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swordgrace · 11 months ago

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𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

༺ aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

synopsis: in aemond targaryen’s eyes, you have far exceeded anything that he could’ve imagined. during a moment of solace, you indulge in the prince’s growing affections.

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༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 7.1K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, biting, scratching, switch!aemond, fingering (f!receiving), groping, lots of kissing, hair pulling, vulnerable aemond, melancholy aftercare, slight power imbalance, possessive aemond, talk of insecurities, begging, etc.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: finally ,,, an aemond fic! I am currently looking for requests for this account, and hopefully this is a good showcase in terms of getting people interested! This was so fun to write and helped me get into the Aemond headspace, I so look forward to sharing more of my work with all of you!

𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 the skies over King’s Landing, bringing with it a sense of wariness and discomfort. Rumors and whispers grew of an approaching war between Rhaenyra Targaryen and King Aegon Targaryen — a war between kin that would surely plunge the realm into a great darkness.

Bloodshed and the mere thought of violence caused you to shiver, goosebumps prickling along the length of your spine. The evening was a touch colder, the air bitter and misty with the first inklings of a nighttime deluge. Raindrops smashed into the courtyard, against the castle walls in a steady sheet.

Sworn to serve Lady Alicent Hightower, the dowager Queen, she had dismissed you quite suddenly, citing that she preferred to be left alone this evening. You found it intriguing that Ser Criston Cole so vigilantly guarded the former Queen’s chambers with wandering eyes, but it was none of your business.

The halls of the Red Keep were warm with the glow of torchlight amongst the illumination of the moon, clouds bringing down rain and the low rumble of thunder. You were prepared to make the venture down to the Servant’s Quarters, until you were stopped by a guard somewhere down the corridor.

“My Lady,” One of the Kingsguard, Ser Cargyll, addressed you nobly, even if you were just a handmaiden. “The Prince Aemond is searching for you. He is requesting your presence.”

Prince Aemond — a name not unfamiliar to you.

You felt the subtle hitch within the depths of your throat at the mention of Aemond Targaryen. The Prince was rather acquainted with you, in ways that many would consider uncouth and sinful, but it was a budding relationship. If anything, you found him to be a being of mystique and repression, in your experience.

Under the guise of mere duty, you nodded, curtsying before Ser Cargyll. “Thank you, Ser. I will make my way to his chambers.” You kept your voice hushed, ensuring an air of respect for those who slumbered within the Keep’s walls.

Carrying bundles of fresh linens within your arms, you made your way to the Prince’s quarters, a path that you were somewhat familiar with. Your encounters with Aemond weren’t often, but whenever they did occur, it filled you with a certain thrill and exhilaration. You never imagined yourself to be desirable, the object of a Prince’s infatuations, yet here you were.

A sharp clap of thunder caused you to gasp, nearly losing your footing as you traversed through the darkened corridors, passing by the occasional fellow servant or patrolling knight. Something about this night felt unusual — as if there was an ominous presence lingering around the corner.

Thunderstorms had a horrible habit of making you incredibly paranoid — tonight was no different, it seemed. With a deliberate pace, you ascended the grand flight of steps toward Aemond’s chambers, noticing the lack of protection outside. The Prince wasn’t fond of being hovered over, a notion that you could understand.

The set of ornate, mahogany doors were equipped with iron knobs fashioned into the heads of dragons — quite fitting, considering his heritage. You knocked thrice, stepping back as you waited for the Prince himself, or his summons.

With bated breath, you wrung your digits into the silk and linens clutched within your arms, awaiting the Prince to allow you inside. The suspense was nearly unbearable — sometimes he called you inside, and other times, he greeted you himself with a sly curl of his mouth and that glittering, violet eye of his.

To your delight, the door creaked open, groaning in protest as Aemond stood within the gap, regal and svelte in his leather tunic and fine regalia. His hand perched along the edge of the door, lips tilting into that familiar countenance of his — cunning yet tinged with faint hints of amusement.

“My Lady,” Aemond’s voice was a lull, like the purr of a great cat as he beckoned you inside. He cared little for prying eyes, allowing you to step into the warmth of his open chambers before he latched the door behind him. “You came rather swiftly.” He stated — a mere observation, but it was most accurate.

“Is this not an urgent matter?” To keep appearances, you sometimes asked redundant questions — but Aemond enjoyed them nonetheless. He let out a brief hum, violet hue raking over you as it had several times before. There was something reverent there, a silent appreciation that happened to scream if someone looked close enough.

With a brief hum of amusement, Aemond ogled you, head canting slightly to one side. Blackfyre sat soundly atop his hip, bound in the finest sheath and belt that hung atop his narrow waist. “I suppose not,” He reached out, gently swiping his fingers across your jaw. “I merely wanted to see you.”

Warmth fluttered within your breast, spreading like ivy across the rest of your body. The bulk of the heat settled within your features as you struggled to maintain your composure. “And I you, my Prince.” It was enough to make Aemond’s stare sparkle. “Any word on what will come of the growing conflict?”

Aemond stepped toward the large table, scattered in maps and scrolls, the largest of it being a cartographic description of Westeros. Coins were scattered atop it, meant to resemble garrisons of their forces. “Not yet.” He replied, circling the table before he looked at you. “It is hard to plan for a war that you’ve no counsel in.”

From what Aemond had told you during previous trysts, he was not on the small council — and his brother, the King, seemed more content on drinking and letting others run his kingdom for him. A piece of Aemond spited Aegon for this, for his lack of propriety and sense of duty.

The Prince’s woes weren’t unfamiliar to you. In fact, he had placed his head within your lap and recounted the multitude of misfortunes that had befallen him on many occasions before he had any desire to touch you. Perhaps it was this gesture that had given your budding relationship such a firm foundation.

War was on the horizon, and Aegon hadn’t the slightest clue of what to do — which left Aemond to stew and plot away, to strategize where there wasn’t any inkling of it. It would always fall upon him, the more responsible sibling.

You trailed after him, curious to see such a large map of the continent. If anything, you were more perplexed by the different kingdoms and sigils on coins than the war. “You mean to strategize without the King?” You inquired, noticing the scoff that emerged from Aemond.

“It is nothing new. I only wish to serve the King and my house.” He replied, expression becoming pensive before he sank down into the cushioned armchair, the one placed before his sea of maps and books. Candles danced atop the table, listless and bright.

Aemond was a learned individual, with a thirst for books and tomes, alongside the blade. You admired his desire for more, his desire for knowledge. There was a stark duality to Aemond that you had caught glimpses of during the course of your endeavors — from sharp and cold, like steel, to a hint of warmth.

The Prince’s chambers were spacious, surrounded by an ocean of quiet, with a high terrace and an open wall. You watched as the rain fell, providing a gentle ambiance to your surroundings. A flash of lightning split the sky, and the thunderous gloom of the night raged on.

With a soft exhale, you approached the terrace, lined in a thick bannister and a row of columns. If you extended your hand out far enough, you could catch the rain, feeling the chill of the droplets glide across your palm. It was soothing, enough to ease the heat that had made permanent residence within your skin.

In silent rapture, Aemond watched you carefully, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The glow of moonlight framed your features in silver, accompanied by the twinge of orange — it made you look like a goddess, a beauty incarnate standing before him. His fingers tensed into the arm of his chair, desire beginning to fester inside of him.

Initially, he thought little of you — the lowborn girl that dutifully served his mother, yet the night you’d found him strewn about in his quarters, wounded and wistful, he’d changed his mind. Aemond fell swiftly, and he fell hard — many nights were spent with you in his bed, his head within your lap. It inevitably transformed into desire and the first blossoming of affection.

“Thunderstorms used to terrify me as a child,” You broke the silence, recoiling until your palm was pressed close to your chest. “Now, they seem to make everything ominous, as if there is a lingering dread.” You let out a chuckle, seemingly embarrassed. “It isn’t much different than being afraid.”

Aemond tucked a hand beneath his chin, leaning some of his weight against it as he listened to you. “What do you fear, my Lady?” He questioned, as if attempting to pick you apart, crawl beneath your flesh. You enticed him, evoked a sense of intrigue that he seldom felt in the presence of noble women.

A rather heavy question, but you decided to answer honestly, depositing the stack of linens onto the lounge in front of you. “Being locked away in a cage, perhaps the darkness.” You trailed off. “War.” You grimaced, gaze flickering toward the map on his table yet again.

You always feared war more than anything — it always brought worse things with it. Bloodshed, famine, death, the feeling of no sanctuary or peace.

With a soft huff, Aemond’s violet eye flickered away from you and to his map, surveying his growing plan for any imperfections. He remained quiet for a moment, and decided that he had little desire to talk to you on the topic of war — not when there were plenty of other things he could do.

“War is inevitable, like so many other things in life,” Aemond’s voice carried an indiscernible edge to it. After a brief pause, he continued. “I would keep you safe.” Sometimes, you had difficulty detecting sincerity with the Prince, but you could see it now, even if it was subtle.

If it was meant to be a flattering or sentimental statement, it happened to work, prompting you to dip your head. Sheepishness settled into your features, causing you to tether your hands together. “You honor me, my Prince. I did not know that the life of a handmaiden meant something to you.”

At last, his head angled toward you, lilac hue dancing with light as he leaned back within his chair, the wood groaning in protest. “Come here.” He waved you forward with a flick of his fingers, desiring to feel your warmth, be close to you. Aemond’s lust for you was subtle, but when it sparked to life, it burned like a dragon’s fire.

Your heartbeat fluttered like the wings of a bird, stirring beneath your breast as you obeyed the Prince’s command. Stepping closer, you felt Aemond’s hand trace the swell of your hip, coaxing you into his lap. Without a word, he rested his cheek against your sternum, feeling your fingers rake through his silken tresses.

“Your life is worth a great deal.” Aemond stated, breath fanning out across your collarbone. The Prince savored the sensation of your soft flesh beneath him, heart loud enough to ring within his ears as he pressed close to your chest. Wordlessly, he planted a kiss against the column of your throat.

A shiver rolled down your spine, a sensation that left you aching for more. You never imagined yourself becoming the object of the Prince’s affections, enough for him to state that your life had meaning beyond the station of a servant. “Then it is a mutual feeling.” You uttered, nails lightly scraping against the nape of his neck.

Aemond had often been deprived of affection — even in his dealings with whores, it was originally Aegon’s design, his will enforced. There was no shared connection with a woman seeking coin and a boy, barely thirteen. He preferred you above all else, warm and tender within his grasp, with no desire to use him to further your station.

He used to believe that the only solace he could find was in himself — until he began seeking you out.

What originally began as an arrangement of convenience, purely lust and instinct, had now spiraled into something more. He shared his past with you, treated you to the inner machinations of his splintered family, and in rare instances, became quite vulnerable. Sentiments be damned, Aemond was beginning to feel affectionate towards you.

