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THREE MORROWS had passed since the declaration of the betrothal, and the entire kingdom bustled with excitement—except for Aemond.
His piercing gaze burned into the back of their father's head as he stood beside Maelys, watching Viserys greet the first fleet of knights arriving from Winterfell in preparation for Lord Cregan Stark's arrival. The air was thick with anticipation, the clinking of armor, the low hum of conversation, and the scent of the sea filling the harbor as the Northern men made their landing.
But Aemond felt none of the excitement that seemed to engulf everyone around him. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, his jaw set in a firm line of restrained fury. He had not spoken a word since the betrothal had been announced, but his brooding presence spoke volumes.
"Stop brooding, Aemond," Maelys observed from beside him, her voice soft but laced with dry amusement. "It's unbecoming of you."
Aemond's violet eye flicked toward her, the glint of his frustration barely hidden beneath the surface. "Unbecoming?" he scoffed, his tone laced with bitterness. "I would think a royal marriage is what's truly unbecoming."
Maelys arched a delicate brow, but she said nothing at first, her gaze fixed on the bustling harbor ahead of them. She could feel her brother's resentment vibrating off him, the tension between them as thick as the salt in the air.
"You speak as if you're the one being married," she remarked after a moment, her tone teasing but with an underlying sadness that only Aemond could detect. "It's not as though I have any say in the matter either."
Aemond's expression hardened. "That is precisely why I'm angry, Maelys," he muttered, his voice low so only she could hear. "You shouldn't have to endure this. Not for them. Not for some alliance forged by our father's whims."
Maelys felt a pang in her chest, her heart clenching at the anger in her brother's words. She knew Aemond meant well, that he cared for her in his own intense way, but there was a part of her that had already resigned to her fate. She had grown up knowing that one day her duty as a princess would come for her—and now, that day had arrived.
She gave him a small, wistful smile. "It's the way of things, Aemond. We are Targaryens. Our blood is not our own to control."
Aemond turned his full gaze upon her then, his single eye blazing with a fierce protectiveness. "I would take control if I could. If it meant you could be free, I would burn Winterfell to the ground before I let them take you."
His words were harsh, filled with the fire of his conviction, but they stirred something deep within Maelys. There was a moment of silence between them as the clamor of the harbor continued around them, the knights from Winterfell disembarking and making their way to the King. But in that silence, something unspoken passed between the siblings.
"I know," she whispered, her voice soft, a gentle acknowledgment of his loyalty and love. "But this is my duty, Aemond. It's not about what either of us wants."
