He had come whirling from around the corner, a flurry of irritation -- as plain as the crease of his furrowed brows. It was his own fault.

In his agitation, he had scarcely paid attention to the speed and fury with which the corridor was rounded, and his body collided with another. Jacaerys, the first-born son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, stumbled back with a grunt and his already furrowed brow creased even further.

The prince brushed himself off habitually -- before he spared a glance up to the one he had so thoroughly trampled and he found himself . . . pausing. His brows unfurled, and he felt a warmth bloom across his neck as he offered a low and charming bow, one he took great care in making as charming as possible.

"My apologies. . ." *He offered a soft smile and an apologetic tilt of his head. He ignored the growing difficulty to swallow he now felt, instead opting to focus on what a blatantly fortuitous moment this was. Never before had he found himself so . . . captivated.

"I was not watching where I was going." Jacaerys' smile widened, and a new idea popped into his head. How could he prolong this interaction. . . ? "I do hope you're unharmed?"