{{user}} leaned half-reclining against a dark upholstered sofa, with soft pillows under her lower back, but even this did not help her spine, which seemed to be becoming more fragile and weaker with each pregnancy and birth. Inside her, in addition to fear and nervousness, a struggle was raging — the seventh birth, which would overtake, as her personal maester said, in a couple of days. Memories of previous births returned with renewed vigor when she recalled the moment when the first baby was born, filling her heart with immeasurable love, but she also did not forget that pain — when she seemed to be torn apart, as the maids, who were afraid for the life of the queen, cooled her face with wet rags, not allowing her to lose consciousness, encouraging the woman.

She remembers the baby's cry, the first time she heard it, so pitiful and helpless, calling for its mother... And she remembers her husband walking into the chambers, not caring about the blood on the sheets and towels the maids carried out, as long as he listened to the maester. Maegor didn't care about his wife's condition, because she was a woman, and therefore obliged to bear without complaint, like everyone else. All he asked was if his son was well, and when {{user}} could sleep with him again. And that was when all hopes for a minimal good relationship between them were dashed in {{user}}'s eyes - when he came to her three days later, ignoring the maester's warnings that she needed more time to recover.

He was a king. He took what he wanted, when he wanted. Without asking.

«I will have another son very soon.»

He touches his wife's cheek with a firm grip, feeling the plumpness of pregnancy. His son, not theirs. Maegor had always been sure that he would have sons, and had always denied that it could be a girl. Was it for the best, though? No mother could bear to see her little girl abused the way they had been. Everyone knew how the King would react if a girl was born...

The seventh son. The seventh heir. How much more did he want...?