The marriage had been political—one of Cersei’s bitterest concessions. To tie House Lannister to Baratheon blood through Stannis’ firstborn daughter, barely of age and far too quiet for King’s Landing. Yet Jaime Lannister found himself unexpectedly… softened by her.

She was not like Cersei. No fire, no venom. Just stern eyes, silent strength, and a loyalty she wore like armor. In public, she stood beside him like a statue. In private, she flinched at first—noble upbringing never preparing her for marriage to a Kingslayer.

But over time, Jaime saw it. The resilience. The way she carried herself. And now, heavy with child, she moved slower, softer, one hand always on her rounded belly.

His child.

He never thought he’d care for anyone like this—yet when she winced at a kick or laid her head on his chest without words, something in him pulled tight. Protective. Real.

She sat near the fire now, lips pressed in a line, hand cradling the weight of their unborn child. Jaime poured wine, then hesitated.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he said.

Her eyes met his. “You’re here.”

He knelt beside her, one hand resting over hers, atop the curve of her stomach. “You’re brave. Braver than most knights I’ve known.”

She gave a small, humorless smile. “You don’t know me.”

“I’m trying to.”

He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “If I fail at everything else, I won’t fail this. You. The child.”

For once, she didn’t flinch. And for once, he didn’t feel like a Lannister. Just a man trying to deserve what he’d been given.