The growing connection he shared with you, albeit unorthodox and unexpected, outweighed any previous experience he had. You were his — a precious creature that he intended on savoring forever, if he could. Not many would approve of his hunger for a lowborn girl, but Aemond cared little for it.

Above all, known or unknown, he wanted your love.

Aemond’s lilac eye drifted to your visage, drinking you in as he had many times before. The way you cradled his skull within your hand, your other palm planted firmly against his chest — it was intoxicating. He sank closer, finding comfort in your warmth.

He listened to your heart — the way it excitedly galloped for him, pounded within his ear like the deep lull of a drum. The Prince kissed your collarbone, shifting some of your robes away to reveal the soft expanse of your skin. Perhaps, he hadn’t made it known, but you belonged to him — it would stay that way.

A slight chill caused you to press closer, seeking the warmth of the Dragon Prince. Rain continued to pour outside, with thunder rattling the black, cloudy skies, as powerful as a dragon’s cry. Your hand found his shoulder, digits gently massaging into the broad, sinewy muscle of his clothed shoulder.

The sharp ridge of his nose brushed along your neck, lips following suit as he planted several deliberate kisses against your jugular; underneath your jaw. “Cold?” Aemond inquired, able to feel the icy bite of your flesh as it brushed against his. He felt you shudder — but he wondered if that was from something else.

“Slightly, my Prince.” You confessed, though your body’s physical responses were from his lips, in-tandem with the misty chill from the thunderstorm. The flicker of candlelight danced across his features — narrow and defined, beautiful beyond comparison.

“Hm,” Aemond hummed, dragging his lips around the curve of your jawline, pressing another kiss beneath your ear. His scent filled your nose — spiced herbs, smoke and leather, intermingled with that of a dragon. “Shall I remedy this misfortune?” He uttered, his voice crackling with desire.

He nearly smirked at the sound of your breath hitching within your throat — a delicious response to his shameless flirtation. Aemond’s hand crawled along the length of your leg, grabbing at the end of your robes before slipping underneath. His narrow digits danced along your calf, before finding the pliant meat of your thigh.

“Aemond,” You whispered, shifting within his lap as the Prince continued to kiss your neck. The garment you wore was shoddy and somewhat ill-fitting, and you longed to have it removed. You pressed a kiss against his brow, the one that had the beginnings of a scar. “Please.”

The sensation of your lips against his scar nearly drove him into a frenzy — it did the last time you coupled. Aemond let out a brief huff, detaching his mouth from your throat as he hungrily sought your lips. The kiss was overflowing with desire, his hand slithering against your inner thigh.

His slender digits found the apex between your thighs, swiping over the slick heat of your cunt. It was feather-light and tantalizing, meant to make you squirm, a promise of more to come throughout your night together. You whimpered, feeling his thumb ghost around your clit, splitting past your folds.

You reciprocated the kiss with a flurry of passion, tilting your hips forward toward Aemond’s hand. The playful curve of his mouth was tangible as you kissed him again, reaching to cup his face. The pad of your thumb traced along his cheekbone, feeling his teeth graze along your lower lip.

Aemond shivered beneath your palm, finding the sensation of it to be foreign, yet comforting all the same. He hadn’t removed his eyepatch before, during your previous trysts — the thought of you seeing it somewhat unnerved him. It was often used for intimidation, to terrify others into subservience, but it wasn’t like that with you.

As you pulled your head back just slightly, you pressed a tender kiss against Aemond’s jaw, and then against his cheek — another secured itself atop his eyepatch. You felt the Prince’s breath hitch, a subtle noise that left you wanting more.

His hand stilled between your legs, the other holding just underneath your breast. “It would be unwise to remove it.” Aemond uttered, voice as smooth as silk, and just as tantalizing. There was something forlorn about him, as if he were afraid of you glimpsing upon his face.

“I would never insist upon it, Aemond. Just know that I would never pass judgment,” You replied, tucking several strands of pale, silky hair aside. “You are still just as handsome, just as perfect.” Your soft-spoken reassurance made him flustered, yet he was unwilling to reveal that side of himself.

Admittedly, he considered taking it off then, but he decided against it, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. Your hand drifted to the front of his tunic, lined in an impressive array of metallic buttons, bearing the Targaryen sigil. Aemond found your sentiments to be sweet — just like the rest of you.

Wordlessly, the one-eyed Prince coaxed you to your feet, bringing you toward the roaring hearth, beside the light of a crackling fire. The ground beneath you was covered in the layered pelts of various game, from stags to the thick hide of a bear, cushioned enough to provide a safe landing for the both of you.

Aemond towered over you, svelte and broad-shouldered, hand coming to cup your chin as he kissed you. It was slow and unusually sweet, but much to your disappointment, it was short-lived. His hands moved to the front of your robes, tugging at the rugged laces to loosen the bodice.

He watched you hawkishly, enraptured as the both of you maneuvered the shoddy fabric aside. You pulled it over your head, tossing the garment somewhere behind you. It landed on the stone floor with an unceremonious thud, leaving you bare before the Prince.

It was an exchange, one that Aemond silently complied with as he peeled aside his own tunic, lips twitching into a smirk as you pushed away the leather and fine linen of his undershirt. He was all sinewy muscle and narrow limbs, with a pale musculature that seemed to glow whenever the light touched it.

The both of you gazed at one another, your breathing significantly more labored than his own. Your excitement was palpable, the anticipation stirring within your stomach as arousal pooled between your legs. Aemond hungrily consumed your mouth in a blistering kiss, hands grabbing at your hips and chest.

You reached for his shoulders, arms tossing themselves around the back of his neck, digits raking through his hair. Aemond’s tongue greedily slipped past your parted lips, allowing you to taste him. A low hum of approval rumbled within his throat as you submitted to him, chest blossoming with warmth.

It was all tongue and teeth and want — a dance that finally gave way to carnal desire and primitive instincts. You felt Aemond’s hand grope at your haunch, feeling your pliant flesh as he nipped at your lower lip. The flame of desire glistened within his lilac hue.

“Lie down,” Aemond uttered, his voice becoming a touch gravelly, saturated with lust. He watched as you obeyed, sinking down onto the furs with a flustered expression. He stood over you, reveling in the sight of your body, kissed by fire, legs pulled up at the knee. “You are perfect.”

Perfect — you shuddered, stomach churning with liquid heat as you propped yourself back upon your elbows, palms idly running across the soft furs. Aemond sank down, pressing a hot, needy kiss to your lips before he knelt between your thighs, mouth hungrily returning to your throat.

“Aemond,” You moaned, the noise soft and simpering as he assaulted your neck in passionate kisses. Teeth and tongue worked together, leaving behind a handful of marks, some glaringly obvious. He continued his descent, kissing your collarbone, and then your breast. “Please keep going.” A breathy whine left you, then.

His lips twitched into a smirk as he planted a series of hot kisses around your breast, the other palm preoccupied with groping and kneading into the soft flesh there. Aemond felt your body arch into him, knees squeezing at his narrow hips.

With a stroke of his tongue, the Prince began to suck at the peak of your breast, nose brushing along your sternum. The heat from the flame crawled across your body, leaving you feverishly hot. Aemond’s actions did little to soothe it, igniting the fire within your belly.

Your hands flew toward his crown of pale tresses, digits digging in toward the nape of his neck. The furs brushed against your back as you reclined, stealing glimpses at Aemond, who methodically and reverently worked his way along your body.

“Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke,” Aemond purred, sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh below your breast, as if to ensure his point was made. That singular lilac hue caught your heady gaze, prompting him to continue his descent. He abandoned your breast with a lasting kiss, mouth traveling along your stomach and hips. “Ñuhon.”

Listening to Aemond’s enchanting High Valyrian made you shudder, allowing it to encompass you. His voice was nothing more than a lascivious purr, meant to entice and tempt you — you were beyond elated to oblige. You watched with doe-like eyes as Aemond kissed your waist, and then your thighs.

His incendiary stare never faltered, and as he pushed his shoulders between your legs, he held it throughout. Aemond listened to the delicious hitch within your throat, the way you preemptively curled your nails into his shoulders — it was intoxicating.

In an unexpected maneuver, Aemond gingerly abandoned the fine leather of his eyepatch, revealing the glistening, sapphire eye, marred-over with an age-old scar. You were dazzled, perplexed by his beauty and the vibrant gleam of the jewel that was permanently socketed into his eye.

As a display of reassurance, your fingers crept from his shoulder to his face, gingerly tracing around his countenance, from eyebrow to cheekbone. Aemond’s subtle exhale of delight signaled his approval, and without warning, he raked his tongue across your cunt.

Your lips fell apart, unable to smother the pleasured whine that escaped you. His tongue raked hot embers across your aching core, delivering a series of deliberate strokes that were sure to make you squirm. Aemond preferred to savor you, consuming every drop of your nectar as if it were the finest of wines.

Those dextrous, spindly hands of his found the pliant flesh of your thighs, hooking underneath to provide a place of rest for your legs. He squeezed slightly, signaling his presence there as he pressed forward. His mouth greedily lapped at your cunt, gliding from the hood of your clit to your entrance.

“Aemond!” A wanton moan tore past your lips, back beginning to arch into his ministrations. The Prince slowed, sharp nose brushing against your mouth as he dipped forward, tongue briefly pushing inside of you. The subtle sensation made you whine, nails dragging themselves across his shoulder.

You were perfect — flesh velveteen beneath his palms, physique begging for more, your pleasure coming to fruition. You were at his mercy, but fortunately, Aemond was feeling most gracious this evening. The echo of the thunderstorm shook the walls a time or two, but it all became atmospheric, simply background noise.

With one hand fisted within his platinum tresses, the other scratched haplessly at his shoulder, nails leaving behind reddish crescents as he flicked his tongue across your clit. The sensation was fleeting, but he sought to drag it out, lips greedily pursing around the pearl of your cunt.

Another breathy moan left you, stomach pooling with a rush of molten heat. It oozed between your legs as your arousal fell upon the Prince’s tongue, much to his delight. He did not waste a drop, mouth traveling wherever he pleased, lapping at every inch of your cunt.

His throat echoed with a low growl, hands grabbing at your thighs. He traced his tongue around your clit, teasing you with feather-light jolts of bliss. You let out a whine, occasionally writhing atop the furs, head lolled back in a display of pure ecstasy.

Aemond’s subtle groan of delight reverberated throughout him whenever you tugged on his tresses, forcing him further into the warm embrace between your thighs. He pressed a string of kisses along your clit, as if he were worshiping you. He enjoyed your greed — if anything, he wanted to indulge you.

The warm lick of the hearth danced across your flesh, seeping into your very bones. Perspiration dotted your brow, jaw tight as Aemond ogled you from between your legs, like a svelte predator, poised for the kill. “You’re perfect, Aemond.” You exhaled, noticing the subtle twinkle in his lilac eye.

