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princesacoelho · 13 days ago

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My Strange Flower —Chapter 3: A Taste of Fire

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Lily Hightower Fem OC! (ft Aemond Targaryen)

Warnings: This fanfic contains references to infidelity, self-harm, suicide, sexual and erotic content, violence, death, toxic relationships, emotional/psychological abuse, family tensions, manipulation, and alcohol consumption. The story features complex, morally ambiguous characters, with themes of passion, power, and betrayal. Readers sensitive to these topics should proceed with caution.

Word count: 6995

The days passed quietly within the walls of the Red Keep. At least, that’s what it looked like on the surface.

The princes had returned to their usual pastimes — Aemond to his training and studies, Aegon to his escapades on the Street of Silk — which gave the young lady a brief moment of respite. But even beneath the serene facade of polite smiles during teas with the queen and the princess, Lily carried an anguish that consumed her from within. Her heart and mind remained restless. The nights, especially, seemed to stretch on for centuries. Insomnia had become her only companion. She could no longer remember the last time she had slept deeply — or without jolting awake. And no matter how hard she tried, that damned kiss continued to haunt her, slithering through her memory like a venomous serpent, pouring into her the sweetest, most addictive poison she had ever tasted — and one she forced herself to accept she would never taste again.

Leaving her room was out of the question. The garden, once her refuge, was now dangerous territory — a minefield of memories. Not to mention the fear of encountering him there again.

The rare times she still saw him — from a distance — were at dinners, under the ever-watchful gaze of Alicent, who seemed to observe her with glassy, meticulous, penetrating eyes.

Lily avoided looking at Aegon for too long. She always turned to Aemond instead, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline. But even that failed to calm her. The wedding was only days away — and it, too, stole her sleep.

What would it be like when the moment came?Would she feel fear? Pain? Shame? What if she didn’t know what to do? She missed having a mother in moments like this.

She paced from wall to wall like a caged beast, listening to the viscous silence of the midnight hour. There were no owls hooting, no rustling leaves. Only the thick fog slipping in through the cracked window like ghostly fingers infiltrating her chamber.

With no idea what to do with her own body, Lily lit the iron brazier near the wooden table and placed a small cauldron of water to boil. She added lavender, dried rose petals, and a few drops of amber oil. The fragrance soon filled the room like a warm spell.

With the steaming water, Lily prepared her bath. She undressed slowly and stepped into the copper tub. The water was so hot it nearly burned — but she didn’t mind the pain. She merely let out a long, relieved sigh. Physical pain was an excellent distraction. It always managed to dull anything that displeased her. It was relaxing, almost... pleasurable.

She leaned her neck against the edge of the tub and let her shoulders sink into the water. Her gaze wandered across the ceiling, then to the furniture, until it settled on the flickering candle on the table. The flame danced like a mockery — fragile, but wild and alive. And at that moment, not even all the pain in the world would be enough to distract her. That small remnant of fire made her think again of Aegon’s warmth — his arms around her waist, the taste of his mouth. She couldn’t help but wonder if it would feel the same with Aemond.

Before she knew it, she tasted the metallic tang of blood in her mouth, the sharp pain from the inside of her cheek still clenched between her teeth.

She closed her eyes and then submerged. Drowning out the intrusive thoughts. As if the bottom of the tub could take her somewhere else. Far from herself. Far from everything.

_____________________________________

Later, while returning from her daily prayers at the Great Sept, Alicent noticed that her niece and lady-in-waiting had been distant and silent all morning. The queen cast her a sidelong glance. She knew that kind of silence well — it wasn’t the respectful or pious kind, but the kind that came from carrying burdens too heavy to speak aloud.

“What is it, Lily?” Alicent asked, stopping beneath an open archway that overlooked the garden. Her voice was soft but firm, the tone of someone who would not accept evasions. “Did you sleep poorly?” The dark circles beneath the girl’s pale eyes were more pronounced.

Lily hesitated, stopping as well. A gentle breeze brushed a loose curl across her cheek. She didn’t answer immediately.

“I did sleep,” she murmured, though the words sounded weak, even to her own ears.

Alicent turned to face her fully, resting a hand lightly on her arm — delicate, yet filled with unspoken authority.

“Look at me, child.”

Lily raised her eyes. Alicent held her gaze for a long, measuring moment. There was a shadow in them — not unlike one she had once seen in her own reflection.

