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zeciex · 7 months

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A Vow of Blood - 43

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 43: The Depravity of Desire

AO3 - Masterlist

SMUT!

“Prince Aemond,” Ser Arryk’s gravelly voice announced as he entered the prince's chamber, his attire far from the pristine white cloak and armor typically associated with the Kingsguard.

Aemond, sitting with an air of casual indifference, lifted his gaze from the parchment that lay strewn across the table. His brow furrowed slightly at the disheveled state of the guard before him. “Hmm?”

“Your brother requests your presence,” Ser Arryk Cargyll relayed in a weary tone.

Aemond let out an almost imperceptible sigh, leaning back in his chair as he contemplated the summons. Aegon’s penchant for finding trouble in the most inconvenient places was nothing new.It usually involved a brothel or a gambling den, sometimes both. Aemond wasn’t particularly interested in the nature of his brother’s escapades; he was simply growing tired of constantly coming to Aegon’s aid. But blood, as they say, ran thicker than water, and Aegon was blood.

“Can’t he handle his own mess for once?” Aemond replied, a touch of exasperation lacing his words. It was a sentiment he harbored each time Aegon landed himself in trouble. But the unspoken bond of brotherhood compelled him to intervene time and again.

Ser Arryk Cargyll regarded Aemond with an unyielding stance, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “Prince Aegon specifically requested you.”

Aemond couldn’t help but roll his eye, his evening’s prospects dissipating like smoke. Aegon had an uncanny knack for disrupting his well-laid plans.

Aemond released a weary breath and rolled up the parchment, putting it aside on top a precarious stack of books that cluttered his table. He moved with deliberate grace, donning a doublet fashioned from rough material and fastening a somber black cloak around his frame. Securing his sword at his side, he trailed behind Ser Arryk, who awaited him at the chamber’s entrance.

Bringing Aegon home was the most sensible course of action. The thought of his mother discovering her son disheveled and suffering from the night's ventures on the morrow of his impending name day feast was a scene best avoided. Aegon, Aemond reckoned, was indulging in premature celebrations, well aware of the impending, although likely dull, revelries.

Despite the late hour, Flea Bottom’s streets teemed with activity. Street vendors peddled skewers of beat that bore a striking resemblance to rats and cats, while musicians filled the air with brawdy melodies that drunken patrons sang along to. Groups huddled around makeshift dice games etched onto stone, their animated voices blending with the night’s revelry. The only illuminations emanate from scattered torches affixed to the walls and the soft glow of house windows.

The pervasive stench of filth seemed to cling to every surface and every soul in Flea Bottom. They wove through the labyrinthine streets, bypassing the brothel with the distinctive blue door, continuing deeper into the district until they arrived at a decrepit residence. Crack spider-webbed up its shabby walls, and its once-green doors and window frames now bore a faded hue. The sound of debauchery poured forth from the open windows, mingling with the raucous laughter and boisterous chatter.

Aemond’s hum of displeasure reverberated through his chest, the sound swallowed by rowdy voices as he stepped over the threshold. The scene within mirrored the sambolic exterior, complete with peeling paint and visible wall fissures. In a futile effort to mask the disrepair, the establishment’s proprietors had draped various fabrics around, inadvertently emphasizing the decrepitude.

It appeared Aegon’s penchant for debauchery knew no bounds, nor did it rest on any form of cleanliness.

“What can I help you fine folks with?” Inquired a dumpy brothel matron, her hair pinned up in a crude intimidation of a noblewoman’s style. Smudged kohl accentuated her dark eyes, while the paint on her lips hinted at what nature had not provided. As her hands clasped together in front of her, the bracelets adorning her wrists chimed together like tiny bells. “I’ve got anything you might be looking for. I’ve got girls from eleven and upward–boys as well, if that may please you. I’ve got thick girls, thin girls, maidens–”

“I’m here for my brother,” Aemond interjected dryly, showing no interest in her assortment of available girls.

The brothel matron blinked in astonishment as Aemond and Ser Arryk Cargyll surged deeper into the sordid establishment. Ser Arry, familiar with the layout, led the way while Aemond attempted to down out the sordid sounds echoing through the house.

“Brother!” Aegon’s boisterous greeting reverberated as Aemond and Ser Arryk turned a corner, entering one of the numerous rooms in the brothel. Aegon reclined against a mound of plush pillows, flanked by two young women. One had dark skin, with large ebony eyes and a slender frame, while the other had waves of blond hair, green eyes, and an innocent countenance that seemed all too youthful.

“Very well done, Cargyll!” Aegon hailed, rising from the bed with an unsteady gait to approach the Kingsguard. He slapped Ser Arryk’s shoulder in a manner more suited to acknowledging a messenger boy.

Aemond narrowed his eye at Ser Arryk, who apologized with a curt nod before making his exit through the door. Aemond turned his eye on his brother then, scrutinizing and filled with disdain. “I assume you’re not in trouble, then.”

Aegon’s lips curled into a mischievous grin as he quipped, “I seem to always find myself in trouble, and you always come to my rescue.”

“One day, when you need my rescue, I won’t be there,” Aemond retorted to his brother’s jest.

A nonchalant shrug tugged at Aegon’s shoulders as he walked through the room towards the table and the flagon of wine upon it. “You wouldn’t have come had I not been in trouble.”

Aemond’s response was swift and candid: “No.”

Aegon turned, leaning against the table, his head tilting as a grin pulled at his lips. “Then you leave me little choice.”

Aemond, unamused, glowered at his brother. He should have suspected something was amiss; if Aegon were truly in any significant trouble, Ser Arryk would have been sufficient to handle it himself, and if not, he would have been in more of a rush. “It’s your name day celebration on the morrow. You’re expected to attend, preferably clean and of present mind. You should not be out whoring.”

Aegon scoffed and, with a shrug, picked up the flagon to pour himself some cheap wine. “Don’t be so dull, brother. I know the feast is not for my benefit.”

“Mother will be cross–” Aemond began.

“Mother is always cross with me,” Aegon interjected sourly, displaying a petulant streak. “It’s nothing new. I’ll be ready in time for the feast. Perhaps still drunk, but ready.”

Aemond rolled his eye in exasperation, feeling the irritation prickle beneath his skin. “Why did you call me here?”

