Nights and days drifted by, and the day of the feast had finally arrived.
Aelyria grimaced, her stomach turning at the thought of having to suffer through tedious small talk with all the unworthy lords and fake pleasantries that left her soul feeling drained.
She closed her eyes, and let the sounds of the waves wash over her frayed nerves.
The secluded beach she had discovered at the outskirts of the Red Keep was a hidden gem, large enough for Cannibal to land undisturbed, and very much deserted.
The relentless thirst she had for the skies was clawing at her. She needed to fly more than she needed to draw breath.
Aelyria had never been separated this long from Cannibal. She felt as if her heart was being ripped out from her chest, and torn into shreds.
With a reluctant sigh, she pushed away her thoughts to call for her dragon and fly far from this disgraceful place, and made for the tunnels. She couldn't linger any longer. Duty called, and with it, the responsibility that she could not escape.
She kept advancing, winding her way through the darkness of the secret passages. The tunnels were dusty and dirty, and she wrinkled her nose against its musty smell.
Aelyria had kept herself occupied with learning Maegor's hidden passageways, using them to get by rather than the corridors and exploring them while at it. She had to admit that the tunnels were crafted brilliantly, offering an exit in every direction of King's Landing and an entrance to every chamber in the Red Keep.
Mad and cruel Maegor may have been, but his paranoia had ensured that whoever knew of their existence could freely walk unnoticed and unbothered.
The narrow tunnels, hidden chambers, and forgotten alcoves offered her refuge from the ever-watchful eyes of the court, and more importantly, from Aemond's looming presence.
No longer would she risk stumbling into a sudden encounter.
No, no more.
She knew that the true danger didn't lie in the shadows of the Red Keep, but in the raging battle that her own treacherous heart incited.
It wasn't Aemond himself that frightened her the most, but the power he seemed to wield over her.
The way he could unravel her with a single glance and make her breath falter, the way he could light a million sparks in her with a mere brush of his touch, the way he could make her lose control so easily when he provoked her.
Everything about him made her burn, and left her with an unquenchable craving inside. Her body had never felt this desperate need before, as if something deep within her was begging to be sated.
It was appalling and egregious how Aemond was weaseling his path into her soul, into her dreams, into her...
Desires.
She rushed through the labyrinthine passage, resolved to purge her mind of any debilitating emotions that threatened to take her over. In each step she forced herself to banish any lingering thoughts of him.
Aemond would only lead her to ruin, and she refused to accept that destiny.
Because that is what Aemond Targaryen was —her ruin.
She stepped out from the clandestine tunnels into the room with Balerion's skull and she paused to take a quick breather. With hurried steps she reached for another opening behind the pillars, taking care not to be seen, and walked up the concealed stairs that led to her chambers.
Her fingers released the clasp of her cloak, and she put it aside on the railing of the staircase, dusting herself off.
Aelyria closed the door behind her, and moved to the waiting tub. Aromatic oils wafted from the water, and she was thankful for her advanced planning, having Vada to prepare her a bath before setting for the dirty tunnels.
She slid her clothes off and eased herself into the bathtub, the soothing heat enveloping her as she breathed out a contented sigh. The hot water eased the tension from her muscles and washed away the residue of dust and sand.
Careful to not damp her hair, she leaned back and shut her eyes, enjoying the warm bath and not thinking about what was expecting her, taking in the few precious moments of peace and serenity that remained.
Emerging from the bath, she felt renewed, her anxiety momentarily lifted. Just as she was finishing dressing, there came a knock at her chamber door.
"Aelyria, it's me," Baela's voice filtered through, pulling her back to the cold reality.
"Come in."
Baela let out a content huff as she saw her. "Well, I must say, I'm genuinely shocked to find you in a state of readiness, I see you haven't forgotten what day is today."
"How could I possibly forget?" Aelyria chirped sarcastically, buttoning her tunic.
"I hope you don't plan to wear that," Baela mowed in annoyance.
"Of course not, I left most of my gowns on Dragonstone, and I wanted to ask mother to lend me one."
"Good thing I'm here," Baela smirked in her characteristic way. "Rhaenyra had the same thought, and she sent me to collect you so we can prepare in her chambers together."
"Very well, let's not keep mother waiting," Aelyria said cooly, moving to join Baela at the door.
Baela stepped in front of her, violet eyes softening. "You always get this way before feasts, don't you?"
Her little sister had a knack for picking up on her moods, and Aelyria could see the worry in her eyes.
She sighed, her shoulders sagging. "It's just... all the formalities, the pretense. It's all a lie..."
There were already enough lies to uphold and Aelyria was tired, the weight of all of them pressing her down like an iron anvil. This damn feast was the last thing she needed, and in Kings Landing no less, under the scrutinizing eyes of the Greens and their lickspittle lords.
"And then, on top of it, there's Aemond too," Aelyria quietly confessed, "a storm within the tempest."
Baela reached out, gently clasping her hands. "A storm can be captivating and trap you in its wild currents. You can either dive into it, or steer around to elude it, but you must never await its coming sister. And remember, you are not alone, I'm always here for you."
There was no judgment in her expression, a notion that brought Aelyria a sense of relief. She offered a grateful smile, which Baela returned with an embrace, feeling a reassuring comfort in her sister's arms.
"Now come along," Baela mused, linking her arm to hers. "You can't get yourself out of this one."
She resigned herself with a weary laugh, following Baela as they walked through the corridors. Ser Steffon trailed behind them like a watchful sentinel, and she glared back at him, a curious question forming in her mind.
"Your mother's orders, Princess," he said before she could ask him. "I'm afraid I can't do anything about it."
"Wonderful," she drew dryly, to the knight's amusement.
As they entered her mother's chambers, Aelyria was greeted by a flurry of activity. Maids were rushing about, pulling jewelry and garments from wooden boxes and trunks scattered across the room, while Rhaenyra herself was sitting at her vanity, directing them calmly.
Her mother donned a magnificent black gown, made of the finest fabrics and jewels. Glittering rings adorned her fingers and a golden circlet perched atop her braids, looking every inch the Queen she should be.
"Ah, there you are, my beautiful girls," Rhaenyra beamed at them.
"Mother, you look positively stunning," Aelyria cooed, her hand reaching out to caress Rhaenyra's growing belly. "How's the little one treating you today?"
