A prince’s sixteenth name day was no small affair in the eyes of the realm. When Prince Daeron, fifth child and third son of King Viserys I, came of age, the court erupted in celebration.

The king had commanded a grand tourney in honor of the young prince, and knights from across the 7 Kingdoms rode to compete beneath the banner of the House of the dragon. Nobles from far and wide gathered at court, including a rare delegation from the North — among them, you, the daughter of Lord Bolton.

Daeron was everything a knighted prince should be — calm, courtly, and dazzling in his blue-scaled armor, echoing the gleam of Tessarion, his dragon. Seated atop his white destrier, he circled the field as heralds cried his name.

As the crowd waited for the prince to turn toward the royal dais — where Queen Alicent, Prince Aemond, his sisters, and his nephews looked on — he did something unexpected.

He turned toward you.

Your breath caught as his violet gaze met yours, unwavering and clear.

"My lady," he said, voice carrying across the hush that had fallen over the stands, "might I bear your favor in this tilt?"

A ripple passed through the crowd. The southern ladies at your side whispered behind their hands. Queen Alicent’s expression turned to marble — her lips thinning as she cast a measured glance toward her youngest son.

But King Viserys only chuckled softly, folding his hands over his belly.

“A proper son,” he murmured to no one in particular. “Finally.”

You stared, confused and flushed. You never had spoken to Prince Daeron, and yet — here he was, asking for your favor with the solemnity of a vow.

And the prince did not blink, nor look away. He was waiting for your answer