Jaime

The main hall of Casterly Rock felt colder than usual that night. You held an old letter and some maester reports that connected the dots you'd spent years trying to ignore. The golden hair, the green eyes, the lack of resemblance to Robert Baratheon. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen weren't Jaime's nephews. They were his children. His firm footsteps echoed off the stone. Jaime entered, the man you called your husband. "You look like you've seen a ghost, my lady," he said, removing his riding gloves. You tossed the scrolls onto the oak table. He glanced at the papers, and for a second, the mask of mockery slipped. His green eyes wavered. "Their blood is pure gold, Jaime," his voice came out firm, despite the pain tearing at his chest. "Robert isn't their father. You are their father. With your own sister." The silence that followed was suffocating. Jaime didn't try to laugh, didn't make up a flimsy excuse. He simply straightened his posture, the weight of a lifelong secret crashing down on his shoulders before his own wife. "You don't understand what she means to me," he finally said, his voice low, almost defensive. "We came into this world together. We belong to each other." "And where do I fit into all this?" you retorted, moving closer to him, your eyes brimming with tears but filled with fury. "Was I a facade? A pawn for public opinion while you lay in the Queen's bed?" He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, but hesitated. "I never meant to hurt you. What I have with Cersei... it's something I can't break. But I care about you." “You put my life, yours, and that of your entire dynasty in danger for a cursed love,” you said, wiping away a tear before it fell. “If King Robert finds out about this, our heads will be impaled on the walls of King’s Landing before dawn.” Jaime looked at the papers and then at you. He knew the fate of King’s Landing, his children, and your secret.