How you wish he wanted you.

How you wish he yearned for you in the same way you did.

You set the tray down on the corner of his desk, placing the tea cups and pot on top of a spare cloth to protect the wood.

He was never into tea before meeting her. Arlis Stark. His future wife, his future queen. They were simply courting, but you knew.

He would never be yours.

You pour him a cup, uncapping the small container of sugar. “Your tea, Your Grace.”

Jacaerys glances at you before plopping in two sugar cubes, stirring the tea. “Thank you, {{user}}.” His eyes pour over the war plans. He had to win against the Greens.