From Storms to Thrones (Part 1)

I sighed, sinking deeper into the pillows of my bed. Four days—four long, frustrating days—since Rhaenyra had ordered me to stay put and rest.

I could feel every hour of those four days pressing down on me like a weight I couldn't shake. The Maester had confirmed what I already knew: a few broken ribs, courtesy of Arryk's brutal punch. The moment it happened, I'd felt the sharp, stabbing pain—a clear sign that something was broken. But four days of bed rest? That felt like overkill.

I had tried to argue, of course. Tried to tell Rhaenyra that I didn't need to be coddled like this, that I could start moving around and get back to my duties. But she'd simply given me a look—a look that said everything I needed to know. 

Deal with it.

Usually, I wasn't one to take orders without putting up a fight. I'd never been the type to back down, always ready with a sharp retort or a well-placed argument. But with Rhaenyra, it was different. She had a way of commanding authority that left me no choice but to obey. Maybe it was the power of her position, the way her title demanded respect and deference. Maybe it was the simple fact that, no matter how close we'd become, Rhaenyra could still have me killed with a single word. 

Or maybe... just maybe, I liked it.

The more I thought about it—and believe me, I'd had plenty of time to think—the more I realized that I did like Rhaenyra's commanding presence. I liked the way she spoke, her voice rich with authority, especially when she switched to High Valyrian. There was something intoxicating about the way she carried herself, with the effortless grace of someone who knew exactly who she was and what she was capable of.

I glanced out the window as the sun began to set on the horizon, a soft smile tugging at my lips. The sunset meant that Rhaenyra would be here soon. The Queen, it seemed, was a creature of habit, and she had established a routine—a routine that I had somehow become a part of. Our nightly talks had become the highlight of my day.

The first day was agonizingly slow without the hustle and bustle of leading a war effort. My only distraction had been trying to communicate with the Cannibal, which, after much trial and error, I had finally figured out. But even that had its limits. My "demon dragon," as Rhaenyra so kindly dubbed him, grew tired of my incessant questions—Why did you bring me here? What is your plan?—questions he refused to answer. Eventually, he blocked me, or at least that's what it felt like.

It was like talking to a brick wall.

So, I put two and two together: blocked, like on social media.

I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it.

With the Cannibal out of reach and nothing but silence to keep me company, it got pretty boring fast. The only people I saw were the servants, who had taken to calling me "Doctor Elizabeth" instead of "Lady Elizabeth." The first time it happened, it caught me off guard, but I rolled with it. At least it was human interaction, brief as it was. But they would come and go quickly, leaving me with the crushing realization that I might not survive four days of this monotony.

And then, just as the sun dipped below the horizon on my first day of bed rest, there was a knock at my door. When it opened, Rhaenyra stepped inside.

Rhaenyra had been awkward, almost endearingly so, when she first walked into my room that evening. She stood at the door, hesitating like she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. For a woman who commanded armies and ruled a kingdom, it was almost amusing to see her so uncertain. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than usual, laced with a hesitation that I hadn't heard before.