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Lucerys entered his private apartments with the Red Keep, shutting the door behind him with a thud. He slumped back against it, feeling stressed and irritable. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, massaging lightly. Trying to ease the knot of tension there. By the gods, he’d a miserable headache brewing.

It’d started roughly halfway through the small council meeting. The one Lucerys had been leading, in the absence of the Hand of the Queen. The meeting had been long, tiresome, and had accomplished absolutely nothing of value. Luke had tried his best to keep the councillors focused on the business of the realm, but despite his efforts, too many of the curs had been determined to waste time. All of them grown men of noble birth, squabbling like miserable old fishwives

Lucerys was a young man, but he’d proven himself in battle many times over. Spilled more than his fair share of blood. The Dance had been long and terrible, and he’d seen the whole cursed thing through. But despite that, Luke knew he lacked the threatening aura of Daemon. As Hand, his stepfather never had any trouble keeping the small council in check. When a lord did dare speak out of turn, one hostile stare from Daemon was enough to shut them up. His temper was legendary.

Lucerys didn’t aspire to be the same. Most of the time. He’d seen for himself how often Daemon’s menacing manner created as many problems as it solved. Men feared to speak the truth to him, even when he sorely needed to hear it. But as the earlier meeting had descended into yet more childish bickering and shameless profiteering… Luke had wished for the same talent for intimidation. It might be satisfying, on occasion, to be so feared.

Not all the small council were idiots. Lucerys respected some of them a great deal. His grandfather, Lord Corlys for one. Grand Maester Gerardys for another. Lords like Manfryd Mooton were decent enough. But there were a lot of craven fools, and Lucerys didn’t trust them.

The Queen had wanted to mend the realm after the war, and in pursuit of that admirable goal she’d appointed some of her former enemies to the council. They sat alongside the loyal lords, on a far fuller small council than was usual. It’d been intended as a demonstration that they were one kingdom again. Privately, Lucerys thought it’d been a mistake.

The councillors who’d sided with the usurper hadn’t been eager to prove their loyalty. No, their preoccupations were very different – land, power, gold. That’s what they cared about. The audacity! They should’ve dropped to their knees and kissed Queen Rhaenyra’s skirts for such generosity! That scheming little shit Unwin Peake in particular. Lucerys couldn’t stand the rat-faced bastard and was finding it harder and harder to hide it. There was so much important work to be done. The war had left deep scars, emptied treasuries, ravaged the fields and left them bare. Poverty and hunger were rampant. And not everyone was happy to see the Black Queen victorious.

With a groan, Lucerys dragged himself over to a chair and sank down into it. He called for a carafe of wine. Gods, he needed a bloody drink. It wasn’t just the headache making him weary. Luke’s yearly rut had ended a week ago, and the profound exhaustion of the fever dogged him still.

The wine arrived and Lucerys poured a large cupful. He fumbled with the ties holding the collar of his jerkin closed, loosening them. He took a deep breath, then a deep drink. There, that was better.

The wine was good. Slowly but surely the headache started to fade. Luke closed his eyes and yawned.

Queen Rhaenyra had reigned uncontested for more than a year now. Her enemies were all either dead or captured – with one uncertain exception. She’d won. As complete a victory as anyone could ask for, though it’d come at a terrible cost – a triumph built on a mountain of corpses.

And yet, reports arrived weekly of trouble on the streets of King’s Landing. Daemon’s old mistress Mysaria, the Queen’s lady of whispers, had eyes and ears everywhere. Her reports didn’t spare the details. There was writing frequently daubed on the walls, calling Rhaenyra a whore and a tyrant. Idiots stumbling through the low streets, spewing the worst kind of treason to anyone with ears to hear it. Encouraging the people to rise up and riot again.

A few of the traitors had been arrested by the gold cloaks. Their festering skulls now sat on spikes above the city gates. But the problem hadn’t gone away. Mysaria’s most recent reports had included alarming tales of mummers plays in Flea Bottom, daring to openly reference the illegitimacy of the Queen’s three eldest sons. Including Lucerys himself.

He was the last surviving child of his mother’s marriage to Laenor Velaryon. The war had snatched away Jacaerys. The storming of the Dragonpit had taken Joffrey. That’d been a dark day. Perhaps the darkest in House Targaryen’s history, since the Doom of Valyria itself. Thinking of his brothers made Luke’s heart ache bitterly. The passing of time hadn’t healed the wound. Maybe it never would. It was a terrible thing, to be the last one left. Lucerys had two more brothers, he had his stepsisters, his mother… he was far from alone. But he felt it, sometimes. He was the last one left. The last of the bastard pretenders.

Jace’s death had made Luke the Queen’s eldest son. Her eldest alpha child. He was the heir now - Prince of Dragonstone. One day the Iron Throne would be his, gods willing, even if Lucerys fervently hoped that day was a long way off still. Yet if the smallfolk thought him a bastard, without any legitimate right to rule them… and worse, if they felt able to speak it openly, and without fear of the consequences…

Lucerys wasn’t stupid. He knew there were plenty of lords who thought Aegon should be Rhaenyra’s heir instead. Luke had long ago made his peace with the rumours that’d dogged him and his brothers since childhood. He’d had to make his peace with them, because the older he’d grown, the more impossible it’d become to deny the plain truth - Laenor Velaryon hadn’t sired him. Luke’s sire had been Harwin Strong.

The rumours had grown louder and bolder as Luke had grown taller and broader. As his youthful features had settled into something else. As he’d turned from a boy into a man. He knew people thought he looked like Ser Harwin. That the resemblance between them was said to be unmistakable.

For a long time, Lucerys had been angry with his mother about it. He’d resented her for putting an unfair burden on his shoulders. Luke hadn’t asked to be a bastard! It was so unjust. And then the resentment had become guilt. He’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve to be her heir, just as he’d once convinced himself he didn’t deserve the Driftwood Throne. He was a bastard pretender. He hadn’t started the lie, but he’d become the lie all the same.

And then, as the blood-soaked war had raged seemingly without end, Lucerys had changed his mind again. He’d decided that he didn’t care. So what if he was illegitimate? So what if Harwin Strong had sired him? Who was going to sit on the Iron Throne, once the war was over? The winner, that was who. Blood didn’t matter. Legitimacy didn’t matter. The rites of inheritance didn’t matter. Winning mattered. By what right did Aegon the Conqueror take Westeros for his own? None! He’d no claim. What he had, were dragons.

Lucerys was the Queen’s eldest son. He was an alpha. And he wanted to be king. He’d fought in the war, not Aegon or Viserys. He’d risked his life to win the throne, not his brothers. He wanted it, so he’d take it. Just like Aegon the Conqueror had.

Unfortunately, that didn’t make any of his current problems go away. Lucerys itched to do something about it. To silence the rumours forever.

The first step was obvious. He needed to marry. To bind his blood to the son or daughter of some noble House. One whose legitimacy was beyond question. A little wife or husband to give Lucerys his own heirs. And with them, a stable line of succession. A future the people could put their faith in. A political marriage had other uses as well. Lucerys could win his mother a new ally. Or reward one of her most loyal supporters with one of the greatest prizes they could hope for – a grandchild on the Iron Throne one day. Many lords and ladies deserved a reward like that. They’d lost a great deal fighting for Queen Rhaenyra.

But Lucerys couldn’t do any of that. Because he was already married. He’d been married for years. To a man he hadn’t set eyes on since they’d faced off in the halls of Borros Baratheon. A terrible storm had been raging the last time he’d seen his husband, a grim harbinger of everything to come.

…

In many respects, Lucerys and Aemond’s wedding had been nothing less than a total farce.

They must’ve made for a comically ridiculous sight. The tall omega towering over the little alpha. Facing each other in the heart of the Red Keep’s sept, a blue cloak hanging about Aemond’s stiff shoulders. Both reciting vows they didn’t mean. Lying through their teeth with every word.

What a joke it’d been. Prince Aemond, the young swordsman, pretending to submit himself to a boy just barely come into his manhood. Lucerys had been presented less than a single turn of the moon when he’d been married off to his uncle. The gods alone knew what the assembled lords and ladies had made of it all. Aemond had glared at Luke the entire time, hatred burning in his one remaining eye. He’d probably been fantasising about ending the ceremony by cutting out one of his new husband’s eyes and declaring it a fine wedding gift.

He'd smelled of nothing, Lucerys recalled. It’d been unsettling, even to an alpha as newly presented as he’d been. Omegas smelled sweet and alluring. Lucerys had loved being close to them, even at that young age. But not even the fresh scent of a beta had hung about Aemond. He had falsely presented as a beta, before unexpectedly falling into a heat two years later. Rumour had it that Aemond detested his heats so much he drank an expensive position imported from Essos, supposedly distilled by sorcerers from poison. Even if that was so, Lucerys hadn’t expected his uncle to smell of nothing at all. It wasn’t natural. Only unpresented children smelled like that.

Their families had watched the ceremony with stony expressions. Both Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra (as she’d still been then) had begged King Viserys not to go through with it. Each had been desperate to save their own son from being shackled to the other. But nothing would sway the dying king, not even the pleading of his beloved first-born. Viserys had really believed the marriage would heal the great divide in House Targaryen. That all would magically be well, once his son and grandson were unhappily bound together. That it would resolve the bitter feud in one stroke.

To make it even more of a joke, Viserys hadn’t attended the wedding. The whole debacle was his idea, and the man hadn’t even been there. The king had been too weak. Ravaged by the wasting disease that was killing him. He’d been tucked away in his sick bed, lost in the poppy dreams, whilst Lucerys and Aemond were forced to bend to his will. Luke had heard rumours afterwards that Aemond had flatly refused to leave his chambers the morning of the wedding. That it’d taken his grandsire, Otto Hightower, to drag him out.

The marriage hadn’t mended a damned thing. Of course it hadn’t! It’d been madness to think otherwise! War had come anyway! The bloodshed had happened anyway! The deaths of so many of their kin, the deaths of their dragons… it’d all happened anyway.

Lucerys hadn’t known his grandsire well. King Viserys had been a remote figure, and then he’d been far away across Blackwater Bay. But Luke did know his mother had loved her father dearly. He knew Daemon had loved his brother too – despite all the times Viserys had banished him into exile. The old king must’ve been a good man, to have earned their love. But Luke still resented him. There were so many other things he could’ve done to ensure a peaceful succession! But instead, Viserys had wrapped a heavy chain around Lucerys’ neck. A chain he was still dragging with him, all these years later.

There was one small mercy, at least. He and Aemond hadn’t bonded. A marriage could be undone. A mating could not.

Rhaenyra hadn’t been able to talk her sire out of the wedding, but she had successfully persuaded him that Luke was too young for a bedding. The king had agreed to postpone the consummation. Luke had been relieved beyond words. Just the idea of trying to bed Aemond had been terrifying. He would’ve probably violently smothered Lucerys with the pillows of their marriage bed just for trying. There’d surely been no chance of him – the older and stronger of them – submitting to the bite.

Many years and an entire civil war had passed since that day. But the marriage could still be undone. Especially as the dreaded consummation had never taken place. There were no children to consider. No insulted families to worry about. And yet, despite the immense pressure Queen Rhaenyra had piled on them, the senior septons refused to even consider it. The old bastards claimed there were no ground for an annulment. That a royal marriage wasn’t easily put aside, especially between an alpha and an omega.

Bullshit and lies! Of course a royal marriage could be put aside! There was no bite to seal this one in stone! It’d been done before, and Lucerys was damned sure it’d be done again. The septons’ real motivation was obvious. It wasn’t morality - it was lingering loyalty to the dead usurper and his pious mother, Dowager Queen Alicent. That was the truth of it. The old men were wretched liars. Well, sooner or later they’d have to give way!

Until then, Lucerys was stuck. He couldn’t take another spouse, and he couldn’t sire legitimate children. Occasionally he’d have a whore brought to his chambers from the Street of Silk. He liked omegas a great deal. He liked the ones with fire in them. He’d never had much of a taste for quiet submissiveness. Where was the battle to have them? To please them? Surely that was half the allure? The expensive brothels had quickly learned his tastes. Lucerys had bedded some hot-blooded omegas, male and female, who’d made him dizzy with lust.

But as satisfying as those encounters were, what he really wanted was a mate. Somebody to love. To dote over. He yearned quietly for it.

Frustratingly, the obstacle to his desires was almost certainly dead anyway. There’d been no sign of Aemond since Vhagar and Caraxes had plunged to their deaths above the Gods Eye. Daemon’s broken, but miraculously still living body had been dragged from the water. After several days, good swimmers with strong lungs had dived deep enough into the murky waters of the great lake to discover Vhagar’s enormous corpse. They’d reported that the saddle had been empty. The chains loose.

So what? That meant nothing! Perhaps Aemond’s body had come free when the ancient she-dragon had hit the water? Probably it now lay mouldering somewhere among the lakebed’s weeds.

The trouble was proving it. If Aemond was dead, then Lucerys would be free to marry again. So many of their kin had died, and he wasn’t eager to add another corpse to the pile, but proof of Aemond’s death would’ve been a blessing. Daemon had spies out there, searching the realm. If Aemond was alive, it wasn’t totally inconceivable he’d be found one day.

But then what? Male omegas had been sent to the Wall before. Forced to take their chances among the rest of the Night’s Watch, who - despite their vows to sire no children - were doubtless eager to welcome a poor, friendless omega into their midst. But it was a scandalous thing to do to anyone, let alone a prince.

It would break the marriage though.

Maybe the Queen would lock her last remaining sibling away for the rest of his life. Seal him up within the walls of the Red Keep. Or pack him off to some lonely holding, to be the captive of some cruel but loyal lord. Then they’d wait the septons out. Or else there was the simplest solution of all – execute Aemond as a traitor. Yes, that’s what Luke’s mother would do. That’s what Aemond would deserve.

It didn’t matter. Aemond was surely dead at the bottom of the Gods Eye. Nothing but bones in the water now, picked clean by the fishes.

A soft knock at the door startled Lucerys out of his dark thoughts. He glanced down at his cup and was surprised to realise he’d drunk it dry. He’d been too busy brooding to notice. At least his head felt better.

“Come in,” he called out wearily. Gods, he’d really wanted an afternoon alone.

A servant entered. “My lord,” he said, bowing. “The Queen requests that you join her.”

…

Queen Rhaenyra wasn’t in her solar, or in her study either. Lucerys found her sitting on the covered balcony, overlooking the sprawl of King’s Landing. Her silver hair was stirred by the breeze as she smiled warmly at Lucerys. He thought his mother looked tired. She looked tired most of the time, these days. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her complexion was very wan.

Lucerys sank into an empty seat. He’d hoped the ending of the war would ease the great burden on his mother. But it hadn’t. Ruling the realm wasn’t easy, and victory had come at a steep cost. Rhaenyra had lost two children in her quest to win the throne. Two of Luke’s brothers. He’d never dared ask her if it’d been worth it.

He feared both the possible answers.

Sat this close, Lucerys could detect his mother’s soothing scent. She smelled of fresh garden herbs. It reminded him of his childhood. Rhaenyra had never been one of those nobles who palmed their children off onto wetnurses and septas from the moment they were born. She’d raised them herself, surrounded by her scent day and night – the bright tang of lemongrass, and the earthier aromas of rosemary and sage. It was an unusually strong scent for a beta.

Of course, Luke had heard the other rumours about his mother. They weren’t as widespread as the ones concerning his parentage, but they endured just as persistently. These rumours claimed Queen Rhaenyra wasn’t a beta at all. That her first presentation had been false, and her true nature had revealed itself only after she’d been wedded to Laenor Velaryon. That she was, in truth, an alpha.

It was rare, but not unheard of for an alpha or omega to falsely present as a beta first. It was more common among those with Valyrian blood – although still unusual. It’d happened to Aemond, for example. And Baela too. But in the case of Queen Rhaenyra, it was clearly a ridiculous idea. Yes, female alphas could bear children as well as sire them. Just like male omegas could sire as well as carry their offspring. But in both cases, it was very, very difficult. One child successfully conceived in such a way was considered a gift from the gods. Two was a plain miracle.

But five? Five children? Six, if you counted Luke’s tragic little sister Visenya. No, it was an absurd notion. Besides, Daemon was an alpha. What would he desire in another alpha? Especially for his wife. Valyrian blood had strange properties. Wasn’t that why the Targaryens were so drawn to one another? Why they were able to mate with their own kin? No, her dragon blood was undoubtedly the reason for Rhaenyra’s strong scent.

“I hear the small council were difficult,” the Queen remarked sympathetically.

Lucerys grimaced. “I swear, some of them are like pigs – all competing to see who can shove his face deepest into the trough. There are good men on the council, but the idiots speak the loudest. And once they get started, they don’t stop to draw breath.”

“Sounds like politics to me,” Rhaenyra said. “That’s how it always is.”

“It’s a waste of time.”

“It’s not a waste of time,” his mother cautioned. “We must know what these men think, even if what they think is self-serving and stupid. They might be greedy, but we have to know what they’re greedy for. You need to be good at this game, Luke. One day you’ll be king, and then you’ll have more politics than you can stomach.”

“Not for a long time yet,” Lucerys protested.

“I certainly hope so.” Rhaenyra’s dull eyes briefly twinkled. “But life isn’t kind or predictable, you know that. I am grateful to you for leading the small council, while Daemon is away. You’ve done a good job, and I know it’s not been easy. I’m proud of you.”

Lucerys basked. His mother had never been shy of praising her children, but it was always pleasant to hear it. “When will Daemon return?” he asked, knowing he was broaching a sensitive subject.

Sure enough, his mother’s face shuttered. She shrugged stiffly, fiddling with a large emerald ring she was wearing. “Daemon does as he pleases. He’ll come back when his work is done.”

Lucerys was worried about his mother. Her marriage to Daemon was the bedrock of their family. And now it’d cracked. Deeply too.

It was all Daemon’s fault. Whatever of his famously scandalous appetites he’d put aside when he’d married Rhaenyra, apparently it’d only been a temporary thing. During the war he’d become smitten with another woman - the dragon-rider known as Nettles. She was a street orphan, plucked off the streets of Driftmark when, against all the odds, she’d managed to tame the dragon Sheepstealer.

Lucerys had met Nettles a handful of times. She’d been wild and fearless, and an omega too. He’d liked her – until she’d helped break his mother’s heart. He’d admired her refusal to behave in the soft, compliant manner expected of her caste. Lucerys could easily understand what Daemon had been drawn to. He’d been drawn to it as well. What he couldn’t understand or condone, was acting on it.

Nettles was gone now. She’d left Westeros behind, flying east on Sheepstealer to places unknown. Fleeing Rhaenyra’s wrath. But her presence lingered, like the spectre at the feast. At least Aegon and Viserys were blissfully unaware of it all.

Resentment, not love, lingered between the Queen and her consort these days. Each had something to begrudge the other. Rhaenyra deeply resented Daemon’s flagrant infidelity. And – although he was careful never to speak it aloud – it was obvious Daemon resented having to give up his lover.

Lucerys was stuck in the middle. His sympathies lay with his mother – of course they did! He’d been furious when he’d heard about Daemon’s affair. He’d nearly flown off to confront his stepfather himself. Luke wasn’t naïve – he knew plenty of alphas wed to betas, and even some mated to omegas, kept lovers. But Daemon wasn’t married to any beta, he was married to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He’d humiliated Rhaenyra. Weakened her, when she’d most needed to appear strong. He’d betrayed her.

Luke had been angry with Daemon for a long time. Still was, if he was entirely honest. But he was also painfully aware of how precarious their situation was. House Targaryen urgently needed to present a united front. No more damned feuds. But things were colder than they’d even been between Lucerys’ parents.

“What work is Daemon doing, exactly?” Lucerys said. It’d been weeks since the man had left King’s Landing, and still nobody could give Luke a clear answer about where Daemon had gone, or why he’d gone there.

“Putting down trouble,” Rhaenyra said vaguely.

That could mean anything. Daemon could be anywhere in the damned kingdom, from the Wall to Dorne! Did the Queen not trust her son?

“Speaking of trouble,” Rhaenyra continued. “That’s why I summoned you here.”

“Are you talking about the unrest on the streets?”

“I wish I was. I’ve listened to Mysaria’s reports, of course. They trouble me greatly. But there’s something more serious stirring. Not in the streets, but in the high halls.”

“Conspiracy?” Lucerys said, alarmed.

“Perhaps.” Rhaenyra began to twist one of her rings about her finger, then stopped herself. She was anxious. Lucerys longed to take the burden for her, but he couldn’t. She’d won the crown, but it’d turned out to be very heavy indeed.

“They’re just rumours,” Rhaenyra murmured. “But they’ve grown loud enough to reach the ears of my spies.”

“What do these rumours say?”

“That there’s a plot against me. Unknown traitors are reaching out in secret, looking for allies they think will be sympathetic to their cause.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” Rhaenyra admitted. “I don’t have any names, and I can’t act with such little information. But I feel the truth of it in my gut. These whoresons think we’re weak, because we only have one battle ready dragon left.”

One dragon left. Arrax.

The Dance had claimed the lives of all the others. Either in combat, or in the terrible slaughter at the Dragonpit. Now just Luke’s old friend remained. Except Sheepstealer – disappeared across the Narrow Sea. And Silverwing – fled from battle, likely to die in a cave somewhere. Rhaena had a little dragonling she’d named Morning, but the beast was only the size of a dog.

Arrax was now the last flickering ember of House Targaryen’s great ancestral power. Funny, when not so long ago he’d been the runt. But one solitary dragon was worth more than an entire army. Even one as young as Arrax. Young, but battle tested.

“What do you think these conspirators want?” Lucerys said. His headache was starting to come back. “To put one of the usurper’s children on the throne?”

“Or seize it for themselves,” Rhaenyra mused gloomily. “Or shatter the realm apart again. But I won’t let it happen. I won’t. We have to be very careful, Luke. Careful and clever.”

Lucerys nodded solemnly. He took one of his mother’s hands, squeezing it affectionately. She squeezed back firmly – even a little desperately.

“I’ll be both, I promise,” Luke vowed. “If there’s anything you need of me, you only ever have to ask.”

“My sweet boy,” Rhaenyra murmured, expression softening. She brought Luke’s hand up to her mouth and kissed it. “I know that. Of course I know that.”

“I’m not a boy anymore,” Lucerys teased, trying his best to lighten the mood. “See?” He tugged playfully on the short hair of his beard. That was when the mutterings about how like Harwin Strong he was had become so persistent – when he’d grown in the damned beard. But Lucerys refused to shave it off. He liked it. It suited him.

Rhaenyra laughed. For a moment the exhaustion and tension fell away from her, and a healthy flush coloured her pallid cheeks. She cupped her son’s face, pulling gently on his short-cropped beard.

“You always be a boy to me,” she said. “No matter how tall you get, how many battles you fight in, or how long a beard you grow. Even if it should reach your knees!”

They grinned at each other, troubles briefly forgotten.

…

Aemond cursed as he swallowed the last dose of the foul elixir. It made him gag, and he fought the urge to spit the stuff straight back out. Years he’d been taking this fucking awful tonic, and it never got any less disgusting. But he forced himself to swallow every last drop. He couldn’t afford to waste any.

That was it then. That was the last of it. He’d no more asp water – for that’s what they called the potion in Essos, where it came from. Even getting his hands on this small phial had been extraordinarily difficult. And cripplingly expensive.

To afford it, Aemond had sold the enormous sapphire he’d worn in his empty eye-socket. It’d been very hard to find a buyer who wouldn’t betray him. It’d been even harder – impossible, as it turned out – to find one who’d pay what the magnificent gemstone was actually worth. In the end, Aemond had been forced to let the sapphire go for a fraction of its true value. It’d been a hard blow. But he’d had no choice! He’d desperately needed the gold. But gods, it’d hurt. Just another painful dent in Aemond’s already shattered pride. One more thing to lose, when he’d already lost everything.

And now he’d nothing left to sell. The final dose of the elixir would keep Aemond’s body in check for two or three moons - if he was lucky. And then that merciless bitch nature would arrive, unwanted but unstoppable. Aemond hadn’t suffered through a heat in years. The idea of enduring one whilst on the run made his stomach churn with dread. He couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating. He’d be so helpless.

The foul taste of the asp water lingered unpleasantly. Aemond drank some small beer to try and wash it away, but instead the weak ale caught in his throat. He began coughing. Gods, he needed some air.

He opened the shutters and leaned out the window, taking a deep breath. Aemond was sure nobody would see him, not in this narrow lane. The air outside wasn’t exactly fresh. A constant stink hung about the Gulltown docks. It was loud here too. Somewhere nearby a man and a woman were screaming furiously. A baby was crying at the top of its poor little lungs. The men busy loading cargo bellowed curses at one another. It was a relentless barrage of noise.

Aemond couldn’t stand it. Even at night there was no peace. That’s when the whores came out to ply their trade, calling out filthy things to passing sailors. Drunkards spewed their guts up and wailed as they fell into the gutters.

Aemond had grown up in the Red Keep, where it’d been quiet. There was nowhere in the world more dangerous for him now, but it still felt like home. A home he’d never see again. It’d been stolen from him, by the great whore and her bastard children.

His throat tightened painfully as violent, angry heartache seized him. Through sheer force of will, Aemond pushed the despair away. He refused to wallow in it, like some pathetic weakling. And he worried that if he started, he’d never stop. The Red Keep belonged to Rhaenyra now. She walked its passageways, sat on the throne, and doubtless slept in the lavish chambers that’d once belonged to their sire.

Morosely, Aemond wondered who had his old apartments. Maybe it was Lucerys. His little husband, Lord Strong. For well over a year now Aemond had expected to hear the news that their marriage had been dissolved, and that Lucerys had taken another spouse. But the news had never come. The horrible thought had occurred to Aemond that perhaps Rhaenyra was waiting to see how Jaehaerys and Jaehaera presented, when they were older. That maybe she planned to wed one of them off to her son, thus symbolically reuniting the two divided halves of House Targaryen.

“My lord,” a voice interrupted Aemond’s brooding.

It was a local girl, the headstrong alpha daughter of a wealthy Gulltown cloth merchant. She’d been very useful to Aemond. She was well-connected through her father’s business dealings, and she knew the city inside out. Her family had secretly sympathised with Aegon’s cause during the war.

The girl was a resentful thing though. Despite being her sire’s only alpha child, she’d recently discovered he intended to pass his business onto her beta brother instead. Alpha women were wilful and assertive, but they were still women. In a world that prized physical strength and prowess in battle above nearly all else, they frequently lost out.

Helping Aemond was probably an act of rebellion. Her way of proving to herself that she was tough enough, no matter what her parents thought. Whatever the girl’s motivations, Aemond wasn’t in any position to question them. She’d spent the last fortnight trying to secure him safe passage across the Narrow Sea. Ideally to Pentos, but any of the Free Cities would do. Aemond was running out of time.

He’d been moving around in secret for more than a year. It’d taken a long time to recover from the terrible injuries Aemond had sustained in the battle above the Gods Eye. He’d been sheltered by secret friends, the world believing his body lay in the great lake. By the time Aemond was in any fit state to help his older brother, it was too late. Aegon was dead, and the war had been lost. There’d been nothing to do but run.

Aemond’s biggest regret was that he was abandoning both his mother and Helaena’s surviving children. They were being kept prisoner on Dragonstone, and rescue was impossible. To even attempt it would be suicide. But it ate away at Aemond. He vowed that he wouldn’t forget his kin. If a real opportunity to free them ever arose, he swore he’d take it.

“I’ve secured you passage on a ship,” the Gulltown girl – Lyrra, her name was – said excitedly. “I told the captain you were my cousin, running away from a forced marriage.”

“What harbour does this ship sail for?” Aemond asked, feeling his pulse quicken.

“Pentos,” the girl said. “But it leaves port within the hour. If you’re going to go, my prince, you must go now.”

Aemond hesitated. But this’d always been the plan, hadn’t it? To leave suddenly? To leave no trace behind? Aemond was ready to go. He’d been ready for a fortnight. Besides, what other choice did he have? None!

Smothering his anxiety, Aemond agreed to the girl’s plan. He hated the idea of being trapped aboard a merchant vessel, alongside strangers. But at least the asp water would last long enough to get him to Pentos, before his heat came on him. And besides, this rotting hovel was so unbearably filthy… how much worse could the bilges of a ship possibly be?

Aemond put on a grey cloak, taking care that the hood covered his long silver hair. Before he boarded this merchant ship, he’d need to wrap a cap about his head to hide it completely, but this would do for now. Lastly, he took up his sword belt and fastened it about his waist. The familiar weight of the blade resting against his hip was reassuring. Aemond didn’t like to go about unarmed.

A rag-tag group of knights had helped hide him over the past year. Of their number, just two remained, waiting by the door, ready to depart. They were loyal men, and it pained Aemond that he couldn’t reward them for it. The others who’d helped him were returned to their families and liege lords, having sworn a vow of silence. There was nothing they could do for Aemond now. Once he was aboard the ship, even these last two would leave him. And then he’d really be on his own, with nothing more than a scant handful of gold dragons and the faint hope of finding sympathisers in the Free Cities.

And if he couldn’t… well, there was no point thinking about that now. Despair was weakness.

Quietly, the four of them left the squalid hovel and took to the Gulltown streets. Lyrra led the way, moving swiftly through the crowds. She was dressed in woollen leggings with a belted green kirtle, typical dress for a female alpha. She led them away from where the larger ships were moored, and towards the wharfs where the smaller vessels laid anchor. The afternoon was overcast, with regular short blasts of summer rain. The bad weather meant Aemond was far from the only hooded figure on the streets. He blended in.

The passed unnoticed until suddenly Lyrra cut left, leading the group down a narrow alleyway between two large warehouses. Aemond was only a dozen or so paces down the alley before he began to feel uneasy. Something wasn’t right. This led away from the waterfront, not towards it. He looked back over his shoulder. There were two men blocking the mouth of the alley. They were armed.

Aemond’s hand flew to the hilt of his own weapon as his heart started hammering. There were five men in front of them now too, slipping silently out of the shadows. They were dressed like common thugs, but one glance at the way they held their swords gave away the truth. These were well-trained men.

Gods, Aemond had walked straight into an ambush.

“I’m sorry, Prince Aemond,” Lyrra muttered wretchedly as she slipped away. “They said they’d kill my parents. I’m sorry…”

Aemond snarled furiously at the traitorous bitch, but she was gone. He fought hard not to let the mounting panic take him, but he could feel it clawing at his throat. It increased tenfold when another figure appeared from the shadows. One Aemond knew well, but hadn’t expected to ever see again. The man walked with a pronounced limp these days, but there was no mistaking who it was.

“Hello, nephew,” Daemon Targaryen drawled. He had Dark Sister drawn, the slim, menacing blade gleaming dully. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

Aemond glared, baring his teeth viciously at the alpha. He felt like a rat in a trap. The two knights with him drew close, caging Aemond protectively between them. They looked afraid too. The three of them were hopelessly outnumbered.

“I see you didn’t survive our battle unscathed,” Aemond sneered, nodding towards Daemon’s left leg. His uncle was visibly unable to rest his full weight on it.

“And now I have a chance to pay you back for it.” Daemon’s eyes were as cold as the ice beyond the Wall.

Aemond drew his own sword, blood pounding in his ears like a drum. He refused to die in some filthy alleyway. Not after everything he’d been through. He wouldn’t die here. He refused to die here!

“Kill him,” Daemon commanded. The enemy swarmed in, murder in their eyes.

The narrowness of the dark alley meant Daemon’s men couldn’t take full advantage of their numbers. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The fight was chaotic and brutal. Aemond was nearly stabbed in his gut immediately, the blade tearing his tunic instead. He’d been right – Daemon’s men were well-trained, fast and lethal. But not as fast or lethal as Aemond.

He cut down two of them in quick succession. The first man’s throat he sliced open, hot blood spraying across Aemond’s face as it spurted violently from the jagged wound. The second man howled with fury as his friend fell, hacking wildly at Aemond – only to find himself skewered on the end of the prince’s sword, the blade slicing clean through fat and muscle.

It was bloody anarchy. It didn’t take long before one of Aemond’s knights was killed, stabbed in the belly. Just moments later, the other was also dealt a mortal blow. The stink of blood and fear was thick in the air. Aemond nearly tripped and fell over a gurgling body. The walls closed in around him. The alley felt like a grave. There was no way out.

Then a brief gap suddenly appeared in the furious press of bodies. Desperate, Aemond didn’t hesitate to take it.

He shoved one of the men trying to kill him out of the way, cutting the whoreson deep across the thigh for good measure. Aemond stumbled, nearly falling to his knees as hands grabbed wildly at him, snatching at his cloak. But they couldn’t hold on. Aemond staggered out of the alleyway. He got his legs under him and took off at a flat sprint, bolting away as fast as he could. Running for his life.

“After him!” Daemon bellowed furiously.

Aemond didn’t know Gulltown at all. He was lost from the moment he tore out of the alley. He ran blindly, with no idea where he was or where he was going. He weaved through the smallfolk, trying hopelessly to lose his pursuers among them. His foot caught on a rope, and he stumbled, nearly falling over. He dropped his sword, and it clattered away. There was no time to stop and pick it back up.

The hot blood rushing through Aemond’s ears got louder and louder, until it threatened to drown out everything else. A stabbing pain was growing steadily worse in his side, like a knife slipped between his ribs. Like Daemon, Aemond’s fall from the sky had come at a steep cost. He’d broken three of his ribs plunging into the Gods Eye, and dislocated his shoulder too. The crippling agony had been so intense he’d nearly drowned, finding it impossible to swim. Aemond had nightmares about it sometimes – the deep water, and how close it’d come to taking him.

Healing had been slow. An infection had set in, nearly killing Aemond all over again. But he was whole again now… more or less. It seemed his ribs couldn’t yet withstand the strain of Aemond running full tilt, as fast as his legs could carry him. He tried his best to ignore the rapidly mounting pain as he sprinted out of the filthy docklands and into the wealthier quarters of the city. The streets widened and the dirt underfoot gave way to cobblestones. A solemn bell tolled nearby.

Suddenly, one of Daemon’s men got close enough to grab Aemond’s cloak. He tried to yank him backwards - but only succeeded in making himself trip. The rough wool slipped free from the bastard’s grasp, but the hood fell to Aemond’s shoulders. His hair came free, tangling around his face as he ran. Gods, they were nearly on him. Aemond was faltering, the pain in his ribcage becoming unbearable.

Realising that his body was going to give up any second, Aemond looked around in frantic desperation. He needed something – anything – to save him. The gods had forsaken him a long time ago, but Aemond prayed to them now. Pleading for a miracle.

That sombre bell tolled again, and he instinctively turned towards the sound. There was a large sept to his right, the doors open. Without stopping to think about it, Aemond lurched towards the seven-sided building. He was certain a faithless cur like Daemon Targaryen wouldn’t respect the sanctuary of holy ground, but Aemond was out of other options. It was this or get slaughtered in the street, his blood left to run in the gutter.

He'd expected to find the sept nearly empty at this time of day, and got a shock when he staggered in to find it full of people instead. A whole congregation in fact. Probably there for a funeral or a wedding. Statues of the gods stared down impassively from the walls. Not so the men and women on the benches, who stared at Aemond in disbelief. Many of them got to their feet. The septon faltered in the middle of his sermon.

A second later there was a fresh commotion as the men chasing Aemond burst through the sept’s doors, bloodstained swords still drawn. Several people screamed.

“This is holy ground!” a hysterical septa shrieked. “Spill no blood here, or the gods will punish you!”

“Aemond!” Daemon’s voice roared. The man himself appeared, marching into the sept despite the hitch in his gait. Aemond backed away, still fighting to catch his breath. The pain in his side wasn’t fading. It throbbed mercilessly every time he inhaled. Aemond clutched his ribs as Daemon advanced, until just a few feet separated them.

By this time, half the congregation were trying to get a better look at what was going on, whilst the other half were trying to scramble away. Daemon looked angry to see the crowd, his jaw tightening and a muscle twitching as he ground his teeth in frustration.

A rush of exhausted relief threatened to buckle Aemond’s knees out from under him. Daemon was thwarted. There were too many people! They’d surely been recognised, even all the way out here, in the Vale of Arryn. Their pale hair and Aemond’s eyepatch were both unmistakable, even to men and women who’d never laid eyes on either of them before.

Gods, Daemon had even called out Aemond’s name.

The congregation wasn’t made up of the smallfolk either. Now that Aemond looked at them properly, he noticed their clothes were made from embroidered cloth and silk. These were wealthy merchants and traders. And then there were the septons and septas. Educated men and women who knew their letters. The sort of people whose testimony couldn’t be ignored.

If Daemon killed Aemond here, he’d make himself a kinslayer of the worst sort. The kind that spilled blood on holy ground, with his quarry outnumbered four to one. A blasphemer and a coward? Even a famous scoundrel like Daemon Targaryen couldn’t shrug those charges off. The story would spread across the whole realm like wildfire.

“Prince Daemon,” Aemond announced, pushing through the pain to speak so loudly his voice carried to every corner of the sept. “Uncle. In the name of the Seven Above, I – Prince Aemond Targaryen – throw myself upon your mercy.”

Daemon’s lip curled and his eyes narrowed. He was furious. Aemond’s uncle smelled like woodsmoke and bitter spices. It was an aggressively alpha scent. It made a small, heavily suppressed part of Aemond – a part of himself that he loathed – want to bow his head in submission. Or worse, bare his neck. Instead, he forced himself to keep his gaze level and steady. It should’ve been humiliating, asking Daemon for mercy. But it felt like victory.

The two Targaryen princes stared at each other in tense silence, the crowd of strangers hushing around them. The older alpha glowering furiously at the young omega, who flatly refused to drop his eye or show any sign of meek submission.

“Take him alive,” Daemon ground out at last, sliding Dark Sister back into its scabbard. “We’ll take the whoreson to King’s Landing. The Queen will decide what to do with him.”

Chapter Text

Lucerys was shooting at the archery butts, in the great yard of the Red Keep. Close by, knights and squires sparred. Luke had been practising his aim for more than an hour. He was a middling archer, preferring the sword. But he’d wanted an activity that would stop his restless mind wandering. Archery fit the bill nicely.

The day was overcast, but the heat in the air was oppressive. Lucerys’ clothes were damp with sweat. Earlier he’d unslung his belt and tossed it aside, letting his tunic hang loose to keep him a little cooler. Above, the sky grew darker and darker. There’d be a summer storm soon. Lucerys could feel it coming - and welcomed it. A good storm would break this damned stifling heat.

In one smooth motion he drew back the bowstring and sent another arrow flying. It struck the target just left of centre. Luke’s arms ached with the effort of drawing the bow. Oddly, the discomfort seemed to have improved his aim.

You overthink, my prince – that’s what Lucerys’ old instructor had told him. He’d been a northerner, gruff and plain speaking. Just draw, aim, and loose.

Luke had always struggled to follow the man’s advice. He overthought by nature. Questioned his own decisions. Adjusted his aim. But now, with his aching muscles protesting, he couldn’t hold the draw long enough to overthink.

Draw, aim, and loose. As easy as that.

Another arrow thudded into the target. This time it’d flown straight and true, hitting dead centre. Lucerys smiled with satisfaction and reached for another arrow.

“Prince Lucerys?” a voice interrupted.

Luke lowered his bow and turned around. A young maester hovered nearby. Lucerys thought he’d seen the lad around the palace before, one of Grand Maester Gerardys’ new scholars. Freshly arrived from the Citadel to record the events of the civil war for their histories. The bloody maesters swarmed the Red Keep like ants in an anthill these days. Sticking their noses into everything.

“The Queen requests your presence, my lord,” the maester said, bowing politely.

Lucerys used his sleeve to wipe away the sweat beading on his forehead. His clothes were dishevelled and probably smelled even worse than they looked. The novice maester was an omega, and was having to pointedly turn his head away to avoid the heavy fug of unmated alpha.

All maesters were chaste. In theory - if not always in practice. They didn’t marry, nor did they sire or bear any children. But vows of celibacy didn’t stop the unreasonable demands of the body. Most maesters wore a special salve of their own making, rubbed into the delicate flesh just beneath their noses. It numbed their sense of smell, made them less affected by the scents around them. Oh, they weren’t totally numbed – after all, who’d willingly cut off an entire sense? To never know if they were talking to an alpha, a beta, or an omega?

Lucerys realised he must stink so strongly that even the maester’s salve couldn’t smother it. He took a courteous step backwards, putting a bit of distance between them. “Tell the Queen I’ll be with her shortly,” he said. “After I’ve washed myself.”

“I’m sorry,” the maester insisted apologetically. “But the Queen wants to see you right away. I was to inform you the matter is urgent.”

Lucerys hesitated. His mother wasn’t prone to dramatics. If she thought something was urgent, then it was urgent.

The Queen was waiting in the Tower of the Hand. Luke went straight there, still sweaty and dressed in the clothes he’d been practising the bow in. The best he could do to tidy himself up was to refasten the belt about his waist.

Queen Rhaenyra wasn’t alone in the council chamber. Grand Maester Gerardys was there, and so was Luke’s grandfather, Lord Corlys. Lyonel Bentley, Lord Commander of the Queensguard, was also at the table, as was Robert Quince, former steward of Dragonstone. All advisors Rhaenyra trusted implicitly. They looked tense, and the sight of four such solid, dependable men on edge made Luke suddenly anxious. What the hells was going on?

“What is it?” he demanded. “What’s happened?”

“Sit down, Luke.” Rhaenyra was seated at the head of the table, holding a letter in her hand. The broken wax seal bore the sigil of House Targaryen. The letter must’ve come from Daemon. Seven Above – had he run off across the Narrow Sea to find Nettles? No, that couldn’t be it. Luke’s mother wouldn’t be sitting there calmly - she’d have been incandescently furious. Unsettled, Lucerys sank into an empty chair. Nobody would meet his eye – except Corlys, who had a strange expression on his weatherworn face. It began to dawn on Luke that, whatever this mysterious matter was, he himself was connected to it somehow.

Rhaenyra unfolded the letter, smoothing the creased paper flat on the tabletop. “Today, I received this message from the Vale of Arryn. Daemon has taken a traitor captive and is bringing his prisoner to King’s Landing.”

Lucerys leaned forward, trying hopelessly to read the letter upside down. “Who is it?” he asked eagerly. Someone important, to have everyone here so uneasy. One of the conspirators his mother so feared? Had Daemon already dragged the curs into the light?

“It’s Aemond,” said Rhaenyra. She pushed the letter towards Lucerys, so he could read it for himself. “Daemon has found Aemond. Alive and well.”

…

The journey from Gulltown to King’s Landing took three weeks. Three miserable weeks. Without their dragons, House Targaryen were reduced to travelling on horseback just like everybody else.

Aemond had feared Daemon would parade him through the kingdom as a living trophy. The final triumph of Queen Rhaenyra over her perfidious kin. But instead, Aemond had found a cloak with a deep hood thrown over him. He wasn’t totally spared the humiliation of being a prisoner, however. His wrists were manacled and whenever they rode, he was trussed to the saddle. His horse was led on a long rein, the other end held by either Daemon himself or one of his knights.

For knights the alleyway thugs had turned out to be. Now they wore the colours of House Targaryen, and each of the rotting bastards looked at Aemond like they’d dearly love to slit his throat. He took to smiling arrogantly at them, daring the cunts to find their balls and do what they so obviously wanted to do. At least that way Aemond would rob Rhaenyra of the satisfaction of ordering his death.

In addition to Daemon’s men, Lord Grafton of Gulltown had volunteered some of his own retainers for the journey. All in all, it was quite a large entourage escorting Aemond to his dire fate. There was one small consolation at least. He’d get to see the Red Keep one last time.

“You smell like a eunuch,” Daemon remarked, riding alongside Aemond down the Kingsroad. It was a hot day. There’d been a lot of hot days recently, and nearly as many storms. They’d spent last night at Hayford, guests of House Hayford. Now there was nothing ahead but King’s Landing.

“And you smell like a rabid dog, what of it?” Aemond snapped back.

“I was just wondering… is it that foul potion you used to take that does it? Or are you just broken? Forgive my curiosity nephew. But if any omega was going to prove literally unfuckable, then surely it’d be you.”

Aemond clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth ground together. By all the gods, he hated Daemon. He’d come so close to killing the bastard above the Gods Eye. So close. But not close enough.

Aemond hated Daemon… yet envied him bitterly too. When he’d been a boy, he’d wanted so badly to be the sort of alpha his uncle was. The kind that dominated a room just by standing in it. It’d been a hard blow when Aemond had thought he’d presented as a beta. If only he’d known then that the gods were playing another of their cruel games with him, and that just two years later he’d be desperately wishing he was a beta after all.

“We’ll be at the city gates within the hour,” Daemon said. “When you meet the Queen, you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head. Or I’ll cut it out.”

Aemond’s lip curled contemptuously. What did any of it matter anyway? By nightfall his head would be on a spike.

…

Luke’s memories of Aemond were hazy. It’d been so many years since they’d last seen each other. An entire war had passed in the meantime, and never once during it had they been in direct conflict. Not since Storm’s End. Luke dimly recalled his husband as having been tall and strong. He remembered a narrow face, a sharp jaw, and very beautiful pale hair. And, of course, just the one eye. But when Lucerys tried to put all of that together to create a complete picture… he came up short. It’d simply been too long.

Well, he’d soon get the opportunity to refresh his memory. A raven had arrived yesterday, informing the Queen that Prince Daemon and his prisoner would be arriving in King’s Landing by mid-afternoon the following day.

It was mid-afternoon the following day. Lucerys was restless. He couldn’t concentrate on a damned thing. He’d tried to read some drab reports from the North, but every word had passed clean through his head without sticking. It didn’t help that the air was heavy again, threatening yet another bloody storm. The weather had been appalling of late.

Eventually, at long last, the summons came. Daemon was here, and he wasn’t alone.

Aemond’s capture was being kept secret – for now. Once he was safely under lock and key, the news would be made public. This was a great victory for Queen Rhaenyra – one she badly needed. Hopefully it’d quieten the unhappy nobles for a while. Perhaps they’d reconsider their scheming after being reminded of the high price treachery carried. Once Aemond had been made an example of.

To stop tongues wagging, the Great Hall had been cleared of courtiers. The Queen sat on the Iron Throne, dressed in a red gown and with the crown of her father perched proudly on her head. A few steps below were Luke and his little brother Aegon. Grand Maester Gerardys was stood on the sidelines with two of his scholars, to observe the moment for their histories. Apart from the Queensguard, that was it for witnesses.

With a creaking of their well-oiled hinges, the great doors swung open. In strode Daemon, visibly pushing through the limp that dogged him constantly these days. His hand was clamped on the shoulder of another figure with the same silver hair, shoving him along in front.

Lucerys stared. The last time he’d laid eyes on Aemond, Luke had still been a boy. Presented as an alpha just weeks beforehand. In comparison, Aemond had seemed intimidatingly strong and athletic. He’d certainly been much bigger than Lucerys. Taller, broader, and a talented swordsman too. In Luke’s mind, Aemond had remained that way, frozen in time. Broad, tall, and dangerous. But now, seeing him in person after so many years, Luke realised that his muddled memories weren’t quite accurate. Although he was most certainly tall, Aemond wasn’t broad at all. In fact, he was quite slender, with a narrow waist and slight shoulders.

It'd been very easy to forget over the years that Aemond was an omega. He’d always smelled of bland nothing, like unpresented children did. And then, after the war had started, Aemond’s reputation as a merciless cunt had muddied the waters further. No omega fought that viciously. Very few alphas did either. It wasn’t natural. A sign of madness, many had whispered.

Looking at him now though, Lucerys felt the reality of Aemond’s secondary gender keenly. He was filthy, with a face like thunder and a patch over his eye, and yet there was still something comely about him. Luke liked male omegas who were built like that – lean and narrow, easy to enfold in his arms. Gods, if they’d met as strangers at some event somewhere, Lucerys might’ve even asked the son-of-a-bitch for a dance.

Aemond came to a halt before the Iron Throne, pushed the entire way by Daemon. He stood there, back ramrod straight, glaring up at his sister with naked loathing. After several long moments, his gaze flickered down to Lucerys. Aemond’s brow furrowed in confusion. He didn’t recognise him, Lucerys realized with a jolt. Of course he didn’t. If Aemond didn’t resemble Luke’s blurry memories of him, then how different must Luke himself – now a full-grown man – appear to his estranged husband? When last they’d met, Lucerys’ head had barely come up to Aemond’s shoulders. His face had still possessed the roundness of boyhood, with smooth cheeks that couldn’t’ve grown a single hair for all the gold in Casterly Rock.

Lucerys saw the exact moment Aemond finally realised who the stranger before him was. His lone eye widened in shock.

“Brother,” the Queen spoke, interrupting the moment. Aemond’s attention was immediately dragged back to her.

“Sister,” he replied curtly.

At once Daemon struck Aemond hard across the cheek. The noise of the slap resounded loudly throughout the nearly empty hall.

“What did I tell you?” Daemon hissed into his nephew’s ear.

“My Queen,” Aemond spat out reluctantly. Already an angry red mark was blooming across his pale face. Daemon had really hit him hard.

“I’m pleased to see that you’re alive,” Rhaenyra’s voice dripped with insincerity. Everyone in the room knew she was lying. It would’ve been much easier for her if Aemond was rotting beneath the Gods Eye. “Tell me Aemond, what’ve you been doing these many moons? Repenting of your treachery perhaps?”

“I’ve been praying to the gods,” Aemond corrected her coldly.

“Have you indeed? Praying for what, exactly?”

“For justice.”

“For justice? But the gods have already delivered justice!” Rhaenyra gestured around herself. “Don’t you see me here, seated on the throne? And yourself, in chains before me?”

Aemond scowled, his manacled hands clenching tightly.

“But maybe you’re right.” Rhaenyra’s fingertips drummed sharply on the Iron Throne, rapping against the twisted metal. “Perhaps there’s more justice to be done still. Shall we start with this then? Guards! Take Prince Aemond to the dungeons. To the black cells. He can rot in there whilst I decide what to do with him.”

Aemond kept his head held defiantly high as two of the Queensguard grabbed him by the arms. He was dragged away. Lucerys watched until he was out of sight. That left only Daemon.

“You’ve done very well, husband,” Rhaenyra addressed her consort. There was no warmth there. No happiness to see him again after weeks apart. It was a sharp contrast to the easy affection Lucerys remembered them sharing before the war.

Daemon bowed his head. “He was a difficult trophy to bag. Consider him a gift, wife. A trinket for your amusement.”

To his immense surprise, Lucerys bristled. Who in the seven hells did Daemon think he was, to be gifting Aemond to anyone? Even the Queen? He was Luke’s husband.

“A fine gift indeed.” Rhaenyra sighed. “If only I knew what to do with it. First, we must inform the realm. I want every lord and lady in Westeros to know that Aemond Targaryen is my prisoner. And that I now have every last one of the usurper’s surviving kin under lock and key."

…

Lucerys struggled to sleep that night. It was storming yet again. The gods had sent so many thunderstorms recently, he was half-tempted to wonder if it was some terrible omen. The rain lashed relentlessly against his bedchamber windows. The wind whipped in off the sea and howled around the turrets of the Red Keep, sounding almost like a dragon’s shrill cry. Lucerys pitied the poor sailors out on the Narrow Sea, trying to make the crossing through such a tempest.

He'd expected his mother to want to talk to him after Aemond had been sent down to the black cells. Surely they’d a lot to discuss? But she hadn’t. Daemon hadn’t either. Instead, Lucerys had been left to return to his dull reports about northern tax revenues. The only person who'd wanted to speak to him had been Aegon. His little brother had trailed along after Luke as they left the Great Hall.

“Do you think mother will have him executed?” Aegon had asked bluntly, and in far too loud a voice.

“I don’t know,” Lucerys had replied honestly. “Probably. But she might decide it’s too dangerous.”

“Why would it be too dangerous?”

“Many still have sympathy for the usurper and his family,” Lucerys had explained. “They already fear our mother is a tyrant. She can’t afford to give them any more reason to believe it. Executing Aemond could look like tyranny, for all he’s a traitor who deserves it. He’s still our kin.”

“And besides, you must want him to live,” Aegon had declared with breezy confidence. “He’s your mate, isn’t he? Alphas always protect their omegas.”

“He’s not my mate,” Lucerys had said hurriedly, a little taken aback. Where’d Aegon gotten that idea from? “We’re only married, not mated.” He prayed fervently his little brother wouldn’t ask any questions about how that worked.

Now, hours later, Lucerys lay alone in his bed and turned that conversation over and over in his head. It was true, Aemond wasn’t his mate. But he was Luke’s husband. Nobody else in the Red Keep was going to dare speak up for him. Didn’t honour demand Lucerys did? His wedding vows certainly demanded it.

Lucerys wasn’t a complete idiot - he knew he was being absurd. He’d been a boy when he’d made those vows – and hadn’t meant them. Aemond had never forgiven Luke for taking his eye when they’d been children. He would’ve killed Lucerys during the war, if he’d ever gotten the chance. And Luke would’ve done the same! There’d been no mercy, during the Dance. No ridiculous chivalry.

But the war was over.

Luke did eventually fall asleep. The howling wind and rolls of thunder lulled him away. When he woke the next morning, the storm had broken. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky.

He dressed, breakfasted, and then called for one of the Keep’s servants to come to his chambers. The man was a minor steward. He’d first served King Viserys, then the usurper Aegon, before pledging his service to Queen Rhaenyra. Lucerys was sorely tempted to write the man off as a faithless cur. But he tried to be understanding. He wasn’t naïve. He knew the war had been brutal on the commonfolk. Men and women had done what they’d needed to in order to survive. Done what they’d needed to, and served who they’d needed to.

“The possessions of the usurper and his kin – they’re still here in the Keep, aren’t they?” Lucerys asked the man. Queen Rhaenyra had been adamant about erasing every trace of her traitorous brother Aegon from between the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast, but even the royal family didn’t just throw away expensive clothes and jewellery.

“Yes, my prince.”

“I want you to bring me some of Prince Aemond’s clothes,” instructed Lucerys. “Nothing ostentatious. He wore black a lot, didn’t he? Yes… bring me something plain in black.”

If rumours of Aemond’s imprisonment hadn’t reached the servants, then the steward probably thought Lucerys’ request very strange. Or else that he was up to something perverse. But if the man did think either of those things, his solemn face didn’t betray it. He just bowed, before departing to do as Lucerys had ordered.

…

The black cells certainly lived up to their name. Aemond was sat in total darkness. It was so absolute that he couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face. In this oppressive blackness, the eye he still had was as useless as the one he’d lost.

He’d visited before. His brother had dragged him here when they’d been children. Aegon had been a macabre little prick then, fascinated by unpleasant things. The young Aemond had found the black cells frightening and had begged Aegon to leave. Looking back now, he thought perhaps Aegon had been scared as well. Of course, that hadn’t stopped his older brother mercilessly mocking Aemond for being afraid of the darkness.

Aemond sat slumped on the freezing cold floor of his cell, holding a lump of bread in his hands. The guards had thrown it in after him, forcing Aemond to feel around until he found it. So far, pride had prevented him eating any. But there’d come a point when hunger would outweigh even his rigid pride. Aemond had seen enough during the war to understand that.

It wasn’t just dark - it was eerily silent too. Every now and then a flicker of light appeared beneath the door, accompanied by footsteps as a guard holding a lantern passed by. Aemond had managed to snatch a little sleep, out of sheer exhaustion. He’d no idea whether it was day or night. It was impossible to tell.

It was better that the guards stayed away. They’d taken sadistic delight in having Aemond at their mercy. They’d insulted and spat at him. One had stolen his eyepatch and laughed when he’d seen the empty socket and what remained of the drooping eyelid beneath. Aemond had howled furiously, promising to slit the man’s throat, but he’d just been punched in the belly and shoved into this tiny cell, the door slamming closed and a key turning in the lock. It'd been humiliating, but nothing worse than what Daemon’s men had done on the journey here. They’d insulted Aemond every chance they’d got, hitting him for the slightest perceived infractions. Daemon had allowed it all.

Almost. He’d drawn the line once. A knight had groped Aemond one night, taking advantage of his chained hands.

“I don’t care how you smell omega,” the cur had murmured in Aemond’s face, breath stinking of ale. “I’ll fuck you all the same.”

Aemond had been about to try and bite the whoreson’s nose off, when suddenly the man had been dragged backwards by a hand in his hair. The next second he’d gone reeling to the floor as Daemon punched him in the face.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” was all Daemon had said. He hadn’t even looked at Aemond. But that knight had never been assigned to guard him again.

They did say that men went mad if they were held in the black cells too long. Aemond had thought that a fanciful story. An exaggeration, designed to make the infamous dungeon sound even more frightful than it actually was. But now he began to wonder. He could understand how weeks on end kept in this constant darkness might break a weak man’s mind. Fortunately, Aemond was not a weak man.

The glimmer of light approached again. But this time it stopped outside the door. A moment later Aemond heard a key turning in the iron lock, and the rattling of old, stiff hinges.

The sudden rush of light, even the weak kind given off by a single lantern, was enough to dazzle Aemond after so long in pitch darkness. He blinked, trying to clear his vision of dancing spots. He could just about make out a young man looming over him. It must’ve been one of the guards. He was carrying a bundle of cloth. Aemond didn’t bother to stand. He’d probably get a good kicking for his insolence, but he didn’t care. Let the filthy dogs drag him to his feet if they wanted.

“What happened to your eyepatch?” the stranger said at last.

It wasn’t an insult or a threat. Aemond looked again, peering through the gloom. This time, his eye better adjusted to the lantern light, he realized who his visitor was. It wasn’t one of the guards. It was the young man he’d seen in the Great Hall. The one it’d taken Aemond an embarrassingly long time to realise was Lucerys Velaryon, his own husband.

It'd shocked him. In Aemond’s mind, Lucerys was still an adolescent boy less than two moons presented. A snub-nosed brat whose head had only just reached Aemond’s shoulders. Rationally he’d known Lucerys must’ve grown up. It’d been years. Obviously he'd become a man in that time. During the war, Aemond had read reports of his little husband’s exploits in battle. Read them - and cursed the bastard for his victories. But it was quite another thing to see how much Lucerys had changed.

Far from being little, Lucerys was as tall as Aemond now. Perhaps a bit taller even. He’d grown broad-shouldered, and the round baby-face had given way to an angular jaw and a short-cropped dark beard that was impressive on such a young man. Aemond wondered if Lucerys resembled his sire. His real sire - Harwin Strong. There certainly wasn’t much of Rhaenyra in him. Perhaps a glimmer of her in the sharpness of his eyes. That was new as well. There was no more doe-eyed innocence in Lucerys’ gaze.

“The guards took it,” Aemond finally found his voice. He fought the powerful urge to raise his hand and conceal his ruined eye from view. He didn’t want Lucerys to know how much it bothered him, having it looked upon. “I’m sure it’ll make a fine trophy for one of them. What’s wrong, don’t you want to admire your own handiwork?”

With a heavy thud, the cell door closed and locked again as Lucerys abruptly departed. Aemond found himself plunged back into darkness. What in hells had been the point of that visit then? He scowled. Despite his reputation as a brave knight, it seemed little Lord Strong’s temperament was as sensitive as ever, if that gibe had sent him packing.

A minute or two later, Aemond thought he heard something. He tilted his head and listened carefully. It sounded like a raised voice, somewhere nearby. The echo filtered down through the stone ceiling. It lasted only briefly before it stopped. Shortly afterwards the cell door opened again, heralding the unexpected return of Lucerys. Something landed in Aemond’s lap. It was his eyepatch. He stared down at the thing in surprise.

“Move him,” Lucerys ordered.

Aemond looked up in confusion. There was a guard with Lucerys, hovering nervously. “Prince Lucerys,” he babbled. “We were given strict orders. Prince Aemond is to be kept here, in the black cells.”

“And now I’m giving you strict orders to move him to the cells above. Don’t stand there and cluck at me - do it. I’ll take full responsibility. You won’t be punished, but you will do as I tell you. Understand?”

…

There was a scent bothering Lucerys. Something sweet, like apples and fresh summer air. At first, he’d thought it belonged to one of the guards – which’d confused him, because they were all betas, and it was a very omega sort of scent. No omegas served in the dungeon guard, and no alphas either. They were all betas, as little influenced as possible by the scents and mating fevers of the prisoners in their care.

Slowly it dawned on Luke that the scent belonged to Aemond. As they walked up the dungeon’s narrow stair, he had to use a fair bit of self-control not to lean closer. Omegas smelled lovely, that was no secret. And Lucerys was particularly sensitive to that loveliness. But he also possessed self-control. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself, and he wasn’t going to give Aemond an excuse to lose his temper either. If he did lash out violently, Lucerys would have to order him punished. The guard would flog Aemond until his back bled. The idea held surprisingly little appeal.

And yet… Luke couldn’t help being curious. What alpha wouldn’t be, in his place? Aemond had smelled of nothing at their wedding. He’d smelled of nothing in the handful of awful days after the ceremony too. And Lucerys could’ve sworn blind he’d smelled of nothing yesterday too, in the Great Hall. But then, they’d been stood quite a way apart.

This was the first time Lucerys had ever been able to detect the true scent of the omega he was married to. No alpha alive would’ve been able to resist the urge to know.

The bruise on Aemond’s face was an ugly purple. Daemon really had given him a proper slap. Lucerys thought he looked weary and bedraggled. Out of energy and running low on defiance. A far cry from the dishevelled but proud figure that’d stood before the Iron Throne just one day earlier.

The floor above the black cells was intended for highborn prisoners. The cells were still gloomy, but they were at least lit by burning sconces in the passageway. They were larger too, with a rough cot to sleep in rather than just the floor. Yes, this was a much more appropriate place to lock away a prince. When another cell had been chosen for Aemond and he was safely inside it, Lucerys handed him the clothes. Aemond stared at them blankly, like he was expecting the small bundle of wool and linen to catch fire or explode in his face.

Lucerys felt suddenly embarrassed and flustered. Gods – he’d done far too much. He’d brought Aemond clean clothes, taken his eyepatch back from the snivelling knave who’d had the audacity to steal it, and now this. He’d gone directly against the Queen’s orders, and he’d no real grounds to justify any of it. Aemond was his enemy. A traitor. Aegon’s former regent. Lucerys needed to remember that. Just like he needed Aemond to remember that – despite these ridiculous acts of generosity – Lucerys wasn’t a soft-hearted fool.

“Don’t mistake it for kindness,” he warned. “It’s pity.”

Aemond’s wary face contorted into an angry snarl. “I don’t want your pity!” he hissed.

“But you’re not in any position to refuse it, are you?”

For one moment, he really thought Aemond was going to do exactly that. Throw the clothes back in Lucerys’ face and demand to be returned to the black cells. Losing the war might’ve taken Aemond’s arrogance down a peg or two, but it clearly hadn’t done anything to mellow his monumental pride.

“If you’ve had your fill of enjoying my humiliation, husband, then perhaps you’d do me the great favour of fucking off and leaving me in peace?” Aemond snapped, turning away and hunching his shoulders. In the shadows, it was hard to make out his expression. All Luke could see was the angry bruise where Daemon had hit him.

Lucerys remembered Aemond as having been very difficult when they'd been younger too. Another man or woman, in such a dire situation, might’ve pled for mercy. Begged Lucerys to save them from whatever terrible fate awaited. Aemond was a traitor, and the punishments for traitors were uniformly brutal and bloody. Most omegas in his position would've tried shamelessly to appeal to the protective streak inherent to an alpha’s nature. They might’ve tried the trick of baring their necks submissively. Lowering their eyes, trying their best to appear docile and helpless. Maybe somebody else might’ve even tried pressing close, mingling their scents, reminding Lucerys they were wed…

But not Aemond Targaryen.

Lucerys sighed. “If that’s what you want. You don’t do yourself any favours, Aemond.”

Luke left the dungeons. He felt exasperated, although he wasn’t sure why. What sort of behaviour had he expected? He knew full well what his husband was. A surly, ill-tempered prick at best. A madman at worst. He needed some peace and quiet. A place with fresh air where he could think without being interrupted.

He went to the Godswood. Luke sat beneath the heart tree, listening to the wind rustling the branches gently. He leaned back against the trunk and closed his eyes.

He’d known it was only a matter of time before news of his intercession on Aemond’s behalf reached his mother. Still, Lucerys hadn’t expected it to be quite so soon. He was still sitting beneath the tree when a shadow fell over him. He opened his eyes and looked up.

“I hear Aemond has been moved from the black cells,” Rhaenyra said. She didn’t sound happy about it, but neither did she sound angry. Her brow was furrowed.

Lucerys scrambled to his feet, feeling sheepish. “I forced the guard to move him,” he said. “It’s my fault.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head, examining her son’s face carefully. “But why?”

Lucerys shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” he admitted, feeling very stupid. “I brought him some clean clothes, that was all. One of the guards had stolen his eyepatch. He just looked so wretched there…”

“That was the purpose of it,” his mother said. “I didn’t order him sent to the black cells to be comfortable, Luke. I wanted him to feel wretched.”

“I know. Forgive me. I… I can’t explain it really.” Luke knew he sounded like an idiot. He felt like an idiot.

The furrow on the Queen’s brow grew deeper. She was looking at Lucerys like she couldn’t make heads nor tails of him. Eventually she sighed and reached out to take his hand. In one graceful movement she sank to sit beneath the heart tree, tugging on Lucerys’ arm until he sat down next to her. Rhaenyra leaned her head gently on her son’s shoulder.

“I should have Aemond executed,” Rhaenyra murmured. “I want to. But I can’t. The kingdom is simmering like a pot left too long on the fire. It’ll boil over the moment I take my eye off it. I must be seen to be merciful. Even to one of my greatest enemies.”

Luke squeezed her hand.

“I thought you’d be upset,” Rhaenyra admitted. “I thought you’d want me to have Aemond killed. So long as he lives, you can’t remarry. But… was I wrong? Do you not want him dead?”

“I don’t want him dead. Enough of our family are dead. I’ve had my fill of it for one lifetime. I can’t endure any more - even him.”

“But Luke… I don’t think I can end the marriage any other way.” Rhaenyra lifted her head so she could look him in the eye. “I’ve tried everything to persuade the septons to bend. They won’t.”

Lucerys bowed his head.

“Maybe you could take another?” the Queen suggested. “Aegon the Conqueror had two wives. One for duty, one for love. Rhaenys might’ve been second wed, but she got the bite. She was Aegon’s great love. His omega. She made him happy. You could still be happy with someone else.”

Lucerys shook his head. “You know the lords would think it blasphemy,” he said. “They already hate that we mate with our own flesh and blood. They thought it blasphemy when old Aegon did it too, and I don’t have the Black Dread to force others to bend to my will. I only have Arrax.”

“Arrax. Our last dragon,” Rhaenyra said softly. Her grip tightened on Lucerys’ hand. “Oh Luke, my sweet boy, we’ve lost so much. How did it come to this?”

Because lust for power makes men and women mad, Lucerys wanted to say. But he didn’t. He was worried his mother might take it as some sort of rebuke. Besides, Luke was in no position to talk. Not when half the reason he wanted so badly to marry again was to secure his own claim to the throne. Gods, perhaps in time he could take another spouse. These were exceptional circumstances, after all.

“I won’t give up,” Rhaenyra reassured him. “I’ll find a way to end your marriage to Aemond, no matter how long it takes. Or else I’ll let you take a second spouse, the lords and their bellyaching about blasphemy be damned. I swear it to you, Luke.”

Lucerys tried his best to smile like he believed her.

…

Left alone in this new cell, there was nothing for Aemond to do but change into the clothes Lucerys had brought him. He was surprised to realise they were his own things. The jacket was black, with green embroidery about the collar and wrists. It felt strange, to wear such fine clothing again. He ran his hands over the high-quality wool. He’d forgotten how soft his old clothes had been. He’d spent so long wearing the rough garb of the smallfolk. Blending in so he could pass unnoticed.

Despite the urgent need to avoid being recognised, Aemond had never been able to bring himself to cut his hair. He should’ve. It’d been a ridiculous bit of vanity to refuse to do it. The sort of thing a pitiful fool with their head stuffed full of romantic nonsense would’ve done. The sort of omega Aemond had always sneered at. The pale hair of the Valyrian race was instantly recognisable to anyone, from the highest lord to the meanest peasant. Even if they’d never laid eyes on a single member of the royal family, everyone knew what they looked like. Keeping his hair constantly covered in public had been difficult. But every time Aemond had picked up the shears to finally cut it all off, he hadn’t been able to go through with it.

He liked how long and fine it was. Although it wasn’t particularly fine just now. In fact, it was a tangled, greasy mess. Three weeks on the road and a night spent in the black cells had left it knotted and dirty. Aemond ran his fingers through the oily strands, trying to work out the tangles.

Maybe he should’ve asked Lucerys for a comb. Who knew, Lord Strong might’ve even produced one. He’d brought Aemond clean clothes after all. Gotten his eyepatch back from the cunt who’d stolen it. He’d even moved Aemond out of the black cells. Why though? Why had Lucerys done any of that? It made no sense! The cunning cur had to want something. But what could he possibly want from Aemond? Maybe to lull him into a false sense of security. To get Aemond to confess that he’d always secretly known Rhaenyra was their father’s rightful heir. That he’d knowingly backed a usurpation. The ultimate act of treachery.

Nobody else came to see Aemond. Not that day, or the day after either. The guards were surly with him, but the insults stopped. Something about Lucerys’ visit had rattled the bastards. They brought Aemond food in the morning, and again in the evening, and said nothing to him. It was boring. Aemond was left with nothing but his own thoughts for company, and they weren’t happy ones. He stewed for hours on his failures. When he’d stood before Rhaenyra, he’d told her he’d been praying. That’d been a lie. Aemond hadn’t prayed for a long time. The gods had abandoned him, and he cursed them for it.

On the third day of Aemond’s imprisonment, a maester came to assess the state of his health. Aemond had threatened to break the knave’s soft fingers if he so much as laid a hand on him. But on the fourth day, he did feel unwell. His breakfast was cheese and rye loaf. It was a simple meal, but far better than the single hunk of stale bread he’d been left clutching in the black cells. And yet… that morning, the cheese and rye tasted of chalk and dust. After a few mouthfuls Aemond simply stopped eating it. The dark thought occurred to him that perhaps there was something wrong with the food. Perhaps it’d been poisoned. He did feel very strange all of a sudden.

There was a bruise on Aemond’s stomach. A souvenir of the guard who'd punched him in the belly. It’d faded to a blotchy brown and yellow, matching the bruise on his face. It’d been a hard blow, and Aemond had nearly vomited from it. Perhaps that was the cause of this sickness. But why would it only be affecting him now? Gods, perhaps he should’ve let that bastard maester examine him after all.

Aemond picked listlessly at the rye bread, tearing off chunks and then deciding not to eat them. His appetite was completely gone. Aemond felt like something terrible was bearing down on him. Perhaps today was the day he’d finally be executed. No doubt all his sister’s court would be there, to watch him breath his last. Daemon would draw Dark Sister and relieve Aemond of his head. Yes – that was surely why he felt so stricken. Helaena, in her dreamy way, had so often known when something dreadful was coming. Maybe, now she was gone, the talent had passed to Aemond.

Small wonder Helaena had killed herself. Aemond’s sweet sister who hadn’t asked for any of it. There’d been nothing but terrible things for her to foresee for so long.

Aemond sat slumped on the cot in his cell, a rickety old thing that was still better than the floor. He leaned back against the wall. It was wonderfully cool. He shifted, pulling aside his long hair so that the cold stone was pressed directly to the nape of his neck. It felt good. Blissfully so. He felt the sudden mad urge to strip out of his tunic and press his entire bare back to the stone wall. Disturbed by the impulse, Aemond smothered it.

He sat there for a long time, thinking of nothing except how uncomfortable he was. When he heard approaching footsteps, Aemond’s stomach sank like a stone. This was it. The beginning of the end. The lock turned and the cell door opened. Aemond’s heart hammered in his chest. He felt out of breath, even though he'd been doing nothing but sitting there. He gasped weakly.

He was going to be taken to his death.

But it wasn’t the guards, come to drag him away. It was only Lucerys. He was carrying some more of Aemond’s old clothes with him. And… and a comb. The sight of it made a sudden hysterical laugh erupt out of Aemond’s mouth.

Lucerys stopped short, frowning. “Aemond?” he said. “Are you alright?”

Aemond couldn’t answer. All he could do was tip his head back against the wall helplessly. Another unhinged laugh escaped, before abruptly cracking into a frantic sob that shook Aemond’s entire body. Gods – what was wrong with him? What was wrong?

Suddenly Lucerys was right in front of him. A large hand pressed itself to Aemond’s forehead. He let it. He should’ve been utterly furious with Lucerys for having dared touch him, but instead he just sat there and tried to get his breathing under control. The bizarre urge seized him, not to lash out at Lucerys, but to grab onto him. Aemond’s head swam dizzily. Gods, they had poisoned his food. Those cowardly, rotting bastards…

Lucerys inhaled deeply, and then suddenly recoiled backwards like he’d been burned. “Oh, seven hells,” he cursed, backing as far away from Aemond as he could get, all the way to the cell door. His eyes were wide with shock.

“What is it?” Aemond demanded. He tried to make himself sound commanding, but his voice came out thin and reedy instead.

“Can’t you tell?” Lucerys exclaimed, flustered. He fidgeted where he stood, eyes flitting about all over the place. It was like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do - stare only at Aemond or look anywhere but at him.

“What?” Aemond croaked out, feeling even more alarmed. “What is it?”

“You idiot,” Lucerys snapped. “Have you cracked your head? How do you not know? You’re in heat.”

Chapter Text

Lucerys stormed into his mother’s private apartments without bothering to announce himself. The Queensguard knights stationed at her door exchanged startled looks as he marched past - but didn’t stop him. Why would they? He was the Queen’s son.

Queen Rhaenyra was seated at the large table in her spacious solar, its surface covered in parchments and vellum. She looked up in surprise at her visibly flustered son. Daemon was sitting slouched in a chair, looking immensely bored. Robert Quince and Grand Maester Gerardys were there too, and a meek looking clerk taking notes in a thick book.

“I want to talk to my mother and father,” Lucerys declared. He cleared his throat. “Alone.”

Nobody moved. All eyes turned from Lucerys to Rhaenyra. She hesitated, before nodding briskly. “Leave us.”

Gerardys, Quince, and the clerk all departed obediently. The door’s iron handle rattled as it closed behind them with a soft thud.

“Aemond’s in heat,” Lucerys blurted out.

There was a brief pause as this news sank in. And then Daemon burst out laughing. “By the gods,” he crowed. “And I’d thought the miserable bastard was as dry and barren as the Dornish desert!”

“You’re certain?” Rhaenyra demanded.

“I’m certain.”

True, it’d taken Luke longer than it should’ve to realise what was going on. He’d smelled omegas in heat before – hells, he’d bedded one before. She’d been a sweet, rather wild thing from a very expensive brothel on the Street of Silk. Just being in the same room as her had been intoxicating. Like a pull on the core of Luke’s being. One that could be resisted… but why would you ever want to? The girl had worn a blue scarf of thick silk wrapped around her neck the entire time they'd been abed together, to make sure there was no chance of Lucerys being overcome by lustful madness and giving her the bite. He could still recall the sound of her laughter - and her moans of pleasure.

Aemond’s heat-scent had been feeble in comparison. So feeble Lucerys had gotten close enough to touch him before he’d realised what was going on. But once he’d smelled the heady tang of it… no alpha would ever mistake what that scent meant.

“Hmm,” Rhaenyra muttered thoughtfully, neat fingernails drumming on the tabletop. “I’d been planning to have Aemond brought before the court tomorrow, so they can see him for themselves. It’ll have to be delayed.”

“Drag him in anyway,” Daemon opined loudly. “Let them see the boy trembling for a knot. That’ll knock the arrogant whelp down a peg or two.”

“But… you have to move him,” Lucerys protested. He looked between his mother and stepsire, aghast by their lack of urgency. “You can’t leave him in the dungeon while he’s in heat.”

Rhaenyra frowned. “Why not? He’d hardly be the first omega to weather the fever in there. The guards won’t touch him. They know I’d have their hands for it.”

“But they’ll be able to see him in that state!” Lucerys said. “Any alpha will be able to smell him! It’ll humiliate him.”

“Good,” said Daemon firmly. “He could do with it.”

“Mother,” Lucerys pleaded. “Move him. Please.”

“Where would you even have me move him to?” Rhaenyra waved a hand dismissively. “He’ll stay where he is, Luke.”

“Move him to a bedchamber in the Holdfast,” Lucerys said. “If you put guards on the door, where’s Aemond going to run off to? Especially in that condition.”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “He’ll be fine in the dungeon. I don’t know why you’re so worked up about this, Lucerys. I agree with Daemon. Some embarrassment is the least of what my traitorous brother deserves.”

“I… I insist,” Lucerys faltered, unsettled by his own vehemence. “All I’m asking is that you move him somewhere more private, just for the duration of his heat. Then by all means, return him to a cell.”

“You insist, do you?” Daemon laughed. He clearly found all of this very amusing, and it irritated the hells out of Lucerys. “What right have you to dictate where Aemond is kept?”

“I’m his husband!” Lucerys snapped. “I have every right. More right than you. I have more right than anyone!”

A loaded pause followed. “Except… except you of course, my Queen,” Lucerys amended, bowing his head apologetically. “But you said it yourself, just the other day - this marriage can’t be broken. Think how it looks on me if Aemond stays in the dungeon. What alpha willingly lets anybody else see their omega in heat? It’s not just Aemond who’ll be humiliated.”

Sympathetic understanding dawned on Rhaenyra’s face. “But you aren’t mated,” she reassured her son gently. “Nobody will think any worse of you for it.”

“What will it matter to people if we’re mated or not?” said Lucerys. “The court will gossip all the same. Whether by marriage or the bite, Aemond is bound to me. What happens to him is a reflection on me.”

“No, it isn’t,” Rhaenyra said. “He’s a traitor. He paid your reputation no mind when he declared for his usurper brother. Nobody judged you for his actions then.”

“I was a child then. It didn’t matter like it does now. Nobody expected me to have any control over him then.”

“And you think you have control over him now?” Daemon snorted. “He’s a wild dog Luke. Offer him kindness and he’ll bite your hand off.”

“It’s not kindness!” Lucerys insisted. “It’s common sense. Pragmatism. By protecting Aemond’s honour, I protect my own. I’m thinking of my reputation!”

The Queen regarded Lucerys with a long, cool stare. At last, she nodded. “Let it be done then. I think it’s unnecessary, but if it’s that important to you, Luke… I’ll have Aemond moved to a bedchamber. But he’ll be under constant guard. And when his heat is over, he goes straight back to the cells.”

Lucerys was relieved. “Thank you.”

Daemon rolled his eyes. “You’re too soft,” he said to Lucerys. “You underestimate that vicious cunt at your peril, mark my words.”

…

When the guards came to drag him from his cell, Aemond had been convinced Rhaenyra meant to make a public spectacle of him. He’d been shocked when Lucerys had told him that he’d fallen into heat. Even though he’d known! He known the asp water would wear off! And still he’d been taken by surprise. Omegas didn’t go into heat when they were stressed or in danger. Aemond had convinced himself that being locked in the dungeons, awaiting his inevitable execution, was surely enough to stave off the damned fever. But he wasn’t so lucky. The gods were laughing at him. Again.

Lucerys must’ve thought him a complete fool. What sort of omega didn’t know when their heat was coming on? Let alone that it’d already arrived. Lucerys had left the dungeon in a hurry - no doubt racing to tell his mother. And so, when the Queensguard arrived within the hour, Aemond had been sure he knew what they were there for. To haul him away to some humiliating exhibition. Probably with the whole court invited to witness him in the grip of the fever. To smell it on him. To hear the stupid little whining noises he was making entirely against his own will.

But that hadn’t happened. Instead, to his confusion, Aemond had been delivered to a small bedchamber within the Holdfast.

“Try anything, and I’ll enjoy taking it out of your perfumed hide,” the burly knight who’d shoved Aemond through the bedchamber door sneered. “Now get in there and try not to wail too loudly for cock.” A second later the door slammed shut and a key turned in the lock.

The room was small. The windows were so narrow that not even a child could’ve squeezed through. It was utterly inescapable. The bed was made up with fresh linen and there was a large pewter basin full of steaming hot water on the table. Two plain nightshirts lay next to it, alongside a jug of water and a bowl of fresh fruit.

It had to be a trick. Gods – perhaps Rhaenyra was going to whore him out. Send in her most depraved knights to force themselves on Aemond while he was in no fit state to fight them off. He needed to stay alert. He couldn’t let his guard down… he couldn’t…

The cramps in Aemond’s belly were getting worse. Every fibre of his being felt restless and agitated. He was… gods, he was leaking his body's natural slickness. The frustrated urge to break something seized Aemond violently. He very nearly grabbed the pewter bowl and flung it against the wall. He had his hands on the damned thing before he got control of himself. He’d be glad of that water soon enough. He felt unclean already.

Aemond’s last heat had been a long time ago, but he remembered that time had moved strangely. Days and nights had gone in a blur. Quickly, the same feeling stole over him again. He held out through sheer bloody-minded stubbornness, sitting fully dressed in his clothes and occasionally drinking the water and eating the fruit. His body burned like raging dragonfire, but he refused to move until the daylight outside dimmed. It was finally dusk. Only then did Aemond let himself believe he was safe. Nobody was coming to molest him. Nobody was coming at all. He was alone. In private.

Later on, when his blood had cooled, Aemond would wonder what had possessed Rhaenyra to show him such mercy. But right then, fully in grip of heat, he couldn’t think anything. In one instant his iron self-control snapped. Gods, he was so unbearably hot. He hastily stripped out of his sweat-sodden clothes until he was completely naked and crawled beneath the soft linen sheets of the bed. He turned his face into the pillow so that his voice was muffled as he moaned desperately, reaching down and finally, finally touching himself.

At some point Aemond fell asleep, out of sheer wretched exhaustion. He woke wrapped up in his now filthy sheets – stained with sweat, slickness, and spent seed – the next morning. He dragged himself out of bed, staggering to his feet on shaky legs. Aemond’s throat felt stuffed full of sand, and he drank down the remaining water in the jug greedily. His clothes were strewn about where he’d dropped them. He thought about putting them back on, but then a fresh wave of heat hit him, and it was all he could do to stumble back to the sanctuary of the bed. It didn’t matter how many times Aemond brought himself to climax, the hunger remained. His disloyal body wanted an alpha. Wanted an alpha’s cock and an alpha’s knot.

Time passed. Eventually Aemond lay twisted in the sheets, dozing lightly. The sound of the bedchamber door opening startled him. His heart hammering, Aemond shot upright. He scrambled to put back on the eyepatch that’d come off as he’d writhed around miserably on the mattress.

Three servants entered. Three omega servants. The first was carrying a bowl of hot water, the second a folded pile of clean sheets, and the third fresh food and water. The knights on guard outside Aemond’s door had changed overnight. One of them leered openly at him, his eyes raking up Aemond’s bare chest with interest.

“I’m supposed to tell you to be a good boy,” said the knight. He was a beta, Aemond thought. “But, my prince, I think I’d rather enjoy it if you did try to run. I’d be happy to remind you of your place. Underneath me, if you beg prettily enough…”

“Shut up, you fool,” the other knight snapped, glaring at his companion.

“I’m just having some fun,” the first knight laughed. He made a filthy show of licking his lips in Aemond’s direction.

“Prince Lucerys will have your balls. Keep your idiot mouth shut and let them get on with it.”

Aemond got out of the bed, keeping one of the sheets wrapped tightly around himself. He watched warily as the servants worked, all of them pointedly not looking in his direction. They changed the bed linen, left the hot water and sustenance on the table, and departed.

Alone again, this time Aemond didn’t let the hot water in the pewter bowl grow cold. He cleaned himself as best he could, washing away the various sticky substances clinging to his skin. It felt good to be clean again, even if it was only briefly. Until the next wave of heat crashed into him.

