Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was terrible at dice.
I discovered this three days after our first meeting.
"No."
Rhaegar stared at the dice.
"Yes."
"That's four losses."
"Five."
His violet eyes narrowed.
"You're cheating."
"I'm seven."
"That isn't a defense."
"It's a very good defense."
Rhaegar picked up the dice and inspected them as though expecting to discover some hidden Lannister mechanism inside.
We were sitting on the floor of his chambers, surrounded by books we had abandoned nearly an hour earlier.
The Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms had apparently decided that the proper response to losing was accusing his seven-year-old opponent of fraud.
I liked him more every day.
"Again," he said.
"You still owe me from the last game."
"What do I owe you?"
"Your lemon cake."
Rhaegar looked genuinely offended.
"I never agreed to that."
"You said winner chooses."
"I assumed you would choose something reasonable."
"The lemon cake is reasonable."
"It is my last one."
"Then you should have played better."
Rhaegar threw a cushion at me.
I ducked.
The cushion struck a table.
A goblet toppled.
Both of us froze.
It hit the floor.
Clang.
Silence.
We looked at each other.
Then at the door.
No footsteps.
Rhaegar lowered his voice.
"You did that."
"You threw the cushion."
"You moved."
"Was I supposed to let you hit me?"
"Yes."
"Terrible prince."
"Dishonorable lion."
I started laughing.
Rhaegar lasted perhaps three seconds before joining me.
It was strange.
Not the laughter.
How normal it felt.
My duties as Aerys's cupbearer continued, but the novelty faded quickly.
Council meetings were mostly administration.
Petitions.
Coin.
Roads.
Appointments.
Disputes between lords.
Occasionally something interesting happened, but most of the time I simply poured wine and tried not to fall asleep standing.
The more interesting part of King's Landing happened afterward.
Rhaegar had apparently decided I belonged to him whenever neither Tywin nor Aerys required me.
Nobody had formally arranged it.
He simply began appearing.
The first time, he found me practicing alone in one of the smaller yards.
"Your stance is too wide."
I stopped.
Rhaegar stood beneath an archway.
"Do you even know how to use a sword?"
His expression became offended.
"I'm a prince."
"That wasn't my question."
He disappeared.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying a wooden sword.
I stared.
"You're serious?"
"You insulted me."
"I asked a question."
"Same thing."
He stepped into the yard.
Rhaegar was older.
Taller.
Stronger.
That mattered.
Ser Harys had beaten that lesson into me repeatedly.
But Rhaegar wasn't Jaime.
He wasn't aggressive.
He fought carefully.
Almost academically.
Which made sense.
Rhaegar seemed to approach swordsmanship like another book.
He knew what he was supposed to do.
I could see the lessons in his movements.
Guard.
Step.
Strike.
Recover.
Technically clean.
Predictable.
Our wooden swords cracked together.
Rhaegar pushed forward.
I moved aside.
He corrected.
I struck toward his ribs.
He blocked.
Better than I'd expected.
"You're smiling," he said.
"So are you."
He attacked again.
This time I deliberately gave him the opening.
He took it.
I moved.
My sword touched his shoulder.
"Dead prince."
Rhaegar stared at the wooden blade.
Then at me.
"You tricked me."
"Yes."
"Again."
We fought again.
And again.
And again.
I won the first three.
He won the fourth by simply crashing into me after our swords tangled.
I hit the ground hard.
Rhaegar's wooden sword touched my chest.
"Dead lion."
"You tackled me."
"I adapted."
"That's cheating."
"I'm ten."
I stared at him.
He smiled.
I couldn't argue with that.
Our friendship developed faster than I expected.
Perhaps because neither of us had many real friends.
I had Jaime and Cersei, but they were younger and they were family.
Rhaegar had people constantly surrounding him.
That wasn't the same thing.
Everyone treated him as the Crown Prince.
Servants bowed.
Knights praised him.
Lords watched him.
Even other children seemed careful around him.
I understood why.
One wrong word to a prince could become your father's problem.
I already had enough problems.
Apparently I didn't care.
"You read too much."
"You ask too many questions."
"Your singing is strange."
"You haven't heard me sing."
"I heard you yesterday."
Rhaegar looked horrified.
"You were outside?"
"You left the window open."
"You weren't supposed to hear that."
"It wasn't terrible."
"That means it was terrible."
"It was very serious."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know. Everything you do is serious."
He shoved me.
I shoved him back.
A servant passing through the corridor nearly dropped an entire tray when he saw me push the heir to the Iron Throne.
Rhaegar waited until the man disappeared.
Then he laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall.
