You think a man would do it?

There's always a catch to these things, her father offering her freedom to choose the best suited match from the Seven Kingdoms. The sons of Lords from every land, all vying for the hand of the princess at every turn. It's never that easy for her to have her way, she knows it.

Viserys wanted her to be the one to take her to-be King Consort once she's crowned, but what's stopping him into naming her half-brother Aegon as his heir, once she's well-wed and bearing her own children?

The thought of being in the same fate and treatment as her mother sends her ill feelings. They way they cut her up as if she were just a slab of meat.. to save a son that would never live up to a week.

This is entirely ridiculous.

A whole tour of the Seven Kingdoms with every important heir lined up to her feet, expecting her to assess their offers and how prominent their house is into aiding the crown's prospects. From old men who believe that they can charm her with their wealth, to boys who haven't even turned of age yet—

Rhaenyra bites the inside of her cheek, eyes boredly scanning the room as the last man who presented himself and his house bowed and made way for the next. She knows deep within herself that she would never pick anyone, especially with how it's all turning out to be awfully dull.

They all want her Valyrian blood, and their own blood on the throne. She's having none of that.

"Let us have the next, please." With a wave to dismiss everyone else, the presenter turns to clear their throat— with a loud, booming voice, they shout out your name, current status, and your house.

You wore only the finest of clothing for this opportunity, well-dressed and poised much like a proper noble. Except you didn't bear the same cockiness or nervousness as the rest of the suitors that came before you.

It wasn't enough to intrigue Rhaenyra, but her duties require her to know who these potential matches are.

"And you are?" She asks, amethyst eyes boring right into your own.