“To celebrate the day of my birth the way I want ,” Aegon answered with an impish grin. He swiftly downed his cup of wine and proceeded to pour another. His shirt hung loosely on his frame, revealing a canvas of bruises and red marks adorning his chest. A single finger drummed out a repetitive rhythm against the ceramic cup he clenched tightly in his hand. The skin of his hand bore the lingering marks of healing scars and faint traces of blisters and rashes that had covered his body the month earlier. The Maesters believed it an allergic reaction or perhaps the pox, but they couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause of these afflictions. It was Daenera’s doing, he was sure of that much. He presumed that his brother had, in some way, deserved such treatment.

Aemond remained unimpressed. “It still doesn’t explain why you want me here.”

“Because, brother ,” Aegon retorted as if speaking to a stubborn child,”it’s my name day, and all I wish for this year is for you to loosen up! Come on, Aemond! Live a little for once! You’ve been moping around the Keep for months, and quite frankly, it’s been utterly tedious to witness. Perhaps a taste of some genuine, proper cunt might distract you from your so-called ‘broken heart’.”

As Aemond turned to leave the room, Aegon’s sudden outburst caught him off guard. Aegon grabbed his brother’s arm and physically blocked his path, positioning himself squarely between Aemond and the exit. Aemond’s face twisted into a scowl as he shot a disgruntled glare at Aegon.

“Wait!” You’ve come this far, brother, do not leave now,” Aegon implored, his tone almost pleading. “If I had the luxury of another brother to accompany me and play with me, I’d extend the invitation to him, believe me. Regrettably, Daeron is off in Old Town, likely having more fun than you.”

With a low grown, Aemond forcefully wretched his arm away from his brother’s grip, as though the mere touch was repulsive to him. His features contorted into a disgusted sneer, and his lone eye burned with disdain as he shot back, “I have no interest in stooping to your level, or indulging in the same depravity as you, brother .”

“Are you sure about that? You started your fall from grace when you fucked–” Aegon’s words were abruptly cut off as Aemond seized him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. Plaster crumbled and flaked around them, cascading onto Aegon like a shower of dandruff. Despite the silent warning conveyed in Aemond’s intense glare, Aegon simply grinned, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Seems like you’ve got a lot of pent-up frustration from not fucking her, brother,” Aegon needled, pushing the boundaries even further. He wasn’t merely poking the dragon; he was beating it over the head with a stick and daring it to retaliate. Aegon snapped his fingers, prompting the two girls to scrabble off the bed and hastily exit the room. “I can help you with that.”

Aemond’s lip curled with disdain as he shot back, “I do not want or need your help, brother . I won’t partake in whatever twisted game you’re playing.”

Aegon’s grin only widened, his words dripping with mockery, “Why not? It’s rather enjoyable, and you might discover what it’s like not to have a rod up your arse.”

“I refuse to lower myself to your standards of ‘enjoyment,’” Aemond declared, his voice oozing contempt.

Aegon pretended to ponder this for a moment, a theatrical expression on his face. “Hmm… But deep down, you’re more like me than you care to admit.”

Aemond’s eye flared with anger. “I am nothing like you.”

Aegon continued his relentless prodding, unfazed by his brother’s anger. “So, you’re not playing games with the princess? You did not take her maidenhead? And you do not wish to still fuck her, even as she’s married?”

Aemond clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to grab his brother and shake some sense into him. Aegon remained unaware of the affair, but he had a knack for being annoyingly perceptive when he wanted to be.

Stepping back, Aemond took a deep breath, struggling to regain his composure.

“Oh, come now,” Aegon drawled, straightening his disheveled clothing and running a hand through his greasy hair, ruffeling it to loosen the plaster that had landed on his head. “It’s my name day.”

“Not yet,” Aemond responded sharply. “It is not yet midnight.”

“I’m getting a year older.”

“But not a year wiser, it would seem.”

Aegon dismissed the remark with a casual wave of his hand, as if swatting away an annoying insect. “Let’s consider it a pre-celebration, then. Don’t be such a bore, Aemond. Having a bit of fun might do you some good.”

The door swung open, admitting a woman with a cascade of dark, lustrous hair that framed her round face. Her cheeks held a natural plumpness, and her lips curved into a sly, knowing smile. Her eyes, a striking shade of gray, held a familiarity that sent a shiver down Aemond’s spine, recalling the embarrassment she had once caused him.

Clutching her skirts, the woman performed an exaggerated curtsy, mimicking the graceful manners of a lady. “Prince Aemond, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

Aegon’s eyes darted back and forth between his brother and the enigmatic woman, his amusement evident as he pointed playfully between them. “You two know each other?”

Aemond’s face darkened with irritation as he directed his glare at his younger brother. “Don’t feign innocence, Aegon. This is your doing.”

“I ordered a whore with a resemblance to the princess. I had no knowledge of her being the whore,” Aegon retorted with almost giddy excitement.

“There were no prior encounters,” Aemond snapped in frustration. His patience had dwindled to a fragile thread, stretched taut and on the verge of snapping. The sensation of frustration coiled like a serpent in the pit of his stomach. The disbelief directed at him had a sting of humiliation to it that was maddening, a sensation that gnawed at his core. He might not be a good man, but he was not depraved like his brother.

The woman offered a mockingly sincere apology, an impish glint in her eyes. “I was simply following orders, my prince. I mean no offense.”

Aegon couldn’t contain his amusement, wearing a wide grin that clearly indicated he was relishing the discomfort of the situation. “So, it is the whore, brother? The one you brought back to your chambers and mother caught you with? –At least I have the sense not to bring my company back home with me.”

“I did not bring her to my chambers,” Aemond gritted out through clenched teeth.

Aegon encircled the whore, placing his chin casually on her shoulder, his hands boldly exploring her body, tracing every curve. His tone dripped with mischief. “Did my brother have the pleasure of exploring your body?”

The woman’s eyes remained on Aemond, a seductive gleam flickering in the gray, as she answered, “No, my prince.”

Aegon’s grin widened, savoring the ongoing exchange as he cupped her tit and gave the nipple a firm squeeze. “No?”

“I have yet to have the pleasure of his cock,” the whore declared with a sweet smile, her voice breathy as her head tilted gracefully to the side, a mimicry of the princess that sent an unsettling shiver down Aemond’s spine.

“Then you’re in luck,” Aegon proclaimed, swimming his arm out in an expansive gesture towards his brother, his voice laced with a sardonic edge. “My brother here is in dire need of a satisfying encounter. Perhaps this will help you forget about the girl.”

“Aegon,” Aemond cautioned, his annoyance simmering.

