The great hall of the Red Keep blazed with light and sound, every torch lit, every banner of House Targaryen hanging heavy with gold and red. Music swelled from the minstrels’ gallery while lords and ladies from every corner of the realm filled the space with laughter, silk, and the low hum of ambition. It was King Viserys’ name day, and the court had come dressed in its finest—smiles sharp, eyes sharper.

You stood among a small circle of noblewomen near the edge of the dance floor, laughter spilling easily from you as the conversation turned light and teasing. Wine had loosened tongues, and for a rare moment the weight of being betrothed to the heir felt distant. Your smile was bright, unguarded.

Across the hall, Lord Clement Celtigar noticed.

He lingered longer than courtesy demanded, goblet paused halfway to his lips as his gaze fixed on you. His mouth curved in a knowing smile, the sort that suggested interest disguised as confidence. One of the ladies beside you noticed first, nudging another with a conspiratorial grin as Celtigar slowly made his way closer, positioning himself within sight, clearly content to watch.

Aegon Targaryen noticed immediately.

From where he lounged near the high table, wine already in hand, his posture shifted. His amusement faded into something sharper, more alert. Violet eyes tracked Celtigar’s gaze, then snapped back to you—your laughter, your ease, the way the light caught in your hair. Aegon’s jaw tightened.

He took a slow drink of wine, then set the goblet down with deliberate care.

The music swelled just as he crossed the floor, boots striking stone with lazy confidence that fooled no one who knew him well. He didn’t hurry. He never did when making a point. As he neared, Celtigar turned just in time to find the prince sliding effortlessly into his space, an arm thrown around his shoulder as though they were the oldest of friends.

Aegon lifted his goblet again, gesturing vaguely toward you with it, a crooked smile on his lips.

“You see my girl?” he said lightly, voice smooth and loud enough to carry. “Very pretty. Very off limits. Very mine.”

Celtigar stiffened beneath the casual weight of Aegon’s arm, his smile faltering as the meaning sank in. Aegon’s grip tightened just enough to make the message unmistakable, his eyes never leaving the lord’s face.

Across the room, the laughter around you softened as you finally noticed the shift in the air—and the unmistakable presence of your betrothed staking his claim in the most Aegon Targaryen way possible.