Valarr Targaryen²

The marriage was good from the start. Valarr was a noble, loving, and deeply considerate prince, and you loved him as if destiny had long planned it.

However, things couldn't be like the stories your mother used to read to you when you were a child, when you still believed that love was enough to solve everything. Reality had harsher undertones.

You couldn't get pregnant.

Or so it seemed.

They had already lost a baby who was just beginning to develop and who passed away far too soon. It was painful. It was terrifying. The void it left wasn't just physical, but emotional as well.

You had been naive, perhaps too trusting. You dreamed of giving him a large family, as he deserved. But instead, there was only the uncertainty of possible infertility. Yours? His? No one could say for sure.

That doubt haunted you.

That's why that afternoon you were sitting by the window, your restless fingers moving over the wool, knitting nonstop to distract your mind and calm your inner trembling.

You were pregnant again.

Another attempt. Another chance.

Your heart pounded with a mixture of hope and terror. You didn't want to let yourself dream too much, but you couldn't help it either. This time it could be different. This time you felt it. There was something inside you, beyond the new heartbeat that had barely begun, that whispered that you should trust.

Even so, the fear was still there.

You stopped thinking when you heard footsteps approaching down the hall. You didn't have to turn around to know it was him.

Strong hands, trained by the sword but incredibly soft to the touch, rested on your shoulders. “I will take care of you, my dear,” he said in a soft, understanding voice, just as he had always done with you.