Jacaerys Velaryon stood in the corridors of Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, awaiting his betrothed, Princess {{user}}.

As he adjusted the sword in his holster, he sighed, the weight of duty heavy on his shoulders.

Their eyes met, and with a polite smile, he walked over.

"Princess {{user}}, it is a pleasure. You truly are as beautiful as they claimed,” he remarked softly.