Dissipation

Rhaenyra liked Criston Cole.

His green eyes, his coal-black curls, his handsome face.

And his reactions every time.

Passive, shy, and, under her teasing, offering soft, feeble resistance.

Rhaenyra moved closer to Cole.

Ser Cole caught Rhaenyra's distinctive scent.

It was not fragrant like flowers, nor fresh like lemons or mint.

It was a mixture of charred wood and leather, pungent and heavy. There was heat to this scent, like a dragon's heavy breath and solid scales.

Then came her soft skirts, brushing his hand and stirring an itch.

Rhaenyra's skirts were embroidered with intricate patterns, sometimes blooming flames, sometimes rose branches, myrtle...

Rhaenyra had many dresses. Cole lowered his head.

Her wide skirts fell in layer upon layer, the scarlet dragon's breath flowers on them covering his hand.

Cole's Adam's apple bobbed. His fingers clawed at the grass, but he did not move his hand away.

Rhaenyra watched his reactions with keen interest, her eyes fixed on him.

She raised her hand, her fingers gently brushing those thick hands with their sword calluses.

She slipped her soft fingers into Ser Cole's palm.

This was the Godswood, where someone could arrive at any moment and see them.

Ser Cole was terribly nervous.

He was one of the king's Kingsguard, one of the seven bravest knights in the Seven Kingdoms, someone countless knights aspired to be.

The king had ordered him to serve as Rhaenyra's personal guard.

If someone saw them, his reputation, his honor...

With these thoughts in mind, a secret pleasure rose in Ser Cole's heart, and he clasped Rhaenyra's hand in return.

Rhaenyra let out a satisfied sigh.

Their palms met, their fingers interlaced.

She pressed against Cole's cold white armor and rested her head on his hard shoulder.

Cole reached out and put an arm around her shoulders.

They drew closer and closer.

In that moment of intimacy, another face suddenly flashed through Rhaenyra's mind.

Daemon's face.

The Targaryens had silver hair, purple eyes, and inhuman beauty. Daemon, her uncle, was naturally no exception.

Lean, splendid, with a touch of danger and rakishness, he was utterly different from Ser Cole.

She bit her lower lip.

She thought of Ser Swan, his sturdy physique paired with that simple head of his.

That was a different flavor.

Unfortunately, she had to be careful and cautious.

For a man, this sort of thing was a romantic adventure, something to boast of, but for her, it was a stain.

Suddenly.

Cole spoke hesitantly. "Rhaenyra, what are we now?"

Rhaenyra: ?

"Why would you ask something like that?" she asked in confusion.

But Rhaenyra loved Ser Cole and was willing to give him tenderness and cherish his heart.

So she said gently, "You are my knight, and I am the princess you swore to protect."

Cole seized Rhaenyra's hand, brimming with affection. "What if I stopped being a white knight, and you stopped being a princess, and we left together?"

"We could ride a dragon anywhere, Pentos, Lys, Qarth, and live freely together!"

That way, he could salvage a little of his honor, too.

Rhaenyra admired Cole's devoted expression, pleased.

Look at those little green eyes.

A sudden inspiration struck her, and Rhaenyra smiled.

"Ser Cole." She softened her tone. "I am the mistress you serve."

"How about calling me mistress?"

"Let me hear it. It would make me very happy."

Rhaenyra relaxed, patiently waiting for Ser Cole to please her heart.

Cole: ...

Cole looked pained. "I truly am willing to give up the honor of the Kingsguard for you, Rhaenyra!"

"What?"

Rhaenyra was stunned, her purple eyes round and wide.

"You actually have such a thing?!"

She drew back a little, looking Ser Cole up and down in astonishment.

What do you mean, give up the honor of the Kingsguard?!

Hadn't you failed to uphold that thing from the very beginning?!

But Rhaenyra really did like Ser Cole. "Cole, we can keep things just as they are."

"That way, you can be with me and still have the illusion that you've preserved your honor."

"Wouldn't that be good?"

Cole looked agonized. "How could you..."

Insult me like this?!

Rhaenyra suppressed her impatience and coaxed him gently. "Don't think so much."

"Now, kiss me!"

"Be rougher. I like you a little savage."

Ser Cole stared steadily at Rhaenyra.

Fierce and frenzied.

Cole felt as though he were in a vast, boundless sea.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning split it apart!

"Princess Rhaenyra!"

It was Ser Harrold's voice!

Cole abruptly pushed Rhaenyra away and looked back.

A tall knight stood imposingly at the entrance, dressed in shining white armor, an immaculate white cloak draped over his shoulders.

Ser Harrold!

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!

In an instant, Cole's face went deathly pale.

He was finished.

Ser Harrold's tone was calm. "Princess Rhaenyra, the king wishes to see you."

"Understood."

Rhaenyra rose calmly and straightened her skirts.

Cole instinctively looked toward Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra was perfectly composed, her movements unhurried, as though nothing had happened.

Sitting on the ground, Cole was affected by her calm.

He could not help hoping he might be lucky.

Perhaps, from Ser Harrold's angle, he had seen nothing.

But the next second, his fantasy shattered.

"Wait for me, my white knight." Rhaenyra patted his shoulder and left.

As Ser Harrold turned, he cast a glance at him.

A chill filled Ser Cole's heart, and he felt as though he had fallen into an ice pit.

He could not describe that look.

The white knight stood above him, looking down coldly, as though he were some rat in a gutter, some filthy insect.

Rhaenyra disappeared from view, a white knight following respectfully behind her.

Now, Ser Cole was utterly gripped by fear. He was terrified, his whole body feeling as though it had plunged into an ice pit.

What should he do?!

Would Ser Harrold tell the king?!

He would!

He certainly would!

What would become of him and Rhaenyra? No, no, no, that wasn't right!

What would become of him!

Cole clenched his teeth in resentment.

Rhaenyra! Rhaenyra! Rhaenyra!

It was all her!

It was all that b*tch!

She was the one who seduced him!

She was the one who had brought him to this!

In that instant, Ser Cole came to hate Rhaenyra with all his heart.

After a long while.

He scrambled to his feet and hurried toward the White Sword Tower.

He could not simply sit and wait for death!

The Godswood fell quiet.

Behind the dense flowers and green branches, a figure leaning on a cane slowly limped out.

Elsewhere.

The Street of Silk.

Daemon woke groggily among five or six naked prostitutes, reeking of wine.

He drew his beloved Lady White Worm into his arms and stroked her slightly swollen belly.

This dancer from Lys had skin as pale as milk.

Lady White Worm, Mysaria, said, "I am carrying your child in my belly. A Targaryen."

Daemon's eyes were hazy. Whatever came to his mind, a smug smile curled his lips.

"If he is my child, then by the traditions of House Targaryen, there should be a dragon egg in his cradle."

Mysaria brushed Daemon's hand aside, her expression cool. "You won't do that, and I won't get a dragon egg."

Daemon did not like hearing that.

He promised, "I'll choose one for you myself."

"A pity Baelon's dragon egg hatched. Otherwise, I could have given you that one."

He was full of enthusiasm. "My brother's reaction is sure to be interesting!"

He could hardly wait!

Daemon rose and hurried toward the Dragonpit.

At that moment, Baelon was sniffing his liquid gold.

A little item that would net him countless gold dragons.

What a wonderful smell.