The Dornish sun burned low on the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of red and gold as Harwin Strong rode ahead of the carriage, his silhouette cutting clean against the rolling sands. His horse’s hooves kicked up dust in measured rhythm, a beat to match the one thudding with uneasy insistence beneath his breastplate.

“Ser Breakbones!” came a voice from behind — unmistakably Prince Aerion’s, warm and lilting, with that signature hint of mockery that always made Harwin’s jaw tighten. “You’ll be halfway to Sunspear before I’ve even uncorked the wine!”

Harwin slowed his horse with a sharp pull of the reins and glanced back. The prince leaned languidly out the window of the traveling carriage, silver-blond hair curling beneath the fine hood of his silk cloak, eyes catching the sunlight like polished amethyst. His features were as finely wrought as sculpture — neither fully masculine nor feminine, but something mesmerizing in between. And damnably aware of it.

“You sound like your bones are made of satin, my prince,” Harwin called back. “I was told you could handle heat.”

Aerion’s laugh was soft, like wind stirring through silk banners. “I can handle the heat, ser. But what use is a diplomatic envoy if my escort gallops ahead like a sellsword late for supper?”

Harwin sighed through his nose and turned his horse, trotting back to the carriage. The sand crunched beneath the hooves as he rode beside the open window.

Inside, Aerion was reclined as if holding court in a Water Gardens pavilion, one boot propped on the bench, a scroll of old Dornish poetry in hand. Their fingers, long and ringed in tourmaline and pale gold, tapped lightly against the parchment.

“Shouldn’t you be reading maps?” Harwin grumbled.

“I prefer sonnets to cartography,” Aerion murmured, though he lowered the scroll. “Besides… you’ve been quiet today. Brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

“You simmer. Quiet men always simmer. It’s your eyes.” A pause. “And your jaw. And… well, everything, really.”

Harwin’s throat worked around a reply, but none came. The prince had that effect. He was a storm in the desert — something you couldn’t brace against, only weather.

“You do know,” Aerion went on, more softly now, “when we reach Sunspear, all of this — this alliance — will rest on our ability to charm their court. To seem like a united front.”

Harwin shifted in his saddle. “I know my role, my prince.”

“But do you know mine?” Aerion’s eyes narrowed, that strange and lovely smile returning. “You’re fire and stone, Harwin Strong. But I’ve watched how you look at me. I don’t think you’ve quite decided whether I’m flame or shadow.”

Harwin’s grip tightened around the reins, knuckles pale.

The carriage rolled forward again, the sands whispering around them, and still the air between them hung thick — not with silence, but with the unspoken.

Honor rides beside him, but fire burns within.

And that fire was looking back at him with violet eyes and a knowing smile, framed in silk, daring him to speak first.