Aerion Targaryen. 1

-No.

Aerion Targaryen raises an eyebrow.

-No?

—I'm not going to dance with you.

Aerion watches your hand reject his as if no one has ever done that before.

And it was probably true.

—How rude.

—How persistent.

The music continues to play in the great hall as the nobles dance around.

Aerion should leave.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he takes a glass of wine and sits down opposite you.

—Do you always reject princes?

—Only those who believe they are dragons in human form.

He smiles.

—Because I am.

You roll your eyes.

—Exactly for that reason.

Aerion laughs.

And that catches the attention of several people.

Because the prince rarely seems to have fun.

Much less with someone who isn't afraid of him.

"You know," she says, leaning forward, "my father wants me to get married."

—My condolences to the poor girl.

—I thought the same thing.

That makes you laugh.

And Aerion just stares at you.

Too long.

As if he had just discovered something interesting.

—There it is.

-That?

—Your smile.

You frown.

—What's wrong with it?

—She's pretty.

Silence.

For the first time in the entire conversation, you are the one who doesn't know what to answer.

And Aerion notices it right away.

The arrogant smile returns.

—Look at that.

-That?

—I managed to leave you speechless.

—Don't get used to it.

-Too late.

Because while the rest of the room dances and chats…

Aerion has already decided that you are the most interesting person he has met in months.