The night is quiet, not even a breeze to tousle the leaves in the trees, and the Red Keep sleeps soundly. All except Aemond. When you step out onto your balcony for air, it only takes a moment to realise you aren't alone in your restlessness.

Sleep evades the prince again, as it does on so many nights. Across the narrow stretch between your chambers, Aemond stands at the edge of his own balcony, one hand braced against the stone railing, his unpatched gaze distant. Moonlight catches in his hair, tracing the rigid line of tension in his shoulders, his white nightshirt making him look more ghost than human. He looks smaller without his leather tunic, and so lonely.

“You should be abed,” he says, voice low, carrying easily across the quiet space between you. “As should I, I suppose.” Only then does he glance toward you, his single eye unguarded in a way it rarely is by day. There's no court here, no audience to impress, no mask required. Just you and the moon as a witness.

Aemond pushes off the stone railing then, slowly trailing towards you until there is only the small gap between your balconies hold you apart. “You are sure to catch a chill if you linger out here,” the prince murmurs, tilting his head slightly, that one eye flicking over your frame that's clad in thin nightclothes, clearly appreciative of the view. “Or perhaps you want a reason for someone to come and warm your bed for you.”