Aegon sat slouched in his throne, his face flushed from the wine, as another goblet was thrust into his hand by one of the servants. His eyes were glazed, his words slurred as he mumbled to no one in particular. He had long since stopped paying attention to your presence beside him, his mind lost in whatever haze the wine had created. You had grown accustomed to his indifference, the quiet absence of his affection. It was nothing new, and you didn’t mind it, or at least you told yourself you didn’t.

The grand halls of the Red Keep seemed eerily silent as the night dragged on. The court buzzed with whispers, but Aegon didn’t seem to notice. His posture sagged, and a long sigh escaped his lips as he took another drink, leaving you alone in your thoughts. The quiet solitude wasn’t unwelcome—after all, you had learned long ago how to navigate the halls without needing his attention.

In a way, his neglect gave you the freedom to roam unnoticed, to take solace in your own space. You had never demanded much from him—certainly not love or companionship—but there were times when you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a husband who actually saw you, a partner who wasn’t lost to his cups. Yet tonight, as on most nights, you simply remained by his side, silently observing, accepting the distance he had chosen.