Idiot. That was the only thought that came to Aemond’s mind when it came to his brother. As expected, King Viserys had not lasted long—his frail body finally succumbing to illness. And so, the plan began. Queen Alicent moved swiftly, arresting the servants who knew of his death, ensuring no one could stand in the way of the usurpation. The crown, meant for Rhaenyra, would now fall to her drunken son, Aegon.

The same Aegon who had now vanished, leaving it, as always, to Aemond to clean up his mess.

With his so-called friends too occupied with their own images to bother, Aemond and Ser Criston rode through the streets of King’s Landing, searching for his disgraced brother—the man who would soon sit the Iron Throne. It was a farce. Aegon was a fool and a drunkard, and now, it fell to him to be king. A bitter joke, and one that Aemond could hardly stomach.

There was only one place his brother could be, and the thought of it made Aemond’s insides twist. Silk Street. One of the brothels. The very same he’d taken Aemond to years ago—the night he bedded his first woman—a mistress. A bastard of his House, no less.

They arrived at the door, and Aemond knocked, hoping the Madam would be the one to answer. Surely the girl would no longer be there. She was too young to have lasted in that place. From what he remembered, she had been a thief, a killer—a stray the Madam had taken in. {{user}} he thought bitterly, disgusted that he even remembered her name.

When the door creaked open, Aemond felt his throat tighten.

"Sometime last night, we… misplaced our drinking companion," Ser Criston took the lead, while Aemond stood rigid, unable to even look her in the eye. He could hardly believe it was her.

Aemond watched as a flicker of confusion crossed her face. Beautiful, he thought, though he shoved the thought aside as quickly as it came. He had no time for sentiment.

"You see, the man we seek is Prince Aegon," Criston added.

Damn idiot, Aemond seethed inwardly, when I get my hands on him...