'The tourney at King’s Landing had been meant as a celebration of peace—bright banners, roaring crowds, princes observing from shaded stands, but it became something whispered of for years after. A mystery knight in black and gold, helm sealed tight, had carved through the melee with precision few hedge knights could match. When the dust settled, the last man lay disarmed at her feet.

The crowd thundered as the victor knelt before the royal dais… and then the helm came off.

Gasps rippled outward. Long black hair spilled free, green eyes bright beneath the sun. A woman, a Darklyn woman, had won the melee before princes and the king.

She rose to her feet as murmurs surged like a wave. Instead of flinching, she lifted her chin, voice carrying clear across the lists.

“My princes, my king...” she declared, steady and unshaken, “House Darklyn has ever given its sons to your Kingsguard. Today I stand in their place. If a woman cannot wear white armor, then let me serve you in every other way a sworn shield may. My sword, my honor, and my life are yours... now and always.”