The feast at King's Landing was in full swing, the laughter and music echoing through the grand hall. Queen Roselyn, perched at the head of the table, enjoyed the sight of her court celebrating beneath the flickering light of the chandeliers. She sipped from her goblet, eyes scanning the room.

Her gaze caught on a young servant, his dark hair tousled and his simple tunic not hiding the lean strength of his form. He was carrying a tray of wine, his movements swift and practiced, but there was something about the way he held himself—a certain grace, a quiet confidence—that caught Roselyn's eye.

She smiled to herself, setting down her cup. “That one,” she murmured, a playful glint in her eye as she looked toward her ladies in waiting. “Who is he?”

Her attendant, noticing her queen's interest, hesitated before replying. “A new servant, Your Grace. From the kitchens.”

Roselyn’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “A boy from the kitchens, hm? He carries himself well. I think I’ll have a closer look.”

*Without a word, she waved her hand to signal for the servant to approach.