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A Vow of Blood - 14

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 14: From the Shadows

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Daenera was wrapped in one of her favorite silk robes, observing as the maids diligently prepared her bath. Specks of dirt clung to her nails from her recent time spent in the gardens, assisting the gardeners in planding the new seeds she had acquired from the market. The servants worked in silence while she rose from her seat, striding through her chambers and opening the doors to the balcony, relishing in the gentle breeze.

Down below, Aegon and Aemond engaged in their training, although it was evident that the former’s mind was preoccupied elsewhere. Dark circles adorned his eyes, a clear indication of his late-night excursions into the city, if she had to guess.

As if sensing her presence, Aemond glanced up, locking eyes with her. His hair tumbled over his shoulders, strands of pale moonlight and ever so perfect. His usual smirk widened, and she could almost hear the subtle hum of smug self satisfaction as his eye roamed her body.

Daenera tugged at the robe, keeping it firmly closed as she had nothing underneath.

For days, she had deftly eluded his advances, and even on the rare occasions he managed to corner her, they were always amidst a crowd. His persistent attempts to provoke a response from her did not deter her. Daenera had armored herself with a facade of obliviousness and politeness, feigning ignorance and pretending as though nothing had transpired between them.

Daenera turned away, making her way back inside, passing by the table adorned with stacks of letters. Among the pile of letters, one had arrived that morning from Dragonstone.

It was a usual letter that kept her informed of the things that were happening on Dragonstone and how the health of her brothers was. There was no important information, but Rhaenyra urged her daughter to return home in time for the birth of the newest member of their family. Her mother also mentioned the numerous inquires regarding Daenera’s hand in marriage.

It seemed her return to the capital seemed to have reignited the interest in gaining her favor. Since Daenera had come of age there had been waves upon waves of offers for her hand in marriage, raining from boys at the age of two and twelve and men thrice her age. The list included the notable houses such as Tullys, Brackens, Blackwoods, Freys, Tyrells, Redwynes, Merryweathers, Arryns, Lannisters, and even an offer for her to marry Cregan Stark.

The cold never suited her.

Daenera couldn’t indefinitely keep the suitors at bay. Sooner or later, she would have to make a choice. But for now, she would amuse herself with being entertained by their flowery prose.

“The bath is ready, princess,” one of the serving girls announced.

“Thank you.”

The servants filed out of her chambers in a line, their heads lowered, and the door closing behind them. Daenera couldn’t recall the castle maids ever being as skittish as they appeared now.

Daenera walked towards the bath and sat at the edge to pour rose oil into the water, its fragrant essence enveloping the air around her. She carefully scattered petals of various flowers, jasmine, and rosemary, onto the surface of the water, letting her fingers dance along it, to feel the temperature.

Feeling the urge to immerse herself in the soothing depths, Daenera shed her robe, allowing it to slip from her body and stepped into the water. Warmth engulfed her and she let out a contented sigh.

The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the room, casting a ethereal glow upon her surroundings.

As she settled into the water, resting her head against the edge of the tub, she picked up one of the letters from a potential suitor, curiosity guiding her gaze over the carefully crafted words and well-intentioned wishes.

Aran Blackwood’s name caught her eye, a younger brother of someone who had once pursued her mother’s hand. His letter carried a tone of kindness and humor, although tinged with a hint of aloofness. In his excitement, he ventured off on tangents, oblivious to the fact that Daenera might not share his enthusiasm for certain matters. Despite this, there was a sweetness to his words that stirred a flicker of warmth within her.

Lost in the ambience of the bath, Daenera allowed herself to linger in the present moment, contemplating the myriad of paths that lay before her, and she did not notice as the shadows stirred.

“You think a bath is enough to wash away your sins?” A voice questioned.

Startled by the unexpected intrusion, Daenera let out a yelp, causing the water in the tub to ripple dangerously close to the brim. The letter she had been holding slipped from her grasp, its ink bleeding into the water as it floated on the surface. Hastily, she retrieved it and tossed it onto the stone floor with a soggy splat.

Her arms then instinctively crossed over her chest as she tried her best to preserve some modesty, relying far too much on the murkiness of warm water and the scattered flowers on the surface to shield any other view.

Emerging from the shadows, Aemond stepped into the stream of sunlight pouring in through the windows, transforming his silver locks into a resplendent mane of gold.

Daenera’s eye’s hardened, her cheeks flustering in a mix of embarrassment and anger. “What in the seven hells are you doing here?!”