…

Lucerys had tried to visit Aemond. He’d wanted to make sure the bedchamber was secure and well-guarded. That Aemond had a proper supply of food and water and that the guards were – as Luke had insisted – either betas or omegas. He'd gotten as far as approaching the door before rapidly changing his mind. Even outside he could smell the intense scent of an omega in heat. Immediately he'd known it was a bad idea for him to be there. He shouldn’t’ve been able to smell a damned thing from outside the room.

Lucerys thought again of the heat-stricken omega whore he’d slept with. She’d been a fierce thing who – he hoped – had enjoyed their tryst just as much as he had. By the gods, she'd been incredible. The scent of her had been enthralling. Lucerys had been drunk on it for three solid days. Afterwards he’d sent the girl a long string of pearls, with strict instructions that the lavish necklace was hers alone and the brothel madam was to keep her grasping hands off it. He’d dreamed about the prostitute for weeks afterward, her heat scent recreating itself provocatively in his subconscious.

This… this was somehow even more. It pulled on Lucerys like a rope tied around his neck, dragging him forward. Alarmed, he turned and marched straight back the way he’d just come, not caring how absurd he must’ve surely appeared to the guards.

It worried him, how bizarrely affected he was by Aemond. Not just by the bastard’s heat-scent, but in general. Moving Aemond from the black cells had been an entirely impulsive decision – just like bringing him fresh clothes had been. Luke had known for nearly a moon that his fugitive husband was being brought to the Red Keep. He hadn’t planned to even talk to the traitor, let alone do a damned thing to help him.

But once the idea had formed in his head… it’d been impossible to resist. Lucerys had decided honour demanded he speak up for Aemond, because nobody else would. Then he’d justified wanting his heat-stricken husband moved out of the dungeons by complaining that, unless it was done, Lucerys would be humiliated too.

His mother seemed to have bought those excuses, even if she didn’t agree with them. But the awful truth was Lucerys had just wanted to do something for Aemond. So badly he hadn’t been able to help himself.

Alphas felt compelled to offer gifts to omegas. Especially ones they desired. Luke had given that string of pearls to the omega courtesan. He’d given smaller trinkets to other whores he’d bedded. He’d gifted the pretty omega daughter of Lord Jason Lannister with a fine necklace of rubies, even though her father had been a filthy traitor. During the war he’d presented a fair young squire of Cregan Stark’s with a dagger, complete with a beautifully carved ivory hilt. He still liked to give his stepsister Rhaena gifts, even though she was now married to someone else.

Yes, alphas liked doing things for omegas. But that didn’t explain this. Lucerys had never had the urge overrule every rational thought in his head before. It was a dangerous impulse. Especially considering who it centred around. Lucerys cursed himself. He was being pathetic. Was his longing for a mate really so desperate that he'd fixate on Aemond of all people? Just because they were married? They’d barely spoken! Spent perhaps a few minutes in each other’s company! In the gods-damned dungeons no less. Gah, Luke needed to clear his head. It was stuffed with wool and straw.

While Aemond was locked away enduring his heat, Lucerys rode out one night to the Street of Silk. To one of the brothels. The expensive kind, preferred by the highborn inhabitants of King's Landing. Where the omegas and betas were well groomed, well looked after, and free of disease. Lucerys had used it before, although not for a while now. Normally he had the madam send one of her courtesans to the Red Keep, so Lucerys need not be seen too often within the walls of a whorehouse. He’d no desire to develop a reputation as a lecherous dog. But for some reason doing that felt... improper all of a sudden.

Lucerys was warmly welcomed. He encouraged the two knights accompanying him to find their own amusements. Then he let the sweet beta with the flaming red hair and face full of freckles lead him away to choose his own entertainment for the evening.

Luke’s first impulse had been to ask for the same girl whose heat he’d once shared. She wouldn’t be struck with the fever now, but she had been on his mind. But at the last minute he’d found himself asking for a male omega instead. A tall one.

The young man was all smiles and long, lithe limbs. He was very fair. And he was everything Lucerys could’ve wished for between the sheets of the brothel’s largest, finest bed. It was good. The omega smelled of wild lily. He was enthusiastic. Responsive. Worth every coin. And yet somehow… the itch wasn’t scratched. Normally, Lucerys liked to linger in the afterglow. Not this time. He left the omega sprawled languidly on the bed and redressed. Whatever sort of solace he’d been hoping to find here, he hadn’t managed it.

...

The servants attending to Aemond reported to Lucerys daily on his condition. They said he drank enough water, ate properly, and hadn’t said a single word. After three days that dragged like three weeks, they finally declared that Aemond’s heat was beginning to wind down.

Lucerys steeled himself as he knocked on the door to Aemond’s temporary bedchamber. The guards looked at him askance. They were probably wondering why Luke was bothering to announce himself at all. Why he hadn’t just barged in. Or maybe they were wondering why he wasn’t already inside. Taking what was his by right of wedlock. Luke had sent word ahead that he was coming. He didn’t want to walk in on Aemond wrapped up in nothing but his bedsheets, his fingers shoved deep inside of himself… or rather… gods, he did. That was exactly what part of him wanted to walk in on.

With effort, Lucerys pushed the wanton image aside. Tried to concentrate.

Aemond was dressed and sat in a chair. The bed behind him was a mess, the sheets tangled and twisted up. Luke tried very hard not to stare at it. He realized in horror that he was starting to grow hard. The lingering smell of heat in the air wasn’t helping. He gritted his teeth and let the worst things he’d seen on the battlefield swim to the forefront of his mind. That cooled his blood quickly enough.

Aemond looked tired. He watched warily as Lucerys closed the door, keeping his distance. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to get too close to his estranged husband.

“How didn’t you know you were in heat?” Lucerys blurted out, then cursed himself. He hadn’t meant to start with that question. But it’d been bothering him ever since he’d found Aemond stricken with the fever. Stricken, and entirely oblivious to it.

He thought he understood that omegas always knew when their heats were coming on. The same way Lucerys always knew when a rut was bearing down on him. There were warning signs. For Lucerys, it was a heightened awareness of omegas and a worsening temper. Presumably for omegas, it was a heightened awareness of alphas. Some physical discomfort. Restlessness. The urge to find somewhere safe to seclude themselves - with their mate if they had one and protected by family if they didn’t. But Aemond really, truly hadn’t known he was in heat. The shock on his face had been proof enough.

Aemond stared, face blank. For a long moment, Lucerys thought he was going to refuse to answer.

“I took an elixir for a long time,” Aemond said at last. His voice was croaky. Lucerys wondered if, despite his clear instructions, Aemond hadn’t been given enough water to drink. “It dulled my nature. Kept me from having a heat. The last one I had was four years ago.”

Lucerys frowned. “You mean to say you simply… forgot what it was like?” he asked incredulously.

Aemond snorted derisively. “No, don’t be a fool. It just… it came on differently. Differently than I remembered.”

“Because of this elixir?” It made a strange kind of sense. For an omega to go four years without a single heat was surely not healthy. They were supposed to endure three a year. Perhaps that’s why Aemond’s heat scent had been – was still – so intense. His body was recovering. This first fresh heat after such a long time must’ve hit him hard.

Aemond shrugged. “I assume so,” he said, clearing his throat and looking away. He was embarrassed, Lucerys realised. Of course he was.

“The elixir… that’s what dulled your scent as well? Before?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you take such a potion?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Lord Strong,” Aemond muttered sullenly. He crossed his arms in the chair and glared at Lucerys. It was a rather petulant display from a man who valued his dignity so highly.

Lucerys glared right back. “The Queen has ordered you returned to the dungeons as soon as your fever has passed.”

“How delightful for me,” Aemond mumbled. He slumped further into his chair. He did look a terrible mess. His hair was tangled, and his clothes, so fine and clean when Luke had brought them to him, were rumpled and unkempt.

“I… if you’d like,” Lucerys found himself saying. “I’ll arrange for you to take a bath first.”

Aemond looked dumbfounded. His hands curled restlessly around the arms of the chair he was sitting in, and the heels of his bare feet scuffed against the floor as he leaned forward.

“Why am I here?” Aemond demanded, scent intensifying as his temper flared. Lucerys tried to back further away, but he already more or less had his back to the door. “Why didn’t Rhaenyra leave me to the humiliation of the dungeon? I don’t believe she’s any care for my pride.”

“But she has care for mine. You’re my husband, Aemond. Or had you forgotten? Your humiliation is my humiliation.”

“A political marriage!” said Aemond. “You were barely more than a child! I wasn’t much older! It was a sham.”

“Yes, it was a sham,” Lucerys agreed. “But it’s a sham we’re both still bound by. We are married – in the eyes of the gods.” He took a deep breath. “If you must know, it was me who persuaded the Queen to move you here. Some gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.”

Aemond scowled. “You just said it yourself – you wanted to spare your own pride. Didn’t want your husband whining like a whore where anybody could overhear it.”

“And were you?” asked Lucerys, raising an eyebrow. “Whining like a whore?”

For a second, he thought Aemond might jump to his feet and take a swing at him for that. His husband’s expression turned thunderous and the alluring scent that permeated the room turned abruptly sour. Lucerys winced as the irrational part of him ached to soothe Aemond. He did his best to smother the urge. What in the name of the Seven Above was wrong with him?

“Do you want a bath or not?” Lucerys demanded, trying to reset the conversation.

Aemond glowered. “Yes,” he ground out.

“When your heat is over, I’ll arrange it. And I’ll have some more clean clothes brought for you.”

Aemond nodded stiffly. “What does your mother plan to do with me? I’d expected to be executed by now. Or is she planning something too grand to be done quickly? Am I going to be pulled apart by wild horses?”

Lucerys paused. Nothing on earth could’ve made him admit to Aemond that Queen Rhaenyra’s grip on the Iron Throne was anything less than rock solid.

“She isn’t going to kill you,” he said. “She’s a merciful woman - though you don’t deserve mercy. I don’t know what she’s going to do with you.”

Aemond froze. “She isn’t going to kill me?” He sounded unconvinced.

“No,” said Lucerys. “As I said… she’s a merciful woman. A good ruler. Better than you or your brother ever were.”

Aemond looked unsettled and suspicious. He clearly didn’t believe Lucerys. “Daemon was going to kill me. In Gulltown. He only didn’t because there were too many witnesses.”

Lucerys wasn’t surprised to hear it. What would Daemon have done? Taken something from Aemond’s corpse – a lock of hair, the eyepatch – and claimed it as proof of Aemond’s death. Flimsy evidence, but probably just enough.

“Daemon doesn’t rule here,” Lucerys said. “The Queen does.”

He felt uneasy. He’d stomached as much of Aemond’s heat-scent as he could bear. Lucerys needed to leave, before he embarrassed himself. Already he could feel warm arousal creeping back over him. Gods – they weren’t even mated! What the hells had been in that elixir to make Aemond’s body do this? Luke needed to clear his head.

He left Aemond’s bedchamber without so much as a farewell, going straight to the Keep’s battlements for some fresh air. The walls here overlooked the Blackwater Rush. The smell of the sea filled Luke’s nose and washed away everything else. It was a blessed relief.

It was probably time to just admit the obvious truth to himself - he was attracted to Aemond. As insane as the idea would’ve been just a handful of days ago, it was hardly going to do Lucerys any good to delude himself. Even without the man’s heady heat-scent to contend with… the bastard was strong, lithe, and – missing eye aside – he was pretty enough. All qualities Lucerys found alluring in omegas. A shame then, that he had the personality of a rabid tomcat - and was a traitor to boot. Luke liked fiery. He’d never known himself have a taste for murderous before.

A wild, choked laugh escaped Lucerys – swept away by the sea wind whipping against his face. Surely only he, in all the kingdoms of Westeros, had good cause to lament finding his own spouse sexually desirable.

…

The next evening, Lucerys dined with his family. Only his youngest brother Viserys was absent. Aegon was delighted to have his father back. Daemon tolerated the boy’s chatter indulgently enough, listening to his son with a small smile on his face. Because it was only an informal meal, they dined in the Queen’s private apartments. It reminded Lucerys of the meals they’d taken together on Dragonstone, when he’d been a boy. For a moment the memory cheered him, before he was suddenly struck by who wasn’t there with them anymore.

Jacaerys was gone. So was Joffrey. Baela was all the way across Blackwater Bay with her new mate. Rhaena was in the Vale of Arryn. The close, happy family of Luke’s childhood was gone. And it was never coming back.

His mother noticed his gloomy mood, and cajoled Lucerys into talk of the grand tourney she planned to hold next year, staged at the Kingswood. Knights from across the entire kingdom would be invited to compete. It was going to be an occasion so grand and extravagant that, after years of nothing but misery to look forward to, no lord would refuse to attend. It wasn’t just a tourney. It was a vision of the future - the reign of Queen Rhaenyra. She’d preside over it all in as much resplendent glory as she could muster. Lucerys would compete. His mother kept trying to persuade him to meet with Robert Quince to help plan the damned thing. There’d be wine, lavish feasts, music and players too…

The war is over, peace is here. That was the message Rhaenyra was keen to spread.

When the dinner was over, Aegon was sent to bed. Lucerys rose to leave as well and was stopped by his mother. “Sit,” she requested. “I want to talk to you.”

Lucerys sat back down.

“How’s Aemond?” Rhaenyra asked. “Has his heat broken yet?”

“Not quite,” Lucerys told her. “The peak has passed though. If he can’t return to the dungeons tomorrow, it’ll be the day after.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “I’ve decided what to do with him. Once he’s fit to be seen by the court.”

Lucerys sat bolt upright, suddenly anxious. Across the table, Daemon watched him carefully. Like he was searching for something incriminating in Luke’s reaction.

“He used to be the devout sort, didn’t he?” said Rhaenyra. “Said his prayers. Learned it from his mother, I expect.” She paused briefly. “I intend to command him to join the Faith. To give up our House and take the vows. And, in doing so, to renounce all rights of blood.”

Lucerys felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach. “Where would you send him?” he asked in a strained voice. “To Oldtown? The Starry Sept?”

“No.” Rhaenyra shook her head. “It’d be madness to have him so close to the Hightowers. No, I need to send Aemond somewhere isolated. A long way from anybody he might’ve once called friend.”

“Where?”

“The North perhaps. Lord Stark informs me that there are one or two isolated septs that might do. Places that can be adapted for the purpose of keeping Aemond prisoner. The smallfolk keep to the Old Gods, so there’ll be no need for him to ever see anyone other than his fellow septons.”

“And if he refuses?” Lucerys asked. “What if the Faith won’t have him?”

“He won’t have the option to refuse,” said Rhaenyra firmly. “And as for the septons… they won’t refuse. It’s a great honour for them. A prince relinquishing all worldly power for the simple life of the faithful? What glory that would bring to the Seven! No, they won’t refuse. And if they want to take Aemond, they’ll have to agree to the annulment of your marriage. Two birds with one stone.”

She smiled at Lucerys, clearly expecting him to be overjoyed with this plan. He wasn’t. He felt weighted down in his seat, his hands curled into fists where they rested against his thighs. He tried to clear his head, to think reasonably about this. But part of him – that part that got led about by the knot – was furiously unhappy.

A week! It’d been just over a week since he’d laid eyes on Aemond in the Great Hall. Before that, they hadn’t seen each other for years. Luke felt like he was going mad. Madness ran in the Targaryen blood, they said.

He agreed quietly with his mother’s plans, even as he itched to declare he wouldn’t stand for it. That Aemond had to stay here, with his family. He could go back to the dungeon, just so long as he was here. All the while, Daemon kept watching with sharp eyes. Lucerys was left with the uncomfortable impression that his stepfather could see right through him.

Luke’s thoughts were preoccupied with Aemond, so after he left his mother and stepfather, he went to see him. Why not? Apparently, he’d very few remaining opportunities, after all. Soon Aemond would be hundreds and hundreds of miles away. Forgotten about. What an anticlimactic end for a man whose reputation was so fearsome. A fearsome omega no less, unnaturally brutal and ruthless. The blood of the dragon, burning hot – put out by the cold North and the chill of the gods.

Lucerys found Aemond sat on the bed - fully clothed, although the collar of his shirt hung open and his feet were bare. Lucerys tried his best not to look at the sliver of pale chest that was visible. The scent of Aemond’s heat was faint now.

“Another visit?” Aemond said. He reached up and adjusted the strap of his eyepatch slightly. Hadn’t he been wearing it before Luke had knocked at the door? “Why Lord Strong, I am honoured.”

“I have questions for you,” Lucerys said stonily, sitting down in an empty chair. He could bear the heat-scent in the air now it was faded. His body wouldn’t betray him, he was sure of it.

“Well, I’ve no answers for you,” Aemond replied sharply. He stood, drawing himself up to his full height. Luke’s eyes slid up the length of him.

“You don’t even know what my questions are.”

“Let me guess – who sheltered me this past year? Whose food have I eaten? Who helped me? Do you think that cur Daemon hasn’t already asked me these things, husband? And threatened to slice my ears off when I wouldn’t tell him.”

Yes, those’d been the questions Lucerys intended to ask. He watched Aemond warily. He couldn’t help noticing that the bastard still had his ears, but it wasn’t in Daemon’s nature to make idle threats. Aemond might find himself dragged to the rack yet. But Luke wouldn’t stand for that. He’d speak to his mother. She wouldn’t permit such a thing. He was sure…

Lucerys clenched his jaw. Gods, he was such a fool for omegas. He felt the urge to protect them so strongly that it clouded his thoughts. This was Aemond Targaryen. A killer. A madman, so they said. He didn’t need Luke’s protection. He certainly didn’t fucking deserve it, the blood-soaked fiend. And yet still Lucerys felt helplessly compelled to provide it.

“You know,” he said idly, shrugging his shoulders and feigning a carelessness he didn’t really feel. “I’d remembered you as a devil, fearsome to look upon. But then I saw you again, when Daemon dragged you into the hall like a stray dog. And you weren’t how I remembered at all.”

Aemond snorted. “Was I not? Well then, we’ve that in common at least. And I thought you’d remain that snub-nosed runt forever. I confess, I see even less of Laenor Velaryon in you, now you’re a grown man. How strange.”

Luke wouldn’t be baited. There was a desperation in Aemond’s voice that he couldn’t quite conceal. He wanted Lucerys to lose his temper. Wanted to provoke a fight. Whatever his reasons, Luke wouldn’t give the wretch what he was after.

“I think we both know there’s nothing of Laenor in me to be seen.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed. “You admit it?”

“To you?” Lucerys shrugged. “Here and now? Why not. What does it matter? You’ve had your claws ripped out Aemond. You’ve lost.”

Aemond’s face shuttered. To Luke’s surprise, he dropped back onto the bed and pulled the sheets over himself like an ill-tempered child.

“Fuck off Lucerys,” Aemond said in a hollow tone. “Leave me to my misery.”

Luke didn’t move. He didn’t want to fuck off. “Where were you going?” he asked. “Daemon said you were in Gulltown looking for a ship.”

“Braavos,” said Aemond. He didn’t sit up, and he sounded very tired all of a sudden. “Or Pentos. Anywhere.”

“What did you plan to do there?”

“Beg for help,” Aemond said bitterly. “Or beg for shelter. Perhaps I could’ve made a whore of myself for some fat merchant.”

Lucerys frowned. The scent of apples in the air was growing stronger. It made him shift uncomfortably in his chair, suddenly aware of a simmering warmth in his blood. Aemond’s heat might’ve been winding down, but it wasn’t quite over, and a fresh surge of the fever was building. It was time to go.

“I haven’t forgotten that bath,” Lucerys promised as he rose from his chair. Aemond didn’t reply.

Luke left Aemond’s temporary bedchamber, still not entirely certain why he’d gone there in the first place.

…

Lucerys urgently needed to get his head on straight. He wasn’t thinking sensibly at the moment, and it was a problem. Perhaps he’d spent too much time cooped up in the Red Keep.

Now that Daemon had returned, there was a lot less on Luke’s plate. It was a bright morning. Lucerys knew just what’d settle his mind. He left the city, riding out with an escort of knights. The road out of King’s Landing was busy. The smallfolk trudging in and out of the capital startled as their crown prince passed them by. Lucerys and his retinue rode two miles out of the city, following the coastline. At length they came to a secluded cove. At least… it was certainly a secluded cove now.

A handful of guards were already there, roasting a chicken over a campfire. Their job was to keep people away from the beach. Lucerys and his company dismounted. “You’d better stay here,” said Lucerys to the knights. “I’ll be back in the afternoon. Wait for me.”

“As you wish, Prince Lucerys,” the senior man among them said.

Nestled in the deepest corner of the cove was a large cave. As Lucerys approached it, something stirred inside. There was the sound of a large mouth yawning, and the huffing of a great snout. A moment later, Arrax emerged from the gloom.

With the Dragonpit a burnt-out ruin, there was nowhere safe in the city for Luke’s dragon to roost. Arrax had solved the problem by choosing this cave for his den. He’d become the terror of the surrounding countryside, poaching sheep and even occasionally cattle. Lucerys compensated the farmers and smallholders out of his own pocket. Generously too, paying well above the real value of the livestock. The last thing he needed – the last thing any of them needed – was another furious uprising. Especially with Arrax and Rhaena’s little dragonling being all that was left.

Living wild had agreed with Arrax. He’d grown faster than Lucerys could ever recall him growing before. He was nearly as big as Syrax had been now.

“Hello there,” Lucerys laughed as Arrax’s scaly nose nudged his hair. “Shall we go flying?”

He climbed into the saddle and chained himself down. An instant later Arrax spread his wings and lurched into the air. Gods, Lucerys had missed this. Flying for the sheer joy of it. Not into battle. Not to burn men alive. But simply for the pleasure of it. He wondered if Aegon the Conqueror had ever done this. Taken to the skies on the enormous bulk of Balerion the Black Dread, for no reason other than the thrill of seeing the world spread out beneath him.

The land fell away as Arrax climbed higher and higher. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky today. Luke turned Arrax towards King’s Landing. What’d taken the horses twenty minutes, Arrax managed in less than one. The city rushed beneath the dragon, then they passed up and over the spires of the Red Keep. The deep blue of the Blackwater Rush and all the ships moored in it followed after. Lucerys flew south, over the Kingswood – where his mother wanted to hold her tourney. The enormous forest seemed to stretch on forever. Then he bore east, skirting the coast and around the bend of Massey’s Hook. Then northwards, over the Gullet.

This was where Jacaerys had died. Lucerys stared down at the water. An unexpectedly powerful stab of grief hit him. He had to wipe tears from his eyes as Arrax passed over Driftmark and kept on flying. Luke wondered if perhaps Baela was looking out from a window at High Tide. Maybe she’d spot the dragon passing over the island.

He’d wanted to clear his head. To stop brooding stupidly on his mother’s plans for Aemond. The cold air was supposed to snap him out of his foolishness, but it didn’t work. Lucerys turned the image of Aemond over in his mind’s eye – forced into the robes of a septon, confined to a handful of dusty rooms for the rest of his life. With nothing to do but say prayers over and over. Withering to nothing until the day he died.

He wouldn’t do it. Lucerys somehow knew, deep in his bones, that Aemond wouldn’t do it. That he’d find a way to take his own life, if the alternative was that sort of drab existence. Dragons always wasted away in chains.

It was more like evening than afternoon by the time Arrax returned to the cove. Lucerys had been gone for hours and was absolutely starving. He’d thought to bring a skin of water, but nothing to eat. He dismounted his dragon. Instead of returning to the cave to slumber, Arrax immediately took to the sky again. Some poor farmer was going to lose two or three sheep. Lucerys wasn’t the only one made hungry by the long flight.

He apologized to the knights for keeping them waiting all day long. They rode back, arriving at the Red Keep just as the sun was setting. Lucerys went straight to the kitchens.

It alarmed the servants to see him there, but they swiftly brought cold pork and bread. The cooks insisted they could produce whatever fine foods their prince desired, but Lucerys politely refused. He wanted to eat quickly, then go to bed. The night was young, but he was tired. He ate the food there in the kitchens, the servants scurrying nervously around him.

Once he’d finished, Lucerys walked back to his rooms, ready to crawl into bed. His back ached from spending so long riding both horse and dragon. He reached back to rub at the base of his spine. At that exact moment he unexpectedly encountered Mysaria. The lady of whispers was moving swiftly but silently through the passageways of Maegor’s Holdfast, her fine silk clothes swirling dramatically around her. Lucerys wondered what business she was about at this hour.

“Prince Lucerys,” Mysaria greeted him as their paths crossed, bowing her head respectfully.

“My lady,” he acknowledged. “Where do you go in such a hurry after dark?”

“To report to Prince Daemon, my lord,” Mysaria said. “I know in his absence I was instructed to deliver news to you, but as Daemon has returned…”

“Prince Daemon is abed with the Queen,” said Lucerys. Which was a complete lie. He’d no idea where Daemon was. Considering the strain between Luke’s parents of late, it was very likely they weren’t together at all. But Mysaria was another of Daemon’s old lovers, and frankly Lucerys was sick of his stepfather humiliating his mother. “Tell me what you’ve got to report, and you can inform Prince Daemon of it in the morning. If it’s very important, I’ll have him roused now.”

“As you wish,” said Mysaria. “I don’t think you’ll deem it worthy of disturbing him if he’s with the Queen.”

Lucerys invited Mysaria into his apartments. They sat together in the solar. He poured her a cup of wine.

“There was more trouble tonight in Flea Bottom,” Mysaria began. “A gang of stonemason’s apprentices. They were very drunk. Barely able to walk in a straight line. They were raving about how the Queen had stolen the throne from King Aegon. Calling her a tyrant. And that you…” she trailed off, hesitating.

“That I’m the bastard son of Harwin Strong?” Lucerys finished for her wearily.

“Yes.”

“What happened to them?”

“They sobered up quickly enough when the guard came,” Mysaria explained. “One tried to protest that he’d been told to say those things. He begged to be allowed to return to his wife and child, but one of his fellows drew a dagger and…”

“And now they’re all dead,” Lucerys said. “Gods damn it all.”

Mysaria leaned forward. Her finger tapped against her cup of wine. “If I might tell you what I think?”

“Please do,” said Lucerys at once. Mysaria’s knowledge of life on the low streets was valuable. Up here in the Red Keep, they were detached from the people. King’s Landing was right there below them, and yet it was all too often a distant and mysterious place to the Targaryens – for all their House had founded it. But to Mysaria, the city lived and breathed. She could read it like book – or at the very least like the face of a poor bluffer at cards.

“There’s something not right about this unrest,” Mysaria said. She put down the wine and looked Lucerys straight in the eye. “It feels wrong to me.”

“Of course it’s wrong. It’s treason.”

“No, not like that,” said Mysaria. “Believe me Prince Lucerys, there was more casual treason than you could’ve possibly imagined spoken on the streets of Flea Bottom when your grandsire reigned. It’s always been that way. But this… this isn’t the same. The city wants peace now. I see and hear it everywhere. And yet this trouble happens night after night. It feels… it feels like playing a tavern game - the moment you start to suspect the dice are weighted.”

Lucerys considered this.

“Next time there’s trouble. I want you to come to the Keep and tell me before you do anything else. I want to see it for myself.”

“Is that wise?”

“Probably not,” said Lucerys. “But I want you to do it anyway.”

Later on, as he lay in bed, Lucerys tried to ponder what Mysaria had told him. About how the unrest in the city was… how did she put it? Like weighted dice? Unnatural. Off kilter.

That’s what he tried to think about. All he could actually think about was Aemond.

He woke the next morning having slept on it. He’d had two days now to come to terms with his mother’s plan, but Lucerys still hated the idea. The worst of it was, the Queen was being extraordinarily merciful. Aemond was a traitor. He’d spilled gallons of blood. Burned men and women alive. He’d tried to kill Daemon above the Gods Eye. If Rhaenyra’s political position had been even a little less precarious, she’d have been entirely within her rights to have ordered Aemond’s head cut off the instant he’d been dragged before her.

The alternative she’d come up with left Aemond with what little dignity he had left. He wasn’t being forced to take the Black and become the prized whore of the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He wasn’t being locked in a cell for the rest of his life. He was simply being sent away. Any right to the throne he possessed cleverly stripped from him and then sent away. To live out his days in a few small rooms in a far-flung, well-guarded sept.

In many respects, it was a far more lenient fate than Aemond had any right to hope for. Lucerys hated it. He hated it so much he went back to his mother to try and talk her out of it.

“I don’t think you should force Aemond to take the vows,” he announced loudly as he entered his mother’s solar. This was becoming a habit – Lucerys marching into the Queen’s chambers and making dramatic proclamations.

Rhaenyra was sat in a comfortable chair, with Viserys perched in her lap. He’d been in the middle of telling a story. A plump and pleasant omega nursemaid sat in another chair, stitching something quietly.

“Run along now sweetheart,” Rhaenyra said, nudging Viserys back onto his feet. The nursemaid tucked her stitching away into the folds of her dress and rose to take the prince’s hand. “I need to talk to your brother Luke. And I think it’s time for your lessons anyway.”

“But mama!” Viserys complained.

“Hush now,” murmured the nursemaid to her charge. “Come along. We’ll go for a walk in the gardens first. Won’t that be nice?”

Still grumpily protesting that he wasn’t done telling his tale, Viserys was led away. The door to Rhaenyra’s apartments closed and Lucerys and his mother were alone.

“Explain yourself,” she demanded, firmly but not unkindly.

“You shouldn’t force Aemond to take the vows. What good will it do? By making him a priest you’ll only make his side of the family look more like religious martyrs.”

“If Aemond does appear to be a religious martyr, then he’ll be a religious martyr who’s forsaken all right to inherit,” Rhaenyra pointed out.

“But Jaehaerys won’t have,” said Luke. “Or Jaehaera. The lords might still rally around the usurper’s surviving children. And is it really wise to send Aemond so far away? Surely it would be safer to keep him close, where we can keep an eye on him ourselves.”

The Queen fixed her son with a hard stare, before rising out of her chair. She took Luke’s hand, holding it tenderly. “I’m worried about you, my sweet boy,” she said gently. “I’m worried you’re not thinking clearly when it comes to Aemond. You’ve given him far more attention than I think is healthy. Whatever the reason, I think it’s time I put an end to it.”

“What do you mean?” Lucerys asked, alarmed.

“Tomorrow, I want you to take Arrax and fly to Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra squeezed Lucerys’ hand. “I want you to check on my niece and nephew. Make sure they’re well looked after, and that nobody is dripping poison in their little ears.”

“No,” Lucerys protested. “Mother please, I want to stay here. You need me here.”

“I’m ordering you to go,” Rhaenyra insisted, voice hard. A second later it softened again. “It’s for your own good Luke. All will be well here. You can return once Aemond is gone. Trust me on this, please.”

There was no talking her out of it, and Lucerys tried. He left the Queen’s apartments in an even more agitated state. He ordered a squire to fetch his armour and put it on him. Then he went down to the training yard and crossed swords with the knights he found there. Men he’d sparred with before. Usually their duelling was good humoured, but today Lucerys knew he was being far too aggressive. He couldn’t stop himself.

When his muscles were burning and he was sweating beneath his plate, he went back to his chambers. His armour was stripped off, and a basin of hot water brought so he could wash. Luke was tired, yet still he couldn’t settle. He called for wine, then found he didn’t want it. He thought about going out into the city. Back to the Street of Silk, or to a rich man’s gambling house. But none of it appealed. Instead, Lucerys took to wandering the Keep. He roamed the battlements, looking out over the horizon as the sun set and darkness swept over Blackwater Bay. It was a cloudless night. The stars seemed endless.

It was chilly, especially for a summer’s eve. Lucerys knew he ought to go back to his chambers and have some supper. He ought to go to bed to make sure he was well rested. After all, tomorrow he left for Dragonstone.

He left the battlements. But his legs didn’t carry him back to his rooms. Instead, he went straight to the bedchamber where Aemond was being kept.

…

When Aemond had woken up that morning, he’d realised quickly that his heat was over. He felt himself again. His thoughts were clear, and his body was under his control. It was a relief. But when the servants came, he pretended a little of the fever was still on him. He knew he was going back to the dungeons otherwise. There was no shame in wanting one last night in a proper bed. And Lucerys had promised him a bath. Aemond wanted that in particular very badly.

Supper was bread and fruit. Aemond tried to eat slowly. There was nothing else to do in here, and he was bored witless. He was just thinking he should probably try and get some sleep, when a sudden hammering at the door made him jump. He scrambled to his feet, instantly on edge. Lucerys had said that Rhaenyra didn’t intend to have him killed, but then Lucerys thought his mother was a benevolent lamb. Aemond knew the truth – she was a ruthless tyrant whore.

But it was only Lucerys himself. He looked anxious, shoving the door closed behind him so forcefully that it slammed. His agitation quickly spread to Aemond, whose imagination began running wild, speculating furiously about what could’ve possibly gotten Lucerys so worked up.

“Sit down,” said Lucerys sharply. “I need to talk to you.”

Aemond’s immediate impulse was to refuse, but he wanted to know what was going on. He sank stiffly into a chair, every muscle tense. Lucerys sat down on the other side of the table, foot tapping restlessly against the floor. It was irritating.

“My mother intends to force you to take the vows of a septon,” Lucerys blurted out. “She wants to have you sent away to some distant sept in the North, where you’ll be kept cloistered for the rest of your life. You’ll be a prisoner there until you die.”

Ice formed in Aemond’s veins as he struggled to process what he’d just heard. It wasn’t a death sentence, but it was nevertheless a fate that made him feel nauseous. Aemond knew what being cloistered meant. Never going outside. Always being watched. Living all the rest of his days in maybe three or four rooms. Nothing to do but pray and read scripture. He’d never see anybody except his brothers in the Faith – and the guards keeping him under lock and key. It would be beyond unbearable.

Once, Aemond might’ve taken some small comfort in knowing that at least his dreary life would be dedicated to the gods. But what did the gods care for Aemond? He’d been faithful. Devout even. His mother even more so. And yet, they’d lost. In their hour of greatest need, where had the gods been? Nowhere. They’d abandoned Aemond and his family and had smiled instead on Rhaenyra – a blasphemous adulterer. No, Aemond’s faith – such as it still existed – was no source of comfort.

He'd never hold a sword again. Never hear the sound of music. It’d probably be forbidden to tell him any news of the outside world. There’d just be one drab day after another, each one the same, for years and years… until the Stranger came to take him.

He'd rather die.

Aemond’s dread must’ve been written plainly on his face, because suddenly Lucerys was leaning forward across the table, fixing him with an intense stare.

“It doesn’t have to happen,” he said with surprising vehemence. “I came here to offer you a way out of it. An alternative.”

Aemond felt unmoored. Desperate. “What alternative?”

Lucerys hesitated, before taking a deep breath and laying all his cards on the table. “Let me give you the bite. If you’re my mate as well as my husband, my mother can’t send you away. Not to a sept, not to the Wall, not to a prison cell. I could marry no other. It would have to be you, or nobody. And it must be someone.”

Aemond stared in stunned silence, unable to believe what he was hearing. His estranged husband’s proposal shocked him to the core. Whatever he’d been expecting, an offer of the bite had been last on the list. If all this wasn’t so bitterly, horribly real he might’ve thought he was still in heat, and this was some insane fever-dream his addled mind had cooked up to torment him.

“You’re mocking me,” Aemond spluttered angrily once he found his voice. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I’m not.”

“Then you’re mad!” Aemond cried.

“Yes, I think I must be,” Lucerys admitted. He pressed his hand to his mouth and laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound.

“Why?” Aemond demanded. He sounded frantic, even to his own ears. “Why in the name of the gods would you make this offer to me? I’m your enemy!”

“The war is over,” said Lucerys. “You’re not my enemy anymore. Does it matter why I’m offering you this? I am. The decision is yours to make.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“What do you care if I have? I’m offering you a way out. It’s up to you if you take it.”

Aemond jumped to his feet, pacing anxiously. This offer was insane. Lucerys was insane. This had to be a joke. Some cruel jest at Aemond’s expense, just like when they’d been children. But one look at the desperate sincerity on Lucerys’ face was enough to convince Aemond he meant it. Gods – the madman meant it. Had Lucerys been struck about the head during the war, and Aemond had just never heard of it? Was he secretly cracked, and Rhaenyra had been covering it up? Madness ran in their blood.

And yet, the most insane part of it all was… Aemond found himself seriously contemplating the offer. He hated Lucerys. Had hated him ever since the whoreson had cut out Aemond’s eye as a child. When his father had forced them to marry, that hatred hadn’t waned. It’d intensified. It was no choice at all, the decision before him. Aemond was supposed to choose between living a wretched half-life in some miserable backwater… or else letting the accursed boy who’d left him half-blind take him to fucking bed.

No, not a boy. There was that, at least. Lucerys had grown tall, strong, and handsome. He was a veteran of many battles. The kind of alpha courtly songs loved to wax lyrical over. Aemond would’ve needed to have lost both his eyes not to have noticed it. Nor was he entirely unaffected by it. That didn’t mean he wanted this. Physical attraction didn’t stop Lucerys Velaryon being the cunt who had cut out Aemond’s eye.

“I need time to think about this,” he said hopelessly, clenching his fists so tightly his short nails dug into the flesh of his palm. “There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t,” said Lucerys. “And you don’t have any time. Tomorrow, I go to Dragonstone, and you go back to the dungeon. I… I’m sorry to do this to you Aemond. Truly I am. But you have to decide now.”

“How can you possibly expect me to do that?” Aemond hissed furiously. “You’re asking me to choose between two kinds of life sentence! I refuse to be a priest, but I sure as the seven hells won’t be your whore either!”

“I’m not asking you to be my whore!” Lucerys snapped. “All I’m offering is the bite. We fuck once, and that’s it.”

“Once is once too many!” snarled Aemond.

“Then turn me down,” said Lucerys flatly. “I won’t force you to do anything. This is your choice and yours alone.”

“My choice?” Aemond spat manically.

“Yes,” Lucerys said, eerily calm. “It’s your choice.”

Aemond felt as though the walls of the bedchamber were closing in around him, like the waters of the Gods Eye. He sank back into his chair and sat there, frozen. The gods only knew how many minutes ticked by as his turbulent thoughts raced. Lucerys just stared silently at him from across the table. Aemond’s choice? It was no choice! It was no choice.

And yet… he found he’d already made it.

“Alright,” he said roughly. He felt light-headed and he couldn’t catch his breath properly. “Do it then you bastard. Give me the bite.”

Chapter Text

Luke’s immediate reaction, after Aemond had spat out his reluctant acceptance, was profound relief. Quickly followed by a stab of anxiety so intense it felt like his guts were twisting around inside him.

The two princes of House Targaryen stared at each other over the table. Both weighed down by the enormity – and insanity – of the course of action they’d just agreed upon. Aemond’s heat was over, and Lucerys had been glad – it made it much easier to think around him. But maybe it would’ve been better if a little of the fever had lingered. It would’ve been easier, certainly. They could’ve let a primal wave of desire carry them away until the deed was done.

Instead, it was going to have to be the hard way.

Steeling his nerve, Lucerys rose from his chair. At once Aemond jumped to his feet. He looked more liable to punch his estranged husband than accept a gentle touch. Aemond watched warily as Luke rounded the table and drew closer, as though he was an enemy advancing on the battlefield. Aemond had agreed to this, Lucerys reminded himself. He wasn’t going to bolt – or attack. Things could easily go either way. But they wouldn’t. Most likely.

Very carefully, Lucerys placed his hands on Aemond’s shoulders. They were tense as a taut bowstring beneath the soft wool of his tunic. Moving slowly, like one might to avoid startling a skittish horse, Lucerys kissed him softly.

Aemond jerked suddenly, and for a second Luke was sure he would turn his head away. But he ultimately stayed still as their mouths pressed together. It was entirely chaste. Nothing more than the gentlest touching of their lips, feather-light and yet somehow all the more unbearably intimate for it. Lucerys wished he could make himself relax. But he was so on edge, it was all he could do to pretend he was calm. He kept waiting for Aemond to abruptly change his mind, pull back, and thump Lucerys square in the jaw. But he didn’t. He stayed perfectly still, frozen as a statue as their mouths brushed together.

Lucerys leaned back to look Aemond in the eye. “I promise I’ll be gentle,” he vowed earnestly. To his surprise, an unpleasant grin spread across the other man’s face.

“Do you think me a blushing virgin, husband?” Aemond mocked. “I hate to disappoint you.”

Lucerys bristled. Had he expected that? Truly? It dawned on him that yes, he had. Unconsciously he tightened his grip on Aemond’s shoulders. “Who?” he demanded.

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” Aemond said dismissively. “Am I to believe you’re untouched? Of course not.”

Not his business? It was entirely Lucerys’ business! They were married! Some pawing cunt had dared bed the husband of the Prince of Dragonstone – Lucerys had every right to demand a name. True, he was no virgin himself, but that was different. He was an alpha, it was the way of the world! Perhaps… had Aemond not been the one getting fucked, but the one doing the fucking? He could’ve bedded another omega. They fooled around with each other, sometimes, to take the edge off their heats. But no. No, if that’d been the case Aemond wouldn’t be so resigned to the prospect of getting taken now. He wouldn’t’ve been taunting Lucerys with it. Some alpha or beta had fucked Aemond. It made Lucerys insanely jealous. Gods, he hoped they’d died.

The venom of that desire shocked him. Lucerys blinked as he briefly sobered. What in the seven hells was he thinking? Wishing death on a stranger for the crime of having bedded Aemond first?

Luke’s resolve wavered. It was disturbing, this unnatural power Aemond had over him. And without trying! Hells – whilst actively seeking to insult Lucerys at every turn. If Luke hadn’t known better, he might’ve thought himself enthralled by black magic. Just as the omega witch Tyanna had enchanted Maegor the Cruel. Except Aemond was only doing this because he’d no other choice, and would’ve probably rather gnawed his own hands off than dabble in heretical sorcery. Giving Aemond more power over him was a staggeringly stupid thing to do. Lucerys would be an idiot to permit it. It hardly mattered that Aemond hadn’t seduced him. He was still the Queen’s worst living enemy. He was Luke’s enemy. What… what was he doing…?

Lucerys hesitated, standing on the precipice. His hands loosened their grip on Aemond’s shoulders. The two of them stared at each other. In the dim, flickering candlelight, Aemond’s single eye looked wild as it darted about. Luke swallowed hard, throat bobbing. He needed to let go. This was folly. This was madness.

But somebody else had bedded Aemond first, and Lucerys hadn’t bedded him at all. Somebody else had fucked Aemond, and Luke didn’t even know what he looked like beneath his clothes. King Viserys had married them - their marriage had been his will, same as it’d been his will that Rhaenyra inherit the throne instead of Aegon. Without the civil war… what then? Aemond would’ve stayed Luke’s. Only Luke’s. There would’ve been no question of it.

The moment of cold sobriety faded. Somebody else had fucked Aemond.

Lucerys pressed in for a second kiss. It was nothing like the first. It was frantic, and by no means chaste. Aemond startled in Luke’s hold, but responded with unexpected enthusiasm – sharp teeth glancing over Luke’s lip. Luke’s hands trailed down across the flat plane of Aemond’s chest to his waist. He’d always had a taste for male omegas to be lithe, just like the ones from the songs. He delighted in how narrow Aemond’s waist was in his hands. A moment later, he fully embraced the mad prick. Pulled his husband close until their bodies were crushed together.

When he’d imagined this – and he had – he’d imagined needing to coax Aemond every step of the way. Imagined the man cold, and in need of constant reassurance and encouragement. But the more they pawed at each other, the clearer it became that it wasn’t going to be like that. Aemond wasn’t cold. Far from it. Luke’s own rapidly heating blood thrummed with delight at it

They dragged impatiently at each other’s clothes. Aemond seemed to have decided that if they had to fuck, they might as well do it properly. Lucerys snuck a hand beneath Aemond’s tunic, palm pressing against hot skin. He could feel muscles shifting as Aemond fiddled with the collar of Luke’s jerkin. The scent of him was more intoxicating by the second. Lucerys stuck his face into the crook of Aemond’s neck and kissed the soft skin he found there. The last of their clothes were hastily discarded. Naked, Luke pushed Aemond back towards the bed. They were both hard and the scent of arousal in the air was thick. Aemond had been so reluctant to agree to this, and yet now it was happening…

Lucerys wanted to get a good look at his husband’s bare form, but he also didn’t want to stop touching him. He pushed Aemond down onto the mattress and climbed on top of him - then yelped in surprise when the world suddenly span, and he found himself pinned on his back. Now it was Aemond who climbed atop him, bare chest heaving. Lucerys stared up at his soon-to-be-mate, drinking in the sight greedily. He wished the candles were brighter, so he could see every last inch in glorious detail.

“If we must do this, then you’ll be beneath me,” Aemond declared firmly. Despite the implied grudging willingness, the pupil of his one eye was blown wide with desire and his cock was hard and aching. His body clearly wanted this, no matter what Aemond’s mind had to say on the matter. Lucerys itched to reach up and take off the eyepatch, but even drunk on lust, he wasn’t stupid enough to try it.

There was a large bruise, yellow and nearly healed, curled about Aemond’s stomach. Where’d he gotten that? Had one of the guards done it? An absurd protective impulse had Lucerys opening his mouth, ready to demand the name of the knave responsible. But then Aemond squirmed atop him, reaching back and wrapping his hand around Luke’s eager cock. Lucerys groaned, pushing up into the sensation. Aemond shifted around, and suddenly Lucerys was sinking inside the tight, hot grip of his husband’s body.

The noise he made as they came together would’ve been extremely embarrassing, had Luke been any more in his right mind. At least Aemond seemed just as helplessly struck. He whined as he settled down, straddling Lucerys’ hips. The powerful muscles of his splayed thighs were visibly tense beneath his skin. Lucerys wanted to touch them, so he did. Aemond looked down at the alpha pinned beneath him, something burning in his lone eye as he began rocking back and forth. The increase in pleasure was instant and intense. Luke groaned feverishly as Aemond quickly gave up on restraint and threw himself into riding his husband. Gods it was good. Everything was pleasure, heat, the desperate urge to fuck. He lost himself in it.

At some point, after some shockingly good sex, panting furiously for breath, Lucerys managed to flip them over. Now Aemond was on his back. If he meant to protest the change in position, then it died in the strangled moan he made as Luke grabbed him beneath the knees, forcing his thighs up and wide, and started thrusting forward mercilessly. Aemond threw his head back, long silver hair spread wildly about him on the rumpled sheets. He was swearing furiously in-between broken whines and vehement demands to be fucked harder. Lucerys couldn’t get enough of every single sound he made. Gods… he was close. And he knew instinctively that Aemond was as well.

“Show… show me your neck,” he growled breathlessly, letting go of Aemond’s knees and curling forward over him. Aemond’s long legs wrapped around his waist, gripping tightly as though there was a single chance Luke would go anywhere. “Show me your neck… I’m going to…”

Aemond’s expression sudden changed. The flushed pleasure on his face went pinched and cold. He was afraid, Lucerys realised with a jolt. This was it. This was the line that, once crossed, couldn’t be stepped back over. The thought made Lucerys falter as well. Their bodies stilled as it dawned on them both just how close to the point of no return they were.

“I… we don’t…” Lucerys croaked out, with immense effort.

Dark determination crossed Aemond’s face. “Do it!” he snapped, tilting his chin back and exposing every last pale inch of his throat. “Or would you leave me waiting?”

With a growl, Lucerys resumed fucking him. His hand slid into Aemond’s hair. It was every bit as soft as it looked. He used it to tilt Aemond’s head to the side and bent to press his mouth to the point where the omega’s neck met his shoulder. The place every alpha knew, deep in their bones, without ever having to be taught it. Lucerys dragged his lips across the hot flesh, before opening his mouth and biting down – hard enough to break skin.

The effect was instant. Like being thrown into freezing cold water, except hot, intense, and fucking glorious. The hardest climax of Lucerys’ life hit him like a poleaxe. His knot swelled and locked them together as Aemond trembled uncontrollably beneath him.

Lucerys felt drunk, feverish, and like he was dreaming – all at once. All he could smell was Aemond. All he could feel was Aemond. Dimly, he was aware of what was happening. He’d given the bite, and now the bond was forming. But whatever he’d imagined it’d be like - the many times he’d wondered about it, like all alphas did – the reality was a hundred times more overwhelming. The rest of the world faded and became thin and unimportant. The concept of anything outside of this bed was hard to grasp. The chamber could’ve filled with demons and dancing dragonlings, and Luke wouldn’t’ve noticed. He slumped forward onto his new mate, who was clutching at him frantically.

It was frightening and wonderful at the same time. There was nothing to do but get swept away by it.

…

Lucerys woke slowly the next morning, groaning and turning his head away from the sunlight. His body ached, but the soreness was curiously sublime. He felt deeply content. He stretched his back, arching up off the bed. Only then did he realise he wasn’t alone beneath the sheets. Somebody else stirred, disturbed by Luke’s restless fidgeting.

He turned his head and saw Aemond sleeping next to him, laid on his side, curled towards Lucerys. Just a few inches separated them. They were both naked, the thin sheet wound around their bodies haphazardly. All at once, the memories of the previous night came flooding back. Like a moth to the flame, Luke’s eyes were drawn to the bite mark nestled in the crook of Aemond’s neck. It was a pink, half-moon shape, a little swollen. Almost laughably innocuous, considering what it meant – for them, and for the entire kingdom. The urge to touch was irresistible. Lucerys reached over and lightly trailed his fingers along the newly given mating bite.

Aemond hissed and woke up.

He blinked blearily, his eye struggling to focus. Then he saw Lucerys, his hand still gently touching Aemond’s neck. Aemond drew back as though Luke’s fingers had burned him – but he didn’t vault out bed. It was better than Lucerys had hoped for.

And yet… he was worried. Aemond’s breathing had gone short and shallow, and his hands clenched the bedsheets so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Lucerys feared he was falling into the madness that sometimes took men on the eve of battle. When they became unable to catch their breath, no matter how much air they gulped down. Impulsively, Luke gently lay his hand on Aemond’s neck again, pressing his palm over the fresh bite wound. At once the mounting panic in Aemond’s body unwound. Aemond wasn’t grateful. Indeed, the look he fixed on Lucerys was positively venomous.

“What happened to the sapphire?” Lucerys asked out of the blue, hoping to derail whatever poisonous fit Aemond was on the verge of. He didn’t know why that question, of all possible questions. But he'd been wondering about it ever since he’d seen in the shadows of the black cells that Aemond’s eye-socket was empty.

It worked. Aemond looked taken aback. “I sold it,” he muttered after a moment or two. “I needed the gold.”

Lucerys vividly remembered how the great jewel had looked in Aemond’s empty eye. For a long time, he’d remembered the sapphire more clearly than Aemond himself – even though he’d only seen the thing once. At Storm’s End. When Aemond had demanded Luke cut out his own eye as penance. He’d sneered at Luke. Called him ‘my little husband’ in a voice dripping with contempt. The eerie blue glimmer of the jewel had stuck with Lucerys.

It'd frightened him. It’d seemed so inhuman.

Luke was about to ask who Aemond had sold the gem to, when there was a loud commotion outside. Raised voices. The iron doorhandle rattled. Lucerys had just enough time to hurriedly rearrange the bedsheet so that it covered as much of Aemond as possible, before the door burst open. Daemon marched in looking livid, staring down at the bed with a face like thunder. His burning gaze locked onto the fresh bite mark clearly visible on Aemond’s neck.

“You idiot,” Daemon seethed. “You stupid fucking idiot, Luke.”

He advanced towards the bed. At once Lucerys rose, not caring that he was naked, putting himself between Daemon and his new mate.

“Don’t you dare touch him!”

Daemon just scoffed angrily. He picked up Lucerys’ discarded jerkin and breeches, throwing them at him.

“Get dressed,” Daemon ordered, still furious. “You!” he barked over his shoulder. A servant appeared meekly in the doorway. “Have some moon tea brewed for Prince Aemond. And make sure the bastard drinks it!”

Everything became chaotic for a while. Lucerys and Daemon continued shouting at each other as Luke dragged his clothes on. Aemond sat on the bed, wrapped in a sheet, watching the argument with a stony expression. Gods, Luke wanted Daemon away from him so badly.

In the end he agreed to leave with his stepfather, just to get him away from the still naked Aemond. Daemon carried on furiously ranting about Luke’s idiocy as they marched through the Red Keep, startling everyone they passed. The rumour mill would soon be spinning furiously. Lucerys took the brunt of Daemon’s fury in grim silence. He’d known it would be like this. And the worst was yet to come.

Lucerys was still wearing yesterday’s dishevelled clothes as he found himself standing before his mother. The combined scent of Aemond and sex hung heavily about him. He flushed, wishing he’d had the chance to wash. Rhaenyra wasn’t angry - she was cold. It was worse.

“Maester Gerardys,” she said to her most learned councillor, stood quietly at her shoulder. “What do you advise?”

“Separate them,” said Gerardys. “It’s rare, but a new bond can be broken, if the alpha and omega are kept apart immediately afterwards. Their bodies do not settle into it. But it must be a total separation.”

“No,” Lucerys insisted. He was ignored.

“Do it,” said Rhaenyra. “How long will it take?”

“If the bond hasn’t broken in five days, then it won’t break at all.”

“Is there anything else that can be done?”

“Some books do speak of herbal tonics,” admitted Gerardys. “And a poultice that can be applied to the bite. But truthfully, my Queen, these are old wives’ tales, and I’ve never heard of them actually working.”

“Try them anyway,” said Rhaenyra firmly.

“Mother,” Lucerys cried, trying to get her to pay attention. “Will you please listen to me!”

“Take Prince Lucerys to his apartments,” Rhaenyra instructed the Queensguard. Her mouth was pinched into a thin and unhappy line. “He isn’t to leave them until I say otherwise.”

Lucerys didn’t fight it as the knights escorted him away. He’d already lost enough of his dignity that morning, there was no reason to add being forcibly dragged through the Keep to his list of embarrassments. Whatever his mother hoped, he knew in his bones that the bond wouldn’t break. It was done, and there was nothing anybody could do about it. Not the Grand Maester, not the Queen, not even Lucerys or Aemond themselves. It was done.

…

When he was alone again, Aemond got dressed. If he’d needed a bath before, it was ten times worse now. Dried slick and seed were smeared uncomfortably in places for which, frankly, a simple basin of hot water wasn’t going to cut it. Aemond wasn’t going to beg anybody for the chance to bathe. But all the same… he wanted to cleanse himself. Wanted to wash away more than just the grime and sweat on his skin.

His solitude didn’t last long. A maester arrived with a freshly brewed cup of moon tea and watched carefully until Aemond had finished every last drop. Daemon needn’t have worried. Aemond would’ve gladly drunk a whole barrel of the stuff. Whatever else he might’ve given to Lucerys, he’d no intention of giving him a child as well. Once he was alone again, Aemond sat staring at nothing. He felt numb. His hand trembled as he lifted it to his neck. The bite was sore.

From the moment his eye had been stolen, Aemond had hated Lucerys Velaryon with a dark passion. Even at their wedding, he’d brooded on revenge. Aemond had vowed to himself that if he was ever forced to the marriage bed, he’d have taken Lucerys’ eye by the end of the night. Made them even. He couldn’t’ve broken that vow more completely. Lucerys still had both eyes. The thought hadn’t even crossed Aemond’s mind. And not only had he lain in the marriage bed… he'd enjoyed himself in it.

Aemond had gloomily accepted beforehand that he found Lucerys attractive now the whelp had grown into a man. But that didn’t mean anything. Admiring an alpha’s form didn’t mean desiring them, not really. You could acknowledge a fair face and strong body, and still find the person utterly hateful. But from the moment Lucerys had kissed him for the second time, full of unexpected ardour, Aemond hadn’t be able to delude himself any longer. He’d wanted it. He’d wanted Lucerys to fuck him.

He couldn’t even blame the bond, and the irresistible way it drew mated pairs together. The way even now, mere hours old, it was making Aemond want to see Lucerys again. His neck had still been blissfully unmarred as they’d fallen like panting dogs onto the bed. The scent of Lucerys had been like a drug. Sea salt and heather, light and airy.

Gods – what in the seven hells had he done? He’d let Lucerys Velaryon give him the bite. Worse – he’d bared his neck and… hells, he remembered it now. He’d demanded that Lucerys not leave him waiting. He’d demanded it.

Aemond let out a slightly deranged laugh - before abruptly starting to cry. He was mad. It was the only explanation. He’d thought for years he’d likely go insane one day. Targaryens did. The madness was in their blood, same as the dragonfire. And Aemond, in his most brutally honest moments, knew he was the type. He’d already committed plenty of dark deeds. Perhaps last night had been the final straw. When he’d looked Lucerys dead in the eye and agreed to his ludicrous plan.

He cried and cried, until finally he felt too wrung thin to cry any more. He was tired and he felt sick. Still fully dressed, he crawled back into the bed that smelled of his mate still, burrowing beneath the sheets, and eventually falling asleep.

Aemond was woken by the arrival of a servant and some guards. He assumed he was being taken back to the dungeons. That’d been Rhaenyra’s plan, hadn’t it? To move him back there once his heat was over? What he and Lucerys had done had likely not made her more inclined to mercy. Aemond was probably going to be returned to the perpetual darkness of the black cells.

So, he was surprised when the servant – a kindly, fat omega – informed Aemond that he was being taken for a bath.

Maybe it was a trap. Perhaps someone was going to shove him down a steep flight of stairs and pretend he’d tripped and fallen. But no, Aemond found himself really taken to a steamy room holding a large tub filled with hot water. A block of scented soap had been left in a silver dish. Another servant was laying out fresh clothes.

One of the guards (also an omega, it seemed the idea was not to humiliate Aemond at least) stayed in the room to keep an eye on him as he bathed. The servants went to help him undress, but Aemond insisted on doing it himself. He’d little enough control over everything else that was going on. He could at least take off his own fucking breeches.

The water was blissful. Aemond imagined sinking beneath it and never rising again. But then he recalled drowning in the dark waters of the Gods Eye, and the idea quickly lost its appeal. He washed his body but permitted the servant to wash his hair. A plain linen robe was offered after he got out the water. The servants put oil in his wet hair, brushing it through the damp strands so they’d dry soft and straight.

Aemond dressed in the clean clothes. They were his, but they weren’t the same as the relatively plain black ones Lucerys had brought for him. They were softer, in dark green and with golden thread on the arms and collar. Aemond had only worn them on a handful of occasions, a long time ago. His mother had always been pestering him to wear prettier things, insisting he had to make himself more appealing or no alpha would ever want to wed him.

When one had married him, Queen Alicent had cried about it for an entire week.

Aemond was escorted back to the same bedchamber he’d spent his heat in. The same one he’d received the bite in. It really wasn’t going to be the dungeons then. At least not for the time being.

The overpowering aroma of burning herbs hit Aemond the moment he entered the room. They were smouldering away in an earthen bowl on the table. The bedsheets had been changed – and the pillows and the wool-stuffed mattress too. Someone had even scrubbed the table and floor with soap. Every trace of Lucerys’ lingering scent had been methodically erased.

It didn’t seriously bother Aemond until the evening. By then he was aching for his alpha with increasing desperation. For just a scrap of his scent. He slept fitfully, waking constantly to find himself reaching out in bed for someone who wasn’t there. When he woke in the morning, the first thing he thought of was Lucerys. Aemond caught himself pawing at the bite on his neck again and again, pressing his fingers so hard against the wound that it stung bitterly.

Where was his mate? Why had he left him? Had Aemond done something wrong? Had Lucerys changed his mind? Did he not want him anymore?

Aemond tried to ignore the barrage of irrational thoughts. He didn’t want Lucerys! He didn’t give a shit if his foolish husband regretted what he’d done! But the longer he went without his mate, the harder Aemond found it. By nightfall he was physically sick with longing. By the next day, it’d consumed him. He wanted Lucerys. He did nothing but mope about and want Lucerys. Aemond’s appetite left him. He was full of restless energy but exhausted at the same time. If there’d been the slightest chance of seeing his husband, Aemond would’ve gladly climbed the Hightower itself. But otherwise he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but lie on the bed and feel miserable and sick.

He was pestered constantly by those meddling whoresons, the maesters. One of them insisted he apply some foul-smelling poultice to his neck, directly over the bite. Another cajoled him into drinking a potion that tasted of wormwood and sweet myrtle. If he’d felt even a little less wretched, Aemond would’ve gladly backhanded each one of the muttering old curs. But as it was, he permitted it. Although he drew the line when one of the bastards had tried to touch his neck. He’d raised his fist, fully prepared to break the presumptuous knave’s jaw. The old man had backed hurriedly away, hands held up in apology.

…

On the third day of separation, Lucerys attacked the guards on his door, he was so desperate to get free and find Aemond. He nearly managed it too, the element of surprise working heavily in his favour. But the three men together managed to wrestle him back into his chambers. From that point onwards, the door was locked. Lucerys was left with a split lip. He kept worrying at it, opening the scab back up again and again. The pain cut through the constant longing – making it easier to think clearly.

He'd heard about this. That newly bonded couples, separated too soon, would fall into an obsession where they did nothing but long to return to each other. The maesters said it was because they needed each other’s scents for a mating bond to settle properly. Just a single item of Aemond’s recently worn clothing would’ve been enough to alleviate the worst of it. But there was no chance of that. Luke’s mother wanted the bond to break. That’s why he was shut away in here.

She didn’t come to see him. Every day Luke thought she would, and every day he went disappointed. He knew he’d angered his mother. And worse – disappointed her. She’d known Luke was behaving oddly. Had wanted to send him far away to Dragonstone, until his soon-to-be-former husband was removed from King’s Landing. She’d worried Luke would do something stupid.

And he’d gone and justified her fears the very first opportunity he got.

On the fifth day, Gerardys came to Luke’s rooms with another maester. He smiled sadly at Lucerys as he leaned in close and – as politely as he could – inhaled the prince’s scent. Once you bonded, your scent changed. Gerardys had known Luke since he was a small boy. He’d know the difference at once. Presumably he’d forgone the numbing ointment beneath his nose for the occasion.

“It hasn’t broken,” declared Gerardys as he drew back to a respectful distance. The old maester didn’t sound surprised. “I hope you’re certain of your choice, my prince, because you’re going to have to live with it.”

Lucerys nodded weakly. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep. He wanted this constant sickness to pass. He wanted to see Aemond.

Gerardys gestured to the other maester. The man unfolded the heavy sleeves of his robe and revealed a black tunic. It was Aemond’s.

The haste with which Lucerys snatched the garment out of the man’s hands, pressing his face into the soft black wool, was embarrassing. But he couldn’t help himself. The scent of summer apples filled his nose. Almost at once the sickness began to pass, fading more and more with every greedy breath. Luke’s thoughts cleared. The frantic urge to see Aemond at any cost, the sole obsession that’d preoccupied him for days, finally eased.

“The Queen wants to see you,” Gerardys said. “Once you’re feeling yourself again. I’ll have a bath prepared.”

“Wait.” Lucerys was reluctant to put the tunic down, but he forced himself so that he could undo the clasps and ties of his own jerkin. “Give this to Aemond. If he feels half as bad as I do, then he’ll need it.”

Gerardys nodded. “You’ve grown into a good man, Prince Lucerys,” the old maester said as he took the jerkin. “I can barely believe you’re the same boy I once taught his histories. I truly hope you don’t come to regret what you’ve done. May the gods smile on you.”

It was early evening before Lucerys felt really in control of himself again. Apart from taking a bath, he’d spent most of that time clinging pathetically onto Aemond’s rumpled tunic. Anxiety crept over him. What had he done? Had he thrown away any chance of happiness? Aemond was moody, difficult, and he hated Luke. He’d slaughtered countless men, burning them to ash atop Vhagar. Committed atrocity after atrocity. He was dangerous and he’d no love of the Queen. Would he still betray them, if he got the chance?

Lucerys could’ve been free of him. Their marriage finally dissolved. That sweet omega Luke had yearned for could’ve been his. The children he wanted so badly could’ve been his. What children would Aemond ever agree to give him? He’d shacked himself to an enemy. Doomed himself to a marriage founded in hostility and distrust. And willingly.

He’d thought himself mad when he made the offer. What other explanation was there? If so, the madness hadn’t left Lucerys yet, because even now it was so easy to remember what Aemond had felt like beneath him, his strong thighs clamped about Luke’s waist…

Lucerys shook himself out of it. He didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity. He was about to see his mother. The gnawing doubt could wait until afterwards.

Queen Rhaenyra was sitting in her private solar, dressed all in black. Stood just behind her, lurking like a great crow, was Daemon. They both watched Lucerys with blank faces. Though he fought not to show it, he squirmed under their scrutiny. There was a chair left obviously vacant for him, facing his mother. Luke sat down. The Queen picked up her goblet of wine and took a fortifying sip. Lucerys thought she looked more exhausted and troubled than ever, and felt guilty that he was responsible.

“Why did you do it?” Rhaenyra asked at last. She sounded strained. “What possessed you?”

“I don’t know,” confessed Lucerys. He felt ashamed. Surely he should’ve been able to offer a better explanation? But it was the truth. “I didn’t want you to send Aemond away.”

“You didn’t want me to send Aemond away?” Rhaenyra said, appalled. “Was that it? Be serious with me, Luke. That can’t have been it. I don’t understand! You’ve never been a fool, never let yourself get led around by the knot. I’ve always thought you were wise beyond your years. Solid. Sensible! What did Aemond say to you? How did he talk you into it?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Lucerys admitted. “I talked him into it.”

His mother stared aghast, like he was a stranger to her. Her bewilderment and disappointment were plain to see. It stung bitterly, but Lucerys couldn’t blame her.

“Don’t you understand what you’ve done?” Daemon said. “You’ve jeopardized us all because you let your gods-damned knot do the thinking for you.”

“How?” Lucerys demanded. “How’ve I jeopardized us?”

“You could’ve made a good marriage! Won your mother an ally!” Daemon argued. “Instead, you’ve thrown it away on a one-eyed traitor! Fucking Aemond! Have you lost your mind?”

“Daemon…” Rhaenyra said.

“No! The boy needs to hear it!” Daemon snapped. “We all have to pay the price for his idiocy!”

“My idiocy?” Lucerys rose to his feet. “You call me an idiot? From where I’m standing, I’ve done what you couldn’t – I’ve united our House again!”

Daemon scoffed mockingly. “Is that what you think?” he sneered, stepping forward so he and Lucerys were stood toe-to-toe. “You think Aemond will go along with that? You think he’ll stand before the court and renounce his usurper brother just because he let you stick your knot in him? He won’t! You’ve endangered everything we fought for – that your brothers died for! - because you couldn’t stop yourself fucking the most frigid omega in all the seven kingdoms!”

“You dare say that to me? At least I’m married to the omega I bedded! You risked everything for a girl you plucked off the streets!”

Something feral gleamed in Daemon’s eye. Without another word he pulled back his arm and punched Lucerys clean in the jaw. Daemon’s fist hit like a club. Luke’s split lip, the one he’d gotten brawling with the knights in his feverish desperation to get to Aemond, broke back open. Blood filled his mouth and started dripping down his chin.

“Stop it!” Rhaenyra cried, standing. Her expression was outraged. “Get out. If you can’t control yourself, get out.”

Daemon looked incensed, and Lucerys was sure he was going to refuse. But instead, he turned on his heels and stormed out, slamming the door so hard that the candles in the solar stuttered.

A heavy silence followed. Rhaenyra plucked a finely embroidered handkerchief from up her sleeve. She took Lucerys gently by the chin, turning his head towards the light, dabbing carefully until the bleeding stopped.

“I’m sorry,” Lucerys blurted out. They both knew he wasn’t talking about the fight with Daemon.

Rhaenyra smiled sadly. “I just wish I understood why.”

“I wish I could tell you.” Lucerys hung his head, but his mother used her hold on his chin to tip it back up again.

“It’s done now,” she said softly. “It’s done, and it can’t be undone. I…” She took a deep breath. “Why don’t we sit back down?”

They sank into their chairs. Rhaenyra took up her goblet of wine, looking down into it thoughtfully as she swirled the contents around.

“I remember when my father told me he was going to marry the pair of you. I did everything I could to talk him out of it. I begged. But he wouldn’t listen. I thought he was ruining your life. You were so young. So sweet and kind. And Aemond was such a vicious, cruel thing. I knew you’d be miserable together.” She drank deeply. “I don’t understand why you’d choose him. It was one thing when it was forced upon you… but why would you choose him?”

“I wanted him. I don’t know why. I think… I think I went mad for a while there.”

“So, you regret it?” Rhaenyra asked, looking pained. “Already?”

Lucerys thought about it. “No,” he said firmly. “I’d do it again. Don’t ask me why. I don’t have any answers.”

“He’s a bloodthirsty demon,” Rhaenyra lamented. “You know the terrible things he did.”

“And I know the terrible things Daemon did as well. Just because Daemon is an alpha, does that make his sins somehow more forgivable?”

“I wanted you to be happy,” his mother murmured. “I love you and your brothers too much to condemn you to unhappy marriages for the sake of the realm. But you chose this, Luke. And you will have to live with it. For all he’s a devil, Aemond’s your husband now - till the day one of you dies. A marriage can be broken, the bite cannot. So, now we must find a way to work this to our advantage.”

“I understand,” said Lucerys earnestly. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Let’s be honest with ourselves, it’s not about you doing anything,” said Rhaenyra wearily. “It’s about what Aemond can be persuaded to do.”

“Let me see him,” pleaded Lucerys. “I need to talk to him.”

“You’ll see him,” agreed Rhaenyra. “But first… first I am going to have a talk with my brother.”

…

Aemond sat with Lucerys’ jerkin clutched in his lap, fingers tangled in the thick fabric. He’d fallen upon the thing like a starving animal when it’d been thrown at his feet by a nervous looking maester. He’d kept it pressed to his face, breathing in the seawater and heather, until the wretched sickness had finally faded away. Even now, Aemond couldn’t bring himself to throw the jerkin aside. He felt hungry. He hadn’t eaten properly for five full days. Night had fallen outside, and his usual evening meal hadn’t arrived. So, when the lock turned, Aemond naturally assumed it was a servant bringing him food.

When his sister Rhaenyra walked in instead, he froze.

“Leave us,” she said to the Queensguard.

“Your grace…” one began to protest.

“I gave you an order,” Rhaenyra said in a tone that invited no argument.

The men looked apprehensively at each other, wary of leaving their queen alone with her famously bloody brother. But she’d commanded them, and so there was nothing they could do but obey. A moment later, Aemond and Rhaenyra were alone.

Aemond wanted to speak first. Wanted to say something cutting. Something snide and unpleasant that’d either hurt or enrage his sister. But he was keenly aware that things had changed. The bite on his neck, starting to heal now, ached. A week ago, Aemond’s future had been bleak, but easy. Rhaenyra was his enemy, she’d have him executed, and all he could do was be as offensive a prisoner as possible until that moment. Now the situation was significantly more complicated. So Aemond said nothing. He just sat there, hands gripping Lucerys’ jerkin.

Rhaenyra didn’t sit. The crown lent her a stern, regal air. Aemond bitterly loathed to admit it, but the damned thing suited her.

“Lucerys insists it was him who talked you into this appalling match,” she said at last, voice as cold as the lands beyond the Wall. “But I wonder if that’s true. It’s worked out well for you, hasn’t it, brother?”

Aemond’s lip curled. “Nothing has worked out well for me,” he spat. “You think I want any of this?”

“I think you wanted it more than the alternative. I think you’ve bound yourself to a man who’ll sit on the Iron Throne one day. I think you’ve made it so he’ll always be weak for you. I think by taking one knot and one bite you’ve returned yourself to the very heart of this House.”

“Do you really think that of me?” Aemond demanded angrily. The insinuation made his blood boil.

“No. No, I don’t. I would’ve said you were the sort of man who’d prefer death over such a thing. Which is why I don’t understand how any of this could’ve happened. I don’t understand how my son could have been so stupid, and how you could’ve made such a whore of yourself.”

Aemond seethed. Her words cut deep, because… because they were true. He had made a whore of himself. To escape a miserable fate, Aemond had spread his legs and bared his neck. Lucerys hadn’t even argued his case much. He’d left the decision to Aemond, and Aemond had made it. He’d fooled himself that because Lucerys was his husband, it was somehow less indecent. He’d wanted Lucerys. He was wed to Lucerys. Those things had obscured the seedy truth that Rhaenyra had just laid so ruthlessly bare – that Aemond had allowed himself to be mated in return for a more comfortable life.

Shame flooded him. He looked down at the jerkin in his lap, his fingers twisting the fabric around tightly.

“But I didn’t come to talk about that,” said Rhaenyra, as if sensing her point had landed. “I said to Luke, and I’ll say it again to you - it’s done, and it can’t be undone. We all must live with it now. So I’ve come to make you an offer.”

Aemond looked up sharply. “An offer?”

“I’m not going to ask you to renounce Aegon. I won’t even demand you plead for forgiveness. All I require is that you stand before the court and pledge your fealty to me. That you recognise me as your Queen.”

Aemond ached to flatly refuse her. But he’d known this ultimatum was coming. It’d been inevitable, from the very moment Lucerys' teeth had sunk into his neck. In fact, Rhaenyra not insisting he publicly beg her forgiveness made them more generous terms than Aemond could’ve dared hope for. Still, he had his pride. It was all he had.

“Why should I?”

“I have what remains of your family in my care,” said Rhaenyra. “Your niece and nephew, and your mother too. I’m sure you’d like to see them again one day.”

Aemond sat up straighter. “You’d let me see them?”

“One day,” Rhaenyra repeated sternly. “Maybe not for years, I don’t know. When I think I can trust you enough. But if you don’t pledge your fealty, then I promise you this - it will never happen.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“What choice do you have?”

Aemond slumped back. He paused, fidgeting again with the fine wool in his hands, before giving the answer he was always going to have to give. The only answer possible.

“I accept your offer,” he ground out bitterly. “I’ll stand before the court and pledge my fealty to you. My Queen.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head back triumphantly. “Good. I want it done soon. The day after tomorrow. And I swear Aemond, if you do or say anything else… if you so much as mention Aegon… I don’t care that my son has taken you for his mate, I’ll have your head struck off right there and then.”

Aemond didn’t doubt that she meant it. He looked away. Rhaenyra must’ve taken his silence as acceptance, because she turned to leave.

“He didn’t want it you know,” Aemond said, just as Rhaenyra reached the door.

She turned to look back at him, expression black. “Lucerys?” she demanded.

Aemond laughed humourlessly. “No. Aegon. He didn’t want to be king. He even tried to flee across the Narrow Sea to escape it. I had to drag him back.”

Rhaenyra looked dumbstruck. Her unblinking gaze was fixed on Aemond, eyes wide. She swallowed hard, her delicate throat bobbing.

“Do you know, brother,” she said at last. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“I had to know it. Now you do too. All that death, and he didn’t even want it.” Aemond laughed again, shrill and cracked. He felt lost, like a ship in a storm. Uncaring that his sister could see him, he raised the jerkin to his face and inhaled deeply. At once the scent of Lucerys steadied the nerves that’d threatened to break.

Some intense but mysterious emotion crossed Rhaenyra’s face, before she left the bedchamber in a hurry, skirts dragging behind her. The door slammed closed, and the key turned in the lock.

…

There was no food brought to Aemond’s chamber the next morning either. By now he was so hungry he was starting to get unpleasant pains in his stomach and felt distinctly light-headed. Maybe this was part of Rhaenyra’s plan. Perhaps she thought it’d make Aemond more pliable. Well, she was wrong.

The door to Aemond’s bedchamber opened without warning. “Get up whelp,” a guard announced gruffly. The man didn’t look happy about his duty, staring at Aemond like he was some filthy rat dragged out from the gutter. “I’ve been ordered to take you to see Prince Lucerys.”

Altogether there were four men escorting Aemond, eventually delivering him to the door of what’d been, once upon a time, Helaena's rooms. A sudden hard lump formed in Aemond's throat as he realised where he was. He swallowed it down as the door was opened. One of the guards planted a hand on his back and shoved him inside.

“Apologise,” an angry voice insisted.

On the other side of the door, Lucerys sat at a table spread with food. He'd risen to his feet as Aemond had come stumbling in and was now glaring angrily at the guards.

“My prince,” the man who’d shoved Aemond protested. “The prisoner…”

“Prince Aemond,” Lucerys corrected sternly. “Not ‘the prisoner’ - Prince Aemond. My husband. The Queen’s brother.”

Aemond turned to watch the sorry little bastard squirming. On the one hand, it was satisfying to see the disrespectful cur brought to heel. On the other, it was more than a little humiliating for Lucerys to take it upon himself to defend Aemond’s tarnished honour, like… like…

Like an alpha would defend their omega. Seven hells.

“I apologise, Prince Aemond,” the guard forced himself to say. “Forgive my impertinence.” It looked as though every word had cost him dearly.

“Leave us then,” said Lucerys, apparently satisfied with this.

That left Aemond and Lucerys alone. The light-headedness was worse than ever. Aemond didn’t know if it was because there was food so close to hand, or because Lucerys was so close to hand. Aemond wished he’d paid more attention to accounts of how the bond was supposed to feel. How it made you behave and what it made you want. He hadn’t listened to the maesters. He hadn’t read the books. When Aegon had tried to taunt Aemond with tales of how cockstruck he’d get once he’d been mated, Aemond had just hit him hard in the teeth.

His mother had tried to talk to him about it. But he’d had no time for that conversation, brushing her off again and again. He wasn’t a beta, she’d insisted, no matter what he wished. But what’d she known about it anyway? Aemond’s sire had always refused to give his mother the bite. King Viserys had declared he’d only ever have one mate – dead Queen Aemma. He’d said it publicly too. It’d been an abject humiliation for Aemond’s mother.

Not a humiliation Aemond would suffer. When the time had come, his husband hadn't hesitated.

Lucerys rounded the table and stood before Aemond. Gods, the prick really had grown tall. As tall as Aemond. Taller perhaps. It was unsettling, after thinking of him as little Lord Strong for so long. Slowly, Lucerys pressed his cheek to Aemond’s. The impulse to lash out was immediate. Just as immediate – and the feeling that won out – was warm satisfaction as their scents mingled. Aemond found himself unwittingly pushing back into the contact. It lasted a few seconds, before he got a grip and jerked away from his mate, scowling. Lucerys didn’t look put out. In fact, he looked pleased with himself – which only annoyed Aemond more.

“You must be hungry,” said Lucerys. “I know I’m starving.”

They ate in silence. Aemond was, in truth, ravenous, but he forced himself to eat at a steady pace. He thought he should feel anxious, or angry, or most of all trapped. But he was close to Lucerys, he had his mate’s scent on him, and for the time being at least, that was enough to keep his mood in check. It helped that the food was far better than anything else Aemond had eaten in a very long time.

“What happened to your face?” he asked, breaking the silence. Somebody had to speak first after all. When Lucerys only looked confused, Aemond gestured to his swollen lip and the angry looking cut that bisected it.

“Oh,” said Lucerys. He touched the injury and grinned. “I fought the guards on my door. Tried to take on three of them bare-handed.”

“Why?” Aemond asked, taken aback.

“To try and get to you,” Lucerys admitted with a sheepish shrug.

They lapsed back into silence. So, Lucerys had fought three armed men for him. A primitive part of Aemond preened to hear it. He was glad he hadn’t been the only one driven out of his mind with longing for his mate. If Aemond had been able to get to the guard on his door, he couldn’t say with certainty that he wouldn’t’ve tried the same thing.

“We should talk,” Lucerys said once they’d both eaten their fill of the excellent food.

“About what? It’s done and it can’t be undone.”

“We’re bound together for the rest of our lives, and you think there’s nothing to talk about?”

“It was a matter of convenience,” Aemond replied. “I wanted to escape being forced into a septon’s vows and locked away in a glorified cage. And you wanted…” he trailed off. What had Lucerys wanted? The night they’d bonded, Aemond had demanded to know why Lucerys was making him such a mad offer. He’d never gotten a proper answer.

“Does it matter why I’m offering you this? I am.”

Lucerys looked embarrassed. He stared down at the scraps of breakfast that remained on his plate, pushing them around listlessly. “My mother asked me the same question. The question you want to ask now. Why? I don’t know.”

“You must know!” Aemond exclaimed. “How can you not know?”

“I don’t!” Lucerys snapped. “I didn’t want you sent away! And I’ve no idea why! You’re a traitor. You’ve hated me since we were children.”

“You cut out my eye!”

“And you hate me for it! And yet… I don’t know! I don’t know. But you’ve said it, my mother’s said it – it can’t be undone. Whatever the reasons were, they don’t matter now.”

“Of course they matter!” Aemond insisted vehemently. “I want to know. You owe me answers.”

“Then I’ll be forced to disappoint you, husband,” said Lucerys irritably. “Because I don’t have your answers. Perhaps I simply went mad."

Aemond stared, dumbfounded. The weight of what Lucerys had done could hardly be overstated. He was next in line for the throne, the question of his legitimacy quashed by Rhaenyra’s victory. Lucerys hadn’t just altered the course of his life and Aemond’s, he’d made a choice that’d likely alter the fate of the entire kingdom. A dangerous choice in a world that already seemed to teeter constantly on a knife’s edge.

And he didn’t even know why?

“You must’ve had a reason,” Aemond insisted. “I’m not vain or an idiot. I don’t believe you were just that desperate to fuck me.”

“If I’d just wanted to fuck an omega, it would’ve been easy enough to arrange,” Lucerys muttered. Instantly a hot flare of jealousy made Aemond’s chest go tight.

“What sort of an alpha knows their own mind as little as you?” he demanded. “What sort of future king?”

“If you’re going to tell me how foolish I am, then you can hold your tongue,” Lucerys said sharply. “I’ve already heard my fill of it.”

“You are a fool. Because what you need from a mate… you won’t get it from me. I won’t give you children. I won’t simper or fawn. I don’t care for feasts, or telling some fat lord from the Reach how pleased I am with some gaudy trinket. I won’t hang off your arm in fine silk or coo over you at some grand tourney.”

“You imagine I thought you’d do any of that?” Lucerys shot back, slapping his hand down on the table so hard the plates and cups rattled. “I do know you Aemond! I know about the men you’ve killed! The towns you turned to ash! I’ve seen the corpses! I remember what a sullen wretch you were even before the war!”

They glared furiously at each other over the table until Lucerys grimaced and looked away, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Just leave,” he said tiredly. “I think we’ve spoken enough. The guards will take you back.”

Aemond didn’t move. He felt the intensely uncharacteristic urge to apologise - and aggressively swallowed it back down. He wanted Lucerys to be angry with him, but at the same time, he sorely did not want Lucerys to be angry with him. The clash was dizzying. Quite literally in fact. Aemond felt unpleasantly off-kilter. He pressed his fingers to his cheek, where they’d scented one another just a little while earlier, hoping to stir up just a sliver of that mossy salt again.

“I never thanked you,” he muttered after a protracted pause. He picked up his cup. He wasn’t thirsty, he just needed something to do so he didn’t have to look at Lucerys.

“For what?” Lucerys asked, moving his hand away from his eyes and looking baffled. “You cannot mean for the bite?”

“For bringing me clothes. For moving me out of the black cells. For getting this back.” He gestured vaguely to his eyepatch.

“No, you never did thank me,” agreed Lucerys softly. “Will you now?”

Aemond bristled. The gods damn Lucerys, he had to force the words, didn’t he? “Thank you,” he made himself say. Even to his own ears it sounded surly and grudging.

That didn’t seem to matter to Lucerys, who took the thanks with grace. He seemed easy once again, which in turn helped Aemond relax. The unsteady feeling faded away.

“You’re welcome, Aemond. And… is there anything else you need now?”

Aemond hesitated. There was something he wanted. “Tomorrow, I stand before the Queen and pledge my loyalty to her,” he said stiffly. “I bend the knee.”

“I know,” said Lucerys. “My mother told me you’d accepted her terms.”

“I would prefer not to walk into the Great Hall alone. I don’t want to be paraded like a war trophy. It’s already going to be enough of a humiliation.”

