The Flames We Bear

Chapter 9 - Visenya

The clinking of goblets, the low hum of conversation, and the occasional outburst of laughter filled the Great Hall. The firelight danced across the polished surfaces of silver platters, casting fleeting shadows across the faces of noble lords and ladies. I sat at the high table, my gaze sweeping over the sea of guests who had come to witness this union—this political farce dressed in silk and jewels.

My wedding feast.

Every fiber of me bristled with the weight of it all. The smells of roasted boar, spiced wine, and fresh bread should have been comforting, but they turned my stomach. I shifted slightly in my seat, my gown suddenly feeling tighter than it had this morning, as if it was trying to suffocate me with every breath. The black and green silks shimmered, symbolizing the Hightower's subtle grasp on our Targaryen heritage. It should be black and red.

I reached for my goblet, my fingers tightening around the cool metal. The wine was strong, bitter, and it burned as it slid down my throat, though not nearly as much as the sight of him sitting beside me—Aemond.

He sat tall and proud, with that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. His one good eye never left me, as if he was savoring every moment of my discomfort. We had kissed during the ceremony, a calculated show for the audience, but I knew there had been nothing real in it. It had been a declaration of war, both of us understanding the game we were now playing, the battle we had just begun.

The feast continued around us, though the tension between us hummed like a taut string waiting to snap. My brothers had returned to their seats, though I could feel their restlessness. Jace, in particular, was seething, barely touching his food as he glared daggers at Aemond from across the hall. Luke, ever the more sensitive one, watched me with worry etched into his features, as if he feared I was about to break under the pressure of it all.

But I wouldn't. I couldn't.

I caught my mother's gaze from the far end of the table. She sat beside Daemon, her expression carefully composed, though I could see the concern in her eyes. She knew what Aemond's toast earlier had been about, just as well as I did, and I could sense her anger simmering beneath the surface. But this was not the time for her to intervene. This was my battle to fight.

Daemon, on the other hand, watched me with a kind of amused curiosity, as if I were a dragon testing its wings for the first time. He had always been that way—detached but observant, waiting to see how things would unfold before offering his own brand of guidance. I had inherited more from him than anyone liked to admit. My penchant for sharp words, for pushing back when cornered, was as much his influence as it was my own defiance.

I took another sip of wine, my mind drifting to what lay ahead. The feast would end soon, and the reality of what came after would settle in—the wedding night. I'd made light of it earlier when my mother had hesitantly broached the subject, but now the weight of it pressed down on me.

I was about to be alone with Aemond - actually worse there would be an audience. The thought of that pervert Aegon watching nauseated me. I would bound to Aemond in more ways than just politics. And while I had stood strong before him in front of the court, the idea of what was to come filled me with a mixture of dread and curiosity. What would he be like when the eyes of our families were no longer upon us? Would he continue to mock and taunt me, or would there be something else beneath that cold exterior?

I wasn't sure what frightened me more—the idea that he might be cruel, or the possibility that he might not be.

As the night dragged on, I watched Aemond from the corner of my eye. He had returned to his calm, collected mask, though I could sense that he was still watching me, waiting for his next move. The feast was a game, but it would end soon enough. And when it did, the real battle between us would begin.

For better or worse, I was now his.

And he was mine.