Jaime was in his room, adjusting his armor in front of the large gold-framed mirror. His movements were meticulous, almost ceremonial, as he watched his reflection. Behind him, you were running around, rummaging through carved wooden boxes in search of your make-up. Your face was filled with an expression of urgency, which drew a low laugh from Jaime.

He raised his hand, nonchalantly massaging his neck. It was at that moment that his reflection revealed the reason for his desperation: a small, unmistakable red mark left by his lips.

With a wry smile, he spoke in a voice full of ironic charm:

• You'd better hurry, my queen. It wouldn't be dignified for a knight to walk around with such a... compromising sign.

His gaze met yours through the mirror, and there was something mischievous in his green eyes, a mixture of amusement and provocation. You, on the other hand, with your cheeks burning, couldn't help but let out an exasperated sigh as you muttered something about him being impossible.