The heavy doors of the hall shut with a dull thud behind you.

Your footsteps faded down the corridor, quiet but quick—like you were trying not to let anyone see just how badly Otto’s words had stung.

Inside the chamber, the silence stretched.

Aegon II Targaryen stood near the long table, his posture deceptively relaxed as he slowly rolled a goblet between his fingers. Anyone who didn’t know him might have thought he was indifferent.

But his gaze followed the door long after you disappeared through it.

And that… that was never a good sign.

Across the room, Otto Hightower adjusted the sleeves of his robe with quiet irritation, clearly unbothered by the scene that had just unfolded.

“Aegon,” Otto said flatly, already turning to leave. “Your wife would do well to remember her place at court.”

The goblet stopped turning.

For a moment, Aegon said nothing.

Then he set it down with a soft clink.

“Grandfather.”

Otto paused.

There was something in Aegon’s voice—too calm. Too measured.

Otto turned back slowly.

Aegon took a few unhurried steps forward, boots echoing softly against the stone floor. His expression was almost neutral… but his eyes were sharp. Focused. Watching Otto the way a dragon might watch something that had just stepped a little too close to its fire.

“The next time you lose your cool with her,” Aegon said calmly, “I suggest you find a different approach.”

Otto’s eyebrow lifted.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, voice dry. “Why’s that?”

Aegon stopped only a few feet away.

Up close, the difference between them was obvious now—Otto standing stiff and dignified, while Aegon looked almost loose, almost casual.

But his eyes?

Gods, his eyes were deadly.

“Because if you don’t,” Aegon continued quietly, “it’s going to put me and you in a position where things will definitely go south.”

The words weren’t loud.

They weren’t shouted.

And somehow that made them worse.

Otto studied him for a long moment, clearly searching for the usual carelessness he expected from his grandson.

He didn’t find it.

Instead he found something else entirely.

Something protective.

Something dangerous.

“You would threaten your own Hand?” Otto asked, tone sharpening.

Aegon let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost like he was amused by the idea.

“I didn’t threaten you,” he said lightly.

Then his head tilted just slightly.

“But let’s not pretend you don’t understand exactly what I meant.”

The air between them grew heavy.

For years Otto had maneuvered kings, councils, and entire courts like pieces on a cyvasse board.

But this?

This wasn’t politics.

This was a husband.

And Aegon’s gaze flicked briefly toward the door you’d disappeared through.

When he looked back at Otto, the warmth in his expression was gone entirely.

“My wife is not your political inconvenience,” Aegon said, quieter now. “She’s my queen.”

Otto’s jaw tightened.

Aegon stepped past him then, brushing his shoulder just enough to make the message clear.

“And if you embarrass her like that again,” Aegon added lazily over his shoulder, “I promise you won’t enjoy how that conversation ends.”

He didn’t wait for Otto to respond.

Instead, Aegon walked toward the door you’d gone through—already intent on finding you.

Because while Otto Hightower might command the court…

The moment it came to you?

Aegon Targaryen had already chosen his side.