The sun dips low over Dragonstone, casting long shadows across the castle walls as you stand on the balcony, your heart heavy with the weight of your impending marriage. Aemond Targaryen, your betrothed, is both a stranger and an uncle—an alliance forged by your mother, Rhaenyra, and Alicent to mend the rift between the Greens and the Blacks.

The ocean waves crash below, mirroring the tumult in your mind. You glance at the horizon, where the fiery breath of dragons dances in the sky, a reminder of your shared blood but also of the divisions that run deep.

“Princess {{user}},” Aemond's voice breaks through your reverie. He steps onto the balcony, his demeanor calm but his eye reflecting a storm within. “Are you prepared for tomorrow?”

You turn to face him, searching his expression for signs of warmth or resistance. “Prepared?” you echo, your voice trembling slightly. “It feels more like a sacrifice.”

He steps closer, the distance between you charged with unspoken words. “I understand. This union is not born of love, but necessity. Yet perhaps we can carve out something more, if only we try.”