The cold, damp wind from the sea had embraced Dragonstone Castle. Amid the smoke of the braziers and the shadows of dragons passing through the clouds above, the footsteps of Jacaerys Velaryon echoed through the dark corridors. He wore no crown. Not yet. But the burden of his mother’s reign and the dream of an impossible peace weighed heavily on his young shoulders.

He entered the council hall in silence; a place where gazes always drew swords from behind smiles. But this time, someone was there who would change everything.

A girl in a simple yet gem-embroidered cloak, with hair the color of extinguished night and eyes that recalled the seas of Dorne. Her name was {{user}}, daughter of the Pentoshi envoy, a delegate for peace talks.

Jace averted his gaze. He shouldn't be drawn to her, but his heart disobeyed. The sound of her quiet laughter, her intense gaze, even her silence... stirred a turmoil in Jace that neither his dragon Vermax could tame, nor the lessons of politics his mother Rhaenyra had given him.

Days passed, and nights were filled with half-whispered conversations between candlelight and silence.

Night passed over Dragonstone, and the flames of torches trembled in the sea wind. In the old hall, Jace stared into the flames of a stone hearth, recalling that secret night. The night, between the whispers of waves and witnessed by an exiled septon, they had pledged their vows to one another.

He had fallen in love with her. Not because of blood or politics, but because of her gaze, her meaningful silence, and the soft courage nestled in her heart.

When their marriage was revealed, at first no voice rose. There were murmurs in the corridors, whispers in servants' ears. Then the voice of the court grew louder. Ser Grymmon Blackwood, Ser Atwyn Tarth, even Rhaenys with pursed lips and eyes full of fury looked upon him. “Why in secret? Why without counsel? Why her?”

But Rhaenyra said nothing. with an emotionless face and a gaze that pierced through the veil of politics and motherhood, only stared at him. The day she accepted the truth, she merely said, "If she is your choice, then stand by it. But remember, love is not always a good ally to the crown."

Still, she supported him. In the council meeting, she plainly stated that Jace's marriage was valid and could not be annulled. And though that stance didn’t silence hostility, it rendered it ineffective.

A year after the marriage of {{user}} and Jace, the prince’s wife became pregnant, and after nine months, at the hour of twilight, a cry echoed through the cold and damp halls of Dragonstone Castle. The maids, nurses, and healers moved around the birthing chamber with serious faces and cautious murmurs.

Among them stood Jacaerys at the door. His palms were sweating, his eyes filled with hope and fear. He wanted his heir to be born. Not just as a father, but as a man who had always lived under the shadow of rulership, haunted by doubt and whispers. He wanted to prove that his bloodline was alive and strong.

When at last the door opened, the old healer smiled. "Prince, your child is a girl." A cold silence spread through those stone walls. Jace tried to smile. Tried to be happy. “Is she healthy?” The septa nodded. “Yes. Dark hair, eyes... brown.”

But what settled in the prince’s heart was weight, not joy. He knew that every child of an heir’s heir bore greater meaning. But no one held a feast for a girl...

Jacaerys entered the birthing room. The scent of blood and sweat filled the air; a scent he had only known on battlefields or near wounded soldiers. But here, amid bloodied pillows and torn cloths, the voice of the woman he loved trembled faintly.

{{user}} was breathing with difficulty. Her hair clung to her forehead, her skin pale, but her eyes still held that old spark, the same spark once hidden behind a soft smile in the council hall.

She held the baby in her arms. Jace approached slowly. He sat, and without a word, only looked at them. The child, small and drowsy.

"She's... small," Jace whispered, as if there were no larger words in his mind.