The Red Keep glowed with torchlight and gold that night, banners snapping softly in the warm air as King Viserys’s name day feast swelled to its loudest hour. Lords and ladies from every corner of the realm crowded the hall—silks brushing stone, laughter rising and falling like waves, goblets clinking in carefully timed toasts.

You stood among a small knot of noblewomen near one of the side galleries, their chatter light and fluttering, all smiles and practiced grace. Someone had just said something clever enough to draw genuine laughter from you, and for a moment you forgot yourself—forgot the weight of eyes, of expectations.

Lord Clement Celtigar did not forget.

He noticed you the way men like him always did: slowly, deliberately, with calculation behind the smile. He excused himself from a nearby conversation and crossed the floor, silver crab clasp catching the light as he came to a stop beside you. He leaned back against the wall with the ease of someone who believed he belonged everywhere.

“Enjoying yourself, my lady?” he asked, tone smooth. His gaze flicked over your companions, then settled fully on you. “Tell me—where’s your scary fiancé tonight?”

Your smile thinned just a fraction as you turned toward him, eyebrow lifting in clear, unimpressed amusement. “Probably off doing scary fiancé things,” you replied evenly.

Across the hall, Aegon Targaryen had clocked it the instant Celtigar stepped too close.

He had been half-listening to a lord from the Reach when he saw the angle of Clement’s body, the way his attention narrowed to you alone. Aegon didn’t hurry. He didn’t scowl. He simply excused himself and crossed the space with the lazy confidence of someone who knew exactly who he was—and what was his.

Celtigar was mid-smirk when arms slid around your waist from behind, firm and unmistakable. Aegon’s presence settled against you, solid and unignorable, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You leaned back into him without hesitation.

“Found her,” Aegon said mildly, his voice carrying just enough edge to cut through the music. His eyes flicked to Celtigar, sharp and cool. “You seem… close.”

Celtigar straightened at once, smile tightening. “Prince Aegon. I was only—”

“—boring her?” Aegon finished, not bothering to hide his amusement. His grip stayed steady, possessive without spectacle. “Easy mistake.”

The surrounding ladies fell silent, suddenly fascinated by anything but the exchange.

Aegon dipped his head slightly toward you, voice lowering. “You alright?”

Before you could answer, he looked back at Celtigar, smile all teeth and warning. “Run along, Lord Celtigar. My betrothed and I were just about to rejoin the feast.”

Celtigar inclined his head stiffly and withdrew, swallowed quickly by the crowd.

Aegon didn’t release you right away. Instead, he murmured, almost fond despite himself, “See? Can’t leave you alone for five minutes.”

The feast roared on around you—but for a moment, the court knew exactly where not to look.