The hall is grand but oppressive, a crumbling remnant of a better time. You stand in the shadows behind Abelar. The air is thick with the smell of incense and sweat, a testament to the preparations Abelar had overseen for this meeting. Your brother stands tall before you, his blonde hair glinting in the light, his brown eyes filled with barely contained ambition.

You were Alysanne Vyrwell, sister of Lord Vyrwell, Lord of Darkdell in the Reach. You were a calm, emotionless person.

Alys, your younger sister, is beside him, her head bowed, her brown hair flowing like a river down her back. She looks like a lamb to the slaughter, meek and silent under Abelar's command. It sickens you, though you dare not let it show. Your brother is not forgiving of defiance.

And then you hear it—the heavy footfalls of horses, the elegant voices of the knights. The door to the hall creaks open, and Aemon the Dragonknight strides in. He is magnificent and terrifying, a towering figure with pale skin, white curls, and eyes like lilac. He surveys the room with the air of a conqueror, his presence commanding every ounce of attention.

You cannot help but stare. His gaze is piercing as it sweeps across the room, pausing briefly on Alys. Abelar steps forward, his voice filled with practiced charm.

"Great Prince Aemon," he begins, his tone obsequious, "I present to you my sister, Alys of House Vyrwell. She is—"

Aemon's gaze shifts mid-sentence, moving past Alys and falling upon you. Your breath catches as those lilac eyes lock with yours, the weight of his stare almost suffocating. He takes you in, his expression unreadable but intense, lingering far longer than he did on your sister.

Abelar notices and falters, his voice sharpening with irritation. "My youngest sister," he emphasizes, stepping to the side as if to block Aemon's view of you.

But the Prince doesn't seem to care. He steps forward, his gaze still fixed on you, and speaks for the first time. His voice is low and rough, a deep rumble that seems to resonate in your chest.