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helaelaemond · 4 months

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The Princes and I - Daemon/Aemond/Reader

Pairing: Daemon x Aemond x she/her AFAB reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: Daemon is an old lover of yours. He invites you to spend some time with him and his new lover, his nephew Prince Aemond.

Content warning(s): canon-typical incest (uncle/nephew), brief mentions of brother/sister incest, brief mentions of uncle/niece incest

INCLUDES: oral (m receiving, f receiving), fingering (m receiving, f receiving), breast worship, vaginal sex (f receiving), anal sex (m receiving). Top!Aemond, bottom!Daemon

Masterlist

With a smile, Daemon opened the door to his chambers. He was flushed under the collar and his ears were red and he was happy, and the sight of you in his doorway almost made him laugh in delight.

“My lady,” he greeted you fondly. He let go of Aemond’s hand so that he could take both of yours and kiss your cheek. You so warm.

“My prince,” you replied with a sly smile. “I do hope I am not disturbing you.”

“Certainly not.” He pulled back only slightly, and couldn’t stop himself from pulling you closer by the waist. “Thank you for joining us.”

For a moment, you closed your eyes and tilted your chin up until your nose brushed his, and your smile was one of satisfaction. “Thank you for inviting me.”

It was you who broke the touch first. With your hands in his, fingers stroking the worn skin around his knuckles, you pulled back to look at Aemond by his side. Your smile did not fade. When your gazes met, his cheeks turned pink.

“Nephew, this is an old friend of mine. My lady, this is Aemond.”

Despite trying to comb his hair back in some semblance of dignity since Daemon had grasped it, some had fallen across Aemond’s eyes. He touched the sleeve of his tunic and blinked. The sapphire in place of a missing eye glinted in the firelight “It is an honour to meet you, my lady.”

“The honour is mine, my prince. I have wished to meet you for many years.” As introductions were made, Daemon gently tugged on your hands to bring you into the chambers, and the guards outside closed the doors. You were alone, shut away from the world. You would have peace.

He made a fuss of you, unclasping the velvet cloak from your throat to reveal the soft dress beneath. Daemon thought of you when he smelled lavender, and you wore the scent now. And the colour. After setting your cloak on a table close to the door, he drank in the sight of you. The purple dress was almost sheer, soft and light and floating about you like a spring breeze. Your arms and shoulders were bare and on your skin, constellations of freckles splashed from head to toe. The slits of the dress were as high as your waist, allowing him glimpses of your strong thighs. The neckline was plunging and about your neck, you wore a sparkling gem set into silver.

Aemond wore the dragon pin Daemon had procured him. You wore the eagle pendant he had bought. He bit his lip as he looked between you, trying not to grin.

“You are most kind,” Aemond said stiffly. His lips had gone thin and pale as his uncle had revealed more of your skin, run his hands over you in light touches. You watched as he bit the inside of his cheek.

“I hear many great tales of you,” you mused with a gentle laugh. Your hair shifted like starlight as your head moved to the side. “By all rights, you ought to be a knight. Or perhaps the heir to a king.”

“Don’t forget yourself,” Daemon chided you. Softening his words, though, he ran his knuckles up your arm and to the chain around your neck. He touched the old gift, before ghosting his fingers in remembrance of how he used to choke you.

Turning to look at him, mere inches from your face, you licked your lips and smiled. “I do not forget myself, my prince. I am merely humbled to be before two such great men. Two Targaryens, gods among men."

Daemon snorted. "I never much appreciated the honey on your tongue. But how skilled you are with it when you do not speak."

"You wound me," you replied with a raised brow, scarcely able to hide your grin. "And you lie. If you truly believed what you say, you would have tired of me many seasons ago. But still, after all these years, you call me to your side."

He couldn't resist kissing you deeply then. The intensity of it took your breath away - his fingers clutched the silver around your neck and yanked you closer, while his tongue pressed hungrily to the inside of your teeth. "You're not my only friend now," he grunted between kisses. "Are you going to be my nephew's friend, too?"

After a long moment, you pushed Daemon away with heavily lidded eyes. You glanced over at the young prince, and held out your hand. He took it hesitantly. “Any friend of my prince's is a friend of mine, Aemond. I think you quite dear to him, and I’m glad to finally make your acquaintance.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed as the introductions began to shed their formalities, and he echoed the words back to you. He offered you wine and you accepted. Daemon watched you interact so easily and quickly. He watched how Aemond raked his eyes over you, and saw the tell-tale signs of how much he was beginning to enjoy you. Liked looking at you. Being near you. It mingled with the lust still rushing through his veins.

