Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 56

Aemond had traveled to Storm's End to propose Daeron's betrothal to one of Lord Borros Baratheon's daughters, just as they had arranged. Upon arrival, he was received with courteous hospitality, the great hall bustling with servants and guards. Yet, as their discussion unfolded, the warmth in Borros's eyes cooled to something harder.

"So," Borros said, his voice low and sharp, "you mean to tell me it is not you who seeks to marry my daughters, but the youngest Targaryen?"

"I'm already spoken for; I cannot marry."
Aemond replied, though he privately mused that even if he were free, he would never consider marrying any of Borros's unattractive daughters.

"Who has spoken for you then? Surely not your sister—last I heard, your brother has already taken her as his," Borros said, his laugh grating against Aemond's patience. The man embodied everything Aemond despised: arrogance wrapped in distastefulness.

"That's irrelevant," Aemond replied coolly. "Daeron may be younger, but like me, he is a prince of the realm—and the last son of Viserys Targaryen."

Borros leaned back in his chair, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Well, in that case it seems we've come to an agreement. Choose your brother's bride."

Aemond glanced between the sisters, recalling that the youngest, Floris, would be the best choice among them. He couldn't help but think how grateful Daeron would be for his selection—he could already envision Aegon choosing the most unappealing sister just out of spite.

"I believe she will do." Aemond declared, gesturing toward Floris, the youngest daughter.

Just as Borros was about to nod in agreement to the betrothal, a guard stepped into the hall. "Prince Lucerys Velaryon, son of princess Rhaenyra Targaryen."

Aemond felt a flicker of surprise at the mention of Luke's name.

What was he doing here?

Lucerys walked into the hall, his expression a mix of determination and apprehension that was until he caught sight of Aemond standing to the side.

"Lord Borros, I bring you a message from my mother Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen." he began, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.

"Ahh, the Queen, yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King. Which is it the , King or Queen? The house of the dragons does not seem to know who rules it."Borros said, his tone dripped in sarcasm. " What's your mother's message?"

Lucerys shifted his gaze between Borros and Aemond, swallowing hard as he handed the guard the letter from Rhaenyra.

Borros snatched the letter and began to peruse its contents. Lucerys shifted his gaze to Aemond, instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword as Aemond continued to gaze at him with a mocking smile.

"Remind me of my father's oath? Boy!" Borros barked. "At least King Aegon came with an offer—his youngest brother, Prince Daeron, in exchange for my swords and banners. But if I'm to do as your mother commands, tell me, which of my daughters will you marry?"

"My lord, I am not free to marry. I'm already betrothed." Lucerys replied firmly, trying to maintain his composure.

"So you come to me empty-handed? Go home, pup, and tell your mother that the Lord of Storms is not a dog she can whistle for when she needs to confront her foes."

"I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord," Lucerys said, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over him. He sensed he had failed both his mother and Aenyra in that moment. With a fleeting glance at Aemond, he turned and made his exit.