From Flames to Fury (Part 2)

As the evening wound down and the wet nurse took Freya in her arms, I watched the scene unfold with a strange sense of detachment, as if I were standing on the edge of something profound yet still out of reach. Freya stirred slightly in the wet nurse's embrace, her tiny hands grasping the air for a moment before settling back into sleep. The nurse whispered soothing words, carrying her gently toward the adjoining room. I felt a pang as they disappeared from view, a warmth fading from my chest like a candle being snuffed out.

Now it was just Rhaenyra and me, alone in the room.

The boys had all retreated to bed, their soft murmurs and laughter still echoing in my mind. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, my hands unsure of where to rest, my feet uncertain of where to stand. The glow of the hearth threw flickering shadows across the walls, casting everything in a soft, amber light. The air was thick with a quiet tension, not the kind born of conflict, but something more subtle. It was the weight of unspoken words, the fear of overstepping, of not knowing my place.

I glanced over at Rhaenyra, who stood by the window, gazing out into the night. The light of the moon framed her in silver, her figure bathed in an ethereal glow. Her back was straight, her posture regal, yet there was something in the set of her shoulders that spoke of exhaustion—more than just the physical kind. She was tired, worn down by the weight of her crown, by the choices that would shape the future of Westeros.

And here I was, standing in her life, not sure if I fit.

The silence between us stretched, becoming almost oppressive, until I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say or do. I could still feel the lingering weight of the conversation from dinner, Joffrey's innocent question about Freya's last name hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge. What did it mean for me to be here, with her? What did it mean for us now that we had confessed our feelings, had agreed to raise Freya together?

I wasn't just some bystander anymore. I was woven into the fabric of Rhaenyra's world, but the threads still felt loose, uncertain, as if one wrong move could unravel everything.

"You look like you're about to bolt," Rhaenyra's voice cut through the haze of my thoughts. She was turned from the window, her violet eyes catching mine, softening as they met my gaze.

I let out a small, awkward laugh, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"I, uh... I don't know what to do with myself," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. "I feel like I'm... intruding."

Rhaenyra turned fully to face me then, her expression softening as the words sank in. The flicker of firelight caught the violet in her eyes, and for a moment, the room felt impossibly small, the distance between us shrinking.

"Intruding?" she repeated, her tone almost incredulous, as if the mere suggestion was absurd. She stepped closer, her movements deliberate, her gaze never leaving mine. I could feel the heat of her presence as she stood before me, her eyes searching mine, not with judgment but with something softer.

"Elizabeth, you're not intruding," she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of conviction. "You belong here. With me."

The raw intensity of her words sent a jolt through me. The certainty in her voice was undeniable, but my heart—God, my heart was so tangled in the past, in wounds that hadn't healed, no matter how far I had run.

For a moment, I stood there, frozen, my mind flashing back to Johnathan. To the man who had chipped away at every part of me, piece by piece, until I could barely recognize myself. His words still echoed in my mind, even now, in this entirely different world—words that had once seeped into my skin like poison.