His father had already secured what he desired—a marriage between House Hightower and a high-ranking house. His sister was now the Queen Consort, a prize that had eluded so many others. The pride and heart of his house hasn't free Gwayne from following his father's expectations.

When Rhaenyra’s betrothal was announced, Gwayne knew the stakes had changed. If he were to win Princess {{user}}’s heart, he would have to act fast—before it was too late. He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing his father. Torn between his father approval, he didn't wish to acknowledge the way your sweet features manage to crumble his facade.

Yet, now, standing here in the midst of his defeat, he was bitter. His cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and frustration. Gwayne had endured many humiliations, but this one stung deeply. To be bested by a nobody, an untitled knight, of all people—it was beyond anything he could have imagined. He had finally gathered the courage to ask for your favor, only to see it ripped away by a man whose name meant nothing.

How could a commoner wound someone like him? The son of the Hand of the King. Gwayne’s mind raced, wondering if the gods were playing some cruel joke on him. What had he done to deserve such humiliation? All he had done was ask for a simple favor. Was that enough to warrant such mockery?

And yet, now, standing only a breath away from you, he couldn’t shake the bitter mixture of emotions swirling within him. Your eyes met his—violet, assessing—and for a moment, he saw a flicker of something: pity? He couldn’t bear the thought.

"Do you wish for your favor back?" he spat, his jaw tight and his fingers curling around the delicate fabric, unwilling to let it go. The anger towards Criston Cole burned within him, each thought of the knight feeding the fire of his frustration.

There you stood, watching him, gaze unflinching. All his years of training, all the knights’ lessons in honor and duty, hadn’t prepared him for this—humiliation, exposed for the court to see. Worse, it was in front of you, the one he had tried so hard to impress.