You grew up with Aemond 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 in your house more often than not. He and your brother had been inseparable since childhood—always together, always causing trouble, always dragging you into their antics whether you liked it or not. Somewhere along the way, he became part of the family, teasing you like an older brother would. Except he wasn’t your brother.

And that made all the difference.

At university, things changed. Your brother still saw Aemond as the same childhood friend, but you saw something else entirely. The sharpness of his jaw, the way his voice had deepened, the way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long when no one was looking.

And then there was that damn nickname.

You adjust your grip on your books as you make your way through the crowded hallway, heading for the library. Finals are coming up, and you’d rather bury yourself in textbooks than deal with the chaos of your shared apartment. But before you can reach the doors, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Let me help you with that, princess.”

You don’t even have to look to know it’s him. Aemond is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his ever-present smirk tugging at his lips. That smug, infuriating, attractive smirk.

“You could just call me by my name,” you huff, tightening your hold on your books.

“But then I wouldn’t get to see you all riled up, would I?” He steps closer, plucking the top book from your stack before you can protest. “Come on, library’s this way. I’ll keep you company.”