The walk from the King's solar to Rhaenys's chambers felt surprisingly short.
The hour was late, the corridors largely empty save for the guards of the keep standing their silent vigil beneath the torches. Rhaegar's mind was moving faster than it had in some time. The Old King had made his definitive move, and now it was up to Rhaegar to ensure the pieces fell exactly where he wanted them to.
He reached the heavy door of the chambers. He did not ask the knight stationed at the end of the hall to announce him and simply knocked twice, the sound echoing across the quiet corridor.
A moment later, the door was opened by one of Rhaenys's handmaidens. The girl bowed hastily at the sight of the prince and stepped aside.
"You may leave us, Elinda," Rhaenys's voice called out from within.
The handmaiden scurried out, pulling the door shut behind her with a soft thud.
The chamber was spacious and warm, smelling of jasmine and some other scents that Rhaegar couldn't quite place. Rhaenys was seated at a small polished table near the balcony doors, a heavy tome open in front of her and a goblet of wine in her hand. At eighteen, she was the very picture of majesty, black hair cascading over her shoulders, her posture effortlessly commanding, and her gaze imperious.
She did not look up immediately. She took a slow sip of her wine, turned a page of the book, and finally shifted her gaze to him.
"You look terrible," she noted dryly.
"A product of my father attempting to teach me the value of Crown property through blunt force in the recent days," Rhaegar replied, walking further into the room.
A faint smirk touched her lips. "Yes, I heard. They say you've been receiving quite the thrashings. A shame that I have missed them. I would have considered throwing down a few silver stags in support."
"Your empathy is touching, cousin." Rhaegar pulled out the chair opposite her and sat, wincing slightly as his muscles protested the movement.
Rhaenys closed the book, her amusement fading into something more analytical. She studied him for a long moment.
"So, considering that you are not one to drop by for a simple chat, you must have something of importance to say."
"I do," Rhaegar confirmed as he cleared his throat. "I've just come straight from the King's solar for the matter."
"Have you now?" Rhaenys raised her brow.
"I have."
"At this hour." Rhaenys leaned back, tracing the rim of her goblet with one finger. "Grandfather doesn't summon people to his solar after dark to discuss the weather. And considering you recently claimed Balerion and shattered half the Dragonpit doing so, I imagine the conversations lately have been terribly consequential."
"They have been," Rhaegar agreed. He didn't look away from her. "He is calling a council in a fortnight. The lords of the Crownlands are commanded to attend, and the other Great Houses will send representatives. We are to address the blockade in the Stepstones."
Rhaenys rested her head on her palm. "Is that all?"
"No." Rhaegar held her gaze. "He also intends to formally announce our betrothal."
The word hung in the quiet air of the chamber. The fire popped in the hearth.
Rhaenys did not gasp. She did not drop her goblet. Her expression barely shifted, save for a slight tightening at the corners of her eyes. She sat perfectly still for what felt like an eternity, processing the undeniable confirmation of what she had long suspected.
Slowly, she brought the goblet to her lips and took another sip.
"So," she said, her voice infuriatingly calm. "He finally broke my father's stubbornness."
"He had help. Grandmother was very persuasive, it seems."
Rhaenys let out a snort, devoid of any humor. "I imagine she was." She set the cup down. "Three years, Rhaegar. For three years, I have watched every lord from the South to the Wall parade their sons through this keep. I am eighteen. By all precedents, I should have been married to the son of some Lord Paramount years ago. I knew Grandfather was keeping me off their hands for a reason."
"You never raised a fuss about it," Rhaegar pointed out.
"Because I am not an idiot," Rhaenys shot back, a flash of annoyance bleeding into her tone. "I knew why he was delaying. My father is the heir. I am his only child. The lords of this realm would rather swallow their swords than kneel to a woman, and Grandfather knows it. If he married me off to a Lord Paramount, the other lords would use my husband's house to sow division. And if he married me to a minor lord, my claim looks weak. They would look for an excuse to pass over me."
