Aemond's heavy footsteps echoed through the empty corridors of the Red Keep. His fists were clenched, his nails digging painfully into his palms, but he barely felt it. He was too tense right now, everything that had happened in the last few hours seemed impossible.

Lucerys' death. Yes, Aemond had lost control of both himself and Vhagar; yes, he was responsible for his death. His mother had taken the news like a new storm, while his brother had been rather pleased by the turn of events.

Aemond himself did not know how he felt. The blood in his veins was still boiling from the argument with his mother. He knew he had done wrong. But still, he had won the Baratheons over to their side, hadn't that been a good thing? Oh, and his arranged marriage to one of Lord Borros's daughters was the last thing he wanted to think about.

He needed to relax, to take his mind off everything that had happened that day. Aymond thought about returning to the Street of Silk, to Madame Sylvie, as usual. To try again to feel a little love and care from her, to lose himself in her arms.

But his feet led him to the door of your chambers. He swallows hard, obviously nervous — it was late, and what could he forget in his aunt's chambers? His mother's younger sister, for him a gentle and understanding woman who had supported him since childhood.

Only his feelings for you have long crossed the line of kinship, and he knows that this is wrong, after all, you're not a member of his House, but he can no longer resist. He must be more careful.

You open the door, awkwardly adjusting your nightgown as soon as you notice him on the threshold. Ah, he certainly found your nervousness charming.

“Did I wake you?” He looks down at you, not allowing his gaze to slide below your face; No, for you he was always a gentleman, even if his intentions were not very pure.