That familiar cheshire smirk of his returned; your sweetly-spoken compliments and shower of praise clearly satiated Aemond. He kissed your thigh, breath hot as it fanned across your aching core. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” His voice was cajoling, playful as he nipped at your hip.

You squirmed, becoming desperate for a release, one that your Prince seemed to dangle before your eyes like a carrot on a stick. “Please,” You moaned, digits tightening within his tresses, a subtle signal to continue. “Please, Aemond!” With such an urgent plea from a sweet mouth, Aemond couldn’t resist you.

It seemed that begging would get you places — Aemond thoroughly savored every second of it. Your lust mirrored his own, perhaps subdued, but it was a raging desire nonetheless. He placed another string of kisses against your inner thighs, gazing at you with an incendiary fondness.

Sluggishly, he descended to your cunt once more, dragging the flat of his tongue along your slit in one broad stroke. With a shiver, your hips rolled forward, eased into submission by Aemond’s hands, which happened to lock you into place as he swarmed forward.

He drank you in, tongue greedily flicking between your weeping core and clit, until he began to apply that same pressure as before. His thin lips pursed around the pearl of your cunt, suckling on the clutch of sensitive nerves until it drove you mad, back arching from the furs.

By the Seven, the things Aemond did to you.

There was a fervor in his ministrations, a ravenous hunger that threatened to tear you asunder. His tongue lapped at your core, interchanging with those brief moments of his lips latched around your clit. You whimpered, thighs pressing on either side of his head.

“Aemond,” You sighed with passion, fisting his silky tresses until you tugged him closer, burying his face within the warmth of your cunt. Aemond didn’t seem to mind, treating you with another barrage of suckling and kisses until you were spent. “Fuck.”

Your unholy mouth made Aemond shudder, groping at your thighs as he brought you to climax. Your release was bittersweet upon his tongue, the most sinful taste imaginable — yet he never claimed to be a pious man. He worked tirelessly to clean you up, cock aching within the confines of his leather trousers.

As you rode the pleasurable high of your release, your body unfurled, the tension within your stomach coming to a halt. A molten bliss wept between your legs, soothed by the cool lick of Aemond’s tongue. Your tryst was far from finished — you had more left to give.

In a coiled, poised fashion, Aemond moved from between your legs, prepared to untie the strings of his trousers and sink himself into you, but you stopped him, placing your palms against the plane of his chest. His musculature was lean and narrow, almost spider-like.

Aemond did not make a sound, watching as you rocked up onto your knees, thighs quivering as you eased him down onto his back — the same position you had been trapped in moments prior. He was enraptured, lilac eye glued to you as if you were heaven sent, a goddess coming to claim him for yourself.

You tossed one leg over him, thighs straddling those spindly hips of his, palms dragging across his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen — wherever you could reach. Aemond shivered beneath the intensity of your embrace, lips quirked into the ghost of a smirk, a look of perplexity to mask his desire to submit to you.

“Tell me you want this,” You whispered, nails lightly raking themselves toward his breeches, not daring to go any further until Aemond offered you his consent on the matter. He was often on top of you, domineering and incredibly energetic, but this was different — for him, and for you. “Say the word and you can have me elsewhere.”

The subtle bob of his throat wasn’t easy to spot, masked by shadow, one half of his countenance basked in the glow of the firelight. His sparkling sapphire gazed at you for an eternity, the other drifting across your supple physique, seated atop him as if you’d mounted a stallion.

His hands came to rest atop your thighs, splayed out, possessively groping your pliant flesh. “I want you,” Aemond uttered, his voice a delicious purr, an octave full of an unrestrained lust. “In whatever way that is.” He quite enjoyed this position — he liked seeing you in all of your beauty, bared before him.

With a gentle smile, your digits began to unravel the ties of his trousers, gracing across his hip bones. It was enough to make him shudder, even if the action was barely noticeable. Together, you and Aemond removed the rest of his clothing — and there he was.

He was a beautiful creature, all lanky musculature and pale flesh, stringy and angular. Everything about him was sharp, like the edge of a blade. Aemond was charming, enchanting to you whether he realized it or not. It was enough to prompt you to lean forward, pressing a string of kisses along his collarbone.

“My Prince,” You murmured into his skin, your nose nuzzling underneath the sharp slope of his jaw. You kissed him there, listening to the hitch in his throat. Aemond hummed, lips curling into something of a perplexed line as his hands wandered about your frame, ensuring to touch and caress every curve, every part of you. “My Prince.”

Aemond turned his head, the movement precise and not at all coincidental. His lips captured yours in a feverish kiss, his cock eagerly pressing against your slick cunt. You gasped, feeling the length of it tempt you as he had several times before, but this time, he grabbed your chin, ogling you with his lilac hue.

He wanted to watch your face as you sank yourself onto him, briefly grabbing his cock in order to guide it to your aching slit. The pleasure that blossomed across your countenance was a sight to behold, and you were met with the familiar tilt of his mouth, a fire smoldering within his gaze as he bucked upwards.

His cock speared you with a suddenness, causing you to moan as you adjusted yourself, rocking up onto your knees. Aemond’s palms held your thighs, and he was more than willing to do some of the work, unwilling to let you tire yourself.

It was mesmerizing to see you on top of him like this, breasts full and lovely, softly jostling with each movement. Your flesh was velveteen, pure perfection cast in the sienna glow of the hearth. The fire was dying, but the lust between you and Aemond was far from extinguished.

Your palms fell flat atop his abdomen, finding your purchase there as you began to ride him. It was sluggish and erratic, at first — you let out a soft moan whenever Aemond moved too, using his strength to meet you halfway. His hips lurched forward, cock thrusting into your cunt several times over.

A string of wanton whines and moans escaped you in droves, feeling his grasp on your thighs tighten. He was quite enamored with you, especially like this — there was no sweeter feeling. He continued to buck up into you whenever he could, sheathing himself inside of you, possessing you from below.

Aemond’s visage contorted into one of shared satisfaction, shifting from indiscernible to pleasurable. He sat up just enough to be within reach of you, hips pushing up to meet the downward fall of your body, his cock buried deep inside of you.

“Aemond,” You exhaled, tossing your arms around his shoulders, feeling one of his hands wander from your thigh to your waist, colliding into you with a passionate fervor. The pace you set was sporadic and needy, wanton with desire as you rode him, your movements attempting to temper themselves. “Kiss me.”

That breathy plea of yours was enough to make Aemond submit, lips claiming yours again in an achingly slow, heated kiss. The feeling of your tight cunt around him, slick and warm, made him groan. He was desperate to keep a rhythmic pace, if that were even possible.

Flesh collided against flesh, and you felt Aemond’s mouth pry itself away from yours, creeping toward the column of your throat. He kissed your jugular, face buried within the hollow between your neck and shoulder. You continued your conquest, rocking up and down along his length, nails digging into his shoulder.

Aemond coaxed you backward, wanting you on your back for the final moments of your coupling. You were swift, slumped back down within the furs as the Prince seized your haunch, spreading your legs by bullying himself between them as he had before.

His thrusts became a touch rougher, chasing after a release as he began to rut into you, cock reaching the threshold as he filled your cunt. Strands of pale hair fell around his face, brow glistening with a thin layer of perspiration.

You gasped, back arching as you hitched one leg around his hips, grabbing at his biceps. Aemond’s pace intensified, turning into something carnal and primal, need outweighing sensibility. Lewd noises filled his chamber — the clash of flesh, the sound of your entangled panting and groans of ecstasy.

Wordlessly, he sought your mouth, kissing you with a blistering force that made your head spin with delirium. You reciprocated with passion, feeling his tongue split past your lips, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. Your teeth snagged across his lower lip, enough to make Aemond’s throat echo with a faint growl.

Between the tangle of teeth and tongue, bodies becoming one, you rolled your hips in-tandem with Aemond’s sharp, brutal thrusts. “Don’t stop.” You whispered, wanting him to chase after his release, feeling the pleasurable pulsations between your thighs.

Aemond let out a soft grunt, cock burying itself within you over and over again, precum slathering your insides. The sensation of your cunt around him was perfection — he wanted more of you, all of you. You felt his hand snake around your throat, cupping beneath your jaw as he squeezed just enough to make you whine.

He was relentless, pounding into you with an obvious desperation that only furthered your desire for him. You gripped his shoulders, bringing yourself as close as you could, any sliver of distance beginning to dissipate, eclipsed by conjoined bodies and shared bliss.

At last, his countenance contorted into one of complete and utter pleasure, pale brows furrowed in concentration, violet-colored eye closing for just a moment. His cock throbbed inside of you, brazenly spilling himself wherever he saw fit. He pulled out halfway through, painting your thighs in a sticky sheen of glistening seed.

With a huff of finality, Aemond kissed your jaw, removing himself from you long enough to retrieve one of the many blankets draped across the foot of his bed. You watched him in rapturous silence, the way his physique moved, sinewy muscle highlighted by the flicker of a fading fire.

You cleaned yourself up, feeling Aemond return as he draped the blanket within your lap. As the hearth began to die, the chill of his chambers became evident, thunder rattling overhead, accompanied by the onslaught of a cold deluge. He rekindled the flame, wordlessly slinking down to curl next to you.

Strewn beside the fire, Aemond’s head came to rest atop your sternum, arm draped across your midsection. You held him, kept him close — it provided a sense of vulnerability that made you truly believe that he was yours. You stroked his hair, surprised that he hadn’t asked for you to leave.

“Whenever you wish for me to depart, say the word, my Prince.” You uttered, feeling him tighten his hold upon you. Aemond gazed listlessly into the flames, lilac hue half-lidded as you continued to caress the crown of his head. He didn’t want to go anywhere.

“No,” Aemond’s command was sharp and punctuated, despite the softness of his tone, something that demanded you yield to him. “I want you here.” He uttered, shivering when your other hand traced along what expanse of his spine you could reach.

Prepared to make your vigil beside Aemond, you settled, leaning into him just as he careened into you. The silence was eerily comforting, lulled by the atmospheric backdrop of the thunderstorm. You always enjoyed the aftermath — you enjoyed holding Aemond, most of all. It made you feel cherished in a different way, one that others might not have understood.

You shifted forward, burying your lips atop the pale crown of Aemond’s skull, letting it linger beyond the boundaries of chastity. He exhaled, body fully curled against yours, half of him reclining against you, the other half left to soak in the crackling warmth of the fire.

As your digits tenderly traced the muscle of his forearm, Aemond finally broke the silence once more, happy to let you stroke his hair. “I have always been different, teased and ridiculed,” He lamented, a twinge of melancholy within his voice. “Underestimated, most of all.”

