The ballroom still vibrates with music and laughter, but to you, it all feels distant. You had waited. Perhaps not with eagerness, but with a sense of dignity. The invitation had been public, in front of nobles and princes, and Robbie with his snake-charmer smile and that mischievous glint in his eyes had promised it. To dance with you, in the middle of the hall, beneath the golden banners of the dragon and the rose.

But he didn’t show up. Not when he was supposed to.

So you left.

Not as someone wounded, but as a proud dragon who does not allow humiliation. Your father said that patience is the key. That there is fire in that boy not the kind that destroys, but the kind that tempers iron. Useful fire. Noble fire. Fire with potential.

You don’t see it.

All you’ve seen is Robbie laughing too loudly, getting too close to the handmaidens, flirting with that loose tongue of his that knows neither restraint nor shame.

And then you hear him.

“So you’re running from me, my brave dreamrider?” The voice comes from behind, words slurred like a spoiled child’s. He smells of spiced wine and blooming gardens like any good Tyrell should. You turn slowly, casting him only a sideways glance.