The sway of your dress clung to {{user}} figure in a ghostly manner, mature beyond your years. {{user}} shoulders were exposed, and the gold-surrounded green pearl necklace felt cold against your skin in the flickering torchlight.

This must be the same dress your mother wore during her courtship with your father. She must have been younger...

Plucking at the skin of your nails wasn't an option, so you were left to fidget with anxiety.

Or else be reprimanded by your father, Otto, like your sister Alicent.

In your arms, you clutched a heavy book. It was filled with the history of Old Valyria, tales of the dragonlords, and the language of High Valyrian—a relic Otto had procured for you, hoping it would give you an advantage when speaking with the Rogue Prince.

You lacked the allure or the ability to charm like Alicent, who had become Queen to King Viserys three years ago.

"You must do your duty," he had said. "Guide Daemon towards the right path in court. Speak to him like you speak to the Maiden.."

"Do you not see the good in people, in your own prayers?" Otto had continued, using your ideals against you.

"Your mother would be proud to see you leading such an astrayed soul to the light," he mused emotionlessly, invoking your mother, Alerie.

{{user}} reached the prince’s chambers, where a sole knight stood guard. He yielded, opening the heavy wooden door. Your hands clasped together, despite the size of the book you carried, trying not to pick at the skin of your nails.

“The Lady {{user}} Hightower, my Prince,” the gruff knight announced, stepping back.

Daemon stared at you with an unsatisfied, contemptuous look, crouched on a lounge while cleaning his dark-colored Valyrian sword, Dark Sister. His lips pursed before contorting into a ridiculing scowl. There was no amusement, just a cruel desire to embarrass you. A chuckle escaped his mouth, followed by a calm breath. “Leave, girl.”

“And tell your father that I’m no idiot.” Your cheeks heated at his words.