Jace knew the corridors of the Red Keep better than most. He had spent years exploring them, finding the hidden pathways, learning the routes the guards patrolled, and memorizing the times they changed shifts. Sneaking out of his room was a simple matter when you knew exactly when to move and where to go.
Why would the heir to the Iron Throne need to sneak out of his own chambers? The answer was simple. If he stayed, he would be summoned for breakfast with his mother, his grandfather, or one of the many lords vying for his attention. He had no patience for tedious conversation over roasted fruit and honeyed bread. He had things to do—things far more important than sitting through another dull morning filled with thinly veiled lectures and false pleasantries.
He needed to ride. He had spent days learning from Aemon in his dreams, but dreams were just that—dreams. If he didn't put those lessons into practice in the waking world, then they meant nothing. He needed to be in the saddle, he needed to feel the weight of the lance, he needed to train properly. The joust was coming, and if he planned to win, he had no time to waste.
He also needed to check on the people in his district. He had stopped keeping track of exactly how many there were, but the number had long since passed a hundred. Families, workers, orphans—people who had nowhere else to go, people he had given shelter and purpose. He couldn't leave them unattended. He had promised them work, protection, stability. If he let that slip for even a moment, it would all come crumbling down.
So he moved quietly through the halls, slipping through a side corridor, his steps careful, his breathing steady. He wasn't at his best. His ribs still ached from the beating he had taken, his legs were stiff from too many nights spent in the dream, and his body felt like it had been wrung out like a damp cloth. But he could still move, still think, still act. That was enough.
Or so he thought.
Just as he was about to reach the staircase leading down to one of the lesser-used exits, a familiar voice called out from behind him.
"Well, well, look who it is."
Jace swore under his breath. He turned to see Edryck walking toward him, a wide grin on his face.
Jace immediately turned back around and started walking the other way.
"Oh, come now, my Prince," Edryck called after him, still grinning. "You know you can't outrun me. Not in your state. It'd be cruel of me to even let you try."
Jace cursed again but slowed his steps. He could already feel the ache in his legs from just a short walk. Running wasn't an option. Not today.
Edryck caught up easily, his grin never faltering. "You're just in time for breakfast," he said cheerfully. "The King himself has invited you to dine with him. I hope you're hungry."
Jace exhaled sharply and shot him a glare. "You're a damn traitor."
Edryck laughed. "Aye, but a well-paid one."
He reached behind him and pulled something out—a wooden walking stick. He held it out to Jace with a raised eyebrow. "Thought you might need this."
Jace scowled and shook his head. "I need to use my legs. That's the only way they'll get better."
Edryck shrugged and, without hesitation, tossed the walking stick out of the nearest open window.
Both of them winced when they heard a distant, angry shout from below.
Edryck cleared his throat and straightened. "Right, well. Let's go then," he said with a sheepish smile.
Jace sighed, resigned to his fate, and followed. As they walked through the halls, Edryck glanced at Jace with a smirk that was far too amused for Jace's liking.
"You left the feast too early last night," Edryck said, shaking his head. "Do you know how many maidens wanted to dance with you? Even a few lords, if you're into that sort of thing."
Jace sighed, already regretting not trying harder to get away from this man.
"Oh, the tragic tale of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon," Edryck continued dramatically. "The youngest knight in history, a hero of songs, slayer of beasts, a great warrior—and yet too shy to dance with a few eager ladies. The heartbreak! The scandal! The smallfolk weep for you."
Jace gave him a look, but Edryck was not deterred.
"You should have seen them. All of them, whispering, watching. 'Where is our noble Prince Jace?' they cried. 'Who shall sweep us off our feet? Who shall spin us around the floor like a true knight of romance?' But alas! He vanished into the night, leaving them in despair."
Jace sighed again, longer this time. "Are you quite finished?"
"I don't know," Edryck said, pretending to ponder. "I could keep going, but I wouldn't want to make you cry, my Prince."
Jace ignored him and pushed forward. "Since I'm going to be occupied this morning, I need you to take care of something for me."
Edryck raised an eyebrow but didn't argue.
"Go to Hugh," Jace continued. "I want a census done on the newcomers. I need a list of names and trades. The sooner we know what they can do, the sooner we can put them to work."
Edryck nodded. "Sounds reasonable."
"The list needs to be thorough. No skipping names, no rounding up numbers. I want proper details."
