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"Princess?" Ser Westerling, Rhaenyra's sworn protector, approached the entrance to her chambers, noticing the young princess struggling to open the door. Alicent hesitated for a moment, her eyes reflecting a mix of apprehension and excitement. However, trusting in Rhaenyra's plan, she complied, carefully positioning herself atop the princess's back and reaching out to snatch the plate of delectable sweets. "No, I will hold you close," she promised earnestly. "But Syrax is still too tiny at the moment, not even big enough for me to ride." Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with an eager curiosity.
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Quickly realizing she didn't want to offend the princess, Alicent shook her head, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "No, Your Grace, I liked it," she reassured, her voice soft and careful. Alicent strolled through the splendid gardens, her small hand tightly grasping her mother's. Each step brought her closer to the anticipated encounter with the Queen and the princess.
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With the motion of the rag around the clean glass, she wipes the unwelcome thoughts from her head. Rhaenyra makes a few more drinks for Harold, Loretta’s best customer, and a few more patrons show up later in the evening. She appreciates having her hands occupied, but her eyes keep flitting back to the one-way mirror.
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She can’t tell if he is staring at her breasts or the sheen of her singlet or both. His gaze slides back to hers, a flicker of confusion behind that austerity. Ser Westerling shook his head, a bemused expression on his face as he peered over Rhaenyra's shoulder. "Is that sweets from the kitchen?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Alicent stood tall, or as tall as her tender five-year-old frame would allow, as they reached the Queen. Her gaze shifted to the imposing figure before her—the majestic Targaryen Queen, radiating regality and authority. Alicent's heart fluttered with a mixture of awe and admiration as she curtsied, an act she had perfected through countless hours of dedicated practice. When the time came for Daemon to leave, Rhaenyra had launched a fit worthy of a dragon. She had wanted to leave with him; confident in her flying capabilities to handle an adventure now, and was quite put out when she was refused.
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Rhaenyra seemed far from the typical image of a princess. She wore a dirt-stained shirt and black breeches, casually rolled up to her knees. Aemma sighed, her affectionate exasperation evident. "I am never letting him watch over you again," she declared with a hint of humor. She gently placed her daughter back on the ground, running her fingers through Rhaenyra's loose silver hair. "Allow me to properly introduce my daughter, Princess Rhaenyra," she said proudly.
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For example, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson may not be a couple on Stranger Things, but a whole lot of fanfic authors are writing about what it would be like it they smashed. In fanfic world, these two are involved in a relationship, or “ship” for short. The Archive of Our Own (AO3) offers a noncommercial and nonprofit central hosting place for fanworks. We are proactive and innovative in protecting and defending our work from commercial exploitation and legal challenge. She doesn’t know if there’s any truth to the rumor. They were especially affectionate with one another, but Rhaenyra never thought about it that way.
Game Of Thrones: 10 Greatest Fears Of Every Person In House Stark - Screen Rant
Game Of Thrones: 10 Greatest Fears Of Every Person In House Stark.
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She goes about mixing his drink, stirring not shaking, even though he didn’t specify. He watches her make it without offering any directions, and she knows it is a test, tease the new girl who can’t get a grip on her cherries. She realizes she missteps when she places a shot of olive juice in front of him as a chaser. Along with his appearance, his affect, his voice remains unchanged as well, a rasping smugness, whimsical and drawn out when he is teasing her. He appears unruffled, white gold hair slicked back, red tie knot snug to his throat, not like he was just fucking Lady Misery in the office with two guards standing outside. The two girls settled in, their laughter and chatter blending with the sweet flavors of their treats.
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There was enough conviction in her voice to cause Viserys to pause. “Tell me the whole of the truth now,” he said, and Rhaenyra sighed. But Aemma’s voice echoed strongly in his mind, and the truths she had given him was to protect them all. Color touched her cheek now, and Viserys knew he did not want to know the sordid details of what his brother did or did not do. She was young, but he had to admit, there were more traces now of the woman she was becoming than ever before.
Aemma straightened up, her attention momentarily distracted as she noticed her own daughter was nowhere to be seen. "That girl of mine," she sighed in a slightly dejected tone. "I swear she was just here a moment ago." She chuckled lightly. "I might have to consider tying a bell to her so I can hear her when she moves," she joked. Olivia Hightower stepped forward, her hand resting gently on Alicent's back. "Your Grace, I'd like to officially introduce you to my daughter, Alicent Hightower," she said with a touch of pride.
Finally, he couldn't resist any longer, accepting the cookie and savoring its taste. With a playful smile, he opened the door for the princess. "I didn't see anything," he declared with a wink, eliciting giggles from the two girls as they dashed into the safety of the princess's chambers. "Success!" Rhaenyra exclaimed in a hushed but triumphant tone. With the prize secured, she wasted no time, swiftly grabbing Alicent's hand and leading her out of the kitchen.
Seeing him was an assault on her senses, her thoughts rupturing like scattershot. The jar of cherries shattering at their feet sounded like the crack of that final gunshot, the one that snuffed out the light of her golden world. She remembers the Velaryons from childhood, distant cousins of the Targaryens. They were in shipping and did business with her father, but she’s never heard of the other woman. ” Rhaenyra wonders, grabbing a trash bag and a sleeve of paper towels. He glances with disinterest at the puddle of cherry-chunked syrup and then turns away, heading for Mysaria’s office.
