Daeron was not on the tourney field when it happened.

He learned of it afterward, as he always seemed to learn of the important things: too late, in fragments, and with a dull ache that arrived before the details. By the time his father finished speaking—not raising his voice, which was worse—he had enough to piece the scene together in his mind. A common tourney, a lance misjudged, a blow that should not have landed… and then the helmet torn away, the truth laid bare before a crowd that had been cheering a name that was not hers.

His name.

Wine did not help that time. Neither did the hollow laughter of the brothel where he had spent the morning, deliberately ignoring what he knew he ought to be doing. Because deep down, he had always known: that it could not last, that the game they had begun as children—her with the sword, him with the excuse—would eventually break.

{{user}} had always been different. While other ladies learned courtesy and songs, she learned the weight of steel, the stance, the balance. Daeron had seen it all, first with curiosity, then with a fascination that never quite left him. It had been both their idea, somewhere in that blurred line between childhood and recklessness: that she would take his place in tourneys, hidden behind armor, while he avoided the very thing he despised. And it worked. For years, it worked too well.

Until it didn’t.

He found her in her chambers, far from the noise that must still have surrounded the revelation. He did not know what he expected to see: fury, shame, wounded pride. Perhaps all at once. For a moment, Daeron lingered in the doorway, watching her as though she were another vision, one he would not understand until it was already too late.

It had always been like that with her. Even now.

He stepped inside at last, closing the door carefully behind him. He wore no crown, no properly fastened cloak, nothing that made him look like the prince others saw. Just Daeron, with the uncomfortable weight of something like guilt settling in his chest.

“I should have been there,” he said at last, without embellishment, without trying to soften it.

He moved closer, just enough to see her clearly, to confirm she was real and not some distortion born of his dreams.

“I suppose the world has decided to learn that the hard way.”

He did not laugh. Not this time.

The silence between them was not new, but it felt different now. Heavier. More real.

Daeron tilted his head slightly, studying her, as if searching her face for some sign of what would come next. Consequences. Judgment. Decisions neither of them had wanted to face while it was still their shared secret.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked then, softer, closer, unable to fully hide the concern beneath his voice. “Tell me what you need.”