“Can’t an uncle pay a visit to his sweet niece?” Aemond mused, his voice dripping with syrupy sweetness that wasn’t thick enough to hide the mockery in his tone. Still, there was a dangerous edge to his mere presence.

“He can, but he certainly shouldn’t materialize out of thin air like some ghost emerging from the shadows. And how did you even manage to gain entry?” Daenera retorted sharply, far from amused by his intrusive presence. She glanced back at the closed door, certain she locked it. And even then, Fenrick was just outside.

“Would you have welcomed me if I had knocked on the front door?” Aemond replied, a mischievous glint to his eye.

“No,” she shot back without hesitation. He wouldn’t even have made it to the point of knocking, as Fenrick, her loyal guard, would have promptly turned him away, especially considering the compromising position she currently found herself in. Her narrowed eyes bore into him. “And why shouldn't I raise my voice and summon my guard this instant to pluck out your one remaining eye.”

Aemond’s lips curled into a knowing smile, his voice filled with a smug confidence. “And tarnish your own reputation? I don’t think so.”

He took a step closer to her, the colden light slowly waned as the sun descended beneath the horizon, casting his face in shadows that seemed to curl around him. The shadows only served to etch out the scar on his face.

Daenera couldn’t help but wonder, if he were to lose both his eyes, would he wander about donning two eyepatches or give up on them entirely. She was inclined to find out as he continued his approach, stalking towards her like a cat coming upon a mouse.

“Have you lost your mind?” Daenera hissed in anger, her words sharp and meant to knock some sense into his head. “Do you want to lose your head and see it impaled on a spike?”

Aemond’s lips curled into a sinister smirk, his response dripping with audaciousness. “I prefer to keep my head firmly attached to my shoulders, just as I prefer to keep your head firmly on my-,”

“Stop! Just… Stop,” Daenera interrupted, her voice trembling with frustration. “I will not hesitate to call Fenrick, reputation be damned. I’m sure I could come up with a story. ‘The unsuspecting Princess, exposed and vulnerable in her bath, attacked by the one-eyed prince who emerged like a ghost from the shadows. Denied entry, yet he appeared nonetheless. How could he? Who knows? All that matters is that he sought to defile the innocent princess. Thankfully her trusted guard intercepted him in time and swiftly separated his head from his body’.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with skepticism. “Did you just make that up?”

“I did. Now, leave before I have to resort to such measures,” Daenera retorted, glaring at him with determination.

Aemond leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “And what if I were the one to separate a head from a body?” ‘The prince was invited into the princesses chambers, you see. They were lovers’.”

Daenera scoffed dismissively.

Aemond continued. “‘She was a seductress who lured the virtuous prince into depravity. Have you heard about the scandalous letter? How immoral she truly is?’”

“No one would believe that I lured you into anything,” Daenera insisted, rolling her eyes.

Aemond’s smirk grew. “Are you sure about that?”

“You have absolutely lost your mind,” Daenera declared, exasperation evident in her voice. She was tempted to bury her face in her hands, but the vulnerability of her current state prevented her from doing so. Her discarded robe lay out of reach on the settee. There was no other option than to remain in the bath.

“Oh, but it’s quite amusing to catch you off guard,” Aemond mused, seating himself on a stool beside the tub. His pale fingers railed along the surface of the water, his eye fixed solely on her. “Your vulnerability is an added perk.”

“You are just like your brother. A coward. A pervert,” Daenera spat in disdain.

Aemond’s eye narrowed, but the amusement in his gaze never wavered despite being compared to his brother. “If I were my brother, you would have called for your guard long ago.”

The insinuation hit its mark, causing Daenera to avert her gaze, eyes quickly fixating on the dancing flames of the fireplace. She felt a surge of frustration and annoyance with herself. After all, she had set this dangerous game in motion. Did she truly believe that what she had offered him would satisfy his desires? Was the humiliation she had inflicted upon herself for him not enough?

“I had hoped you’d take the victory and put an end to this charade,” Daenera remarked, then sighed.

Aemond’s fingers leisurely twirled a rose petal on the water’s surface, head tilting to the side as he studied her with a curious expression that made her skin heat up. She might as well be boiling in the water.

“I would have,” he admitted. “I would have used it to tarnish your reputation and send you on your way back to Dragonstone.”

For a brief moment, a surge of anger coursed through Daenera, and she contemplated reaching out to force his head under water and make him drown in her bathwater. But she remained still, leaning back in the tub, her eyes locked warily on him. His expression made her apprehensive with how sincere it seemed.

Aemond didn’t have a sincere bone in his body.

