labour.

xxix.



There was something about the deep of the night, the silence that echoed after the sun had long disappeared upon the horizon, and darkness descended across the sky. There was a silence to the air, the heady scent of something dangerous clinging to every shadow that lingered down long alleyways and dark hallways. Perhaps that is why they called it the witching hour, when the veil of night blanketed the world and sin could run riot. 

To Naenyra, the dark had always scared her. It always spoke of promises that something was going to happen to her - that something was going to get her. It’s why she kept her curtains wide open, a candle always within arms length. Nothing could grab her if there was light, the beauty of a flame offering a security that perhaps only Valyrians could understand. 

It made no sense that the God of Death was the one that chose her, that the tendrils of darkness that ebbed from his energy and spirit would caress at her skin, always hesitating at the edge of her consciousness. She hadn’t acknowledged him since returning home, they both knew that they sat at opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to the King. 

She could feel the eagerness he had to take hold of Viserys, to clasp his energy and claim it for his own. He would revel in the chaos that it would cause, at the vast number of souls that would join him in the years that followed. But he could also sense her trepidation, her need for Viserys to remain where he was - until Naenyra could secure the safety of her family. He was used to families not being ready for souls to depart but this was his human, and he had already taken the life of her aunt. He couldn’t break her heart again. 

Her eyes burned as gentle fingers rubbed at her temple, the book sprawled across her thighs making no sense no matter how many times she read the sentence. It was late and she should rest but there was no ease in that joining her either. The ointments weren’t working, neither were the concoctions. It felt pointless no matter how she looked at it. His skin was deteriorating, and while the salve had slowed it - it wasn’t going to stop it. 

Her head was pounding, her eyes jittering with every pulse it sent through her forehead. She needed a walk, some fresh air. Even if she didn’t want to go outside, the corridors were still open enough to allow the cool air in. Nyra was decided as she slammed the book shut, hauling herself out of the chair and throwing a thin shawl around her shoulders. 

Summer had been hot this year, the heat still lingering with humidity in the early hours of the morning. She craved the snow, the chill that autumn air brought her but she’d settle for the odd breeze that whistled down the hallways. Her hand pulled on the heavy door, feet stepping out before closing her door. The guard turned, glancing at the young Princess. “Is there anything I can help you with, Princess?” 

She shook her head, throat thick. “No, I just need some fresh air.” She uttered gently, beginning to turn from him. She could hear the clink of the boots, her steps pausing as Nyra glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t need a chaperone.” She told him gently. She was used to Ser Rickard following in her footsteps because she had greatly missed his company but the freedom that the Reach had given her, meant that this - the guard that followed - felt like a step too far. 

“It is my job, Princess.” 

She paused, willing the quick anger to dissipate from her body. “I can assure you, ser, that you do not need to follow.” She was at home, nothing could hurt her here. “I am going to walk along here, then over there, around to the opposite side before approaching back here. You can watch me the entire time, if you’d like.” Nyra assured, motioning to the open hallways that sat along the outside of the courtyard.