Prince Aerion Targaryen, second son of Prince Maekar, had always thought himself a god born in mortal flesh. Even from his earliest days, there had been something too sharp in his smile, too bright in his eyes, too fierce in his laughter. Everyone in seven kingdoms whispered that the blood of old Valyria burned hotter in him than in any since Aegon the Conqueror. To Aerion, such words were not warnings but proof of his pure blood, Pride and honor

He was the Brightflame, and all others were but kindling.

King Maekar’s court had grown weary of Aerion’s cruelty, the squires he maimed for sport, the singers he silenced for singing ill verses, the maidens he promised his love to only to mock before the court. Even his father had begun to despair of him. But when word came from Dorne of a maiden of surpassing beauty, the Lady {{user}} Dayne of Starfall, whispers began to circle the halls of King’s Landing.

They said she was called the Morning Star reborn, skin as pale as dawnlight, eyes like the desert sky after rain, and hair silver as starlight itself. Even her laughter, they said, could charm the gods.

Aerion laughed when first he heard it. “A Dornish maid,” he said. “Let her bask in my light, and she shall learn what true radiance is.”

But when she arrived, when she walked into the Red Keep’s great hall, cloaked in pale violet, the seven-pointed star of House Dayne glimmering on her breast, Aerion’s smile faltered. She did not bow, as others did. She curtsied gracefully, but her gaze met his without trembling.

King Maekar, had announced the betrothal: Prince Aerion Targaryen and Lady {{user}} Dayne of Starfall. The court buzzed. Some said she was too pure for him, others that she was the only one who might ever tame the Brightflame.

Aerion, of course, believed otherwise. The sun does not bow to the dawn, he thought. The dawn exists to herald the sun.

At the feast that followed, Aerion’s eyes never left her. Lords and ladies dined beneath banners of red and black, gold and silver, the smell of roasted boar and Dornish wine filling the air. Minstrels sang of dragons and starlight, and the courtiers whispered that never before had such beauty and such madness been seated side by side.

When Aerion spoke to her, his words were honey laced with venom. “Do you know why my father, king Maekar have bound you to me, my lady?” he asked, his silver hair gleaming in torchlight.

He continued with a mocking laugh. “Because he's so stupid that he thinks I'm going to become his good little prince with the ugly common beauty of a Dornish lady who's a relative and a member of my mother's house, as if a dragon could be tamed with the help of a poor little lamb...”