The sky was thick with dark clouds.
The sea was rough with towering waves.
The wind howled without end.
Rhaegar's slender figure climbed a coconut tree, staring in panic at the steadily rising water.
The icy seawater submerged his ankles, then gradually swallowed his calves as well.
He tried to cry for help, but his throat felt blocked. No matter what he did, he couldn't make a sound.
Rumble—
A bolt of lightning split the gloomy sky, like a silver bottle shattering, its crack deafening.
The dark clouds churned and surged overhead. Suddenly, torrential rain began to pour down, drenching the helpless Rhaegar.
"So cold... Where am I?"
The chilling rain soaked Rhaegar's skin, and confusion stirred a jumble of thoughts in his mind.
"Hsss... Grr..."
Along with a peal of thunder, a giant beast's roar echoed from the horizon, rolling on and on.
Rhaegar raised his head in a daze. By the light of the lightning, he saw a colossal creature burst through the heavy clouds, beating its wings as it soared into the distance.
Rhaegar tried to make out the beast's features, but all he could hear was the clamor of the rain.
Rain ran down his cheeks. Rhaegar raised a hand and wiped it away.
When he opened his eyes again, the colossal beast had somehow flown back. With its wings spread wide, it swooped straight toward the island where he had taken shelter.
"Ah! Don't come near me!"
A massive, indistinct shadow loomed overhead. Rhaegar couldn't help screaming, and everything went black.
The next second.
Rhaegar opened his eyes and sprang upright in bed.
"What was that?!"
His chest heaved. Tense with fear, Rhaegar frantically looked around.
The familiar layout of his room came into view.
After staring blankly for a long moment, Rhaegar wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and slumped onto the bed, his voice full of lingering fear.
"Damn it, another nightmare—and it picked up where the last one left off!"
Usually, his nightmares were different every time, with a few days between them.
But this dream had appeared two nights in a row, and it was really getting to him.
Rhaegar sighed. "Maybe it's just that what occupies your thoughts by day follows you into your dreams at night."
He'd pored over old books until the early hours yesterday, with the dreamer constantly on his mind.
And now the nightmare had continued.
"Anything unusual must have a cause. Dreams that continue across multiple nights are rare, so there must be some kind of prophecy in this."
Rhaegar tugged hard at his hair, muttering in frustration.
After washing up, he received the usual breakfast of bread, milk, and fried eggs from a servant.
"Are you going to watch the tourney today, Prince?"
Just as Rhaegar finished his milk, Illyric entered. He'd timed it perfectly.
Rhaegar gently wiped the milk from his lips and said evenly, "There's nothing worth watching. I'll visit the Dragonpit instead. I haven't been there before."
"Of course."
Illyric answered in a low voice.
Before leaving, Rhaegar picked up a sheet of paper from the table and carefully rolled it up.
The Dragonpit was a fair distance from the Red Keep. A carriage had been prepared, and they rode there.
After leaving the Red Keep grounds, they entered the streets of King's Landing.
Illyric kept sneaking glances at Rhaegar, looking as if he wanted to say something.
Annoyed by his staring, Rhaegar asked, "Ser, is there something wrong with what I'm wearing? Why do you keep looking at me?"
"No. I just get the feeling you're a little down today."
Illyric explained what was troubling him.
They'd been on the road for some time. The usually cheerful prince had been silent the whole way, and it was hard not to worry.
Rhaegar's eyes were heavy with fatigue. He said gloomily, "I had another nightmare."
Only then did Illyric notice how dark the circles beneath the prince's pale face had become.
He was starting to look like a panda.
"Prince, perhaps you should speak with a maester about your state of mind. Insomnia and nightmares aren't good signs."
Illyric offered his advice.
Rhaegar smiled mysteriously. "There's no need. My father told me to learn to accept my dreams, whether they're sweet or bitter."
"With all due respect, you prefer sweet things."
Illyric frowned slightly.
"Don't worry about me. Life has its share of bitterness and sweetness, of every flavor. Getting a taste of them early isn't necessarily a bad thing."
Rhaegar cut off Illyric's advice and asked where he could find a good blacksmith.
Illyric said, "There's a fine smithy on Silk Street. Old Owain's skill is well known."
"Then let's go there. I need to buy something too."
Once Rhaegar had made up his mind, Illyric told the driver to head for their destination.
The royal carriage was not only splendid, but fast.
It drew plenty of attention as it passed through one street after another and entered the well-known Silk Street.
At last, it stopped outside an unassuming smithy.
Rhaegar pulled back the curtain and looked out. He could see a strong young man hammering away at the forge, sparks flying.
"That's Old Owain's grandson. He's an apprentice blacksmith, too."
Illyric explained as he escorted Rhaegar out of the carriage.
"Go get your grandfather. Tell him an honored guest wishes to see him."
Illyric tossed the apprentice a gold coin and gave the order without ceremony.
"Yes, honored White Knight."
At the sight of the man in silver armor and white robes, the apprentice quickly set down his work and ran into the smithy.
Before long, a short, stout old man with a bushy beard came out.
He was the owner of the smithy.
Old Owain strode up to them, his voice booming. "Honored guests, the blacksmith Owain welcomes you to my shop."
As he spoke, he gave Rhaegar a laborious bow.
Rhaegar looked the old man over, quietly amused.
Standing face-to-face, Old Owain was only a little taller than Rhaegar, but several times broader.
Rhaegar took out the rolled-up sheet of paper and explained, "This is a design for a bracelet. I want you to make an exact copy as quickly as possible."
"No problem. Should I make it to fit your wrist?"
"Yes. This bracelet is meant to replace a gift that didn't fit."
After hearing what the customer wanted, Old Owain thumped his chest and declared confidently, "You can pick it up before sunset. I guarantee it'll be perfect down to the last detail."
"I trust Illyric's recommendation. Pay him, Ser."
Rhaegar brought the deal to a swift close.
But Old Owain refused the purse Illyric offered him. "I won't take money. Having a prince wear my work is already the greatest reward I could ask for."
"Oh? How did you know I was a prince? Why don't you guess which prince I am?"
Rhaegar looked at the stout old man with amusement.
Old Owain replied with a straight face, "I've seen the king hold an event with his second son, Aegon. You're about his age, so you must be the eldest son of the late Queen—Rhaegar, the Sleeping Whelp."
"Sleeping Whelp? What kind of nickname is that? Is it supposed to describe me?"
Rhaegar admired Old Owain's sharpness, but didn't like the title he'd used.
Old Owain promptly fell silent, realizing he'd spoken too quickly and said the wrong thing.
When the old man wouldn't explain, Rhaegar turned to Illyric and asked, displeased, "Ser, when did I get this nickname?"
"Ever since the royal hunt, rumors about your natural frailty and the White Hart's blessing have spread far and wide among the people."
"The king specifically forbade rumors about you, but that still hasn't stopped the people from talking."
"It wasn't until you welcomed Princess Rhaenyra back from her voyage last time, appearing before the public for the first time, that this nickname emerged."
Rhaegar frowned and demanded, "So my father restricting me to the Red Keep had something to do with this too?"
"That was part of the reason, but the king had other considerations. It wasn't all..."
"So it was connected. That's enough."
Before you continue