There are two things Dorne is famous for: its refusal to bend the knee to the Targaryens and the unparalleled beauty of its princess — you. The perfect Dornish rose, they call you, a vision of radiance with a sharp edge that warns away those foolish enough to approach without caution. Suitors from across the realm have tried and failed. One after the other, each falling short of your parents' impossible expectations.

But tonight you stand among strangers in the grand hall of King's Landing, the eyes of Westeros upon you.

The air hums with the sounds of the feast—laughter echoing off the stone walls, the scent of roasted meats and the faint sweetness of Dornish wine lingering in the air. Yet your mind drifts, bored by the empty conversations and political posturing, your gaze wandering as you sip your drink.

That is, until a voice cuts through the haze of the evening.

"Your Highness."

You turn, and there stands Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen — the realm’s delight herself.

Rhaenyra approaches slowly, her steps measured as she tries to maintain her composure. She stands before you, looking every bit the dragon princess she is.

“I’ve heard much of your beauty.” She says, her voice low but steady. “But words fall short.” Her compliment is unexpected, yet more genuine than the empty flattery you've grown accustomed to.