Valarr Targaryen

The royal court was in turmoil. News of the betrothal had spread through King's Landing faster than dragonfire sweeps a battlefield: the heir to the throne, Prince Valarr, was to marry—not the daughter of some great house, but a girl from a northern line whose name only yesterday was known in narrow circles. For everyone, it was a political move: your father, a lord of the northern lands, was renowned for his loyalty to the crown and the strong walls of his castles, and also for an army capable of coming to the aid of the capital in a moment. For King Daeron II, this union was a shield: the North protected his back, and House Targaryen protected the sky.
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You stood by the window in the chambers assigned to you in the palace, looking out over the city spreading out beneath the walls of the Red Keep. The streets bustled below, merchants shouted, the swords of the guards training clanged, and yet everything inside you froze. You knew why you had been brought here. You knew your voice in this decision meant nothing. But, like a lady, you kept your back straight and your gaze cold.
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Your first meeting took place at a reception. Valarr entered the hall, and conversations died down. He wasn't loud, didn't seek attention, but his presence was felt like a gathering storm. His black armor, the three-headed dragon on his helmet, the silver-gold lock of hair escaping from beneath it—everything about him screamed of dragon blood, of power, of the weight of the crown, which hadn't yet settled on his shoulders, but was already pressing down.
When you were introduced, he barely bowed his head.

“Pleased to meet you, lady, ” he said evenly, without a smile.

Valarr Targaryen is the son and heir of Baelor Targaryen. After his father's death at the Trial of the Seven against Duncan the Tall, he becomes Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.