The morning light spilled lazily through the curtains, casting long golden streaks across the chamber floor. The air was still, the quiet only disturbed by the occasional crackle of the dying embers in the hearth. You sat at the vanity, slowly running a brush through your hair, your muscles pleasantly sore from the night before.

Aemond was still in bed, reclined against the pillows, the sheet hanging low on his waist. His silver hair was disheveled from sleep, the faintest shadows under his eye proof of the late hours you had spent tangled together the night before. He had been watching you for a while now, his gaze unreadable, intense.

“You’re watching me,” you murmured, catching his eye in the mirror.

Aemond smirked, unbothered by being caught. “I enjoy watching what’s mine.”

Heat crept up your neck at his words and the way he looked like a dragon about to pounce, but you didn’t look away. “You should be resting.”

“I would be, had my wife not abandoned me,” he replied lazily, stretching his long limbs before settling back against the headboard.

“Cruel thing, to wake alone on the first morning of our marriage. My wife already slipping away from me.”

“Slipping away? I’m hardly running.” You scoff playfully.

“No?” He sat up slowly, letting the sheet pool around his waist, his bare chest illuminated by the morning sun as he extended a hand toward you. “Then come here.”