𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

6

When they returned to the hill, Daenaera helped Ivar down.
"I'm glad you liked it," she said softly.

As Sylvarion soared back toward the dragonpit, the princess turned to the prince, and they began walking toward the castle together.

"I've never seen anything like him before," Ivar confessed, his voice low with wonder. "I always thought dragons were just myths."

"Dragons exist only in Targaryen possession since the Doom," Daenaera replied calmly.

"I liked the ride. Thank you, Princess," Ivar said as they neared her chambers.

"You're welcome," she answered, reaching for the door—only for him to stop her.

"Wait," he said, voice suddenly uncertain. Daenaera turned back to him.

The distance between them closed as Ivar leaned in and kissed her briefly. His eyes flickered with a trace of regret, but the princess only smiled. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him again—this time with certainty.

He smiled, and she returned it.

"Good night, Ivar," Daenaera whispered, lips curving softly.

"Good night, Princess," he replied, watching until she closed the door behind her.

⸻

Daenaera could not sleep. Her heart raced, too full to rest. Quietly, she slipped through the shadowed tunnels beneath King Maegor's Holdfast and found herself at Rhaenyra's door.

"Nyra?" she called softly.

The door opened to reveal her cousin in nightclothes, her hair braided simply down her back.

"Dae? Why are you up?" Rhaenyra asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

"I have to tell you something."

And so she did.

When Daenaera finished, Rhaenyra's face lit up with happiness.

"I'm so glad for you, sister," she said warmly. "He's not at all like the rumors said, is he?"

"Not at all," Daenaera smiled. "He's different. Better."

⸻

The next day, the two princesses prepared to ride their dragons.

"Do you think Father will let me marry someone of my own choosing?" Rhaenyra asked, her bright blue eyes searching Daenaera's.

Daenaera set aside the book she'd been reading and considered the question.

"I'm not sure, Nyra," she admitted after a moment. "But I think he will. He loves you very much."

"Yes... but his Hand—I don't think he'll approve," Rhaenyra said, her voice tinged with sadness.

Daenaera raised an eyebrow. "Then fuck his opinion. Tell me, sister—since when did you start caring what others think?"

Rhaenyra smiled, sharing the same defiant spark their uncle Daemon carried. Neither of them had much love for the Hightowers.

Together, they left their chambers and headed straight to the dragonpit. When they soared into the sky, their worries lifted like smoke on the wind.

⸻

A week later came Rhaenyra's wedding to Ser Leanor.

That morning, she was overwhelmed by the task of choosing her dress.

"I didn't know picking a wedding gown would be this exhausting," she sighed, collapsing onto her bed.

"You're too picky," Daenaera teased, sipping juice from her cup. "You don't like anything."

"What would you pick, then, sister?" Rhaenyra asked, sitting up.

Daenaera stood and walked to the row of gowns hanging nearby. After a moment, she held one out.

"This one," she said, showing the white dress threaded with gold—gold that shimmered like dragon scales. The gown had a graceful V-neck, golden stripes that looked like sleeves, and a delicate golden belt at the waist.

"You're a lifesaver, sister!" Rhaenyra exclaimed, throwing her arms around Daenaera.

Daenaera smiled in return. "Thanks. Now, can I go? I'd like to take a walk."

"I'm coming with you, Dae," Nyra said, rising to her feet, and together they left for the castle gardens.

⸻

"I'm going to miss this garden when I'm gone," Daenaera said quietly, sadness lingering in her voice.

"You'll always be welcome here, cousin," Rhaenyra promised.

"Thank you, Your Grace. That's very kind of you," Daenaera teased, and the two laughed together.

Suddenly, a voice rang out behind them.

"May I steal my betrothed princess?"

They turned to see Ivar Lothbrok standing there, his crutch under his arm, icy blue eyes fixed on Daenaera.

Rhaenyra grinned.

"Of course you can. I'll see you later, Princess," she said and left the garden.

Ivar remained, his gaze unwavering.

"I haven't seen you in a while," he said softly.

"I've been helping my sister prepare for the wedding," Daenaera answered, a small smile touching her lips.

"Hm." He offered his hand. She took it, and they began to walk together.

⸻

Near the fountain, Ivar stopped and hesitated before speaking.

"I've been wondering, Princess... why would you marry me? I'm crippled. I can't provide you with children."

"You are a warrior, Ivar—the smartest of your siblings," Daenaera said firmly.

Ivar lowered his head, avoiding her eyes.

"As your future husband, we would need children," he continued. "And if you didn't know... we can't."

Daenaera cocked a brow, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

"Tell me, have you ever been with someone you truly liked, my prince?"

Ivar looked up, meeting her ocean-blue eyes. His expression flickered with insecurity, clear as day to the princess.

Something clicked in her mind—a fierce resolve to prove him wrong.

"Ivar, look at me," she called when he glanced away. "It's normal to be nervous, especially when it's not the one you truly want."

He held her gaze, then said quietly, "How do you know that? I'm sure you haven't even been with anyone like this before."

"You're right. I haven't," Daenaera whispered.

Then she stood and walked away, leaving the prince alone.

Though her words had offended her, she had only tried to help. But he had pushed her away.

When Daenaera reached the dragonpit, she mounted Sylvarion and took to the sky.

From the gardens below, Ivar watched the ghostly dragon disappear into the clouds.