Nefarious || Aemond Targaryen

22

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting gentle rays of warmth onto the wooden floor. As she sat by the window, sipping her steaming cup of tea, her mind began to wander back to the conversation that had unfolded the previous night. The room seemed to retain the whispers and laughter, still lingering in the air like a wistful melody.

His voice, so delicate and soothing, played like a symphony in her mind. It was laced with warmth and genuine interest. The world around them faded into a mere blur, as if nothing else mattered in that moment except the conversation that unfolded between them.

But it wasn't just the words or the laughter that lingered in her thoughts. It was the unspoken connection, the understanding that flowed between them like a secret language. It was the comfort of knowing that they could share their deepest hopes, dreams, and fears without judgment, finding solace in the sanctuary of their conversation. Not to mention that he was quite handsome, something that no other man she spoke with was.

Even though she did not wish to get married, just knowing that she would spend more time with Cregan today left her happier than expected. She also had to admit that she thoroughly enjoyed the annoyed look on Aemond's face throughout the entire previous day.

"I don't mean to pry, but is the Lord of Winterfell as dashing as they say he is?" Joss asks as she finishes up the braids on Aemma's hair. "It's just that I saw you speaking with him towards the end of the day, Princess."

Aemma lets out a small chuckle before answering. "He is even more dashing, Joss. He has such a way with words."

"I could tell by the smile on your face."

"I guess I could say that it was a rather nice way to end that horrid day." Aemma admitted.

"I would be more than joyous to accompany my princess if you chose to marry him and move to Winterfell."

"I'm glad to hear that, dear friend, I wouldn't want anybody else to accompany me." Aemma said as she placed her hand on top of Joss's.

Aemma looked herself in the mirror. The deep, rich hue of crimson of her dress, reminiscent of smoldering embers, adorned the flowing fabric, was sure to be the center of attention once she left her chambers.

The dress boasted a silhouette that accentuated her feminine form. It embraced the curves, cascading down from a fitted bodice that hugged the torso, emphasizing a slender waist before cascading into a voluminous skirt that swirled and billowed with each graceful step.

The neckline of the dress, adorned with intricate embroidery in gold or silver threads, was a work of art. The sleeves of the dress were long and flowing and were embellished with ornate patterns and intricate details. Completing the ensemble, a belt of the same crimson fabric cinched the waist, adorned with intricate gemstones and a dragon-shaped buckle.

With grace and poise, bidding a "good morrow" to all those she passed, Aemma glided towards the royal box, where an eager crowd anticipated her arrival. As she approached, an announcement resounded through the air, heralding her presence.

"The Princess Aemma Velaryon has arrived!"

The crowd reverberated with the sound of cheers and applause.

After swiftly exchanging greetings with the King and Queen, Aemma hastened towards her seat, only to find, much to her dismay, that the only available spot was between Helaena and no other than Aemond Targaryen himself. Just marvelous.

Taking her seat, she mutters a quick "Good morrow, uncle." to Aemond before turning and making small talk with Helaena. The last thing she wanted to do was hear Aemond complain about how ridiculous this whole ordeal was. He wasn't wrong, she just wasn't in the mood to hear his voice.