It was a rare glimpse into the window of Aemond’s being — the man that craved love and affection, longed to be thought of as important. After Storm’s End, his mother had cast her frustrations and scorn down upon him, condescending and detached.

A gentle exhale escaped him as you stroked along the angular slope of his jaw, turning his head away from the fire and toward you. You looked down upon him, this man capable of ruthlessness and cunning, and saw the threads of a shattered youth — of someone who longed to feel a tender touch.

“Those who’ve attempted to slight me have always fallen so short of the mark,” Aemond uttered, a vague reference to the Velaryon boy that he had wrongfully slaughtered. He had some regrets about that one, but he hoped that it would cement his strength — he was the rider of Vhagar, and even then, it never felt like enough. “Hm.”

He seemed incredibly comfortable like this, pressed into your warmth, his cheek nestling against your collarbone. You continued to trace along the smooth plane of his musculature, allowing your digits to finally brush underneath his scarred, sapphire eye.

“You feel cold,” You hummed, noticing the way in which he absentmindedly leaned into your palm, allowing you to fully cup his face. “You are strong, Aemond — resilient and cunning. It is not my place to speak of your family, but I’ve come to know you, and I know that you are stronger than all of them.”

Bristling underneath the sweetly-spoken purr of your praises, Aemond kept his arm draped around you, the other coming to rest underneath your breast. The pad of his thumb graced your silky flesh, and he wanted to stay like this forever, if he could.

Aemond regarded you with a forlorn intensity, one that still danced with a subtle frustration, intermingled with his growing sense of possessiveness towards you. He kissed your palm, and then placed a kiss against your chest, ear pressed to the beating swell of your heart.

“I do not feel different with you,” Aemond uttered, able to listen to the little flutter within your chest, the steady gallop of your heart. “I do not want that to change.” His tone became solemn, and you simply coaxed him closer, allowing him to use the crook of your elbow as a place to rest, fingers raking through his hair.

“It won’t change, my Prince.” Your reassurance was gentle, as saccharine as the finest honey. Aemond’s hum was one of contentment as he crawled forward, head resting against your shoulder instead, allowing him to better hold onto you just as you held him.

Silence passed between you, accompanied by the brief crackle of dried tinder atop the logs, the light of burning embers dancing before you both. He kissed your jaw again, the slope of his nose brushing around your neck as he peered towards the flames.

Again, you felt your breath hitch when Aemond held tightly to you, lifting his head just enough to gaze down upon you. Your countenance was captivating — beautiful beyond compare, awestruck of his appearance. His lilac hue flickered across your face, drinking in the doe-like look you had before he hummed.

The ghost of an indiscernible expression fluttered across his features — incredibly subtle, yet present nonetheless. “I certainly hope not.” He murmured, lips molding themselves to yours, and then to the corner of your mouth before he resumed his former position.

You kissed the top of his head once more, cradling him as you would something fragile. You knew that Aemond’s insecurities resurfaced often, but now, they seemed far more prevalent. Regardless, your affection for him wouldn’t waver — you worried that he wouldn’t feel the same for you, however.

Unbeknownst to you, Aemond already possessed you, body and soul — and that was more dangerous than any blade or any dragon.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x reader #hotd x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader

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hisfavegirl · 5 months ago

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Bound By Duty - Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Summary : Your marriage to Aemond was not something you could be proud of, his absence for three years made you seek warmth in the arms of others.

Aemond Masterlist.

It had been more than three years since your marriage to Aemond, and still, there was no warmth, no connection between you. The night of your wedding had passed in an awkward silence, with Aemond choosing to leave for the Silk Street rather than consummate his marriage with you. His disregard for you, for the vows taken between you, cut deeper with each passing day.

That night, the silence in your chambers felt suffocating. The heavy scent of anticipation and expectations seemed to linger in the air, a reminder of all that should have been, but never was. The moment you had dreaded had arrived, and the maid, unaware of the true state of your marriage, stood at your door, asking for the sheets that would mark the "proof" of your purity, the blood that was supposed to signify your innocence.

A bitter smile curled on your lips as you turned away, your mind swirling with thoughts of the life you had been thrust into-one of duty, tradition, and unfulfilled desires. You glanced at the sharp object on the vanity, a knife that had been used for no more than decorative purposes until now. A surge of frustration bubbled within you, the years of neglect, of being ignored, coming to a head in this one moment.

Without hesitation, you took the knife, the cold steel meeting your skin as you pressed the edge against your ankle, wincing as the sharpness cut through the flesh. Blood began to pool, slowly dripping down your leg, marking the ritual that was expected of you. You allowed it to flow, enough to satisfy the demands of tradition, enough to ensure the servants would leave you in peace.

As the blood dripped, your heart ached with a mixture of anger, disappointment, and a sense of betrayal. Aemond had never seen you, never sought to truly know you. And in that moment, it became clearer than ever that you were not truly his wife, not in the way that mattered. You were merely a part of a ritual, a symbol of something that had been hollowed out long ago.

You wiped away a tear, the sting of it mingling with the pain in your ankle, and you called for the maid, handing her the stained sheets as though nothing were wrong. But deep inside, everything was broken.

The morning light filtered through the curtains as you prepared for the day ahead. The events of the previous night had left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you had learned to mask it. As you moved about your room, lost in your thoughts, the sudden sound of your door creaking open made you pause.

There, standing in the doorway, was your mother-in-law, Queen Alicent. Her presence was commanding, her posture regal as ever. Her eyes, however, betrayed nothing—just a cool, assessing gaze. You straightened instinctively, unsure of what to expect.

“You’ve finally done it,” she said, her voice calm, yet laced with an undertone you couldn’t quite place. “You’ve done your duty as wife. I trust Aemond has now fulfilled his obligations to you as well.”

Her words hung in the air, sharp and accusing, though her tone remained composed. She did not mention the events directly, but her implication was clear. She had been waiting for this moment—waiting for the “blood” to be shed, the tradition to be fulfilled. Her expression was unreadable, but her gaze never wavered from you.

You felt a surge of frustration rise within you, but you kept your face neutral. Alicent was never one to openly show emotion, nor was she someone who sought sympathy. She expected perfection, obedience, and the fulfillment of duty, and nothing more.

“I did what was required of me,” you responded quietly, your voice steady despite the ache in your heart. “As was expected.”

Alicent’s lips twitched, her eyes narrowing slightly. She nodded, as if confirming something to herself. “Good,” she said. “It is important to remember your place in this family, in this kingdom. There are expectations that must be met. We are not free to do as we please.”

Her words stung more than they should have, as they cut through the facade of duty you had been forced to wear. She was reminding you that you were nothing more than a tool in a grand scheme, a pawn in the game of royal politics.

She took a small step forward, her eyes scanning you one last time, as if assessing how well you had played your part. Then, without another word, she turned and walked out of the room, her steps purposeful and final, leaving you alone with the weight of her words.

The door closed softly behind her, but the echo of her presence remained, a constant reminder of the role you were expected to play—one you were unsure if you could ever truly accept.

The hallways of the Red Keep echoed with the soft clatter of your shoes as you walked, flanked by your ladies-in-waiting. The steady rhythm of your steps felt almost mechanical, the monotony of the days settling over you like a heavy cloak. You had grown accustomed to the routine—each day unfolding in the same quiet way, filled with distance and silence.

You made your way toward the balcony, the familiar sight of it now nothing more than a backdrop to your thoughts. The air was cool as you stepped outside, the breeze carrying the scent of fresh stone and old history. The Red Keep stretched out before you, a vast and imposing presence. Your eyes instinctively moved to the training grounds below, where your husband, Aemond, was sparring with Ser Criston.

The scene was as it always was—Aemond, poised and focused, his sword flashing in the light as he moved with the fluidity of a practiced warrior. The sound of steel clashing against steel filled the air, a reminder of the world outside your marriage, a world where he was strong and admired.

But there was no connection between the two of you, no words exchanged. His eyes never wandered up to meet yours, even as you stood there, a silent observer. Your heart clenched, but you swallowed the feeling, reminding yourself that this was the life you had to accept. You watched him move, his every action an echo of the distance that had grown between you both since the night of your wedding.

You wanted to call out to him, to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat. There was no point. He didn’t acknowledge you, and you had long since learned that your presence did little to change that. The training continued, and you remained there, watching him fight battles that were not yours, living a life of solitude that was now yours alone to bear.

The wind tugged at the fabric of your gown, but you remained rooted in place, your gaze unwavering from the man who was, technically, your husband—but who might as well have been a stranger to you.

The air felt different that day, charged with an electricity that you couldn’t ignore. As you stood at the balcony, watching Aemond practice below, your eyes met his unexpectedly. His sword halted mid-swing, and for the first time in ages, he seemed to truly notice your presence. The clashing of swords stopped abruptly, and your heart skipped a beat as he made his way toward you, his steps measured and deliberate.

Your ladies-in-waiting, sensing the sudden shift, whispered amongst themselves, unsure of what to do next. They glanced at you nervously, but you raised your hand in a silent command, gesturing for them to stay in their place. This was between you and Aemond. The rest of the world could wait.

When Aemond finally reached you, he stood directly in front of you, his presence overpowering. There was no warmth in his expression, no softening in his gaze—just the cold, calculating look he always wore. He looked down at you for a moment, as though studying you, before his voice, low and edged with frustration, filled the air.

“What you did with the blood on the sheets,” he began, his words cutting through the silence like a knife, “was foolish.”

His words stung, sharper than you had expected. You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued, not allowing you the chance to speak.

“Perhaps my motherw will be satisfied with that for now,” Aemond said, his tone softer now but still heavy with tension. “But trust me, she won’t leave it at that. She’ll want something more from us. And soon, you’ll have to give her the news she’s waiting for.”

A knot tightened in your stomach at his words. He wasn’t just referring to the sheets, the symbol of your marriage’s consummation, but the other expectation that had been weighing on you for months. The one that loomed over your every interaction. The news that had been growing inside you, unnoticed by most, but undeniably present.

“You mean…” Your voice faltered, the words barely escaping your lips. “You mean she’ll want to hear that I’m pregnant?”

Aemond’s gaze hardened, and he nodded once, sharply. “Exactly. And when she finds out, there will be no going back. You’ll have to give her what she expects, just as I will have to do the same.”

The tension in the air thickened, and the distance between the two of you felt both suffocating and vast. His words, though spoken with a sense of finality, only made the space between you wider, confirming what you had already known: that your marriage was about duty, expectations, and the burdens of a family that seemed to care little for what you truly felt.

As Aemond turned to leave, his words lingered in your mind like an uninvited shadow. There was no escaping the path that had been laid before you. You would have to walk it, whether you were ready or not.

After Aemond’s departure, the weight of his words lingered in the air, and a suffocating silence enveloped you. Without thinking, you turned away from the balcony and began walking quickly, your steps urgent, almost frantic. The call of your name from your ladies-in-waiting echoed in the hall, their voices rising with concern as they tried to catch up with you.

