CHAPTER 12 : The Measure of a Woman
She dropped into the chair across from Henryk a little too quickly, the energy from the dance still clinging to her, her breath not yet steady, her thoughts even less so. Henryk watched her with an easy, lopsided grin, clearly well past the point of polite sobriety. “That was… quite the finish” he chuckled.
Before she could respond, Lyonel pulled out the chair beside her and sat down without asking, like he had no intention of giving her even a moment’s distance. His shoulder nearly brushed hers, and when she turned to glare at him, he only lifted a brow ever so slightly.
Henryk’s eyes flicked between them, his grin widening as though he had just been handed the most entertaining puzzle of the evening. “Are you two… a thing?” he asked, leaning forward just a little, genuinely curious.
“No.” Alysaane didn’t soften. “Yes.” Lyonel didn’t hesitate. The answers came at the same time, Henryk blinked once, then let out a surprised laugh, clearly delighted. “Well,” he said,“that clears absolutely nothing.”
Alysaane shot Lyonel another look, sharper this time, but he didn’t take it back, didn’t correct himself, didn’t even look remotely apologetic.
Henryk, however, seemed entirely unfazed by the tension. In fact, he leaned back in his chair, studying Lyonel now with a different kind of interest. “Because I must admit.....” he tilted his head slightly, his grin turning almost sheepish, “.....I’m rather taken by the beauty of this man.”
There was a beat of silence, Alysaane’s brows shot up, her earlier irritation dissolving into pure, unfiltered surprise as she turned to look at Henryk properly .Lyonel blinked, for perhaps the first time that evening, he looked completely, utterly caught off guard.
Henryk didn’t seem to notice, the drinks had loosened his tongue, and whatever restraint he might have had earlier was long gone. He hiccuped softly, waving a hand as though trying to gather his thoughts. “I’ve seen you before, you know,” he went on, his voice gaining a touch of earnestness. “At tournaments… melees… you’re.....” he gestured vaguely, searching for the word, “.....you’re a force, ser. Truly. It’s an honor.”
Lyonel shifted in his seat, the faintest hint of color rising to his face now, a rare and almost endearing break in his usual composure. “You’re kind” he said, quieter than before, unsure where to place his hands.
“I’ve been trying to speak to you all day.” Henryk added, his tone slipping into something almost plaintive, though still laced with humor. “But a certain, very pretty maiden kept all your attention.” He cast a mock-accusing glance at Alysaane, though there was no real bite to it.
Alysaane stared at him for a second, then let out a soft, incredulous laugh, her earlier anger dissolving completely now. She turned to Lyonel, watching him with new curiosity, new awareness.
Henryk leaned forward again, his focus firmly on Lyonel now, his admiration unguarded. “You have no idea how you look on the field,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “The way you move, the way you fight....it’s…” He exhaled, almost in awe. “I can’t even imagine the strength it takes. It’s.....” he paused, then grinned again, unabashed, “.....very impressive.”
Lyonel let out a quiet huff of laughter, finally settling into it, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You’re giving me too much credit.” he replied, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes now, a willingness to meet Henryk where he stood rather than shut him down.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Henryk countered, wagging a finger lightly, his grin widening. “I have excellent taste.” That earned a small, genuine laugh from Lyonel, low, warm, and entirely unguarded.
Alysaane just watched the ease with which Lyonel responded, the way he didn’t mock, didn’t dismiss, didn’t make Henryk feel foolish or out of place. There was no discomfort in him, no cruelty, no instinct to belittle something unfamiliar. Instead, he met it with quiet humor, with patience, with a softness she hadn’t expected.
Alysaane smiled, rising from her seat, her tone kind but firm as she reached for his arm. “ I think you’ve had quite enough for the night.”
Henryk laughed, though he didn’t resist, allowing her to pull him to his feet with only mild wobbling. “Perhaps.” he admitted, steadying himself.
Lyonel stood immediately as well, stepping in without hesitation to support Henryk from the other side. They half-carried, half-dragged Henryk through the quiet lane toward Raymun’s house, his weight slumping between them as he leaned far too comfortably into both their shoulders.