The evening was slipping into night. Outside, though, it was still warm and the clear sky twinkled with a hundred thousand stars. Daemon followed his lovers, past and present, out onto the balcony and took with him a goblet of wine. On the wide patio were soft sofas and deep chairs and you and Aemond had chosen to sit opposite each other. He took a chair, and you took a sofa. Daemon leaned over Aemond and kissed him long and slow before settling on the sofa next to you. From the way he shifted in the chair, Daemon knew it had done nothing to soften Aemond’s desire. He watched him as he took a sip of wine, imagining him riding his cock on this very sofa.

But then he looked at you whose gaze was on the stars, and Aemond was replaced with you. How pretty you used to look atop him, riding him and taking your pleasure from him however you liked. You were such a bright soul; it made it all the more enjoyable to see you enjoy yourself with him however you liked. He got to see a side of you that few others did.

His robes were soft and did not hide his desire. When you looked at him, it did not escape your notice. The corner of your lips twitched but you didn’t remark upon it. Given your state of dress, you had come to his rooms with your own expectations.

“Aemond,” you said, tearing your eyes away from the hungry gaze of Daemon, “won’t you tell me the tale of how you came to Dragonstone? There are many rumours as to why - I am curious of the truth.”

Aemond leaned back in his chair and told the tale of his assignment to Dragonstone following the death of Viserys to keep the peace. You listened curiously. When it came to the matter of him essentially being held hostage, he looked to Daemon for reassurance. Settled comfortably back in cushions and enjoying the sound of his lover’s voice, Daemon had nodded slightly. You were discreet and trustworthy.

“How curious,” you remarked with interest after a while. “There were many who assumed your brother would take up arms against the Queen.”

Daemon smirked. “It is astounding what loyalty a few nights in my bed can inspire, isn't it, nephew?”

On the chair across from you, Aemond blushed deeply.

“And how did it come to be that you… found one another?”

“The queen introduced us. She, ah…” Daemon hesitated, and glanced over at Aemond. He inclined his head once, granting permission. “Would you really like to know?”

Smiling, you nodded.

Daemon moved closer on the sofa to you until he was almost behind you. Aemond’s gaze burned into you as he ghosted his lips across your shoulder. He left a whispering kiss on your neck and breathed against your ear. “I found him in Rhaenyra’s lap, full of the queen's fingers and cock untouched, almost mewling. He looked so pretty, so wanton. I couldn’t refuse when he almost begged for me.”

Your eyes closed. Your hand grasped his thigh, air suddenly stolen from your lungs. “Is that so?”

“You should see him, my lady. He is so perfect when he is given what he needs.”

“I’m sure.”

“What do you need?”

Pulling away slightly, you looked back at him. “More than a few pretty words.”

Daemon knew how to work you. Soft conversations, kind words, compliments, gentle touches. They filled the evening with them. Aemond stayed where he was, content to watch for now. He was a quick learner.

“My prince,” you moaned softly. Daemon had stripped you bare and laid you on his bed and settled between your legs. How he had missed it here! His mouth found its place on your breast and he teased your nipple with his teeth and tongue. You never tired of the attention; you loved it. You sighed and scraped your nails over his scalp. Silver hair slipped through your fingers. “Yes.”

Aemond hesitated at the foot of the bed. He wanted to watch, but he wanted to feel, too. Something about seeing your neck arch and thighs tremble just from the attention on your nipple had him leaking through his breeches, though, and just a touch of your speckled skin would be too much.

Daemon sucked harder and teased your other nipple between long fingers. He pressed his knee hard between your legs and you swore. Immediately you found a rhythm against his knee and thigh and as he lavished attention on your chest, you chased your first orgasm.

Aemond watched as you threw your head back and the intensity overtook you. Your whole body writhed and your legs shook and you pressed Daemon’s face tighter against you. Before you had the chance to come back down, he slid down your body and buried his mouth between your thighs.

Aemond let out a soft and strained noise. He couldn’t see his lover’s lips against their guest but he could taste you in your mind. He could imagine how slick you were against Daemon’s chin and how your clit throbbed against his tongue. You grasped your breasts and pressed your nipples between your fingers in an echo of Daemon’s ministrations. You came quickly a second time.

After, Daemon kissed your mouth and let you taste yourself on him. It made you laugh, made you wrap your arms around his neck. He stroked your cheek and whispered something soft to you. You nodded and kissed him one more time before letting him go.

“Aemond,” he called out smugly. “Come to me, my prince.”

It was strange, but Aemond didn't much mind the sarcastic tone his uncle had whenever he used his title.

