Something was amiss.

As busy as she had been as of late, the concern for Rhaenys’ rambunctious spirit had been put on the backburner and for the most part, Nyimara let keeping an eye on her rest heavily on Quinn’s capable shoulders. It was wrong to use her king as a mere babysitter but nursing Rhaynira and guarding her borders against any further intrusions from the new king of the Hills and Rafe had taken a lot of her time lately. But she is not nearly as naive as the young princess must think.

The first few occasions that Rhae’s absence had been noted was brushed aside as merely a young girl exploring her kingdom. However, as the weeks and months continue to find her hoofprints crossing into the desert draw upon her own curiosity. The mention of it to Rougaru had not given her any reassurances for her old sire assured the witch that her daughter did not linger long in his kingdom. So where was it that she was going and why. That curiosity turned to an all consuming rage when the trail she followed led straight into the Hills. The damned son of Marceline was corrupting her daughter!

For hours on end, she seethed beneath the hot sun, waiting as patiently as she could for Rhaenys to reappear crossing the border. Yet despite her vigilant watch and determination to ensure that the Hill’s king kept his filthy paws steered clear of her offspring, Rhaenys did not return. The battle lines were drawn.

As the morning sun rose as it had the last few days that she stood her vigil, it brought with it a resolve that Nyimara was determined to follow. Dark ears fall backwards amid the windswept tangle of her silver white mane as the slight woman exhales a forced breath. It was time.