The cheers still echoed through the lists as Lorra Tyrell removed her helm, curls spilling free in a cascade of chestnut. Squires rushed forward with take her shield, lance and helm, but she barely acknowledged them. Her gaze swept past the fluttering banners, settling instead on the shadowed edge of the royal pavilion—where one of King Robert's siblings sat, still and watching, the same she squired for not too long ago.

The crowd roared again as her name was called—the Knight of Flowers, victor of Prince Joffrey’s nameday tourney—but Lorra’s eyes did not leave the figure. She gave only the faintest nod before turning on her heel, silken cape trailing behind her as she strode toward her pavilion.