Lucerys considered the implicit request, before nodding solemnly. “Then I’ll walk with you. It’s only right and proper for the court to see us together like that. Alp…” he stopped mid-sentence, looking awkward.

“Alpha and omega,” Aemond finished for him glumly. What was the point in skirting around it?

“Alpha and omega,” agreed Lucerys. “The Prince of Dragonstone and his mate.”

“The Queen’s enemy,” Aemond muttered bitterly. “A traitor. Whose head every person in the room will think should be on a spike over the gates. It’s going to be a gods-damned circus.” And Aemond had been made the prancing fool.

“Not a circus,” said Lucerys emphatically. “A symbol of a new age. House Targaryen reunited. Peace.”

Reunited. What a beguiling, yet utterly deceptive image that word conjured. In what way was House Targaryen reunited? Most of Aemond’s half were dead. The rest were too young to know any better. They weren’t reunited. One half had won and had subjugated what remained of the other half.

That was what Lucerys and Aemond were symbolic of. In more ways than one.

Chapter Text

Lucerys and Aemond stood before the doors of the Great Hall. They were flanked by a dozen knights, each wearing a red cloak fastened with a silver dragon’s head pin. Impulsively, Lucerys raised his arm and offered it to his husband. He didn’t really expect Aemond to take it, so it was a surprise when he did. Aemond held on like he was lost in a stormy sea, and Luke the only anchor. And perhaps, in a way, that was the truth of it.

Lucerys tried not to look too pleased, keeping his expression solemn, as befitted the serious occasion. But he was pleased. This was just how he wanted the court to see them – sharing the intimacy of a newly mated pair.

For his public submission before Queen Rhaenyra, Aemond’s clothes had been chosen for him, and deliberately laded with symbolism. He habitually wore black anyway, but now it held extra significance. It was the colour of Aemond’s former enemy, the Black Queen. His cloak, on the other hand, was green, and fastened loosely with a simple clasp. The plan was for Aemond to undo it, just before he pledged his fealty to his sister. The green cloak would fall away, leaving him only in black. It was a heavy-handed metaphor, but these weren’t subtle times.

Aemond’s clothes had been carefully tailored in other ways. He favoured high collars, but the collar of the doublet he was wearing today cut low and had been left deliberately loose. Just enough to reveal the mating bite on his neck. You wouldn’t see it unless you were looking, but everybody would be looking. Lucerys himself couldn’t stop staring at it, still half unable to believe it was there, even though he could feel the bond pulling on him. He’d given the bite to Aemond Targaryen. It was still a surreal thought.

He wanted to touch the mark. Wanted to put his mouth back on it.

Lucerys was startled out of his indecent thoughts by the huge double doors swinging slowly open. The hall beyond was packed with people. The Iron Throne loomed at the far end, towering above everything else. A morass of twisted, bent, and broken swords – still blackened by the fiery breath of Balerion.

The assembled nobles stared, crowded into the hall like fish in a barrel, dressed in their finery. Nobody wanted to miss seeing the proud and bloody Prince Aemond forced to bend the knee. Luke expected his mate to let go of his arm - but was surprised again. A sidelong glance revealed that Aemond’s one-eyed gaze was fixed dead ahead, his expression stony. Lucerys thought some powerful emotion simmered just beneath the surface. And that whatever it was, it was so intense Aemond wasn’t really aware he was still holding onto his alpha’s arm.

Luke kept his head held high. Let no lord or lady think he was ashamed, or that he’d want anybody else on his arm. Nor that Aemond was a terrible duty, one Lucerys was only shouldering for the good of the kingdom.

They’d probably still think that - and worse - anyway, but Lucerys was damned if he’d give them any more reason for it.

“Prince Lucerys of Dragonstone, and Prince Aemond,” the herald announced in his booming voice.

Slowly, Lucerys and Aemond walked the length of the hall, surrounded by whispers. The murmuring rippled through the crowd, like the distant roar of the sea. The closer they got to the Iron Throne, the more intimidating it looked. Approaching the literal seat of House Targaryen’s power, Lucerys could understand why Aegon the Conqueror had created the thing. The chair of stolen swords seemed to sap the defiance from your very bones.

The whispering got louder. The nobles gawked shamelessly as the one-time prince regent stood before the very same throne he’d once sat upon. Many of them glared at Aemond with outright hatred. More still were very careful to reveal no sentiment at all, past plain and simple curiosity.

Daemon was stood on the steps leading up to the throne, hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister. Lucerys vividly recalled being in this same room, years ago, watching in horror as Daemon had cleaved Vaemond Velaryon’s head clean in two. It’d been just two days later that King Viserys had declared his intention to marry Luke and Aemond to one another - his great and foolish masterstroke. The wedding he’d believed would miraculously heal his broken House.

The dead king’s namesake, Luke’s little brother Viserys, hovered nervously behind Daemon, looking rather overwhelmed. Aegon was there too, and alone of everyone in the room, he offered a friendly smile. Aemond didn’t notice the gesture, but Lucerys did – and took care to return it. For some baffling reason, Aegon had decided there was something very romantic about all this, and stubbornly refused to listen whenever Lucerys tried to correct him.

Queen Rhaenyra sat resplendent atop her throne, dressed in a charcoal gown, cleverly tailored to look like dragonscales. The wide-open sleeves were lined in scarlet red. The crown gleamed on her brow, polished until it shone.

Reluctantly, Lucerys extracted his arm from Aemond’s. It was time to remove his cloak – the symbolic representation of the treacherous Green usurpers. Aemond was supposed to do it himself, but if he wouldn’t, then Lucerys would be forced to do it for him, in a strange reversal of their wedding ceremony. But Aemond’s hands reached for the clasp, and the green cloak slid from his shoulders under its own weight, pooling in a heap on the floor. Lucerys stepped aside, leaving his mate stood alone before the Iron Throne.

“Brother,” Rhaenyra said, voice carrying above the frenzied gossiping. At once, silence fell. “You walk in my hall at long last. But is it as a traitor? Or as my loyal subject?”

Say it, Lucerys willed Aemond. His husband stared up at the Queen with a grim expression. Gods – if Aemond was planning to say something stupid, before all these lords and ladies, right to the Queen’s face… then not even Lucerys could save him.

Say it. For the love of all the gods, just say it.

“As your loyal subject,” Aemond said. There was no trace of bitterness in his voice. He didn’t sound particularly humbled, but neither did he sound insincere. It was good enough. In truth, it was better than Lucerys had expected.

“And you recognise me as your Queen?”

“I do,” said Aemond. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides – the only outward clue to his inner turmoil. “I henceforth pledge my fealty to Rhaenyra, First of her Name. The rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.”

With that, Aemond dropped to his knee, head bowed before his sister. His fists were still clenched.

A knot of fear Lucerys hadn’t even realised he’d been nurturing suddenly unravelled. He allowed himself a sigh of relief. He’d been nearly certain that Aemond would go through with it… but part of him had still expected some kind of mad last stand. A suicidal decision to go out in a blaze of glory, spitting insults at the Queen whilst Daemon drew Dark Sister in anger. It wouldn’t’ve been entirely out of character for Aemond, after all.

Rhaenyra stood gracefully. “Rise, brother.” Aemond did – although he kept his head bowed. Not, Lucerys was sure, as a gesture of respectful deference, but instead because he just couldn’t bear to look at her.

“The war is behind us now,” the Queen proclaimed. “I lost two of my sons to it. Two brothers and a sister as well. Prince Aemond is the last of my siblings, and though we have been the bitterest of enemies, and though he has betrayed me, I would not lose him as well. I accept his pledge of fealty. I wash away the stains of the past with it.”

She nodded to Lucerys, who took Aemond’s arm again. This time Aemond did try to pull away, glaring at Luke, before remembering what they were supposed to do. His shoulders sank in defeat as they turned around to face away from the Iron Throne. Lucerys saw faces he recognised among the curious onlookers. In particular his grandsire, Lord Corlys, who had a pinched expression on his weatherworn face. The gods alone knew what the Sea Snake had made of Lucerys’ choice of mate. Aemond and the usurper had fought Corlys’ wife, Rhaenys, above Rook’s Rest. The battle that’d killed her. Luke looked away, unable to hold the man’s gaze.

“My son and heir, Prince Lucerys, has long been wed to Prince Aemond,” Rhaenyra continued. “Rather than dissolve this marriage, they’ve chosen instead to bind it forever with the bite. The match has my full blessing.”

The murmuring within the Great Hall increased sharply in volume. The nobles openly craned their necks, trying to get a good look at Aemond’s bare throat. He glowered at their scrutiny.

“As you can see, my lords,” Rhaenyra continued, raising her voice above the din. “House Targaryen is united once again! I pledge to you that the kingdom will also be reunited. That once more gold will pour into our ports and cities – and into your coffers too. That your sons and daughters will live without the spectre of death looming over them. I say it to you yet again - the war is over! Let the great peace begin.”

Spontaneously, apparently swept away by the Queen’s speech, a handful of her most loyal supporters dropped to their knees. Others glanced uncertainly at one another, before doing the same. Slowly it rippled through the hall, until everyone was bowing before the Iron Throne. Some stragglers remained defiantly on their feet, before eventually reconsidering the wisdom of making a public stand and bending the knee too.

Lucerys took careful note of who the holdouts were.

“Come on,” he murmured quietly into Aemond’s ear. “You’ve already done it once. Don’t be difficult about it.”

The look Aemond shot him could’ve scorched wood at twenty paces. But he did comply, turning with Lucerys to face the Queen again. Together, they bowed.

On the whole, it’d gone better than Luke had expected. Nobody had drawn a dagger and tried to murder Aemond. Nobody had called him a filthy traitor, or angrily demanded that Lucerys explain himself. The whole ceremony had been a significant win for the Queen. No – it’d been a remarkable win. Aemond Targaryen had bent the knee to her! Had submitted himself. Such a thing would’ve been unthinkable not so very long ago.

Still, judging by the dark expression on Aemond’s face, this was probably as easy as things were going to get.

…

Lucerys hadn’t give much thought to the arrangements from now on. Or any thought at all, if he was honest. Thinking through the consequences of his mad choices hadn’t been his strong suit of late. He knew Aemond couldn’t now be sent away, and that was all that mattered. Until the day Luke returned to his chambers and found them in chaos, one of the rooms being emptied by the servants. Queen Rhaenyra stood serenely amidst the uproar, overseeing it all.

“What’s going on?” Lucerys demanded, mopping the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. He’d been sparring in the training yard.

“I can’t keep Aemond locked away in a single bedchamber forever,” said Rhaenyra. “But nor can I trust him with his own apartments. He needs to be watched. So, I’ve decided he’ll live here with you. He’s your omega, after all, it’s only natural. I’m having a second bed brought in. Some carpenters are seeing to the task now.”

“Aemond will live in my rooms?” Lucerys said, taken aback. “I would’ve liked to have been asked first.”

“And I would’ve liked to have been asked before you bedded him and took him for your mate,” said the Queen archly.

Lucerys ducked his head. He could hardly argue her point. Besides, his mother wasn’t wrong. He and Aemond were a mated pair, it was natural that they live together. When Lucerys woke in the morning, his first impulse was to lay eyes on his mate. Even among the Great Houses, where married couples kept separate apartments, a bonded alpha and omega would always sleep in the same bed. Lucerys didn’t object to this new arrangement as such, he just… he just hadn’t thought about it.

He should’ve. He’d made a mess – admittedly, one he didn’t regret – and then left his mother to tidy it up, like he was still a wayward child. It was time to stop that. Aemond was Luke’s responsibility. His to look after.

“Aemond will be permitted to leave these rooms, but only if he’s with you,” Rhaenyra said, turning to face her son. “Otherwise he remains here, under constant guard. I’m trusting you, Lucerys, do you understand? Daemon thinks I shouldn’t. He thinks you’ve no judgement when it comes to Aemond. But I think I can still trust you. I’m choosing to trust you. Where Aemond goes, who he sees, how he amuses himself – these things will be up to you. I need you to be sensible. Hard-hearted when you must. Can you promise me that?”

“Of course,” Lucerys agreed, eager to prove himself to his mother. To prove she could still rely on him.

“And promise me, if you take Aemond from these rooms, you’ll stay with him. You won’t let him go anywhere without your supervision. You won’t let him see anybody without you being there.”

“Of course, yes, I promise.”

“One last thing Luke,” the Queen said. “When I say who Aemond sees… I forbid him to see his mother.”

“I don’t think he even knows she’s here,” admitted Lucerys. “I believe he thinks she’s on Dragonstone, with the twins.”

“Then don’t tell him any differently. The former queen isn’t in a… a stable frame of mind these days. I worry she’ll only fill Aemond’s head with poison if she gets the chance. And that he’ll only distress her further. I’ve chosen to let Alicent keep on believing that Aemond is missing. That he’s probably dead.”

“Won’t the servants gossip?”

“Her servants and ladies have been given strict instructions to never mention Aemond.” Rhaenyra sighed. “Alicent can’t leave her rooms. She sees nobody else. I know it seems hard. But it’s for the best.”

It did seem hard, not to tell Aemond that his own mother was living within the same walls as him. Lucerys didn’t feel a single shred of sympathy for Queen Alicent, yet it seemed an even harder thing not to tell her that one of her children was still alive, when all the others were dead and gone. But in his heart of hearts… Luke agreed with his mother. No good could come of letting Aemond and Alicent see one another.

They left the servants to their work. Rhaenyra was hearing petitions in the Great Hall that afternoon, and she thought it’d do Lucerys good to see how the business of ruling was done.

Luke had never expected to be king. Gods, he’d barely expected to be Lord of the Tides. It should’ve been Jacaerys first in line for the throne. His older brother had been brave, kind, level-headed. Meant to be a king. But it was Lucerys instead, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he wanted it. Would fight for it. But there was still part of him that felt like a poor substitute for Jace. Would probably always feel that way.

The petitions were long, ponderous, and above all dull. But they were important, even if they weren’t interesting. By rights, as her Hand, it should’ve been Daemon seated at the Queen’s side giving her advice. But Daemon had no patience for this sort of work. He tended to inflame sensitive matters, and he got bored easily and never hid it. Lucerys tried to do better. He listened carefully to each petitioner. Weighed the merits of their requests - and offered his opinion whenever his mother asked for it.

By the time the last petition had been heard, it was late afternoon. Lucerys was satisfied with the day’s work, dull through it’d been. He’d spoken far more than he’d intended to. Occasionally, he feared, more than his mother. He hoped he hadn’t embarrassed her.

He needed to stretch his legs, so he went for a walk through the gardens, and then up along the battlements. What he really wanted was to visit Aemond. But considering the two of them would soon be living practically on top of one another, perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea. Lucerys wasn’t sure how his husband would react to finding out that he was going to be, for all intents and purposes, Lucerys’ personal prisoner.

But what else did Aemond expect? Really, Queen Rhaenyra was being extraordinarily generous towards her traitorous little brother – again. Aemond would be allowed to leave their chambers! Accompanied, but still. It was a huge concession, when just three weeks ago he’d been locked up in the black cells. And now where would he find himself? Free to walk the passageways of the Red Keep, as though all the bloodshed and treachery had never happened.

It was generous. Very generous. But Aemond wouldn’t see it that way. He was almost certainly going to be an ungrateful bastard about everything.

Perhaps a gift would mollify him? That’s what alphas did, after all. They got their omegas gifts. But what would Aemond actually value? Perhaps a book? Jewels were a classic gift, but Lucerys had never seen Aemond wear any gems – except, of course, the sapphire.

The sapphire. That gave Luke an idea. The more he turned it over in his head, the more he liked it. But he needed to consult with Grand Maester Gerardys first.

When Lucerys finally returned to his chambers, he looked into the room that’d been altered to serve as Aemond’s bedchamber. It was lavishly furnished, as befitted a prince. There was a large rug on the floor, imported from across the Narrow Sea, woven with a pattern of dancing dragons.

Tomorrow night, Lucerys’ husband would sleep in here. In that bed. His mate. His omega.

Out of nowhere, Luke felt suddenly dizzied by everything that’d happened. He sat down heavily on the bed, the full weight of recent events crashing into him. Gods – he’d given Aemond Targaryen the bite. Aemond Targaryen! They’d live together for the rest of their lives. Bound by unbreakable chains.

It felt like a dream. Or, depending on who you asked, a nightmare. Lucerys caught his own reflection in the window, staring at his slightly blurred face in the thick glass. He wondered if it was the face of a madman.

…

Early the next morning, Lucerys was summoned to the Tower of the Hand by Daemon. His stepfather was still angry with him and was making little effort to conceal it. Luke seriously doubted he was being called to reconciliation. He found Daemon in the tower’s lavish solar, deep in conversation with Mysaria. Daemon looked pensive, leaning his elbow on the table and pressing his fist to the thin line of his mouth.

“Take a seat,” Daemon instructed by way of a greeting. “Mysaria tells me you know all about the trouble on the streets.”

Lucerys nodded, taking a chair. “I tried to keep an eye on it, during your absence. It’s been getting worse and worse. Why? Has something happened?”

“Just writing on the wall of Reeking Lane,” said Mysaria. “Done in charcoal and easily washed away.”

“What did it say?”

“The usual,” said Mysaria. “It called the Queen a whore.”

“Who’s behind this?” Daemon spat furiously, slamming the open palm of his hand down on the table.

“You think someone’s orchestrating it?” Lucerys said.

“Of course I do!” Daemon growled. “Don’t you? Who do the gold cloaks always find committing these acts? Drunkards. Apprentices. Pox-ridden whores. The kind of fools who’re always desperate for a few silver stags and will do anything – no matter how witless – to get them.”

“The unrest happens every few days,” Mysaria added. “In-between, the streets are peaceful. I’ve seen this city boil over before. It doesn’t happen like that. When the people are angry, the trouble builds. It rises like a flood. It doesn’t ebb and flow like the tide.”

Lucerys knew what Mysaria was referring to - the dark and terrible day of the massacre at the Dragonpit. When Lucerys had been far away from his family when they’d needed him most. If he’d been there, perhaps he would’ve died in place of his brother Joffrey. Perhaps he would’ve saved him. Or maybe they’d both have been killed together. Arrax would almost certainly have been slaughtered with the other dragons in the chaos and smoke.

“The next time trouble breaks out,” Daemon said. “We’ll go out into the city. You and me. We’ll find out who’s behind this, and when we do, I’m going to gut the dog in the middle of the Gods Way. Then I’ll stick their filthy head on a spike to get eaten by the crows.”

Lucerys left the tower. He’d never considered before that someone might’ve been deliberately stirring up the smallfolk. Daemon had suggested the troublemakers were being paid for their treason. Lucerys realised that Mysaria had been hinting at the same thing for a while now. She’d tried to tell him there was something unnatural about the unrest, and Lucerys hadn’t taken her true meaning.

But who? Lucerys was acutely aware that, despite their show of deference just two days ago, plenty of the Queen’s courtiers would gladly betray her. And what about those not in King’s Landing? Powerful lords, busy rebuilding in their own lands. Perhaps one of them had reached out a long hand filled with gold and silver.

Lucerys was so absorbed with these dark thoughts that he walked straight into his chambers without a second thought, totally failing to notice that there were now two guards on his door - or that they shared a loaded glance as he passed them by. So it was quite a shock when Luke strode into his solar to find Aemond sitting there, quite shamelessly reading through the papers of state left out on the table.

“Hello husband,” Aemond said, not glancing up from the parchment he was holding – a report on commerce coming in and out of Lannisport. “How kind of you to spare some time for me.”

“I didn’t realise you were so eager for my company,” said Lucerys, trying to recover himself quickly and not give away that he hadn’t known Aemond would be there.

“I’ve been locked away with nothing to do but stare at the wall for days on end,” Aemond said snidely. “Any company is a relief.”

“Even mine?” Lucerys perched lightly on the edge of the table, right by Aemond’s chair.

Aemond glanced up briefly. “Even yours.”

Lucerys bent down, pressing his cheek to Aemond’s – mingling their scents together. Once again, Aemond grudgingly allowed it. And once again, Lucerys knew not to push his luck. After a moment he sat down in a chair. The scent of apples lingered on his skin, soothing something he hadn’t realised was agitated.

“Do you like your bedchamber?”

“It’s fine.” Aemond had returned to reading the report. Or at least pretending to read it. Lucerys knew for a fact that it was an incredibly dull bit of work. The only interest was in trying to spot all the instances of creative book-keeping by House Lannister.

“And these rooms in general? Do they have everything you require?”

“Yes,” said Aemond dryly. “My prisons grow slightly pleasanter with each fresh move. In a few moons I’ll be locked away in a golden castle.”

Lucerys rolled his eyes. “You should be grateful,” he admonished. “The Queen has shown you great mercy, and you know it.”

“Only because you were foolish enough to mate me.”

“And you were foolish enough to agree, so don’t sit there and bellyache about it.”

Aemond scowled. “Forgive me if I’m not overwhelmed with gratitude. I’ve gone from having the freedom to go anywhere I pleased in the world, to only ever seeing these five blighted rooms.”

“You’ve gone from living in penury as a fugitive traitor to living in great comfort at the Red Keep again,” Lucerys corrected. “And you won’t only ever see these five rooms. I’m not going to leave you here, like a bird in a cage. I’ll take you wherever you want in the palace – within reason. You need only ask.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed. “What do you mean you’ll take me wherever I want?” he demanded. “I… I’ll be able to leave these chambers?”

“Did nobody tell you? Yes. The Queen has granted permission for you to go elsewhere in the Holdfast and gardens, so long as you’re with me. And remain with me.”

Aemond was obviously surprised by this concession. And so he should be. Luke’s mother had been very generous. Too generous, many would say.

“See?” said Lucerys. “I said you should be grateful to the Queen. She’s trusting that you meant that vow of fealty you made. Don’t make an oathbreaker of yourself.”

In truth, all Rhaenyra’s trust had been placed in Lucerys – trusting that he would control his mate. The scornful expression on Aemond’s face suggested that he understood that very well.

Lucerys eyed him across the table. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

Aemond hesitated. “Yes.”

“You can call for any food you want, you know? Whatever you enjoy. If you want wine, sweetmeats, sugared fruits, anything. You don’t need my permission. I’ll make sure the servants know that.”

“How generous,” Aemond muttered resentfully. “I’ll be sure to amuse myself playing make-believe that I’m not your prisoner.”

“You aren’t!” Lucerys retorted sharply, then caught himself. “At least… you aren’t my prisoner. You’re the Queen’s prisoner. And what else did you expect? Don’t be an obstinate child about it, Aemond. Now, what do you want to eat?”

…

They passed two days in a strained domestic stand-off. Aemond allowed Lucerys to scent him every morning, and that was it for physical contact. They ate dinner together, although it proved impossible to persuade Aemond to choose the food. He was only putting himself out, but he nevertheless doggedly rebuffed Luke’s every effort to get him to request a meal of his favourites.

Aemond’s reputation was so terrible and bloody, that Lucerys had forgotten what a snide and petty bastard he could be. He’d last seen this side of Aemond a lifetime ago, making his malicious toast across the feasting table. Lucerys had absolutely no idea how to improve his mood, so he just endured it. He hoped Aemond would eventually start to soften - or get bored. It was worth it, to see him in the morning, hair mussed and dressed in a plain nightshirt. And last thing at night, lit by candlelight, before they retired to their separate beds.

On the third day, Lucerys took the plunge and offered Aemond the chance to leave their rooms.

“I was planning to shoot in the gardens this afternoon,” he announced over breakfast. “You’re welcome to join me.”

Lucerys normally practiced the bow in the yard. But the gardens were a better idea if Aemond was going to be there. The two of them would have more privacy, and truthfully, Lucerys wasn’t comfortable with the idea of his mate being anywhere near the Queen’s knights. Many of them had lost friends and kin in the war. Doubtless some of them blamed Aemond. Possibly even correctly. He’d killed so many people, after all.

“Anything’s better than going out of my mind in here,” Aemond muttered. Lucerys supposed that counted as accepting the invitation.

Two guards followed at a discreet distance. It seemed the Queen wasn’t relying entirely on her son to keep his husband in line. It was a strange experience, walking the passageways of the Red Keep with Aemond at his side. Everyone they passed – nobles, clerks, maesters – stared at them curiously. Even the servants gawped before remembering themselves and dropping their eyes.

Aemond looked around constantly, as though he didn’t recognise his old home. But there must’ve been many changes. After the Blacks had taken the Keep, the Queen had removed – discreetly – all the symbols of the Faith, replacing them with the dragon motifs of her youth.

“If you ever want to go the sept to pray, you need only ask,” Lucerys said, suddenly remembering the devoutness of Aemond’s mother. “If I’m free, I’ll take you there whenever you want.”

“What care have I for the gods?” Aemond replied bitterly.

Lucerys was taken aback. So, Aemond had lost his faith then. When? Presumably some time amidst the war’s constant shower of blood, filth, and misery. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising. Lucerys also struggled to feel anything when he listened to the dull preaching of the septons. If the gods existed, then they’d forsaken Westeros.

There was a single archery butt set up in the gardens, just as Lucerys had ordered. It was a nice day. Warm without being stifling, and not a single cloud in the sky. Everything in the garden was lush and green. It cheered Lucerys’ soul. He’d brought along his own bow, a beautiful thing, with a snarling dragon’s head carved into the upper limb. It’d been a gift from his mother on his last name-day.

Lucerys readied himself to shoot, keenly aware of Aemond watching, and no doubt judging every move Luke made. Pathetically, he was keen to put on a decent showing. An alpha showing off to impress their omega – what a sorry cliché he’d become.

Don’t over think. Draw, aim, loose.

Lucerys loosed his first arrow. It didn’t land dead centre, but it was a close thing. Lucerys smothered the urge to look over at Aemond to make sure he’d seen. Gods this was embarrassing. Lucerys had won his spurs in battle many times over – he didn’t need to impress Aemond. He wasn’t sure it was even possible to impress him.

The second arrow flew true as well. And those that came after it.

“You’re a good shot,” Aemond remarked as Lucerys pulled the arrows from the target, ready to shoot again. “You favour the bow?”

“Not really,” Lucerys said, trying not to visibly preen at the praise. “I prefer the sword.”

“Do you?” said Aemond. He smirked. “Perhaps we’ll have to see which of us is the better swordsman one day.”

Lucerys snorted. “It’s you, as you well know.”

“Do you have so little faith in your abilities?”

“I’ve plenty of faith in myself,” said Lucerys, pulling back the bowstring and sighting down the arrow’s shaft. He let it fly, and it thudded into the target. “I’m a good swordsman. I’d back myself against most. But we both know you’re better.”

Aemond’s smirk dipped, very briefly turning into a real smile. It seemed Lucerys wasn’t the only one preening a little.

They carried on in surprisingly companionable silence as Lucerys shot volley after volley, until a familiar ache seeped into the muscles of his arms. Despite what Luke had expected, Aemond didn’t make any pointed remarks. He just watched quietly. Perhaps he was enjoying being outside again, after so long locked away. The guards shadowing them lurked behind a nearby alder tree, trying to be unobtrusive.

“How’s your skill with the bow?” Lucerys asked off-hand, as he pulled free his latest half-dozen arrows. “Are you a good shot?”

Abruptly the mood soured. Aemond’s expression went cold. “I can’t shoot,” he said, words dripping with venom. “How am I to aim? I’ve just the one eye, as you should know better than anyone.”

Lucerys froze, inwardly cursing himself. Of course. Of course. What a stupid question. What a stupid fucking question. He’d been too carried away by the pleasantness of the moment and had forgotten himself. Had forgotten just how careful he needed to be with his words.

“I’m sorry, that was a foolish thing to say,” he tried, hoping to smooth things over quickly. But it was far too late. Aemond’s tolerant mood was over. The look he now turned on Lucerys was hateful.

“I’m tired of this,” Aemond snapped. “I want to go back. And as I’ve been made your lapdog on a short leash, I need you to escort me.”

They returned to Lucerys’ apartments in a sullen silence. Aemond was in a foul temper now. One glance at him was enough to see it.

The beating heart of the animosity between them, since well before the war, was Aemond’s lost eye. From that bitter, bloody seed a great forest of hatred had sprung. Luke remembered vividly, even all these years later, being at Storm's End with Aemond. On the brink of war, though neither of them had fully comprehended it yet. Aemond had demanded Lucerys cut out one of his own eyes in retribution. That’d been the moment Lucerys had finally fully understood just how much Aemond – by then already his husband – hated him for what he’d done when they’d both been children. For what he’d taken with the little knife.

It was the worst topic Luke could have blundered into, perhaps save for Aemond’s dead siblings.

When they arrived back at their rooms, Aemond immediately made to disappear into his bedchamber. Lucerys, who wanted badly to try and salvage what’d been a remarkably amicable afternoon up until the sour end, impulsively grabbed him by the arm.

“Get your hands off me!” Aemond snarled, smacking him away.

“Aemond, will you listen to me?” Lucerys demanded. “We have to live together! Do you want us to argue every single gods-damned time we’re alone? Is that what you want?”

“I don’t want any of this!”

“Well, it’s what you’ve got! It’s what both of us have got! I’m not spending my entire life walking on eggshells around you, waiting for you to throw a fit about some clumsy remark.”

“Don’t you dare try and paint me as a petulant child!” Aemond yelled, punching his fist down hard onto the table, making the candlesticks and ornaments rattle. “I’m a prisoner here! Do you know whose rooms these were, before they were yours? They were Helaena’s! How badly did your mother treat her, that she threw herself from the window rather than live another day?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Lucerys cried, aghast. “I don’t know why Helaena killed herself. I’m very sorry that she did. But it wasn’t because of ill-treatment!”

“You snatched her children away from her! You let one of them die! And you tell me she wasn’t ill-treated?”

“We didn’t snatch her children! Your own loyalists smuggled them out of the Keep! Maelor died with them, not us!”

“Is that what Rhaenyra told you?” Aemond said scornfully.

“Because it’s the truth! Aemond, if you want to be anything other than miserable for the rest of your days, you’re going to have to make your peace! With the Queen! With me!”

“You want me to make peace?” Aemond sneered. “When I’m to spend those days as what? An ugly ornament? A war trophy for your mother to trot out before the court?”

“No,” Lucerys ground out, his patience wearing thin. “As my husband. As my mate.”

“As your prisoner!”

“I remind you that you chose this,” Lucerys retorted angrily. “You chose it, Aemond! I didn’t twist your arm behind your back! I didn’t pin you down and force it on you! You chose it!”

“It wasn’t a choice!”

“Of course it was! You might not have liked your options, but it was a choice. That’s more than our brothers got! What choice did they have? None! They just died! You should be grateful.”

“Grateful?” Aemond replied incredulously. “You think I should be grateful? It was this or be locked away to rot!”

“It was more than that,” insisted Lucerys. “I remember how you were in bed when you took the bite. I remember it very well. You weren’t reluctant.”

Aemond looked outraged. “What would you know of it?” he hissed.

“I’ve fucked enough omegas to know when they’re enjoying themselves and when they’re faking it to flatter an alpha’s pride. You enjoyed yourself.”

Aemond was truly furious now. “Is that what you think of me?” he snarled. “A whore who sold himself in exchange for a comfortable life? So wanton and filthy that I squirmed on your knot as I betrayed my family?”

“Of course not!” Lucerys denied, appalled. Where the hells had Aemond gotten the idea Luke thought any of that?

“Well you should!” Aemond raved. “Because that’s the truth of it! That’s exactly the truth of it!” His breath was suddenly coming short and shallow. Luke stepped forward, alarmed. He noticed that Aemond’s hands were shaking.

“Better that I had drowned in the Gods Eye!” Aemond continued ranting. His hysteria was rapidly ramping up still further. Lucerys needed to find a way to stop it. “I’ve made a whore of myself! I’ve betrayed my family at the last!”

“Aemond, calm down.”

Aemond didn’t seem to hear him. “The guards must whisper it among themselves! The nobles too! The people! Aemond Targaryen, all those battles he fought – but when he finally lost, what did he do? Did he die with honour? No! He spread his legs and bared his neck! Just another omega after all! Begged for mercy on his fucking back!”

Lucerys grabbed Aemond by the shoulder and pulled him close. At once Aemond lashed out, but Luke was ready. He caught Aemond’s fist. With his other hand he gripped the curve of Aemond’s neck, pressing down hard over the still-healing scar of the bite. He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, meeting Aemond’s wild eye with a hard stare.

“Calm. Down.” Lucerys poured every bit of authority he could muster into his voice.

Aemond’s violet eye blazed – then abruptly dropped. He went limp, as though sudden exhaustion had seized him. Lucerys wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him steady.

“Calm down,” Lucerys repeated more softly. “Nobody thinks any of that. And if they do, if they so much as breathe a word of that nonsense, I’ll have them flogged.”

Aemond scowled half-heartedly. “My alpha will defend my honour, is that it?” he mumbled bitterly.

“Yes.” Lucerys relaxed his grip on Aemond’s neck – but didn’t move his hand. His thumb brushed lightly over the bite, gentle and soothing.

“I don’t need to be defended.” Aemond’s eye slipped closed. His manic fury had passed, and now he was just tired and melancholy. “Not by anyone. Certainly not by you.”

Lucerys sighed. “Do you honestly want both of us to be unhappy forever? I don’t. You did choose this. But I chose it too. And I don’t regret it.”

“You’re mad then,” muttered Aemond, eye still closed.

“And so are you. It runs in our blood, does it not?”

Aemond opened his eye again, having calmed all the way down. Lucerys didn’t want to let go of him, but any second now, Aemond was going to shove him off. Luke decided to make the first move. He kissed Aemond quickly but sweetly on the mouth, then stepped away. He was too swift about it for his mate to have any chance to react badly.

“We can be happy,” Lucerys declared. “I believe that. I don’t need you to believe it too. Not yet.”

Aemond just stood there warily. Lucerys turned and headed towards his bedchamber. There was a basin of water in there, and he wanted to splash some on his face and change his shirt.

“All these omegas you’ve fucked,” Aemond’s voice made him falter. “Who were they?”

“Who was the alpha who fucked you, my husband?” Lucerys didn’t bother waiting for an answer. He knew he wouldn’t get one.

…

Time passed. Every morning Lucerys breakfasted with Aemond. They even managed to get through most meals without arguing. Lucerys began bringing Aemond books. Histories, mythologies – even some dull religious tracts. They were something for Aemond to occupy himself with. He never said thank you, never even acknowledged the gesture, but he did read the books.

If Aemond was in a good mood after Luke returned in the afternoon, they’d go walking. These trips through the palace grounds were stilted and awkward, and usually made in total silence. Lucerys wanted to talk to Aemond - but struggled to think of anything that he could be absolutely certain wouldn’t start a fight. A couple of guards always trailed behind them. Every now and then Aemond would look over his shoulder at them contemptuously.

After a little more than a fortnight of this routine, they stood together one evening atop the ramparts at the rear of the Red Keep. The wall here offered an unsurpassed view across the slowly darkening sea to the east.

“You’ve the last dragon in the kingdom,” Aemond suddenly said out of nowhere, as they watched the night rolling in. “The only one large enough to ride, at least. Where’s Arrax? The Dragonpit is a ruin. Is he across the Bay, on Dragonstone?”

Lucerys shook his head. “There’s a cave further along the shore. Arrax has made a den there. Further away than I’d like, if I’m honest. But a lot closer than Dragonstone.”

Aemond nodded, never taking his eye off the sea. “I felt it, the moment Vhagar died,” he added a moment or two later. “When her great heart stopped. Or perhaps I just imagined it.”

“What did it feel like?” Lucerys didn’t think Aemond had imagined it. His mother had once started to say something very similar, about having known the instant Syrax had died. She’d stopped herself in the middle of the sentence, tears in her eyes. The subject had never come up again.

“Like having your soul torn at.”

They returned to their rooms to eat dinner. Lucerys had turned down three invitations to dine with the Queen over the past fortnight. It was important to him that Aemond didn’t feel like a possession – to be picked up or put back down at Luke’s whim. It was probably a hopeless cause, but Lucerys tried anyway.

It was odd, lying in bed at night, knowing Aemond was just two doors away. More than once, Luke had felt the urge to get up and sneak into his husband’s bedchamber. Not to do anything untoward. Just to look at him asleep. It was only knowing just how badly Aemond would react if he woke up to find Lucerys lurking there that stopped him. It wasn’t natural! They should sleep in the same bed! That’s what bonded alphas and omegas did.

Lucerys was woken that night by a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He jolted upright, finding a figure leaning over him, holding a candle. For a second all Luke saw was the fine silver hair, and he thought it was Aemond. Then his eyes adjusted to the candlelight, and he realised it was actually Daemon.

“Trouble in the city. Dress yourself and meet me by the western gate.”

Daemon departed, leaving Lucerys to pull himself together and drag on some clothes. He chose the plainest things he had to hand. Calfskin breeches and a black tunic. The guards on his door made no comment as he slipped out and disappeared silently into the darkened Keep.

Daemon was waiting by the western gate, wearing a heavy cloak made from undyed wood. Something a peasant might own. He handed over another just like it, and a sword belt. In the scabbard was a narrow blade, the sort of weapon easily concealed beneath a cloak. Waiting with Daemon was a shaven-headed man, with beady eyes and a scar across his chin. One of Mysaria’s spies, no doubt. Five other men Lucerys did recognise were there too – gold cloaks, loyal to Daemon. They were also dressed like the smallfolk.

“Tell Prince Lucerys what you told me,” Daemon instructed the stranger.

“A gang of drunks in Flea Bottom,” said the bald, scarred man. “Out of their wits on ale and crying treason to anyone stupid enough to listen.”

“Let’s go see for ourselves, shall we?” growled Daemon, pulling up the hood of his cloak to conceal his pale hair. “Stay sharp, Luke. There’ll be danger where we’re going.”

Most of King’s Landing was abed, as all decent folk were this far past nightfall. The eight of them moved with quiet purpose, led by Daemon, who walked quickly despite his limp. The closer they got to Flea Bottom, the narrower and more stinking the streets became. And the more people they met - whores, thieves, and drunks. They made their way around the curve of Rhaenys’ Hill, and the streets turned to alleys and a foul smell became a constant companion. They’d arrived in the poorest part of the city. The filthy taverns were still open, serving anyone with coin to pay. A boy waited for them, lurking in the shadows of a hovel.

“Where did they go?” Mysaria’s man asked the child.

“Most of them are down at Seven Eels,” the boy said. “But the loudest one, the fat one… he went the other way. He’s in the Black Dragon.”

“Good work,” the stranger muttered. He flicked the lad a silver stag, and at once the boy turned to disappear off into the warren of alleyways. But he found himself snagged by Daemon, who shot out an arm and grabbed the child by the ragged collar.

“Wait,” said Daemon. “We should split up. We’ll go to Seven Eels. You boy! You take my friend here – ” with this he pointed to Lucerys. “ – take him to the Black Dragon. There’s another coin in it for you.”

They split up. Daemon, Mysaria’s spy, and two of the gold cloaks went one way. Lucerys and the three remaining guards went the other, following the boy.

Lucerys had never been to Flea Bottom before and had no idea where he was going. He wasn’t a fool. He knew that while many parts of the city were magnificent, many other parts were squalid. But it was different to see it for himself. It was a different world, here in the slums. Lucerys had seen filth and horrors enough for a lifetime, on the battlefield, but Flea Bottom still shocked him. People lived their entire lives in these shacks and hovels, over fetid sewers. Figures lay sprawled in the gutter – some drunk, others simply with no better place to lay their heads. One unconscious man was being openly robbed by a small child, who looked around with fearful eyes as she pinched the coppers from his torn purse.

The Black Dragon was busy, the sound of drunken chatter spilling through the open shutters. A flaming torch illuminated a rough daubing of Balerion the Black Dread painted onto the seedy tavern’s whitewashed walls. The child who’d led them there held out his small hand expectantly. To his relief, Lucerys discovered there was also a purse of money attached to the sword belt Daemon had given him.

He took out a silver coin, as the boy had been promised. But the sight of the lad – his bare feet, dirty face and thin limbs – made Luke pause. He felt a sudden pang of compassion for the street urchin. The great unfairness of life was a brutal thing to behold.

Lucerys put the stag back in his purse and took out a golden dragon instead. The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of it glimmering in the weak torchlight.

“Keep that away from prying eyes,” Lucerys advised the lad, who nodded mutely. As soon at the gold coin was in his hand, he turned and disappeared into the night like a ghost.

The air inside the drinking hole was thick with smoke from a crackling firepit, and fugged of bad ale. Most of the patrons were deep in their drink. Two were sleeping beneath the rough tables. Another groped a tired looking alemaid, who pinched him sharply on the arm. The drunkard swore and took a wild swing at her – and missed. Tattered whores, betas and omegas, moved from table to table.

A few heads turned towards Luke, but overall, nobody paid him or his companions any mind. It was easy enough to spot the man they were searching for. The loud, fat one – that’s what the urchin had said. And there he was. No mistaking the bastard. He had the attention of most of the room.

“… ruled over by a WOMAN!” the man blared, swinging his tankard around so the contents spilled onto the dirty rushes. “The world’s gone mad! Women ain’t fit for it, even the alphas! More bark than bite, the lot of ‘em! Can’t control themselves!”

Another alemaid, her arm around the girl who’d dodged the lecherous drunk, fixed the ranting man with a cold stare. Lucerys could guess her caste. She was wearing patched green leggings beneath a skirt that was little more than a scrap of fabric tied about her waist. Yes, she was an alpha alright.

“Bloody Maegor with teats!” the fat man spat, continuing his tirade. “Killed our sweet Queen Helaena! A rotten whore, that’s what she is. Mark my words, her sire, good King Viserys, he’s spinning in his grave!”

“They burned him!” someone called out, to much laughter.

The gold cloaks eyed Lucerys, clearly expecting orders to seize the raving man. He shook his head. He wanted to hear everything the wretched shit had to say, no matter how obscene. He needed to know what was being said on the streets.

“And Prince Lucerys!” the merry traitor cried out, still gesturing about the tavern with his cup of ale. Even more of it sloshed onto the floor. “Are we truly to have a bastard sitting on the throne? Has it really come to that, good folk?! For shame! Surely the gods spit on our poor kingdom!”

Lucerys slid two groats across the bar-top to the landlord, a little man with a pox-scarred face. He pushed four tankards of murky brown ale back. Luke took a sip and fought not to spit it back out. It was foul.

The raving man was just a couple of steps behind him now, still preaching. The gold cloaks had likely expected Luke to lose his temper when the cur had called him a bastard. But he was used to that old jibe. His own husband had taunted him with it often enough.

“I tell you my friends, it was a dark day when Queen Rhaenyra won the war! Now we have a tyrant with her little boot on our necks! A whore! A murderer! Mother of bastard children! A liar too! She calls herself a beta, but what really lurks between the fragranced folds of that royal cunt? A clit or a cock?”

Luke ground his teeth, his hand tightening angrily around the tankard. He felt the fury rising inside of him and fought to control himself.

“And now her bastard son has defiled good Prince Aemond!” the soak blabbered on. “Forced the bite on him! The noble brother of King Aegon, our good and just regent, raped by some – ”

In one lightning-fast motion, Lucerys punched the round idiot square in his scarlet face. He felt the traitorous shit’s nose break beneath his knuckles. Blood spurted down the man’s face. Lucerys reached beneath his cloak and drew his sword. Grabbing the fat man by the hair, he pressed the cold steel to his gurgling throat.

“You should watch your words, cur,” he hissed, letting the blade cut just a little into the man’s flesh. “That’s treason you’re speaking!”

Lucerys turned to the rest of the tavern. They were watching in shocked silence. Some looked amused, others startled. A handful of the least drunk - or perhaps cleverer – among them were already slipping quietly out the door.

“Are you all fools?” Lucerys shouted. “This man was crying vile treachery against Queen Rhaenyra, and you all just sat there and listened? The gold cloaks could have the necks of every last one of you for it! Haven’t you seen the heads above the gates! Rotting with the flies? Or would you prefer to be fed to the prince’s dragon? Or hung from the walls, so the crows can pick at your guts? Idiots! All of you! Do you really think Prince Daemon doesn’t have spies everywhere?”

Many of the grubby faces, despite their drunkenness, went pale. The mood in the tavern shifted rapidly, from raucous amusement to tangible fear. Men staggered to their feet.

“Get out!” snapped the pockmarked landlord suddenly. “Everyone! Get out! He’s right – I’m not having the fucking gold cloaks in here! Go home to your mates and your children! GET FUCKING OUT!”

The alehouse emptied in a chaotic scramble, the patrons fleeing from the imaginary raid of the gold cloaks – who’d been standing in their midst the entire time. As they disappeared into the night, the three guards and Lucerys hauled their fat prisoner out onto the street. The whoreson stank like a brewery. The fool tried to escape, but was far too drunk to have any hope of managing it. He could barely stand, dazed by both ale and Lucerys’ nose-breaking punch.

The light of the single torch burning above the Black Dragon’s door flickered, making the blood pouring down the traitor’s face look black. The wretch’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees, puking up the contents of his stomach. Lucerys hissed in disgust and took a step backwards.

“Release me,” the drunk slurred. “You rotting bastards! Release me…”

“Luke!” Daemon called out. Lucerys looked over his shoulder and saw his stepfather striding out of the night, Mysaria’s man and two guards trailing after him.

“We lost our quarry,” Daemon said. “But I see you didn’t lose yours. I take it this snared rabbit is our loud, fat friend?”

“I heard him with my own ears,” Lucerys said coldly. “Bawling his poison to the whole tavern.”

“I… I didn’t,” the man protested lamely, cupping his broken nose in a vain effort to stop the bleeding. “He lies!”

Daemon stood over the traitorous dog. Slowly he reached up and lowered his hood. Even in the smoky light, his silver hair was unmistakable.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked the prisoner.

The man shook his head mutely.

“I’m Prince Daemon Targaryen. And I promise, you son of a bitch, you’ll tell me everything I want to know. You’ll tell me here and now, or you’ll tell me on the rack. Which is it going to be?”

“I’ll tell you anything you want, my prince!” the man babbled. “Gods, please don’t rack me!” He was an alpha, Lucerys realised. His scent had been hidden beneath the stink of ale, but now it was so violently bitter with fear that it rose above the fug of rat-shit beer.

“What was he saying?” Daemon pushed his cloak over his shoulder and rested his hand on the exposed hilt of his sword, fingers tapping restlessly against the pommel. The man on the ground whimpered in terror.

“He called the Queen a whore,” Luke said angrily. “And he called me a bastard.”

The prisoner’s head snapped around to stare at Lucerys with wide, horrified eyes. The blood was still pouring from the cur’s cracked nose. It was broken so crooked that, if the coward hadn’t been numbed by drink and panic, he’d surely have been howling in pain.

“And why did you say these treasonous things, hmm?” Daemon asked in a threatening drawl.

“I was paid!” the man cried pathetically. “Two silver moons! I… I was told I could have three more after it was done! He gave all of us money!”

“Paid by who?”

“I… I don’t know! He was dressed in black! He wore a hood! I think he was Dornish!”

“Who was he?” Daemon’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of Dark Sister.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” the man wailed. “Please my prince! Mercy! I was desperate for the money! I beg your forgiveness! I beg you!”

Dimly, Lucerys became aware of shouting in the distance. He lifted his head, trying to work out which direction the noise was coming from. A sudden sense of unease gripped him.

“And where did you meet this man who bribed you to spread treason?” Daemon growled.

“In the White Horse!”

“A wink-sink below the Street of Flour,” Mysaria’s shaven-headed spy informed them.

Those cries in the distance were getting louder. Daemon could hear them now too. He lifted his head and scented the air.

“Do you smell smoke?” he said, frowning.

Lucerys could smell smoke. Something was on fire, not very far away. He could see a faint glow in the air now too.

“This dog has nothing more to tell us,” Daemon announced abruptly. He drew his sword. The Valyrian steel glinted.

“Please! Please!” the traitor begged hysterically, before all his words ceased forever. Daemon drove Dark Sister straight through the man’s craven heart. Luke watched the body slump to the ground and felt nothing.

“Come on,” said Daemon, wiping the blade clean on the edge of his cloak, then sliding it back into its scabbard. “I want to find out what the hells is going on.”

They hurried through the dank streets of Flea Bottom, towards the smell of smoke. The bitter stink grew stronger, just as the screams of terror grew louder.

Soon enough, Lucerys saw a ramshackle hovel on fire. The flames burned fiercely, consuming the dry wattle like kindling. Already a crowd had formed to try and put the fire out. Men and women, still in their dirty nightshirts, swarmed around and threw buckets of well water over the blaze. The bell of a nearby sept rang to wake the sleeping residents of Flea Bottom, calling them to the fight to save their homes.

“Quick!” yelled Daemon. “Call the gods-damned night watch to help! If this spreads, the whole city is fucked!”

The next half-hour was chaos. Lucerys found himself sprinting between one of Flea Bottom’s polluted wells and the fire, carrying as much water as he could in a leaky bucket. His smoke-filled lungs burned, but he kept going as he coughed and gasped for air. The madness, the screams, the panic… it reminded Lucerys viscerally of the battlefield.

Daemon directed the crowd, voice carrying above the din. Whether the people obeyed because they saw his pale hair and realised who he must be, or because of his commanding aura, Luke couldn’t say. But they did obey. The nightwatchmen arrived and were put to work ferrying well water. Slowly but surely, the fire weakened until it was nothing more than damp wood and smouldering embers. The hovel had been completely destroyed, but the homes on either side had been saved. Lucerys slumped back against a wall and fell into a coughing fit.

“Are you well, my prince?” one of the gold cloaks asked, clasping him by the shoulder. He’d stuck like a barnacle to Lucerys’ side throughout the firefight, afraid of losing the heir to the throne amidst all the havoc. Lucerys nodded. His chest cleared and he took in a deep breath of blissfully clean air. Gods – he could taste the soot in his mouth. It was smeared across his face too.

A ragged cheer went up. Daemon – perhaps sensing a golden opportunity, or perhaps never able to resist showboating – stood atop a barrel and addressed them.

“Good people of King’s Landing!” he pronounced, spreading his arms wide. “Tonight I – Prince Daemon Targaryen! – fought alongside you to save your homes from the flames. And Prince Lucerys too! See? There he stands! Queen Rhaenyra’s own son! You fought the fire bravely, good folk. And for that, you shall be rewarded!”

Daemon took his purse and started distributing the contents among the people, who surged towards him. Lucerys, not sure if this was wise at all, scrambled for his own purse and did the same. The gold cloaks did their best to stop the people from swamping the two princes. Still, frantic hands brushed against Luke’s hair, his arms, his cloak – any part of him they could reach. They didn’t just want his money, he realised with a jolt. They also wanted to touch him.

Soon there was no coin left. The nightwatchmen and gold cloaks escorted Lucerys and Daemon out of Flea Bottom, pushing aggressively through the smallfolk.

It was the dead of night, and as they left the slum behind the streets became eerily quiet and empty. News of the fire wouldn’t spread until morning.

“Do you think the fire was connected to the man handing out coin in this wine-sink?” Lucerys asked.

“Perhaps,” said Daemon. He was limping badly now, dragging the foot of his injured leg on the ground. “But perhaps not. Kitchen fires spit. Children knock over candles. I wish we could get our hands on this bastard in black. But at least we know someone is paying to spread treasonous filth. Damn it all – I’d hoped for more out of tonight.”

“The drunk said he thought the man was Dornish,” said Lucerys.

“He could be,” said Daemon. “But don’t get too hung up on that, Luke. Any man with dark hair and an accent is Dornish to these people. He might’ve been from across the Narrow Sea. Seven hells, he might’ve been from the fucking North even.”

They arrived back at the Red Keep.

“We need to tell my mother,” Lucerys insisted.

“There’s nothing she can do about it now,” said Daemon. “Let her sleep – she needs her rest. I’ll tell her in the morning. Gods – my leg is killing me. Be sure to thank your prick of a husband for it on my behalf.”

They parted ways. Lucerys went back to his rooms. Compared to when he’d left them, he was in a terrible state. He stank of smoke, there was a thick smearing of soot across his brow, and his clothes were damp with foul well water. The guards eyed him curiously but didn’t dare comment.

Luke had expected to find his rooms in darkness. He’d intended to find his way back to his bed by touch alone, too eager for sleep to bother summoning a servant to light the wicks. But when he entered the solar, the candles were already burning. Aemond was awake, sitting in a chair and looking pensive. He was dressed in his nightshirt and his long hair hung loosely about his shoulders. Despite being dressed for sleep, he still had the eyepatch on.

“Why’re you up?” Lucerys asked, surprised.

“I heard you leave,” said Aemond, looking Lucerys up and down, taking in the state of him with an incredulous expression. “The only thing that happens in the middle of the night is trouble. Where’ve you been? Why do you stink of smoke?”

“I’ve been to Flea Bottom.”

“You’ve been to Flea Bottom. In the middle of the night. And… are you wet?”

“I need wine.” Lucerys sank heavily into a chair. His legs ached. He stretched them out beneath the table, trying to ease the pain in his cramping muscles. “Is the hour too late to call for wine?”

“Aegon used to call for wine whenever he felt like it, night or day,” said Aemond.

A servant brought wine. Lucerys poured himself a goblet and sank half straight down his throat. Across the table Aemond had grown so impatient for answers he’d started glaring.

Truthfully, Lucerys wasn’t sure if telling him was a good idea. But it couldn’t be kept secret forever, especially if the trouble got worse. Besides, how else was he going to explain his late-night visit to the slums? He could refuse to explain at all… but no. That would infuriate Aemond, just when they’d finally found a way to stop being at each other’s throats constantly.

“There was a fire in Flea Bottom.” Luke felt the acrid smoke hit the back of his throat again and coughed until it cleared. “Some hovel was alight. If it’d spread, then a large part of the city might’ve burned down. I was close by, and so was Daemon. We stopped to help.”

“You stopped to help,” Aemond said in disbelief. “Two princes helped put out a fire in the filthiest slum in all King’s Landing.”

Lucerys shrugged and drank some more wine. After that terrible ale in the tavern, it tasted like nectar. “What would you have done? Let it burn?”

“I would’ve let the guard deal with it! By the gods, you’re filthy, and you stink like a badly smoked ham, Lucerys.”

“I did the right thing,” Lucerys declared confidently. “What does it matter if I’m filthy, anyway? There’s nobody in my bed to complain about it. I’ll bathe tomorrow.”

“It matters because it’s beneath you.”

“Is it?” said Lucerys. “How the hells is helping the smallfolk beneath me? I’d be a poor prince indeed if I let half the city burn to the ground because I thought I was too good to pick up a bucket. A ruler is supposed to care for the people!”

“From afar!” Aemond argued. “Through wise rule! Not… by the gods, what were you doing? Throwing water? Is that why you’re so wet?”

“I’m not that wet,” Lucerys insisted. He was a little damp, that was all. “And what wise rule have the people enjoyed these last years? What benefit has our bloodshed brought them – apart from the deaths of their kinfolk?”

“You know what they used to call Daemon, don’t you?” said Aemond with a sneer. “Lord Flea Bottom. The line between the common touch and the gutter is a thin one. The blood the dragon is set apart.”

“Why though?” demanded Lucerys.

“Because it loses something otherwise! Aegon was just as bad. He was always drunk in some brothel somewhere, making a show of himself.”

“Don’t compare us,” Lucerys warned. “Your brother’s drunken rutting and what I did tonight are not the same. Don’t lecture me, Aemond. Besides, are these really your words? Or are they just what Otto Hightower taught you to parrot?”

“Who are you to lecture me about Aegon’s rutting?” Aemond said snidely. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about these hordes of omegas you’ve fucked.”

“I have not fucked hordes of omegas!” Lucerys exclaimed in exasperation. Seven hells, how had the conversation suddenly steered itself around to this?

Aemond’s eye narrowed. “What were you doing in Flea Bottom anyway?”

Lucerys hesitated. By the Seven, he really shouldn’t tell Aemond any of this, but… what harm could it do? Aemond saw nobody without Luke’s permission.

“There’s been unrest on the streets of late. It’s been going on for a few moons.”

“Riots?” Aemond leaned forward in his chair, doubtless thinking of the uprising that’d so nearly toppled Rhaenyra from the throne. That’d destroyed the Dragonpit and killed Joffrey.

“Nothing like that,” Lucerys was quick to correct him. “Just… writing on the walls. Some brawling. Idiots spouting treason in the wine-sinks and low taverns. Always in the poorest quarters of the city.”

“Treason?” said Aemond. Interest gleamed in his single eye. “What kind of treason?”

Lucerys sighed. He didn’t want to answer, but Aemond would only think the worst if he didn’t. “Baseless slurs about the Queen. And me.”

A faintly malicious expression passed across Aemond’s face. “What exactly are they saying?”

“I’m not going to tell you, Aemond,” Lucerys said irritably, standing up. He was suddenly tired of talking with his husband. “Whatever sick pleasure you’re hoping to get from this conversation, you can forget about it.”

“Is Rhaenyra’s position not as secure as I thought?” Aemond rose too, following after Lucerys. “Or are you the problem?”

“Go to bed, Aemond. We’re done talking.”

“What do they say about you? What do they say, Lord Strong?”

“I said go to bed,” Luke snapped, whirling around to fix his mate with a hard glare. “For the love of the gods Aemond, just do as you’re told for once.”

“What do they say of you, Lucerys?” Aemond goaded spitefully. “Do they speak the truth that cost me my eye? That you’re Harwin Strong’s bastard? With no right to inherit a damned thing?”

Lucerys grabbed Aemond by the collar. Only then did he remember that Aemond was only wearing his nightshirt. The collar immediately pulled wide, exposing most of Aemond’s collarbone and shoulder. The bite shone as a silvery scar deep in the crook of his neck. The sight of it, and all that exposed, bone-white skin, did nothing to soothe Lucerys. It only made him angrier.

“I might be a bastard,” he hissed, right in Aemond’s face. “But from where I’m standing, I’m more a Targaryen than you. More a Targaryen than my mother, than Daemon, than either of my brothers. And do you know why? Because I have what none of you do – I have a dragon. And whether you want to admit it or not, that is what makes us special. That is what makes us fit to rule. All those lords of old didn’t bend the knee to the Conqueror because they were cowed by his mystical fucking Valyrian blood. They bent the knee because of the Black Dread.”

Aemond tried to pull free, but Lucerys refused to release him. Dimly he was aware that, if Aemond had really wanted to get away, then Luke probably wouldn’t’ve been able to stop him.

“You might have the silver hair. Your Valyrian might be better than mine. You might be the spitting image of Aegon the Conqueror for all I know. But I have the dragon. I’m the last dragon-rider in this whole kingdom. And so, I think that makes me more old Aegon’s heir than any of the rest of you. I think that gives me every right to inherit the Iron Throne. And if I have to win it the way the Conqueror did, I will.”

Aemond just stared as Luke finished his passionate, angry tirade, the pupil of his lone eye blown wide. For a moment Lucerys thought his husband was absolutely furious. Surely Aemond was about to descend into a rage. Spit out something vicious and cruel beyond measure.

Then Lucerys caught the scent of him. At once it drew him a couple of inches closer, as if pulled by invisible and irresistible strings. Aemond wasn’t angry. He was aroused.

Lucerys breathed the scent in deeply. His own simmering fury spiked… then evaporated entirely. Swept away and swiftly replaced by something every bit as hot and desperate. Unable to resist it – not wanting to resist it – he grabbed Aemond by the long curtain of his beautiful hair and kissed him hard. Just as feverishly, his mad shit of a husband grabbed onto him and kissed back.

Chapter Text

Aemond was woken by Lucerys shifting around in bed. The heavy curtains had been left open, and the morning sunlight streamed in through the window. The glare struck Lucerys full in the face. He groaned grumpily, rolled over and shoved his face into Aemond’s bare shoulder - a feeble effort to keep the new day at bay a few minutes longer. His short beard tickled a little.

Aemond was cold, covered only by a thin sheet. He groped around blindly for the blanket and pulled it up over the pair of them. He buried his nose amongst the thick dark hair on his husband’s head.

“You still stink like a smoked ham,” he mumbled. It was a lie. A little acridness hung about him still, but mostly Lucerys smelled like himself again. Fresh saltwater and the bracing sea breeze, softened by the tang of heather. The scent that Aemond’s body craved like nothing else. The scent that both soothed and inflamed him.

“Well, if I stink of smoked ham, then so do you by now,” Lucerys muttered sleepily. His arm, slung about Aemond’s waist, tightened its grip. A wet, messy kiss lavished itself on Aemond’s neck, over the bite. Aemond groaned irritably but didn’t shrug his husband off.

They dozed for a while longer. It was pleasant – no, more than pleasant. For over a fortnight now, Aemond had yearned pitifully for this. To lie in the same bed as his mate. To be near Lucerys as they slept. Knowing he was right there, and yet not right there had been difficult, leaving Aemond unable to sleep easily. That’s why he’d been lying awake last night, when he'd overheard Lucerys sneaking out of their chambers at some ungodly hour.

Aemond didn’t want to move. He’d been fucked to within an inch of his life last night, giving back every bit as good as he got. They’d been drunk on each other. Unable to get enough – to touch enough, feel enough, have enough. Aemond had climaxed howling like a demon, and Lucerys had cried out in a cracked voice as he’d followed a second later. They’d lain there in a daze, wrapped around each other in a sprawl of sweaty, aching limbs, locked together by the knot.

Aemond opened his eye and looked at his mate. Or what little of Lucerys he could see from this angle. He drew his fingers up the length of his husband’s forearm, past the crook of his elbow, and across the muscles of his upper arm and shoulder. It was impossible not to admire the strength there. Aemond’s own arms had been made strong and firm by hours of swordplay, but Lucerys’ were broader. Thicker. The sight was arousing for Aemond. Gods – everything about the bastard was arousing. It was frustrating. Aemond couldn’t tell what he truly lusted over, and what the bite made him lust over. Or if there was even a difference.

He'd been on fire with lust last night, burning up with it until there was no controlling himself anymore.

“Did you sleep well, Lord Strong?” Aemond murmured, hoping to stir up some lingering embers. He got his wish. Lucerys bit him sharply on the collarbone, before kissing the same spot with a groan.

“You’re surely aware, that if I’m Lord Strong, and you’re my husband, that makes you Lord Strong too?” Lucerys said, pulling his face from the crook of Aemond’s neck. “How do you like that title?”

“Perhaps I prefer to be Aemond Strong than Aemond Velaryon,” Aemond muttered. He shifted, stretching out his stiff back.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you’re neither.” One of Lucerys’ hands slipped beneath the blankets to caress Aemond’s thigh. “When the war was ended, I gave up my sire’s House,” – he pinched Aemond just above the knee, presumably to avert any snide comments about Lucerys’ parentage – “and with it any claim to the Driftwood Throne. I took my mother’s name. Driftmark is Baela’s to inherit now. She turned out an alpha, did you hear that?”

Aemond shook his head. He’d heard that Lucerys was no longer heir to the Driftwood Throne, but not that it would pass instead to Princess Baela. Or that the girl was an alpha. Yet, he wasn’t very surprised. He remembered Baela Targaryen’s fierceness. Remembered hearing how viciously she’d fought atop her little dragon before it’d been slain. She was her father’s daughter – which wasn’t a compliment.

“It was a very late presentation,” Lucerys continued. “Just like it was for you. She’ll be Lady of the Tides one day. And I’ll be king – Lucerys of House Targaryen. And that means you are still Aemond Targaryen.”

“Why do that?” Aemond asked. Giving up the Velaryon name had surely made the rumours about Lucerys’ illegitimacy even worse.

“The realm needs stability,” said Lucerys with a shrug. “A Targaryen sits on the Iron Throne. That’s how it’s been for a century and a half now. Besides… we both know I was never a true Velaryon. I’ve only given up a name that wasn’t really mine in the first place. At least Targaryen blood does run in my veins.”

It was jarring, hearing Lucerys so freely admit he wasn’t the son of Laenor Velaryon. But they were bonded now. If Lucerys was a bastard, then Aemond was the mate of a bastard. Their shame was shared. Aemond’s honour was irrevocably tangled up with his husband’s. He had every reason now to keep this secret as vehemently as Lucerys did himself.

Curiously… he found he struggled to care. Once upon a time he’d been obsessed with exposing Rhaenyra’s trio of wretched bastards. He’d thought them filthy curs, undeserving of their status. It’d been an affront before the gods that their tainted blood had come before Aegon – before all of Queen Alicent’s trueborn children – in the line of succession. What greater justification for war could there be?

Aemond remembered vividly what Lucerys had said the night before – about, bastard or not, being more a Targaryen than the rest of them, because he was the last dragon-rider left. He’d been mesmerizing then. Aemond had found himself believing every word and had been shocked by the dark passion they’d stirred within him. And with that passion, a very, very rare impulse for Aemond – the impulse to submit. To follow instead of lead. It’d been brief, but it’d been real. Gods, he’d wanted Lucerys so badly in that moment. And he’d gotten him. Seven hells, he’d gotten him.

He reached down beneath the sheets to feel the dried seed that had leaked from him overnight, stuck to his skin. A moment later Lucerys’ hand, the one resting on Aemond’s thigh, moved to do the same. A low, satisfied rumble sounded in his mate’s throat. He smiled dozily up at him, halfway back to sleep already.

“I need to take the moon tea,” Aemond said. No sooner had the words left his mouth than a sudden, horrifying thought struck him. What if Lucerys refused? What if he forced Aemond to -

“Of course,” Lucerys mumbled sleepily. He really was about to nod off again. “I’ll have some brewed.”

Aemond relaxed, relieved. He wasn’t normally inclined to lounge around in bed. But what else was he going to do? He was stuck in these gods-forsaken rooms unless Lucerys chose to take him elsewhere. He might as well waste the morning here, comfortable and warm. Hells, he might even see if he could get Lucerys to fuck him again, in a little while. Aemond yawned, slipping into a light sleep – lulled away by Lucerys’ thumb stroking lazily over his hip.

“Good morning my prince – oh.” The door to Lucerys’ bedchamber opened and a servant entered. The moment he saw the pair of them, curled up together in the bed, he started to leave again in a hurry.

“Wait!” called out Lucerys. “Arrange a bath for me. And lay out breakfast.”

The servant nodded, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor.

“Now get out.”

The servant nodded again, closing the bedchamber door behind him with a firm thud.

“Don’t your servants knock?” Aemond asked, aghast.

“They used to, but I tended to sleep through it,” Lucerys admitted sheepishly. “Especially if I remembered to draw the curtains. I’m dead to the world in the mornings.”

“You’re awake now,” Aemond pointed out.

“Well, I have to enjoy having you here, don’t I? Before you remember that you’re an ill-tempered cur who doesn’t care for being bedded by his husband.”

Aemond narrowed his eye and sat up. Lucerys instantly tried to drag him back down again, but to no avail.

“With honied words like those, how could I possibly resist you?” Aemond groused waspishly as he got out of bed. His legs felt stiff. He found his discarded nightshirt, abandoned on the floor, and put it back on. It was only then, when he found his eyepatch tangled up in the plain linen, that he realised he wasn’t wearing the thing. Aemond froze. Lucerys had been looking on the ruin of his face the entire time. The horrible scarred nothing where his missing eye should be.

Aemond had been so satisfied and easy, like a lazy cat lounging around in the sun, that he hadn’t realised. How had he not realised?

“Aemond?” Lucerys said, getting out of bed. “Hells,” he mumbled when he saw what Aemond was holding in his hand. Overcome by mortification, Aemond pulled the eyepatch back on, concealing his eye-socket.

Without another word, he left the room. Lucerys didn’t call out after him.

Aemond returned to the privacy of his own bedchamber. A short time later, a servant arrived – knocking at the door first, like any decent arrangement. The boy provided Aemond with a basin of hot water. He was also supposed to help the prince dress, but Aemond dismissed the little omega. He’d dress himself today. He didn’t want anybody else seeing the marks Lucerys had left on his body. He wondered what the servants helping Lucerys bathe would make of the ones Aemond had left in return.

When he stepped back out into the solar, there was no sign of Lucerys. Off having that bath, no doubt. Food was laid out on the table. Aemond was hungry, but he decided to wait. He always ate breakfast with Lucerys. It was their habit now. He waited. And waited. Aemond started to grow impatient. His temper souring, he gave up and ate alone. Was that it then? Had Lucerys departed for the day without so much as a goodbye? Had the knave gotten what he’d wanted from Aemond, and now no longer felt the need to show him any fucking courtesy whatsoever?

One fear, at least, was quickly allayed. As Aemond was finishing his meal, a discreet cup of moon tea was brought for him. He downed it without hesitation. Just a minute or two later, Lucerys did come back. His hair was still damp, his clothes fresh, but plain - breeches and a fine leather jerkin.

“Sorry I was gone for so long,” he said, dropping into an empty chair and grabbing a chunk of rye bread, which he shoved straight into his mouth. “I needed to see the Grand Maester. He was having something procured for me and I wanted to know if it’d arrived.”

Aemond watched him warily, still nurturing his bad mood. What was any of this to do with him?

“It’s a gift, actually,” Lucerys continued. He looked rather nervous. “It’s for you. I… gods, Aemond, if you don’t like it, please don’t take it the wrong way. I just thought it was something you’d like to have.”

Lucerys placed a little black velvet cloth on the table between them. He unfolded it carefully. Aemond stared at the contents. It was a little sphere, exactly the size and shape of an eye. Perfectly smooth, round, and cloudy white.

“It’s moonstone,” Lucerys said. “Shaped and polished by the finest artisans in Myr, so I’m told. I know it isn’t a fine jewel, but Maester Gerardys said that the smooth surface would make for a better fit than the sapphire. It’ll be easier for you to wear comfortably.”

Aemond felt thunderstruck. He didn’t know how to feel, or more importantly, how to react. The first, most powerful impulse was to be angry. To take it as a slight. Had Lucerys been so disgusted by the sight of what he himself had done to Aemond’s face, that he’d gone out to find this petty little bauble? Was it some kind of pathetic effort to try and make his chosen mate less hideous? More bearable for Lucerys to look upon in bed?

But the second sentiment – the one that followed hot on the heels of the first – was that Aemond did want it. Very badly. The way the scarred skin of his mutilated eyelid drooped was uncomfortable. And knowing there was nothing to see but a ruin whenever he took the eyepatch off was humiliating. Yes, Aemond did want very much to accept the moonstone eye. If his pride and festering resentment would allow it.

Without saying a word, he picked the thing up. It rolled smoothly in his palm, a very fine piece of the artisan’s craft. It wasn’t a jewel, but it probably hadn’t been cheap either. It was heavy, but the sapphire had been as well. Aemond held it pinched between his thumb and forefinger, staring down at the little stone.

“Thank you,” he ground out. It was the best he could manage. He didn’t know how he felt about it. Lucerys didn’t seem bothered by the lukewarm reaction. He just looked relieved that Aemond had accepted the thing at all.

After his husband had left, Aemond retreated to the privacy of his bedchamber and the mirror. It took some effort to work the moonstone eye inside his socket. It’d been many moons now since he’d sold the sapphire for a pitiable song. The scarred skin around his empty eye had tightened up.

Once it was in, the smooth moonstone orb did settle easier than the faceted sapphire had. When he was content with it, Aemond steeled his nerve and took in his reflection.

It looked… it looked unremarkable. Or as unremarkable as it ever could, considering the jagged scar that bisected the left side of Aemond’s face, roughening the edge of his damaged eye socket. The effect of the cloudy white stone made it appear – at least from a distance - that Aemond had simply been blinded in the one eye, not that he was missing it altogether.

He didn’t know how he felt about that either. The sapphire had frightened people. That’s what Aemond had liked about it. The moment Lucerys’ little knife had cut into his face as a child, any chance of him being some pretty omega courted by noble alphas had been sliced away along with his flesh. Not that Aemond had any aspirations of being that sort of omega. He’d despised them, in fact. Viciously. Resentfully.

Oh, some alpha lord or the other would’ve married him in the end. He’d still been a prince, even if he did have a spoiled face and an infamously belligerent manner. But Aemond had decided early on that he’d no interest in that. He’d angrily rebuffed his mother’s many attempts to persuade him to be sweet to some poncing little lordling. Then his sire had married him off to pitiful little Lucerys Strong and it’d all become totally irrelevant.

Aemond had enjoyed being frightening to look upon. It’d made him feel powerful. He’d always enjoyed feeling powerful. Omegas rarely got to, but he had. He stared at his reflection, the milky shine of the false eye. He found he didn’t hate it.

…

Lucerys was aware he appeared gratingly cheerful as he sat down in the small council chamber. But he couldn’t help himself. Gods – he’d fuck Aemond every night, if he thought his husband would permit it. They were absurdly good at it. Lucerys might’ve ascribed it to the power of the bond, but he remembered what it’d been like just before the bite. They’d been drowning in madness that first time… and it'd still been an incredible fuck.

Lucerys leaned back in his chair and felt the fresh bruises on his back ache sweetly – bruises he’d gotten last night, when Aemond had clung onto him so fiercely it was as though he couldn’t bear the idea of ever letting go. Seven hells, Luke really regretted not having tried for another round that morning.

But Aemond had been so normal when they’d woken up together. Lucerys had expected an explosion. To get throttled with his own bedsheets. For Aemond to open his eye and immediately vault out of the bed like he’d been burned. But he hadn’t. He’d stayed beneath the sheets, letting Lucerys sprawl all over him – grope him even. Luke hadn’t wanted to risk upending his mate’s surprisingly tolerant mood by pushing too much. Trying to fuck him again so soon had felt a great deal like pushing too much.

On top of all that, Aemond had accepted his gift. The one Lucerys had been anxiously second-guessing ever since he’d first gone to Grand Maester Gerardys to ask for his advice.

Daemon narrowed his eyes at Luke as he watched him across the table, clearly wondering why his spirits were so high after such a tumultuous night. Lucerys tried to school his face into something more neutral. He didn’t quite manage it.

At the head of the table, the Queen addressed her kin and trusted advisors.

“My friends. Last night, Prince Daemon and Prince Lucerys journeyed out into the city, investigating trouble on the streets. What they discovered has disturbed me greatly.”

She told the strange tale of the night before. The idiot traitor in the Flea Bottom tavern. The mysterious man in black, and his purse full of silver for willing traitors. And lastly the fire. Lord Corlys and Ser Lyonel Bentley, Lord Commander of the Queensguard, both looked perturbed. Maester Gerardys was sombre. Mysaria listened with a solemn face. No doubt she’d heard the details already from her own man. Very little went on in King’s Landing that she didn’t know about.

“The story of the princes putting out the fire is all over the city already,” the lady of whispers told the informal council. “Every market and alehouse is gossiping of it.”

“What of these others?” said Rhaenyra. “This man in black?”

“I have eyes all over the city searching for him, your grace,” Mysaria reassured her.

“Why’s it taken this long?” Rhaenyra demanded. “Why did it take Daemon and Lucerys to find this out? How long has this treachery been going on right under our noses?”

Mysaria ducked her head, chastised. She sat apart – figuratively speaking – around the table. She wasn’t highborn. She wasn’t a brother of the Citadel. She wasn’t even officially Rhaenyra’s spymaster. It would’ve been a scandal to hand a former prostitute a formal position at court. But Mysaria knew King’s Landing in a way none of the rest of them ever could. She knew it in its blood and bones – in its dark and sordid soul. But her low birth meant she couldn’t answer back to the Queen. If anyone was tough enough to take it, then it was surely Mysaria. But Lucerys still felt compelled to defend the unofficial mistress of spies.

“Mysaria did try to tell me there was something strange about these incidents,” he said. “Something… artificial. But I didn’t take her meaning.”

“Why should you?” said his mother. “It isn’t your duty to untangle these matters! How’ve these curs been permitted to roam this city – my city! – for so long? Their severed heads should be above the city gates by now!”

“Because we are overstretched!” exclaimed Daemon, slamming his hand down on the table. “This entire damned kingdom whispers and plots! There are too many bloody threads to unravel! Too many power-hungry vultures circling what they think is wounded prey!”

Everyone in the room stared at him. For what felt like the thousandth time, Lucerys was struck by the aura of Daemon. The man was an alpha down to his brutal, wild core.

“We have to remind these people who we are,” Daemon continued, something dangerous burning in his eyes. “The blood of the dragon. It’s time for a show of strength. We find whoever’s behind this, and we execute them in public. I’ll swing the axe myself. Or better yet – have Arrax burn them.”

“And if they can’t be found?” asked Lord Corlys calmly.

“Then we find their snivelling minions and execute them! We have to do something to remind these faithless cunts that there’s a price to treachery. One they don’t want to find themselves forced to pay. Perhaps we could make a public show of Aemond? Humiliate the savage little prick.”

“Try it and I’ll have Arrax burn you,” Lucerys snarled, startling the table.

Daemon looked at him in surprise. But he didn’t get angry. Instead, a careless smirk danced about his mouth. “So protective already. I thought you were in a good mood this morning, Luke. Has your traitorous husband been earning his keep? And there I was thinking that he’d slice the cock off any alpha who tried to – ”

“Enough!” the Queen snapped, interrupting her husband. “No fighting amongst ourselves, for the love of the gods! Don’t we have problems enough?”

The rest of the meeting passed quickly after that. Lucerys kept glowering at Daemon, who gazed back with a cold stare that, once upon a time, would’ve cowed Lucerys instantly. Not anymore.

“Luke,” his mother called out, when they all rose to go their separate ways. “Come, take some tea with me.”

Rhaenyra took her son by the arm, and the pair of them walked together to her apartments, trailed by the Queensguard. A servant was preparing an herbal tisane out on the covered balcony. It was a bright morning, but there were clouds on the horizon. Mother and son seated themselves, and the servant poured them their tea before departing.

“I understand it’s difficult for you,” said Rhaenyra, sipping from her steaming cup. “But I need you and Daemon not to snap at each other’s throats too much. We have to work together if we’re going to overcome this, and there’s no room for two hard-headed alphas vying for dominance.”

Lucerys’ mouth dropped open. “That isn’t what’s happening,” he protested.

“Of course it is,” said his mother, matter-of-factly. “You’re a grown man Luke. You’ve taken a mate. You’ve fought in battles. And Daemon’s getting older. He’ll never entirely recover from the injury he got battling Aemond above the Gods Eye. It’s only natural you should feel the urge to challenge his authority. But not now.”

“I’m not challenging Daemon’s authority,” insisted Lucerys. “He keeps provoking me.”

“And you think mating Aemond didn’t provoke him? He was Daemon’s prisoner. His piece of unfinished business. And you took him for your own. In one night, you turned Aemond from Daemon’s trophy into your untouchable omega.”

“He was already mine. He might not have been my mate, but he was my husband. He was never Daemon’s trophy. He was always mine.”

Rhaenyra frowned at her son through the tendrils of steam rising from her tea, looking a little troubled. “You know, I truly thought you hated Aemond. You took out his eye when you were children. The morning of your wedding, you begged me to stop it, do you remember? It broke my heart.”

Lucerys did remember. The idea of being chained for life to his uncle had been horrifying.

“My father might’ve forced the marriage, but he did at least agree there was no reason for the two of you to live together until you were old enough to consummate it. A small mercy. You and Aemond spent no time together. No real time together. So where has this mad passion for him come from?”

Rhaenyra sighed, putting her cup down. Lucerys hadn’t drunk a single drop of his, still clutched tightly in his hands.

“I meant what I said,” his mother continued. “What’s done is done. But I do wish I understood it. I remember all those years ago, when you arrived back at Dragonstone after fleeing from the Baratheon halls through that terrible storm. You were soaked to the bone and terrified. You said Aemond had chased you on Vhagar. Tried to kill you. You said he was mad. That you hated him. Did you mean it then?”

“I did,” Lucerys agreed quietly.

“And yet you seem obsessed with him Luke. I know the bite makes alphas fools for their omegas. But you were fixated on Aemond well before you took him for your mate. I tried to send you away because I knew something wasn’t right. I just… never mind. I know I’m asking for answers you can’t give me.”

They kept returning here. Rhaenyra asking why, and her son unable to answer. What could Lucerys say? He could lie, of course. There were lies he could make fit. He could say that mating Aemond had been a political manoeuvre. Or that he'd really believed Aemond would be less dangerous here, where Lucerys could watch him.

Those explanations, weak as they were, made more sense than the truth - that Lucerys had just wanted to keep Aemond so much that, when the chance had begun to slip away forever, he hadn’t been able to control himself. Gods, his mother was right, it didn’t make any sense. Luke was forced again and again to return to his original theory. That he’d gone mad, and so had Aemond. Although in Aemond’s case, it could be argued he’d already been halfway there.

“On the subject of Aemond,” Rhaenyra said, clearing her throat. “I’ve been thinking about your living arrangements. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Maybe I was too hasty.”

“No,” said Lucerys at once. “It’s fine. I prefer it. It’s important somebody keeps an eye on him, after all.”

His mother nodded, something knowing glinting in her eyes. “Of course. And how much of an eye have you been keeping on him, exactly? I did hear you sent for moon tea this morning.”

“I did,” said Lucerys, uncomfortable discussing this with anybody, least of all his mother. “What of it? We’re mated.”

“I’m surprised Aemond is so willing to drink moon tea,” Rhaenyra remarked. “Isn’t it a sin? But then, the faithful are so often hypocrites. So quick to judge others, yet so flexible when it comes to their own weaknesses.”

“I think Aemond has lost his faith,” Lucerys confided. “I offered to take him to the sept, but he said he’d no care for the gods.”

“Is that so?” said the Queen, surprised. “That’s interesting. But I didn’t really bring you here to talk about Aemond. Or Daemon either. What I really wanted to say, was how proud I am of you.”

Lucerys cheered. “Oh?”

“What you did last night took nerve. Not many princes would venture into the city after dark, to the most dangerous streets to ferret out a traitor.”

“Daemon led the way,” Lucerys said, warmed by his mother’s praise.

“Venturing into King’s Landing by night is second nature to Daemon,” said Rhaenyra with a little smile. “And it’s not a habit I’d want you to take up regularly. But I think perhaps it does a future king good to walk among his people from time to time. Not cheered by crowds, but through the streets, unnoticed.”

“It was a cesspit,” Lucerys admitted. “Flea Bottom’s reputation is well earned. The squalor I saw there… children living in filth. Danger around every corner.”

“Well,” said the Queen. “Perhaps, when we’ve fewer immediate threats, we might be able to help them. But right now, we’ve more pressing problems. I want you to stay within the Red Keep today. I’ve sent knights out to lead the gold cloaks in patrol along the major thoroughfares. I want the people to see that I’m doing something.”

…

After he left his mother’s apartments, Lucerys was obligated to attend a meeting with Ser Robert Quince, discussing the Queen’s grand tourney. She wanted to hold it in a great clearing near the edge of the Kingswood, so the lords might go hunting as part of the festivities. Privately, Lucerys wondered if any of it was a good idea. He could see the merits, sure enough. If the tourney was a success, it could easily be exactly what his mother wanted it to be - the symbolic dawning of a new era. The lords of Westeros taking good wine together, listening to sweet songs, and watching fine contests. Swords crossed in honourable combat, not the bloody fire of battle.

But by the gods, it was going to be expensive. The war had depleted the royal coffers until there was precious little left, even once the treasury gold had been clawed back. The lords were reluctant to pay their taxes, insisting they needed the money to rebuild their own lands, and Queen was in no position to lay down the law. Not yet at least.

Lucerys found it hard to concentrate, mind wandering. Even when he realised he hadn’t absorbed a single word for five full minutes, he still couldn’t force himself to pay proper attention. He was thinking about the night before, and the stink of Flea Bottom. He thought about Daemon and his mother. He thought about the knights, out on horseback, patrolling the city… and it suddenly occurred to him that the great yard would be nearly empty that afternoon.

“Come on then,” he announced an hour later when he blew into his own chambers like a whirlwind. Aemond appeared to have been asleep in his chair, a book open in his lap. He jolted awake with a sudden start and glared at Lucerys.

“Do you truly have no manners at all?” he complained, closing the book with a heavy thud.

