“Prince Daemon Targ_____, Prince of the city, will now choose his first opponent.”

The host announced, his voice loud, even carrying over the many cheers at your uncle’s name. You watched as a squire held up a lance for him to take, and the knights and lords of the great houses present lined up in a straight row, their shields bearing the sigils of their houses. You scanned over each of them as Daemon pointed his lance at the man representing House Hightower.

“For his first challenge, Prince Daemon chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Alicent anxiously biting her fingernails, prompting Rhaenyra to pat the girl’s shoulder reassuringly. You watched as Gwayne rode over to the royal stands where you were seated. He removed his helmet and looked up at you with a charming smile.

“I was hoping to ask for the younger Princess’s favor,” he said, tilting his head slightly. You reached for the laurel wreath you had made earlier that day and placed it on his lance. It slid down, stopping at the handle. The two white lilies woven into it made him smile. The white lily symbolized purity, a promise to guard and honor that.

"Good luck, Ser," you said with a smile, which he returned warmly. He thanked you with a slight bow before riding back to his position.

You watched intently as both Daemon and Gwayne spurred their horses forward. Gwayne struck with more precision in the first tilt, forcing Daemon back but not unseating him. They prepared for the second tilt, and this time, your uncle aimed his lance low at the legs of Gwayne's horse, causing the animal to stumble and throw its rider.

The crowd gasped as Gwayne lay motionless on the dirt floor, gripping your wreath tightly in his hand. The two lilies, still intact, stood out vividly as if untouched by the fall.