Edryck sighed heavily, exaggerating the movement as if the weight of responsibility had suddenly crushed him. "Aye, aye, I'll get it done." Then, with a dramatic flourish, he bowed so low it looked like he might fold in half. "Anything else, oh wise and mighty Prince?"
Jace smirked. "Careful bowing so low at your age—you may not get back up again."
Edryck grunted as he straightened, rubbing his back. "Cheeky little shit," he muttered. "I've got more years ahead of me than you know, boy."
Jace just smiled and kept walking. They approached the King's dining hall, where two Kingsguard stood outside.
Before he entered, he turned to Edryck. "I want that list by tonight."
Edryck placed a hand over his heart, looking as serious as possible. "Yes, Ser Knight."
Jace rolled his eyes and stepped inside. Behind him, he could hear Edryck chuckling as he walked away. He walked into the dining hall. His grandfather, King Viserys, sat at the head of the table, already deep in conversation with Otto Hightower. His mother and father were seated further down, with Daemon beside them, calmly eating while watching everything with a passive expresion. Across the table, Queen Alicent sat straight-backed, her expression neutral, though the tension in her shoulders said enough when she her eyes met Jace's.
Aegon lounged in his seat, picking at his food with disinterest drinking wine more than eating, while Aemond sat beside him, stiff and silent, stabbing into his plate a little too forcefully. Helaena and Daella were talking quietly, Luke sitting between them, swinging his legs under the table as he chewed on a piece of bread.
Viserys looked up when Jace entered, setting his cup down. "Ah, there you are, my boy. I was starting to think you'd run off."
Jace forced a polite smile and walked to his seat beside his mother. "Wouldn't want to miss breakfast, Your Grace."
Viserys chuckled. "Well, it's going to be a good day. The Blood Melee begins soon, and I expect it will be quite the spectacle." Jace nodded but said nothing. He already had his plans for the melee, but this wasn't the time to discuss them. As he sat, Rhaenyra immediately reached over, tugging at the fabric of his doublet, straightening it.
"Mother," Jace sighed.
"You look a mess," she muttered, smoothing the fabric before finally letting him be.
Jace turned to her. "Where are grandfather and grandmother?"
"They left early this morning," she said. "Something about needing to make a few purchases for Driftmark. They'll be back in time for the melee."
Jace gave a small nod as a servant placed a plate in front of him, filling his cup with honeyed milk. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he saw the food, immediately picking up his knife and cutting into the eggs and bread. He needed to eat well today. Across the table, Aegon leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink. "I suppose we'll see some real warriors today," he said lazily. "Not just boys playing knight."
Jace ignored him and kept eating.
Aemond, however, was watching him closely. "Are you entering?" he asked, his voice sharp.
Jace met his gaze, chewing before answering. "No."
Aemond tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. He looked almost disappointed that he wasn't entering. Though it wouldn't take a genius to figure out why.
"I'd enter if mother would let me," Aegon said with a smirk, casting a glance at Alicent. "But apparently, it's too dangerous."
"You are not entering," Alicent said firmly without looking up from her plate.
"Because you'd get ripped apart before you even duelled anyone," Daemon said, smirking as he cut into a piece of fruit.
Aegon scowled but didn't argue.
Helaena leaned toward Jace. "You're sure you're not fighting?" she whispered, glancing at him skeptically.
Jace swallowed a bite of bread and sighed. "I already told you, didn't I?"
She hummed, she knew Jace well and while he was honest with her he did often like to twist the meaning of his words.
Luke looked up from his food, eyes wide with excitement. "Are there really going to be wolves and lions and bears?" he asked.
Viserys laughed. "Indeed, my boy. The blood melee is not just a test of skill but of survival."
"That sounds like nonsense," Daella said bluntly, frowning. "Putting beasts in the arena? It's reckless."
Daemon snorted. "That's what makes it entertaining."
Alicent pursed her lips but said nothing.
Luke turned back to Jace, eyes gleaming. "If you were entering, you'd win, right?"
Jace smirked. "If I were entering, of course."
Aegon scoffed but stayed silent.
Jace took another bite of his bread, barely paying attention to the conversation until Viserys spoke again, his voice warm with amusement. "With how well you did in the preliminaries, I'd quite like to see how you fare in the Blood Melee," Viserys said, smiling as he looked at Jace.
