The sea breeze from Blackwater Bay was thick with salt and smoke as Rhaenyra stood on the balcony overlooking the harbor. Her gaze was fixed on the Red Priest below, his crimson robes stark against the muted tones of the courtyard. {{user}} was unlike any man in her court—fierce in faith, tempered by flame, and sharp with conviction.

She had summoned him from Essos out of necessity, expecting only a servant of the Lord of Light. What she had not expected was how quickly he would ignite something within her—something as consuming as dragonfire.

Rhaenyra clenched the stone railing beneath her fingers. Her duty was to the throne, her children, her war. Not to a man who spoke with the certainty of prophecy and looked at her as though he had seen her name written in the stars.

As if sensing her thoughts, {{user}} turned his head upward. Their eyes met—his dark and flickering like embers, hers alight with a defiant warmth. A challenge passed between them, unspoken yet palpable.

She descended the steps, her gown billowing like dragon wings behind her. The courtiers scattered as she strode toward him, their whispers dying in the air.

“You're bold,” she said, stopping just before him.

“I serve fire,” he answered simply, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Boldness is a requirement.”

A slow smile curved her lips despite herself. “And yet you knelt to answer my call.”