The court had long since learned that the eldest child of Maekar Targ was not a princess easily managed.

You had been the first child he ever held, the silver-haired babe with violet eyes placed into his arms, and the stern prince who frightened half the Red Keep had never found the heart to deny you anything. And now you were the wife of the realm’s most honorable man.

Baelor had never once tried to extinguish that fire. In truth, he liked it. The sharp temper, the stubborn pride, the foul tongue — gods help him, it reminded him too much of Maekar in his youth. And he loved you for it, even when you were impossible.

Which, tonight, you clearly intended to be.

You had been drinking too much wine too late into the evening, lounging across the chair opposite him in one of your unnecessarily elaborate gowns you insisted upon even for private occasions.

Baelor sat across from you with his usual patience, one hand resting near a stack of parchments. He had listened to your every complaint with the same calm that had earned him the realm’s admiration.

He was already stressed from the amount of papers he had to sign, and when you tipped the goblet to your lips and sent him a witty remark only meant to tease him, it seemed like those words caused the cup of his endless patience to overfill.

His expression remained calm, though something tightened at the corner of his mouth. You barely had time to blink before he got up from his chair, and crossed the space between you in two strides. His large hand closed around your jaw, the cold metal of his signet rings pressing into your cheeks. Baelor’s voice came low and controlled, carrying far more weight than any shout. “Enough.”

The candlelight flickered across his face, catching against the dornish bronze of his skin. His mismatched eyes — one dark, one green — were darker, the pupils swallowing the color of them. “You will remember where you are,” he said slowly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “And who you speak to.”

But there was something else in his expression too — something satisfied, almost hungry in its restraint. The sight of your stubborn pride forced into obedience stirred something in him he had been ignoring for far too long. “You test me because I indulge you,” he continued. “Because I love you.”

His thumb traced over your wine stained lips, though the gesture held none of its usual gentleness. “I have allowed many things to pass.” Baelor exhaled slowly through his nose, releasing your jaw only to guide you firmly to your feet. A few parchments slid off the table as he pushed you forward, guiding you firmly against the desk.

He leaned over you just enough that you could feel the warmth of his body against yours. “But you forget something, my lady wife.” His hands settled at your hips, the fabric of your dress spilling through his fists. “I am still your husband.”

“And you will learn,” Baelor finished softly, but there was the faintest edge of amusement in his voice. “to speak to your husband with the respect he is owed.”