The table went silent for a moment.
Jace felt his mother stiffen beside him. Helaena and Daella both turned to glare at the King, their disapproval written plainly on their faces. Even Daemon raised a brow at Viserys' words. Viserys noticed the reactions around him and let out a weak chuckle, waving a hand dismissively. "Of course, I much prefer that you not join in on such a dangerous competition," he added quickly. "You've already proven yourself more than capable."
Rhaenyra let out a quiet huff but said nothing.
Viserys, eager to shift the topic, leaned forward slightly, his expression fond. "You know, Jace, you are quite incredible with a blade, in fact, I don't remember anyone being as skilled as you at your age. Not my father, nor King Jaehaerys himself."
Laenor nodded in agreement. "I certainly wasn't. At eleven, I barely had the strength to hold a longsword properly, let alone fight with one."
Jace said nothing, only continuing to eat as though he weren't the subject of conversation. Across the table, Aegon and Aemond sat quietly, their expressions darkening at the praise being given. Aegon gripped his cup tighter, his knuckles turning white, while Aemond kept his gaze lowered, stabbing at his food a little too forcefully. Alicent cleared her throat, her voice smooth as she interjected, "Aegon and Aemond are both progressing well in their training, aren't they, Ser Criston?" She turned her gaze toward the Kingsguard standing a few paces behind her and the King.
Criston Cole inclined his head. "Indeed, my Queen. Both princes are skilled swordsmen. I have no doubt they'll surpass me by the time they are grown."
Viserys nodded approvingly. "Good, good. Nothing like a bit of healthy competition to push you all to improved," he said with a laugh.
Daemon snorted, shaking his head. "Comparing Aegon and Aemond to Jace is like comparing Caraxes to a horse."
The room went still.
Viserys' smile faltered as his brows drew together in a frown. "Daemon..."
Daemon leaned back in his chair, unbothered. "I'm simply saying what's plain for everyone to see," he said, gesturing lazily toward Jace, who continued to eat as if the conversation didn't involve him. "Jace is a once-in-a-century talent. There likely hasn't been a swordsman of his caliber since Maegor or even the Conqueror himself."
Otto straightened in his seat, his expression impassive. "Come now, Prince Daemon," he said smoothly. "While I admit Prince Jacaerys' display was quite... skilled for his age, comparing him to such legends seems excessive."
Daemon chuckled. "When Maegor was a boy of eleven, he routinely bested squires older than himself. He was large for his age, true, but his skill was evident even then."
Otto arched a brow. "Your point, my prince?"
Daemon smirked. "Jace, at eleven, beat a fully grown man. A trained assassin."
A tense silence followed.
Rhaenyra shifted in her seat but said nothing, she hadn't known it was Jace at the time, she merely thought he was a skilled fighter. Now that she knew it made her wince, the memory of him being hit and nearly dying made her hands shake.
Daemon continued, his tone almost playful. "Granted, a lot of it was luck, and the fool clearly underestimated him, but even so—he won. It was his skill that allowed him to triumph, not luck alone."
Daemon turned his attention back to Otto, his smirk widening. "So tell me, Lord Hand—" he said the title with mock politeness, "—do you truly believe it fair to compare Jace to swordsmen who are so..." His eyes flicked to Aegon and Aemond before he finished, "Average?"
Aegon's grip on his goblet tightened further. Aemond's jaw clenched.
Alicent's lips parted, ready to snap a retort, but before she could, Viserys pushed himself up from his chair.
"Enough," the King commanded, his voice firm. "There will be no more of this. This is a family breakfast, and we are family."
A heavy silence settled over the table.
Daemon met Viserys' gaze for a moment before nodding, shrugging as he reached for his cup. "Very well, brother."
Otto exhaled through his nose, his face unreadable as he inclined his head. "My apologies, Your Grace."
Alicent said nothing, only gripping her fork a little tighter.
Jace continued eating, uninterested in the way tension briefly settled over the table. The arguments, the subtle barbs, the veiled insults between his Uncle, the Hand, and the Queen had become so routine that he could almost predict them before they began. It was a game they played, and no matter how often one side tried to claim victory, the board would always reset the next day. He had no interest in involving himself in yet another pointless dispute, especially not over breakfast.
