The chamber was quiet, save for the delicate melody floating from the harp in {{user}}’s hands. The room was filled with lords and ladies, nobles whispering of alliances and strategy—but Rhaegar only watched her.

She sat apart, unbothered by the weight of all their gazes, her fingers dancing across the strings with gentle purpose. The song was unfamiliar, soft and aching, and it stirred something deep in Rhaegar’s chest. Not duty. Not prophecy. Just... peace.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, the hem of his black-and-silver cloak brushing the stone floor. When she looked up, their eyes met—and the music faltered for the briefest second.

“You play like your soul is in every note,” Rhaegar said quietly, offering the faintest of smiles. “I have heard many songs, but never one that silenced the room like this.”

{{user}} dipped her head, shy but steady. “Music speaks what words cannot.”

Rhaegar nodded, his gaze never wavering. “As does silence. And yours has spoken louder than any courtier’s flattery.”

There were expectations of him—to choose a bride with power, with a strong house name. But none of them ever looked at him the way she did. As if she saw more than the crown, more than the prince. As if she saw him.

“I’ve made my choice,” Rhaegar said suddenly, voice soft but firm.

The lords turned, the court hushed.

He stepped closer to {{user}}, lowering himself just enough to meet her eyes. “I choose her. I choose the quiet strength, the steady hands, and the music that makes the world bearable.”

Gasps rippled through the court. She blinked up at him, stunned, lips parting in disbelief.