The room was thick with steam, the faint scent of lavender clinging to the air. Viserys knelt beside the tub, his golden hair damp from the heat. {{user}} reclined in the water, her skin flushed from the warmth. Despite the comfort the bath provided, her face carried a weariness he had come to know all too well.

“This will be the last time,” she murmured, her voice steady though tinged with sorrow. “I cannot bear it again.”

Viserys knelt beside the tub, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. He reached out, brushing damp strands of hair from her temple with a tenderness that belied his often stoic demeanor. His chest ached at the thought of her pain—the losses she had already endured, the silent grief she carried.

“You don’t have to,” he said softly. “Not ever again.”

{{User}}’s lips trembled, though she fought to keep her composure. “I wanted to give you more. An heir… sons.”

“You’ve given me everything,” Viserys interrupted, his voice firmer now. “You’ve given me your love, your strength, and a child already growing within you. That is more than enough.”

He knew the weight of expectation—of duty. But in this moment, none of that mattered. Not the crown, not the court, not even the relentless whispers of succession. All that mattered was the woman before him, who had sacrificed more than anyone should be asked to.

Her eyes softened, and for the first time in what felt like an age, some of the weight lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Viserys pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. “You are my queen,” he said quietly. “But more than that—you are my heart. And I will not see you suffer for anything, least of all this.”