𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓
❛ he would burn down
the world if it meant
keeping her safe ❜
━━ IN WHICH a dangerous prince falls in love with the gentle lioness, the girl prophesied to end the war he started
SHOW;...
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WHATEVER ALYSANNE thought she knew about Aemond's feelings for her flew past the billowing curtains and out of the archways in her quarters the moment Aemond appeared in the darkness, his eye wide and his gaze stricken as he peered down at Alysanne as she lay half-asleep.
Waking to find Aemond hovering above her startled Alysanne, but when her eyes drifted to the small bowl he clutched tightly in his pale hands, her fear abated. What she didn't expect was for the prince to lower himself onto the edge of her bed and dip two of his slender fingers in the salve.
She remained deathly quiet as Aemond gently smoothed the ointment across her wound, his touch devastatingly gentle. With one hand, Aemond cradled Alysanne's jaw, tilting her face up and toward the light produced by the flickering candle on her bedside table, and with the other, he smeared the cold salve across her nose.
As Daemon said the previous night, nothing was broken, but that didn't mean Alysanne wasn't in pain. In fact, this pain was almost worse than anything she had ever endured in her life. It was thanks to the tea laced with a small dose of milk of the poppy that Alysanne was able to withstand Aemond's gentle touch.
The ointment was smooth and buttery, and when Aemond's finger brushed along the curve of her cupid's bow, she couldn't resist swiping her tongue across her lip. Aemond paused, his eye locked on the curve of her mouth as she tasted the ointment.
His own lips twitched slightly as he shifted, curling his knee as he slid further onto the bed, his other leg dangling off the side. Alysanne peered at the prince through mildly swollen eyes, her aching an afterthought as she watched the way his eyes carefully traced the length of her wound, his fingers following in the path of his eyes.
She had never seen him look like this before...so unguarded.
His long silver hair hung loosely over his shoulders, which were donned in a thin white blouse that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Alysanne's eyes dipped to his chest, her gaze locking on the curve of the tunic, which revealed his pale, toned chest.
He was moonlight personified, she thought as her eyes roved over his figure, taking him in, imprinting this image on her brain. With only the moon as their witness, the silver prince gently tended to the wound his nephew inflicted upon Alysanne, his touch gentle and his gaze unguarded. This version of Aemond was one entirely different person from the cold, cocky prince she had known her entire life.
Alysanne couldn't help but wonder if Aemond was only there because of their betrothal or if he actually cared for her.
When his fingers brushed over the bridge of her nose, Alysanne winced as a sharp pain radiated across her face. Aemond stilled, his gaze flicking from her wound to her eyes, which narrowed as tears began to sting them. "Shh," he soothed, his fingers just barely trailing across her cheek and down to her jaw. "All done."
