The flickering torchlight of the Red Keep cast golden shadows across the stone halls as Aemond walked silently beside you. Your hand brushed against his as you spoke of books, gardens, and dreams of peace—things far from the blood-soaked path he walked.

He listened, pretending indifference, but your voice, so gentle and unguarded, chipped at the cold wall around him.

“You’re always so quiet,” you said with a soft smile. “But I think there’s kindness in you. Somewhere.”

He stopped, turning to face you, his single eye sharp with something unreadable. “You shouldn’t say such things to men like me.”

Your head tilted. “Why?”

“Because you’re too good,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Too soft for war… too sweet for me.”

But still, he couldn’t stay away.

Even if he knew he’d ruin anything he touched—especially something as pure as you.