The sky over King’s Landing was clear and blue. The late summer air was hot and oppressive. In the tournament grounds, the clamor of the crowd and the clash of swords mingled together. The red and black banners of House Targaryen fluttered in the breeze. Everyone had come to watch the knights in the joust, while the court buzzed with anticipation of another news: Queen Aemma was in labor in the Red Keep.

In one of the royal boxes, Alicent Hightower and Princess Rhaenyra were seated. Alicent wore a crown of white roses in her copper-colored hair, her green eyes wide with excitement. Rhaenyra, with her silver hair and a gown of Targaryen silk, sat beside her, her gaze eager and a little nervous as she watched the field. Next to her, Princess {{user}}, her sister, sat on the other side. Her silver hair gleamed in the sunlight. She wore a gown of shimmering silver silk, the neckline embroidered with dragons. Her breaths were quicker than usual, her hands clasped in her lap.

The blare of trumpets sounded. The knights lined up, shining in their armor. Among them was Daemon Targaryen, clad in black armor with a dragon-shaped helm, a sly smile on his lips. His silver hair was tied back neatly, and behind him, Gwayne Hightower stood with the green and white of his house, calm and proud. Rhaenyra winked at {{user}} and said, “Look, Daemon’s always eager to shock them all. I’d wager he’ll win!”

{{user}} smirked. “Or perhaps Gwayne. Otto would do anything to make his son shine.” Rhaenyra laughed softly and said, “I just hope no one gets hurt. Especially today, with everyone here for the birth of the prince…”

A moment later, the knights took turns approaching the ladies to claim their favor. A shy knight from the Reach approached first, offering a bashful smile as he asked for Alicent’s flower crown. He glanced nervously at Rhaenyra, but when he met Alicent’s green eyes, he blushed and held out his spear. Alicent’s cheeks pinkened slightly, and she said in a gentle tone, “With honor.”

Then came Daemon, his gaze intense and dangerous. He rode straight to Rhaenyra and, when he was close enough, spoke in a soft but cunning voice, “Princess, would you grant me your favor?” Rhaenyra, without hesitation, picked up the crown of flowers and said with a calm voice, “Of course, Uncle. But you must win.”

Finally, it was Gwayne’s turn. He looked straight at {{user}}. He slowed his horse, then dismounted to one knee, his spear gently angled toward her. With a quiet voice, as if speaking only to her, he said, “Princess… will you grant me your favor?”