“It is my name day!” Aegon chimed in once more, his jubilation unabated. “Be a good brother and indulge in his delightful company, as I surely will.”

Aemond clenched his jaw as Aegon exited the room with a hearty laugh, the door closing noisily behind him. The door itself offered scant privacy, its bottom splintered, and it hung precariously from a single hinge. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed the whore drawing near.

Her hand gently made contact with his chest, her fingers splayed across the fabric of his doublet. Her head tilted once more, causing her thick tangle of hair to cascade over one shoulder. Her gray eyes, resembling polished silver coins, gleamed with amusement, watching his cold response. They were gray, not the haunting cornflower blue that plagued his dreams in the darkest hours of the night. Not the ones that had beckoned him to come to her chamber those few weeks ago.

“I can be whoever you want me to be,” she whispered with a sultry promise, her words hanging in the air like an alluring temptation.

The woman skillfully took a step back, coaxing the delicate straps of her scanty dress down her shoulders. As they slid away, her heavy breasts were unveiled, their inviting softness beckoning with an allure all their own. Her fingers tugged the dress a touch lower, exposing her stomach, the curve of her wide hips, and the lush expanse of her thighs. Between them, a thicker thicket of hair adorned her cunt.

Aemond’s mind wandered to thoughts of Daenera, his recollection lingering on her ample breasts that swayed enticingly as she rode him with abandon. He recalled the gentle expanse of her stomach, often marked by the imprints of her corset. Her hips, sculpted to perfection, had been a pleasure to grip as he thrust into her, her thighs strong and soft. His thoughts inevitably drifted to the familiar scar atop her left thigh, a line he had come to know intimately.

There was simply no comparison between this whore and the poison that made up Daenera.

Even as the woman pressed herself against him, her hands roaming over his chest and shoulders, Aemond detected the overpowering scent of cheap perfume, an sickly sweet aroma that seemed to stick in his nose.

For a fleeting moment, Aemond pondered whether this liaison could serve as a release from the torment of his desires for Daenera. Would it finally purge those yearnings out of his system, or would it cement them further?

“Allow me to bring you pleasure, my prince,” she whispered, her hand descentind down his chest to grip his cock through his trousers. Dark brows shot up in surprise.

Aemond’s patience had eroded to the point of utter contempt. He seized the woman’s wrist with a fierce grip, yanking her hand away from him in a swift, forceful motion. His features contorted into a sneer of pure revulsion as he addressed her with a tone dripping with disdain.

“Why should I even entertain the thought of debasing myself with you?” He spat, grip tightening. “You possess nothing that could even remotely pique my interest.”

With a rough shove, he released her wrist and drew up the hood of his cloak, shrouding himself in its obscurity. He didn’t spare her a second glance before striding out of the room.

In the adjacent room, Aegon lounged on a settee, surrounded by a quartet of women, resembling a withered god of depravity. Their gazes locked for a moment, and Aemond could already anticipate the forthcoming taunts that would escape his brother's lips.

“I suggest you escort the prince back to the Keep, Ser,” Aemond grumbled curtly to Ser Arryk Cargyll. “The Queen will be far from pleased if he fails to attend his own feast.”

Aegon clambered unsteadily from the settee, navigating through a thicket of entangled limbs that reached out, desperate for him to stay. Once more, he imposed himself in his brother’s path, throwing out his arms in a wide gesture to block Aemond’s way.

“Step aside,” Aemond commanded with an air of authority, his voice firm and unwavering. He had no more patience for his brother’s games.

Aegon, undeterred, moved closer to his brother. His expression was a peculiar blend of skepticism and sly amusement. “Prove to me that you’re notfucking her.”

Aemond responded with a mocking sneer. “There was a time, brother, when such tactics might have worked. But I’ve outgrown the need to prove myself to you.”

Aegon pulled a wry face, his lips curving downward in an upside-down smile, a gesture he often employed. “Well, it sounds like I’ve received my answer.”

“I am cautioning you, Aegon,” Aemond warned, his tone as meticulous as it was threatening. “Indulge in your games as you wish, but do not involve me.”

Aegon’s smile grew cold and wicked, reminiscent of the same expression he wore while orchestrating one of his cruel pranks. “Of course, dear brother. I’ll amuse myself with my games and torment you incessantly, but rest assured, I will guard your secrets of your illicit affair.”

“Ensure that you do,” Aemond retorted, his voice carrying a heavy undertone that served as both a threat and a stern admonishment. “Or I may find myself compelled to inform mother about your continued exploits.”

“I’m sure she already knows of my exploits,” Aegon hummed.

“But does she know about your bastards?” Aemond questioned, his voice lowered to a level only Aegon could hear. The subtle narrowing of his brother's eyes betrayed the truth that Aemond had alluded to–Aegon did indeed have bastards, a likelihood that was hardly surprising. “Does mother know about your proclivities or your predilection for young serving maids?”

“I’ll keep you secrets if you keep mine. That’s what brothers do, after all,” Aegon conceded, sealing their unspoken pact.

Aemond made a decisive move, sidestepping his brother with a determined stride.

As he exited the brothel, he found himself besieged by a swarm of women, each vying for his attention and hoping to lure him back into their embrace. Aemond paid them no heed, steadfastly pushing his way through the throng of whores, his brother’s mocking taunts ringing in his ears, accusing him of harboring a proverbial stick up his backside.

The supposed fresh air of Flea Bottom’s streets proved anything but refreshing, failing to lift his sour mood or alleviate the tension between his shoulder blades. Aemond trudged back to the Red Keep, irritated by his brother’s scheme. He was overwhelmed by a deep sense of revulsion, his skin tingling with a potent mix of frustration and repulsion. It was as though the contact with the whore had tainted him, leaving an indelible mark of contamination. Her gray eyes were a far cry from the blue that haunted his dreams. Her skin had lacked the silken softness he longed for, her hips not quite the right size and her thighs too slender.She had not looked at him with the same curiosity, slyness and knowing allure that Daenera possessed.

Gray was most certainly not blue.

What was even more infuriating, was how his mind kept pulling him back to her . Poisoned, that was what he was.

The restlessness beneath his skin prickled and intensified with each step, and by the time he reached the Red Keep, he was practically vibrating with it. He felt an acute discomfort in his clothes, the seams scratching at his skin, the fabric constricting and suffocating. Skipping two steps at a time, he quickly climbed the stairs, eventually reaching the upper floor. With an air of urgency, he strode through the doors of his chambers, promptly pushing them open and locking them securely behind him.