You had stripped Aemond of his tunic but he had stopped you before you could unlace his trousers. He did not want you to think he would demand something of you that you weren't willing to give. But now he was half-mad with the need for both of you. For his uncle, for his lady. He heeded Daemon’s call.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Daemon murmured as he got up from the bed. He wore nothing but a smile and he took Aemond’s sharp face into his hands.

“Yes,” came the whispered reply.

“Do you want her?”

He looked at you with glittering eyes. He could cry for how badly he did. But you were here for Daemon, not him. “How could anyone not?”

“Taste her, nephew.”

Your hair was fanned out around your head and shifted between starlit hues. You looked over at him with longing but asked nothing of him. He was here for Daemon, not you.

“I would taste you, uncle.” He flushed when he whispered it. “Please?”

The way they kept calling each other uncle and nephew was filthy. It made your cunt throb.

The kiss Daemon gave him was deep and needy. Aemond sucked on his tongue and bit his lip and sank to his knees. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as he took Daemon into his mouth with devotion in his eye that was absolute. Daemon dropped his head back and groaned. His fingers roughly grasped Aemond’s hair. Purple eye closed; blue sparkled.

Without taking your eyes off the couple, you got up from the bed and took your place behind Daemon. His strong body was so familiar to you and as Aemond worshipped his cock, you touched every part of him that you could reach. Oil had been on the edge of the bed and without needing to think, you slicked three fingers and slipped two against his entrance. You kissed the seam between his shoulder and neck and he nodded, eyes closed.

“Go on,” he demanded of you. Without needing to be told again, you pressed inside of him. He was so warm and tight about your fingers and you buried them to the knuckle. Every time he clenched thanks to Aemond’s ministrations, you smiled against his skin.

It was impossible to see where Aemond had him in his mouth, but the noises were obscene. Wet and slippery and mingled with moans from both of them, grunts from Daemon and hums from Aemond, you nearly came from the sounds alone. But you held on.

Daemon’s orgasm swept through him with a warning to his lovers. Aemond swallowed him greedily. He needed barely a moment to catch his breath before he stood up and kissed Daemon deeply. You peeked over his shoulder to watch them. It seemed as if Aemond had grown half a foot since the evening had begun. His confidence turned him to a giant.

When the kisses, hot and needy and desperate, ended, you gently pulled your fingers from his body and felt eyes watching you. Aemond was so close now, you could see every fleck of starlight in his eye. The depths of it made you curious and you blinked. He blushed again.

“Aemond,” you whispered. His lips parted as if the air had been knocked from him, as if the world had stopped.

“Isn’t he a wonder?” Daemon said with satisfaction. Aemond’s gaze darted to him and softened, and he welcomed another kiss greedily. Slender fingers ran up Daemonr’s back and into his hair. You watched with fire in your belly, between your legs.

When you stepped back towards the bed, Daemon stopped you. He turned and grasped your hand and pulled you to them so you all shared an embrace. The air between you was thick and all you could think of was how your skin was pressed against Aemond’s pretty chest, his strong stomach. Hesitant hands almost traced the curved planes of his muscles, but instead, they found their place on Daemon, familiar Daemon, demanding Daemon.

“You look so beautiful when you come,” you told him. “I missed the noises you make.”

He laughed and leaned down and kissed you. You could almost taste Aemond on him. You smiled against his mouth. Your hand traced down his stomach between his legs and found him half hard again.

“I want you inside me, my prince.”

“How much do you want me inside you?”

You took his hand and pressed it against your cunt and he slipped his fingers between your swollen lips. You bit your lip. “I am aching for you.”

A noise came from the back of his throat. “Bend over the bed. I would like to have you while Aemond has me.”

You looked up with a smug grin. "You like him having you?"

Daemon gave Aemond an appreciative squeeze between his legs. "You would not believe how well his cock fills me up."

Aemond kissed his neck and sucked until Daemon had lost nearly all thought. He would be marked by morning.

You took the hand that was not around Aemond's cock and led Daemon back to the bed. “I would look upon your face.” You lay back and spread your legs for him.

His mouth watered to see you flushed red and spread wide for him, so slick and needy. He nodded and took his cock in hand. It slid through your folds and he pressed the head to grind across your clit and your eyes rolled back. You murmured words of encouragement before shifting your hips up in a silent beg for him to slip inside of you.

The moment he pressed forward, he felt Aemond line up behind him. Strong arms wrapped around him from behind and fingers splayed across his chest. Aemond was dripping with seed and oil and with Daemon's hole already smooth from your ministrations, he was more than ready. The delight of your pressure welcomed him when he moved forward, and Aemond’s hardness stimulated him when he pressed back.

You moved slowly at first to find their rhythm. Daemon moaned the name of both of his lovers.

