The moment the maester whispered the words, Maegor stilled.

It was the first silence the Red Keep had known all day.

A child. His child.

The doors shut behind the maester before his boots even left the threshold. Maegor stood alone in the chamber, the fire casting gold across the black of his armor, his crown heavy on the table behind him.

And then he turned—to you.

You stood near the window, back straight, hands folded over your stomach like the news hadn’t fully settled.

He approached slowly—not like a king, not like a conqueror—but like a man on the edge of belief.

“I have dreamed of this,” he said, voice lower than usual. “But dreams have always mocked me.”

He reached for your hands, rough palms brushing yours.

“And now… it’s real.”

You met his eyes and saw it—beneath the violence, beneath the wrath and throne-forged pride—relief. Terror, even. The kind only those who’ve long been denied know when the thing they’ve wanted most is suddenly placed in their hands.

“I wanted you long before the others,” he said, voice closer to confession than command. “Before the councils and the crowns and the deaths.”

He took a slow breath, thumb brushing across your knuckles.

“But I would not cage you until you were mine by your own will.”

A pause. His grip tightened slightly.

“And now you are.”

He turned from you abruptly, storming to the doors.

Within moments, the corridor echoed with his voice, low and dangerous.

“No one is to disturb her chamber without my leave. No one speaks to her unless I have given their name.”

The guards nodded, trembling under the weight of it.

“She is to be escorted everywhere. And if a single soul so much as breathes suspicion, they are to be taken to the dungeons or burned in the yard—whichever sends a clearer message.”

Then he returned, shutting the doors behind him with finality.

“You will not leave the keep,” he said firmly, not harshly. “Not until the child is born. Not until you are safe.”

He approached again, slower this time, his voice nearly reverent.

“I have buried wives. I have buried sons that never lived. I will not bury you.”

Maegor knelt, pressing his forehead to the place beneath your hands.

“I have ruled with fire and blood,” he whispered. “But for this—for you—I will tear down heaven itself.”

You didn’t speak.

But you placed your hand gently in his hair, and he exhaled as if the war in him had gone quiet.

For now.