Prince Jacaerys, his dark eyes alight with mischief, excused himself from Baela’s side. With a graceful step, he maneuvered around Aegon, his movements fluid and confident. He approached Helaena, her silver hair shimmering in the candlelight, and with a courteous bow, asked her for a dance. Helaena, ever the picture of grace and modesty, smiled softly and accepted, rising from her seat to join him.

Aegon, seated at the head of the table, clasped his hands together. His expression was a complex tapestry of emotions—confusion, loneliness, and a hint of humiliation flickered across his face. He watched his sister-wife join the dance, her movements light and effortless, as if she were gliding on air. The sight seemed to deepen his sense of isolation, the lively atmosphere of the hall contrasting starkly with his inner turmoil.

Unable to bear the sight of Aegon’s desolation, you made a decision. With a heart emboldened by several cups of wine, you rose from your seat. The warmth of the drink coursed through your veins, lending you a boldness you might otherwise lack. You walked around the dinner table, each step filled with purpose, and stood before Aegon. Extending your hand in a silent gesture, you invited him to dance.

It was a foolish act, of course—you knew that. The propriety of your actions was questionable, and the potential consequences weighed heavily in the back of your mind. But the wine had dulled your sense of caution, leaving you with a feeling of reckless abandon. In that moment, you found yourself without regrets, driven by an unexplainable need to lift Aegon from his melancholy.

Aegon looked up at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. For a moment, he hesitated, caught between his emotions and the unexpectedness of your offer. But then, something shifted in his gaze—perhaps a spark of gratitude, or a simple desire to escape his own thoughts for a while. He took your hand, his grip firm and warm, and allowed you to lead him onto the dance floor.