Then you begged to be fucked. Aemond thought of fucking you. Daemon thought of being fucked by both of you. Aemond was the first to change the pace. He slammed into Daemon and felt how his uncle clenched around him. He did it again, and again, and again, until it was a brutal rhythm that had you all panting, your groans mingling, names spilling from lips in a haze of delight and lust.

“Aemond,” you begged. You were getting close. You reached blindly for his hand and found it on Daemon's back and your fingers laced together.

Daemon’s hand ground against your clit and he leaned down to bite your nipple and suck your sensitive ear. When his head was pressed against your neck, you caught Aemond’s gaze. You held it when you came with high moans and hoarse shouts. You raked your nails down Daemon’s back who quickly followed. Aemond let himself go on Daemon’s back with Daemon’s hand grasping back against his thigh.

After, Aemond stumbled to fetch water and cloths before collapsing in sated sleepiness onto the bed. You and Daemon, satisfied and floating, cleaned one another and he gently wiped Aemond. Aemond shuffled up the bed and slipped under the covers and with Aemond at his side, he drifted off to sleep.

“He really is quite beautiful,” you whispered after a time. “Does he always sleep in your bed?”

Daemon smirked. "When he pleases me."

"And how often is that?"

"Most nights."

"What of the queen?"

"She likes to join us sometimes. Sometimes, she brings Aegon. A pathetic little thing, really, but so obedient." He kissed you and sucked on your lower lip until it made you moan. "You would enjoy him."

You grinned. "There are only so many Targaryens I can handle at once. I think two is my limit." You watched as Daemon's gaze turned to his sleeping nephew. A man grown, he was, but there was something innocent in the peace that had relaxed his scarred face as he slept.

It did not escape your notice how tenderly Daemon looked down at him. It was an expression you had not often seen him wear. Perhaps Aemond was more than just his play-thing. Carefully, so as not to disturb the young prince, you got up and began to pull your clothes back on.

“Where are you going?” Daemon asked somewhat indignantly.

“I thought you might prefer some privacy.”

“Don't be ridiculous." He pulled back the bedsheets at the other side of Aemond. "Get in. Stay."

"Are you certain?"

He rolled his eyes. "Get in."

"And in the morning?"

"I'm going to watch him fuck you until you cry."

You looked over at Daemon with a raised brow. "Is that so?"

"It certainly is. Now, go to sleep. You will need your strength."

Resting your head on the soft pillow, you looked directly in front of you. Aemond lay sleeping between the two of you, and you could see every line, every eyelash, every freckle on his face. You blushed and buried your head into his hair as you tried to sleep. The thought of what was to come with the dawn kept you awake for a long time, though.

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ichxbod · 2 years

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Queen of the vilebloods | Aemond and Daemon

Previous: Omen / next:

Tags: canon incest, description of wounds and scars, mention of sexual scenarios, insinuation of sex?, hint of dub-con (it is only thought), narrated in third person from Aemond's perspective.

Word count: 4600.

A/N: God, it's been a long time coming. Sorry for the wait, more than half of the draft was lost and I have a very bad memory so I didn't feel it looked as good as the first version.

Side note, this will slowly get more AU, in case that bothers anyone.

For any mistakes, sorry. English is not my first language

01: Tales of old, the night unfurls.

«Like a dark stain on his family doomed to chaos and chaos, Aemond knew that he had always been the most focused of them all, the least flawed part in sight.

His brother was an absolute bane. Lost in his mediocrity; faint-hearted. The idea that he, of all people, had to remind him why marrying his sister was the right way to go had driven a wedge between them from his own side of the bond, cracking it. Not only did Aegon not deserve the throne his mother wanted so badly to force down his throat, Aegon didn't even want it.

Aemond thought for the first time while he could still reason his uncle's actions that night, a man who had only been shaped by stories and gossip behind thin walls had taken shape into something to admire, the desire to emulate that in years to come would become a yearning to surpass.

Aemond was close to Daemon for far more reasons than he first through».

When the day Aemond lost his left eye happened, the resolution that came with the end of the night was far more full of advantage than misfortune.

The pain was cumbersome, crawling through his senses and making his skull seem to fracture in spasms of acute suffering. The inherent lack of one of his eyes was an anxiety that came and went in the pit of his stomach, the pulsing of his blood clutching his throat shut and building gagging; it was a dead spot, an empty socket and a tattered eyelid of flesh that they had had to pull together so that the damage would not be greater.

Even with all this, Aemond found himself with a feverish spirit burning beneath his flesh. The dragon was his, it had responded to him, an eye for it seemed a fair price to pay, it had to be a fair price to pay.