“You’re anxious about the wedding, aren’t you?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “It’s natural to be nervous. But you mustn’t let it consume your days — and especially not your nights.”

Lily blushed, lowering her eyes, but didn’t try to deny it. Alicent sighed and gently touched her niece’s cheek.

“All of us go through it, dear. No one is born prepared, but it is the duty of every noble lady. What you need now is not the fear of a little girl, but the resolve of a woman.”

Then, they resumed walking, side by side, their dresses whispering softly across the stone floor, while Lily turned her gaze to the sky, deep in thought.

“Pray, girl,” Alicent said after a long pause. Her voice was not merely a suggestion — it was a veiled command. “Ask the Mother for guidance. She hears women, even when the world refuses to.”

Lily listened in silence.

“And remember…” the queen continued, slower now, “your worth will not lie in how gently you’re taken, nor in how obediently you bend. It will lie in the strength with which you rise afterward. In the dignity with which you endure what must be endured. And in the cleverness with which you shape, little by little, the world around you.”

Alicent looked again at her niece, seeing in her the same dreams she had once carried herself. Deep down, Lily still held on to the same fantasies she too had once nurtured.

“Don’t cling to romantic delusions. Love, if it comes, will be a blessing. But duty… duty is as certain as the rising sun.”

Without thinking too much — or worrying what the queen might think of her boldness — Lily suddenly asked:

“Aunt… what was your first night like?”

The question sounded almost pathetic and ill-timed. She regretted it as soon as it escaped her lips. But it was too late to take it back, so she pressed on. “Was it… awful?”

Alicent didn’t respond at once. She was surprised, but not offended. After all, Lily had never had a mother or a female figure close enough to ask such things — and now, under her care, it fell to her to fill that role.

“I was about your age,” Alicent began slowly, choosing her words with care. “And I felt much the same as you do now. It was… strange.”

Her voice was distant, almost abstract. “There’s a moment of silence. A kind of unease you don’t quite know how to name. And then… everything happens so quickly. Almost as if it weren’t truly you in that moment… more like a dream.”

The answers didn’t satisfy Lily. She wanted more — or perhaps less vagueness. She wanted details, sensations. She wanted to know everything. If she could see and feel her future, it would all be easier, she thought.

“But… what did you feel?” she insisted, with a childlike courage.

Alicent hesitated. Her eyes welled, though she didn’t blink.

“That I had fulfilled my duty to my House.”

A brief silence followed, filled only by the distant sound of a fountain in the garden. The bells of the Sept tolled the next hour.

“So… you weren’t in love with the king…”

The girl was too lost in her own thoughts to measure her words.

Alicent didn’t show it, but Lily’s intrusiveness was beginning to test her patience. Still, she didn’t lose her composure. She merely lifted a hand and gently brushed a strand of hair from her niece’s forehead — like a mother would — and finally said, in a low voice, almost as if speaking to herself:

“Listen to me, Lily… Marriage, for us women, is what the battlefield is for men. We do what must be done.”

Lily realized she had already said more foolish things in one day than was wise, and decided it was best to say no more.

“I understand, Your Grace. Thank you for your counsel.”

“Be strong. You’re a Hightower,” said the queen, her stern expression softening into something almost affectionate — and it made Lily smile. “And as our house words say: ‘We Light the Way,’ do we not? Your grandfather and I know you can.”

_______________________________________

That afternoon, after lunch, the lady-in-waiting left the queen to rest in her chambers. Instead of doing the same, she began to wander aimlessly through the castle corridors.

She glided softly, as if floating, occasionally spinning on her own axis, almost dancing. She ran her fingertips along the red stone walls, feeling the cold texture contrast with the warmth in the air. She didn’t know where she was going or why she was doing it — and she didn’t care if anyone saw her or not. She smiled for no reason. In that moment, she felt as happy as a child. The world seemed perfect. She only wanted to savor every second of that rare emptiness. Her mind was blank, and all her body registered was the dreamlike warmth of that hot afternoon.

She was too distracted to focus on anything for long, but, for a moment, something caught her attention and made her stop. A large old tapestry, embroidered with golden thread, depicted a maiden giving a token to a knight. She was probably wishing him luck before some battle, Lily thought.

She remembered how much she used to love romantic stories as a child — and how she dreamed of living one herself.

“Love, isn’t it?...”