“Princess, please wait!” one of them called, but you didn’t slow your pace. You couldn’t bear the thought of remaining in that moment any longer, where everything felt like it was slipping through your fingers. The weight of Aemond’s words, the pressure from the queen, the expectations—it was all too much.

Your mind raced as you walked down the corridors, barely noticing the faces of those you passed. You didn’t want to hear their concerns, didn’t want to see the pity or the judgment in their eyes. The only thing that mattered right now was reaching your chambers, to retreat into the solitude that had become your refuge.

“Princess, please!” another maid pleaded, but you shook your head, ignoring them as you quickened your pace.

The doors to your room were just ahead, and the moment you reached them, you pushed them open, almost stumbling inside. You didn’t wait for the ladies-in-waiting to follow you, their voices growing faint behind you. You slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating in the quiet space of your chamber.

The walls seemed to close in on you as you stood there, heart racing, breath shallow. For a moment, you simply leaned against the door, trying to steady yourself. The room felt stifling, yet you couldn’t seem to move away from the door. Your thoughts swirled around you, a storm of frustration, fear, and anger. Aemond’s words, Alicent’s expectations, the looming pressure of what you were expected to become—it was all too much.

With a trembling hand, you pushed yourself away from the door and walked further into the room, your movements stiff and unsteady. You needed to be alone. You needed to think. But the weight of it all seemed unbearable, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to feel the full force of your emotions.

The hours passed in a blur as you sat in the stillness of your room, consumed by the weight of Aemond’s words. The sound of gentle knocks from the door reached you intermittently, but you chose to ignore them, your focus fixed inward, lost in the chaos of your thoughts. Each word he had spoken earlier echoed in your mind like a relentless whisper, growing louder with every passing minute.

“What you did… was foolish.”

The phrase kept circling around, digging deeper into your mind, burrowing itself beneath your skin. Was it really foolish? You had only done what was expected of you, what was demanded by the customs of the realm. Yet, Aemond’s words, cold and dismissive, made you question it all. Had you truly been foolish? Had everything you had done in this marriage been a mistake?

You closed your eyes, pressing your fingers to your temples as if trying to shut out the storm of thoughts. The more you tried to push them away, the stronger they became. The weight of your reality—the cold indifference of Aemond, the constant pressure of your family’s expectations, the looming question of what would come next—was overwhelming.

His words weren’t just about the blood on the sheets. They were a reminder of everything you had lost, everything you had sacrificed. He didn’t care. He never had, not truly. The distance between you had only grown since your wedding night, and his words this morning only confirmed it.

You heard another knock at the door, this one more insistent than the last. But you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The thought of facing anyone, of answering their questions, felt like too much. There was nothing to say anymore, nothing that could change the truth of your situation.

You stood up from the chair, your legs shaky as you walked to the window. The view outside was the same as always—distant, impersonal. You could see the training grounds where Aemond had been earlier, the same place where he had, yet again, turned his attention away from you. It seemed so far away, and yet, everything in your life felt somehow tethered to it.

Your gaze lingered on the distant horizon, but even the view couldn’t offer you any comfort. Nothing could. Not now. Not after everything that had been said.

The knock on the door came again, but this time it was different—more deliberate, more persistent. Before you could even speak, the voice you heard was unmistakable: Alicent.

“Let me in, my dear,” she called softly from the other side of the door, her tone laced with authority yet something warmer, perhaps concern. “There is something important I need to discuss with you regarding the anniversary celebration for my marriage to the king.”

The words caught you off guard. You had been lost in the storm of your own thoughts, so consumed by everything Aemond had said and by the suffocating reality of your own marriage that the thought of engaging with anyone else seemed too much to bear. Yet, Alicent’s presence was unavoidable. She was here, and you knew there was no escaping it.

With a heavy sigh, you stood up from the chair and approached the door, your movements slow and deliberate, as if every step carried the weight of the world. When you opened it, you were met with the sight of your mother-in-law standing just beyond the threshold, her face a mask of calm and grace, though you could see the faintest hint of something else in her eyes—perhaps the knowledge of your distress, or the sharp awareness of what had transpired between you and Aemond.

“I didn’t expect you to be so upset,” Alicent said, her voice softer now as she took in your expression. “But we have matters to discuss.”

You stepped aside, allowing her entry, though part of you longed to shut the door and retreat further into the confines of your room. But you knew you had to face her, just as you had to face the expectations of your marriage.

As Alicent entered, her gaze swept over the room, briefly resting on you before turning to settle on the window, as though calculating the space, the atmosphere. There was an undeniable weight to her presence, a sharpness beneath the calm exterior.

“The king and I are hosting a celebration to mark the anniversary of our wedding in one weeks,” Alicent began, her voice steady but with a subtle undercurrent of something more—an unspoken expectation that you had grown all too familiar with. “You will be expected to attend, of course. It is important for us to show unity, to show strength as a family. And I need you to be prepared. There will be many eyes on us, as there always are. You must make sure you are ready for the role you are to play.”

Her words felt heavy, as if she was not just speaking of the celebration but of everything else that came with it—your marriage to Aemond, the expectations that you would meet them all, and the pressure to prove yourself worthy of the title you held.

You nodded quietly, but inside, your heart felt anything but ready. How could you? With everything that had happened between you and Aemond, and the strain of it all, how could you stand there and pretend everything was fine?

Alicent didn’t wait for an immediate response. She stepped closer to you, her gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “And you must remember,” she continued, her voice quieter now, “that there are things beyond the celebrations. Things you need to understand about your position here. I know you’re struggling, but you must remember what is at stake.”

Alicent’s voice softened even further as she took a step closer, her eyes now fixed on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Rhaenyra will be attending with Daemon and their children,” she said, her words deliberate, weighing every syllable. “It will be… difficult. You must understand, the tensions between our families are far from over. There will be eyes on all of us, and I need you to help me. I need you to help control Aemond, especially when Rhaenyra and her family arrive.”

The request hung in the air, a burden that felt even heavier than the weight of her earlier expectations. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of unease. Aemond, who had hardly acknowledged you, let alone shown any care for your presence, was suddenly the center of Alicent’s plans. She wanted you to influence him, to somehow keep him in check when his family arrived.

You opened your mouth to respond, but your thoughts tangled in your throat. What did she expect from you? How could you control Aemond, when he barely spoke to you, when the distance between the two of you had stretched so far that any attempt to approach him felt futile?

“I… I don’t understand,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you think I can control him? Aemond… he is distant. He doesn’t listen to me.”

Alicent studied you closely, as if gauging your every word, your every hesitation. Her eyes softened, but there was still that underlying strength in her gaze.

“You are his wife,” she said simply, though her voice carried a weight of expectation. “And though it may not seem like it, you have power. You hold more influence over him than you realize. Aemond is stubborn, but there are moments when he listens, moments when he cares about what you think, even if he doesn’t show it.”

You looked away, unsure if you believed her words. The idea that you could influence Aemond, especially after everything that had transpired, seemed impossible. But you also knew the reality that Alicent had set before you: this was not about your happiness or your peace. This was about the family’s reputation, about the facade they all maintained for the sake of power and stability.

“You must make sure he stays in check,” Alicent added, her tone now more urgent, as if she were trying to impress the importance of the task upon you. “When Rhaenyra arrives, there will be friction. You cannot let him escalate things. If he reacts to her or Daemon in any way… it could cause an uproar. We cannot afford that.”

The pressure of her words suffocated you. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep up the appearance of everything being fine, let alone managing Aemond, someone who seemed to care so little about the marriage they had forced upon you.

“I will do my best,” you said finally, though your heart wasn’t in it. You weren’t sure what you could do, but you knew there would be consequences if you didn’t comply. Aemond’s disregard for you, your marriage, and the family’s expectations weighed heavily on your shoulders. But perhaps, just perhaps, there was something you could do—if only to keep the peace, for now.

After your conversation with Alicent, a heavy weight settled in your chest. You had agreed to help, to try to control Aemond when Rhaenyra arrived, but deep down, the reality of your situation felt even more suffocating. The idea of influencing Aemond, of controlling a man who barely acknowledged you, seemed like an impossible task. Yet, it was the role you had been handed—whether you were ready for it or not.

With a deep breath, you made up your mind to take a walk. You needed to clear your head, to find a moment of peace amidst the chaos. Your feet guided you through the halls of the Red Keep, your mind racing with everything that had been said and unsaid. But there was one place you felt you had to go—your husband’s chambers.

You arrived at his door, the familiar chill running down your spine as you pushed it open, expecting to find him there, perhaps preparing for the evening or simply resting. But when you stepped inside, the room was empty. The bed was unmade, the fireplace long since extinguished, and there were no signs of Aemond anywhere.

A knot twisted in your stomach. He wasn’t here, and you immediately knew where he must be—at the Silk street, with that old whore, indulging in the pleasures he preferred over his marriage to you.

Your breath caught in your throat as anger bubbled beneath the surface. The hurt you had carried for so long now felt like a sharp, biting pain. He had chosen to spend his time there, with her, yet again, instead of even sparing you a glance. Your marriage, your efforts to build something—anything—seemed meaningless in the face of his neglect.

With a frustrated sigh, you turned away from his empty chambers, feeling both empty and full at the same time. You couldn’t stay here, dwelling in the agony of it all. It was easier to keep moving, to keep walking, to not let yourself stop and sink further into the hurt. Yet, the thought of what you had just discovered gnawed at you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being utterly alone, even in the grand halls of the Red Keep.

Perhaps this was what you were destined for—an existence of solitude, with only the expectations of others to keep you company.

The morning light filtered through the windows as you once again found yourself standing by the balcony, gazing out at the training fields below. Aemond was somewhere in the distance, engaged in his usual practice, but today, your attention was drawn elsewhere.

Daemon had arrived, his presence unmistakable. He stood at the far end of the field, flanked by Jace and Luke. Their figures stood out against the sprawling green, their conversations faint but visible from where you stood. Daemon, however, seemed to carry an aura that made everything around him seem more alive, more intense.

Your gaze lingered on him for a moment too long, your heart racing in your chest as you took in the sharp angles of his face and the confident stance he always carried with him. Daemon was a man of many contradictions, a man who didn’t simply occupy a room but owned it with his presence.

And then, as if fate itself had decided to intervene, your eyes met his.

The connection was instantaneous—his gaze locked with yours, piercing and unyielding. The world seemed to slow down for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as a shiver ran down your spine. His eyes were intense, full of something you couldn’t quite decipher, but it made your heart race in a way that was both exhilarating and unsettling.

For a brief, terrifying moment, it felt as though time itself had suspended, as though everything in the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. The silence between you and Daemon seemed louder than any noise that could have existed around you. You had never been so aware of the space between two people, nor had you ever felt so vulnerable under someone’s gaze.