He would accurately recall that thought process as the night wore on and he secluded himself amidst the rough stone steps, the thought of Daemon's presence settling in his mind, the unique possibility of discovering what had been his irrepressible quest ever since he could roam the castle without safety. It was why, when he followed the man once he appeared in his field of view, with utter stupidity and recklessness, that Daemon's hiding behind one of the crosses and pulling him by the collar of his robe until he choked him slightly by the way he lifted him was hardly predictable, foolishly expected.

— I wonder why your mother allows you to wander, being unwell — Daemon says, he's smiling thinly in a gesture that doesn't reach his eyes. Aemond swallows the verbal vomit he can feel running in boiling anger, struggling to resist the urge to revolt, knowing that he will not succeed in freeing himself and will only be one more weight in a growing humiliation.

— I am not an invalid — he splutters, his mouth twitching in disgust at having to raise his head to look the other man in the face; Daemon does not seem perturbed at all.

— Perhaps not — his uncle reasons, examining the scandalous construction of his wound—. But that, Aemond. That surely requires you to rest.

The younger man is silent, not knowing what to add. Daemon doesn't really have anything more to say but the younger of the two can still feel the firm grip on his robes, treating him like the unruly offspring of some feline.

His uncle methodically searches his face for something, despite his growing anger and pent-up resentment at everything his mother has said, Aemond clutches at the pain that emerges from his face to keep himself still.

— I find it... Almost offensive — Daemon mutters, smiles a little even. Despite the sunken look in his eyes, he doesn't seem too saddened by the death of a woman who, in his mother's words, suffered through the whole process —. A Prince should not be a vassal appointed to such a vulgar task as spying and following.

— I am here of my own free will — Aemond responds immediately, the offence to his mother creeping under the older man's words making him squirm, not even surprised when he finds an even firmer grip —. I was just curious, to know where he would go before he left.

Daemon gives an appreciative murmur. He doesn't seem ready to let it go, and instead leans towards the young man, and looks over the place where both eyes should be; it doesn't seem morbid, something he will think of years later as another reason for the reluctant appreciation he has for the man's figure.

— Tell me, Aemond, how old are you? — Aemond grimaces, raising his head a little higher as his uncle rises to his full height again. The orange reflection of the lighting behind the man creates a shadow behind him —. You look old enough to have left the wet-nurse stories behind.

— I don't know what you're talking about — he cuts off immediately, wandering fear pushing against his throat.

— Because you haven't stopped looking at my neck, of course — Daemon continues matter-of-factly, smiling with a condescension that is sickening to him. Only at that statement does he realise that his own gaze is on the man's barely uncovered neck, and he immediately directs it to his shrewd eyes. he can feel the hot flush of embarrassment clinging to his cheeks.

— I think I'm still a bit young — he replies quickly in a heated manner, letting his embarrassment get the better of him —. How old was my sister Rhaenyra ten years ago?.

Before he can anticipate it, a choked groan escapes his throat as Daemon tugs at the collar of his robes until it gathers into a fist and pulls him in, choking him as his free hand holds him in a firm grip across the cheeks. He can feel Daemon's long fingers digging into the skin at the sides of his face as he pulls him close to his face.

He looks furious, nothing like the usual impish sneer, and, like a fear and strangeness at the speed of events, Aemond thinks - fear - for what he will do to him.

However, when Daemon opens his mouth to say something, he is interrupted by a noise coming from behind him, with some proximity. He lets Aemond go more calmly than he took it from the start, the mask of dull calmness returning to his face, a slight smile on his face.

— Take care of that — he says at last, pointing with a vague movement of his finger at the wound. Aemond can already see behind the man's back Ser Criston approaching them —. Worms are born in things like that overnight, nephew.

Once he was in his room, in the solitude of a place where his thoughts would echo loudly against the stone walls, Aemond would think that this encounter had marked the beginning of the twisted bond he and Daemon shared, one that would take too long for him to fully elucidate.

{…}

When the clarity of his illusions finally comes to him, it is by a chance he could never have imagined.

The catastrophe of that day is a horror passing in the background of his mind. The sight of Daemon chopping off that insolent man's head was the memory that stayed with him until Lucerys sickened his senses with the sickening memory of the incident with the pig, the ideas it brought to his tormented mind - the memory that he had never seen before.

But Aemond was adept at letting hatred, resentments and shortcomings fester in an unavailable part of his mind. So, with the euphoria that the memory of Vaemond Velaryon's head falling gracelessly and blood splattering near them, Aemond soaked in the euphoria at the image, a memory he could cherish for a while.

Even with it, a warning. Clear in the grandeur of its entirety as he stood ready to smash Lucerys' skull against the stone they walked upon until Daemon stood in the path between them.

