The hall still smelled of roasted boar and sweetwine when it happened.

You had been at Aegon’s side most of the evening—close enough that your shoulder brushed his when you leaned to speak, close enough that Ghost’s distant presence pressed warm and watchful at the back of your mind. Aegon looked radiant tonight, silver-gold hair braided with rubies, his omega scent calm and pleased in a way it had never been during the parade of grasping, posturing alphas.

He trusted you. Every instinct you had centered on that single truth.

Jason Lannister did not belong anywhere near him.

It happened quickly—too quickly. One moment Jason was laughing loudly with a knot of Westermen, the next his hand closed around Aegon’s wrist, fingers digging in with ownership he had never earned.

“Come now, Prince,” Jason said, voice thick with entitlement, “you can’t still be unchosen—”

Aegon froze.

You felt it like a blade between the ribs.

His scent spiked sharp with fear, the air going brittle and wrong. Before Aegon could even pull back, before anyone could laugh it off or call it a misunderstanding, your body moved on instinct alone.

Your hand closed around Jason’s arm, crushing, forcing him to release Aegon at once.

“Remove your hand,” you said quietly.

The hall went silent.

Jason scoffed, trying to pull free. “I meant no offense. I was only—”

You let your alpha presence roll out fully then, unrestrained and ancient as dragonfire. The candles nearest you flickered. Several betas took an involuntary step back.

“You were only,” you repeated, voice dropping, “forgetting your place.”

Jason’s face reddened. “I am a Lannister—”

Aegon made a small, frightened sound behind you.

That was it.

You slammed Jason back against the nearest pillar, forearm across his chest, feet lifting briefly from the floor. Stone cracked. Gasps echoed through the hall.

“If you ever touch my omega again,” you growled, Valyrian slipping sharp and dangerous into your words, “I will remove the hand you used and feed it to Ghost.”

Far above the Red Keep, a roar split the night.

Not a dragon of the royal pits—but Ghost.

Windows rattled. Servants screamed. Every dragon in the city answered in restless chorus, sensing an omega threatened, a bond ignited.

Viserys was on his feet now. “Enough!”

You released Jason at once, letting him collapse to the floor, choking and pale. You turned immediately—not to the king, not to the court—but to Aegon.

You dropped to one knee before him.

“My prince,” you said softly, all the fury reined in, your voice meant for him alone. “Are you hurt?”

Aegon’s hands trembled, but when he nodded, he reached for you without thinking, fingers clutching your sleeve. The contact steadied him. His scent eased, curling toward you, trusting and warm.

Queen Aemma was suddenly there, one hand on her son’s shoulder, eyes blazing as she looked down at Jason. “Guards,” she said coldly. “Escort Lord Lannister out. He is no longer welcome at my table.”

Rhaenyra stood beside Alicent, jaw tight, her own alpha instincts simmering dangerously. Daemon’s smile was sharp and approving. Rhaenys watched you with new, thoughtful eyes.

Laena’s dragon roared approval from the pit.

Later—long after Jason Lannister was gone and the court had dispersed—you stood with Aegon on the balcony overlooking the city. Ghost circled once overhead before settling somewhere unseen, satisfied.

Aegon leaned into you, small but fierce. “You didn’t hesitate,” he said quietly.

You brushed your thumb over his knuckles. “I never will.”

He looked up at you then, silver lashes catching moonlight. “I choose you, Rhaegar Arryn,” he said, voice steady despite everything. “If you’ll have me.”

You bowed your head to him, forehead touching his hand, vow clear and unbreakable.

“Always.”