Maegor's jaw was clenched as he watched his bastard clean the throneroom, his brows furrowed as he observed you from atop the iron throne, one hand under his jaw and the other clenching the arm of the throne.

He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that all of his wives either failed to give him a child, had miscarriages or stillborn deformed children, but one servant girl he indulged in had given him a perfectly healthy child, albeit a bastard, but still a child.

As of now, your father was observing your potential, checking if you were worthy of even being legitimized. However, you have lived the life as a servant of the castle, just as your mother was, so it was rather hard to tell.