As he let out a slow breath, he worked with deft fingers to undo the buckles of his sword belt, placing it carefully against the wall. Stepping forther into the room, he made his way to the central table, his intent to pour himself a glass of water momentarily sidetracked by an unexpected sight.

There, sprawled out on his bed, lay the temptress herself, Daenera, Her lithe form resting on her stomach as she engrossed herself in a book. Her loose hair fell over her shoulders, a wave of flowing silk. A sudden, unexpected pulse of emotion surged within him, and he watched her closely as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

Their eyes met, and Aemond found himself captivated by her gaze. Her eyes were the very shade of cornflowers , deep with a subtle hint of violet, like the most enhancing of spring blooms. He had never anticipated her appearance, much less in his bed, clad in a wisps of a nightgown so delicate it barely covered her from. Its neckline hung tantalizingly off one shoulder, exposing a portion of her soft skin.

“Where have you been?” She inquired, her head tilting with curiosity, her discerning eyes sweeping over him.

Aemond weighed his response carefully, feeling the irritation still simmering beneath his skin. “Aegon summoned me.”

Her brow arched inquisitively, demanding further explanation.

Unbuttoning his doublet, Aemond felt the urgency to rid himself of it. Daenera responded with a soft hum, gracefully slipping from the bed and moving barefoot towards him.

He found himself in a tumultuous internal struggle, uncertain if he truly desired her presence. It was a paradox – he longed for her to be here, yet simultaneously he didn’t. Her being here felt like an intrusion, a test of his self-control and restraint. Aemond observed her closely as she approached, ready to assist him in removing the bothersome doublet, which he promptly tossed over the back of a nearby chair.

“You carry the scent of brothel,” she remarked astutely with an undercurrent he couldn’t place.

A hint of defiance crept into Aemond’s response. “And how do you discern the scent of a brothel?”

Their gaze locked, her eyes narrowed slightly. He felt his defenses slowly crumbling. It was a wretched thing, to have one’s guard weakened by the fluttering of someone’s eyelashes – a vulnerability he couldn’t deny, no matter how much she wished to resist. It only added to the frustration itching beneath his skin, begging to be released.

A crooked smile danced up on her lips. “My husband returns home reeking of brothels often enough for me to recognize that scent.”

Reaching up, she deftly undid the clasp that secured his eyepatch around his head, carefully placing it on the nearby table. Aemond couldn’t help but notice the fleeting glance her eye made towards his sapphire eye. Instead of expressing disgust or horror, her gaze held a sense of wonder, as if she found it to be a thing of beauty. It didn’t sit right with him that she could look at him in such a way, nor did it seem right for her to brush her thumb against the end of the scar as though attempting to mend the pain and loss inflicted upon him by her brother. Yet, against his better judgment, he found that her touch lessened the ache in his scar.

Aemond turned away from her touch, pouring himself a cup of water and downing it in one go.

Daenera turned away from him, and he caught the faint furrow of her brow and the subtle pursing of her lips. “Did you find any enjoyment in your time there?”

Observing her as she padded back to the bed, Aemond couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of twisted amusement. She appeared entirely nonchalant, as if the situation had no bearing on her.

“Are you asking whether I bedded one of the whores?” Aemond’s voice carried a sharp accusation, laced with spite and frustration, as he directed his ire at anyone who dared question his integrity. Did she truly hold such a low opinion of him? Anger coiled tightly in his gut, intensifying the irritation and exasperation he felt. “Is that what you think of me?”

Daenera’s response bore a certain petulance as she retorted, “I have no claim over you. You’re free to bed the entire population of Flea Bottom for all I care.”

With a firm grip on his eyepatch, Aemond stormed into the bedchamber. There, he found Daenera sitting on his bed, reclining on her arms with her feet suspended above the floors, legs spread, the nightgown the only thing letting her keep some modicum of modesty. Her demeanor exuded an air of both spite and decadence. He seized her face, turning it forcefully to make her meet his gaze.

“Why would I entertain the thought of bedding some lowly wench in Flea Bottom when I could have you?” A snarl of disdain curled his lips, his eye ablaze with an undeniable intensity.

Daenera made an attempt to twist her face free from his grip, but Aemond’s hold remained unyielding. He kept her in place, allowing his thumb to brush gently over her lips, while a sardonic smile twisted across his face. His voice dripped with authority as he issued his command, “Get on your knees.”

He released her, his gaze half-lidded as he observed her jaw moving from side to side, a subtle attempt to alleviate the lingering ache his fingers had left. She locked eyes with him, then almost spitefully, descended to her knees on the floor, casting a coy glance up at him through her long, dark lashes.

Aemond ran his hand through her hair, casually tossing his eyepatch onto the bed. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she leaned into his caress. When his fingers slid down to the nape of her neck, he firmly grasped her hair, eliciting a shaky breath from her.

“Come now,” Aemond drawled, his voice silky and low. “You know what to do.”

Her eyes bore into his soul as her nimble fingers trailed up his powerful thighs, eventually reaching the bulge in his trousers. With practiced ease, she undid his laces, pulling down the fabric to allow his erect cock to spring free. It slapped against his lower abdomen, the engorged head a deep shade of crimson as it pulsed with blood. A prominent vein ran along the underside, curving sensually along its length.

Aemond inhaled deeply, savoring the air in his lungs for a brief moment before exhaling. His cock pulsed with an insistent need, churning a firestorm in the put of his stomach as he beheld Daenera on her knees. In her eyes, he glimpsed a tantalizing blend of defiance and undeniable lust. Though they had shared this intimate position before, her cheeks still bore a rosy flush, reminiscent of their very first encounter when uncertainty had mingled with her defiance. Back then, her eyes had widened with innocence and determination.

His lips parted as she warped a delicate hand around his throbbing shaft, the palm of her hand smooth and unmarred, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him as she stroked him with expert precision.

“Be a good little whore,” Aemond drawled, tugging her hair a bit firmer, “and open your mouth for me.”

Her delicate hand glided down the length of his shaft, her lips pressing a soft, teasing kiss upon its tip. The corner of her mouth curled upward, a defiant challenge in her eyes that only fueled Aemond’s growing hunger.

In response, Aemond’s grip tightened on her hair, his fingers firm around the base of her jaw as he demanded in a low growl, “Open your mouth.”

“Ask me nicely,” she retorted, her voice strained from the pressure he exerted on her throat just below her chin. Her gaze flickered across his features, her eyes holding a fiery defiance.

