𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖉𝖞𝖓𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖞, 𝐚. 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧¹

𝟎𝟎𝟏. A WATCHFUL GAZE

        THE HUMID, muggy afternoon was a pleasant one despite the stench that permeated the walls of the Red Keep and the sweltering heat that produced lines of sweat along every surface of Alysanne Lannister's body. She picked uncomfortably at her dress as it hugged her figure, drawing out even more perspiration as the summer sun beat violently down upon her and Aenora as they lounged in the godswood garden.

       Her embroidery was forgotten as she continued to pick at her dress, her tanned cheeks flushed as Aenora's nimble fingers slid through her sweaty hair and pulled it away from her neck. Alysanne straightened her back as the princess began parting her long, golden locks before she began twisting them together.

        "Sometimes I find myself wondering what it must be like to live in the North," Alysanne murmured as she rolled her neck and wiped the sweat from her forehead with a kerchief. "I cannot imagine anything sweeter than the relief of a chilled breeze."

         Aenora laughed as she tugged Alysanne's hair into a tight plait. "You would not survive in the North, my dear."

         Alysanne turned around, a half-moon crease forming between her golden brows as she glanced at Aenora. The silver-haired princess snickered, her violet eyes glimmering with amusement. "There are direwolves, Alysanne, as large as a small horse, and Northmen are brutes, from what I hear."

         She scoffed. "I grew up around lions, Aenora, I am not afraid of a wolf." Aenora rolled her eyes as she yanked Alysanne's hair, forcing the girl to look ahead as she continued braiding. "And Northmen are not brutes. They are good, honorable men."

        Aenora did not respond and Alysanne did not bother to turn around and figure out why. Not when her own attention was suddenly stolen by a shift of movement across the garden. She was fanning herself with her embroidery loom as a tall, dark-clad figure emerged from the castle, his silver hair practically reflecting the bright sunlight as he leisurely strolled through the garden.

        Alysanne watched in silence as Prince Aemond came to a stop across the garden, his hips resting against a half-wall that was erected around a bed of roses supposedly planted by the late Queen Aemma. Her brow quirked as the prince flipped open the book he plucked from between his bicep and chest and crossed his ankles as he began reading.

        Aenora was now rambling on about the newest lord that had arrived at court to vie for her hand in marriage, but Alysanne was not listening. Her attention had been completely stolen by the prince across the garden.

         For him to choose that specific spot at this specific time in the afternoon was strange and felt very deliberate. Alysanne and Aenora frequented the godswood during this time in the afternoon, for they had completed their daily tasks and sought comfort and relaxation. Never before had Aemond come out into the garden at the same time, much less to stand directly across the way with a book in his hands and his lean body donned in ink-black training leathers.