ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ - House of the Dragon

CHAPTER EIGHT

                        Aemond Targaryen.

Her breathing was steady under the white blankets. Her black hair standing out the place as she comfortable lied her head on her pillow.

Her lady-in-waiting was keeping the fire alive, momentarily looking at the bed whenever Visenya removed herself. I couldn't blame her. If there was anything I was afraid as a kid, it was waking her up. I did it once, and I ran out as she started yelling and throwing things at me.

There was only one person she wouldn't get mad at. Her stupid, bastard brother Jacaerys.

Nadia, once my mother's own lady-in-waiting, made her way to the bed, standing in her toes as if that could prevent her from making any unwanted noise, and made sure the princess was already asleep. Then she walked at the door, and once they closed with a sudden crack, Visenya sat straight on the bed.

She followed the woman's steps, carefully walking at the door as her lilac eyes closed for concentration, listening to something I could not from where I stood, hiding behind the curtain of her balcony. Her lips curled up in the most arrogant of smirks as she half ran to her wardrobe, not caring about the echo of her bare feet bouncing against the silent room. Her throat made a sound of approval as she took out a pair of black trousers, a dark red shirt-dress and a corset. And then she dropped her short nightgown to the ground.

She was giving me her back, but that didn't stop me from going hard under my own clothing.

Her skin, once so smooth with childhood caress, was covered in more scars I could count. She had more moles than in her youth, and even from afar I could see the freckles in her shoulders she inherited from her true father. Her hair, a black, slightly wavy curtain, did a great job covering her entire back from my sight.

My eye caught sight of a huge wound in the back of her left thigh, a crooked line that had to be made by a sword, and the white of the healed flesh stood out among the rest of her body. I had no time to admire the rest of her body as she dressed herself up, sliding inside her dark boots and studiedly braiding her long, odd hair. A dark cloak, as dark as the rest of her clothing, made itself comfortable around her shoulders, and soon enough her steps brought her to the wall besides her bed, pushing in the right place to reveal the secret passage Maegor the Cruel created during his reign. And she left.

I was fast to follow her.

I had no intention to, no desire to, but my feet worked by themselves. Rather sooner than later, the darkness too swallowed me, and the only sound beside my breathing was her own and the echo of her feet against the stone ground. How came someone raised by the Rogue Prince could be that noisy? Perhaps she wanted her stepfather to hear her through the walls as a taunting ghost. Was that not the reason of her escape in the first place? I could not know. But why would a princess escape the safety and intimacy of her quarters to wander around such city as King's Landing?

Visenya did the best of jobs avoiding knights and drunk men, hiding in the most dark corners and mixing with the poor group of people she could find here and there. I didn't know how they didn't recognize her. The cap of the cloak was covering her hair, and the hour of the wolf forbade anyone to notice the lilac tone of her irises unless they were close enough a candlelight. But her clothing was still of the best silks, the best fabrics. And she was wearing a silver blade in her thigh with a dragon as a pommel. Perhaps the people in King's Landing was as imbecile as my own mother always said.

Her steps became more cautious as she reached the Dragonpit, paranoidly looking over her shoulder before going west. I could not hide my surprise as she walked directly to Flea Bottom.

My half sister's only daughter already had a cup of ale when I found the strength to walk in the alehouse. Her figure was completely lost in the tide of bodies around, but her intimidating posture and that arrogant aura were hard to not notice. There was a man sitting next to her, and she politely laughed as he raised his own wooden cup. Despite the distance, and the unstoppable sounds of both inside and outside the tavern, I could still hear it. My eye rolled to the back of my head though, as she bumped her cup with his, drinking the liquid in one single sip.