"Your sibling is putting quite the lively performance in there, kicking and fisting me day and night," Rhaenyra tried to suppress a tired laugh. "Seems they're prone to inherit the spirited nature of their brothers and sisters."
Aelyria's eyes sparkled with mirth. "I wouldn't expect anything less from a dragon."
"From the sound of it, it might be another boy," Rhaena chuckled, gently offering Rhaenyra support as she got up.
"For what it's worth, I think it's a girl," Aelyria winked.
"Heavens be praised, I hope it's a girl," Rhaenyra chaffed. "The gods know there's too many men in this family already."
Their shared laughter filled the chamber, and for a brief second Aelyria reveled in it. How she missed moments like these, when everything was simpler.
Rhaenyra, with her customary affection, extended a loving hand, urging her to take a seat. "Come my dear, it's your first presentation in the viper's den, and you must look the part."
Aelyria settled in front of the vanity, feeling the flutter of nerves in her stomach, though she did her best to hide them. There were too many things at stake, and she wouldn't disappoint her family.
Rhaenyra began to style her hair, skillfully combing through it. Her mother worked carefully, weaving the loose strands into intricate elegant curls, each touch gentler than the other, and Aelyria felt like a small girl again, pampered and cherished.
Rhaena came with a silver tarnished box and placed it on the table. Inside was a rosy powder, a phial of rouge and a lid of kohl.
Rhaenyra took the crystal vial of crimson and delicately applied it on her lips, while Rhaena swept powder across her cheeks.
Baela held the slender stick of kohl, and with smooth precision she traced a line along Aelyria's lash line, adding a touch of mystery to her gaze.
"There," Baela admired, "now you look like a true Targaryen princess."
Aelyria examined herself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at her.
"You're going to turn every lord's head, dear sister," Rhaena teased.
"As it should be," her mother smiled. "A feast is no place for modesty, and speaking of lords, some prominent houses will be in attendance today, it might be a good time to start considering the choice of potential suitors."
Aelyria stiffened like a stone statue, mild disgust coursing through her, and she met her mother's gaze in the mirror.
"We must accept our fate, my child, for better or for worse," Rhaenyra whispered knowingly in Valyrian. "We can't control what our heart wants, that's a lesson I've learned in the most perilous way. I understand the prospect of marriage might seem terrifying, but no one is beyond duty. It's a road we must all take, a road that gets better in time if one has a suited companion to travel with. Marriage doesn't have to be a cage, it can also open up exciting new doors that lead us to pleasure and discover parts of us that we didn't know existed before. Perhaps it's wise to begin exploring your own desires, to know what truly stirs your heart, before you think of your future and embark on this journey."
Her mother's words imprinted deeply in her chest, and she inhaled a shuddering breath. The cruel truth was that her desires were her worst enemy, and she couldn't allow herself to fall deeper into them.
Time was running out and the dreadful moment she feared was coming. She would soon lose any remembrance of the little freedom she had.
Rhaenyra eased herself down, embracing her from behind and Aelyria felt the warmth of her mother's presence enfolding her in a protective shield.
"Oh my sweet girl," Rhaenyra murmured tenderly. "I see so much of myself in you. I, too, was once afraid to lose my freedom, to be merely reduced by the definition of being a wife or a mother, but fear is only natural. Our duties and desires are a part of us that we can't hide forever, and I have faith that you will make the perfect choice and find happiness."
"I'll consider it, mother," Aelyria forced out, doing what she'd always done best, lying. "That is what's expected of me, after all."
"Good, good." Rhaenyra lifted herself up and beckoned one of the maids to approach.
The young woman came forward with a velvet cushion, holding a magnificent tiara that gleamed in the soft light. Its base was encrusted with rubies sparkling like drops of fresh blood, and lemon quartz stones, their warm golden hues striking a contrast to the fiery red. The gemstones were intricately set in a luxurious frame made of gold that resembled vines and leaves, creating a harmonious blend between them.
"This once belonged to my mother, Queen Aemma," Rhaenyra mentioned, as she took the tiara and secured it on top of Aelyria's curls, the gems shining against the paleness of her hair. "It's time for it to grace your brow."
It fit perfectly, resting on her head like a crown. "Kirimvose muña, issa gevie." (Thank you mother, it's beautiful.)
"Now for the dress," Rhaenyra announced, as Baela and Rhaena hurried to help the maids, each holding different pieces of garments in their hands.
Aelyria got up on her feet and turned to the vast array of gowns displayed before her, running her hand over the rich fabrics and feeling the soft velvety textures glide beneath her fingers.
"Skore mēre hen kessa sepār jikagon se Dāria ezīmagon iā hen vēdros jelevre?" (Which one of these might send the Queen into a fit of rabid gasps?) She asked cheekily, grinning at her mother.
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Aemond observed the grandeur of the Great Hall from his vantage point, a sea of opulence that seemed to stretch on forever.
The tables groaned under the weight of lavish food and gaudy decorations. Platters of succulent roast meats with garnishes of exotic fruits were accompanied by spiced wine and towering pyramids of cheeses and herbs, artfully arranged, displaying indulgence and decadence.
No expense had been spared for this feast, that much was evident for him.
Aemond couldn't help but frown at the extravagance of it all, a waste of coin.
His father's coffers were full and fat, and his grandsire and mother made no shame of squandering the Crown's resources on what they often deemed fit, including statues of false Gods and aiding Oldtown that was already rich and prosperous from their trading.
The High Table, where he was sitting, was a spectacle itself, elevated on a dais at the forefront of the hall, its marble steps providing the royal family with a surveying view of the plotting assembly of lords and ladies below.
At the heart of the table was King Viserys, his breaths shallow and his figure frail. His father's face was covered with a golden mask, barely concealing the putrid rot underneath, and his crown was carefully placed on top of it.
Aemond supposed it was oddly appropriate.
They all wore their masks, each one of them with their own secret motives, and he would unveil some of them today.
On his father's right side, sat his half-sister, the King's favorite precious child.
Rhaenyra emanated an air of proud royalty, her back strong and her eyes unyielding. Despite Aemond's loathing for her, he had to recognize she was a formidable presence.
