Rhaegar's eyes flickered as he instructed, "Take good care of it. I recently acquired an ancient book on dragons, and I plan to discuss it with the maesters later."
The book had been procured at a high price by Syrio on his behalf. The seller was an orphan whose father had once explored the Smoking Sea.
"Can it be healed?" Rhaena's large, watery eyes widened as she held up the baby dragon in her arms.
Feigning deep thought, Rhaegar chuckled and said, "Perhaps."
After soothing the twins, he noticed Rhaenyra finishing a slice of pie while downing large gulps of wine.
Internally frustrated but maintaining a pleasant smile, Rhaegar said, "Alright, I need to have a word with Rhaenyra. Take the dragon and go play outside for a while."
"Okay." The twins obediently scampered out of the room.
Once they were gone, Rhaegar straightened his back and sighed, his brows furrowing in exasperation.
Rhaenyra, having finished her drink, carefully selected a delectable dessert and continued eating.
The entire pastry couldn't fit into her small mouth, so she could only take one-third of a bite at a time. The creamy filling smeared against her rosy lips, leaving little traces of cream.
Yet she seemed to revel in the indulgence, completely disregarding her usual composed demeanor.
Rhaegar sat beside her. Her dazzling eyes glanced at him awkwardly before she buried herself in her feast again.
"Rhaenyra, Alicent asked you to entertain the guests. Don't you want to get some fresh air?" Rhaegar attempted to persuade her.
"Alicent can handle it on her own," Rhaenyra replied, unfazed.
Rhaegar took a deep breath and gestured toward Sara, the foreign handmaid standing silently like a statue. "Go fetch Orwyle. Quickly."
Sara nodded and left without a word.
Recently, Rhaenyra's behavior had taken an odd turn. Her appetite had grown voracious, her energy was low, and her moods were increasingly erratic.
Though she had always had a sweet tooth and wasn't the most even-tempered, the change was too drastic.
If she wasn't chewing on delicacies, she was snapping at someone.
As they spoke, Rhaenyra swiftly finished another dessert and reached for a strawberry pudding to cleanse her palate.
Noticing the stack of five or six empty plates beside her, Rhaegar grasped her delicate wrist and said sternly, "Rhaenyra, you've already had too many sweets. You'll make yourself sick."
She used to have three meals a day, with perhaps a small dessert or a piece of bread as a treat.
But now, she was eating an astonishing amount—ordering meals non-stop from morning to night, consuming in one sitting what she used to eat in an entire day.
Interrupted from enjoying her treat, Rhaenyra's eyes darkened with annoyance. She glanced at his hand on her wrist, furrowing her brows in displeasure. "I'm hungry."
"No, you're just craving food."
Rhaegar was firm, pressing his fingers against her silken nightgown just above her abdomen. "You've been eating unchecked for half a month. Do you want to ruin yourself?"
Her stomach, once smooth and flat, would soon turn into a barrel if she kept this up.
"You think I'm fat!" Rhaenyra gasped, eyes widening in outrage.
Smack!
Taking advantage of Rhaegar's distraction, she grabbed a handful of cream and smeared it across his face in retaliation, rubbing it in with glee.
"Rhaenyra, you're not a child anymore," Rhaegar scolded.
He leaned back to avoid her playful assault, but she still managed to get cream all over his lips.
Creak—
The door swung open, and Sara returned with Orwyle.
Rhaegar turned his head, surprised to see not just the two of them but also a voluptuous woman in red robes standing behind them.
Smack!
Rhaenyra pouted and slapped another piece of cake onto his chest.
Rhaegar clenched his jaw, grabbed a cloak from the bedside, and draped it over Rhaenyra, adjusting her loose nightgown.
"Come in."
Once everything was settled, Orwyle stepped inside, carrying a small satchel.
While wiping the cream from his tunic, Rhaegar ordered sternly, "You know the princess's condition. Examine her thoroughly."
He suspected Rhaenyra was either ill or had suffered some kind of emotional distress.
