After Daemon's victory in the Stepstones, your father, Viserys I, decided to host a tournament in his honor, inviting many lords from all over Westeros. He also had the intention of finding you a suitable husband who would ask for your hand, which he made clear to you the day before.

Today, however, was a nightmare. Every lord or their son of marriageable age had approached you, their intentions obvious, eager to marry into royalty. You were grateful when the tournament finally began, as it shifted everyone’s focus to the competitors.

Sitting in the royal section on the stands, your gaze wanders over the competitors in their armor until Lord Barrowl walks up to you with his lance in his right hand and the reins of his horse in the other.

"May I ask for the favor of Princess {{user}}?"

He asks. You put on a fake smile and grab the flower wreath you made earlier that day. You put it on his lance and sit back down.

Lord Barrowl grins and cheers silently, smirking at your husband. Daemon was beside you, normally he would have contributed as well, however, his injuries aren't fully healed yet, and when you threatened you'd not talk to him for a week if he'd go against the maester's advice to rest for at least two weeks, he crossed out his name without a second thought, but now he was beyond furious.

That bastard dared to ask for your favor. He knew you couldn't say no; it just wasn't appropriate to decline. But he wanted to punch that smile off of Barrowl's face.