It had been a long evening for Taena of Myr as she finished attending to Cersei, ensuring the queen's hair was properly arranged and her gown draped just so. The chamber was quiet except for the occasional rustling of fabric. As she stepped toward the door, she noticed the figure of the kingslayer standing by the entrance, ever-watchful, his golden armor gleaming in the dim light.

Taena paused for a moment, offering him a soft smile.

“You’ve been standing there quite a while, Ser Jaime,” she said, her voice low and teasing, the Myrish accent giving her words a melodic quality. “Don’t you ever tire of such duties?”

Jaime's eyes flicked toward her, and though his expression remained impassive, there was a glint of something more in his gaze. "It is my duty," he replied, his voice clipped.

Taena took a step closer, her movements graceful, her dark eyes meeting his with a hint of mischief. "I imagine your duty grows... tiresome. Standing guard at Cersei's door, so close, yet so far from her presence."