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Princess Rhaenys Targaryen stands motionlessly in front of the large, open window as the soft sea breeze drifts over her face. Fingering the sheer, turquoise curtains flowing to the side of her, she looks back to see her lord husband, his dark eyes fixed pointedly on her.
“Come to bed,” he beckons in a gravelly voice, a faint smile displacing the worry written on his features, and Rhaenys hesitates.
“You saw the Princess Rhaenyra’s—“ she pauses abruptly, as though the muscles of her throat have conspired to stop the words from escaping, and Rhaenys’s eyes dart quickly over to the pale walls of their bedchamber in High Tide.
“You’ve no need to hold your tongue here, my love,” Corlys smirks, motioning again for his wife to join him within the cool, thin linens of their bed.
She crosses the room, climbs easily beneath them, her body moving instinctively towards her lord husband.
Without thought he envelops her in his arms, twists them around her effortlessly as he pulls the princess somehow closer to him.
“If there were spiders in the walls of our bedchamber,” he drawls playfully, bringing his face close to hers, “both of our heads would have been on spikes long ago.”
Rhaenys’s chuckle is quiet, husky, cut short by a tired sigh as she touches her forehead to his, continues softly, “You saw that moment between the Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon as well as I did.”
After a slight hesitation, Corlys nods against her, tightens his embrace.
“Whatever has transpired between them, it cannot be good,” her volume raises with confidence while her violet eyes are marked with concern.
At her distress, Corlys’s face hardens instantly and he pulls back from her, laying his head back on the driftwood frame at the top of their bed. Through gritted teeth, he concedes, “It was an insult.”
“Corlys—“
“It was an insult to our family and to House Velaryon, Rhaenys,” he snaps, and when his eyes meet hers, she sees a storm in them to rival the fiercest wildfire. “To look at that,” he breathes in slowly, spits out, “rogue prince in that way—and that wretched excuse for a knight, spilling an innocent man’s blood at a celebration for the joining of our houses.” He pauses, looks away in agitation as the sounds of the sea overtake them for just a moment, until Rhaenys places her hand gently on his jaw, angles his face towards her.
“We are not the Dothraki, Rhaenys,” the man finishes with a deep sigh.
“No,” she shakes her head faintly as her fingers dance across his stubbled chin.
“And your—your cousin,” his voice drips with venom, “gave no punishment, no rebuke! For a knight of the Kingsguard to dishonor himself so—“
“My lord,” she begins, trepidation lacing her words, “I agree. Of course I agree, but—“ Rhaenys sinks her front teeth into her lower lip, “What is done is done. And Laenor is in that viper’s nest, now.”
“Well, then it is a good fortune that he has a snake’s blood running through his veins.” And the corners of his lips curl upwards as the Lord of the Tides’s face lights up at his own jape.
Rhaenys laughs, moves her palms to his chest before pushing lightly against him. She inhales a steadying breath, her countenance turning serious. “When it comes down to it, Corlys,” she whispers fiercely, “we must protect our son.”
Corlys states with fervor, “Princess,” then his voice grows tender, “my love,” and it’s as though his words are caught in his throat, unable to escape. He swallows thickly, tries again, “If the time shall come that our son’s position is threatened—“
“When, Corlys,” she emphasizes, her eyes soft and full of worry, “When the time comes that it is threatened. Your seat is secure on the small council, and you must keep him safe.”
He raises his strong, calloused hand to cover hers on his chest, rubs his thumb gently against her knuckles. And his voice is gruff, filled with emotion when he finally speaks, “I will always do what it takes to protect you and our family, Rhaenys. Nothing on this earth is more important to me.”