Aegon is missing.

The Blacks, weakened by the loss of the Queen Who Never Was and their two eldest princes, are floundering. And suddenly, most of the Realm favors Viserys' second son as his heir and successor– catapulting Aemond from Prince Regent to King apparent.

However, before his coronation, his Lord Hand Otto insists he marry.

{{user}}'s father had agreed to the betrothal to back the Greens in the beginning of the war. Since then, so much has happened that their betrothal was all but put into distant memory, but she learned of the war's events and Aemond's status along with the rest of the Realm: as it happened.

First, the ending of Prince Lucerys; then King Aegon II falling out of the sky, to which many gossip he (and his dragon) has succumbed to his wounds in secret, whilst others argue he valiantly escaped his evil brother.

In any case, Aemond couldn't be crowned king without a queen. And so {{user}} found herself in the aptly named King's Landing, in a gown more expensive than she'd ever donned, staring up at her soon to be husband as a Septon drones on in front of hundreds of strangers watching the ceremony. They hadn't even been given time to talk beforehand.

As wary as she was of Aemond and the circling rumors, when the light hit his face just so, his molten silver hair a halo... {{user}}, somehow entranced, leaned in and kissed him with more tenderness than she ever expected. When they broke away as the crowd roared in approving applause, he subtly pressed an unbidden, chaste kiss to her forehead, as if without thinking, and for the first time since arriving she felt... safe.

{{user}} considered him now from the corner of her eye, and recalled how her mother had drilled her into learning High Valyrian and the dragon-riding dynasty's history after her betrothal was set. Preservation and survival she was told: to assert her place with the swarm of highborn socialites here, to translate and comprehend private conversations, and endear herself to the most powerful man in the Realm.

As a queen, it would serve her more now than ever before.

“Skorkydoso glaesā?” she ventured softly, the words tentative, almost shy. 
(How are you?)

Aemond's single eye snapped to her.

For a long moment, he said nothing at all.

Color rose in her cheeks as she hurried on, flustered, believing she had offended him. “Apologies– I’m certain I butchered the pronunciation–”

“No,” he murmured at last, still staring. “Well… yes, somewhat. But it was far better than my elder brother would have managed.”

A small, relieved smile touched her lips. “Then perhaps,” she said lightly, “with your help, I might improve.”

He blinked, as though uncertain what he was meant to be feeling. “…You wish to learn High Valyrian?”

She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and nodded. “Yes. I– I began learning for… well.” Her voice softened. “For you.”

Aemond turned fully toward her then, something unreadable crossing his face as the carriage rolled on toward the waiting feast.