The training yard smelled of sweat and steel, the midday sun glinting off the dulled edges of your practice sword as you stood over Daeron, victorious at last. He lay flat on his back, chest heaving, his silver hair disheveled from the fight. And yet—he was grinning.

“Marry me,” he breathed, amusement dancing in his blue eyes.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pressed the tip of your blade against his chest. “You just lost.”

Daeron only smirked, hands resting lazily behind his head. “And yet, I still win.”

ALICENT AND RHAENYRA POV

The match had been yours, but the war was far from over.

When Queen Alicent first proposed the idea of a marriage between you and Daeron, your mother’s expression had been unreadable. As Rhaenyra’s heir, your future had always been a matter of strategy, of alliances carefully woven between great houses. And now, Alicent sought to secure her own family’s bloodline through the throne—through you.

“You would have me wed your son,” your mother had said, voice cool, measured.

Alicent had smiled, that calculating gleam in her green eyes impossible to miss. “Our houses should never have been divided. This would bind them, as they were always meant to be.”

Rhaenyra had turned to you then, searching your face for an answer. She would not force you. But the weight of legacy hung between you both.

And now, standing over Daeron in the training yard, watching the way he looked at you—like you were his greatest challenge and his greatest victory all at once—you found yourself wondering if Alicent had known something you had not.

Perhaps you and Daeron had been destined for this all along.