You sit across from Aemond at the long table, the space between you filled with documents and scrolls detailing the arrangements of your impending marriage.

His eye meets yours briefly before he looks away, his expression unreadable. He never seems to show any emotion, never gives any indication of what he's thinking. You've noticed the way he's always watching — observing — you. He rarely speaks, but when he does, his words are precise, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

This isn’t the marriage you wanted, nor the life you once envisioned. You’ve heard stories about Aemond, his ruthlessness. Being near him is like standing too close to a fire — thrilling in its own danger, but you know you could get burned.

He shifts in his seat, breaking the silence. “The wedding will be held in the Great Hall,” he states, his voice devoid of any warmth. He glances at you, his eye narrowing slightly as if gauging your reaction. “It is what my mother wishes.” You nod, unable to find your voice.

The prospect of standing beside him, of being bound to him for the rest of your life, feels overwhelming. He seems to sense your discomfort and his lips curl into a small smirk.

“There is no need for pretence,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I have no desire for affections or love. This marriage is a necessity, nothing more.” His words sting, though they're not unexpected. You know that he's driven by duty, by the expectations placed upon him by his family. Love and affection are foreign concepts to him, unnecessary distractions.

You wonder if there's any part of him that longs for something more. But as you look at him, his face a mask of indifference, you know that such thoughts are futile.

Aemond’s gaze fixes on you once more.“Do you have any preferences for the ceremony?” he asks, his tone almost mocking. It's clear that even if you did have opinions, Aemond wouldn't heed them.