Then, just as quickly as it had happened, the moment passed. Daemon’s gaze didn’t falter, but he broke the connection, turning his attention to something else in the field. It was as if nothing had happened, yet everything inside you seemed to have shifted in that brief exchange. You felt a flutter in your chest, an emotion that you couldn’t place.

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your breath, but the tension in your body remained. There was something about Daemon, something that stirred you in ways you didn’t understand, and the moment of connection had left you shaken.

As your gaze drifted away from him, your mind replayed the brief moment again and again, wondering if it had meant anything or if it was simply a fleeting glance, a chance meeting of eyes. Yet the way it made you feel lingered, and you couldn’t push the feeling aside.

Aemond’s presence, once so overwhelming, now seemed distant, almost unimportant compared to the weight of that single moment with Daemon.

With your mind still reeling from the brief, electric moment with Daemon, you found yourself needing to escape the confines of your chamber, to clear your thoughts. The Red Keep felt stifling, the weight of expectations, your marriage, and your emotions pressing in on you. You needed fresh air, a place to collect your thoughts. So, you decided to walk toward the garden.

As you stepped into the lush expanse of the garden, the tranquility of the space surrounded you—soft petals fluttering in the breeze, the scent of blooming flowers filling the air. It was a rare moment of peace in this chaotic life, but even in the serenity of the garden, your thoughts remained unsettled. Your steps carried you slowly, each footfall a reflection of your state of mind.

And then, you saw her.

Rhaenyra stood near a small fountain, speaking to one of her attendants. Her figure was graceful, her presence unmistakable, and for a moment, you hesitated. There was always something about Rhaenyra—her strength, her fire—that had both drawn you in and set you at odds with her. You had always been aware of the tension between your families, the rivalry that had existed long before you had even come into your marriage with Aemond.

But today, as you watched her speak to her servant, there was no tension, only a quiet, almost vulnerable air to her. She appeared momentarily unguarded, a fleeting glimpse of something more human than the fierce princess many people saw.

Pushing aside any doubts, you decided to approach. Rhaenyra noticed your approach, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, and a soft smile played at the corners of her lips.

“Princess,” she greeted warmly, her voice light and pleasant. “It is good to see you. How are you today?”

Her words were genuine, not filled with the usual tension or formalities that often hung between you both. It felt like a moment of peace, one that you had not expected but now welcomed.

You returned the smile, feeling a quiet relief in her easy demeanor. “I’m well, thank you,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm that had been brewing within you all morning. “I was just walking through the garden to clear my thoughts. It’s nice to see you here.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her gaze softening. “Yes, the garden has always been a place of solace for me. Especially when the world outside feels too loud.” She glanced around the garden, her gaze lingering on the blooming flowers. “Perhaps it’s the same for you as well.”

There was something about the way she said it, as if she understood exactly what you were going through, as though she knew the weight of expectations, the constant pressure.

“I often come here for the same reason,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You weren’t used to speaking so openly, especially not to her. But something about this moment felt different.

Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. “I understand,” she said quietly. “This place is quiet, peaceful. But even here, I know the world still watches, still waits for us to fulfill our roles.”

There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you in that moment, a shared burden of what it meant to be women in this world, bound by duty and expectation. And for the first time, you felt like you were not alone in that struggle.

As you and Rhaenyra continued your conversation, the weight of her words resonated with you. There was an understanding, an unspoken connection that seemed to transcend the rivalry that often defined your relationship. In that moment, you were simply two women, navigating a world full of expectations and pressures.

But then, the sound of a familiar voice broke the quiet exchange.

“Rhaenyra,” came Daemon’s voice, smooth and commanding, cutting through the tranquility of the garden.

You turned to see Daemon standing a short distance away, his eyes briefly meeting yours before moving to Rhaenyra. There was no mistaking the warmth in his gaze when he looked at her—something that seemed so far removed from the cold indifference that Aemond so often showed you.

Daemon took a few steps forward, his presence immediately commanding attention. “My love,” he said, his voice laced with that familiar air of authority. “Viserys has requested to see you. We should go.”

Rhaenyra, ever poised, smiled at her husband, a soft but affectionate look crossing her face. “Of course,” she replied, her voice carrying a subtle note of warmth that was reserved only for him. She then turned to you, her eyes briefly meeting yours. “It was good speaking with you. I hope we can talk again soon.”

You nodded, offering a smile in return, though there was an ache in your chest that you couldn’t quite explain. As Rhaenyra turned to follow Daemon, you couldn’t help but watch them, their connection undeniable, the easy way they interacted with one another contrasting sharply with your own cold marriage.

Daemon turned to give you a quick nod as he joined Rhaenyra, his expression unreadable. “Princess,” he greeted again, this time his tone more neutral, yet it still sent that same unsettling shiver through you.

As they walked off toward Viserys’s chambers, you were left standing in the garden, your thoughts swirling. The way Daemon and Rhaenyra moved together, so at ease, made the weight of your own situation feel even heavier. Their love and ease were a stark reminder of what you lacked, of the relationship you yearned for but had been denied.

Your gaze lingered on them for a moment longer before you turned away, your chest tight with emotions you didn’t know how to deal with.

The soft glow of candlelight filled your chamber as the day faded into night, and you stood by the mirror, adjusting the folds of your nightgown. Your thoughts were still occupied with the events of the day—the conversation with Rhaenyra, the fleeting exchange with Daemon. It was as if the world outside your room had been pushing and pulling at you, each moment leaving its mark.

But suddenly, the quiet of your room was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching. A shiver ran down your spine as you turned to the source of the noise. To your surprise, Daemon and Rhaenyra stepped into the room, their presence filling the space before they even spoke.

Daemon’s eyes briefly met yours, and for a moment, it felt as if the air grew thick with unspoken tension. He offered you a small, almost imperceptible nod, a greeting of sorts, before his attention shifted to Rhaenyra, who walked confidently toward you.

Your heart skipped a beat when Rhaenyra moved closer, her gaze steady as she approached. There was something different in her eyes, something that you couldn’t quite place. She reached out, and before you could react, she closed the distance between you and pressed her lips gently against yours.

The kiss was soft, unexpected, and it left you frozen, unsure of how to react. Rhaenyra, pulling back after just a brief moment, met your eyes with a knowing look, as if she had just shared something that was hers to give.

You stood still, your heart racing, as the reality of what had just happened sank in. Daemon watched quietly from the side, his expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of something—perhaps amusement, or perhaps something deeper—that passed through his gaze. Rhaenyra’s actions had been sudden, but there was an intensity to them, a weight that carried more than just the gesture of a kiss.

“I hope that wasn’t too surprising,” Rhaenyra said, her voice low but steady. Her gaze never left yours, and there was an undeniable curiosity in her eyes. “We are not so different, you and I. Both trapped by our duties, by the roles we are forced to play.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what to say. You had expected many things from Rhaenyra—her warmth, her fierce spirit, perhaps even her indifference. But this… this was something you had not anticipated.

Daemon, who had remained silent through the brief exchange, finally spoke up. “She doesn’t mean to overwhelm you,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Rhaenyra simply believes in the bonds that tie us all together. Even those of us caught in complex situations.”

The room felt charged with an unfamiliar energy, as if something had shifted, but you were unsure of how to respond or what to make of it all.

The air in your chamber seemed to grow thicker as Rhaenyra spoke, her voice steady yet filled with an unspoken depth. “You remind me of myself when I first married Laenor,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent a strange shiver down your spine. Her words lingered in the air, a subtle weight pressing down on you.

Before you could fully process her statement, you felt a shift in the atmosphere. A subtle warmth near your ear caught your attention—Daemon, so close now, that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin. The proximity of him was overwhelming, and his presence alone seemed to command the room.

Your heartbeat quickened, and before you could react, you felt Rhaenyra’s hands move toward you. With surprising gentleness, she began to unbutton the intricate fastenings of your nightgown, her touch almost delicate as she slid each button free, her fingertips grazing your skin with purpose.

You couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening. It was as if the world had shifted beneath you, leaving you uncertain and unsteady in the face of these unexpected actions. Rhaenyra’s gaze never left yours, her expression unreadable but full of something—an understanding, a knowing—that you didn’t know how to interpret. And Daemon, standing behind you, remained still, but you could feel the tension in the room, the palpable connection between the three of you.

Rhaenyra’s hands paused briefly, her fingers hovering over the last button of your gown. She gave a soft, knowing smile, her voice quieter now as she spoke again. “You don’t need to be afraid, love. We are not so different, you and I. We do what we must, for duty, for our roles. But sometimes, it’s necessary to embrace what is given.”

Daemon’s presence was undeniable, his quiet intensity only adding to the confusion and the strange pull you felt in this moment. You could feel his eyes on you, and there was something in the air between you, something unspoken that made your pulse race.

Rhaenyra’s words, her touch, and the weight of Daemon’s presence were all overwhelming, and you found yourself frozen, unsure of how to respond or where to go next in this unexpected moment. The boundaries between your roles, your emotions, and your desires seemed to blur, leaving you caught in a place that felt both foreign and familiar.

Daemon’s touch was gentle at first, his fingers brushing over the length of your arm, sending a wave of warmth across your skin. The soft pressure of his hand left you in a daze, uncertain of how to respond. His presence was intoxicating, filling the space around you with a tension that you couldn’t escape.

“You don’t need to worry about your duties right now,” Daemon’s voice rumbled softly, his words almost like a command, yet wrapped in an unfamiliar sense of calm. His breath was warm against your ear, and as he spoke, his fingers continued their slow, deliberate movement along your arm, creating an almost hypnotic effect. “Relax,” he murmured, “Let Rhaenyra and I take care of you. We’ll handle everything else.”

His words were both comforting and disorienting, as if in that moment, the weight of your responsibilities, your marriage, your expectations—all of it—could simply be put aside, forgotten, if you chose to surrender. The intensity in his voice sent shivers through your body, and despite every instinct telling you to remain cautious, you found yourself drawn to the power of his presence.

Rhaenyra, still standing before you, seemed to sense your hesitation. She moved closer, her gaze unwavering, her hands gently guiding you as she finally finished unbuttoning your gown. The soft fabric of your nightgown slipped from your shoulders with a light rustle, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air of the room. Her touch, though soft and tender, felt deliberate, as if she had been in this position before—an experienced hand, guiding you toward something beyond your control.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” Rhaenyra said softly, her voice a contrast to Daemon’s darker tone. “We’re not here to hurt you. Only to give you what you’ve been denied, what you deserve.”

Daemon’s hand moved from your arm to the back of your neck, his thumb lightly grazing your skin as he tilted your head slightly, pulling your attention back to him. His gaze was steady, unwavering, as if he were trying to read your thoughts. “Trust us,” he murmured. “Let us take care of you tonight.”

