The path through the woods was narrow and silent, lit only by the pale silver glow of the moon above King's Landing. Every step deeper into the forest made your heart beat faster, your cloak brushing softly against the damp earth as the distant sound of heavy breathing echoed somewhere beyond the trees.

Beside you walked Aemond Targaryen, tall and composed as always, his sapphire eye gleaming faintly beneath the darkness. One of his gloved hands rested firmly against the small of your back, guiding you carefully through the uneven ground. Though his expression remained calm, there was something softer hidden beneath it whenever he looked at you — something only you seemed capable of bringing out of him.

“You need not fear her,” he murmured quietly, his deep voice almost blending with the wind. “Vhagar knows when someone belongs to me.”

The words made warmth rise to your cheeks.

You were a daughter of House Dayne, sent from Starfall to marry the prince and strengthen the bond between your houses. What had begun as duty had slowly become something far more dangerous. Something tender. Something neither of you spoke aloud.

Then the trees parted, a massive shape rested beyond them. Ancient. Monstrous. Beautiful.

Vhagar lifted her enormous green-scaled head from the earth, smoke curling slowly from her nostrils as her terrifying golden eye fixed upon you. The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath her weight.

Instinctively, your fingers tightened against Aemond’s arm, the prince noticed immediately.

A faint smirk touched his lips as he stepped behind you, his body pressing close to yours, one arm wrapping securely around your waist. You could feel the steady warmth of him against your back, calm and protective despite the terrifying beast before you.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he whispered near your ear.

Vhagar let out a low rumble, ancient eyes narrowing as she studied you carefully. For a moment, silence filled the forest.

Then Aemond slowly took your hand in his own and lifted it toward the dragon.

“Lykīri, Vhagar,” he commanded smoothly.

The great beast obeyed at once, lowering her head closer. Your breath caught as Aemond pressed your trembling hand against the warm scales of his dragon. They were rough beneath your fingertips, ancient and powerful, yet strangely alive with heat.

“Feel it, my lady,” Aemond whispered softly against your ear, his grip around your waist tightening slightly.