our little mistakes

emerald hazes

When a celebratory dinner was held for the tournaments competitors, Aemond had the entire throne rooms attention. Verena herself, Gods shun her, couldn't seem to keep her own wandering gaze away from him. He was dressed in his usual shade of midnight black, wearing a trench coat that she'd never seen before.

She had grown accustomed to avoiding his lustful stare. Tonight, however, it seemed it was she who would be ignored. Aemond hadn't met her eyes once, not even when she walked in the throne room dressed in an exquisite emerald gown–a homage and acknowledgement of his victory. Honestly, she wasn't sure why she'd done it. Even her servants had given her a strange look when she'd requested the dress.

When her parents first saw her enter the room in such a color, she thought the both of them were going to kill her then and there. It sure looked like they longed to so; as did her brothers. Now, being sat at the end of the long dining table beside Helena, being both glared at and ignored, Verena was really beginning to regret her decision.

"I think you look quite delightful in green," Aegon commented from Helena's other side.

Verena fought back her cringe.

"As do I," his wife agreed, not sparing a glance over to her husband. "I've never seen someone on your side of the family wear such a lovely color. Such a shame; it goes nicely with your complexion, Verena." Her aunt was so blissfully ignorant that it almost pained her.

"Thank you, Helena," she murmured with a nod, "Aegon."

"Perhaps you should have your servants dress you in it more often."

"Perhaps," she agreed lightly with her uncle, yet had no plans of following through with their agreement.

"Did you see Aemond in the tourney today?" Helena beamed, glancing over to her one-eyed brother from across the table, a look of pride in her eyes. "He did very well. I do feel sorrowful for sweet Jacaerys' loss, though."

"Yes, the Prince proved himself quite well today."

The conversation dulled slightly, Aegon finally losing interest in the lack of it as he turned away, attempting to engage in conversation with his mother instead.

"Why do you call him that?" Helena whispered after a beat, her eyes flicking back and forth between Verena and her brother.

"Call him what?"

"The Prince."

"I apologize, Helena, but I do not know what you mean. He's the Prince–"

"You say it as though the two of you are not well acquainted with one another," she interrupted, though in the lightest way possible; as if she were not used to doing such a thing.

Verena blinked at her, her own violet eyes shooting over to Aemond as though he could supply her with an answer. He didn't look back. Pink blossomed its way across the apples of her cheeks; embarrassment flowing freely through her. Was he bored of her? Even after his drunken confessions and their late night and sleep-deprived conversations.

"I do not believe that the Prince–Aemond–wishes to be associated with me in the way you imply," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper.

Helena gave her a dubious look, blonde hair falling to the side as she tilted her head to examine her.

"You really believe such a thing?"

Verena nodded against her better judgment. She would never– could never–admit such things to anyone other than Helena.

"Dear Verena, I must inform you that I have never seen my brother more infatuated with another in the entirety of my life. I wish to tell you of something, but you must not tell a soul–"