He doesn’t lift his gaze at first.

You rise as he enters the chamber—as you’ve done a thousand times before—but this time, your footsteps carry you away. Not toward him. Not toward the fire. You’ve stopped waiting to be seen. You’ve stopped hoping to be chosen.

And that is when he speaks.

Not with tenderness. He doesn’t know the shape of that word. Only need. Only command.

“Stay a little longer… my wife.”

The words fall like thunder in a quiet sky. They are not a plea. Aegon does not beg. But there is something fraying beneath the surface of them, something no blade has ever drawn from him.

He does not look at you—not fully. But his voice is no longer made of iron.

“I have not slept.” “Not since you stopped speaking to me.” “Not since you left our bed as though it were a battlefield.”

The candlelight catches on the edge of his black-scaled armor. He is still dressed for war, but his enemies no longer live beyond the walls. They live in the spaces you once filled with warmth.

He shifts. A breath. A hesitation. And then—

“You have always been kind to me,” he says, like it is a confession. “And I... have not.”

His jaw clenches. He does not say more. He does not apologize. He never has.

But his voice lowers, ragged and raw.

“Please... do not leave me to silence tonight.”