Rhaenyra's face flushed crimson, her eyes brimming with tears as she bit her lower lip. "I'm not sick."
Just moments ago, she had been fuming, and now she looked utterly pitiful, her eyes welling up as if on the verge of crying. Her emotions were all over the place.
Rhaegar's heart softened. He gently pulled her into an embrace, his voice soothing. "Let the maester check. We all want to make sure you're alright, don't we?"
Rhaenyra shook her head repeatedly, burying her face in his chest as she let out small, muffled sobs.
She no longer resembled the confident and dazzling princess of before. Instead, she seemed like a little girl who had just been wronged.
Rhaegar placed a soft kiss on her forehead, signaling Orwyle to proceed quickly.
With Rhaegar's support, Orwyle had been promoted to Grand Maester and now held a seat on the Small Council, making him practically an ally.
Orwyle was skilled in medicine and conducted the examination with practiced ease.
After a moment, he concluded, "The princess is in good health. Her fatigue may be due to sleepless nights and recurring dreams, which are affecting her spirit."
"That's all?"
"There's no sign of any illness."
Rhaegar was taken aback. Suddenly, a possibility crossed his mind, and he hesitated before asking, "Could it be… this?"
He gestured toward Rhaenyra's stomach, his expression filled with hope.
Orwyle shook his head. "Your Grace, the princess is not showing any signs of pregnancy."
Given the limitations of medical knowledge, they could only wait to see.
"I see. Thank you, you may go."
Orwyle, ever perceptive, bowed silently and exited the room.
As he passed the doorway, the red-robed woman at the entrance spoke in a soft, melodic voice. "Your Grace, why not let me take a look?"
Rhaegar shot her a cold glance and rejected her outright. "Stay away from Rhaenyra, or I'll have you sent back to Volantis immediately."
Despite his alliance with the R'hllor temple, he harbored a deep-seated aversion to red priestesses.
There was no way he would allow one near Rhaenyra in her current state.
Yet, the red priestess showed no anger. Instead, she studied the siblings with an unreadable gaze and murmured, "A true dragon takes the nourishment it needs."
"What nonsense are you muttering?" Rhaegar snapped, his eyes narrowing.
"Nothing at all," she replied calmly.
The Red Priestess leaned against the doorframe and sneered, "I've inspected the chapel inside the castle. Those two monks devoted to the Faith of the Seven are still clamoring to cast a bronze statue of the Holy Mother. Are you sure you won't consider converting to the faith of R'hllor?"
"No! Absolutely not, at least not now. You may leave."
Rhaegar feigned anger and issued a dismissal.
The Faith of the Seven had been deeply rooted in Westeros for centuries. The Wise King had painstakingly brokered a deal with them—how could he break it so easily?
Unless there was a need. Unless the benefits were great enough.
The Red Priestess knew she lacked the leverage and left in frustration.
Sara, perceptive as ever, followed suit. As she stepped out, she closed the door behind her.
For a moment, the room fell silent, leaving only the sound of quiet sobs and whispered comforts.
Rhaenyra wept silently, nuzzling against Rhaegar's chest, trying to find a comfortable position to settle down.
She had been anxious lately, unable to find peace.
After a while, she choked out, "Aren't you going to entertain the guests?"
Rhaegar gently smoothed her disheveled hair and said seriously, "To hell with those guests. Staying with you is enough."
He didn't fully understand why Rhaenyra was feeling this way, but he knew she was deeply unsettled and needed him by her side.
"You're the crown prince. You should go," Rhaenyra murmured stubbornly, tightening her arms around his waist.
Rhaegar saw through her little act and leaned in to whisper, "Rhaenyra, what's really wrong?"
Her tear-filled eyes glared at him resentfully before she buried herself back in his embrace like an ostrich.
After a pause, Rhaegar heard her vent in a soft murmur.
