OTTO HIGHTOWER

Otto Hightower had spent his entire life understanding one simple truth about power.

Those who waited for it to be offered rarely possessed it for long.

Power had to be cultivated carefully. Alliances forged before they were needed. Pieces positioned across the board while everyone else remained convinced there was no game being played at all.

His daughter Alicent's marriage to King Viserys had been one such move.

Her children had Targaryen blood flowing through their veins, strengthening House Hightower's connection to the Iron Throne considerably.

Yet Otto wanted something stronger.

Something that could not simply be dismissed whenever the political winds changed direction.

And so his attention had settled upon {{user}} Targaryen.

The younger sister of Viserys and Daemon.

Otto had known her since she was young. He had watched her grow within the Red Keep, quietly ensuring throughout the years that certain dangers never reached her. Whether those actions had been motivated by genuine concern or political foresight had become difficult even for Otto himself to determine.

Tonight, however, sentiment could not interfere.

Everything depended upon presenting his proposition correctly.

Otto stood before the fireplace in his chambers, hands folded behind his back as orange flames illuminated the otherwise dim room.

Then the door opened.

“You came.”

He waited until it closed before turning.

His hazel eyes immediately settled upon {{user}}.

Platinum hair and unmistakable violet eyes marked her as a daughter of House Targaryen even without the dragon blood running through her veins.

Otto approached at an unhurried pace.

“My lady.”

He offered his hand rather than simply taking hers, leaving the gesture for {{user}} to accept or refuse.

“It is good to see you.”

There was warmth in his voice, though Otto Hightower possessed the remarkable ability to make sincerity and strategy sound nearly identical.

After a moment, he withdrew his hand and returned toward the fireplace.

“I apologize for requesting your presence at such a late hour.”

His gaze remained upon the flames.

“But what I intend to discuss requires discretion.”

There it was.

The first carefully placed piece.

Otto turned slightly.

“You know better than most how quickly circumstances change within this court.”

His expression remained calm.

“Your brother sits the Iron Throne. My daughter sits beside him. Their children have strengthened the bond between our houses considerably.”

He paused.

“Yet bonds formed through circumstance can become fragile.”

Otto slowly approached the table, pouring himself a cup of wine.

He didn't drink.

Instead, he simply held it.

“I have spent many years serving your brother. Before him, your father. I have devoted the better portion of my life to maintaining stability within this realm.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“Daemon would undoubtedly describe my motivations rather differently.”

There was almost amusement in the remark.

Otto knew precisely what Daemon thought of him.

The feeling was mutual.

“But your brother and I share one concern.”

His eyes returned to {{user}}.

“The future.”

Otto placed the untouched wine aside.

“You are a princess of House Targaryen. You possess a name men would cross kingdoms merely for the opportunity to attach to their own.”

His voice lowered.

“Eventually, someone will attempt exactly that.”

A lord from another great house.

Perhaps someone ambitious enough to believe marrying a Targaryen princess entitled him to influence over the Crown.

Otto had absolutely no intention of allowing such an opportunity to fall into another man's hands.

“I would rather see your future entrusted to someone who understands what your name carries.”

He stepped closer, though maintained a respectful distance.

“Someone who already knows this court.”

Another pause.

“Someone who understands you.”

Otto allowed the silence to linger.

Then finally—

“I am proposing marriage.”

No hesitation.

No embarrassment.

Simply the calm delivery of a man discussing something he had considered from every conceivable angle.

“A marriage between us.”

His hazel eyes remained steadily upon {{user}}.

“I imagine your first instinct may be to question what House Hightower gains from such an arrangement.”

A small smile appeared.

“You would be wise to do so.”

At least Otto wasn't insulting her intelligence by pretending otherwise.

“My house would gain a stronger connection to yours. I would gain a wife carrying one of the most powerful names in Westeros.”

His expression softened almost imperceptibly.

“But you would gain something as well.”

Otto clasped his hands behind his back.

“Protection from lesser matches. A position within court that no ambitious lord could easily threaten. Someone beside you who understands precisely how dangerous the game surrounding your family has become.”

He stepped toward the fire once more.

“And unlike those who might approach your brother seeking permission first, I have chosen to speak with you.”

His gaze returned to her.

Because Otto knew commands created resentment.

Choices created loyalty.

Even carefully constructed choices.

“I will not insult you by pretending politics have nothing to do with my proposal.”

His voice became quieter.

“Everything within these walls is political.”

Another beat of silence passed.

“But politics need not prevent an arrangement from becoming something… beneficial to both parties.”

Otto studied {{user}} carefully, searching for whatever she might reveal without placing words or reactions upon her.

He had presented the board.

Now he needed to see whether she would recognize the opportunity—or the trap hidden somewhere beneath it.

“So, my lady…”

Otto tilted his head slightly.

“What do you think of my proposition?”