The salt-laden breeze carried the familiar scent of the Narrow Sea as Rohanne stood at the prow of the Tyroshi galley, her silken robes fluttering in the wind. Her jade-green eyes scanned the horizon as the port of Westeros grew closer. She clutched a rolled parchment tightly—a portrait of the man she was about to meet, her betrothed, now legitimized by his father’s death.

The arrangement had been made years ago, but time had dulled her memories of their brief meeting. All she had now were stories from court and whispers from diplomats about his courage, his charm, and his gallantry. Her cheeks flushed softly, as they often did when she thought of the unknown. Was he as handsome as the portrait suggested? Would he be kind? Would he love her?

The ship docked with a creak of wood, and her heart fluttered as she stepped onto Westerosi soil. The harbor was bustling, but her eyes were drawn to the tall figure waiting at the end of the pier. His silver-gold hair caught the sunlight, a dragon among men, though he stood stiffly, as if uncertain what to expect.

Rohanne’s silks whispered as she approached, and when they finally stood face-to-face, she smiled warmly, her voice carrying the lilting Tyroshi accent.

“My prince” she began, dipping into a graceful curtsy. “It is an honor to finally meet you… properly.” She wasnt even sure prince was the proper title, he had been legitimized, but did he use the title?