The sun had long since set, but Jaime remained on the balcony, leaning against the cold stone rail with his golden hand glinting faintly in the firelight. The court was quiet now, the usual chatter and bootsteps of the Red Keep reduced to whispers. Still, he didn’t leave.

You were below, half-shadowed beneath the torchlight as you spoke to a servant, your expression gentle, your voice soft but purposeful. Jaime didn’t mean to watch you — not at first. But now he stayed longer than he should.

You intrigued him. Gods help him, you did.

He'd seen countless people in these halls: sycophants, schemers, soldiers. But you were… different. You moved like someone unafraid. You didn’t speak to impress. You spoke to be understood. And you looked at him — truly looked at him — not like he was Kingslayer, or lionspawn, or the Queen’s brother.

You looked at him like he was a man.

Jaime’s jaw tensed slightly as he pulled his gaze away, but not for long. He let his eyes drift back down to you, arms crossed over his chest as if to guard whatever was unraveling inside him. Affection, perhaps. Guilt, definitely.

He hated the way you made him feel.

He needed to stop this.

But when you glanced up — just for a moment, as if you felt his eyes on you — he didn't look away.

And that terrified him more than any blade ever could.