The Hidden Princess° Aemond Targaryen

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So long, goodbye
I'll see you when I see you
You can pick the street
I'll meet you on the other side

The morning after King Viserys, the benevolent king's death, Queen Alicent lingered around the Red Keep. Her hands were at her side pressed into her distinguished green gown, and her lips pursed with angst.

Upon hearing the creak of the door, the woman jolted in awareness as she watched the movement of the door open. "You may come in."

In the doorway, Silas, the cowardly man who kept a close eye on Rhaella since her arrival, approached the queen.

"Ah, Silas..." she began, her eyebrows knitted. "Tell me, has the girl mentioned anything of her trip with Aemond?"

The man shook his head, as he neglected to hold the woman's intense glare. "I would make haste, child. You wouldn't want your dearest mother to abruptly stop receiving medication. Perhaps that handsome brother of yours might be more fitted for the task?"

"N-no, your highness!" Silas stammered, his eyes watering. "Please, I will not take your kindness towards my family and I for granted."

The queen stroked the man's raven locks. She leaned in close and whispered, "I would hope not." With a single push, she judged the man away, and smirked.

"Next time you disappoint your queen, it will be the last. Understood, Silas?" the woman remarked, with a hint of amusement in her expression.

Without a moment of hesitation, the servant rushed from the Red Keep and back into the corridors. "Oh, mother. I have failed you," the man whispered to himself as tears stung his eyes.

The young servant fled from the corridors and back to the area filled with palace workers, a troublesome place where the children starved, and the women, young and well-kept, prepared themselves for a life of torment by the hands of their soon-to-be King, Aegon Targaryen.

Silas breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing his brother, Byron, tending to their sickly mother, who laid motionless on a mattress made of hay bales.

"Brother, has that wench of a queen force you to do her ill-bidding once again?"

The younger man shushed his brother. "The walls have eyes, and ears, Byron. Keep your voice down, it is dangerous to be as outspoken as you."

Byron smirked half-heartedly. "Ah, and it is rather unfortunate to be as spineless and cowardly as yourself. As much as I love you, I worry about your safety."

In a hushed voice, the man reprimanded his brother, "You haven't any idea what I have done to get us where we are, Byron. We would all be dead if it hadn't been for me."

He scoffed at Silas. "Oh, and where is that? Mother is sleeping on a fucking stack of hay, and I am on the cusp of becoming the queen's prostitute!"

"I am aware of that," he scowled. "Understand this, brother. With a little push, Aegon will succumb to his desire of freedom. Once that happens, you know who will be in line for succession?"

Byron chuckled a dry and humorless laugh. "Aemond and Rhaella. I am aware how the lineage works, brother. What happens when Rhaella discovers your affiliation with the queen? How you encouraged the death of her adoptive mother?"

Silas shook his head. "I may not leave this war unscathed, but you and mother will be fine from the grasp of the queen and her people."

"What makes you believe such a dream? You think this girl is any different than her betrothed? You might be an optimist, but I see things how they are. These Targaryens, they are all the same." Byron stated with conviction.

The young servant shook his head. "I do not believe that I know of her heart. It's good, like her mother. She will spare us."

Byron picked up some of the hay from the ground, crumbling it beneath his fingers. "If you are wrong, I will lose a brother, and mother will lose her treatment. You will be the family's undoing."

"We shall see about that," Silas said, before walking back towards the royal chambers.

As the man walked towards the chambers, he was greeted by the blade of a dagger pressed against his throat, preventing him from moving further. He peered at the figure holding the weapon and found the furious glare of Aemond.

"I have known of your intentions for quite some time. I know you are my mother's bird in the sky," he sneered.

Silas opened his mouth as if to say something but was silenced with the dagger pressing deeper into his skin.

"I am not interested in excuses. I am aware of your ill-fated mother, and your brother cursed with good looks. It is quite noble of you to dance with the devil in exchange for your family's wellbeing."

The servant frowned, allowing the blade to press against his pale skin.

"I would slit your throat in an instant if it did not affect my relationship with my wife."

The man's eyes lit up upon hearing Aemond call Rhaella his wife. Had the two eloped during their trip away from King's Landing? He thought.

Aemond smirked as he watched the servant's eyes light up. "Yes, we eloped in Dorne. You may tell mother if it means your life is to be spared for the next following weeks. I have no interest in what happens to you."

"Y-you don't?" Silas croaked.

The prince released the tension from the blade and the man's neck. "I do not. Matter of fact, I am unbothered by your fate. Now, if Rhaella asserts, she wants your head on a platter, I will not hesitate."

Silas gulped, adjusting under the pressure of Aemond's dagger.

The man continued, "Which is the reason, you will be the one to tell Rhaella of your alliance with the queen. Not I, nor Byron—"

Silas snapped his gaze towards Aemond, curiously. "Yes, I know everything about you."

Without a second thought, the man agreed. "I will tell her everything. The moment I see her, I will inform her of my treason against you and her.

Aemond hummed, "Wonderful. I suppose we have a deal," he said apathetically, pulling his dagger from the man's throat, and placing it back in his coat pocket.

Silas held a hand to his throat and felt little nicks of blood pooling from his neck.

"Don't fret, it's nothing that can kill you." The prince chuckled dryly. "Break that deal, however, and my dagger will slice through your skin like Valyrian steel cutting through silk cloth."

The young servant gulped. "Yes, your royal highness. I understand."

With a tantalizing grin, Aemond remarked, "I can see why my mother likes you. You're quite the kiss ass."

The Targaryen turned on his heels, and walked away from the servant, whose neck bled slightly, but could never compare to the pain of his heart."