“That’s rich coming from you, husband mine. Come on, Aemond. I would’ve thought you eager to leave these rooms. Don’t you hate being confined here?”

“Forgive me if the prospect of another gentle walk about the gardens doesn’t overwhelm me with excitement,” Aemond grumbled petulantly. “Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for some perfumed lapdog.”

“How about a chance to find out which of us is the better swordsman then?” offered Lucerys, bracing his knuckles on the table and leaning forward. “You said you wanted to, remember?”

“You’d give me a sword?”

Lucerys snorted. “I’d give you a wooden sword, because - believe it or not, Aemond - I am not a complete fool.”

“Are you so sure?” Aemond pulled his collar down a little so the bite on his neck was plainly visible. It was silvery pale now. Healed up nicely. As ever, Lucerys’ gaze was drawn to it like a moth to the flame.

“You make a fair point,” he conceded. “You were a very foolish choice.”

“Were?”

“Continue to be. Every damned day. Now, would you – my most foolish decision by far – care to test your skill against mine, or has your enthusiasm for the sword been dampened by the bite? Do you yearn now to sit about and eat fine foods and drink sweet wine, like a good omega?”

Aemond learned forward. He was wearing the eyepatch. Lucerys wished he knew if his gift was hidden beneath. “We’ll soon see which of us is fit for the sword and which is better suited to sitting about in craven comfort.”

“The only one still sitting here is you,” Lucerys pointed out. “Time to prove yourself. Or have all your boasts been hollow?”

Luke felt a little giddy as they hurried through the palace together. His husband kept peering sidelong at him with an expression that looked like a challenge but felt like something else altogether.

There was nobody but a young squire in the yard when they arrived. He looked alarmed to see Aemond there.

“Two training swords,” Lucerys ordered the boy, a coltish beta. “Wooden ones.”

The squire hurried away and returned shortly with what Lucerys had asked for. He handed one to Aemond, who immediately hefted the thing in his hand, testing its weight.

Aemond was smiling as they circled each other. It was cocky and arrogant, but it was a smile. Lucerys knew his mate was expecting him to go on the defensive. Aemond was the more skilled swordsman, it made sense to wait for him to attack first and then parry. It was the safe, predictable choice.

Lucerys wasn’t in the mood to be predictable. He struck the first blow, and it was Aemond who was forced to parry.

He was good. Very good. Lucerys remembered watching Aemond years ago, in this same place, sparring with Criston Cole. How intimidating he’d seemed then. But Lucerys could hold his own now. He pushed Aemond back once or twice, had him scrambling to block and dodge. He made his omega work damned hard for his victory, but finally the blunt wooden edge of Aemond’s training sword pressed itself to Luke’s throat.

They were both breathing hard. Aemond grinned victoriously.

Lucerys pushed aside the fake blade at his jugular and stood back, rolling out his shoulders. The squire was still lurking about, watching them furtively from behind a rack of lances.

“Again?” Lucerys demanded.

They fought three more bouts. In the third, Lucerys actually managed to best Aemond. To his surprise, Aemond didn’t take affront. He just laughed as Lucerys’ wooden blade struck his sternum – a killing blow, if their swords had been real. But even when he lost, Lucerys felt elated. He’d made Aemond happy. It was a base urge for an alpha, but knowing that didn’t stop the satisfaction blooming inside him as he drank in his mate’s delight. He’d made Aemond happy.

“Shall we bet on the next?” he asked, pushing his hair out of his face.

“A bet? I have nothing to stake,” Aemond pointed out.

“A kiss,” Lucerys proposed at once. “If I win, I get a kiss.”

Aemond snorted and rolled his eye. “You’ve been listening to too many tales of chivalric horseshit. And what will you stake in return?”

Lucerys wracked his brain for a moment. “I’ll try and persuade my mother to let you send a letter to the twins.”

“I… and my mother?” Aemond asked, visibly taken aback by this offer.

Lucerys shook his head. “She’d never agree to that. But the children… I think I might be able to sway her over the children.”

Aemond nodded thoughtfully, before raising his sword again. “I agree to these terms.”

The fight that followed was fierce, short, but fair. Lucerys got Aemond on the backfoot, but he recovered quickly – striking right. Luke scrambled to block the blow, before just as hastily dodging another hard strike aimed at his belly. Now it was Aemond who had him on the backfoot. He pressed his advantage mercilessly, pushing Lucerys back under a flurry of blows. Finally, his wooden blade struck true, the blunt point jabbing hard into Luke’s chest – right over his heart.

“You’ll stand by your word?” Aemond pressed as they lowered their flimsy weapons. “You’ll persuade Rhaenyra to let me write to the twins?”

Lucerys nodded, wiping a stray bead of sweat from his forehead. “I can’t guarantee anything. If she won’t be talked around, then she won’t be talked around. But I promise I’ll try. I wouldn’t have staked it otherwise.”

Aemond tilted his head sideways, looking at Lucerys askance. Then he grabbed his collar, hauled him in, and kissed him full on the mouth.

“There,” he said, as he let go of Luke’s jerkin. “Now we’ve both gotten what we wanted.”

It was the first time ever that Aemond had kissed him, rather than the other way around. Lucerys smothered the urge to pull him close and kiss him again. Aemond wouldn’t welcome it, not here. Luke looked away, trying to cool his blood, and suddenly noticed that they were being watched by somebody other than the young squire. It was Luke’s brother, Aegon. He was peering down from atop the wall, grinning gleefully. His pale hair gleamed in the sunlight, the same as Aemond’s did. A sharp contrast to Lucerys’ thick, dark tresses.

Lucerys despaired. Aegon already believed that there was something oddly romantic about Luke and Aemond’s relationship. What he’d just witnessed was not going to help persuade him otherwise.

“He bested you, Luke!” Aegon called down, once he realised he’d been spotted. “Properly bested you!”

“Is that so?” Lucerys called up to his brother. “Why don’t you come down here and try your own hand?”

He half expected Aegon to balk and laugh it off. But instead, the young prince disappeared from atop the wall, only to reappear running full tilt into the yard. He was alone. He’d probably given some long-suffering septa the slip.

Aegon stopped short in front of them, peering up at Aemond. “Hello uncle,” he mumbled, suddenly shy. “You’re very good with the sword. Almost as good as my father.”

“Almost?” said Aemond.

“Nobody’s better than my father,” said Aegon with iron-clad conviction. “But you’re definitely better than Luke.”

“Truly, it warms my spirit to hear such brotherly praise,” said Lucerys, cuffing Aegon lightly around the head. “But I believe I challenged you to try your own hand, little dragon?”

He glanced at his husband. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea, having Aemond and Aegon in such close quarters. He was certain his mother would’ve forbidden it, if she’d known. But what harm could it really do? If Aemond said or did anything even vaguely threatening, then Lucerys would end this at once.

“Give him your sword,” Lucerys said. “Let’s see what this young knight is made of.”

It was all a jest, of course. Aemond’s training sword was too big and unwieldly for a boy like Aegon. Lucerys toyed good naturedly with his brother, letting him get a few jabs in. But finally, as carefully as he could, he knocked the sword from Aegon’s hand and lightly tapped the tip of his blunt weapon to his brother’s chest.

“Not bad,” Lucerys grinned. “We’ll make a knight out of you yet.”

“I want to fight Uncle Aemond next,” said Aegon.

“No.” Absolutely not. That was a step too far.

“Why not?” Aegon demanded.

“You said it yourself – he’s a better swordsman than me,” said Lucerys, reaching for an easy explanation. “If I can beat you, then he certainly can. There’s no point.”

“I don’t care about that!” Aegon complained. “Maybe he can teach me something?”

“I said no.”

“Don’t you trust me with him?” murmured Aemond.

“No,” said Lucerys. “I don’t.”

Aemond didn’t look offended. “Then perhaps you’re not as foolish as I thought,” he said. “What if I vowed I wouldn’t hurt him?”

“The answer is still no.”

“Lucerys!” Aegon whined petulantly.

“Well at least let me offer the boy some advice,” huffed Aemond. “How’s he to improve if you play with him like this? Give him a sword he can actually carry. You!”

The beta squire startled as Aemond suddenly turned and pointed at him.

“Fetch Prince Aegon a training sword of his own,” Aemond demanded. “One suitable for a boy his age.”

The squire’s gaze flickered nervously to Lucerys, awaiting permission.

“Prince Aemond gave you an instruction,” Lucerys said. “Or are you waiting for him to deliver it in writing?”

Another wooden sword was produced. Short and narrow enough that Aegon could hold it comfortably in a two-handed grip.

Aemond, it turned out, had been entirely serious about trying to improve Aegon’s form, forcing Lucerys to spar with his brother properly. He advised Aegon on his stance, his grip, and where all the gaps were in Lucerys’ defence. Aegon drank in every word greedily. When, after half an hour or so, Lucerys suggested they stop, his brother had insisted on continuing.

Lucerys knew why. Aegon hero-worshipped Daemon. To the boy, his sire was the greatest knight who’d ever lived. Certainly the greatest ever produced by House Targaryen. Unparalleled by even the little prince’s own famous namesake, Aegon the Conqueror. But, while Daemon unquestionably loved his son dearly, he never had much time for the lad. It’d been different when they’d lived on Dragonstone, before the war. But Aegon had been very small then. Far too young to learn how to fight. Now he was the right age, Daemon wasn’t around to teach him. First the war had kept him away, and now the troubles of a restless kingdom.

Aegon thirsted for the attention of his sire. It seemed Aemond made for an adequate temporary substitute. He might not have been an alpha, but his reputation and Daemon’s were equally blood-soaked.

Without even realising it, Lucerys allowed Aemond to put his hands on his brother. To alter his stance directly. To adjust the angle of his jabs and parries. He was a surprisingly decent teacher. Luke wondered why he was doing it. Probably boredom. What else was there for Aemond to do? But his husband did seem genuinely satisfied whenever the boy got something right. When Aegon managed a clever little feint and stuck the sharp point of his little wooden sword against Luke’s ribs, Aemond even smiled and clapped his nephew on the shoulder.

“Well done,” he said. Aegon tried very, very hard to conceal how much the praise meant, but Luke could see it clear as day.

Lucerys had just assumed Aemond would be terrible with children. Everything about him – his coldness, his sharp tongue, his impatience with the world – suggested a man who likely regarded children as an irritation. It was a surprise to realise that Aemond actually had a remarkable amount of patience for Aegon. He wasn’t ill-tempered when the boy made a stupid mistake. His criticism was frank, but not cruel, and his praise scant, but sincere. He was still Aemond – he’d encouraged Aegon to never show mercy to a wounded foe, a lesson Lucerys was going to have to speak to his brother about later on. But he was different like this. Softer.

A very small, very stupid part of Lucerys ached to see it. He tried to bury the feeling deep. He remembered clearly what Aemond had said before.

I won’t give you children.

Aemond had been angry, but he’d meant it.

It hadn’t been a surprise. Daemon had called Aemond the most frigid omega in the entire kingdom, and as much as Lucerys knew that was not the case within their marriage bed, he couldn’t deny Aemond was hard and aggressive for an omega. It was difficult to picture him holding a child. Even harder to imagine him cooing over a babe, the warmth of parent’s love softening his gaze. Far easier to picture him instead with a bloodied sword in his hand and the glint of madness in his eye.

Even now, what was he teaching Aegon? How to kill. Lucerys tried to shake these thoughts out of his head. Gods, they’d only just been mated a single turn of the moon.

The afternoon wore on. Luke didn’t know how much time they’d spent with Aegon, working on the boy’s swordplay. But it ended with a cold voice carrying across the yard.

“What’re you doing?”

Lucerys lowered his sword. Daemon was stood at the gate, three of the Queensguard behind him - including Ser Lyonel Bentley, the Lord Commander - and a dozen gold cloaks.

“Father!” Aegon cried out, pleased to see him and utterly oblivious to the dark look Daemon had fixed Aemond with. Lucerys stepped sideways, subtly putting himself between his stepfather and his husband.

“Look father!” Aegon insisted, determined to get Daemon attention. “Look what Uncle Aemond taught me.” Aegon held his short training sword aloft, trying to demonstrate the firm, two-handed grip he held it with and the solid stance of his feet.

“Uncle Aemond?” Daemon sneered, not looking down at his son. “And what’re you doing anywhere near your Uncle Aemond?”

“It was harmless,” said Lucerys loudly. “Aegon was never in any danger. He sparred with me – never Aemond.”

“Harmless?” said Daemon, walking towards them. Daemon always stalked like a predator whenever he was contemplating violence. Lucerys urgently wished he was holding a real sword and not this wooden facsimile.

“Since when has Aemond Targaryen been harmless?” Daemon finished, coming to a halt. He put a hand on Aegon’s shoulder, pulling his son close.

“You think I’d harm a child?” Aemond said disdainfully.

“I don’t know what you’d do, traitor,” said Daemon with a shrug. “Perhaps we’ll find out?”

Gods – he was going to challenge Aemond. They were going to fight, and whoever lost – even if nobody was injured, and seven hells if they were – it was going to be a nightmare.

Lucerys sought desperately for something to say to diffuse the situation. He came up with nothing. But for once the gods were smiling on him, because at that exact moment, his youngest brother - little Viserys - appeared unexpectedly in the training yard. He was hanging onto the hand of an old septa, who glanced anxiously between all the men as she cleared her throat.

“Forgive the interruption, my lords,” she said. “But Prince Aegon ought to be at his lessons with the maester and – ”

“Father!” Viserys cried, letting go of the septa’s hand and barrelling towards Daemon. Daemon, confronted with his youngest child charging at him like a horse at the joust, bent to scoop the boy up in his arms.

Abruptly, the tension broke. Daemon was preoccupied with his sons now, listening to their excited chatter. He stopped glowering threateningly - seeming to forget Aemond was there at all. The knights and gold cloaks with him relaxed as well, dispersing to other tasks and talking amongst themselves.

All except one. A dark-haired man with a sunken face, who stared at Aemond with such profound loathing that it startled Lucerys. The strange knight in his white cloak stayed fixed to the spot as his sworn brothers wandered away, his hand laid over the hilt of his sword. Clutching at it, in fact. Luke didn't recognise him. The Queensguard’s numbers had been decimated by the riots in King's Landing, and the Queen had been forced to appoint replacements in a hurry. Lucerys, who'd been frequently absent from the city before Aemond had been dragged there in chains, still didn't know one or two by name.

“Ser Lyonel,” Lucerys said softly, as the Lord Commander passed him by.

“Yes, my prince?”

“Who’s that knight there?” asked Lucerys quietly. “The dark-haired one. I don’t recognise him.”

“That’s Robyn Darke,” said Ser Lyonel. “A new recruit to our brotherhood. Your mother appointed him six moons ago.”

“He never guards Prince Aemond,” said Lucerys firmly. “Am I clear?”

Ser Lyonel looked surprised and glanced back at Ser Robyn again. This time the Lord Commander seemed to take in the plain hatred twisting the man’s face.

“He lost all his brothers in the war,” Ser Lyonel murmured to himself. “Yes. I agree, my lord. I promise you Robyn Darke will never guard Prince Aemond.”

…

“Come on,” said Lucerys, catching Aemond by the wrist several hours later, when they were going to bed. “Don’t sleep in there. Sleep with me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Lucerys,” Aemond huffed, pulling his arm free.

“I’m not,” Luke insisted softly. “I’m only asking. Please. Share my bed.”

Aemond hesitated, and Lucerys was sure he was going to refuse, just to be a stubborn prick about it. But after a protracted pause, he nodded.

“Fine,” Aemond said, contriving to sound put upon. “If you wish it that badly.”

When Aemond entered the bedchamber, he’d changed into his plain linen nightshirt, same as Luke had. He wasn’t wearing the eyepatch. Its absence on his face was stark. He stared straight at Lucerys, as though daring him to comment on it. Not being a complete idiot, Luke didn’t.

Aemond was wearing the moonstone eye. It changed the shape of his face. The ruined remanent of his eyelid was straightened out and was now almost able to close properly as Aemond blinked. It suited him. Lucerys was pleased with himself. It wasn’t that he objected to seeing the hard truth of what’d been done to Aemond – what he had done to Aemond. There was no point in pretending it made for a pretty sight. It marred what was otherwise a fair face. But it was still Aemond’s face. Lucerys didn’t need for it to be perfect. His desire for his mate wasn’t at all affected by the absent eye or the jagged scar. He’d thought Aemond attractive before the bite, and he thought it even more now.

But Aemond clearly hated it. Hated not just the loss of his full vision, but the way it looked as well. And Lucerys couldn’t pretend that didn’t pain him too. They’d been children! The fight had been dirty and vicious on both sides. But there was a creeping ache, when Luke looked upon the long scar and the missing eye and remembered he was the cause.

Until he’d seen Aemond standing in chains before the Iron Throne, Lucerys hadn’t never felt a single tendril of regret about maiming him. Gods, he’d even felt darkly satisfied about it during the war, whenever he’d heard some fresh report of Vhagar torching another of his mother’s allies. But it was different now. Alphas were supposed to protect their omegas, and Lucerys had dealt Aemond the worst injury of his life. The fact that it’d happened years and years before the bite didn’t wash away the stain of it.

The moonstone suits you. You look beautiful. That’s what Lucerys wanted to say. What he would’ve said, to an omega less reliably surly than his husband. He was sure that, somehow, Aemond would find a way to take it as an insult.

They lay in Luke’s bed, a small distance apart. Lucerys had left a candle burning. Outside the moon was full. Its eerie pale light streamed in through the window and bathed everything the candlelight didn’t touch in silver. Aemond’s long hair, fanned out around his head on the pillow, shone. Lucerys itched to run his fingers through it.

“Your brother looks up to you,” Aemond remarked.

“Aegon?” said Lucerys. “Do you think so? He seemed delighted that you’d bested me.”

“He wanted your attention. He wanted you to be impressed by him.”

“It’s his father’s attention he wants really,” said Lucerys, yawning.

“I couldn’t stand my brother Aegon,” said Aemond. Abruptly, Lucerys was wide awake again. “He cared only for wine and whores. He delighted in tormenting me when I was a child.”

Lucerys stayed silent, staring at the moonlight on the wall.

“Odd then, isn’t it?” Aemond continued. “That I miss him. He’s dead, and I wish he wasn’t.”

Lucerys didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to hear anything about the usurper. “Go to sleep, Aemond,” he said in a hard voice.

“He was in so much pain,” said Aemond, talking as though Lucerys hadn’t spoken. He was staring straight up at the ceiling, his eye slightly unfocused, as though seeing something else. Or perhaps someone else. “Out of his mind with it.”

“Go to sleep,” Lucerys repeated. “I don’t want to hear about Aegon.”

“I’d never seen someone so injured and yet live,” Aemond carried on, voice faraway. “When I first saw him… I could scarcely believe it was him. He was so burned. So broken and mangled. When it was very bad, when he wasn’t put to sleep by the poppy… Aegon used to beg for it to be over. For the gods to take him. He just wanted to end the pain.”

“Perhaps he shouldn’t’ve stolen my mother’s throne then!” snapped Lucerys, sitting up as his patience ran out. He couldn't bear to hear this any longer. The angry words erupted out of him like a volcano, hot and unstoppable. “Perhaps he shouldn’t’ve started a war that cost me two of my brothers! Then Aegon would still be alive and whole! Jacaerys and Joffrey would still be here! And so would every other good man and woman who died because your traitorous brother snatched a crown that was never his to take!”

Aemond froze on the bed next to Luke.

“If Aegon was in pain, then I can’t be sorry for it!” Lucerys stormed. “At least he was still alive! Jacaerys’ body was lost to the sea. We couldn’t even burn it! What was left of Joffrey was barely recognisable as my brother. Did Aegon suffer? Good.”

A terrible pause stretched out between them. Aemond’s expression was fixed in a horrible blank mask. And then, in an instant, he was up and out of the bed.

“Aemond!” Lucerys called out after him, still angry. “Aemond, come back!”

The door to the bedchamber slammed so hard that the single candle burning in the room stuttered and went out.

Lucerys stared at it for a while – the closed door lit by the silvery moonlight. Then he fell backwards onto the bed. The bed he was now alone in. The lingering warmth of Aemond on the sheets was already fading away.

Chapter Text

After that night, Aemond began avoiding Lucerys completely. It was impressive really, considering they shared the same chambers and Aemond was forbidden from leaving them. But the bastard managed it. He didn’t leave his bedchamber until Lucerys was gone in the morning. When Luke returned, Aemond retreated back there. It was like living with a ghost. A sullen, malevolent ghost that Lucerys ached for constantly.

He despaired. He offered to take Aemond anywhere he wanted to go. To the gardens, the yard, the sept, anywhere – just so long as he’d leave his bedchamber. But Aemond ignored him. He wouldn’t even take dinner with Lucerys. He wouldn’t eat at all, unless he could eat alone.

Gods damn it, Lucerys didn’t regret what he’d said! He’d meant it. He didn’t want to hear a single word about fucking Aegon. But he did regret how he’d said it. He shouldn’t’ve lost his temper. He knew very well the hair-trigger Aemond’s moods rested on. He’d finally gotten his omega into his bed, where he belonged - and now Aemond wouldn’t even share the same room as him. It was driving Lucerys mad, not least because he’d no idea how to repair the damage.

He wished he could ask someone for advice. Vent his frustrations, at least. But there wasn’t anyone. Lucerys had nobody to confide in. Aegon was a good brother, and one day he’d be a good friend too, but he was much too young for that conversation. Luke would’ve rather gnawed his own arm off than ask for Daemon’s input. He could normally share any problem with his mother, but he couldn’t go to her with this. She despised Aemond and thought Lucerys had made a terrible mistake giving him the bite. If he told her about this, it’d only confirm to Rhaenyra that she’d been right all along.

“What did you expect?” she’d say. “It’s Aemond. Of course he’s being difficult. Of course he’s in a foul temper. You knew what he was when you chose him.”

Lucerys had made friends during the war. Bonds formed in blood and battle, with other young alphas. But they were all a long way from King’s Landing. Called back to the halls of their parents, to be married and mated, or put to work. Luke’s stepsisters were in their new homes with their new husbands – living new lives, without Luke in them. He could’ve confided in Jacaerys, if he’d lived. He’d always been able to tell Jace anything. But Jace was dead. Just like that whoreson Aegon, who Aemond apparently missed so much.

Lucerys suspected his mother knew something was wrong. He ate dinner with her three times in one week, after having turned down countless invitations so he could eat with Aemond instead. And surely the servants knew something was going on. They knew Aemond and Lucerys weren’t dining together, walking together, or sleeping together. Luke wasn’t so naïve that he didn’t realise what the maids saw quickly made its way back to the Queen. She’d known within hours when Lucerys had ordered moon tea brewed. Once or twice, he thought his mother was just going to come straight out and ask him about it… but she never did. He was relieved. He didn’t want to hear that this was simply what he’d signed up for.

It was lonely. Lucerys just wanted someone he could ask how to make things right again. How to soothe an omega who didn’t value lavish gifts or honied words. Somebody who wouldn’t just tell him it was his own fault for mating such an ill-tempered prick. A blood-soaked madman. Aemond fucking Targaryen.

The first few days of their estrangement were the most bearable. But it got worse the longer Aemond’s sulk wore on. The more time passed, the fouler Lucerys’ mood became. He snapped at people. He was rude and impatient. Gods, he just wanted to hold Aemond. To scent him. To bloody talk to the miserable bastard. This situation was fraying every nerve Luke possessed.

He held out for an entire week before he marched into Aemond’s bedchamber unannounced.

He found Aemond lying on the bed, slumped on his stomach with his head turned towards the open window. He was dressed in black hose and a loose grey tunic, with no belt or boots. He wasn’t wearing the eyepatch, but he did have the moonstone eye in. His hair was loose.

Aemond looked wretched. The moment Lucerys burst in, he sat up and glared venomously.

“Get out.”

“No,” Lucerys replied. He’d had enough. They were going to have this out. “You’re going to talk to me, Aemond. You’re going to leave this gods-forsaken room and have dinner with me.”

“I’m not a dog on a leash!” Aemond snapped. “Who’re you to order me about, Lord Strong?”

Lucerys’ flimsy grasp on his patience ran out entirely. He moved quickly, before Aemond had chance to react, climbing onto the bed. Startled, Aemond tried to get off the bed. But it was too late, Lucerys was on him.

He grabbed both Aemond’s wrists in his hands, swinging a leg over his mate so that he could sit atop him and use his bodyweight to hold him down. Aemond struggled violently, but Luke’s broader frame gave him the edge. He straddled Aemond’s hips, keeping him pressed flat to the mattress, hands pinned either side of his head.

“Who am I to order you about?” Lucerys growled. “I’m your husband. I’m your alpha.”

“Fuck off,” Aemond seethed, outraged.

“No. Aemond… just please come out of this fucking room. Come and take dinner with me. Please.”

“And if I don’t?” Aemond snarled. “Will you drag me out?”

“Seven hells,” Lucerys cursed, utterly exasperated. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t’ve spoken to you like that. I wish I hadn’t. But what you said hurt me to hear, do you understand? It hurt me. Because of Aegon, I lost people I loved. Do you want to hear about my mother’s losses? Her pain? When you’ve lost everything? Of course you don’t! It’s the same for me. I don’t want to hear about Aegon when two of my brothers are dead, and he’s the reason why – damn his soul.”

“You lost them because of me as well,” Aemond pointed out angrily. “I killed for Aegon. I burned men alive for him. But you’re happy enough to put your cock in me when I’ll let you.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No! We were married already! You were mine already!”

“Yours?” Aemond laughed unpleasantly, sounding a little unhinged. “I wasn’t yours! I’m still not yours!”

The collar of Aemond’s grey tunic hung loose. The mating bite on his neck was easy to see. Lucerys risked moving his hand, pressing his palm gently over the half-moon scar.

“This says differently,” he murmured.

Trying to hold Aemond with one hand was a mistake. Quick as a flash, he lashed out. His fist caught Lucerys across the jaw. It was an awkward angle to strike from - but it was still enough to rattle Luke’s teeth. He cursed and tried to grab Aemond’s wrist again, hoping to pin him back down. But he’d given too much ground, and Aemond took advantage mercilessly, shoving Lucerys off him.

The next punch didn’t actually break Luke’s nose, but it hurt like the hells. Lucerys felt a trickle of blood start dripping down his mouth. He rolled over and got to his feet again, braced for another attack.

But Aemond didn’t move. He was frozen on the bed, staring at the crimson blood on Lucerys’ face. He looked furious still, but he didn’t move. “Aren’t you going to hit me back?” he demanded.

Lucerys would’ve rather put his hand in a direwolf’s mouth than hit Aemond. Just the idea made his gut churn.

“No,” he said tersely, wiping away the blood smeared on his lips. “If you want to sulk, then you can sulk until you’ve had your fill of it. Do as you please.”

That was the end of the attempted reconciliation. Lucerys left his husband’s bedchamber and didn’t see so much as a fleeting glimpse of Aemond for two full days. He had a maester examined his battered face, and the old man had declared it would heal on its own. Lucerys lied to his mother, telling her he’d gotten the swollen nose falling from his horse. She seemed to believe it.

Nothing had improved since. Lucerys was ready to punch the wall he was so frustrated. He’d stopped going back to their shared apartments in the day. What was the point? All Luke was doing was forcing his mate to shut himself away for hours on end, like a sullen hermit. At least this way Aemond would have a little freedom. Even if it was just of five rooms.

Today, Lucerys was attending an informal Queen’s council. For once, the news was good. It seemed Lucerys and Daemon’s exploits in Flea Bottom, fighting with their bare hands to put out the fire, had been rapturously received by the smallfolk.

“You’ve the popular touch, Luke,” Lord Corlys said with a bemused smile. “It’s all they’re talking of in the taverns and wine-sinks, so I’m told. Lucerys Targaryen – at last a prince who cares for the common folk.”

“Daemon was there as well,” Lucerys protested. “In truth, the whole thing was his idea.” It was Daemon who’d announced to the crowd who they were. If it’d been left up to Lucerys, they’d have slunk away without a word to anyone.

“Ah yes,” said Corlys. His smile got a little bigger. “Unfortunately, Prince Daemon’s reputation as… something of a rogue has proven hard to dislodge in the minds of the people.”

Daemon didn’t look offended to hear it. In fact, he looked rather pleased with himself. Rhaenyra shot her husband a quick glance full of fond exasperation. It was swift, but Lucerys noticed it. He hoped things were improving between his parents, now they were living under the same roof again.

“Have we made any more progress tracking down these vile conspirators?” Rhaenyra asked. “The ones bribing drunkards to betray their queen?”

“We tracked the man in black to an Eel Alley inn,” Mysaria said. “He was renting the room above the tavern. But by the time we found his bolthole, he’d already fled.”

“Fled?” said Rhaenyra sharply. “Fled where?”

“Fled the city,” said Mysaria. “Bought a horse and gone. I spoke to the landlord myself. He didn’t know the man’s name or where he’d come from, although he knew the city well. He paid twice the going rate for no questions asked. The landlord thought perhaps the man was Dornish. A smuggler or an exile.”

“The fool I caught in Flea Bottom thought the man who’d bribed him was Dornish,” Lucerys said.

“The Dornish?” said Rhaenyra, taken aback. “What quarrel have I with the Dornish?”

“We’re weak and they want to keep us that way,” growled Daemon. “If we’re hobbled, we’re no threat to them.”

“But we’re no threat to them regardless!” cried the Queen. “I’ve no designs on Dorne or the Stepstones. I’ve said there’ll be no more war whilst I rule! Why should the Martells endanger that?”

“Perhaps they simply don’t believe you?” Lord Corlys suggested soberly.

The council discussed the problem for a long time, but no fresh insights materialized. There was nothing to do but wait and see what their mysterious enemy did next, or whether Mysaria’s spies could uncover new information.

There was at least one bright spot.

“I’ve received a letter from my stepdaughter, Princess Baela,” Rhaenyra announced as the meeting drew to a close. “She’ll be visiting King’s Landing in a few days’ time, bringing her new husband with her.”

Both Daemon and Corlys smiled at the news. Lucerys felt his own heart soar. He’d missed Baela a great deal. She was one of his oldest friends, and it’d been far too long since they’d seen one another. She was everything he’d wanted recently. A friend his own age – another alpha his own age.

He was also curious to meet Baela’s new mate – Alyn of Hull. Or Alyn Velaryon, as he was now. Lucerys had met the man during the war, but only twice. The conflict had taken them to different places and different battles. Alyn was a legitimised bastard of mysterious origins. Officially he was Luke’s half-brother, son of Laenor. But popular rumour had it that it was actually Corlys who was Alyn’s sire. Lucerys believed the rumours. It was plainly evident, in his opinion.

He'd other reasons to be curious about Alyn. He was an omega, and well known to be hot-headed and impulsive, with an aversion to the submissive sweetness considered proper for one of his caste. In short, he reminded Lucerys of Aemond. Although Alyn probably wasn’t that bloodthirsty. Very few people were. Still, Luke was keen to meet him again - and keen to talk to Baela. He hoped she’d some great marital wisdom to share. Something to help Lucerys fix things.

Or maybe she was every bit as hopelessly lost as he was.

…

Aemond was definitely going mad. If there’d been any doubt before, there wasn’t anymore. Probably he already was. Did madmen know they were mad? Or did they think it was the rest of the world that’d lost its mind?

Gods – he was so angry with Lucerys. And angry with himself for being so stupid. For getting lulled into some pathetic fantasy and forgetting what this really was – a prison. A prison Aemond had willingly chosen in order to avoid a worse one, but a prison nonetheless. The result of a moment of madness on Lucerys’ part, and desperation on Aemond’s. A mistake that bound them together forever, but still a mistake.

Aemond felt wretched. He’d spent most of the past week lying about in a miserable stupor. He’d done nothing but rest, yet he felt exhausted. He badly wanted to go into Lucerys’ bedchamber and bury his face in the sheets, inhaling the scent of his mate and falling asleep there. The urge was so acute, Aemond felt it like a physical ache. He knew just a little of that sea-salt and heather would make the ache go away. And it’d be so easy! Lucerys’ bedsheets, his clothes, his comb… they were all right there.

Aemond would’ve rather walked over hot coals. He was sick of being ruled by the bite. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.

He knew he’d been foolish. He’d just been so tired of everything. Tired of constantly having to watch his back, waiting for the quiet knife that would remove him as a fly in Rhaenyra’s dynastic ointment. Tired of being lonely and unhappy. Tired of being angry too. And most of all, tired of resisting Lucerys. So, he’d let himself play with the idea of being Lord Strong’s omega. Had briefly indulged in the strange domesticity of their situation. Like a weak-willed imbecile.

Aemond had let his guard down - and had been quickly reminded why he shouldn’t. Lucerys wasn’t his friend or his lover. He didn’t care for Aemond, not really. The bond tricked him into thinking he did, but it was an illusion. A sick joke played by nature. Aemond must’ve been touched in the head to have thought confiding in his husband had been a good idea. Lucerys was handsome and charming… and so Aemond had forgotten that he wasn’t Aemond’s protector, he was his jailer.

The impulses warring inside him made Aemond feel unwell. He wanted to grab onto Lucerys and demand all sorts of pathetic reassurances. And at the same time, he wanted to defy the bastard at every turn.

He also wanted to… seven hells, to fight someone. That’d always made him feel better in the past. Given him a taste of power, whenever he’d felt especially powerless. Although… hitting Lucerys hadn’t made Aemond feel better. The sight of the blood dripping from his husband’s nose had been unpleasant. Before that, Aemond had been consumed with rage, affronted by the sheer fucking audacity of Lucerys – marching in and pinning him to the bed. He’d lashed out, and it’d briefly felt good… and then he’d seen the blood and felt suddenly, bitterly ashamed of himself.

By the gods, Aemond had killed more men that he could begin to count. And now he’d been reduced to this – balking in the face of a little blood, just because it belonged to his mate. It was pathetic. Yes – that was the only word to describe Aemond now. Pathetic. He did nothing. He slept, he moped about, and he wanted Lucerys. That was the sum total of his daily activity.

To begin with, Lucerys had kept trying to persuade Aemond to spend time with him. He’d been irritatingly persistent. But after Aemond had punched him in the nose, he’d stopped coming back to their chambers unless it was to sleep. Aemond was left entirely alone. In some ways, it was better. He didn’t have to spend so much time hiding in his bedchamber. But in other ways, it was so much worse. The inevitable had happened then. Lucerys was regretting his decision already. Fed up with Aemond and his moods. And it’d only taken a handful of weeks! Well, to the hells with him. It was too late! It was done and it couldn’t be undone! Lucerys was stuck with Aemond. Forever.

Where was he now? With some other omega, no doubt. Some old flame he’d gone running back to. Or maybe an expensive courtesan. Someone prettier, sweeter, more pliant. An omega who’d whisper soft words in Lucerys’ ear instead of snarling insults. Who’d let Lucerys bed them whenever he wanted, and who’d never speak out of turn. An omega who’d give the young Prince of Dragonstone all the children he could ever want. But they’d be bastards, because whether Lucerys liked it or not, Aemond was his lawful spouse, his mate, the only one who could give him trueborn sons and daughters.

Gods, he was being fucking ridiculous. He didn’t care. He didn’t care.

Aemond sat at the window that afternoon, peering out at the sea and thinking morosely about how he’d be in Pentos by now, if he hadn’t been caught.

He got a sudden fright when the door burst open. Aemond assumed it was Lucerys and scrambled to his feet, ready to stubbornly retreat once again. But it wasn’t his husband – it was his uncle. Aemond’s heartbeat picked up sharply. Daemon kicked the door closed with his heel, slamming it shut.

“Lucerys isn’t here,” Aemond said.

“I’m not looking for Luke,” Daemon announced coldly. He wasn’t armed. Not visibly, at least. There could easily be a dagger hidden on him. “I’ve come to talk to you, nephew.”

Aemond fought to control his face and appear unaffected. It was a struggle. Daemon was surely here for some dark purpose. What else could he want with Aemond? Was he here to remind him just how precarious his situation was? To force Aemond to debase himself to win back his husband, or else return to the dungeons?

Or perhaps he was here to solve everybody’s problems and shove Aemond out the window.

“Sit down,” Daemon growled.

Aemond considered refusing, but he wanted to know what Daemon was after. So he sat down and watched his uncle stonily, trying his best to ignore the pathetic yearning for Lucerys to be here, so he could… so he could what? Provide a shield for Aemond to hide behind?

Daemon’s eyes narrowed as he stared down at his nephew. He gestured vaguely to his own eye. With a jolt, Aemond realised he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch. He hadn’t expected to see anybody but Lucerys. Daemon could clearly see the moonstone orb that Aemond now wore in his previously empty eye-socket.

“Did Luke give you that?”

“Yes.”

“That sapphire was how I found you, you know,” said Daemon. “The loudmouth whoreson you sold it to couldn’t help bragging about owning such a magnificent jewel. My spies found out about it, and I knew at once where the fool had gotten it from. Either it was from you, or some corpse-picking cunt who’d plucked it out of your dead skull. And I knew in my marrow that it was you.”

Aemond scowled but said nothing. What in the seven hells did Daemon want?

“Tell me, Aemond, what do you know about the Dornish?” Daemon crossed his arms.

Aemond hesitated, wrongfooted by this unexpected question. “The Dornish?”

“Yes, the fucking Dornish,” Daemon repeated impatiently. “You’re half-blind, not half-deaf.”

“Dorne is a kingdom to the south,” Aemond retorted snidely. “It’s dry and hot. Is your memory starting to go, uncle? Too many blows to the head perhaps?”

Daemon’s lip curled. “You really are a sour little prick, aren’t you? Until the day I die, I’ll never understand what Luke’s so pitifully lovestruck over. Now, tell me about the Dornish, Aemond. Or so help me, I’ll have you dragged out of here and flogged. I don’t care how furious my wife or son will be.”

“What about the Dornish?” Aemond snapped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Did they help you?” Daemon pressed. “Did they send you money? Offer safe passage to Sunspear? And what about during the war – did they promise the usurper aid?”

“No,” Aemond said. Where was this coming from? Had something happened? “I’ve never had any contact with the Martells. My grandfather asked them for aid during the war, and they refused him.”

Daemon took a step closer. “You’d better not be lying to me.”

“What would I have to gain by lying?” Aemond protested irritably.

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m here to find out.”

“You’ll be disappointed then!” Aemond spat. He got to his feet, temper rising. All the resentment he’d been stewing on over past week suddenly bubbled to the surface, finally presented with a target. “I’ve no idea what you’re spewing on about! Whatever troubles plague my sister’s kingdom, they’re of her own making. Don’t try and blame me for Rhaenyra’s failures.”

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Daemon warned.

“Or what?” Aemond demanded. “Drag me out of here if you want! Have me flogged! Do you think I’m so much of a weakling that I’ll cower and beg for mercy?”

“Don’t tempt me to find out! If it was up to me, you’d already have been publicly whipped.”

“Would you have done it yourself?” Aemond sneered. “Or would you have gotten somebody else to do your dirty work? Just like you did in that Gulltown alley. Like a coward.”

Face twisting in anger, Daemon darted forward – surprisingly quickly for a man with a hobbled leg. He grabbed Aemond by the throat, slender fingers as strong as a vice. They pressed hard on Aemond’s windpipe, choking him. This close, the scent of Daemon was overpowering. The aroma of bitter spice and woodsmoke would’ve made Aemond recoil, if he’d been able to. It was intensely alpha in its composition. And with it came the urge for Aemond to drop his eyes and bare his neck – which he violently smothered, just like he had those three sorry moons ago in the Gulltown sept.

He kicked Daemon’s injured leg. Daemon winced as it nearly buckled beneath him, and Aemond took advantage by yanking viciously on his uncle’s wrist, trying to force Daemon’s hand off his throat. He couldn’t breathe. Daemon responded by raising his free hand, ready to smack Aemond brutally hard across the face.

But he didn’t. Instead, Daemon froze, arm still raised to deliver a violent backhand that never came. His grip loosened a little. Just enough that Aemond could draw a thin, wheezing breath.

Daemon looked strangely conflicted. Aemond was confused until he scented again the woodsmoke and spice – and saw Daemon’s nostrils also flaring. He realised what was happening. Unlike their last face-to-face conflict, Aemond wasn’t affected by the asp water anymore. He smelled like himself. Like Daemon’s kin. Like an omega who was Daemon’s kin. Those same primal instincts that made a pathetic part of Aemond want to meekly drop his eyes before his alpha uncle… well, they worked both ways. Some primitive part of Daemon was telling him that Aemond was his sweet-scented omega nephew who he ought to be gentle with, not slap.

It wasn’t a relief. It made Aemond furious. “Hit me!” he demanded hoarsely. “I’m no delicate waif!”

“No, you’re no waif – you’re a feral cunt,” said Daemon. He let go of Aemond’s throat, shoving him back into the chair. Aemond’s hand flew to his neck. It was sore, but no worse than that.

“Swear it to me, Aemond,” Daemon insisted. “Swear on your mother’s life that you know nothing about any Dornish plot against the Queen. Swear to me that you’ve never accepted aid from the Martells, or any other Dornish noble.”

Aemond thought about springing back to his feet and taking a wild swing at Daemon. But he was hopelessly disadvantaged. Here and now, Daemon had all the power, and Aemond none.

Gods, he wished Lucerys was here - and hated himself for it.

“I swear it,” Aemond hissed resentfully.

Daemon glowered, but appeared to accept Aemond’s word. For now. “Good,” he said flatly. “Now, I want you to tell me who helped you when you were on the run. Who fished you out of the Gods Eye? Where’ve you been hiding yourself? Behind what walls?”

Aemond set his jaw defiantly. “I’ll never tell you that,” he declared. And he meant it.

Daemon’s eyes flashed dangerously, and he opened his mouth to speak again – when suddenly there was a hammering at the door. A knight stepped inside, bowing his head in a hurried show of deference to the two princes.

“Prince Daemon,” the man said urgently. “Forgive the interruption, your grace, but you’re needed elsewhere.”

Daemon looked back to Aemond, then scowled and turned away. He left without another word, leaving Aemond to sit there and wonder just what in the seven hells was going on.

…

Lucerys was in the yard, trying his hand against Lyonel Bentley with a mace. It wasn’t his weapon, that much had quickly become obvious. But that only made Luke more determined. Sparring with the knights was a good way to work out his frustrations - although he’d had to check himself several times when he’d let his feelings boil over too much.

They were interrupted by a harried looking messenger. “My lords,” the fair-haired beta said breathlessly. “There’s been an incident outside the city. The gold cloaks think you should come and see it for yourself.”

“An incident?” said Lucerys sharply. “What do you mean ‘an incident’?”

“A fire,” said the messenger. “There’ve been deaths. Forgive me, Prince Lucerys, but I don’t know anything more. All I was told was that the guard are waiting for you at the Old Gate.”

“Have Prince Daemon informed,” Lucerys said, turning to Ser Lyonel. “And organize an escort. I’ll have some horses made ready.”

Within the half-hour they were at the Old Gate. Lucerys and Daemon, Ser Lyonel, and two more of the Queensguard, all mounted on horseback. A cohort of the gold cloaks were waiting, as promised. The group rode into the open countryside, as the guard captain explained what they’d discovered.

An isolated farmhouse, burned to cinders with the farmer and his family dead inside. A dozen cattle incinerated, and the land scorched. A terrible tragedy and an obvious culprit – Arrax. The gold cloaks never came out and flatly said it, but it was clear in both their faces and carefully chosen words that they believed the dragon was to blame. Arrax’s regular theft of sheep and the occasional cow from the farmland around King’s Landing was well known of. Truthfully… even Luke himself wondered grimly if his dragon was behind this atrocity. Dragons were never tame. They took what they wanted.

Lucerys felt sick and anxious. If Arrax had slaughtered a family in their own home… then the news would spread like wildfire. The people would be angry, not just in King’s Landing, but across the entire eastern Crownlands. There might be unrest. The storming of the Dragonpit still loomed large in the memories of the smallfolk. That bloody and terrible day, perhaps the darkest in House Targaryen’s long history, since the Doom itself.

The farm was five miles from the city gates, past a secluded hamlet and bordered to the north by tangled woodland. Even before he saw the smoked-out ruin, Lucerys smelled the acrid char on the air. It was unmistakable.

Very little remained of the farmhouse. All that was left were a few blackened oak beams, curling upwards like a broken ribcage, rising from a thick carpet of ash. Lucerys dismounted his horse and drew closer. He saw the charred remnants of human skeletons, lying twisted among the glowing embers. In such condition, it was impossible to make out by sight alone how many bodies there were.

Luke stared at the corpses. The sickness in his belly intensified. He prayed to the gods that Arrax hadn’t done this.

There were more gold cloaks guarding the wreckage, silently watching the smouldering ruins. There was also a peasant woman, knelt on the ground, staring at the ruined farmhouse. She wasn’t crying anymore, but her face was wet with heartbroken tears.

“Who’s that?” Lucerys asked the guard captain.

“The farmer’s sister, my lord,” he answered. “She lives in that hamlet we passed a half mile back.”

Tentatively, Lucerys approached her. Daemon came to the edge of the burned-out house and poked at the ashes with his foot.

The woman – she was an omega, Lucerys realized, the depth of her sorrow heightening her scent so much that it carried above even the bitter stink of the fire – stared blankly at him as he stood before her. She looked dazed. Her white apron was stained with soot.

“This is Prince Lucerys,” the captain said sharply. “Son of the Queen. Show him some respect.”

The woman looked at Luke like he was some frightening demon that’d appeared before her. Hurriedly, she scrambled to her feet and dropped into a deep curtsey. Lucerys took her by the shoulders and brought her back up again.

“None of that,” he said gently. “This was your brother’s house?”

“Yes, my lord,” the woman stuttered.

“Who lived here with him?”

“His mate,” she said, her face contorting as she fought back a fresh wave of tears. “Her family have the mill by the stream. And their twins. Just five years old, may the Mother watch over their innocent little souls.”

She began to cry, her face turning blotchy and her hands shaking. Lucerys realised he was only making her afraid. He backed away.

“Where are these cattle?” Daemon demanded. “Show us.”

The gold cloaks took them down a rough track that led to a pasture, in which a dozen charred and blackened carcasses lay on the torched grass. A small barn had been untouched by the fire.

Daemon drew Dark Sister and used the blade to jab at the nearest heap of cow remains.

“No dragon did this,” he declared loudly.

“How can you be sure?” Ser Lyonel asked.

“Because a dragon would’ve eaten the cows,” Lucerys said. He gestured to the roasted carcasses. “None of these have been eaten at. A dragon wouldn’t have burned them for no reason.”

“With respect, my lord,” said Ser Lyonel. “I’ve seen dragons burn many things without eating them.”

“At the order of their rider,” Daemon said, sliding his sword back into its scabbard. “But not when they live wild. Prince Lucerys has been at the Red Keep all day and all night. And even if he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t go flying about the countryside torching innocent people in their homes.”

“You’ll be hard pressed to convince the people,” said Ser Lyonel gloomily.

He was right. The smallfolk weren’t going to listen to pitiful protestations about wild dragons and uneaten cows. All they were going to care about was a burned house with a dead family inside, and a dragon well known for terrorizing farms. Lucerys felt like there was a heavy stone in his stomach. He was certain Arrax hadn’t done this, but he knew the rest of the world would be just as certain that the young dragon was responsible. And they’d want to see justice done.

A sudden cry caught everyone’s attention. One of the Queensguard had ventured into the squat barn. He emerged from it again in a hurry, pointing back inside.

“There’s children here!” he shouted. “Hidden in the hay!”

There were children. A boy and a girl, both roughly five years old and alike as two peas in a pod. These were surely the twins the farmer’s sister had spoken of. They were frightened almost out of their wits. The sight of so many strange men in armour only made them more scared. They huddled together and refused to say a word.

“We should take them to their aunt,” Lucerys suggested.

“No,” said Daemon. “Have the woman brought here. They shouldn’t see what’s left of their parents.”

When she laid eyes on the children, the omega cried out like she’d seen a pair of ghosts. Forgetting in an instant her royal company, she ran towards them with her arms outstretched. The boy and girl hurled themselves into her embrace and began sobbing.

It took a while to calm them all down. The children kept tearfully begging for their parents, and their aunt couldn’t conceal her anguish as she tried to explain why that wasn’t possible. The whole scene was so sorrowful that even battle-hardened knights turned their backs, giving the broken family the semblance of privacy. Only Daemon watched on unblinking. Somebody who didn’t know him might’ve mistaken his stony expression for indifference. But Luke did know him. Daemon was furious.

“Ask them what happened,” Daemon instructed the peasant woman, when all the tears had finally dried up.

At length, the story was coaxed out of the children. A group of men had come to the farmhouse in the middle of the night. The dog’s barking had woken the family in just enough time for their mother to bundle her children out a window, begging them to run and hide in the barn. Afterwards, they’d heard screaming. The twins had watched in terror through the loose slats of the barn door as the strange men had slaughtered the cattle and set fire to the carcasses.

It was all deliberate. Whoever these men were, they’d wanted it to appear as though Arrax had burned a family alive in their own home.

“Bring the children to the Red Keep,” Daemon ordered when the bloody tale was finished. “The Queen will want to hear the story for herself. You men there!” He gestured to the gold cloaks. “Go to the hamlet and tell everybody what you’ve just heard, you understand me? Then find this mill where the woman’s family lived and do the same. Tell everyone bandits murdered the farmers and set fire to the house. Don’t so much as mention a dragon. If we don’t get the fucking truth out there now, it’ll get swallowed up by rumour before nightfall. And find a septon to see to what’s left of the bodies.”

They walked back to the horses. Ser Lyonel was trying to reassure the omega, who was terrified at the prospect of being taken to the Red Keep.

“I swear to you Luke, when I get my hands on whoever’s behind this, I’ll make the whoresons wish they’d never been born,” Daemon seethed.

“They wanted it to look like Arrax had done it,” Lucerys observed quietly.

“Of course they did. And if those children hadn’t hidden themselves, we’d have nothing to say otherwise.”

The ride back to King’s Landing was tense. The children each shared a horse with a knight of the Queensguard. Their aunt rode with Ser Lyonel. Evening was drawing in by the time they arrived back in the city. The people on the streets parted before them as they rode for the Keep, which loomed ominously over the city.

The children were crying as they rode through the palace gates, exhausted and hungry. Daemon ordered them fed and given small beer to calm them down. Ser Lyonel went to inform the Queen of what’d happened. In the meantime, Lucerys and Daemon ate a hurried meal in the Tower of the Hand’s solar.

“I saw Aemond today,” Daemon unexpectedly announced when he was finished eating. “You’ll hear of it anyway, so I might as well tell you myself.”

Lucerys paused, halfway through chewing on a hunk of roasted venison. Daemon had said the words casually enough, but there was a shiftiness to his face that Luke just knew meant that, deep down, Daemon understood he’d overstepped in some fashion. And that Lucerys was going to be angry about it.

“What for?” he ground out, swallowing his food.

“I wanted to find out what he knew about any Dornish conspiracies. I thought perhaps he’d had assistance from them when he was fugitive. He might’ve known something useful.”

“And what did he say?”

“He claims to have never had anything to do with the Dornish,” Daemon shrugged. “Against my better judgement… I’m inclined to believe him. Aemond is not that gifted a liar.”

“Did you touch him?” Lucerys demanded.

Daemon’s silence was damning. Luke felt his temper rise.

“Did you hurt him?”

“Believe me, the bastard gave as good as he got,” Daemon said dismissively. “Between gods-damned Aemond and being on horseback all afternoon, my leg is killing me.”

“I didn’t ask if he hurt you,” Lucerys said, raising his voice. “I asked if you hurt him.”

“Yes,” Daemon admitted, looking his stepson straight in the eye. He looked unremorseful. “But not badly, so whatever display of posturing alpha horseshit you’re planning – ”

Daemon was interrupted mid-sentence by Lucerys abruptly standing up and grabbing him by the collar.

“Go near him again, and I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Daemon barked, seizing Lucerys’ wrist. Wildness gleamed in his eyes.

Lucerys floundered for a moment. What would he do? What could he threaten a man like Daemon Targaryen with? How much trouble was he prepared to make?

To the hells with it. He’d already made so much trouble for Aemond. What was a little more?

“What would you have done, in my place?” he asked coldly. “If someone had hurt your precious Nettles?”

Daemon’s lip curled. “Don’t you dare…” he started.

“Don’t you dare!” Lucerys exploded. “You should’ve asked me before you went anywhere near him! What the hells do you know of it? You might’ve fucked plenty of omegas, Daemon, but you’ve never taken one for your mate. You wouldn’t even give poor Laena Velaryon the bite, even after she bore you two children! You’ve no idea what I’d do if you hurt Aemond. I have no idea what I’d do. Look at all the mad things I’ve done for him so far!”

They glared at each other, each refusing to back down.

“What in the seven hells is going on?” an icy voice cut through the tension like a knife.

They both turned their heads. Queen Rhaenyra was stood in the doorway, Lyonel Bentley just behind her. She looked appalled. Her husband and son stared back at her, suddenly embarrassed. The Lord Commander cleared his throat and pretended to be occupied with something on the floor.

“It stinks of alpha in here,” Rhaenyra complained. “Pull yourselves together, you fools.”

She marched past them and into the small council chamber. Chastened, Daemon and Lucerys let go of each other and followed her in, both refusing to meet the other’s eye.

Within a few minutes, the Queen’s informal council of trusted advisors was seated – just as they’d been that same morning. They’d discussed another fire then, but in better spirits. Now the mood was sombre. Lord Corlys looked grave. Mysaria was sat as still as a statue.

“Bring these children in,” the Queen commanded.

The twins and their aunt were ushered into the room. The woman looked petrified, her eyes darting from person to person. She clutched her niece and nephew tightly to her. Lucerys noticed she was trembling.

Rhaenyra stood up. “Do you know who I am?” she asked softly.

“Yes, my Queen,” the woman’s voice quavered. She bowed anxiously, still gripping the little shoulders of the children.

“Tell me your name.”

“Alysande, your grace.”

Lucerys felt the urge to comfort the poor thing. He’d always hated seeing omegas in distress, whether noble or lowborn. His mother had teased him about it in the past. Said he had a hard head but a soft heart – but she’d smiled fondly, like that secretly pleased her. She’d told Luke it reminded her of a knight she’d once known. She hadn’t mentioned a name, but Lucerys had known she’d meant Harwin Strong.

“Well, Alysande,” said the Queen, sitting back down. “What do these children have to tell me?”

Again, the story was coaxed out of the twins. Halfway through, the boy broke down in tears. Rhaenyra produced a silk handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress and bade one of the guards to give it to the child. When the boy and girl were done recounting their sad tale, they answered questions. No, they hadn’t seen the men. It’d been too dark. But they had heard them. They’d had no accents the children could detect, but they were only five years old. They didn’t know how many there’d been, but at least half a dozen.

The twins hadn’t overheard any names, except for one – Lucerys. One of the men had hollered something about somebody named Lucerys. He’d shouted it gleefully into the night as the dead cattle had been set ablaze.

Lucerys ground his teeth angrily. He could easily guess what the whoreson had been crowing about. About how Prince Lucerys would be blamed for their crime. Him and his dragon.

“What’ll happen to them now?” Rhaenyra asked the peasant woman Alysande. “Will you take care of them?”

“I… I’ll try, your grace,” she said, stuttering a little. “I only…”

“Yes?” said Rhaenyra kindly. “What is it?”

“A fever took my mate last year,” said the woman, trying to swallow down a sudden sob. “Without her, I can barely feed myself. I don’t know how…”

“You’ll have enough money,” Rhaenyra said firmly. “I will give you money. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” Alysande said, visibly sagging with relief. The desperate gratitude in her voice made Lucerys ache.

The family were ushered out. The Queen sat up tall in her chair, back ramrod straight. “I’m sure we all understand what the true purpose of this obscenity was,” she said.

Every head nodded. Nobody needed to hear it said aloud – that the purpose had been to make it appear the last grown dragon of House Targaryen was roaming the Crownlands, massacring innocent families.

“If it wasn’t certain before, it is now,” said Rhaenyra. “Somebody wants to incite the people to rebellion. To topple me from my throne.”

“The Dornish,” said Daemon at once.

“We don’t know that,” said Rhaenyra. “I won’t have us stabbing wildly in the dark.”

“Regardless,” said Corlys. “The first thing we need to do is control the situation. If the people believe in their hearts that Arrax did it, we’ll be hard pressed to change their minds. We must keep this a secret for as long as possible.”

“No,” said Mysaria. “Forgive me, Lord Corlys. But that would be a terrible mistake.”

“How so?” demanded the Queen.

“You can’t stop a rumour,” said Mysaria. “It spreads like the plague. You don’t see it happening, but it creeps from person to person until the whole city is infected. The more you try to stamp it out, the stronger it gets. What we must do, your grace, is to create the rumour. The right rumour. And have it everywhere by tomorrow morning.”

“What rumour do you suggest?” said Corlys.

“The truth will do very well,” said Mysaria. “A band of traitors prowling the countryside, black-hearted murderers creeping about in the dead of night… yes, that’ll appeal to the smallfolk.”

“See to it then,” said Rhaenyra. She sighed wearily. “The night draws in, my lords. We’ll talk of this again tomorrow, when we’ve all had chance to sleep on it.”

Lucerys got up. He felt restless. He headed straight back to his rooms, wanting to find out what Daemon had done to Aemond. Suddenly he became aware of a figure hurrying to catch up with him. It was Mysaria. Luke stopped and turned.

“Can I help you, my lady?” he asked.

“Could I speak with you, my lord? In private?”

Lucerys hesitated. He itched to see Aemond, and nearly insisted they speak in the morning instead. But they were stood right by an open door that led into a secluded courtyard. It was left ajar to let in the cool air. There was a brazier burning out there, and a table and chairs. Some noble had been seated outside, enjoying the breeze. Lord Corlys, perhaps. Lucerys knew his grandfather preferred the fresh air to the stuffy confines of the Keep. It seemed churlish to dismiss Mysaria when the perfect venue for a private discussion was so close at hand.

“Of course,” he said, gesturing for his mother’s spymaster to step outside.

They seated themselves. “What do you need?” Lucerys asked, trying to conceal his impatience to get this over with.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Flea Bottom conspiracy,” Mysaria said.

Lucerys couldn’t help himself. He threw back his head and laughed out loud. “The Flea Bottom conspiracy? Is that truly what we’re calling it?”

“It’s as good a name as any,” said Mysaria, an amused smile playing about her otherwise serious face. “For now.”

“Shouldn’t you be talking to Daemon about this?” said Lucerys.

Mysaria cleared her throat. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Daemon isn’t always clear-headed when it comes to the Dornish. He’s hated them ever since the war for the Stepstones. He’ll cool down soon enough. But right now, he’s convinced the Martells are behind this, and nothing will shake him.”

“And you don’t think the Martells are behind this?” Lucerys hazarded.

“The Queen’s right, it makes no sense. Unless there’s something I don’t see… why would House Martell risk provoking her? What’ve they to gain? Nothing. What’ve they to lose? A great deal.”

“Maybe Lord Corlys was right. Maybe they just don’t believe in my mother’s commitment to peace.”

“I don’t buy it,” said Mysaria, shaking her head. “Even if Queen Rhaenyra did want war with Dorne… the Martells must know she can’t afford it. They must know the kingdom is sick of bloodshed and will refuse if she calls the banners. Besides, this man in black fled King’s Landing on horseback. If he was running back to Dorne, surely he’d have taken a ship?”

“Not if he planned to lead men out into the countryside to torch a farm,” Luke pointed out. “Did the landlord of the inn really know nothing else of use?”

“Nothing,” said Mysaria. “Not even one name. And he was questioned thoroughly. I saw to it myself.”

Lucerys felt uneasy. He could easily imagine what Mysaria meant by ‘questioned thoroughly’. Threats. Violence. He abhorred it, but he wasn’t a fool. These were dark, ruthless times, and sometimes they required dark, ruthless methods. But it didn’t sit easy with Lucerys, and it never would. He wasn’t Daemon. He didn’t have that brutal streak within him.

She had a talent, Mysaria, for appearing meek and submissive at their meetings. As a lowborn former whore, she was there on sufferance only. It was simply because she was so very, very good at her job that her presence was tolerated by the court. Mysaria made sure not to test that tolerance too much. She presented herself as a mild, soft-spoken omega. But she wasn’t. Lucerys knew he’d be wise to never forget what she really was – a woman without mercy.

“So, you want me to keep an open mind?” Lucerys said. “Alright. I will. Was there anything else?”

Mysaria shook her head. “No, my lord. Only that…”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to tell you that it was true,” she said. “About the people loving you for what you did in Flea Bottom. It’s all I’ve heard all day long. Good Prince Lucerys, what a fine king he’ll make one day.”

Lucerys flushed with pleasure, but also smiled sardonically. “For now. They’ll be calling me a bastard again soon enough.”

Something glimmered in Mysaria’s dark eyes. “Hold that cynicism close, young dragon,” she said. “It’ll serve you well.”

Their brief business concluded, both of them made to rise.

“Wait,” Lucerys said, struck by a sudden idea. He sat back down. “You know people, don’t you Mysaria? What’s in their hearts? What makes them do the things they do?”

“That’s always been my trade,” Mysaria said honestly. “One way or another. Alpha, beta, omega… underneath it all, you’d be surprised how alike the desires of men and women are.”

“I want to ask you something,” said Lucerys. “In confidence. It’s a personal matter.”

Mysaria nodded.

“I…” Lucerys paused, unsure where to start. He didn’t want to share too much. Not with Mysaria. He wanted her advice, but he didn’t completely trust her. “I’ve upset my mate, and I don’t know how to repair it.”

Mysaria tilted her head thoughtfully. If the lady of whispers was surprised to be asked for advice on the crown prince’s marriage, she didn’t show it. “How did you upset him?”

“He was talking about his brother,” said Lucerys. “The usurper. He said he missed him. I told him that I didn’t want to hear about it. Not when Aegon is the reason I’ve lost so much.”

Mysaria was silent for a long moment. Her fingernails drummed on the table. It sounded very loud in the still night.

“Who do you want him to talk about it with?” she said at last.

“What?” said Lucerys.

“Prince Aemond. If not with you, then who do you want him to talk about his brother with?”

“I…” There wasn’t anybody. Of course there wasn’t. Lucerys was the only person Aemond had to talk to. The only person Aemond talked to at all, bar a handful of orders for their servants.

“Goodnight, Prince Lucerys,” said Mysaria, standing up and departing the courtyard without another word – as though she knew implicitly that she’d given Luke the answer he needed. Whether he’d liked what he’d heard or not.

Lucerys stayed sitting there for a bit, looking up at the night’s sky. He could only see a smattering of stars through the open roof of the courtyard, but he thought they looked extra bright tonight. Gods damn Mysaria. The woman was too perceptive by half. Luke almost regretted asking for her insight.

He should’ve let Aemond talk to him about Aegon. Who else – as Mysaria had so shrewdly point out – was he going to talk to? There was nobody else. What did Lucerys want Aemond to do? Bottle it up inside for the rest of his life? Let the wound fester and grow poisonous? Because that’s what happened, when you locked your misery away. Lucerys was young, but he knew that. You become poisoned.

Lucerys had lost people to the war. Lots of people. Much, much better people than fucking Aegon. People who’d deserved to live more than any usurper had. Who deserved to be mourned and remembered, while Aegon was fit only to be cursed and forgotten. But Lucerys had other people to share his grief with. Aemond only had him.

Luke closed his eyes, shutting out the stars briefly. He swore creatively and at length in his ancestral tongue of Valyrian.

Chapter Text

Aemond was asleep on his bed, fully clothed and lying atop the blankets. He hadn’t really meant to fall asleep at all. His slumber was so shallow, that the knock at the door woke him at once.

He sat up, rubbing at his flesh and blood eye with the heel of his hand. He swallowed, registering the way his throat ached where Daemon had grabbed it earlier. Aemond carefully did up the topmost tie of his shirt, pulling the collar closed to hide any visible marks. He didn’t want to risk the servants seeing anything. He loathed the idea of being the subject of their tawdry kitchen gossip.

The knock came again.

“Enter,” Aemond called, assuming it was a servant come to get him ready for bed. What was the time? It was dark outside. The last thing he remembered before he’d fallen asleep were the candles being lit.

It wasn’t a servant. It was Lucerys, carrying two silver cups full of wine. Aemond tensed immediately.

Lucerys proffered one of the cups and smiled nervously.

“Is it poisoned?” Aemond asked waspishly.

At once Lucerys’ smile fell away and he visibly fought not to roll his eyes. “No,” he said. “Not on this occasion.”

“I don’t want it,” Aemond said, slumping back down onto the bed. “Go away.”

“I know Daemon came to see you,” said Lucerys, making no move to leave. “He said he hurt you.”

“I hurt him too,” Aemond snapped. He wasn’t going to let Lucerys paint a picture of him as some weakling omega, helpless in the face of a hostile alpha. That wasn’t what had happened.

“Yes, he did tell me that,” admitted Lucerys. “But I don’t care about him. I only care about you. Tell me what happened.”

“No.”

“Please.” Lucerys put the cups of wine down on a table and stepped closer to the bed. “Please Aemond. Just tell me what happened. I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.”

Aemond prevaricated. A cruel part of him wanted Lucerys to lie awake all night, unable to sleep because he was brooding over what some other alpha had done to his mate. Another, bitterer part of Aemond suspected Lucerys was lying. What were these words, but sweet nonsense intended to soften him up? Honied horseshit, meant to flatter the pathetically needy ego of an omega yearning to be the centre of their alpha’s attention. The sort of omega Aemond wasn’t and never would be. But then a different thought occurred to him – perhaps he could turn this to his advantage. All day long he’d been wondering why Daemon had come to interrogate him. Wondering what lay behind his uncle’s sudden interest in Dorne.

He sat up again and fixed Lucerys with a cool stare. “I’ll tell what Daemon did, if you tell me what’s going on. Why did he want to know about the Dornish? Why was the old cur so agitated?”

Lucerys hesitated and Aemond scoffed. Of course. Just as he’d thought. Honied horseshit.

“Alright,” Lucerys said quietly. “You tell me what happened with Daemon, and I’ll tell you what’s been going on. I promise.”

“You promise do you?” Aemond said scornfully, making it clear he put no stock in that at all.

“Yes,” said Lucerys, more vehemently. “I swear it to you.”

Aemond narrowed his eye. Lucerys sounded like he meant it. Slowly, Aemond undid the topmost tie of his shirt again. He pulled the collar open. There was a pale bruise around his neck. It wasn’t very bad. Daemon had held him tightly enough to cut off his air, but not for long. Aemond had suffered far worse. This was nothing.

“He asked me about Dorne, and I couldn’t give him the answers he wanted. Daemon lost his temper, because he’s a rabid dog. And he did this.” Aemond gestured to his bruised throat. “So I kicked the whoreson in his crippled leg.”

Lucerys looked livid, staring at the faint purple marks about Aemond’s neck. He reached out with his hand. Aemond reacted quickly, getting up to his feet. Putting the bed between himself and his mate. Sending a clear message. Lucerys dropped his outstretched arm.

“Did he do anything else?” Luke said. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“No,” said Aemond truthfully, thinking of Daemon intending to deliver a furious backhand slap across Aemond’s face, and being unable to bring himself to do it.

“I’m sorry,” Lucerys blurted out. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve…”

“What?” said Aemond curtly. “Should’ve been a better jailer? Are you going to start locking the door as well? You can lock me in and lock the rest of the world out. Two birds with one stone.”

“No! Seven hells Aemond, you know what I meant. I should’ve protected you.”

Aemond sneered. “I don’t need your protection, Lord Strong.”

“Yes you do. You know you do. I… look, do you want answers to your questions or not?” He picked up the wine again and held out a cup to Aemond. “Come, sit with me and I’ll tell you why Daemon wanted to know about Dorne.”

Aemond belatedly realised he’d been tricked a little. If he wanted answers, he was going to have to do what Lucerys had been trying to get him to do for days – leave this room and sit with him. He clenched his jaw angrily, but the hard truth was, a very large part of Aemond wanted to do it. He could smell Lucerys from here, and it pulled on him like a physical force. He was tired of this room. Tired of endless boredom. He wanted to hear about the outside world.

Aemond did think about at least refusing to take the wine. But by the gods, he also wanted a drink. He marched past Lucerys, pausing only to pluck the silver cup from his husband’s hand and down half the contents in one go.

Every candle in the solar was lit. The shutters were open, letting in the cool air. Their chambers faced out over the gardens, and beyond that the sea. So the breeze was fresh and fragrant, rather than carrying the unpleasant city stink. Two chairs had been pulled close to the sill of the largest window. Lucerys took one and gestured for Aemond to take the other. Reluctantly he did - and regretted it at once. They were too close. The scent of Lucerys made it hard to think clearly. The urge to touch him was nearly overwhelming. Aemond saw his alpha’s hand grip the arm of his chair tightly, and wondered if Lucerys felt the same impulse.

Aemond drank some more wine. Slowly, this time – although he pretended to have another large mouthful. In reality, he just wanted an excuse to put his nose to the cup and use the heady scent to wash away the sea-salt tang of his husband.

“You remember the night I returned from Flea Bottom?” Lucerys began. “Stinking like… what did you say, a badly smoked ham?”

Despite himself, a smirk tugged at the corner of Aemond’s mouth. “I remember.”

“I told you there was treason on the streets.” Lucerys looked weary all of a sudden, even by the warm candlelight. Like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “And there is. But something worse too. Conspiracy.”

“Conspiracy? What do you mean conspiracy?”

Lucerys drank from his cup and pressed the cool silver to his forehead for a second or two. And then he began to tell Aemond a strange tale. Of mysterious men offering bribes in the filthiest taverns in the city. A burned-out farmhouse and cold-blooded murder. A clumsy effort to frame a dragon for the crimes of men. And behind it all, an unknown hand. The only clue, some half-wit landlord and a treacherous drunk’s assertion they thought the men might’ve been Dornish.

It sounded extraordinarily weak to Aemond’s ears. But it did explain Daemon’s sudden interest in Dorne. In finding out what dealings the Greens might’ve had with them. And his frustration when the answer had turned out to be ‘none at all’.

“There,” said Lucerys when he was done. “I promised you. And there it is.”

“Why would the Dornish seek to dethrone my sister?” Aemond said.

“I don’t know,” Lucerys said with a tired shrug. “I don’t see there’s any gain in it for them. But there’s a lot in this world I don’t see. Aemond, please, if you know anything…”

“I don’t!” Aemond exclaimed irritably. “Why should I lie?”

Lucerys’ expression was pinched. “You might want to see your nephew Jaehaerys on the throne.”

“Instead of you? My husband? My mate? You’re forgetting – my fate is bound to yours now! Whether I like it or not. This makes it so!” Aemond briefly raised his hand to the scar on his neck. “Your fall is my fall.”

“But if I die, you’re freed of it,” Lucerys pointed out.

Aemond stared at him, dumbfounded. The idea had never once crossed his mind. Oh, he’d raged furiously at his situation, but it’d never occurred to him to wish for Lucerys’ death in order to liberate himself from the bond. The very idea made a tendril of revulsion and something like panic curl in Aemond’s belly. The urge to reach out to his mate increased sharply. Too sharply. Aemond couldn’t control himself. He raised a hand towards Lucerys, and in an instant his husband was reaching back, as though he too had just barely been restraining himself.

“If I die, you’re free of me as well,” Aemond said, as their fingers tangled loosely together. He tightened his grip, pinching Lucerys’ fingers between his own so fiercely that it must’ve been painful. “Do you want that? Where’ve you been these last few days? Paying court to some perfumed brat? In bed with every whore on the Street of Silk?”

“Of course not!” Lucerys exclaimed. Now it was his turn to tighten his grasp and hold Aemond’s fingers in a grip that went well past the point of comfort. “I can’t win with you Aemond! You want nothing to do with me for a fortnight, and now you’re convinced I must’ve been bedding somebody else because I wasn’t here with you!”

Aemond scowled and snatched his hand back. “That isn’t an answer,” he pointed out.

“No!” Lucerys snapped. “I haven’t been paying court to anyone. I haven’t fucked any whores – I haven’t fucked anybody else at all! I don’t… gods, I don’t want to be free of you. Of course I don’t want to be free of you! You’ve been avoiding me! Do you want to be free of me? Is that it?”

No. Aemond didn’t. He wanted free of this glorified prison, and he wanted free of the shameful impulses being mated had forced upon him. But he didn’t want free of Lucerys. Frustration boiled inside him.

“No,” Aemond hissed. “There, are you happy now?” He stood up, intending to shut himself away in his bedchamber again. Barely any time in Lucerys’ presence, and he’d lost control again.

“Aemond…” Lucerys started, jumping to his feet and catching Aemond by the arm. “I’m sorry. I… this isn’t what I wanted. I’ve done this all wrong. Please. I’m sorry.”

His hold wasn’t tight. Aemond could’ve easily shrugged him off. For some reason, that made it easier to relent. He yanked his arm free but sat back down.

“Thank you.” Lucerys retook his own seat.

They sat in silence, drinking their wine for want of anything else to do. Lucerys seemed to be building up the nerve to say something.

“Aegon was awful to you, when we were children,” he said, finally spitting it out. “I don’t understand why you’d miss him. He was cruel to you.”

“You were all cruel to me.”

“We followed where he led,” Lucerys said quietly. “That’s not an excuse. I know it isn’t. For what it’s worth… I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. I wish more than anything I could go back and undo it.”

“It’s not worth a damned thing,” Aemond replied. He felt uncomfortable. He didn’t want to talk about this.

“I know,” Lucerys hung his head. “But, nevertheless…” He sighed. “Our lives are fickle things, aren’t they? If anyone was so cruel to you now, I’d kill them for it.”

A dark thrill shot through Aemond. Lucerys had said it so matter-of-factly.

“I’d kill them myself,” he said coldly. He wasn’t that pitiful child anymore. He hadn’t been since the day he’d lost an eye and gained a dragon. Aemond had tasted powerlessness and humiliation at an early age, and found them bitter pills to swallow. So he’d made himself dangerous and frightening, dragging those things over himself like armour. And every time he’d struck back and felt the addictive rush of power, a little of the old pain had faded. For a while, at least.

And now he was powerless again.

“I know you would,” Lucerys acknowledged. “You turned out the most dangerous of us all. Do you remember our wedding?”

“What?” Aemond said, surprised by the unexpected tangent. “Yes, I remember. I hated every second of it.”

“I’ve always thought we must’ve looked funny,” said Lucerys. “You were so much taller than me. I couldn’t even put the cloak about your shoulders.”

“You were still a boy,” Aemond snorted. “A runt. You grew up.”

“Aegon was awful to you then as well. I remember the wedding feast. He was so drunk. I think he’d put away a whole jug of wine by himself. He told me I should ask Daemon to tie you down to the bed before I tried to stick my knot in you. He said it in front of everyone.”

Aemond remembered it vividly. He’d wanted to strangle Aegon. To grab him by his hair and ram his stupid, drunken face into the flagstones until there was nothing left. The humiliation had burned like dragonfire. Their mother had been horrified. She’d ordered the Kingsguard to take Aegon back to his chambers to sober up. Aemond could still recall his brother’s laughter – cracked and unpleasant – as he’d staggered away, Ser Criston’s hand planted firmly on his shoulder.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about Aegon,” he muttered.

“Hearing about him is painful,” admitted Lucerys. “But I do want you to talk to me about him. Just like, one day, I’d like to talk to you about Jacaerys. We were enemies for a long time, Aemond. We’ve both lost far too many of our kin. If we never talk about painful things, we’ll never talk about anything that truly matters.”

Aemond stared, trying to work out if Lucerys’ words were genuine. He realised he wanted them to be. That he wanted to give in. To fall back into the fantasy he’d indulged because he was tired and lonely. A surge of bitterness overcame him.

“What makes you think I want to talk to you?” he said sullenly, drinking another mouthful of wine. There wasn’t much left.

“Well, I want to talk to you,” insisted Lucerys. “I want to talk to you. I want to touch you. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”

He held out his hand. Aemond itched to slap it away again. But he’d already let Lucerys take his hand once this evening, so he gave into his desires with a grimace, placing his palm against his mate’s.

Lucerys held Aemond’s hand gently and brought it up to his face, rubbing the back of his husband’s knuckles against his cheek. Mingling their scents together on his skin. The short hair of his beard was soft.

“You did look a fool at our wedding,” Aemond surprised himself by saying, as Lucerys turned his hand over and pressed a kiss to the palm. “Like a lost lamb presented to a wolf for dinner.”

Lucerys laughed, his warm breath huffing against Aemond’s wrist. “You being the wolf, I presume? Would you have eaten me alive, husband?”

“I still might.” Aemond let the pad of his thumb rub softly across the perfect curve of Lucerys’ mouth.

Lucerys gazed at him, eyes burning. Without warning he rose from his chair. Aemond tensed suddenly, pulling his hand back as Lucerys loomed over him.

“Please Aemond,” Lucerys mumbled. By the soft glow of the candlelight, he was unbearably beautiful. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

Aemond caught Lucerys by the jaw, keeping him held at a measured distance. Lucerys allowed it, holding still exactly where Aemond wanted him.

“I’ll never be some docile lapdog, do you understand?” he said harshly. “If you’re hoping I’ll change one day, I won’t. I’ll say things you hate hearing. I won’t blindly obey you or stop to ask your permission. I won’t ever simper and fawn. If that’s what you want, you better had poison my wine.”

“If that’s what I’d wanted,” said Lucerys, dark eyes boring into Aemond. “Then believe me, I could’ve had it. But I wanted you.”

Aemond stared, trying to detect a lie. But he couldn’t. Lucerys’ expression was aggressively honest. Aemond’s hand loosened its grip on his husband’s jaw. Lucerys seemed to think that was all the invitation he needed. He bent down.

Their mouths pressed firmly together, and all the miserable longing of the past fortnight came pouring out. It was enough to temporarily batter down the walls of Aemond’s pride. He wanted Lucerys, and here Lucerys was – apparently every bit as pathetically desperate for it.

They wound up in an awkward position, Lucerys stooped over Aemond, one hand cupping the nape of his neck and the other braced on the back of the chair. Aemond’s own hands were also occupied. One held Lucerys by the jaw, the other was fisted in the fabric of his tunic - trying to pull his husband down on top of him. His blood sang. After days and days of separation, this felt like the first taste of water after being lost in the desert. Aemond’s nearly empty cup of wine fell to the floor with a clatter. Neither of them paid it any mind.

Gods, Aemond hoped it wouldn’t always be like this. They were newly bonded. Common wisdom said this was the time of greatest infatuation – outside of a heat or rut. Surely the obsession would fade. It had to. Aemond could not go his whole life this embarrassingly fixated on Lucerys. The only consolation was that his mate was just as badly afflicted. Aemond struggled to remember that he was angry with Luke. He’d thought he’d cleared his head. Gotten a grip on himself. Remembered that this wasn’t real.

Already, with Lucerys’ body looming over his, Lucerys’ tongue in Aemond’s mouth, and his fingers sliding into Aemond’s hair… he could feel that clarity slipping away again.

“Gods,” Lucerys groaned against Aemond’s lips. “Come to bed. Please come to bed.”

Yes everything in Aemond cried out.

“No,” he said.

“Please,” Lucerys whined. “Please sweetheart, come on. Come to bed with me.”

Aemond would’ve rather chewed on broken glass than admit just how much he liked hearing Lucerys call him sweetheart. He swallowed.

“Beg,” he demanded, in as steady a voice as he could manage.

“Beg?” said Lucerys. His eyes gleamed. “Come to bed, and I’ll beg. I’ll beg, and I’ll beg, and I’ll beg some more – until you’ve had your fill of my begging. Until it makes you howl.”

Aemond’s resistance collapsed. Gods, he was so hard it almost hurt. He let himself be dragged out of the chair and into Lucerys’ bedchamber. He let his shirt be dragged off, as Aemond fought to remove Lucerys’ tunic. When they were both bare-chested, they wrapped around each other again, kissing like… like… seven hells, like a freshly bonded alpha and omega who hadn’t touched each other for two gods-damned weeks. It was hot and desperate. Their bodies rocked urgently together, each hopelessly aroused and searching for any relief of that arousal.

Lucerys managed to pull himself together enough to get Aemond onto the bed, sprawled on his back. He climbed on top and began to work on getting his mate completely naked, when suddenly he paused. He stared down at the bruise that wrapped its way around the pale flesh of Aemond’s neck. His expression was stormy.

Aemond squirmed impatiently. Lucerys could brood about it later. Right now there were other matters at hand. He wrapped his still-clothed legs tightly around his husband’s waist and ground up against him. That did the trick. Lucerys groaned and fell back upon Aemond like he was starving for him. Eventually, they managed to discard what remained of their clothes.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Aemond did indeed come howling, just like Lucerys had promised he would. His hand was gripping onto the ornately decorated headboard of the bed so tightly that his short fingernails left shallow marks in the varnished wood. He let go and slumped on his stomach, his face half-turned into the pillow. He felt weak and boneless, strangely out of breath despite having done nothing but lay there. Lucerys stirred and began kissing his way up Aemond’s back, tracing the curve of his spine until he arrived at his mate’s neck.

Lucerys pushed Aemond’s hair aside and latched his obscenely clever mouth over the bite scar, worrying at it gently. A heady warmth spread through Aemond’s body. It was almost too much. Even if he hadn’t been reeling from a climax that’d turned every bone in his body to liquid, the sensation of his alpha’s mouth on the bite did strange things to him. Made Aemond want things that were disturbingly out of character. Unconsciously, he tilted his head to the side, baring his neck for more.

“Has no-one ever done that for you before?” Lucerys murmured into his ear. He sounded delighted. “Not the alpha who had you before me?”

“Shut up, Lucerys,” Aemond mumbled.

“I told you I’d beg until you howled,” Lucerys continued, lips pressed to Aemond’s neck. He was still hard, rutting helplessly against his mate’s thigh. Aemond thought he probably ought to do something about that.

He rolled over and gently pushed Lucerys off. One nimble hand crept beneath the sheets to wrap around his mate’s cock. The sound Lucerys made was filthy. Aemond grinned, using his other hand to grab his husband by his mussed dark hair, and hauled him down into a kiss.

That night, he slept in Lucerys’ bed. Both of them drifted away into slumber with the sweat cooling on their bare skin.

…

“A procession?” Lucerys repeated, a little taken aback. He and the Queen were sitting in the gardens of the Keep, at a table laid with a selection of fine little dishes. Around them, summer roses bloomed.

“Nothing extravagant,” said Rhaenyra. “Little more than an escort, really. But I thought it’d be good for the people to see me. To see you as well.”

“Isn’t it too dangerous?” Lucerys hadn’t been in King’s Landing during the riots. But he’d heard the tales – the chaos, the fury, the bloodshed. It’d cost Joffrey his life.

Grimly, Lucerys thought there was a dark lesson in it. From the lofty spires of the Red Keep, it was far too easy to think of the smallfolk as pawns to be pushed around a board. But truthfully… they were like hounds bred for the hunt. No matter how loyal, no matter how obedient – push them far enough, and they’d bite. And when they bit, they dug their fangs in deep.

“I can’t shut myself away forever,” said Rhaenyra. “Of course there’s risk. But truly… isn’t there risk in not showing myself to the people? If I’m nothing but a distant figure on a distant throne, how can I ask them to love me?”

“But so soon?” Lucerys fretted. “There’s unrest on the streets, you know that.”

“Luke.” His mother lay her hand over his. “I promise you, it’s just a short procession to the docks. To greet Baela. All the Queensguard will be there. The gold cloaks too. I’ll be quite safe. We all will.”

“All?”

“I want the people to see us united. I want them to see my consort by my side. And my heir too. The people love you right now, Lucerys. We’d be fools not to make hay of it.”

“You want Daemon and I to come with you?” Lucerys did understand what his mother was hoping to achieve. Besides, it seemed more than a little hypocritical to caution her against riding out in full daylight, surrounded by a hundred guards, when Luke and Daemon had so recently snuck off to the most rancid quarter of the city by moonlight.

