Blood of Old Valryia (Aemond Targaryen FF)

Chapter Twenty Three

"I would have given him the land he asked for," Aesira said as a slice of lamprey pie was lowered onto her plate.

She was finally old enough to accept the wine offered by Lord Otto's cupbearer, and the Dornish Wine did not disappoint.

"I would too, but do you know why I denied his petition?" Lord Otto sipped on his wine as a piece of Blandissory was placed onto his own plate. The lunch was arranged for three but Aemond was yet to arrive. Where he'd been excused from his princely duties at court to attend to Aegon's unseemly plans upon their return from Oldtown, Aesira had been decreed to stand in as a Lady of the Court at the foot of the Iron Throne.

Aesira, however, felt that Lord Otto had put through the official proclamation to oversee her.

"Had I allowed it, his neighbour—who's land we will have encroached on to grant the petition—might feel slighted enough to make the same petition to the King." Lord Otto explained, barely acknowledging the food that had been put before him. "That petition would lead to more land being cut into, and so on and so on until the very borders of Westeros would need reshaping to accommodate everyone's new land."

She understood, having had it explained to her. Lord Otto might have been a lot of things but he was efficient in his duties. The Hightowers, on the whole, were dutiful by nature. But that duty depended entirely on who they felt an obligation towards. The challenge was uncovering what—or who—that obligation was towards.

"If I may be so bold as to enquire, how is it you know so much about ruling a kingdom, Lord Otto?" Aesira knew better than to assume he would tell her his secrets. A man like Otto Hightower didn't get to his position—twice over the King's Hand, sire to the Queen, and grandsire to the four of the King's children—by telling his secrets to anyone who asked. But she thought she'd take a chance, and mayhaps learn something instead.

Lord Otto—be it that he saw through her smiles or a simple distrust of anyone who did not carry his name—tilted his head back and cautioned, "What a curious question for a young maiden to be asking."

"I have to assume there's cause for my presence in the Great Hall," she deflected. She didn't want him to hover over her maidenhood for too long, lest something in her facade betrayed her.

"Where else would you be, Lady Aesira?" He raised a brow. "Too old for a Septa or a Maester, I should think you have nothing but time for your duties."

Duties, there was that word again. Nothing mattered quite so much to the Hightowers, as their duties. She had no response, what could she say, what would she fill her days with if not to stand on a pedestal until a man wished for her hand in marriage.

"Prince Aemond Targaryen." Ser Rickard Thorne announced as Aemond wandered into the small council chamber. Aesira tried not to look too relieved at his interruption and instead thanked the Old Gods for their intervention. For who else could have sent Aemond into that chamber at the exact moment she needed a distraction?

"Pardon the late arrival," Aemond gave his grandsire a nod then claimed the seat to Aesira's right, smoother than silk and without hesitation.

If it was an appearance of unfamiliarity, in the physical sense, he was after then continuing their air of closeness was something that needed to be maintained. Their closeness had been no secret to anyone in the Keep and if they began avoiding each other now, it would rouse suspicion. "Aegon had reached out to many, many people about this absurd tourney. Half the rookery's been emptied to disinvite the knights and guests he sent for."

Aesira crossed her legs at her knees, a failed attempt to quell the blooming ache for Aemond at the apex of her thighs. Just the sound of his voice sent her trembling. She tried to lean away from him, as discreetly as possible, but gave up when she realised his proximity was enough. Placing a field between them wouldn't be enough to quell what she felt.