The Red Keep’s halls were silent, save for the distant crackle of torches. Maegor stood just beyond the archway to his mother’s solar, shadowed in the dim light. The voices inside carried clearly—his mother’s calm, measured tone, and {{user}}’s softer, trembling one.

“I told him I am barren,” {{user}} whispered. “If he believes it, the marriage will never happen.”

Queen Visenya’s reply was laced with warning. “He will not take kindly to deceit, daughter. He is your king as well as your brother.”

“I fear him,” {{user}} admitted, voice barely audible. “More than I could ever love him.”

Something inside Maegor shifted—rage, betrayal, a deep, cutting ache. He had shed blood for heirs that never came, and now here was the one promised to him since childhood, denying him out of fear.

The hinges groaned as he pushed the door open. Visenya’s gaze flicked to him, unreadable, but {{user}} froze mid-breath.

Maegor’s eyes, dark and burning, locked on hers. “You lied.” His voice was low, dangerous, but not without a strange, wounded undercurrent.

{{user}} rose from her seat, instinctively stepping back. “I—”

“You think to deny me my right because you fear me?” he cut in, each step closing the space between them. “You speak of barrenness when your blood is the purest in the realm.”