Daemon stood faithfully by his wife's side, his gaze never straying far from her. As Rhaenyra reached for the plate of fruit from the table, Daemon took the tray and put it in front of them. With deliberate care, he chose a strawberry and brought it delicately to her mouth, his attention solely fixed on her.
It was a gesture of love and devotion, one that set Alicent's teeth on edge.
Aemond couldn't but to acknowledge the genuine tenderness that radiated from his uncle, a striking difference to the volatile and fiery demeanor he often associated him with.
The Strong bastards were seated strategically near Daemon, close to his protection. The whole lot of them shared an easy-going attitude and hearty laughters that grated on Aemond's ears, their giggles ringing louder than the Grand Sept's bells.
The only missing members from his half-sister's merry hoard of children were Aelyria and her sisters.
He was convinced that she was intentionally delaying her entrance, stalling her time in her elusive fashion. He hadn't seen or picked a trace of her in the Red Keep in the last days, but it was of no consequence for him, knowing that this day would soon arrive and she couldn't avoid him forever.
Aemond had bided his time as the days went on. His flights with Vhagar filled his hours beautifully and helped with his self-restraint and patience when it came to her.
He'd wager his last gold-dragon that he could've easily found her in the secret passages, hiding and sneaking around like the deceptive pretty little thing she was, or at the deserted beach overlooking Blackwater Rush, below the abandoned Dragon-Watchtower, now no longer in use since not that many dragons currently resided in the city walls.
Aemond knew the Red Keep's twists and turns better than the back of his palm, but he'd allowed her this brief respite that her evasive nature was so desperately yearning for.
The wait for her was becoming an intense agony, beating away at his heart like iron drums. His chest felt tight and he gave a subtle tug at the collar of his doublet, as his fingers brushed over the sleek fabric, ensuring every fold and seam fell right.
He needed to be perfect for when she finally appeared.
Aemond wore all black, his tunic made from a material that was smooth to the touch and warm to the skin, with rippling patterns that writhed and shifted, resembling Vhagar's scales. Two tiny belts cinched his waist, adding a rugged touch, and jet-black leather trousers completed his ensemble, tailored for both comfort and agility, just as he liked.
He made sure to cleanse his wardrobe of the few old green tunics that remained from his younger years. All his official clothes were completely black now, fitting of his mood and the preferences of his sweet niece.
"Green was never your color uncle," and who was he to argue with his future wife?
Beside him, at the other end of the table, Aegon was nursing his goblet of wine. His face continued to bear some bruises, though they were fading considerably. His brother wasn't drunk yet, but there was still time. He doused himself another cup and downed it with a loud slurp.
Aemond concluded he'd developed some sort of tolerance for it, taking longer to reach a debilitating state.
Helaena was occasionally restraining him when she wasn't busy with pleasantries and the courtiers congratulating her.
The festivities were in full swing and representatives from each noble house came forth to pay their respects to the King and his sister, dressed in the finest garments resplendent of their wealth and power.
They were all pieces on a board, mingling and conspiring with moves that could shape the realm, but he had yet to find the piece that he was most interested in.
From his perch, Aemond scanned the throng of people that rippled through the hall, looking for one particular silver head, and then he spotted him.
Clement Celtigar was approaching the High Table with Lord Bartimos Celtigar and a group of other noble houses.
Aemond squinted his eye, scrutinizing him intensely. The fool was bedecked in his house's colors, wearing all silver finery with a red cloak draping on the back of his shoulders, a stark contrast to him, all in black.
His wavy silver hair was pinned back, just as Aemond used to wear it when he was a child, and he could see a faint resemblance between them. But where his own face held sharp lines and defined angles, Celtigar's face was rounder and more softer.
"Would you look at that brother," Aegon leaned in with a smirk, and Aemond already knew what he was about to say. "It seems our niece wanted an improved version of you, with more comely features, less rough edges, scars, and well of course..." he paused dramatically, "two eyes."
"Even with one eye I could still make you fall on those stairs," Aemond responded coolly. "I would hate for you to go down on that slippery slope again."
"Did I ruffle some feathers?" Aegon snickered, gushing down some more wine. "You're such a bore, can't a man gossip a little?"
"By all means, gossip away, brother," Aemond said lazily, his interest now peaked by the Strong bastards descending from the dais and heading below.
Jacaerys welcomed Celtigar in a warm manner, clapping him on the back as Lucerys exchanged a hearty handshake and spoke friendly words he couldn't hear. They were clearly more than just acquaintances, and the familiarity amongst them was getting on Aemond's nerves.
"Our nephews look rather taken with him," Aegon remarked, savoring each word like a fine vintage. "Perhaps the rumors are true after all, and he's to be our dear niece's lord husband."
Aemond's grip clenched on his cup, the urge to slap it across his brother's face nearly overwhelming.
"Don't listen to him, Aemond!" Helaena mumbled in a conspiring tone. "The crab is another lie."
Aegon puffed, annoyed. "My dearest sister-wife, can't you speak normally for once?"
"Brother," Helaena hissed back, "I can guarantee you that I can speak normally when the occasion calls for it, but I fear that with all the wine you consume, you may not be able to read between the lines."
"Alright, alright, I deserved that," Aegon conceded, reaching out a hand to gently rest on Helaena's belly.
Helaena remained unmoved. "You did."
Aemond's attention suddenly shifted from the weird moment with his siblings, to the movement in front of the table, as he caught sight of Celtigar walking in their direction.
"Oh, he's coming this way," Aegon whispered, sliding him a dark chuckle.
"Princess Helaena, Prince Aegon," Celtigar began, dipping his head at both of them. "I came to offer my sincerest congratulations. It's an honor to participate in this most illustrious day." Clement's eyes flicked briefly to him, "Prince Aemond."
"Lord Celtigar," Aemond replied stiffly.
"Thank you, my lord," Helaena said wearily, her purple depths scanning him for a second before returning to Aemond's gaze. "Are you enjoying the celebrations?"
"I am, Princess, I'm still waiting for an old friend to arrive, but other than that, I'm most grateful to be here."
Aemond's jaw tightened, the muscles in his face tensing with irritation. The reference of an "old friend" was an obvious allusion to Aelyria, and his cunt of a brother didn't waste the chance to goad in derision, riling him up with a sick pleasure.