In that moment, as both their gazes locked onto you, you were caught in a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, desire, fear, and curiosity. The boundaries between right and wrong seemed to blur, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you considered allowing yourself to surrender to their control, to let them guide you through the unknown.

The room seemed to blur around you, your senses overwhelmed by the closeness of Daemon and Rhaenyra. The warmth of Daemon's breath brushed against your skin, and then you felt his lips, soft yet commanding, pressing against the curve of your neck. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire that you hadn't felt before. His kiss lingered, deliberate and possessive, as though claiming a part of you that had long been neglected.

Before you could fully process the feeling, Rhaenyra's hands gently cupped your face, drawing your attention back to her. Her lips captured yours once more, tender but insistent, her kiss filled with a mix of understanding and purpose. She kissed you as if to tell you that she knew your pain, your loneliness, and she was offering you an escape, even if just for a moment.

Daemon's hand slid to your waist, his fingers firm yet careful, grounding you as his lips continued their slow exploration of your neck. The contrast between his intensity and Rhaenyra's gentleness was almost dizzying, and you found yourself caught between them, unsure whether to resist or to let go.

"You've been holding back for too long," Rhaenyra whispered against your lips, her voice low and soothing. "It's time you allow yourself to feel... to live."

Daemon's voice followed, a soft murmur near your ear, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. "You deserve this. You've spent too much time trapped in duty, in isolation."

Their words, their touch, their presence-it was too much and not enough all at once. A part of you wanted to pull away, to resist the pull of their shared intensity. But another part of you, the part that had been yearning for connection, for validation, for something real, wanted to stay.

As they surrounded you, their movements synchronized, their intentions clear, the choice lingered heavily in the air. Would you surrender to this unexpected moment, or would you step away from the edge before it was too late?

Daemon's hands were firm yet steady as he guided you toward the bed, his touch sending a cascade of unfamiliar emotions through your body. Every step you took felt deliberate, as though the world had slowed down to accommodate the weight of the moment.

When you reached the edge of the bed, he sat down first, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that was both unnerving and mesmerizing.

Without a word, he gently pulled you onto his lap, his hands resting securely on your waist, grounding you in place. The heat of his body pressed against yours, and for a moment, you couldn't focus on anything but the rhythm of his breathing and the firmness of his hold.

Rhaenyra didn't give you a chance to process further. Her lips found yours once again, and this time, the kiss was deeper, more insistent.

Her fingers trailed along your jawline, tilting your face toward her as she leaned in closer, her touch soft but commanding. She kissed you with purpose, as if she were determined to make you forget everything but her presence.

Daemon's hand slid up your back, his touch light yet possessive, as if silently reminding you that he was still there, a steady anchor in this storm of emotions. His breath brushed against your ear, and his voice, low and full of a quiet command, sent shivers down your spine. "Relax," he murmured, his tone soothing yet full of unspoken promise.

Rhaenyra pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, her lips still close to yours as she whispered, "You don't have to hold back anymore. Let yourself feel, truly feel, for once."

Caught between Daemon's steady presence and Rhaenyra's fiery passion, you felt a whirlwind of emotions-desire, uncertainty, and a strange sense of belonging you hadn't experienced before. Their combined intensity was overwhelming, yet there was something in their actions that made you hesitate to pull away.

You found yourself teetering on the edge of surrender, unsure if you were ready to step into the unknown or retreat to the safety of what you knew.

daemon's hand moved from your waist to your core that was starting to get wet, his fingers started to dance there. touching your clit starting to swell, you moaned into your kiss. rhaenyra didn't stay still either, her hands started to squeeze your exposed breasts, you melted into her touch.

You could feel Daemon's hard cock beneath you, you slowly grinded against him making him growl softly. Rhaenyra then broke the kiss and pressed your foreheads together, Daemon's fingers kept going in and out of your body making you moan his name.

You leaned your body on his shoulder as Rhaenyra crouched in front of you and replaced Daemon's fingers with her tongue, licking your wet cunt. Your body arched because of the pleasure her tongue gave, "Fuck, gods. please Rhaenyra"

"Yes, like that, let yourself go for tonight. Let us take care of you, sweetie," Daemon whispered in your ear, making you close your eyes. Rhaenyra's tongue continued to fuck you down there, her nose also continued to touch your clit, making you even more lost in pleasure.

The knot in your stomach began to tighten as rhaenyra replaced her tongue with her two fingers. her fingers curved to touch your spot which made you moan loudly, she looked at you with a lustful gaze "you look so beautiful my love"

Your body began to tremble as waves of pleasure hit your body, rhaenyra then returned to licking your cunt which was wet because of your fluids. after that daemon then put you to bed and began to open his tunic and pants, as did rhaenyra who began to open the dress she was wearing.

You who are still weak because of your orgasm can only watch them, slowly daemon pumps his hardened cock and directs it to your cunt. while rhaenyra moves and positions herself above your face, "are you ready?" You hesitated for a moment but you nodded, and with that Rhaenyra started to move her cunt closer to your mouth signaling you to do the same thing she did earlier.

Rhaenyra moaned as your tongue began to lick her folds, her hands holding onto daemon's shoulders as support so she wouldn't fall. Daemon then began to rub the head of his penis against your folds and entered you slowly, you moaned as you felt his cock enter slowly. "So you're still a virgin? Aemond is really stupid to miss this one"

Without warning, he thrust his penis into your cunt completely, making you scream softly as he split you in two, making Rheenyra moan because of the vibrations from your mouth.

"Fuck you're so thigh" Daemon growled before he moved his hips, fucking you roughly and fast. You spread your legs so he could fuck you more freely, while your tongue continued to fuck Rhaenyra. Daemon then pulled Rhaenyra's head and kissed her without slowing down his pace.

Daemon's cock slammed deep into your cunt, making you drunk on pleasure. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten again as he continued to pound into you with his cock, you could also feel Rhaenyra who was also about to cum. You suck her clit and she lets out a long moan that is muffled by her kiss with Daemon, then she cums in your mouth which you happily lick clean.

Rhaenyra lay beside you limply, she stroked your face as the daemon continued to pound his cock inside you, chasing his release. You moaned incoherently beneath her, Rhaenyra kissed you again and played with your nipples, "I'm going to fill you with my seed" with a soft groan Daemon then released his seed deep inside you.

The warmth of the moment seemed to envelop you, a soft and comforting presence surrounding you as you lay in the center of the bed, with Daemon on one side and Rhaenyra on the other. The room was quiet now, the air heavy with the lingering scent of their closeness.

Daemon’s hand, strong yet tender, rested on your arm, his fingers lightly tracing the delicate lines of your skin in a rhythmic pattern. The sensation was soothing, grounding you, and despite the chaos that had filled your mind earlier, you felt a strange sense of calm washing over you. His touch was a silent promise, a reassurance that, for now, you were not alone.

Rhaenyra��s hand, equally gentle, caressed your cheek, her fingers brushing against your skin with a softness that seemed to contrast with the intensity of the earlier moments. Her touch was almost like a whisper, her presence both nurturing and knowing. As her fingers traced the outline of your face, you found yourself closing your eyes, allowing the sensations to lull you into a peaceful state, a moment of rare tranquility.

The weight of their bodies beside you, their breathing steady and calm, created an intimacy that was both overwhelming and oddly comforting. It was as though time had slowed down, and in this moment, the boundaries between you, them, and your roles seemed to fade into the background. You were just… here. Here with them, in this strange, complicated space where everything else seemed to disappear.

The soft sound of their breathing filled the silence, the gentle rhythm of their presence lulling you further into a state of ease. You felt the quiet connection between the three of you, not needing words to understand the shift that had occurred. In the silence of the night, there was a sense of belonging—a temporary escape from the complexities of your world.

And as the warmth of their hands and the steady rhythm of their breath surrounded you, you allowed yourself to drift into a peaceful sleep, letting go of the uncertainty, the fear, and the tension that had defined so much of your life. For now, all that remained was this moment, shared between you and them.

The days that followed felt like an unending cycle, each one blending into the next, but always carrying the same weight. Night after night, Daemon and Rhaenyra would find their way back to your room, their presence a warmth you had longed for but never received from Aemond. They filled the silence of your nights with something tender and consuming, offering you the connection you had been craving in the absence of your husband’s touch.

With each passing night, you grew more accustomed to their closeness. The intimacy they provided, though complex and undefined, gave you a sense of comfort that you couldn’t deny. Daemon’s touch, Rhaenyra’s smile, they both made you feel seen, even as Aemond remained distant, his refusal to fulfill his duties as a husband as palpable as ever.

And then came the night of the celebration—the grand feast for Alicent and Viserys’ wedding anniversary. It was a lavish affair, full of pomp and ceremony, the hall filled with laughter and music, yet you felt like an outsider, a bystander in a world that had no place for your quiet discomfort.

You sat beside Aemond at the long table, the space between you colder than it had ever been. He remained silent, his eyes fixed on the center of the room, his posture rigid and unmoving. You, in turn, kept your gaze down, your hands resting on your lap as you watched the guests around you. But it wasn’t the laughter or the conversations that held your attention—it was Daemon and Rhaenyra, sitting at the far end of the table.

Their eyes met yours across the room, and for a brief moment, you felt the weight of their gaze. It was a look that spoke volumes, a quiet connection shared without a single word. Rhaenyra’s gaze softened, and Daemon’s smirk, though subtle, was undeniable. They were there, present with you in a way Aemond never was.

Aemond, however, seemed oblivious to the tension that filled the air, or perhaps he simply chose to ignore it. His attention remained fixed elsewhere, his demeanor distant and unyielding. You felt a pang in your chest, a sense of longing that only seemed to grow with each passing moment.

As the feast continued, the conversations and laughter around you seemed to fade into the background. The reality of your marriage—your relationship with Aemond—felt like a shadow in the midst of it all. The warmth you had been craving was just out of reach, hidden behind the cold mask Aemond wore.

And once again, as you sat there in silence, surrounded by the revelry, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was all you would ever know—caught between your obligations and desires, between a husband who refused to acknowledge you and the two people who had shown you the warmth you had long been denied.

A month passed since the grand celebration, and life had carried on in its relentless, unchanging rhythm. But in the quiet moments, as you reflected on the days that passed, you realized that something had shifted within you. The familiar feeling of your cycle had not arrived, and with it, a growing realization dawned: you had missed your blood. For a brief moment, hope flickered in your chest. Could you be pregnant?

The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. Your body, in its own subtle way, seemed to be telling you something, but doubt immediately clouded your mind. How could you be pregnant when Aemond, your husband, had never once touched you? He had never fulfilled the most basic of marital duties. It was Daemon and Rhaenyra who had been there for you, offering warmth and connection in ways Aemond never had.

