The cart rolled slowly along the rutted road that followed the southern bank of the Mander. The river gleamed dully under the late afternoon sun, wide and sluggish, its surface broken only by the occasional ripple of a fish or the shadow of a passing heron.
Fields of barley and wheat stretched to their left, while thick stands of willow and alder lined the right, hiding the water from view in places.
Arianne sat with her back against a sack of grain, hood drawn low, trying to ignore the way the rough wool of her borrowed dress clung to her skin.
The heat was oppressive, the air thick with the scent of river mud and ripening crops.
She had long since given up pretending she wasn't uncomfortable.
Rhaego sat beside her, knees tucked up, tail bound tightly beneath his tunic. He looked every inch the sullen laborer, tall, broad-shouldered, and brooding.
Only the occasional twitch of fabric betrayed the truth beneath.
The old farmer driving the cart hummed a tuneless song, seemingly unbothered by the long day.
Arianne shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn't make the wool scratch worse.
After a moment she glanced sideways at him.
"Do you ever miss it?" she asked quietly.
He turned his head slightly. "Miss what?"
"Flying freely," she said. "Without having to worry about being seen. Without having to hide those wings."
Rhaego was quiet for a moment, staring at the passing fields.
"Every day," he admitted.
"Up there, everything feels… simpler. No roads. No disguises. No one looking at me like I'm either a monster or a miracle."
He gave a small, wry huff. "Down here I feel like I'm constantly trying not to trip over my own tail."
Arianne's lips curved, but there was no mockery in it this time.
"I can't imagine it," she said.
"Having the sky as your birthright and then being forced to crawl along the ground like the rest of us."
Rhaego glanced at her, one brow raised. "You make it sound like I'm the one suffering. You're the one wearing a dress that looks like it was made for someone twice your age and half your dignity."
She let out a soft, genuine laugh. It was low and throaty.
"Fair point," she conceded. "Though I will say this much, at least my discomfort is temporary. Yours is permanent. Poor thing."
Rhaego shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth despite himself.
"You're enjoying this far too much."
"Immensely," Arianne replied, eyes sparkling.
"It's not every day a princess gets to watch a dragon prince pretend to be a common laborer. The novelty has not yet worn off."
Rhaego opened his mouth to reply, but then his eyes narrowed. He sat up a little straighter, gaze fixed on the road ahead where it curved around a thick stand of alder trees.
Arianne followed his gaze.
Ahead, the road narrowed between two low rises. A cart already stood there, half turned at an angle as if forced to stop. Figures moved around it.
"Is that… a checkpoint?" he asked quietly.
The farmer on the bench did not slow his mules.
"No," the old man said flatly. "Just men."
Rhaego frowned. "Soldiers?"
A short, humorless sound left the driver.
"Not soldiers," he said. "Not bandits either. Just men who learned the road belongs to whoever holds a blade long enough to claim it."
Rhaego did not like that answer.
The cart slowed as they approached. Five men stood across the road ahead, blocking it in a loose line. None wore uniforms. None bore proper sigils. One had a spear. Two had clubs. The rest carried knives that looked sharpened more by habit than care.
They were not disciplined.
But they were not afraid either.
The farmer sighed as if this were a routine interruption.
"Stay down," he muttered.
Rhaego shifted slightly. "Are you going to be alright?"
The old man glanced at him like he had asked something foolish.
"This?" he said. "Happens more than you think."
He reached beneath his seat and pulled out a small, worn bundle tied in cloth.
"Keep your head low and let me speak," he added. "Do not do anything clever."
Rhaego opened his mouth, then closed it again.
The cart rolled to a stop.
One of the men stepped forward immediately.
"Toll," he said simply, voice rough but casual.
The old farmer sighed, as if this were nothing new. "How much this time?"
"Whatever you've got that's worth taking," the leader replied with a mocking grin. "We're feeling generous today."
Rhaego's shoulders tensed. He leaned forward slightly, voice low. "This is stealing."
The old man hushed him sharply without turning around. "Quiet, boy. There's five of them. Sit still."
Indeed, two more men had appeared from the treeline, flanking the cart. Five in total. All armed. None looked like proper soldiers, just opportunistic road wardens who had decided the law was whatever they said it was.
The leader strolled closer, eyes scanning the back of the cart. His gaze passed over Rhaego with mild interest a tall, hulking figure hunched among the sacks, but then it lingered.
Not on the man.
On the hooded figure behind him.
A lock of dark, curly hair had slipped free from Arianne's hood, catching the light. The leader's grin widened, slow and unpleasant.
"Well now," he drawled, stepping even closer. "When did old Jory start carrying fine ladies in his cart?"
One of the men reached toward the sacks.
The other leaned closer to Arianne.
She remained perfectly still, but her eyes were sharp.