"If you don't mind my indiscretion, Lord Celtigar," Aegon pried on purpose. "Who is—"
A subtle thud resounded under the table, and Aemond followed the sound. Helaena was discreetly stomping on Aegon's foot, silencing him before he could press further.
"What a privilege it is to have House Celtigar at court," Helaena hastened in, changing the course of conversation. "It's a rare sight for us in King's Landing."
"A rare sight indeed," Aemond drew sharply. "One would think your precious crabs might prefer the comfort of their rocky shore."
Clement Celtigar, the presumptuous fool that he was, just laughed.
"Prince Aemond, your reputation and charm precedes you," he said flamboyantly. "I can assure you that the seas hold their own allure, much like the courts of King's Landing."
"Do you truly believe that, or do you simply enjoy the sound of your own voice echoing off these walls?"
Celtigar held steady as he choked out another condescending laugh. "Your wit knows no bounds, your grace."
"Well said Lord Celtigar," Aemond drawled. "But I have no desire to discuss with you the parallels between courtly politics and the ebb and flow of the tides."
The fool still had the audacity to stand in front of him and not take his cue to leave.
"A pity," he returned arrogantly. "Such discussions often reveal more than one expects, as distasteful as they might be."
"Do enlighten us then!" Aemond whipped out without missing a beat. "Are your crabs skilled diplomats? Emotional creatures? Or do they simply excel at being soup and scuttling away for pearls?"
Celtigar was quick on his feet to respond. "Pearls, much like wisdom or a beautiful woman, are found in the unlikeliest of places, one must simply have the patience to seek them out."
Aemond's irritation grew, and he clasped the fork in his hand, resisting his murderous tendencies to jump across the oak table and stab him in the eye.
"I must admit, your house's affinity for the sea and these insignificant creatures is truly commendable," Aemond delivered snidely. "I can only imagine the insight one gains from conversing with crabs on matters of heart and state."
"You might be in for a surprise, my prince," he tossed out with a dash of irony and false cordiality. "These 'insignificant creatures' as you've so eloquently put it, have a unique perspective on courtship, and their negotiations of diplomacy are a thing of legend —claws and all."
"My lord, I've seen crabs with better wit and charm than you, and they were boiled and served for dinner," Aemond's voice took on a cutting lilt, the words falling off his mouth like a blade. "You may soon discover that a crab's pinch is nothing but a sting in comparison to a dragon's burn. Dragons can ignite hearts and cities ablaze, leaving naught but fire and ashes in their wake," he raised his hand, and with a theatrical gesture he then splayed his fingers, "claws and all."
If this dimwit of a lord was under the impression it would be easy to make him back down, he was sorely mistaken.
Aemond was willing to ride roughshod over anyone who got in his way. No amount of wry words and sly metaphors could deter him from asserting his claim over Aelyria.
After bitterly glaring at him, Clement Celtigar's thin smile faltered as he paced back and withdrew from the High Table, retreating cautiously like a crab seeking shelter into its shell.
Helaena gently wrapped her hand on his arm, in an effort to keep his temper in check. Taking a measured breath, Aemond let the moment pass.
"Well that was interesting..." Aegon trailed off. "But I'd be more careful if I were you," he leaned back in his chair, "your jealousy is starting to show in places you don't want brother..."
Aemond looked past Aegon to see his uncle's head craned at him.
Daemon fucking Targaryen was watching him, and no doubt, Celtigar overstaying his presence had attracted his interest.
His gaze was sharper than the tip of Dark Sister, peering out through the tiny slits of his eyes, but before Aemond could realize, the hum of noise in the Great Hall increased, and his uncle's eyes shot forward.
"Princess Aelyria of House Targaryen, accompanied by Lady Baela Targaryen and Lady Rhaena Targaryen." Ser Steffon Darkling announced.
Aemond's breath got stuck in his throat as he saw Aelyria entering the hall. She walked down the aisle like she was born for it, effortlessly drawing all the attention to her, and commanding the room with her presence.
Her silver hair seemed to dance with every step, swaying in soft curls and waves on her back. Only two delicate tendrils flew loosely, framing her flawless face and partially hiding her scar.
His heart pounded in his chest with a wild beating, as she neared closer, and he could see the intricate design of the crimson dress she was wearing. Deep red like the dragon's blood, with a long black train flowing behind her and a bodice embellished by three dragon pins, two nestled on each side of the generous swell of her breasts and a larger one centered on her collarbone, holding in the crossed laces that climbed to her neck.
But it was the golden metal corset that truly drove him to insanity. It molded on her form perfectly, sculpting her waist and pushing her breasts ridiculously high. Aemond wanted to tear it away with his teeth, and bite them into oblivion.
The tiara that adorned her head complimented her look, with royal rubies and refined gold, illuminating her figure in a glow that could rival the sun. She cut the very image of a warrior Queen, of a Valyrian goddess fusing together wrath and beauty, of Visenya and Rhaenys all in one, and Aemond wished nothing else than to be her Conqueror.
She was born to be a Queen, and he could be her King.
His brother almost choked on his wine, as she reached the center of the table and curtsied with the most solemn low bow, her sisters following suit behind her.
"My King," Aelyria spoke with reverence, and Viserys smiled fondly, waving his one hand to get up.
Rising gracefully, she looked to Alicent and smirked in triumph at his mother turning purple with clamor at the sight of her scandalous dress. In a blatant show of disrespect, she steered to her left, intentionally not greeting the Queen, and ascending the steps of the dais.
She planted short kisses on her brothers' cheeks, and her mother's, and her father's, then proceeded towards Viserys.
"My precious girl," Viserys murmured, cupping her hand in his own. "I remember that crown all too well, and it looks absolutely wonderful on you."
"Thank you, grandfather," she said sweetly. "Yes, it belonged to grandmother, Queen Aemma."
His mother, unable to contain herself any longer, huffed in indignation.
"How gracious of you, Princess Aelyria," Alicent noted with sarcasm, "one can only hope that such precious family heirlooms remain in good hands."
"Indeed, your grace," Aelyria responded with the same tone, "I strive to keep alive the family tradition of honoring those who came before me."
Alicent resigned herself with a roll of her head, and Aemond could faintly hear Daemon and Rhaenyra chuckling in their seats.
