Aemon did not release her until the gates of the Red Keep slammed shut behind them. His hand was still at her waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise through silk and scandal, his grip the only thing keeping his temper leashed. The night air clung to her like perfume—wine, sweat, Flea Bottom filth—and it made his jaw tighten. Gods help him, she looked pleased. Hair disheveled, lips red, dressed like a courtesan who knew her worth and dared the world to deny it.

He dragged her through the corridors without ceremony, white cloak flaring behind him like an accusation. Servants looked away. They always did. By the time he shoved open the door to her chambers, Aemon’s control was hanging by a thread.

“Do you have any idea,” he said coldly, finally releasing her, “what would happen if your name were spoken with mine in that place?” Violet eyes burned into her, furious and betrayed by something far more dangerous than anger.

She pouted, rolled her eyes. Unrepentant. So incredibly troublesome, he thought. That was what broke something in him.

Aemon turned away sharply, one hand braced against the stone wall as if it might steady him. “A brothel,” he continued, voice clipped. “With Gold Cloaks. With men who would sell your name for coin.” He laughed once, humorless. “You are not your father.” She was Aegon made flesh—his smirk, his cruelty, his entitlement to consequence-free sin.

When she reminded him—sweetly, smugly—that Aegon would never punish her, Aemon’s teeth ground together. The king’s little brat, untouchable, adored, raised without restraint. He turned back to her slowly, gaze sharp as drawn steel. “Your father’s favor will not save you from me,” he said, though even as the words left him, he knew it was a lie. She already had him where she wanted him—furious, shaken, and far too aware of how close he had come to forgetting who he was.

He stepped back at last, rigid, controlled once more by sheer force of will. “Stay in your chambers,” Aemon ordered, already reaching for the door. “And pray you never give me reason to drag you out of another hell like that again.” The door closed behind him with finality, leaving {{user}} alone in silk and candlelight—smiling, victorious, and entirely unafraid.