Viserys, eager to bring the conversation to lighter matters, cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly in his chair, a warm smile tugging at his lips as he sought to shift the subject entirely. "Well," he began, his voice carrying through the room, "it seems the tourney has brought more than just knights and lords seeking glory. We have received quite a number of offers for betrothals from various noble houses. It appears everyone wishes to tie their blood to the crown."
Alicent, who had been silent for much of the discussion, straightened slightly in her seat, her expression shifting from reserved disapproval to something more pleased. A hint of interest glinted in her eyes, her lips twitching at the corners in satisfaction. The matter of betrothals, securing advantageous matches for her children, was something she had always been invested in. A strong marriage was a powerful weapon, and it seemed now was the time to wield it.
Rhaenyra, however, reacted much differently. Her shoulders tensed ever so slightly, her fingers tightening around her cup as she brought it to her lips. The prospect of seeing her sons married off as bargaining chips was not something she welcomed. She had her own plans for her sons, and the thought of Otto Hightower or anyone else deciding their futures for them soured her mood considerably.
Viserys gestured toward Otto, silently instructing him to continue.
The Hand gave a small nod before speaking in his usual tone. "Lord Lannister has put forth his daughter as a match for Prince Aegon."
Aegon barely reacted at first, only offering a slight glance in his mother's direction. But when she turned to him with an expectant look, he scoffed and rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath.
Otto ignored the boy's reaction and continued, his voice steady. "Lord Tyrell has offered his son to Princess Helaena and his daughter to Prince Aemond."
At the mention of her name, Helaena visibly flinched. Her grip on the edge of the table tightened slightly, her posture shrinking inward as if she wished to disappear entirely. She did not speak, did not look up, only lowered her gaze to the untouched food on her plate.
"Lord Baratheon has gone as far as offering all four of his daughters—one for Prince Aegon, one for Prince Aemond, one for Prince Jacaerys, and one for Prince Lucerys."
Viserys let out a laugh, shaking his head with amusement. "The man does not shy away, does he?"
"Clearly not," Alicent muttered, shaking her head in mild exasperation. "It's ridiculous to assume he could claim so many members of the Royal Family."
Laenor, who had been listening quietly up until now, hummed in thought. "One of them could be a good match for Lucerys."
Rhaenyra turned her head sharply toward her husband, her frown deepening in displeasure. "Lucerys already has a match." Her tone left no room for argument. As Lucerys would be the future Lord of Driftmark it was essential to tie the blood of one of Daemon and Laena's daughters to him.
Otto, however, was unbothered by her sharpness. He offered nothing more than a slight smile, one so expertly hidden that it barely qualified as an expression at all. "It seems a waste to betroth Prince Lucerys to a Velaryon when he has the blood of their future lord," he said smoothly, as if the words carried no underlying meaning. But everyone at the table knew better.
Daemon chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair, the smirk on his face unmistakably taunting. "Keeping the bloodline pure has always been a priority for our family," he said, his voice light with mockery. "Not that I would expect you to understand."
Otto did not respond. He had played this game with Daemon before and knew better than to rise to the bait.
Aegon, growing bored of the discussion, exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair. "The Lannister girl is dull. Aemond can have her."
"She'd be a better fit for you then," Aemond shot back without hesitation, his voice sharp and laced with irritation.
"Aemond," Alicent snapped, her voice firm with reprimand. "You will not speak to your brother that way."
Jace, who had remained mostly silent throughout the discussion, set his cup down and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin before finally speaking. "The Baratheon girls are nice," he said, as if he were actually considering it. "But I'm not interested in them." His eyes flickered toward Helaena, and without hesitation, he continued, "Helaena will be my betrothed."
The room fell into utter silence.
Helaena's face turned red almost instantly, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress as she avoided everyone's gaze. Across from her, Daella lowered her eyes, her expression unreadable, though there was an unmistakable stiffness in her posture. Rhaenyra tensed beside Jace, and Alicent's fingers curled against the armrest of her chair, her expression betraying nothing, though the barely-contained fury in her eyes was evident.
Otto, as calm as ever, met Jace's gaze evenly. "I'm afraid such a decision lies with the King and Queen."
Jace did not falter. "Grandfather sees the benefits of such a match and will not decline it." His tone was confident, his expression unwavering. But the certainty in his voice wavered ever so slightly when his eyes met Viserys'.
The King was no longer smiling.
