The room was silent, enveloped in the soft twilight of dawn. You were lying on your side, the silk sheets wrapping around you like a cocoon. One of your shoulders had slipped out of the satin neckline of your pajamas, your skin contrasting with the peach-colored fabric. Your curly hair, tousled from sleep, formed a messy, golden halo around your face, like a tangle of strands of light captured from the window.

The door opened with a sharp click, breaking the peace of the room. Aemond entered like a storm, his wide black coat fluttering with the movement. His face, usually a model of controlled coldness, was radiating an almost wild energy, a triumphant and wild gleam in his single light blue eye.

He crossed the room with long, decisive strides. Before you could even sit up or whisper his name, he was upon you. His hands, strong and cold, dug into your shoulders, and his mouth found yours in a kiss that was more an assertion of ownership than a gesture of affection. It was hard, urgent, and tasted of icy wind and blood.

He broke the kiss, but kept his face so close that his hot breath touched your lips. His single eye fixed on yours, burning with terrifying intensity.

"He's dying," Aemond whispered, his voice a mixture of triumph and something darker, a secret shared in that hoarse whisper. "The burns Vhagar gave Aegon... his flesh is rotten. Not even the maesters can contain the infection. It's a matter of hours, maybe days." His hands slid down from her shoulders, enveloping her in an embrace so tight it almost suffocated her, as if he wanted to melt her into himself. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, in that mixture of rose perfume and sleep.

"When he dies," he continued, the words coming out like hot steam against her skin, "I will be King."

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his long, firm fingers rising to caress your face with overwhelming possession. His thumb traced the line of your cheekbone.

"And you, my beautiful one... you will be my Queen"