A Song of Promises

Chapter 3

"Fuck," Rhaenyra whispered to herself. "Fuck!"

What in the seven hells just happened?

She immediately fled the Godswood, sense of dignity be damned. Her feet were swift, creating a sizable distance between herself and her brother, yet she took the long way back to her chambers in hopes of gathering her thoughts.

Her fingertips rubbed at her mouth in a vain attempt to wipe away the memory of Aemond's lips and tongue. From the corner of her eye she spied the mottling along her collarbones and pulled her shawl up higher, a weight setting heavily in her chest that resembled guilt.

Though she had seen him last as a boy 6 years ago, Aemond was now a man whose eye was firmly fixed on her. She'd felt his gaze follow her at court, had known it lingered on her skin at dinner. She brushed it off as novel interest - she was, after all, the only other Valyrian woman he had ever seen, save for his true-born sister, and the dragons within them would always feel an inexplicable draw to one another – but she had poorly underestimated the depth of his attraction and unwittingly opened the door to this chaos.

How could she explain the events of the night to her husband? Harder still, how could she reason her response to them? Her very being revolted at the prospect of recounting what had happened, of being forced to clarify events that she herself had yet to firmly grasp.

It would be nigh impossible to get Daemon back on the ship to Dragonstone when rage took him. If she was less obviously marked she might wait to tell him when they were safe at home - though she knew his wroth could not be deterred for long - but Aemond had bruised her, and even the highest of collars could not hide mouth-shaped welts from the probing eyes of her uncle.

Panic began to rise and she swallowed a scream. It was of no consequence! No matter where she confessed what occurred tonight, Rhaenyra would never be able to make Daemon see reason. Space and time would only serve as barriers that bought her brother time.

Damn him! Why could he not contain himself? The child that Aemond had been could not be called forth from memory to drown out the way he had touched her. Perhaps if she had spent more time with him as a boy she'd be able to shake the feeling of his hard length against her and the taste he'd left on her lips, but all she could see in her mind's eye was the cruel, desperate man she abandoned by the Weirwood tree.

Aemond had grown to be tall and lithe, graced with a sharp, angular beauty and an unnerving stare that made her skin tighten over the bones in her body. His remaining eye was a pale orchid and he bore the traditional white hair of Valyria that mirrored her own. She hardly knew him, yet the familiarity she had felt when she stepped into his embrace had called to a deeper part of her than conscious thought occupied.

Her attraction to him had only needed a spark to ignite, and the moment that he had placed his lips against her own she had burned for him.

Tears began to wet her lashes. She refused to examine it further. The reason didn't matter behind the way she'd sighed in bliss as his tongue slid inside her mouth, nor the urge she'd subdued to reach inside his trews and fist his thickened cock in hand.

The detour ended and she stood at the entrance to her apartments at last, dread overtaking her in waves at the conversation to come. As if to mock her, pale streams of sunlight began to trickle in from the windows, their gray-tinged hue lighting her huddled figure with a mournful, gallows glow.

She said goodbye to peace on the threshold and opened the heavy door before she could consider doing otherwise, heart rising to crest in her throat.

"Ah, there you are dearest," called the sleep-roughened voice of her uncle. "Where did you wander off to at this hour?"