The Blue Princess ☆☽ Aemond Targaryen

CHAPTER SIX

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

"When blue reaches for green, it seeks calm amidst the storm; yet green turns away, bound to remain just out of reach."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

❀ 122 AC ❀

Naerys sat alone at the heavy oak table in the library, the soft morning light spilling through tall, arched windows and casting delicate patterns on the stone floor, as if trying to warm the chill that had seeped into her very bones. Shadows shifted with the sun, stretching and settling around her like a veil, but they did little to chase away the cold that pressed in from the vast, empty shelves. A few scattered books on High Valyrian lay open before her, the worn pages trembling with each faint gust that slipped through the drafty room. She couldn't tell how long she'd been waiting; time felt suspended, thickening the silence that pressed down, filling every corner like a suffocating fog.

Each time her gaze drifted to the door, hope clawed its way back up—only to sink again, heavy in her chest, when she was met with the quiet creak of empty hinges. Where is he? Their study sessions were a cherished part of her day, something she counted on—a ritual woven into the very fabric of her heart. But without Aemond here, the library felt hollow. The warmth had been drained from its stone walls, leaving only shadows and a biting chill.

Earlier, over breakfast, she had tried to draw him into conversation, her excitement spilling over despite his silent mood. "Did you know butterflies can taste with their feet? Isn't that funny?" she had said, hoping to coax a smile from him. Aemond had only nodded, his eyes downcast, seemingly engrossed in his plate, chewing with a distance that made her chest tighten. It was as though he was miles away, wrapped in thoughts he wouldn't share. That invisible wall between them felt new and impenetrable, leaving Naerys unsure how to break it.

A sigh escaped her as she tried to focus on the book before her, but the delicate lines of High Valyrian script blurred and wavered. Her mind kept circling back to Aemond and the times he'd leaned close to correct her, his voice soft and steady, his breath warm against her ear. She could almost hear his gentle murmurs, feel his closeness—a cherished presence now seeming out of reach. In its place was a raw emptiness pulsing inside her like a bruise, deepening with every passing moment.

Her hand moved absently to her wrist, and she flinched when her fingertips grazed a faint bruise. The memory of yesterday came rushing back—Aemond's hands gripping her wrist and her jaw. His jaw was clenched, eyes blazing with an intensity that had left her shaken. He hadn't meant to hurt her; she knew that. His anger had been aimed at others—Aegon, Jace, Luke—not at her. She was just caught in his storm, collateral damage in a conflict that was never meant for her. He didn't mean it. She thought, trying to reassure herself. But her fingers lingered over the bruise, the sting igniting a tight ache in her chest, as if her heart were a fragile glass, cracked but not yet shattered.

Her gaze drifted to the door again, her fingers tapping restlessly against the table's polished wood, betraying her growing anxiety. She bit her lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood from chewing too hard. Is he avoiding me? The thought sliced through her, twisting her stomach with queasy uncertainty. Had she done something wrong? Displeased him in some way? Each question spiraled through her mind like a thorny vine, tightening around her heart until she could barely breathe.