TO LOVE A KING || Maegor II Targaryen [SLOW UPDATES]

051▪️ WHISPERS BENEATH THE FLAME

The great stone halls of the Red Keep whispered with the soft echo of Rhaenyra’s steps as she bid her uncle goodnight and turned away from Maegor’s chamber.

Her satin skirts rustled softly with each stride, and her fingers, slender, pale, anxious, fidgeted with the rings adorning her hand, twisting them restlessly, an outward sign of inward turmoil

She took the quieter route back to her rooms, the long passage lined with flickering torches that cast halos of light onto the worn red carpets and soot-darkened stone.

The night was still. Only the guards moved, statues in armor, stationed at rigid intervals. They did not speak. They only watched.

The unsullied stood posted at every archway of the palace, still as statues, their eyes forward, blind to courtly treachery.

But as Rhaenyra turned the final corner toward her rooms, she stopped. Her eyes narrowed slightly. There, under the golden light of a wall torch, stood Charlotte Hightower alone.

The green folds of her dress gleamed like ivy in the firelight. She paced slowly, tightly, clutching a leather-bound book to her chest in front of Rhaenyra’s chamber doors, her mouth moving as if silently rehearsing what to say. like a prayer book at confession. She paced, her eyes, usually full of elegance and poise, were now wild, haunted by something unspoken

She hadn’t seen the princess yet.

Rhaenyra stopped, lips curling into a smirk. She could smell it: guilt. Lies. And worse, fear.

Charlotte’s head snapped up the moment she heard footsteps.

"Have you seen a ghost?" Rheanyra smiled, but it wasn’t kind. It was the smile of a lioness smelling blood.

Charlotte froze. Her entire body stiffened as if struck by lightning. Her lips parted, and the book slipped from her hands to the floor with a soft thud. She startled like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a silent predator.

“Rhaenyra… I....I’m sorry,” she blurted, wringing her fingers in front of her. “I can explain.” she stammered, rubbing her hands like they could erase what she had done.

Rhaenyra didn't blink. She stepped forward slowly, her hands clasped behind her back. Her chin was lifted high in that regal way she had inherited from her mother.

Firelight glinted off her silver-gold hair, and her eyes, violet and stormy, pinned Charlotte in place like a hawk sizing up a trembling mouse.

“How long have you been visiting my uncle?”she asked coolly. Her voice was quiet, almost mild. “And don’t you dare act pious with me.”

Charlotte swallowed, hard. “Just today. I thought, thought to check on him.”

“Why?” Rhaenyra arched a brow, head tilting slightly.