Once we were inside, Rhaenys and Visenya made themselves at home immediately. And by "at home," I mean they claimed the bed like it was their rightful throne. Which, honestly? Fair. My studio apartment isn't exactly spacious, and the bed is basically the only piece of furniture that qualifies as "comfortable." Everything else is just... existing. Barely.
They sat there like they owned the place, which I guess is just how Targaryens sit. You don't survive generations of dragon-riding incest without developing a certain natural arrogance, I suppose.
Rhaenys wasted no time diving into her shopping bags, pulling out clothes and examining them with the kind of curiosity you'd expect from someone seeing modern fashion for the first time. It was actually kind of endearing watching her turn things over, feeling the fabric, trying to figure out what went where.
Then she held up the lingerie.
"Oh. Right. Those."
In my defense, I'd been so focused on explaining the big stuff—cars, phones, the concept of electricity—that I completely forgot to brief them on the finer points of modern undergarments. So there I was, watching Rhaenys hold up a bra and panty set like it was some kind of ancient artifact, and I felt my brain short-circuit.
"Hmm, what might be these things?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.
Okay. Okay. I can handle this. Just explain it like a normal person.
"They're... well, they're for your chest," I started, gesturing vaguely at my own chest like that would help. "To keep them... supported. And hidden under clothes. And the other pieces are for... down there. Between your legs."
Smooth. Real smooth. I sounded like a virgin giving a sex ed presentation to aliens. Which, technically, I guess I was?
But to their credit, they didn't laugh. Rhaenys just nodded thoughtfully, holding the bra up against her chest over her clothes, trying to visualize how it worked.
"It is truly an interesting creation, I suppose," she said, tilting her head. "But how would you know about the size? Could you fix them?"
I glanced at the bra she was holding. Definitely not her size. That was built for someone with more... volume. A D cup, maybe.
"Uh, there are different sizes depending on your... measurements," I said, and then my mouth decided to betray me completely. "This one might be more fitting for Visenya."
I immediately regretted these words.
Visenya's eyes snapped to me.
I felt my soul try to evacuate my body.
I wanna bury myself deep into the ground.
"I apologize," I blurted out, suddenly very interested in the floor. "That was—I didn't mean to—"
"That's rude," Rhaenys interrupted, but she was smiling. That playful little smirk that said she was just messing with me. Which was either a good sign or a terrifying one, depending on how you looked at it.
Visenya said nothing. Just kept staring at me with those pale eyes until I had to look away. No judgment, exactly. More like she was cataloging the information for later. Filing it away under "things to potentially murder him for."
Anyway. Moving on.
"So, uh, sleeping arrangements," I said, clapping my hands together like a tour guide trying to keep things moving. "I figure you guys will take the bed. Obviously. It should be big enough for both of you, might be a little cramped but probably still better than the cold ground, which is where I'll be sleeping in case you were worrying about my—"
"We are not," Visenya said flatly.
I laughed. "Yeah, I figured. Just wanted to give you the option to pretend."
I headed toward the tiny kitchen area—more of a kitchen corner, really—and started pulling out pots. "I'm gonna make some food. You guys should take a shower, a bath I mean, wash yourself, while I do that. Get cleaned up."
"I would. I am feeling very hot," Rhaenys said, fanning herself dramatically.
I nodded maybe a little too quickly and showed them to the bathroom. It's not a complicated setup. Small, basic, definitely not the kind of bath they're used to in Westeros with servants heating water and filling tubs. But I walked her through it—how the faucet works, how to adjust temperature, where the towels are.
"Hot water comes directly from this?" She asked, surprised, reaching for the faucet.
"Wait—!"
Too late.
Water sprayed everywhere. On her. On me. On the ceiling, somehow.
I lunged forward and put my hand over hers, twisting it shut. The water stopped, but the damage was done. We were both dripping, and Rhaenys was looking at me with wide eyes, water droplets clinging to her hair and eyelashes.
"The water comes from above," I said, dryly. "The shower head. That thing. You turn this for that."
For a second she just stared at me. Then she looked up at the shower head, back at me, and burst out laughing.
I turned into a tomato seeing that. A blushing, stammering tomato standing way too close to a very wet, very beautiful Targaryen princess who was currently finding my misery hilarious.
"A—Anyway," I managed, stepping back quickly. "Be careful not to slip. Here's shampoo and soap—got a few options, pick whatever. This one's for hair, these are for body. Rub them on yourself and... just... be careful."
I fled.
Literally fled back to the main room, heart pounding, face burning, trying very hard not to think about wet Rhaenys in my tiny bathroom.
Walked in to find Visenya had removed the pullover I'd given her earlier.
I immediately looked away. Because I'm a gentleman. And also because I value my life.
But I'd caught enough of a glimpse to know she was wearing it over her tunic—thank the gods—but it was a loose tunic. Low neckline. The kind that gives you ideas you really shouldn't be having about someone who could probably kill you seventeen different ways without breaking a sweat.
Honestly, I'm kind of proud of myself. Not every man could have two Targaryen princesses sleeping a few feet away and still function like a normal human being. The intrusive thoughts were there, obviously—I'm not made of stone—but I managed to keep it together. Barely.
Then Visenya's head snapped toward me, eyes sharp and piercing, like she'd sensed something. Heard my thoughts, maybe. Wouldn't put it past her.
I pretended not to notice and busied myself with the stove.
Pasta tonight. Like every night, if I'm being honest. But hey, it would be a first for them, and I've gotten pretty good at it over the years. Boil water, add pasta, make sauce, pretend you're not sharing an apartment with two women who shouldn't exist.
Easy.