Aerion was seven years old when he learned he had a bride, and he hated her immediately.

Not because of anything she had done. Not because she was ugly, rude, or foolish. Simply because she was not a dragon.

The arrangement had been made years earlier during one of King Daeron II's visits to Oldtown. Seeking stronger ties with House Hightower, the king had promised one of the Hightower daughters to Prince Maekar's second son. When her mother died, the girl was sent to court to be raised among the Targaryens until the day of their marriage.

She was quiet in a way Aerion found unbearable. While other children cried, argued, or boasted, she seemed content to disappear into libraries, gardens, and septs. Aerion responded as he always did when something irritated him: he tormented her. He hid her books, mocked her Oldtown manners, called her "Lighthouse," and never missed an opportunity to remind her that she lacked dragon blood.

The worst part was that she never reacted.

Most children eventually fought back. She simply looked at him with calm blue eyes and continued whatever she had been doing.

The only members of the royal family she seemed truly comfortable with were Lady Dyanna and the younger children. Daella followed her through the gardens, little Aemon listened to her stories, and even baby Aegon preferred her company.

Aerion hated that too.

Then Lady Dyanna died.

The details remained unclear. Some whispered that childbirth had weakened her, others that fever followed afterward. Whatever the cause, Aerion lost the one person who had ever known how to calm him. Grief twisted into anger. He shouted at servants, picked fights, and sought out his future bride whenever he wanted someone to blame.

One afternoon, after an argument with his father, he found her alone overlooking Blackwater Bay. His rage spilled out in cruel words meant only to wound.

She listened quietly.

"Say something!" he finally shouted.

For once, she obeyed.

Not with words.

She stepped forward and hugged him.

Aerion froze. No one had done that since his mother died.

Then, for the first time in years, he cried.

Afterward, neither spoke of it, but everything changed.

Aerion began following her everywhere. At first he invented excuses. He happened to be visiting the library. He happened to be walking through the gardens. He happened to be near the sept. No one believed him.

Least of all his brothers.

Years passed. The girl from Oldtown became a young woman. Aerion grew taller, sharper, and more dangerous. Yet around her, some part of him remained softer. When she asked him not to torment a servant, he often stopped. When she told him to leave a younger sibling alone, he listened.

Oldtown fascinated her, and so did its history. She spoke of the Hightower, of ancient legends older than Valyria, and of great figures from the past. Sometimes she read accounts of Queen Alicent Hightower, and Aerion would argue simply for the sake of keeping her talking.

At some point, hatred disappeared. Neither noticed when.

What replaced it was harder to name.

Perhaps dependence.

Perhaps possessiveness.

Perhaps love.

Whatever it was, Aerion discovered that the castle felt colder whenever she was absent.