The leader let out a low whistle. "Never seen a woman like you on this stretch of the Mander. What's a fine thing like you doing riding with this old sack of bones?"
Arianne kept her voice calm and even though her pulse had quickened. "We are merely passing through. Nothing more. We've already paid our toll to the road."
The leader laughed. "Paid? With what? That pretty face?"
He looked her up and down slowly, taking in the curve of her figure even beneath the plain dress. "I think we can come to a better arrangement."
Rhaego's fists clenched hard enough that his knuckles cracked. He was already shifting, ready to move.
Arianne's hand shot out and pressed firmly against his knee, hidden from view by the sacks. Her voice dropped to a whisper only he could hear.
"Don't," she breathed. "Not yet. Anything you do now will only make it worse. Stay still."
Rhaego's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain seated, every muscle coiled.
The leader noticed the movement and smirked. "Your man there looks a bit jumpy. Tell him to relax. We're all friends here."
Arianne met the man's eyes steadily, her expression cool despite the tension.
"We are merely passing through,"she said.
The leader leaned onto the side of the cart, too close for comfort.
"Passing through," he echoed. "Funny place to pass through. Dangerous road for a lady."
His eyes flicked to her face again. "You lost?"
Arianne met his gaze without blinking. "No," she said. "But you seem to be."
A beat of silence, one of the men behind her laughed and the leader's smile faltered just slightly.
Rhaego felt the pressure building in his chest.
Arianne's hand tightened on his wrist. A silent warning.
Then she spoke again, softer.
"We want no trouble," she said. "Take what the farmer offered you and we'll be on our way."
The leader's expression shifted his amusement returning.
"You hear that?" he called to his men. "She thinks she gets to tell us what to do."
The men laughed again.
The leader leaned in closer, his breath sour with old ale and rotting teeth. His eyes crawled over Arianne slowly, lingering on the curve of her neck where a few dark curls had escaped her hood.
"Oh, I think you can spare more than that, sweetheart."
His dirty fingers reached out, aiming for one of those loose curls.
Before he could touch her, Rhaego's hand shot forward. His fingers closed around the man's wrist in an iron grip.
The leader froze.
Rhaego's voice came out low, calm, and dangerously quiet.
"Touch her," he said, "and you'll lose the hand."
The man's eyes widened in shock. He tried to yank his arm back, but it didn't move. Rhaego's grip was like a blacksmith's vice unyielding, immovable.
The leader's face twisted with sudden pain and surprise, as if invisible chains had clamped down on his bones.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
The other two men stepped closer, hands drifting toward their weapons, but they hesitated when they saw their leader's face contort.
Arianne remained perfectly still, her hand resting lightly on Rhaego's knee beneath the sacks, a silent warning not to escalate further. Her heart was pounding, but her voice stayed cool when she finally spoke.
"We've already paid your toll," she said evenly. "Take the bundles and go. There's no need for this to become… unpleasant."
The leader's breath came in short, angry bursts. He glared at Rhaego, trying once more to pull free. The grip didn't budge.
"You've got a strong hand for a laborer," the man growled through gritted teeth.
Rhaego didn't smile. His violet eyes were cold.
"Stronger than you think," he replied softly. "Let this be the end of it."
The tension stretched like a bowstring.
Finally, the leader gave a jerky nod. Rhaego released his wrist.
The man stumbled back a step, rubbing his arm and glaring at them both with newfound wariness. His companions exchanged uneasy glances.
"Fine," the leader spat.
"Keep your woman. But watch your backs on this road. Not everyone's as forgiving as I am."
He snatched the small bundle from the old farmer's shaking hands and gestured sharply to his men. They backed away slowly, still watching Arianne and Rhaego with narrowed eyes, before disappearing back into the treeline.
Only when the cart began moving again did Arianne let out a slow breath.
She turned to Rhaego, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You shouldn't have done that."
Rhaego stared straight ahead, jaw tight.
"He was going to touch you," he said simply.
Arianne's fingers brushed his wrist once, light but deliberate.
"I know," she murmured, her voice low and steady, the way a princess might speak to a trusted knight in the middle of danger.
"But next time, you wait for my signal and I would rather not test our luck against five armed men on an empty road."
She paused, then added with the faintest hint of a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes:
"Besides, if you break every hand that reaches for me, we'll leave a trail of one handed bandits all the way to Highgarden. Hardly subtle, Rhaego."
Rhaego didn't reply, but his fists remained clenched long after the toll-takers had vanished behind them.
Arianne leaned back against the grain sack, outwardly composed, but inside something had shifted.
So that's what he is, she thought, a quiet recalibration settling in her chest, when he stops pretending to be harmless.
Not a boy. Not a curiosity.
A Dragon.
And for the first time since they had left Dorne, she wondered whether she had truly understood what she was riding with.
The cart creaked onward down the dusty road beside the Mander, the tension lingering in the air like smoke.