The heavy oak door of the guest chamber slammed shut behind me, sealing out the chatter of Lord Ashford’s servants, but not the burning rage in my chest. I ripped off my cloak, throwing it onto a chair, my gaze finding yours across the room.

"That spineless, arrogant whelp," I growled, my voice shaking with restrained fury. "Do you know what he has done? Aerion has demanded a Trial of Seven."

I paced, the adrenaline making my breath shallow. "He saw that hedge knight, that flea-ridden hedge knight who dared lay hands on Daeron, and he flinched. He saw the size of him and chose to hide behind six other men rather than face the oaf one-on-one. A Trial of Seven! The gods damn him to the seven hells, I have raised a craven, not a prince."

I stopped and looked at you, needing you to understand the depth of my humiliation. "He claims it is for show, to demonstrate Targaryen power to the lords gathered here. He tells me it is because of the insult to his brother. But I know the truth, and I see the sneers already beginning among the lords. He is afraid to lose, so he drags the reputation of our house through the mud, requiring a spectacle because he cannot win his own battles."

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "I am forced to respect it. By the laws of the realm, I cannot deny his demand for a Seven. But make no mistake, it disgusts me. To fight for your honor is one thing, but to demand a trial of seven because you are afraid of a single hedge knight? It is a fucking coward’s move. May the Stranger bloody take him for this humiliation." I looked away, staring into the hearth fire, the shame burning hotter than the flames. "By all that is holy, he has embarrassed me for the last time."