Now, those childhood dreams felt like nonsense. Suddenly, part of her awareness returned, along with the melancholy.

She walked on, trying to ignore the sting in her chest and relaxing again. Arms hanging loosely by her sides. Her heart quiet. Maybe she should’ve added more than three drops to that tea, she sighed in frustration.

Before she realized it, she was standing in front of the training yard. The place was empty. Only Lily and the sun above her remained. She lifted her eyes to it, momentarily blinded by its brightness. A warm breeze blew, making her hair and dress flutter, bringing with it an old memory.

Lily sighed, walked slowly, and climbed the steps to the platform where nobles used to watch the training — a carved stone terrace, with columns and shaded seats. She sat there, tucked in, arms around her legs, and closed her eyes.

That place too held sweet memories.

A Few Years Earlier

Her eyelids blinked slowly, and her small hands were colder than usual as she held the piece of charcoal, drawing it across the yellowed paper.

Each time her eyes returned to the sketch forming before her, her heart raced with anxiety and excitement from looking once more at the inspiration only a few meters away.

Even in a simple pre-tournament training, Gwayne Hightower looked like the perfect image of a white knight straight out of the stories she used to read.

He was handsome, strong, brave... and there was a nobility about him that didn’t just come from his name, but poured out of every gesture, every action. Every movement looked choreographed — a dance of steel, sweat, and honor.

“How handsome he is...,” she thought, euphoric, gripping the charcoal tighter.

But it was exactly when he looked discreetly in her direction — and smiled, waving kindly — that Lily’s hands faltered. The charcoal slipped from her fingers and rolled away.

Immediately, butterflies stirred in her stomach, as if an entire swarm had been released. Her cheeks flushed in an instant. She quickly crouched down, trying to find the charcoal, while the unruly waves of her hair fell over her face, blocking her view even more.

That’s when a familiar noise — a rising murmur of voices — caught her attention.

“Oh, no...”

The boys were fighting. Again.

Prince Aemond had always appeared more composed, but he had a tongue as sharp as Aegon’s when it came to insulting his nephews. Jacaerys and Lucerys, though younger, never backed down when it came to defending their honor — or their mother’s, whom everyone whispered about behind her back.

"Strong" this, "Strong" that.

In seconds, the argument turned into shoving and threatened to become something worse. Soon, Ser Criston, Ser Harwin, and Gwayne intervened, separating the boys before anyone could bleed.

A tug on the collar here, a stern look there, and the tension gradually dissipated.

The eldest prince kicked some pebbles on the ground and smiled petulantly in the girl’s direction. That’s when Lily saw where her piece of charcoal had ended up. Aegon picked it up with his fingers and, with a smug expression, walked toward where she was sitting, stopping a few steps below her.

When he reached her, he opened his palm, showing her the charcoal.

“Is this yours?” he asked, full of cynicism.

“Give it back, please.” She held out her hand.

“I will... if you show me what you were drawing.” His grin widened, shamelessly provocative, as he waved the object in front of her eyes like he was daring her to take it back.

“I’m not going to show you.” she replied sweetly, hugging the paper to her chest like it was her most precious possession.

“Then you’re not getting it back.” And without warning, Aegon tossed the small object high into the air with such force that the charcoal disappeared from sight, lost somewhere in the castle.

He expected a strong reaction from her — maybe a scream, a shove, anything — but was frustrated when she just took a deep breath, seemingly resigned. Aegon rolled his eyes, turned on his heel, and began climbing the steps out of the yard — followed by her through the long corridors.

“Why did you do that?!” she asked in her usual soft tone.

“Because I wanted to see your dumb blank face get mad...” he answered without even looking back, in that same annoying, careless tone — but now laced with frustration. “But I guess you’re incapable.”

“I wasn’t talking about me.” she replied. “I was asking why you torment Prince Jacaerys so much.”

“It’s fun.” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“And why does he get so bothered by that "Strong" talk?”

“Because he knows it’s true.” He shrugged, completely unapologetic.

“But... even if it were... what’s the problem? They’re still the princess’s children. They’re her legitimate heirs.”

Aegon let out a short, almost amused laugh.

“Legitimate bastards, Little Lily! Only my father pretends not to see because he adores that whore...” his voice turned bitter, briefly letting slip a genuine hurt.

Lily fell silent, watching him, studying his behavior.

“You’re... a strange boy.” she whispered, mostly to herself, trying to understand how that chaotic mind worked.

