Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 50

The early morning sun filtered through the window, casting a soft golden glow across the chamber. The faint sound of birdsong stirred Aemond from a deep, peaceful sleep. He hadn't opened his eye yet—content to remain in the warmth of slumber until a sudden, loud thud echoed through the room.

His body jolted upright instantly.

He glanced beside him to wear Aenyra's place in the bed was empty.

His heart began to race, he swung his legs over the edge and quickly rose, following the sound with urgency building in his chest.

He found her in the bathroom, hunched over a bucket, retching violently.

"Aenyra!" he exclaimed, rushing to her side. Without hesitation, he knelt beside her, gently gathering her long hair and holding it back. His hand rubbed soothing circles along her spine as she groaned through another wave of nausea.

"Are you alright? Gods—are you sick?" His voice was tight with worry, his one eye scanning her pale face for any clue as to what was wrong.

His frantic voice finally registered with her as the waves of nausea began to subside. She leaned back against him, her hand reaching up to caress his cheek. "I'll be okay, my love. It's nothing—"

"I don't believe you! First you nearly faint in front of me the other day in the cave, and now you're throwing up? I'm going to get a Maester!" Aemond insisted, concern lacing every word.

"Aemond, please," Aenyra whispered, her voice hoarse but urgent. "I'm fine. You know what'll happen if you summon a Maester."

Her eyes locked onto his, pleading. The unspoken truth hung between them like a blade—if his mother found out, if the court knew, everything they had planned would unravel in an instant.

Aemond's jaw clenched. "It's going to come out eventually, Aenyra! I can't just stand by while something might be wrong with you!"

His voice cracked with a mix of fear and frustration. He turned abruptly, storming out of the chamber before she could respond, the echo of the door slamming behind him reverberating like a thunderclap in her chest.

————-

"Maester Orwyle, what's wrong with her?" Aemond asked, anxiety lacing his voice.

"There's nothing wrong with the princess, Prince Aemond," the maester said with practiced calm. "She is, in fact, with child—just over a moon along, by my estimation."

He paused, letting the words settle before offering a faint, knowing smile. His eyes flicked to the ceremonial cuts still visible on Aemond's lip, then to Aenyra's, where the dried blood marked the bond they had sealed.

"It would seem the child will not be born a bastard. Congratulations to you both."

Aemond froze at the maester's words, barely registering the quiet jest that followed. His gaze locked onto Aenyra's, searching her face for confirmation though he already knew the truth.

She had suspected as much, but hearing it aloud sent a wave of emotion crashing through her—relief, joy, fear, and something deeper she couldn't name.

"I will take my leave now," Maester Orwyle said gently, giving a respectful nod. "Oh, and don't worry this shall remain between the three of us." Then he turned and quietly closed the door behind him, leaving them in silence.

Aemond slowly sank to his knees before her, awe written across his face. She was carrying his child. Their child. A truth he had only dared to dream of.

With reverence, he placed both hands on her waist and pressed a soft kiss to her abdomen, his lips lingering as if in silent prayer

Aenyra ran her fingers through his hair, smiling down at him. "Aemond..." she called softly, noticing him shy away, tensing under the weight of his feelings.