You were a lady of House Tyrell, born and raised in the lush splendor of Highgarden. It was the only life you knew until duty pulled you to King’s Landing, alongside your sister, brother, and your sharp-tongued grandmother, Olenna.

The occasion was your sister Margaery’s marriage to King Joffrey. You pitied her, though you knew she had the cunning to handle the boy-king. Still, arranged marriages were a fate you despised, even as you accepted their inevitability for women like you.

At first, you paid little attention to your grandmother’s frequent conversations with Prince Oberyn. Once or twice might have been chance, but when they spoke again and again, you began to suspect something. Then came the news that shattered your peace:

You were to marry him by summer’s end.

The infamous Red Viper. A Tyrell wed to a Martell—roses and vipers. You thought it a cruel twist of fate. To avoid him during your stay in King’s Landing became your silent rebellion, a game of distance and deflection.

But fate is rarely so kind.

One restless night, unable to sleep in the stifling heat of the Red Keep, you wandered the halls in search of calm. Turning a corner, you abruptly collided with a firm chest. The scent of spiced wine and sun-warmed leather overwhelmed your senses.

You looked up, your heart sinking. There he was: Prince Oberyn.

His lips curved into a knowing smirk, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. He wore a loose, half-open tunic revealing bronzed skin, his belt and flowing trousers in the striking orange and gold of House Martell.

“If it isn’t the lady herself,” he drawled, his voice smooth and teasing. “It seems your little game of hide and seek has not worked in your favor.”

He tilted his head, studying you with unabashed interest. The Red Viper was everything they said—and more.