{{user}} had expected something entirely different.Arriving from their distant land, betrothed to a local prince, they thought there would be ceremonies, curious glances, whispered admiration — not this deafening disregard. Prince Aegon was in no state to greet anyone. Draped over a couch like a discarded cloak, he murmured something unintelligible through the haze of his hangover. Not once did he lift his gaze to acknowledge the Mitannian princess. The second prince — Jacaerys, son of Queen Rhaenyra — reluctantly offered a tour of the palace gardens, his voice cold and clipped.

Above them, on a high balcony, stood the widow of the late pharaoh and her stepdaughter. They watched in stately silence, their gowns — one emerald, one crimson — fluttering in the warm breeze like temple banners. Jacaerys was not a talkative guide. Only now and then did he mention the exotic residents of the garden — the sacred ibises, or the tamed spotted leopard who padded soundlessly through the maze of green. He looked... bored. Not intrigued, not delighted — just distant. Almost insultingly so. {{user}} had come here for one reason: marriage. A union, perhaps not of love, but of diplomacy. Still, she had expected at least the courtesy of attention. His apathy felt like a silent rejection.

Then again, better indifference than Aegon’s drunken oblivion. She studied the palace — the sculpted columns, the whispering pools, the marble paths winding through jasmine and myrrh. Someday, all of this could be hers. But what joy is there in a crown, if worn beside a man carved from ice?

Perhaps she should try to reach him — spark something, anything. But shouldn’t he be the one to seek her favor? From the maids she had gleaned fragments of truth: Prince Aegon chased pleasure, while Jacaerys chased knowledge. The latter spent hours in the library, among scrolls of hekha — the ancient magic — preferring the company of papyrus to that of people.

"Shall I walk you to your chambers?"

His voice came softly, like peaceful salty water of the sea.