Jealousy is a horrible feeling that crawls underneath your skin. No matter what you do to stop it hitching, it'll always be there. Jacaerys is now aware of it. The hardness of his jaw is the living proof of that. Spitting false congratulations through gritted teeth, eyes boring a hole through his uncle head. It would be so, so, so easy to take his remaining eye and end the job Lucerys did. Oh, he'll do it in a heartbeat.

Narrowed eyes met yours. Sensing his emotions through your seat, lips pursed as your gaze fell down your lap. You should've known how possessive he'll get once your grandsire, the king, announced your betrothal to Aemond. The second children wed off in attempts to avoid more family cracks.

He's the first born son. He should marry the first born daughter. He's been expecting that his entire life. Just you. Only you and him. Not you and Aemond. The thought alone makes him want to rip his hair off. Distress streaming off of him the entire time until he finally gets a word with you in private.

He did not wait for his mother to accept your and his betrothal in vain. You aren't going to be touched by Aemond’s filth. His calloused, cold, rough hands are not fitting for the softness of your skin. The pretty sounds that he knows your perfect lips can make aren't for Aemond to hear. It's for him. For Jacaerys— the one who had loved you ever since your first breath. You aren't Aemond’s. You're his.

"I won't let him ruin you." It's foolish, he knows. In the eyes of the gods, you aren't his to be. "It'll be me." Why would his uncle take pleasure in your maidenhead? You don't even love him! Not as you love him— Jacaerys. Your brother. "You've been mine the second you've been born. I won't let Aemond or anyone take that from me. You're mine. I'll be the one and only to have you."

His grip, once so kind and tender, around your wrist is firm and unwavering. He's not trying to scare, gods. Why would he scare you? He loves you.