Burning Bonds → rhaenyra targaryen, hotd

Chapter 4: The Welcoming Feast

AN:
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The soft glow of lanterns casts a golden haze upon the dark wooden beams of Panther's Grace, the ancestral seat of Zhuyin's royal family. The fortress exudes an aura of power and grace, blending elegance with martial splendor. Intricate carvings of panthers, dragons, and lotus blossoms adorn the lacquered walls, and silk tapestries ripple with scenes of Zhuyin's storied history. Tonight, the great hall echoes with music and laughter as the lords and ladies of the great houses gather to welcome Princess Rhaenyra, heir to the Iron Throne.

Zyre escorts the princess through the ornate corridors, her delicate hand resting lightly on his arm. The air between them buzzes with a familiarity that is both comforting and antagonistic.

"You have grown up," he remarks, his tone as nonchalant as the faint smirk that tugs at his lips.

Rhaenyra glances up at him with a small smile. "So have you. You're now taller than me."

Zyre huffs as they turn a corner, his gaze sweeping over the embroidered panels that line the corridor. "I have always been taller than you."

"Isn't that huff a little too careless?" she teases, a mischievous glint in her lilac eyes.

"Who said I was careless?" His tone sharpens, though not without amusement. "Not to be rude. Why are you here, really?"

"I missed you too much." Rhaenyra's reply is quick, but there is a pause, a slight shift in her expression that Zyre notices.

He narrows his eyes at her. "What is the real reason?"

"It is the real reason," she insists, glancing ahead to the open doors of the grand hall, where music and chatter spill into the corridor. "You didn’t even visit me in three years. We just raven each other.”

“If you want to lie to me, go ahead,” Zyre replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I’m not going to pretend to believe you.”

"Why not?" she retorts, her brow arching with playful defiance. "It's only common courtesy."

Zyre stares at her, waiting. The patience in his silence is louder than words.

Rhaenyra finally sighs, conceding to his persistence. "I am forced to choose a husband, and all the suitors are piling up at every step I take. It was suffocating me, and I needed an escape."

"And you chose to ruin my peaceful life and make a nightmare out of it," Zyre says dryly, his lips curling in an exaggerated pout.

"Exactly what I intended to do." Rhaenyra laughs softly, squeezing his arm. "But I did miss you dearly."

"I know." His voice softens slightly, though the smirk remains.

As they enter the great hall, Zyre’s senses are assaulted by the richness of the scene before him. The air is thick with the fragrance of jasmine and sandalwood, mingling with the scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries. The great hall itself is a marvel, with its high vaulted ceilings and lacquered pillars carved with prowling panthers. Lanterns of red and gold bathe the room in a warm glow, and the lords and ladies of Zhuyin’s great houses—House Blackpaw, House Redbrook, House Starfall, House Shadowfox, House Ironflower, and House Jadeleaf—mingle among the silks and brocades, their laughter and conversation creating a harmonious clamor.

At the head table, Prince Haoran and Lady Elora sit with regal composure, watching over the festivities like two celestial beings. Their love for one another is apparent in the small gestures—the way Haoran’s hand rests lightly over Elora’s, and the shared glances that speak of a lifetime of devotion. Zyre notices this as he leads Rhaenyra to their seats, and something tugs at his heart, a longing he barely recognizes.