Perhaps this was some kind of twisted karma for the prince. Karma for being undeniably drunk at a feast when he was supposed to be on his best behavior. Karma for stumbling back to his chair, smelling of another woman’s perfume. A wench, most likely.

Aegon’s gaze was focused directly on you and the handsy lord you were dancing with. It disgusted him, the way the lord gripped at you like the last piece of meat at dinner.

You, his sister-wife, the sister-wife he had been ignoring ever since your wedding. He had been spending his time in brothels with wenches instead of worshiping his wife that he knew deserved to be worshipped.

He knew he wasn’t what you deserved, but that didn’t stop him from having the angry thoughts he had now. He wanted to take the lords fingers for even thinking about touching you.

Aegon took a swig of his wine, emptying his cup in one go. He abruptly stood up, causing his chair to scrape against the ground. He drunkenly stumbled over to where you were dancing, grabbing you without a word.

His eyes were a mixture of pleading and commanding as he simply stated “I require you back at our table.”