You hid it well, Daemon had to admit.

The subtle red splotches on your wrist where your brother-husband Aemond held you too tightly were delicately concealed beneath a black dress tonight. A black dress that Daemon had to admit flattered you well despite your now obvious pregnancy. A question gnawed at Daemon, though. Why did it have to be Aemond’s?

That boy was a fool. A jealous, volatile fool who didn’t deserve a Valyrian woman like you. No, no, he couldn’t possibly treasure the one they called {{user}} the Fair. Not like a man grown could. Not like Daemon could.

He narrows his gaze across the dinner table as Aemond takes your wrist in his fist to shut up mid-conversation.