Aemond glared down at her, his lips curling into a snarl, his eye darkening with desire as his grip grew tighter.

“Open,” he commanded.

With a hesitant submission, Daenera obediently parted her lips, allowing his thumb to slide into her mouth. He maintained her mouth agape, spitting into it. Her eyes widened in surprise, a small, involuntary squeak escaping her, soon melting into a sultry moan. Aemond pressed his thumb down on her tongue, and finally, it seemed she yielded to his will, closing her mouth around his digit to suck on it with newfound urgency.

Aemond’s cock throbbed with an insistent ache against his abdomen, a relentless reminder of his burning desire. He withdrew his thumb from her mouth, the moistened digit leaving a glistening trail of saliva across her lips as he released his grip on her.

Lust ignited within the blue depths of her eyes, a blazing fire that mirrored his own primal yearning. Her hands traced the contours of his thighs, her nails lightly grazing his taut skin, sending a shiver racing down his spine. Fingers curled around the base of his throbbing cock, as she lowered her lips to its tip.

Her tongue flicked out, teasingly brushing over the glistening head, swirling sensuously around it before she captured it with her soft, warm mouth. A wave of pleasure coursed through Aemond as her hot, wet mouth enveloped him. Her tongue pressed against the sensitive underside of his cock, following the path of the prominent vein that pulsed beneath the surface.

As she began to withdraw, she employed a tantalizing suction, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked with fervor. The hand gripping his base trailed upward, following her lips’ descent, and as her mouth released the head, her hand encircled it. Her fingers twisted around the crimson crown of his cock, caressing and stimulating, before her mouth descended once more to take its place in an alluring dance of desire.

Pleasure surged through Aemond’s veins, and he couldn’t help but reach out, brushing the hair from her face and gathering it into his firm grip. Her eyes locked onto his as she skillfully pleasured him with her mouth.

Aemond’s gaze remained fixated on the sight of his cock descending deeper into her mouth, pushing her limits until a strangled sound mixed with a moan escaped her as her throat closed around the intrusion of his cock.

The rhythm escalated gradually, and Aemond abandoned all restraint. His grip on her hair tightened, urging her on as he thrust deeper and deeper into her throat. Each time he buried himself inside her, she swallowed around him, sending bolts of pleasure racing through his body. The intensity of it all caused his toes to curl in his boots.

His breath emerged in ragged pants, his teeth biting into his lower lip as he struggled to maintain control. Her nails, on the other hand, etched angry red marks into his lip, tracing a fiery path down his thigh. The soothing pressure of her fingertips followed the same route, easing the stinging sensation her nails had left in their wake. Her hand then slipped around him, gripping his ass firmly, and replicated the journey down the back of his thigh, igniting a maelstrom of pleasure that threatened to consume him entirety.

“ Fuck ,” Aemond grunted, his voice a hissing breath.

Her teeth grazed the sensitive skin at the base of his cock, a fleeting sensation amidst the softness of her lips. Aemond sent an unforgiving pace, thrusting further into her throat, his hips driving the tip of his cock down until her nose bumped against the silver curls at the base of his cock. With each punishing thrust, his balls collided with her chin, tightening as he inched closer to his climax.

A strangled gag escaped her, her eyes now welling up with tears that trailed down her flushed cheeks. Despite the disarray she appeared to be in, it only seemed to heighten his pleasure.

“You’re such a little whore,” Aemond murmured, his voice hoarse and raw, resembling gravel against his vocal cords. “What kind of princess drips with need while having her face fucked?”

She emitted a soft hum around him, her eyes fluttering as his fingertips brushed against her scalp.

Aemond groaned at the vibration, the intensity of the sensation sending shivers down his spine. An overwhelming desire to bury his throbbing cock within the silky embrace of her warm, wet cunt coursed through him. Aemond removed her mouth from his swollen cock, preventing himself from spilling his seed down her throat, and guided her to her feet.

Her eyes appeared red and puffy, tears clinging to her dark lashes, while her flushed cheeks radiated warmth. Her once-glistening lips had become swollen, and a mixture of spit and tears trailed down her chin.

“Look at you,” Aemond hummed, his thumb brushing over her chin in an attempt to clear away the remnants of spit but inadvertently smearing it down her throat. “One would be hard-pressed to imagine you as anything but a whore.”

“What does that make you?” Defiantly, Daenera retorted, her voice raw and hoarse from the earlier ordeal of his cock pressing against the back of her throat. Her hands moved to cup his face, but Aemond seized them in an unyielding grip. If she touched him with the gentleness she was about to, he feared he’d lose himself to it, and the frustration and anger was all that he had to give at the moment.

“On the bed,” he commanded, his tone cold and unwavering.

“What if I refuse?” Daenera challenged.

A sardonic smile curled Aemond’s lips, revealing his teeth like vicious fangs. “Do you truly wish to find out?”

“Seems the whorehouses got you all riled up. Maybe you should find more… obedient company there,” Daenera taunted, her voice laced with playful mockery.

A half-laugh, half-squeal escaped her lips as Aemond swiftly tossed her onto the bed. He seized her hips, flipping her over onto her stomach. His strong hands found the discarded eyepatch, and he used the leather strap to bind her wrists together behind her back. Daenera let out an audible exhale, attempting to blow her disheveled curls out of her face as she craned her neck to catch a glimpse of him.

Aemond, with purposeful movements, lifted off the bed and tugged at her ankle, pulling her closer to the edge. Her nightgown rode up, unveiling the plump, flawless expanse of her buttocks. He widened her legs with a nudge, exposing her glistening cunt, her thighs coated with traces of her arousal. The alluring scent of her desire hung heavy in the air, mingling with the natural fragrance of her skin, a fresh citrusy aroma complemented by sweet floral notes.

“Would you look at that,” Aemond purred, the rough pads of his fingers trailing up her inner thigh. Her body quivered in anticipation beneath his touch, a shiver of goosebumps rising on her skin. His satisfaction grew with every reaction he provoked. With firm hands he kneaded the supple flesh of her buttocks, parting them briefly before letting go. Her needy cunt throbbed, and he could feel her hips twitching in response.

“Your cunt is practically sobbing with need,” Aemond observed, his fingers gently parting her folds. Her desperate moan filled the room as her slick walls clenched around nothing but the tantalizing anticipation.

“ Aemond ,” her voice carried both a plea and a demand.