“I’m strange?” He turned abruptly, raising an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes. “Funny to hear that from a girl who talks to plants, claims to see dead people... and lusts after her own uncle.” His smile spread, venomous. “That’s creepy as hell.”

Aegon glanced at the paper she clutched to her chest, then back at her face — which, for the first time, looked truly scared and embarrassed, as if she had been completely exposed. His steps slowed, and he approached, almost pinning her against one of the corridor walls. He reached out and played with a strand of her long hair, twisting it around his finger before leaning toward her ear and whispering:

“Give up on uncle Gwayne... If you’re that eager to get wet, look for someone your age.” He paused, smiling wider. “I can teach you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her. And, for the first time, he saw those green eyes — usually so lively, so carefree — narrow, avoiding his, and her cheeks turn red like apples in sheer embarrassment. For a second, he even thought she looked... 'kind of cute' that way.

Satisfied at finally getting a reaction out of her, Aegon turned and walked off, whistling, as if nothing had happened.

Now

For a moment, the memory lingered — as if the scent of the old training yard, the warmth of that morning, and even the texture of the yellowed paper were still there, clinging to her skin.

Lily hugged her knees to her chest, feeling the warm breeze play with her hair, which, even though it was always tied up now, still insisted on escaping in rebellious strands. She opened her eyes slowly, like someone waking from a dream — or from a daydream that no longer made any sense. She stayed there, staring into the void, trying to understand.

“Why…? Why am I remembering this now? What did you do to me, Aegon?”

She frowned slightly, disturbed by the heat blooming in her chest. She sighed, shaking her head, as if to cast the feeling off.

Maybe it was the tea’s fault. Maybe the heat. Maybe the loneliness itself. But the thing about running from problems… is that sooner or later, they always find a way to catch up and make everything worse. That feeling was eating her up from the inside. And somehow, she was letting it. She had to end it. Somehow.

That’s when she heard footsteps. Firm. Echoing across the stone. And then the sound of spurs.

When she looked up, Lily saw Aemond walking through the stone archway that connected the training yard to the terrace. He was still wearing part of his riding clothes — he must have just returned from a ride beyond the fortress walls.

He noticed her almost immediately. He stopped. Observed her for a brief moment, as if hesitating. Then asked, in his usual controlled and distant tone:

“Are you feeling well, Lady Lily?”

The tone didn’t sound exactly concerned. It was more... formal. Polite. Mechanical, even. She was to be his future wife, after all. It was his duty, at the very least, to show some concern.

Lily stood slowly, adjusting her dress, and replied with a brief smile — almost as mechanical as his:

“I’m fine... I was just getting a bit of air.”

There was an awkward silence. She felt she could just turn around and walk away. But before her body could react, she let slip:

“Would you... like to walk with me?”

Aemond hesitated, just for a moment. Not because he thought the invitation inappropriate, but perhaps surprised by her initiative. And the truth was... he didn’t mind her company. On the contrary. Whenever they’d been alone — on the few occasions they had — the moments had been... strangely comfortable. Quiet.

Perhaps, unconsciously, both of them felt a need to know the other. Before the wedding. So he simply nodded, with his usual reserved expression:

“Of course.”

They began to walk, side by side, in silence. Just like the first time. There was a subtle tension, almost imperceptible, hanging between them, like a soft breeze brushing the skin.

Lily kept her eyes on the stones beneath their feet, on the battlements above, on the shadows cast by the castle rooftops. Desperately searching for a topic — any topic — she ended up saying, almost automatically:

“You know... this is a magnificent castle.”

Aemond slightly turned his head toward her, raising an eyebrow.

“You think so?”

“Of course... I mean... it’s a bit stifling and gloomy inside... but also majestic.” She paused, glancing around. “I think it perfectly reflects the image of King Maegor Targaryen.”

A barely perceptible smile escaped the corner of his lips. He was caught off guard by her making that connection, and by the solemn way she said Maegor’s name.

“Maegor... the Cruel.” He replied, without apparent emotion. “So you admire one of the most infamous figures of the Targaryen dynasty?”

“I’ve always admired interesting stories — and the tale of King Maegor and his wives is definitely one of the best.”

Lily spoke with a hint of enthusiasm. There was something fascinating about that historical figure. And though she’d never say it out loud, it was inevitable: whenever she imagined what Maegor might have looked like... an image very similar to Aemond came to mind. With his cold beauty, rigid bearing... and dangerous aura.

