"My sister has been watching you," he said, quite sudden in his broaching of the matter. Lyanna held back the desire to glance towards said sister and confirm his words. What good would that do when she felt the stare even as she was? "Rather intently, I must add."

"Might be she fears for Your Grace," she offered with ease. "Might be she think the choice of company strange." Benjen had been drawn away to a small group of young men. Lyanna had known to expect trouble when the Prince declined to go with him. It was only natural that they should stare at the two of them.

"An interesting theory," Daeron allowed, one hand rising as if to dismiss it altogether nonetheless, "but my sister is well aware that I keep only the best of companies. Nay, likely she wonders why I have not yet caused some mischief."

"Do you intend to?" Lyanna shot back, unable to help herself. At his slight surprise she laughed. "Cause mischief, Your Grace?" He was pretending not to understand her she reckoned. All the same, for it was pleasant to spar with him.

"Time spent is not well spent if one is not causing mischief," the Prince addressed her concern, tipping his cup forth to drain some of its contents. "I never was an advocate for wasting time." These words seemed to be more than anything addressed to himself. He sighed and looked away from his cup towards her face. "I do have redeeming qualities though, my lady."

Men had tried to enter her good graces before. It was just that no one had been quite so candid about the matter. "I do not doubt it." His cast, strangely put together in serious contemplation mellowed some. "Truly."

"You lie, my lady. But 'tis a pretty lie. I will not hold a grudge." Inclining his cup towards her, Daeron offered a sharp little grin. Lyanna was content to nod. "If you were willing, I should like your next dance." Again she answered with no words.

So Daeron stood and offered his arm, but instead of leading her to where the others danced, he swept her upon the path towards the King's table. Cold sweat broke out, drenching the back of her neck even as she plastered a serene smile to her face. True to form, he was up to some sort of mischief and Lyanna was not quite certain his redeeming qualities would be enough to bridge whatever gap he meant to tear, be it with her or with his kin. Yet what could she do.

They progress attracted more than one stare. Lyanna would have looked around brazenly had she a drop more of wine in her blood. As it was, she hesitated between pretending to be a wilting bloom or a remote island. Before she could decide upon either, Daeron had brought them to a standstill, his hand coming to cover hers in an almost paternal gesture, made all the more odd when considering he was the younger of them.

Eyes not unlike his brother's, but with a distinct coldness, the eldest Prince held her stare as soon as she gathered enough courage to look properly upon the royal family. He cocked his head to the side, as if confused by his brother's actions. Yet his stare held hers, not Daeron's. And what a stare it was. She'd heard it said before that some eyes burned into another's soul. What she was experiencing must have been a form of it. A form only for she did not burn. She very near shivered at the awareness in his gaze, barely holding back from checking the beating of her own heart for fear it has frosted over under his eyes.

She'd never been looked at in such a manner before. And Lyanna was not entirely certain it pleased her.

"And who is this, Daeron?" a young female questioned, her silver mane marking her the King's daughter.

"Shaena for shame!" her brother cried out good-naturedly. "I have spoken to you of Lady Lyanna Stark before. What a poor job I must have done for you not to recognise her at once." With a mournful glare of artful exaggeration, Daeron clasped her hands with fervour. "My lady, I assure you, I am not usually this negligent."

She managed to bite the inside of her cheek hard enough to keep from laughing. "I understand, Your Grace," she offered, rather certain amusement danced in her stare. She made her bows and answered a few questions thrown her way, eyes stabbing at the oldest of the King's children every now and again.

His gaze was unfocused. Startled at her own realisation, Lyanna very nearly stumbled backwards. She tried to shake the thought away but the more she stood there, the more apparent it became. Daeron was already hurtling down his path before she could stop him.

"My my, sister, how well you look. As if you were in need of a twirl." It seemed to be a code of theirs for though she rolled her eyes, Shaena Targaryen jumped down from her perch, hand already in his. Lyanna contemplated reminding Daeron he'd promised her the dance. But when she did not speak the words, Daeron gasped himself and turned towards her. "My ladies, I do apologise."

That snapped Rhaegar out of whatever stupor he'd slid into previously. His gaze was no more focused, but Lyanna suspected he was making an effort despite that. Daeron explained right away. "I seem to have made a muddle of it. Dearest brother, I pray you, help me out. There are two lovely ladies to dance with, but only one of me. And my mouth has run before my mind again."

She was the tension and for a split-moment thought he might refuse. It might cause a stir, a few laughs and pointed fingers. It would certainly be considered a breach of etiquette, but it was naught any of them could not survive. Lyanna prepared herself, lowering her gaze to hide a potentially telling reaction. But the refusal never came.

"My lady, would you care for a dance?" There was no warmth in his question, none of his brother's easy manner or friendliness. Did he disapprove? The innocuous suspicion took root until Lyanna could not dislodge it. And yet he had offered.

