The Prince Regent had had his fill of defiance. Sent by the orders of the Dowager Queen herself, he fled the suffocating walls of the Red Keep, mounting his steed with grim resolve, determined to drag you back; kicking and screaming, if need be. You, a conniving little sea urchin, always meddling, always defying. A perpetual thorn in his side since the day you learned to speak.

Did you think yourself above your station? Above your duties as a member of the royal House? His jaw clenched so tight it ached as he flicked at the reins, urging his mount into a furious gallop. The wind clawed at his silver tresses, the open expanse rushing past in a maddening blur. He spurred his horse faster, its hooves thundering against the dry earth in relentless pursuit.

Then, he spotted you. The sun caught in your hair, glinting like a beacon across the fields. His single eye narrowed, and with a low snarl, he pressed onward. You would not slip his grasp. Not now. Not ever. You had heard it then, the pounding hooves closing ever fast. A glance over your shoulder near stopped your heart. He had halved the distance in moments, as if some dark wind carried him. Panic gripped your heart, and deep down, you knew it was futile. None outran Aemond One-Eye.

No matter.

In the end, you were his. Bound to his steed, your wrists lashed and arms pinned, the rope biting cruelly into your skin. Your own horse, riderless, trotted beside his own, its reins clutched within his palm as though mocking your failure. Swallowing your pride, you refused to give him the satisfaction of a single word that burned upon your tongue. His chest pressed firm upon your back, his jaw set, eye fixed ahead—denying you a single glance.

For a long while, there was naught but the wind and the light tapping of hooves. Now and again his fingers twitched, as though they longed to close around your throat, to choke out the stillness into words. Finally, he snapped. “Why?” The word tore through the quiet, sharp and cold, cutting like a white-hot blade. He glowered down at you, his eye dark with fury, the faint breeze toying with your locks as though testing the limit of his patience.