DEVILS TONGUE, aemond targaryen

seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
❪ devils tongue ! ❫

A day of rest and relaxation in the bed chambers of Princess Aenemera was cut short as the day arrived for the meeting with the lord of ties.

Aenemera was nervous, to say the least.

Her gut twisted and pulled in separate directions knowing her grandfather remained in bed ill and the hand of the king would be sitting on the iron throne. The occasion could easily go bad in any sense of direction — and Aenemera had to fully prepare herself for any kind of outcome.

Standing in front of her mother with gentle gazed eyes peering up at her, Rhaenyra gently brushed her fingers through her daughter's hair to sooth her.

"It'll be alright," she promised truthfully.

"Not worried mother," Aenemera smiled visibly nervous towards her mother. "Just want to get this over with."

Rhaenyra nodded knowingly. Agreeing as well while on the fence of wishing this wasn't happening. Her gut was twisting but was unclear if it was her unborn baby making the kicking.

"Aenemera," Alicent called out to the princess.

Her and Rhaenyra both turned curiously towards the queen and watched as she waved Aenemera over. "Come, my dear."

Rhaenyra forced a smile on her lips while pressing a gentle kiss to her daughters forward. "She's right, stand with your husband." She ran her fingers through Aenemera's hair once more then gently pushed her towards the other side.

Aemond watched Aenemera fondly. He didn't say a word or try to pull her away from her mother — he respected their time together while she was visiting.

But he couldn't ignore the aching feeling in his chest by watching her stand in the opposite room instead of at his side.

It wasn't until she was finally standing beside him that he felt like he could breathe again.

There was a soft glimmer in his eye as he glimpsed down at her, her smile reaching her eyes as she peered up at him. Almost forgetting the reason they were all gathered in the throne room this afternoon.

His left hand found home against her lower back, his thumb rubbing against her spine — but when he returned his focus forward, the glim disappeared and his stare hardened towards the Strong boys standing across the room.

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark."

Aenemera inhaled very slowly through her nose while folding her hands in front of her red dress; all while Otto Hightower spoke in front of the iron throne.

" — As hand, I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters. The crown will now hear petitions. Ser Vaemond of house Velaryon."

Aenemera's eyes flickered towards Vaemond as he settled in the center of the room and in front of the hand of the king.

"My queen, my lord hand. The history our of noble houses extends beyond the seven kingdoms to the days of old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins."