The training yard of the Red Keep had a sound of its own, one Jacaerys knew by heart. The clash of blunted steel, the dull thud of boots against packed earth, the low, constant voice of Ser Harwin Strong correcting grips and stances.

Sweat, dust, and iron hung thick in the air. It was not a place meant for girls, nor for children who were still learning how to carry the weight of their own names.

Jace tightened his hold on the practice sword as Harwin paced before them, broad-shouldered and patient, correcting Aegon with mild reproach and Aemond with sharper words. Lucerys stood a few steps away from Jace, smaller, lighter, his movements still uncertain. Jace watched him out of the corner of his eye more than he watched himself. That, too, had become habit.

When Harwin called for another round, Jace stepped forward, missed a beat, and felt the familiar flush crawl up his neck. He reset his stance quickly, breathing as he had been taught. Focus. Balance. Again.

And then he noticed her.

{{user}} sat on the stone steps at the edge of the yard, legs dangling, hands folded in her lap. She was too still, too quiet. Girls were meant to be in the gardens, or with Helaena and the other ladies’ daughters, learning stitches and stories. Not here. Not watching swords.

Jace frowned without meaning to. His first thought was that someone would scold her. His second was sharper, colder—that if Alicent saw her there, questions would follow. Questions always followed.

Lucerys noticed her too and shifted closer to Jace, whispering something he didn’t quite hear. Jace shook his head slightly, a silent answer.

Not now.

When Harwin’s attention turned elsewhere, Jace stepped back from the circle, lowering his sword. He walked toward the steps before he could talk himself out of it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly, not unkindly. Then, softer, as if correcting himself, “I mean… they’ll tell you to leave if they see you.”

He sat one step below her, careful to keep his voice low. From here, the yard felt less overwhelming, the noise dulled by stone and distance.

“That move,” he added after a moment, nodding toward the sparring boys, “it’s meant to tire the other one out. Ser Harwin says it’s not about hitting harder. It’s about lasting longer.”

Harwin’s voice rose across the yard, firm but not cruel. Jace listened, always listening, even when pretending not to.

“I mess it up a lot,” he admitted, eyes fixed on the dirt. “Especially when people are watching.”

A gust of wind pushed dark hair into his eyes. He brushed it aside, wishing—briefly, foolishly—that it were silver. Things would be simpler then. Or at least quieter.

Lucerys stumbled nearby, earning a sharp correction. Jace straightened instinctively, ready to step in, then forced himself to stay still. Luke had to learn too.

“If you want,” Jace said, glancing back at {{user}}, “I can tell you what they’re doing. Just…”

He hesitated, then added, almost sheepishly, “Don’t laugh if I get it wrong.”