She leaned forward, her violet eyes locking onto his. "He needed to build a deterrent. Someone with Targaryen blood, growing influence, and enough potential to silence any dissent before it could even be spoken. He just needed to wait for you to be old enough to play the part."
"I am only fourteen, you know," Rhaegar said calmly.
"Ah, yes." Rhaenys rolled her eyes. "You are just fourteen, but somehow happen to possess a fortune that rivals many high lords, have a trade fleet that will do almost anything you bid them to, the smallfolk think you are a god wearing human skin, and now you ride the Conqueror's dragon," Rhaenys countered sharply. "Do not play the child with me, Rhaegar. You haven't been a child in years."
Rhaegar did not argue. He let the silence stretch, allowing her the space to settle.
"You are angry," he observed quietly.
"I am having to be treated and protected like a piece of porcelain just to secure my own birthright," Rhaenys said, her voice dropping lower. "I believe I can be allowed to be slightly angry."
Rhaegar held his hands up. "Absolutely."
She stood up, pacing slowly toward the balcony. The moonlight catching her dark hair.
"The lords will howl," she murmured, looking out over the dark waters of Blackwater Bay. "Fourteen and eighteen. They will say you are too young. They will say it is an insult to the Faith. They will say the Crown is hoarding its power and bleeding its alliances."
"They will say it," Rhaegar agreed. "But they will say it quietly. Grandfather knows that, and so he is tying the lines together. Baelon's blood and Aemon's blood. It removes the wedge the lords would try to drive between us."
Rhaenys closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them, the residual anger had bled out, leaving a sharp clarity. She turned back to face him, the moonlight casting a long shadow across her face.
She looked at him, truly looked. She knew him better than many. She knew that beneath the warmth, the smiles and the charm, there was a mind that was incredibly cunning and perhaps even more insidious.
"If you truly wanted to, you could oppose this," Rhaenys said softly, her violet eyes searching his.
Rhaegar remained perfectly still in his chair. "Could I?"
"Do not play coy with me," she warned, stepping closer. "If you pushed back, if you truly fought this, Grandfather would eventually have to yield. You could ensure that your father becomes the recognized heir after mine, and in essence, you become the heir for the future. If you rebelled against this match, the lords would eventually rally behind you. The smallfolk already sing your name. The Faith would rather back a Prince of the blood than a Princess. When the time comes, you could be the one sat on the Iron Throne."
She paused, letting her words hang for a moment. "But accepting this match depletes those chances severely. You will be Prince Consort. A step behind. Why agree to it?"
Rhaegar looked up at her, holding her gaze. "Do you want me to be honest?"
"I always do."
"The reason is twofold," Rhaegar said, leaning back. "First... I care for you, Rhaenys. We grew up together. I have no desire to see you sold off to a lord who will only ever view you as a stepping stone to power. And I have no desire to see our family tear itself apart fighting over your claim."
Rhaenys's expression softened slightly, the defensive posture easing from her shoulders. "And the second?"
"The second," Rhaegar replied, a relaxed smile spreading across his face, "is that I do not care for the Iron Throne."
Rhaenys blinked. Of all the things he could have said, that was the one she had not entirely anticipated. To a Targaryen, to the highborn of Westeros, the Throne was the ultimate ambition, however subdued it may be.
"You don't want it?" she asked, her brow furrowing in genuine disbelief. "Why?"
"Because there are other things I wish to do," Rhaegar said simply, maintaining a faint, easy smile. "Things to build. Places to explore. Sitting in a chair forged of melted swords sounds terribly restrictive."
It was a charming answer. It was a believable answer. Even if it was also only a fraction of the truth.
Rhaenys studied him, trying to parse the sincerity of his words, before she let out a long breath. She walked back to the table and picked up her goblet, but she didn't drink. Instead, she traced the rim of the silver cup, her eyes studying him with a new, calculating gaze.
