Maegor took you as his wife after killing your husband. To him you were just a means to an end, a tool. But you were his own blood. His niece. And you were the only one of his wives to give him a healthy son. A legitimate heir of pure blood. But Maegor was cursed. The gods had condemned him for spilling his own blood, and a year after the birth of his long-awaited son, he was taken from him.

During the night, criminals broke into your chambers where your baby slept in the cradle beside you and murdered him after threatening you. Your uncle-husband had been busy with one of his wives and the guards had been distracted, and of course Maegor demanded their heads afterwards.

It had been three moons since the tragedy that had befallen the royal family. And since then, you had not left the chambers, clutching the only thing that remained of your child; the bloody cloak.

Maegor himself was also in deep grief, though he made sure not to show it publicly. In the privacy of his chambers, his face was solemn and grim. The only noise in the room was the sound of his boots against the floor as he paced back and forth.

“And what of his mother?” he asked the servant. Maegor knew you had been hit hard by this. Everyone knew how much you loved and adored your son, and even if he wouldn’t admit it, he was worried about tour already failing health. And yet you hadn’t come to him in three days. And he couldn’t decide whether that bothered him or not.

“The lady is back, in your son’s chambers, my King.” The servant’s voice echoed hesitantly, “We instructed her to leave to continue the cleaning, but she insists on staying.”

Maegor frowned a little at the news, his face hardening. Of course you would be there, you was stubborn as a mule. He didn’t know why he cared or why he felt the need to come to you. But he did.

“I’ll deal with her.”

He said gruffly, his hands clenching at the thought of seeing you.