The Tourney at Harrenhal was meant to be a feast of splendor and song, the greatest tournament of its age. Then Prince Rhaegar Targaryen played a crown of winter roses on Lyanna Stark’s lap. She was only fourteen.

The cheers died in an instant. Lords and ladies alike watched in stunned silence as the prince passed over his own wife Princess Elia to name the young Stark girl his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Beside you, Oberyn stiffened. Rage rolled off him in waves. His fists shook, knuckles whitening as he stared at Prince Rhaegar with a look that bordered on murderous. Had looks possessed the power to kill, the prince would have fallen dead from his horse then and there. You caught Oberyn’s forearm before he could do something foolish, your fingers tightening around the hard muscle beneath his sleeve. “Oberyn,” you warned softly. His gaze never left the prince. “Don’t.” At last, he glanced at you.“He is the Prince,” you reminded him. “Think of Elia.”

Princess Elia sat not far from you, though the crush of lords, ladies, and retainers around her made it impossible to see her face. Yet you did not need to. She was heavy with child, weary from her pregnancy, and no woman deserved such a public slight, least of all Elia. You glanced between the prince disappearing down the lists and Elia seated beneath the royal canopy, your stomach twisting.“Stay with my sister,” Oberyn said through gritted teeth. “She needs us now.”

Before you could answer, he was already on his feet. His eyes never left the retreating figure of Prince Rhaegar. “Oberyn—” Before you could stop him, he was already moving.

He vanished into the crowd, stalking after the prince with murder written plainly across his face.

Knowing there was no stopping Oberyn once he had set his mind on something, you let out a quiet sigh and turned your attention to Elia. Together with her ladies, you guided the princess away from the tourney grounds. Elia walked with one hand resting on her swollen belly, her face pale and composed in the way only someone desperately trying not to break could be. You had barely gone halfway back toward her chambers when shouting erupted from the direction of the stables.

A moment later came the unmistakable sound of a furious roar. A voice you knew all too well. Your heart sank. “Seven hells, Oberyn…” The commotion grew louder as servants, guards, and curious nobles rushed toward the source. When you finally reached the stables, the scene before you made your stomach drop. Several Kingsguards were struggling to drag Oberyn away from Prince Rhaegar. You had never seen Oberyn angry before. You had seen him duel, threaten, and fight, but you had never seen him lose control like this.

Blood stained his knuckles. A gash split the skin above one eyebrow, crimson running down the side of his face. Even as the Kingsguard restrained him, he still strained forward like a man determined to tear the prince apart with his bare hands.

Prince Rhaegar looked no better, his silver hair disheveled and his lips and clothing torn from the struggle. Instantly, you stepped between Elia, blocking the sight. “Take the princess away,” you ordered her ladies. “Now.”

As soon as Elia was safely being led from the scene, you pushed through the crowd and hurried toward the struggling men.

“Oberyn!”He didn’t hear you at first, or perhaps he simply didn’t care. “Oberyn!” This time you grabbed hold of his arm, forcing yourself between him and the prince despite the Kingsguards’ protests. His chest heaved with rage. Blood dripped from his split knuckles onto the dirt below.

For a moment, his dark eyes were so full of fury that you weren’t certain he even recognized you. Even so, you did not hesitate. You kept hold of him and steered him away from the chaos, unbothered by the Kingsguard’s empty threats or the low, scandalized murmurs of the watching lords.

Only when the sound of steel and shouting had dulled into a distant echo, you let him go.

Oberyn whirled on you at once.“You shouldn’t interfere,” he snapped, voice still sharp with rage.