Aemond sat across the long table, the flickering torchlight casting shadows on the cold stone walls of the negotiating chamber. The air between him and the representatives of her House was thick with tension, as it always was during these talks. But his focus was not on the political dealings unfolding in front of him. His gaze was fixed on her.

She was a vision of elegance, her attire striking but subtle, a reflection of the noblewoman she had become. Aemond clenched his jaw, his heart betraying him in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge. He had never wanted the engagement to end. He never wanted to be torn from her side. But that was before duty. Before the cold demands of his family and the realities of their houses’ ambitions.

"Your terms are unacceptable," she said, her voice cool and commanding, cutting through his thoughts.

Her words were pointed, dismissive even, but there was something about the way she said them that made his blood run hot. The flicker of recognition in her eyes, the unspoken challenge in the way she stood—he could feel it. It was the same fire she always had. She hadn’t changed, not really.

He wanted to speak, wanted to argue back, but he couldn’t. Not when his heart was waging its own battle. Every part of him wanted to reach across the table, pull her close, remind her of what they had once shared—what they could have shared, if only the world had allowed it. But instead, he kept his gaze steady, his posture cold, a reflection of the walls he had built around himself.

"Is this how we are to remain, then?" he asked, his voice low, almost a growl. "Fighting for the same things, but never coming to an agreement? You and I, always divided by our families?"