“I was starting to think you’d never show.”

Aemond’s voice was cool, matter-of-fact, almost devoid of any emotion and yet still with an undercurrent of that frustrating condescension. He’d been waiting for you, his betrothed, for what felt like hours but was perhaps only minutes.

Your betrothal to Aemond was purely political, an alliance between two great houses that deserved no one but each other, but sometimes (always) there was tension between the two of you, an indescribably pull that made you both want to slap him and kiss him senseless.

Even if Aemond was a tad too arrogant for your tastes, there was no denying that he was beautiful - his Targaryen features distinguishing him from anyone else that could've ever held your attention.