“And Aegon too,” said Rhaenyra. “Viserys is too young still. But I want the people to see with their own eyes that the strife in our family is over. And to that end…” She took a deep breath. “I want you to be honest with me Luke. What’re the chances of Aemond agreeing to be part of this?”

Lucerys hesitated, surprised by the question. Rhaenyra smiled wryly.

“It wasn’t my idea,” she admitted. “Daemon suggested it. I won’t pretend I’m certain it’s a good idea, but I do see what could be gained.”

Lucerys also saw what could be gained. What better demonstration that all was now well in House Targaryen could there be? The citizens of King’s Landing would see their former regent and the great enemy of the Queen, riding – apparently of his own free will – in her company. Strange that it should be Daemon’s suggestion. Perhaps it was an odd sort of peace offering. Yes, that was Daemon’s style, rather than lowering himself to anything so humbling as an apology.

“Aemond will agree,” Lucerys said after thinking about it. “If just for the chance to get out of the Red Keep and ride on horseback again.”

“Will he do anything stupid?”

That was a more difficult question. “I don’t think so,” Lucerys hedged.

Rhaenyra frowned. “He’s your omega, can’t you control him?”

“You think I can control Aemond?” Lucerys almost laughed. “I’m his alpha, not a sorcerer. But so long as all you ask of him is to ride out, then yes – I think he’ll behave himself. If he’s with me.”

The Queen nodded. She plucked a summer strawberry dusted in fine sugar from a dish on the table and ate it neatly. She looked thoughtful.

“And how are things between you and Aemond?” she enquired. Lucerys had been anticipating this question for a long time now. He’d suspected his mother had been trying not to pry. But of course she’d ask eventually.

He mulled it over. He didn’t want to lie, but he also felt in some strange, indefinable way that it wasn’t her business. It wasn’t anybody else’s business. Even the Queen’s. But of course it was! Lucerys was the crown prince. They weren’t like ordinary people. Their family was – in more ways than Luke could count – not ordinary. His marriage was, from a certain point of view, the realm’s business.

“I still don’t regret it,” he settled on.

“And Aemond? Does he regret it?”

“I don’t know the inner workings of his mind,” said Lucerys with a shrug. “He doesn’t share his feelings much.”

But he didn’t think so. Aemond was full of regrets, that much was obvious. But Lucerys truly didn’t think the bite was one of them. Only that morning Aemond had let Lucerys roll him onto his back and fuck him into the mattress until they were tied. He hadn’t sounded then like a man ruing his choices.

“I still can’t believe you’ve done it,” Rhaenyra shook her head. “Of all omegas. Every sweet young thing from Winterfell to Starfall was yours for the taking. If you’d only…” she sighed. “Never mind. Forget I spoke. Let’s talk of Baela. I want to have a dinner to welcome her. A family occasion.”

Lucerys forced a smile, trying to ignore the sting of his mother’s disappointment. “I look forward to it.”. And it was true. He couldn’t wait to see Baela again. An alpha his own age. His sister. A friend.

…

The Queen had picked out Lucerys’ clothes for the procession. They were black with a striking red cloak. The jerkin strained a little over the width of his shoulders. The servants fussed about it, but it was too late to fix now. The collar fastened with a clasp shaped like a snarling dragon.

She’d also chosen clothes for Aemond. Persuading him to wear them had been a nightmare. The most frustrating thing was that they were all entirely to Aemond’s taste. Black from head to toe, as he preferred. In fine velvet rather than hard leather and wool, but still nothing very ostentatious. There wasn’t anything a royal omega might normally be expected to wear. No pearls, jewels, or lavish embroidery. Lucerys knew Aemond was only digging his heels in because his sister had been the one to select the attire for him.

As they departed their chambers, Aemond suddenly froze. His hand flew to his face, touching the bare skin over his scarred eye. He wasn’t wearing the eyepatch. He didn’t now, when he and Lucerys were alone together in their chambers. He’d even stopped putting it on in front of the servants.

“Don’t…” Lucerys began, but Aemond was already gone. When he returned, he was holding the eyepatch, ready to fasten it over his face.

“Don’t,” Lucerys said again. This time Aemond heard him. “Don’t put it on. It looks fine. You look…”

“I look what?” Aemond snapped, suddenly irritable.

“You look lovely,” Lucerys said helplessly. It was true. Aemond did look lovely. Black suited him very well. Especially this sort of black – the deep black you only got from the finest, most expensive fabrics. It made him look taller. More slender. His long hair had been washed and treated with oils so it shone.

“Don’t you dare patronize me Lucerys,” Aemond growled, fixing the eyepatch in place.

“I’m not!” Luke protested. “Come on, I don’t want us to argue now. Let’s just go.”

Six knights escorted the princes to join the Queen at the gates of the Red Keep. There were two-dozen more knights ready to ride with the royal party, their surcoats bearing the arms of House Targaryen. Alongside them, the entire Queensguard were assembled on horseback. Their armour had been polished to a magnificent shine. Their white cloaks freshly laundered and pristine. Lucerys spied Robyn Darke among them, the knight he suspected hated Aemond. But he was on the edge of the ranks, nowhere near Luke or his husband. Ser Lyonel was a man true to his word.

Queen Rhaenyra looked resplendent atop a pale mare. She wasn’t wearing a dress, but white calfskin leggings beneath a royal blue kirtle – slitted to the waist to let her ride astride rather than side-saddle. The sort of garb a noble alpha woman might wear. Rhaenyra’s hair was intricately braided, and atop it sat the crown. The blue kirtle was heavily embroidered with golden thread. Blue and gold, chosen as a tribute to House Velaryon no doubt. The vibrancy of the blue made her look younger. Less severe. The Realm’s Delight, they’d called her once. Luke caught a glimpse of that sweet vitality in his mother now.

“Brother,” Rhaenyra said coolly, as she saw Aemond for the first time in weeks.

“Sister,” he replied, just as coldly.

“Let’s get this over with,” Daemon announced as he arrived, striding briskly despite his limp. He pulled on a pair of black gloves and mounted his horse. “I want to see my daughter.”

When everyone was on horseback, the great gates opened. The party rode out, banners raised. Rhaenyra and Daemon ahead, with Lucerys and Aemond just behind. Then came Lord Corlys on a bay gelding, riding alongside young Prince Aegon. Lucerys deliberately chose to ride on Aemond’s blind side, hoping it’d put his husband more at ease to have somebody he could trust there.

The route from the Red Keep down to the docklands was lined by the gold cloaks, holding back the press of people. The streets were packed. Lucerys was surprised by just how many had come out to watch. He’d expected a crowd certainly, but not this. Half the city seemed to be there. Children perched on high walls and roofs for a better view as the royal company rode down the Hook. People cried out Lucerys’ name, waving their hands to catch his attention. They were cheering.

Some of the Queen’s ladies and a handful of septas trailed behind the horses, handing out alms to the poor. Someone in the crowd was beating a drum and singing a folksong about the great beauty of old Queen Rhaenys. The mood was jubilant. Far more so than Lucerys had dared hope. The sunny day probably helped. And maybe the novelty too. When was the last time the royal family had dared show themselves like this? When had they last given the people anything but torment?

Aemond was much stared at. With a sick twist of his stomach, Lucerys recalled what the fat, traitorous fool had said in the Flea Bottom tavern. That Lucerys had raped Aemond. Forced the bite on him. Lucerys wondered how many of the smallfolk believed that. He fervently hoped the wretched whoreson had just been spitting whatever poison his drunken mind dreamed up, and that it wasn’t the common opinion.

There’d been similar disgusting lies spread about the Dowager Queen and Princess Helaena. Lies so perverse they’d turned Luke’s stomach. Had the smallfolk believed those too? Lucerys glanced over at his husband. Aemond was looking at the crowds, apparently just as surprised to see them as Lucerys. He rode stiff-backed and not entirely at ease, but he didn’t look coerced. He certainly didn’t look like he was living in fear under the boot of his tyrant husband. Like he’d been forced…

Aemond noticed Luke watching him and frowned. Lucerys just smiled back, hiding his dark thoughts. Aemond rolled his solitary eye and looked away again.

Baela’s ship was already docked, House Velaryon’s colours flying from the mast. Baela was waiting onboard to be received by the Queen. The Queensguard lined up along the quay as Rhaenyra and her family dismounted their horses. Lucerys wrinkled his nose. Even here, in the nicest part of the docklands, the stink was unpleasant. Men with large wicker baskets full of flowers were strewing them about, partly to greet the young heir to the Driftwood Throne, partly in a vain effort to conceal the smell.

Lucerys grinned as Baela appeared on the deck. She was dressed in breeches and a blue velvet jerkin, studded all over with pearls. Her pale, braided hair cascaded down her back, gleaming like polished silver in the sunlight. A joyful smile broke out on her face as she saw her family waiting for her. Lucerys half thought she might throw propriety to the wind and come charging down the gangplank. But instead, she descended at a measured pace and bowed deeply before the Queen.

Daemon kissed his daughter on the forehead. Lord Corlys kissed her on the cheek. Faintly, Lucerys heard a derisive snort. He glanced at Aemond, who was watching the touching scene with naked contempt.

Before Luke could warn Aemond to control himself, Baela was suddenly right next to him, talking to the Queen. Rhaenyra took her stepdaughter’s hands in her own as they smiled fondly at one another.

“It’s good to see you again,” Rhaenyra said. “We’ve all missed you.”

“Not as much as I’ve missed you, your grace.” Baela glanced sideways at Lucerys, eyes sparkling. Then her gaze fell on Aemond and her smiling mouth went flat and pinched.

“So it’s true then,” she said. She stared coldly at Aemond, who glowered back. “I’d thought perhaps the letter was a poor joke. Or that I’d fallen into a terrible fever and dreamed it.”

As subtly as he could, Lucerys wrapped his fingers around Aemond’s wrist. It was half a weak comfort, half a warning for him to hold his tongue. Aemond allowed it for only a few seconds, before yanking his arm back. But he did, mercifully, remain silent.

“It’s good to see you Luke,” Balea continued, looking away from Aemond. “I think you’ve grown even more since I last saw you. Where’s that small boy I used to know?”

“Where’s that wild girl I used to know?” Lucerys replied. He pulled Baela close. Her bright scent of petrichor and freshly shorn grass was fragrant. An alpha’s scent, but not a challenge. When Luke had last seen her, she’d only just presented – very late, as these things went. Baela had been mistaken for a beta for a long time. Her scent had been weak then. Not anymore. Here she was, a full-grown woman, heir to her grandfather’s title and newly mated. Both Luke’s beloved sister and a stranger.

Speaking of Baela’s mate – the short, stocky figure of Alyn Velaryon made his way down the gangplank. Whatever the truth of his parentage, he was unquestionably of Velaryon blood. The resemblance between him and Corlys was striking. Lucerys could only dimly now recall the man he’d once believed to be his sire, but he couldn’t say he saw much of Laenor in Alyn. Only Corlys.

“Alyn!” Corlys cried in booming voice. “Come here my boy. Meet the Queen. It’s been a long time since she saw you.”

Alyn bowed before Rhaenyra. His manner was polite, but noticeably chilly. It seemed he was still sore about his brother. Lucerys hadn’t seen Alyn in years. Perhaps because he himself had grown so tall in the meantime, but he hadn’t realised when he was younger how short Alyn was. Still taller than Baela, though. Lucerys watched as his sister linked her arm through her husband’s. He couldn’t help recalling the conversation he’d recently had with Aemond. About how ridiculous they must’ve looked on their wedding day, the omega towering over the alpha. Because Baela looked tiny next to her broad-shouldered husband.

It was very unusual, for a female alpha to take a male omega as their mate. Oh, in theory all the essentials worked just fine. Everything that was required to bond, mate, and produce children was present and correct. By the dynamics of such a pairing often clashed with the innate instincts of both castes. Alphas liked to protect. Omegas liked to be protected. That was the common wisdom of the world.

It wasn’t a universal truth. Aemond was proof enough of that. Lucerys knew even the suggestion that he thought his mate a delicate flower in need of an alpha’s protection would be met with affronted fury. And he didn’t think that - Aemond was dangerous, and it would’ve been a serious mistake to forget it. But still… when Luke held him close and kissed him, part of him did feel like Aemond’s protector. He enjoyed that, despite both of them being reasonably tall, Aemond was the slighter of the two. Whatever the rational mind knew, instinct was its own thing. And Lucerys’ instincts said that it was his job to shield Aemond from the dangers of the world.

That didn’t mean he had to listen. But they were always there, nonetheless.

It was for that reason that alpha women preferred to take other females, whether omegas or betas, for their spouses. How could you protect your mate when you were the physically weaker one? How could you command them when they were stronger than you? But Baela looked happy enough, for all Lucerys suspected her omega could’ve lifted her over his head with a little effort. She was certainly smitten. The possessive way she looked at Alyn told Lucerys that much.

They rode back to the Red Keep. Lucerys was forced to admit, as he passed through the palace gates, that his mother had been right. It’d been a good idea. Luke had been on edge the whole time, waiting for something to go wrong, but nothing had. Nobody had tried to hurl a rotten cabbage at the Queen. Nobody had called out any obscenities. No firebrand septon had appeared to denounce them all as heretics. There’d been no hint of discontent among the crowd.

How did that marry up with that Luke had seen and heard in Flea Bottom? Treason had been so openly spoken there. Perhaps the city was more behind the Queen than he’d realised.

“Lucerys!” his mother called out as they dismounted. “Hold a moment.”

Aemond was escorted away by two of the Queensguard. All around them, knights milled about. An army of stable hands attended to the horses. Servants hurried out with refreshments. A cup of spiced cider was given to the Queen, who drank deeply.

“You were right about Aemond,” Rhaenyra said as her horse was led away. “He behaved himself.”

Lucerys nodded.

His mother paused, mulling something over. “Bring him to the dinner this evening,” she said at last.

“Are you sure?” Luke asked, taken aback.

“No,” Rhaenyra said frankly. “But whether I like it or not, Aemond is part of my family. I can’t ignore him forever.”

…

“All I’m asking,” Lucerys said wearily. “Is that you don’t insult anybody.” He fastened the collar of his jerkin closed again. He’d loosened it earlier for his comfort. It really was too tight across the shoulders.

Aemond glanced up from where he was sitting at the table in their solar. He looked unhappy. “Why don’t you give me a list of things I’m allowed to say?” he grumbled snidely. “Or perhaps forbid me from speaking at all?”

Lucerys sighed, sitting down opposite Aemond. Because of their height, their legs overlapped beneath the table. Lucerys knocked their calves together.

“Think of it like this. Your freedom is dictated by the Queen. She chooses what you’re permitted to do, and where you’re permitted to go. If you anger her, you’ll spend the rest of your life shut up in here.”

“Only until she dies,” muttered Aemond.

“Well, she’s a young woman still,” said Lucerys sharply. “So you’re going to be waiting a long time.”

Aemond huffed, sinking down a little deeper into his chair. He looked sullen and dour. But Lucerys didn’t think that was the truth of it. He suspected Aemond was apprehensive – although he’d never admit it. After all, he was about to be surrounded by people he still considered his mortal enemies. People who held all the power. Who could humiliate or belittle him on a whim.

There it was – that instinct Lucerys had been contemplating earlier. The urge to protect his mate. From the world and from himself.

“I haven’t spoken to my mother yet, about writing to the twins,” he said. “But I will. I want to catch her in the right mood. I want to be as sure as possible that she’ll say yes. But if you’re rude at this dinner, she’ll never agree to it. You know that.”

“Of course I know that. I’m not a fool.”

“Then don’t behave like one,” Lucerys said firmly. “Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, please Aemond. Just be civil. That’s all I ask.”

Aemond frowned. One of his hands picked listlessly at a bowl of ripe grapes. It struck Lucerys as a nervous gesture. Yes, he was sure Aemond was uneasy.

When it was time to leave, Lucerys took his mate by the shoulders and pulled him close. Surprisingly, considering his bad mood, Aemond allowed it. Lucerys wanted to ask him to take the eyepatch off again. But he was asking a lot of Aemond already this evening. If he wanted to wear the thing, Luke wasn’t going to quibble about it. Instead he pressed their cheeks together.

“I know she’s a child of Daemon’s, and so probably our House should be thankful he’s not a common whore as well,” Aemond said. “But I can’t believe Baela took a bastard for her mate.”

“You and she have that in common then,” Lucerys replied.

He fully expected Aemond to take offence and was pleasantly surprised when he barked out a laugh instead. Quickly, before he could say anything else obnoxious, Lucerys kissed him.

The dinner was held in the Queen’s private apartments. Lucerys and Aemond were the last to arrive. Unusually for him, Aemond had elected to hold onto Lucerys’ arm. Luke suspected the gesture was less about good manners, and more about the reassurance of having at least one person in the room who didn’t secretly wish him dead. It’d never occurred to Lucerys to wonder if Aemond felt the pull of base instinct too. Whether there was some small part of his mate that wanted to be protected, cared for, brought gifts and anything else he desired. If there was, then Aemond did a damned good job hiding it. But the tight grip he had on Lucerys’ arm as they both bowed – one rather more sincerely than the other – before the Queen, made him wonder about it, just a little.

Aemond opted for just not saying anything as the best strategy to get through the dinner. Privately, Lucerys thought it a wise decision. He didn’t glare or glower either. In fact, he barely looked up once. He just sat there and quietly ate his meal.

“It’ll be over before you know it,” Lucerys murmured under his breath.

Aemond made a noise that suggested he doubted that very much.

By contrast, Baela was in high spirits. She laughed and conversed merrily, seated between her husband and her father. Alyn spoke a great deal as well, entirely unintimidated by the high company he found himself in. He was a bold man, bordering on brash. Daemon seemed to like his son-in-law. But then, Daemon had always enjoyed a rogue – he didn’t care if they were alpha, beta, or even omega. Sat between them, Baela preened with contentment.

The only fly in her ointment was Aemond. Every now and then she’d look over at him, her eyes narrowed. Baela had hated Aemond since well before the war. She’d always believed he’d stolen Vhagar. That by rights the great she-dragon had been her sister Rhaena’s to claim first. Lucerys vividly remembered her fury that night it’d happened. The night he’d so dearly like to go back and undo. Luckily, Aemond didn’t seem to have noticed, too concerned with keeping to himself. Lucerys kept trying to catch his sister’s eye, to wordlessly convey to her that she should leave Aemond alone. But with no success.

Apart from that one problem, the dinner cheered Lucerys immensely. His mother and stepfather sat next to one another, talking amicably from time to time. The easy warmth and gentle affection Lucerys remembered his parents sharing before the war hadn’t yet returned. But this was still the closest he’d seen them since the news of Daemon’s open affair with Nettles had reached the Red Keep. Young Viserys spent the first part of the meal with them, before being taken away by the septa when he started to tire. Luke spent most of his time talking to his brother Aegon, who was full of excitement about their ride through the city. He wanted to go riding other places now. To leave King’s Landing and see the countryside.

“I’ll take you flying on Arrax, if you want,” Lucerys offered.

At once Aegon’s enthusiasm dampened. He shook his head vehemently. “No,” he said. “I don’t want to go near Arrax.”

The war had made Aegon hate dragons. It was a sad thing, but nobody seemed able to do anything about it. Daemon had tried telling his son stories of his adventures on Caraxes (carefully leaving out all the death) but with no joy. Aegon despised dragons and fire, and nothing could change the boy’s mind about it.

Lucerys changed the subject and soon his little brother was chattering away again. Rather sweetly, Aegon kept trying to include Aemond in the conversation. Aemond never actually said much in response, but he did at least make a small effort to listen to what his nephew was saying.

“I wish you’d come to the yard and train me with the sword again, Uncle Aemond,” Aegon confided. He leaned in closer to Lucerys and lowered his voice. “I’ve asked father to allow it, but he won’t. He says you’re a cunt.”

“Aegon!” hissed Lucerys.

“But that’s what he said!” Aegon protested.

Before Aemond could respond, they were interrupted by the servants stepping forward to refill everybody’s cups. The Queen stood up and held out her own goblet, ready to make a toast.

“How pleasant it is, all of us together again,” Rhaenyra declared. “House Targaryen and House Velaryon. All that remains of Old Valyria. We’ve weathered long and difficult years together. Much has been lost. There are many we still grieve for. But despite that, we stand on the cusp of a new beginning. Blood of my blood, the past is gone. It’s over.”

As she spoke, she looked pointedly at Aemond.

“Let us face the future united,” Rhaenyra continued, her gaze sweeping across them all. “A future of prosperity and peace.”

She raised her cup. Around the table, so did everyone else. Aemond dragged behind the rest, but – to Lucerys’ immense relief – he did finally lift his cup. Even if it was distinctly half-hearted.

The Queen looked pleased enough with what she saw. But across the table, Baela spoke up.

“What’s wrong Aemond? Did you break your arm when you fell into the Gods Eye? When you got my mother’s dragon killed? Surely you can raise your cup higher than that?”

A tense silence fell across the table. Rhaenyra frowned at Baela, displeased. Daemon only smirked. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucerys saw Aemond’s fingers tighten about his goblet of wine, until he was gripping so hard his knuckles had turned white.

Gods, he was going to say something truly awful, Lucerys just knew it.

“Did you lose your voice too?” Baela pressed. “Or has my brother finally managed to bring you to heel?”

“Stop it,” Lucerys said sharply, half rising from his chair. “Don’t speak to him like that. Don’t speak to him at all.”

“Luke!” Baela cried. “I know for some reason you lost your mind and took him for your mate, but by all the gods! You can’t honestly expect us all to just sit here and pretend a monster doesn’t lurk in our midst!”

“The Queen invited Aemond to be here, that should be good enough for you.”

“He’s a traitor!” Baela rose from her chair and slammed her hand on the table. “A murderer. He should’ve lost his head, not slithered his way into your bed!”

“Baela!” Lucerys snapped. “Enough! It isn’t your place!”

“Not my place?” Baela said, aghast. She stared at Lucerys like he was a stranger. A stranger she didn’t like.

Daemon broke the heavy tension by bursting into laughter. “There’s no point, my darling girl,” he said. “Luke’s a lost cause. He stuck his knot in Aemond three moons ago, and he hasn’t been able to tug it back out yet.”

Abruptly Aemond rose to his feet, so quickly his chair nearly toppled over.

“Sister,” he said, voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. “I feel unwell. I ask your permission to leave.”

“Of course,” said Rhaenyra.

Lucerys didn’t bother asking permission. He followed Aemond, trailing along behind him all the way back to their rooms. He didn’t dare speak, or even catch Aemond’s eye – not until they were safely in private, away from prying eyes and ears.

“I don’t need you to defend me!” Aemond snarled the moment the door closed. “Especially not from that harpy!”

“What would you have had me do then?” Lucerys retorted. “Sit there and let her talk to you like that?”

“I could’ve dealt with it myself!”

“No, you couldn’t have. I know you!”

Aemond scoffed.

“I do,” Lucerys insisted. “I damn well know you Aemond, and you’d have dealt with it by saying something so heinous Daemon would’ve tried to strangle you again.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot say.”

“I’m not! Lucerys cried. “Gods, will you stop putting words into my mouth!”

He grabbed Aemond, wrapping his hands around his husband’s head. Aemond’s eye looked wild. He really was furious. Whether with Lucerys, or Baela, or fate for conspiring to put him here at all, Luke didn’t know.

“Do you remember what I said to you?” Lucerys said. “When we spoke of how cruel we were to you as children? That if anybody was so cruel again, I’d kill them? I didn’t say it to impress or flatter you. I meant it.”

Aemond’s eye flickered about, roaming over Lucerys’ face. His pupil was so dilated that his iris was barely visible. “I don’t need…” he started to say, in a choked voice.

“I don’t care,” Lucerys interrupted. “I know you don’t need me to defend you. But I don’t care! It’s my place to do it. You may not want me to protect you, Aemond. But I’ll do it anyway and the gods damn anyone who tries to stop me.”

Aemond stared, wide-eyed. Lucerys gazed right back, eyes ablaze with fervour. They were both breathing heavily, worked up and agitated. The scent of Aemond was strong. Luke felt like he could get drunk on it. He wondered if his own scent was projecting just as powerfully. He shifted his hands on Aemond’s face, so that he was cupping him around the sharp curve of his jaw. Carefully he pushed back a stray lock of Aemond’s hair, tucking it behind his ear.

Aemond kissed him. It was so fervent that his teeth scraped along Lucerys’ lower lip. Luke groaned and reciprocated with everything he had. One hand slid into Aemond’s hair, whilst the other dropped to his waist. Soon they were clutching desperately at each other.

Aemond pulled back, his lips red and a little swollen. He pressed his forehead to Luke’s, one nimble hand deftly unhooking the dragon clasp that held the collar of Luke’s jerkin closed.

“Take me to bed right now,” he demanded.

“And if I don’t?” Lucerys asked, even though there was absolutely no chance of that whatsoever.

Aemond tilted his head back. “Then I’ll go to my own bedchamber. And I’ll stick my fingers inside myself and think of the alpha who first fucked me.”

“Seven hells Aemond,” Lucerys growled, his blood igniting like a casket of wildfire. “You can’t say things like that to me.”

They went to bed and fucked like they were both deep in their fevers - until they both forgot all about the dinner, the argument, and anything else outside of their bedroom.

Chapter Text

Lucerys woke the next morning with his face pressed against the back of his husband’s neck. He glanced blearily at the window, the curtain pulled only halfway across. The daylight was faint still. It was only just dawn. Luke groaned, tightened his arm around Aemond’s bare waist, and went back to sleep.

He was woken again by Aemond squirming out of his hold and trying to get out of bed.

“Stay here,” Lucerys muttered, pulling him back. “Tolī quba issa,” he added in Valyrian. It’s too early.

Aemond rolled over to face him. “Tolī quba iksos daor,” he complained. “Yne dāeremās.” It’s not too early. Let go of me.

“Daor,” Lucerys refused stubbornly, keeping his arms locked around his husband.

One of Aemond’s hands crept into the rumpled mess of Luke’s hair and yanked sharply. Lucerys hissed - but just pulled Aemond even closer. His mate sighed irritably and relaxed his painful grip. A moment later, the same fingers ran gently through Luke’s dark locks. It was very pleasant.

“Lykāpsys ñāqerre iksā.” You’re lazy in the mornings.

“Drēje hunenke atroksiari ēdan,” Lucerys protested with a yawn. “Nāqopsir iksos daor, bisys vēzo sagon lȳ daodemmiarza, merbure - ” I had a very vigorous night. It’s not easy being the alpha of such an insatiable, wanton -

“Lo konor udra tatilā,” said Aemond, tightening his grip on Lucerys’ hair until it reached the point of pain again. “Se maziōrinna, egri gūrēnna, se aōhe nūmia unektēnna.” Finish that sentence, and I’ll get up, fetch a knife, and cut your balls off.

“Yne imandūljās.” Forgive me.

Lucerys had no idea what’d possessed him to start speaking in High Valyrian, but it was nice – talking with Aemond like this, in what Daemon would insist was their true mother tongue. Luke turned his head and kissed his omega’s pale wrist.

“Aōha Valyria sȳz issa. Sīrgō hae rhovare hunannī ȳdratia.” Your Valyrian is good. You used to sound like a braying donkey. Aemond sounded suspicious, as though Lucerys had done something very cunning by learning the old tongue.

“Ānogro geltissiarza harrī gierot vīlībāzmot iksin daor. Elēdrarza tolȳndi gūrēñagon ilis. Daemon Valyrie ȳdragon vaoresas lo ryptessiarza jaelza daor.” I didn’t spend all the war knee-deep in blood. There was time to learn other things. Daemon likes to speak Valyrian when he doesn’t want to be overheard.

“Daemon daoruni hen tolvys zȳhor ilzille ryptesi vaoresas otāpin,” Aemond muttered. “Ziry se zȳha ēngorzo riñar.” I thought Daemon liked nothing more than everyone having to listen to his drivel. Him and his prattling spawn.

“Baela aōt hegnīr ȳdratos daor,” said Lucerys. “Drējī qudrot dārio daor. Yn olvie rōvēgrī ojūdas. Jaehossa - zȳhe mumuñe asēnia, Aemond. Se zȳhe kepe sesīr asēnagon udekuria. Skoro syt avy buqsa drējī rhakitiō.” Baela shouldn’t’ve spoken to you like that. Especially not at the Queen’s table. But she’s lost a great deal. Gods - you killed her grandmother, Aemond. And you nearly killed her father too. You cannot honestly be surprised that she hates you.

“Kesīr tolvys yne buqsa. Tolvie ñuhi bartos egralbār hūndegon ijiōrosy. Kōz iēdri ñuhon havorro ospȳnagon jumbis vestras. Sepār lumio morghūlin aōt ivestrilzi.” Everyone here hates me. They’d all be happy to see my head on a spike. They’re probably waiting to slip poison into my food. Then they’ll tell you I died of a fever.

“Pirtirī sās daor,” said Lucerys. Don’t be absurd. His mother never would – he was sure of it. He was sure.

They had breakfast together. Aemond wanted a bath. Lucerys ordered one made up for him and left to meet with Robert Quince - to discuss the blasted Kingswood tourney again. He was leaving that meeting when he met Baela in the passage. They stopped in front of one another, the air tense.

“I’m sorry,” Baela said at last. “I spoiled the dinner last night. I upset you. I didn’t want either of those things.”

“But what did you imagine would happen, when you said what you said?” Lucerys asked.

Baela sighed. “What do you want me to say, Luke? I’d spent the entire meal looking across the table at the face that stole my grandmother. Our grandmother.”

Luke softened. He loved Baela. As angry as he’d been with her, and as little as he’d tolerate her speaking to Aemond like that, he couldn’t stay resentful over it. Not when he understood. Princess Rhaenys hadn’t been Luke’s real grandmother. She’d always been sceptical of her so-called grandsons’ parentage – and made little effort to hide it. She’d been rather cold to Luke and his brothers, especially after Laenor’s death. But she’d loved Baela and Rhaena fiercely. Her loss had been an agonizing blow for them. And Aemond had played his part in it. Of course Baela despised him.

“I don’t need you to like him,” Lucerys said, squeezing Baela’s shoulder gently. “I know you hate him. You’ve good reason to hate him. And I don’t need you to understand why I did it either. But he’s mine. You understand that, at least? I know you do. You’re bonded. You know what it does to you.”

“I do. I know very well. But Luke… I cannot understand. You hate Aemond! You cried when King Viserys said you had to marry him. Remember? You begged your mother to save you from it! Aemond stole Vhagar. He stole the throne. He’s our enemy. The very worst of them! Soaked in blood.”

“As is your sire. As am I.”

“It’s not the same,” Baela said.

“Perhaps not,” Lucerys admitted. “But I don’t care. Maybe you think that makes me mad. Maybe I am mad. But you won’t insult him. Not in front of me.”

Baela tilted back her dainty chin, before nodding slowly. “As you wish. For you. And only for you.”

“Thank you.” Lucerys smiled. After a pause, Baela tentatively smiled back.

“I missed you,” she said. “I’ve missed all of you. It’s been lonely on Driftmark.”

“I missed you too.” Baela was everything Lucerys had wanted recently. An alpha his own age. Someone he trusted implicitly. The blood of the dragon held itself apart. Played by rules the rest of the world couldn’t understand. But Baela would understand.

The air cleared, brother and sister parted ways. Lucerys took a diversion to the Queen’s apartments, hoping to find his mother. He wanted to talk to her about Aemond writing to the twins on Dragonstone. It’d cheer him up – and after the incident at dinner, there was the smallest chance the Queen was feeling slightly sympathetic towards her younger brother. Unwittingly, Baela had neatly demonstrated just how friendless and alone Aemond was. He only had Lucerys, and much as Luke would do anything to make him happy, it wasn’t enough.

Rhaenyra was having her hair braided by a maidservant. Lucerys thought she looked a little gloomy. She smiled at him, but it was distinctly half-hearted. She’d been looking less tired lately, and Luke had expected to find her bolstered even more by the warm reception of the smallfolk the day before.

“Hello Luke. Sit down.”

Lucerys took a seat and pointedly eyed the servant, who’d nearly finished her work. Rhaenyra understood his meaning. The pair of them made small talk until the maid had pinned the last of the Queen’s long hair into place. She curtseyed meekly as she was dismissed.

“Are you well?” Lucerys asked his mother when the girl was gone. “You looked rather glum when I came in.”

“I’m well,” Rhaenyra reassured her son. “I’ve simply had a troubling morning. I…” she sighed deeply. “I visited the Dowager Queen this morning. Aemond’s mother.”

“Queen Alicent?” Lucerys was taken aback. Alicent Hightower was locked away, never seeing a single soul except for her servants.

“Her maids keep me informed of her condition,” said Rhaenyra. “Just recently she endured a difficult heat. The strain of it has damaged her fragile state of mind even further. She was very distressed when I went to see her. She kept weeping for her children. Begging the gods to give them back.”

Lucerys felt no sympathy at all for the Dowager Queen – and had thought his mother felt the same way. But it was obvious she was genuinely disturbed by the condition she’d found Alicent in.

“Perhaps it was foolish of me,” Rhaenyra continued. “But I wanted to snap Alicent out of it. To give her some small bit of hope. So I told her Aemond was still alive.”

Lucerys frowned. “And how did she react?”

“She didn’t believe me,” Rhaenyra said sadly.

Lucerys knew Aemond thought his mother was imprisoned on Dragonstone, with the twins. It’d been an easy decision not to tell him the truth – that she was right here, in the Red Keep. It was a bad idea for them to meet. Not yet. Perhaps never. Aemond’s mother would pour poison in his ear. She’d upset him. But he’d discover the truth eventually - and gods, he’d be livid when he did. Technically speaking, Lucerys had never actually lied to Aemond. But that wouldn’t help. Lucerys dreaded the inevitable day he found out.

“I can bring you some of Aemond’s clothes, if you want,” Lucerys offered. “Something his scent is all over. Surely that would convince her?”

“Perhaps it would,” said Rhaenyra. “But it’s probably better that I don’t. If I produce Aemond’s clothes, fresh with his scent, then Alicent will want to see him - and she’ll work herself into a madness until she does. And I can’t let her see him.”

“You’re right,” Lucerys agreed emphatically. “They shouldn’t see each other.”

“Aemond still believes his mother to be on Dragonstone?”

“Yes. But he’ll find out the truth sooner or later. And when he does… gods, he’ll be so angry with me.”

Rhaenyra looked wryly at her son. “I just assumed he was always angry with you.”

Lucerys huffed out a laugh and slumped back in his chair. “He is quite a lot of the time. But not all of it.”

“And how is he the rest of the time then?”

“He’s…” Lucerys tried to find the right words. “He’s still difficult. But I like being with him. I… I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

“Even though he’s so difficult?” Rhaenyra sounded dubious.

Lucerys shrugged. “There’s something to be said for having to work for it.” Then he flushed pink as his mother’s eyebrows shot up.

“Well then, you must work harder than any alpha in King’s Landing,” she teased. “Perhaps in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

Lucerys chuckled awkwardly, even though he was embarrassed. “He can be soft,” he tried to reassure her. “In his own sort of way. Every once in a while.”

“I struggle to believe that. Aemond is many things. Soft hasn’t ever been one of them. Not since he was a child.”

“With respect, mother,” said Lucerys carefully. “How would you know? You don’t know him. You didn’t know him when he was a child either.”

Rhaenyra looked taken aback but not offended. She clasped her hands in her lap and levelled Luke with a cool look. “And you think you know him, do you?”

“Yes,” said Lucerys frankly. “Better than anyone else alive, at least.”

“Better than his own mother?”

“From what you’ve just told me, it sounds like Queen Alicent barely knows herself anymore.”

“Perhaps there’s something in what you say,” Rhaenyra murmured thoughtfully. “I went to see him, when it was clear there’d be no breaking your bond. Aemond told me something that shocked me. And it made me think… I don’t believe I knew any of my siblings.”

“What did he tell you?” Lucerys asked, curious.

“He told me Aegon hadn’t wanted to be king. That he’d tried to run away to escape it. I couldn’t believe it - but Aemond was telling the truth, I could see it in his face. I spent so much time cursing Aegon, convinced he was a power-hungry little cunt. And in truth… he hadn’t wanted it at all.”

Lucerys felt like he’d been poleaxed. Aegon had been a bully, and good at sucking other people into his casual cruelty as well. When Lucerys had been younger, it'd been so easy to imagine his uncle greedily snatching power. But with hindsight and a better understanding of human nature… had Aegon really been that sort of man? The sort that craved power? He’d been a drunkard. Petty and vulgar, rather than ambitious. And in retrospect... a strangely broken soul. Always melancholy beneath the drunken laughter.

“I take it Aemond didn’t tell you the same story?” said Rhaenyra, noticing the stunned look on her son’s face.

“No,” said Luke. “He did try to talk to me once about Aegon and I… I wouldn’t hear it.”

“I wish I hadn’t heard it,” admitted Rhaenyra. “Think of everything we could still have. Everyone we could still have! If only Aegon had been better at running away.”

History spins on the smallest of things. Maester Gerardys had said that to Luke once, when he’d been a child taking his lessons. His teacher had meant it as a throwaway remark, but it’d stuck with Lucerys ever since.

If only Aegon had been better at running away.

“Sorry,” said the Queen, shaking her head. “We’ve become side-tracked by gloomy thoughts, haven’t we? What did you want to see me about?”

“I wanted to ask if Aemond might write to his niece and nephew,” said Lucerys. He tried to concentrate. Half his mind was still on what he’d just heard about the usurper. “You’d read all his letters, of course. But the twins are all the family he’s got left. Apart from his mother.”

“We’re his family, aren’t we?” said Rhaenyra. “Isn’t that what we’re doing here, making House Targaryen whole again?”

“It’s not the same, you know it isn’t.”

The Queen shook her head. “I’m not sure it’s wise.”

“Do you intend to keep the children at Dragonstone forever?” said Lucerys. “Because he’ll see them sooner or later. It’s my seat. I’ll go there eventually, and I won’t go without my husband.”

Rhaenyra frowned. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

“Mother…”

“I said I’d think about it. I’ll give you an answer soon enough. You’ll just have to be patient.”

It was better than a flat no, but Luke’s thoughts were uneasy as he went back to his chambers. He found Aemond dressed in plain hose and a loose shirt, looking bored and brushing the long, damp strands of his hair. His scent was drowned out by the cloying fragrance of whatever oils the servants had put in his bath. Lucerys didn’t like it. Without a word, he stuck his face right into the crook of Aemond’s neck, where his scent was strongest.

“Get off,” Aemond grumbled, but didn’t actually do anything to stop Lucerys.

“I’ve spoken to my mother about writing to the twins,” Luke mumbled against Aemond’s throat.

“And?” said Aemond, pulling away so he could look up at Luke.

“She said she’d think about it,” said Lucerys, sitting down in an empty chair.

“That sounds like a no.”

“I don’t think it necessarily is,” said Lucerys. “Really, I don’t.”

“Hmmm,” grunted Aemond, sounding unconvinced. He resumed brushing his hair. Before he realised it, Lucerys was back up on his feet and holding out his hand.

“I can brush my own hair,” Aemond snapped irritably. “I already sent the servant away.”

“I know you can brush your own hair,” Lucerys said. “I want to do it.”

“I don’t want you to do it. Sit back down.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please,” Lucerys repeated. “You know, even when I hated everything else about you, I always admired your hair. It’s beautiful.”

“You admired my hair,” Aemond said, aghast. “I could best any man in the Kingsguard before I was seventeen years old, and you admired my hair.”

Lucerys shrugged. “Admired it. Envied it. I wanted so badly to have hair like yours.”

That confession made Aemond relent. He sighed peevishly but held out the brush for Lucerys. “If it’ll shut you up.”

Lucerys took the brush and began carefully running it through his mate’s hair. It was very nearly completely dry already. No wonder, as it was so fine. Lucerys’ thick mop of brown hair always took forever to dry out. Perhaps Lucerys could get Aemond a comb as a gift. Something in silver.

“My mother told me Aegon never wanted to be king,” he murmured as he worked. “That you’d said he tried to run away to escape it.”

Aemond looked around sharply. Unfortunately, Luke was stood on his blind side, and it was the unseeing white of the moonstone that turned upon him.

“You don’t want to hear about Aegon, remember?” Aemond said curtly, slumping back in his chair.

“I did say that at first,” agreed Lucerys, patiently. “But then I changed my mind.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk about him.”

Lucerys held his tongue. Aemond’s mood was teetering on a knife edge. It could go one way, and the rest of the day would be pleasant. Or it could go the other, and Lucerys would be walking on eggshells until sundown. So he stayed silent and kept brushing, until Aemond’s silver hair was straight and smooth. Impulsively, he ran his hands through it, admiring how fine and lovely it was. He expected Aemond to snap at him to stop, but he didn't.

“I was going to cut it all off,” Aemond remarked suddenly. “When I was in hiding. But I could never bring myself to do it.”

Lucerys tried to imagine Aemond with short hair and couldn’t. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he said honestly, carding his fingers through his husband’s hair gently. “I like it like this.”

“It was stupid vanity.”

“So’s this,” said Lucerys, rubbing at his beard. “I think it suits me. But I know it makes me look more like Harwin Strong. It makes the gossipmongering worse.”

“I don’t remember Ser Harwin.”

“I barely remember him myself,” admitted Lucerys. “I can’t even recall what he looked like. Not really.”

“Do you wish he’d lived?”

Lucerys shrugged, sitting back down. “Probably it’s better that he didn’t… from a ruthless point of view. It would’ve made things more difficult for my mother, politically. But I suppose that… yes. I would’ve liked to have known him. What child doesn’t want to know their sire?”

“I didn’t know mine,” Aemond said bitterly. “Not really. He didn’t care for any of us. And by the time he died, I didn’t care for him either. He was a fool.”

Luke’s clearest memory of old King Viserys was of the man dragging himself, broken and decaying, up the steps to the Iron Throne. He’d done it to defend Luke’s right to Driftmark. It’d all been for naught in the end, but… well, perhaps it hadn’t. If Lucerys had lost his inheritance, if the taint of bastardry had been publicly hung around his neck, who knew what direction the war might’ve taken? What otherwise loyal lords might’ve declined to support his mother’s claim?

Lucerys would always be grateful to his grandsire for that. He’d seen with his own eyes what the gesture had cost the dying king. But the older he’d grown, the more he’d understood how much the war had been Viserys’ fault. Had the man truly thought marrying Luke to Aemond would heal such a bitter feud? Foolish. Unforgivably foolish.

It wasn’t surprising to hear that Viserys had been a poor parent too. Luke reached across the table and took Aemond’s hand. Surprisingly, his mate allowed it.

“If my mother doesn’t let you write to the twins, I’ll take you to Dragonstone to see them,” Luke promised impulsively.

Aemond raised his eyebrows. “Won’t she forbid it?”

“I won’t ask.”

To his delight, Aemond’s eye glimmered with amusement. “You’ve become quite the black sheep of the family, have you not?” he teased. “First you give your mother’s worst enemy the bite, now you seek to steal him away across Blackwater Bay.”

“You forget, I was also raised by Daemon. Sometimes it’s better to do whatever you want, then seek forgiveness afterwards.”

Aemond snorted. “Yes, that’s certainly how Daemon goes about his business. Tell me, husband, how exactly would you smuggle me out of here?”

“There are hidden passageways in the Keep,” said Lucerys. “Daemon showed one to me once. And then we’d fly to Dragonstone on Arrax.”

“Arrax?” Aemond said dubiously. “Your dragon would eat me the moment it saw me. Besides, can that little beast even carry two riders?”

“He’s bigger than when you last saw him. Do you remember? When you chased me through that storm?”

“Chased you and lost you.”

“What were you planning to do then?” Lucerys asked. “I’ve always wondered. Did you mean to kill me?”

“No. We weren’t ready for war. I just meant to frighten you. I hated you.”

“And do you still?” Lucerys said quietly. “Hate me?”

Aemond took back his hand. “No. You think I’d share a bed with a man I hated? Believe it or not, I have some dignity left.”

“I thought you’d hate me forever for taking your eye.”

“It’s done,” said Aemond. He sounded irritable again. “You can’t undo it, and neither can I. Everyone else is dead. My brothers, my sister. Your brothers too. Losing an eye feels small in comparison to being eaten by the worms. I wanted revenge on you, and now I don’t. That’s the end of it.”

“That’s the end of it?”

“Don’t mistake me, Lucerys,” Aemond warned. “I don’t forgive you for it. You cut out my eye and all anybody cared about was that I’d called you a bastard, which you damn well are. But I’m tired of thirsting after revenge. How could I take it now, anyway? How could I make you pay? You’re my mate. I couldn’t…” Aemond grimaced angrily.

“You did get your revenge,” said Lucerys. “In a way.”

“How?” said Aemond bitterly. “Because it turns out that you’re the one stuck seeing this ruined face in their bed?”

“No,” said Lucerys sharply. “No! Don’t be absurd. All I meant was that… gods Aemond, you have so much power over me. Sometimes all I think about is you. It makes me stupid. Dangerously stupid.”

Aemond stared at his husband warily. “You were stupid anyway,” he said at last.

Lucerys laughed. “Yes, I suppose I was. You said it yourself, I gave my mother’s worst enemy the bite! I’m sure she’s secretly cursed me as a knuckle-dragging fool ever since.”

Aemond’s bad temper faded. He even smirked at Lucerys' poor joke. He rose to his feet. “I’m bored,” he declared. “I’m going to lose my wits if I don’t leave these rooms. Take me somewhere more interesting husband, before I start tearing the tapestries off the walls.”

Lucerys gladly got up to do just that.

…

Three days passed after the ill-fated dinner, and Aemond didn’t have to see that yapping shrew Baela Targaryen once. Or was she Baela Velaryon now? Had she and Lucerys swapped their names and their Houses, trading their nobility between them like squabbling vendors in some common market?

Aemond had expected Lucerys to spend most of his free time with Baela. But he kept spending the majority of it with Aemond. In the afternoon, they sought diversions within the Red Keep. They retired to bed and had sex every night. Lucerys raised no objection when Aemond ordered a cup of moon tea brewed every few days. It was better than a prison. It was far, far better than being locked away in a dry old sept forever.

It was comfortable – gods, it was even pleasant. And it was the same every single fucking day. It’d started weighing on Aemond’s soul, the gnawing realisation that this was his life now, for the gods only knew how long. Most of the time he could shake the despair off. Being with Lucerys helped. But other times his mood turned bleak, and nothing could cajole him out of it, until the gloom passed of its own accord.

He also kept thinking of what Lucerys had said to him the other day.

You have so much power over me. You don’t understand how much. Sometimes all I think about is you.

Those words replayed themselves in his head when he looked across the table at Lucerys as they ate. He thought about them when they walked through the gardens. And he thought about them in bed at night, when Lucerys slept soundly and Aemond stayed awake, watching his mate by the flickering light of a dying candle.

He couldn’t shake those words, because he felt the same. Although he’d never have been so sentimental or foolish as to say them out loud. There were certainly times when all Aemond could think about was Lucerys. When he wanted to touch him so badly it was like the urge was burning him from the inside out. He’d get fixated thinking about how fair and strong Lucerys had become. About how much Aemond wanted to be desired by him. To be all Lucerys would ever want, ever again, for the rest of his life.

Seven fucking hells. It was demeaning. Aemond had put more alphas to the sword than he could count. He’d been feared by enemies and allies alike. And this was what had tamed him? The fucking bite? Sometimes he thought he’d explode with resentment over it. Then he’d see Lucerys again, find arms about his waist and a sweet mouth kissing his own, and the shame would fade – only to come back with a vengeance later on.

Aemond was sat at the window, looking out over the sea and stewing on it, when Lucerys gripped him by the shoulder.

“What do you want to do today?” his husband asked. “I thought we might go the yard. You can embarrass me in front of the knights.”

Aemond bit his lip angrily. All sorts of snide remarks festered in his throat. Bitter words about how they’d have to do whatever Lucerys wanted, because Aemond couldn’t go anywhere without him. About being sick of his husband’s company, sick of everybody’s company. Wanting to be left alone to wallow in his own pathetic misery.

“Aemond?” Lucerys said, shaking him gently. “I said, do you want to go to the yard today?”

Aemond sighed as his ire faded. He did want to go to the gods-damned yard. What was the point in pretending otherwise? He’d only be spiting himself. So he agreed to the plan and stood up, reaching for the eyepatch on the table. Lucerys caught him by the wrist.

“Don’t,” he said. “Please. I don’t understand why you hide behind that thing.” Lucerys reached up, clearly intending to run his fingers across the scar that bisected Aemond’s false eye. Aemond slapped his hand away.

“Don’t tell me what I ought to show the world,” he snapped. “Does it bother you? Good. It’s your fault.”

“I just don’t know why you’d want to conceal it,” Lucerys said, holding his hands up apologetically. “I know you think it’s some great disfigurement, even with the moonstone in… but it isn’t, Aemond. I don’t want to argue about it. Of course if you want to cover it, then you should, but I…” he shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “You look very fair, that’s all. And I think you don’t know it.”

Aemond rolled the one eye he did have. “You think that because we’re bonded. All alphas are fools for their omegas. Blinded by the bite.”

“Maybe so,” Lucerys acknowledged. “But I thought you fair before the bite as well. Come on, I know you want to hold a sword more than you want to argue with me.”

Aemond put on the eyepatch and followed Lucerys from their apartments. A dozen or so of House Targaryen’s retainers were already in the yard, practising their swordplay – or hollering out advice and insults in equal measure. The knights turned to watch Aemond and Lucerys with interest.

Aemond was surprised when Lucerys ordered the young squire to bring them training swords made not of wood, but steel. They were blunted of course, but still capable of doing real damage - if you knew how to handle one properly. And Aemond most certainly knew how to handle one properly. He hefted the thing in his hand, testing the balance of the weapon. The dull blade glinted in the sunlight. Was this some sort of gesture on Lucerys’ part? He’d been adamant, the last time they’d been here, that he wouldn’t trust Aemond with any sword other than the wooden kind. And Aemond had respected him for it. Had quite enjoyed the idea that he was too dangerous to be trusted with a real weapon.

Perhaps it was Aemond’s admission that he wouldn’t be able to hurt his mate that’d changed things. For years he’d thirsted after his revenge. He’d wanted to cut out the bastard’s eye and make them even so badly it’d damn near haunted his dreams. And now? Now the thought made Aemond feel unwell. It was disturbing, to realise how much power the bond wielded over him. How much it’d changed him.

“Do you want to wager on the outcome again?” Aemond asked as they took their positions.

Lucerys snorted. “No. I think that’d be very stupid of me.”

Aemond grinned. He didn’t wait for Lucerys to make the first move, starting forward with a sudden flurry of blows. Lucerys scrambled to defend himself, caught off-guard by the unexpected advance. Their blunted steel blades clashed loudly. Aemond feinted left before darting right, slapping Lucerys across the thigh with the flat of his sword.

“You’re too slow,” he taunted.

“Am I?” Lucerys replied brashly, before suddenly going on the offensive.

Truthfully… Lucerys was a much better swordsman than Aemond made out. You could tell he’d earned his spurs in war. Aemond had learned the hard way that knightly single combat was a very different beast to the hot-blooded chaos of a real fight. There was little room for clever swordplay in war - because you never knew what common cur was creeping up behind you, ready to thrust a blade between the gaps of your armour. Kill quickly and be done with it.

Lucerys fought like that. Never expending any more energy than he had to. Entirely unconcerned by impressive he looked. He gave Aemond a hard run for his money. Soon they were both breathless, clothes damp with sweat. Aemond won the first, of course. And then the second. But Lucerys managed to take victory in the third. Aemond had gotten too cocksure and let his guard down. In response, Lucerys struck ruthlessly. Before Aemond knew it, the dulled edge of a longsword was pressed against his neck. He froze and tilted his head back, regarding his husband carefully. The steel was cold against his skin, touching just above where the collar of his black jerkin concealed the bite scar. Lucerys’ eyes gleamed triumphantly before he dropped the sword from Aemond’s throat.

“Maybe we should’ve wagered after all,” he mused.

Aemond waited for the bitter sting of defeat… and it didn’t come. He’d always hated being bested, even when he was a child full of furious determination to overcome his disadvantage and master the sword. He’d taken plenty of wallopings and humiliating beatings as he’d slowly gotten better and better. But he’d never found losing any easier. Any defeat gnawed away at him, like a rat chewing on gristle. He’d been almost possessed by the urge to be the best. For a long time Aemond had thought he simply enjoyed being respected, until one day he’d realised the truth - he enjoyed being feared. Particularly by alphas.

Aemond was sure of one thing – his alpha didn’t fear him. Not all that long ago, there’d been nobody in the world Aemond would’ve been more incensed to lose to than Lucerys Velaryon. Lucerys Targaryen. Whatever name he went by – fucking Lucerys.

Yet, he was unbothered to lose to the man now. He’d lost another bout to Lucerys as well, that first time they’d sparred here. It hadn’t chafed then either. Perhaps because Aemond had bested Lucerys first. Perhaps because Luke had already acknowledged Aemond was the better swordsman. Besides, what did he need to prove to his own mate?

Aemond hefted his sword. “Do you want to wager on the next then?” he goaded.

Lucerys laughed, mopping away the sweat on his brow with his sleeve. “No. I still think that’s not a good idea. For me.”

Sure enough, Aemond beat him in the fourth. Soundly too. There were more people watching them now. Word had gotten around, and some of the court had crept along to gawp at the unlikely royal couple. Probably judging Lucerys for doing something so unseemly as fighting his omega. Aemond even recognised a handful of the gossiping fishwives. There was Unwin Peake, for example, hidden away in a shadowy corner chattering with a young member of the Queensguard. The knight, a pallid looking knave, had Aemond fixed with a hateful stare. He paid neither of the two curs any mind.

“Gods, I need a drink,” Lucerys groaned after losing again, rolling out his shoulders. “You! Boy! Fetch us water. Who the hells taught you to fight like this Aemond?”

“You know the answer,” Aemond said. He was thirsty too. And hot. He loosened the sleeves of his jerkin and shirt to let the sweat-dampened skin beneath get some air. “Ser Criston.”

“Ser Criston must’ve been a teacher unlike any other then.”

Criston Cole had been a very good teacher. But Aemond had been a fanatical student. Mastering the sword had been all he’d wanted – much to the despair of his mother, who’d been far more concerned with finding Aemond a good marriage. That’d been her obsession. She hadn’t even been that bothered about rank or primary gender. Aemond had gotten the impression that his mother would’ve been content enough if he’d wed a crookback alpha woman from some minor noble family out in the hinterlands, so long as he wasn’t mistreated.

His grandfather would’ve never stood for it though. Otto would’ve happily whored Aemond out to a bloodthirsty maniac if the match had been politically advantageous. In the end, they’d both been left disappointed when Aemond’s father had married him to Lucerys.

Except… Aemond watched as Lucerys made the servant give Aemond a cup of water first, only then quenching his own thirst. Perhaps his mother would’ve been pleased with his marriage, in the end. If the war hadn’t destroyed everything.

“Are you taking challengers?” a bold voice called out unexpectedly.

Aemond looked over his shoulder. The first person he saw was Princess Baela, and he glowered at her. The little she-dragon glowered right back. Baela was arm-in-arm with her mate. Judging by the expectant look on the young man’s face, it’d been him who’d asked the question.

“No, my lord,” Lucerys said apologetically.

“Why?” demanded Aemond. “Do you want to chance your arm?”

Alyn Velaryon grinned, although the gaze he turned on Aemond wasn’t friendly. He was a cocky prick. One Aemond would truly enjoy giving a beating.

“I’ve heard so much about your skill, Prince Aemond,” Alyn said. “They say no omega is as lethal. Although I beg to differ.”

“No omega?” said Aemond archly. “Is that really the limit of your ambition? I’ve bested more alphas than there are ships in your father’s fleet.”

Fire was already burning in Alyn Velaryon’s eyes. Aemond knew the challenge was coming before the other man had even opened his mouth. Knew it was coming and welcomed it.

“Shall we find out if you can best me then?”

“Alyn, no,” Baela muttered. “You cannot.”

“I cannot?” said Alyn, far louder. “Is that so my prince? Are we forbidden by our alphas from finding out which of us is the better?”

Aemond wanted to look sidelong at Lucerys - but refused. It’d look too much like seeking permission. “Perhaps you are. I am not.”

“Then I’m not either,” pronounced Alyn defiantly. “A little competition is a healthy thing, don’t you think? As we’re all friends now? And we are friends, aren’t we?”

“As the Queen says,” Aemond replied stiffly. He tried to recall everything he’d heard of Alyn Velaryon’s exploits during the war. A natural leader they said, especially for an omega - even more so for a bastard omega. He certainly postured like an alpha well enough. Lucerys had once privately expressed surprise that Alyn had let himself be mated at all.

“Alyn, you can’t.” Baela grabbed hold of her mate’s arm. “I won’t allow it. He’s too dangerous.”

“He’s a captive bird,” Alyn replied dismissively. “His wings have been clipped. Fear not my wife.”

“Alyn will you listen…” Baela tried again. But he wasn’t listening. Alyn shrugged off her hand and gestured for Lucerys to hand over his blunted sword.

Lucerys shook his head. “Baela doesn’t want you to do this Alyn,” he said. “I respect her wishes. You should too.”

Alyn rolled his eyes impatiently. A moment later, a squire approached holding another dulled longsword. One of the crowd must’ve ordered it done. Were they hoping Alyn Velaryon was going to humiliate Aemond? That’d make for good sport and even better gossip.

Lucerys leaned in close to murmur in Aemond’s ear. “Don’t hurt him Aemond, for the love of the gods. Please.”

Baela had given up trying to get Alyn’s attention. The look she turned on Aemond was murderous. The message was clear enough - if Aemond injured Alyn, Baela would make sure there was hell to pay. If she’d known Aemond any better, she’d have understood the implicit threat only made him more inclined to deal the little shit a hard blow.

Alyn was a short, broad thing. The opposite of Aemond, who was tall and slight. They were alike in some respects, however. He might’ve been a bastard, but unlike Lucerys, Alyn had been lucky enough to inherit all the physical characteristics of the old Valyrians. If he was bothered by the way Aemond towered over him, then he didn’t show it. He hefted the sword he’d been given confidently, assuming a solid defensive stance. Aemond collected himself. Alyn was a cocksure runt, but not taking him seriously was the first step towards losing to the cur.

The Velaryon bastard kept on the defensive as he and Aemond circled one another, waiting for Aemond to strike first. Perhaps he wasn’t so sure he was the better swordsman after all.

Alyn’s eyes flickered, briefly distracted by something in the crowd. Aemond struck – thrusting his sword at Alyn’s flank. The other man just barely dodged, getting his feet under him quickly and going on the counterattack. Aemond parried the strike aimed at his belly easily enough, but Alyn’s second lunge was more of a challenge.

They traded blows. Aemond’s height gave him an advantage in reach, but Alyn was stronger. The knave was a better fighter than Aemond had given him credit for. But he wasn’t that good. He wasn’t as good as Lucerys, for example. It wasn’t the talent Alyn lacked - it was the discipline. He lashed out when he should retreat. He pressed when he ought to defend.

Part of Aemond felt nothing but contempt for the sloppiness. But another, smaller part couldn’t help begrudgingly admiring the fierceness. Alphas were generally permitted to be as wild as they liked. Betas had to be more reserved. Omegas even more so again. Alyn Velaryon clearly took great pleasure spitting in the face of those conventions. Aemond too had always refused to conform to the softness expected of him after he’d presented. But whereas Aemond had rebelled by turning cold, Alyn was brazen. Very, very grudgingly, Aemond could respect it.

It didn’t make for a good swordsman though.

The flat of Aemond’s sword struck Alyn’s shoulder, staggering the runt back a couple of paces. Another blow hit him in the sternum, knocking the air from his lungs. If their blades had been sharp, it would’ve been a killing blow. That was it then. Alyn was beaten. Aemond lowered his weapon and took a step backwards, smirking triumphantly.

Except Alyn didn’t seem to have gotten the message. Instead of conceding with grace, he went straight back on the offensive. Surprised, Aemond just barely managed to parry the incoming strike aimed squarely at his face.

“Alyn!” Baela called out from the sidelines. “Alyn, stop it!”

Aemond was outraged by the audacity. Maybe this was how they scrapped on the streets of Hull, but this wasn’t Hull. They weren’t lowborn thugs brawling in the fucking gutter. At least, Aemond wasn’t. He adjusted his grip on his sword. Around the yard knights and squires cried out, also calling for Alyn to yield.

“Aemond!” he was vaguely aware of Lucerys crying his name, but he wasn’t listening. He was too infuriated. The little shit. Aemond would teach him a lesson.

He dodged another sweep of Alyn’s sword, then caught the backswing on the edge of his own weapon. Alyn’s blade slipped to fall against the cross-guard. Aemond yanked it backwards sharply, and Alyn’s longsword ripped from his hand and clattered on the flagstones. Aemond grabbed Alyn by the collar and drove the blunt pommel of his sword straight into his opponent’s soft belly.

Alyn clutched his stomach and fell to his knees, wheezing. Aemond stood over him. He wanted to drive the pommel of his sword into Alyn’s face next. Alyn stared up defiantly, as if daring Aemond to do it. Baela was howling something, sounding as though she was on the verge of trying to physically drag Aemond off her mate.

Suddenly there was a hand on Aemond’s elbow, gently but firmly forcing him to lower the sword to his side. Lucerys leaned over his shoulder, his lightly bearded cheek pressed to Aemond’s smooth one. He could feel his mate’s breath against his neck. Lucerys’ other hand settled on Aemond’s waist as they both stared down at the kneeling figure of Alyn Velaryon – who Aemond was still holding by the collar.

“Let go of him,” Lucerys said. His voice was calm and measured. “You beat him. Please Aemond.”

Aemond prevaricated. He was angry. He wouldn’t permanently damage Alyn. A broken nose would heal – albeit crookedly. But Lucerys had asked him to stop, and every whoreson there had heard it. If Aemond defied him, Luke would look weak. Like he’d no control over his omega. And he didn’t! If any cunt in the crowd thought the bite had tamed Aemond, then let them think again.

But he didn’t want Lucerys to look weak. Not in front of these parasites. Aemond leaned back against his mate, drawing the moment out – making it clear that he was choosing to do this – and then let go of Alyn’s tunic and allowed Lucerys to take the weapon from his hand.

“Thank you,” said Lucerys, kissing him on the cheek before giving the sword to an anxious squire.

“Not bad for a one-eyed traitor,” Alyn said, staggering to his feet.

Aemond’s lip curled, and he was about to say something venomous about Alyn’s parentage, when Baela suddenly flung herself around her battered husband, planting her slim body between him and Aemond.

“You fool,” she hissed, grabbing Alyn by the temples and pressing their foreheads together. “You reckless fool! What did you think would happen?”

“I had to try,” Alyn told her. He wrapped his arms around Baela. “His gods-damned war took my brother.”

“The war took many people’s brothers,” Lucerys said sharply. “And are we not brothers also, Alyn Velaryon? Isn’t that the tale?”

They weren’t brothers. No blood bound the two men at all and everyone in the yard knew it. Neither man was the son of Laenor Velaryon. But that was still what the maesters would write in their history books. The ones they allowed those outside the brotherhood to read, at least.

“It is,” Alyn said, carefully. “We are brothers, Prince Lucerys.”

“Then in the spirit of brotherhood, I command you to let the past be the past,” Lucerys said. Then, in a much lower voice, so that nobody but the four of them could hear it. “I’ll have you sent to the black cells if you ever try that again, no matter what Baela says. I swear it, Alyn.”

Alyn nodded and an unexpected grin spread across his face. “It’s true, what they say then,” he announced to Aemond. “About your skill. See, my dearest wife? We're plenty strong enough to defend ourselves. Aren’t we, my prince?”

“You fight like a street dog,” Aemond spat. It wasn’t a compliment.

“Seven hells,” Baela cursed. Without another word she turned and marched away, fists clenched at her side. Alyn’s face fell, and he hurried off after her, the wind abruptly taken out of his sails. Aemond watched him go through a narrowed eye. He found the man unsettling.

A sudden, rather harsh laugh erupted out of him.

“What is it?” Lucerys asked.

“Who’d have thought it?” Aemond said. “It seems you and I do not have the strangest marriage in all Westeros after all.”

…

Lucerys wasn’t sure what made him wake up that night. Aemond was fast asleep, held in a light embrace. Carefully, Lucerys let go of him. His mate mumbled something restlessly, but ultimately just rolled over and carried on slumbering. As quietly as possible, Lucerys got out of their bed. He was completely naked, and the window was open to let in the fresh air. Shivering, he pulled on a nightshirt and robe. There were a couple of candles still burning. Lucerys picked one up. As he entered the solar, he heard the sound that must’ve roused him - a knocking at the door. To his surprise, he found Baela on the other side.

“I’m sorry Luke,” she said, seeing he was dressed for bed. “It’s not yet midnight and I thought you might still be awake. I didn’t mean to disturb you and – ”

She was distressed. As she turned to leave, Lucerys caught her gently by the shoulder. “You didn’t disturb me.” A kind lie. “Come in. You – good ser,” he addressed one of the gold cloaks standing guard on his door. “Would you fetch a servant to light the candles and bring us wine?”

Soon the room was full of soft yellow light. A carafe of wine was delivered. Lucerys poured Baela a cup, and she drank deeply from it, as though she’d badly needed it.

“Where’s Aemond?” she asked, wiping a little of the wine from her lips with her fingers.

“Asleep,” said Lucerys. They were sitting at the table, close to one another. “If we keep our voices down, we won’t wake him. He’s not a light sleeper.”

Baela nodded. She looked tense. No… not tense. Sad. She looked sad.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Baela nodded. “I wanted to… not apologize but… Alyn this afternoon…” She took another drink of wine. “I hate Aemond. I won’t pretend I don’t. But Alyn should’ve yielded.”

“Yes, he should have,” agreed Lucerys.

“He told me before we even arrived here that he wanted to fight Aemond if he could. That he wanted to see if he could take out his other eye. He blames him for the death of Addam.”

“Aemond didn’t kill Addam,” Lucerys protested angrily. Protective outrage surged inside him. He’d cut out both Alyn’s eyes if he dared try and blind Aemond again. “He wasn’t even there.”

“I know,” said Baela wearily. “But who else is left to blame? It’s blame Aemond or blame nobody.”

“Then he must blame nobody! Why didn’t you stop him?”

“I tried!” Baela exclaimed loudly. She hushed herself, remembering that Aemond was asleep in the next room. “You saw that I tried. I can’t… gods Luke, I’ve no control over him. He comes and goes as he pleases. I don’t even know where he is half the time.”

She sounded so upset that Luke’s anger cooled. The sour scent of Baela’s distress was palpable.

“He wants to go to sea,” Baela continued unhappily. “It’s in his blood. Same as it’s in my grandfather’s. He’s Alyn’s real sire, you know that, don’t you?”

Lucerys smiled crookedly. “I think anyone with eyes knows that. You don’t want to go to sea?”

“The sea doesn’t call to me,” said Baela flatly. “The sky did. But Moondancer is dead, so there’s no more of that.”

“You can come flying with me,” offered Lucerys. “Arrax is big enough to carry two now.”

“You wouldn’t prefer to take Aemond?”

“Of course I would,” said Lucerys. “But my mother would never permit it, and Aemond is convinced Arrax would eat him.”

Baela laughed softly. “Does he miss it too? Flying?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Lucerys. “He must do but… I haven’t asked. I don’t want to upset him. He told me once that he felt it when Vhagar died. It sounded terrible.”

“It is terrible,” said Baela quietly. “It’s a terrible thing.” She bowed her head and downed the rest of her wine. Wordlessly, Lucerys refilled the cup.

“Where does Alyn want to sail for?”

Baela shrugged. “Anywhere. Everywhere. Braavos, Slaver’s Bay, Dorne… anywhere but Driftmark. He craves adventure. New places. New people.”

“You’ve refused to let him go.”

“The truth is…” Baela sighed. “I don’t think Alyn cares if I permit it or not. I don’t think he cares if I go with him or not. He’ll jump on a ship and sail for the horizon anyway.”

Lucerys shook his head. “Don’t be absurd. He’s your mate. You’re bonded. He needs you. He wants you. The bite makes it so.”

“Not all bonds are the same,” said Baela. She sounded so unbearably melancholy that Lucerys ached. “Some are weaker than others. The bite takes us all differently.”

“Your bond with Alyn isn’t weak,” Luke tried to console her. Perhaps he shouldn’t’ve called for the wine. It was only making Baela more forlorn.

“He doesn’t need me,” she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Lucerys thought she was trying to conceal tears. “He can protect himself. He dreams of places I don’t want to go, sailing there on ships I care nothing for.”

“Have you spoken to your father about it?”

Baela nodded. “He says I should get Alyn with child, and that’ll be the end of it.”

Yes, that sounded like something Daemon would suggest. Although, to be fair to the prince consort, it sounded like something most alphas would suggest.

“You don’t want that?” Lucerys asked, careful that his tone didn’t suggest an opinion one way or the other.

“Of course I want that,” said Baela. “I think Alyn takes moon tea in secret.”

“Aemond says that he won’t give me any children at all,” Lucerys found himself confessing. “He drinks moon tea right in front of me.”

Baela looked at him with wide eyes, glassy with unshed tears. She wrapped her hand around Luke’s wrist.

“Why not forbid it made for him?” she suggested tentatively. “Maybe he’ll refuse to lie with you for a while, but his heat will come on him eventually and…”

The rest went unspoken, but Lucerys knew what Baela meant. Yes, Aemond would stop letting Lucerys bed him if he couldn’t take the moon tea afterwards. He’d rant, and rage, and be utterly furious –but Aemond’s next heat would arrive in due course, and all his reluctance would melt away. Until the fever broke, at least. And by then it’d be too late. If he was with child, he'd stay that way.

Lucerys needed children. His mother needed him to have children. The kingdom needed him to have children. But he couldn’t bring himself to force Aemond into it. In truth… he was afraid of what Aemond would do if he found himself carrying a child he didn’t want. He was unstable. The Targaryen madness simmered in his blood. He might… gods, he might easily hurt himself in a fit of rage. Perhaps deliberately, trying to kill any child growing in his belly. Nothing could persuade Lucerys to risk it. No matter how badly he wanted to be a father.

“You could find whoever’s giving the moon tea to Alyn and make them stop,” he pointed out. “Why haven’t you?”

Baela shrugged. “Because I’m a fool.”

“That makes two of us then.” 

They sat in silence for a little while, drinking their wine, each lost in their own glum thoughts.

“If the king hadn’t married you to Aemond,” said Baela after a while. “You’d have married Rhaena.”

“Perhaps,” said Lucerys. That’d been his mother’s wish. But the gods alone knew how everything would’ve actually worked out.

“Do you wish you had?” Baela asked.

“Of course I don’t. Do you wish you’d mated another omega?”

“No,” said Baela. “Of course not. By the gods, we’re a sorry pair. I’d heard the stories. I’d read the poems, heard the damned songs. But they don’t prepare you for it, do they? Just how badly you want to please them. How much you want to make them happy. Even when you’re cursing them in the same breath.”

“No,” agreed Lucerys. “They really don’t.”

They drank together a few minutes longer, until Baela put down her cup and stood. Luke rose, ready to see her out, and was surprised when his sister put her arms around him. He held her tightly in return, tucking his chin over her head, pressed into the thick mane of silver curls.

“I really have missed you,” said Baela.

“I’ve missed you too.”

“We’re staying until Aegon’s name-day,” said Baela, stepping back. “There’s going to be a feast. When we leave, my grandfather will come back with us to High Tide.”

Lord Corlys was one of the few nobles in the city that the Queen could trust absolutely. It was only natural that he returned to Driftmark with his heir, but it’d be a great loss for Rhaenyra.

Baela slipped out of Lucerys’ apartments, back out into the torch-lit passageways of Maegor’s Holdfast - presumably heading to her own bed. A bed that, by the sound of it, may or may not contain the wayward Alyn Velaryon. Lucerys knew he hadn’t been much help to his stepsister. She’d unburdened her troubles to him, but he hadn’t been able to offer her any good advice. All he'd been able to do was listen. And even then, he’d wound up talking about his own woes by the end.

He sat there for a while, drinking more wine and brooding. At last, he shook himself out of it and went back to bed. Lucerys crossed the floor on bare feet, as silently as he could. Aemond had his back to the door, huddled under the covers. He stirred a little as Lucerys crept back into their bed and curled around him, wrapping an arm around his husband’s middle. Aemond stopped fidgeting and went still again, slumbering quietly on. Even asleep, his body recognised the presence of Lucerys.

Luke’s hand crept down until it lay delicately over the hard and flat stretch of Aemond’s belly. It was stupid thing to mourn. They’d been mated barely three moons. But the idea that there’d never be a child, that they’d never have a family, that Lucerys would never get to see that firm stomach swell and grow… it was a bitter tonic to swallow.

He sighed and tried to go to sleep. It came harder the second time.

Chapter Text

“Aemond may write to the twins,” Queen Rhaenyra announced as she took tea with her son and heir one rather chilly summer’s morning.

Lucerys perked up. At last! It was the answer he’d been hoping for. The answer that would make Aemond happy. It’d been a long time coming. Lucerys had begun to wonder if his mother had forgotten.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “You won’t regret it.”

“Oh, I’m certain I won’t – because all their letters will be read,” said Rhaenyra. “They won’t exchange a single word without my knowing of it. But… you’re right. They’ll have to see each other again eventually, so it seems pointless to stop them writing now. Besides…” the Queen paused, sipping her steaming hot tisane. “I’ve been thinking about Alicent again.”

Lucerys’ brow furrowed. “What about her?”      

“She’ll have to see Aemond again one day as well. I don’t know when – not for years perhaps. I lost two of my children to the war, and the grief nearly destroyed me. Alicent believes all her children are dead. Her pain… it must be immense.”

“If she’s in pain, then she deserves it!” Lucerys exclaimed sharply. “You lost two children, and I lost two brothers – because of her! She started the war, or had you forgotten? If Aegon didn’t want the crown, then who forced it on his head anyway? Who claimed King Viserys named Aegon his heir at the last? A final wish only she heard!”

“Calm yourself!” Rhaenyra snapped, putting her tisane down with a clatter of silver. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to her tightly clasped hands. “I know all that! Believe me Luke, I know it very well. I hate Alicent for what she took from me. She’s poisoned. But she didn’t poison herself, you understand? It was done to her and… by the gods, I hate her for what she stole from me. But I also hate what was done to her. She wasn’t always poisoned. She used to be sweet and lovely.”

“Used to be,” Lucerys said emphatically, wrapping his large hands around his mother’s smaller ones. “A very long time ago.”

“Lucerys,” said his mother, squeezing his hands tightly. “Are you really going to look me in the eye and demand I show no mercy to our enemies? You? After everything you’ve done for your blood-soaked husband?”

“I…” Lucerys hesitated. “I just don’t understand how you can be proposing to forgive…”

“I’m not proposing to forgive Alicent, just to offer her one small mercy. Some day. Aemond can’t live in ignorance forever. In truth, I’ve already promised him he’ll see his mother again.”

“I know,” said Lucerys wretchedly, letting go of his mother’s hands and sinking back in his chair. “But you said it yourself! Alicent Hightower is poisoned! I don’t want that poison to spread to Aemond.”

Rhaenyra sighed. “Luke, I love you dearly, but I fear you might be delusional. The poison has been in Aemond for years.”

Lucerys immediately opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it again just as quickly. He could hardly deny it. Aemond was famously merciless. Half the realm thought him mad, or perhaps even possessed by a demon. Aemond’s behaviour during the war would’ve been infamous for an alpha. For an omega? Yes… perhaps it was a sort of poison. But when had the venom seeped in? Lucerys didn’t remember Aemond being like that as a child, although time had made his memories hazy. Was it… was it when Luke had stolen Aemond’s eye? Gods, was that what’d done it?

“Perhaps it has,” Lucerys mumbled, feeling suddenly hollow inside. “But the poison can be washed out. I know it can.”

“Luke…” the Queen said sadly. Her tone clearly conveyed that she thought her son hopelessly deluded.

“I know what you’re going to say. You think the bond is making me want something impossible. You think Aemond is a lost cause.”

Rhaenyra folded her hands in her lap. “I think that’s likely, yes. But I also think the bond between mates is a strange thing, and I don’t pretend to understand it. Does anybody, truly? Being mated to Aemond has certainly changed you. It’s made you do things I would’ve never in a thousand years have believed of you. Stupid things. So perhaps, if you’ve changed for the worse, then he can change for the better. But I’m not going to lie to you Lucerys – I doubt it very much.”

It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t a flat dismissal of the idea either. For his part, Luke truly believed what he’d said. He wasn’t an idiot – he’d no mad aspirations for Aemond to transform into the idealized noble omega. Soft and sweet – wrapped in silks and showered in jewels. He wanted Aemond to stay Aemond. Even if that meant staying a bit of a cunt. But he wanted him to be happy. More than he wanted anything.

“Tell me…” The Queen picked up her cup again and blew gently on the hot tea. Steam curled around her face. “What’s it like? Being bound to an omega? Oh, I’ve read the poems and heard the songs, just like everyone else. I sat through the maester’s dry lessons as a girl. But what’s it really like?”

“It’s…” Lucerys began, then paused. It was a difficult question to answer. “I want Aemond to be happy,” he settled on cautiously. “I want him to be safe.”

Rhaenyra waved a dismissive hand. “Happy and safe? Betas feel that way about their spouses. The unbonded feel like that about their lovers. I’m talking about what it feels like to be mated. Come on Luke, be honest with me. Tell me how it is, truly.”

Lucerys took a deep breath. “When I say I want Aemond to be happy and safe… often it feels like that’s all I want. Like I’d let the rest of the world burn down around me. Sometimes Aemond’s all I can think about. And I don’t mean the way lovestruck boys and girls moon over their first idle fancy. It consumes you. It does change you. I’ve always loved the way omegas smell. All of them. Sweet and pleasing. I suppose I still do really, but it’s just not the same anymore. They smell flat. Only Aemond smells complete. And I…” he flushed. “I want him. More than I’ve wanted anyone. In the regard that… it’s…”

“In bed,” said his mother plainly, visibly trying to smother an amused smile at her son’s embarrassment.

“Yes,” said Lucerys awkwardly, trying hard to remind himself that he was a grown man and his mother had brought six children into the world. There was no reason to play coy. Pretending he and his mate weren’t having sex was ridiculous.

“Being bonded to an omega broke my father,” said Rhaenyra. “He never recovered from the death of my mother. He told me once that he still woke every morning reaching for her in their bed. That he caught her scent in his dreams, like a ghost. You’re right, the bite changes people. It makes them fools. Slaves to their nature. It makes me glad I’m not shackled like that and yet… I don’t deny… part of me does envy it.”

Luke’s mother was a beta. They couldn’t be bonded. Not like alphas and omegas. Oh, betas loved fiercely enough. They could get every bit as hopelessly lovesick and mad with devotion as any bonded pair. King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne had both been betas, and their great romance was the stuff of legend.

Traditionally, a beta marrying an alpha or omega would either give or receive a sort of play-bite during the wedding night. Nothing serious. Just enough to leave a mark on their neck the next day. A mimic of the mating bite, although unlike the real thing it’d quickly fade away instead of scarring forever. The old practice was a demonstration that the beta took their marriage every bit as seriously as if it had been a mating. That their freely given devotion was as unbreakable as the gods-made devotion induced by the bite. Lucerys couldn’t remember his mother having such a mark on her neck after she’d wed Daemon. But then, he’d been very young back then. Young and naïve.

“Did Daemon bite you?” he found himself asking before he could hold his tongue. It was a very personal question. Lucerys blushed. When Rhaenyra’s eyebrows shot up, he got even more embarrassed.

“Perhaps I bit him,” he was all she said, eyes sparkling with sudden mirth.

Relieved his mother wasn’t affronted, Lucerys just laughed. “How’re the preparations for Aegon’s name-day coming along?” he asked, eager to move the conversation onto something else.

“Very nicely,” said Rhaenyra with a satisfied smile. “There’s going to be much revelry in the city. I’ve ordered the bells rung at the hour of Aegon’s birth. There’ll be music and wine for the people – and a great feast for the nobility, here in the Keep.”

“It sounds expensive,” Lucerys said dourly.

His mother sighed. “Luke, while I do admire your pragmatism, you’ve grown up into something of a skinflint.”

“I just think that we ought to be more careful!” Lucerys protested indignantly. “The treasury is stretched thin enough by this great tourney. We worked hard to claw back that gold, and I’m not convinced it’s wise to spend what little of it we have left on such extravagance.”

“I understand your concerns,” Rhaenyra reassured him. “But look at it this way – extravagance and the throne go hand in hand. People expect a show from us, Lucerys. I promise, I don’t intend to be a spendthrift queen. But the Iron Throne has to be glorious – we have to be glorious. Touched by the gods! That’s what our rule was built on.”

“No, it wasn’t. Our rule was built on dragons.”

“That too,” Rhaenyra conceded. “Please Luke, trust me. Let the people amuse themselves and drink wine at our expense. It'll inspire loyalty.”

Lucerys sighed, unconvinced. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am,” Rhaenyra said confidently. “Besides… we ought to let the people enjoy some merriment while they can. By the sound of it, when the court is yours and Aemond’s, they’ll be forced to content themselves with the occasional wandering poet and poor minstrels dressed in rags.”

Lucerys chuckled at the image that conjured up. “I’m not sure Aemond would care even for poets and ragged minstrels.”

“No, he’s not much of one for revelry, is he? Gods Luke, I know it’s done, but you really couldn’t’ve chosen worse for a consort. It’s not just who Aemond is, but how he is. A good consort is supposed to be the sympathetic face of the throne. A merciful hand of intercession. Approachable.”

“Like Daemon is?” Lucerys shot back.

That retort took the Queen aback. She gaped at her son briefly, before recovering herself. “That’s different,” she insisted.

“Is it?” said Lucerys. “Why? Because Daemon’s an alpha and Aemond an omega? You know Daemon’s reputation. Half the realm thinks him a black-hearted villain. Even our friends think him a scoundrel. The Rogue Prince, exiled by his own brother! Do I think Aemond being sullen is worse than that? No. I don't.”

“What’s wrong with Aemond goes a damn sight further than his being sullen, and you know it,” Rhaenyra snapped. “Is Daemon a rogue? Yes. I don’t deny it. But Aemond’s a traitor.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Lucerys stubbornly. “He will be my consort when the time comes. Whether he’s a good choice or not doesn’t matter anymore.”

“See?” said his mother. “This is what I meant. The bite makes people fools. Of course it matters that Aemond is a poor choice. Not so long ago you’d have understood that. But now you don’t care.”

“You mistake me. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s that I don’t think he is a poor choice.”

Rhaenyra’s expression was cool. “I see we won’t agree on this. But perhaps we can find some neutral ground. Two days from now, there’ll be a knighting in the Great Hall. Afterwards, there’ll be music. A chance for our family to appear together before the court. If Aemond is capable of behaving as you say, then he should attend.”

Lucerys immediately thought of the dinner to celebrate Baela’s arrival in King’s Landing - and how disastrously it’d ended. How angry Aemond had been. How close he’d come to saying something catastrophically dreadful.

“Of course,” he agreed confidently, as though he hadn’t a care in the world about it.

…

My mother thinks you won’t be able to control your temper,” Lucerys reminded Aemond. “She thinks you’ll embarrass me.”

It was a truly shameless bit of manipulation, and Aemond could see right through it. Lucerys was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. And yet, aggravatingly, it was working. Even knowing full well that his husband was trying to manipulate him, Aemond couldn’t help wanting to prove his bitch sister wrong.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered dourly, fiddling with the embroidered cuffs of his black doublet. They were uncomfortable. He was sure the servant had fastened them all wrong. “I’ll keep my mouth shut and spare your blushes.”

