God, what a day.
And I don't mean that in the casual "ugh, Monday, am I right?" kind of way. I mean it in the purest, most exhausting sense of the phrase. Like, if someone asked me to sum up the last twelve hours in one word, that word would be: "oof."
So here's the situation. I've been playing tour guide for two people who have no business being on this planet, let alone walking around New York City like they own the place. Which, historically speaking, I guess they kind of did own places? Just not this one. Different continent. Different millennium.
Different world different reality…
Anyway, I basically dragged them all over Manhattan trying to give them the crash course on... well, everything. And let me tell you, it's not easy explaining the concept of "traffic lights" to someone who's used to dragons burning through any obstacle in their path. But they listened. I'll give them that. Hours of me rambling about history, technology, social norms, laws—actual boring stuff—and they sat there taking it all in like eager students.
Which honestly surprised me. I mean, these are the sister-wives of Aegon the Conqueror. You'd think they'd get bored and start demanding I take them somewhere more interesting. But no. Rhaenys kept asking thoughtful questions, and even Visenya—who has resting "I'll cut you" face—seemed genuinely interested. Or at least, she wasn't actively threatening me, which I'm choosing to interpret as a win.
The hard part was keeping them low-key, which is basically impossible when you're walking around with two women who look like they stepped out of a fantasy novel and into real life. Every five minutes someone would stop dead in their tracks, mouth hanging open, just staring. And I get it. I really do. If I saw someone who looked like Visenya walking down the street, I'd probably forget how to breathe too. But it was getting old fast.
Fortunately, Visenya's got this way of looking at people that could curdle milk from fifty paces. One icy glare and most gawkers suddenly remembered they had somewhere to be. Rhaenys was a bit more subtle about her displeasure, but she wasn't exactly thrilled either. By the end of the afternoon, they'd both agreed to let me handle the whole "blending in" thing.
Small victories.
So by the time we finally wobbled back to my apartment—arms loaded with shopping bags because apparently I have no self-control when it comes to spoiling fictional characters who've somehow become real—I was running on fumes. And regret. Mostly regret about my bank account.
Seriously, what was I thinking? I dropped more cash today than I usually spend in a month. On two women I literally just met. Women who, technically, shouldn't even exist. Women who have zero obligations to me and probably think I'm some weird little peasant who's way too eager to please.
But here's the thing. I'm a nerd. A hardcore, die-hard fan of the world they come from. And when you love something that much, and suddenly it's standing right in front of you, breathing and talking and looking at you with those crazy Targaryen eyes... you kind of lose all sense of financial responsibility. It's like buying the most expensive collector's edition ever, except the collector's edition judges your apartment and complains about the smell.
Which brings us to the apartment situation.
We get back to the building—still no sign of the landlord, by the way. Dude vanished months ago and honestly? Might be dead. Would explain a lot. The door's still broken from... an incident. We won't get into that. Point is, it's not exactly the Red Keep. Rhaenys made that very clear the second we walked in.
"We have to move places, sister. I cannot stand this stench."
Visenya nodded, her expression saying what her words didn't: This is beneath us, and I'm only tolerating it because I haven't found a suitable replacement to burn down yet.
I was about to explain that options were limited when we heard footsteps.Coming from the stairwell.
Great.
Out wobbles John—John Something, I never bothered to learn his last name—from the floor above. Drunk as always, bottle in hand, that familiar leer on his face that made my skin crawl every time we crossed paths. He's one of those guys who's never met a boundary he didn't want to smash through.
His eyes landed on Rhaenys and Visenya, and I felt my stomach drop.
"Well, well, well," he slurred, staggering closer. "Where'd you find these two, huh? Little brat's got himself some fancy ladies." He laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that makes you want to shower. "Hey, why don't you come with me instead? I can show you a much better time than this loser."
I stepped forward. "Just ignore him. Let's go inside."
We tried. We really did. Walked right past him, and for a second I thought we were clear.
Then his hand shot out and grabbed Rhaenys by the arm.
The smile he gave her was pure slime.
And in that moment, time kind of slowed down. I looked at Rhaenys' face—calm, too calm, which was somehow worse than if she'd screamed. Then I looked at Visenya.
Oh no.
Her eyes had gone flat and cold, and I swear I saw death in them. Not metaphorically. Like, actual, literal death.
So I did something stupid.
Something completely unlike me.
But I had to do it before that crazy woman kills him in the ground floor of my apartment!
I punched him.
Fist closed, everything I had, right in his stupid drunk face.
The crunch was... satisfying. Gross, but satisfying. His nose definitely broke—I felt it give way under my knuckles and he made this weird grunting sound before his head snapped back and he crumpled against the wall like a sack of potatoes. Bottle shattered on the floor. He slid down, groaning something about killing me, but his eyes were already rolling back.
He was out cold.
I stood there for a second, breathing hard, staring at my own fist like it belonged to someone else. Did I just do that? Me? The guy who avoids confrontation like it's a contagious disease?
"Let's go," I said, stuttering a bit.
Let's hope he was drunk tough to forget it about tomorrow…
I turned toward the door, expecting them to follow.
But they didn't move.
Both of them were just... looking at me.
It was somehow more terrifying than the murder-eyes from before.
"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
Rhaenys tilted her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "Nothing. Just... unexpected, is all."
Visenya said nothing. Just kept looking at me with those pale, pale eyes until I had to look away.
Then, finally, she gave the slightest nod. Like I'd passed some kind of test I didn't know I was taking.
And they followed me inside.