"You say you do not want the throne," she said softly, her voice taking on a different cadence. It was no longer the defensive tone of a cornered heir. "You say you want to build. But building requires space, Rhaegar. It requires resources. And most importantly, it requires backing."
Rhaegar did not speak. He let her continue, intrigued by the sudden shift in her demeanour.
"You are handing me the Seven Kingdoms on a platter," Rhaenys continued, taking a slow step toward him. "You say that you are going to shield my claim from the Faith, from the lords, and from our own family. But a man does not give away a kingdom just because he is fond of his cousin."
She stopped just in front of his chair, standing close enough that he could smell the faint scent of jasmine and wine on her breath. She looked down at him, her eyes sharp and clear.
"I know you, Rhaegar. You do nothing without a design," she murmured. "So tell me. What is the price?"
Rhaegar looked up at her, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face. This was why he had agreed to it without any opposition. She wasn't some fragile, simple maiden needing rescue. She had a cunning of her own.
"Autonomy," Rhaegar answered, his voice dropping low and conspiratory.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes staring deeply into hers.
"I will not be some tame consort, Rhaenys. I will not sit quietly at your side and nod at whatever your little council will suggest," Rhaegar said, his tone laced with a hint of venom. "I have my own ventures. My own methods. I can ensure your claim and your subsequent reign remains unchallenged, but I cannot be leashed by the politics of the court."
He reached out, his hand gently grasping the wrist of the hand she held her goblet with. The touch was warm and gentle.
"There will be times when I must act in ways the Crown cannot publicly sanction," Rhaegar said softly. "In return for my absolute backing, I need yours. When I require the weight of the Iron Throne, you lend it. And when I operate on the fringes of the acceptable and the heinous... You look the other way."
Rhaenys stared at him, her breath catching slightly in her throat.
He wanted the promise of freedom to move unchecked, to bend and break the laws of men as he saw fit, all while enjoying the eventual backing of their House.
"You want the authority of the throne without any of its constraints, once I sit on it," she deduced, her voice barely above a whisper.
"In essence, yes," Rhaegar confirmed, his thumb brushing lightly against her pulse. "You keep the chair, Rhaenys. Just let me do what is necessary to secure it."
Rhaenys took a slow, long breath. But she did not pull her hand away even as her demeanour changed once more.
"If we are to do this," Rhaenys said, the space between them suddenly feeling very small. "If we are to bind ourselves together... I need to know one thing."
Rhaegar waited, reading the sudden shift in her expression.
"I will be loyal to you," she said simply, her voice stripped of all pretense. "I will not shame you. But I will not have you shame me, either."
She held his gaze resolute in what she was saying.
"I will not have a court that whispers behind my back," she continued quietly, "and I will not have bastards threatening the birthrights of my children. If we are to be, Rhaegar, swear to me that I will be the only one."
Rhaegar did not offer a grand declaration. He didn't boast of his honour or make a theatrical vow. He knew the way of the highborn in this world, and he knew that many ladies, princesses and queens had been made to suffer the quiet indignity of a wandering husband.
Rhaegar shifted his hand, his fingers slipping down from her wrist to gently intertwine with hers against the silver stem of the goblet.
"You have my word," Rhaegar said softly. "I have no interest in any dalliance, Rhaenys, and I will never do anything to humiliate you. You will be the only one. There will be no one else."
Rhaenys looked into his eyes for a long moment, searching for any trace of a lie. She found none. The vulnerability slowly receded, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"Fine then," she said, holding his gaze.
"To our betrothal," Rhaenys raised her cup.
"To our betrothal," Rhaegar agreed, picking up his own cup with his free hand. He tapped the silver rim lightly against hers, the sound ringing clear in the quiet room.
Rhaenys chuckled as she gulped down her wine.
Rhaegar held her gaze as he brought the wine to his lips.
"To the Queen that shall be."