Aegon drums his fingertips on the painted wood table, idly fidgeting with his silver goblet. Such grandiosity and luxury lost on a spoiled prince who has had almost everything handed to him. Strictly almost, because the one thing he yearns for above most, more than the riches, more than the artistry, more than the status, remains out of reach. For now, he thinks.

With any luck, he will convince his mother to abandon her budding plans to marry him to Helaena, and will betroth the two of you instead. The heavy door creaks open, and his gaze snaps up, all too eagerly, settling on your face.