ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʇɐᴚ ʇǝǝɹʇS ǝɥ⊥

♕. ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ sɥʇnɹ⊥

CHAPTER TWO | A Very Lovely Dress

Aemond did not return the next day or the day after that. You busy yourself with work from Mysaria, listening to the whispers of the King's failing health. Viserys the Peaceful, what a joke. Everyone but seemingly the royal family prepares for the pending war.

You sit at your window, staring mindlessly at the rain that falls from the sky. The darkness looms over the city, the annoyingly bright torches of the castle teasing all who reside outside of it. Yet, where the darkness meets, the light lies in the perfect view of your window. An almost mercurial design. 

The door opening does not phase you. The silver-haired Prince slowly enters his steps across your room, filling the silence.

"Quite a long conversation with your mother," You scoff, ignoring his stare as he stands to your right.

"Much came up. I'—" Aemond's nonchalant tone makes your jaw clench.

"Too busy to at least pass a message of assurance?" You narrow your eyes at the sight of him, near seething as a grimace holds your features.

"(Y/n) you are overreacting," He says. You stumble back as your eyebrows furrow. His demeanor contradicts the previous conversation. "There is no war coming."

"Dammit, Aemond, you let her do it again! So what, your mother said all would be well, and you just believed that?" You gawk, shaking your head as you watch him sigh.

"(Y/n)—"He sighs, rising to your feet as you pace, cracking the muscles in your knuckles. 

"Aemond, your life is the last thing I have ever desired," You whine. His hands capture your own with a patient stare. Neither of you says a word as you squirm beneath his gaze.

"I've come with your gift," He says, revealing a forearm-length box. The top's identical to the one from his mother. A stillness captures the room as you eye the box wearily before accepting it from his hands. You open slowly, gaping at the lustrous glow of the metallic. The handle carved skillfully into river-like ripples, paying homage to your bastard status.

"I—this is beautiful, but we must discuss—" You huff. Aemond merely takes your arm, disregarding your words. He guides you to the fireplace, careful to not reach too forward.

"Heat it up," His tone's commanding as he studies your face. You frown, chewing on your bottom lip as you turn toward the fire. The blade reveals fiery red lines forming intricate patterns. "Do you like it?"

"Aemond, you're dodging my questions," You suck your teeth, dropping your shoulders as he drops his gaze. His silence makes your stomach churn as you fail to blanket your despondency.

"(Y/n) it is only a dinner," He says, his eyebrows furrowing as you run your hands down your gown.

"In what world do I agree to this willingly, Aemond?" You say, leaning down to capture his gaze. Despite the scowl that paints your features, Aemond says nothing. A pregnant pause follows; pulling away from him, you place the dagger on your desk. Back at your window, you sit, your legs bouncing incessantly.

"I really tried, but mother insisted. She expects you present in a week's time—in the gown, she gifted you," His shoulders fall at his wide with a doleful look in his eyes. He watches as you visibly sink, your mind stuck in an endless loop of the Red Keep corridors.