ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʇɐᴚ ʇǝǝɹʇS ǝɥ⊥

♕. ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ɹǝʍoԀ

CHAPTER FIVE | A Secret Only For You

You keep the necklace hidden with the kitchen knife. Each morning Aemond joins you for breakfast. The first few hold odd pauses and sheepish glances. You often do not see him until later in the evening, if at all.

You note how he casually asks about your day by the second week. You answer plainly, offering no outlet to further the conversation. Weeks turn to moons without the faintest clue of what occurs outside the castle walls.

Aemond makes it his business to provide you with a bookshelf. You find a large portion of the books you once debated about in the past. Others are recommendations or ones he believes you will like. These books consume your days, and the room appears smaller and smaller with each passing second. A hollowness sits in the core of your chest, waiting and watching as pieces of yourself become distant memories.

Your silent compliance earns you strolls through the garden under the watch of guards. You use this time just as the sun rises, the judgmental eyes of nobleman still resting. You curse the servants for waking you at your requested hour the first few times. Still, you rise and bathe before first light breaks. You sit in the middle of the garden as the sky scintillates with rays of gold. By the time the golden rays evaporate into the unrelenting beaming of the sun, you are back in your chambers, breaking your fast with Aemond.

"How was the gardens?" The sounds of silverware hitting plates supplants the silence. You focus on the strawberries on your plate as he stares at you.

"Very nice," You say, scooping a spoon full you grimace, the sweetness souring on your tongue. Reaching forward for you grab your wine glass, taking slow sips, staring off aimlessly. The painstakingly slow morning moves at a snail's pace, and you silently praise the gods when the war council meeting time arrives. Aemond's departures are as torturous as his arrivals. It's clear you provide warmth and humor in your friendship. You watch as he fails to piece together words that will garner a reaction, only earning blank stares and curt nods in acknowledgment. The absence of your efforts speaks volumes, and you are sure the gods laugh at your distant dreams.

You rise from your seat at the locking of the chamber door. Smoothing out your dress, you move to your window, pushing the shade open. The sun kisses your skin as you peer over the edge. Down below continues as an extension of the walls that keep you idle within the royal court. Your hands grip the ledge as your eyes flutter shut, languidly you rock on the balls of your feet. (Y/n) Rivers, the mad bastard. Leaning forward, you release your hands, and your breath catches in your throat as a pair of hands pull you back into the room.

"Let me go!" Your voice cracks as your legs buckle beneath you. Curly strands of dark brown hair reach block your face as a hand sits on your back, and another brushes your hair from your face. Your body trembles as sobs wrack your body with violent tremors. "Please grant me release! Please!"

"It is not your time," Alicent speaks barely above a whisper. Holding you close, she rocks back and forth, humming quietly. Her shushing mixes with your hiccups filling the room as Ser Criston lingers by the door. You meet his sympathetic gaze as the Dowager Queen cradles you like a mother does their child. You cry until your throat burns raw and tears crust to your cheek.

They think me mad; they will lock me away. Swallowing thickly, you lean out of her touch, grabbing her hands fervently. A craze dancing in your eyes, the remorse in your raspy pleas consuming the space between you, "My apologies, your grace. It was only a momentary lapse in judgment—I can be better, I will be better!"