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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 ~ 𝟏𝟐𝟖 𝐀𝐂
Ever since the announcement, the halls of the Red Keep had been bustling with excitement. All those who remember overflowing with joyous nostalgia from the old days when the realm was happiest–throwing tourneys and feats and balls and royal hunts.
To begin the celebrations for Prince Aegon's and Princess Helaena's sixth anniversary of marriage, a feast was to commence late that night, and Daeravor was dreading the very thought of spending time in those Strong cunts' presence.
The foolish shits that stole his brother's eye, whom lay beside him now, curled up on the ruffled sheets with his head on Daeravor's lap. Still in the world of blissful dreams as the sun lifts itself above the line where the world ends, or so tales say.
Awaiting until his brother awakens so he need not face the Strongs alone should he come across them in the halls, Daeravor lounges whilst reading a book left on the bedside table–an old text on the history of Sothoryos–carding his fingers through Aemond's long hair. The silvery strands fall through his fingers like dripping starlight.
A tenderness lies in Daeravor's dark violet eyes he rarely allows himself to show as they trace Aemond's features, now softened by sleep. His lashes lay against his high cheekbones delicately, the sapphire glinting in the early morning light, his lips slightly parted in an almost childlike expression.
Daeravor thinks he looks peaceful like this. Ethereal. Not the ruthless prince the realm knows.
He drinks in the sight, his black heart swelling with so much love as he commits every detail to memory–the way his brother's starlit hair spills over his lap, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the serene look that makes him look so fucking beautiful.
