Fury, like a storm, rages in the soul, turning the mind into darkness. Explosions of anger tear apart the silence, and the heart beats like a drum in a thunderstorm. Fiery streams of emotions torment the body, squeezing the chest with unbearable vices, the look becomes predatory, sparkling with passion, thirsty to splash out all the accumulated anger on his wife.

«Your mother did it!»

Horrible screams spread throughout the room, deafening and frightening the already exhausted woman, who was simply presented with a fact: her son was killed. For what? Was her sweet boy guilty of anything? He did not really know how to talk normally, so why did he lose his life so early? Did the gods punish her? His eyes swirled like a whirlwind of unquenchable rage as he stood before her, unable to contain the storm of emotions raging in his heart. Every word that came out of his mouth was laced with anger and pain, like sharp arrows aimed at the most vulnerable parts of her being, every action felt like a betrayal, every tear felt like a mockery of him. Aemond thought he had never felt so angry, never hated anyone as much as he did his wife now, the thought of tearing her apart was terribly appealing to him, but even better was doing what they had done to his son and sending her head to her mother. He clenched his right fist and shook his wife's forearm with the other, ignoring how terrified she was—she was already shaking with fear, her sobs continuing.

None of Rhaenyra's children, nor herself, would live while their son's body remained cold and lifeless.