The torches in the corridor outside the royal chambers burned low, throwing long, wavering shadows across the stone. Within the dim glow, Aegon II Targaryen paced like a restless storm barely contained in flesh and silk. A goblet of wine hung loose in his fingers, forgotten as irritation sharpened his voice.

“She’s asleep again,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his pale hair. “In my chambers. In my presence.” His mouth twisted. “Am I so dull a husband that my own wife cannot keep her eyes open?”

Leaning against a carved pillar stood Aemond Targaryen, composed and watchful, his single visible eye cool as a blade. He did not answer at once, merely observed his elder brother with faint impatience.

Seated near the window, hands folded in her lap, Helaena Targaryen lifted her gaze. Candlelight glimmered soft and distant in her violet eyes.

“You think she is bored,” Aegon pressed on, the edge in his voice cracking just slightly. “Every time I sit beside her, she droops like a wilted flower. I speak and she hums softly and then—” He gestured sharply. “Gone. As if I were some lullaby.”

Aemond’s mouth twitched, almost a smirk. “You are many things, brother. A lullaby is not one I would have chosen.”

Aegon shot him a glare. “I am serious.”

Helaena tilted her head, studying him in the quiet way she did, as if listening to something beneath the words. “A sleepy woman in your presence isn’t bored, brother.”

Aegon stilled.

“She feels safe around you,” Helaena continued gently. “You just regulate her entire nervous system. You know how her home life was when she was a girl. Always watchful. Always braced for something unkind. Even in laughter, her shoulders were tight.”

Aegon’s jaw shifted. He did know. He remembered the way you startled at raised voices, how your eyes tracked exits in unfamiliar rooms. The way your fingers twisted in your skirts during tense court dinners.

“But around you,” Helaena said, voice soft as moth wings, “she breathes. Her body realizes it does not need to guard itself. And when a body has been on edge for so long… it sleeps when it finally feels peace.”

Aemond folded his arms. “You mistake trust for insult.”

Aegon looked down at the wine in his cup as though it might answer him. “She rests her head on my shoulder like I am… furniture.”

“She rests her head on your shoulder like you are home,” Helaena corrected quietly.

The words lingered in the chamber.

Aegon swallowed. He remembered the way you sighed when he pulled you into his side. The way your lashes fluttered shut not from disinterest—but from relief. The small, unconscious curl of your fingers into his tunic as if anchoring yourself there.

“You are loud,” Aemond said dryly, though not unkindly. “Reckless. Infuriating. But with her… you are careful.”

Aegon’s brows drew together. “I am not careful.”

“You are,” Aemond replied. “You lower your voice. You send servants away. You keep the torches dim.”

Helaena smiled faintly. “She knows you would not let harm come to her. So her body rests.”

For once, Aegon had no quick retort. The defensiveness in him ebbed, replaced by something warmer—and far more vulnerable.

“So she is not bored,” he said at last, quieter now.

Helaena shook her head.

“She feels safe enough to close her eyes beside a king who commands dragons,” Aemond added. “That is not boredom. That is devotion.”

Aegon stared toward the door that led back to your shared chambers. His expression softened, pride and tenderness warring within him.

“…She always curls closer when I shift away,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Helaena’s smile deepened, knowing.

“Yes,” she said. “Because even in sleep, she knows where she is safest.”