That was when I began understanding something.
Rhaegar didn't need another person telling him he was special.
He knew.
Everyone reminded him every day.
What he needed was someone willing to tell him when he was being an idiot.
I could do that.
Quite easily.
One afternoon, he took me somewhere I wasn't supposed to be.
At least, I assumed I wasn't supposed to be there because the servant following us became increasingly nervous.
"Your Grace—"
"I'm not the king," Rhaegar said.
"My prince, perhaps we should—"
"We'll return before supper."
The servant looked at me.
As though I might somehow be the responsible one.
Poor man.
We continued down a narrow staircase beneath the Red Keep.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
"I hate when people say that."
"You ask too many questions."
"I've been told."
The staircase ended near a lower gate.
Two guards bowed to Rhaegar.
Neither stopped him.
That was another lesson in being a prince.
Doors opened.
We emerged into the city.
I stopped.
"Rhaegar."
He kept walking.
"Rhaegar."
"What?"
"Are we allowed to do this?"
He looked at me.
"Probably."
"That is not reassuring."
"You wanted to see King's Landing."
"I've seen King's Landing."
"You've ridden through King's Landing surrounded by Lannister guards."
Fair.
Rhaegar had changed clothes.
No black-and-red dragon embroidery.
No jewels.
Just a plain dark tunic and cloak.
His hair was the problem.
There was no hiding Targaryen hair.
He'd pulled up his hood.
I looked down at myself.
Crimson.
Gold embroidery.
A small lion clasp.
"You're disguised."
"Yes."
"I'm dressed like a Lannister banner."
Rhaegar stared at me for a moment.
"I hadn't thought of that."
"Brilliant."
He smiled.
"Turn the cloak around."
"What?"
"The inside is brown."
I stared at him.
"Have you done this before?"
His smile disappeared.
"No."
That was somehow worse.
King's Landing changed completely when nobody moved aside for us.
I discovered that within minutes.
People bumped into me.
Actually bumped into me.
One man nearly knocked me into a basket of onions and didn't even apologize.
I stared after him.
Rhaegar laughed.
"You look offended."
"He walked into me."
"Perhaps you should have him executed."
"I was considering it."
We moved deeper into the streets.
For once, nobody shouted Lord Tywin.
Nobody bowed.
Nobody cared.
The city became more interesting immediately.
A baker shouted at a customer.
Two boys chased each other between stalls.
A woman sold flowers beside a butcher whose table was covered in enough blood to make the flowers seem deeply misplaced.
I bought two honeycakes.
Rhaegar tried taking one.
I slapped his hand.
"Buy your own."
"I didn't bring coin."
I stared at the Crown Prince.
"You brought me because I have money."
"No."
"You're using me."
"I showed you the city."
"You've been outside the castle for ten minutes."
"Exactly."
I gave him the honeycake.
He smiled.
"Generous."
"Remember it when you're king."
The words left my mouth casually.
Rhaegar stopped.
Only for a moment.
Then he continued walking.
Something had changed.
I noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're bad at lying."
"So are you."
"I'm excellent at lying."
"No, you're confident while lying. That's different."
I frowned.
That was annoyingly accurate.
We continued.
Then Rhaegar spoke quietly.
"Do you think about becoming Lord of Casterly Rock?"
The question surprised me.
"Sometimes."
"Do you want it?"
I thought about the mountain.
The council chamber.
The mines.
The people.
Jaime asking if I'd be lord after Father.
"It's going to be mine whether I want it or not."
Rhaegar nodded.
"Exactly."
For the first time, I understood what he was really asking.
Not about Casterly Rock.
About the Iron Throne.
"You don't want to be king?"
His eyes moved toward me sharply.
"Lower your voice."
I did.
Rhaegar looked ahead.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
He was silent.
Then:
"I want to be a good king."
That wasn't the same answer.
I waited.
He kicked a loose stone along the street.
"My father says kings cannot afford weakness."
"What does your mother say?"
Another pause.
"That kings should remember they rule people, not lands."
I liked Queen Rhaella already.
"Your mother sounds smarter."
Rhaegar gave me a look.
"Don't say that near my father."
"I wasn't planning to."
We reached a busier street.
For a moment, the conversation disappeared beneath shouting merchants.
But I remembered it.
Not because I was watching Rhaegar for some future weakness.
Because he was my friend.
And I suddenly realized that being his friend might someday become very complicated.
We should have returned then.
We didn't.
Instead, we followed the sound of cheering.
That was my fault.
"What is that?"
Rhaegar looked toward the noise.
"I don't know."
"Let's see."
"You complained about coming out here."
