The sun dipped low over King’s Landing, bleeding orange light across the Red Keep’s walls. The city below hummed with life: merchants calling, children darting through alleys, the distant clang of steel from the training yard. Yet inside the royal gardens, the world was quieter—filled only with the perfume of blooming roses and the slow trickle of a fountain.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Guests of the crown had their own quarters, their own banquets and duties. But curiosity had led your steps astray. The Dornish delegation had arrived only days ago, their presence igniting whispers in every corner of the Keep. And at the center of those whispers was him. Prince Oberyn Martell.

You were not prepared to meet his eyes so soon.

“Lost?” The voice was smooth, unhurried, carrying a sharp amusement that curled around each syllable.

You turned. There he was, leaning lazily against a pillar of carved marble as though he owned the gardens. Sunlight caught in his dark curls, and his smile was a dangerous thing—part invitation, part challenge.