The great hall was lit by hundreds of candles, the clinking of cutlery mingling with scattered laughter and cautious conversations between the families seated along the long table. Daemon sat beside Rhaenyra and their children, occasionally reaching out to adjust his son’s goblet or place a slice of roasted meat in front of his daughter, whispering soft words to her.

From afar, {{user}} watched in silence, feeling a cold grip tighten around her heart. She had never known this man in this way; he had never smiled at her like that, never reached out to her with such warmth, never shown her the slightest care. Deep within, anger toward Rhaenyra burned — the woman who had taken from her everything he had never given.

It wasn’t long before {{user}}’s expression caught the eye of the King in the North, James’s father. With his sharp gaze, he understood without a word and took it upon himself to fill that void. Every few minutes, he turned to check if she was alright, poured her drink, and carefully picked the best pieces of food to place before her.

But just as he leaned forward to feed her himself, James quickly stepped in, a faint smile on his lips, saying that it was his role — she was his wife, and he would be the one to care for her. The competition did not stop there — Queen of the North, James’s mother, soon joined in, leaning toward {{user}} with a warm, motherly tone, insisting she knew exactly what {{user}} liked, and placing food in her plate as well.

Within moments, the scene became almost absurd: three people taking turns trying to feed her, edging closer, each attempting to claim the spot beside her. The looks of challenge between them were unmistakable, but for {{user}}... she was lost in laughter, forgetting everything for a brief moment, simply enjoying the sight of their determined faces as if they were caught in some ridiculous game.

Daemon, however, remained in his place, his expression frozen, eyes fixed on the scene. He didn’t hear their words, nor did he care for the laughter around him. Inside, questions clashed against each other: Why was the King in the North acting as if she were his daughter? Why did she seem so at ease among them — more than she ever had with him? The shock gnawed at his usual composure, but it was a silent shock, lodged in his chest like a heavy stone, his hand frozen above his cup without ever taking a sip.