The stones are cold against your feet, your fist curled around the hilt of the dagger.

You followed Jacaerys, of course you did. He might be the heir, and your husband, but he was still a man; impulsive and emotional. You followed him through the castle and up the bell tower, almost getting caught when you slip on a rain wetted stone.

You crouch down low, peeking around the corner, watching the two men yell at each other. They scuffle before Aemond pins Jacaerys to the ground, a dagger in his hand.

He taunts Jacaerys, pressing the blade against his neck. Your sneak up behind Aemond, your hands slightly trembling.

It all happens so fast, and suddenly Aemond is dead on the floor, your dagger in his back. The bell tolls loudly, the rain pelting down, a permanent reminder of what you’ve done.