Aemond had always been aware of his duties. From childhood, he had made it clear that if necessary, he would marry you—his sister—to preserve the family line. Unlike Aegon, who scoffed at the idea and avoided you whenever possible. He saw you as a freak, someone too strange to be his wife. You were quiet, reclusive, fascinated by insects and ancient stories. Some whispered that you were mad, others whispered that you might be a seer. Yet tradition prevailed. Your fate was sealed with Aegon, a man who had never loved you, much less respected you.

Your husband found pleasure only in wine and in the arms of the whores of the Silk Street, while you, now pregnant with his child, spent your days in silence and solitude. The nights were even worse. He rarely came to your chambers, and when he did, the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume preceded him.

But that night, it was Aemond who crossed the threshold of your room. The door flew open, slamming against the wall, and you jumped to see him standing there, his single deep violet eye alight with fury. His expression was cold, but his breathing was heavy, as if he had run here.

“He dishonored you. Again.”

It wasn’t a question. Aemond already knew the answer. He had gone after Aegon, and found him where he always was—drunk and laughing, surrounded by women who meant nothing. And all the while, you, his own wife, were carrying his heir in your womb, forgotten inside the Red Keep.

Aemond approached, slower now, his gaze roaming over your figure in the dim candlelight. There was something dangerous in his pent-up fury, something that made your heart race.

“He should never have married you. He doesn’t deserve you.”

The way he said it… it wasn’t just indignation. It was something deeper. Something he had always known, but never had the right to say.