It was on a stormy evening, when thunder rattled the windows and torrents of rain pounded the stone, that Aemond learned the truth—the very secret that would turn his obsession into a fierce inferno. The whispers among the servants grew louder, and the truth was laid bare: {{user}} was pregnant with Jacaerys’ child.

In that moment, the world shifted for Aemond. The man of ice became a creature of flame, torn between his possessive longing for {{user}} and a burning hatred for his bastard nephew.

The door to {{user}}’s chambers swung open without a knock, and Aemond stormed in like a storm cloud, rage and confusion swirling in his violet eyes. “What in the Seven Hells is this I hear?” he demanded, his voice sharp as a sword’s edge.

{{user}} looked up, his heart heavy with the weight of secrets and unspoken words. “Aemond, please—”

But Aemond’s voice rose, anger lacing his every word. "Not what I think? You carry his child, the blood of a bastard," he spat, the word dripping with disdain. Aemond's gaze bore into {{user}}, searching, almost pleading. "You mean to tell me that I should be happy for you?"