DARKSIDE // Aemond Targaryen

TEN

I awoke that morning to movement within the bed. My eyes slowly peel open, and I wince at the harsh sunlight–I see a body next to me and begin to panic. Once my eyes adjusted to the sunlight, I relaxed; it was Aemond. "Good morning," his voice groggy and deep.

I groan and push my face deeper into the side of his body, which earns a chuckle from him. He pulls the blanket away from my hidden face, and I open one eye to look at him. "We can't stay here forever," he said, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

"Why not?" I mumble and smile up at him.

He shakes his head at me, "because, you and I both have duties to attend."

I groan and watch as Aemond pulls himself out of bed, starting his morning routine. I hold a pillow close to me as I admire him getting dressed for the day–how his back muscles ripple and his arms tense. I could stay in this moment forever. Once fully dressed, he returns to the bed and throws the blanket away from my body.

I squeal as the cold air hits my warm skin, and without a moment to react, Aemond has scooped me up from the bed and is holding me tightly against him. "Princess," he hums, "will I have to dress you myself?"

I shake my head and smile up at him. "I have no dresses here," I said as Aemond placed me on my feet.

"I'll fetch you some, just wait here." I watch him leave the room and admire his room by myself.

I walk to his desk, where a book on High Valyrian is open. My fingers trace over the words on the page, and I mumble some of them to myself. My mother had been admit I learned the language of our people. Next to the book were three different eyepatches, all with varying degrees of beauty–one was more casual and just made from leather, another had stud details of where the straps connected to the patch itself, and the last one had the symbol of House Targaryen stamped in the middle and filled with dark blue pigment.

I pick up the blue one and hold it in my hands, admiring the craftsmanship. My fingers lightly trace the symbol of my house and smile, thinking about how good Aemond would look wearing this one. A moment later, the door opens, and Aemond walks in, holding three of my dresses.

"I couldn't decide which one I'd prefer to see you in," he said, carefully placing all three dresses on the bed. He's picked some of my best dresses.

One is my black and red one, similar to the ones my mother wears, and another is a blueish-green coloured one with blue detailing along the sleeves–the last one was my favourite. It was light blue with sleeves made of lace that cuffed at my wrists, small symbols of each significant house in Westeros along the neckline in a darker blue; this was a formal event dress I'd wear when meeting the lords.

I pick up the blueish-green dress and hold it to my body, giving a little twirl for Aemond. I see him smile, and he walks over to me, taking the dress from my hands. "Did you need my help, princess?" He asks.

"You have places to be," I chuckle, "but if you would like to help me with my hair." It was tangled and all over the place, not the right look for a princess.

He guided me over to his desk, picked up a hairbrush and lightly began brushing my hair. I smile, feeling his fingers brush over my neck and sigh as Aemond's scent gently touches my nose. "Husband," I question, eyes closed.

Aemond hums in response. "Do you sleep with your patch on?" I ask, fiddling with the materials of my nightgown.

"No," he mumbles, placing the brush down and braiding two strands of hair back for me.

I open my eyes and pick up the blue eyepatch again. "When would you wear this one?" I asked, retracing the blue.

Aemond finishes braiding my hair, and I swivel to face him. He studies my face with his blue eye, touching the sapphire on my neck and lightly stroking my hair, "maybe one-day dear wife."