Our Violet Delights

《Chapter 3》

Aemma."

"Jacaerys..."

"Acted rashly last night," Rhaenyra says. "He is still learning what it means to be a dragon. How to control one's fire."

"Jace will never learn that," Aemma says. "He was born with the fire of Balerion in his belly. He knows not how to control his anger - or his excitement."

"He will learn." Rhaenyra swallows. "But you need not."

Aemma's head snaps up.

"You're my peacemaker," Rhaenyra murmurs, cupping her daughter's cheek. Her brows furrow when she notices the cut to her lip, but she doesn't say anything. "Go make peace with your Uncles and Aunt-"

"Mother!"

"They have no quarrel with you," Rhaenyra reasons. "We must not part here enemies, Aemma. The King is sick. We do not know how much time we have left. If we abandon affection and embrace animosity, there will be unrest when I ascend the throne. I don't want that."

"They hate me," Aemma whispers, thinking of rough hands and soft kisses. "They hate me, mother."

Rhaenyra's eyes soften. "Helaena doesn't. Go say goodbye."

~

trade lies for power and profit."

"I know of the court, uncle," Aemma murmurs. "You forget I lived here once."

He thinks of wide brown eyes and a promise not to tell the truth.

"Forget?" He echos. "I am endlessly reminded of your presence in these walls, Princess. It is a torment, believe me."

The two dragons glare at each other, complete opposites. Dark and light, day and night. Truth and lie. Prince and bastard.

They stand on the edge of a cliff, toes clinging to the edge. Aemond wants to jump. Aemma wants to run.

"I do not wish to torment you any longer, uncle," Aemma murmurs, as she gathers her skirts in her hands and bows her head to her lady Aunt. "Goodbye, Princess Helaena. I wish you good tidings in the days to come."

Helaena smiles vacantly and whispers, "Beware the dread on dragonback, niece."

Aemma meets a violet eye and flees again.

~

a dragon before he feasts. Aemma wonders if she shall be his meal. "Do you want to know my truth?"

He doesn't let her answer.

"I had been thinking about kissing you for quite some time," Aemond confesses, standing up from the chair. Aemma takes a step back, spooked. "I had spent hours thinking of the hands which had taken my eye. I had wondered what you would taste like."

Her knees knock the back of a table she backs into.

Aemond continues his approach.

"I wondered if you would blush when I took your first kiss," Aemond whispers, fingers coming out to trace the line of her jaw. "You look so pretty when you're wanton."

"I'm not-"

"So delicious," He murmurs, inhaling deeply. "I would feast on you every day if given the chance."

"I'm not a piece of meat, Aemond," Aemma snaps, pushing at his chest. "I'm a Princess."

He does not smile, or laugh. He simply watches her.

"I know what you are, bastard," he hisses.

Her anger is an inferno scorching her skin and setting her limbs alight. It is the fire that sees her hand whip out and strike the silver prince. He lets out a noise of shock as his head is smacked back. The movement is enough to loosen his eyepatch, falling to the floor.