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yourstruly-sephie · 2 years

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝐀 𝐁 𝐫 𝐞 𝐰 𝐢 𝐧 𝐠 𝐅 𝐮 𝐫 𝐲

𝟐𝟕𝟖 𝐀𝐂 | 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦’ 𝐬 𝐄𝐧𝐝

The morning was haze and gloom—a slight drizzle filling the empty air. The coldness stuck to the skin, trailing damp kisses that left a person breathless. The fog was dense, making it hard for the naked eye to spot anything coming from the distance. The time was a quarter past seven, yet it was too dark to be a good morning.

Nyrella walked through the disheartening garden of Griffin's Roost. It was small and bare. Nothing but weeds and wilted flora decorated the space. The dark moist dirt was scattered everywhere on the pathway. Shards of tiny rocks and pebbles were a common motif through and throughout. The whole place was a sad thing, which added well to the mystery of the morning.

"Let us come inside," Arthur's rasped, a plea in his early morning voice, "the hearth is warm and hot tea waiting for you."

Nyrella was a step ahead of the worrying Kingsguard. She walked with her head held up and her hands comfortably positioned behind the small of her back. "I'd rather stay here for a little longer," she spoke softly.

"You've barely recovered," Arthur tried again to persuade her, "I do not want for you to be bedridden again."

The Valyrian princess let out a warm breath into the cool air, creating a fleeting mist reminiscent of clouds. She gracefully pivoted on the heels of her shoes to face her entire being towards Arthur. A small lipped smile formed on her pink lips. "Does it worry you that much?" Her head tilted as her lavender irises searched into his violet ones.

The Kingsguard was tight-lipped, keeping his word to himself. There was fear ever present, that if he were to answer her question, only the wrong words would escape him. His hand fidgeted with Dawn's hilt— a way to calm his nervousness.

Nyrella took Arthur's averting gaze and sudden quiet demeanor as an answer. She sighed once again. Her feet took a few steps forwards until she was beside him. She linked their arms together. "Another walk around this garden, then we can go inside," she said, shaking the wet dirt from the bottom of her gown.

"As you wish princess," Arthur replied as he led the way. He kept his stare on Nyrella, watching her intently as she strolled beside him. Her gaze was looking out into the distance, observing her foggy surroundings. She swayed to the movement of the winds as it pushed her long silver locks behind her shoulders.

"The weather is not kind to the flora here," Nyrella pointed out, frowning at the dead bush of roses across from her.

Arthur lifted his open palm in the air, "I fear the cruelty will continue. It is going to rain by the looks of those dark clouds."

"I long for sun again," a part of her reminiscence the way the burning rays hit her skin. She loved the warmth, and she missed it more and more everyday she was in the Stormlands.

"So do I," Arthur agreed. Dorne was unbearably hot through the year with little to no rain. The scorching sun took more lives than steel during the climax of the summer seasons. However, Arthur would take those chances than the dampness and gruel of the Stormlands. He was not used to so much rain and mud in his life. Dorne was his home, and it will always be.

Nyrella hummed softly, "I would like to visit Dorne one day. I've only been when I was a babe."

"I am sure Dorne would appreciate your visit. The people are generous and open unlike some in King's Landing," the Kingsguard replied.

"I would like to visit your home," she told him.

Arthur looked down at her, catching her gaze. The way her eyes glimmered reminded him of the way moonstones shine during the peak of the afternoon.

"There are better places in Dorne to visit such as the water gardens," answered with a small smile.

Nyrella shook her head feverishly, "And I am told that Starfall is a place to visit when in Dorne." Her voice went higher towards the end of her sentence, which was paired with a cheeky grin of sorts.

"And who told you that?" Arthur matched her playfulness. He leaned closer to her, wearing his smile in his eyes.

"Rhaegar did," Nyrella answered, "he saidthat when he was on tour, he thought Starfall was the most brilliant place he saw. He said that the castle glowed like a million stars during golden hour."

"Did he also mention that is how he and I met?" Arthur glanced at Nyrella, who wore knitted brows of confusion and shook her head in disagreement.

