The Flames We Bear

Chapter 4 - Aemond

The clang of steel rang out across the training yard as I swung my sword, the weight of the blade feeling like an extension of my own arm. Ser Criston Cole was a formidable opponent, skilled and relentless, but I had been trained to match him. With every strike, every block, I moved with precision, my mind focused on the battle at hand.

Criston came at me with a sharp thrust, but I deflected it with a smooth turn, the satisfying clash of our swords filling the air. A crowd had begun to gather, knights and squires whispering as they watched us. I didn't mind the attention. Let them see. Let them remember what happens when one underestimates a man like me.

As I swung my blade in an arc, my eye caught movement beyond the practice ring. I saw her before I even realized who she was.

Visenya "Velaryon".

She walked into the courtyard with two young men who shared her unmistakable features. Her long, curly brown hair cascaded down her back, the sunlight catching hints of gold woven into the strands. Her skin was smooth, kissed by the sun, her slender figure moving with an easy grace that was impossible to ignore. But it was her eyes that held my attention—dark brown, deep as the earth, and sharper than I remembered.

It had been years since I'd seen her. The last time, we had been children, locked in the turmoil of betrayal and blood. She was no longer that girl from Driftmark. The one who had stood before me in defense of her brothers. No, she had grown into a woman now. A beautiful woman, I had to admit.

But beauty would not distract me from the truth of what she was.

As I deflected another strike from Criston, I kept my focus split between the fight and her presence. She was watching me—of course, she was. My reputation was no small thing, and I was not a boy to be toyed with.

Then it happened.

Our eyes met.

For a brief moment, her gaze locked onto mine, and I saw it—a flicker of something. Nerves? Doubt? She swallowed, just barely noticeable, but enough for me to see.

I smirked, allowing the smallest curve of my lips to show. She was still weak. Still unsure of herself. I could sense it, even after all these years. She had the blood of Targaryen, a girl who wore the blood of dragons in her veins, yet she would always be in my shadow.

Criston followed my gaze, his sharp eyes landing on Visenya as well. "A beauty, that one," he said, with a wry grin. "Your bride, if the whispers are true. Quite a prize for a prince."

My smirk vanished in an instant. I turned my gaze sharply to Criston, my grip on my sword tightening. "Mind your tongue, Ser Criston," I warned, my voice low and cold. "Or I'll mind it for you."

He glanced at me, surprised by the sharpness of my words, then nodded in understanding. Criston might have been a mentor of sorts, but he knew better than to cross me when it came to matters like this.

My gaze returned to Visenya, who had looked away now, speaking with Jace and Luke as though nothing had happened. But I had seen it—the moment of hesitation, the reminder that no matter how strong she thought she was, I would always be a threat.

And now, she was to be mine.

A marriage meant to bind the family. A union of Velaryon and Targaryen blood. But this wasn't about peace. It never was. My grandfather had been clear about that. This was a move on a larger game board, a play that would bring me closer to my true goal.

Aegon may have been my mother's favorite, the one Otto Hightower wished to see upon the Iron Throne, but that throne would be mine. And Visenya...she was simply another piece in that game. A key that could open doors or be shattered if necessary.

As I continued sparring with Criston, I couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. Let Visenya come. Let her believe that this marriage was about politics, about uniting our houses. She would learn soon enough what kind of man I had become. What kind of husband I would be.

This was not the reunion she expected, and it certainly wouldn't be the life she envisioned. But I would give her a lesson in survival, in strength.

And perhaps...in the end, she might prove to be a worthy opponent after all.

For now, though, I would keep my smirk hidden and my sword sharp. Visenya Velaryon would come to know the man behind the smirk—and the dragon behind the prince.

And she would either stand by my side—or fall.