Aemond’s eye waned shut as he leaned ever closer, breathing in the silken strands that spilled over the nape of your neck. His hand flexed, slender fingers encircling your throat, his thumb pressing down just beneath the delicate curve of your jaw as if to map the smallness of your face. His hold was not cruel, yet there was no mistaking the claim in it—ever reminding you of your place. He drew you hard against his chest, drinking in the tremor that coursed through you, and the lovely eclipse of your breath.

“Good girl,” he purred, his lips grazing your hair, brushing featherlight kisses just behind the curve of your flushed ear.

His opposite arm cinched around your waist, keeping you fixed upon his lap much like that of a little doll. In such moments, the rigidness within him seemed to ebb, his shoulders easing as though peace could be found in your nearness. A gentle breeze swept through the chamber, dancing with the strands of your hair, and tickling against his scarred cheek. Aemond sighed with contentment.

“You will remain here,” he husked, nosing aside your tresses until the pale line of your neck lay bare to his hooded gaze. “Until I find your presence… worthwhile.” His words were soft, yet beneath them all lay something left dormant.

His eye lingered on the gooseflesh that seemed to scatter like constellations across your pale flesh. The prince’s grasp slipped free from your throat, fingers ever curling about that of your dainty chin, forcing your head aside until you met his gaze from over your shoulder.

“Understood?” he breathed. “Say yes.”