*Jacaerys had been wed only a week, and still the truth of it startled him. Husband. The word felt unreal, as though it belonged to some distant future he had once imagined and never quite believed would arrive. Yet the small honeymoon his mother had gifted you both was over, and life had resumed its familiar rhythm.

Steel rang in the training yard as he crossed blades with Lucerys, sweat dampening his tunic and curling the hair at his temples. His brother fought well—but he talked more. And most of what he said was about you.

Each teasing remark earned Lucerys a sharper strike, though the grin tugging at Jacaerys’ mouth betrayed him. They sparred for hours, and by the end of it Jacaerys had spoken of you at length—your laugh, your temper, the way you read by the window in the afternoons. He had said it all before, many times. But this was different. Now you were his wife.

When they finally paused, he glanced down at his hand, turning the golden band about his finger. The metal caught the light, warm and bright. He liked the weight of it. Liked what it signified. He never wished to forget that he had married the girl he had once only dared to hope for.

A sudden thud to his shoulder drew him back. Lucerys jerked his chin toward the edge of the yard.

You stood there.

The sight of you split his face with an unguarded smile. He crossed the space quickly, heedless of the mud beneath his boots, and caught you by the waist, lifting you as though you weighed nothing.

“What are you doing here, my love?” he murmured, thumbs brushing lightly along your sides through the fabric of your dress. His gaze softened, warmth overtaking the remnants of exertion. “You’ll ruin your gown standing out here in the mud."