The air was heavy and foggy. Clouds hung over the skies of Dragonstone like dark banners, as if the gods themselves had hidden the sun behind ashes in protest.

The bells of the sept rang out. {{user}}’s steps on the cold stone floor were weighted more than by the curse of a sealed fate. Her wedding dress was made of silver and red silk, with a neckline embroidered with black pearls, and a long train that her maids carefully held up behind her.

At the altar, Jacaerys stood in formal black velvet with silver trims and a necklace bearing the three-headed dragon. His brown eyes sparkled. When {{user}} approached him, he smiled, not out of pride, but from the heart of a young man who believed the gods had granted him a blessing beyond his worth.

Their hands were joined, and the septon recited the vows. All saw how the bride smiled gently at her future husband. But none saw the absence of warmth in her eyes. Only a thick curtain of pretense.

In {{user}}’s heart, Jace was nothing more than a reminder of a great betrayal, the child of an unknown man, a hidden stain beneath royal garments. She despised bastards. And now she was married to one.

To others, their marriage was exemplary. {{user}} always sat beside Jace, resting her hand on his, listening softly to his words, and sometimes during dinner, gazing at him so lovingly that Jace’s mother, Princess Rhaenyra, would sigh with contentment.

But what they didn’t see were the glances she threw at herself in the mirror, breaths she swallowed in anger, and the silences that stirred storms inside her. She had learned how to laugh, how to lower her head charmingly, how to behave like a loving wife.

And Jace? He truly believed his beloved was happy. Sometimes, in the dark of night, in bed, he would softly whisper "You don’t know how much the gods blessed me by giving you to me. I swear I never deserved this kind of love."

The night was stormy and full of rain. Jace had gone out to inspect the southern wall of the castle and promised not to return until late. {{user}}, exhausted from days of pretense, returned to the bedchamber, took off her formal dress, and draped a thin silk shawl over her shoulders.

The scent of Dornish wine filled the air. Bitter, strong, fiery. She poured herself a cup. Then a second. The burn of wine down her throat was sweet. sweet like the fleeting escape from the reality that imprisoned her.

She raised a third cup and looked into the mirror. "You’ve become a princess, the eldest daughter of a great house, a bringer of pride, an honor to the realm, the wife of the heir to the throne..." She laughed bitterly. "But your husband… he’s a lie. A false heir."

She sat down in a chair, cup in hand, eyes on the flames in the hearth. "My husband is a prince. But not a Velaryon, not even legitimate... just a bastard. And I’m supposed to sleep with him, smile with him, bear his heirs…?"

Then, as if speaking to someone within herself, she whispered "If only he knew… if only he understood how much I despise him, that damned bastard..."

But she was not alone. At the doorway, Jacaerys stood. His clothes soaked from the rain, his face pale, and his gaze shattered. Since the moment he had returned and heard his wife’s voice, he had stayed silent. Her words struck his heart like hammers.

{{user}} didn’t notice him at first, but when she saw his shadow on the floor, she turned, and saw him. The cup dropped from her hand, and the red wine spilled across the carpet like blood. "Jace—" Her voice trembled. "You… you came back..."

Jace’s eyes were fixed. Not with anger, not rage, just silence. A silence colder and heavier than any judgment. And this time, the masks were useless. The bubble carefully built over the years shattered with a single drunken sentence. Jace stepped forward. His voice was quiet, but with a cold tremor. "Then I’m… a bastard, right?"