"I was ten and seven, your brother ten and five. We saw each other at the welcoming, however did not talk until the next day. I was training at the courtyard with my cousin. Your brother wanted to spar with me, telling me not to hold back," Arthur recounted.

"Why did he never told me this?" Nyrella muttered as she listened intently.

"To save his pride," Arthur grinned, "your brother was flat on the ground after a minute of sparring. I was afraid he had a temper, but Rhaegar laughed it off. He praised my talents over the course of his stay."

"And now, you are here," Nyrella used her hand to signal to Arthur's spot, "the greatest knight to have ever existed."

Arthur nodded, looking into the distance. Everything that he ever wanted came true, his dreams became real. He hoped his luck would remain constant because he still had dreams he wanted to come true.

"Nyrella—"

"Over there!!" Nyrella pointed out with her outstretched index. Arthur snapped his focus at the figures on the contrasting pathway.

"Rhaegar and Miles!" Nyrella excitedly yelled as she extended her arm upwards, waving at them. The pair snapped at the sudden call. They waved in return as they changed their direction to walk towards them.

Arthur straightened his stance when he caught Rhaegar's gaze. There was a silent exchange of words in a span of a glance. There was something in the Prince's eyes that made Arthur on edge.

"The maester said you should be recovering?" Rhaegar asked before leaning over to kiss Nyrella's temple.

"And what help would that be on my mental health, cooped up in my room without company? I'd rather be here," she responded.

Rhaegar hummed, resting his hands behind his back, "then we should all walk together since we are all here."

"You three should," Myles said, "I am excusing myself."

Nyrella furrowed her brows, "Is there somewhere you need to be?" She tried to find his gaze, but he refused to meet them.

"I remembered that Jon needed my help for tomorrow's journey to Storm's End," He closed.

"Then I'll see you for lunch. I've told the kitchen to pre—," Nyrella smiled.

"That won't be possible," Myles interrupted. "I have other arrangements to attend."

"Oh," Nyrella's voice trailed.

Myles nodded, bowing his head to the fair-haired princess, "My apologies truly princess. If you will excuse me." Myles turned around in a swift movement from the trio, walking back to the back entrance of the castle.

"Shall we go on then with the stroll sister," Rhaegar lightly touched Nyrella's elbow. She faced him, observing his other hand signaling to the pathway in front of them.

"What's wrong?" The Prince followed with a question, seeing the troubling look on Nyrella's face. He noticed that she was fidgeting with her hands again.

"Myles and I always have lunch together..."

"You cannot expect him to be on your beck and call," Rhaegar linked their arms as he urged her forward.

Nyrella bit her lip, "Yes, I know...but I felt an uneasiness from him."

"You worry too much Ny," Rhaegar pushed away her growing concern. "Everything is how they are meant to be."

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

The sound of leather boots against the nasty coloring of mud became the unwanted substitute to the song of birds. The air was rigid and cold, turning any exposed flesh a bruising red. The stench of human feces mixed with the seawater could bring a grown man into a high of ecstasy, and later, in consequence vomit their stomachs out. The sky, a permanent gray with heavy dark clouds, threatening to brew a dangerous storm that would fester for hours, days even. These were the promises the mighty seat of House Baratheon, Storm's End, condoned their guests, more so even their most esteemed guests.

Nyrella stood at the courtyard, gawking at the mythical castle. She had heard various variations of the construction of the centuries-old seat. Some rooted in magic, and some rooted in not-so-interesting lore compared to the prospects of magic's involvement. Her fragile mind could not wrap itself around the question of how a castle that seemed to be built with stone and brick could stay in a place known for the ravaging storms that ripped apart anything into smithereens. It was impressive, lurking in mystery.

"Are you doing well, your Grace?" The lord of house Baratheon cut through her daydream, bringing back Nyrella to her senses. She could tell by the raise of his brow that it was the second time he was reciting his question.

