The music filled the great hall, a symphony of strings and flutes weaving through the steady hum of laughter and conversation. Despite the lively celebration, the sound only worsened the dull ache behind your eyes. The torches on the walls burned brightly, casting flickering shadows across the faces of the lords and ladies gathered to honor your union. Yet, the warmth of the room felt oppressive, not inviting.

You sat stiffly at the long, ornate table, your posture rigid, your hands folded neatly in your lap. Beside you, Prince Aemond sat equally unmoved, his sharp features set in a mask of icy indifference. His gaze was distant, his single eye surveying the crowd with a cold detachment that sent a chill through you.

This was your wedding feast, but neither of you appeared inclined to celebrate. The weight of duty hung heavily in the air between you. This marriage wasn’t born of love or even mutual affection—it was forged by necessity, a union sealed for politics and power. Like so many others, it had been decided for you, without regard for your feelings.

You glanced briefly at Aemond, searching his face for any trace of emotion, but found none. His jaw was taut, his lips pressed into a thin line. If he resented this as much as you did, he gave no outward sign, though his silence spoke volumes. You turned your gaze back to the hall, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. This was your new life, bound to a man who felt more like a stranger than a partner.