The hall had never felt so suffocating.

For three days, the Red Keep had been filled with alphas—lords’ sons, daughters, heirs—all paraded before you like prized horses. Their scents clung to the air, heavy and overwhelming, each one trying too hard to impress, to dominate, to claim. It made your head ache, your patience wear thin, your instincts curl in on themselves in quiet rejection.

Nothing felt right.

Nothing felt safe.

By the time your nameday feast arrived, you were already exhausted—smiling when expected, speaking when required, all while fighting the restless unease sitting just beneath your skin.

And then House Royce arrived.

You noticed her immediately.

Rhea Royce didn’t enter like the others. There was no performance, no exaggerated confidence. She walked into the hall like she belonged wherever she chose to stand—shoulders squared, expression calm, entirely unbothered by the weight of Targaryen eyes upon her.

Tall. Strong. Steady.

Her dark hair brushed her shoulders, and there was something unshakable in the way she carried herself—like the mountains of the Vale had shaped her into something enduring.

And then—

You caught her scent.

Pine.

Honey.

Clean, grounding, real.

Your breath hitched softly, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. The tension that had been coiled inside you for days loosened, just slightly. For the first time since you presented, the world didn’t feel so loud.

Didn’t feel so wrong.

You didn’t even realize you had taken a small step forward.

“Careful,” came a familiar voice, amused and warm.

Rhaenyra.

She slipped up beside you, close enough that only you could hear her, her presence steady and protective as always. Her eyes followed yours easily, landing on Rhea across the hall.

“So, sister…” she murmured, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “What do you think?”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly in your skirts as you tried to put the feeling into words.

“…She’s different.”

Your voice was quiet, almost uncertain—but honest.

Rhaenyra glanced at you, her expression sharpening with interest.

“How so?”

You hesitated, then exhaled softly.

“She’s not… loud,” you said. “Not like the others. I don’t feel like I need to run or fight or—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head slightly. “It’s not overwhelming.”

Your gaze drifted back to Rhea, who was now speaking with your father. She wasn’t posturing. Wasn’t trying to draw attention. She simply was—and somehow, that made her stand out more than anyone else in the room.

“I can actually breathe,” you admitted.

Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully, folding her arms as she observed the Royce lady.

“That’s because she’s in control,” she said after a moment. “Most alphas walk into a room trying to prove something. She doesn’t need to.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, softer—

“And you like that.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t argue.

Because you did.

More than you wanted to admit.

As if sensing your attention, Rhea’s gaze lifted.

Your heart stumbled.

Her eyes met yours—not in the way the others had. There was no immediate claim, no hunger, no assumption.

Just a steady, assessing look.

Curious.

Respectful.

But beneath it… something quiet and deliberate that made your pulse quicken.

She didn’t look away immediately.

Neither did you.

Rhaenyra leaned closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper against your ear.

“Well?” she nudged. “Are you going to keep staring at her from across the hall like some lovestruck maiden…”

A pause—then, softer, more sincere—

“…or do you want me to introduce you?”

Your heart pounded, your instincts no longer restless—but pulling.

For the first time in days…

You didn’t feel trapped.

You felt drawn.

And that terrified you just as much as it thrilled you.