“Tell me what you are,” he teased, fully aware of the torment he was inflicting on her. It was but a fraction of what she had inflicted upon him for months . His one-eyed gaze shifted from her wet cunt to her face, noting the tightly sealed lips and teeth sinking into the swollen flesh. “Tell me what you are and beg .”

Daenera scoffed, her defiance palpable. “I will make you beg –”

Aemond’s fingers ghosted through her slick folds, a delicate touch meant to withhold gratification. It teased her senses, promising pleasure without delivering it. “What was that?”

“I–” Daenera began, but her words were cut off as Aemond’s fingers descended to the bundle of nerves he had grown so familiar with. The pad of his finger pressed into the sensitive flesh, and her hands clenched into fists, straining against the leather restraints. With a low curse, she buried her face in the sheets and let out a frustrated growl.

“It’s a simple request,” Aemond hummed, his fingers tracing slow, torturous circles on her sensitive nub. Her legs quivered, and her back arched, hips rising to meet his teasing touch. He gauged the pressure carefully, keeping her on the edge of release.

As she finally caught her breath, she let out an exasperated huff. “ Fuck … The whores must have really gotten under your skin.”

A surge of anger shot through Aemond, searing bolt that sliced between his ribs. In response, his hand landed on her quivering ass cheek with a resounding smackm the sound echoing through the room. Her body jolted in surprise, and the flesh of her ass turned a vivid shade of red. Aemond’s palm stung, but it only fueled his satisfaction. He delivered another sharp slap, harder this time, and Daenera groaned, her hands pulling against the restraints as her body rocked forward. Aemond struck her once more, ensuring the imprint of his hand was emblazoned upon her ass.

He watched as the walls of her cunt clenched around empty air, her arousal trickling down her thighs and dripping from her core. “What are you?”

“A whore,” Daenera answered, her voice slightly muffled by the sheets.

“What was that?”

“I am a whore,” she admitted, her defiance crumbling as she released a ragged breath. “ Please. ”

Aemond kneaded the red flesh of her ass, attempting to soothe the sting she undoubtedly felt. He let his cock brush against her soaked folds, rubbing up and down the length of her slit. Daenera writhed under his touch, her spine arching as he allowed the head of his cock to shallowly dip into her. A shudder went through her body.

“ Please, Aemond ,” she mewled, her voice breathless with desire.

With a swift, decisive movement, Aemond buried himself deep with her slick heat, surrendering to the irresistible pull of her velvety walls that clamped around him, urging him to stay. She stretched out for him, taking in every inch he graced her with as he pressed into her, each stroke deliberate and unrelenting. He thrust into her with abandon, hips snapping against hers with precision, eliciting soft gasps with each forceful movement.

His strong hands clamped onto her hips with a vice, fingers digging into the supple flesh, leaving his marks. With each vigorous thrust, her feet lost traction on the stone floor, slipping slightly. The room filled with the rhythmic symphony of flesh meeting flesh, intensified by the lewd, wet sounds of her needy core enveloping him again and again. Daenera’s passionate moans harmonized with the sound, her body arching to match Aemond’s relentless pace.

“You’re my little whore,” Aemond sneered, relinquishing one hand from her hip to seize the nape of her neck, pushing her further into the mattress and holding her in place as he ravaged her with relentless fervor.

His muscles coiled and rippled beneath his skin, as he worked them with expertly control. Each sharp snap of his hips was the crack of a whip, each thrust a swing of the sword.

“I–I am your little whore,” Daenera choked out, her voice trembling with submission and pleasure. Her hands opened and closed, as if pleading with him for release.

Her inner walls fluttered around his pulsing cock, sending a shiver coursing down Aemond’s spine. Beads of sweat formed on the back of his neck, glistening as they descended his chest. He panted heavily, thrusting into her as if this were his sole purpose in life. His determination to fill her with every drop of seed consumed him entirely–and her cunt seemed obliged to take it.

“Please–I’m close,” she whimpered.

Aemond hissed, the relentless grip of her tightening cunt pushing him to his limit. His pace showed no mercy, each withdrawal followed by a powerful thrust back into her. Daenera let out a quivering breath, her body yielding as he thrust into her again and again. Aemond adjusted his angle, targeting that special spot that made her eyes flutter with pleasure, his balls rhythmically slapping against her clit with each snap of his hips.

Her fluttering intensified, and she released a loud, resonant moan as her inner muscles clamped down around him. A wave of pleasure cashed over Aemond, forcing him to thrust forcefully into her as he emptied his seed into her eager womb. He continued his thrusts, extending their pleasure. She sorbed every drop of him, her cunt slick with their combined fluids. As he drew out of her half-heartedly, a trickle of seed released, dripping onto the floor.

Aemond stilled, his breaths coming in ragged pants as he loosened his grip on her. He remained inside of her for a moment, her climax-induced tremors making her cunt continue to flutter.

With a hiss, he withdrew from her, wiping the sweat from his chin. He watched as her cunt tightened slightly, a small trickle of his seed escaping her. Running his hand along her folds, he pushed his seed back inside her; he had no intention of letting her waste a single drop. She squirmed from the over stimulation, mewling breathlessly, her legs trembling as they hung limply over the edge of the bed.

Aemond reached up and deftly undid the ties of his leather eye patch, freeing Daenera’s hands. She quickly adjusted her arms, finding a more comfortable position.

A sudden wave of repulsion twisted in Aemond’s gut, compelling him to walk towards the flagon of water, his throat feeling parched. He poured himself a cup, lifting his gaze to look through the window. The night was still, the moon hanging low.

“You never answered me,” Daenera’s voice cut through the silence.

Aemond turned to face her, a coldness etched upon his features. “I have no need for a whore when I have you, do I?”

Daenera shot him an intense glare, her cheeks aflame with color. Her dark hair clung to her skin as she straightened up, her brows furrowing with irritation.

“I am not as depraved as my brother,” Aemond continued, tearing his eye away from her to gaze upon the moon. Clouds littered the sky, yet the moon had found a weakness in their formation.

Daenera didn’t hold back, her words pointed and accusatory. “You’re having an affair with a married woman behind her husband’s back. You stuffed your cock down my throat, then tied my hands behind my back and took me from behind, all while degrading me, calling me a whore.”

Aemond retorted with bitterness, “You sought me out. You initiated this. What does that make you?”

“I think you’ve made it pretty clear what that makes me,” Daenera replied, her gaze locked with his. She rose from the bed and approached him, her movements gentle but not unassuming. She reached out towards him, but he intercepted her hand, gripping her wrist firmlin and restraining it just out of reach.