"That was before something interesting happened."
We followed the crowd.
A loose circle had formed in a yard between several buildings.
Men shouted.
Coins changed hands.
Two fighters stood inside.
Not knights.
One was huge and bald.
The other was younger, shirtless, blood running from his nose.
A fighting pit.
Not a real arena.
Something illegal and temporary.
Bare fists.
Rhaegar stared.
"We should leave."
I stared at him.
"You are the one who brought us into the city."
"And you're the one who wanted to follow the shouting."
"Then we're both stupid."
"Agreed."
The bald man hit his opponent.
Hard.
The younger fighter collapsed.
People cheered.
I didn't.
Suddenly sword practice seemed very different.
Ser Harys hit me because he was teaching me.
These men were hurting each other because strangers found it entertaining.
The bald fighter raised his arms.
Coins flew.
Then someone behind us said:
"Pretty cloak."
I turned.
Three boys stood there.
Not children exactly.
Older than us.
The youngest perhaps thirteen.
The oldest maybe sixteen.
Dirty clothes.
Thin faces.
One was looking at my boots.
Good leather.
Damn.
Rhaegar pulled his hood lower.
"We're leaving."
The oldest boy stepped sideways.
Blocking us.
"Didn't say you could."
My heart began beating faster.
Not fear exactly.
Something sharper.
Ser Harys's lessons surfaced automatically.
Three.
Older.
Larger.
No visible swords.
One had a knife at his belt.
We had none.
I'd left mine at the Red Keep because apparently even I wasn't stupid enough to carry a Lannister sword while pretending not to be a Lannister.
The servant who had followed us was nowhere nearby.
That was concerning.
"Move," Rhaegar said.
The oldest boy smiled.
"Listen to him."
His eyes went to Rhaegar's hood.
"What's under there?"
Rhaegar stepped backward.
The boy reached for it.
I caught his wrist.
Everything stopped.
His eyes dropped to my hand.
Then back to me.
"Don't."
He smiled.
I immediately regretted saying it like that.
His fist hit me in the stomach.
Hard.
Air disappeared from my lungs.
I stumbled backward.
Rhaegar shoved him.
"Tycen!"
The other two moved.
People around us barely noticed.
The fighting pit had started another bout.
The oldest boy recovered.
His smile was gone.
"You little shit."
His hand went toward his belt.
The knife.
My body reacted before my thoughts did.
I grabbed Rhaegar's arm.
"Run."
For once, the Crown Prince of Westeros did exactly what I told him.
We ran.
King's Landing became a blur.
People.
Carts.
Mud.
Shouting.
My stomach hurt.
Behind us, someone yelled.
They were following.
"Left!" Rhaegar shouted.
"Why?"
"I don't know!"
"Great!"
We turned left.
Bad choice.
The street narrowed.
We crashed through a group carrying baskets.
Someone cursed us.
Footsteps remained behind.
Rhaegar's hood slipped.
Silver-gold hair flashed in the sunlight.
A woman stared.
"Seven hells—"
I grabbed the hood and yanked it back over his head.
"Keep it on!"
"I know!"
We turned again.
The shouting faded.
Then stopped.
We slowed.
Both of us breathing hard.
Rhaegar leaned against a wall.
I did the same.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he looked at me.
"You got punched."
"I noticed."
"You should see your face."
"He hit my stomach."
"Your face looks offended."
"My face is always offended."
Rhaegar started laughing.
I tried not to.
Failed.
Soon both of us were laughing like idiots in some filthy alley in King's Landing.
Then we heard footsteps.
Not running.
Slow.
Several people.
Our laughter died.
A shadow appeared at the end of the alley.
Then another.
The oldest boy stepped into view.
Knife in hand.
The other two followed.
He smiled.
"Found you."
Rhaegar straightened.
I looked behind us.
Dead end.
Of course.
For one ridiculous moment, Ser Harys's voice appeared in my head.
Always know where you can move.
I had failed that lesson spectacularly.
The knife caught the sunlight.
This was different.
No wooden sword.
No blunted steel.
No Ser Denys waiting to stop the fight.
No father.
No guards.
No rules.
My heartbeat thundered.
I moved slightly in front of Rhaegar.
He immediately stepped beside me.
"I'm older," he whispered.
"Congratulations."
"I should be in front."
"You don't know what you're doing."
"Neither do you."
Fair.
The three boys approached.
And for the first time since I had been born into this world, I understood something with absolute clarity.
Knowing how a fight should happen was nothing like being trapped inside one.
The oldest boy raised the knife.
I didn't watch.
I didn't wait.
I moved.