Aelyria wore a petty satisfied smile as she excused herself, leaving the King's side and moving towards his sister. She walked past Aegon like he didn't exist, completely ignoring him.
"Congratulations aunt," she offered kindly. "It's a blessing for our family and the realm. I can already see the true joy the little babe will bring to you."
"Thank you, Aelyria, it's good to have you here."
Helaena prompted to her feet and embraced her dearly. Before resting down again, his sister whispered something into her cheek, and Aelyria's eyes traveled to the crowded hall.
She then came close to him, standing in front of his seat and taking his breath away. His chest seized up, as her fragrance overwhelmed him, heady wild roses and the evergreen scent of pines.
With a fluid move, she grabbed his goblet of wine from the table and drank from it.
"I hope you'll enjoy your evening, Aemond," she said plainly.
"Oh I will Princess, you can be sure of that," he responded evenly.
"Quite the smooth talker, aren't you?"
"And you, the mistress of surprises?" Aemond chanted, mesmerized by the sensual dance of her ruby lips. "I knew you had a flair for dramatic exits, but I didn't expect a talent for dramatic entrances too."
"Well, now you know."
Aelyria smiled wickedly, raising his cup in her hand, and Aemond wondered what mysteries and secrets were hidden in that pretty head of hers.
What was she thinking standing there and testing the limits of his restraint?
He was half-tempted to do something extremely reckless, like start a fucking war, throw her off his shoulder and fly her beyond the Sunset Sea.
She was so close yet so far away, and Aemond took his fill of her. He longed to reach out, to touch the silkiness of her hair, to feel again the warmth of her skin beneath his lips.
Her smokey eyes with kohl acted like sirens luring him into unholy waters, and Aemond wanted to jump right into them, to bathe with her in sin and wash away all his lustful desires.
He fantasized how he would peel off each garment slowly, leaving her slender body bare as her name day, only for him to possess and own.
How pretty her eyes would look when she'd wrap those red lips lasciviously around his cock and tears of pleasure would fill them, as she sucked him hard and deep with her makeup running down on her face.
At the same time this appetizing fantasy flashed in his mind, she sipped again from his wine, deliciously licking her lips clean from the drops of dornish red that lingered in the corners of her mouth.
His blood surged to his ears, and he felt the throb of his cock in his trousers.
Only he could see her face from where she was standing, and he was convinced that she was enticing him on purpose. Aemond came back to his senses, or else he'd get hard and it wasn't exactly the good place or time for that.
She plopped his cup back on the table with a daring thud, the wine inside teetering on the edge of the rim, threatening to spill over the precipice. His eye got captivated by something intriguing. There, on the borders of his chalice, were tantalizing stains of rouge, shaped like her lips.
Aemond mirrored her gesture as she watched, seizing the cup eagerly and bringing it to his mouth, to the same spot where her lips had touched it. He drained it with a one single swoop, like he was drinking down her very own essence, savoring the sweet flavor of wine mixed with her rouge on his tongue.
With the same loud thud, he set the emptied cup down, and a fierce glint whirled in her eyes, whispering a promise. Aelyria's gaze remained persistent and he returned it with fervor.
Whatever she planned to throw at him, he would double it.
Instead of further choosing violence, she dashed over and spirited away, rejoining her family and taking a seat at the opposite head of the table, facing him from a large distance.
Aemond was disappointed, but the night was still young.
"You're both mentally ill with a sick case of fuck-burn," Aegon chortled at him. "Rather than fucking mirrors of each other, why don't the two of you grant us a favor and get on with it?"
"I suggest you keep your mouth entertained with that wine, if you want any chance of tasting it in the future."
Aegon guffawed like a snorting swine, but Aemond retained his control, as he saw his brother dutifully obey and resume his quaffing.
The daylight was fading fast and the sun set swiftly, coloring the skies outside the balconies from an orangey hue in the darkness of the night, just as dinner was beginning to be served.
Aemond stayed put, his lone eye trained on Aelyria and the other side of his family, pinpointing their every move.
Amidst the servants carrying sumptuous dishes, Lucerys abruptly scooted from his initial position near Jacaerys, to sit next to his sister. He found that highly amusing, how the Strong pup was so overprotective of her.
Aelyria was popping grapes into her mouth idly, swallowing and eating them slowly, as Aemond maintained his eye contact on her, shamelessly devouring her with every bite she took.
Then he caught his nephew's reaction. He was rewarded with the image of Lucerys Velaryon impaling the vegetables in his plate and turning red with anger.
It was like witnessing a ragging dog trying to guard its bones. Aemond had to stifle a laugh, the Strong pup was really laying it on thick. He made a point to reciprocate, smiling smugly and slicing his meal with equal vigor as Lucerys kept hurling repulsive glares at him.
A tired cough interrupted their staring contest, and Aemond's vision was pulled to his father. Typically, this was the moment for a royal greeting, but Viserys looked ready to doze off rather than make a formal speech.
His grandsire, never one to lose an opportunity, pushed his chair back with an air of feigned modesty.
"Noble Lords and Ladies, esteemed guests," Otto rose, addressing the feasting hall with pomp and grandiosity. "We are gathered here tonight in celebration of unity, prosperity, and the enduring strength of our realm. It's an honor to stand before you in this hall and welcome you at the behest of our gracious King."
Otto gestured to Viserys, and the king nodded curtly. "Tonight's celebration is a joyous occasion for His Grace and his children, Princess Helaena and Prince Aegon. We commemorate together with open hearts the promise of a new life entering our world."
The hall responded with polite applause, clinching their goblets, and the Hand seemed pleased with himself.
"May His Grace's future grandchild grow to be a beacon of hope and strength for his dynasty." Otto continued, the subtle dig not lost on those with a quick mind.
Aemond turned his sight to Daemon and Rhaenyra, who had a scowl on their faces. Otto's failure to mention Rhaenyra was an intentional slight, as if his half-sister wasn't with child herself and present.
"Now be merry, eat, drink, and let the music flow as freely as the wine!" Otto finished, and with his command the musicians began to play a lively tune.
"Cheers to that!" Aegon punctuated, holding his cup high in the air.
The wine was starting to work its magic on his brother. Aemond couldn't wait for that lit fuse to light an impending fire and blow his grandfather's false reveries into the air.
