Viserys sat alone in the throne room, hands resting heavy on his knees, the weight of the crown pressing harder than ever.

They told him it was time to marry again, for duty, for legacy.

He nodded, as kings must. But in his chest, something quiet ached.

He missed warmth, not strategy. Companionship, not politics.

Still, he rose. Because a king does not choose his heart. He follows the realm’s.