It was something, perhaps the look, perhaps the very calmness of his image despite the implied threat that for a few seconds, Aemond was a young boy being held by the collar of his robes in an abandoned hallway. It was that which made him turn back and walk away.

Then, with the cumulus of all that night boiling against his senses, he finds something that was always there, something he never saw.

He is in a corridor woven on the way to Helaena's rooms, a silk curtain that was once red and by this time is green, the reflection of something shiny that his eye catches is what makes him look twice in that place and, more for the idea of someone hiding behind it is that he withdraws it suddenly, retreating at the sight of a door that was never there.

It must be a window - it was always a window - echoes in his mind and yet, even as his hope for that dream has faded over the years, he can't help but feel elated as he pulls the rusty knob, entering before he can consider the dangers.

It is a cramped room, smaller than any servant's and, in the centre, Aemond sees himself in a box that spans the vast majority of the wall. The sight of himself in motion pushes his heartbeat until it closes his throat. A dagger already rests in his hand at the thought of any danger.

A witch, if she is real'' The maid who had nursed him all his life had once said many years ago at his insistence on the subject, asking the woman about the taboo with which his mother treated anything of the sort. The maiden, sweet as she had always been, smiled looking him in the eye '' If you should find her, do not be afraid. I'm sure she'll be full of tricks.

Somehow, he found comfort in those words to approach the reflection, noticing then the glowing inscription on the reddish frame.

«I look at myself in the mirror that reflects you».

Before he could think of the possible dangers, Aemond dipped his toes into the reflection, feeling it like cold water as he sank into it.

Like an unreality out of one of the dreams he'd had, he found himself in a short corridor, the swift path his feet advanced in anticipation, the dreamed prize, the greatest longing of his years alive.

When he reached it, when he finally reached it the place was strange looking; the light that illuminated it was dull and reddish, reaching into the cornerless room behind the wide bars.

And there she was.

The woman looked the way he had always fantasised about her, the ecstasy of all his fantasies. Those unreadable shadows that had always accompanied his dreams and reveries. With that vague glimpse of her hair glowing in contrast against the flames of the fire, falling down her back as she sat there with the stylistically straight posture. There was something inherently impure about Aemond being able to see her like this, in her entirety, a sense of nakedness that prickled under his skin. The excitement bubbling inside his overheated blood, against his ever euphoric senses that he had tried so hard to undermine.

His eyes were covered, the strange mask interwoven with the headdress of his hair emulating what could only be the bizarre version of a crown. It was there that the light illuminated, leaving the rest of her face in shadow.

— Aemond Targaryen — he heard her for the first time, could feel her move, Aemond's feets moved and soon he was on the adjacent side of that secluded room, at the bars closest to the only exit she had; she followed the movement with her head, even though Aemond was sure she couldn't see him behind that piece of shining gold —. Prince Aemond.

— Lady — The prince responds, he can feel the ravenous desire burning in his senses to break through that grille, to push himself inside to be there. He had fantasised over the years about how he would act once he could hold her close, the innocence of his childhood prevailing in reveries more of admiration, the idea of just being able to look at her, the bastard hope of finding a love that was never given to him; those versions had morphed as he grew older, stained in the ink of pure vulgarity when in his deepest dreams that barrier no longer existed, he was within the confines of her isolation and there, with nowhere for her to go, she was his. His hands would clench into fists on the softness of her hips, he would tear with his teeth at the creamy expanse of her warm thighs and drink from her the pleasure his actions caused, he would thrust inside her when she was sated and fuck her with all the pent-up desire he had stored up for years.

— You've been insistent, prince — She says, bringing his mind back to the moment. She seems to hesitate for a moment, actually turning her covered eyes to the table in front of her, as if she might see or know of the open book in front of her before dismissing it, standing up, still not moving towards him, increasing his chaotic anxiety —. Very insistent to reach this empty place.

— Doesn't everyone who finds it have to show a little effort? — Aemond strains to keep his voice from betraying the confused anger he can feel, stinging beneath his chest.

She smiles, Aemond's lips open in silent exaltation at the free display of beauty, the ruddy lips an absolute provocation.

— No — she murmurs, cupping the skirts of her slightly translucent dress in her black hands, taking a couple of steps towards him —, No, prince. No one should be insistent about it. What must be given will be given; you will get what you need, not what you want.

— Daemon deserves it, then.

— Yes, he does — She immediately cuts off the outburst of his indignation, only making it grow —. He did, he does.

— Have I forced myself then into a place where I am not welcome? — he mumbles, can recognise in his own tone the threat of rising anger. The frantic thought of taking her by force is there, the idea of tearing down those damn bars and taking her out is less true to his ideals than he's always convinced himself it is.

