The letter arrived in Cersei's hands like an unrelenting storm, bringing with it a fear even more overwhelming than the one she felt when she allowed you to leave for Dorne. It was a crueler feeling than when you heard the announcement of your marriage to the Dornish prince. Much as Cersei was a woman of steel and politics and ambition, she was first and foremost a mother. And you, her daughter, were the only one she had held to her breast, fed with her own milk, without the use of wet nurses, a rare act for a queen. Now, in front of her, was the letter announcing that her little girl was pregnant.

Without hesitation, Cersei set sail for Dorne with the fury of a raging sea. She wanted to crush the world, to destroy the man she now called her husband, even though he was young and no older than you. But deep down she knew that what had happened to you was something that happened to other girls every day, something that power and tradition perpetuated as routine. Still, the anger didn't leave her.

When she finally reached your chambers, she found you sitting on a chaise longue, wearing a delicate pink Dornish gown, your maids gently shaking your face. But nothing was more striking at that moment than your already visibly bulging belly, an undeniable sign of what was to come.