The cold morning air swept across the cliffs of Dragonstone, carrying the distant cries of dragons overhead. Below, the training yard echoed with the sharp thunk of a crossbow bolt striking its target.

You lowered the weapon with a quiet sigh.

"Still an inch too far to the right," you muttered.

"You're being too hard on yourself."

The voice alone was enough to make your heart race.

You turned, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face.

"Jace."

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon stood at the entrance of the yard, dressed in dark riding leathers, silver hair tousled by the sea wind.

"I thought you were in the council chamber."

"I was." He walked toward you with a grin. "But I found myself thinking of someone else instead."

You laughed softly, lowering the crossbow.

"You abandoned a war council?"

"I slipped away for a few moments." He shrugged. "The realm can survive without me for a little while."

"And if your mother notices?"

"Then she'll know exactly where I went."

Heat crept into your cheeks.

Jace stopped only a step away, close enough that you could catch the familiar scent of leather, smoke, and the sea clinging to him.

"You've been avoiding me."

"I have not."

"You have."

"I've been training."

"You've been training from sunrise until sunset."

His smile faded into something gentler.

"I've missed you."

The words settled between you like a whisper.

You reached for his hand without thinking, your fingers naturally slipping between his.

"I've missed you too."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering there.

"You know," he said quietly, "everyone keeps reminding me why our betrothal is important. They speak of alliances... of blood... of strengthening our claim."

A small smile tugged at his lips.

"They never realize none of that is why I wanted it."

Your breath caught.

"What is the reason?"

He looked at you as though there wasn't another soul in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Because it's you."

Silence fell around you.

Not awkward.

Comfortable.

The kind only shared between two people who had long since fallen in love.

"I've loved you for longer than I can remember," he admitted. "Long before anyone announced we would marry. If they had chosen another bride for me..." He shook his head. "I would've hated every moment of it."

You laughed quietly through the warmth blooming in your chest.

"You'd make a terrible political prince."

"I would."

"And a stubborn husband."

"The most stubborn."

You smiled.

"I suppose I'll have to keep you in line."

"I'd happily spend the rest of my life letting you try."

Before you could answer, he gently lifted your chin with two fingers.

"May I?"

You nodded.

His lips met yours in a slow, tender kiss—soft enough to make the rest of the world disappear.

For just a heartbeat, there was no war.

No Greens.

No Blacks.

No grief over Princess Rhaenys or Meleys.

Only the warmth of his hand against your cheek, the sea breeze around you, and the quiet promise that no matter what awaited them, they would face it together.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

"I cannot wait to call you my wife."

Your smile was brighter than the morning sun.

"And I cannot wait to become yours."