espoused, responding with the requisite pleasantries.
The moments of genuine enjoyment were few and far between as I struggled to keep up with the barrage of misdirection and subtle persuasion.
And then, in the echo of that emptying room, I looked up to find a group of vultures had encircled me.
It was well past midnight, the hour of the wolf, and the only child remaining at the party was Larys Strong. So naturally I excused myself and went over to the quiet area where he sat, observing.
"Still here?" I said, "You've got quite the mental stamina."
"It is you that's the impressive one, my Prince."
I dismissed the flattery, "Hardly. I feel like I lose my mind during things like this. The only way I get through it is to make my own fun. For example—"
I strode over to a cluster of Lords who were talking amongst themselves. With a sly wink in Larys' direction, I leaned in and murmured something into the ear of one of the gossiping nobles.
As the Lord recoiled in shock, Larys observed with keen interest. I maintained a straight face until I turned away from the group, at which point I couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle.
Larys shot me a curious glance as I settled back into my seat beside him.
"What did you say to him?" he inquired.
"I told Lord Stokeworth that Lady Rosby's hair went grey after having an affair with Lord Buckwell."
Larys raised a brow, "Why did you do that?"
I pointed toward the crowd, "Watch."
Larys watched in amazement as Lord Stokeworth whispered my forgery to someone, who in turn whispered it to another, and the rumor spread like wildfire through the room.
I was always a sucker for reactions, so I appreciated the silly expression on Larys' face.
"Now, check this out," I said to him, before getting Lord Tarth's attention.
"Hey!" I said, using my hand to wheel him in, "What's all the commotion about?"
Lord Tarth blushed in embarrassment, "It's not something for me to repeat to the Prince."
"That's not for you to decide. Tell us."
Lord Tarth gulped before as he leaned closer and hushed.
"They say Lady Rosby gave grey-scale to Lord Buckwell, my Prince…"
"Pfft—!"
Larys and I struggled to keep our faces straight.
"Did she really?" I said, my voice cracking. "How terrible."
"Very unfortunate," added Larys, "But that's not what I heard."
My ears perked up with interest. Larys surprised me with how quickly he caught on to the drama.
"Oh?" I said airheadedly, "There's more?"
Lord Tarth widened his eyes, eagerly awaiting Larys to spill the beans.
"The maesters say it's a new type of greyscale. One that only affects… certain body parts."
I pretended to gasp, "A sexually transmitted disease! How could they keep something like that a secret?!"
Larys shrugged, "Not so secret anymore. I thought you knew."
Lord Tarth looked like he needed a moment to process the information before finally shaking himself out of his trance.
He bowed and said, "Excuse me," before hurrying off to engage in the game of Chinese whispers once more.
Larys and I burst into laughter as soon as Lord Tarth was out of earshot.
"You see the kind of things I have to do to stay entertained?" I said.
Larys wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, "I'll never underestimate boredom again."
"Well," I rose to my feet and brushed imaginary dust from my knees, "On that note, I believe I've done more than enough for one night. I leave you to retire. Good evening, Larys. It was nice to meet you."
Larys made an effort to stand just so he could bow respectfully, "You too, my Prince. And thanks for showing me that."
Before leaving Larys, I shot him a wry smile and cautioned, "You be careful with that. It's all fun and games until they decide to trace the rumor's origin."
Larys nodded humbly, keeping his head down, "I will."
And so I took my leave from the party, bidding my father good night. Mother had already retired to bed hours ago. My father gave me a nod of approval, letting me know that I had played my part perfectly.
As soon as I got out of the Great Hall I sighed with relief.
"Phew!"
Ser Steffon Darklyn joined me at the hip, "Are you well, my Prince?"
"I'm relieved that's over. Now, it's time to take an hour's break before gearing up for tomorrow's busy schedule. It's good to be alive!"
Ser Steffon was taken aback by how zany I seemed after all of that. It was as if I were one of those Ya ba addicts, so wired that I couldn't tell how fried I was from days without sleep.
"Some rest will do you good," Ser Steffon said, "There's a reason the Kingsguard take shifts."
"That reminds me, what happens when one of you needs the privy?"
"… We go in our armor."
I had never seen anything like it before. The image of yellow liquid emanating from Ser Ryam while he stood guard with a serious expression conjured in my mind.
"Really?!" I asked in disbelief.
"… No."
"Gods..." I sighed, suddenly aware of my fatigue. "Yup, I need rest. I feel like I've lost my mind."
I noticed Ser Lorent Marbrand stationed outside as we arrived at my chambers.
"Ser Lorent?" I asked, feeling confused.
"Prince Rhaenar."
"Why are you standing outside my chambers? One glorified statue is more than enough."
The Kingsguard were used to my teasing. They knew how much I respected them.
"You'll understand once you're inside," Ser Lorent dryly said.
I wondered if he didn't answer me because I disliked spoiled surprises. "That wasn't a trick question."
"I'm just a knight," Ser Lorent replied. "I don't have the words."
Ser Steffon and I exchanged queer looks before I shrugged, cranking my sarcasm to the max, "Well said."
I pushed open the lavish doors of his chambers, creaking under my touch.
As I stepped inside, I was greeted by the warm glow of a roaring fire in the hearth, casting a flickering light across the room. Scrolls were laid out neatly on the table, and an unfinished painting rested on the easel in the corner.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, yet Ser Lorent's mysterious comment still lingered in my mind.
Shaking off the feeling, I stepped further into the room, only to hear the sound of muffled sobs coming from my bed.
Perplexed, I called out, "Hello?"
The bundle in my sheets suddenly raised up, and a familiar voice cried out.
"Rhaenar!"
It was my sister, tears streaming down her face.
My nurtering instincts kicked in, "Rhaenyra? What's wrong?"
She squeezed me tightly, her sobs echoing in the room.
"It was horrible. All night I had to listen to father trying to sell me off to some Lord. I wanted to stop talking to all the boys, but he wouldn't let me," she said, her voice breaking with emotion.
At this point of my life, I still hadn't learned that sometimes women just want you to listen to their problems, not have you try and fix them.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, motioning for my sister to sit next to me. She collapsed into the space beside me, still sniffling.
"What happened exactly?" I asked, trying to get a better understanding of the situation.
She took a deep breath and started to recount the events of the evening.
Apparently, my father had been trying to arrange a marriage for her with some lord, and she was not interested in the slightest. She had gone through the entire night surrounded by the toxic speak of men bartering with marriages.
Seeing my sister upset, my mother intervened to mediate the situation, but it only worsened things. My parents started arguing, each getting louder and more frustrated until mother took Rhaenyra by the hand and stormed out the Great Hall.
"That's not even the worst of it," she sniffled, "The one he talked to the most was that *Lannister*. He spoke to him as if it was already decided, like it was really happening for sure. I was so scared!"
My heart ached as I saw my little sister so upset. I gently laid her down on the bed and sat beside her, stroking her hair as I tried to calm her down and help her fall asleep.
Despite my attempts to calm her down, my sister continued to sob.
It felt like hours had passed, but her tears kept coming. And then, suddenly, I felt a surge of anger rising in my chest, hot and fierce like molten magma.
It wasn't right. My sister shouldn't have gone through that. To feel utterly objectified — like nothing more than a bargaining chip in some political game.
"That's it!" I said, springing from the bed, "Get dressed. We're doing something."
"Doing what?" Rhaenyra asked, surprised at my sudden action.
"Taking back your power."