The hall was warm with firelight and heavy with the restless silence that came before an announcement—one everyone seemed to feel coming, even if no one yet dared speak of it aloud.

You sat straight-backed at the long table, your posture impeccable only because your mother, Princess Rhaenyra, had drilled such grace into you since childhood. Beside you were your brothers—Jace trying to appear composed, Luke bouncing his knee beneath the table, and little Joffrey already halfway asleep against Jace’s arm.

Your aunt Helaena sat to your right, her gentle fingers fiddling with the lace on her sleeve as she hummed something soft under her breath, occasionally nudging a small beetle away from her cup. She smiled at you every time your eyes met, serene as moonlight.

Across from you sat your uncles.

Aemond, with his single sharp eye fixed on no one and everyone at once, posture rigid, jaw set like a carved blade.

He wasn’t even pretending to behave.

His goblet sat untouched. His fingers drummed on the table. His violet eyes—far too bright, far too intent—kept drifting to you and staying there long enough that Helaena nudged your arm and whispered, “He is staring again.”

You didn’t need to be told.

Aemonds gaze had been an unspoken thing for years. Since childhood he had been… different with you. Softer. Attentive in ways he never managed to be for anyone else. When you tripped, he appeared before you hit the ground. When you cried, he went strangely silent, strangely gentle. When your brothers earned a careless barb from him, you earned a smile.

It never made sense. Not to your mother. Not to court. Least of all to you.

Now, with the entire family gathered—your mother and Daemon at the head of the table, Alicent seated stiffly beside Otto, the air thick with political tension—you felt it more keenly than ever.

Something was about to change.

A servant refilled your cup. Jace leaned in to whisper something to Luke. Aegons fingers flexed beside his plate.

But Aemond… Aemond only watched you.

He looked as if he were trying to memorize you—your face in the firelight, the delicate turn of your shoulder, the faint crease between your brows when you were deep in thought. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing.

He had always thought you breathlessly beautiful. He had never once bothered to hide it.

Footsteps echoed. Your mother rose.

A hush swept the room.

“All of you know why we gather tonight,” Rhaenyra began, her voice regal and steady. “A union is to be announced. One that will bind our blood more tightly, secure the strength of our house, and… honor the wishes of the crown.”

Your brothers stiffened.

Helaena blinked, then straightened in her seat, suddenly understanding.

Your heart began to pound.

Across the table, Aemonds fingers went still. His eyes never left you.

He looked almost breathless—like he’d been waiting his entire life for whatever words your mother would speak next.

And Seven help you… you suddenly suspected exactly whose union was about to be named.