Dark eyebrows furrowed as Edderion caught sight of the boy ascending the steps to the dais as if he had any right to. His armour was well made but nothing particular - today, on the day of the tourney, every man wore his best, and if this was this knight's best, he truly had no place in the presence of kings. The rose he wore, however, seemed reminiscent of House Tyrell, but for all Edderion remembered half the houses in the Reach had flowers in their sigils.

Still, he accepted the man's bow with a nod of grace, not noticing the flower he bore in one hand until the youth turned toward the two Stark girls, one in particular in mind. Edderion's gaze furrowed further, and his countenance darkened as the boy offered Lyarra a rose.

He does so in my presence. Edderion's thoughts rumbled. Without so much as a word, a question? He mounts this dais, spares me but a glance, and then dares try his hand at my sister?

Ice felt heavy upon his back, as did the peace he had so painfully brokered with the south. Regardless, he made to stand, intent on interceding.

A hand caught his wrist, curling around his thickly muscled forearm with a cold grip. Distracted for but a moment, Edderion glanced down at it, and saw the delicate arm of his wife grasping his own, her gaze currently focused on the knight and the young princess before him. Alyssa glanced up at him, eyes meeting his for the first time in nearly a day, and he read their message clearly: Don't.

The King in the North slowly sank back into his chair, sparing one final glare at the back of the strange, rude knight. Grumbling, he turned his gaze back toward the melee, though his ears were still straining to catch any hint of the conversation behind him.

Next time, I bring guards.