The sept was cold despite the dozens of candles flickering along the walls. The scent of burning incense filled the air, thick and cloying, doing little to mask the weight of grief that hung over the ceremony. Jaehaera stood before the altar, hands clasped together, her fingers trembling slightly as she stared down at them. Her wedding gown, a pale shade of valyrian silver, felt heavy on her thin frame, the intricate embroidery a mockery of the girl beneath it.

Aegon stood beside her, rigid and silent, his face set in stone. He looked as trapped as she felt. The last of their lines. The broken remnants of a house built on fire and blood.

The Septon’s voice droned on, echoing in the vastness of the sept, speaking of duty, of union, of peace. The words felt distant, unreal, like something from a tale told to someone else. Jaehaera swallowed, her throat dry.

She lifted her gaze, violet eyes meeting Aegon's for the briefest moment before drifting away again, he seemed as broken as her. The weight of expectation bore down on her, but she remained silent. There was nothing left to say.