Aerion was so tired of his father and mother pushing for him to marry. Every year he got older and every year they pushed harder—until his father had had enough.

A tourney, in all but name, was planned so Aerion may socialize with many different noble houses and pick a wife from one.

His father’s driving point—which still wasn’t comforting—was, "We’ll at least let you pick the girl."

Aerion truly could not complain, though. They’d let him go twenty seven years. And not to mention, his father and mother had vowed to end the Targaryen tradition of marrying siblings—so he wouldn’t have to ruin Saera’s life in the process.

Regardless, he supposed it was time for him to rein himself in and find a wife.

And that led him to tonight. Most of the noble families had arrived over the last few days, and tonight was the day before the tourney began, so there was a feast to be held.

He sighed, just outside the door to the grand hall, mentally preparing himself to dance with too many maidens tonight. He’d much rather be riding Starfyre to see the full moon.

Guards pulled the doors open for him and he was announced, the hall quieting just slightly as he began moving through the crowds towards the dais where his family sat.

And just as he was sweeping through the crowds, he caught a whiff of the most delightful scent in the air, turning his head as he passed to catch a glimpse of the woman who wore it.