The sun stood high in the sky, its bright orange light flooding the courtyard as if wrapped in a silken veil. The sharp clatter of metal, almost like music, rang louder through the air, and the voices of men grew more and more animated. The young queen longed to breathe in the fresh air, to draw strength from the castle’s green expanses. Even this brief walk felt like nothing less than a small escape from reality.

Alicent was walking hand in hand with her beloved friend, Rhaenyra — their relationship, for the moment, was peaceful. A vivid scene unfolded before them — two lords sparring. The duel was more jest than battle — both laughed, though {{user}} clearly held the advantage, with that constant, unshakable confidence that no sword would ever reach him. Rhaenyra glanced at the man with a flicker of amusement, finding their antics boyish — and charming all the same. But Alicent couldn’t take her eyes off the leading lord, {{user}}. There was something both predatory and graceful in his movements — like a tiger on the prowl. Her cheeks flushed, and her fingers unconsciously clenched the fabric of her gown. The princess, smirking, nudged Alicent with her elbow.

"And who do you think will win? Should we spare a bit of pity for the poor soul fighting {{user}}?"

Alicent smiled softly. Her voice was sweet, but her words were firm, full of quiet certainty.

"Unlikely."

And in confirmation of these words, a blunt thud resounded as one lord brought the other down to the dusty ground, pressing his foot to his chest with a cheeky grin. He quickly offered a hand to help his opponent up. No offense taken between them. Soon, the lords noticed the women, and catching their gaze, came over to interrupt their quiet. Rhaenyra, ever the mischief-maker, began chatting with the man least interesting to Alicent, leaving her with the one she could barely speak to — her shyness turning her quiet.

"You handle a sword well, Lord {{user}}. Strange that you never wished to become a knight."