Her gaze discreetly rose to his profile — stern, flawless, with a cruel kind of elegance. And when Aemond noticed, turning to face her, her eyes met his for a second that seemed to last an eternity.

Lily quickly looked away, as if she’d been caught doing something forbidden.

“Maegor’s first wife was Ceryse Hightower...” Lily smiled for a moment to herself. “I’ll be the third Hightower woman to marry a Targaryen man...” She spoke without much thought.

“And are you happy about that?”

The question hit her like an arrow — direct, unexpected. For a second, Lily didn’t know what to say. Her lips parted, but no words came at first. She looked away, fixing her gaze on the stones beneath their feet, on the contours of the shadows... and smiled — that light smile she always used when she didn’t want to reveal too much.

“Honestly, I’m not sure...” she replied, almost in a whisper. “Everything happened so fast I didn’t even have time...”

She paused, and then, with a sudden boldness — subtle, but sharp — she lifted her gaze directly to him, raising a single eyebrow.

“But what about you, Prince Aemond...? Are you... happy?”

For a moment, Aemond seemed caught off guard by the reversal. The trace of a smile still lingering on his lips faded. His face returned to its usual neutral — that cold, flawless expression, almost carved from marble.

He looked at her. And although his lips said nothing for a few seconds, his eyes... his eyes said more than any words.

He took a while to answer. And when he did, his voice was calm. Unweighted, undisturbed — just... natural.

“I’m not unhappy.”

They continued walking, and slowly, the dark corridors and stone courtyards were left behind. Their steps took them to one of the open balconies of the fortress, from which the Blackwater Bay stretched as far as the eye could see. The afternoon sun was beginning to descend, painting everything in gold. The waters sparkled, reflecting the light like liquid glass. The sea breeze gently stirred both their hair.

For a few moments, they just watched. Without speaking. It was beautiful. Almost unreal. And in a way, also uncomfortable. Because there was a kind of beauty there that made everything feel more intense.

Lily clasped her hands together, as if trying to keep control of her thoughts, and said, with a faint smile:

“If it were up to your House’s traditions... you should be marrying one of Prince Daemon’s daughters. To keep your valyrian bloodline as pure as possible...”

Aemond let out a low, humorless chuckle, staring out at the horizon.

“They hate me...” he replied, almost amused. “Well... I suppose it’s mutual. They say I stole Vhagar, but I have no regrets for having the courage to claim what they never would have dared.”

He seemed more lost in his thoughts than she had ever seen him.

“Sharing blood doesn’t always mean you can build a lasting union.”

Lily observed him and recalled Aegon’s words about Rhaenyra. She realized both princes had unresolved wounds with their Targaryen side of the bloodline.

“Well, here you are about to marry a cousin. Only... from the Hightower side of the family.”

She spoke in a somewhat playful tone, trying to lighten the weight of the conversation.

He gave her a sidelong glance, raising a brow, wearing that typical expression — somewhere between irony and indifference.

“Some traditions are meant to be upheld.” he replied.

Lily pressed her lips lightly, holding back a smile that threatened to form. Then, with a tone more curious than teasing, she asked, looking sideways:

“And... does it seem strange to you? Or... wrong, in some way?”

“The traditions?”

“Blood-related marriages.”

There was a pause. Aemond didn’t respond immediately. His eyes scanned the horizon, the golden light flickering over the waves, as if he were searching for an answer he wasn’t sure he had.

“My mother thought so.” he finally said, in a lower, almost thoughtful tone. “She said it was... sinful, immoral. She said that... until she agreed to marry Aegon to Helaena.”

He took a deep breath. His eyes searched hers.

“And you...? What do you think? I know the Faith is strongly against it, though they say there’s an exception for those of valyrian blood.”

She didn’t respond right away. She just walked a few more steps until she reached the stone balustrade, where the view of the Bay looked even more magnificent. The wind blew, carrying away a few loose strands of her hair.

Then, she turned. Stepping back toward him. So close now that she could see the golden sunlight reflected in his one eye — a shade of blue now almost silvery, like polished steel.

The breeze, the scent of salt, the sound of the waves... all of it seemed to fade away, muffled. Only the two of them remained.

Lily lifted her face, holding his gaze, and answered with raw, intense sincerity — like a confession even she hadn’t realized she was about to make:

“I... don’t know if I believe in the dogmas of the Faith of the Seven... the way most Hightowers do.”

