Aegon sat slumped in the chair, fingers drumming idly against the armrest as he watched the fire crackle. The announcement had been made—his betrothal to {{user}} was set in stone. His father’s word was law, and no amount of protest would change that.

He scoffed under his breath. They had barely spoken beyond forced pleasantries, and now she was to be his wife. His queen.

The door creaked open. Aegon didn’t bother turning his head, already knowing who it was. The sound of her measured footsteps echoed through the chamber, steady and composed. Always composed.

{{user}} stopped a few paces away, her voice sharp and to the point. “I imagine you’re as thrilled as I am.”

Aegon smirked, though there was little amusement behind it. “Oh, beyond measure.” He finally met her gaze, the firelight casting shadows across her face. There was steel in her eyes, the same fire Jacaerys carried, but colder somehow. More controlled.

Silence stretched between them. Aegon rolled his shoulders, the weight of expectation settling in. He should say something—something cutting, something to break that perfect façade of hers. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he sighed and stood, running a hand through his hair.

“We don’t have to pretend,” he muttered. “Neither of us want this.”