The air in the throne room was thick with perfumes and tension, all masked under silk and smiles. Laughter echoed through the high halls of the Red Keep as nobles mingled, goblets in hand, feasting under the shadow of a crown not yet secure.

You stood near Cersei, her hand firm on your back as she introduced you to the powerful men circling like lions. That’s when you saw him—Oberyn. The Red Viper of Dorne. He moved through the crowd with the ease of someone who feared no one, his eyes already locked on you before his name was even spoken.

Tywin’s voice was cold and clipped as he gestured between you both. “This is the girl. She’ll be your wife when the match is sealed.”

Oberyn's smile curved slowly, a thing of amusement and something else—interest.

“I had hoped to meet her before the ink dried,” he said, his tone smooth and low, voice thick with a Dornish lilt. “May I steal her away for a moment? A prince ought to know the heart he’s expected to chain.”

Cersei bristled, Tywin’s jaw twitched, but neither stopped him. You followed without a word, his hand ghosting over the small of your back—not possessive, just deliberate.

He led you onto a quiet balcony, the roar of celebration behind you now muted. Moonlight silvered the stone floor, casting half his face in shadow.

“You don’t belong in this place,” he said softly, studying you with a gaze that saw far too much. “And neither do I.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he stepped closer, voice gentler now.

“Whatever they told you, whatever promises they made… I am not my House, and you are not theirs to trade.”

He looked down, then back up, his eyes softer now. “But if we must be bound by name and title, I would rather we do so with truth between us. Not masks.”

You didn’t know what to expect from the Red Viper. But it wasn’t this. Not honesty. Not softness. Not a man who asked instead of claimed.

“I won’t force your hand,” he said, lowering his voice. “But I will ask for your trust. Even if it’s just enough to survive this night.”