The Flames We Bear

Chapter 27 - Aemond

It's the wedding day, and as usual, I'm already here, surrounded by my family while she's probably still powdering her nose. Visenya is always late, as if time bends differently around her. No doubt she's fussing over every detail—not for appearance's sake, but out of defiance. The longer she takes, the louder the statement she makes.

I suppress a small smirk. I wouldn't be surprised if she's pacing her chambers, debating whether she can sneak a dagger into the reception to keep things "interesting." Or perhaps she's plotting her latest little rebellion. Either way, one thing is clear: Visenya Velaryon thrives on making an entrance.

"Visenya has caused less trouble than expected, she seems to be playing her role well." Grandfather Otto mutters, his voice low and thoughtful. He's been watching her like a hawk since her arrival, treating her like some wild creature we've managed to cage—if only temporarily. I resist the urge to roll my eye at his optimism.

"She is her mother's daughter, after all," he continues, "but I believe she'll fall in line soon enough."

I almost laugh. Fall in line? Clearly, he doesn't know her at all. Visenya doesn't fall in line; she carves her own path, usually leaving scorched expectations in her wake. But I hold my tongue. Watching them underestimate her is half the entertainment.

"She's been less troublesome than expected," I say coolly, my tone indifferent. "But then again, she knows when to strike." The words linger in the air, neither a compliment nor a warning. Let them interpret it how they will.

Mother, of course, is preening already. "I've chosen a beautiful green dress for her," she says, pride swelling in her voice. "With gold embroidery. The realm will whisper of how Rhaenyra's daughter is now one of us."

One of us. As if a dress could ever change the blood that runs through Visenya's veins. The thought is almost amusing, but I keep my expression neutral. Green and gold? For Visenya? Mother has no idea what she's dealing with. The realm may whisper, but not in the way she hopes.

My thoughts flicker back to the argument Visenya and I had. I hadn't meant to hurt her—not like that. I had only brought up the rumors of her mother and Ser Harwin to remind her of the stakes, to put some distance between her and Daario. The way he looked at her... it set something off inside me, something I couldn't explain. But it only made her furious, her anger hotter than dragonfire.

I shouldn't care. I should be glad she's loyal to her duty, that she hasn't betrayed me. That's what Otto and Mother want—what I thought I wanted. A dutiful wife, despite our differences. My ticket to the throne. But the way she spoke, the fire in her eyes as she threw my own words back at me, made it clear she had sacrificed more than I'd ever acknowledged. And it stung, more than I'd expected it to.

I hate that it stung.

There's a murmur in the hall, louder now, the kind of sound that precedes something remarkable. Even Mother's smug smile falters as she notices the shift in the room. All eyes slowly turn in the same direction.

Visenya.

She enters like she owns the hall, her chin high, expression unreadable. But it's the dress that draws every gaze. Not the green and gold Mother so carefully selected. No, it's deep red, as dark as dragonfire, with black lace tracing the fabric, fierce and bold. Golden dragons are embroidered along the edges, their wings outstretched, ready to take flight. The message is unmistakable. She's not a Green. She's Targaryen, through and through.

Alicent's face hardens, her eyes flashing with anger. I can feel the fury radiating off her. She was so certain she could mold Visenya into something tame, something neat to fit her plans. To turn Rhaenyra's only daughter against her.