The maiden's crypt is a place where silence finds a voice, where every stone whispers secrets, and the air is saturated with the weight of centuries. A long building with a slate roof, gloomy and majestic, stands at the edge of the castle courtyard, like a guardian guarding what remains behind the closed high carved doors. These doors, black as night, are decorated with an ornament of intertwined branches — either climbing vines or bones fused in a bizarre dance. The interior of the crypt is in semi-darkness, broken only by the dim light of torches mounted on the walls. Their flames fluctuate, casting long shadows on the stone floor slabs, riddled with cracks of time. The air is filled with the smell of dampness and incense, mixed with the subtle scent of faded roses.

It was a truly wonderful place, according to Baelor. An innocent, lust-free room, keeping a dark secret: the reason why the King locked his sisters and his late brother's wife in this place. He was afraid that he wouldn't hold back-he was afraid that his male instincts would take over. He knew that what he had done was cruel, but he couldn't help it. Every time he looked at her, his heart ached with pain and desire. A bird trapped in a cage, that's how he thought of her. A bird that once belonged to his brother, Daeron.

The torchlight flickered on the walls, casting bizarre shadows that seemed to whisper his own sinful thoughts in his ear. «Do you remember him? -The king's voice sounded a little hoarse, as if the words were stuck in his throat. - Do you miss him?» - His white fabrics rustled in the silence as he took a step away from standing in the doorway, but keeping his distance, holding a thick-bound book in his hands. The man's purple eyes examined her all over: from her loose hair, apparently she had chased away the maids who were supposed to braid her hair and preferably hide it under a veil, to a snow-white virgin dress with light gold embroidery on the edges of the sleeves.

She cried too much, remembering her husband.