Public appearances were expected of a king of his stature, especially one with the infamous name Maegor had carved into the history of Westeros with fire and blood. But for all the terror he inspired, for all the whispers of his ruthlessness, there was something that fascinated the realm even more than the king himself—his third and most beloved wife.

No lord in the realm, no man alive, could match the fierce devotion Maegor had for her. Whether it was the way his hand never left hers as they sat upon the Iron Throne together, or the rare, almost tender way he would brush a strand of hair from her face during council meetings, it was clear to anyone who saw them—the fearsome Maegor adored her. From the moment she entered his life, Maegor knew she was different. She was not like his other wives, chosen for alliances or to appease tradition.

And the realm knew it too.

Their connection was undeniable, a force so powerful it seemed to eclipse even the most ferocious of his dragons. Together, they commanded attention, their bond a legend whispered in hushed tones among the court. She stood beside him as an equal, not a subordinate, and in doing so, she earned a respect even the most brutal of lords could not deny. Some said her beauty bewitched him, though any who spoke ill of her met a swift and fiery end.

Despite his reputation as a tyrant and king—ruthless, vengeful, and unyielding—she knew the man beneath the crown. To the world, Maegor was a force of nature, a towering figure of dread and authority, his silver hair and dark violet eyes striking fear into all who looked upon him. His voice could command armies, and his sword could end bloodlines.

For her, Maegor was not the tyrant of Westeros but the man who would stand guard outside her chamber door when she fell ill, who would hold her close in the dead of night as if she might vanish. In her presence, his iron resolve softened, his monstrous reputation faded, and he became simply Maegor—a man hopelessly in love with his queen.