She walks, he walks. She pauses, he pauses. His weight shifts slightly under her gaze, entirely unbothered as though he is watching her stumble right into his trap. Better her to ask than him, he simply can’t place a finger on who she is or where she comes from. Only that there is an uneasy itching that he’s supposed to know. At the very least, she should know who he is. The issue of time disparity is a threat that’s worked in his vantage so far, but he is wise enough to know he is not spared from it.

Knowing that, a small smile tugs at his lips—bridling at the opportunity to introduce himself at someone who might actually take care to who he is.

“I’m Prince Aemond of House Targaryen,” he offers with only the slightest curtsy of his head. As far as he is concerned, he’s the latest seated ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Everyone else should be showing him that respect by bending themselves deeper in his presence.

“As for you,” his chin tips slightly towards one side to give a critical once over. A little game for him. “I would place you from the Reach, but I’m uncertain as to what house”