The fire in the hearth of the Red Keep’s private solar crackled low, casting long golden shadows over polished stone and dark tapestries. Outside, the wind coming off Blackwater Bay howled faintly against the high windows.

Aemond Targaryen stood rigid before the flames, hands clasped tightly behind his back, jaw set in irritation.

Across the room, Aegon II Targaryen lounged carelessly in a carved chair, goblet dangling from his fingers, while Helaena Targaryen sat near the window, delicately turning a small carved dragon over in her hands.

“She falls asleep,” Aemond said sharply, his single visible eye narrowing. “Nearly every evening.”

Aegon snorted. “The horror.”

Aemond ignored him. “I speak to her, and she smiles — and then her eyes grow heavy. As though I bore her to death.”

Helaena’s soft gaze lifted, untroubled and knowing. “She does not look bored.”

“She can barely keep her eyes open,” he pressed. “Even at feasts. Even in our chambers. Last night she fell asleep against my shoulder before I had finished speaking.”

Aegon smirked. “Perhaps your speeches lack excitement, brother.”

The sharp turn of Aemond’s head silenced him.

“It is not amusing,” Aemond said coldly. “She was not like this at first. She was alert. Careful. Watching everything.”

Helaena tilted her head slightly. “Yes. Watching.”

The word seemed to echo.

Aemond exhaled through his nose. “Now she drifts off as though she has not a care in the world. As though she need not guard herself.”

Helaena’s lips curved faintly. “And why would she?”

He frowned.

Helaena set the small dragon down and rose, her voice soft but certain. “A sleepy woman in your presence isn’t bored, brother.”

Aemond’s expression hardened. “Then what is she?”

“She feels safe.”

The room quieted.

Aegon blinked, lowering his goblet slightly.

Helaena stepped closer, her pale eyes thoughtful. “You know how her home life was. The constant vigilance. The sharp words. The need to anticipate moods before they struck. She was always braced for something.”

Aemond’s jaw flexed.

“She lived on edge,” Helaena continued gently. “But around you… she does not.”

Aemond looked away, toward the fire.

“She sleeps because her body finally believes it may,” Helaena said. “You regulate her entire nervous system without realizing it. Your presence tells her she need not fight. Need not perform. Need not survive.”

Aegon gave a low whistle. “Well. That is unexpectedly poetic.”

“She trusts you,” Helaena finished simply.

The words seemed to settle heavier than any blade.

Aemond’s shoulders, perpetually drawn tight, eased by the smallest degree.

“She leans into you,” Helaena added. “Have you not noticed? The way her breathing slows when you rest a hand at her waist? The way her fingers curl into your sleeve before she drifts off?”

He had noticed.

The warmth against his side. The soft weight of her head beneath his chin. The way she would sigh — not in boredom, but in relief.

“I thought…” Aemond began, then stopped.

“You thought she found you uninteresting,” Aegon supplied, incredulous. “Gods, Aemond.”

Helaena’s voice softened further. “She feels safe enough to close her eyes. That is not indifference. That is devotion.”

Silence lingered.

The fire popped.

Aemond swallowed, pride warring with something more vulnerable. He had built himself into something sharp and unyielding. Fearsome. Unapproachable.

And yet… she slept.

Against him.

Without hesitation.

As though he were not a storm — but shelter from one.

Aemond straightened slowly, composure returning though something gentler flickered beneath it.

“She will not fall asleep tonight,” he muttered.

Aegon rolled his eyes. “You cannot command exhaustion away.”

Aemond’s mouth curved faintly — not cruelly, but thoughtfully. “No. But perhaps I shall let her.”

Helaena smiled, small and satisfied.

The image lingered in Aemond’s mind: you curled beside him, lashes brushing your cheeks, utterly unguarded.

Not bored.

Safe.

And perhaps — for the first time in his life — he found he did not despise being someone’s peace.