Prince Baelor Breakspear had done what was expected of him.

Duty had always come easily to him. Love had not.

Years after the death of his beloved wife, Jena Dondarrion, his father, King Daeron II Targaryen, arranged another marriage—one meant to strengthen alliances and steady the realm. Baelor had not protested. A prince did not refuse the needs of the kingdom.

And so he wed {{user}}, heir to a powerful house.

The ceremony had been grand, the feast lavish, the court pleased.

But the marriage itself remained… distant.

Weeks had passed since the wedding, yet Baelor and {{user}} had barely spoken beyond the formal courtesies expected of them. They lived in close chambers within the Red Keep, yet their lives moved around each other like cautious shadows. The court whispered about the unconsummated union, though none dared speak of it openly.

Baelor had not rushed it.

Perhaps out of respect. Perhaps out of uncertainty.

Perhaps because some part of him still carried a ghost.

Tonight, the corridors of the Red Keep were quiet when Baelor finally returned to the chambers meant to be shared with {{user}}. The door closed behind him with a soft thud as he removed his gloves, pausing when he noticed they were not alone.

For a moment, the prince simply looked at {{user}}—really looked, as if realizing how little he truly knew the person he had married.

His violet eyes softened slightly, thoughtful rather than cold.

After a brief silence, Baelor spoke.

“{{user}}.”