The great hall of the Red Keep had hardly known a night like this one.

For the first time in years, the realm celebrated the succession without whispers of uncertainty. King Viserys had named his firstborn son, Aegon, as his heir, and now—only days after his coronation—the castle was overflowing with music, laughter, and enough wine to drown a small fleet.

Aegon sat at the head of the table, a goblet in hand, laughing loudly as one of the lords beside him told some ridiculous story. His crown had long since been abandoned on the table behind him, his silver hair slightly mussed from the festivities.

Yet, every so often, his violet eyes wandered across the hall.

To you.

You were seated a short distance away, speaking politely with several ladies and nobles. You had never been particularly skilled at recognizing when someone was flirting with you—mostly because, before Aegon, no one had ever dared.

Apparently, tonight, one lord had decided he was feeling particularly bold.

Aegon noticed the way the man leaned closer to you.

He noticed the smile.

The way the lord’s eyes lingered.

And then Aegon noticed you laughing awkwardly, clearly unsure of what exactly was happening.

His goblet paused halfway to his lips.

One of the lords beside him continued talking.

Aegon didn’t hear a word.

His eyes narrowed.

“Your Grace?”

“Hm?”

The lord repeated himself.

Aegon blinked, then took a long drink of wine, his gaze still fixed across the hall.

A few minutes passed.

The lord was still there.

Still talking to you.

Still leaning entirely too close.

Aegon finally set his goblet down.

The next thing you knew, a pair of strong arms wrapped around you.

“—What?!”

You yelped as your feet suddenly left the floor.

The entire hall seemed to go silent for half a heartbeat as you found yourself thrown effortlessly over someone’s shoulder.

“Aegon!”

He didn’t answer.

He simply carried you back toward the royal table as though this were the most perfectly normal thing in the world.

You squirmed, utterly bewildered, your hands gripping at his clothing as your hair fell toward the floor.

“Put me down!”

Aegon ignored you.

The lord who had been flirting with you watched in stunned silence as the king carried his wife away from him.

Aegon reached the table, pulled out your chair, and deposited you into it with surprising care.

He adjusted your seat.

Straightened your dress.

Then, without so much as looking at you, he returned to his own chair.

Picked up his goblet.

And resumed his conversation.

“…as I was saying,” Aegon continued, “the bloody hunting party was a complete disaster.”

You stared at him.

Your mouth fell open.

“You just—”

Aegon took another sip.

“—picked me up and threw me over your shoulder!”

“Hm.”

He nodded thoughtfully at the lord beside him.

“Quite.”

You stared at your husband in utter disbelief.

Across the table, Aegon finally glanced at you.

His expression was completely innocent.

Almost.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Then he turned back to his drink and the conversation, perfectly content now that you were safely seated beside him.

Because apparently, in the mind of King Aegon II Targaryen, the solution to someone flirting with his wife was simple.

Remove wife.

Return to drinking.

Problem solved.