She blinked a few times, taking in the old and worn-out face of the storm lord. His dark hair was the color of the obsidian gemstones she wore as jewelry, but there were visible graying and stark strands of whites against the darkness of his hair. She conjured it was due to stress of his position and being cousins with the Mad King. Wrinkles were strategically drawn on to tell his age and mold him to look strong, tough as he aged. His eyes were the clearing of his dark features. They were tired but held a kindness.

"All is well, my lord, but I cannot say the same thing for the weather," Nyrella glanced above her to the growing clouds. The lord followed her gaze, humming to himself as he wore an unfazed expression.

"You must deem yourself lucky princess," he spoke softly, "you did not arrive during the middle of a storm."

"And if that were the case, my entitlements would still have forced me to purge through even the most dangerous of weather," Nyrella turned her head to look at the side of Rhaegar's sharp features. She had to refrain herself from rolling her lavender eyes and sticking her tongue at him. She could not taint her reputation in front of the lord of the Stormlands and his wife, who was in casual conversation with her brother.

Steffon Baratheon hummed again, "I do fear the tourney will be pushed back a day or so, if there is heavy rain and thunder tonight." And by the sight of the rapid growth of black clouds, his words became truer every passing moment.

This also meant, it would be more days Nyrella would have to stay in the damp, cold, and muddled conditions of Storm's End. One she was not too happy with.

"We have prepared your room, Princess Nyrella. They used to be your great grandaunt's quarters," a sweeter voice replaced Lord Steffon's rough baritone. The Lady of the Stormlands, Cassana of house Estermont, brightly smiled showing the top row of her teeth and the significant indentation of the wrinkles around her mouth. She was a beautiful lady with striking green eyes, one's that none of her sons inherited—a true shame for Nyrell loved her eyes.

Nyrella reflected the welcoming generosity with her own smile, "thank you Lady Cassana, that is very giving of you and Lord Steffon."

"It is our pleasure. Rhaelle Targaryen would have wanted the honor to have you stay in her space. There is no one more deserving than you," Lady Cassana gently placed a comforting hand on Nyrella's arm, squeezing lightly for assurance.

Nyrella nodded her head. There were no words to convey her gratitude, hoping her actions would speak louder. She was honored to stay in Rhaelle's quarters, to be in a space where a strong Targaryen lived and breathed. Yet, there was melancholy. The last time she stayed in Storm's End, Rhaelle was still alive in her old age but still stronger as she was in her youth. Nyrella remembered her smelling like the sourness of citrus.

"You have been kind to us," Rhaegar spoke for the both of them as Nyrella kept quiet and in her own thoughts. "We have nothing to offer but our deepest gratitude," his voice was like velvet to the ears. The charm rubbed off the lord and lady, who wore warm expressions to the duo siblings.

"Please, I insist you and your sister inside where the hearth burns hotter than Dorne's sun," Steffon stepped back to gesture his hand to the grand entrance to the castle.

"Husband," Cassana called out, "allow our eldest son, Robert, to escort the princess to her quarters."

"Oh. That would not be necessary," Nyrella tried to decline, "I am more than glad to have a servant show me the location."

"Nonsense. I cannot allow a servant to be your escort, it is a disrespect to you. My eldest will happily be your guide," Steffon glanced over to his shoulder to where three young men stood shoulder to shoulder beside each other. They all were spitting copies of their father, sharing everything down to their footwear.

The taller of the bunch, and the stronger built came forward by the subtle nod from lord Steffon. It was hard for Nyrella to show the distaste of seeing Robert. The heir of the Stormlands walked with his chest puffed out, taking as much space around him to show his importance. He wore a permanent smirk on his chiseled face that made women swoon at him. But not Nyrella, she wished she could punch the smugness of him. He infuriated her.

"Princess," Robert took her hand in his, leaning his head low to peck the whites of her knuckles. Nyrella forced herself a painful smile.

"Lord Robert," she mumbled out, "I hope your ride from the Vale to Storm's End was forgiving."

The young lord hummed, scanning his eyes over her features. The last time he saw Nyrella was when she was a youngling, but now, it almost seemed his eyes deceived him. He cocked his head to the side, his grin growing by the second, "I would say it was, but I would be lying."

