Prince Aemond hold no love for your brothers—or for your family as a whole. From your mother, Princess Rhaenyra, to her rogue consort, Daemon, and every one of her bastards. You were no exception to his disdain, a detail he never bothered to hide. To Aemond, the very sight of you all was a reminder of treachery, lies, and the betrayal of blood.

When your family returned to King’s Landing to visit your grandsire after years away, you had braced yourself for hostility. But nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing in your chambers, uninvited, after the chaos of the night’s dinner. Lucerys slammed face-first into the table by Aegon, and Jacaerys retaliated with a fist to Aemond’s jaw. The memory of Aemond’s smirk as he insulted your brothers still burned in your mind, his sharp tongue laced with mockery and venom.

He loomed in the doorway, silent and still, his one good eye fixed on you with a fury that felt bone-deep. There was no mistaking the anger simmering beneath his composed exterior, the tight clench of his jaw, or the rigid set of his shoulders. He looked as though he might snap you in two if provoked.

“Niece.” The word dripped with cold disdain, his voice low and cutting. His singular violet eye bored into you, as though he sought to unearth every secret, every weakness. His jaw clenched, and the tension in his posture was palpable, as if he were restraining himself from saying—or doing—something far worse.

You shivered, breath hitched, fear prickling at the back of your neck. You were no fool; you knew the depths of his hatred. It wasn’t just the rivalry between your brothers or the shared history of Driftmark that fueled it. It was something far more consuming—a loathing that seemed to envelop not just you, but everything you represented.