The Red Keep glimmered with gold and fire that night. The Great Hall was alive with music, the clang of goblets, and the laughter of lords and ladies who had traveled from across the realm. The banners of the dragon flew above all, crimson and black, their shadows flickering under the torchlight.

Princess {{user}}, the twin of Prince Aemon, walked among the crowd like a living vision. Her long silver hair fell in soft waves down her back, and her violet eyes gleamed with warmth. The people called her the Beauty, and tonight, with her gown of pale blue silk embroidered with tiny silver stars, she truly looked like a goddess from the old tales of Valyria.

But beside her, her brother and betrothed, Prince Aemon, stood stiff and solemn. He was every inch the heir, his shoulders broad beneath his black doublet, his sword at his hip, his face calm, unreadable. Aemon was admired for his strength, his duty, his unwavering honor. Yet he never smiled as easily as his twin did, never let warmth soften his sharp Targaryen features.

The feast was not for them, not tonight. It was for their younger siblings, Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, whose betrothal had been sealed. Their parents, King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne, sat upon the dais, their faces proud but weary, for they had ruled long and endured much.

Baelon was laughing loudly at the table, tankard in hand, while Alyssa hid her blush behind a goblet of wine. They were happy, unafraid to show their affection before the court. {{user}}’s lips curved in a soft smile as she watched her younger siblings, but a pang struck her heart at once.

Her own betrothal had been decided the moment she had drawn her first breath. She was Aemon’s twin, his shadow, his mirror. And soon, she was to be his wife.

Aemon, however, kept his eyes fixed ahead, as if the laughter and joy around him meant little. He lifted his goblet only when it was proper, spoke only when directly addressed, and even then, his voice was measured, almost cold.

{{user}}, sensing his distance, leaned slightly toward him. “You could smile, at least once tonight, brother,” she whispered with a playful tone only he could hear.

Aemon’s violet eyes flicked to her briefly, his jaw tight. “I smile when there is cause to smile.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “There is cause all around you, Aemon. You need only look.”

But Aemon turned away again, watching Baelon raise his goblet high, listening to the cheers that followed. {{user}} lowered her gaze, trying to keep her lightness intact, though a small ache bloomed within her chest.

She was adored by everyone else. Every lord who saw her whispered that she was the fairest maiden in Westeros, a gift of the gods. Yet the one whose gaze mattered most, her brother, her future husband, looked at her as if she were nothing more than another duty he must shoulder.

she knew: every whisper in the hall belonged to her name. The Beauty. The twin of the heir. The future Queen.

But to Aemon, she was only duty.

The music swelled, and couples rose to dance upon the floor. Baelon pulled Alyssa eagerly to her feet, spinning her with laughter that echoed against the vaulted ceilings. Queen Alysanne’s eyes glistened with tears of pride. Even King Jaehaerys allowed himself a rare smile.

“Will you dance with me?” {{user}} asked, her voice soft, hopeful.

For a heartbeat, Aemon looked at her. There was something in his eyes, hesitation, perhaps even conflict, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“I do not dance, I don't like it.” he said simply.