The Flames We Bear

Chapter 6 - Aemond

The firelight flickered across the grand dining hall as the wine flowed freely, and the conversation around me grew louder and more animated. I sat at the head of the table, my eyes drifting towards Visenya, who sat across from me. She was poised, graceful even, though I could see the edges of her control waver under the weight of the evening. I couldn't help but smirk at the thought of how easy it would be to prod that composure until it shattered.

This dinner had been meant to unite our families, to display harmony before the court. But I had no interest in pretending. Not when there was so much unfinished business between us, so many threads of tension still taut from years past.

As I lifted my goblet, the thought struck me—what better time than now to unsettle her?

"Before we all retire for the night," I began, raising my voice just enough to draw the attention of the table, "I would like to make a toast."

The room quieted, all eyes turning toward me. I could feel my mother's gaze from across the hall, a subtle caution in her eyes, but I ignored it. This was my moment.

"To alliances," I continued smoothly, my gaze locking onto Visenya's. "And to family, both old and new. I look forward to the union of our houses, and I am certain we will all grow stronger as a result." I paused deliberately, letting the weight of my words hang in the air. "After all, strength is in our blood."

I saw the flicker of recognition in Visenya's eyes at the subtle barb, the mention of strength a not-so-subtle nod to the whispered rumors surrounding her parentage. The hall was silent for a beat too long as my words sank in. Aegon snorted beside me, clearly enjoying the tension I'd stirred, but I kept my eye on Visenya, waiting for her reaction.

For a moment, I thought she might ignore it, let the insult slip by without a word. But then, to my surprise, she raised her own goblet, a slow, deliberate smile curling her lips.

"To strength," she echoed, her voice calm but sharp as a blade. "It is a gift indeed, passed down through generations. Though, some of us must work harder to prove our worth than others." Her brown eyes gleamed, meeting mine with a defiance that sent a jolt of unexpected admiration through me. "But I assure you, Prince Aemond, strength is not something I lack."

The air in the hall shifted. I could see the tension ripple through the gathered lords and ladies, the weight of Visenya's response cutting through the polite pretense of the evening. She had met my taunt and thrown it back with precision, not only acknowledging the unspoken insult but turning it into a challenge.

Across the table, my mother shifted in her seat, her fingers tightening on her goblet. "We are all blessed by the strength of our family," she interjected, her tone tight but controlled. "Let us not forget that it is unity, not division, that will guide us forward."

Rhaenyra, ever watchful, inclined her head slightly, as if to acknowledge the attempted peace offering. "Indeed, my queen. This union represents much more than strength. It is a symbol of our shared bloodline, our future."

Daemon leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face as he glanced between Visenya and me. "And what a future it will be," he drawled, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Two dragons bound together. It seems only fitting that there will be a few sparks along the way."

I clenched my jaw, unwilling to let Daemon's words or Visenya's clever retort rile me. But there was no denying the ripple of approval that had swept through the hall at her response. The courtiers murmured amongst themselves, no doubt noting the boldness of her words, the way she had matched me—if not bested me—in front of them all.

I raised my goblet once more, forcing a tight smile. "To the future, then," I said, my voice smooth but edged with steel. "May it be as... eventful as this evening."

Visenya met my gaze, her lips twitching into a smirk as she took another sip of her wine. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Around us, the tension slowly eased as the conversation resumed, but I couldn't shake the growing frustration gnawing at me. She had played her hand well, too well. I had meant to embarrass her, to remind her of her place, but instead, she had turned the tables, standing firm in a way that left no doubt—this marriage would be a battle, one fought not just with words but with wits and will.

As the dinner continued, I stole glances at her, my mind racing with plans and counter-strategies. She may have won this round, but the game was far from over. If Visenya thought she could match me, she had much to learn about what it truly meant to be a Targaryen.