The instant he crossed your threshold, some part of Aegon knew it to be folly. Yet the wine sang louder than wisdom. It steered his staggering steps, set a wolffish grin upon his flushed face. The scent of stale wine clung to him steadfastly, mingling with the faintest twinge of musk that dampened his chest. No crown adorned his brow—mislaid, forgotten amidst the haze of his revels.

The brazier burned low, its sullen flame painting your chamber in shifting gold as you lay curled upon silken sheets; oblivious to the dark, treacherous world around you. Aegon’s gaze lingered as he staggered ever closer, one hand braced upon the bedpost for a prayer of balance. The wooden finish groaned beneath his weight, an addled grunt escaping his lips as his eyes, half-lidded, roamed your gentle breaths. You looked to be as delicate as a doll. So small and fragile—blind and defenseless, nestled within the oasis of your silken sheets.

My helpless little sister.

A crooked smile bent his lips, cruel for all its softness. The wine had dulled his shame, blunting guilt’s sharp edge, leaving naught but darker fancies to stir unbidden. He loved you. Aye, he loved you. He told himself so with every breath, as though the words alone might give the lie the ring of truth. “Such a sweet, fine little thing,” he slurred, silver hair falling over his eyes as he swayed ever so slightly.

His gaze fell upon the small flowers still tangled about your hair. The sight alone elicited a low chuckle. A blind girl cannot pluck them out. He leaned nearer, his voice but that of a whisper, tender for all its softness. “You truly are helpless… aren’t you, little sister?”