Nefarious || Aemond Targaryen

23

The newly betrothed, still stuck in the moment, had happily asked for an audience with the King and Queen shortly after. Even though the hour was late, it was news that made them ecstatic. The King clappes his hands in joy, and the Queen looked at the young princess in front of her, saw the genuine smile on her face and let herself be happy for the new couple. For the first time, the first thought she had when she heard the news wasn't about the throne, but yes, about Aemma's happiness. Although she would never admit to her father, the Hand, she cared deeply for the girl in a motherly way.

The following morning, a profound sense of exhilaration enveloped every fiber of her being, as she awoke, still entranced by the memories of the previous night's events. Although she was overjoyed about being betrothed to Cregan, she had a churning sensation in the pit of her stomach, knowing that in just a couple of hours, the King would publicly announce her betrothal.

In the stillness of the chamber, time seemed to slow, stretching every second into an eternity. The air felt heavy, charged with anticipation, as if even the surroundings held their breath in anticipation of the forthcoming revelation. Thoughts raced through her mind like wild horses, their hooves pounding against the walls of her consciousness.

Each passing moment inched her closer to the precipice of destiny, where her fate would be sealed with the king's proclamation. Her palms grew clammy, and her heart beat in irregular rhythm, as if mirroring the chaos within her soul.

Engaged to the perfect man, her heart should have soared with elation, yet a bittersweet sadness lingered in the depths of her being. She yearned for the warmth of her mother's presence, for the shared excitement and the cherished moments of planning and preparation. Aemma couldn't help but feel a pang of longing, a deep ache for the one person who had been her steadfast source of support and guidance her entire life.

The King was to make the announcement during dinner. There lied an entire day ahead, yet Aemma decided to spend the better part of the morrow in her chambers pacing back and forth. The sudden urge to reach out to her mother hit her in full force. Not to mention that it also happened to be the tenth day of the moon, the only time where her mothers trusted merchant was in Kings Landing.

After pacing around for what seemed like hours, in all of her indecisiveness, Aemma decided to grab a parchment, quill and ink, and try to write something.

Mother

No, too formal.

Dearest mother,

Too sweet, she was still furious at her mother.

Rhaenyra,

Too informal, she wasn't sending a raven to her friend, she was still her mother.

Princess Rhaenyra,

Aemma groaned in pure agony as she scribbled over her fourth title. She was writing to her mother about a personal matter, not about the small council's request to raise the taxes on Dragonstone.

Mhysa,

Better.

It brings me great joy to be able to tell you that the King is in much better health than he was the last time you saw him, he may even live for a couple of more years.

How am I faring, you asked. If I am to speak the truth, I must admit that for quite some time I had not been faring well at all. I have been ridden with saddens and anxiety, it seems that I am not as STRONG as you always taught me to be. But alas, what more can one expect when they find out they had been lied to by the one person they trust most on this planet. Did you ever plan on telling me?