She inserted the torch into the iron ring on the side of the dragon's saddle, grasped the reins again with both hands, and lowered her body, close to Syrax's back.
She could feel every contraction and relaxation of the Syrax muscles, and could feel those strong tendons and ligaments being compressed, released, and recompressed like springs in the dragon's body.
That feeling made her feel that she was not riding a dragon, but becoming a part of the dragon.
Syrax rushed out from the exit of Dragonpit, spread its wings suddenly, glided in the night sky for a certain distance, and then began to climb.
The lights of King's Landing spread out like a golden carpet under them, the towers of Red Keep gradually became smaller on their left side, and the sea surface of Blackwater Bay on their right side was like a huge black mirror illuminated by the moonlight.
Rhaenyra looked back at King's Landing. The city where she was born and grew up was lying quietly in the night. The torches on the city wall were like strings of pearls hanging on black velvet, dotted with stars and stretching endlessly.
She saw the window of Red Keep - the window of Viserys's bedroom - the lights were still on, and the orange light shone through the gaps in the curtains, making it look particularly warm and lonely in the darkness.
Her father is still awake. Maybe he is thinking about Daemon, maybe he is thinking about her, maybe he is thinking about the choices he has made and not made.
Maybe he didn't think about anything, just lying there with his eyes open, waiting for the arrival of Dawn.
Rhaenyra retracted his gaze, lowered his body, and gently patted Syrax's neck.
Syrax let out a low neigh, the frequency of the wings flapping increased, and the speed also increased.
It passed under the clouds, and the moonlight coated its scales with a layer of silvery white light. Those light yellow scales turned into pale gold under the moonlight, as if they had been sprinkled with a thin layer of pearl powder.
Ahead, the outline of Dragonstone slowly emerged in the darkness, like a black giant beast crouching on the sea, silent, majestic, and inviolable.
The castle on the island is brightly lit, and the light of the torches shines through the windows, outlining the silhouette of the castle in the night.
There are several ships moored in the direction of the port, and the lanterns on the masts are swaying gently in the sea breeze, like a few stars that have fallen on the sea and are about to be extinguished.
Syrax began to descend. Its wings folded in a little, its body tilted slightly, and it circled in the sky over Dragonstone, then aimed at the courtyard of the castle and landed slowly.
The air flow from the wings blew the freshly trimmed flower beds in the courtyard tossing and turning. Several servants scurried in the wind, hid behind the pillars, and looked at the dragon descending from the night sky with horrified eyes.
Syrax's claws fell on the stone floor, making a dull, metallic impact. It lowered its head and let Rhaenyra slide off its back.
After Rhaenyra landed, he patted Syrax's neck, then turned around and walked towards the main building of the castle.
Her steps were fast, and her boots made a crisp, hasty sound on the stone floor.
Her cloak rustled in the night wind, and her hair had not yet recovered from the flight. A few strands were scattered on the side of her face, stuck to her skin with sweat.
There was no expression on her face, but her eyes were bright, like two lit purple stars.
She wants to talk to Redd. Talk about the title "King of the Narrow Sea", talk about the deal proposed by Viserys, talk about the red line between Westeros and Essos, talk about where Redd's dragon and fleet will stop, where they will stop, and where they will stop.
She didn't know how Redd would answer her.
She didn't even know if Redd would be willing to talk - that man had never been a person who liked negotiating. He liked conquering, seizing, crushing, and then stepping on the enemy's face with his boots and asking him if he "submitted".
To him, negotiation may seem like a question to his strength, a challenge to his will, and a blasphemy to his existence.
But she had to give it a try. Not for Viserys, not for Seven Kingdoms, not for Iron Throne--she didn't know who she was doing it for. Maybe it was for herself.
In order for her to say "I talked to Redd" when facing her father, instead of "I don't know what he was thinking".
The main building of the castle was brightly lit, but there was no one in the corridor. Rhaenyra's footsteps echoed on the empty stone floor, like pebbles being thrown into a deep well, causing invisible ripples. She walked to Redd's study door, and was about to raise her hand to knock on the door, when the door was opened from inside.
Mesalia stood at the door.
Rhaenyra The moment he saw the woman, his steps paused slightly.
Mesalia wore a white, thin, slit long skirt. The material of the skirt was as thin as cicada wings, and was almost transparent under the candlelight.
Large areas of skin as white as snow are exposed to the air - shoulders, collarbones, back, waist, thighs - those soft female curves that are usually covered by layers of satin and velvet are now outlined by this long skirt, like mountains illuminated by the moonlight.
Especially the chest area, the design of that long dress is extremely bold - no, to say "design" is to flatter it,
It was basically two pieces of tulle casually draped over the shoulders, overlapping on the chest, covering most of the most secret parts, and exposing the lower half. Between half-covering and half-exposing, the looming temptation was a hundred times stronger than being completely naked.
There was a faint blush on her face, like rose petals, spreading from her cheekbones to the base of her ears.
Her lips were fuller and rosier than usual, as if she had just been kissed, and there was still a hint of moisture on her lips.
Her eyes were moist, her pupils were slightly dilated, and the ends of her eyes were lightly red. Her eyes were not looking at a person, but at a person who had just made her experience bliss.
Her hair was a bit messy, with a few strands of golden brown curls falling from her bun and sticking to her cheeks and neck, soaked with sweat and glowing ambiguously in the candlelight.
Rhaenyra's eyes stayed on Mesalia's face for a moment, then looked over her shoulder and looked inside the study.
Redd is sitting behind the desk, adjusting the belt around his waist. His movements are casual and calm, as if there is nothing worth fussing about in the little matter of getting dressed.
His hair had not grown out yet, and his bald head glowed with a healthy luster under the candlelight.
There was no expression on his face, but there was a kind of laziness and contentment in his calm face that could only appear at certain specific moments - it was the satisfaction after a gluttonous meal, the drunkenness after strong wine entered the throat, and the relaxation that came from the bones after both body and soul had been satisfied by a woman.