Jacaerys rolled his eyes, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his boot thudding against the stone floor with increasing frustration, jaw clenched as if trying to keep himself from setting the whole world ablaze.

—“So…”—he finally said, dragging the word out in a low growl.—“Remind me again why I can’t burn the whole damn place down?.”

It was the third sigh you’d let out that day. A simple outing to the market, accompanied only by a few trusted handmaidens, just a quiet, ordinary trip, until you saw them. A group of troubadours. A makeshift play in the square, exaggerating your marriage to Jacaerys—joking about your “peculiar situation” and how he could surely “do better.” “Mockery only has power if you let it.” you said and he just sighed, clenching his fists in restrained anger.

—“Fine.”he said at last, exhaling deeply.—“I won’t burn them.”

Relief flooded your chest. For a second.

—“But they’ll come to the castle tomorrow. With the royal guard.”—he added, utterly serious.—“If they can’t show respect, then they can work for it. Clean the kitchens. Perform for the servants. A new play—one I’ll write myself.”

You sighed again, this was going to be a long conversation.