"I presume the weather was not kind as today."

"Oh, no. It was not the weather that made the journey difficult. It was the lack of a woman's touch."

Nyrella quickly retracted her hand from him. A nasty bile rose to her throat threatening to come out, tarnishing the well-polish doublet Robert wore. It was made clear to her that his womanizing ways have not changed.

"I suppose we should be on our way. Your father predicted the storm to come any moment," she declared. She turned her head around to search through the crowd behind her. "Arthur, come with us," she commanded over her shoulder.

Arthur was stationed beside Jon. They were in each other's company throughout the entirety at the courtyard as the dragon siblings were greeted by the family of stags. Arthur connected his gaze with Nyrella, bowing his head to her in agreement. Yet, in front of the corner of his eyes, he could see the heir of Lord Steffon reaching a hand for Nyrella's arm.

"That would not be necessary, princess. You do not need a kingsguard on our ventures it—"

"It would be my pleasure, princess," Arthur hastily came beside Nyrella, blocking Robert from laying a hand on her. He offered his arm, which Nyrella took almost immediately. "Show us the way my lord," Arthur said, gesturing for Robert to lead the way.

Robert forced a smile, "Of course. Follow me." He glared towards Arthur's direction before leading the way into the castle.

Once the Baratheon heir was far from earshot, Nyrella breathed out in relief. "I could bear to be alone with him," she looked up at Arthur. Her eyes were filled with gratitude.

Arthur smiled down at her, "I could not let you go with him alone. I see why Rhaegar has a distaste for the man."

"For his house sigil to be prey, he is a walking contradiction. There is a predator behind those eyes," Nyrella glanced to observe Robert's massive back. To her, he even looked like a predator.

Arthur leaned closer to Nyrella. His hot breath brushing the tip of her ears, "All you have to do is say the words."

"What words?" Nyrella responded, her eyelids fluttering at the warmth of his breath.

"To command me," Arthur answered, "to cut him down."

"You'll do that for me?" She hiccuped.

Arthur let out another hot breath on her ear. It made goosebumps all over her body. "Anything for you, princess."

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

Nyrella has never experienced a storm unlike no other at Storm's End. The windows rattled as thunder shook the foundations of the castle. The droplets of rain were falling fast like rocks hitting against glass. The flashes of lightning were loud, crackling through the darkness of the skies.

She held herself in her arms, observing the rain hitting her window. There was a feast in honor for her and Rhaegar's arrival, but she managed to slip through the cracks of loud drunken yells from men and the clinking sounds of goblets. She wanted to be in her own little space for just a moment.

"Your brother will start to worry about your absence," Arthur's voice echoed through the empty stone hall. He leaned against the wall, keeping his violet eyes on Nyrella's figure.

She scoffed, "then let him. I am not in the mood to talk to him or anyone else's."

"Is this your way of releasing me of my duty?" Arthur jested, pushing himself off the damp wall. Nyrella slightly turned her head at the sound of his armor clattering.

"If that is what you want. I am not holding you back on enjoying the rest of your night with the comfort of wine and ale," Nyrella remained still in front of the window. She hugged herself a little tighter.

Arthur hummed. A silence befallen over the two of them. A part of her was nervous he might take her offer. She did not want him to leave her alone despite what she said.

"I prefer the comfort of your company, Nyrella. Much more than wine and ale," Arthur eventually spoke. He made a stride towards her. His footsteps were the only sound echoing through the empty hall, but if he listened closely, he would hear another sound of Nyrella's pounding heart.

She smiled to herself, "More than wine and ale," she recited back. "That is the first I've ever heard a man confess an unpopular opinion. I wonder what the other would say if they heard you."

Arthur chuckled. Nyrella did not realize how close he was. His hot breath fanned her bare neck like a burning flame. "It is the truth. I am a man that enjoys a drink or two, but not to the point of drunkenness or alcoholism."