By the time they reached the door, both Alysaane and Lyonel were struggling to keep him upright. Rowan opened the door and froze, her eyes flicked from Henryk slumped between them, to Alysaane’s barely-contained laughter, to Lyonel’s resigned expression. “What,” she said slowly, “have you brought into my house?”
“Just tell me where to put him” Alysaane said quickly, still laughing under her breath. “I’ll explain after.” Rowan stepped aside, shaking her head. “Second room on the left before he collapses on my floor.”
They managed to get him inside, Henryk still muttering half-coherent compliments and commentary as they guided him down the hallway. At one point, he leaned heavily into Lyonel again, squinting up at him. “You know… we could share a room” he suggested, far too casually for someone in his state.
Lyonel huffed a quiet laugh, glancing briefly at Alysaane, whose expression had dissolved into open amusement now. “Is that so?” With surprising care, Lyonel helped him sit, then lie back properly, adjusting him so he wouldn’t roll off in the middle of the night.
Henryk blinked up at him, still smiling. “Another time, then?” Lyonel smirked faintly, pulling the blanket over him. “Perhaps another time.”
The moment they stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind them, Alysaane burst into laughter, full, unrestrained, leaning slightly forward as though she couldn’t physically contain it. “What was that?” she managed between breaths. “I can’t....oh, seven, I can’t make sense of any of that.”
Lyonel watched her, something softer in his expression now, before she could move away, he gently caught her arm and guided her back a step until she was lightly pressed against the wall. He leaned in just enough to press a brief kiss to the top of her head.
She placed her hands against his chest, looking up at him with playful suspicion. “You were very comfortable with that,” she said. “Letting him flirt with you… suggesting all sorts of things.”
Lyonel shrugged lightly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “He’s a nice man.” She narrowed her eyes, mock-offended. “Oh, he’s a nice man? But I couldn’t go for a walk with him because I ‘barely know him’?”
“That was different.” he said, though he couldn’t quite keep the grin from his face. “I don’t need protecting, Lord Baratheon.” she replied, stepping a fraction closer, her tone quieter now but no less pointed.
Then she tilted her head, studying him with a curiosity that immediately made him suspicious. “What?” he asked. She hesitated then asked, almost too casually, “Have you… been with men?” He blinked, caught off guard for a moment, then let out a soft laugh, not answering directly.
Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?” she asked, her voice half incredulous, half amused. He only smiled, which was answer enough and not an answer at all. She stared at him for another second, clearly trying to piece it together, her mind racing ahead of her.
“Don’t!” he warned lightly, already knowing where this was going. “I’m just trying to figure out the positions.....” she began, her tone far too curious for his liking. He groaned, cutting her off as he leaned forward, pressing her back against the wall again. His hands hovered for the briefest moment and then he tickled her.
Alysaane gasped, the sound breaking into bright, uncontrollable laughter as she twisted away, trying to escape his grasp. “No....no.....Lyonel!” she squealed, breathless.
“Oh, no,” he said, utterly unrepentant, pulling her back with ease. “You brought this upon yourself.” She tried to push him away, half-laughing, half-protesting, but he only tightened his hold enough to keep her from slipping free, his fingers relentless. “I’m......sorry!” she managed between bursts of laughter.
“Stop.....please......” she gasped, still smiling, he stilled almost immediately after, the shift in him subtle but clear, his hands loosening as he stepped back just enough to give her space again.
She caught his hands, pressing them lightly against her waist as if urging him to tpuch her but he didn’t and that frustrated her more than anything else.
She let out a sharp breath, stepping back with a scoff, her cheeks flushed. “You are insufferable,” she muttered. Then, louder “You are a tease, Lord Baratheon.” Before he could respond, she shoved him lightly and turned, walking away down the corridor with quick, determined steps. Lyonel remained where he was for a moment, watching her go, a slow, conflicted smile tugging at his lips.
