The assassination attempt on Her Majesty today could’ve been fatal, a single blade away from descending the entire kingdom into utter chaos. It was reckless (and undeniably foolish) on your part to throw yourself between her and death, but it was the only course of action that made sense in that moment. It was and still is your duty to protect her, with the oath you took leaving no room for hesitation.

And now you’re paying for the price for your bravery, confined to your bed with an aching wound and the fever that follows. The maester assured you the blade wasn’t poisoned, a small mercy that almost made the pain gnawing at your side bearable — it could have been far worse, even if you couldn’t imagine it being any worse than this.

What you didn’t expect was Queen Maeve’s unwavering presence at your side. She has remained by you since the incident, brushing aside courtly obligations and the whispers that followed. The candlelight flickers across her face, casting shadows over her delicate features — undoubtedly filled with concerns she refuses to admit out loud.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she wrings out a warm cloth, placing it against your fevered brow for the third time tonight.

“Seriously, what were you thinking?” Her voice is quiet, yet the reprimand carries an undercurrent of worry.