Gradually, the evening wore on and dinner came to an end. People were rising from their seats to mingle around, chattering and buzzing, as the dance floor was becoming increasingly packed and the revelry in the hall grew noisy.
Aemond's ears picked up a hint of laughter nearby, and his eye landed on Rhaenyra. His half-sister was in a light-hearted conversation with Viserys and Alicent. His mother every now and then was stealing glances at them, her expression softening and on occasion, even granting a faint smile.
The relationship between them had always been a tangle of complexity and contradiction, a constant battle between love and hate, whichever prevailed was temporary until they were reminded of the past and all their unresolved issues.
Aemond could understand his mother now better than anyone. Just like him, she was fighting her own demons, trying to find a right place in the quagmire that was their family.
A subtle stir near Rhaenyra attracted his attention, and he saw Daemon who stood tall, motioning his children to get up. He rounded the table and went to take Aelyria's arm, both descending from the elevated platform together.
Daemon led Aelyria with accurate precision, walking with his three daughters in tow like he was the proudest man in the world, as the Strong bastards navigated the hall behind them.
Aemond was struck by how tenderly Daemon interacted with his daughters. He stooped down to speak to them, his words filled with warmth and affection. He seemed to have a soft spot for his daughters, especially for Aelyria. Baela and Rhaena gazed up at their father with adoring eyes, brimming with pride, while Jacaerys and Lucerys showed respect and devotion for the man who had raised them.
Daemon was deemed the most dangerous man in the realm, yet he was a better father than Viserys could ever hope to be.
In his youth, many titles had been bestowed on his uncle.
"The Rogue Prince, The Prince of the City, The People's Prince, Lord Flea Bottom, King of the Narrow Sea, The Crabslayer." Aemond remembered each one of them, but The Crabslayer was currently one of his favorites.
Maybe he will become one too.
Lords and ladies swarmed around them, each eager to meet the enigmatic Princess that had been absent from court for so long, and now was finally making her presence known.
Aelyria looked bored out of her mind, like it was the last place she would want to be. She was behaving with politeness, with courteous smiles and small nods, but she wasn't thrilled at all, distancing herself whenever she had a chance.
Jacaerys, to his credit, had the good grace to shun some of them away, whenever Daemon's attention was drawn by his other children.
Her indifference to their adulation only stroked his jealousy further, and his hand clamped down on the armrest. They were encroaching on his territory, trying to stake a claim on what was rightfully his.
Aemond exhaled and got up from his chair, his stride purposeful as he descended towards the Great Hall.
The real game was just beginning.
It was time to show the world, and Aelyria herself, where she truly belonged.
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Aelyria Targaryen had always been good at avoiding the consequences of her lies, but now with all of them surrounding her, she couldn't escape them any longer.
The ground beneath her became a slimy mire, swallowing her like quicksands, and panic swelled in her heart as she turned and saw Clement, who was placidly looking at her from his table, his smile betraying nothing.
Then, there was Aemond, a coiled viper prowling the hall, watching her with a predatory eye and waiting for the right moment to strike.
"Under the shadow of the hand, the dragon called for the crab." Helaena's words resonated in her mind.
Aelyria had seen Clement from the moment she stepped into the Great Hall, and a wave of fury splashed over her. Deep down she suspected Aemond had to do something with it, and when Helaena said those damning words to her, it all fell into place like a cascading revelation.
Recollection of the first day she arrived in King's Landing flashed in her head, when Aemond had brazenly asked her in the Godswood if she'd left her "betrothed" back home. Then she remembered the whispers Baela overheard of Aemond dragging Aegon in the halls after he'd found them in that alcove.
Without any doubts, Aegon's messy rearranged face had been a result of Aemond's twisted actions. Not that Aelyria felt any sympathy for Aegon, he deserved that and more, but knowing Aemond had gone to such lengths for her, made her madder than she already was.
It was all Aemond's doing, and this was his doing too.
Relentless, ruthless and vindictive.
He intended to trap her, to corner her, to ruin her however he can.
If this was a game Aemond wanted to play, then so fucking be it.
Aemond's jealousy spoke louder than any schemes or threats he could ever come up with, and he had revealed his weakness to her. Aelyria would exploit it, and make him seethe with rage until he exploded.
What goes around comes back around, dear uncle, she smiled right into his face.
Aemond's reaction was quick and expected, gazing at her with that lecherous smirk of his, and there it was, that incessant sensation clawing at her again. It was easier to be angry, angry to forget the burning itch that Aemond had lit inside her, an itch that only he could scratch.
She snatched a cup of wine from a passing servant's tray, then turned away from her father, who was distracted by Lord Caswell's never-ending ramblings.
By the Gods, these people were tedious.
If she had to endure one more boring hunting story or another lord's diminishing look that thought she was to be sold like prized livestock, she swore she'd fling herself from one of the balconies.
Perhaps Cannibal would swoop out of nowhere and catch her, and then they could ride away from this hot mess.
Aelyria was sorely tempted to drink the whole cup and sink her anxiety in wine. Aegon's penchant for drinking suddenly made a twisted sort of sense. Maybe that's why he found pleasure in his cups, to forget the harsh edges of reality.
"I think you had enough, Aelyria," Luke asserted, wresting the wine from her grasp and placing it on a nearby table. "Three cups and you barely had a bite at dinner. Drowning your troubles in wine won't help."
Aelyria sighed, a blend of frustration and gratitude swirling in her. Luke always had a way of cutting through her defenses.
"What is he doing here?" She asked, dodging her brother's worries.
"Clement?" Luke's brows furrowed in thought. "I don't know, but frankly I'm relieved he came, at least I get to see a friendly face rather than our sociopathic uncle and the disgusting looks he gives you."
Aelyria huffed bitterly. "You didn't think to ask him, did you?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Luke grumbled, his tone annoyed.
He glanced ahead of her, and she saw Clement striding towards them with his calm demeanor.
"I'll leave you to it," her brother stepped back, turning to join Jace, who was not far behind.
"Luke—" she called in protest, but before she could know, a familiar voice reached her.
"My princess," Clement greeted warmly, "you are a delightful vision of grace and beauty this evening."
