Maegor stood by the window, staring out over the castle grounds, his jaw tight with frustration. His reign was filled with conflict, and the weight of it seemed to press on him more each day.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see a lady-in-waiting, her head bowed respectfully. “Your Grace,” she said quietly, “I’ve come to deliver your evening clothes.”

Maegor’s eyes softened for a brief moment, the anger in his chest easing as he looked at her. She was a simple figure, but there was something about her presence—unassuming, calm—that stood in contrast to his turbulent world.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. He took the clothes from her, his hand brushing hers briefly.

She looked up, meeting his gaze for the first time. “Your Grace, if ever the burden grows too heavy, you need not carry it alone.”

For a moment, Maegor said nothing, the weight of her words sinking in. Then, with a slight nod, he replied, “Perhaps, for a moment, I can allow myself that.”

As she left, the room seemed quieter, the anger that had consumed him momentarily forgotten.