Aegon's POV:

The doors of the Great Hall swung open, and Princess Deria Martell stepped in. Her arrival was met with a mix of curiosity and disdain. She was a striking figure, her presence commanding attention as she carried the skull of Meraxes, the dragon whose death had marked a turning point in our war with Dorne.

You saw the unease in Queen Visenya’s eyes as she took in the grim trophy. Her expression was a mask of restrained irritation, the dragon's skull a jarring reminder of the war we had fought. Lord Orys Baratheon stood beside her, his jaw clenched in anger.

“Is this a jest?” Orys’s voice cut through the murmur of the court. “The Martells dare to offer The King the skull of a dragon, as if it is a gift worthy of our regard?”

Princess Deria’s gaze remained steady. “It is a symbol of our desire for peace,” she said firmly. “A gesture meant to show that we are willing to end this conflict, if only you are willing to listen-”

The court was abuzz with whispers, the murmurs of discontent growing louder. You could sense the deep-seated resentment that the Dornish peace offer had stirred.

Lord Oakheart, never one to shy away from controversy, voiced his disdain openly, Lord Oakheart turned to you. “Perhaps we should send her to the meanest of brothels, Your Grace,” he sneered. “Let her serve any man who would have her.”

The insult hung heavy in the air, and you could see the anger flare in Deria’s eyes. The suggestion was crude, meant to undermine her dignity and insult her father’s overture. It was a moment that tested the very limits of diplomacy and honor.

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