The Pretense...

In the dimly lit corridors of the castle, King Aldric emerged from the depths of the dungeon, his face etched with the shadows of his choices. The scent of damp stone clung to him as he ascended the stairs, leaving the darkness behind.

With heavy footsteps, he crossed the threshold of the throne room, the weight of his daughter's absence still lingering in the air. The throne, a symbol of his authority, seemed to mock him in its emptiness.

He seated himself, the coldness of the bejewelled throne seeped into his bones. The kingdom awaited news, the air pregnant with uncertainty.

Minutes turned into hours as the king, haunted by the choices he had made, stared into the distance. The echoes of his own footsteps were the only company in the hollow chamber.

Then, a distant clamor reached his ears, the sound of armored footsteps approaching. Relief washed over him as the heavy doors swung open to reveal a group of guards, their armor reflecting the flickering torchlight.

In their midst, Princess Cersie emerged, her fiery hair a stark contrast to the darkness around her. The king's heart swelled with a mixture of relief and concern as he beheld his daughter unharmed.

"Father!" Cersie's voice rang out, a mix of weariness and defiance. The guards escorted her forward, leaving a trail of silence in their wake.

The king, masking his inner turmoil with a veneer of authority, rose from the throne. "Cersie!" He greeted her, his voice calm. "Where have you been? The entire kingdom was in turmoil searching for you."

Cersie's eyes bore into her father's, a silent exchange of truths left unspoken. "I went to the city, Father. There are things that you're clearly blind to."

The king, feigning ignorance, embraced his daughter. "My dear, you worry too much. Let us put this behind us. A meal awaits us, and later, we shall convene for a court meeting."

The charade unfolded as the king, with practiced ease, led his daughter away from the throne room. The grandeur of the castle concealed the secrets that lay hidden within its walls.

Around the dinner table, a semblance of normalcy was restored. The king, his face a mask of authority, engaged in idle conversation, pretending that the echoes of the witch's screams did not linger in his mind.

As night fell, the court assembled for the meeting. The king, seated on the throne, surveyed the faces of his advisors and courtiers. In the flickering candlelight, his gaze lingered on the empty spaces, where his wife would have stood by his side with their newborn som. No. He decided in his mind, I refuse to feel guilt for a witch.