The godswood was quiet, the wind rustling softly through the leaves, and the ancient weirwood tree stood as a silent witness to the fragile moment you shared. Beneath the boughs of the great tree, away from the prying eyes of the court, Criston Cole stood before you, his face unguarded, his knight’s armor shimmering in the faint moonlight. He was no longer the stoic protector of the princess, no longer bound by the oath he had sworn. Tonight, he was simply Criston, a man who loved you.

The air between you both was thick with the unspoken, the emotions you had both buried for far too long. You watched him, the man who had always been by your sister Rhaenyra’s side, the man who had sworn to protect her. But somewhere along the way, he had become more to you than just a knight. His presence, his quiet strength, had become a steady comfort, a warmth you hadn’t known you needed until he was near.

“If I could take off this armor,” Criston murmured, his voice low and filled with an aching reverence as his fingers brushed against your wrist. “If I could be just a man…”

He took a deep breath, a sharp breath, as if the question had struck him harder than any blow. The knight who had once stood so firm in his convictions now stood before you, uncertain, raw. “I’ve never been so torn in my life,” he confessed softly, his forehead resting against yours. “My duty is to Rhaenyra, but my heart…”