Her steps stopped for a moment, just for a very short moment, so short that even she didn't realize it.
Then she continued walking. Her steps were still so calm, so dignified, and so precise.
It was as if nothing had happened, as if her heart had not been torn in half by those two names - Redd and Daemon.
She walked to the corner of the corridor and saw Allison.
The pregnant queen was standing in front of a window, holding one hand on the window sill and the other on her swollen belly, looking towards the end of the corridor.
When she saw Rhaenyra walking over, a just right, concerned and gentle smile appeared on her face.
"Is your Majesty okay?" Allison asked.
"It's okay." Rhaenyra's answer was short and appropriate, "I took the medicine and fell asleep."
Allison nodded and her eyes stayed on Rhaenyra's face for a moment, as if she wanted to find some trace under that calm face. But she found nothing.
Rhaenyra's face is like an extremely smooth mirror, nothing can leave a mark on it.
"You should also go to bed early." Rhaenyra walked past her, his tone as calm as if he was saying goodbye to an ordinary friend, "Pregnant people should not be too tired."
Allison placed his hand on his abdomen for a moment, then nodded gently.
Rhaenyra's footsteps got farther and farther, and finally disappeared at the end of the corridor.
Allison stood in front of the window, looking at the figure that was gradually moving away. The smile on his face slowly faded, revealing the real face without any decoration underneath.
There was no concern or gentleness on that face, only a complex and inexplicable emotion - maybe jealousy, maybe fear, maybe something mixed with various emotions that even she herself couldn't distinguish.
She turned around, pushed open the door of Viserys's bedroom, and walked in quietly.
The candle was burning quietly on the low cabinet. Viserys had closed his eyes and his breathing was steady and slow, as if he had really fallen asleep.
Allison walked to the bed and placed a feather-light kiss on his forehead, then sat on the low stool beside the bed and held his hand in his.
His fingers were cold, as if he were holding a stone.
Allison lowered his head, put his hands on his face, and closed his eyes.
She thought of Rhaenyra's expression just now - that calm, dignified, mask-like expression that seemed like nothing could move her.
She suddenly felt very tired, not because of pregnancy or taking care of the king, but because of this kind of life of wearing a mask day after day.
She wants to be a considerate and gentle wife in front of Viserys, a queen who is neither humble nor overbearing in front of Rhaenyra, a noble and dignified king's spouse in front of the courtiers, and a loving and strong mother in front of her children.
Sometimes she forgets what the face under the mask looks like.
The candlelight danced, casting flickering light and shadow on the wall.
In the distance, on the Blackwater Bay sea, the moonlight shines on the sparkling water, like a silver road leading to endless darkness.
The outline of Dragonstone turned into a blurry, black silhouette under the cover of night, standing silently between the sea and the sky, like a sleeping giant beast crouching on the sea.
On that island, he and his three-headed dragon looked in the same direction.
The sea breeze blew from the east, carrying their breaths in each other's direction.
But what is separated between them is not the sea, not the distance, but an abyss made of blood and death that can never be crossed.
Rhaenyra walked down the stone steps deep in Red Keep step by step, the torch in his hand illuminating the narrow passage flickeringly.
The ancient murals on the walls were looming in the firelight - the kings of House Targaryen were riding on the back of dragons, holding swords and wearing crowns, with eyes like torches, overlooking the land they conquered.
She has walked through this passage countless times since she was a child. At that time, her hand was held by Viserys. Her father's palm was warm and dry. His steps were brisk and powerful. He walked in front of her like a mountain that would never fall.
Now she was walking alone, and the light of the torch dragged a long, swaying shadow behind her. The shadow jumped on the stone wall, like a disturbed black butterfly.
The end of the passage is Dragonpit.
It was a huge underground space, with a dome so high that the top was almost invisible. The sound of her footsteps and the sound of water dripping in the distance echoed in the darkness.
Several dragons huddled in their respective caves. The dragon scales reflected a dull metallic luster in the light of the torches. Their breathing was heavy and slow, like huge sleeping bellows.
One of the dragons raised its head the moment it saw the firelight, its amber vertical pupils lit up in the darkness, its pupils shrank slightly, its eyes swept over Rhaenyra's face, and then it closed its eyes again.
That's Syrax, her dragon.
A young, light yellow female dragon, much smaller than Bloodworm, but more elegant and agile than Bloodworm.
The day Syrax hatched from Dragon Egg, Rhaenyra was still a little girl less than ten years old. She remembered holding the warm Dragon Egg with golden lines and feeling the heartbeat of the little life under the eggshell. That feeling was warmer and more real than any hug.
She walked up to Syrax, stretched out her hand, and touched the rough bridge of the dragon's nose.
Syrax spurted out a stream of warm, sulfur-scented air from her nostrils, blowing her hair back.
Those amber eyes became brighter in the light of the torch, as if asking her: Where are we going so late?
"Go to Dragonstone." Rhaenyra's voice echoed in the empty Dragonpit, as if talking to himself or giving an order to Syrax, "Go to another driver."
Syrax's eyes lit up. It stood up, spread its wings, and the wingtips brushed against the stalactites on the Dragonpit dome, stirring up a cloud of fine dust.
Rhaenyra turned over on the dragon's back, found the familiar groove in the scales on Syrax's neck, inserted his feet into the pedals of the dragon's saddle, and held the reins tightly with both hands.
Syrax let out a low neigh, exerted force on all four legs, and its huge body rushed out of Dragonpit, running along the underground passage leading to the outside world.
The wind roared past her ears, Rhaenyra's hair flew behind her head, and the light of the torch in her hand was blown backwards by the oncoming airflow, almost extinguishing it.