Aelyria inhaled faintly, his usual chivalry unnerving her. "Clement," she blurted out, "I must admit I didn't expect to find you here."
"Nor did I, my lady. The invitation from the Hand was a surprise, but my father insisted on attending, and to be honest, I was glad for the opportunity to see you again."
As Clement made his revelation, Heleana's words clicked again in her mind. The missing pieces of Aemond's little trick were clear now, and she turned her gaze to the shadowy corner where he stood. Aemond's stance was rigid and his expression went tense, his icy glare cutting through her and Clement like shards of glass.
A slow, confident smile tugged on her lips. This was her moment, a chance to give Aemond a taste of his own medicine. She would flaunt Clement under his nose, forcing him to witness the scene he had orchestrated, and with any luck, the lords might begin to entertain the notion that the rumors are true, and mayhaps, they would finally leave her in peace.
"Well, looks like you're in need of some friendly company, my lord," Aelyria prompted with a grin. "Shall we?"
Out of sheer spite, she took Clement's arm, all while watching Aemond combust in pure fire. Clement was slightly taken aback, but he didn't shy away from her, his arm tightening firmly on hers.
"Why of course my lady, I'm always at your service," he charmed a smile as they began to stroll together. "Consider me your steadfast anchor, I shall not let you drift away."
They circled through the hall, leaving a trail of whispers and raised eyebrows behind. She could feel Aemond's eyes drilling into them and she was savoring every second of it.
"It seems we've attracted quite the audience," Clement picked up.
"It seems so," Aelyria acquiesced, noting the hushed conversations riding in the air.
"I had the occasion to meet your uncle earlier, Prince Aemond," he relayed dully. "An... intriguing individual, to say the least."
Aelyria scoffed at the choice of words. "Intriguing is one way to put it. He has a particular talent for leaving a lasting impression, doesn't he?"
"His arrogance is bigger than his dragon," Clement ribbed, poking fun. "But the conversation we had was quite interesting."
Aelyria wondered what on earth Aemond had told Clement, and her eyes skittered to him again. Aemond was following from the parallel side of the hall, moving in tandem with them between the crowd, the scowl on his face, priceless.
"The hall can't stop whispering about a sparring fight you two had, some days ago."
"Do I really want to know what they say?"
Clement's eyes gleamed with amusement. "They speak of two fierce dragons clashing, sparks flying. A battle of wills, words and swords. Some even suggest that the court bard is writing a song about it, 'The Dragon Duel' they call it."
"A song? That's absurd," Aelyria burst into laughter, entertained by the ridiculousness of it all. "Oh, they must be waiting for the dramatic reenactment of 'The Dragon Duel'," she jeered. "Tickets are free, and the front row seats come with a complimentary view of Aemond's scowl."
"A performance they won't want to miss, for sure," he played along with her humor.
"Gross exaggerations and petty gossiping are the court's favorite pastimes, my friend."
"Indeed, the tales grow taller with each retelling," Clement agreed. "But jokes aside, I'll have to say that I'm not impressed on your part. I've watched you do better on Dragonstone against your brothers, although your uncle is quite the renowned swordsman from what I've heard, the best King's Landing has."
"We have to give praise where praise is due," Aelyria admitted, remembering how Aemond had brilliantly defeated Ser Criston and barely left her an opening to strike him when they fought. "He is the best adversary I've met so far."
Clement studied her face, taking in the sincerity in her voice. He appeared not too pleased about it and Aelyria sensed his discomfort, but hers was growing bigger.
The strings of music filled the silence between them as they approached the center of the ballroom.
Aelyria couldn't resist a playful comment at the ice dragon sculpture garishly plastered in the middle of the hall. "Quite tacky, isn't it? It's a wonder why they chose an ice dragon for this chilly court."
"I'll have to disagree," Clement chuckled lightly. "This frozen beast has its appeal, it makes a fine addition to any garden."
"The poor roses won't know what hit them," Aelyria mused. "I much prefer the real ones who breathe fire."
Clement broke away his arm, coming to face her, a subtle shift in his behavior. "Shall we leave this cold beast to brood alone," he indicated to the dance floor, "and head for dance? I've been told you move with the grace of a swan, and I'm curious to see that for myself."
"Perhaps later," Aelyria refused gently, taking his arm again. "I fear the whispers you've heard aren't true and I would hate to mar your reputation on the dance floor."
His smile remained graceful, yet she could see the disappointment in his eyes.
"As you wish," Clement accepted elegantly. "The pleasure was in asking."
Aelyria breathed heavily as she continued with her charade.
She had always brushed off to the side all his attempts to open up, all his compliments, all the chances of spending more time in his company. She willfully chose to ignore his interest in her, not allowing herself to dwell too much on it, a mindset she had perfected over the years, establishing balance and boundaries between them.
But now it was becoming increasingly evident that her suspicions were true, and she couldn't let Clement get false hopes.
She would never.
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Aemond watched with spite as Aelyria paraded arm in arm with Clement Celtigar through the crowd, the sight twisting the knife of jealousy deep into his guts.
He wanted to scream, to tear those fool's hands away from her and chop them into tiny pieces, but he couldn't. It was a cruel spectacle, and he was the helpless spectator.
As he continued to stalk them religiously, a voice pierced through the din of festivities, "A lie resembles a fragile blossom, once torn from its roots, it withers away effectively, unveiling the unvarnished truth."
Aemond halted from his pace and turned around to see Larys Strong advancing with a peculiar gait. His club foot caused an uneven rhythm in his steps, yet he possessed an unsettling subtlety to sneak around and observe others without noticing.
He analyzed Larys for a moment, a sense of foreboding settling in his chest. Few people had the power to make Aemond Targaryen feel nervous, counted on less than two fingers, and the Queen's Master of Whispers was one of them.
"State your business clearly Lord Larys," Aemond bit out. "I had my fair share of enigmatic remarks today and my patience for them is waning."
The spy master's gaze shifted to Aelyria. "Merely an observation, Prince Aemond," he said ominously. "In a world of falsehoods and secrets, t'is often the undiscovered truth that holds the most power."
Aemond's focus remained sharp, split between Larys and the agonizing scene that unfolded before him. Every stolen glance, every courteous touch, every single smile that crustacean imbecile gave to Aelyria, threatened to make him burst into flames.