"If only Robert could take after your morals," Nyrella turned to face the Kingsguard. It was no secret the heir of the Stormlands was a raging alcoholic, turning to some wild boar as he drank the scarlet liquid of summer wine or the amber fuzz of ale, and sometimes a mix of both. It was another reason she did not want to be at the feast. She knew Robert would want to dance with her, and she did not want his hands on any parts of her body. It made her sick just thinking about the scenario.

"He is much worse than what Rhaegar described him," Arthur came beside her, watching the droplets of rain glide on the glass. "No wonder Jon hates him."

"Arthur," Nyrella spoke. "Could I ask something of you?"

Arthur faced Nyrella's direction, his stare fell on the side of her face. The moonlight hit the highest points of her features, making her appear more striking and hauntingly beautiful. He hummed his response.

"I've noticed recently that many people only desire to tell me half their truths, especially my own brother. I could see in their eyes that they are holding things from me, and I know it comes from good intentions but it still hurts that they cannot trust me like I am something fragile," Nyrella wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "I trust you, Arthur, more than anyone. All I ask for is your promise of your honestly?"

Arthur listened to the desperation in her voice. A desperation that called for the end of her loneliness from being pushed away from the secrets. Arthur let out a breath. He extended his hand towards Nyrella's face, gently grasping her chin with his thumb and index. He turned her face towards him, forcing her to connect her lavender eyes with his. His thumb lightly stroked the softness of her chin.

Nyrella was not in control of her body. She allowed him because she yearned for his touch. The pit of her stomach fluttered like springtime butterflies, her heart soared like a falcon in the sky, and her womanhood burned to be noticed.

"You have my word," his response fanned her face.

She hummed, too speechless to convey with words. Her mouth was slightly open, batting her eyelashes slowly, and her body on edge. She stared at Arthur's face, tracing every feature with her eyes. She licked her own lips when she ended up on his. There were inches between their lips. She wanted a forbidden taste of him.

"Nyrella, Arthur. You two are needed back at the feast," the familiar tone of Jon's voice echoed through the hall, followed by his heavy footsteps.

Arthur released his hold on Nyrella's face, standing straight up as if nothing happened. He took a few steps away from Nyrella, leaving her back into the embrace of the coldness. He turned to greet the Lord of Griffin's Roost with an acknowledging nod as the redhead came closer to the duo. Nyrella wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, taking deep breaths to steady herself.

"Rhaegar's orders?" Arthur asked his friend. The redhead nodded, "He needed a private meeting with Lord Steffon, and he asked for you to come with him."

Arthur gave a firm nodded, "I shall take my leave then. I trust you will deliver Nyrella back to the feast." Without another look back at the Targaryen princess, Arthur strode away into the darkness of the hallway. Nyrella watched him, a piece of her heart with him.

"Come on now, Nyrella," Jon came to her side, gently tugging her elbow. "I know a dozen young lords ready to dance with you."

"Did you see what happened?" Nyrella pulled her elbow away from Jon. There was a defensiveness in her tone.

Jon sighed deeply, "I saw Nyrella."

Nyrella clenched her hands into fist, putting all her disappointed hopes into them, "let's go Jon."

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

At the feast, Nyrella went against her better judgement. She loosened up with cups and cups of goblets, even drinking other people's reds, ambers, and odd alcohol that made her want to breathe fire. Her body moved the entire time since she entered the dining hall. Her feet were sore from the constant dancing with different partners, but she minded the pain for the enjoyment of activities. Her mind was muddled like the nasty coloring of mush dirt outside the castle. Need a way to forget what happened earlier.

Just as Nyrella finished a dance with a lord from a vassal house of house Baratheon, one who she could not hear his name through the loud singing of the minstrel and the booming shouts of spoiled men. At the corner of her of her eye, she spotted a familiar silhouette slip through the wooden doors. She blinked a few times to water her dry eyes, making sure she was not seeing things.

"A dance your Grace," a random lord gestured his hand towards Nyrella's front.

"Another time, my lord. Excuse me," Nyrella pushed his hand away, then squeezed her body through the tight space of bodies until she reached the doors.

