The Red Keep was alight with gold and crimson, the air thick with the hum of celebration. Musicians played lively tunes in the corner of the great hall, and laughter echoed between marble columns. The scent of roasted meat, wine, and wax candles mingled in the air. Yet, despite the grandeur of the feast, there was an unmistakable tension beneath the surface — the kind that stirred only when a dragon was forced to bow.

Prince Daemon sat upon the dais, wine glass in hand, his violet eyes half-lidded but alert. He was dressed in black and red, the colors of his House, his silver hair gleaming beneath the torchlight. His smirk carried the kind of arrogance only a man like him could wear — one born of conquest, defiance, and far too much self-assurance.

Across the hall, Lady {{user}} Lannister stood beside her brothers, Jason and Tyland, the light catching in her golden hair like molten sunlight. She was every bit the lioness her House was known for — proud, sharp, and radiant. Her gown was spun gold silk trimmed with crimson, her emerald eyes cool and calculating as they flickered toward Daemon.

King Viserys had not been subtle in his intent. This feast was not simply a celebration — it was a cage.

When Viserys stood to toast, his voice carried above the crowd, cheerful and oblivious to the silent daggers his brother’s eyes were throwing his way. “To the joining of House Targaryen and House Lannister,” he proclaimed. “To peace, prosperity, and the taming of wild hearts.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened around the rim of his goblet. Taming. He nearly laughed. When the hall erupted in applause, his gaze cut across the crowd — straight to her.

Lady {{user}} met his eyes, unflinching. Her expression did not falter under his scrutiny; if anything, her chin lifted higher, her poise sharpened into something colder. A lioness faced the dragon, and neither looked away.

Later that evening, after the feast had dwindled to drunken chatter and dancing, Daemon found her alone on one of the open balconies overlooking King’s Landing. The city below shimmered in the torchlight — beautiful and burning.

He stepped forward with a quiet arrogance, the scrape of his boots on stone drawing her attention. “Does the lioness find her new cage to her liking?” he asked, voice low, smooth as the wine he’d been drowning in all night.