The tournament at Ashford had drawn lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms, and you found yourself observing the festivities from beneath a shaded pavilion, the Tyrell rose emblazoned on the silk above your head, as you wore your original Baratheon house colors.

Your husband had ridden that morning and acquitted himself adequately, though without particular distinction.

"Lady Tyrell."

The voice was smooth as poisoned wine. You turned to find Prince Aerion Brightflame regarding you with those unsettling violet eyes, his silver hair catching the afternoon light.

"Your Grace." You curtsied appropriately, though something in his expression made your skin prickle with unease.

"How fortunate that Lord Tyrell rides in the lists today," Aerion said, moving closer with the predatory grace of a monster. "It leaves his lovely wife unattended. A grievous oversight, surely."

"I am quite content, Your Grace. My lord husband is never far."

"How tedious for him." Aerion stepped closer, violet eyes glinting with that familiar arrogance that made your stomach turn.

"And how convenient for me. You look radiant today, marriage clearly agrees with you, though I suspect it would have agreed with you far more had you made a wiser choice."

"I am quite content with my choice, Your Grace."

He laughed, a sharp sound without genuine mirth. "Are you? Then why do I see no evidence of fertility? You've been wed for nearly two months, and yet..." He gestured vaguely toward you. "Nothing. Tell me, does Lord Tyrell even know what to do with a wife?"

Heat rose to your cheeks, not from embarrassment, but anger. "You forget yourself, Prince Aerion."

"I forget nothing," he countered, circling you like a predator. "I remember quite clearly when you rejected my suit. Your father was a fool to allow it, and you were a greater fool to choose that soft-handed rose over dragon's fire. Leo Tyrell couldn't get you with a child in the first month? Pathetic. He's weak, weak blood, weak constitution, weak in every way that matters."

You stepped back, creating distance between you.

"I am a married woman, Your Grace. This conversation is improper."

"Improper?" Aerion's expression darkened, that dangerous glimmer intensifying in his gaze.

"What's improper is watching you waste yourself on a man who cannot even fulfill a husband's most basic duty. Had you married me, as you should have, your belly would already be swelling with a dragon's heir. Instead, you lie beside a man who cannot even—"