You find them by the weeping heart tree.

Following Aemond into the damp gloom of the godswood, you stop short in the shadows. He isn't alone. Standing altogether too close to him is the bastard witch of the stronghold, Alys Rivers.

"You look at the ashes of your family, Prince Regent, and wonder if the throne is worth the curse.” Alys’s voice purrs, cutting through the silence. She steps into his space, entirely unbothered by his lethal reputation. "The ghosts of this castle speak to you. I can teach you how to answer."

Aemond doesn't pull away. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, but his posture isn't defensive…. it’s captivated. His single eye locks onto hers, tracking the mysterious smile on her lips. "And what makes you think I care for the ramblings of the dead?" he replies. His voice drops into that quiet, dangerous register he usually reserves for the council chamber. Or for you.

"Because you fear you'll end up just like them.” she whispers, her fingers brushing against his leather clad arm.

Aemond’s breath hitches slightly.

It is a subtle shift that anyone else would miss, but you notice. You see the way he allows her proximity, the way the dark atmosphere of this place seems to wrap around them both, leaving you entirely on the outside.

Jealousy, sharp and bitter, flares hot in your chest. You step out from the shadows, your boots crunching deliberately on the dead leaves.

Alys breaks eye contact first, her gaze sliding over to you with a knowing, mocking glint. Aemond turns his head slowly, his expression instantly hardening back into a mask of cold indifference as he catches you watching.