the stone of dragonstone always felt damp, even in the height of summer, as if the castle itself were weeping for the secrets held within its volcanic walls. {{user}} leaned against the heavy crenellations of the balcony, her gaze fixed on the churning black water of blackwater bay. she adjusted the heavy fabric of her gown, feeling the familiar weight of being the sensible shadow to lyanna’s sun, but here, away from the tourney’s chaotic energy, the silence was almost heavy.

"you should be dancing," rhaegar said, appearing beside her in the shadows of the stone archway.

the silver-gold of his hair seemed to catch the moonlight, giving him an ethereal glow that felt haunting against the dark backdrop of the fortress. {{user}} didn't turn immediately, her heart doing a slow, painful roll in her chest.

"the crown prince is expected to notice the beauties of the court, is he not?" she asked, her voice steady despite the way her grip tightened on the stone railing.

rhaegar stepped forward, his tall, lean frame cutting through the mist. his muscular arms, hidden beneath the fine silks of house targaryen, seemed to tension as he moved closer. he smelled of old parchment, incense, and the sharp scent of oncoming rain.

"then go notice them, my prince," she continued, finally meeting his gaze. "i am perfectly content being part of the architecture."

he stopped just inches from her, his presence overwhelming the small space between them. "i have a keen eye for architecture," he replied softly, his voice a low vibration that thrummed in the salt air. "it is often the most enduring part of the castle. the most reliable."

{{user}} let out a small, huffed breath that was almost a laugh. "reliable is a polite word for boring, rhaegar. we both know i am the grounding wire for a girl who wants to run with wolves."

"reliable is the only thing that keeps a man's soul tethered when the wind starts to howl," he countered, his violet eyes searching hers with a yearning that felt reckless and quiet all at once. he reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric of her sleeve but never quite touching her skin, a slow burn of unspoken understanding passing between them. "and the winds have been howling for a long time now."