The King coughed, the rough sound seeming to shake his very frame with its strength. Rhaella looked towards him, momentarily worried. "Father, are you fine? Shall I call for the Grand Maester?"
"'Tis nothing," Jaehaerys assured his daughter, motioning for the Lord Hand to continue.
Edgar Sloane gave a small nod before resuming his earlier speech. "So you see, Your Majesty, if we were to increase taxes by as much as the grand Maester suggests, the farmers would be at a disadvantage. If the farmers collapse, then the markets fall as well. It would be best to wait for summer if indeed Your Majesty wishes to make such a move."
The war had taken its toll upon the realm. Many of the coffers had been emptied to ease the progress of the soldiers, to give them food and other necessities. And they had won. Indeed, it could be called a good investment. Yet that did not change the fact that the realm had been left drained. Her father seemed to know it as well. Rhaella could simply not understand why she had allowed Pycelle to promote the harmful idea of increasing taxes.
It was not for her to question the King publicly though. And the Maester had been dutifully refuted by the Lord Hand. As long as a mean proposition was not accepted, then she had no cause for complaint. The Princess glanced towards Ser Hightower who was listening to the fine lords of the King's council bicker among themselves. It was a wonder any issue ever found a solution in the hands of such people.
Looking away, Rhaella's eyes were attracted to the dim light coming from the outside world. How marvellous it would be to shake off these burdens and walk in the sun. Alas, it was not to be at the moment.
Her attention returned to the Master of Coin who was pressing that they borrow money from the Iron Bank. "To aid our own coin, Your Majesty," the man said. "The trade routes have become less with the war. Until we can cleanse them of such reprobates as haunt them, it would mayhap be best."
The idea was not without merit. But the Iron Bank would have to be paid back. That meant they could not avail themselves of a truly massive amount of coin. Rhaella watched her father's face for any sign of agreement. But to her he looked ill and frail. There was no change that could indicate either approval or denial. Just sickness.
For one brief moment she thought of asking him to end the session of the council and leave these matters for another day. Yet, at another time, he might feel worse. Wisely, the daughter kept to herself such notions. Instead she listened for her father's answer.
"A wise plan," the King finally allowed with a tired voice. "You shall then negotiate with the Bank."
Further concerns were put forth to her father and the King spent very near to the afternoon on these issues before he declared the meeting adjourned.
Free at last, Rhaella followed her father away from the chamber. She knew very well that he would go and lie down for a while, to regain his bearing. She, however, wanted little more than to see her precious son.
Her father, though, had other plans. "Daughter," he called to her over his shoulder, not slowing down his pace at all, "I must speak to you."
She would have protested, but the Princess knew that it would do no good. "Aye, father." Last she'd protested, she had been a girl no older than a score of years and half in love with Ser Bonifer Hasty. A foolish little thing, she'd thought her father would approve of such a knight; if not for the would-be suitor's own merits, than because it was his sole daughter that asked for the approval. She'd been wrong. No amount of pleading could have changed father's mind. Not even Aerys had managed to convince Jaehaerys. He had been determined to have his way.
Such had come about the wedding of Rhaella and Aerys Targaryen. An event lacking the bride and groom's approval or their joy, but one that apparently fulfilled a prophecy. They were the ugliest of things, prophecies.
Chasing away such thoughts, Rhaella followed her father into his chambers. She sat down without waiting for an invitation. Although it had been nearly three years since her father had been crowned king, she was not yet nearly as familiar with this private space as would have been normal. She told herself it was because grandfather had died so suddenly.
Had Summerhal not burst into flames, grandfather might have yet lived. The thought was unsettling. Rhaella folded her hand in her lap and waited for whatever it was that her own father wished to say to her.
"I am hesitant to put this plan to you, child," he began, sitting down in a chair opposite hers. One of the servants scuttled in, carrying a tray of wine and lemon cakes. The King took no notice. "Yet I must. You have been widowed for longer than a year. Proper mourning has been observed."
It struck her then; father's plan became clear in her mind. "From whom has the question come?"
"From no one." The response did little to calm her. "I have been thinking about this for some time now. "We need coin, gold, as much as can be given. Tytos Lannister is a good man."
A toothless lion, Rhaella sneered in her mind. "Have you written to him then already, father?"
"I have not. I shall soon enough." He took one of her hands in his. "Sacrifices have to be made sometimes, child."
Mournful violet eyes stared into hers. Rhaella held back a shudder.
Why was it that it was only she who had to make sacrifices? "I cannot leave my son," she whispered, standing to her feet. With a stronger voice, she repeated, "I cannot leave Rhaegar."
