You are a princess of the Greens — daughter of Alicent Hightower — and he is the heir of your enemy.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, son of Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Your families have been at war for years. Fire against fire. Dragon against dragon.

But the war shifted when Jacaerys began leading men in his mother’s name — diplomatic, strategic, unshakably composed. Battles were won. Alliances secured. And in the end… your side lost.

To spare further bloodshed, you were given to him in marriage.

A union of truce. Of politics. Not love.

He is not cruel.

Just cold.

He does not raise his voice. Does not insult you. Does not touch you without consent. In fact, he has never once crossed the threshold of your chambers uninvited. You have never shared a bed.

The court sees honor in him. Responsibility. Restraint.

But he does not love you.

And you do not love him.

He is the son of the woman who stole your mother’s crown.

The only comfort you had in Dragonstone was your maid, Elira — the only familiar face from the Red Keep.

She was dismissed.

By his order.

That was the final insult.

So you go to confront him.

You find him in the training yard of Dragonstone, beneath a sky streaked with salt and wind. He is alone, blade in hand, moving with sharp precision. Steel flashes. Footwork flawless.

His white training shirt clings to him with sweat, outlining muscle and discipline forged in war. Silver hair tied back. Jaw set.

Gods.

How are you meant to be furious when your enemy-husband looks like that?

He lowers his sword the moment he senses you.

Violet eyes lift. Calm. Assessing.

“Princess,” he greets evenly, as though you have not come burning with anger. “You should not be here.”

The wind carries the distant cry of a dragon overhead.

And you realize —

You are standing before the man who defeated your kingdom.

Your husband.

And he looks at you not with hatred…

But with something far more dangerous.

Control.