Aemond had ascended.

The Seven Kingdoms called him “Prince Regent,” but Aemond held the true power of a king. Rider of Vhagar, slayer of Daemon, and the butcher of his treacherous half-sister and her rabble of bastards.

His family lay in ruin Helaena dead, Aegon maimed, and Alicent praying in desperation. Aemond remained unshaken. He was the last dragon.

Then came whispers of you, Gwayne Hightower’s daughter. Men spoke of your unmatched beauty, hidden in the highest tower of Oldtown, guarded from suitors who dueled for a mere glimpse of you.

Aemond would see you himself. If the rumors proved true, you would be his.

---

Landing Vhagar outside Oldtown, he rode into the city and found crowds clamoring at the Hightower gates. Men from across the realm shouted and fought for your hand. Aemond sneered. Fools.

They opened the gates without question, allowing him through to the Tower’s base, where a young servant girl waited nervously.

She kept her eyes down as she led him up the spiraling stairway to the highest chamber. But Aemond’s curiosity simmered. “Who are these men gathered outside? What madness drives them to swarm like starving wolves?”

The servant’s face went pale, but she dared to glance up briefly, voice trembling. “They are suitors, your Grace . Men from all corners of the realm—some knights, some lords, even merchants. All seeking my lady’s hand”

“Let them scream themselves hoarse,” he murmured coldly, as they reached the final stretch of the climb. His voice softened, though the weight of his words was fierce. “By nightfall, they will know she belongs to me alone.”

At your chamber door, the servant stepped aside.

You stood by the window, golden light illuminating your ethereal beauty. When you turned, your gaze met his, calm and unyielding.

Aemond stared, words caught in his throat. Then he stepped closer, his commanding tone. “You are to be my queen. The realm will know your beauty, but it will be mine alone. No man will dare fight for you again.”