Desires Be Damned • Aemond Targaryen

Chapter Fourteen

Aemond

"...But I will do neither here. You are not a common whore."

It pained Aemond greatly to deny himself what he long sought for, even if it was only temporarily. There she was, pinned against a wall, their bodies pressed together in a way that only served to increase the tightness of his pants with any hint of friction, her blushing face the picture of desire and desperation, and it was all for him. This very position was one of the many he had conjured in his reveries during their time apart, for when darkness would fall in his chambers and sleep would be slow to claim him, he would let his thoughts drift to his dragon-less niece that had never failed to show him kindness, that had granted him the priceless gift of her first kiss as he did her. But when his musings would shift from memories of her to imagining what she would look like as the years blossomed her into a woman, any will to keep his thoughts pure--if there was any will at all--would vanish without a trace.

It would begin and end the same way every time, but it was a habit he never tired of. In fact, it was quite the opposite as he grew older and more experienced--the one time Aegon had dragged him to a pleasure house on his fifteenth name day was to thank for that, an affair he ironically does not enjoy recalling--and his creativity with which he would take her in his thoughts ever broadened. He assumed she would be taller, her hair longer, her hips wider and chest fuller, her face more defined, but it was always her voice that would send him spiralling down the path of feverish delight. Her younger voice was soft and sweet, but the one he imagined to belong to her older self was sultry and intoxicating, an assumption that had turned out to be accurate. With just one lustful whisper of his name, his cock would painfully stiffen and the routine would begin. Some nights he would be gentle and take his time, slowly building up his pleasure as he visualized claiming her maidenhead, all the while she would be gasping his name and clawing at his back as she got closer and closer to tipping over the edge with him. On others, he wouldn't waste a second before hungrily tearing the clothes from her body and ravishing Dyaena in every way possible, laying claim to her just as he promised he would on that bloody night at Driftmark. He would make the Siren of Blackwater Bay sing her song of pure rapture just for him, a song that would always bring him to a blindingly vigorous finish. And it was that very promise he made sure to remind his nephews of earlier in the training yard.

~•~

As Aemond stood with the point of his sword pressed against Ser Criston's chest, applause sounded from the crowd that had gathered around them to congratulate his victory against the skilled knight. Ser Criston humbly accepted his defeat by throwing down his morningstar and joining the applause with his own.

"Well done, my prince," his mentor said through heavy breaths. "You'll be winning tourneys in no time."

"I don't give a shit about tourneys. Nephews," he said while withdrawing his sword and turning towards the boys that he had noticed in passing as he sparred, "have you come to train? Or perhaps you've come to tell me where your sister is. I do recall a promise I intend to keep."

Aemond watched as Jace and Luke's faces reacted just as he hoped they would, but what he hadn't expected was their simultaneous glances upwards behind him before quickly reverting back. Curious to see what could have possibly caught both of their attentions, Aemond turned his own gaze towards where theirs had strayed, and felt his heart nearly jump from his chest at the sight of her.

Dyaena was already looking at him when his eye found hers, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth while his did the same. There she stood, the sun's afternoon rays ethereally shining upon her as she leaned over the terrace's parapet, looking even more breathtaking than the countless times he had attempted to imagine her--the dress she was wearing alone made him thankful his doublet reached his mid-thigh.