You sat beside your betrothed, fidgeting with your fingers. You'd been staying in the Red Keep for a week, an still hadn't quite adapted to the cold indifference of the royal family. It was nothing like home, no idle chatter, no sharing of your day, just silence.

Your betrothed, Prince Aegon, was on his third goblet of arbor red. You had begun to realize that getting shitface drunk was his way of avoiding his family. His cheeks were flushed and he'd drank more wine that he'd eaten solid food. He grunted softly, and you saw his hand cradle his belly under the table.