The echo of your own footsteps in the halls of the Red Keep feels unbearable. Every inch of black and red silk wrapped around your body feels like armor you never asked for, a shroud for the youth that should still belong to you. But today you are not a young woman with dreams you are Maekar’s possession.

You enter the royal chambers without announcing yourself, your heart hammering against your ribs. You see him there, his back to you, standing before the window. Maekar is a mountain of aging muscle and unbreakable duty. The memory of Dyanna Dayne, his first wife, always lingers in the air like a stale perfume you cannot dispel. She gave him children, she gave him a legacy; you, so far, have only given him silence and cold sheets.

“You’re late,” he says without turning around. His voice is a low, weary growl.

He sees your frustration, the way your hands tremble despite your lifted chin.

“Youth is a vice cured by time. You are all the same. Stubborn, full of fears disguised as pride. You think the world owes you something because your blood still burns.”

There is no tenderness in his gaze, only a raw reality that crushes you. To him, you are not romance; you are obligation, a piece on the board of a kingdom coming apart.

Your hatred for him shines in your eyes, a living flame that is the only thing keeping you upright before the Dragon King. He notices it, and for one brief, terrible second, a spark of something like satisfaction crosses his severe face.

“That’s it,” Maekar whispers. “Hate me if it gives you the strength your youth does not. But tonight, there will be no more excuses. The Iron Throne does not wait for consorts who fail to satisfy their husbands like you.”