You couldn’t bring yourself to announce anything yet. The absence of Aemond’s presence in your life—the absence of his affection, his involvement—made it feel impossible to reveal the truth. What would they think? How would they react, especially after everything? Would they even believe you?

In the quiet of your room, with the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you, you felt trapped. Daemon and Rhaenyra had become your comfort, your refuge, but even they couldn’t provide the answers you desperately needed. The situation was complicated, and the absence of Aemond’s touch left a profound void that you couldn’t ignore.

What if you were pregnant? How could you navigate this tangled web of emotions, obligations, and relationships? You had no answers, only more questions. You had been left alone in a marriage that felt like a cold, empty promise, and now the possibility of pregnancy was only adding to the confusion and fear.

You couldn’t help but feel that whatever news you might have, it would never be the simple joy that others experienced. It would come with the weight of your isolation, the complexity of your situation, and the ever-present tension between duty and desire.

The night had settled over King’s Landing like a heavy blanket, the castle bathed in soft moonlight as you walked quietly through its familiar corridors. In your hands, you held two glasses of wine, the delicate crystal catching the faint glow of the candles. You weren’t sure if it was a decision driven by loneliness, frustration, or the desire for something more, but tonight you had decided to take matters into your own hands.

You arrived at Aemond’s chamber, the door creaking softly as you pushed it open. There he was, sitting at the edge of the bed, his back straight and his gaze distant, as always. His cold, stoic demeanor never faltered, and yet tonight you felt a sense of determination you hadn’t known before. He was yours, and yet, he was not. That distance between you both had grown too vast, too painful to ignore.

You approached him, offering one of the glasses of wine with a soft smile. “I thought you might enjoy this,” you said, your voice calm yet filled with an underlying tension.

Aemond glanced at the wine and then at you, his eye narrowing slightly. He took the glass from your hand without a word, his fingers brushing yours, and he brought it to his lips, drinking it in one swift motion. His expression remained unreadable, but you could sense something shifting in the air, a subtle change as the wine settled into his system.

You didn’t immediately say anything as you placed the second glass on the bedside table, watching him. Your heart raced slightly as you realized this was your chance, the moment you had waited for. You had carefully placed something in the wine, a small but potent dose that would make him drowsy—enough to fall into a deep sleep, allowing you to do what you had planned.

After a few moments, Aemond’s eyes began to droop. He set the empty glass down on the table, his body relaxing against the pillows. His breathing deepened, and before long, he had fallen into a peaceful slumber.

You slowly take off all the clothes on his body then you also take off the nightgown that is attached to your body. You stood there for a moment, watching him, the air thick with a mixture of relief and guilt. The wine had worked faster than you anticipated, and now that he was unconscious, you felt the cold weight of your next action.

Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for a small vial hidden in your sleeve. It contained blood—the very blood that would mark his bed, a symbol of your possession, your claim, in a way that you hadn’t been able to in life. You let a few drops fall onto the sheets, watching as the crimson liquid soaked into the fabric. It was a harsh act, but one you felt you needed.

You turned back to the bed, your breath shaky. The last thing you wanted was for him to wake up and see what you had done. You lay down beside him, the bed sinking slightly under your weight as you settled next to him. Your body was close, but your thoughts were far away. You could feel the weight of his presence, yet you were alone, as always.

In the silence of the room, you spoke softly, almost to yourself. “I’m doing this for us… for our future.” The words were hollow, the conviction in your voice uncertain, but they were all you could muster.

For a long moment, there was no response from Aemond. He remained asleep, unaware of your actions. His steady breathing was the only sound filling the room, and it made you feel both powerful and insignificant at the same time.

You closed your eyes, feeling the pull of exhaustion, but there was a part of you that remained awake, thinking about the consequences of your actions. This wasn’t the path you had hoped to take with him, but it was the only path that seemed to lead anywhere now.

The early morning light filtered softly through the curtains as Aemond stirred from his sleep. His sharp gaze scanned the room briefly before settling on you, lying peacefully beside him. His breath hitched, his body tensing at the sight—it was something he had never experienced before, waking up to find you so close.

But then, his eyes shifted downward, to the crimson stains on the sheets. The sight of blood jolted him fully awake. He sat up, pulling the covers back further, his jaw tightening as he stared at the damning evidence before him.

For a moment, he said nothing, his mind racing to make sense of what he was seeing. Then, his voice cut through the quiet, low and laced with suspicion. “What did you do?” he demanded, his single eye narrowing as he turned to face you.

The sound of his voice stirred you from your sleep. Your lashes fluttered open, and you blinked at him in confusion before his words registered. You sat up slowly, pulling the sheets around you for modesty, though the tension in his voice made your heart race.

“What are you talking about?” you murmured groggily, trying to sound calm despite the growing unease in your chest.

Aemond gestured sharply to the stained sheets, his expression dark and unreadable. “This. The blood. What happened last night?” His tone was clipped, yet there was a strange edge to it—something between accusation and genuine confusion.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence as you met his intense gaze. “You don’t remember?” you asked softly, your voice laced with just the right amount of surprise.

His eye narrowed further, the doubt clear on his face. Aemond prided himself on his sharp memory and self-control, and the thought that he might have forgotten something as significant as this was clearly unsettling him. He opened his mouth to speak but then hesitated, glancing back at the sheets as if they held the answer he was searching for.

“You drank quite a bit of wine,” you continued, your voice steady now as you began to weave your story. “You seemed so… different last night. I didn’t think it was possible for you to be so… gentle.” You let the words hang in the air, carefully observing his reaction.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his fingers flexing at his sides as he processed your words. “I don’t get drunk,” he muttered, his tone more defensive than certain. But there was a flicker of doubt in his eye, the seed of uncertainty taking root.

You leaned closer, placing a hand on his arm in what you hoped was a reassuring gesture. “I didn’t think you did either,” you admitted, lowering your gaze as if you were hesitant to continue. “But last night… it was as if you finally let your guard down.”

His eye flicked to you, searching your face for any sign of deceit. For a long moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence, the tension between you thick enough to cut.

Finally, Aemond exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he looked away. “I don’t remember,” he admitted reluctantly, his voice low and laced with frustration.

You hid your relief, masking it with a small, understanding smile. “Perhaps it’s for the best,” you said gently. “We can move forward from here, together.”

Aemond didn’t respond immediately, his gaze distant as he wrestled with his thoughts. You could feel the weight of his internal conflict, but you didn’t press further. For now, the seeds of your plan were sown, and all you could do was wait for them to grow.

After that morning, something shifted between you and Aemond. Though he was still reserved and distant at times, there was a subtle change in his demeanor. He began to spend more time in your presence, sharing meals with you in the privacy of your chambers or walking alongside you through the gardens of the Red Keep. His sharp words softened, his gaze lingered a little longer, and the cold barrier that had always separated you seemed to thaw—if only slightly.

Most notably, Aemond no longer left for the Street of Silk. Night after night, he returned to your shared chambers, a silent promise that spoke louder than words. At first, he would stay on his side of the bed, his back turned to you, but his presence alone was enough to fill the emptiness you had grown accustomed to. Over time, he began to sit closer to you, speak more openly, and even share small moments of quiet companionship that you had once thought impossible.

The change was gradual, but undeniable. One evening, as you sat by the hearth together, Aemond handed you a book he had been reading, his tone softer than you had ever heard it. “I thought you might enjoy this,” he said, his eye meeting yours for a fleeting moment before he looked away, a faint hint of awkwardness in his expression.

You accepted the book with a smile, your heart swelling at the simple gesture. “Thank you,” you replied, your voice warm. It was a small thing, but it felt monumental after everything that had passed between you.

The nights became easier, too. Aemond would lay beside you without the tension that had once been ever-present. Occasionally, he would place a hand on yours, or murmur a few words before sleep claimed him. These moments, though fleeting, were enough to make you feel like you were finally breaking through the walls he had built around himself.

It wasn’t perfect. There were still days when Aemond’s temper flared or when the distance between you felt insurmountable. But those days were fewer and farther between. For the first time in your marriage, you began to feel like a true couple, bound not just by duty but by the fragile beginnings of understanding.

You didn’t know if his newfound devotion was born of guilt, responsibility, or something deeper. But as he stood beside you during court, offered you his arm at feasts, and lingered in your chambers long into the night, you couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope—a hope that, perhaps, this union could become something more.

The dining hall was alive with the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of silverware as you sat beside Aemond during the evening meal. Alicent and Viserys were seated at the head of the table, with Helaena and her children nearby. Across from you sat Rhaenyra and Daemon, who had remained at King’s Landing longer than expected, their warm smiles lighting the room.

You glanced at Aemond, who was cutting into his food with his usual precision, and took a deep breath. The moment had come, and though your heart raced, you knew it was now or never. Setting your goblet down gently, you cleared your throat, drawing the attention of everyone at the table.

“If I may have a moment,” you began, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. “I have some news I would like to share.”

The room grew silent as all eyes turned to you. Alicent leaned forward slightly, her expression a mixture of curiosity and hope. Aemond, seated beside you, raised a brow, his usual stoic demeanor softening with intrigue. Even Daemon and Rhaenyra, seated at the far end of the table, looked at you with genuine interest.

You placed a hand over your stomach, the gesture subtle but unmistakable. “I am with child,” you announced, your voice filled with quiet pride.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, as if the weight of your words needed time to settle. Then, Alicent was the first to react, her face lighting up with unrestrained joy. “Oh, my dear, that is wonderful news!” she exclaimed, rising from her seat to approach you.

The others followed suit. Rhaenyra smiled warmly, her eyes meeting yours across the table. “Congratulations,” she said, her voice sincere. Daemon gave you a subtle nod, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. Even Helaena, often lost in her own thoughts, looked up and offered you a soft, dreamy smile.

Aemond’s reaction, however, was the one that caught you off guard. His expression shifted from surprise to something you hadn’t seen before—genuine happiness. A rare, fleeting smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he turned to you. “Truly?” he asked, his voice low but filled with wonder.

You nodded, your heart swelling at the sight of his reaction. “Yes,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “You’re going to be a father.”

Aemond’s hand reached for yours under the table, his grip firm and reassuring. For a moment, it felt as though the entire room faded away, leaving only the two of you. The tension that had once defined your relationship seemed to dissipate, replaced by a fragile but growing bond.

As the evening continued, the room buzzed with excitement and congratulations. Alicent fussed over you, already speaking of preparations for the nursery, while Viserys offered his own quiet blessings. Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged a look, one you couldn’t quite interpret, but their smiles remained warm.

For the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of belonging—not just to Aemond, but to the family you had married into. And as you glanced at your husband, who now watched you with an unfamiliar softness in his eye, you couldn’t help but feel that this child might be the key to the future you had longed for and you will hide this secret for the rest of your life.

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