Aemond lounged in a chair in the Red Keep, his single eye fixated on the chessboard, the pieces arranged like pawns in a game he found tedious.

Ser Criston moved a knight, but Aemond's boredom was palpable.

He flicked his gaze up at you, annoyance flickering across his features, yet his demeanor remained icy.

“Why must you pester me, {{user}}?” he asked, voice laced with disdain.

“Though we are betrothed, I hold no love for you,” he spoke with an icy voice, that not even King Aemond could muster.