Jaime sat in the great hall of Casterly Rock, absently rolling the golden lion ring on his finger as he listened to the distant crash of waves against the cliffs. His father’s will loomed over him, as inescapable as the fortress itself.

“You will marry. You will do your duty.”

The words had been spoken in Tywin’s cold, measured tone—neither a suggestion nor a plea, but an iron decree. Jaime had known better than to argue. He had tried once, long ago, and had suffered the consequences. A sword taken from his hand, a life of duty forced upon him, an identity stripped away and reshaped to serve his father’s legacy. The Kingsguard had been his prison, but at least it had been his choice. Now, even that was gone, and with it, any illusion of control over his own fate.

He exhaled slowly, staring at the carved wooden doors ahead. Any moment now, she would arrive—the woman chosen to be his wife, his father’s latest strategy made flesh. He knew little of her, only that she was highborn, suitable, and, above all, a means to strengthen House Lannister. Her feelings on the matter were irrelevant, much like his own.

A goblet of wine sat untouched beside him. He had considered drinking, but no amount of wine could make this easier. What words did one offer a stranger who was to share their life, their bed, their name? Welcome to your golden cage?