The door to her chambers slammed against the wall, the sound ricocheting through the room. Aegon's chest rose and fell, his silver-gold hair clinging to his forehead, sweat from the banquet lingering on his skin. His knuckles were bloodless from clenching them too tight, and his eyes burned with the fury of a dragon barely leashed.

{{user}} stood near the hearth, dressed in silk that shimmered in the candlelight. Her face was a mask of defiance, but he knew her well enough to spot the flicker of uncertainty beneath it. She held her chin high as though daring him to speak first.

“You think me a fool?” Aegon growled, stepping forward. “Giving your favor to a Darklyn? Laughing with him as if I were no one?”

“I was polite,” she said, voice low but steady. “You were too busy drowning in your cups to care.”

His teeth clenched at her audacity. “Don't play coy with me. I saw the way he looked at you—like he thought he had a chance. And you encouraged it.”

She moved to pass him, but he blocked her with a swift hand against the wall. The air between them crackled with tension. “Let me by,” she demanded.

“No,” he bit out, his voice hoarse with barely restrained rage. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch every lord in that hall covet what’s mine? To see you smile for another man as though I don’t exist?”