“But you wouldn’t have been entirely ruined,” Aemond continued, his voice holding the same familiar amusement his smirk always did. The smugness only fueled Daenera’s contempt.

“I told you, I won't surrender my maidenhead to you,” Daenera declared. “And you will not get anything else from me either.”

Aemond’s smile persisted, as if he possessed a certain knowledge about her that remained elusive even to herself. “You left so abruptly that day… So I thought I would come here to return the favor.”

“I don’t want you to return the favor,” Daenera dismissed with a disgusted curl to her lips.

Aemond’s eye gleamed, and his smirk grew a little wider. “Don’t you?”

“Why would I let you touch me?”

“Because you want me to,” Aemond replied simply, reaching for the sponge that rested on the side table. He dipped it into the tub, then directed it towards Daenera’s arm, which she wrapped a little tighter to her torso in a feeble attempt to preserve her modesty. His fingers closed around her wrist, gently urging her to release her grip and extending it out infront of her. He held her wrist and pressed the damp sponge against her skin.

Daenera wasn’t sure why she allowed him to do any of this. She felt frozen in place, watching him warily, waiting for this mask he wore to drop and his grip turn forceful and cruel as it always did. Perhaps, it was also a strange, twisted sort of curiosity that drow her to remain still.

As usual, Aemond got under her skin and made her disregard her own better judgment. That day when she was on her knees in front of him, every touch he had bestowed upon her had ignited something deep within, causing her stomach to twist and coil, and her heart to pound fiercely in her chest. And when she had touched him, she had felt the wetness between her thighs and an ache grow deep within.

Lust was a dangerous thing, and she knew all too well what the price would be.

Yet, she felt the claws of it were sinking into her skin, and with each of his touches she felt them sink in a little further.

“What do you know about returning favors?” Daenera taunted, grasping for any semblance of control. “You excel at holding grudges, but returning favors? Well, you don’t strike me as particularly capable on that front.”

What do animals do when they’re cornered and can’t escape? They lash out. Humans do the same. Daenera wasn’t above being cruel. And she certainly wasn't above reminding Aemond of his failures.

“Do you wish for me to demonstrate my ability to return favors? Perhaps I should present you with your brother's eyes?” Aemond murmured, filling the sponge with water and applying it to her shoulders, squeezing the warm water out of it, letting it stream down her arm, down the exposed part of her chest just below the collarbone. “He still owes a debt.”

“And here I was thinking that I was repaying that debt,” Daenera responded sarcastically and adopted a lower tone of voice to mimic Aemonds. “With my ruin.”

“No, you’re repaying your own debt,” Aemond corrected her, almost a laugh in his voice.

Daenera rolled her eyes and glowered, frustrated with how many debts Aemond seemed to collect. “And when will you be satisfied?”

“When you are utterly and completely ruined, of course,” Aemond replied casually.

Daenera let her head fall back in exasperation, tired of his theatrics. She peeled her other arm away from her chest, sinking further into the water. Modesty was futile in this situation. He was trying to intimidate her, but she refused to yield to fear.

“You know, this whole ‘ruination’ scheme is becoming rather tiresome,” she remarked, her tone more careless than she really felt. “And as I’ve told you, if I burn, you burn.”

“Hmm,” Aemond hummed contemplatively. “It seems to be that you’re the one who’s currently ablaze.”

His smile remained unyielding, as if he held a profound understanding of her that eluded her own awareness. The spine continued its deliberate ascent up her arm, and with each touch, a surge of heart coursed through her. Her breath quickened, becoming shallow and uneven, while her heart, once a fortress of composure, now hammered within her chest like a wild bird’s frantic wings.

“You should go,” she murmured quietly, voice breathy and strained.

“Do you want me to?” The words were spoken softly, his eye gleaming with mischief. The sponge glided up her shoulder, crossing over her collarbone, and then traced the same path back again, a tentative experiment testing how far she’d allow him to go. Could he feel the frantic rhythm of her pulse?

“Why are you doing this, truely?” Daenera questioned and swallowed thickly as the tip of his calloused fingers grazed her collarbone. Was it boredom with life at court? Boredom bred recklessness. It was, in part, what led her back to the capital, along with her mission of gathering allies.

Or fueled by something more primal, an intoxicating blend of lust and not hatred? Lust, the insidious force that rendered one blind, dangerous, and willing to throw caution to the wind.

Or was it as he said? Paying a debt she owed. A debt that needed to be paid in humiliation and flesh.

She wasn’t sure which she preferred.

“This debt you seem to think I owe, what will pay it off? My honor? My maidenhead?” She inquired defiantly.