Viserys let out a slow exhale and pushed himself up from his seat, his hands resting against the edge of the table. "I believe this breakfast is over," he announced. "Everyone, apart from Otto and Jace, clear the room."
Rhaenyra's frown deepened, her hands pressing against the table as she leaned forward slightly. "As his mother, I should be here."
Daemon, who had been content to sit back and enjoy the show, tilted his head slightly before speaking. "And as his uncle, I'd quite like to stay as well."
Even Helaena, quiet as she often was, hesitated before looking toward her father. "I—"
"This is a command from your King," Viserys said, his tone shifting from tired patience to firm authority.
Silence followed.
Rhaenyra turned to Jace, her expression filled with concern, though she did not speak. He met her eyes and gave her a slight nod, a quiet reassurance that he could handle whatever was about to happen. After a moment, she exhaled and pushed herself to her feet, though it was clear she was reluctant to leave.
One by one, the others followed, though some took longer than others.
Daemon was the last to rise, his gaze lingering on Viserys for a long moment before he let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the doors, his pace slow, deliberate, unwilling to show any rush.
The heavy doors shut behind them.
Only Jace, Viserys, and Otto remained.
Jace sat rigidly in his chair, his fingers curling into the fabric of his breeches as silence stretched across the chamber. He waited, his patience wearing thin with every passing moment. His grandfather sat across from him, looking more tired than usual, his fingers lightly drumming against the arm of his chair. Otto sat beside him, his expression unreadable. Neither seemed eager to speak first.
Jace exhaled sharply through his nose and finally broke the silence. "What is this about?" His tone was edged with irritation. "I thought we had already come to an agreement about the benefits of a match between myself and Helaena."
Viserys sighed, shifting slightly in his chair as if trying to find the right words, but before he could speak, Otto leaned forward and answered instead. "That may have been the case before," he said evenly, "but other talks have complicated matters."
Jace scoffed. "Then uncomplicate it."
Viserys lifted his cup and took a slow sip, his eyes lingering on Jace as if considering how best to proceed. "Prince Qoren Martell has expressed interest in a betrothal between you and his daughter, the Princess of Dorne."
Jace stared at him for a moment before laughing, a sharp, humorless sound. "No." His response was immediate. "I have no interest in marrying the Dornish girl."
Viserys frowned but remained patient. "Jacaerys, I understand your reluctance, but this is a match that—"
"No," Jace interrupted again, more firmly this time. "I don't care what benefits you think it brings. I'm not marrying her."
Viserys sighed again, leaning back in his chair and drinking deeply from his cup, as if steeling himself.
Otto, who had remained silent as Viserys spoke, now leaned forward again, his hands folding neatly on the table. "You are a smart boy," he said, his voice calm, calculated. "You should already understand the situation you are in."
Jace turned his head and fixed Otto with a cold stare. "Enlighten me." His voice was mocking.
Otto did not rise to the bait. "A marriage to what will be the ruling Princess of Dorne could pave the way for something that not even Aegon the Conqueror could achieve," he stated plainly. "With one marriage, you could bring Dorne fully into the Seven Kingdoms. No war, no bloodshed—just a simple wedding."
Jace clenched his jaw, but Otto continued before he could interject.
"Helaena, on the other hand, is to be matched with a Tyrell," Otto went on, his voice never losing its measured tone. "Such a match would secure the grain supply necessary to sustain Dorne, which, much like the North, often finds itself struggling with food shortages. Especially now, with the unrest in the Stepstones, securing a steady supply of resources is paramount."
Jace remained silent, but the displeasure was evident in the tightness of his expression.
Otto did not stop. "Now, compare that to a marriage between you and Helaena," he said smoothly. "While true, it would unite the two branches of your family, that is all it would accomplish. There is no greater political gain to be had from such a match beyond resolving a schism that, in truth, can be healed in many other ways." He tilted his head slightly. "To be blunt, you and Helaena offer nothing to the realm should you wed. But should you marry the Dornish Princess, you could unite all of Westeros under one rule for the first time in history."
Jace sat rigid in his seat, his hands curling into fists in his lap, his anger boiling beneath his skin.
Viserys, attempting to soften the moment, leaned forward slightly, his tone kinder. "The Princess of Dorne is lovely," he offered. "Her beauty is said to be unmatched, even among the greatest ladies of the realm."
