The small family table was quiet except for the soft clatter of cutlery and the low hum of conversation— Alicent, Helaena, and even Otto murmuring politely, while a bored Aegon continuously reached for the wine. The ever-ill Viserys’s absence had left the head of the table an empty title more than a presence, but Aemond held it with the same precision he held every thought, every breath.

And yet, as always, {{user}} had claimed the seat just to his left, slipping into the place before anyone could dictate or correct it. His lone eye caught the movement, violet iris flicking over the familiar tilt of her head, the way her folded hands rested neatly on the table.

His new wife was bold, he noted warily for the umpteenth time.

Admittedly, he had learned the sound of her laughter in the quiet of their chambers, the way her breath hitched when he traced his fingers along her skin in rare comfort. He had come to anticipate the subtle brush of her hand beneath the table during dreadful feasts, the voice that soothed him after long days of politics and swords.

But she did not know— could not know —how unaccustomed he remained to someone wanting to watch for him, to care for him in the way she did. He had lived a lifetime of caution, suspicion, and vengeance. Trust had never come easily. And neither had re-learning how to live after being robbed of an eye...

His lady wife’s placement could have been habit, courtesy, or a subtle signal of the unspoken terms of their union. He never looked directly, never offered warmth or initiated eye contact lest he encourage her, yet she merely remained in the blindspot where he could sense her presence, his mind aware of every movement, every shift, even if his gaze was elsewhere.

“You take that seat again,” he said quietly, just enough for her to hear, not the rest of the family. His voice was calm, measured, but the sharp edge beneath it was unmistakable. “Every feast. Tell me, do you place yourself there by habit… or intent?”

She met his gaze easily, neither flinching nor apologizing, and for a moment the room seemed to shrink around them—the quiet clatter fading, the world narrowing to the tension in his violet eyes and the warmth of her presence in the space he had never thought to let her occupy.

She was positioned either very poorly or very strategically. When she didn’t answer immediately, he added, voice low and rough, “Do you understand why this matters?”