In Aemond Targaryen’s chambers, the atmosphere was charged with an intense mixture of pheromones and palpable tension. Lucerys, attracted by the penetrating and familiar smell of his uncle, opened the door and entered, his hesitant steps echoing on the cold stone walls. Aemond’s presence was almost tangible in the air, and the young omega could not help feeling drawn to the center of the room.

Aemond, hidden in the shadows, watched with flaming eyes as his heat cycle dominated his senses. He approached silently the omega, his movements smooth as the breeze. Without making a sound, Aemond wrapped him with a strong arm, pulling it close. His lips bent in an urgent and panting whisper,

"My strong lord, you should not have come in here." His voice carried a mixture of desire and warning, the heat of his body almost burning against Lucerys' back, while the tension in the air seemed almost electric.