He raised an eyebrow, studying her more closely.

“Then... what do you believe in?” The question came softer, almost like a curious challenge.

She took a deep breath. And finally answered — without looking away, without hesitation, staring straight into that cold, metallic eye that now... seemed a little less distant:

“In love...” Her voice was firm, though soft, almost like a whisper stolen by the wind. “...And in death.”

Without thinking too much about the consequences, Lily reached up to the prince’s face, rose slightly onto her toes, and kissed him on the lips.

___________________________________

Night had fallen.

A sea of stars bathed the sky over King’s Landing — so vast, so deep, it seemed ready to swallow everything beneath it. And there she was. Lying against the breast of the earth, embraced by the cold comfort of the soil in that nocturnal garden.

So still… that anyone might have mistaken her for one of the stones surrounding the old mulberry tree.

The white nightgown clung to her body like a specter in the dark. Her loose hair spread across the grass, merging with roots. Her bare feet absorbed the dampness of the ground, and her hands rested over her chest — serene, motionless, like the hands of one who lies in eternal sleep.

The chill slowly creeping up her legs... brought that memory back. That night. Perfect and with no meddling moonlight to compete for attention with the true rulers of the sky: her beloved stars.

She could still feel it. The cold touch of the grass against her skin. The warm blood running from her slashed wrists, seeping into the soil like a silent offering. And the Stranger’s kiss... oh, the kiss of the Stranger on her heart — icy, sweet, divine.

So pleasurable, so devastatingly intense, that her lips had trembled, and a soft sigh had escaped her… a gentle moan, almost of pleasure, as her vision blurred… and she floated, light, free, dissolving into the infinity of the starry sky.

No more pain. No more suffering.

That… That had been the most ecstatic moment of her life. At least… until she tasted Prince Aegon’s lips.

Lily wouldn’t admit it even to herself. But the truth was... her reckless cousin had stirred something in her. In her heart. In her mind. And — worse — in her body. In a way no other man ever had. Not even her first great childhood love.

She couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was stuck to her. And deep down, she knew.

The kiss with Aemond had been nothing more than a desperate attempt — and now she realized, a futile one — to quiet her own doubts. Maybe… to compare the brothers. Maybe… to prove to herself that she could fall for the right man. The man who would be her husband.

But no.

No matter how hard she tried... No matter how she searched for a spark, any ember that could light a fire within her... It was in the arms of her future brother-in-law that her fire had been lit. And now it burned. Fierce. Uncontrollable. Threatening to consume her.

“Save me… Take me away, my lord. Let me stay with you,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

“Talking to trees again, Little Lily?”

Aegon’s voice sliced through the silence like a sharp blade, cutting the darkness with his sleepy sarcasm.

She opened her eyes with a start. The fright, however, lasted only a second — just enough for her soul to return from wherever it had been hiding.

“What are you doing here?”

Her voice came out lower than intended, but not weak. Lily sat up slowly from her grassy bed, pulling her legs close to her body, as if needing something physical to shield herself from his presence.

Aegon was there.

Still. Motionless. His hands clasped behind his back, his silhouette outlined by the pale glow of the stars.

“Was looking for wine…”

He replied with mild disdain, eyes never leaving her. “But lucky me — I found something better.”

His gaze traveled over Lily’s body from feet to head, slow and shameless, trying to take in as much as he could. She recoiled inwardly. The thin nightgown, damp with dew, clung to her skin like mist. For a brief moment, she wondered if the fabric was transparent enough to justify the hungry gleam in his eyes, even in the dark.

“Were you… praying?” The word came heavy with disbelief, almost mockery. “Or doing one of those rituals they said your father used to do?”

Lily didn’t respond. She just stared at him — without blinking, without looking away. Her gaze had weight. It wasn’t gentle, nor aggressive. It was… deep, like an abyss inviting the fall.

Perhaps to escape it — that thick silence between them — Aegon stepped forward and let himself fall beside her on the grass. The gesture, careless like everything he did, didn’t ease the tension. On the contrary.

She felt the warmth of his body, the faint scent of woodsy perfume and sweet wine clinging to him.

“Do you really believe in all of this...?”

His voice was lower now, hoarse from drink and something else Lily couldn’t name.

“That there’s… something listening when you talk alone?”

“...Ow.”