A whip of cool air engulfed her warm face. She almost forgot a storm brewed outside the warmth of the dining hall. The corridors had little soul like a few hours ago. Her head switched left and right, searching for the person she eagerly wanted to talk to. She squinted her eyes at the right, making out a sliver of someone's figure through her tainted vision.

Her body wobbled as she walked, dragging her feet behind her as she used the stony walls to support her once a while. She blinked hard, pushing away the sleepiness. If anyone were to see her, they would have thought she was a ghost, haunting these halls with her red beady eyes.

"Nyrella," Myles turned from the window to look at the Valyrian princess slowly walking towards him. He took the last few steps, closing the distance between. He held her arms to steady her as he could smell the strong scent of alcohol on her. "You should be resting," he spoke to her again.

Nyrella did not listen to him, only humming as if she did hear him. She pressed her face against his chest, nuzzling her face into the warmth. "Myles..." her voice was hoarse, but still was soft and mellow to the ears.

Myles chuckled as he gently stroked her silver hair, "You should be resting, Nyrella. Let me take you to your quarters."

"No," Nyrella heard him this time, "I want to stay like this." Her arms wrapped around his torso, pressing her body close to his.

A panic arose in Myles. He was not acclaimed for his closeness with Nyrella. He dreamed of them together like this, but he did not imagine the scenario to be like this. He tried to peel her arms off him, but she only embraced him tighter. He pushed her shoulders back, yet she remained latched to his chest.

"Why are you pushing me away," Nyrella looked up to meet Myles' gaze, "don't you want me?"

Myles shook his head, "I do want you but not like this. I cannot take advantage of you, Nyrella. Please, let me escort you back to your quarters."

Suddenly, Nyrella pulled back. Her arms crossed, and her body turned away from him. "Why do people keep treating me as a child," her voice wavered, a fury of emotional tears threatening to fall.

Myles felt bad, "Nyrella, I'm not treating you as a child. All I'm asking for is to take care of you, put you to bed."

"That is exactly the words you say to children," she snapped at him. A few stray tears fell over her cheeks, "I'm tired of people seeing if I'm not capable of handling hardships."

"I'm sorry," Myles apologized. He reached for her, gently holding her elbow to gestures he's here for her. "I see you not as a child, but as a woman. You must understand, the people hiding things from you, only want to keep you away from hurt. I do not want to see you hurt."

She turned her body, facing him once again. She observed him through her glossy eyes, blurry but still visible enough to notice the way his face harmonized. His eyes soften with worry. The front of his dirty blonde hair fell over his eyes. His head slightly tilted, asking her without words if she was okay. For a split second, she thought Arthur was standing in front of her.

"I will escort you ba—" Myles was cut off as Nyrella pressed her lips with his. A sudden kiss from the princess.

Nyrella closed her eyes, squeezing them shut. Her right hand gripped the nape of his neck, forcefully pressing his face against her's. She moved her mouth, willing for him to return the action. The experience was new, giving her goosebumps all over her body.

But just as she could press her lips further into his, Myles got a hold of her arms and pushed her away. Nyrella blinked at the drunkness, observing the aftermath of the kiss. Myles wore an unreadable expression. His honey brown eyes pooled over her, looking at her as if she could break in his arms. His lips were swollen, red, and wet with spit. Nyrella imagined her lips were the same. More of his hair fell over his eyes.

Nyrella reached her hand out to him, to push the hair back in place but Myles grabbed her hand mid-air. "I'm escorting you back. You need to rest for the night," Myles said. He dropped her hand to her side, and turned her body around so her back was towards him. He held onto her shoulders, steadying her as he guided her walk toward her quarters.

But Nyrellla could not walk anymore. The sleepiness of alcohol took over the remainder of her conscious mind. The dark halls were the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes.

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

"I told you to look after her."

"I did, but I did not know you wanted me to check how much wine she drank."

"She drank more than just wine."

"She will be fine, but I cannot say when she wakes up. The aftermath makes you want to kill yourself."

"I think she is waking up."