— Tell me, prince, what is it that you want? — She moves a little further then, barely two metres from the fence. What did you want then, all those years ago —. There is nothing I can give you; there wasn't then, there isn't now, there won't be.

— I wished for you! — he replied in a tremulous voice, tapping his open palm on the perfectly preserved metal that divided them — Isn't that enough, I must want the council for a proper coup d'état against my own house?

— You wished the idea of me.

— And yet now, after so many years of searching it is here, in front of me, and I long for it even more than before.

They are both silent then, she still looks serene despite the storm that Aemond feels threatening under his skin. His altered breathing creates a slightly discordant sound with the ambience provided by the crackling of the wood burning inside the fire.

Aemond waits, his hand that had been holding one of the bars falls, sliding down the iron until it reaches the black stone knob, the reckless promise of an irresponsible act is thick in the air and whether for that or any other reason, she moves forward until she is finally close enough to stand face to face.

— Do you know what I am? — she asks. Aemond has had a vague idea of what he has formed from years of searching and overthinking, it is something on the tip of his tongue, but he denies —. Doesn't that frighten you?

— No — He answers quickly, sincere. Fear and caution for an implied threat shared in legends is made for men like Vicerys, driven by mental weakness, emotional overload —. Should it?

"Has Daemon done it?'' He echoes loudly though he does not say it, even though he is sure she knows the course of his mind.

— Come closer then, let me get to know the face of the only man I've ever let in.

He did not move, felt the quick construction of a confused grimace on his face. Despite the play of shadow and light in the poor illumination preventing him from seeing clearly anything other than his covered eyes, he thinks he knows that the corners of her mouth pull a little higher.

— You didn't deserve to come in here, prince — she repeats, Aemond is then much closer to the grille — It's not made for men like you are.... Nevertheless, I let you in.

Only then does she cut the distance that divides them, illuminating her whole face at last. There is an inherent feeling that can only remind him of him self from years ago, the child who would still stare at his reflection for hours, running the sickly expanse of the scar that stole part of his sight, analysing, stomping with growing hatred at that parasite that wanted to mourn over it, to cry. Leaning his weakness at that age on the sweet comments of the maid who nursed him, listening intently to Helaena's flattery when he slipped into her bed once they were older.

She is tainted, as Aemond himself is. There is a scar running across the corner of his mouth, pulling his upper lip slightly upwards. There are many more on his body, similar to the marks he knows her fingers leave. The deep black colour from his fingers to his wrists splits into branches that reach just beyond the elbow, stopping then at thin spikes.

— Why? — he asks, his throat dry.

She merely smiles.

One of her hands then reaches out through the gap in the bars, the cool touch of her fingers coming like an expected good. The smooth texture of his jaw is the first thing she seeks to feel. Aemond loses himself in the unreality of her face and the burning worldly fervour her touch provokes despite its simplicity, the sharp feel of her pointed nails outlining the taut line of his jaw, the long slender fingers running down his neck to encircle his side, creating a small soft circle with his thumb against Aemond's throat.

She then moves upwards, creating a smooth furrow until the same finger recreated the shape of his slightly parted lips, the doubt of whether she is staining him with that jet is immediately erased when the idea that this is the shade of her skin is realised. He feels the needy urge to close his eyes and enjoy the cool scent of her smooth skin.

He can feel the wetness lingering on her thumb as she pushes it lightly between his lips. There is a whole glowing smile as he barely grazes the digit with the tip of his tongue.

Aemond moved a little closer for something almost magnetic, the heart racing, the burning sensation rising in his chest and rising to his face, the rush of blood pooling to his lower belly at the sight, the ruddy lips, the smooth skin of her neck to his shoulders at the sight, as if the dress wasn't already insinuating. The inert response when he himself was on fire... He was ready to do it.

But she wouldn't let him.

She stopped him with her free hand, which was taking his that was already in The Lock. It wasn't a strong grip, even if he was sure she could do that. It was firm, definitely. Holding Aemond's hand between her own, waiting for him to let go before stroking his fingers through hers, letting go then.

That hand brushed against his chest, a limp touch that nevertheless stopped him from any further recklessness, leaving her to continue the tentative exploration. His senses intoxicated by that scent as if it were an opiate, a scent also laden with something in the distance that forces the growing desire to thrust his hips.

But his breath in search of more of that scent was cut off when she pulled her hand away, the stylised movements as she drew it towards her own body, outlining her own lips, letting him notice how the red colour ran slightly and stained her thumb before returning it to Aemond's mouth, who licked at once; it tasted of her, of her scent, of something impure, filthy, richly degenerate; there was still wet residue from her mouth, which he knew and didn't hold back from licking as she played a little, poking the tip of his tongue a little, tasting the pure essence of her mouth and that dead-looking skin, feeling the edge of her nail against the delicate muscle, thinking he heard a singsong laughter in the distance, not even seeing her but not knowing when he had let his eyelid close, when his breathing turned to muted, needy gasps.

