The festivities in the Red Keep were in full swing, the hall alive with music and laughter. Guests from all over Westeros had gathered to celebrate the changing of the season. princess Aegylla, daughter of prince Maekar, walked gracefully through the crowded hall, her violet eyes scanning the room for familiar faces. She had been caught in the swirl of her father's court, always pulled in different directions by her duties and the heavy expectations placed upon her.

Her uncle, Brynden Rivers, better known as Bloodraven, stood near the great hearth, his dark cloak blending into the shadows. His piercing red eyes followed her, and as she drew closer, he stepped forward with a quiet authority.

“Aegylla, I have someone for you to meet,” Bloodraven’s voice was low and commanding. He gestured to a tall, handsome figure standing a few feet away—a young Blackwood man, his noble features sharp and defined, his black hair gleaming in the light.

“This is Alaric Blackwood, a distant relative of mine. He has come to squire for me. I believe you two might find common ground.”

Aegylla, her expression unreadable, offered a polite smile, her curiosity piqued but hidden beneath a mask of royal composure.