"Father favored you even when you were still in Mother's womb. Even when you were born unconscious, you were still his focus…"
Her voice turned drowsy, mumbling, "Because you're a boy. You had one more thing than me, and just like that, you took my throne…"
Then, her voice broke into sobs again. "You're so good—smarter than me since we were little. Even I, who should resent you, can't help but care about you…"
"Rhaegar, you've been unfaithful to me. You owe me…"
As she spoke, her voice gradually faded.
Rhaegar looked down and saw Rhaenyra had fallen asleep against his chest, which was smeared with cream, her brows slightly furrowed.
Hearing the grievances she had kept buried in her heart, Rhaegar tightened his embrace and rested his forehead against hers.
At least she had spoken her mind, allowing him to understand her thoughts.
She would feel better. And so would he.
After a moment of silence, Rhaegar whispered softly, "Until the tournament is over, I'll stay by your side. I won't go anywhere."
Then he carefully lifted her and placed her on the bed to rest.
He gazed at her for a while, and as drowsiness crept in, he finally closed his eyes.
Just before slipping into sleep, he heard a familiar whisper in his ear.
"I don't blame you…"
…
Unknowingly, a dream took shape.
The Red Keep, a certain room.
Rhaegar found himself standing there, disoriented. The furnishings felt strangely familiar.
Where a bed should have been, a cradle stood instead.
Rhaegar stepped closer and saw a swaddled infant sleeping peacefully inside.
"What are you doing?"
A sudden familiar voice startled him.
"Princess, it's time to feed the young prince."
"You may leave. I'll do it myself."
"…"
Rhaegar exhaled in relief—it wasn't someone in the dream noticing him, just voices conversing outside the door.
Creak—
The door opened, and a petite, silver-haired girl walked in, holding a bowl of warm goat's milk.
"Rhaenyra?" Rhaegar asked in surprise.
She looked about eight or nine years old, her delicate face adorably youthful, but her violet eyes carried a weight beyond her years.
Approaching the cradle, she gazed down at the infant, a flicker of resentment flashing in her eyes.
"You took Mother away from me," she whispered, hesitating before pinching the baby's nose.
Rhaegar watched in stunned silence.
The infant was undoubtedly him. He never expected that Rhaenyra had once tried to harm him.
Deprived of air, the baby stirred awake, his tiny hands fumbling clumsily.
Born weak, he couldn't even open his eyes. His mouth opened instinctively, but no cries came—only unconscious smacking sounds.
Struggling for breath, the infant flailed desperately before unexpectedly grabbing Rhaenyra's hand and licking it with his tiny tongue.
"Ew," Rhaenyra shuddered, recoiling in disgust and letting go.
Finally able to breathe, the baby took a deep gulp of air before clinging to Rhaenyra's hand, sucking at it eagerly.
Rhaenyra furrowed her little brows, observing her helpless younger brother.
Then, suddenly, the baby's eyes fluttered open, revealing pure violet irises. He continued gnawing on her fingers, oblivious.
At the sight of those innocent violet eyes, Rhaenyra's cold expression wavered. Her delicate face struggled to maintain its sternness.
After a moment's thought, she pulled her slobbered-on hand away and haughtily looked down at the baby.
Then, as if struck by an idea, a mischievous smile curled on her lips. She dipped her finger into the goat's milk and teasingly hovered it near the baby's mouth.
The infant babbled excitedly, grabbing her finger and sucking with all his might, clearly starving.
Finding it amusing, Rhaenyra continued the game—dipping her finger, teasing the baby, and waiting for his impatient grumbles before finally letting him drink.
And so, the baby endured his torment, drinking half a bowl of milk before dozing off with a tiny snore.
Rhaenyra's cheeks flushed as she lay beside the cradle, watching him intently. Every so often, she reached out to poke his chubby little face.
Rhaegar took it all in, a sense of relief washing over him.
Thankfully, thankfully, she hadn't really tried to kill him.
Just then, an unexpected realization hit him—memories of certain moments in bed surfaced in his mind.
Rhaegar gritted his teeth.
"No wonder she always tries to dominate me!"
(End of chapter)