Her father did not try to stop her even as she stomped her way into the hall. The two Kingsguards at the door barely gave her one look as she stormed past them. Rhaella picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could to the nursery, tears brimming in her eyes.
It was cruel of her father to continue using her.
She entered the nursery, knowing very well that her son would not be asleep. A strange occurrence, as Rhaegar grew, he refused, more often than not, to sleep. If put down, he would start wailing his displeasure. Thus, Rhaella had ordered it that the child was to sleep only when he wished it. And he did not wish it very often, much to the horror of his nursemaids.
As soon as he saw her, Rhaegar climbed to his feet and fairly ran towards her. Rhaella knelt to catch him in her arms and pressed a kiss to his upturned forehead. Her son, inordinately pleased by such treatment, began to tell her in his usual manner abut what he had been doing.
It had been quite surprising the mother how fast her Rhaegar was picking up knowledge. And pleasing as well. Proudly lifting him up in her hold, Rhaella stepped over the polished floors. "Do tell me more," she invite with a smile.
Rhaegar was more than happy to do so. Not for the first time, Rhaella found herself wondering what Aerys would have thought of their son. Would he have been as proud as she was? She could not say. Aerys had always had his own thoughts that he did not share with her. But, as she recalled, he had been fond of Rhaegar when the boy was born. He'd even spent a full day with the child before riding off to war.
The thought that he would be left soon without either of his parents died not sit well with Rhaella. She decided that this time she would not bow down to father's will. He might be the King, but he was a parent as well. If she managed to appeal to that side of him, he might postpone whatever plans he had for her.
Truth be told, Rhaella held little desire to be wed again. She simply wished to remain by her son's side, raise him and see him on the throne one day.
Looking down at Rhaegar, a wave of tenderness rushed through her. It felt as if her heart was too big for her chest, that it might, at any point, break through layers of flesh and bone. The nearly painful feeling she equated to being alive and being blessed with a wonderful son.
At length he grew bored with speech and was quite ready to return to whatever toys had been given to him. Rhaella allowed him to go. One of the nursemaids followed close behind, as if to make sure no ill befell him.
Breathing out in relief, Rhaella drew herself to her feet. She felt quite out of sorts with all the thoughts she'd been having. Mayhap it was time that she rested a little.
With that in mind, still labouring under the emotional strain of her father's announcement, Rhaella retreated to her own bedchamber. The sun had not yet dipped beneath the horizon line and likely would not for some time more. But the Princess cared nothing for that.
Young Joanna Lannister, one of her most trusted ladies-in-waiting helped her disrobe. "You needn't linger," Rhaella assured her. "I can well sleep without being attended to. Did you not wish to find a book in the library?"
Joanna smiled at her. "I shan't be long," she promised before making her way out the door.
Rhaella simply shook her head and hid her face in her pillow. Should she ask Joanna about Tytos Lannister? Mayhap the girl knew him well, but it was not at all certain. Her uncle he might be, but that did not assure one of any particular closeness. Nay, it was best to bide her time and try to convince her own father of the folly of his plan.
Soon enough though, all such thoughts fled the Princess' mind. She fell into a deep slumber from which she could not be easily woken up. The passage of time was utterly lost on her. Very likely she might have slept well into the morning if not for a hand shaking her frantically and a voice ordering her to wake up.
The startling manner in which she was brought to consciousness only served to agitate her. Rhaella opened bleary eyes to face a distraught-looking Joanna. "Your Grace, you must awake. His Majesty is ill. Pray, we must hurry."
Ill, the thought flashed through her mind, at first not making even a lick of sense to her. Her father had a cough. He was not ill. He had just recovered from a chill. Dazed, Rhaella allowed her helpers to lace her into a dress.
Then, arm in arm with Joanna, followed closely by the Dornish Princess Sarelle, the three of them made their way to the King's chambers. It was only Rhaella that entered, however.
The sight that greeted her gave little hope. Mother was weeping beside her father's bed. Her silver hair was tangled and dishevelled, as if she'd been pulling on it. Maester Pycelle was trying to convince her to stand to her feet.
"Nothing more can be done, Your Majesty" he said. He then took notice of the Princess and gave her a small nod.
The bluntness of the pain she felt held her immobile for what felt like an endless second. Somehow, though, Rhaella managed to make her way to one side of the bed, opposite her crying mother. She touched a hand to one of father's. His skin was cool.
He was well and truly gone. Her fiendish mind whispered that with the King gone she needn't wed anyone any longer.
Horrified at the thought which had crept upon her unaware, Rhaella lowered her gaze away from her father's face.
She should be mourning. She would.