From Storms to Thrones (Part 1)

Chapter 12: Beneath the Queen's Watchful Eye

I let out a sigh, feeling the exhaustion settle into my bones. The room was quiet for a moment, the soft sounds of Rhaenyra's breathing and the distant crash of waves against the shore the only things breaking the silence. I could feel her eyes on me, still full of concern, and it made me want to reach out to her, to tell her I was okay, but the truth was, I wasn't sure I was.

Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door, pulling both of us out of our thoughts. Rhaenyra straightened, her regal composure slipping back into place as she turned toward the door. A woman, one of the castle servants, poked her head in, her expression respectful yet anxious.

"Your Grace, the Maester is here to see the lady," the servant announced softly, her eyes flickering between me and Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra nodded, her expression unreadable as she glanced back at me.

"Send him in," she replied, her voice steady but with a trace of lingering worry.

Rhaenyra rose gracefully from her chair, the morning light casting a soft glow around her. She reached for a nearby shawl, draping it over her shoulders in a fluid motion. The black fabric fell gracefully over her arms and chest, concealing the delicate nightdress that had clung to her form. With a final glance in my direction, her expression softened, concern still etched in her features as she adjusted the shawl, ensuring she was properly covered before the Maester arrived.

Another knock sounded at the door, more insistent this time. Rhaenyra turned her gaze toward it, her posture composed and regal once more.

"Come in," she called, her voice firm but laced with the same worry that lingered in her eyes.

The door creaked open, and the Maester stepped into the room, followed by the servant who had announced his arrival. He bowed respectfully to Rhaenyra before turning his attention to me. His face was a mask of calm professionalism, though his eyes flickered with a hint of concern as they took in my condition.

"My lady," the Maester said, his tone gentle as he approached the bed. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Peachy," I replied to the Maester, but the confusion that crossed his face made it clear he didn't understand phrasing.

With a sigh, I corrected myself.

"I'm fine."

"She lies," Rhaenyra cut in, stepping forward with an air of authority. Her violet eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unyielding, making me feel like a child caught in a lie. I couldn't help but shrink back slightly, but before I could protest further, Rhaenyra turned to the Maester, her expression softening just a fraction.

"She is in pain," she stated, her voice brokering no argument.

"That is to be expected, Your Grace," the Maester responded with a slight bow of his head. His weathered hands reached into a small pouch at his side, producing a vial of some dark, viscous liquid. "I have brewed a tonic for the pain. Has she had any fever?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but Rhaenyra was quicker.

"No," she said firmly, her voice carrying a note of quiet pride. "No fever. I checked throughout the night."

My eyes widened in shock, and I found myself staring at her, dumbfounded. Rhaenyra had stayed with me all night? Checking my temperature? Watching over me as I slept? The idea was surreal, almost too much to wrap my mind around. 

The Maester glanced at Rhaenyra, his expression respectful but tinged with surprise, much like my own.

"The Maesters could have seen to that, Your Grace," he suggested gently, his tone laced with subtle curiosity. His gaze flicked between us, clearly wondering why the queen herself would take on such a task.