Her eyes swept across his features, searching his face as she sought answers to his mood.

“You’re not your brother,” Daenera asserted, a sincerity in her voice that felt like a rare glimpse of truth in their tangled web of intrigue. “And you’re not depraved like him. There’s a difference between being depraved and this .”

Aemond found himself questioning her certainty. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because true depravity is sickening,” she murmured, “and this feels… different .”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. Aemond loosened his grip, allowing her hand to slip away. She turned, gracefully walking towards the water basin to clean herself.

“You were waiting for me,” Aemond observed, casually selecting an apple from the bountiful bowl of fruit adorning the table. With a knife in hand, he deftly pierced the crisp apple’s flesh, taking a satisfying bite while his gaze remained fixed on Daenera as she cleaned herself.

As Daenera meticulously washed away the remnants of their recent intertwinement, the wet cloth gliding sensuously between her thighs, the muscles in her back rippled gracefully beneath her flawless skin, the soft curve of her ass still bearing a rosy hue from their passionate encounter.

“I was feeling rather bored,” she admitted, an amused note in her tone.

Aemond’s brows arched ever so slightly, the smirk playing on his lips growing more pronounced. “So, you sought entertainment here.”

Daenera continued her cleansing ritual, the amusement spreading as a smile on her lips. Her eyes landed on Aemond.

“Believe it or not,” she began, her tone dripping with wry humor, “but conversing with you proves far more stimulating than exchanging words with my husband.”

Aemond shrugged half-heartedly as he cut off another chunk of the apple. “Well, I can’t say we’re known for our riveting conversations.”

“I’ve found that I don’t mind your silence,” Daenera confessed, lip curling as she brushed a lock of her from her face with the back of her wrist. “ Nothaving a conversation with you is more stimulating that having one with my husband.”

An unsettling stirring churned within Aemond’s chest, a relentless wave of emotions he’d prefer to deny. He couldn’t but watch her, his solitary eye tracing every delicate curve of her form.

His grip on the half-eaten apple and the knife tightened for a moment, as he cut another piece and brought it to his lips, letting the sweetness of the apple fill his mouth and mask the dryness that had suddenly found its way into his mouth, before placing the items onto the side table of the bed. Then, with a heavy sigh, he lowered himself onto the bed, leaning against the headboard.

A strange sense of unease coursed through Aemond as he observed her lift the hem of her nightgown. It was an unease that, upon closer inspection, seemed to be tinged with an unwelcome yearning. It made his heart strain his chest, and he averted his eye.

“You were reading,” he remarked, his tone carefully measured.

Daenera’s smile widened as she settled onto the bed, rolling onto her stomach and propping herself onto her elbows to look at him. “I find it curious how many books you possess pertaining to Old Valyria. It is odd for a Hightower, is it not?”

Aemond’s eye narrowed at her, and as he spoke, his voice was not without barbs. “And what do you read? Children's stories or have you crossed over to old wives tales?”

“Sometimes,” Daenera replied, allowing the barbs to caress over her skin without sinking in. “But I prefer scholarly books about plants, or if I fancy something different, books about history. I am currently reading about Harrenhal.”

“Baratheon must find it a relief to have a literate wife to read his letters for him.”

A scowl pulled at Daenera’s features as the barbs seemed to bite into her flesh. “My husband is not overjoyed to find that I have thoughts and opinions. I imagine he would prefer me to lay waiting in bed all day for him to stumble home to.”

A sharp smile formed on Aemond’s lips, and amusement found its way into his voice. “Hmm, I might have found something to have in common with Baratheon.”

Daenera’s laugh danced in the air as she inched closer to him. Her body gracefully folded over his, and she rested her chin upon her hands, which were placed delicately on his chest. The intimacy of their position was unmistakable, her warmth seeping through the thin fabric of her nightgown, caressing his skin with its gentle heat. Stands of her hair teased his flesh, her breath, warm and rhythmic, brushed against him.

He wondered briefly if she could feel his erratic heartbeat against her palms.

She gazed up at him, her eyes traversing his face with an intensity that felt like deliberate probing. It was as though she sought to dismantle his armor, leaving him exposed and vulnerable to her poison.

What unspoken words were dying on her tongue, not yet formed?

Her head tilted to the side in curiosity, and her delicate hand found its way to his face, her touch gentle yet burning as she traced the scar that ran from the top of his eyebrow down across his face marring the flesh. It felt as if her touch insight a fiery trail along his skin.

“Does it hurt still?” She murmured, her voice soft and filled with genuine curiosity.

For a brief, harrowing moment, Aemond was transported back to the blinding pain of that fateful day when his eye had been so viciously torn from his skull. He could almost taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, feel the scorching agony that had seared through him, and see the world being drowned in a crimson haze.

The vivid memory of that excruciating pain flooded his mind, accompanied by the gruesome image of blood coating his vision until everything had been consumed by its relentless tide. He recalled how his own blood had felt like molten iron, scalding and boiling as it poured down his face.

Aemond’s fingers clamped around her hand, pulling it away from his face with a grip that was tighter than necessary. He stared at her with a piercing intensity, his thoughts consumed by a suspicion that she was playing some kind of game with him.

She sat up in bed, her gaze fixed on him, a perplexed frown knitting her eyebrows together. Her hand reached out again, but Aemond swiftly evaded her touch, his grip on her wrist becoming almost bruising. She winced, but his anger eclipsed any concern he might have had for her discomfort.

What was her motive? Why was she punishing him like this? Why did she insist on bringing up the past?

“Why must you insist on ruining everything?” Aemond’s voice rumbled, thick with anger and frustration.

“You’re still angry,” Daenera observed calmly, her tone tinged with sadness.

Aemond’s glare bore into her, a seething storm of resentment and bitterness. “Is it not understandable that I harbor a grudge, given that your brother was responsible for taking my eye? Should it really come as a surprise that I haven’t forgotten or forgiven it? Tell me, would you react any differently?”

Daenera’s scrutinizing gaze seemed to pierce through him, akin to how the dagger had sliced through his eye. Her searing gaze made him feel exposed, vulnerable, and it only fueled his anger further.

Agonizing pain radiated from his missing eye, clawing its way through his skull like a relentless, fiery serpent. It was as if lightning striking across the sky and splitting open the heavens, followed by the deafening, thunderous roar that echoed in the depths of his mind. The sensation was overpowering, every bit as intense as the day he had lost his eye, and it consumed him whole.

