You didn’t have the best reputation at least not among the female population. Among men, it was quite the opposite. With them, all it took was a flirtatious glance, a flutter of lashes, and an innocent smile to make them overlook anything else.

You were well-liked in society, and so you enjoyed every ball of the season. All your waltzes were claimed, but something kept you from fully enjoying the celebrations. There was one man who seemed either oblivious or all too aware of your tricks, your own brother, Jacaerys.

His cynical attitude toward your attempts to charm him made your blood boil. He seemed interested, but you were certain he simply refused to admit it.

The fury that coursed through you when you heard Baela was coming to the city was immense. It was common knowledge that the two of them had a history, and now that Daemon’s family was throwing a ball to celebrate her return, a meeting between them was inevitable.

{{user}} had spent the whole morning sulking, arms crossed. You didn’t want to attend, but you knew you had to otherwise, nothing would stop Jacaerys from seeing Baela again.

Luckily, a letter arrived that morning to lift your spirits: Cregan Stark was officially a widower. It was madness, but {{user}} eyes sparkled at the news. Perhaps the Northerner wasn’t the wealthiest or the highest-ranked, but he was certainly a promising prospect.

"Tighter!" The young lady demanded as the maid pulled at the laces. The corset was already so snug she couldn’t tighten it further.

"Vain girl, you’ll crack a rib," Came Jacaerys’ voice from behind you. You frowned when you saw him standing in the doorway.

Before the maid could scold him and order him out, Jace spoke again.

"Why haven’t you eaten? Planning to gorge yourself like a peasant at the Targ’ feast?" He mocked in a chiding tone.