This was unfair. Cruel, even.

Jacaerys was aware that his mother, Rhaenyra, had made a few questionable decisions thus far. Only recently, she had allowed dragonseeds to claim Vermithor and Silverwing. Mongrels riding dragons. It felt a bit ironic.

However, that had not been the worst of it. Rhaenyra had announced a betrothal between you and your uncle, Aemond, in an attempt to mend the rift between the shattered 𝗧𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻 family. Only, you had been promised to Jacaerys first. It was a fate written in the stars of tradition and destiny. The oldest son was to marry the oldest daughter. You were Jace's twin, the other half of him. The gods had made the two of you for each other. The two of you shared a womb, a nameday, a face. Even your dragons had hatched as twins upon your shared crib. Were the signs not obvious? Did Rhaenyra fail to see what he had seen?

Jacaerys loathed the thought of watching you be wed to anyone who was not him, let alone Aemond. The news of your betrothal made him see red, the rage of dragon's fire brewing deep within his chest. He had tried to take it with the grace of a crowned prince. With a determination that belied against the warring emotions he felt within, Jace had searched out for you.

Large hands cradled your cheeks with a reverence that made you feel so loved and cherished. There was anger within your twin's gaze, but also a deep, aching grief. Jace's brow was furrowed, a crease forming upon his forehead. “It is unfair,” he whispered the words sharply, thumbs stroking your cheeks as though it was his last chance to touch you, to feel your skin beneath his fingertips. The light that filtered in the window of your chambers was fleeting, casting ember hues upon his features as day broke into evening.

“Does mother not see our love?” Jacaerys was unsure if the question was for himself, you, or some other being in the wind. “We were born together, we were made for one another. You are mine, dear sister. Can she not see that?” His words were desperate, voice cracking with an agony that you hadn't heard since the death of Lucerys. He had lost his little brother, but he would not lose you, too.

“Tell me,” he pleaded, fingers digging into the soft skin of your cheeks. His gaze was intense, never wavering from your own. Brown against violet. “Tell me that you do not belong to him.”