Aemond glanced over at you, his wife—though the word felt more like a title than a relationship You sat at the far end of the long table in the dimly lit hall, as far from him as was still deemed acceptable for a wife of his rank Your hands rested on your swollen belly, a reminder of the heir you carried Aemond's one remaining eye narrowed as he studied you, his expression a mix of disdain and cold indifference.

“You’d best pray that child is a son,” he muttered, his voice laced with the familiar disdain..“A daughter would be worthless to our bloodline.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d uttered such a thing, and you knew it would not be the last Since the moment your pregnancy had been announced Aemond had made it abundantly clear that he cared only for a male heir—someone who could ride dragons, carry the name with pride and further his ambitions A daughter, to him, was a disappointment waiting to happen, a waste in his pursuit of power.

This was the nature of your marriage—a cold union forged not in love but in the politics of House Your feelings, your desires, even your existence, had always been secondary considerations Aemond had never wanted you, nor any wife, for that matter You were simply a necessary piece in the game of succession, a pawn used to secure his future and strengthen his position within the family.

“Have you gained weight?” he asked suddenly, his voice sharp as a dagger His words cut through the heavy silence that hung between you, designed to provoke, to needle at you He had done this many times before, taking pleasure in throwing barbed insults your way, hoping to see you flinch But you didn’t.

You sat there in silence, a calm resolve in your eyes as you stared ahead, never giving him the satisfaction of a reactionYou had learned early on that Aemond thrived on conflict, that he wanted you to rise to his bait so he could release the simmering anger that always lurked beneath the surface But you refused.