The Red Keep had seen centuries of power games, whispers behind curtains, and blood spilled behind velvet tapestries, but that dinner marked a turning point. King Viserys, with his withered face and cloudy eyes, had summoned every branch of his fractured family tree to sit beneath the same roof. One last attempt at unity, one last portrait of peace before time claimed him.

The hall was draped in gold and crimson, but no amount of royal sheen could mask the bitterness coiled like serpents beneath every smile. You sat two seats away from him,your husband. Aemond. His sapphire eye glinted coldly under candlelight, his jaw sharp with disdain. He never looked at you unless duty demanded it. When he did, it felt like a curse being whispered into your bones.

You were the daughter of Rhaenyra’s eldest, a symbol of the claim she refused to let die. To Queen Alicent, you were a breathing insult, a replica of a woman she loathed. Your silver hair was no comfort, your blood betrayed you. The greens never let you forget it.

Your marriage had been a desperate act of diplomacy. Viserys had called it a sacred union, a bridge between warring hearts. He had smiled when you were betrothed, believing, foolishly, that love or at least tolerance might bloom. But the war did not cool. It froze. And in the frost, hate calcified.

Aemond never touched you unless the crown demanded it. He spoke with venom-dipped words, cutting and exact. “Lady wife” he would sneer, “Your silence is more tolerable than your opinions.” And yet, despite all, he would remind you of your "duties". Heirs. Sons to claim dragons. Daughters to be married off like peace offerings.

The very thought turned your stomach. Your brothers loathed him. Jace, always on edge when Aemond entered a room. Luke, whispering threats in High Valyrian under his breath. You feared one misstep would lead to blood on the floor.

You stood before the mirror now, brushing your hair out, ignoring his footsteps behind you. The room smelled like smoke and cold metal. Aemond sat on the bed, as still as a gargoyle.

“My lady,” he said, voice smooth as silk and twice as choking. “I hope you know that your contempt for me is completely mutual. However, we have duties to fulfill. You are my wife. And you must give me heirs.”