Jace lifted his head, meeting his grandfather's gaze with a cold stare. "She is not Helaena." His voice was sharp. "That is the only person I will marry. If not her, then no one."
Otto opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, Viserys slammed his cup down against the table, the force of it echoing through the chamber. Jace flinched slightly, his eyes widening. His grandfather rarely showed anger, but now it was plain on his face. "You are the future King of Westeros," Viserys said, his voice firm, his eyes locked onto Jace. "That is a duty more than it is a luxury. You have a responsibility to your subjects, and more often than not, you will not get what you want." His tone was heavy with finality. "Despite how mature you believe yourself to be, it is clear you are still a child."
Jace's hands clenched tighter in his lap.
Viserys took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly as he composed himself. "If the talks go well, then by the end of this tournament, you will be betrothed to the Dornish Princess." Jace opened his mouth to argue, but before he could get a word out, Viserys lifted a hand, stopping him. "I am your grandfather," he said, his voice still firm, "but right now, I am your King. And that is my command. Neither you nor your mother will overrule me on this."
He exhaled, shaking his head. "This is beyond your wants and needs, Jacaerys. This is about strengthening the kingdom and our family."
Silence settled over the chamber, heavy and suffocating. Jace sat still, his jaw tight, his nails digging into his palms. The anger in his chest burned hot, but he knew better than to fight further. After a long moment, he inhaled sharply and pushed himself to his feet, his voice barely concealing his fury. "May I leave?"
Viserys nodded once, dismissing him with a tired wave of his hand.
Jace turned on his heel without another word and strode toward the doors, his anger building with every step. He did not stop walking, did not look back, did not acknowledge the guards as he passed them. He only had one destination in mind.
The training yard.
...
Jace swung his training sword at the dummy with all the force he could muster, the wooden blade slamming into the post with a dull thud. His muscles ached, his wounds still healing from the melee days prior, but he ignored the pain. He needed to hit something, needed to feel the strain in his arms and legs, needed to let out the frustration burning inside of him.
Another strike. He cursed Otto Hightower. Another strike. He cursed Princess Aliandra. Another strike. He cursed the King himself.
His arms burned with each blow, sweat dripping from his brow, but he did not stop. He should have known better than to think he would ever be allowed to make his own choices. He should have seen this coming. He was not a man, not truly. He was a pawn to be moved and sacrificed at their whim. His next strike was too hard, too reckless. He missed entirely, the weight of the sword pulling him forward as his legs buckled beneath him. He hit the ground hard, his breath leaving him in a sharp gasp as pain shot through his body. He lay there, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his limbs trembling from exertion.
Maybe he was overreacting, the thought did occur to him. But he thought that him and his Grandfather had a deal, that they'd come to an understanding and now he's being told that he's changed his mind, and all for some desert kingdom that brings no real worth to them.
He felt cheated, and it only stung worse that it was his own family that had been responsible for it.
He lay on the ground only lifting a hand to wipe his brow of the sweat that had accumulated. He barely noticed the servant approaching until she spoke. "Are you well, my prince?"
Jace clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe through the frustration. "I'm fine." He waved a hand dismissively without looking at her.
She hesitated for a moment before bowing and stepping back. He could still feel her lingering gaze on him, but he ignored it, focusing instead on regaining control of his breath. He needed to get up, needed to—
"Are you alright?"
Jace snapped his head up, irritation flaring again. "I said I'm—" He stopped mid-sentence, realizing the voice was not the servant's.
It was one of the Baratheon daughters. Maris, if he remembered correctly.
His lips pressed together in frustration at himself. He had not meant to snap at her.
He pushed himself up slowly, wincing as his body protested the movement. His legs felt like lead, his arms sluggish, but he forced himself to stand tall. He exhaled through his nose, steadying himself before he bowed his head slightly. "I apologize, Lady Maris. I thought you were someone else, but that does not excuse my behavior."
Maris blinked, a light blush dusting her cheeks as she waved her hands slightly. "Oh—it's perfectly fine. I just saw you on the ground and wanted to see if you were alright."
Jace studied her for a moment before offering her a small smile. "Thank you for your concern." He paused, considering something before nodding. "Would you care to join me for a refreshment as an apology?"
Her eyes widened slightly, but she quickly nodded. "Of course, my prince."