Nyrella shifted in her silk covers. The small peek of sunlight through her windows caused her to stir in bed, and the desire to wake up. She forced her eyelids to open from the crust of sleep. Her vision was blurry at first, and tried to adjust to the bright light in the room. Two people stood at both sides of her bed, their fuzzy figures positioned in a way that made it looked as if they were staring down at her.

"Drink this," Rhaegar pushed a goblet for water towards his sister. Nyrella groaned, rubbing her eyes awake.

"What time is it?" She managed to respond as she grabbed the goblet and drank the contents.

Jon, who was on her right, pushed a plate of lemon slices on the side of her bed. "A quarter to two," he told her, "I advise you to also eat the flesh, if you want your headache gone."

That is when Nyrella felt a sharp pain hit her head that made her eyes water. The headache added to the exhaustion she felt and hunger. She grabbed a lemon slice, brought it to her mouth and sucked the juice out. She took deep breaths to help the throbbing of her head.

Rhaegar sat down on her bed, taking his sister's arm in his hands. He sighed and shook his head disappointingly, "you have a bruise on your forearm."

Nyrella peered down on her arm. She saw a circular purple mark that was the size of a small ball. Rhaegar placed his finger on the bruise, putting a light pressure that made Nyrella wince. "Ouch," she pulled her arm away.

"I will get the Maester to do something about your bruise," Rhaegar moved to stand but Nyrella stopped him.

"Please don't," her voice hoarse from the lemon. " I don't want anyone to see in such a disastrous state."

Rhaegar pursed his lips, "Myles warned me it would be bad, but I did not think it would be this bad. You are not allowed to drink in the next feast for the seven hells, Ny. You might make your stomach explode if I don't restrict you."

"Myles..." her voice trailed. The dizziness made her nauseous.

"Yes, Myles. You are lucky. He carried you all the way here when you passed out. He was frantic when he told me early this morning," Rhaegar explained as he took a slice of lemon for himself.

"Myles..." she said again. This time the name of the Knight of Maidenpool brought back memories from last night. His disheveled blonde hair. His worrying pools of honey browns. Their conversation. Lastly, the kiss.

She brought her fingers to her lips, swallowing the feeling down. There was a pit at the bottom of her stomach. A terrible guilt overcame her as she replayed the memory of the forceful sloppy kiss she inflicted on him. It made her sick for what she did to him.

"Nyrella are you listening?" Rhaegar's question pierced through her blank mind. Suddenly, Nyrella lurched to her right, vomiting the contents of last night's supper on the floor and Jon's boots.

Jon yelled out in disgust, jumping away before more warmish green mush poured over his leather boots. "Seven hells! What did you drink last night!"

Rhaegar gathered Nyrella's with his hands as she continued to empty her stomach. "Fetch the Maester, Jon," Rhaegar commanded his friend, "Ny won't be able to keep anything down the whole day."

Nyrella shook her hand in the air, while her other wiped the vomit that lingered at the corners of her mouth. "I'm fine," she told them. She took a deep breath before resting back into her silk covers. "Where is Myles? I need to speak with him."

"He is busy at the moment," Rhaegar answered swiftly. "You need to focus on resting. Jon, I need you to get the Maester."

Jon nodded. His blue eyes took another glance at the sick princess. He pointed his index at her, furrowing his eyebrows, "you owe me a new pair of boots." After saying his peace, Jon slipped through the doors, leaving the dragon siblings alone.

"You do not understand," Nyrella breathed out as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Rhaegar sat beside her, wiping the remnants of vomit around her mouth, "what do you mean, Ny? What don't I understand?"

"Everything, Rhaegar. Don't pretend to care, when you hide things from me," she looked deep into his indigo eyes.

"You are delusional, Ny. Go back to sleep," he averted his gaze. He pulled the cover higher on her body.

Nyrella shook her head, "You know I'm right. What can't you tell me? Why do you push me away like everyone?"

Rhaegar said nothing. The silence filled the room until Jon and the Maester arrived. Nyrella felt herself spiraling into her own thoughts, ready to explode from the frustration. Her mind turns morbid and grim, sometimes thinking to herself that she would have rather perished in the cool depths of the lake then experience constant pain of hurt from the people she cares most about.

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