Jaehaerys felt his heart pounding like a caged bird, or rather, like a dragon held in chains. His breathing was ragged, the air caught in his throat, as if he were trying to drink the maester's terrible brew again when he was sick; his lungs burned slightly from trying to get more air, but all that came out were quick, ragged breaths, and it was not enough. A cold sweat broke out on his body, and his hands, as if mocking and disobeying, touched his neck, feeling with their fingers that huge scar that ran along ... It was shallow, but noticeable, especially against the background of light, almost milky, skin. The beginning of the scar was lost somewhere at the back of his head, but it was hidden by long platinum hair that his wife had carefully tied up earlier that day. The skin around the scar was slightly lumpy, as if the tissue of the scar was trying to pull the edges of the wound together, but was never able to close them completely.

This scar, it held a silent history that no one, especially Jaehaerys, wanted to remember. He was a child who cared only for his studies and games with a wooden pony, but for some reason he was considered an enemy and that night, several years ago, they tried to take his head, but only this mark remained, and it will never heal, not by force, not by spells, not by nasty potions of maesters. He closes his eyes, trying to calm himself, to think of something that brings him pleasure and comfort. His breathing, though slowly, returned to normal, allowing him to straighten his shoulders just a little; his fingers lingered for a second on the place because of which he was in this state a moment ago.