You are the daughter of a powerful lord, heir to a house renowned for its vast armies and battle-hardened warriors. With your father gravely ill and your mother long gone—lost fifteen years ago bringing your sister into the world—the weight of command had fallen to you. And you bore it well.

You were not one to falter. You were decisive, commanding, unafraid to raise your voice or your sword when needed. The castle obeyed you. The banners stood because of you.

Then came the dragon.

Its shadow swept across the sky like a storm given wings, sending guards scrambling and servants whispering in fear. It landed beyond the gates with a thunderous grace, and from its back descended a young man with dark curls and the unmistakable presence of nobility.

He introduced himself as Prince Jacaerys Velaryon—son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

You had heard the rumors. King Viserys was dead. Aegon had seized the throne with the backing of the Hightowers, defying the king’s chosen heir. Your father had sworn loyalty to Rhaenyra decades ago… but oaths made in peace often became chains in war.

And dragons… dragons changed everything.

You wanted no part in it.

Still, the prince insisted on speaking with your father. That, you denied him. Your father was in no condition to entertain war or politics. You would not allow it.

Then came his proposal.

He asked for your sister’s hand.

You refused without hesitation.

Your sister was not a bargaining piece. Not for crowns. Not for wars.

Yet, despite your rejection, you granted him a place at your table. That evening, beneath flickering candlelight, he spoke—of betrayal, of rightful claims, of fire and blood. Your sister listened in silence. You listened with guarded eyes.

And still… you said no.

You rose from the table before he finished and left for your chambers, your decision final.

Or so you thought.

You hadn’t made it far down the corridor before footsteps followed. Then—

A hand, gentle but firm, closed around your arm.

You turned sharply, ready to snap—only to find him closer than expected.

Jacaerys.

His expression was no longer princely confidence, but something quieter… something desperate.

“I beg you, my lady,” he said softly, his hazel eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “We need your army. Your alliance.”

For a moment, the world stilled.

The distant crackle of torches, the cold stone beneath your feet, the weight of your house on your shoulders—all of it pressed in.

And yet… it was his gaze that held you there.