"And what is the truth that you seek to unravel, Lord Larys?" Aemond pressed.
Larys creeped closer, a sinister look grating on his face. "I do not seek to unravel the truth, my prince, I already possess it and I'm here to reveal it to you, as a courtesy of your mother, the Queen."
Aemond immediately directed his eye to his mother. Alicent hadn't moved from his father's side, tending to his needs as the King still conversed with Rhaenyra.
"You see," Larys whispered to his face, his breath sending a chill down Aemond's spine, "the Queen desired certainty and I'm but a humble servant who provides it. Her Grace dispatched me to inquire about the rumors regarding Princess Aelyria and Lord Celtigar's heir, and I have discovered the truth."
Aemond's thoughts raced. Alicent had sent Larys to investigate the rumors. His earlier plotting to plant seeds of ambition in her mind were beginning to take root, and his mother was considering a potential betrothal between him and Aelyria.
He knew that it would be incredibly difficult to get what he wanted, that all the stars in the universe would have to align themselves in a perfect place and moment, in order to make his plan succeed.
Nevertheless, Aemond was determined to work for it, to sweat for it, to bleed for it and kill for it if need be.
The only way to get his sweet niece was the King, but the Queen was a harder wall to breach. Once his mother cracked, and reached that conclusion herself, mayhaps she or the Hand would convince the King.
And then, there were Daemon and Rhaenyra, the explosive aftermath. They would have to be dealt with after the King had already made his mind, and his half-sister couldn't sway his father with her cat-like ways.
Aemond only had to sit back, wait for the fruit to ripen and collect it at the right time. His mother and grandfather had their own methods, and he didn't want to make a wrong move that might disrupt their process of operating.
"Then speak it plainly, Lord Larys," Aemond addressed him with a measured tone.
"The princess and the lord share no clandestine affair, and no talk of a betrothal was ever mentioned from both parties behind closed doors," Larys imparted. "Whispers have a way of spreading rapidly, but the source of them remains unknown. Due to the Princess' refusal of various marriage proposals, it is possible the Princess might've spread those rumors herself, in an attempt to get rid of all the potential suitors."
Aemond pondered over it, processing the revelation deep in his mind.
"The crab is another lie." Helaena's earlier words suddenly took a crystal clear meaning now. He wouldn't put it past his niece to be capable of such a shrewd ploy and use clever means to fend off suitors in her own deceitful style. Aelyria Targaryen had always been an elusive creature, dancing on the edges of darkness and light.
"How can you be so certain of it?" Aemond voiced out, baiting Larys for more details.
Larys coiled his lips, an uncanny smile on his face. "A good painter never reveals his art technique, my prince. Let's just say I have the proper tools to paint a clear image, even when it hides in plain sight."
Of course Larys wouldn't say anything else. He was a spider protecting his web, and he couldn't let someone unravel his fragile threads. But Aemond had a hunch that the Lord Confessor obtained more information than he was letting on, and he wanted to know everything.
He could still recall Larys' pride that night at Driftmark, after he became Lord of Harrenhal. Beneath the feeble appearance, he was hiding a fierce ambition to prove himself, an ambition of a second son that Aemond was all too aware of.
"Well the plain sight in front of me contradicts your very own statements," Aemond baited, banking on Larys' insecurities. "Perhaps your sources aren't that reliable."
Larys seemed almost offended. "My sources are impeccable," he countered. "In fact, they confirm that the Princess often escapes the premises of Dragonstone when Lord Celtigar is present, and flies away to Driftmark. Their connection, if any, exists only because of his camaraderie with her brothers, Prince Jacaerys and Lucerys."
Aemond held back his smile, relief and satisfaction running rampant through him. Larys additional information untied the strings of jealousy that were gripping him and suffocating at his chest.
He looked at Aelyria, seeing her in a new light. You delicious little liar.
Larys slid back, trying to scurry away in the shadows faster than a rat in a dark warren.
"Lord Larys, I haven't dismissed you yet," Aemond barked, his instincts sharpening like a razor's edge. "Of course, one begs the question, why would you disclose this to me? What is your stake and what do you want?"
Aemond assumed the motives of his mother, but why Larys was choosing to tell him such a thing was beyond him. He knew better than to trust the likes of the clubfoot. He couldn't let Larys think that he could be easily manipulated or deceived.
"Knowledge is a powerful currency," Larys responded enigmatically, his expression inscrutable. "One can wield it more effectively than a sword and change the odds to his favor. It can forge Kings and Queens, buy thrones, make empires crumble and alter the course of history. As I've said before, I'm just a humble servant. I do not want or seek anything. I serve the Queen and her wishes."
"Are you implying that this revelation serves a purpose beyond simple knowledge and the Queen sent you to tell me this?" Aemond tried his luck again, hoping that Larys would fall for it a second time.
"No, my prince. I came voluntarily. My loyalty doesn't extend only to the Queen, but also to her children. In this grand game, we each have our roles to play and I have already played mine. With your permission, may I retire now?" Larys requested meekly.
Aemond gave Larys a flick of his hand, not bothering to even look at him. Whatever Larys wanted to achieve by ratting out his mother, remained to be seen.
His attention returned to Aelyria. Both her and Celtigar came to a standstill, they were talking with each other and sharing smiles. Now that the veil of jealousy was lifted from his eye, he observed them anew, reassessing their interactions.
Aelyria was guarded and reserved, not wholly captivated by Celtigar's constant yabbering. The crab boy, on the other hand, was utterly entranced. His eyes seldom left hers, and there was an intensity in his gaze that Aemond couldn't ignore, like he had found something precious, something he was not willing to lose.
While Aelyria might have been indifferent, using him as a means to an end, the fool clearly was not.
Aemond's jealousy flared again. Celtigar didn't pose a big threat as he'd initially presumed, but he still remained a threat.
Aelyria's sisters soon closed in around her, whisking her away from Celtigar's company and leaving him behind.
Never in his life had Aemond thought he would be glad to see Baela and Rhaena Targaryen. The sight of her getting away from that cretin was like a cold gust of wind, extinguishing the flames of his anger.
Aemond searched to find the right place where he could still keep an eye on her. The night was far from over, and he was waiting for his moment to come.
Theirs was a slow dance, one that will create their future together.