C U R I O S I T Y | Aemond Targaryen

F O R T Y - S E V E N

Cordelia's P.O.V.

Oh, lord... It feels like someone hit me with a truck.

Everything hurts, my entire body is aching, and I can feel my heartbeat banging around in my skull. Just how much did I drink last night? I must have really gone overboard last night because the pounding headache is merciless and throbbing with every beat of my heart. My mouth is dry, as if all the moisture has been sucked out of it, leaving behind a desert-like sensation.

As I try to move, each muscle protests with a dull, persistent ache. My limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated, making even the simplest tasks seem like a herculean effort. Opening my eyes feels like peeling them apart from a sticky adhesive and the light pierces through them like a thousand needles, intensifying the pain in my head. 

Every sound reverberates inside my ears, amplifying the discomfort and making me cringe with each sudden noise. My stomach churns and twists, reminding me of the poor choices I made the night before. However, when thinking of my choices from last night, I come up empty from not remembering a thing.

I faintly recall hitting Arryk with a shoe and dancing with a few girls at the club. Though I don't have the slightest clue of how I got home or how much I had to drink last night. I try to piece yesterday together but keep failing miserably, making me mumble to myself in a nausea tone.

"I'm never drinking again."

Forcing my face off the pillow of my bed, I feel the room spinning, and the bright sunlight searing through the window pierces my eyes. Gulping on the sensation of needing to puke, I glance around my bedroom and find a glass of water on my bedside table. Not thinking twice about it, I pick it up and chug the thing in one go, hoping it will kill the vomiting sensitivity in my throat.

Once finished with the glass of water, I notice a handful of pills on the table, along with a stack of neatly folded cash. Frowning at the money, wondering where in the world it came from, I set down the empty glass and scoop up the pills. I toss all the pills into my mouth at once and swallow, knowing one of them will help with my pain, while staring at the strange pile of money.

Did I win a bet or something? Why do I have random big bills lying around?

Groaning to myself, still feeling horribly nausea, I push myself up into a sitting position and glance around with a squinting gaze. I note how I'm in a nightgown I don't remember changing into and my bed covers tangled in a jumble around my legs. Lifting my eyes off my bed, I notice shoes that are definitely not mine on the floor beside my bed. 

They're fancy, overpriced boy shoes... Did I invite a guy home? Wait- Those look a lot like-

Raising my gaze further up, scratching my head and yawning, I see the man that the shoes belong to sitting in my desk chair. He's awkwardly sleeping in the chair with his head hanging to the side and hands connected in his lap. Staring at the guy for a cluelessly long moment, I slowly recognize who it is and suddenly feel my skin burning in rage.

Aemond fucking Targaryen.

"Get out."

I speak up in a rough dry voice that makes me sound like I haven't drunk water in days and scowl at the sleeping Targaryen like he's an unwelcomed rat in my room. When he doesn't wake up from my demand, I feel my fury boiling up the same way the puking sensation is in my throat. Not giving it a second thought, I grab the first thing I can reach on my bedside table and throw it at him with all the strength I can muster.

My spicey novel about a football player hits Aemond right in the head and his eye snaps open as the book falls into his lap. Throwing the twisted blanket off my body, I tumble out of my bed and grab another book on my bedside table to chuck at him. When our eyes meet, when sleep is lost on both of us, Aemond sits up straight and blurts out with a tone full of concern.