Aemond’s eye caught the flickering flame of the hearth. “Will you give me your maidenhead?”

“If you give me your other eye, I might,” Daenera sneered.

She wasn’t about to give over something as important as her maidenhead. He had already besmirched her honor, he would not take the last sliver of self-respect she had. As she mulled over her options, she tapped a nail against the edge of the tub. Tap, tap, tapping.

Daenera let out a sigh. “Have you ever been told that you’re a man of few words?”

That earned her a smile. “Often.”

“It’s annoying,”Daenera said and grabbed the sponge from his hand, beginning to scrub her own arm. “And you’d make a terrible maid.”

“I would think you’d enjoy the company of a man of few words,” Aemond countered, watching her drag the sponge over her skin and the way the water gleamed on it, smelling of rose and jasmine.

“I usually do,” Daenera grumbled. “But you… are infuriating . Tell me, One-eye, will you ever answer my questions?”

Daenera scrubbed her skin red in annoyance. Aemond was the second most infuriating man she had ever known being just behind Daemon himself. And even then they weren’t in the same categories. If only it were acceptable to wring Aemond’s neck, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

Not understanding a person’s reason for doing something was what Daenera hated the most. She wanted to know why. Why had he started this? They could have been civil and stayed out of each other's way. And what made him play this game in this irritatingly inconsistent way? Things like this were usually about one thing, and that could either be sex, money, revenge or power. He seemed to have picked all of them.

Her fingers squeezed the sponge, wringing as much water from it as she could, before placing it on the tray on the side table. “The one-eyed prince… I pity your future wife, she’s sure to be disappointed in your ability to make conversation, as well as doing something so menial as scrubbing her skin with a sponge.”

Aemond let out a chuckle, a low sound that took Daenera by surprise. He laughed. He actually laughed.

“I pity your future husband,” Aemond said, trailing a finger up her arm, leaving a path of gooseflesh in its wake. The finger skimmed over her collarbone to the other side, then back again. It tickled but Daenera kept still, her grip on the sides of the tub tightening. She eyed him wearily.

His eye never left her face, drinking in every small change in her expression, noting the hitch in her breath. “He’ll find his wife far too clever for her own good… and yet so willing to shame herself.”

His finger traced a delicate bath along her breastbone, gliding down until it reached the gentle caress of the water’s surface. His gaze trailed the movement, fixating on her exposed nipples as they skimmed the waterline. They stood pert and erect, unabashedly on display, their plumpness and weight visible for all to see. Their hue matched that of her lips, a captivating shade that added to their allure.

Daenera’s voice wavered as she spoke, her words barely audible. “That is our duty. To endure husbands and wives.”

Aemond’s response was unequivocal. “Is that what you want? To endure husbands…”

Daenera’s duty, like her lineage of Targaryen and Velaryon, dictated that she marry and bear heirs. It was the predetermined fate of women. Her mother had fulfilled her duty by marrying Laenor, and though she found solace in Ser Harwin, she had still done what was required. She had been blessed to find love in and outside of marriage.

Love, however, was a rare commodity, and rarer still to have any say in the word of marriage and alliance. Daenera did not expect to experience such love in her own life. Duty took precedence over personal desire. It was her duty to marry a noble lord and secure alliances.

Aemond had to understand this. He, too, was bound by duty, even if he had not yet taken a wife.

“We are beholden to fulfill what is required of us,” Daenera replied. “You, above all others, should understand the weight of duty.”

Aemond’s finger gently grazed her breast, trailing a tantalizing bath around her nipple before encircling it completely in the cup of his hand. His thumb played with the sensitive bud, invoking a stifled gasp from Daenera as she bit down on her bottom lip, determined to suppress any sound that threatened to spill out. “If duty holds such importance for you, why do you allow me to touch you in this manner?”

A tumultuous mixture of anticipation and thrill surged through Daenera, permeating every fiber of her being. It was as if a cascade of tickles and pricks danced within her, stirring her insides and setting it ablaze. The fervor flowed through her veins, spreading fiery tendrils to every corner of her body, igniting a sensation that was both exhilarating and unnerving.

Unfazed by the consequences, Aemond’s hand dipped beneath the water’s surface, gliding along the expanse of her stomach. He paid no heed to the fact that his sleeve got soaked through, the fabric greedily drinking in the water. The sacrifice of his doublet held no significance as he explored the depths.

“Aemond,” Daenera warned, both apprehensive and wary.

A sly smirk etched across his lips. “I know what you long for.”

