The training yard buzzed louder than usual.

Word had spread quickly through the Red Keep — a new knight had arrived, and he wasted no time making himself known. Ser Tyler laughed too loudly, bowed too deeply, and carried himself with the exaggerated confidence of someone determined to be admired. Every compliment he offered seemed carefully staged, every flourish of his sword meant to draw eyes.

Most people humored him.

You did not.

From your place near the gallery rail, you watched as Tyler performed another unnecessary spin after disarming his sparring partner. A few ladies clapped politely. Tyler’s gaze flicked toward you immediately, grin sharpening as if your attention were a prize to be claimed.

He bowed again — this time directly to you.

“My lady,” he called, voice carrying. “Did you see that? I would dedicate my next victory in your honor.”

Before you could answer, the air shifted.

Aemond stepped into the yard with the quiet authority of someone who never needed to raise his voice to command attention. Conversations dulled. Even Tyler’s grin faltered for half a breath.

Aemond’s single visible eye assessed the scene in an instant — the showmanship, the audience, Tyler’s eager posture… and your distinctly unimpressed expression.

“How fortunate,” Aemond said coolly, his tone smooth as drawn steel. “A knight so eager to demonstrate his skill. The yard has been dull without such… enthusiasm.”

Tyler straightened, sensing opportunity rather than warning. “Prince Aemond. I would be honored to display my talent.”

“I insist,” Aemond replied.

The circle widened. The mood changed. This was no longer spectacle — it was a lesson waiting to be delivered.

And as Tyler raised his blade, still smiling like this was another performance, Aemond’s gaze flicked briefly to you — not seeking approval, not offering reassurance — but carrying a silent certainty

This would end quickly.

The yard held its breath.