He cut himself off with a pained hiss, clenching his right hand.

She looked immediately.

“You’re hurt? Let me see.”

Her tone changed, losing its edge. And without hesitation, without regard for propriety, she took his hand into hers. Warm. Large. Strong. But swollen, with a fresh shallow cut.

“There was a fight...” he murmured, almost embarrassed.

Lily raised an eyebrow, and as she examined his fingers with calm, almost cruel care, said with irony:

“I thought the Street of Silk had brothels and prostitutes... not fight pits.”

Her touch pressed lightly against the wound, as if by accident.

“That’s where you’ve been, isn’t it?”

Aegon laughed.

That rasping, muffled laugh she was beginning to recognize — as full of charm as of veiled malice.

“Are you jealous?”

Lily swallowed hard. Her eyes sparkled under the starlight, but not with sweetness — with exhaustion.

And after a long sigh, she answered:

“So much time wasted on debauchery...”

She looked at him sideways, as if seeing a cracked mirror before her.

“You are a terrible husband.”

Then, without another word, she brought her thumb to her mouth and bit it. A thin stream of blood trickled down. Lily let a few drops fall over the prince’s wound — an instinctive, intimate, almost ritualistic gesture. Then, she tore a piece of her own nightgown and wrapped his hand.

“It’ll be fine by morning.” she murmured, her voice low and firm.

But Aegon didn’t hear the words.

The world seemed to fall silent.

His eyes were fixed on her features — her pale face, delicate lines, small cold hands that moved with precision and tenderness. She was a strange, quiet flame. Something that burned without noise, but consumed him entirely. And then, finally, he said what he’d been choking on for far too long:

“This isn’t fair. I should be marrying you, not him.”

Lily closed her eyes for a second.

But the answer came quickly, as if rehearsed:

“You’re already married, Aegon.”

He answered with a smile:

“The Conqueror had two wives. One for duty… and one he truly wanted.”

His eyes sought hers.

But Lily didn’t hold his gaze for long. Her eyes fled like touching fire.

“How did they manage to live like that? To share him... what a horror!.”

“Maybe he was an exceptional lover.”

Aegon tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but she didn’t smile.

“Or maybe…” she said, with cruel softness, “...neither of them truly loved him.” She paused. Took a deep breath. “I couldn’t bear to share the man I love.”

This time, she looked at him. For real. Deep into his eyes. But only for an instant — just enough for something inside her to break in silence.

“I need to go.”

It was more than an excuse. It was a cry for help. Like so many times before when she tried to flee from herself, she would flee from him now. But Aegon — this time — didn’t let her.

“Wait.”

He held her arm. Gently.

His eyes, for a moment, didn’t hold the gleam of lust. They held melancholy and longing.

“Stay here.”

His voice came low, as if any word louder than a whisper might shatter the moment.

“Just… stay close to me.”

He hesitated, then added — and this time, with the most human voice Lily had ever heard from him:

“I miss you... I miss us. Don’t you?”

_______________________________________

She knew she shouldn't give in to her whims—let alone his—but those enormous pleading blue eyes always melted her already fragile heart.

He had done it again.

Being near him brought a feeling she hadn’t known in so long — like standing in warm sunlight even in the dead of night. How could someone like him make her feel so good?, she still wondered.

They lay on the cold grass beneath the stars, turned toward each other, surrounded by a sweet, comfortable silence. They didn’t need words to say what their eyes already confessed.

“I want you so much...” he admitted. “I think I always have... since... always, maybe.”

Her eyes smiled, but her face tried to hold back.

“Don’t say things like that. In a few hours, I’ll be marrying your brother. I’ll practically be your sister.”

“That’s not so bad,” he said with a wicked grin.

Lily couldn’t help but smile, her eyes drifting to the vast, starry sky. She remembered how much she had always adored the prince’s biting humor.

“Oh, stop! You know what I meant...” she sighed and looked back at him. “If you liked me so much, why did it take you so long to say something?”

“You were too busy dreaming about Uncle Gwayne to notice me...”

“Shut up! You’re the last person in the world who can judge me...”

Before she knew it, her fingers were resting on his lips. They were warm and soft. Reflexively, she pulled her hand back, embarrassed, while he grinned even wider.

But gradually, that smile faded, replaced by the same strange melancholy now clouding her eyes.

“You married Helaena… and I’m going to marry Aemond. That’s how it has to be.”

