The Great Hall of the Red Keep did not merely host the feast; it seemed to bend its ancient stones around her radiance, a gilded frame for a portrait painted in starlight and pale gold.

{{user}}⎯the beloved of the realm.

She was the youngest, the sweet daughter born to King Daeron and Queen Myriah after a line of four princes—a rare, pure manifestation of old Valyria that seemed almost a myth amidst the Dornish blood of her brothers.

So blinding was her grace, so absolute her unrivaled beauty, that the King and Queen had long preferred a delicate, shimmering, silk veil to frame the sides of her face by the crystalline headpiece on her head, sometimes the thick, gold circlet on her brow to frame that breathtaking face.

Dressed in a very find gown, flowing draped on her frame, not tight, not scandalous gown, modest, but giving the hints of the allure that lies beneath.

A gossamer boundary meant to shield the world from a light too brilliant to bear.

To the lords of Westeros, she was an unattainable dream.

Though every house from the Wall to the Arbor had sent emissaries with chests of gold and vows of eternal devotion.

Daeron and Myriah refused to marry their only daughter to any stranger.

They wanted her close, safe, loved, and honored within the cradle of her own blood.

Thus, the King had spoken a decree that set the hearts of his sons aflame: Whoever wanted her should try her in a manner befitting her.

Baelor sat in the carved high seat, his short, dark-brown hair and silver-flecked beard catching the warmth of the torchlight.

His piercing blue eyes did not look at the heavy ledger before him, nor at the silver signet ring he slowly turned upon his finger; they were fixed entirely upon her.

To his right sat Maekar, his jaw set like iron, his dark eyes burning with the fierce, unyielding hunger of a prince who looked upon the realm's greatest treasure and claimed it in his heart.

As the music swelled—a low, rhythmic cadence that echoed off the high rafters—the younger sister rose from her seat between her parents.

Even with the silk veil partially obscuring her profile, her sweetness was a palpable thing, an intoxicating aura that drew every gaze in the hall.

Lords and knights held their breath, their hands tightening on their goblet stems, desperate for a single glance, a stray favor from the maiden who had been crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty since she was a little girl.

The King Daeron II and the Queen, his Queen-wife, the mother of his legacy and children.

Baelor, Aerys, Rhaegel and Maekar on the royal table of their parents, she was seated among them.

The lords took their ladies to dance in the great Hall of the Red Keep when the music started.

The lute strings trembled into a dance—soft at first, then swelling like the breath of summer wind through rose gardens.