The air in the throne room hung heavy with the scent of smoke and old stone, the torches along the walls casting long, flickering shadows across the cold marble floor. The silence before Viserys spoke was deafening—an unnatural stillness that pressed in on my chest like armor I couldn’t remove.

I had known he would summon me the moment word reached him. Whispers always traveled fast through the Red Keep, especially when they bore scandal. And this… this would echo through every corridor, every corner of court.

I didn’t regret it.

Not the kiss beneath the cover of night, nor the heat of her against me in that shadowed corner of the Street of Silk. Not even the look in her eyes—hunger and defiance twisted into something far more dangerous. It wasn’t just desire. It was freedom. For her. For me.

But now—

“You have ruined her! What lord will wed her now in this condition?!”

Viserys’s voice tore through the chamber like a blade. I stood still, my arms at my sides, watching him as he surged forward. The crimson in his face clashed violently with the gold of his crown, veins bulging in his temples. I saw the betrayal in his eyes—anger, yes, but underneath it, something far more fragile. Fear. Worry. Guilt.

For a moment, I pitied him.

Then his hands seized my collar, yanking me forward so hard my boots scraped against the stone. The hall was spinning now, the stench of wine on his breath, the way his fingers trembled even as he shook me—gods, he thought he could shake the shame from me like dust off a cloak.

But I would not give it to him.

I did not flinch. Did not blink. Let him see it—that I would not play the repentant little brother. That I meant it.

Her.

Everything.

When he finally released me, he shoved me back with enough force that I nearly stumbled. My shoulder hit the edge of the Iron Throne’s dais, the sharp jolt of pain grounding me. Still, I straightened. Met his eyes.

“You disgrace this House with your reckless actions!” he roared. “Have you no shame? No regard for her honor?”

Shame. Honor. Hollow words from a man who’d spent years letting the court feast on his daughter’s worth like hounds at a carcass. A puppet king, feigning outrage now that his hands had been forced.

I drew in a breath, slow and steady, the coppery tang of blood thick in the back of my throat—mine or his, I wasn’t sure. My heart beat calm and measured in my chest. My voice, when I finally spoke, was low. Firm. Unapologetic.

“Wed her to me.”

Viserys stiffened.

I stepped forward, my boots echoing against the stone. I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t need to. He could hear the steel in it—feel the weight of what I meant.

“When I gave you my crown,” I said, “you told me I could have anything I wanted in return. I want her.”

His eyes narrowed, but I didn’t look away. Didn’t falter.

“I’ll take her as she is,” I continued. “And I’ll wed her in the tradition of our House.”

The silence that followed was a living thing—coiling, shifting, biting. The flickering torches hissed and cracked behind us like some ancient chorus of the gods bearing witness.

He thought this was about shame. About power. About scandal.

But it wasn’t.

It was about her. The fire in her blood that matched my own.