Gwayne Hightower arrived at the Red Keep, his presence commanding attention. The younger son of Otto Hightower, known for his martial skill and loyalty, he moved through the halls with purpose.

I stood in the throne room, a councilor’s daughter with a voice in Small Council meetings, much to Alicent’s displeasure. Growing up alongside Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena, I was as much a part of the royal family as anyone. My sharp mind earned respect, and though I wasn’t a blood member, my influence was undeniable.

“Lady,” he greeted, his voice steady, but his eyes betraying interest.

“Ser Gwayne,” you replied, a slight nod. You didn’t feel the need to offer anything more, knowing that those who truly mattered understood the subtlety in such exchanges.

He held your gaze for just a moment too long, his expression neutral but the tension clear.

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, the bustling noise of the throne room seemed distant. It was clear—our paths were crossing, and the subtle challenge between us was undeniable.