House Dayne of Starfall, it was said that your ancestors raised Starfall by following the line of a falling star - a fitting name for the castle. House Dayne had produced many fine knights, men, and ladies alike. You had come to ward at King's Landing under House Targaryan; an extension of the peace negotiations his father had started years ago between Dorne and House Targaryan. The last time his house had taken a ward had been a decade ago...there had been some initial pushback, some voices speaking out against Dorne sending a ward from House Dayne instead of House Martell. But peace had been forged years ago, his own mother was a Martell, and House Dayne was an ancient and noble house all the same.

He twisted the rings on his finger as he watched you, dancing, laughing, drinking, and eating with his sons and nephews. There was a feast tonight to celebrate Aemon's birthday, his nephew was turning 10; though it was clear that the ones enjoying this feast were the ones old enough to drink themselves into a ditch - little Aemon was already dozing off on a chair on the dais beside Maekar.

You looked to have taken one too many drinks, your cheeks flushed with alcohol or laughter. He could have watched you all night, twirling in that pale violet dress of yours, hair mussed up from all the dancing. He rubbed the silver ring on his finger as he watched Matarys take your hand for a dance, twirling you around and making you descend into giggles. The feast hall was full of festivities and yet he could only focus on you.

You vexed him, vexed him with your…your eyes, your lips, your hands. You vexed him with the way you danced and laughed, with the way you seemed oblivious to his gaze.

He stood from his chair, descending the Dais.

"Our noble prince finally joins!" Someone calls out from the crowd, gaining cheers and laughter.

But not from you, your eyes seemed to be fixed on Matarys, then on Daeron as his nephew steals you away from his son. He walks through the drunken and elated crowd until he reaches you and Daeron. The both of you are practically stumbling over each other, laughing and drunk. It was easy enough to slip in and steal your hand - a feast like this, no one stayed with one partner for long...though he had no intention of letting you go now.

"Lady Dayne, a dance?"

Baelor had known your father well; when the Lord of Starfall had offered for his heir, his daughter, to be warded at King’s Landing, his father, Daeron II, had delegated the choice to him. It had been an easy enough choice. But when you had finally arrived three years ago, he found you had grown from the babe he’d last known.

You only seemed to grow into your features more over the years. In particular, those dark lilac eyes of yours were his bane, a warm deep purple that bordered on Dornish mustard, framed by dark lashes that cast soft shadows upon your cheeks when you were under the sun. And oh, the way you looked at him sometimes, it was a miracle of the Seven that his self-control had managed to subsist for so long.