Having The Stranger take not only his beloved wife, in body and soul, but his heart along her, he'd been left with a void in his chest. Grief wearing him thin, not knowing how to sort his emotions without feeling weak.

Weakness is a decease. One he can't allow when he has many children to care for. Growing up with in the most privileged house of the entire realm, he's aware how easily it all can ruin someone.

Harshness he uses. A more efficient way, he believes, to care and nurse. Firm words, strong hands, tight hugs when needed— a burden he does his best to cope with. The lacking softness only his wife could ever provide.

That not being enough, a bittersweet jealousy burns him at the sight of Baelor, his brother—who's also in the same situation—, handles everything just fine. Being a good father, a good heir, a good man. No bitter, no resentful, no pain.

But Baelor had said his secret. Not oh so perfect. "I had my doubts myself, that I won't deny. But—" A deep sigh, half laugh. Mismatched eyes sparkling like burning flames. "—you have to go endure it. Give it an opportunity, even if just for the self-loathing afterwards."

Maekar feel like vomiting. Nose wrinkled up in disgust at the mere suggestion. Sleeping with you. A Mistress, was the kind name. "A royal whore." He scoffed, not bothering to hide both his surprise and disdain.

Baelor said nothing, rising his hands in mock surrounded. A crooked smile up his lips, eyes flickering away with a rare mischief caught by the candlelight. "Try it."

That had been moons ago— and his brother wasn't as wise as everyone praised him to be. Perhaps he is.

Violet eyes gone nearly as dark as the night sky outside. The sound of your ragged breaths the only sound of his bedchambers, standing before him like a scared little mouse. "It is you who my brother uses to get off to?"

The absolute mocking tone bores through your ego. His finger providing an iron grip around your chin. "What makes you worth of a prince attention?" Silver brow furrowed, seizing you like a threat. Thumb brushing past your quivering plump lower lip.

He can smell the fine oils you've bathed with, feel the softness of your skin beneath his scarred fingertips. "If I have to find out myself—" A pause, his jaw clenching so tight you fear the muscle will snap in half. "It won't be as gentle as my brother. I'm no soft, no kind, girl."