"If Your Grace does not mind, I need a moment." She searched her mind for an excuse. "The heat, you see," Lyanna trailed off. She herself did not see, but she hoped her lie would not be questioned.

"I daresay, it's a deal warmer than what you are used to, my lady," the heir to the throne allowed. "Sit by me then." She took the seat to left and tried to make as if no one stared. A servant filled Shaena's cup, clearly expecting she would drink from it. While she scrambled for any subject she might pose for longer conversation, the man at her side sighed. "Do you find my brother than agreeable of a partner?"

Starting, Lyanna glanced at him. "Your Grace?"

"You were staring." And he could make it out? Lyanna looked ahead doubtfully. At once she perceived Daeron in her line of sight and understood the question. She smothered a smile which threatened to curl her lips.

"I am staring," she corrected. "In my defence, Your Grace, your brother is an accomplished dancer. And Her Grace matches him perfectly. I was wondering how much of it was talent and how much hours spent attaining it."

"So you would rather dance with my brother." She struggled to catch his meaning for precisely a couple of heartbeats before giving up.

"I would rather not dance at all, if I could help it. But I have learned that at times what one wishes and what one needs are two very different things." Pleased with her witticism Lyanna tore her gaze away from Daeron. "If Your Grace insists upon a dance, I cannot rightly protest."

"But you would rather," he trailed off as if in invitation.

"I would rather we took some air." The doors to the hall were open and she had seen a number of individuals, even couples, going without. "If Your Grace is amenable."

He nodded. Lyanna waited for him to offer his arm before she stood at his side, wondering if she ought to steer them clear of obstacles or simply wait. But the Prince, as soon as he had her within grasp, began making his way in a straight line, seemingly expecting that the rest of the world would protect him. And it very nearly did.

Lyanna nudged him gently as a knight whose name she did not know stumbled towards them. The danger was sidestepped with minimal effort and some nervousness on her part. But in the end they made it to the hallway and from there into the gardens. She breathed out in relief, instinct prompting her to release the arm she was still holding with some force. A blush stole over her cheeks at the realisation.

In the sanctuary of the dimly lit gardens, Lyanna felt as if there was naught to fear. Until the Prince spoke that was. "Why did you aid me?" The question bounced off of her with staggering force. She'd not expected him to mention it.

To be honest or not to be honest. Lyanna pondered the question for a moment. "In truth, Your Grace, I know not. You were there, is all."

"And my mere presence warrants such a reaction." It was disbelief that tinged his words, not the annoyance she'd expected. "Is that what you occupy your time with, my lady, aiding those you perceive to be in trouble?"

Colouring at his tone, she cleared her throat gently. "I presumed, Your Grace, and if I was out of line, I offer my apologies. I did not mean to make anyone feel inadequate." Least of all herself. She supposed it was a lesson she should have learned. Not all wounded dogs would thank her for the aid, some would rather growl at her.

Something shifted in his expression. Tension eased ever so slowly. "Apologies," he offered after a brief silence. "I fear I have taken my annoyance out on you, my lady, when you were least deserving of it. And I do thank you for the aid."

Her own posture eased. "Is it," she hesitated as he stared at her mercilessly, "any better now?" It was no concern of hers. He would think she'd taken a fancy to him, Lyanna chided herself for asking a mere half a heartbeat later. "Your sight." Her foolish mouth would not stop talking. She had a mind to stuff it with bread when she reached the table once more. It would be no less than it deserved.

The man blinked. "Much better." They remained two statues in the gardens for a little while. "How did you know?"

"Your gaze," she said simply, shrugging when he prodded for a lengthier answer. "It was unfocused."

"Most would suppose me beset by melancholy," he chuckled, apparently finding some amusement in the situation. Better that one of then could then.

"I've no doubt, Your Grace, that you use their misconception to the fullest advantage." At that his smile widened some, a sliver truly.

"There is no use to it otherwise. My brother would tell you the very same, I assure you." His innocent look did not fool her. The man was fishing for a reaction. Her worry was how best to phrase it.

"His Grace is fortunate in his abilities then." There, that ought to say naught at all about how she felt. Still, she itched to speak more. If she bit her tongue too hard there would be blood. Lyanna wrinkled her nose.

"Are all Starks like you, Lady Lyanna?" he asked, the half-jest prompting a slight smile from her.

"Considerate, Your Grace?" she returned without fear of repercussions.

"Bold, infuriating and unrelenting," he clarified, expression melting back into a mask of neutrality. Two could play the game.

"To the last," Lyanna answered with the same calm expression. "Are all Targaryens like you, Your Grace?" She'd meant it as a jest of her own, but by the tightening of his lips, her partner did not see it as such.

"Nay. To be sure, some of us are," he paused briefly, "sane, dare I say."

"Your Grace, there you are," a voice interrupted them. Lyanna flinched both at the sight of the Dornish Princess and at Rhaegar Targaryen's relief.