His eye opened as he lost those cold fingers on his warm skin, his chest tightened in painful anxiety, his stomach churning, his pulse pounding in his throat, the taste of that fruit against his tongue as it licked his lips. His belly contracted in growing heat, painful throbbing in his crotch, tugs of desire to get him out of his clothes, an influx of unconnected images in which he forced himself into that room and could push her against an adjoining wall, yank up her skirts and fuck her fast and hard, in which he could shove himself so far down her throat he made her cry as he fucked her mouth, the need to pull viciously at that hair.

He pushed a little, his legs weak and his thighs aching with anticipation, the aching sensation against his insides with each pull, the desire for her, to have her there, in the unconsciousness of desire that had fermented over time, almost dead before it, at the mercy of what his base instincts wanted to get, her. Always her.

he looked again at the place where her eyes should be, the material of that mask made crown glowing in contrast to the flames coming from her side of that confinement. They made her look ethereal, unconnected to the past and so promising for the future...

They were so close.

The woman parted her lips as a mirrored response to Aemond's gesture, despite the obvious impediment, he believed they were both looking at each other within their own limitations. A lost touch as the lady ''looks'' at his lips and bites hers with a greedy smile, a gesture that rekindled that heat in his belly, discharges that moved from the veins down there, pulsing, needy, a new thrust, a little more hollow, hungry, airless gasps, not enough of the cold smell, the smell of her skin, the smell he so needed, the smell of her desire. Of her need against his.

She then directs her hand upwards, reaching for the side of his face and with it, brushes the rough leather of the patch covering his eye, moving it.

The broken atmosphere almost came as the sound of glass shattering against his ears. His hand moves quickly and, despite the fact that this is the first time he has touched her, he cannot enjoy it as he holds her by the wrist, slowing her down. She doesn't look disturbed, even so. His slender fingertips still caress the beginnings of his hair, her face tilted slightly to the side.

The request is implicit in the air and his body surrenders to it long before his mind does, dropping his arm to the side of his body. As a reward, there is a larger smile on the lady's face, one that reveals a quick glimpse of a row of sharp teeth.

She runs her fingers through the leather headband that disappears into his hair, picking up a couple of strands in the process until it returns to the patch. It is delicate, which Aemond is grateful for in a place deep in his mind; she removes it carefully, until it rests on the top of his forehead, exposing the scandalous aspect of his ruin.

She looks deeply pleased and it is this that gets the prince's attention, she carefully traces the sickly expanse of the scar, Aemond feels a slight tug of pain as it brushes the area of the socket, as it has always hurt.

It is almost an act of inertia as he takes her hand that has been resting on his chest and brings it to his lips, leaving a kiss on the back of it.

The woman smiles, somewhat softly before her face turns slightly to the side, seeming to catch something before she slides the patch back into place.

— They're looking for you, something seems to be up — she murmurs, brushing her fingers where she can touch before curling them in on herself. Aemond barely restrains himself from moving forward in search of the lost contact — It's time for you to go.

— I won't — he replies, she doesn't seem bothered by his disobedience despite everything.

— It's something to do with your mother.

With that, Aemond comes violently out of his lethargy. Who he is and where he belongs seems to come back to his mind even as the place seems to be made to make him live for and by her.

He nods, stepping back at last, checking the state of the patch before taking another step away from the woman.

— I will return when the matter is resolved.

— Tomorrow — she contradicts him calmly —. When everything settles.

He emits a murmur to which she smiles. He has a vague idea that even if he tries to come back that night she won't let it go. It takes him a moment, due to the movement between the bars and the lightness of the fabric wearing one of the sleeves of her teal dress to fall past the line of morality, letting him get a glimpse of the smooth line of her breasts, nipples erect against the thin fabric.

He forces himself to step back and, by the time he turns to resume the way he came in, he is no longer in that place lost in time. He spins around in confusion as he finds himself back in that cramped room, and is confronted by the image of his full body in that reflective device.

He ignores the statement on the glowing frame, appreciating the sight of himself. His lips and the corner of his mouth stained with the ink that stained his lips red. He is looking for the mark of his fantasies before he even notices it and, when he notices you on the back of his hand he smiles, the thick black growing through his veins until it reaches his fingers, the ones tangled around his wrist are slightly luminous.

Once he has dragged the back of that hand away to wipe the colour from his mouth, he heads back to the reality that awaits him.

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