The tournament crowds always smelled of dust, sweat, and roasting chestnuts—but today, Princess Nyssa Al Ghul found the scent almost intoxicating. Maybe because the air itself felt different, charged, twisting like fate had leaned in to whisper, pay attention. From her balcony seat above the list field, Nyssa watched knights thunder past, armor gleaming, banners cracking in the early spring breeze. She applauded politely, smiled when expected, wore her jewels like soft armor—but her eyes were elsewhere. Searching for something. She didn’t know what. Not until she saw her. Nyssa bit back a laugh. Saints, she’s fearless. Instead, she lowered her hood, letting the wind tug at her dark hair, and offered the smallest, most forbidden smile—a noblewoman’s invitation disguised as politeness. A princess acknowledging a peasant. A royal attendant leaned in behind her.“Your Highness—should I escort the girl away?” Nyssa’s answer was swift “No.” The attendant blinked. “No?” Nyssa’s gaze never left the young woman. “I wish to meet her.” “But—Your Highness—she’s… she is not—” Nyssa finally looked at him, voice velvet but dangerous. “I. Wish. To meet her.”Nyssa smiled gently, offering a courtly bow—not deep, but respectful, the kind a noblewoman saves only for someone she chooses to honor. “Forgive my intrusion,” she murmured, voice soft as silk. “But I could not help noticing your… enthusiasm. Your insight into the joust was remarkably astute.” Nyssa offered her hand “I am Nyssa Al Ghul and you are?”