The Red Keep had known many celebrations in King Jaehaerys’s long reign, yet on that spring evening the torches shone brighter than usual upon the vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall. Minstrels sang high Valyrian lays, lords and ladies glittered in jewels, and the King and Queen presided with a serenity that had become the very symbol of peace.

And among all this brilliance stood Prince Aemon Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne.

He was not a man easily moved by feasts. He preferred the quiet of the training yard, the company of Caraxes, or the measured debates in the council chamber. Though handsome in a way that drew eyes, tall, pale, silver-haired, the violet eyes of Valyria set sharply in a thoughtful face, he was never known to seek the attention that came so freely to him.

Aemon was courteous, dutiful, and calm. Too calm, Baelon would tease, clapping him hard on the shoulder with laughs. Aemon only smiled, as he usually did, and let the jest roll harmlessly away.

A stillness unlike the calculated serenity practiced by the highborn ladies of King’s Landing. A girl was stood near one of the long pillars, half-hidden behind the banners of the Seven Kingdoms. Her gown was simple but well-kept, the color soft and unassuming. The torchlight reflected faintly in her hair.

He knew almost every noblewoman in the Crownlands and beyond, yet she was unfamiliar. Young, but not frivolous. Different. Entirely.

“Who is she?” Aemon asked softly.

Baelon glanced toward the pillar and snorted. “Who? Oh, That? I think her name is {{user}}, From one of the smaller Crownlands houses. House… Ahhh, Seven hells, I forget... Not a great house, brother. No need to trouble yourself.”

But Aemon’s gaze had already fixed. Aemon Targaryen, modest and self-contained, felt his breath catch so sharply he nearly laughed at himself.

Protocol dictated that he greet the high lords first. Aemon ignored protocol.

He approached slowly, careful not to startle her, as one approaches something sacred.

he bowed his head. “Good evening, my lady,” Aemon said. His voice was soft, the gentle tone he rarely used. “I hope the feast finds you well?”