In the grip of his torment, he could hear the thunderous beat of his own blood coursing through his veins, a relentless reminder of the storm raging inside of him. Resentment festered within him, gnawing at his insides like a festering wound, and a prutrid sense of rot oozed through his every fiber. His mouth seemed to fill with it.

“I would,” she replied, her voice carrying a lightness that grated on his nerves.

As irritation began to smolder in his chest, Aemond couldn’t help but observe the way she regarded him. It was as if she was attempting to peel away his layers, to expose the hidden depths beneath that no one had ever seen. In the past, she had looked at him with wary apprehension or outright contempt, things had been simpler. It had been easy to embrace the monstrous image she had of him, one he accepted for himself. It was better to be a monster than being pitied. But that gentle gaze, now attempting to breach his defenses, offered no guarantee that it wouldn’t inflict deeper wounds in its wake. He was all too aware that it could be a cunning ruse, a mere strategy to burrow beneath his skin before administering a lethal dose of poison.

–A poison so sweet he almost longed for it. It would be easier to hate her.

Aemond had learned the hard way to be wary of those who showed kindness. He had no intention to fall victim to their deceit. His words echoed her words cautiously, “You would?”

“Of course I would,” Daenera replied, her tone both honest and exasperated. “You know I would. But you also have to admit that you were planning to bash my brother’s head in with a rock.”

Aemond bared his teeth and averted his gaze, as venom filled his mouth. “I would have. I might still do it. Take one brother’s eye, bash another one’s head in. You have so many to choose from.”

Her response was swift and fierce, a slap to his cheek that stung like that of a wasp sting. All the vulnerability she had previously displayed now transformed into fury, widening her eyes and contorting her lips into a sneer.

“Why must you ruin this?” Daenera sprain up from the bed, hastily adjusting the neckline of her dress to shield her exposed skin as if he wasn’t familiar with every inch of her.

“Did you really think I would just forgive and forget? That you spreading your legs for me would somehow absolve what your brother did to me?” Aemond’s anger was fueled by more than just the loss of his eye; it was the excruciating pain, the humiliation her brothers had inflicted, and the subsequent rejection and resentment she had caused. The dark, vengeful part of him longed to hurt her in the same way they had hurt him.

“No,” Daenera sneered back. “But I did think you’d be capable of taking responsibility for your own actions.”

“I would have bashed your brother’s head in,” Aemond spat at her, now inches from her. “I will admit to that. And had I received the justice I deserved, your brother would have had to put out his eye as compensation.”

Daenera mirrored his cruelty. “And here I thought you said losing your eye was worth gaining a dragon.”

“I should not have needed to pay for Vhagar with my eye. I rightfully claimed her. If my cousin had tried to claim her, she would have perished in the attempt,” Aemond insisted. He could tell by her expression that she knew he was right. “You know this.”

Aemond pressed on, his voice filled with frustration and bitterness. “I didn’t deserve to be mutilated, and I didn’t deserve to be blamed for it. Your brother faced no punishment, and I received no justice.”

No, all he received was disdain and blame. Only his mother had truly cared about his suffering and had been willing to take justice into her own hands. His father had never given him a second glance, and after he lost his eye, Viserys could only muster displeasure when looking at him. The scar, a permanent reminder of his ordeal, was a topic no one dared to let fade into oblivion, yet no one dared to speak about it openly. They refused to let him forget it, and in return, he clung to his anger as tightly as the last thread of sanity.

“You tend to your resentment and bitterness as if they were delicate blooms in a carefully tended garden,” Daenera remarked, rubbing her forehead before wrapping her arms around herself. “You nurture your hatred and feed your anger.”

“Don’t pretend you’re any different,” Aemond retorted sharply. “You’re not so innocent in all of this. We’re not so different, you and I.”

He pushed aside her hair, then cradled her head in his hand. His fingers stretched from the nape of her neck to the front of her throat, and his thumb rested on her pulse. He felt her swallow, her lips pressed together as she stared at him. “You were well aware of who I am. You knew of my hatred for your brothers. Yet, you chose to give yourself to me.”

She glared at him, her gaze sharp enough to cut through stone. He had made no effort to hide his anger towards her brothers or the events those years ago, he had not masked his monstrousness or what he could be capable of. He did not pretend.

It was clear they would never see eye to eye on this matter.

She inhaled deeply through her nose and closed her eyes. And as she released her breath, it seemed as if her frustration ebbed away, slipping through her fingers like dissipating smoke. Her eyes fluttered open, and she leaned into his hand. The gesture felt intimate, almost submissive. It quelled the flames of his anger, leaving only a lingering warmth beneath his skin. He found himself lowering his forehead to gently touch hers. It wasn’t an apology, as he had done no wrong, but rather an unspoken acknowledgement.

“Come back to bed,” she whispered, her fingers entwining with his as she tugged him gently.

He should have resisted, should have pushed her away, leaving irreversible scars on her soul. But he allowed her to lead him back, allowing the last remnants of his anger to slip through his fingers.

Daenera nestled against his chest, her index finger tracing slow circles over the bare skin of his chest.

“It does,” Aemond found himself confessing, and she lifted her head to gaze upon his face. “It hurts. There’s rarely a moment when I can’t feel it. It throbs, aches with the ghostly pain of the blade. Sometimes, it becomes unbearable, and it feels as if I’m losing it all over again. Even a simple brush of leather can turn it excruciating.”

Her eyes widened slightly, her brows lifting in concern. The finger that had been tracing his chest halted its journey just short of his scar. “I hurt you?”

Aemond let out a breath that was part chuckle and part sigh. “Sometimes.”

During all those months when he had watched her from a distance, nursing his resentment, the pain had been relentless and excruciating. It was as if the mere absence of her soothing touch had intensified the injury.

While her touch, as before, could intensify the pain, it more often than not soothed it.

It left him feeling strangely unsettled, as if his entire existence hung by a single, excruciating thread, and then she gently wove a thousand threads around it, providing relief from his torment. Yet, those threads remained subject to her mercy, easily severed to plunge him back into a world of agony.

He wondered if it would be better to suffer, than to know the absence of the suffering.

“I am sorry,” she murmured, and Aemond felt an unexpected warmth spread through him, as if her words eased the tension in his muscles.

Her blue eye shifted to his sapphire one. “It’s as if you hole the entire night sky in your eye. As if it harbors clusters of constellations just waiting to be discovered.”

Oh, how sweet her poison was.

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