Lucerys sighed. “You could always try enjoying yourself. Surely you’re tired of only talking to me?”

Yes, Aemond was tired of only talking to Lucerys. He was tired of being shut away in here like some possession. A thing, to be taken out or put away as pleased his sister. Some days it weighed on him more heavily than others. When it did drag upon his spirits, Aemond found himself exhausted by the prospect of what lay ahead – years of this life left to come. Shut away and left to gather dust and cobwebs. Not his own person at all, but merely some extension of his alpha. What he’d always feared being mated would be like.

Lucerys did his best. That didn’t always stop Aemond from raging with resentment, but when he was in a calmer mood, he could acknowledge that his husband really did try. Lucerys left every morning, but he always came back by the afternoon to take Aemond anywhere in the Keep he wanted to go. But by the gods, it chafed. No matter how much Lucerys reassured him otherwise, Aemond always felt like some prized lapdog led about on a golden lead. So really, he should’ve been pleased for this opportunity. But Aemond was dreading it. Instead of being at Lucerys’ mercy, he’d find himself at Rhaenyra’s. And that was a far worse prospect.

“I don’t want to be paraded about as your mother’s war trophy.”

“You won’t be,” Lucerys took Aemond’s hand, stopping him fiddling with his sleeves. “You’re not going to be paraded, Aemond. This ceremony is a court occasion. Why wouldn’t you be there? You’re my husband.”

“Lucerys, the reasons why I wouldn’t be there are as long as the River Mander,” Aemond replied snidely. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”

“Alright, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps my mother is parading you. But does it really matter?”

“Yes!”

“Does it?” Lucerys repeated. “Why? Why should it matter? If that’s what it takes to get you out of these rooms, among other people again, then what do either of us care for the Queen’s motives? This is an opportunity!”

“An opportunity?” said Aemond scathingly. “An opportunity to do what exactly?”

“To prove to my mother than she can trust you. That she doesn’t need to keep you locked away forever.”

“We’ve barely been mated four moons,” said Aemond moodily, pulling away from his husband and yanking restlessly at his sleeves again. How in the hells had they been done up so wrongly? Had the idiot page who’d dressed him been blind? “I’ll wager my sister intends to keep me locked away for a long time yet.”

Lucerys said nothing to that. He didn’t need to – his silence spoke volumes. What Aemond had said was true.

They left, escorted by the guard. Aemond was plagued the entire way by the irritating sensation that he’d forgotten something. They were halfway to the Great Hall when he realised what it was. He wasn’t wearing his eyepatch.

He froze. Lucerys stopped as well, and Aemond knew instantly from the guilty expression on his face that Lucerys had been well aware the eyepatch had been forgotten. For a whole moon now he’d been trying to persuade Aemond to show himself in public without it.

It was infuriating. How dare Lucerys judge Aemond for wanting to cover the ruin of his eye, when it was Lucerys himself who’d cut it out? The audacity of the bastard was incredible. He hadn’t thought he’d done anything wrong then, and he clearly still didn’t – for all he insisted he was sorry. Sorry! Lucerys was sorry in the same way you might be sorry for breaking a pane of glass or spilling a pot of ink.

Lucerys insisted that Aemond’s missing eye didn’t bother him. That he thought him fair. Of course he did – all alphas thought their omegas were beautiful. Lucerys was a fool… but his foolishness was comforting. Aemond had grown easy letting his husband see his bare face. Lucerys hadn’t balked when he’d seen the full wretched ruin of it, he was hardly going to be repulsed by the scar and moonstone. So Aemond had stopped wearing the eyepatch in private, even in front of the servants. Daemon had seen him bare-faced and remarked on nothing – save boasting about how Aemond’s decision to sell the sapphire had been his undoing.

He'd become so fucking comfortable that now he’d forgotten.

“We can return, if you want,” Lucerys murmured.

“No,” said Aemond stiffly. Lucerys tried to take his arm and Aemond pulled away. He was angry with him for not saying anything. “If we’re late your mother will think it’s my fault.”

The last two occasions Aemond had found himself in the Great Hall, he’d been hauled before the throne in disgrace. The first time in chains. The second time to subjugate himself. Now he stood next to his husband on the sweeping steps leading up to the Iron Throne, no longer the blood-soaked traitor, but back within the fold. It was absurd. A poor joke played by the gods. No doubt many of the courtiers thought so as well.

Daemon was there, at his wife’s side. Two steps below Lucerys and Aemond was young Prince Aegon. The boy smiled at Aemond over his shoulder. Aemond found that he liked his little nephew – a shocking turn of events, considering the lad was the child of Rhaenyra and Daemon, two people Aemond despised to his core. But Aegon was the only member of their family, apart from Lucerys, who didn’t secretly wish that Aemond was a water-logged corpse at the bottom of the Gods Eye.

Aemond had only the vaguest memories of his sire knighting anyone. Viserys had generally been too tired, too sick, and too crippled. Rhaenyra’s expression was regally aloof as she pressed her sword – Dark Sister, borrowed from Daemon, Blackfyre too heavy for her – to their shoulders and invoked the gods. But as each new knight rose, Rhaenyra smiled at them like a proud mother. More than one of the young men couldn’t help smiling back.

When it was over, musicians began to play. The formal occasion became something more social. The new knights were congratulated. People milled about and made conversation. Servants brought refreshments. Rhaenyra descended from the throne and was seated in a more comfortable chair. Lords and ladies came to bow and curtsey before her, exchanging pleasantries with their queen. That was something else Aemond couldn’t remember his father ever doing. Tired, in pain, and constantly ailing ever worse, Viserys had always been keen to retreat back to his private apartments. Away from the court. Away from his children.

Lucerys pressed his hand to the small of Aemond’s back. Part of him itched to swat it away, but he restrained himself. Aemond felt uncomfortable, surrounded by all these people. They stared at him like he was one of the strange animals sailors sometimes brought back from the Lands of the Long Summer. What were they thinking? Wondering whether or not he’d been tamed by the bite? Or were they staring at his scarred eye, muttering to each other about how ugly it was? Aemond fought the urge to glower at the impudent whoresons. To make it crystal clear he still had the dragonfire in his soul.

He'd never been good at court occasions. None of his mother’s children had been. Aegon had been lively and gregarious, but in all the wrong ways. He’d liked drinking, debauchery, and low company – and was too loud and far too crude. Helaena, by contrast, had been too quiet, and prone to saying disquieting things when she did speak. Aemond had been sullen and cold. Perhaps Daeron would’ve been different. Maybe he would’ve been the dazzling child Alicent had wanted so badly. But by the time Daeron had been the right age… they’d all been knee deep in war. And that was all Daeron had known before his life had been snatched away.

“Prince Aemond,” an unfamiliar voice said. It was the High Septon, dressed in deceptively modest robes – although the humble impression was spoiled by the seven-pointed star of solid gold hanging around the man’s neck. The old priest smiled and inclined his head respectfully. “How good it is to see you at long last. I’ve been asking the Queen to allow a septon to minister to you since I learned of your capture – but alas, her grace felt it wasn’t appropriate.”

“Thank you,” Aemond said flatly. He wouldn’t’ve welcomed any septons. In a strange way, Rhaenyra had done him a favour by refusing.

“Speaking of the Queen…” continued the High Septon. “I believe she wishes to speak with you, Prince Lucerys. Just you.”

Lucerys hesitated. His hand, which was still pressed to the small of Aemond’s back, clenched – his fingers digging into the soft black fabric of Aemond’s doublet.

“I’ll keep your mate company, my prince,” the High Septon reassured him, as if sensing Lucerys’ reluctance.

“If you want to leave, just find me,” Lucerys murmured so quietly that only Aemond could hear him. Then he crossed the room to speak with his mother.

“Allow me to offer my condolences,” said the High Septon in low tones, once he was alone with Aemond. “For the deaths of your brother and sister. I’ve prayed to the Father to see them safely to his golden hall.”

He meant Helaena and Daeron. Even the High Septon wouldn’t’ve dared express any regret at the loss of Aegon – or suggest that the usurper was anywhere now other than one of the seven hells. Especially not here, among this company. Aemond just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His High Holiness had made it sound as though his siblings had come down with a tragic fever and passed quietly in their beds.

“I’m told you haven’t visited the sept since Prince Lucerys took you for his mate,” the High Septon continued. “Tell me, my prince – have you been forbidden from seeking the solace of the gods? You may tell me in confidence, I won’t betray you.”

The truth was Aemond had no desire to visit the sept. Not the one here in the Red Keep, the great Starry Sept of Oldtown, or any other in all Westeros.

“There are many places I can’t go,” he said vaguely, glancing around the hall. Several people were watching them. Some were subtle about it, others were blatant. Daemon was one of the observers, eyes cold and calculating. He was stood behind Rhaenyra’s chair, lurking again. It was becoming a habit of his.

“The Queen doesn’t visit the sept as often as she should,” the High Septon murmured, nearly whispering. “I worry she keeps faith with the false gods of Old Valyria in secret. I fear heresy.”

Aemond looked askance at the man. For a long time, he’d also considered Rhaenyra a heretic and a sinner. Aemond had wholeheartedly believed it the work of the gods to bring her down and destroy her utterly. He’d imagined himself the agent of their holy wrath.

“I haven’t seen any heresy. The Queen is merely busy.”

“Ah, but she wouldn’t reveal herself in front of you, a faithful servant of the Seven, would she? Of course, I’m loyal to the throne. Let there be no question of that. I just fear for the Queen’s soul.”

Aemond scanned his High Holiness’s face, trying to see what lay beneath the expression of bland concern. He was astonished that the High Septon would dare say such a thing, especially here in the same room as Rhaenyra herself. Either the man was utterly certain of Aemond’s silence, or else sure the Queen couldn’t touch him. How weak was Rhaenyra, exactly? Aemond’s mind turned to the conspiracy Lucerys had spoken of. Was the Faith involved? Did the rot truly run that deep? Or was this just an indiscreet old priest a little too confident in Aemond’s sympathy?

“If you can’t come to the sept,” the High Septon said, raising his voice to a more normal volume. “Then I’ll gladly send a septon to pray with you. Or even do it myself, whilst I’m in the city. I’m sure the Queen won’t refuse. Not after so much has been forced upon you already.”

There was something about his words that made Aemond’s skin crawl. There’d been a slight emphasis on the word ‘forced’ – barely noticeable, but it’d been there. Aemond wanted to grab the High Septon by the scruff of his robes and demand to know what he’d meant by it.

Fortunately, he was saved by the High Septon muttering his farewells and departing abruptly. Perhaps the old fool was suddenly worried he’d said too much. Or perhaps he’d finally noticed Daemon’s frosty stare. Whatever the reason, Aemond was glad to see him go – though it did leave him alone. He felt agonizingly self-conscious. As though the eyes of the whole room were on him. Judging him. Thinking him a whore. A coward. A weakling.

Aemond didn’t want to be here. Where the hells was Lucerys? He wanted to go. He wanted to be away from these vultures.

“It must be strange for you, my lord.”

The speaker was a knight of the Queensguard, in his plate armour and white cloak. Aemond didn’t recognise him, but he knew only three of four of Rhaenyra’s bodyguard by name. This one was young, with dark hair and a hollow set to his face. His nose was crooked, like it’d been broken once and poorly set.

“What?” Aemond snapped irritably.

“I said it must be strange for you. Being here among these people. Knowing that many of them would’ve gladly killed you, during the war, and been thought a hero for it.”

Aemond stared at the knight, taken aback by the cur’s impudence.

“Ser Robyn,” Lucerys interjected sharply, before Aemond could think of a reply to the insolent remark. He appeared at Aemond’s shoulder. This close, his scent was strong. There was a sour note to it – as though Lucerys were upset. “I think you should be guarding my mother, not speaking with my husband.”

“Of course, my prince,” said the knight, bowing his head and leaving.

“Who was that?” Aemond demanded to know once the man was out of earshot.

“His name’s Robyn Darke,” said Lucerys, watching the knight go with an uneasy glower. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. What did your mother want?”

“Nothing,” echoed Lucerys. “She was very surprised to hear that she wished to speak with me. If I confronted him, no doubt the High Septon would tell me it was an innocent mistake. He wanted to talk to you alone.”

“He wants to send a septon to our chambers to pray with me.”

“Do you want him to?”

“No,” said Aemond. “What I want, is to leave. All these perfumed whoresons keep staring at me.”

“They’re just curious,” said Lucerys. “Wouldn’t you be, in their place?”

“I don’t want to be fucking gawped at,” Aemond hissed. “This is why I keep my eye covered. You think I haven’t had my fill of people staring at me?”

Aemond recalled vividly the first time he’d showed his face to the court, after Lucerys had cut out his eye. He remembered the way everyone had stared and whispered. Aemond had only been a child, but he’d suddenly understood keenly that what’d been done to him was something to be ashamed of. It’d been bad enough when he’d been thought a beta. But when the truth of Aemond’s nature had revealed itself, the staring and whispering had gotten worse. What a shame, they said. A fair face ruined. And not even a sweet temper to make the boy more palatable despite it.

“Aemond, they’re not gawping at you,” Lucerys tried to reassure him. “They’re gawping at us. Both of us.”

He reached out, intending to touch the scarred side of Aemond’s face. Aemond grabbed his hand, stopping him. “Don’t!” he snapped.

A hush fell over those nearby. Everyone had seen Aemond refuse his alpha. Had seen him embarrass Lucerys in public. Aemond froze, glaring at his husband, painfully aware he’d crossed a line. That he’d done exactly what Rhaenyra had thought he would.

Gods – she was going to have him hauled back to their apartments by the guard.

Carefully, never breaking eye contact, Lucerys wrapped his fingers around Aemond’s hand and softly kissed the back of his knuckles. All around them, the court watched on.

“I’m sorry,” Lucerys said – not loudly, but clearly enough that every man and woman stood close to them could overhear it.

It was a gesture. A concession. And every instinct in Aemond’s body screamed for him to give into it. And every frustrated impulse in his head demanded that he didn't. Lucerys didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked calm. Irritatingly so.

Slowly, Aemond dropped his gaze submissively. He refused point blank to go the whole way and bare his neck. But this ought to be enough. Aemond was resentful, short-tempered, and just about holding onto his last nerve… but he wasn’t stupid. Lucerys couldn’t afford for the court to think he’d no control of his mate. It’d damage his standing in the eyes of these whoresons. Aemond wouldn’t allow it.

With his eye turned to the floor, he felt rather than saw Lucerys draw closer. Slowly, Lucerys kissed him on the cheek – right over the scar. Aemond let it happen, still not looking up.

And then it was over. Fortunately, the musicians had played on throughout the humiliating ordeal. Their merry music swiftly lulled the court back into conversation. Probably most of the people there hadn’t seen what’d happened. But it’d be in everybody’s ears soon enough – that vicious little cunt, Aemond Targaryen, soothed by a kiss to the hand like some foolish stripling drunk on romance and chivalric drivel. It made Aemond grind his teeth furiously.

“Do you really want to leave?” Lucerys murmured.

“Yes.” Aemond picked his head up – looking Lucerys dead in the eye. Defiantly so. Letting his husband know it’d all been a show for the court, nothing more.

“Alright. Let’s just – ”

He was interrupted by Aegon appearing before them. “Mother wishes to speak to Uncle Aemond,” the young prince announced.

Lucerys sighed. “Very well. We’ll be with her in just a moment.”

“Just Uncle Aemond,” said Aegon. “She said to tell you that.”

Lucerys hesitated, looking unhappy.

“If the Queen wishes it,” declared Aemond. He’d absolutely no desire to speak with his sister, but he was damned if he was going to stand there and wait for Lucerys’ permission. Leaving his husband behind, he walked straight towards Rhaenyra. She was looking right at him, face as impassive as a statue.

Aemond bowed.

“Sit with me,” said Rhaenyra. She gestured to a hovering page, and another chair was produced.

Aemond felt wrong-footed. He hadn’t expected this. Truthfully, he’d been expecting a tongue-lashing for the incident just a moment ago. Surely Rhaenyra had seen it. If she hadn’t, then Daemon certainly had. He was still there, lurking behind his wife. He and Aemond exchanged a brief, hostile glare before Aemond sat down.

“Try not to look too much as though you’re awaiting your own execution, brother,” Rhaenyra muttered. “Every eye is upon us.”

Aemond felt very uncomfortable. Everyone was watching. Again. He’d been looked upon too damn much this afternoon. He was sick of it. He was angry about it. Rhaenyra was sitting on Aemond’s blind side. He couldn’t see her, and it was only making him feel more unsettled and frustrated. He tried to focus instead on Lucerys, who was hovering a short distance away - staring straight at Aemond, without bothering to pretend otherwise.

“You possess far too much power over my son,” Rhaenyra remarked. “I wonder, does he have the same power over you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Luke wants you to be happy,” said Rhaenyra. “I fear he wants it more than anything else. He wants you to be safe. He wants you to be untouchable. What I want to know, Aemond, is do you want the same for him? Do you want my son to be happy? Do you want him safe and untouchable?”

Aemond shifted uncertainly in his chair. Whatever he’d imagined Rhaenyra wanted to say to him, it wasn’t this. Not here, in public, where any knave with a particularly good ear could overhear.

Did he want those things for Lucerys? Of course he did. The idea of Lucerys hurt, vulnerable, alone… it made panic wash over Aemond. Entirely unconsciously, he lifted his hand, intending to touch the bite scar hidden beneath his collar. He caught himself and forced his arm back down.

And yes, he did want Lucerys to be happy. More than that – he wanted to be the reason for it. It was a bone-deep desire. One Aemond had been afflicted by ever since he’d felt teeth sinking into his neck. He hated it sometimes. He ignored it most of the time. But it was getting harder and harder to repress it. Occasionally, Aemond would do something pathetically small that made Lucerys smile, and the feeling of satisfaction was so strong…

Rhaenyra was still waiting for an answer. Aemond wished he could see her. He also wished he wasn’t so keenly aware of Daemon stood right behind him, listening to every word.

“Of course I do,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Is that the truth?” Rhaenyra sounded sceptical.

“Yes,” said Aemond testily. He didn’t want to talk to her about this. He barely wanted to talk to Lucerys about this. It was humiliating, having his most personal desires dragged out of him. Especially here, in a room full of people.

“Forgive me for wondering,” said Rhaenyra, sounding very little like she actually cared if she’d offended her brother. “But you hate him. I’m not an idiot, Aemond. I know you only took the bite to save yourself.”

“Does it matter? I’m bound by it all the same! What do you know of what the bond makes me feel? I want Lucerys to be happy. And yes – I want him to be untouchable. I want him to sit on the throne one day. That’s the truth. I don’t care if you believe me.”

A very long, very loaded silence followed. Rhaenyra and Aemond sat still in their seats, side by side, sister and brother – both pretending to be at ease in each other’s company. It probably made a surreal sight for the court. One that would’ve been utterly unthinkable not so long ago. Aemond was surprised at just how emphatically he’d insisted all that to Rhaenyra. But it was true. He’d taken up arms to stop his eldest sister and her illegitimate spawn from sitting on the Iron Throne, had committed atrocity after atrocity to prevent it, had lost everything to that cause… and now here he was. Betraying all of it for what? A bite and a knot?

“Daemon told me that Luke had gifted you a replacement for your sapphire eye,” Rhaenyra broke the tense silence. “What’s it made from?”

“Moonstone,” Aemond muttered sullenly.

“Is that so? It suits you. You’re quite fair beneath that thing you wear on your face.”

Aemond scowled, wishing there was a way to escape this conversation. He sought out Lucerys again. His mate was speaking with his younger brother now, but his eyes never left Aemond.

“I gave a moonstone necklace to your mother once,” said Rhaenyra. “A gift for her name-day. Moonstones and emeralds. There was a little dragon on the clasp – so she’d remember it was from me.”

With a jolt, Aemond realised he knew the necklace his sister was speaking of. The pale white stones and the brilliant green. The silver dragon-head clasp. He’d seen his mother wearing it a handful of times, when he’d been younger. Although now he came to think of it, never again after he’d lost his eye. Aemond had always assumed it’d been a gift from his sire, before the man had withered.

Rhaenyra sighed unhappily. “Aren’t you sick of it? The hatred? The loss? Aren’t you tired, Aemond? The gods know I am.”

Aemond had no idea what to say to that. He suspected he wasn’t supposed to say anything. For the dozenth time, he wished he could see his sister’s face without blatantly turning his head to look. He thought he heard Daemon shifting around behind them. Drawing closer to his wife, perhaps.

“I want Lucerys to be happy too,” Rhaenyra said. “You’re right, I don’t know how an omega feels for their alpha. Even one as hard and strange as you. So, I’m choosing to believe you. I don’t trust you. But I think perhaps, yes, you do want my son to be happy. That you want him to be king - if only because you’ll be at his side, and because your children will follow after. I cannot ignore you forever, Aemond, much as I’d like to. You’ll have to show your face to the court. Because one day – and I cannot comprehend how it’s come to this – it’ll be yours. Yours and Luke’s.”

“Not for a long time yet,” Aemond protested, feeling unwell at the prospect of being forced to make a show of himself.

To his surprise, Rhaenyra laughed. “Are you praying for my long life, brother? Truly the world has turned upside down. Look at me, Aemond. Properly.”

Slowly, Aemond turned his head so that his sister came into view of his one real eye. “Aegon will have his name-day when the moon is next full,” Rhaenyra said. “There’ll be a great feast to mark the occasion. For some reason, he likes you a great deal. I cannot grasp why, but then the tastes of all my children have baffled me of late. You’ll attend. You’ll behave yourself. And in doing so, you’ll make Lucerys happy. Do we understand one another?”

“And if I refuse?”

“I could threaten you – but I won’t. I’ll make you an offer instead. I’ve permitted you to write to the twins on Dragonstone. But if you comport yourself well at this feast… you may write to your mother as well.”

Aemond was surprised. When he’d asked about writing to his mother, Lucerys had been adamant that the Queen would refuse point blank to allow it. Aemond thought of her often, imprisoned on Dragonstone. Had they told her of his capture? Gods, had they even told her he was alive? Would Rhaenyra be that cruel? Yes… Aemond thought she might be.

“I agree.” Of course Aemond agreed. He wanted so, so badly to send a message to his mother. And to hear from her in return.

“Good,” said Rhaenyra. “Now that we have an accord, you’d better go back to your husband – before he marches over here and snatches you back.”

Aemond rose from the chair. Protocol demanded that he bow again to his sister, and loathe as he was to do it, the whole court was watching. Aemond bent at the waist, the bow as shallow as he could reasonably make it. He straightened up and made to depart… and then hesitated, struck by the bizarre urge to make some sort of gesture. To prove to Rhaenyra that he’d meant what he’d said.

“You shouldn’t trust the High Septon,” he blurted out. “The man has no control over his tongue.”

Rhaenyra’s icy-cool façade flickered briefly. Over her shoulder, Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “What did the old cunt say to you?” he demanded, voice carrying too much. People’s heads turned.

“Stupid things,” Aemond said vaguely.

“Thank you, Aemond,” Rhaenyra said, watching her brother carefully. “Fortunately, I already trusted the High Septon as far as I could throw him.”

A handful of minutes later, Lucerys and Aemond escaped from the Great Hall. “What did my mother talk to you about?” Lucerys asked.

You, Aemond thought. “Your brother’s name-day,” he said instead. “She wants me to attend and behave myself like a good little prisoner. If I do, I may write to my mother.”

“Your mother?” Lucerys said. He didn’t sound overjoyed to hear it. “Did she truly say that?”

“You doubt me?”

“No! Of course not. I’m just surprised. You must see what a risk it is for her.”

Aemond grabbed Lucerys’ arm, stopping him short in the passageway. For once, there was no guard trailing them. So there was nobody to see as Aemond seized his alpha by the front of his jerkin and kissed him.

“I would see you on the throne after your mother.” Aemond pressed their foreheads together. “Not Jaehaerys or Jaehaera. Not your younger brothers, or any other cunt with a claim who comes crawling out of the woodwork. You.”

Lucerys didn’t reply, but his scent spiked sharply. Aemond breathed in deeply. He was expecting it when Lucerys wrapped his arms around Aemond’s waist and kissed him hungrily. Aemond didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, pressing against his husband until a wisp of smoke couldn’t’ve passed between them.

“Oh,” a voice said.

Aemond turned his head and saw Baela Velaryon staring at them. There was a high flush to her round cheeks. He was surprised at himself when he didn’t instantly shove his mate off, or feel embarrassed at having been caught all over each other. Aemond didn’t let go of Lucerys, settling instead for simply glaring at their interrupter.

“Forgive me,” said Baela, backing away a couple of paces. She looked abashed. Good, thought Aemond viciously. But in the next moment, Baela recovered herself. Her expression settled into cool reserve, and she looked at the two of them as though she’d caught them doing nothing more salacious than playing dice in the gardens.

“Lucerys,” she said. “I was going to ask if you wanted to join me for a walk. But I see that you’re busy.”

With that she turned on her heel and left. Aemond scowled and opened his mouth to say something scathing. Lucerys stopped him by pressing the pad of his thumb to Aemond’s lips.

“She’s my sister,” he said. “I love her a great deal.”

Aemond bit Lucerys’ thumb. “She hates me,” he said as his husband winced and took back his hand.

“And don’t you hate her too?” Lucerys pointed out. “You both have good cause for it. Just let it go.”

…

Lucerys felt sorry for his brother Aegon. The boy’s name-day had turned into a circus. Their mother was uncharacteristically oblivious to how overwhelmed Aegon was by the hurly-burly. Daemon however – just as uncharacteristically - seemed well aware of his son’s discomfort. As they rode down the King’s Way, the bells ringing and the people cheering, Daemon spurred his horse forward to ride alongside Aegon. He leaned over to say something above the raucous racket. Whatever it was, it made Aegon laugh. Luke’s brother was a lively boy – but he’d grown up surrounded by chaos and violence. It’d taken its toll. Loud noises, crowds… these things unsettled him. Lucerys wished there was some way he could take a portion of the burden for himself.

Aemond hadn’t been obligated to attend the afternoon’s festivities. Without Lucerys, he was therefore forced to spend the entire day in their chambers, alone.

To begin with, Luke had thought the terms of Aemond’s imprisonment extraordinarily generous. It’d been quite the gesture for the Queen to permit him to have the freedom of the Keep - if he was accompanied by Lucerys. Oh, nine times out of ten they were dogged not very subtly by the guard, but it was still far more than the traitorous Aemond really had any right to expect. The terms were generous. Very.

Lucerys knew he didn’t see clearly when it came to Aemond. His mate was a traitor. But being shut away was slowly turning Aemond melancholic and listless. His moods had long been unstable, but this was something else. It was as though the fire was being sapped out of him. Oh, most of the time he was his usual defiant self. But it pained Lucerys whenever he turned quiet and dull. When not even an argument could be coaxed out of him. Aemond would’ve shrivelled away to nothing in that distant sept. Shrivelled away until he took his own life or died attempting to escape. Lucerys was sure of it.

Increasingly, he thought about taking Aemond to Dragonstone. There, Lucerys would hold sway. If he decreed that his mate could have the unfettered freedom of the fortress, then that’s how it would be. But the Queen wouldn’t allow it. She’d refuse to let Aemond leave the Red Keep. She’d tell Lucerys he could only go alone, knowing full well that he wouldn’t.

And then there was the other obstacle. There was no way to bring Aemond to Dragonstone without revealing that Alicent Hightower was not on Dragonstone.

It was a relief to return to the safety of the Red Keep. Out in the streets, the celebrations would continue past nightfall. The Queen had been very generous. Free wine and ale flowed. Mummers performed plays for the amusement of the people – reenacting great events of history and legend. Garth Greenhand leading the First Men to the shores of Westeros. The landing of Aegon the Conqueror. The hubris of Black Harren and the fall of Harrenhal.

The court’s celebrations would begin in the early evening, with a feast. Until then, there was chance to rest. Lucerys didn’t return immediately to his rooms. He stopped first with one of the palace chamberlains, who’d been charged with the safe keeping of a gift.

Aemond’s clothes were of fine quality, but they were all old. Lucerys had commissioned him something new to wear at the banquet. He felt rather nervous about it. Expensive clothes were a popular gift for highborn omegas. Many wealthy alphas took great delight in lavishing their mates with beautiful things to wear. But that was half the problem. Lucerys worried that Aemond would think he was being treated like some pampered thing who coveted pretty baubles and lavish trinkets.

It was rather frustrating for Lucerys, who’d always been the sort of alpha who enjoyed giving out pretty baubles and lavish trinkets. He’d certainly been plenty generous with them in his time. And now here was his omega, his mate, the one he wanted to shower in lovely things from dawn till dusk – and it was Aemond. A man who had as much care for extravagant gifts as he did the rocks on the bed of the Blackwater Rush.

“This is for you,” Lucerys announced without ceremony as he entered their rooms, laying the clothing on the table before Aemond. He hoped it fit. He’d had the measurements taken from his husband’s other clothes.

Aemond put down his book. He stood and picked up the black doublet – embroidered with silver thread at the collar and up the arms. It was clearly a fine thing, meant for special occasions – but at the same time conservative and dark, as Aemond preferred.

“Am I to wear it this evening?” Aemond asked. He didn’t seem upset or affronted. Or, it had to be said, particularly overcome with delight either.

“I thought you might want to, but only if you so choose,” Lucerys hedged carefully.

Aemond ran his thumb over the silver embroidery. A snarling silvery dragon wound its way around the high neck of the velvet doublet, its long tail curling down around the shoulders.

“Thank you,” said Aemond at last. “I like it.”

It was truly embarrassing how much it pleased Lucerys to hear such scant praise. He smiled, sitting down heavily in an empty chair. “Good. You’ll look beautiful in it.”

Aemond rolled his eye. It pained Lucerys, the realisation that his husband did truly believe himself ugly – that the scar on Aemond’s face was an insurmountable defect. He thought Luke only found him comely because of the bond, and refused to listen to any protestations that Luke had honestly thought him fair when he’d laid eyes on Aemond five moons ago – shackled and chained, filthy from weeks on the road.

“I’ve no gift to give you in return,” Aemond announced.

Lucerys frowned. “I don’t want a gift.” That wasn’t how it worked. Alphas gave. To make their omega happy was the reward.

“Don’t you?” Aemond ran his hands over the silver thread again, admiring how delicate it was. He was in a strange mood, looking across the table at Lucerys with a gleam in his eye. He put down the doublet and slowly walked closer, briefly looming over his husband, before shocking Luke by suddenly sitting down in his lap.

Lucerys’ arms wrapped around his mate. His heating blood sang with anticipation. A stupid grin spread across his face as he looked up at Aemond. The weight of his husband in his arms felt so perfect, surely the gods themselves had willed it. Aemond bent to kiss him eagerly. Perhaps Luke had been wrong. Perhaps, beneath all that pride and sullen reserve, Aemond had a taste for extravagant gifts after all.

…

The evening came. Lucerys really wished he could stop thinking about how much of the treasury’s sparse gold all this had cost and just enjoy it.

Swan, peacock, whole haunches of roast venison… served alongside the finest Arbor gold and Highgarden’s spiced hippocras. Devoured with gusto by the assembled lords and ladies and followed by sweet, sugared treats and marchpane delicacies.

The food was cleared and the evening turned to entertainment. Musicians played merry tunes. Many nobles had risen to dance. If Aegon hadn’t enjoyed the earlier celebrations of his name-day, then Lucerys was pleased to see he was in high spirits now. Wrapped about the boy’s shoulders was a new cloak, embroidered with the same silver thread as Aemond’s doublet. His name-day gift from Luke. But Aegon’s real pride and joy was the sword he’d received from his father. Rhaenyra had refused to let him wear it to the feast.

Aemond seemed content to sit quietly in his chair and watch the merriment. Once again, he hadn’t put on his eyepatch. In fact, Lucerys hadn’t seen him wear the thing once since the knighting ceremony half a moon ago. Luke kept sneaking glances at him out of the corner of his eye, trying to see if he looked uncomfortable or bored. He’d been right. Aemond did look beautiful in the embroidered doublet.

Aemond leaned over to speak to Lucerys, who inclined his head closer to hear better over the sound of laughter and music.

“Your mother must be pleased,” Aemond murmured into Luke’s ear. “There are several great lords here.”

Indeed, there were. House Lannister and House Tyrell were both in attendance, and many of their most prominent vassals. Nearly every noble house of the Crownlands was there. There were even a few guests from across the Narrow Sea. Invited so they might take the message back that Westeros was stable once more – and open for business.

“I hope it’s worth it,” Lucerys muttered. “It’s costing us a fortune.”

“What’s it in aid of then?” Aemond asked, curious. “I don’t believe your brother wanted this lavish celebration. He’s only a boy.”

“What’s everything the Queen does in aid of, these days? Unity.”

“So that’s why I’m here,” said Aemond dourly.

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” said Lucerys. “Come on Aemond, even you have to admit, this is better than being shut away in our chambers. Nobody’s asking you to dance or make terrible conversation with people you despise. All you have to do is sit with me, drink good wine, and watch highborn men and women fall into their cups and make fools of themselves.”

Aemond smirked. “Perhaps it isn’t so bad, when you put it like that,” he conceded. “Some are well on their way already.”

Indeed, they were. There were more than a few flushed faces and wobbly gaits – and the night was still young. Lucerys’ gaze swept over the dancers. He saw cheerful, laughing faces and easy smiles. A year ago, the people in this room would’ve torn each other apart. A year ago, Lucerys and Aemond would’ve tried to kill one another on sight. And now here they sat, alpha and omega, making idle small talk about drunken lordlings.

Whilst the younger generation danced, the older watched on. Aemond had been right – Luke’s mother would be pleased with how many lords had made the journey to King’s Landing. Lord Corlys was talking with the little Lord of Highgarden’s regent – Lyonel Tyrell being far too young to attend the feast himself. It was quite a coup for the Queen to have House Tyrell here, after they’d sat on the fence for so long – like cowards, if you asked Lucerys. Luke briefly caught a glimpse of Robyn Darke lurking by the wall. He wasn’t looking at Aemond though, so Lucerys paid the strange, sullen knight no mind.

Another face among the dancers caught Lucerys’ eye. It was Alyn. He wasn’t dancing with Baela. It was Tyshara Lannister in his arms, the elder sister of Lord Loreon Lannister. She was an omega with tumbling golden hair and a dainty, milk white face. Were the circumstances different, it would’ve been rather scandalous. He might’ve married Baela, he might’ve been legitimised by the Queen… but Alyn was still a bastard born. It was surely only because they were both omegas that Lord Loreon hadn’t sent one of his vassals to discreetly remove Tyshara.

The two of them made for a handsome pair. Attractive in very different ways. The heads of many alphas turned to watch appreciatively as they turned and span among the other dancers. Including Baela. She was sat at the high table, on the other side of the Queen. Lucerys leaned forward to glimpse his sister. Her gaze was fixed on her mate, eyes following his every move.

“Prince Lucerys,” a voice like a silver bell said. Lucerys tore his eyes away from Baela to find Tyshara’s sister stood before him. Cerelle Lannister was every bit as beautiful as he remembered, dressed in a lavish gown of Lannister red and gold. She was also wearing a very fine necklace of rubies around her neck. A gift from Lucerys himself, just eight moons ago.

He felt a sudden stab of anxiety in his belly and prayed to all seven gods that Cerelle wouldn’t mention it. It didn’t matter that Lucerys had thought Aemond dead eight moons ago. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t been mated then. That they’d loathed each other. He knew his husband wouldn’t be reasonable about it. He’d be jealous and difficult, and he’d act as though Lucerys had bedded Cerelle and secretly wished he’d mated her instead – even though he easily could have, if that’d been what he’d wanted.

“I’m glad to see you again, my prince,” Cerelle continued, curtseying respectfully. “I hope you’ll forgive my forwardness. But you were so kind to me when I was drowning in despair, and I wanted to tell you again how much I appreciated it.”

“Lady Cerelle,” Luke said, inclining his head to the little lioness. “I’m glad to see you again as well. Aemond, this is Cerelle Lannister. One of Lord Jason’s daughters.”

Aemond contrived to look at the lovely Cerelle Lannister like she was some foul insect that’d scuttled out from beneath a rotting carcass.

“Prince Aemond.” Cerelle curtseyed again, with considerably less enthusiasm.

“Have you been enjoying the merriment?” Lucerys enquired. He was still worried that Cerelle might bring up the necklace and hoped desperately to steer her towards other topics.

Cerelle smiled. “Yes – it’s the grandest occasion I’ve ever been to. I know my brother hopes to host you at Casterly Rock one day and see if he can’t match this extravagance.”

“I’m sure he can,” Lucerys replied good-naturedly. “House Lannister is known for – ”

He was interrupted by a loud booming noise that carried above everything else. The cups of wine on the table shuddered. The roar echoed around the Great Hall. The musicians faltered in their playing. Before he knew what he was doing, Lucerys had risen to his feet. He had one hand clamped hard on Aemond’s shoulder, keeping him sat down in his chair. The Queen had also stood up, eyes wide.

“Dragon!” someone screamed. “It’s a dragon!”

Chaos erupted. The Queensguard swarmed on Rhaenyra, surrounding her with a wall of armoured bodies. She had her arms wrapped tightly around Aegon, who was clinging to his mother. He was afraid of dragons. And gods, Lucerys couldn’t deny it… it had sounded like dragonfire.

“Luke!” Daemon appeared at Lucerys’ side. “What in the seven fucking hells is going on?”

“It sounded like it came from some distance away,” Lucerys hazarded. His hand, still resting on Aemond’s shoulder, curled up so that he was gripping hard onto the sliver-threaded velvet.

“Arrax?” Daemon looked Lucerys dead in the eyes. “Could it be Arrax?”

“No!” Lucerys protested. “It can’t be. It can’t.”

“Let’s find out,” Daemon growled. House Targaryen’s sworn knights, dressed in their finery, had gravitated to him. Daemon gestured them closer.

Gods, Lucerys wished the Queen’s guests hadn’t been quite so free with the wine. What mere minutes ago had made the nobles relaxed and jovial was now making them stupid and agitated. Parents cried out for their sons and daughters. Panicked alphas clutched their omegas to them. Lucerys was dimly aware of Cerelle Lannister being swept away by one of her brother’s vassals. Baela appeared at her father’s side, grim-faced and holding the hand of her mate. She must’ve flung herself into the mass of dancers to find Alyn the moment the explosive boom had resounded throughout the hall.

“You, Alric,” Daemon snapped at one knight. “Take Prince Aemond back to his chambers and stand guard on the door.”

Lucerys looked down at Aemond, knowing he’d take great offence at being sent away like some wayward child. Especially on Daemon’s orders.

“Please,” he begged, before Aemond could say a word. “Please.”

Aemond looked surly, but relented. He shook off Luke’s hand and allowed Daemon’s man to lead him away. The Queen was also being taken from the Hall, along with her two youngest children.

The guests were panicked, but too afraid to leave. If there was a dragon, then they were probably safer in the palace than fleeing into the city. Lucerys, Daemon, and the knights forced their way through the restless crowd. Baela came too, Alyn in tow. Daemon looked down at his daughter, visibly on the verge of demanding she stay behind. Baela fixed her sire with a stare so fierce he was forced to relent.

The rest of the Red Keep wasn’t as chaotic as the Great Hall, but it wasn’t calm either. Occasionally a frightened servant rushed past, or a harried gold cloak. Two maesters, both wheezing with the effort, scurried like rats deeper into the palace. More than one person said there was a dragon, but nobody seemed to know anything for sure. Certainly, nobody had actually seen a dragon. Luke’s head span. He knew it was impossible, but he’d heard the booming rush of dragonfire more times than he could count. It was the sound every man feared. The herald of sudden death - that you could do nothing to defend yourself against.

The moment he stepped into the night air, Lucerys smelled burning. It was a strange odour though – not woodsmoke, or coal, and no, not dragonfire either. It had an alchemical tang that made Lucerys feel faintly sick. The yard and inner bailey were intact – but in uproar. The servants and retainers of the Queen’s guests milled about in a panic. Frightened horses reared and strained against their reins as groomsmen and stable boys fought to calm them. A dog was barking.

“My lords!” a gold cloak appeared from out of the pandemonium. “This way! It’s this way!”

The man led them through the gate - which some clever soul had thought to shut, to keep the brewing havoc contained. It led to the outskirts of the Keep’s sprawling grounds. The gold cloak took them straight to the source of the explosive sound. It was a guard-post on the outermost wall. What was left of the squat stone building was scattered about the outer bailey, or else was on fire. The blaze burned and smouldered with an unnatural green flame. The chemical stink was nearly overpowering. Lucerys noticed bits of human remains among the debris. He grimaced. There’d been men inside the guard-post when it was destroyed, poor souls.

“Wildfire,” Daemon growled, surveying the scene. “It was fucking wildfire.”

“How could wildfire come to be here?” Baela’s eyes glimmered with the eerie light of the green flames. “The pyromancers hoard the stuff like it’s liquid gold.”

“I’m sure for a large enough sack of dragons the bastards would misplace a cask or two,” Daemon said. “Why blow up a guard-post though? It hasn’t even destroyed the wall.”

Sure enough, save for a few chunks of stone blown out, the Red Keep’s outer wall remained intact. Lucerys was just as baffled as Daemon. Why do this? What gain was there to be had?

There was a man standing amid the dancing green fire, staring slack-jawed at the blackened pile of smoking ruins. He was badly singed by the flames and dressed in the armour of the palace guard.

“You there!” Lucerys called out. He strode towards the lone figure, intending to demand answers – until he saw the shock written plainly across the man’s face, and the way his hands trembled.

“My… my prince,” the man stuttered.

“What happened here?” Lucerys asked more softly.

“It just exploded. I left… and it went behind me. I felt the heat on my back, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground and there was… gods… there was bits of the other lads… they were… it was everywhere…”

“How did it happen?” Lucerys pressed as gently as he could, for fear the guard would fall apart. “Did you see anything?”

“Nothing,” the man breathed shakily. “I don’t understand! The gods preserve me…”

“Some whoreson is going to pay for this,” Daemon swore viciously. “What is this? Some kind of distraction? I want every passageway in the Red Keep searched. Every room. Every gods-damned stairwell. Luke! You stay here with Baela and Alyn and get control of this mess.”

Daemon marched back into the Keep, his knights following after him. Lucerys felt a sharp twist of anxiety. A distraction. Yes, that’s very likely what this was. But for what purpose?

A dozen gold cloaks arrived on the scene. Lucerys gave orders for every other guard-post along the perimeter to be searched. He ordered a cup of strong wine brought for the guard who’d narrowly escaped death. The poor man’s nerves looked to be on the brink of cracking altogether. His trembling had gotten worse. Lucerys thought he really ought to be taken from here, away from the bloodied remains of his friends.

“Did you know wildfire was stored in there?” Baela demanded.

“N-no, my lady,” the guard protested. “I wouldn’t know it if I saw it, I swear! There were a few barrels brought in yesterday, but we were told it was oil for the kitchens. One of the Queensguard himself gave the order. He said there was no room left in the cellars.”

A cold feeling crept over Lucerys, like an icy winter’s chill. He recalled the Queensguard clustering protectively around his mother. Now that he thought about it, he was sure there’d been a face missing.

Luke took a deep breath, fighting to quell the rising panic. “Which of the Queensguard was it?” he asked.

“Ser Robyn Darke,” the scorched guard said.

…

Inwardly, Aemond seethed at having been sent away and left entirely in the dark about what the hells was going on. His mind raced. Had it been a dragon? It’d sounded like dragonfire sure enough. It couldn’t’ve been Arrax. And Rhaena Targaryen’s little dragonling was no bigger than a pony. What about the feral beast they called Sheepstealer? Surely not - Lucerys had told Aemond that Daemon’s little lover was long gone from the shores of Westeros.

Outwardly though, he kept his expression stony and his pace brisk as Daemon’s man escorted him back to his rooms. No doubt the bastard would’ve loved an excuse to drag Aemond there, to give him a good hiding under the pretence of doing his duty. Aemond was damned if he’d give the cur any cause. He went without complaint, shutting the door behind himself and leaving the knight – Alric, Daemon had called him - on the other side.

Aemond paced the solar, burning with the need to know what was going on. The windows of his chambers faced the wrong way, looking over the sea rather than the city. Still, Aemond opened one up and peered out at the night’s sky, trying to see if any of the stars flickered as some large shape passed beneath them. He saw nothing.

Gods – he was so frustrated. Where was Lucerys? Was he safe?

There was nothing to do but sit and wait. It didn’t come easily. Aemond threw himself into a seat at the table, leaning his elbow on the surface with his fist pressed hard to his mouth. His foot tapped impatiently on the stone floor. He kept his gaze fixed on the door, waiting for it to open. Waiting for Lucerys to return and tell him what was going on.

It was much sooner than he’d expected when the door did open. But it wasn’t Lucerys on the other side.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Prince Aemond,” drawled the man that slipped through the door like a snake, closing it firmly behind him. He held a sword, the blade already bloodstained. He slipped the weapon back into its scabbard, still dirty. The stranger was in the fine plate armour and heavy white cloak of the Queensguard. He’d dark, unkempt hair, a sallow face with a crooked nose, and eyes like a lizard. Aemond jumped to his feet. Every instinct he possessed screamed that this man, despite the white cloak on his back, was an enemy. His heart began hammering in his chest. He was entirely unarmed. He was helpless.

There was something familiar about the knight’s pale, rat-like face. “I know you,” Aemond said, trying to place the intruder. He’d heard this bastard’s name somewhere - he knew he had.

“We only exchanged words once,” said the man. He stood blocking the door, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Do you recall it?”

A name presented itself to Aemond. “Robyn Darke,” he said. House Darke were direct vassals of the crown. The faithless pricks had declared for Rhaenyra during the war. Apart from that, Aemond drew a blank. Who was this cur? What did he want?

“That’s right,” said the knight, taking a pace forward. “You met my brothers, once. I say you met them… You burned them with that monstrous beast of yours. All three of them, gone in an instant. I doubt you even saw their faces, you miserable son of a bitch.”

Aemond fought to stay calm. Where was the knight standing guard on the door - Daemon’s man? Had that been his blood on Darke’s blade?

“Vhagar burned many men,” he said coldly.

“Indeed, she did,” said Darke, lip curling. “And what price have you paid for your crimes? None. You whored yourself out to that bastard-born cunt, Lucerys, and the Queen forgives all! My brothers died for her! And this is the justice she delivers for them? They were good men! Brave! Loyal! The tyrant bitch doesn’t deserve the throne! None of you do. Your entire heathen House has been nothing but a curse on these lands since the fucking Conqueror founded this shithole city.”

“So you’ve turned oathbreaker?” Aemond sneered. His mind raced, trying frantically to think of a way out of this. But he came up with nothing. He was trapped.

“Does an oath count when you make it to a godless harlot?” Robyn Darke snapped. “If my soul is damned, then it’ll be worth it to see you dead and that slattern brought down.”

“You think killing me will bring down Rhaenyra?” Aemond laughed nastily. “You’re a slavering imbecile then. My sister would love nothing more than to be rid of me! She’d stick a blade through my heart herself if she could!”

“Oh, but I won’t be putting you to the sword,” said Ser Robyn, grinning. He had a sickly and unpleasant face. “You’re going out the window, my prince. Just like your sister before you.”

Aemond faltered. “What?”

“You heard me, you filthy whore,” Darke spat. “You’re going out the window, just like Princess Helaena did. How will that look, do you think? What will the people say? Did the prince jump like his gentle sister, or was he pushed? Either way – what scandal! What will the people do when they hear of it?”

“It won’t work, you idiot,” Aemond insisted, with far more confidence that he actually felt.

“Won’t it? Why not? When your sister died, the whole city rose up! How much worse will the revolt be when you go the same way? Two omegas, savage Rhaenyra’s own flesh and blood, murdered! Murdered – or so cruelly tormented they took their own lives. The people whisper that Lucerys must’ve raped you… pinned you down and stuck his cock and teeth in you. Hah! They don’t know you for the whore you are.”

“The people won’t rise up for me. There’s too much blood on my hands.”

“A fucking ocean of it,” Darke snapped. “But they will. They’ll call it an insult to the gods. Maegor with teats they’ll mutter to themselves. They will rise up – you mark my words. Not that you’ll be alive to see it.”

“They’ll catch you!” Aemond hissed, beginning to lose control of himself. “You think Daemon will let it go? He’s like a bloodhound! He’ll track you down and he’ll make you spill your guts on the rack!”

“Even that black-hearted devil won’t survive this time,” Robyn Darke said. “I’ll be long gone from King’s Landing before anybody finds your shattered corpse! I’ve powerful friends – they’ll keep my well-hidden until the job’s finished. Bah – enough of this! You’re out of time, you blood-soaked bastard! The gods made a mistake when they created you. An omega who thinks he’s an alpha. Although you spread your legs quick enough when it suited, didn’t you?”

Aemond snarled furiously and darted right. His only hope was to make it into the bedchamber and barricade the door - and hope like the hells Robyn Darke couldn’t force his way through. He got within three or four paces of it – so close! – when a gloved hand grabbed his arm and dragged him sharply backwards.

The ensuing struggle was vicious and desperate. Darke wasn’t a particularly burly man, but he was still a knight of the Queensguard. He was strong and agile, and fuelled by a sort of mania. The only advantage Aemond possessed was that the madman’s heavy armour weighed him down. Unfortunately, that same armour meant any blow Aemond landed on his would-be murderer struck hammered steel instead of soft flesh. He howled in frustration, grappling furiously with his assailant.

Darke managed to get his arm wrapped tightly around Aemond’s neck, trapping him in a vice-like hold. He wrestled the prince over towards the window. It was wide open – gods, Aemond had opened it himself, trying to see if he could spy a dragon flying above the Keep.

Darke shoved Aemond towards the darkness of the night, which beckoned ominously. The brutal realisation hit Aemond that he was perhaps just moments away from his own death. He’d experienced that grim understanding before, in the Gods Eye. Unbidden, the memories surfaced. He remembered being beneath the dark water, unable to breath. The pain in his body had been overwhelming, as had the ice-cold knowledge that the Stranger’s hand was on his shoulder.

The god of death hadn’t taken Aemond then. He was damned if he’d let himself be stolen away now.

He reached back, hand scrabbling frantically against Robyn Darke’s narrow face. Aemond’s other hand caught windowpane, and he strained every sinew trying to stop himself being forced over the sill. His manically clawing fingers scratched at Darke’s temple, tearing the flesh. His nails slid down over the bastard’s brow until they came to the softness of his eyelid.

An unhinged fury took Aemond. How dare this rotting cur? How dare he? A dragon didn’t let itself get slaughtered by one of the sheep! With a righteous snarl of rage, Aemond twisted his hand and rammed his thumb into the hot flesh of his assailant’s eye. A split-second later, Robyn Darke screamed like a wild animal. Aemond didn’t relent. He felt something given under the pressure of his thumb. The arm about his neck went suddenly slack and Aemond yanked himself free, staggering away from the window, thumb and hand covered in blood.

“You bastard!” Robyn Darke shrieked hysterically. His right eye was nothing but a bloody mass, as broken and ruined as Aemond’s own had once been. The knight slapped a hand over the wound as blood poured liberally down his face. “You filthy, mad bastard!”

The lunatic drew his sword and lurched forward, taking a wild swing. Aemond dodged – just. He tried to put the table between them, but Robyn Darke seemed possessed by a demon. He certainly looked like one – his snarling face covered in blood, and the one eye he still possessed burning with unhinged hatred. Darke struck out again. The blade missed Aemond by a hair, slamming into the table and burying itself deep into the varnished wood.

The knight yanked his weapon free and lunged forward. This time Aemond wasn’t so lucky. He shoved one of the chairs over into Darke’s path, but still an explosion of pain rocked his upper arm as steel cut into flesh. The beautiful black doublet with its silver dragon, a gift from Lucerys just hours earlier, was quickly soaked with Aemond’s blood.

His arm hurt like all seven of the hells – but it still worked. Nothing vital had been sliced through. Aemond’s gaze fell onto the door. He stumbled towards it, but Darke managed to plant himself in the way. Desperate, Aemond picked up a candlestick from the table and hurled the heavy wrought iron at the traitor. It hit Darke’s cuirass with a pitiful clank, but as the guttering candle fell it landed on the knight’s white cloak. Against all the odds, the flame caught.

Darke twisted, alarmed at the sight of the small fire lapping at his cloak. Aemond saw a fleeting opportunity, and he took it, diving forward, grabbing the hilt of his enemy’s sword. The two of them fought bitterly over the weapon. This close, the stink of the bastard was overwhelming. Robyn Darke was a beta. Normally their scents were muted. Softer. But primal rage and the mad struggle for survival had turned Darke’s scent deep and sour. He smelled like tar and rotting straw. And overlaid on top, the stink of fresh blood. It oozed down the knight’s face, dripping from his ruined eye.

The sharp edge of the sword glimmered dangerously between them, sinking first towards Aemond’s throat, and then Darke’s. But neither man could force the blade close enough to sink it into their enemy’s flesh. Aemond gritted his teeth, throwing every ounce of strength he possessed into the struggle. His arm was still bleeding, the pain white hot. It was only his manic determination to live that kept Aemond from buckling. He wouldn’t lose to this rat! He would not! Not after everything! All the blood and pain and misery. Not like this! He wouldn’t die like this!

He stamped hard on Darke’s boot – driving his heel into the vulnerable join where foot met ankle. It was just enough. As a fresh, wholly unexpected bolt of pain rocked him, Robyn Darke’s arms gave just a little. Just a little – but enough. In that instant, Aemond managed to force the man’s own sword into his throat. To his shock, the flesh sliced open as easily as soft butter. Blood spurted from the gaping wound. Some of it splattered over Aemond’s face. A great deal more soaked into his already filthy doublet.

The expression on Darke’s face wasn’t anger or fear – it was surprise. He gurgled, before collapsing to the floor, grabbing wildly at Aemond – who stumbled and dropped to his knees. Aemond watched as the light faded from the whoreson’s black eye, blood thundering in his ears. He tried to get up, but he refused to let go of Darke’s sword and simply fell straight back to his knees again. The world turned dark and murky. Aemond was back in the Gods Eye, sinking into the deep water. Lungs burning because he couldn’t breathe…

“Aemond!” a voice snapped. Someone else was in the room. An enemy? Come to finish the job? Aemond redoubled his grip on the sword’s hilt, dimly aware that he was now kneeling in a pool of blood. He looked around himself frantically, raising the blade defensively, trying once more to get to his feet.

“Aemond,” the voice said again, less severely. A figure crouched in front of him. Seven hells – it was Daemon. His uncle put a hand on his shoulder, stopping Aemond from trying to stand. “Take a breath,” Daemon commanded. Aemond blinked at him stupidly before realising that he was still gasping for air. Still drowning in the great lake. Daemon’s hand slipped from Aemond’s shoulder to his neck, pressing over the bite and squeezing with surprising gentleness.

“Take a breath,” Daemon repeated.

Aemond did. His lungs filled with air and his legs strengthened beneath him. He looked down at the dead body of Robyn Darke, throat slashed open. The flames that’d been lapping at the edge of the traitor’s cloak had been put out by his own blood. Aemond stood, shaking Daemon’s hand off. His arm ached viciously, but Aemond could no longer tell which of the blood covering him was his own, and what belonged to his would-be assassin.

“What happened here?” Daemon demanded.

“He tried to push me out the window,” said Aemond. He pressed his free hand to the cut on his arm, hissing as the pain increased sharply. “I gouged out his eye and he decided to put me to the sword instead.”

“He tried to push you out the window?” Daemon said incredulously.

“Like Helaena,” Aemond sucked in another deep breath. “So that it would look like Heleana.”

Understanding dawned on Daemon’s face, swiftly followed by thunderous rage. “Curse these filthy whoresons!” he seethed. “One of the fucking Queensguard! May the gods damn his wretched soul as an oathbreaker! I am sick of these cowards!”

Full of fury, Daemon grabbed a pewter dish from the table and flung it angrily against the wall. There were two knights stood in the open doorway, staring at the bloody tableau with shocked faces. Aemond slumped back against the table, finally letting go of Ser Robyn’s sword. It clattered to the floor.

Daemon regained control of himself. His gaze flickered to Aemond. “He cut you,” he said, noticing the hand Aemond had pressed to his wounded arm. Daemon gestured to one of his men. “You! Go get a maester. No… get the Grand Maester himself. Fetch Gerardys here. I’ve no idea who else we can trust. And then get Lyonel Bentley. I want to hear him explain why one of his sworn brothers just tried to murder Prince Aemond.”

The knight nodded and disappeared.

“What was the clamour?” Aemond asked his uncle. Blood rose sluggishly between his fingers. He tried to press down harder and staunch the flow, but it hurt too damn much. “Was it a dragon?”

“No.” Daemon stalked around the corpse of Robyn Darke. “Wildfire. Enough to blow a guard-post to pieces. And every man in it.”

Wildfire. The possibility had never occurred to Aemond. “Why?” he said, confused.

“To get you back here, I expect. Yes – I’d wager a hundred dragons on it. This dead bastard would’ve known you’d be sent back to these rooms and Lucerys wouldn’t. That we’d all be in such chaos there wouldn’t be a proper guard on the door.”

“What happened to your man on the door?”

“Dead,” spat Daemon. “Stabbed in the gut. He probably never saw it coming. Who’d suspect a white cloak?”

There was a sudden commotion outside. A second later, Lucerys elbowed his way into the room. He looked flushed and out of breath, as though he’d sprinted the entire way there. He froze as he took in the grim scene. Robyn Darke, dead on the floor. Daemon, standing over the body. And Aemond – sat slumped on the table, clutching his arm, and absolutely covered in blood.

“Gods…” Lucerys breathed, cracked and raw. He marched forward and wrapped both his hands around Aemond’s face, thumbs unwittingly smearing the lifeblood of Robyn Darke across his husband’s cheeks.

“Are you alright?” Lucerys looked frantic – and he smelled it too. His usual scent of sea-salt and heather was overladen by bitterness. Fear. Lucerys had been afraid. Overwhelmingly so.

Aemond nodded mutely. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Luke’s shoulder. He didn’t give a shit that other people could see them. For a split second, when he’d been struggling to breathe, he’d thought the figure in front of him had been Lucerys, not Daemon. He’d wanted it to be Lucerys. Perhaps he should fight against this pathetic neediness… but he didn’t have the energy. He wanted to feel safe. Every instinct within him cried out for it. And for once, Aemond simply gave in.

Lucerys’ arms wrapped around him – no, clutched at him. He pressed his cheek to Aemond’s temple, muttering something over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” What in the seven hells Lucerys had to be sorry about was beyond Aemond, but he clung on in return. Without the pressure of his hand against it, the wound in his arm began bleeding again. Aemond didn’t care.

Eventually he pushed Lucerys off. His husband hovered protectively, keeping an arm wrapped tightly about Aemond’s shoulders. That’s when Lucerys finally noticed the torn doublet and the gash in Aemond’s arm.

“You said you weren’t hurt!” he hissed.

“It’s nothing,” Aemond insisted.

“It’s not nothing, a maester needs to look at it, gods Aemond it’s still bleeding – ”

“I’ve already called for Gerardys,” interrupted Daemon.

“What the hells happened?” Lucerys gestured to the bloody mess. His grip around Aemond’s shoulders briefly tightened.

“Ser Robyn here tried to throw your mate out the window,” Daemon growled.

“What?” Lucerys demanded. He sounded equal measures horrified and baffled. “From the window?”

“So that his death would look like poor Helaena’s,” said Daemon. “By the Seven, we’re dealing with some filthy rats here Luke. Perhaps we should start searching the sewers for the vermin.”

“I don’t understand. Why would Darke want Aemond’s death to look like Helaena’s?”

“Don’t you see?” Daemon exclaimed. “Helaena’s death incited a riot that nearly brought our House to its knees. This traitorous dog wanted a repeat. He wanted to see your mother thrown to the mob!”

“But…” Lucerys still sounded confused. “Darke hated Aemond. His brothers were killed in the war, and he blamed Aemond for it. But why should he want riots? Why should he want to see my mother toppled?”

“I did kill them,” murmured Aemond, staring down at Darke’s glassy eye that stared vacantly at nothing. “His brothers. And he hated Rhaenyra for it because she let me live.”

Lucerys frowned at him. “How - ”

“He told me so himself,” Aemond explained wearily. “Before he tried to kill me.”

“He must’ve been recruited by the conspirators,” said Daemon. “Their catspaw, right at the heart of the Red Keep. Their knife in the dark. A pox on House Darke! How many times did this treacherous whoreson stand at the Queen’s side? How many times did he guard her door whilst she slept? How did we miss this?”

“He must’ve been turned recently,” said Lucerys.

“Why?” said Daemon.

“If it was the Queen’s decision to spare Aemond that turned Darke oathbreaker, then it must’ve happened sometime in the last handful of moons. Gods damn it all! I knew! I knew he hated Aemond! And what did I do? I asked Ser Lyonel to keep them apart. That was all I did.”

“This isn’t your fault, Luke,” Daemon chided.

“Isn’t it?” Lucerys cried. “I felt it in my bones that Darke couldn’t be trusted. I knew he meant Aemond harm. And I didn’t do a damned thing! I failed.”

He sounded so utterly wretched that Aemond grabbed him by the chin, forcing his mate to look at him. “Listen to me, Lucerys. If you banished everyone who hates me from the Red Keep, then you and I would be living here alone. It’s not your fault.”

Lucerys looked unconvinced. “I should’ve – ”

“It’s not your fault,” Aemond repeated himself. “Don’t be stupid. Can you see the future? No. So don’t act as though you should’ve.” He wouldn’t have Lucerys being foolish about this. Hadn’t he learned from the war? You couldn’t have eyes and ears everywhere.

“There’s no time for regrets,” opined Daemon. “Aemond, I want you to tell me everything the knave said to you. Everything, you understand me?”

Aemond recounted what he could remember. It wasn’t much. Ser Robyn had given away very little in his ravings. He’d ranted about his dead brothers, yearned for an uprising of the smallfolk, and mentioned powerful friends who were going to smuggle him out of the city.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed at that – surely wondering who these mysterious friends were. Would they have done what they promised? Aemond suspected it was just as likely Robyn Darke would’ve found himself knifed and his corpse thrown into the Blackwater Rush. Dead men couldn’t name names. The only detail he left out of his retelling was Darke’s gibe about Aemond’s willingness to spread his legs to save his hide. Nothing could’ve made him share that. Especially not with Daemon.

At the end of the tale, Lyonel Bentley arrived. He too stood frozen in shock as he beheld the body on the floor – its white cloak half-red with blood.

“What the hells happened here?” Ser Lyonel said in horror.

“What happened is that your brother-in-arms was a traitorous dog,” Daemon snapped. He proceeded, in a snarling voice, to explain how Robyn Darke’s corpse had come to be cooling on the floor of Lucerys and Aemond’s chambers. Ser Lyonel’s expression turned even more appalled as he listened to the bloody tale.

“I knew Prince Aemond had slain Robyn’s brothers,” he said. “They say the grief of losing them killed his sire. And then the lad’s uncle seized control of their House, claiming the lordship was his by rights, as he was an alpha and Robyn a beta. He was exiled from his home, left friendless and alone. He arrived here at the Keep and pledged himself to the Queen’s service. He’d fought loyally for our cause, and there were hardly any of us left after the riots… I thought he’d make a decent brother of the Queensguard. There were so few other choices!”

“You knew he was consumed with hatred for Aemond,” Daemon said.

“Yes, but…” Lyonel grimaced. “With respect, my prince. There are a great many men and women in the Queen’s service who hate Prince Aemond. I never took Robyn for an oathbreaker. Bitter, yes… but an oathbreaker…”

“Then you took him wrong!” snapped Lucerys.

“It seems I did,” said Ser Lyonel solemnly.

“By the gods…” Grand Maester Gerardys swore as he interrupted them. It was becoming quite humorous to Aemond now, the way that everybody who entered wore the exact same horror-struck expression.

“Gerardys,” said Daemon. “You’re here. Good. I want you to take a look at Aemond. He’s wounded.”

If the Grand Maester was at all offended by being asked to attend to Aemond’s injury like a common physician, then he didn’t show it. Gerardys grimaced as he took in Aemond’s terrible state, and it took him a moment to spot the wound on his arm amidst all the blood. He carefully prised apart the slashed black velvet. Yet more blood oozed out.

Now that the frenzied fury of the fight for survival was fading, Aemond had started to realise just how much it hurt. The pain had spread, and now his whole arm throbbed with it. He hissed as Gerardys examined the cut. Lucerys made a low, angry noise in the back of his throat, almost a growl. Gerardys remained unflustered, smiling gently up at his former student.

“It’ll need to be stitched,” the maester said, once he’d finished his examination. “The blade has cut into the muscle. It must be cleaned quickly or risk infection.”

“See to it then,” said Daemon briskly. “I’ll have other chambers made ready. These ones will be locked. Luke, you come with me. The Queen must be informed.”

“No,” said Lucerys at once. “I go with Aemond.”

“You’ll come with me,” Daemon insisted sharply. “Aemond will be under a full guard. You can’t do anything for him. You’ve more important matters to deal with.”

“No – ”

“Go with him,” Aemond interrupted. He felt suddenly embarrassed, shaking Lucerys off and standing up. It was difficult. Part of him wanted nothing more than to cling to his mate. To not be parted at any cost. He ought to be with Lucerys. Every nerve and fibre in his body insisted on it, the bond doing the thinking for him. It was so intense that Aemond swore he could almost feel the scar on his neck itching. He wouldn’t let it win. He wasn’t so pathetic. He wasn’t.

“I won’t leave you,” Lucerys said obstinately.

A little spark of indignation lit itself inside Aemond. He didn’t need to be coddled. “You have a duty,” he told his husband. “Act like it.”

Lucerys scowled, clenching his jaw tightly. He and Aemond glared at each other for a long moment, before Lucerys abruptly relented. He leaned in close and spoke into Aemond’s ear. “You are my duty too,” he muttered, before walking away.

Aemond watched him go. Lucerys spared one last glance back over his shoulder. As their eyes met, for a second Aemond was nearly overcome with the urge to follow after his mate. To hold onto him. To be held. He stamped down on it hard.

…

Until the day he died, Lucerys knew he’d never forget walking into that room and seeing Robyn Darke dead on the floor and Aemond drenched in blood - but alive. There’d been blood in Aemond’s hair even, stark red against the silver pale. It was only when Lucerys had put his arms around his mate that he’d realized Aemond’s black doublet, the gift Lucerys had been so proud of, was also soaked with blood. Mercifully, most of it seemed to have belonged to the dead traitor. Some was now smeared on Luke’s own clothes.

Gods, he’d been so afraid. Aemond had been frightened as well. He’d stunk of fear, beneath the sweetness of summer apples. The scent of it had made something primal inside Lucerys ache and snarl in equal measure. Important words had nearly come tumbling out of his mouth - but it hadn’t been the time or the place, so he’d settled instead for saying sorry. Sorry for having failed to protect his mate. Sorry for not having been there.

“Aemond’s a mad cunt for sure, but by the gods, he’s a tough one as well,” Daemon remarked as they strode towards the Queen’s apartments. “He was unarmed, and he still managed to slit the cur’s throat. You’re sure it’s not him who’s the alpha?”

“If it is, then we’ve been fucking the wrong way all this time,” Lucerys muttered.

Daemon barked out a laugh. “We should thank the gods Aemond’s such a bloodthirsty little prick for an omega,” he mused. “If he’d preferred silks to the sword, he’d be a broken corpse now – and we’d be neck deep in shit.”

Lucerys didn’t reply. The image swam unbidden to the forefront of his imagination - Aemond with his head cracked open, limbs broken, his one eye staring blankly at nothing…

He felt sick. If Darke had just run Aemond through and then shoved his body over the sill, counting on the long fall to hide the wound, then Aemond would be dead now.

There were four Queensguard knights guarding the door to Rhaenrya’s apartments. A wall of armour with their hands resting on their swords, ready to draw steel at a moment’s notice. They parted for Ser Lyonel, his white cloak streaming behind him.

The Queen was sitting in her lavish solar, Viserys in her lap. Her ladies were gathered around her and Aegon was sitting at her feet. The boy looked spooked, huddled against his mother’s skirts, one of Rhaenyra’s hands stroking comfortingly through his hair. The last white cloak was stood directly behind the Queen’s chair, ready to shield her and her sons from danger. And yet… it unsettled Lucerys deeply. How often had Robyn Darke been that close to the Queen, all the time plotting her downfall?

Rhaenyra watched as Ser Lyonel, Daemon, and Lucerys stood stony-faced before her. None of them needed to say a word. She understood from their expressions that something serious had occurred.

“Take the children,” the Queen instructed her ladies. “Wait in the other room.”

“Mother, no!” Aegon protested.

“Aegon…” Rhaenyra began impatiently.

“Let the boy stay,” said Daemon. “He’s old enough now.”

Rhaenyra frowned with displeasure. But – perhaps recognising that Aegon would create merry hell if he was denied – she permitted it. Viserys and the Queen’s ladies left. The white cloak departed to join his fellows outside. Everyone else moved to the great table.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Rhaenyra demanded once she was seated.

Lucerys began the strange tale. His mother listened in silence. He told her about the obliterated guard-post and the gory remains scattered about the outer bailey. He told her about the wildfire stored there by order of Robyn Darke. Then Daemon took over the narration. He recounted coming across the body of one of House Targaryen’s knights, dead in the passageway outside of Luke and Aemond’s rooms. Entering in just enough time to see the last of the life draining from Darke’s single remaining eye – and Aemond on his knees in a pool of the man’s blood, gasping for air as though there were hands about his throat.

Rhaenyra’s face grew steadily grimmer as she listened, especially when Daemon came to last bit of his tale – what Aemond had said about Darke’s plan to force him out the window to his death. How the traitorous knight had cursed their entire House.

“Where’s Aemond now?” Rhaenyra asked.

“With Gerardys,” said Daemon. “Darke cut him badly on the arm.”

“Are we sure he’s telling the truth? Aemond has no love for me. He could be lying.”

Lucerys bristled. He knew his mother didn’t trust Aemond. But she hadn’t seen it!

“He was telling the truth,” Daemon declared. “I’d wager my life on it. Aemond’s a proud cur. He wouldn’t willingly let anyone see him struggling to catch his breath like that. Least of all me.”

Until now, Lucerys hadn’t known his mate had been fighting for air when Daemon found him. Had Darke choked Aemond? Curse that bastard. Wherever his soul was now – curse him. Lucerys’ fists clenched angrily in his lap. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t be here. He ought to be with his husband. He’d already failed to protect Aemond once that night. He needed to keep him safe. Gods, he needed to do better. He should’ve been more suspicious, more vigilant…

Popular wisdom said this feeling would wear off over time. Alphas were obsessively protective of their omegas in the year or so after the bite. But it got easier. Being apart got easier. That’s what everyone said. Some alphas were apart from their mates for years whilst they went to sea or plied their trade as merchants or mercenaries. And yet… others never got there. They always found being separated difficult to cope with. Lucerys couldn’t know for sure, but he was starting to suspect he was going to turn out like that. Stressed and uneasy whenever they were parted. It’d make an awkward attribute, for a future king.

At the head of the table, Rhaenyra put her head in her hands. Not since the war could Lucerys recall her looking so hopelessly weighed down.

“What should we do now?” she asked, looking up at them all.

“We need to find out who turned Robyn Dark oathbreaker,” Daemon said.

“Perhaps nobody did,” suggested Ser Lyonel. “Maybe it was all lies about having powerful friends. He could’ve just been taunting Prince Aemond. Perhaps he acted alone.”

“No,” said Lucerys. “Somebody helped him. I know it.”

Every eye turned to Luke.

“Darke was in the Great Hall just before the wildfire exploded,” he explained. “I saw him there myself. It couldn’t’ve been a minute or two beforehand. Not enough time for him to make it to the guard-post. Somebody else ignited the wildfire.”

“Seven hells,” cursed Ser Lyonel.

“We’ll interrogate the pyromancers,” said Daemon. “Darke got the wildfire from them somehow. Or somebody else did on his behalf – whether by theft or bribery. And we need to search Darke’s quarters.”

“I’ll see to that,” said Ser Lyonel. “And I’ll question my other brothers. Perhaps the traitor let something slip to one of them. They could know something important without realising it.”

“We need to keep the attack on Aemond secret,” Daemon said.

“Can we?” said Rhaenyra, sitting up taller in her chair. “I’ve a hall full of lords I sorely need to convince I have the realm well in hand. Enough damage has been done by that damned wildfire, I cannot have the nobles believing my own bodyguard tried to murder my brother.”

“They’re still in the Hall?” said Lucerys, surprised.

“Where else would they go?” said Rhaenyra. “I’m sure they’d love to flee back to their manses, but they’re afraid a dragon is flying around out there. I’ve ordered the musicians to play on and the wine to flow. But I must give them answers soon. The gods damn it all! This is the opposite of what I wanted!” She fell back in her chair, defeated.

Lucerys eyed his mother carefully. He knew how much time and money – gods, so much damned money – she’d put into this. Her frustration was understandable, and so was her despondency. But she couldn’t lose her cool. Not now.

“If we’re going to conceal Robyn Darke’s treachery, we need to start at once,” he said. “Every man who saw inside that room needs to be sworn to secrecy. Right now.”

Daemon nodded in agreement. “We still need a story to tell those perfumed vultures in the Great Hall.”

“Why not the truth?” suggested Lucerys. “A portion of it, at least. Tell them a traitor ignited a few casks of wildfire and now he’s dead. Don’t mention any names.”

The Queen nodded. Her jaw tensed as she gritted her teeth. “I agree,” she said.

“What do we do about Robyn’s body?” said Ser Lyonel.

“Nothing,” said Daemon. “Throw it into the sea and be done with it.”

“There’ll be questions about where he’s gone,” said Ser Lyonel.

“So?” said Daemon. “It sounds like his House has little enough care for him. This uncle of his will probably be glad he’s dead. Put it about that the cur had a fit and died. Or that he drank too much wine and cracked his head falling down the stairs.”

“The rest of the Queenguard will know something isn’t right,” protested Ser Lyonel. “They’re not stupid men, Prince Daemon. They’ll make the connection between this mysterious traitor and the sudden death of one of their brothers. Especially if I start interrogating them about Robyn’s recent behaviour.”

“Then we’ll just have to hope they take their oaths more seriously than their treacherous shield brother,” Daemon replied. “And hold their damned tongues.”

“Somebody out there knows the truth,” said Lucerys. “Whoever conspired with Darke will surely guess he died in the attempt to kill Aemond. They might start rumours about what really happened.”

“I need to speak with Mysaria,” said Daemon. “If someone starts whispering in people’s ears, she’ll find them soon enough.”

“Will she?” said Rhaenyra coldly. “Are you certain? She’s come up empty-handed often enough.”

Daemon frowned. “She’s a woman, not a witch,” he retorted. “She can’t see into men’s minds.”

“Except yours, perhaps.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed as he stared at his wife across the table.

“We need to double the guard,” said Lucerys loudly, diverting attention. “And there’s still several bodies spread about the outer bailey. The silent sisters must be summoned to remove what’s left of the poor bastards. Darke’s body needs to be put somewhere secret until we can get rid of it. We need servants who can be trusted to keep their mouths shut to clean the blood from the floor of my chambers. We have to act. We can bicker amongst ourselves tomorrow.”

Luke felt resolved. He hadn’t acted before, and now he was furious with himself for it. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. “You need to address the lords as well,” he continued, talking directly to his mother. “The longer we leave it, the more outrageous the speculation will get. They’ll convince themselves a dragon really did attack the palace. They convince themselves the war isn’t over.”

“They’ll leave,” said Rhaenyra. “This whole night will be left in ruins.”

“It’s ruined anyway!” Lucerys replied shortly. “It’s done! Let them ride out past the burning wreckage and see the truth of it for themselves. Good! At least then they’ll know it wasn’t a dragon. The damage is done, mother. You can’t undo it.”

Rhaenyra bowed her head. All her hard work, and it’d collapsed around her. Lucerys grieved for her, but pretending this mess could somehow be salvaged was wrongheaded. The best they could do now was reassert control.

“It must be so then,” said the Queen tiredly. “Luke, see to it that the mess outside is dealt with. Daemon, search every inch of the Red Keep for more wildfire.”

Daemon looked in a black mood, still stinging from his wife’s gibe about Mysaria. “Will I now?”

“Yes,” said Rhaenyra. “Your Queen has commanded it.”

The tension between husband and wife was abruptly so thick Lucerys swore he could smell it in the air – as though they were two rival alphas staring each other down. Gods, he’d really thought things had improved between them of late. It was probably the stress getting to everyone. Lucerys couldn’t pretend he was immune to it either. He wanted very badly to see Aemond, and it was beginning to fray his temper.

“I’ll go with you, father,” Aegon spoke up unexpectedly. He’d stayed meekly quiet the entire time, listening to the adults around the table. He glanced nervously between his parents now, all too able to detect the strain between them. “I can help you search.”

Daemon softened as he looked at his son. “You should go with your mother instead.”

“No, Aegon will stay here,” Rhaenyra said firmly. “Safe.”

“But mother…”

“One of us should go with you,” Lucerys interrupted his brother. “You shouldn’t have to face those vultures alone.”

“Of course I should,” said Rhaenyra, sounding worn. “The crown sits on my head, doesn’t it?”

“That doesn’t mean its weight rests on you alone,” Lucerys protested.

The Queen scoffed, rising to her feet. “I won’t be outdone by my brother. These cunts couldn’t kill Aemond, they won’t land a blow on me either.”

That was it then. Rhaenyra departed for the Great Hall, escorted by the Queensguard – with the exception of Ser Lyonel, who stole away to White Sword Tower to search the chambers of Robyn Darke. Daemon, whose mood was still foul, left to organise the search of the Red Keep. Lucerys was just leaving to see to his own task, when Aegon caught him by the sleeve.

“Is this my fault?”

“Why would it be your fault?” Lucerys soothed him, taking his brother by the shoulders.

“It’s my name-day,” Aegon said. “If it wasn’t for that, we wouldn’t have had the feast at all.”

“It’s not your fault, Aegon,” Lucerys promised him emphatically. “We had the feast because our mother wanted to invite all her lords to the palace. If it hadn’t been for your name-day, then it would’ve been for Viserys’. Or mine. Do you understand? It’s just a coincidence.”

Aegon nodded. “I hate all this,” he confessed.

“So do I,” Lucerys sighed. And he did. Bitterly. The war had been terrible. Lucerys had witnessed horrors enough for two lifetimes. Was peace really so much to ask?

As commanded, Lucerys returned to the bailey. Baela had already sent for the silent sisters, who were going about their grim business collecting body parts by the light of several burning sconces. Most of the wildfire had been put out, but green flames still flickered here and there. More than a dozen guards and a handful of knights watched the scene with sombre faces. What’d been their names, the men who’d died? Their lives so casually spent by Robyn Darke in pursuit of his revenge. Did they have mates? Children? Elderly parents?

Baela could tell instantly by the look on Luke’s face that something was afoot. She drew close to her stepbrother. Her blue silk kirtle stirred in a sudden wind that swept low across the bailey and brought a sour alchemical smell with it. “What is it?” Baela asked quietly. “Have they found more wildfire?”

Lucerys shook his head. A few feet away, Alyn watched them curiously. “Somebody tried to kill Aemond,” he whispered. “A knight of the Queensguard.”

Baela’s eyes widened. “By the gods,” she breathed.

“Keep it to yourself, Baela,” Lucerys urged. “Please, don’t tell Alyn. I know he’s your mate, but he speaks before he thinks. Don’t tell anyone else.”

“I promise,” Baela vowed.

Lucerys had the guard on the gates doubled. Before long, the clattering of hooves heralded the first of the Queen’s departing guests. Lord Brune rode out first. Lucerys, Baela, and Alyn shrank back into the shadows, beyond the light of the torches. They observed as Brune looked down upon the rubble and the figures of the silent sisters moving like wraiths among the wreckage, the last green embers of wildfire flickering weakly.

As the minutes went by, more highborn men and women, their servants, guards, and horses, all passed through, riding for their comfortable manses. Lucerys despaired as he watched them go. How much gold had all this cost? And what would the lords remember of it? Would they remember the music, the dancing, the fine wine? Of course they wouldn’t. This is what they’d remember. A broken guard-post and the obliterated corpses of the men inside it.

“Have all the gates closed once the last of them are gone,” Lucerys told Baela. “Nobody enters or leaves the Red Keep tonight.”

“Where are you going?”

To see Aemond, Lucerys ached to say. “To see my mother.”

Queen Rhaenyra was in the Great Hall, seated at the high table. The room was empty apart from Lord Corlys, by Queen’s side, talking to her in low tones. Trying to console her, no doubt. To persuade her all was not lost. It wasn’t working. Rhaenyra looked morose, staring at the empty tables before her. The Iron Throne loomed behind. As Lucerys approached, for a brief moment, it formed a dark halo about his mother’s head.

Corlys stood as he saw his grandson approaching. He didn’t say a word, only clapped Luke briefly on the shoulder before departing.

“Lucerys,” said Rhaenyra. “Tell me, my sweet boy, do you ever feel like the gods are conspiring against you?”

Lucerys felt a sudden - and most unexpected - hard stab of resentment towards his mother. Didn’t she understand what’d happened tonight? Aemond had nearly died. The feast didn’t matter. None of this mattered!

“I’m going to see my husband now,” Luke announced. It was a statement, not a request.

“Wait!” Rhaenyra called out as he turned to leave. “How was Aemond? I know he was wounded, but apart from that, was he in good health? There were no… complications?”

What an odd question. Lucerys didn’t know why his mother cared - past Aemond being alive and broadly intact, what did it matter to her? She hated him. “As far as I know, the wound on his arm was his only injury. Why do you ask?”

“He’s my brother,” said Rhaenyra. “The only sibling I have left. Believe it or not, I’ve no desire to see him suffer.”

That didn’t ring true. Not so very long ago, she’d lamented not being able to have Aemond publicly executed. But Luke didn’t want to stand here and worry at it. He left.

True to his word, Daemon had arranged new rooms for Lucerys and Aemond whilst a bloodied corpse lay on the floor of their own. Gerardys was there, rolling his medical instruments up in soft velvet. There was a large bowl on the table, the water inside stained red. White linens, also dirty with blood, were heaped in a pile next to it.

“Ah, Prince Lucerys,” the Grand Maester said. “Your husband is in the other room. I’ve given him something for the pain. When it takes effect, he’d struggle to stay awake.”

“How is he?”

“I’ve cleaned the wound and sewn it shut. I’ve also applied a poultice and bandage. There’s nothing to do now but wait and see how it heals. Fortunately, Prince Aemond doesn’t appear to have any inhibited movement in the arm. I believe, gods willing, he’ll be left with nothing but a scar.”

“Thank you, Gerardys,” said Luke. “I know this work is beneath you these days, but I truly appreciate – ”

“Nonsense,” Gerardys chastised. “I watched you grow up, young Lucerys Targaryen. No matter how highly your mother elevates me, I’ll always be your teacher. My skills and knowledge are yours, whenever you require them.”

Lucerys felt a pang of affection for his old tutor. It’d been very difficult, letting Aemond go earlier. Entrusting his wellbeing to somebody else. If it’d been any maester other than Gerardys, he wasn’t sure he could’ve done it.

“Luke… can I speak honestly with you?” Gerardys asked tentatively.

“Of course. Always.”

“I thought you’d made a terrible mistake, giving the bite to Prince Aemond. A marriage can be undone, but the bite cannot. I was convinced Aemond Targaryen was afflicted with the same madness as old Maegor. And there is something about him that’s not right. An omega shouldn’t be that eager to spill blood. It’s not the natural way of things. But he’s not mad. I was wrong about that.”

“No more than all the rest of House Targaryen, at least,” murmured Lucerys.

Gerardys ducked his head, hiding an amused smile. “As you say, my prince.”

“Madness or not, do you still think it was a terrible mistake? You can be honest with me, Gerardys. Nobody else has hesitated to tell me I’ve done a stupid thing. I can certainly take hearing it from you as well.”

