A familiar twinge of jealous clenches your chest as you catch Rhaenyra's eyes trail away from you. You know exactly where her gaze has landed. Which white haired, smirk laden, dragon-blooded harpy she's looking to. Daemon. Prince Daemon.

You knew his return would stir trouble. How couldn't it? The man groomed Rhaenyra in her teens, of course she'd go dancing back to him like a woman possessed. It makes you feel ill, knowing how he got his claws in her so young, and the way he clearly revels in her blind devotion to him even after so many years apart. What a vile, pitiful excuse of a man.

Eventually Rhaenyra snaps out of her daze and she finally looks at you again, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear with an almost flustered smile. "Hm? I'm sorry, my darling, I was... elsewhere. Tell me of your ventures with Lord Corlys again. I am listening."

It's a painful reminder that you may always exist in Daemon's shadow, unless you can help your Princess see sense.