Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 32

"Aenyra Velaryon," Cregan breathed, pausing as his eyes swept over her with something between reverence and disbelief. "I can't believe it's really you."

Before she could reply, he closed the distance in two long strides and lifted her into a tight embrace.

"Cre–Cregan?" Aenyra gasped, startled—but the shock melted quickly into joy as she threw her arms around his shoulders. "Gods, I can't believe you're really here!"

It had been years.

When he finally set her back on her feet, the world around them seemed to fade. Nobles watched in murmuring curiosity, but neither of them noticed—or cared.

"Look at you," he said with a teasing smile,"You always did know how to make an entrance."

"I missed you too." Her smile softened into something fond, almost wistful.

He looked the same, and yet not. The strong, broad figure she remembered had only grown more solid, more imposing. His hair was longer now, brushing the collar of his dark coat. But it was his eyes—once youthful and clear—that now carried the weight of time. Of loss.

Aenyra had stayed in contact with him and Sara, exchanging letters as the years passed. She knew what had happened—his marriage, born of duty and pressure, and how it had ended in tragedy when his wife died giving birth to his son. A boy Cregan now raised alone. The wolf of the North, still loyal, still kind... but marked by sorrow.

"You certainly are a sight for sore eyes," he said, voice low as he reached out, curling a piece of her silvery hair around his finger. "How is it possible to get even more beautiful than I remember?"

A flush rose to her cheeks. Aenyra offered him a soft laugh, but her heart stuttered.

Because she could feel it.

That familiar weight pressing against the back of her neck. The unmistakable sensation of being watched—closely, possessively.

She didn't have to turn to know who it was.

His gaze burned into her from across the room like wildfire threatening to consume.

And she suddenly felt  caught between two flames.

————-

Aemond entered the great hall cloaked in his usual black—sharp, commanding, a shadow moving through flickering candlelight. His strides were long and measured as he made his way toward Aegon and their sister, Helaena, who lingered quietly near the high table.

"Happy name day, sister," he said smoothly, plucking a goblet of wine from a passing tray and lifting it to his lips.

"Thank you, Aemond," Helaena replied, her voice soft and faraway, fingers twisting absentmindedly around the ring on her hand.

He offered her a subtle nod, a rare flicker of warmth in his gaze—before instinct, sharp as a blade, drew his eye toward the entrance of the hall.

And then he saw her.

Aenyra.

She entered like a vision, gliding beside her parents as they enter the hall. The candlelight kissed the sapphire that lay at the swell of her breast, it shimmered along the deep blue silk of her gown that hugged her form in all the right places, regal and utterly alluring. Her chin was high, her posture proud, and her hair flowed like molten moonlight down her back.

Aemond's breath hitched.

Gods, she was breathtaking.

His eye tracked her every step as she crossed the floor toward Jacaerys and Lucerys. And then—there it was—that smile. Radiant. Effortless. So achingly captivating. It bloomed across her face at something Luke had said, and Aemond felt his own lips twitch in response, a silent echo of her joy.