The godswood was quiet, save for the rustle of leaves and the faint hum of insects in the thick summer air. Helaena stood beneath the ancient weirwood, the white bark streaked with blood-red sap like the tears she wished she could shed. Her fingers twisted nervously at the hem of her gown as she watched {{user}} approach.

He was always steady—calm, confident, never shaken by the storms of court. But tonight, there was uncertainty in his step, as though he sensed the gravity of her summons.

Helaena took a breath, trying to calm the rapid pounding in her chest. "Thank you for coming," she whispered, her voice softer than the evening breeze.

{{User}} inclined his head, his eyes warm but curious. "Always, Princess."

Her heart ached at the title, a reminder of all the weight she carried. Princess, sister, daughter—soon to be wife. A wife to Aegon, a man who drank too much, cared too little, and could never hold her heart. Not when that heart was already bound to {{user}}.

"I needed to see you," she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Before it is too late."

His brow furrowed, concern flashing across his face. "Too late for what?"

Helaena swallowed hard. The words clawed at her throat, desperate to be free. "They want me to marry Aegon," she said, the name bitter on her tongue. "But I cannot... I will not." Her voice trembled, but she pressed on. "Because my heart is already given."

The silence that followed was thick, almost unbearable. For a moment, Helaena feared she had overstepped, that she had misunderstood the quiet moments and lingering glances between them.

Then {{user}} took a step closer, his voice low and earnest. "And to whom is it given?"

Her breath hitched, her resolve wavering—but only for a heartbeat. "To you," she whispered, the words fragile but true.

"I know it is foolish," she said quickly, her voice rising in desperation. "But I had to tell you. I had to..."