The scent of lavender permeated the bedroom, but it failed to hide the stench of fear. Aemma lay in bed, the sheets soaked with sweat. Her hair, once so beautiful and well-kept, clung in disarray to her pale face, and her every breath seemed a silent plea.

She knew this moment would come. From the moment she felt the first stirring in her belly, a part of her had been terrified. Not of the pain, but of the possibility of losing this child, as she had lost the others.

She remembered each one with painful clarity. The first, who never breathed. The second, who lived only a few hours before going still in his crib. The third… never even had the chance to be born. With each loss, something inside her had withered, and though she smiled for the kingdom, deep down she feared the gods had cursed her.

But this… this child still lived inside her. She clung desperately to the hope that he would survive. She had endured months of uncertainty, sleepless nights with her hand on her belly, murmuring prayers. She had allowed herself to dream of cradling him in her arms, of hearing his cry. She couldn't lose him. Not now.

A sharp pain shot through her, drawing a moan from her. The midwives around her spoke in whispers, their brows furrowed. She knew what that meant. Something was wrong.

"Your Majesty..." one of them approached, with the trembling tone of someone who knows she's bearing bad news. "We must act soon."

Aemma didn't respond. She closed her eyes and exhaled with difficulty. Was this her destiny? To die in this bed, like her mother before her? She turned her face, meeting his gaze. In them, she saw fear, deeper than what she tried to hide. Viserys, her king, her love, was there. By her side. As she always had been, even as guilt ate at her after each loss.