Aemond Targaryen. The name alone was enough to send shivers down your spine. Your politically advantageous betrothal to the second son of king Viserys. The one-eyed prince, rider of the largest dragon in the seven kingdoms. You had spoken very little together, only when it was required, really. He was aloof and cold, brooding and silent. Though you couldn’t help but admire his sharp features, his lean frame and flowing hair, his Targaryen other-worldly grace, even as he ignored you and protested your marriage. Many seemed to realize his disinterest in your person and union, and courtly gossip spread quickly. The unwanted fiancée, you were. The one he did not want. Your worries only grew as the wedding date approached.