Tales Of The Heart [Aemond Targaryen]

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Love is not contained in speech and hearing,
Love is an ocean whereof the depth is invisible.
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T

his is it, I told myself, taking in the flickering candles and dull faces around me. This is home now. But no matter how many times I repeated it, the words felt foreign, like I was trying to believe in someone else’s lie.

It’s been almost two moons since my marriage to the second prince and still, I couldn’t bring myself to feel comfortable here.

There is something foul in the air of Red Keep, something that extracts all the joy from you until it leaves you blank.

I have never felt anything as such. People talk in hushed secrets while their faces are masks.

I watch them from the corners of my eyes—whispers passed between tight lips, smiles that never reach their eyes.

Even the light that streams through the high windows feels muted, as if it, too, has been tainted by the weight of secrets buried deep within these walls.

And Aemond… he remains a mystery, distant yet ever-present. His gaze follows me in the quiet moments, but he offers little comfort.

The Aemond I married was different from the person I had dreams about. He was soft when his eye fell on me across the room, his gaze always warm. He was…patient. Attentive.

His touch was gentle when he placed his hand above mine on the table as we waited for the servers. a quiet reassurance in the simplest of gestures.

His kiss… was tender, like a promise unspoken. There was a kindness in the way his lips brushed mine when we parted for the night after he escorted me to my chamber. It wasn’t hurried or passionate, but deliberate, like he was trying to tell me something with that gentle press of lips. There was always this unspoken understanding in those moments—a silent farewell, but also a promise that we’d meet again in the morning. It was a kind of intimacy that didn’t need words.

He would linger there for just a moment longer, his fingers brushing my cheek as if to remind me that he was still there, even when the door closed between us. It was strange how something so small could make me feel… seen. Secure, even. Like I wasn’t alone in this place of strangers.

The castle servants are no different. They move like ghosts, never meeting my eyes, their conversations falling silent when I draw near. And in that silence, I hear it—the foulness I cannot explain. It clings to everything here, like a shroud, suffocating even the faintest hint of joy.

Even now, as I sit across from an unwelcome guest in my chambers, the feeling lingers. Larys Strong sips his tea with deliberate calm, his presence an unsettling intrusion into my already fragile peace.

He’s been persistent, always finding reasons to appear where he is not wanted, slipping into my space with a subtlety that would impress even the most practiced courtier. His visits are never announced, never expected—yet he arrives, making it clear that his presence is not a courtesy but a right he believes he holds.

“Lady Maenya,” he says, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “The castle has become so… quiet, hasn’t it?”

I do not answer. Instead, I watch him, wondering what twisted game he is playing. What is his reason? What does he seek from me?

“It seems you prefer the quiet.” His eyes squinting.

“Lord Strong,” I said keeping my tone as neutral as I could manage. “How long are you going to keep bothering me? Haven’t you heard the last person to bother me was swallowed by my dragon?”