Gerardys paused. “Perhaps,” he hedged. “The realm needs stability more than ever. Aemond might not be mad, but I cannot pretend to you he’s entirely stable either.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Lucerys confessed. “I think I was always going to do it, from the moment I laid eyes on him again. Perhaps you were simply wrong about which one of us is mad.”

Gerardys frowned. “You’re not mad. The blood of the dragon has always been drawn to its own in ways the rest of us cannot understand.”

“No,” Lucerys said, shaking his head. “This was different. I… never mind. Forget what I said. I want to see Aemond now.”

Gerardys picked up his medical tools and bowed respectfully. “I’ll return in the morning to remove the poultice and inspect the wound,” he said. “Goodnight, Prince Lucerys.”

“Goodnight, Grand Maester.”

Aemond was in the bedroom. He’d stripped to the waist and was in the process of washing dried blood from his bare skin, using a large basin of hot water and some soap. The blood-soaked velvet doublet lay abandoned on the floor. There was a bulky linen bandage wrapped tightly around Aemond’s upper arm. That wasn’t his only injury. There were a few scattered bruises on his shoulders and across his bare chest. The scuffle with Robyn Darke had been furious. Of course it had been. It’d been a literal fight for Aemond’s life.

Lucerys didn’t care that Aemond wasn’t yet clean. Without a word he opened his arms, pulling his husband into as tight an embrace as he dared. He stuck his face into the juncture of Aemond’s neck, breathing in the scent of him. The fear was gone. There was nothing but a warm orchard again. Perfect. Aemond seemed to physically sag in Luke’s arms.

“Tell me what’s happened,” he demanded, turning his head to speak into Luke’s ear.

“Tomorrow,” Lucerys said.

“Now,” Aemond insisted.

“Tomorrow,” Lucerys repeated. “Please Aemond. I’m so tired.”

Aemond huffed irritably and pulled away. “Tomorrow then, if you must,” he said peevishly. “What’s that terrible stink on your clothes? I smelled it earlier.”

“Wildfire,” said Lucerys. “Foul, isn’t it?”

He pressed in close and kissed Aemond. They stayed like that for a while, their foreheads pressed together, snatching rather desperate kisses from one another.

“I’m sorry,” said Lucerys.

Aemond frowned. “For what?”

“I should’ve done better. I should’ve protected you better.”

Aemond’s frown turned into a scowl, and he pushed Luke off. “I don’t need your protection. I killed the bastard myself.”

“Yes, you certainly fucking did,” Lucerys laughed. “Seven hells Aemond, you’re a terrifying thing. But be honest with me, please… how close was it?”

Aemond picked up the washcloth and dipped it into the basin, rinsing it clean. He dragged it across the sharp jut of his collarbone, where there was still quite a lot of blood, dried to a rusty red. “Very close. He had me at the window ledge.”

Something inside Lucerys twisted unpleasantly. He held out a hand. “Let me,” he asked. “Please?”

Slowly, Aemond handed over the washcloth. He was behaving strangely. Just a few short moments ago he’d kissed Luke like they’d been apart for weeks. And now he was acting sullen and distant.

“I know it annoys you,” Lucerys said as he gently cleaned the blood from Aemond’s skin. “But I don’t want to protect you because I secretly think you’re weak or incapable. I want it because I’m your alpha. I can’t help it, Aemond.”

He kissed the patch of skin he’d just cleaned, over Aemond’s sternum. When he looked back up, he found that Aemond was staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“The gift you gave me is ruined,” Aemond said, changing the subject. He nodded towards the tattered, filthy doublet on the floor. “A shame. It was a handsome thing.”

“I’ll get you another,” said Lucerys at once. “Gods, I’ll get you ten more just like it, if you want.”

He took Aemond’s hand in his and brought it up to his mouth. “I’d have gone mad if he’d killed you,” he mumbled. “If it makes my smothering any more bearable, think of it as being for the good of the realm. The Prince of Dragonstone cannot be mad.”

“You told me once that you were mad already,” said Aemond quietly. He pressed his other hand against the side of his husband’s face, thumb curling around the curve of Luke’s cheek. “Do you remember? It was the only explanation you could give for offering me the bite.”

Lucerys smiled. He wondered if Aemond had overheard any of his short conversation with Gerardys.

“I remember,” he said. “But there are degrees of madness. I could get much, much worse.”

“Perhaps you wouldn’t go mad,” said Aemond. “Perhaps you’d snap out of your madness instead. You could’ve been free of me. Then you could’ve bonded with some pretty, mild thing who’d give you all the children you could ever want.”

“No,” Lucerys said emphatically. “I don’t want that. I don’t want anybody else, and I never will.” He kissed Aemond’s hand. “I love you.”

They were the words Luke had just about stopped himself blurting out in front of Daemon. They felt strange in his mouth, but he meant them. He loved Aemond. He probably had for a while now.

Aemond’s eye widened. His hand, pressed against the side of Luke’s face, dropped down to his collar instead. It gripped the fabric, as though trying to hold on against some powerful tide.

“Then you’re a fool,” Aemond choked out.

“I believed we established that some time ago,” replied Lucerys. He dipped the cloth back into the hot water, before resuming cleaning the blood off Aemond’s torso. He was keenly aware that Aemond was gazing intensely at him, like he was trying to read Luke’s mind. He was taken by surprise when his mate abruptly kissed him so hard that Aemond’s teeth scraped painfully along Lucerys’ lower lip.

“I am weak,” Aemond ground out miserably, speaking against Luke’s mouth. “You make me weak. I wanted you to pick me up off the floor. I wanted you to be there. To fucking comfort me, like I was some pathetic child.”

“Weak?” Lucerys exclaimed loudly. He kissed Aemond back, just as rough. “You slaughtered a knight with his own sword not two hours ago! And you say you’re weak? I’m not the only fool here, Aemond.”

“Easy for you to say!” snapped Aemond. “What does your nature demand of you? Strength! Power!”

“And to be a fool for you! To be ruled by you! You think wanting me makes you weak? I want you all the time!”

“It’s not the same!”

“It shouldn’t be!” Lucerys cried. He took a step backwards and flung his arms up in exasperation. “It’s not supposed to be! I’m an alpha, you’re an omega. We’re not supposed to feel just the same! We’re supposed to fit together. I want to protect you, and yes, be honest with me now, part of you wants to be protected. It doesn’t make you weak! How can you be weak? I couldn’t’ve done what you did tonight. If Robyn Darke had come at me, I’d have been a dead man.”

Aemond glared before snatching the cloth out of Luke’s hand and wetting it afresh. “You sell yourself short,” he muttered, scrubbing almost angrily at his uninjured arm.

“Hypocrite,” said Lucerys softly. “You’ve done nothing but sell yourself short since I walked in here.”

Aemond looked sharply over at him, before resuming his furious washing.

“Does it hurt?” Lucerys asked. “The wound on your arm?”

“Yes. Gerardys gave me an elixir for the pain. It’s on the table.”

“You haven’t taken it yet?” Lucerys glanced at the table, and sure enough, there was a pewter cup there. Inside was a murky green liquid, like strong herbal tea. It was entirely undrunk from.

“He said it’d put me to sleep,” Aemond mumbled. “I wanted to see you first.”

“Take it then,” Lucerys urged. He picked up the cup and tried to hand it over. “You’ve seen me now.”

“I’ll take it when I’m good and ready,” Aemond insisted stubbornly.

“Please, Aemond. I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“This isn’t pain,” scoffed Aemond. “This is nothing.”

“Nevertheless. Please. Please.”

Aemond sighed irritably - but took the cup and downed the contents.

The only blood still left on Aemond’s skin were a few stray spots on his face. Lucerys took the stained washcloth and proceeded to carefully wipe it all off. The blood flaked away easily enough. Soon all that was left was the stuff in Aemond’s hair. There was nothing to be done about that tonight. Aemond would need a bath once Gerardys had removed the bandage and poultice.

Lucerys discarded the cloth and put his hands around Aemond’s bare waist. He pressed their cheeks tightly together, scenting his husband. Aemond pushed back into the contact.

“I love you,” Luke murmured again.

“Fool.”

“I know.”

Chapter Text

At first, Aemond thought Gerardys had hugely exaggerated the soporific qualities of his elixir. He hadn’t felt sleepy at all - or any less in pain. But by the gods, when it did finally kick in, he thought the wily old cur had in fact significantly undersold the effects. Aemond had barely been able to keep his eye open. He’d been vaguely aware of Lucerys lifting him out of his chair and more or less carrying him to bed. And then there’d been nothing but blackness. He hadn’t even dreamed.

He'd struggled to wake in the morning too. His husband had gently shaken him, mumbling something about checking he was alright. In response Aemond had sworn at Luke, rolled over, and promptly gone straight back to sleep. He felt like there were lead weights hanging on both eyes – the real one and the moonstone.

It was midday by the time he woke up properly, injured arm hurting like the blazes. Aemond paused to wish Robyn Darke a speedy journey to whichever hell the dog was destined for.

Moving stiffly, he got up. A servant brought fresh clothes and Aemond dressed himself in a loose shirt that he didn’t bother to tuck into his hose. Gerardys would soon be along to examine his stitches and remove the poultice, so it seemed a waste of energy to dress properly. Aemond picked idly at his breakfast and wondered what the servants had been told about why he was here, instead of in his own rooms. Knowing Daemon, he’d likely just demanded it done and not bothered with an explanation.

Would he see Lucerys again before evening? Doubtless there was a great deal of the Queen’s business to be done, after last night. Duty might keep him away. Busy with other things. More important things.

The mere thought of Lucerys made Aemond feel strange – and oddly ill-tempered. Had he meant what he’d said last night? Or had he been made half-witted by the near death of his omega? Aemond clenched his hands. Yes, that’s probably what it’d been. Lucerys hadn’t known what he was saying.

Aemond skulked about listlessly. All the books Lucerys had brought him were back in their chambers. Without a distraction, he couldn’t stop remembering the unhinged hated that’d burned in Robyn Darke’s eyes. Aemond had recognised that thirst for revenge. He’d felt it himself. He recalled how it’d felt to shove his thumb into Darke’s eye-socket. He remembered the window and the darkness beyond. How close it’d been.

Close - but not close enough. Aemond had killed the treacherous whoreson. Slaughtered him with his own sword. Now that the pain and panic were over… he felt pleased with himself. He’d feared he’d go soft and weak, mated to an alpha and locked away like this. If so… not yet. Aemond was still dangerous.

Eventually, Gerardys turned up. The Grand Maester, with his heavy chain of links, nodded respectfully as he put his bag of potions and instruments down on the table. “I was glad to hear you’re finally awake, Prince Aemond. I fear I might’ve made the elixir a little too strong. Now, will you remove your shirt so I may see the wound?”

Gerardys unwound the bandage and carefully cleaned away the poultice beneath, examining the neatly stitched cut carefully. “It’s not hot, that’s a good sign,” he mused. “And the swelling has gone down a little as well. Yes, I think the poultice has done its work. Be easy with it. Don’t use the arm for anything strenuous. Keep it clean, and if the wound grows hot or if it starts swelling again, send for me at once.”

“Am I able to take a bath?” Aemond asked. Gods he wanted one so badly. There was blood in his hair.

“So long as you keep the stitches out of the water.”

“Good.” Aemond picked up his shirt and awkwardly pulled it back over his head one-handed. It was difficult, but when Gerardys went to help, Aemond glared until the old man backed off. His arm still hurt, but it was good to have the pressure of the bandage off. He expected Maester Gerardys, his job done, to leave at once. But the old man looked like there was something more on his mind.

Aemond’s eye narrowed. “I’ve no other injuries,” he said sharply.

“Ah, yes,” said Gerardys. “In truth, there’s something else I want to talk to you about. An enquiry Queen Rhaenyra has asked me to make on her behalf.”

“What is it?”

“Well…” the Grand Maester looked uncertain. A touch nervous even. “My prince, are you aware you’re more than a full moon overdue for your heat?”

Aemond froze. That couldn’t be right! Surely not. He thought back. His last heat – the first one in years – had been just before he’d received the bite. That was… gods, that was easily more than five moons ago now. Omegas were supposed to have a heat every four. Gerardys was right - Aemond was overdue. A long time overdue at that.

How hadn’t he noticed? How in all the seven hells hadn’t he noticed! Rhaenyra had noticed! Panic clawed at Aemond. He couldn’t be with child. It was impossible! He’d taken the moon tea every single week since he’d started letting Lucerys stick his knot in him. He’d been so careful about it! Unless… had the moon tea been tainted? Had it all been a trick to force Aemond into giving Lucerys an heir?

By the gods - he'd kill him. He’d never let the wretched bastard touch him again! He’d hate Lucerys forever over such a profound betrayal. The lying cur! The miserable whoreson liar. Or… or perhaps it’d been Rhaenyra’s doing. Yes… the heinous harpy would absolutely do something like that.

“Prince Lucerys hasn’t mentioned a change in your scent?” Gerardys enquired gently.

Aemond shook his head mutely. But then the bastard wouldn’t, would he? Not if he’d schemed this. Aemond would rip his cock off. Rip it off and shove it down his throat – then Lucerys would sire no more children ever again.

“There’s a simple enough test,” said Gerardys soothingly. Aemond’s mounting panic was clearly embarrassingly obvious. “If you are with child, it’s very early. Your belly is flat, and your mate can’t smell it on you.” The maester reached into his bag and drew out a crystal phial. There was some odd herb crushed up inside.

Gerardys removed the stopper and handed it over to Aemond. “Put it right to your nose and smell the herb,” he instructed.

Aemond did. The dried plant smelled unremarkable enough. “What of it?” he snapped.

“What did it smell of to you?”

Aemond shrugged impatiently. “Nothing. Maybe lemon.”

“If you were with child, it’d turn your stomach,” said Gerardys. “A strange little leaf, isn’t it? Very rare. It’s nearly impossible to get here in Westeros. It comes all the way from the banks of the Worm River, past Astapor.”

“I… are you sure?”

“Nothing’s ever absolutely certain,” Gerardys took back the phial. “But I’m reasonably confident. Perhaps if you were just a few days gone… but it would need to be longer to have stopped your heat. Between a week and three moons… that’s when the scent of the river weed makes omegas and betas sick if they’re expecting a babe.”

Aemond sagged with overwhelming relief, sinking down heavily into a chair. He didn’t know what he was more glad about - that he wasn’t with child, or that Lucerys hadn’t betrayed him. That his husband and elder sister hadn’t all this time been thinking Aemond a simpleton who was too helplessly cock-struck to realise he was being used as a broodmare.

“Why’s my heat so late then?” he asked when he’d pulled himself together.

“I don’t know,” admitted the Grand Maester. “Stress would do it. Sickness too. But I don’t think either of those things apply in your case.”

“No.” Aemond hated being a prisoner here. It often turned him gloomy and dour. But he couldn’t pretend it was causing him stress. He was comfortable. He was safe. He was even, on occasion, something approaching happy.

“You used to take the asp water, didn’t you?” said Gerardys thoughtfully. “Another strange import from across the Narrow Sea. How long for?”

“Years,” Aemond said. “All of the war. Before it too.”

“Before it?” Gerardys raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Even when you were wed?”

Especially when he was wed. “Yes,” Aemond said curtly. His father had ordered him to stop taking the stuff, when he’d been betrothed to Lucerys. It’d surprised Aemond, who hadn’t realised King Viserys was even aware his son was dosing himself with a foreign elixir. The man had barely known anything about Aemond.

But then the dying king had changed his mind – or rather, Rhaenyra had changed it for him. She’d persuaded their sire that Lucerys was too young to bed his new husband. The gods only knew what Aemond would’ve done otherwise. The idea of letting that snivelling slip of an alpha fuck him had been beyond unbearable. He’d have beaten his nephew bloody for even trying.

Now he let Lucerys bed him every night. Let him and enjoyed it. More than enjoyed it, if he was being honest with himself. His mate had a remarkable talent for making Aemond squirm like a whore.

“That must’ve cost a lot of gold,” remarked the maester. “It’s an expensive potion.”

“It was worth it, to keep my dignity.” Aemond’s mother had been the one to secure the coin, even as she’d begged Aemond to reconcile himself to his nature instead.

“I think that’s probably what’s to blame,” said Gerardys. “To take something like that for years… it must have a lasting effect on the body.”

“So… I won’t fall into the fever?” Aemond asked.

“Oh, I’m afraid it’ll come for you alright. And it’ll almost certainly be very bad when it does.”

“When?”

“Impossible to be sure. Probably soon. Over time your body will settle into the normal rhythm of things. Three heats a year. Unless, of course…”

“I’m pregnant, which I am not, nor will I be,” Aemond insisted fiercely.

“That’s none of my business,” said Gerardys lightly, putting the crystal phial away in his medicine bag.

“But it is my sister’s business, and you’re her creature, aren’t you?”

“I’m here as your physician.” Gerardys was irritatingly unflappable.

“The Grand Maester isn’t a physician,” Aemond replied. “He’s a politician.”

“And yet here I am, attending to your injury and entirely uninterested in whether or not you intend to give young Lucerys an heir.”

“Rhaenyra thinks I’m carrying her grandchild, doesn’t she?” Aemond laughed spitefully. “How disappointed she’ll be when you tell her.”

“I wouldn’t ever presume to know what’s in her grace’s mind, and nor should you,” Gerardys advised. “Now my prince, there’s just one last thing, if you’ll indulge an old man’s whim…?”

Aemond regarded him suspiciously. “What do you mean?” But Gerardys was already tilting Aemond’s head to the side. The urge to stand up and slap the impudent knave was nearly overpowering. It was only because Gerardys had treated Aemond with respect, rather than as a difficult omega stubbornly refusing to do his duty, that he just barely restrained himself.

“It fits very well, doesn’t it?” the maester said, examining Aemond’s false eye. “Lucerys had no idea what to seek out, so I offered to find something appropriate on his behalf. I confess, I’m pleased with the choice. You clean it regularly?”

“Of course I do.”

“Does the scar pain you still?”

“No,” Aemond snapped, finally pushing the maester away. “Don’t touch it, you cur.”

“Forgive me,” said Gerardys mildly. “If it does ever cause you discomfort, I have a salve I think would help. Remember what I said, Prince Aemond. If the wound grows hot or swells, summon me immediately.”

With that, the maester gathered up his strange leather bag of remedies and left.

Aemond stewed in his bad mood. He felt like a fool. He didn’t understand how he’d failed to realise his heat was so absurdly late. Had Lucerys noticed? If so, he hadn’t said anything. What would he have said if Aemond had been with child? He’d probably have been overjoyed. Aemond wasn’t stupid. He knew Lucerys wanted children. But he’d warned him, hadn’t he? And Lucerys had agreed to the terms! They’d agreed they’d fuck once, so Lucerys could give him the bite, and then that would be it. That’d been their ridiculously naïve plan. Surely Lucerys hadn’t imagined such an arrangement would produce children? Fuck once – that’s it.

Aemond had almost forgotten that detail of his and Lucerys’ preposterous arrangement. He’d been so aggressively adamant about it then. How long had he lasted, in the end, before he’d gone to bed with his mate again? Not two full moons. Perhaps he was stupid after all.

…

Rhaenyra tapped her fingers on the tabletop, mood gloomy. Lucerys watched her, as did Baela and Lyonel Bentley. Daemon hadn’t joined them in the Queen’s chambers, busy interrogating the pyromancers with Mysaria, who had a dark talent for spilling secrets. Luke suspected Daemon was also avoiding his wife. It was frustrating. They needed to be united, now more than ever.

“We should convene the small council,” he suggested.

“Do we tell them the truth?” asked Baela. “About the attempt on Aemond’s life?”

“Absolutely not,” said Rhaenyra firmly.

Lucerys couldn’t’ve agreed more. The small council should’ve been comprised of dependable loyalists. Men the Queen could trust. But Rhaenyra hadn’t been afforded that luxury. She’d been forced to prioritise building bridges, giving seats to lords she needed to bring within the fold.

“Did you find anything in Darke’s bedchamber?” Luke asked Ser Lyonel.

“Not in his bedchamber,” said Bentley. “But I did find something on the traitor’s body, though I’m not sure what it signifies.” He reached into the pouch on his belt and withdrew a disc of copper. “It’s not any coin I recognise.”

The Queen extended her hand. Ser Lyonel gallantly rose to press it directly into her palm. Rhaenyra turned the thing over and shrugged.

“I don’t recognise it either,” she admitted.

“May I see?” Lucerys asked. He suspected he knew exactly what the copper disc was.

His mother tossed the coin to him. Lucerys caught it deftly. It was quite large – at least twice the size of a gold dragon. A vine laden with grapes was etched around the edge. In the middle, a cockerel strutted. Lucerys showed the thing to Baela. “Oh,” she said, also recognising it for what it was.

“It’s a brothel token,” Lucerys explained. “The expensive whorehouses on the Street of Silk give them out. The sort of places that only entertain the wealthy citizens of King’s Landing. But if you’ve one of these, they’ll welcome you even if you’re a stranger.”

Lucerys was a prince – he’d never needed one of the tokens, or any well-connected friends either. The pillowhouses practically fell over themselves to provide him with whatever beguiling beauties he desired. Or they had, back when he’d visited them. Luke hadn’t darkened their perfumed doors since he’d last gone to the Street of Silk, rather transparently – now he came to look back on it – searching for a whore that resembled Aemond.

By the gods, Aemond would be so appalled to hear that. Lucerys was almost tempted to tell him, just to see the aghast look on his face.

“A brothel token, is that what it is?” Rhaenyra said, regarding her son with raised eyebrows – even though she knew full well he’d availed himself of the city’s sweeter, fleshier entertainments. He’d been a young alpha with plenty of money to spend, it was only natural. “Do you know which one?”

Lucerys shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at Baela. His stepsister contrived to make a face that both suggested she knew nothing about these tawdry tokens at all, but also that no, she didn’t recognise this one in particular either.

“Mysaria will know the answer,” Lucerys declared.

“Yes, I’m sure she will. Perhaps she even danced there,” the Queen said snidely.

“Does it mean anything though?” said Ser Lyonel. “Robyn would hardly be the first white cloak to break his vows and visit a brothel.”

“I want it looked into anyway,” Rhaenyra said. “Unless Daemon drags something out of the pyromancers, we’ve no other leads. Seven hells, it’s almost a shame Aemond killed Darke. Perhaps the traitorous dog would’ve broken on the rack. Given us some names.”

If Aemond hadn’t killed Robyn Darke, then Lucerys would’ve done it the instant he’d seen all the blood on his omega.

There wasn’t much else to discuss. Darke’s body had been smuggled to the cellars deep beneath the Red Keep. From there… personally, Lucerys favoured Daemon’s suggestion of just flinging it into the sea. Two loyal servants had been paid a great deal of silver to scrub the floor clean of blood and never speak a single word of it – on pain of losing their tongues. The best masons in the city were even now examining the wall, assessing how best to repair the wildfire damage.

“Mother,” Lucerys said as they all rose from their chairs. “May I speak to you alone?”

“Of course,” said Rhaenyra. “Let’s go to the gardens. I need the fresh air.”

It was an overcast morning, although it showed promise of brightening later. The queen and her son walked between the trees, arm-in-arm.

“How’s Aemond?” Rhaenyra enquired.

“As far as I know, still abed. Gerardys gave him an elixir for the pain, and it knocked him out. I got worried when he slept so late this morning, so I woke him up. He uh… well, he told me to fuck off. Then he fell asleep again.”

“How reassuring to know this incident hasn’t caused my brother to grow any more pleasant,” Rhaenyra muttered.

“I want to take him to Dragonstone,” Lucerys announced abruptly. “He isn’t safe here.”

The Queen faltered and let go of Luke’s arm. They were surrounded by several large rose bushes. The sweetness of the flowers hung heavily on the air. Bees danced from blossom to blossom. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rhaenyra said firmly.

“Why not?”

“Luke, you don’t see clearly when it comes to Aemond. You know you don’t! He needs other eyes on him.”

“What’s Aemond going to do to us now?” argued Lucerys. “His brother is dead! He’s bonded to me forever! He’s one of us. I’ve made him one of us.”

“He isn’t one of us,” said Rhaenyra coldly.

“He’s not our enemy either.”

“He slaughtered my men! He laid waste to the Riverlands! How is Aemond not my enemy?”

Too late, Lucerys realised he’d timed this conversation badly. Despite her furious efforts to break the bond, his mother had been broadly pragmatic when it came to Aemond. She’d tried to make the best of it - to turn Luke’s madness into a political advantage. But right now, Rhaenyra was smarting hard from the bitter sting of yesterday. She wasn’t in the mood to be pragmatic. She wanted to spit fire.

“He’s not your enemy, because your enemy tried to kill him,” Lucerys reasoned. “You think Aemond would help his own would-be murderers?”

“I think Aemond would love nothing more than to see me lose my crown.”

“He swore an oath,” insisted Luke. “He bent the knee!”

“He said what he had to in order to survive.”

“I won’t wait for someone else to shove him out a different window!” Lucerys cried. “Aemond will be safer on Dragonstone! What do you imagine he’s going to do there? Plot with the twins? They’re children! Why would he even want to? He’s my mate now. My fall is his fall. My rise is his rise!”

“By the gods, you’re so naïve.”

“I’ll steal him away if I have to,” Lucerys warned.

“Then I’ll have you both dragged back!” Rhaenyra snapped angrily. “You won’t disobey me, Lucerys! I’ve had my fill of betrayal – I won’t tolerate it from you as well!”

They glared at each other. Lucerys ground his teeth as a sharp wind passed over the garden, and a few petals fell from the roses. “I won’t let this go,” he said.

“You will.”

“No, I won’t. What do you think will happen, if Aemond dies? Do you imagine me free to wed some highborn virgin? I won’t do it. If Aemond dies, I won’t marry anyone else. Ever.”

Myriad emotions passed over Rhaenyra’s face. “You’re an idiot,” she told her son bitterly. “A damned fool. Your knot is doing the thinking for you. You’ll come to your senses in a year or two, when you’re not so struck by the bond.”

“You’re wrong,” Luke replied defiantly. “You think what happened to your sire was bad, after he lost your mother? You think he was broken by grief? I’d be worse. I promise you - I’d be worse.”

“My father loved my mother dearly! They were mated for years! They were happy!” Rhaenyra snapped. “You and Aemond have barely been mated half a year, and you spit and scratch at each other like feral tomcats. Don’t you dare compare it, Luke!”

A hundred vicious retorts danced on the tip of Lucerys’ tongue. He was frustrated that he couldn’t get his mother to understand – and angry that she clearly didn’t want to.

“You think that if you want,” he said sullenly, turning away. “But I warn you, mother. If he dies, I’ll go mad.”

“You’re already mad!” Rhaenyra cried after her eldest son as he marched off. “Mad and a damned fool!”

Two white cloaks had followed them at a polite distance. They watched with carefully blank faces as Luke stormed away. They might not have heard the rest, but they’d certainly heard that last scornful gibe.

…

Lucerys found Aemond back in their chambers late that afternoon. The floor was spotlessly clean, without so much as a single fleck of blood left. Luke stared at the place where Robyn Darke’s corpse had lain.

“You’d never know, would you?” said Aemond. He’d obviously had a bath earlier. He sat perfectly clean again, in a high-backed chair by the unlit fireplace.

“I see you’ve finally woken up.” Lucerys kissed his husband on the cheek.

“The Grand Maester is a liar,” Aemond grumbled. “He said the damned elixir would make me tired – he didn’t say it would lay me out like a hammer to the skull.”

“Did he come to examine you?” Lucerys was thirsty and poured himself a cup of water from a silver jug on the table. “What did he say?”

“What’s there to say?” Aemond shrugged. “If the wound grows hot, I’m to call for him.”

“Does it hurt?” said Luke. “I can ask Gerardys for more of that potion if you want.”

“I can live with the pain.”

“You can, but you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Aemond retorted stubbornly.

Lucerys sighed. He hadn’t really expected anything else. It was entirely in character for Aemond to suffer rather than give up a single paltry shred of his pride.

“Gerardys did say something else,” Aemond muttered, looking away from Luke. “I’m nearly two moons late for my heat. Did you know that?”

Lucerys froze on the spot. No – he hadn’t known that. But… gods, yes it was true wasn’t it. Of course it was. But Aemond couldn’t be… it wasn’t possible. Unless he hadn’t been drinking the moon tea? Lucerys didn’t watch him down each cup. But why would he? Aemond had been so fiercely adamant that he wouldn’t give Lucerys any children.

“I’m not with child,” Aemond declared. He looked up sharply, trying to gauge Luke’s reaction.

Lucerys fought to control himself, keeping his face carefully neutral, not letting even the smallest trace of disappointment show. “I know. You take the moon tea.”

“Because I won’t give you any children,” Aemond said, still watching him.

“I know that too,” Luke said flatly.

Aemond stared at Lucerys with alarming intensity, like he was trying to read his husband’s mind. Whatever he saw seemed to dissatisfy him, but not enough to provoke a bad temper. “Gerardys thinks it must be the asp water. The elixir I took. He thinks I was drugging myself for too long. He says my heat will come on eventually.”

Lucerys nodded. He remembered vividly how Aemond had been during his last heat. How Luke had felt being near him. Lucerys had never even been in the same room as his estranged husband during the peak of the fever, yet it’d still threatened to overwhelm him. It would be worse now they were mated. Much worse. But it didn’t matter, because – thank all the gods – Luke would be able to have Aemond this time. He'd been looking forward to it, as all alphas eagerly anticipated the heats of their omegas.

Silence hung over the two of them briefly. For a split second there Lucerys had really thought… well it didn’t matter. It wasn’t so.

“What happened last night?” Aemond said, changing the subject. “You said you’d tell me tomorrow. It’s tomorrow now.”

Indeed, it was. Lucerys sat down and proceeded to tell Aemond everything. He told his mate about the wildfire, and the gruesomely scattered remains of the guards. He told Aemond about the lords rushing to leave the feast, riding past the smoking ruins and the silent sisters picking through the viscera. He even told him about the Queen sitting alone, staring out over her empty hall.

“It’s a hard blow to Rhaenyra,” Aemond observed seriously. If Lucerys had expected his husband to be gleeful about it, then he wasn’t.

“Yes. Very hard.”

“How did Darke come by the wildfire?” Aemond asked.

“I don’t know. Daemon’s interrogating the pyromancers now.”

“Interrogating?”

“Threatening. Terrorizing. Whatever it takes to get answers out of the bastards.”

“I want every cunt who helped Darke dead,” Aemond announced viciously. “Whoever the rabid dogs are.”

“Even if they were once your brother’s loyal supporters?” Lucerys asked quietly. “Those who flocked to your banners?”

Aemond’s one-eyed gaze was flinty. “They tried to have me thrown to my death. They wanted me to break upon the battlements. Fuck them.”

Lucerys couldn’t help it. He smiled. It was a ruthless smile, and Aemond matched it in kind. Many times in his life, Luke had felt like a fraud. A bastard pretending to be a dragon. But he never felt more like a trueborn Targaryen than when vengeance burned in his veins. It didn’t come easily to him. Not like it did to Daemon and Aemond – who arguably felt the urge far too easily. But when he heard the dragon’s call in his heart, and with it the pitiless impulse to scourge an enemy clean out of the world… Lucerys understood why their House had chosen fire and blood for its words. He wanted both.

“Daemon said that when he found you last night, you couldn’t breathe.” Luke had assumed, to begin with, that Darke had tried to strangle Aemond during their frantic struggle. But there were no bruises around his neck, although there were plenty across his chest and shoulders.

Aemond’s face shuttered, a sure sign he was planning to lie. “Of course I was out of breath. It was a hard fight.”

It wasn’t the truth, but Lucerys let the matter drop – for now. “You should rest this afternoon,” he said.

“Stay here with me,” Aemond demanded. “Read me something or get us cards to play a game. Stay here.”

Lucerys had never planned on doing anything else.

…

Lucerys avoided the small council meeting the following morning. The gods alone knew what horseshit Daemon was telling the bickering councillors. It wasn’t that Daemon was a gifted liar as such. But he told all his stories – the true ones and the crocks of shit – in the exact same manner – so that it became impossible to tell one from the other. And he had a face as unreadable as stone when he wanted.

Luke spent the time with Aemond instead. He was anxious to be careful with his mate, keenly aware of his injuries. But his efforts to be gentle and tender evaporated when Aemond climbed atop him in bed that morning and took matters into his own hands. He pinned Luke down to the mattress and rode his cock until they were both a helpless mess of sweat and other things. As Lucerys came he forced himself upwards so that he could grab his husband’s hair and kiss him. His knot swelled, locking them together as Aemond squirmed feverishly in his lap. With a ragged gasp against Luke’s mouth, the omega promptly followed his mate right over the edge – fingernails digging into Lucerys’ back.

It was certainly a much finer way to spend a morning than listening to the small council squabbling amongst themselves. Lucerys regretted nothing.

After a day of pleasant idleness, keeping Aemond company as he rested, Luke found himself summoned to the Queen’s chambers in the evening. His mother dismissed her ladies as Lucerys entered. There was an unusual tension between mother and son. Their last conversation had ended on a very bitter note.

Rhaenyra opened her arms. “I’m sorry. My sweet boy, I’m sorry.”

That was all it took. Lucerys embraced her, breathing in his mother’s scent of rosemary and sage – a fresh herb garden at the height of a fine summer. The scent of his childhood and happier times.

“I was in a foul mood.” Rhaenyra squeezed her son tightly. “I felt the weight of the world on me, and it made me harsh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Lucerys said. “It was badly timed. I shouldn’t’ve brought it up when I did.”

The Queen sighed and let go of him. “So, you’re still intent on it then? Taking Aemond to Dragonstone?”

“I am.”

“Lucerys, I need you here,” Rhaenyra implored. “I’ve so few people I can trust – really trust. I cannot lose you as well. Not when I’m already losing Corlys.”

“I’ll be one dragon flight away,” Luke protested. “I’ll fly for King’s Landing as soon as I receive any word from you.”

“It’s not the same, you know it isn’t. Besides… do you really want Aemond to go to Dragonstone? If he goes there, he’ll learn his mother isn’t there. Think about how angry he’ll be. How much he’ll hate you for it.”

Lucerys hung his head. “He can hate me, so long as he’s safe,” he mumbled.

Rhaenyra cradled his face in her hands, gently tilting Luke’s head up so she could look him in the eyes. “Think some more on it. That’s all I ask. Really understand what you want to do.”

Lucerys opened his mouth to insist he wasn’t going to change his mind, then hesitated. It wasn’t an unreasonable request, so he agreed. He’d think on it - and then announce he still wanted to take Aemond across Blackwater Bay all the same.

“Thank you,” said the Queen, smiling, although she still looked weary.

“Have you slept?” Lucerys asked. “You look tired.”

“Dark thoughts kept me awake most of the night,” Rhaenyra confessed. “But I hope I’ll be too exhausted to do anything but sleep deeply tonight. I want you to return here in the morning. Daemon will tell us all what he learned from the pyromancers.”

…

“Nothing,” Daemon spat, slamming his fist on the table. “The whining idiots didn’t even know there were any casks missing.”

“Perhaps they were lying?” Baela suggested. Also at the meeting were Ser Lyonel, Gerardys, Luke himself, and Lord Corlys. The Queen sat at the head of the table.

“I don’t think so,” said Daemon. “It was made very clear to the bastards what the cost of lies would be. I told them I’d have their tongues for it, and then their hands too.”

“How did Robyn get the wildfire then?” said Ser Lyonel.

“One of the pyromancers turned up dead last week,” Daemon said. “Fished out of the Blackwater Rush, stabbed clean through the heart. His fellows thought he’d been attacked for his coin. It seemed the cunt had been flush with gold all of a sudden.”

“He was bribed to smuggle wildfire to the conspirators, then killed him to silence him,” Lucerys speculated.

“A reasonable assumption,” Daemon agreed.

“How many casks were missing?” the Queen asked.

“Mysaria says only four,” said Daemon. “I think it’s safe to say our enemies have used up most of their supply. And no pyromancer will give them more, not for all the gold in King’s Landing - unless they want their head on a spike over the city gates.”

“That’s something at least,” sighed Corlys glumly.

“So, we’re left with no leads,” said Rhaenyra. “Another dead end.”

“There’s still this,” said Ser Lyonel. He produced the copper brothel token, holding it up so the whole table could see the vine and cockerel motif. “Lady Mysaria says it belongs to a brothel called the Sweet Garden, found at the wealthier end of the Street of Silk and run by a foreigner from Volantis. It’s popular with merchants.”

It was odd that Mysaria wasn’t at the meeting to tell them this herself. But the Queen’s faith in her unofficial lady of whispers had been badly shaken of late. Mysaria’s network of informants and cutthroats had come up short. She’d missed Robyn Darke – the turncoat right at the heart of the Red Keep. And Luke’s mother clearly felt Daemon’s closeness to his former mistress was a problem. Whether a political or personal problem… Lucerys didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“We don’t know that this brothel is connected,” Baela pointed out. “Probably Darke just went there to get his cock wet.”

“What else do we have?” Lucerys shrugged.

“Nothing,” answered Ser Lyonel. “Robyn’s quarters were bare. He’d said nothing incriminating to his brothers in the Queensguard. And as far as I can tell, he’d no friends in the city at all.”

“So, this is it,” said Lucerys flatly. “This is the only lead we possess.” It wasn’t exactly promising. Baela was almost certainly right - all Darke had wanted was a pretty face to bed.

“I’ll go to this brothel tonight,” Daemon declared. “With two dozen gold cloaks. If there’s anything to be found, I’ll uncover it.”

“No, you won’t,” said the Queen firmly. She fixed her husband with a stern gaze. “You won’t go anywhere near the Street of Silk.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“Think about it!” Rhaenyra said. “You’re married to the Queen. You cannot be seen at a whorehouse! Imagine what people would say. The scandal would finish me. I forbid it.”

“You forbid it?” Daemon’s voice had gone cold, the way it often did when he was in a dangerous mood.

“I won’t have you humiliate me, Daemon,” Rhaenyra said. “Not again.”

“I’m not a dog on a leash!” Daemon spat angrily. “I don’t like being told where I may or may not go!”

“You made a queen of me,” Rhaenyra replied. She was trying to appear aloof, but Lucerys detected a certain unease as she stared at her husband across the table. “Did you think nothing would change for you? Power comes at a price for us all.”

Daemon lapsed into a sullen, fuming silence. The tension around the table was thick. Baela and Luke exchanged worried looks.

“Lucerys will go,” Rhaenyra announced. “A young prince at an expensive pleasure house is no strange thing.”

“And nobody will be surprised that he’s seeking a softer embrace than the one he finds in his marriage bed,” Daemon sneered, his foul temper taking itself out on Luke now.

Anger flared, hot and savage, in Luke’s chest. “I’ve no desire to stray from my marriage bed. A shame you can’t say the same.”

Daemon’s lip curled. A dangerous couple of seconds passed, where it felt like anything could happen. And then Daemon stood and, without another word, stormed out of the room. Baela got up and hurried after her father.

Lucerys didn’t regret his words. What else had Daemon expected, insulting Aemond like that? But easy obedience wasn’t in Daemon’s nature. Being told by his wife that he was forbidden from going to the Street of Silk – forbidden from going anywhere – had primed him to blow like a cask of wildfire. Luke’s jab about Daemon’s infidelity had merely ignited the explosion. But of course the prince consort couldn’t be seen at a brothel, not for any reason! Daemon was a clever man. If he’d just stopped to think for a minute, he would’ve seen the truth of it for himself.

The abrupt departure brought the meeting to an end. There wasn’t anything left to discuss anyway.

“Lucerys, you stay,” the Queen said.

“Go tonight,” his mother instructed him once they were alone. “Take the gold cloaks. I want you to be more careful than Daemon would’ve been. Don’t just storm in and start tearing the place apart. See what you can find out first. A good king must be cunning as well as brave. Show me you can do it.”

Luke nodded. “Yes, mother.” He hesitated. “But truthfully, Mysaria would be better able – ”

“Mysaria will become involved when I say she will,” said Rhaenyra.

“She’ll know you didn’t trust her to look into it first.”

“What of it?” said his mother dismissively. “It’s not Mysaria’s place to question my decisions - or take offence at them either.”

That was that then. Lucerys left. As he drew closer to his own rooms, he suddenly became anxious. He could keep all this a secret from Aemond. But he didn’t want to lie. And yet… by the gods, he just knew Aemond wasn’t going to be normal about this. For a man who’d once claimed to be shackled to Lucerys against his will, Aemond had always been fantastically quick to jealousy. Luke visiting a brothel, even for an entirely innocent reason, was sure to send him into an absolute fit of it. Not that Lucerys himself was much better – or frankly any better at all. He still caught himself stewing darkly on it sometimes – the question of who’d bedded Aemond before him.

He found his mate reading a letter - surely the long-awaited reply from Dragonstone. Read and vetted by the Queen, before being passed along to her brother. Lucerys had read Aemond’s own letter to the twins. It’d been short and bland, little more than a polite enquiry into their health and reassurances that Aemond himself was well. Luke had gotten the impression Aemond feared anything else would be refused by Rhaenyra.

“Is that a letter from Dragonstone?”

“From Jaehaerys,” Aemond nodded.

“What does the boy say?”

“Nothing much,” said Aemond, folding it away. “He and his sister live comfortably. He likes the library. He says it has many books from Old Valyria.”

“It does,” Lucerys said. “I’d like to see the library again myself. And those books. The last time I was there, I admit, my Valyrian was too poor to read most of them.”

Aemond smirked up at him. “Sepār sīr, ziry mērī hen Quptenkos Ēngoso qubirī ȳdrā.” Whereas now, you only speak it as poorly as you do the Common Tongue.

Lucerys huffed out a laugh. “Volper aemās valzȳrys,” he teased. “Vasīr avy embrot ynot qlādīnna.” Be careful husband, I’ll drag you down to my level yet.

Aemond slumped back in his chair. “I think you already have,” he complained.

“Perhaps,” said Lucerys, smiling. He perched on the edge of the table and ducked to kiss his husband. Aemond let him. Lucerys pulled back – only an inch. Close enough that their noses brushed together. Aemond watched him carefully, his one eye only able to see half of Lucerys’ face when they were this close.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” Lucerys mumbled.

Aemond’s eye narrowed in instant suspicion.

Luke sat back and took a deep breath. “Tonight, I’m going to the Street of Silk. The Queen has commanded me to visit a brothel there. Not to sleep with a whore! Not for any whore at all!”

Aemond’s face turned thunderous. “A brothel?” he spat, tossing the letter aside and rising to his feet. Lucerys stood as well, holding his hands up placatingly. “Pray tell me husband, if not for a whore, then what in all the seven hells do you want to visit a fucking brothel for?”

Lucerys did his best to explain. He told Aemond about the token. About the whorehouse, and the slim possibility it might be connected to the attempt on Aemond’s life. Luke could go to the Street of Silk without drawing too much attention. He’d visited courtesans before. It was reasonable. It made sense.

Aemond didn’t think so.

“Make her send somebody else!” he raged, pacing about the room. “Why won’t Rhaenyra let Daemon’s whore do her dirty work?”

“I have to do it,” Lucerys tried to reason with him. “I can’t disobey the Queen.”

“Of course you can! You’ve disobeyed her before! Or do you want to go? Is that it? You want to fuck a whore?”

“Seven hells, I don’t want to fuck a whore, Aemond! Of course I don’t!” Gods, trying to calm his mate down when he was in this sort of mood was impossible.

“Why not?” Aemond said spitefully. “You bedded enough before, didn’t you?”

“Before!” Lucerys snapped back. “Just like you had somebody else before!”

Aemond glowered, caught in his hypocrisy, before deciding to just barrel straight through it. “I’m not the one who wants to go back and have them again!”

“I’m not going to have anyone!” Lucerys cried. “Aemond, for the love of the gods, will you listen…”

“I won’t have you in my bed stinking of some whore you fucked, I won’t have you in my bed at all…”

“I don’t want – ”

“If you ever want to have me again, don’t do it,” Aemond snarled, glaring at Lucerys with furious intensity. When Luke reached out for him, he took a step backwards.

“Don’t do what?” Lucerys asked despairingly. “Please, Aemond. I don’t understand what you think will happen.”

“I’ll tell you what I think will happen, Lord Strong,” Aemond said icily. “I think some pretty thing with a clever tongue will whisper in your ear, and you’ll hand over your coin so you can fuck them on a silk bed!”

Lucerys stared at him in disbelief. It took everything he had not to roll his eyes – that would only infuriate Aemond even more. He reached out again. This time Aemond stayed still and let Lucerys put hands on his waist.

“I’m not going to fuck anybody else,” Lucerys told him softly. “I don’t want to fuck anybody else. I’m not going to betray you. I’m not going to humiliate you. I love you. I’m going to a pleasure house to drink some wine. That’s it. That’s all.”

Aemond scoffed angrily, looking away.

“It’s true,” Lucerys insisted. “Do you really think so little of me, my love?”

Aemond grabbed his collar. “Don’t touch the whores. Promise me, Lucerys. Promise that you won’t touch any of them.”

Lucerys hesitated. He would never have slept with the prostitutes. Just six moons after the bite, he wasn’t convinced he could get his cock interested in anybody who wasn’t Aemond anyway. He wouldn’t’ve kissed or caressed the whores. But to not touch them at all? That would be difficult. Luke had to look somewhat interested in the flesh for sale, or what would he be doing on the Street of Silk at all?

But Aemond was determined, and his jealousy was positively unhinged. He hung onto Luke’s jerkin with an iron grip. The urge to soothe him, to give him anything he wanted if it would only calm him down, was powerful. Too powerful to resist.

“I promise,” Lucerys said.

“You won’t touch the whores?”

“I vow it.”

That mollified Aemond a little. “Don’t lie to me Lucerys.”

“I’m not,” Lucerys reassured him. He kissed Aemond, wrapping a gentle hand around the back of his mate’s neck. “I promise you. I’ve no interest in whores. I only want to find out if Robyn Darke went there.”

“I’ll know,” Aemond warned. “The gods help me, I will know if you come back and lie to me.”

“I won’t, I haven’t.” Lucerys kissed Aemond again, and felt his husband finally begin to relax. “I won’t want any of them. Only you. Only ever you again.”

Aemond still looked unhappy. His scent was still unhappy – distressingly sour in fact. But the anger was fading away. He let go of Lucerys’ collar and slid his hands around his mate’s jaw, cupping Luke’s face and kissing him possessively.

“I hate it,” Aemond complained bitterly.

“I knew you would,” Lucerys admitted. He put his arms around Aemond properly.

“You’re mine,” Aemond insisted.

Gods, they really were mad, the both of them. Completely taken leave of their senses. Lucerys kissed Aemond like he was drunk on it.

…

That evening, Luke dressed in a plain cloak which hid his finely embroidered jerkin. The damp breeze washing in from the sea promised rain. More than a dozen gold cloaks were waiting at the western gate, dressed as civilians. To Luke’s surprise, Baela was there too.

“My father thinks you shouldn’t go alone,” she explained. “And as the Queen won’t let him…”

“Has Daemon’s blood cooled any?”

“Does it ever?” Baela shrugged. “He knows the Queen is right though. Deep down, he knows it.”

“Things are bad between them,” Lucerys muttered, voice hushed.

“And getting worse,” Baela agreed.

Cloaked and armed, their little retinue went out into the city. The streets were quiet. The revelry of three nights before had drained too many purses and produced too many terrible hangovers for King’s Landing to be in high spirits again so soon. The gold cloaks carried flaming torches to light the way as the lanes grew narrower and darker. They entered the Street of Silk through the poorer, rougher end at the bottom of the Hill of Rhaenys. There, whores plied their trade out in the open. Alphas and betas got their cocks sucked where any passer-by could see. Bawdy men and women called out from the windows – omegas boasting shamelessly about their sexual talents. Many touched themselves lustily for the enticement of those below.

The whorehouses got progressively finer the further up the street they went. They had no trouble. The gold cloaks mightn’t have been in armour, but their swords were still sharp. Pimps and pickpockets gave them all a wide berth.

The Sweet Garden was a large house. Lucerys had seen the place before but never visited it. A climbing plant tumbled about the pillowhouse’s outer walls. It wasn’t native to Westeros and was almost certainly doomed to die when winter finally arrived. The Sweet Garden. What sort of image did that conjure? Exotic and sublime pleasures. Beautiful faces and lithe, soft bodies. If you had the gold to afford them.

Most of the gold cloaks waited outside. They leaned against the brothel’s walls with their eyes peeled for trouble, winking at the pretty things wandering past. Two of the guard came inside, staying close to their royal charges.

The interior of the brothel was lit by what looked like a hundred candles. The heady scent of incense hung in the air. A woman with bronzed skin and dark eyes came to greet them, wearing a dress of red silk. Her accent was thick, and Lucerys couldn’t place it. He dimly recalled Lyonel Bentley saying that the foreigner who ran the Sweet Garden hailed from Volantis.

“My esteemed friends,” the woman purred. “Welcome to the Sweet Garden – where there are many great pleasures to be had. My most sincere apologies, but we are a select establishment. I fear I must…”

Lucerys and Baela removed their shabby cloaks. Beneath, they were both dressed opulently. Lucerys in a jerkin of black velvet with a blood red dragon embroidered across the front. Baela’s clothing was, if anything, even more ostentatious. Her kirtle was red, heavily decorated with golden thread and encrusted with shimmering pearls. Her hair of Valyrian silver shone in the candlelight.

The Volantene woman visibly reconsidered at the sight of them in their finery. Her gaze lingered pointedly on the snarling red dragon emblazoned across Luke’s chest.

“My lord and lady,” she said. “Welcome. Pray tell me, who do I have the honour of speaking with?”

“This is Prince Lucerys, son of the Queen. And Princess Baela of House Velaryon,” one of the gold cloaks spoke up.

“We weren’t after much,” Lucerys said carelessly. “Some amusing company and good wine. That’s all.”

“I have a great deal of both, my prince,” said the woman, eyes gleaming with delight as she beheld them. A sickly-sweet scent hung about her. A strong perfume of some kind. Lucerys guessed it was meant to trick her guests into thinking she was an omega, when in truth – beneath all that cloying sweetness – she was probably a beta. Alphas were always keener to show off and spend money when they thought there was an omega to impress.

“You do me a great deal of honour, coming here,” the madam continued. “Please, let me show you somewhere more comfortable…”

Luke and Baela were ushered upstairs. The gold cloaks remained downstairs, supping on beer. The sound of laughter and lewd moaning echoed along the passageways of the cathouse. Lucerys and his stepsister were taken to a room draped with heavy silk curtains and an abundance of soft cushions. Beeswax candles burned in silver holders. Two large doors opened onto a balcony that let in the air. The room must’ve been at the rear of the building, because none of the commotion of the Street of Silk was audible.

Luke and Baela made themselves comfortable on two low settees. A moment later, wine arrived. Ruby red strongwine, probably from Dorne. It was surprisingly good. Not long after the wine, came the courtesans. There were four in all. Three fair women and one young man. All of them omegas, all of them beautiful.

Now Lucerys was going to have to make good on his promise to Aemond. He could hardly not have any contact with the lovely young things. Their job was to tempt, tease, and pet. He wouldn’t touch them, he decided - just as he’d vowed he wouldn’t. But he could hardly make a scene if they touched him.

One of the female omegas sank down onto the cushions next to Luke. She was pale, with tumbling red hair cascading over her shoulders. A dress that was little more than an artfully cut slip of silk strained over her breasts and hips. The girl smelled of fresh lemons and toasted almonds. Once upon a time, Luke was sure he’d have been driven wild by it. But not now. Oh, her scent was still lovely. But it didn’t set Lucerys’ blood aflame. He suddenly recalled Aemond’s scent in their bed yesterday. How it’d intensified as they’d fucked ever harder, until Lucerys was half out of his mind with it. Just the memory made his cock twitch.

“It’s nice to meet you, my prince,” said the girl. She was shy – or she was pretending to be. Lot of alphas liked that. Shyness, meekness. Luke’s tastes had always run the other way. He liked omegas with some bite about them. Which was for the best, because he’d found himself mated to one with enough bite to maul half the kingdom.

“Do you like wine?” Lucerys asked the girl, pouring her a cup. “Take this.”

The courtesan took the wine and drank deeply. Her hand strayed to Lucerys’ arm and her slim fingers – which were covered in rings – wrapped lightly about his bicep. Luke didn’t remove it. She was touching him, he told himself. He wasn’t breaking his promise to Aemond, because she was touching him. He smiled blandly and supped his own wine.

Fortunately, Luke’s reluctance to cosy up with the bevy of beautiful prostitutes went unnoticed – because Baela didn’t hesitate. She was sandwiched between two of them, the boy and one of the girls. The male omega had dark eyes and black hair that fell to his shoulders. His long, lithe torso was bare – save for an elaborate necklace of silver and onyx stones that covered most of his chest. His sun-kissed looks suggested Dorne, but his accent said King’s Landing born and bred. The boy was lively and charming, and he was all over Baela. She was very taken as well, allowing the omega to touch her freely. Her hand caressed the silk-covered curve of his muscled thigh.

Luke watched his sister as she whispered something into the omega’s ear that made the pretty thing throw back his head and laugh. He knew Baela’s woes. Her fears that her mate didn’t need her. That Alyn would abandon her to sail across the Narrow Sea to distant shores. That even if she commanded him to stay with her… he wouldn’t. So perhaps it wasn’t surprising that Baela would enjoy the attention of the very beautiful young man by now half sprawled over her. He was even drinking from Baela’s own cup of wine.

“I saw you once before, Prince Lucerys,” the red-haired girl said. She was more confident now, perhaps detecting that her previous coyness hadn’t done anything for the prince. “When you rode to the docks with the Queen. We all went to watch. I thought you looked very handsome. You’re even fairer up close.”

Her hand slipped from Luke’s arm, creeping downwards to more intimate places. He stopped her by gently putting his hand on her wrist. That didn’t count either, he told himself. He was stopping one of the whores from touching him. He was sure Aemond would agree that it didn’t count.

“You’re as beautiful as a summer’s day,” he said kindly. “But I’m only here to drink wine and enjoy your conversation and pretty faces. That’s all.”

The girl pouted. “But my conversation pales in comparison to my other skills. Come to my chamber, and I’ll show you.”

“Tempting though that is,” Lucerys lied. “I have a mate. I cannot.”

“Oh, I know that,” said the girl. “Everyone knows that. I saw him too, riding next to you. Aemond One-Eye.”

“Don’t call him that,” Lucerys snapped. His raised voice carried. The whore drew back sharply, flushing. Her companions shifted nervously among the velvet pillows and silk drapes.

“I meant no disrespect,” the girl stuttered. Her scent spiked. She was afraid. “I apologise my lord, I didn’t…”

“No matter,” Lucerys said. He made himself smile at her. “I just… don’t talk about my husband.”

The girl nodded, though she remained tense. Lucerys wondered what generally happened when the brothel’s customers lost their tempers. Did the mistress intervene? No doubt there were thugs here, hidden behind the finery, ready to hurl unruly clients out into the street. Or were some of them permitted to treat the whores cruelly? If they were rich and highborn enough… probably.

“Do many mated alphas come here?” he asked, trying to cajole the girl back into conversation. Besides… he was curious to know. He knew it happened of course. But it was still regarded as a peculiar and rather unnatural thing.

“More than you’d think,” the red-haired girl told him. She relaxed a little, seeing that Lucerys wasn’t truly angry with her. “Some of them desire their mates more than anything, but they’re so far away… They usually get upset afterwards. Feeling guilty I suppose.”

“And the others?”

“Well, the rest… they just aren’t held by the bond strongly enough. It happens more than most people realise. Some alphas, even if they take a mate… it’s hard to want only one person in all the world.”

Lucerys fought to stop his eyes flickering over to Baela, who was still murmuring some crooning nonsense to the whore plastered to her side. “I do,” he found himself saying quietly. “I feel the bond strongly enough.”

“Oh,” said the young woman. “You are here for Princess Baela’s amusement then?”

“Both of us just wanted pleasant company and better wine than the gambling houses had to offer,” Lucerys told her. “But I promise you, we’ll pay just the same as if we’d had all four of you on your backs the whole night long.”

The girl laughed. Her previous anxiety had vanished, and her eyes sparkled. “It’s a shame,” she said boldly. “You’re very handsome, and I’ve never bedded a prince before. Shall I fetch cards or dice instead? Would you like to play a game, my lord?”

The six of them played at cards and slowly got merrily drunk – although Lucerys was careful to appear to drink far more than he actually did. Servants brought more wine when necessary. The male omega had his head in Baela’s lap now. She was gently stroking her fingers through his hair whilst the boy gazed languidly up at her like a cat.

“Tell me,” Lucerys said quietly to the red-haired girl, once she was flushed and giggling, drunk on the strongwine. He held up the brothel token Ser Lyonel had taken from Darke’s corpse. “Do you recognise this?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “That’s one of ours. So you can send your friends from outside the city here.”

“And your patrons. What sort of folk come here?”

“Rich ones,” said the girl with a shrug. “So long as they’ve gold, our arms are open to them.” She winked. “And other things too.”

“Knights?”

“Oh yes. Knights, and merchants, even the occasional maester. But never a prince before.”

“This token belonged to a knight named Robyn Darke. Did he visit here?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about the other patrons,” said the girl with a tipsy smile. “Even to you, handsome prince.”

Lucerys’ jaw tensed in frustration. His gaze fell on the balcony doors. “Shall we get some fresh air?” he suggested, standing up. He wanted to hold out his hand for the girl, to make sure she followed, but… gods, he’d promised Aemond. It was absolutely fucking ridiculous, but he’d vowed – and some insane part of him thought that Aemond would somehow be able to tell if Luke broke that promise.

He didn’t need to worry. The lovely thing came of her own accord. Here the air was cooler, and the smell of incense less overwhelming. The balcony looked out over the rooftops. The sky was cloudy, and the Red Keep was invisible in the darkness.

“Listen to me,” Lucerys said to the girl. The others couldn’t hear them out here. Baela, perhaps understanding what Lucerys was up to, was loudly demanding another round of cards. “No – listen to me. I asked you about Robyn Darke. Answer my question.”

“I can’t – ”

“There’s more than a dozen gold cloaks downstairs. If you don’t answer my questions, they’ll drag every single person in this whorehouse to the Red Keep’s dungeons. Then it’ll be Lady Misery asking the questions. You know who that is, don’t you?”

The girl’s eyes went wide and afraid. She seemed to sober up at once. “I do,” she said quietly.

“Tell me if Robyn Darke came here.”

“I can’t,” said the girl helplessly. “I don’t know who that is.”

“He would’ve been a young man – but older than me. His face was thin, and his nose crooked. He would’ve used one of those little tokens to get in.”

“Do you mean the white cloak?” said the girl nervously. She’d drawn in on herself. Lucerys had frightened her. Again. He felt guilty about it. The urge to soothe the little omega gnawed remorselessly at him. He tried his best to ignore it.

“Yes,” Lucerys said. “You knew he was one of the Queensguard?” Had Darke come here in his armour and white cloak then? Surely he wouldn’t’ve been so stupid? Unless… gods, he probably had just wanted to fuck a whore. Baela had been right.

“I saw him too,” the girl mumbled. “When you and the Queen rode through the city. I saw him in his white cloak, and I recognised him when he came here.”

“Tell me about it.”

“He comes regularly,” said the girl. “He fucks the omegas. I don’t think he favours any one in particular. He’s never had me. I remember him because Madam doesn’t make him pay.”

“Why not?”

The girl shrugged anxiously. “Sometimes they don’t. When they’re the friends of the man who owns this place.”

“Who owns it?” Lucerys pressed her. “Tell me his name.”

“I don’t know!” cried the girl. “None of us know. That’s Madam’s business.”

“Hush,” muttered Lucerys, glancing back inside. Baela was laughing loudly and throwing her cards down on the table. It seemed she had the winning hand. “Tell me more.”

“There’s nothing more to tell,” the whore said helplessly. “Except… I can’t be sure… but I think he leaves letters with Madam. I saw him give her one once.”

“Did she read it?”

“I don’t think so. Madam can only read Ghiscari. I promise you Prince Lucerys, that’s all I know! Please don’t throw us into the dungeons! Please.”

“Calm yourself,” Lucerys consoled her. “Of course I won’t. You’re not in trouble. I’m sorry I frightened you.”

The poor girl didn’t look reassured. She’d gotten far more than she’d bargained for out of this evening. Lucerys felt badly for doing this to her. This was where Daemon would’ve had the advantage. He wasn’t burdened by a soft heart. Lucerys had seen countless horrors on the battlefield, and they’d hardened him. But he still couldn’t help himself when confronted with a distressed omega.

“I want you to promise me you won’t tell anyone I asked these questions,” Lucerys coaxed her. “You’re loyal to Queen Rhaenyra, aren’t you?”

The girl nodded mutely.

“And do you promise?”

“Yes,” she said. “I promise. I promise!”

“What’s your name?” Lucerys asked.

“Opal, my lord,” said the girl. It almost certainly wasn’t. Expensive courtesans often gave themselves pretty names like that. It made them seem like expensive, desirable jewels. And it let them leave their true names untarnished by their sinful profession. Lucerys didn’t begrudge the girl her anonymity.

“Listen to me, Opal,” Lucerys said. “The gold cloaks are going to search this place. They’ll take the mistress away to the Red Keep. But I promise, I won’t tell anybody you said a word of this. Nobody will hurt you.”

“My friends?”

“Nor them either,” Lucerys assured her. “So long as they’re loyal to the Queen, they’ve nothing to fear.”

“The guards will – ”

“No, they won’t,” Lucerys said sternly. “I’ll make sure of it. They won’t touch you. They won’t do anything.”

The girl – Opal – still looked scared. Lucerys wished he could touch her, to offer a scrap of comfort. Instead, another idea came to mind.

“You like rings, don’t you?” Luke said, nodding to her fingers. Opal had a ring on nearly every one of them. Some were plain bands. Others boasted common gemstones. They were nice enough, but not particularly fine.

“Here,” Lucerys said. “Take this.” He was wearing a ring on his little finger. It was crafted from silver, shaped like a little dragonling curled in on itself with two small rubies for eyes. Lucerys took it off and gave it to the girl. It fit on her index finger perfectly.

“Thank you,” she said. She was still scared, but that didn’t stop her admiring the way the fine jewellery looked on her hand.

“Remember, don’t breathe a word,” Lucerys implored.

Baela was reluctant to leave. She bent to give the omega boy a kiss. He smiled sweetly up at her. They paid the mistress of the brothel just as Lucerys had promised – as much coin as if they’d fucked the four courtesans until sunrise. She bowed and beseeched them to return, clutching the gold to her breast and talking again of what a great honour it was. She wouldn’t be thinking so in just a few minutes.

“Search it,” Lucerys ordered the gold cloaks once he was outside. “Take the Volantene woman to the Red Keep for questioning. Search her rooms, whatever secret places she might have. I want a letter that was in her possession. Five gold dragons to the man who finds it. Leave the whores alone, you understand me? Unless they’re trying to hide something, don’t touch them. You’re here in service to the throne, not for lechery.”

The gold cloaks nodded. They swarmed into the Sweet Garden. It began to rain, just a light mist, but enough that the Street of Silk cleared. Lucerys and Baela stepped back into the cathouse, which was now in uproar. Luke didn’t trust the guards to do as he’d commanded and leave the whores unmolested. He intended to keep an eye on them.

“What did you find out?” Baela asked Lucerys. She was drunk on the wine, and a bit agitated. Worried about the pretty boy she’d been petting most likely.

“Perhaps nothing,” Luke told her. “But… perhaps everything.”

Chapter Text

The light drizzle had turned into a full-blown deluge by the time Luke and Baela returned to the Red Keep. Even deep inside the palace, the sound of the rain was audible. Lucerys took off his cloak. It’d done little to shield him. His hair was soaked and so were his clothes. Luke pressed his hand over the red dragon embroidered on his damp jerkin. Pressed between it and his shirt was the letter, kept as safe as possible from the rain.

“Let me see it again,” Baela demanded.

Luke gave her the letter. It’d been found in a locked box beneath the Volantene woman’s bed, still sealed with red wax. Lucerys had opened it the moment it was pressed into his hand. His heart had sunk as he’d examined the contents.

Baela looked the letter over, just as she had a dozen times at the Sweet Garden. Her brow furrowed in frustration. The long walk back in the driving rain had sobered her up.

The damned letter was written in code. The initials at the bottom were clear enough – R.D, Robyn Darke – but that was it. Everything on the page was gibberish to Lucerys. He couldn’t make out a single fucking word of it.

“Gods damn it,” Baela cursed, admitting defeat for the umpteenth time. She handed the letter back to her brother.

“I’ll send it to Gerardys in the morning,” Lucerys muttered. He thought perhaps he ought to report to the Queen now. But the hour was so late that she was surely abed. He’d speak to her tomorrow. “The maesters will be able to work out what it says.”

“You hope they can,” Baela said glumly. “I hope. We all hope.”

Lucerys felt uncomfortable in his wet clothes. His bedraggled hair dripped water into his face. He wanted to get dry, and he wanted to sleep. He and Baela parted ways. The passageways of the Keep weren’t as quiet as they usually were at this late hour. Ever since Aegon’s name-day, the guard had been doubled. There were four men watching the door to Luke’s apartments. They’d been given orders that nobody but the royal family or the Grand Maester were permitted to enter. Luke wasn’t sure he could’ve left Aemond alone at night otherwise. Not in the very same place he’d been attacked.

Speaking of Aemond, he was awake - sitting up, waiting in the solar. The moment Lucerys entered, he was up on his feet. Before speaking a single word, Aemond grabbed his husband by the front of his wet jerkin and stuck his nose into the place where Luke’s neck met the curve of his jaw. Trying to see if the sweet scent of another omega lingered there. Trying to work out whether or not Luke had broken his promise.

If he had, then the rainwater would’ve washed away the evidence of it. But Lucerys wasn’t going to tell Aemond that. He had kept his promise. Crazy and preposterous though it’d been – he’d kept his promise.

…

Lucerys didn’t smell of anything or anyone other than himself. Determined, Aemond pulled at his mate’s collar – tugging the sodden fabric wide, revealing more of Luke’s neck. He stuck his nose against that too and breathed in deeply. It also smelled of nothing but sea-salt and heather. The unmistakably alpha scent that instantly cooled Aemond’s hot temper and eased his simmering anxiety. There was no lingering sweetness of some unknown conquest.

“My love,” Lucerys murmured, leaning in and kissing him soundly.

Even as he melted into it, Aemond was embarrassed with himself. He knew his jealousy was humiliatingly obvious. But by the gods, he couldn’t help it. All evening he’d been restless – bordering on panicky. It was pathetic. It was ludicrous. He should’ve been able to control himself, but he couldn’t.

Lucerys would find someone else, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of his head. An omega who was everything Aemond wasn’t. Pretty, sweet, compliant. Someone who’d laugh merrily and tell amusing jokes. Only a whore… but a whore who’d snap Lucerys out of his madness. Who’d remind the crown prince that he could’ve easily had a fair, meek thing to hang adoringly off his every word. Who’d remind him that most omegas weren’t like Aemond. That he was a poor excuse for one of his caste. Badly damaged – in more ways than one.

Lucerys was soaking wet, and it was dampening Aemond’s clothes too. He wanted to step away. To recover what little of his dignity he had left. But he couldn’t. Aemond gritted his teeth and fought to control himself. To let go. And then Lucerys kissed him again and it was hopeless.

After they presented, most omegas fantasized mawkishly about the bite. Aemond had never wanted it. The very idea had horrified him. Even though he’d known he’d eventually been forced into it – unless he was lucky enough to wed a beta. He’d despised the idea of being shackled by the bond. Of being degraded by it. The way it’d make him behave. Gods, how it’d make him submit. But even in Aemond’s most pessimistic imaginings, he hadn’t thought it’d be this bad. The bond had him so, so much more fiercely than he’d ever dreamed. And it wasn’t getting better as time wore on. Quite the opposite. To begin with, Aemond had been able to maintain an aloof distance from Lucerys. That felt impossible now.

He breathed deeply and forced himself to let go of his husband. He was both aggravated and relieved when Lucerys immediately took hold of him instead.

“What did you find out?” Aemond asked as Lucerys pressed their cheeks together and scented him with a contented sigh. His hair and short beard were both unpleasantly wet.

“Darke went to the brothel several times,” mumbled Lucerys. He sounded tired. One of his hands slipped under the hem of the loose shirt Aemond still favoured, because it let the wound in his arm breathe. Luke’s hand was cold and clammy, and Aemond shivered when it pressed to the hot skin of his back. “He was leaving letters with the brothel madam.”

“Letters?”

“The gold cloaks found one of them hidden in the woman’s chambers.”

“What did it say?”

“I don’t know,” Lucerys admitted. He heaved out an irritated huff and put his forehead against Aemond’s. “It’s written in a fucking code. I can’t understand a word. Darke’s initials are there, but that’s all the sense I can make of it. I’ll have the damned thing sent to Gerardys in the morning. I pray his scholars can untangle the message, or this was all for nothing.”

“Do you still have it?” Aemond asked.

Lucerys handed over a folded page of thick parchment. The letter was written in an awkward hand – one unused to putting ink to paper. The inexperience with the quill showed in a scattering of blots all over the page. Sure enough, there were Robyn Darke’s initials at the bottom. But like his husband, Aemond couldn’t make heads nor tails of the rest. The letters seemed to be entirely random and completely meaningless. Giving up, he gave the parchment back. Aemond knew he ought to ask more questions about it. Who the letter had been meant for. Where it'd been found. But his mind was stuck firmly in one place.

“What about the whores?” Aemond demanded, asking the question that’d been burning on the tip of his tongue this whole time. “Did you touch any of them?”

“No.”

“Did you want to?”

“No. Do you truly have so little faith in me?”

Aemond scowled and didn’t reply. That wasn’t the problem. That wasn’t the problem at all! Aemond wasn’t afraid of Lucerys bedding a bevy of whores and then crawling back to him like it was nothing. No, that wasn’t in his character. What Aemond was afraid of, was that Lucerys wouldn’t come back at all. That he’d finally realise what everyone had been trying to tell him for half a year now – that he’d made a terrible mistake when he’d sunk his teeth into Aemond’s neck. That he could’ve been so much happier with someone else.

Seven hells, Aemond really needed to clear his head. It was being locked away in these rooms that was doing this to him. What else was there to do with his time, other than fixate obsessively on Lucerys? He had to snap out of it.

Lucerys, getting no response to his question, sighed wearily and kissed him again. “I’m tired,” he muttered. “I’m tired and I’m soaked to the bone. Come to bed Aemond. Stop brooding on things that haven’t happened.”

Aemond sat on the bed and watched as Lucerys stripped himself out of his wet clothes, discarding them carelessly on the floor. It was a sight worth admiring, even by the poor candlelight. How was this the same person as the snivelling runt Aemond had been forced to marry? He clearly recalled the muffled laughter that’d rippled through the sept all those years ago, as the assembled lords and ladies had realised Lucerys was too short to put the wedding cloak around Aemond’s shoulders. Just another way the whole thing had been a shambolic farce. Aemond had burned with rage and humiliation for the entire ceremony. It’d only been the sight of his grandfather, Lord Otto Hightower, glowering at him that’d kept Aemond’s sharp tongue quiet.

And now here Lucerys was. A grown man. Handsome, and fair – and tall and strong too. Honed by battle. If Aemond had found him begrudgingly attractive before the bite, now he was made helpless by desire, unable to tear his gaze away.

Lucerys, by now stark naked, turned around. Whatever he saw in his mate’s lone eye, it made him advance towards the bed and fall upon Aemond like he was starving for him.

Afterwards, when their fires had cooled, Lucerys fell asleep almost immediately. He hadn’t been lying about being tired – too weary to knot his mate, at least. Aemond stayed awake longer, listening to the rain against the window and watching his alpha by the light of the flickering candle. He’d thought the restlessness would fade once Lucerys had come back. Certainly he’d thought getting fucked into the mattress would cure it. But it was still there. Sleep was elusive, but eventually it did take Aemond.

He didn’t slumber peacefully. Aemond dreamed – an old nightmare that hadn’t plagued him for a good while. But now it was back with a bitter vengeance. In the dream, Aemond found himself in the Gods Eye again. He was drowning. Everything in his chest was pain. His left arm was numb and useless, and the shoulder was pure, screaming agony. He needed air. He needed it more than he’d ever needed anything in his life. He knew with terrifying certainty that he was going to die. He was surrounded by darkness, not even sure which way was up, and his lungs were burning…

Aemond woke up in a cold sweat. He gasped for air, his heart hammering furiously against his ribcage. It took a couple of seconds for him to realise where he was. To understand that he wasn’t in the murky grasp of the great lake. He was in bed. A large bed, laid with fine linen sheets and surrounded by the familiar walls of the Red Keep. He wasn’t in the Gods Eye, and nor was he in some secret bolthole sickbed, burning up with fever. That was Lucerys next to him, mumbling something incoherent into his pillow. Aemond breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. He was horrified to discover there were tears on his face. He’d been crying in his sleep.

“Aemond?” Lucerys said hoarsely, sitting up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond said shortly, hating the way his voice cracked. “Go back to sleep.”

“Something’s wrong,” Lucerys said, putting a comforting around Aemond’s shoulders. “I can smell it on you. You’re… you’re frightened.”

“I’m not frightened,” Aemond hissed angrily, shrugging Lucerys’ arm off in a temper.

“Alright – not frightened, distressed…”

“Distressed?” Aemond spat.

“Gods, Aemond, have you been crying?” Lucerys fretted. He pressed in close again, gently cupping Aemond’s cheek and trying to turn his head towards the light. One lone candle was still burning on the table, producing barely enough light to see by. The rain outside hadn’t eased up. If anything, it sounded as though it’d gotten worse.

There was no point trying to pretend he hadn’t been crying. Instead, Aemond wiped the traitorous tears away with the heel of his hand. “Just go back to sleep,” he insisted.

“No. Please, just… come here, let me hold you, please…” Lucerys put his arm around Aemond again. The urge to shove him off, to rage against the fucking coddling… it rose sharply in Aemond, and then just as abruptly it died. He did want that. He wanted Lucerys. It was humiliating, but he did. Aemond slumped against his mate, Lucerys muttering something against his brow as he held him. Some moonstruck nonsense about how much he loved Aemond. The scent of their bed was comforting. It smelled strongly of them both - the distinct, contented scent that came from peaceful sleep. And the lingering aroma of the sex they’d had earlier too. Safety. Familiarity. Everything a pitifully fucking distressed omega could want. And Aemond did want it.

“There were tears on your left cheek,” Lucerys murmured quietly. “You can still cry from your missing eye. I didn’t know that.”

Resentment turned Aemond abruptly sour. He did shove Lucerys off then. “You didn’t slice everything away,” he said bitterly. “Childish clumsiness. I’m sure you’d make a better job of it now.”

Lucerys physically recoiled at that, as though Aemond had slapped him clean across the face. Suddenly their bed was the last place Aemond wanted to be. He scrambled out of it, angrily throwing the sheets aside. He grabbed a robe and pulled it over his naked body, leaving the bedchamber without another word. Lucerys didn’t call out to him – or say anything at all.

Despite how late they’d gone to bed, a servant had still come in and put out most of the candles in the solar. Just a couple had been left burning, in case one of the princes rose in the night. Aemond used one to light a handful of the rest, until he had a decent light. He sat down heavily in a chair. Even though it was summer, it was cold. Aemond wished there was a fire lit in the hearth. His eye-socket hurt. The salty tears had irritated the scarred skin, just like they always did on the rare occasions he cried. Wincing, Aemond carefully extracted the moonstone. It sat heavily in his palm. Some of the stinging pain began to fade as Aemond’s scarred eyelid drooped heavily over the empty space.

After a minute or so, the door to their bedchamber opened. Lucerys walked over, also wearing a thin woollen robe. He stared down at the false eye nestled in the palm of Aemond’s hand, before dragging his gaze up to his husband’s ruined face.

“I’m going to call for wine,” he said.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Aemond pointed out sullenly.

“You once told me that Aegon used to call for wine no matter how late the hour was,” Lucerys said. “I need a drink. You need a drink.”

Aemond closed his hand tightly around the moonstone eye. He needed to clean it. He needed to clean the empty hole in his face as well. And yes – he did want that drink.

“Hot water as well,” he muttered.

A servant was summoned. A basin of hot water was produced, along with a jug of spiced hippocras – left over from the ill-fated feast – and two silver goblets. Lucerys watched on as Aemond carefully washed the moonstone in the basin, and then used a fresh linen cloth to dab gingerly at his mutilated eye-socket. What the hells the fascination was, Aemond didn’t know. Did Lucerys imagine he was paying some sort of penance, forcing himself to look upon the mess he'd made of Aemond’s face? If that was the case… then damn him to the seven hells, the patronising cur.

Part of Aemond wanted to put the moonstone eye back in right away. To hide how badly mutilated he was – even though Lucerys had seen it all before. But he knew from past experience that it was a bad idea. The flesh needed to rest.

“Give me a drink then,” Aemond demanded, holding out his hand for one of the goblets.

“It’s a chilly night,” Lucerys declared, glancing at the rain lashed window. The same window that Robyn Darke had tried to push Aemond out of. “Come on. Let’s go back to bed. We’ll drink this there.”

Aemond was aghast. It was hard to imagine behaviour slovenlier than lying about in bed, drinking wine. It was exactly the sort of thing Aegon would’ve done. Before he’d turned into that burned and broken wreck, ruined by the ruthless ambitions of others, his own stupidity, and Aemond’s loathing. Made into a cripple like their father. Drinking wine in bed was the habit of drunkards and godless knaves.

On the other hand… what did Aemond give a shit anymore? Yes – he did want to sit in bed with his mate, snug in the warmth beneath their blankets, and drink hippocras. Fuck everything else. Fuck the gods.

He followed Lucerys into their bedchamber. Before crawling back into bed, Aemond carefully wrapped the moonstone eye up in the same scrap of black velvet Luke had given it to him in. It would be safe there. It was the most valuable thing Aemond owned now. One of the very few things he owned at all. He found the eyepatch that he hadn’t worn for weeks and put it back on. He wanted to hide his empty eye. He hated anyone looking on it. Even Lucerys. Especially Lucerys.

He and his alpha sat a foot apart in their bed, listening to the rain and drinking their wine. Lucerys was quiet and tense. Despite having been the one to call for the hippocras, he seemed more interested in swirling the ruby red liquid around in the cup than actually drinking it. Aemond, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate. He put away almost half his goblet at once. The hippocras was very good. It was warm and sweet, and it lingered on the tongue.

“You had a bad dream, didn’t you?” Lucerys said at long last, after they’d been sitting in silence for some time. “I know you did. The sort of dream where you wake up and you’re still lost in it. I know what it’s like.”

Aemond’s fingers tightened around his cup. Lucerys was essentially admitting to suffering from nightmares as well. He hadn’t had one in all the time since they’d started sharing a bed. Or… perhaps he had. Aemond was a deep sleeper he could’ve easily slumbered through such a thing. “What do you dream of?” he asked.

“Blood and battle mostly. All the terrible things I saw. Men split open like sacks of wheat. Or burned beyond all recognition. But the worst ones… gods, the worst is when I dream of things I never actually witnessed. Isn’t that strange? It all feels so real in my nightmares. Like I was there. But I wasn’t.”

Aemond frowned, not fully understanding. “What do you mean?”

“I dream about Jace sinking into the sea, full of arrows. I dream of the Dragonpit on fire. Joffrey falling out of the sky. And… in my dreams… I can save them. If only I’d been there. I hear Joffrey calling out my name, begging me to save him. And I wake up and I know… I know that I should have been there. But I wasn’t. I didn’t save him! He died. Jacaerys died. They died and I lived.”

His scent was sour and unhappy. Aemond, though still in a mood, couldn’t help himself. He shifted over so he was pressed close to Lucerys. His mate took Aemond’s free hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“Please tell me what you dreamed of.”

“Why do you want to know so badly?” Aemond said peevishly.

“It upset you,” Lucerys said plainly, as though that explained everything.

“Perhaps it was just nonsense. Maybe I was being chased through the woods by a giant wolf.”

“It could’ve been that. But it wasn’t, was it?”

Aemond swallowed hard. Damn Lucerys. He didn’t want to share this. It was stupid. He was stupid for being so affected by it. “I don’t have to tell you everything that goes on in my head,” he declared, trying to take back his hand - but Lucerys wouldn’t release it. Aemond didn’t bother to fight. In truth, he didn’t really want to let go.

“I don’t expect you to,” Lucerys said softly. “I just… you can. I want to hear anything you have to say.”

Liar, Aemond thought bitterly, remembering how Lucerys had refused to hear any mention of Aegon not so very long ago.

“Was… was it about the night I cut out your eye?” Lucerys asked, sounded utterly wretched.

Aemond laughed. It was a cracked, unpleasant sound. “No. The only dreams I’ve ever had about that night were the ones where I got my revenge. Dreams where I cut out your eye. Both your eyes. And presented them your mother on a silver plate.”

“Did you have a lot of those dreams?” Lucerys mumbled.

“Hundreds.”

They lapsed back into the same tense silence. Despite it, they stayed holding hands. At long last, Lucerys began to drink his wine. Aemond looked sidelong at his mate. He looked utterly morose. Aemond sighed irritably.

“I dreamed about the Gods Eye,” Aemond relented. He didn’t care for that gloomy look on Lucerys’ face. “I dreamed I was drowning in it again.”

Luke’s hand tightened around Aemond’s. “I’ve never asked how you survived.”

“I know. Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Lucerys said. “I think I assumed you’d tell me yourself, in time. When it was easier. I’ve things I’d rather forget as well. Lots of them.”

“I almost didn’t survive it,” Aemond admitted. He reached for the dark memories. They were never far away. “I broke three ribs and wrenched my shoulder from its socket when Vhagar hit the water. I’ve never known pain like it. Even when you cut out my eye – that was nothing in comparison. I could hardly think for the agony. Except I knew Vhagar was dead. I could feel that like a knife in my soul. She was dead and gone, sinking into the deep, and taking me with her.”

Lucerys leaned his head in close, so their temples touched. He brought their joined hands up to his mouth and kissed the back of Aemond’s knuckles. His scent had risen sharply. He didn’t like even hearing this, Aemond realised with a jolt. Didn’t like hearing about Aemond’s brush with death. Gods, Lucerys really was the living embodiment of a chivalrous, devoted alpha. Like something out of the songs. What a joke that he’d wound up mated to Aemond, likely the worst omega in Westeros.

“I was still chained to the saddle,” Aemond continued. “Down Vhagar went into the lake, and I’d no choice but to go with her. I don’t know how long I was trapped. It felt like forever. I only had one hand to free myself. The other was nothing but a dead weight. When I finally was free… I couldn’t swim. Everything hurt too much. I knew I was going to die.”

As long as he lived, Aemond would never forget that feeling. The absolute certainty of his doom bearing down upon him. Inescapable death.

“But you didn’t,” Lucerys mumbled. He kissed Aemond’s hand again. “You didn’t die.”

“I don’t know how,” Aemond took a mouthful of wine. The candlelight in their bedchamber was soft and golden, but it was all too easy to let the shadows creep in like the oppressive darkness of the great lake. “I found some strength from somewhere. I got to the surface and someone fished me out. Took me away. Hid me.”

“Who?”

“I won’t tell you,” Aemond said. “I won’t have your mother branding them traitors.”

“I wouldn’t – never mind. No names. But… everyone thought you’d died. Even your own kin thought you dead. It was a miracle that Daemon survived. It was impossible you had as well. Why did you stay hidden?”

“I caught a fever. A bad one. Maester Sel – ” Aemond paused. He’d nearly slipped up and given a name. “The maester – he said my wounds were infected. It nearly killed me. I was trapped in a sickbed for moon after moon. One by one they came to tell me my siblings were dead. When Aegon was gone, it was over. Rhaenyra had won. And all the while, I was too weak to do anything about it. For a long time I couldn’t even walk down the damned stairs without an arm to lean on! I just hid and rotted whilst my family died, and I lost everything.”

