It had been a long journey from Dorne to the capital, and Elia was exhausted. Her mother, her brother Oberyn, and the rest of their entourage had arrived in King's Landing for a series of meetings, the most important being Elia’s possible betrothal to the prince of dragonstone.

Elia sat nervously in the gardens of the Red Keep, her hands folding and unfolding in her lap. She had heard of Prince Rhaegar—tall, handsome, and with a voice that was said to stir the very soul. But the idea of meeting him felt like a daunting weight, that she was pressured to succeed made her slightly stressed in fear of failure.

Elia lifted her gaze, catching the prince’s eye. Rhaegar was just as she had heard—commanding and beautiful, though his expression was soft as he approached her.

"Your grace," Elia greeted, curtsying politely but with a small quiver of uncertainty.