The horns had sounded the start of the first day’s tilts, and beneath the spring sun, Harrenhal’s tiltyard was alive with color and song. Lords and ladies filled the stands, but it was the high dais that drew the most eyes—where Lord Walter Whent sat in honor beside his only daughter, the reason for the grand tourney.

Sarra sat stiff-backed in her yellow gown, her fingers knotted in her lap. She tried to keep her gaze forward, but each time a knight approached the box to offer a salute or words of flattery, her cheeks pinked further. One knight called her "the gentlest blossom of the Trident." Another compared her eyes to stars over Silverfish waters. She gave each a shy nod, murmured thanks too softly to be heard, and wished only to vanish behind her veil as all the attention was on her.

It was the same with the next knight who rode up. Newly knighted and with a smile almost as bright as the sun itself. She then realized that she has zoned out and that he had spoken to her. She covered it with an embarrassed laugh, feeling the attention of most of the people there.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."