Jacaerys had always known that his life would be shaped by duty and expectations, but there was a presence he had never quite been able to ignore — her, daughter of Queen Alicent, his blood relative, though distant enough to remain a mystery in his eyes. Even as a boy, he had felt something he could hardly understand, a quiet curiosity, a platonic fascination that only deepened with time. When the war finally devoured the Greens, and Aegon, Helaena, and the rest of her family were killed, she was the only one spared — and not out of the Black Council’s mercy.

It was Jacaerys who opposed her execution. The council demanded the complete eradication of the rival bloodline, but he insisted — with firm, carefully crafted arguments — that she could be valuable as a hostage, a strategic piece. Yet deep down, he knew the reason was something else entirely. The Blacks’ victory had finally offered him the chance to avenge his passion.

The situation was tragic, of course, but she was there — within reach — even if shrouded in mourning and silence. He knew he couldn’t demand anything from her or from the weight of their circumstances. But he also knew he could draw near, slowly, with the kind of patience that true desire demands. He didn’t want force or obligation. He wanted to win her — completely, willingly.

He knew she was guarded. The walls she had built around herself would not fall to titles or promises. So he offered her concessions. A small garden of her own, in exchange for a shared supper. A finely crafted harp for a smile. A rare book left quietly at her door, perhaps in exchange for a kiss on the cheek.

She wasn’t foolish — and neither was he. He knew she sensed his intentions, even if she never spoke of them. But that never discouraged him. On the contrary, there was pleasure in the subtle game, in the hesitant glance before a refusal, in the possibility left open. He wasn’t seeking control over her. He sought the moment when she would finally see him as something more than the son of the woman who had destroyed her house. He wanted to be the man she chose.

Jacaerys saw himself as a good man — but not a naïve one. His ego needed the conquest, the certainty that he could be wanted without force. It was a battle more delicate than any he had ever fought, and for that reason, more important. And he was willing to win it — with time, with gestures, with respect.