The next day, the orchard glowed beneath hundreds of hanging lanterns. Long wooden tables stretched between the trees, crowded with wine jugs, roasted meats, fresh bread, and laughing guests. Merchants, landed knights, lesser lords, their wives, Raymun's cousins and friends all mingled together beneath the trees.
Several merchants were discussing the latest decrees from King's Landing, King Maekar had recently taken the throne after the death of his father, and new policies had begun filtering throughout the realm.
New tariffs, new trade regulations, new restrictions intended to strengthen royal authority and discourage the sort of regional independence that had fueled rebellions in the past.
"Typical Targaryens, they'll squeeze every copper from the realm if it keeps them on the Iron Throne." A knight scoffed into his wine.
"They fear another rebellion." A merchant exclaimed. "They should they are incestuous bastards. Conquerors from foreign lands." A lord mocked.
Egg heard his family's name and within moments he appeared beside the table. "What is wrong with the policy?" Egg enquired crossing his tiny arms around himself. All the men laughed and mocked him.
"A lot of strong opinions for men who don't understand half the policies they're complaining about." Alysaane stood next to Egg defensively. "The tariffs protect local merchants from losing everything to foreign imports." She continued despite their baffled faces.
"Aye, what does a woman know about trade?" More laughter followed. "Quite a bit, actually." Alysaane continued. "The tariffs aren't protecting nobles. They're protecting the people beneath them." For nearly twenty minutes, Alysaane dismantled every point they raised. From trade routes to port taxes, from grain pricing to merchant monopolies, from regional competition to crown revenue.
The prince had locked her away for years, but he had accidentally created something remarkable. The woman had spent her entire life reading, the prince had assumed she would rule beside him one day so he gave her knowledge she needed to govern the realm. Entire kingdoms existed inside her mind and now she wielded knowledge like a sword.
When the merchant attempted to interrupt, she talked over him. The men gradually became frustrated then embarrassed then angry. Because every answer she provided was correct and there was nothing more dangerous to a certain kind of man than being proven wrong by a woman.
Eventually one merchant lost his patience. "You're awfully opinionated for a woman. You should leave governance to men."
"I've met men," Alysaane said dryly. "They hardly inspire confidence." The man looked Alysaane over dismissively. "A woman nearly thirty years old arguing with men in public." Several men laughed. The laughter irritated Lyonel immediately
The sort of ugly confidence men developed when surrounded by other men willing to encourage them. "You should put all this focus on finding a husband. A sharp tongue becomes much softer after...." The rest never left his mouth, because Alysaane launched herself forward, one moment she was standing beside the table, the next she was halfway across it. The merchant nearly fell backward. "LADY!"
"You absolute pig!" She exclaimed. A giant hand caught her around the waist before she could reach the man. Alysaane continued trying anyway. "DUNC LET ME GO! I JUST WANT TO TALK TO HIM!" She was now kicking her feet while Dunc carried her away from the table.
The man recovered and called out laughing. "She is a dangerous woman. Poor bastard who ends up marrying her. Seven hells, imagine arguing with that every day." Lyonel's expression changed instantly.
"Perhaps a husband could finally teach her obedience. A few months under the right husband would fix that." A lesser lord exclaimed, laughing loud. "Who said she needs a husband for that?" The merchant snickered.
The punch landed before anyone moved, a sickening crack echoed through the orchard. The merchant screamed and fell backward, clutching his face as blood immediately spilled between his fingers. Lyonel flexed his hand once. "You will never speak about her like that again."
Lyonel stepped forward to make sure every man at the table heard him. "You couldn't answer her arguments, so you mocked her!"He turned toward the merchant. "You think she's difficult because she speaks her mind, because she refuses to make herself smaller for men like you."
"She is intelligent, capable and kind. Braver than half the men sitting at this table." His chest swelled with pride. Several wives looked extremely pleased by this. "And whichever fool eventually marries her won't gain an obedient little wife but an equal companion"
Meanwhile Raymun leaned toward Rowan and whispered, "I think he just proposed without realizing it." Across the orchard, Alysaane was still staring at Lyonel and for perhaps the first time all evening, she had absolutely nothing to say.
