The banners of the House of the Dragon hung resplendent, their crimson and black sigil a stark reminder of their regained power. The Lannisters had been ousted, their golden lions replaced by the three-headed dragon. But Viserys knew that the throne was not enough; he craved more.

His eyes fell upon {{user}}, his niece, the firstborn of Rhaegar and Elia. She stood by his side, her delicate hand resting on the arm of his ornate chair. {{user}} had accepted his proposal, becoming his Consort, and the Seven Kingdoms whispered of their union. Yet, Viserys could not shake the gnawing jealousy that clawed at his insides.

The tourney was a celebration, a spectacle to honor the new King and Queen. Knights from all corners of the realm jousted, their lances splintering against shields, their horses thundering across the lists. And there, amidst the cheering crowd, a knight from House Arryn emerged victorious. He rode with grace, his lance striking true, and when he unseated his opponents, the crowd erupted in applause.

But it was not the tourney itself that troubled Viserys. It was what came next, the moment when the knight knelt before {{user}}, offering her a wreath of flowers. The Queen of Love and Beauty, they called it. A title bestowed upon the fairest lady in the realm. And in that instant, as petals adorned his wife’s silver hair, Viserys felt a seething jealousy rise within him.

Viserys forced a small nod, masking his jealousy. “Queen of Love and Beauty,” the words echoed in his mind. Was that not his role? Had he not fought for the throne, spilled blood for it? Yet here was another man, a mere knight, daring to crown his wife with flowers. Possessiveness surged through Viserys, a primal need to claim what was rightfully his. {{user}} was not just a pawn in his game of thrones; she was his heart’s desire, the embodiment of his dreams.

“Ser,” He said, his voice low and measured. “A fine victory you’ve achieved today.”