“Are you saying that to me, or to yourself? The girl I knew would never settle for a flavorless, emotionless life with that ice-sculpted fool.”

“He’s not that cold...”

Lily replied with a crooked, almost teasing smile.

Aegon turned his face away, clearly annoyed.

“...What is it? Jealous?”

The question dripped with sweet venom — and she knew it. There was something satisfying about making him feel the same jealousy she had endured so many times — because of him.

His reaction was immediate: a dry laugh, more cynical than amused.

“Jealous? Of Aemond?”

He looked up at the sky, as if asking the gods for strength to deal with such absurdity. Then he leaned on one elbow and gave her a sideways glance.

“I just thought you had better taste...”

Lily stifled a laugh, covering her mouth to keep it in.

His provocation didn’t irritate her — on the contrary, it felt like being a child again.

She chose to play along, matching his tone.

She couldn’t explain it, but she was enjoying confronting him.

“Oh, Aegon... you don’t know anything about my tastes,” she said, placing both hands dramatically over her heart, like a saintly figure.

“Don’t I?”

She gasped in surprise when his hand landed on her thigh.

He squeezed gently, feeling the silk fabric beneath his fingers — a thin barrier between him and his deepest desire.

“Are you sure I don’t?” he whispered in her ear, drawing closer.

Lily felt her blood ignite as the infernal heat of his hand slipped beneath the white fabric.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips, and her cheeks flushed crimson — as if they burned from within.

“I love when your face turns like this...” he murmured, smiling against her skin before burying his face in her neck, completely lost in the waves of her hair.

Kisses and soft bites spread across her cold skin like flames.

If she were thinking clearly, she would have pulled away. She would have scolded herself for doing something so improper — with a married man, her future brother-in-law.

But rationality was the last thing on her mind.

As his hand slid up her thigh and his lips wandered from her neck to her cheeks — hungry, yet tender — she felt lost in a fevered delirium, just as intense as the night she tried to surrender herself to her god.

Her heart pounded so fast it felt like it might escape her chest.

She shut her eyes and bit her lip, trying to silence any sound that might slip out.

Feeling the prince's fingers between her legs made her crave more than just his touch.

More than the sun or a range of erupting volcanoes, Aegon was the embodiment of the fire of the Seven Hells — and right then, all she wanted was to be consumed by him.

“Still think I don’t know anything about your taste?” he teased, slowly bringing his wet fingers to his mouth and licking them, his eyes blazing with ecstasy.

Lily’s legs trembled. A shiver ran down her spine.

“You’re a demon...” she whispered, her voice hoarse, trembling — and enchanted.

Without thinking, she pulled him by the neck and pressed her lips against his in a fierce, unrestrained kiss. Aegon moaned into her mouth.

Taking advantage of the moment, she straddled him, her trembling fingers hastily removing his heavy coat and linen shirt.

Her hands ran over his shoulders and tangled in his silver hair, while the prince gripped her waist with firm hands.

Lily pulled away just enough to look at him — pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips wine-red and parted.

“Don’t say anything,” she said. “If you speak... I’ll think. And if I think, I’ll stop.”

He smiled, breathless, and pulled her back into another kiss as he tore off what remained of her nightdress.

He had never seen a woman so beautiful. Pale and cool, like petals dampened by morning dew. Fragile at first glance — but he knew, as her name foretold, that within her small frame lay an irresistible poison.

With warm fingers, he reached her breasts and touched them gently, savoring every second. Lily bit her lip and tilted her head back in surrender. She was just as possessed by him as he was by her. Aegon kissed her again, from lips to neck to breasts, giving light bites as if marking his territory.

He laid her down on the grass, delighting in her sweet, fresh scent, and when he finally entered her, he felt the most overwhelming frenzy of his life.

Lily felt the same.

Pain — her old companion — was nothing but a brief sting, quickly replaced by a wave of pleasure that stole the breath from her lungs.

With every movement, the pain seemed to melt into something hotter.

She was alive.

A soft moan escaped Lily’s lips, followed by a low growl — a sound she didn’t even recognize as her own.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders and, when pain and pleasure finally merged, she bit the prince’s shoulder hard. Not as punishment. But as possession.

Aegon groaned, burying his face in her neck, and smiled to himself.

There was no more modesty between them.

Only flesh, desire… and a feeling neither of them dared name — not yet.

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