the princess and the hand (смешанная)

Later, after it was all over, Rhaenyra found that she remembered very little about the day of her mother’s funeral. She couldn’t recall conversations, the names and faces of the strangers and near-strangers who came to pay their respects, or even what she had done or where she had gone once the pyre stopped burning. When she tried to close her eyes and conjure up the last moment she ever saw her mother, all that came to her were other images, other feelings: the way the cold wind whipped her tear-streaked face; the distance her father placed between himself and everyone around him; Daemon’s low voice in her ear; and, most vividly of all, the weight of Otto Hightower’s hand on her shoulder, grasping her quickly but firmly as he walked past her and back toward his children.
It was strange. He had never touched her before. He had never paid any real attention to her at all. She had seen his probing gaze directed at her father, at her uncle, at Alicent, but never at her. And yet that day he chose to acknowledge her, and she was so grateful to be acknowledged at all that she never thought to ask him why.