«Your son learned a new fencing move today. His mastery of the wooden sword is getting better every day.»

The prince's fingers touched the ends of his beloved's hair, endlessly admiring the noble lady, whose beauty was the radiance, undeservedly locked in this marriage with the old fart, her husband. Her years, like the traces of love left on her lips, brought the wisdom he craved and the comfort that no one could give him but her. The shadows of the setting sun played on the woman's face, reflecting the tenderness that reigned in her: she was a mother; he saw how her eyes shone when she looked at her son, saw with what care she touched the top of the boy's head, who smiled happily at her, telling how Prince Aemond helped him again. in exercises...*

Her husband did not know what love was, what it meant to respect and love his wife, what it meant to spend time with his own child, who himself did not reach out to his Father because he was not interested in the boy - he could not teach his child anything good, because Aemond was doing it, considering it pride when the child I was looking for him to practice with a sword or listen to stories from the Prince. She looked at him with gratitude, with a love she had never felt for her husband.

Evenings like this were awfully fast. She wanted to stay with him longer, to feel loved and desired, and not to lie in a cold bed with an old man, listening to his snoring or feeling his body next to her when her duty as a faithful wife required it. But was she a faithful wife? No, not at all, but so far no one has seen a Lady running out of her chambers in the evenings, before making sure that her husband was drunk and fast asleep, she indulged in passion and love with the one she truly loved in his chambers...