Several breaths passed before Rhaenyra turned her head and said softly, "I'm your sister."
Aegon rubbed his lips, still numb from her kiss, and said nothing.
He rolled his eyes inwardly.
His sister? Did being his sister mean she could kiss her brother like that?
But he said none of it aloud.
Because he knew that what Rhaenyra needed right now was neither reasoning nor an argument, but someone she could lean on while she caught her breath, someone who would not ask questions.
He shifted closer and nudged her arm with his shoulder.
Rhaenyra did not pull away. She lowered her head and looked at her fingers. Those hands had braced against the walls in the secret passage, held Aegon at the window of "Mysaria," and clutched the sheet when Erryk and the others caught her with it. Now they lay quietly on her body, brown grime still lodged beneath her nails, her knuckles red and trembling slightly.
Before what had happened tonight at "Mysaria" on the Street of Silk in Flea Bottom, she had admired and trusted her uncle Daemon, her childhood idol, without reservation.
Now, all she felt toward Daemon was fear and lingering dread. That was why she had become so agitated, so distraught, when Aegon questioned her.
But Aegon, who had done so much without receiving any gratitude from Rhaenyra, was angry too. He said bluntly, "If I hadn't sent people to get us out, do you really think everyone wouldn't know by tomorrow morning that we went to a brothel with Daemon?"
"H-how could they? We sneaked out. Nobody knew!" Rhaenyra, rattled by his words, turned her head guiltily and tried to argue.
But Aegon gave her no chance. He began spinning lies, frightening and coaxing her at once. "If nobody knew, why did