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THENIGHT air in the Red Keep was heavy, the distant sounds of celebration from the festival of the Mother drifting faintly through the open windows. Daemon and Eleanor had slipped back into the castle unnoticed—at least, they had thought so. The freedom of the day still lingered on their skin, the exhilaration of the city streets, the taverns, the carefree laughter—everything that was so far removed from their lives as Targaryens.
But their stolen joy was short-lived.
They had nearly reached the safety of their chambers when a cold, unmistakable voice sliced through the dim corridor like a knife.
"Where have you two been?"
Eleanor's heart dropped, the color draining from her face as she recognized the voice. Their grandfather. The King.
The King stood at the end of the hall, his violet eyes sharp as dragonfire, his regal presence more imposing than any guard or knight. His long silver hair flowed over his shoulders, a stark reminder of the Targaryen bloodline they both carried. Behind him, a pair of Kingsguard knights stood silent, their white cloaks billowing slightly in the breeze.
Daemon stepped forward first, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword. "We were in the city," he said, as if the King's authority meant nothing to him. "Just enjoying the festival like everyone else."
The King's face darkened, a scowl forming as he took a step closer. "You are not everyone else. You are Targaryens. You are royalty. Do you think you can behave like common street children, sneaking out of the Red Keep as if you're above the rules? Do you think the crown has no weight?"
"We needed air," Eleanor interrupted softly, her voice calm but firm, her cheek still stinging from the cold night air. "We needed to be free, if only for a few hours."
The King's eyes snapped to hers, and the look he gave her sent a shiver down her spine. "Free?" he repeated, his voice laced with contempt. "You have never known what it means to be free, Eleanor. You are bound to this throne by blood, by duty. That is your lot in life, and it will not change because you fancy a walk through the streets."
Eleanor's hands balled into fists at her sides, her temper rising. "And what if I don't want it? What if I don't want to live my life shackled to a throne I never asked for?"
The silence that followed her words was suffocating.
Jaehaerys' eyes hardened into cold steel. "You speak like a foolish child."
"Maybe I'm tired of being your obedient puppet!" Eleanor shot back, her voice louder now, her frustration boiling over.
The slap came swiftly and brutally.
Eleanor staggered back, her hand flying to her cheek as the stinging heat spread across her skin. The shock of it left her breathless, her mind reeling as she blinked away the burning in her eyes. The King stood over her, his hand still raised, his expression cold and unyielding.
