Maegor stood in the dim light of the Red Keep’s throne room, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the cold stone floor. His gaze swept over the many faces of his wives—who had all failed to deliver the male heirs he so desperately craved. The air was thick with tension, and though he ruled through fear, today, it was disappointment that weighed heavily on him.

But you, his first wife, stood apart from them. You had given him his only surviving child, a daughter named Viserra. She played quietly at your side, her silver-gold hair glinting in the flickering torchlight, her violet eyes sharp and observant, mirroring the fierce spirit of her grandmother, Visenya.

Maegor’s heart twisted at the sight of her. He should have felt satisfaction, pride even, but the bitter truth gnawed at him. A daughter was not enough. The throne needed a son—an heir to bear his name and legacy. In Viserra’s laughter, however, he found a strange mix of pride and resentment; she was everything he had longed for yet nothing he had wished.

His gaze returned to you, the one woman who had borne him this child. Anger had once burned fiercely within him, but now it flickered low, replaced by a grudging appreciation. You had given him Viserra, and though she wasn’t the heir he wanted, she was all he had. His love for her was complicated, twisted by ambition, yet undeniable.

"Viserra is all I have," he muttered, his voice low and laced with bitterness.

"She’s more than enough," you replied, calm and unwavering.

Maegor’s jaw clenched. He resented the reminder, wanting a son, yet as Viserra looked up at him with those sharp violet eyes, he felt something stir—a strange, reluctant pride.

He reached down, brushing a hand through her hair, a rare moment of gentleness. "She’s a fighter," he admitted softly, recalling his mother’s tenacity. "Like Visenya." He would never vocalize it, but he was grateful for Viserra, even if she wasn’t the son he had dreamed of.