Jace led her to a shaded spot in the training yard, waving over a servant to bring refreshments. They sat on the stone bench as a tray was set before them with chilled water and small fruits. Maris took a sip of her drink while Jace leaned back, tilting his head slightly as he regarded her.
"Why are you not with your sisters?" he asked.
She hesitated for a moment before looking down at her hands. "They are with suitors," she said, her tone carefully neutral.
Jace understood immediately. She had no suitors.
He smiled at her. "Their loss."
Maris blinked, then let out a soft laugh. "You're kind to say so, but I'm smart enough to know I'm not as comely as my sisters."
Jace shrugged. "Then you should be smart enough to know that a good wife is more intelligent than she is comely."
Maris giggled, a slight blush returning to her cheeks.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, drinking and eating as the heat of the day pressed down around them. The weight of his earlier frustration had lessened, but it still sat in the back of his mind, gnawing at him.
Maris hesitated before speaking again, her voice softer this time. "If you don't mind me asking... why were you so angry before?"
Jace tensed slightly. He did not know if he should tell her, did not know if it would be right to burden her with it. He exhaled through his nose. "I'm not sure I should speak of it," he admitted. "The topic may upset you more than me."
Maris shook her head. "You've been kind to me since I arrived here. It would only be right for me to provide an ear for you now, regardless of my personal feelings."
Jace looked at her, studying her expression. She was sincere. He smiled faintly and nodded. "I appreciate that."
He leaned forward, running a hand through his damp hair before sighing. "I am being forced to marry the Dornish Princess."
Maris' expression flickered with something unreadable, but she quickly composed herself, nodding slowly. "Princess Aliandra," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "She is quite fun and very beautiful. You could do much worse."
Jace scoffed. "I know that." He exhaled sharply. "But I want to marry Helaena."
Maris' eyebrows lifted slightly. "The princess?"
Jace nodded.
He leaned back against the bench, his hands tightening slightly around his cup. "The King and Otto Hightower told me I have nothing to offer the crown," he said, his voice bitter. "That my marriage to Helaena brings no real benefit. That my only value is in securing Dorne."
Maris was silent for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. Then she smiled slightly. "If you have nothing to offer," she said, "then bring something to the table. Make it so the King cannot refuse you."
Jace chuckled, shaking his head. "I doubt I can bring something worth more than Dorne."
Maris tilted her head, her smile brightening. "You survived Valyria and are the youngest knight in history. If anyone can do it, I believe you can."
Jace looked at her, meeting her eyes for a long moment. Then, slowly, a small smile formed on his lips.
"Thank you," he said.
Jace leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose as he studied Maris."I've enjoyed this conversation," he said finally, setting his cup aside. "You've given me a lot to think about."
Maris sat a little straighter at his words, her expression unreadable for a moment before she smiled, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I'm glad," she said softly.
Jace watched her for a moment before nodding to himself. "Will you join me in the royal box for the blood melee later today?"
Maris' lips parted slightly, her eyes widening in surprise. Her fingers curled slightly against her skirts as she hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. "I—yes, I would be honored."
Jace could see the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, how her fingers twitched as if unsure what to do with themselves. He had not meant to catch her off guard, but could see the invitation had left her shaken.
"Good," he said simply.
A small silence settled between them, not uncomfortable but lingering. Finally, Jace sighed, standing up and stretching his arms slightly. "I'd like to spend more time with you," he admitted, looking down at her. "But I have things that need doing."
Maris nodded, standing as well, though her hands remained clasped in front of her. "Of course, my prince."
Jace stepped closer and took her hand, lifting it to his lips. He pressed a chaste kiss against the back of it before meeting her eyes. "I will see you later, Maris," he said.
Her breath hitched slightly at the use of her name, and her fingers trembled just a little as he released them. "I—I look forward to it."
(AN: So Jace is going to be betrothed to the Princess of Dorne, potentially bringing it into the Seven Kingdoms. But what about our girl Helaena is she destined to marry Aegon or will she Marry some random Tyrell OC that I make up while on the toilet, or maybe I'll kill her so Jace can achieve Super Saiyan. Who knows man. I'm just saying the author as a preference for Dornish women. By author I mean me... I like them. Though if you read my other fics I also like blondes and redheads, tbh I just like women in general. Anyone please. Anyway hope you enjoyed the chapter.
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