Our Violet Delights

《Chapter 1》

It is easier to ignore the whispers when she has a dragon at her side.

Arrax is the color of clouds and has gold for eyes. Aemma spends every moment she can by his side, whispering Valyrian into his ears and spinning tales of vast skies and endless flights.

Her uncles cackle when she is thrown from his mount the first time.

"Careful, niece!" Aemond calls out, laughter in his voice. "We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

Aemma's cheeks flush red as Jace helps her to her feet. "Ignore him, sister. Arrax is close to letting you mount him. I can tell."

Her brother is right in the end.

When she soars above the skies of King's Landing, aged just shy of eight, she finds more than just rumors waiting for her back at the Red Keep.

Her uncle regards her with open contempt.

"Watch your step, niece," he hisses as he pushes past her, forcing her to the ground. She knocks her head against the stone and finds blood on her fingers when she touches her face.

Ser Harwin Strong finds her in the corridor, bleeding and weeping.

"What's happened, little one?" The Commander of the City Watch kneels by her side, taking her chin in his hands. His touch is gentle, his eyes familiar. "Has someone hurt you?"

Aemma knows the truth will have a price. Aemond will not appreciate being punished, and so she clamps her lips shut, biting down on her tongue.

"I fell over," she lies, looking into the brown eyes she usually finds in the mirror.

Ser Harwin winces. "Is that the truth?"

Her Lord Father says lies have a cost. Aemma knows the truth is far worse.

"I'm no liar, Ser Harwin," she says, stepping back from the strong knight and his kind voice. "I am clumsy, is all."

But Ser Harwin has watched the little Princess enough to know she rarely stumbles. Men and women who mount dragons can not fall. It is against their nature, even if one day, it is their destiny.

"I shall escort you back to your mother, Princess."

~

Aemond sees his niece with bruised flesh and feels a stab of guilt.

His sister frets over her daughter when they break their fast with the king. Even his father seems concerned, asking Aemma about her bloodied chin and swollen lip.

For a moment, the young prince feels a crippling fear. If his niece were to tell the truth, he would be punished. Ser Criston would be made to strike him, as he has been before. His mother often loses her patience and commands her knights to discipline her children. Aemond knows what it is to feel pain from the hands of the kingsguard, and he wants none of it.

Copper brown eyes meet the gaze of old Valyria, and her lips remain shut.

"Why did you not tell?"

He corners her in the halls and watches her tremble. She is like a pretty songbird when scared. He knows he should expect her fear, but he does not anticipate the way his stomach churns and rolls. Guilt claws at his skin, and he can't seem to take his eyes off the scabbing flesh of his niece.

"I didn't want to get you in trouble."

She is small in her honesty, cowering before him.

"Does anyone know the truth?"

He thinks of Ser Criston and his unrelenting strength. He thinks of his father and the disappointment he would face.

When his niece hesitates, he grabs her by the arms and digs his nails into her skin.