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Outside, it was raining, and a dense fog had covered the roofs and hills of King's Landing. Thousands of small lights faintly glowed from the city, engulfed in mist and darkness. Aemond sat near his window, a book in his right hand, and a knife in the other, spinning it with his fingers in a repetitive motion.
Nyla, Nyla, Nyla. That's all he could think about. Her hair, her eyes, her hands, her skin. Her lips. The image of someone else's lips touching hers still disturbed him. But what disturbed him the most was the fear that she would never look at him with affection again after his words that morning. Perhaps he had really crossed the line this time.
Her damp eyes and her hurt voice had made him uncomfortable. He could still feel his chest constricted and a hard knot in his throat. It couldn't be guilt. No, guilt and sympathy were emotions he simply wasn't acquainted with. Instead, he had convinced himself that those incomprehensible emotions stemmed from the fact that his own actions had led to an unwanted and inconvenient result.
The previous night, he had left her in that alley with the resolution to forget her, but such a resolution hadn't lasted longer than a few hours. As soon as he entered his room, he had to fight the urge to go out and search for her once again. He didn't even want to imagine what that bastard could be doing to Nyla, with Nyla.
He couldn't understand their words entirely, but he had grasped the extent of Nyla's devotion to that guy. And wasn't that unfair? She was his maid. She was supposed to be his alone. To take care of him and only him. Wasn't that a given after he had treated her so kindly?
Perhaps that's why he was so angry, and perhaps that anger had driven him to be unnecessarily cruel to her. But he couldn't bear it any longer. He had to figure out a way to fix things with her.
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Aemond went in search of Ser Criston, knowing he could find a trusted and loyal advisor in him. He found him standing outside his mother's room, as always.
