After a forbidden night with Ser Criston Cole, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen is forced by her father, King Viserys, to drink the moon tea and protect her honor. To shield her image further, she weds Ser Laenor Velaryon, and together they move to Drift...
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31st day of the 7th moon, 114 AC
Driftmark
It was late in the afternoon, with night drawing near, when one of the fiercest storms ever to strike Driftmark unleashed its fury upon the island. Waves hurled ships against jagged rocks, rain drowned homes beneath relentless torrents, and cries of despair echoed through the halls of Driftmark's great castle.
High above, in one of the tallest and most secluded towers of High Tide, a princess of Valyrian blood waged a battle as perilous as any fought with steel—the harrowing struggle of childbirth.
Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne and future Queen of Westeros, wanted to die.
Nearly five hours had passed since her labors began, and the pain was unbearable. Her silver hair clung to her brow and neck, her thin gown soaked through with sweat until it clung nearly transparent to her skin. Her bottom lip was bruised and raw from the relentless biting she had endured to stifle her cries.
Only two women bore witness to the Princess in this state: Elinda Massey, her most trusted lady-in-waiting, and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Lady of Driftmark and her mother-in-law. None others were permitted entry—not even the maester.
Below, at the base of the solitary tower, Lord Corlys Velaryon and his son, Ser Laenor Velaryon—Rhaenyra's husband—stood guard, ensuring that no curious maid or servant dared intrude upon the chamber above.
Rhaenyra let out another piercing scream, her lilac eyes squeezing shut as a fresh wave of agony tore through her body. Her fingers clenched the bedsheets until her knuckles blanched, a thick vein rising against her throat with the strain.
"Elinda! It feels like I need to push!" she cried, her voice breaking with terror and desperation.
"Princess, wait! Let me check first—to see if it's safe!" Elinda pleaded, her hands trembling as she moved toward the bed.
"I don't care, Elinda!" Rhaenyra roared, her breath ragged, sweat streaming down her face. "I can't wait any longer—I need to push!"
"Rhaenyra, calm yourself," Rhaenys urged gently, though her voice carried an edge of command. "You could endanger both yourself and the child."
But Elinda's inspection was brief, her eyes wide with urgency. "It's time, Princess!" she declared, raising her voice above the storm outside and the storm within. "Push—now! You can do this!"
Rhaenyra squared her shoulders, drew in a deep breath, and began to push.
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