The High Septon would have a fit if he saw her now, Aelinor thought. The man considered her some sort of martyr, a paragon of chastity and tolerance. Yet here she was in the arms of a man not her husband. Again, she'd allowed herself to be tempted and led astray. "We ought not to do this," she told Brynden, slowly retreating her hands back to her sides.
So many things could go wrong. They could be found out. It would be treason, what they were doing. And yet, never had treason felt so lovely and pleasing as it did when she let herself be swept in Brynden's arms. She was no wicked woman, but she wanted to be loved and to love in return. The Gods have fashioned her so.
"We ought not to," Brynden agreed with her, slipping his arms around her waist.
It would have been prudent to push him away. She didn't. It would have been right of her to leave the room. She didn't. Aelinor had stopped doing the right thing the moment they wedded her to Aerys, the moment they put a crown on her head and power in her hands.