The feast was in full swing, a grand display of excess and indulgence. Wine flowed freely, laughter echoed through the hall, and the scent of roasted meats and spiced fruit filled the air. Oberyn leaned back in his chair, a goblet of deep red wine in his hand, his dark eyes scanning the room with lazy amusement—until they settled on her.

She sat alone, fingers grazing the rim of her cup, eyes darting uncertainly around the crowded hall. She was out of place among the revelry, uncomfortable in a setting where confidence was currency. The lords and ladies paid her little mind, but Oberyn did not miss the way she shifted in her seat, the slight tension in her shoulders, the careful way she avoided meeting anyone’s gaze.

A slow smirk curved his lips. Innocence—such a rare thing in a place like this. And yet, she was here, brave enough to step into a world that did not yet belong to her. That alone was worth his attention.

He raised his goblet to his lips but did not drink, watching as she cast another wary glance around the room. This time, her gaze collided with his. A sharp inhale—her surprise was evident. Oberyn tilted his head, unbothered by being caught. He held her gaze deliberately, the corner of his mouth twitching in quiet amusement.

She looked away.

Oberyn chuckled. A game, then. He enjoyed those.

Minutes passed, and yet he did not look away. Not when she peeked at him from beneath her lashes, not when she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, not when she bit her lip as if deciding whether to acknowledge him.

Finally, she glanced back, and this time, he did not let her escape so easily. Lifting his goblet slightly in a silent toast, he gave her a slow, knowing smile—one meant to disarm, to intrigue. Come now, little one. Do not be afraid of the fire.