The ache between Daenera’s legs intensified with each descending movement of his fingers. She loathed herself for remaining motionless, for not swatting away his touch. Yet, deep down, a hidden longing whispered that she shouldn’t resist, that she should let him explore. It conflicted with her sense of propriety, with her sense of self knowledge.

The water seemed to lose its warmth, leaving her body ablaze as if she had sucked up all the heat it had to offer, leaving it chilled.

“And what is it I want?” She questioned, voice wavering.

Aemond’s smile broadened, reveling in the power he held over her. His fingers brushed through the delicate curls at her mound, eliciting a sharp intake of breath. By then, his arm had fully submerged, the water rising all the way to his armpit. “Do you truly wish for me to tell you what you want?”

“Yes,” she managed to grit out, her impatience mounting. “I want to hear what you can come up with.”

“Mmm,” Aemond purred, teasingly withholding his answer. “I don’t think that you do.”

“Aemond.” His name was spoken in both exasperation and annoyance.

“Ah, there you go, uttering my name,” he teased, his hand now firmly grasping the flesh of her inner thigh. “I quite enjoy the way you say my name.”

“You are insufferable.”

He strained to conceal the triumphant smile that spread across his face. He leaned in close to her ear, breath tickling over the shell of her ear. “The next time your lips part to utter my name, I shall claim you .”

Aemond’s hand withdrew abruptly, slipping away from the space between her thighs, leaving behind a torturous, unfulfilled ache, that thrummed in tandem with her pulse. Her brows scowled together, eyes boring into his smug face.

The sleeve of his doublet dripped with a steady stream of water, the once-light fabric now heavy and sticking to his arm. As he rose, he grabbed her face, curling his hand around her chin and boring his fingers into the flesh of her cheeks making her purse her lips. Droplets dripped onto her face, clinging to the flushed skin. He pressed a little harder on her cheeks, prying her jaws apart to alleviate the pressure.

Aemond spat into her mouth.

Daenera recoiled, slapping his arm away from her and prying her face out of his clutch, eyes widened in utter shock and fury. He spat into her mouth. She turned and spat onto the stone floor, the blob of mixed saliva landing on the stone near the hearth. She glared at him as he chuckled.

She picked up the sponge and hurled it at his head, the water splashing over the edge of the tub.

“You are disgusting.”

“I only followed your example,” Aemond drawled.

Daenera gritted her teeth. “Do you think I’m incapable of finishing what you started?”

“Oh, I’m quite certain you’re more than capable,” Aemond responded with a goading hum. “And it will bring me immense satisfaction to know that I am the reason behind your pleasure.”

Daenera shook her head in angry disbelief, refusing to meet his gaze. Instead, she turned her attention to the crackling flames in the heart, mentally cursing him for the torment he had unleashed upon her. “Get out.”

By the time she mustered the courage to look back, he had vanished, leaving behind only lingering shadows and an insatiable ache that resonated within her. With a frustrated groan, Daenera submerged herself beneath the surface of the water, disregarding that it was wetting her hair. The tranquility of the submerged world only lasted as long as she could hold her breath. Daenera screamed.

Aemond Targaryen was a menace, a tormentor specifically crafted by the gods to plague her existence. She would have to do something about him.

Aemond found himself standing in the narrow confines of the secret pathways, the lingering warmth of Daenera’s chambers seeping through the cracks of the hidden door. Leaning against the cool stone, he closed his eyes, his hand instinctively gravitating to the bulge in his trousers, gripping tightly around his pulsating arousal. A sharp intake of breath sounded, his jaw clenched with a mixture of desire and frustration.

The cold of the secret passageway chilled his sleeve, a stream of water still dripping steadily from the tip of his fingers. He swallowed, attempting to regain his composure amidst the maelstrom of conflicting emotions swirling within him. In truth, he had not anticipated the intensity of their encounter. His initial intention had been to catch her off guard, to humiliate her, but her response had awakened something primal within him.

Aemond tightened his hold on himself, desperately trying to alleviate the uncomfortable strain of his trousers. Daenere was the bane of his existence, a constant torment that seemed to exacerbate with every interaction.

She wanted him. Aemond was certain of it. And he vowed to make her the one who surrendered to him willingly. He was not his brother, he did not take what was not freely given. Though he pushed the boundaries, his waning sense of honor still held firm, despite the gradual erosion in the presence of her allure.

It all began on the day she arrived, an invisible thread weaving between them, binding their fates together. One of them had to break, and Aemond was determined to ensure it would be Daenera. The tension between them grew with each passing moment, driving him to the brink of madness, fueling his relentless pursuit to dominate her will.

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