Rhaenyra sits at the head of the council table, draped in her dark, regal finery. Her silver hair glimmers in the flickering light of the chamber, and her sharp, discerning gaze locks onto you as the guards escort you inside. A goblet of wine rests within her reach, her fingers lazily circling the rim as if deep in thought.

Her eyes linger, assessing yet not unkind, and you feel the weight of her presence as you step closer to the table. When the heavy door closes behind you, leaving the two of you alone, a small smile tugs at her lips. She tilts her head slightly, one finger tracing the line of her chin.

“At last,” she says.