Led By Fiery Passion { Aemond Targaryen}

Part 72

Aemond

It had been one month since his escape attempt had nearly succeeded, only to end in failure. He couldn't fathom why he was moved, under the cover of night, to the dreaded Storm's End. As if his brother hadn't made him suffer enough, he had sent him to be imprisoned by the Baratheon brute. The man utterly disgusted Aemond; if he thought Borros was bad before, he was sorely mistaken. Since being trapped there, the man had made it his mission to piss Aemond off in every conceivable way. Just so when Aemond retaliated back, a guard would be summoned to rough him up. It made it worse because he remained bound in ropes unable to fight back.

"What's wrong, Prince Aemond? Still sore from your last beating?" one of the guards taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. Aemond winced at the memory of his injuries-a black eye, a busted lip, and bruised ribs-but he knew better than to show weakness. He realized that provoking them might only invite more punishment, yet defiance was woven into his very nature. With a smirk on his face, he prepared to retaliate with a sharp retort.

Aemond leaned back, adopting an air of nonchalance as he looked up at the guard who had delivered his brutal beating the night before. "Not really. You hit like a little bitch."

The guard's expression darkened. "What did you say?" He swung open the cell door and seized Aemond by the collar of his black leather tunic. His nostrils flared in rage as Aemond, unfazed, spat in his face and let out a deep, menacing laugh.

The guard pulled out a knife, tracing the sharp tip along the scar that marred his face to the line of his jaw making Aemond stop his laughter. "Not so funny now, is it?" he growled, pressing harder and slicing a cut on Aemond's skin.

Aemond grunted in pain as the sting radiated through him, feeling the warmth of blood trickle down his neck and soak under his clothes. His defiant spirit flickered but did not extinguish as he struggled to maintain his composure, refusing to give the guard the satisfaction of seeing him break. With a flicker of anger in his eyes, Aemond met the guard's gaze, refusing to look away. "You think this will scare me? It takes more than a scratch to break someone who's already been through hell," he said defiantly, his voice steady despite the pain.

The guard scowled, his grip tightening around Aemond's collar as he leaned in closer, his breath reeking of contempt. "You talk a big game for someone who's about to find out what real fear feels like."

Just then, a distant noise echoed down the stone corridor-footsteps approaching swiftly.

"Ah, it's been too long, brother! How have you been?" Aegon's cheerful voice rang out through the dimly lit chamber.

Aemond rolled his eye in annoyance, dismissing his brother's question. Instead, he returned his attention to the guard who was now standing rigidly nearby.

"Aegon, maybe you should tell your little bitch to back off. He's already cut my face," Aemond said with a sly smirk, relishing the way the guard's expression shifted from composed to anger. He stifled a chuckle under his breath, enjoying the moment since the guards were powerless to respond.

"I specifically ordered you to rough him up, but not to touch his face! Who disobeyed me?" Aegon shouted, his sudden change in tone startling the two guards stationed in the dungeon.

"Go on, admit it was you. You might earn a reward for your bravery," Aemond said, the sarcasm dripping from his words. The guard stiffened as Aegon approached, flanked by several other members of the Kingsguard.

"Lord Borros said-" the guard began to say but was cut off by Aegon.

"WHO IS YOUR KING?" Aegon roared, causing Aemond to burst into laughter at the guard's near stuttering response, amused by Aegon's attempt to wield his authority over someone physically larger than himself.