Aemond threw back what remained of his wine. The hippocras washed down his throat. “By the time I was finally healed, there was nothing to do but run – like a coward. And I even failed at that.”

“I’m glad you failed,” Lucerys said. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Aemond snorted. “Because I failed, Daemon nearly slaughtered me in a filthy alleyway.”

“But he didn’t,” said Lucerys emphatically. “You’re here, with me. Where you’re supposed to be.”

“Where I’m supposed to be? Drinking wine in the middle of the night, sitting in our marriage bed?”

“Would you rather be across the Narrow Sea?”

“No. I want to be here. That’s the fucking problem. I want to be here.”

“Why is that a problem?” Lucerys pressed him. “Why shouldn’t you want to be here? This is your home.”

“Gods damn it Lucerys, don’t you understand?” Aemond cried. “I’m betraying them.”

“Who?”

“My siblings. My grandfather. Criston Cole. Everyone who died for Aegon’s claim!”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re not betraying them.”

“Of course I am,” Aemond spat out bitterly. “I’m glad I’m here! I’m glad I didn’t get away! I should want to see one of the twins on the throne! I should be plotting to steal them out from under Rhaenyra’s nose. To escape! To start the whole fucking war off again. But I’m not. I’m here, in bed, drinking wine with you. And I want to be. I’ve betrayed them all.”

“You’re not betraying them.” Lucerys threw his goblet aside. It clattered away across floor, no doubt spilling wine as it went. He pulled Aemond into his arms, hand gently cupping his mate’s jaw. “You can’t betray them. They’re dead, Aemond. Just like Jacaerys and Joffrey. You can’t betray the dead.”

“Of course you can,” Aemond said flatly. There was nobody easier to betray than the dead in fact - because they could never forgive you for it.

“No, you can’t. They’re beyond such things now.”

Lucerys spoke with such conviction. Aemond was almost tempted to buy it. “Don’t you think you’ve betrayed your brothers too?” he asked miserably. “Jacaerys and Joffrey? By taking me for your mate? Saving me from exile?”

“I’m sure my mother thinks so,” admitted Lucerys. His fingers carded gently through Aemond’s hair, pulling it free of the eyepatch’s thin strap.

“But you don’t?”

“No. I wasn’t trying to ease your conscience – I meant what I said. You can’t betray the dead. Only a ghost you keep alive inside your own head. My brothers are gone. Perhaps I’ll see them again someday… but they’ve left this world forever. What happens here doesn’t matter to them anymore.”

“This place is full of ghosts,” Aemond said grimly. He put his own arms around his husband and let their legs tangle beneath the sheets. He’d spilled his guts to Lucerys, it seemed stupid to stand on pride. “These rooms are haunted. I swear, every morning, I can see Helaena by the window. Doing her embroidery.”

Lucerys pulled Aemond closer still. He was half in the man’s damn lap by now. It felt frighteningly good. To be held by his alpha. To be told he was home. That his fears were unfounded. Comforted. Any other time, Aemond would’ve fought against it, afraid of seeming weak. But it was the dead of the night, he was tired, his empty eye-socket hurt, and that anxiety from earlier – his fear that Lucerys would stop wanting him – still gnawed away. He relaxed into the embrace, pushing his face into his mate’s neck. Letting his nose fill with sea-salt and heather.

“Aemond. My love,” Lucerys murmured. “My mate.” And then, louder – “I want us to go to Dragonstone. Away from the ghosts. Away from danger. Somewhere you’ll be safer. Somewhere you’ll be happier. I’ve asked my mother for permission, but she won’t grant it. Not yet.”

Aemond looked up sharply. Dragonstone! Yes, he wanted very much to go to Dragonstone. To leave the Red Keep and escape Rhaenyra’s clenched fist. To leave the ghosts behind and be with his living family. But he wasn’t surprised to hear his sister wouldn’t allow it. It sounded like Lucerys hadn’t given up trying to persuade her though.

“Talk her around,” Aemond implored. He put his hand on Lucerys’ chest, over his heart. He wanted this badly, and he wasn’t above manipulating his mate’s instincts to get it. “You’re right, I’ll be happier there. I want to see the twins. I want to see my mother. Get Rhaenyra to change her mind. Give me this. My alpha, please give me this.”

Lucerys’ face shuttered briefly when Aemond mentioned his family. What was it that unsettled him? Did he think Aemond couldn’t be trusted? That he’d collude to do what – put one of Aegon’s children on the throne? Fool if so. Aemond would see Lucerys made king. The bond was too strong for anything else. Aemond’s… gods, his fucking feelings were too strong for anything else. He couldn’t stomach the idea of Lucerys anything other than… how had Rhaenyra put it once? Untouchable.

Besides, Aemond knew himself to be a power-hungry creature. If Lucerys rose, so now did he.

All of that made him a traitor of course. He was ashamed of it. But there it was.

“I’ll try,” Lucerys promised fervently. “I’ll do it. I’ll get my mother to change her mind. I’ll take you to Dragonstone.” He pressed his cheek to Aemond’s. His breath smelled of wine and cloves, just like Aemond’s own probably did. “I’ll take you away. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll make you happy.”

The familiar urge to protest that he didn’t need anybody to keep him safe or ensure his happiness - like he was a damned child - teetered on the tip of Aemond’s tongue. He forcibly swallowed those protests back down. Now the idea had been put in his head, he wanted desperately to go to Dragonstone. Let Lucerys fuss and fret if that’s what did the trick.

…

First thing the next day, Lucerys took the coded letter to the Grand Maester. Gerardys examined it carefully and declared he’d need to consult his fellow scholars. The Grand Maester was a clever man, but he was a healer first and foremost. Others among the brotherhood of the Citadel were more adept with codes and ciphers. Lucerys had faith in Gerardys to show the letter only to those who could be absolutely trusted.

Next, Luke intended to report his findings to the Queen. He went straight to her chambers, only to be informed by the guard that she wasn’t there. Rhaenyra was taking an early morning stroll through the palace gardens. After such a wild, rainy night, the dawn was sunny and glorious without a single cloud in the sky. Everything in the gardens was fresh and vibrant, so long as you didn’t mind the dampness underfoot. Some of the flowers only bloomed after rainfall.

Lucerys searched the gardens but couldn’t find his mother. In the end, he finally discovered her in the quiet seclusion of the Godswood. She wasn’t alone. Both Rhaenyra and Daemon were stood beneath the boughs of the old oak that served as the Red Keep’s heart tree. Their hands were clasped together, and they were talking quietly. Luke faltered. He didn’t know whether he should approach his parents, but nor did he want to spy on them either. He couldn’t deny it did his heart good to see them together like this. They’d been so sour with each other of late. He’d begun to fear that the love between them had been broken beyond repair. Unsure of what to do, Lucerys lingered at a polite distance, trying to pretend he was admiring a tangled rose.

“Luke!” it was Daemon who finally caught sight of him. “Come here! What news do you have?”

Lucerys approached. His mother looked expectant, awaiting his report, her arm looped through her husband’s. “Did you go to the whorehouse? What did you find out?” she demanded.

Lucerys skimmed over the events of the night before. How the pretty whore at the Sweet Garden (who he didn’t name, just as he’d promised he wouldn’t) had seen Robyn Darke there several times. How Darke had been in the habit of leaving letters with the madam. And how the gold cloaks had turned the brothel upside down searching for those letters – finding only one, written in a damned code.

“Good work!” Daemon crowed. He was in a good mood. “Where’s this Volantene bitch now?”

“I had the gold cloaks take her to the dungeons,” Lucerys said. “The guards still hold the brothel too. I’m sure it’s made quite a stir on the Streek of Silk.”

“Let Mysaria interrogate this woman,” Daemon implored Rhaenyra, taking her by the hand again. “Whatever she knows, Mysaria will loosen her tongue. You know she will. These are her people. She knows their sordid habits like the back of her own hand.”

Rhaenyra hesitated but finally nodded. “See to it then.”

Daemon looked triumphant. The old rogue had the bit between his teeth. Daemon liked to know who his enemies were, and now Lucerys had delivered him one. Despite himself, Luke felt some sympathy for the Volantene woman. He hoped she gave her secrets up easily. She’d suffer otherwise. Luke tried to ignore the guilt. It was a necessary evil, he wasn’t naïve, he knew that. But he didn’t have Daemon’s cold streak. Brutality had never come easily to Lucerys – although he’d been forced to it, on occasion.

Daemon kissed his wife on the cheek before departing, striding stubbornly through his limp. It seemed whatever peace the Queen and her consort had made, it was an affectionate one. Lucerys only hoped it lasted.

“Daemon’s right. You’ve done good work.” Rhaenyra put her hands around her son’s cheeks and coaxed his head down so she could kiss him on the forehead. She had to stand on her tiptoes. “Thank you.”

Lucerys smiled. “You seem less burdened.”

“Do I?” Rhaenyra said. “I’m not sure I feel it. But what’s the use of despair? It gets you nothing, and I’ve wasted far too much time wallowing in it.”

Luke pulled his mother into a warm bear-hug, holding her tightly. She embraced him in return and suddenly laughed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how tall you’ve grown,” Rhaenyra teased. She squeezed Luke hard, then stepped back. Her smile was genuine, but a touch sad. “Your scent isn’t the same either. Not since you took a mate. You smell a little of Aemond. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get used to that either. Where did my sweet boy go, hmm Lucerys? Where did the time go?”

It'd vanished in a haze of blood, death, and war. But Lucerys couldn’t bring himself to tell his mother that. She knew it well enough for herself, anyway.

“You still have Viserys,” he told her. “He’ll be troubling you with a child’s mischief for a while yet.”

“He’ll have to go some way to top the trouble you’ve made for me as a grown man,” Rhaenyra remarked wryly. “Speaking of which… tell Aemond he may write to his mother. He behaved himself well enough at the blasted feast – even if it ended in a mess. And I can’t blame him for that.”

Lucerys’ face fell. “Please don’t,” he begged. “Please don’t give Aemond permission to write to Queen Alicent.”

Rhaenyra frowned. “Why ever not?”

“Because I’ve never lied to him about his mother before,” Lucerys said helplessly. It was utterly absurd, and he knew it. But it felt important. He’d never actually lied to Aemond about where the dowager queen was being kept. He’d been deliberately vague, and he’d never corrected Aemond’s assumptions… but he hadn’t lied. “If he writes to her… I don’t see how I can avoid it. I’ll have to tell him the truth, or I’ll have to tell him a lie. And I don’t want to do either.”

“You’ll have to tell him the truth eventually,” the Queen pointed out gently. “He can’t stay in the dark forever.”

“But not now,” Lucerys insisted. “Please mother. He’ll demand to see her. He’ll do something stupid to try and make it happen. I know he will. Let me tell him when we’re on Dragonstone. When there’s all of Blackwater Bay between them.”

Rhaenyra sighed unhappily. “You’re still set on that, then? Going to Dragonstone?”

“Do I have your permission?”

“No, you do not. You’re being foolish, Luke. Do you really think Aemond will care that you’ve never told an actual barefaced lie about his mother? Of course he won’t! He’ll be just as furious. Forgiveness isn’t in his nature - you know that better than anyone. Let him write to Alicent. Just tell him she’s on Dragonstone. It’ll make no difference in the end.”

“No. Please. Just… just leave it alone for a while. He’s only just received a reply from Jaehaerys. Aemond will be content enough with that for a time.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed. She was annoyed. “Luke, it’s not just for Aemond’s sake I think this a good idea. Alicent remains lost in melancholy. I know grief. By the gods – I know it well. But Alicent’s is unnatural in its severity. Gerardys has been to see her too, and he agrees. Alicent weeps, she slumbers, and she does nothing else! The life is draining out of her. I… I think it might snap her out of her malaise if she gets a letter from Aemond.”

“She didn’t believe he was alive,” said Lucerys. “What makes you think she’ll believe he’d written her a letter?”

“Have Aemond put something in it to convince her. A secret they shared.”

“Let us go to Dragonstone, and Aemond will write the letter,” Lucerys countered.

His mother’s face grew cool. “Or I could go to your chambers right now, tell Aemond that his mother is here in the Keep, and has been the entire time. That she’s in the grip of despair, and that a letter from him could be the only thing able to save her from it – and that you refused to see it done.”

“He wouldn’t write any letter,” Lucerys muttered glumly. “He’d try to fight his way past the entire guard to seek her out.”

His protest was empty. His mother had won the argument. Of course she had. Lucerys had been pushing his luck hard. Rhaenyra was the queen, and he’d defied her a great deal lately. This was her palace, her court, and whatever she wanted done… that’s how it would be. Lucerys could refuse her orders far easier than most, but only so far. There was a limit.

“You may leave it a few days, if you wish,” Rhaenyra said in a more conciliatory tone. She grasped Luke by the shoulder. “It has to be done, sooner or later. You see that, don’t you? The longer you leave it, the worse Aemond’s rage will be.”

Lucerys had left it six moons. Aemond’s rage would be incandescent no matter what by now.

“What does it matter anyway if the old queen goes mad with melancholy?” he asked. “Surely that’s a fitting punishment?”

“You sound just like Daemon,” Rhaenyra replied. It didn’t strike Lucerys as a compliment. “I won’t see Alicent wither away and die. You don’t think the people would whisper I’d poisoned her? Besides… imagine how upset Aemond would be. He’d hate both of us forever I think.”

Lucerys hung his head. He could hardly deny the truth of that.

“Come now,” Rhaenyra said. “Let’s talk of something else. I’ve some news for you. In two days we’ll dine with the Lannisters. They’re still at their great manse in the city, and I want young Lord Loreon to leave with a better impression before he departs back to Casterly Rock. He might only be a lad, but seven hells, he’s a rich and powerful one. You were close with his sister Cerelle for a time, weren’t you?”

Lucerys nodded.

“I did think you might’ve wed her,” Rhaenyra said wistfully. “Once I’d finally persuaded the High Septon to annul your first marriage. She’d have been perfect. A sweet little omega like that. But no. You had to have Aemond.”

Lucerys couldn’t help himself. He smiled, all self-satisfied. “I had to have Aemond,” he agreed.

His mother didn’t share his contentment. She looked out over the Godswood, a little knot between her eyes. Probably brooding on how Cerelle Lannister would likely already have been heavy with Luke’s child, and how she could’ve been greeting little Lord Loreon as her kin at their dinner.

“Will Aemond…?”

“Yes, Aemond will have to be there. Somebody knows he was supposed to die the night of feast. I can’t have him hidden away. Rumours might start. Aemond must be seen – alive and well. To my surprise, it seems my brother does know how to sit still and keep his mouth shut. He can do it again for the Lannisters.”

The rest of the day, Lucerys couldn’t stop thinking of the Volantene woman in the dungeons – and how Mysaria might be extracting the poor wretch’s secrets. Luke felt responsible for those torments. He felt part of it – he was part of it. House Targaryen were merciless to anybody who opposed them. Lucerys never felt more of a bastard than in these moments. He wasn’t above violence. The gods knew he’d inflicted enough of it. But torture had never sat easy with him.

He was surprised to receive a note from the lady of whispers that evening. It requested he meet her in the Tower of the Hand. It was as though Mysaria had known Luke’s thoughts had been dwelling on her and her methods.

“Forgive me, Prince Lucerys,” the mistress of spies said as he arrived to their meeting. She bobbed a shallow curtsey. They were alone. Mysaria had been nursing a cup of wine. “I would’ve come to your chambers, of course, except I feared…”

“That Prince Aemond would hate you being there?” Lucerys sat down and gestured for Mysaria to do the same. “He would’ve. You did the right thing my lady. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to hear for myself what you learned at the whorehouse,” Mysaria said. “The Volantene madam is proving… difficult. She insists she knows nothing, even though the letter was found in her lockbox. I need to convince her that it’s hopeless. That we already know too much, and she might as well spill her secrets and save herself pain.”

“Save herself pain?” said Lucerys, surprised and relieved. “You haven’t racked her yet?”

“Not yet,” said Mysaria. “But I’ll have it done if she doesn’t open her mouth soon.”

Lucerys recounted what little he knew – that Robyn Darke had visited the Sweet Garden several times. That he never paid, and that those who didn’t pay were understood to be friends of the brothel’s mysterious owner. Darke had liked omegas, but never favoured any one in particular. And lastly, of course, that he’d been seen giving the Volantene woman letters. Letters almost certainly intended for someone else, because – code or no code – she couldn’t read the Common Tongue.

“Who told you all this? One of the whores?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lucerys brushed the question off.

“I must know, my prince,” Mysaria pushed. “Perhaps this person has more to tell us. Perhaps they lied to you. Perhaps…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lucerys repeated firmly. “I won’t give you a name, and you won’t seek one out either, you understand?” He was aware that if she wanted to, it’d be easy for Mysaria to discover which prostitutes had entertained Luke and Baela for the evening. “Do you understand me, Mysaria?” Luke said again in a harder voice when the lady of whispers didn’t reply.

“Yes, my prince.”

“You may think me soft if you want. Foolish even. I don’t care.”

“I don’t think you’re foolish,” Mysaria said. “Soft… perhaps. I was drained dry of softness when I was still a girl. I’ve a poor scrap of it left for just one person in all the world. So I don’t judge you for it. I envy it.”

Luke wondered who that person was. “These are brutal times,” he said. “I know that. I know they require brutal methods sometimes. But I’m not a ruthless man - and I’ve no desire to be. I don’t know if that makes me soft – or cowardly. I’m happy enough to take advantage of your ruthlessness while I sit on the sidelines and think myself above it. Yes… cowardly.” Luke looked down at his lap, shamefaced. He was a hypocrite.

Mysaria leaned forward across the table. “May I speak my mind?”

“If you want.”

“You’ll make a good king one day. And you’re no coward. I’ve met lots of cowards, Prince Lucerys. All sorts of different ones. Highborn and the lowest of the low. You’re nothing like any of them.”

Lucerys was surprised, and oddly gratified. Mysaria’s confidence meant something. It was very rarely given. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“Before you go…” Mysaria looked uncharacteristically unsure of herself. “You once asked me for my advice on a personal matter. I wondered… might I ask the same favour?”

“Go ahead,” Luke replied, curious. What advice could she possibly want from him?

“Does the Queen not trust me anymore?” Mysaria asked. It was quite a daring question. Especially put to the Queen’s own son. Mysaria was a lowborn commoner. It wasn’t her place to question Queen Rhaenyra in any way. “I’m no longer invited to advise her. She asked you to look into this matter before me.”

Lucerys sighed. “Can we both agree that nothing of this conversation goes any further?”

Mysaria agreed at once.

“Your failure to discover Robyn Darke’s treachery didn’t help,” Luke confided. “But truthfully… it’s not really about you at all. It’s about Daemon.”

Mysaria was very clever. And as she’d once told Lucerys, people were her trade. Why they wanted what they wanted, and why they did what they did. She didn’t need Luke to explain any further. She understood.

…

After seven days resting in their chambers while his arm healed, steadily going out of his mind with the tedium, Aemond was intensely irritable. More so than normal. He was rude and short-tempered with the servants. He was even worse with Lucerys, who bore it all with a deeply aggravating patience. Gerardys came to inspect Aemond’s wound again and pronounced it to be healing well, without any sign of infection. Just a few more days, and the stitches could be removed.

Aemond was so bored, he was shocked to find he was actually looking forward to this damned dinner with the Lannisters. It’d be something to do. Aemond had always found formal occasions tiresome. He was bad at small talk, and he could never conceal it when he found somebody dull – and Aemond found most courtiers to be dull. But an evening observing the young Lannister spawn actually sounded interesting. And best of all, nobody would expect Aemond to speak. In fact, Rhaenyra was probably counting on him not to. All he had to do was sit there. Allowed out amongst other people twice in as many weeks. What a great honour.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Dragonstone. He’d be with his family there. His true family. Those he was bound to by more than just blood. Aemond would see his mother. By the gods, he wanted very badly to see his mother. He’d cried out for her, when he’d been wracked by infection after the Gods Eye. He’d been embarrassed about it afterwards. But the wizened old maester who’d tended Aemond had assured him that many men and women, when the spectre of death loomed over them, called out for the one who’d brought them into the world in the first place. Including grizzled old alphas, hardened by battle.

Aemond couldn’t really blame Rhaenyra for her reluctance. Aemond and his mother were the last of the Greens. It’d been Alicent who’d claimed Viserys had named Aegon his heir as the old king breathed his last. If Aemond was brutally honest with himself, he’d never believe that to be true. Their sire had loved Rhaenyra more than all the rest of them put together. He’d certainly never cared for Aegon – or even liked him. It was a mystery to Aemond why his father had married again after having his mate butchered in her birthing bed. He’d never been interested in any of them.

Aemond hadn’t believed Aegon was the chosen heir, but he’d been more than happy to pretend. He’d hated Rhaenyra. Better Aegon – better a crowned fucking horse – on the Iron Throne than her. But the worst had come to pass anyway. Rhaenyra did sit on the Iron Throne. She was the only sibling Aemond had left. She ruled, and after her would come Lucerys.

“Aemond?”

He shook himself out of his thoughts and turned. He’d been staring out of the window at the sea. Lucerys was watching him, frowning. Aemond got the distinct impression his husband had said his name more than once before Aemond had finally heard it. Lucerys was dressed in a black doublet, cleverly embroidered to look like dragon scales. Aemond was in dark green, with fussy silver edging at the collar and golden embroidery on the sleeves.

“Come on,” said Lucerys. “My mother wants to impress the Lannisters. We have to be there when she receives them.”

Loreon Lannister and his two sisters were lavishly dressed. Tyland Lannister, who sat on the small council and resided permanently at the family's great manse in the city, wore a vibrant scarlet cloak embroidered with a roaring lion. He looked straight at Aemond, expression unreadable, before turning away. Every inch of the infamously great Lannister wealth was on display. But despite the golden thread on his doublet, and the small, glinting rubies sewn about his collar, Lord Loreon was just a boy. He looked distinctly nervous as he bowed before Rhaenyra. His sisters, both unmated and unmarried omegas, were beautiful. Aemond recalled seeing them before, at the feast. Unless either Aegon or Viserys presented as an omega, Tyshara and Cerelle were surely the greatest prizes in the land. Each probably had a hoard of alphas paying court to them.

The dinner was held in a modest banqueting hall. House Lannister weren't the only guests. Two of their vassal lords had also been invited. House Foote and House Lydden. Young Loreon sat directly opposite the Queen, his sisters on either side. Lucerys was seated to his mother’s right, with Aemond on his other side. Probably Rhaenyra would’ve preferred her younger brother somewhere down the far end of the table, but protocol dictated he had to sit next to his mate.

“I was pleased to hear that the traitor was swiftly apprehended and executed,” said Loreon as they ate. The boy might’ve been anxious, but he was doing well considering his young age. After all, Aemond reflected cynically, it was important for House Lannister to ingratiate itself with the Queen. They’d backed the wrong horse during the civil war. Loreon needn’t have worried too much. Rhaenyra couldn’t afford to alienate such a wealthy and influential family. It was in everybody’s interest that this dinner went well.

“Thank you, my lord," Rhaenyra smiled politely.

“Any word on who the treacherous dogs were, your grace? Or how they came by the wildfire?” asked Lord Lydden.

“Some faithless malcontents, nobody of any note,” Rhaenyra lied smoothly. “As for the wildfire… we think it most likely it was stolen during the unrest in the city some time ago.”

‘The unrest’ what a small term for what’d truly happened. A queen dead. A prince dead. Nobles murdered by the mob. And every dragon in the Pit slaughtered.

As he picked at his meal, Aemond’s gaze lingered on Cerelle Lannister – mostly because her gaze lingered on Lucerys. She really was beautiful. Her long hair was rich and golden, and her delicate face was as pale as fresh milk. She’d spoken to Lucerys on Aegon’s name-day as well. Aemond had disliked her then too. Dislike had turned to outright loathing when Cerelle had talked of how generous Lucerys had once been to her. How much attention Aemond’s husband had lavished on the girl. Cerelle’s gown was of crimson velvet, the collar lined with fur. Around her neck she wore an impressive necklace of blood-red rubies. She’d worn that at the feast too, Aemond recalled. No wonder, for it was a very fine thing.

Lucerys was sat on Aemond’s blind side. It was frustrating, because he wanted very badly to see if his mate was looking back at Cerelle.

The conversation was polite and bland. It briefly skirted around politics, before moving onto what the Lannisters cared about most – gold and commerce. Aemond tuned a lot of it out. At one point, Lucerys absently put his hand over Aemond’s on the table, squeezing it affectionately. Every other eye at the table followed the motion, including Cerelle’s. Had she hoped to marry Lucerys herself? Surely yes. It would’ve been a fine match. Cerelle was beautiful and rich. As highborn as it got, too. And their marriage and mating would’ve cemented a valuable alliance for Rhaenyra. The wretched little shrew’s disappointment when news had arrived at Casterly Rock that Luke had given the bite to Aemond must’ve been immense.

“Do you like my necklace, Prince Aemond?” Cerelle spoke up, finally noticing Aemond glowering at her. Her hand brushed briefly over the large rubies. “It was a gift.”

“One of many, I’m sure,” Aemond made himself said disinterestedly. They were the first words he’d spoken all evening. He understood well what Rhaenyra expected of him – to sit quietly, make no trouble, and be visibly alive. If Aemond wanted to escape the Red Keep and go to Dragonstone, then it was in his best interests to comply. As they’d formally received the Lannisters in the Great Hall, Aemond had received several apprehensive stares from the Queen’s guests. But as they’d departed to the banqueting hall, and their lavish meal had been served, the lords and ladies seemed to forget he was among them. Now they were all looking straight at him again.

“I’m sure your mate has given you many things much finer than this,” Cerelle continued.

Aemond levelled Cerelle with a cool expression. “My husband has given me the greatest gift of them all,” he said.

“Oh, really?” said Cerelle, raising her eyebrows in surprise and curiosity. “What’s that?”

“The gift of my head still being attached to my neck,” Aemond remarked. “As everyone in this room is well aware. Far more valuable than any tawdry jewel or gaudy trinket, wouldn’t you agree my lady?”

A brief silence hung over the table. Cerelle didn’t reply. Then suddenly Daemon burst out laughing.

“Aemond has a point,” the prince cackled. “I assure you, Lady Cerelle, if you’d seen for yourself all the trouble Luke made to keep his husband, you wouldn’t doubt the value of the gift. Worth more than any jewel indeed.”

“Besides, not all omegas value costly things,” an unexpected voice spoke up. It was Alyn Velaryon.

“Easy not to value costly things when you were born in the gutter,” said Lord Foote, under his breath.

“What did you say my lord?” Baela snapped in a voice so sharp it could’ve cut through rock and steel. Lord Foote met her gaze head on, clearly with no intention of apologizing for his snide remark. Lord Loreon looked adrift as the mood turned tense around him. He turned to his sister Tyshara, looking for her help.

“Please your grace,” Tyshara said deftly, addressing the Queen directly. “I’ve heard rumours you’re planning a magnificent tourney. I hope it’s true. I’ve never been to any tourneys before – not like the ones in the songs.”

“You’ve heard truly, Lady Tyshara,” said Rhaenyra, smiling. “I plan to hold a great tourney at the Kingswood. There’ll be contests of all kinds. Fine food, sweet music, and many other amusements. It’ll be a chance for us all to renew our bonds of fellowship.”

Tyshara beamed and raised her cup. “I’ll drink to that, your grace,” she said.

“Well said!” declared Lord Lydden, also raising his cup.

“Will you attend the tourney, my lord?” Lucerys asked Loreon Lannister.

“If the Queen is gracious enough to extend an invitation,” the boy replied.

“I would be honoured to have House Lannister there,” Rhaenyra told him. “I hope all of the great Houses will attend. Will you compete, my lord?”

“Alas, Lord Loreon is too young,” said Lord Foote. “In a few years’ time, I’m sure he’ll make for a very fine knight.”

“Will you compete in the tourney, Prince Lucerys?” Loreon asked in turn.

“I will,” Lucerys declared firmly. “Although I fear I might embarrass myself. And my mother.”

“Luke’s being modest,” Daemon said. “He’s a fine swordsman.”

“You’re very good as well, aren’t you Prince Aemond?” Loreon said brightly. “Will you compete as well? Many omegas do these days. The men at least.”

There was a loaded pause. Aemond turned his head so he could see his sister. Rhaenyra was frowning, her lips tightly pursed.

“Unless the Queen thinks it unseemly now you’re mated?” Loreon added, suddenly sounding unsure of himself. “Or is it because… uh… I only meant that…” the boy trailed off, as though only just remembering that Aemond was a traitor and a prisoner, and that was the reason he would be strictly forbidden from competing in any tourneys.

But by the Seven above, yes, Aemond wanted very much to compete in this damned tourney of Rhaenyra’s. To earn a shred of his tattered dignity back. To be someone other than Luke’s mate. More than a pitiable figure - just some alpha’s omega.

He expected Rhaenyra to immediately dismiss the idea. To laugh contemptuously at it. But she didn’t. Abruptly, Aemond sat up straighter in his chair. It’d never occurred to him that she might actually allow it.

His sister looked directly at Aemond. They stared at each other, Lucerys looking distinctly uncomfortable between them.

“I couldn’t, not without the Queen’s permission,” Aemond said slowly, his eye locked with Rhaenyra’s.

Her eyes narrowed, just a little. Aemond tried to guess her thoughts, but she was frustratingly blank. “I can’t see any obstacle to it,” Rhaenyra said at last. For the briefest second, her eyes flickered down towards Aemond’s belly. “Can you, Aemond?”

They both knew what she meant. That Aemond had turned out not to be with child. That Rhaenyra had likely realised he didn’t intend to give Lucerys a child at all. And that it would be a significant problem.

Aemond prevaricated. Much as it galled him – and by the gods it was fucking galling – he knew that (just like the Lannisters) he needed to ingratiate himself with Rhaenyra to secure his future. As much as it was possible to, when they hated each other so completely. Everything was within her power. All depended on her approval. Going to Dragonstone, competing in the tourney – doing anything worthwhile at all. Part of Aemond wanted to spit in the face of all that anyway. To the hells with her. To the hells with demeaning himself for a scrap of comfort. Part of him would’ve rather lived on pride and starved for everything else – happiness especially.

If it wasn’t for Lucerys, Aemond would’ve let that part of his soul rule him. But Lucerys was there. Right there in fact, looking straight at him.

“Not before then,” Aemond hedged. “Your grace,” he added as an afterthought. It wasn’t technically a lie. It was merely the vaguest suggestion that perhaps afterwards he’d be amenable to… well. If that’s what Rhaenyra presumed, then more fool her.

Rhaenyra didn’t look convinced and Aemond was sure she was going to dismiss the idea. Humiliate him perhaps.

“Well then,” his sister said, abruptly turning back to Loreon. “It seems you’ll see two princes competing my lord.”

Aemond felt floored. He blinked, trying to work out if perhaps he’d misheard. But no, he hadn’t. As the conversation around them moved on, Lucerys smiled warmly at him. See, the smile seemed to say. She can be reasonable. So could you be, if you were willing to try. Aemond rolled his one eye and looked away from his husband again. But he couldn’t help the treacherous smile that pulled stubbornly at his mouth. A tourney. A sword. Yes… this dinner had been very much worth the bother. Praise the gods for House Lannister.

Chapter Text

The morning after the dinner with the Lannisters, Lucerys was summoned to his mother’s chambers. He found the Queen ashen-faced and agitated, pacing the floor of her solar with a parchment clutched in her hand. Daemon was sitting stony-faced at the table, his mouth a hard, flat line. The stillness of the man was a façade that might’ve deceived someone who didn’t know him. Luke did know his stepfather. Daemon was furious. Grand Maester Gerardys stood quietly at the edge of the room, watching Rhaenyra with a concerned expression.

“What is it?” Lucerys asked, alarmed.

“This!” snapped the Queen. She gestured angrily with the parchment. “The maesters have unpicked the code that traitorous prick Robyn Darke used in his letter. Curse his black soul!”

“And?” Lucerys pressed impatiently. “What does it say?”

Rather than explain, Rhaenyra simply handed the paper over. Lucerys almost snatched it in his haste to read the thing.

The translation was written in the neat hand of a maester. Luke had expected to read something about Aemond, but there was no mention of his mate. Instead, the letter concerned Luke’s brothers. His blood chilled in his veins as he read what Darke had written. The message detailed the names of the maesters that gave Aegon and Viserys their lessons, and where those lessons were held. It gave the names of the septas and servants who saw to the young princes’ daily needs – their meals, their clothes, their amusements. What times the boys usually visited the palace gardens. It listed the names of the other children Viserys played with.

Lucerys hadn’t thought it was possible for him to hate Robyn Darke any more passionately than he already did. He’d been wrong. He was almost sorry the cunt was dead - because it meant that Lucerys couldn’t kill him anew. He hoped the bastard had really suffered when Aemond had gouged out his eye.

“I will not lose another child,” Rhaenyra cried, her voice cracking with emotion. “Not one more! I cannot! I cannot!”

“You won’t,” Daemon rose from his chair and took his wife’s hands in his own. He pressed his lips to the back of her knuckles, his expression dark and stormy. “You won’t. I’ll find these rats, and I’ll give you their heads.”

“I don’t want their heads,” Rhaenyra declared. “I want to see them burned.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” her prince consort vowed.

Lucerys felt that same thirst for vengeance as he read the decoded letter again. Viserys was a child still. Aegon too, in truth, for all that he seemed taller by the day. But when had that ever protected anybody from the cruelties of the world? Curse them! If Luke got a chance, he’d give his mother exactly what she wanted. He’d have Arrax burn these traitors and eat what was left.

“I want a name,” Rhaenyra said. “The Volantene woman in the dungeons. I don’t care what you have to do. Flay her, if you must. Get me a name.”

As it happened, the Queen got her wish just after sunset that same day. Lucerys was summoned to the small council chamber with the rest of his mother’s inner circle – including Mysaria. The lady of whispers addressed the others around the table in a soft, careful voice.

“She broke within an hour of being racked,” Mysaria told them. “I have a name. The man who owns the Sweet Garden.”

“Yes? What is it?” Rhaenyra demanded impatiently.

“Tybor Greymont.”

“Who in the seven fucking hells is Tybor Greymont?” Daemon spat.

“He’s a merchant,” Mysaria continued. “A very wealthy one. I understand he began his trade running ships out of Lannisport. Nine years ago, Greymont purchased a large house in King’s Landing and expanded his business dealings to the Free Cities.”

“This man, Greymont, the coded letters were intended for him?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Yes, your grace. According to the Volantene woman, at least. Every week Greymont would come to the brothel, to take his cut of the profits. He’d take the letters at the same time. He swore the madam to silence. Threatened to throw her out onto the street if she so much as breathed a word of it to anyone.”

“How many letters were there in all?”

“Seven.”

“Seven!” the Queen cursed. “And we’ve only one! This wretched woman, could she understand the code? Did she read any of them?”

“No,” Mysaria said, shaking her head. “She can’t read the Common Tongue, and she swears she never broke the seals on any of the letters.”

“This bastard Greymont, where does he live?” Lucerys asked.

“In a large manse close to the Iron Gate,” Mysaria said. “I’ve already set a watch on the place.”

“Who does Greymont associate with?” Lucerys said. “Anybody of note?”

“I don’t know,” said Mysaria. “I haven’t had time to look into his dealings. But I understand he’s known for throwing lavish parties and spending generously on his guests.”

“We seize the bastard tonight,” Daemon declared. Something dangerous glinted in his eyes. Aegon and Viserys were his sons too. “Find the rat and make him squeal.”

“He’ll know the gold cloaks have seized his brothel,” said Luke. “The man’s had two days to flee. He could be long gone.”

“I don’t care where he’s gone,” growled Daemon. “The cunt could’ve run away to fucking Quarth for all I care. I’ll drag him back by his balls, and then I’ll make him eat them.”

“My lady,” Ser Lyonel spoke up, addressing Mysaria. “This letter… it was the last of the seven?”

Mysaria nodded.

“If we’re lucky, we’ll find the rest at Greymont’s manse,” spoke Lord Corlys. The Lord of Driftmark looked thoughtful. “And perhaps other messages too. We might find all our answers tonight.”

“Or none,” muttered Lucerys dourly.

He didn’t feel optimistic. This cur Greymont had two full days head start on them. If he hadn’t fled the city the very instant he’d heard the Sweet Garden had been searched by the Queen’s men, then the man was a gods-damned fool. He was probably on a ship halfway to Braavos by now. Had Greymont been one of the powerful friends Darke had been convinced would shield him from Daemon’s wrath? Or had that been somebody else? Somebody even richer and more influential?

Things moved fast after that. Daemon was champing at the bit for blood. Within the hour, the prince consort was waiting impatiently at the Red Keep’s western gate, Dark Sister strapped to his belt. Lucerys and Lyonel Bentley joined him there. So did two other white cloaks, ten sworn knights of House Targaryen, and a dozen gold cloaks. It was a large group of armed men that departed the palace into the overcast night, flaming torches raised against the darkness.

Lucerys’ hand rested on the pommel of his sword. He wondered if he’d have reason to use it tonight. He expected to find the nest empty, the bird flown… but by the gods, he hoped otherwise. This conspiracy threatened everything Luke held dear. His mother, his brothers, his mate. These bastards had come terrifyingly close to snatching Aemond away forever. His omega, who Luke was supposed to protect with everything he had, and he’d failed at the first real threat. Aemond had killed his would-be assassin, but he shouldn’t’ve had to! Lucerys should’ve done it. He prayed fervently that Tybor Greymont was a fool or had fallen ill – anything to keep the cunt within the walls of his manse. A rat in a trap.

Greymont’s house was large for a merchant. He was certainly rich. He’d even been able to afford watchmen on the gate. They shrank back as Daemon emerged from the darkness. They stared at the Targaryen prince wide-eyed, not daring to reach for their own weapons.

“Open it up,” Daemon demanded. His bone white skin and silver hair gleamed in the torchlight. “In the name of the Queen.”

The watchmen unlocked the gate and stood aside. They didn’t question Daemon’s authority. Who in their right mind would? With his pale hair and the company of knights behind him, each with a three-headed dragon etched into their breastplate, there was no mistaking who he was. They were swiftly relieved of their weapons and replaced by the gold cloaks, who stood guard on the gate to make sure nobody else entered the manse – and nobody left it either.

Inside the gate was a courtyard, neatly paved and with two trees to provide shade. There was a stable to one side of the yard, and the great manse itself on the other, both encircled by a high wall to keep trespassers and thieves out. Lyonel Bentley stepped forward and hammered on the door with one gauntleted fist. A moment later a frightened looking boy opened it.

From that point onwards, all was chaos. Knights and gold cloaks swarmed through the opulent manse. Screams and cries of shock echoed throughout the passageways as the search party burst in on sleeping men and women, tucked away in their beds. Servants were made to answer questions. Some were in tears. Tybor Greymont’s bedchamber was located. The man wasn’t in it. The bed was cold and unslept in.

“Please, please… he’s not here,” a skinny man dressed only in his nightshirt protested frantically. He was held roughly by the arm, dragged along the passage by one of the knights. He was a beta, about thirty or so. He looked afraid. Of course he was afraid. He would’ve been an idiot otherwise.

“Who’re you?” Lucerys demanded sternly, even as his heart sank. It was as he’d suspected then. Greymont was gone.

“I’m Master Greymont’s clerk,” the man gabbled, eyes darting about anxiously. “Please ser, he’s not here. He’s dead.”

Luke briefly wondered if his ears had deceived him. “Dead?” he asked sharply.

“Murdered,” the clerk told him. The poor bastard was trembling he was so scared. “Two days ago! We had his funeral at the sept only this morning.”

Luke grabbed the beta by the collar, looking him dead in the eyes. “Murdered? Listen to me. Do you know who I am? I’m Prince Lucerys. My stepfather is here too. You know of Daemon Targaryen, don’t you? You know what he does to people who deceive him? This is the Queen’s business, you understand? If you’re lying to me, it’ll cost you your head.”

“I’m not!” the clerk protested shrilly. Even for a beta, he was so frightened the stink of his fear was palpable in the air. “I’m not lying! I swear on the gods! My master’s dead! His throat was slit in his own study! It… gods it was dreadful. May the Father protect us all.”

Lucerys felt wrongfooted. Whatever else he’d expected to discover here tonight, this hadn’t been it. Greymont’s throat had been slit in the man’s own home! What in the seven hells was going on?

“Who found the body?” he demanded, tugging threateningly on the clerk’s nightshirt.

“My mistress!” the clerk yapped. “She’s a delicate thing. It was all too much for her and she fainted.”

“Where is your mistress?” Lucerys let go of the man. “Where’s her bedchamber?”

“The floor above,” said the clerk. “But… I beg you to be gentle with her. Please, please, my prince. The poor woman is with child, and she’s already been through so much.”

Lucerys needed to find Daemon. The house was being ransacked from top to bottom by the dim light of candles. Luke found one of the knights, the only omega among their number, and sent the man to rouse Greymont’s wife and keep her confined in her bedchamber for questioning. He found Daemon interrogating Greymont’s steward, getting much the same story Lucerys had - that Greymont had been murdered two days earlier, within these very walls. The bird wasn’t flown. The bird was dead.

“Where’s this study?” Daemon wanted to know.

The cowering steward showed them. It was at the rear of the house, overlooking the street that led directly to the Iron Gate. Lucerys peered through the thick glass of the narrow window. Even at this hour, there were people coming and going. A writing desk was pushed up against the wall, beneath the window. Daemon forced the steward to light the candles before dismissing the man. There were a lot of them, giving off a strong light. Clearly Greymont had often sat in here after dark.

“Nothing here but shipping manifests and drivel,” Daemon cursed as he rifled through the pages of a large, leather-bound book atop Greymont’s desk. There was a box, the sort of place a rich man might keep his letters – but it was open and empty. Daemon swore vehemently, slamming the book closed and flinging it down onto the floor in a fit of temper. It landed with a heavy thud.

“Be careful,” Lucerys snapped at his stepfather, picking the book up and placing it back on the desk. “There could be something valuable in there.”

“There won’t be,” Daemon growled. He picked up a candle and crossed to the small fireplace. “Look. Ash in the hearth. We’ve had nothing but hot days for over a week. Why would anyone want to light a fire? The cunt was burning things. Darke’s letters. The gods damn it all.”

It was a dead end. Another one. It was exactly what Luke had been expecting, yet the frustration and disappointment were intense. Every single time the conspirators drew close, the traitors slipped through their fingers. It was like trying to catch smoke on the wind.

“Look there too,” Daemon muttered, moving the candle. There was a large stain on the floor, black against the dark boards. “Blood. It’s soaked into the wood.”

“Spilled from Tybor Greymont’s cut throat,” Lucerys murmured. “Gods. What the hells happened in this house?”

“Murder,” said Daemon. “Treachery.” His eyes glimmered by the light of the candle he was holding.

The entirety of the manse was searched, from the cellars to the rafters, but nothing was found. Tomorrow, Lucerys would have the septon who’d performed Greymont’s funeral found and questioned. Just to be sure. But he was inclined to believe the story of murder. Nobody in their right minds would make up such a fanciful tale if they wanted to fake their death and slip away.

There were half-a-dozen household servants within the manse, and two grooms who slept out in the hayloft. There was also the jittery beta clerk, and the Greymont family themselves. Tybor’s unmarried sister lived with him. The man’s widow, Mistress Joanna Greymont, was heavily pregnant with their first child.

The widow was their only meagre hope. Perhaps she knew something. Perhaps her husband had shared his schemes with her. Half an hour after he’d first marched through the manse’s gates, Daemon swept into the poor woman’s bedchamber with Lucerys in tow.

Mistress Greymont was sitting up in her nightdress, her maid hovering anxiously at her side. She was young and slender. A wisp of a thing, really – with the exception of her heavily rounded belly. She clutched at it, as though frightened for the babe. The air inside the room was thick with fear.

Joanna Greymont was an omega. Her scent was enough to make even Daemon falter. The smell of a frightened, pregnant omega was difficult for any alpha to ignore. Almost immediately, Lucerys felt nearly overcome by the powerful urge to do something for the woman. To make her absurd promises about how it would all be alright. He glanced over at his stepfather. Daemon’s surly, threatening aura was suddenly subdued. He took his hand off Dark Sister’s hilt.

The young widow tried to rise, to curtsey – hindered by her swollen belly and her emotional state.

“No need for that,” Daemon said. “Sit.”

She did.

“Mistress Greymont,” Daemon said in a quiet, yet firm voice. “You’re a loyal subject of the Queen, yes?”

The little omega nodded, eyes shining wetly with tears.

“Then you’ve nothing to fear. You just have to tell me the truth. You found your husband dead? Slain inside this house?”

“I… I did my lord,” Greymont’s wife stuttered. The scent of her fear spiked palpably. Lucerys winced. Poor thing. This was brutish. They should leave and speak with her in the morning. “He was on… he was on the floor. There was blood everywhere.” The woman began crying properly, ducking her head and pressing a delicate hand over her mouth.

“Do you know who killed him?” Daemon pressed.

She gathered herself a little and shook her head. “He had a visitor, late the night before. The servant who let him in said the man was an alpha, but he was cloaked and hooded. Nobody saw his face. My husband took the stranger up to the study so they could talk.”

“And you think this alpha murdered him?”

Mistress Greymont sobbed. “Yes,” she choked out. Her maid fussed over her. Daemon frowned and dismissed the servant. She was visibly reluctant to leave her mistress, but didn’t dare disobey.

“Did your husband have many such visitors?” Lucerys asked gently. “Strangers who didn’t show their faces?”

“Yes,” the timid omega said, wiping away her tears with the back of her trembling hand. “Twice before. Both times they were hooded. Both times they came at odd hours. I – ”

“Let me through! Let me through the gods damn you!” a woman’s voice demanded angrily in the passageway outside. A moment later an alpha barged past the knight stood in the doorway. He exclaimed angrily and grabbed her by the arm, intending to drag her back out again. But Daemon nodded, and the woman was let through. At once she threw herself to her knees by Mistress Greymont’s chair, clutching the distressed omega’s hand.

“Are you alright, Joanna?” she fretted. “Have you been hurt?”

“Nobody’s laid a finger on her,” Daemon said sharply. “And who exactly are you?”

“My name is Tyanna Greymont, my lord,” the alpha said, getting to her feet and bowing deferentially. She was dressed in leggings and a rumpled tunic, her feet bare. She’d clearly dressed in a frantic hurry. “This is my brother’s house. Or it was.”

“You’re Greymont’s sister?” Lucerys said.

“I am, my lord,” the woman said. She shifted ever so slightly to the left, so that she was stood protectively between the upset omega in the chair and Daemon. “I help – I helped – my brother with his business dealings.”

“You’re very concerned for your good-sister’s wellbeing,” remarked Daemon.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Tyanna replied defiantly – before abruptly remembering who she was addressing. She blanched, going pale even by the dim candlelight. “I… please forgive me! I spoke out of turn.”

Lucerys expected Daemon to lose his temper with the other alpha. But instead, his stepsire let the insolence go. Daemon was known to like the company of female alphas as drinking companions, from time to time. There were even lurid, scandalous whispers that, in his youth, he’d indulged in more than just merrymaking with them. Perhaps those stories were partly to blame for why the rumours about the Queen had persisted for so long. Daemon would never tolerate a direct challenge from an alpha woman… but he was still inclined to let them get away with things he’d never permit from their male counterparts.

Daemon looked past Tyanna Greymont to the young widow behind her. “How far along with child are you?” he enquired of the omega.

“Seven moons, my lord,” she mumbled, cradling her belly.

“You weren’t mated to your husband?” Daemon said. Truthfully, it was less of a question and more of an observation. There was no mating bite on Joanna Greymont’s neck – the slender column of which was entirely visible as she sat in only her nightdress.

“No, my lord,” Mistress Greymont told Daemon. “Tybor was a beta.”

“You were telling me - before your good-sister here interrupted - about the strangers who’d been visiting your husband at odd hours.”

“Please, my lord, I didn’t know who they were! I asked Tybor once and he was angry with me for it. Told me to shut my eyes and my mouth.”

“What about you?” Daemon said, addressing the sister. “What did you know of it?”

“Nothing more than poor Joanna, your grace,” Tyanna said. “I asked my brother about his visitors too. In truth… we argued about it more than once. I thought he’d involved himself in something criminal. He was always in need of more money.”

“I thought your brother was a rich man?” said Lucerys.  

“He was. But these days he spent the gold just as fast as he made it - the gods rest his foolish soul. Tybor liked to impress other rich men. That doesn’t come cheap.”

“Tell me about the night your brother died,” Daemon said. “Were you here in the house?”

“No, my lord,” Tyanna Greymont moved to stand by her brother’s widow. She reached down and took the omega’s hand again, holding it like it was the most precious object in all the world. “I dined with a friend who keeps a house on the Hook. The hour grew very late, so I slept there.”

“Mistress Greymont then, you’d better tell me about that night. Leave nothing out, understand? I don’t give a damn what loyalty you imagine you owe your dead husband. I don’t care about his reputation – or yours. I’ll have the truth, or I’ll have you in the dungeons. Babe in your belly or no.”

The cowering omega let out a terrified little whine that seemed to reach into the deepest recesses of Luke’s soul. He opened his mouth to assure the woman that Daemon hadn’t meant it – before getting hold of himself and clamping his jaw shut again. Of course Daemon had meant it.

Luke had always been bad for this, ever since he'd presented as a boy. Weak for omegas. Even more so than other alphas. If someone ever dared menace Aemond like this, when he was frightened and vulnerable, then Lucerys would break something. Their arms and legs, most likely. Of course, first someone would have to find Aemond frightened and vulnerable. What would he have done, if he’d been sitting there in Mistress Greymont’s place? Gods, he’d probably have insulted Daemon twice by now. Insulted him, threatened him, and been hauled away to the dungeons for his trouble.

“Tybor sat up late in his study,” Joanna Greymont began. “I went in to say goodnight. There was a fire blazing in the hearth, and it was terribly hot in there. Tybor was… he was burning something. I don’t know what. I think he was afraid. He told me to get out, so I did.”

“And…?” Daemon pushed.

“The next morning, the steward told me that Tybor hadn’t slept in his bed. We kept separate chambers, you see,” the omega flushed, even though there was nothing unusual about such an arrangement between an unmated pair. “The door to his study was locked, and the servants couldn’t get any answer. I had the only other key, so I went to unlock it, and…”

She burst into a fresh bout of tears. “Forgive me, please forgive me…” she babbled through her sobbing. Her good-sister fussed over her, gently wiping away the tears and cooing something in a low voice that Lucerys couldn’t quite make out.

“Tybor was lying on the floor, in his own blood,” Mistress Greymont continued haltingly. “His throat had been cut. I… it was terrible. Please my lords, it must’ve been the man who came to the house that night! Oh, the gods preserve me, what if he comes back?”

“He won’t,” Tyanna reassured her, rubbing her hand soothingly.

“Tell me about your brother,” Daemon addressed the alpha now. “What kind of a man was he? You said he liked wealthy company.”

“My brother had expensive tastes,” Tyanna Greymont said with dour frankness. Lucerys got the distinct impression that there hadn’t been much love lost between the siblings of late. “He liked fine things. I didn’t begrudge him that. He worked hard for what he had. We both worked hard for it. But it was never enough for Tybor. He always wanted more. More riches. More influence.”

“Did he have any highborn friends?”

“A few, my lord. But Tybor had a lot of friends. He could be very charming, when he wanted to be. He liked to dine with other rich men and women. He played at cards and dice - and lost too much damned money at the tables. He liked… for company he liked…”

“He liked whores,” Joanna interrupted in a small voice.

“He owned a brothel on the Street of Silk, didn’t he?” said Daemon. “The Sweet Garden. Tell me about it.”

“Yes,” said Tyanna. She looked abashed. “He liked to send his friends there. He liked to show off.”

“Did you ever visit the brothel yourself?”

“No. Never. Please… please my lords, what’s all this about? My brother was many things, but I promise he was no traitor.”

Daemon smiled humourlessly. “So says the kin of every traitor who ever walked.”

It was the smallest, darkest hour of the night before Daemon and Lucerys left the manse. The search had yielded nothing except a fresh mystery. As they left through the front door, Daemon punched the frame. None of the knights trailing behind them dared comment.

“Gods damn it,” the prince consort hissed through clenched teeth.

“No answers,” Lucerys muttered gloomily. He raised his torch higher so that he could see into the night. “Just another corpse.”

“Who cut the bastard’s throat?” Daemon said. “And why?”

“To shut up him, surely?” They stepped out into the street and the knights and guards fanned out around them.

“They’re ruthless bastards then, to slit the throat of one of their own like that. In the man’s own home, no less.”

Lucerys was surprised at his stepfather. “Did you think they were anything else?”

Daemon snorted. “No. These whoresons are cowards and dogs. I just would’ve thought they’d hide Greymont instead. Steal him away to the Free Cities. Some fucking idiot like Robyn Darke they’d kill. A man with no land and no coin. But a rich man? One of their own kind?”

“Rich but common born,” said Lucerys. “Money but no title. No noble blood. Even Darke had that.”

“True.”

“Perhaps he isn’t dead,” Lucerys mused. “Perhaps the widow lied. Maybe they snatched some poor wretch off the street and killed him – and the real Tybor Greymont is a hundred miles from here by now.”

“You smelled her distress, same as me. That was real.”

“Distress about what though?” It was easier, now Lucerys was away from the scent of the pregnant omega, to see things more clearly. “The death of her husband, or fear we’d found them out?”

“Perhaps…” Daemon muttered. “You saw how she and that alpha were. Any fool could see the two of them are lovers. Probably that babe in her belly was sired by the sister rather than the brother. Maybe Mistress Greymont was only too eager to make herself a widow in the eyes of the world. I’d wager a hundred dragons she’ll have the bite within a year.”

Lucerys felt deflated. He hadn’t really expected any answers. But it still felt like a knife in the gut not to get them. To be even more lost than before. Every single thread they pulled on broke in their hands.

They returned to the Red Keep, tired and despondent. Lucerys crept silently into his bedchamber, without a candle. The clouds outside had cleared, and the gentle glow of the moon provided just enough light to see by. It streamed through the window as Lucerys left his clothes in a pile on the floor. He couldn’t be bothered to search for his nightshirt in the darkness. Besides, he didn’t want to wake Aemond, who was fast asleep in their bed.

His husband shifted restlessly as Lucerys slipped naked beneath the blankets. For a brief second Luke thought he’d wake, but he didn’t.

Carefully, he shuffled as close to his mate as he could get without disturbing him. Close enough to smell the air of ripe apples that hung around the sleeping omega. It was such a soft scent for Aemond. If Luke had been asked to guess, he would’ve speculated that his estranged husband smelled perhaps of citrus. Maybe mint. Something sweet but with a sharp edge to it. But no, summer apples it was. Lucerys would never get enough of it. He leaned in to smell the sweetness better.

Luke had sent word to Aemond, informing him that he’d be out on the Queen’s business that night. He’d wanted to deliver the message himself, worried Aemond wouldn’t believe it otherwise. That’d he’d convince himself Luke was out at a brothel, or something mad like that. But Daemon had been so impatient, there’d been no time. Aemond must’ve had faith in Lucerys – for once. Otherwise, he wouldn’t’ve been sleeping so peacefully now.

Luke wanted badly to hold him. To go to sleep with the comforting weight of his omega in his arms. He didn’t know why the urge was so strong tonight, but he was too tired to question it. Doing so would wake Aemond up, however, and he didn’t want to do that either. So, Lucerys just lay there, staring at him.

Aemond looked achingly beautiful in the moonlight. His long, pale hair gleamed. His skin too. Even his face, normally so quick to glare and scowl, was almost serene in sleep. Luke felt sick with love for him. His. His mate. As the gods had intended it. Why else would they have put the mad idea in old King Viserys’ head to marry them? Why else would they have saved Aemond from drowning in the Gods Eye? No. This was how things were meant to be. This was why Lucerys had done all those foolish, inexplicable things to keep Aemond here, with him. It’d been fated like this.

At length, he drifted away into sleep.

…

Lucerys was woken the next morning by a hand sliding up his bare chest and wrapping gently around his neck. He blinked his eyes open. The daylight inside the room was muted. Somebody had pulled the heavy drapes across the windows. The hand belonged to Aemond, who was sitting on the edge of their bed, fully dressed. For the briefest moment, his long, agile fingers tightened dangerously around Luke’s throat – before sliding gracefully around to cup his jaw instead. Aemond smirked down at him.

“What time is it?” Luke mumbled, stifling a yawn.

“Nearly midday,” Aemond said. “You’ve slept late.”

“I came to bed late,” Lucerys offered in his defence.

“And why was that? What business of the Queen’s took you out in the middle of the night?”

Luke smiled like a lazy cat as he shifted languidly beneath the blankets. He was half-hard. “Give me a kiss and I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me and I won’t drag these blankets off you,” Aemond countered – although his tone was light. Amused, even. “Leave you bare and cold.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Lucerys declared boldly, gripping onto the soft lambswool of his fine bedding with both hands.

Something gleamed in Aemond’s eye. Out of nowhere he suddenly lunged forward, clambering up onto the bed and swinging his leg over Luke so that he was sitting astride him – and quite unapologetically dropping all his weight down onto his alpha. By the gods, it took everything Lucerys had not to grind up into the contact. There was nothing merely half-hard about his cock now. He stared up at his mate on top of him, his perfect omega, fully clothed from the high collar of his black jerkin down to his booted feet – in sharp contrast to Lucerys himself, who was still completely naked.

“You don’t think I could?” Aemond demanded, his own hands sinking into the soft bedding as he leaned forward, bracing himself over Luke.

“I think you could best me with a sword nine times out of ten, but in a contest of strength?” Lucerys grinned. He lurched upwards, grabbing Aemond by the narrow waist, rolling him over and planting him squarely on his back – Lucerys now on top. It wasn’t the fleetest manoeuvre in the world. In truth, Luke was too afraid of accidentally striking Aemond’s skull against the great carved headboard of their bed. And so he knew that, despite the look of outrage on his face, Aemond had permitted it to happen.

“See, my love?” Lucerys crowed. “Aren’t you glad to have such a strong alpha to protect you?”

“Truly? Where is he? Standing guard on the door?” Aemond said waspishly. Although his flesh and blood eye quite shamelessly dragged itself over as much of Luke’s bare skin as it could see.

“I propose a different exchange. A kiss, and I’ll let you up.”

“Let me up, and I won’t knee you so hard in the balls they drop off,” was Aemond’s compelling counteroffer. He didn’t sound like he meant it though.

“One kiss,” Lucerys insisted. “Just one. Please sweetheart.”

Aemond rolled his real eye, leaning up and kissing Lucerys. It was surprisingly ardent. Lucerys quickly found himself to be a liar. He didn’t let Aemond up at all. Quite the opposite in fact. He groaned and pressed down onto his husband hungrily. He wanted him. Gods, he smelled good. Better even than normal. Luke broke the kiss so that he could press his face into Aemond’s neck, pulling aside the high collar so that he could mouth over the bite. Aemond moaned.

The sound of somebody entering their rooms was just audible. Luke was dimly aware that the door to their bedchamber was open. But he didn’t care. Let whoever it was get an eyeful and fuck off.

Aemond clearly felt differently. He shoved Lucerys off, scrambling to sit upright, pale cheeks flushed. He pulled his collar back up, concealing the mating bite again.

Seven fucking hells, this’d better be important.

Lucerys got up, trying to will his erection away. It seemed it wasn’t going to get any satisfaction just yet. He wrapped one of the bedsheets around himself and stomped out to the solar. An alarmed looking page startled at the sight of him.

“What is it?” Luke snapped.

“Forgive me, Prince Lucerys,” the boy said, bowing. “I bring a message from the Queen.”

“Yes?”

“She asks that you meet her in the sept this afternoon. As the bells strike.”

“The sept?”

“Yes, my prince.”

What could his mother possibly want to meet him in the sept for? Well, no matter. The sooner he agreed, the sooner the page would leave, and the sooner Luke could go back to his mate.

“Alright. Tell the Queen I’ll see her then. Now get out.”

The boy departed in a hurry. Lucerys went back to his bedchamber only to find that Aemond was now sitting on the edge of the bed straightening his rumpled clothes, all playfulness gone. His heart sank.

“Enough games,” Aemond declared. “I really will knee you in the balls if you don’t tell me where you went last night.”

Lucerys sighed. He sat down heavily on the bed, still wrapped in the sheet, and began to tell the tale of Darke’s letter and the traitorous brothel owner who’d been murdered under his own roof.

“Who killed him?” Aemond asked. “I thought the thugs had fled the city moons ago. When they burned down that farmhouse.”

Lucerys shrugged. “Perhaps one of them came back. Perhaps somebody else did it.”

“You fear they mean to kill your brothers?”

“I fear they mean to kill us all. I fear they mean to kill you still. Gods, it’s like snatching at shadows.”

“You don’t snatch at shadows,” Aemond remarked. “You light a candle.”

“I wish I knew how,” Lucerys despaired. “Bah – let’s not talk about it now. I’m starved.” His belly was empty and making itself well known.

“I’ll have something brought up for you to eat,” Aemond said, standing.

“No,” Lucerys said. He rose, abandoning the bedsheet and flinging open the heavy drapes across the window - despite being as naked as the day he was born. “It’s a fine morning. How long have you been trapped in here? Let’s go to the gardens and eat there. I want to be outside.”

They ate their midday meal sat comfortably in the cool shade beneath an old cherry tree. Aemond didn’t care for being in the blazing sun too much. He burned rather easily. Food and drink were brought from the kitchens. Cold meats, some freshly cooked fish, and a little bowl of toasted almonds. Lucerys did most of the eating. Aemond, who’d taken breakfast, wasn’t as hungry. He seemed content to sit pressed right up against his husband and pick idly at the food. It was uncharacteristically affectionate behaviour, especially considering they were outside where anyone could see them. But Lucerys wasn’t going to complain. Whatever fond mood Aemond was in, long may it continue.

It was very pleasant. Even the guards trailing them were content to linger at a distance, talking between themselves. Perhaps the fine weather was the reason for Aemond’s good mood. Or perhaps it was because the Queen had given him permission to compete in the Kingswood tourney. Lucerys had no doubt the instant the stitches were out of his arm, his mate would demand to be given a sword to practise with. That’d make for a fine gift, in fact. Lucerys would go to the most skilled master blacksmith in the city and purchase one.

Lucerys was pleased Aemond was happy… but he didn’t understand why his mother had allowed it. She didn’t even trust Aemond to live on Dragonstone without causing trouble. It made Luke uneasy.

“Your brother’s here,” Aemond suddenly remarked, picking up an almond and eating it. He nodded towards a large bush. Peering around the leaves was a head of silver-white hair.

“I can see you, Aegon,” Luke called out. “Seven hells, have you given the maester the slip again?”

It was an extraordinary talent the young prince possessed – to slip away silently whilst his teachers were briefly distracted with something else. They often complained to the Queen about it. But she only ever gently rebuked Aegon for his misbehaviour. Daemon outright encouraged it, clearly seeing a little of himself in his son’s rebellious habit. But in light of what Robyn Darke had written in that damned letter of his… Lucerys suspected the indulgence was about to come to a sudden end.

Caught, and entirely unashamed about it, Aegon sauntered over and sat down with them. He began helping himself to the food.

“You should be at your lessons,” Lucerys chided.

“I’ll go to them,” Aegon insisted, eating a piece of fish. “I’m only late, that’s all. Hello again, Uncle Aemond.”

“Hello,” Aemond said. He sounded unimpressed. “Do you often shirk your lessons, nephew? Are you dull? Or are you lazy?”

Aegon gaped. He looked to Lucerys for some brotherly solidarity, found none, and scowled. “Neither! I’ll go to my lessons. Just not right now.”

“Lazy then,” Aemond pronounced, picking up another almond and eating it.

“I’m not lazy!” Aegon insisted, offended. He looked genuinely upset by the accusation. For whatever reason, the boy liked Aemond. And so the criticism stung extra hard.

“Aegon isn’t lazy,” Luke said, finally mustering up a defence of his brother. “He just finds the lessons boring. And to be fair… Maester Berwen is dry as a dusty old prayer book.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Aemond fixed Aegon with a hard look. “You’re a prince. What’re you going to do when you’re a grown man and you don’t know the history of your mother’s kingdom? When you embarrass her, because you don’t know how to behave?”

Aegon flushed.

“Aemond,” Lucerys chastised gently – although, privately, he thought perhaps his husband had a point. Their mother was far too soft on Aegon sometimes. It’d been one thing when he was a small child, but the lad was fast growing up. Luke didn’t recall having been allowed to shirk his lessons when he’d felt like it. But then, Luke hadn’t spent his early childhood surrounded by blood and death. “Aegon isn’t lazy. He isn’t…”

He isn’t like your brother Aegon, Luke wanted to finish. But he didn’t, because it would’ve been like throwing a flaming torch into a lake of wildfire.

“… he isn’t dull either,” Luke said instead. “He’ll go to his lessons and learn everything he needs to. Won’t you?”

“Yes!” Aegon snapped, pale cheeks pink with embarrassment and sulky anger.

“I – ” Aemond started, and then abruptly seemed to remember that Aegon was Rhaenyra’s child, and that he didn’t care whether the boy attended his lessons or not. “Do as you please. Perhaps I shouldn’t expect anything else.”

Lucerys sighed as the flush on Aegon’s face grew even deeper, and the boy scrambled to his feet, glaring at his uncle – before storming off.

“There was no call for that. He respects you. Likes you. People who like you are in short supply around here, Aemond.”

“No call for what?” Aemond said. “The truth?”

“You – forget it.” Lucerys picked up his cup of small beer and drank. He didn’t want to have an argument and spoil things. Aegon would come around. Besides… the boy really should’ve been in his lessons. Aemond hadn’t been entirely wrong – although he’d imparted his advice with all the delicacy of a rock to the face.

Would he be like this with their children? If ever… if perhaps…

No. No that would spoil the day as well. Best not to think about it.

Slowly, it approached the time Luke was supposed to meet his mother. Aemond was beginning to complain of the heat, so they went back inside. Lucerys brought his mate back to their rooms and then set out for the modest sept housed with the palace walls. Two of the Queensguard were stood on silent watch at the door.

Luke was surprised to have been summoned here. His mother had never spoken ill of the gods – not like Aemond had taken to doing – but nor was she particularly devout either. She attended the important holy ceremonies, but Lucerys had never known her to pray before. Even during the war. And yet… there she was now. On her knees before the septon, who was solemnly blessing her. His hand was touched to the Queen’s head as he mumbled a liturgy.

When he was finished, the septon held Rhaenyra’s hand as she rose to her feet. “Prince Lucerys. Are you also here to receive a blessing?”

“Forgive us,” Rhaenyra said. “I was hoping to indulge in quiet prayer with my son. I suspect we’re both in need of divine guidance.”

“Of course, your grace,” the septon said. “I’ll be in my private antechamber, should you require me.”

He bowed low and left Lucerys and his mother alone.

To Luke’s further surprise, his mother had meant it when she’d said she wanted to pray. Rhaenyra knelt before the Mother’s altar, using a taper to light three candles. Three candles – three surviving children, three children lost. She murmured a quiet prayer, the words of which Lucerys couldn’t make out

He sat down on one of the wooden benches, not in the mood to pray. During services, they were padded with cushions for comfort. But now they were bare and hard. Luke’s gaze swept across the sept’s crystal windows. They were very beautiful. Each one a testament to the craftsman’s art.

It was the window above the altar to the Smith that really caught his eye. It depicted a blacksmith’s hammer, fashioned out of smoky crystal. Luke smiled ruefully. He’d stared at that crude hammer before. It’d been visible above Aemond’s shoulder when they’d stood in this very sept and made their wedding vows. Lucerys, only just presented as an alpha, had been terrified of his betrothed. He hadn’t even been able to look Aemond in the face. Instead, he’d stared over his soon-to-be husband’s shoulder, at that hammer.

His younger self had begged his mother to let him run away. And never more desperately than on that last morning. If he could only get to Dragonstone, then he could fly away on Arrax. Fly away and marry somebody else. Anybody else.

Luke had cried, and his mother had cried too – although she’d smiled through her tears, promising him it’d be alright. That he’d grow up to be a man, and by the time he’d be forced to live with his husband, Aemond would be no kind of threat. He’d just be a sulky, sullen omega that Luke could ignore entirely – once the marriage had been consummated, of course. Rhaenyra had promised he could find love with somebody else. Somebody kind and beautiful, who’d adore him in return. That Aemond wouldn’t matter. That he’d be little more than a formality in Lucerys’ life.

In the present day, Lucerys snorted at the very idea. His mother’s reassurances had been well meaning, but they now struck Lucerys as mildly delusional too. Nobody who understood anything of Aemond’s character could’ve possibly believed he’d ever tolerate that life. It wouldn’t’ve mattered that he and Lucerys would’ve loathed one another. Aemond would’ve never tolerated the humiliation of Luke parading a lover in his place.

Would they have hated each other forever? How would it all have come to pass, if the war hadn’t happened? If Aegon had successfully run away, or if King Viserys had lived just a handful of years more? Would Luke ever have given Aemond the bite? Would he ever have found his husband desirable? Or – without the horrors of war to change them - would the pair of them have been doomed to wallow in their mutual resentment forever?

Would Aemond have been able to forgive Lucerys for taking his eye? Luke couldn’t answer that question. He wasn’t even sure that the real Aemond, who willing slept in his bed every night, would ever be able to do that.

Gods – Lucerys remembered vividly how the mere idea of taking Aemond to bed had made his younger self sick with fright. His mother had reassured him he wouldn’t have to do the deed until he was older. But even then, Luke had dreaded it down to his marrow. When he’d imagined what it’d be like, he’d pictured Aemond laying on their marriage bed like a corpse. Refusing to participate in the act at all. Leaving Lucerys to do all the work. The idea of seeing Aemond’s bare flesh spread before him, of being inside him… fucking him to put a child in him… it’d been horrifying.

Lucerys tilted his head back and took in the austere images of the gods that surrounded him. Perhaps it’d been their little joke. Because now Lucerys would fuck Aemond from dawn to dusk if he could. He couldn’t get enough of him. Couldn’t get enough of being in him. Pressed into that perfect, hot, tight heat. Delighting in every inch of his mate. Like a corpse in bed? Hah. Aemond was a dragon. They both were. One day they’d set their bed afire, if they weren’t careful.

Luke breathed in deeply, inhaling the incense heavy air. He found himself wishing they could get married again. He wanted to look Aemond in the eye and make those vows once more - but mean then this time.

He laughed quietly and shook his head at his own mawkishness. The gods alone knew what Aemond would make of such a proposal. He’d probably call it tiresome chivalric foolishness. Besides, the bite sealed their union deeper than any promises made in any sept.

The Queen finished her prayers. She came to sit next to her eldest son.

“Why’re we here?” Lucerys asked. “You’ve never put much stock in the gods.”

His mother smiled sadly. “Perhaps that’s where I’ve gone wrong. The septons are convinced I’m a heretic. A small show of piety won’t hurt. Nor will a few prayers. Who knows? Perhaps the gods are listening.”

“What did you pray for?”

“For your safety,” said Rhaenyra. “And Aegon’s, and Viserys’. My darling children. My most precious treasures. I can’t lose another of you, Luke. Jacaerys, Joffrey… it split my heart in two. One more and it’ll shatter altogether.”

“You won’t,” Lucerys reassured his mother. He took her slender hand and squeezed it gently.

“If only you could keep that promise. But you can’t. Nobody can. It’s up to me to keep you safe.”

“I’m a grown man,” Lucerys reminded her. “I’ve spilled blood and felt the hand of death on my own shoulder. It’s not your place to keep me safe anymore.”

“I know,” his mother sighed. “But you want to keep others safe, don’t you? Your brothers? Aemond – I know you want to keep Aemond safe.”

Of course he did. “I don’t follow,” Lucerys said, confused.

“Luke, I’m granting you permission to take Aemond to Dragonstone. On one condition.”

Lucerys sat up straighter. “What is it?”

“That your brothers go to Dragonstone too. I need them away from the city. Away from those who wish them harm. I need you to watch over them for me. To keep them safe. Until I find out who’s behind this treason and have them hanged. Do you agree to these terms?”

“Of course I do,” Lucerys said without hesitation. Had his mother doubted it? He’d do anything to keep Aegon and Viserys safe.

“Good,” said Rhaenyra. “Gods, I wish you could all stay here with me. I want us to be together. Aegon’s going to be a man before I know it. Viserys grows like a weed. I can’t bear to be parted. I can’t bear it. But I must…”

Tears slid down her cheeks. Immediately Lucerys wrapped his arms around his mother and held her tight. He wanted to go to Dragonstone. He’d been hellbent on it ever since Robyn Darke had tried to murder Aemond. But all of a sudden, the idea of leaving King’s Landing, of leaving his mother alone… it was unbearable. He told her so.

“My sweet boy,” she said, drying her tears with the sleeve of her gown. “I won’t be alone. Daemon will be here. Ser Lyonel, Gerardys… But I couldn’t sleep for worry last night, thinking about that damned letter. I mean it, Luke, I can’t lose another of you. I’ll rest easier when you and your brothers are away from here. Dragonstone is the safest place in the whole kingdom.”

“Do you remember what I said before?” Lucerys said. “One raven, and I’ll fly straight back to the city.”

“I know. I wish… gods, I wish I still had Syrax. I wish I could fly to Dragonstone myself. I wish… I wish none of it had happened.”

Her tears intensified and a soft sob seized her. Heart aching, Lucerys tucked her head under his chin. He remembered being a young boy, held in her arms. How big she’d seemed then. Solid and resolute. Now she seemed small, so easily enfolded in Luke’s embrace. It was he who had to be solid and resolute now. His gaze fell on the altar of the Mother. To the statue standing over it, looking down serenely. Let her watch over Lucerys’ own mother, he prayed silently. Let the goddess keep the Queen safe, in the times when Luke could not.

Chapter Text

“Don’t move,” the Grand Maester warned as he got ready to cut out the stitches in Aemond’s arm. “If you stay still, this will only take a moment.”

The old man was deft, Aemond would grant him that. His knobbly fingers moved with surprising nimbleness. Aemond hissed as the thread was pulled quickly but carefully from his flesh, but otherwise he did as he was told and stayed still. Within a minute the stitches were removed. The skin beneath had knitted together nicely.

“Some way to go yet, but otherwise a good job if I do say so myself,” pronounced Gerardys, examining the healing wound. “Nothing but a faint scar I think, in the fullness of time.”

“Hmm,” said Aemond, angling his arm so that he could peer down at the raised pink line that cut across it. It felt sore still. Gerardys had told him that the blade had cut down into the muscle itself.

“I’d still advise against using the arm for anything too strenuous,” Gerardys said, tucking his sharp little knife back into his roll of medical instruments. “No swordplay for a while yet.”

Aemond looked sharply at Gerardys. The old man just shrugged affably.

“There’s been much court gossip about your name appearing on the lists for the Queen’s great tourney,” the maester explained. “I’m sure you want to practise – but not yet. Wait another moon, my prince. Or you’ll do yourself more harm than good.”

“Fine then,” Aemond said, shrugging his shirt back on.

“I also think you should have the maester at Dragonstone examine the injury until it’s healed. But I know you’ll ignore my advice. I fear, Prince Aemond, you’ve the same stubborn streak as your mate – if you’ll pardon my frankness.”

“I don’t pardon it,” said Aemond, but without any real bite. Very begrudgingly, he liked Gerardys – for all the man was far too overfamiliar. He wondered what caste Gerardys was. He couldn’t tell. The old scholar smelled too powerfully of his medicinal herbs. But whatever Gerardys was, he’d never treated Aemond with the same dismissive contempt as that first bastard maester who’d come to examine him after he’d presented. The burning humiliation of that memory was still bitter and hot, all these years later.

“And if we might turn for a moment to more delicate matters…” the Grand Maester continued, primly clasping his callused hands together. “Have you noticed any signs your heat is coming on?”

Yes, Aemond had. It’d crept up slowly, but now he knew for certain what was happening to him. He felt either irritatingly restless, or bone tired all the time. Everything smelled more potent. Lucerys’ scent drew Aemond at the best of times. But now? Now it was almost like a physical force. He wanted to be with his husband all the time. He wanted to be touching him when they were together. He wanted to be held by his mate. Held, and fussed over, and told again and again that Lucerys loved him.

Aemond raged against the impulse with everything he had, and so far, he was winning.

“Yes,” he told Gerardys bluntly.

“Good. For how long?”

Aemond shrugged listlessly. “A week or so.”

“A week?” Gerardys frowned. He pressed the back of his hand to Aemond’s forehead – moving slowly, giving the prince every opportunity to object. Probably afraid – quite rightly – that Aemond would backhand him otherwise.

“You don’t feel warm,” he said. “Please forgive me, Prince Aemond, but may I…?”

No, you may fucking not, Aemond wanted to say. Instead, he gritted his teeth. “Fine,” he ground out.

Rather apologetically, Gerardys leaned in close to Aemond’s neck and breathed in his scent. He didn’t linger, stepping back quickly after just a moment or two.

“Hmm.” The maester opened his bag of herbs and ointments, taking out a little pot of numbing salve, the kind the maesters used to dull the scents of those around them. Gerardys applied a fresh dose beneath his nostrils. “Yes, there’s a hint of heat in your scent. But a full week of the early symptoms? You should be deep in the fever by now. You don’t feel any… uh, I mean…”

“No.” Aemond knew what Gerardys was driving at, and no. The physical symptoms of his heat were yet to arrive. Just the pathetic neediness.

Gerardys sighed. “There are concoctions that can induce heat. But you’ve already put your body through so much with the asp water, I’d rather not drug you again. It ought to come on very soon. A day or two. Or else I fear…”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps you’ve done yourself permanent damage,” the maester said quietly.

Permanent damage. Those words sat like a stone in Aemond’s belly, and he wasn’t sure why. Hadn’t that been what he’d wanted? To escape the degradation of his heats? Enduring them sporadically, every once in a blue moon, was surely better than being wracked by three of the cursed things a year. Aemond should’ve been hoping for permanent damage. But the idea left him hollow. He was already broken enough. How else would this supposed damage manifest? Was he taking the moon tea for no good reason? Was there no chance that…

“But let’s not preoccupy ourselves with such thoughts,” Gerardys continued briskly. What’d the knave seen on Aemond’s face to make him say that? “You had a proper heat six moons ago. Your body is capable of it. Plenty of rest and hearty food, that’s my advice. Now, you ought to dress yourself properly. The Queen wishes to see you.”

“Rhaenyra wants to see me?” Aemond realized with a jolt that he’d pressed his hand to his belly at some point during the last few moments, and he abruptly removed it.

“She does.” Gerardys picked up his medicine bag. “As Prince Lucerys is elsewhere, I shall escort you.”

“She wants to see me now?”

“Alas, is there a problem with your hearing also? I’m sure I have something that can – ”

“Enough of your yapping,” Aemond snapped irritably. He tucked his shirt into his breeches and put on his jerkin. There. Perhaps not presentable enough for a Queen, but certainly good enough for his blasted sister.

Gerardys took Aemond to the Queen’s private chambers. Or, as he still thought of them, his father’s rooms. He’d been inside them rarely. Their sire had never had much interest in Aemond - or in any of his children by his second wife. Occasionally, when Aemond and his siblings had been small, they’d been presented to Viserys in these apartments. To show the King some Valyrian translation they’d successfully managed or another minor achievement. Viserys would offer bland praise, smile benignly down at them, and then promptly lose all interest again.

The last time Aemond had been in here, it’d been to see Aegon lying in the bed. Burned, scarred, and drugged into a comatose stupor.

Rhaenyra was sitting on the covered balcony outside. She gestured silently for Aemond to take a seat next to her. Warily, he did. This felt like a trap.

“You depart for Dragonstone tomorrow,” Rhaenyra said. “Are you prepared?”

“Yes,” Aemond said carefully. She was going to spring something on him, he knew it. Why was she asking if he was prepared? What preparations could Aemond possibly make? He owned barely anything.

“Good.”

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. It didn’t last long.

“When Gerardys told me you weren’t with child after all, I confess… I didn’t know whether to be displeased or glad,” Rhaenyra suddenly announced.

There it was, Aemond thought, there was the trap. It’d been sprung quickly, at least.

“On the one hand,” Rhaenyra continued. “A trueborn child of his own would be a valuable asset for Luke. On the other… he’d be having that child with you.”

“With me.” Aemond’s mouth curled up into a sneer.

“My enemy.” Rhaenyra gazed flintily at him. “A traitor. And let us be truthful now, brother mine, is it even in you to love a child?”

Cold fury threatened to force its way up Aemond’s throat and out his mouth. How dare she. “Don’t talk like you know me,” he said angrily.

“I know you well enough.”

“I will not be some broodmare – ”

“Has anyone asked you to be?” Rhaenyra snapped. “I could’ve forbidden the moon tea brewed for you at any time. I could still forbid it - even if Luke does take you all the way to Dragonstone! But have I? No. But Lucerys must have an heir.”

“What is this? A threat? An ultimatum?”

“No. It’s a statement of the facts. How long have you been mated to my son? Seven moons? There are many years ahead of you yet. And nobody will question the lack of a child for at least one or two more of those years. But there must be one, in the fullness of time.”

“Must there?”

“Yes,” said Rhaenyra flatly. “In some ways – gods, in some ways you’re the perfect person to bear it. A trueborn son of the old king – married to Luke by his royal decree. Nobody could question the legitimacy of such a child - or doubt their royal blood. But so long as you’ve the choice… I don’t believe you’ll do it.”

“The choice!” Aemond said resentfully. “Since when do omegas in my position get the choice?”

“You sit there and talk as if I’ve not allowed you the choice this entire time! As if Luke hasn’t allowed you the choice!”

Aemond grimaced. The worst of it was… Rhaenyra was right. His requests for moon tea had never once been denied. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how unusual the arrangement was. How permissive. Moon tea was the tool of whores and heathens. Never mind that, in reality, everyone knew the noble families of Westeros made use of it – despite its sinfulness.

“There are ways around the problem.” Rhaenyra looked out over the plumes of smoke rising in weaving tendrils above King’s Landing. “In time, when things have calmed down, Lucerys could take a second spouse. A new wife or husband, in the tradition of Old Valyria. They could give him his children. His heirs.”

Aemond gripped the arm of his chair so tightly he thought he might break it. He thought the emotion that rolled over him like dragonfire was jealousy. But after a moment or two, he realised it was something else entirely - panic. At once the image presented itself, clear as crystal. Lucerys taking someone else to bed. Promising Aemond he was only doing his duty - but finding himself blissfully lost in the soft arms and alluring scent of some sweet thing. He pictured Lucerys cooing over this vague figure as they grew round with child. Fussing over their comfort. And imagined his delight when the babe arrived. When this nameless, faceless person did what Aemond wouldn’t. Or maybe couldn’t. When they made Lucerys happy beyond measure.

He felt unwell. Like he might be sick even.

“I tried to persuade the septons to it when you were believed dead,” Rhaenyra carried on, as though she hadn’t just stuck a knife in Aemond’s belly. “If they wouldn’t annul the marriage, then at least they could allow Luke take another. But the stubborn old fools wouldn’t budge. Now though, now things are different. After a few years they’ll start to think you barren, and then they’ll relent.”

Aemond did his best to swallow down the rising tide inside him. He wanted his voice to be measured when he spoke. To give nothing away.

“Why did you bring me here to tell me this?” he said. He managed to keep his voice flat. Too flat, perhaps.

“I thought it best you understood the situation before you left,” Rhaenyra said. “We’ve very little in common, brother. But I think we both prefer to have hard truths put before us, rather than comfortable lies.”

Hard truths. Yes… in his heart, Aemond had known this was the hard truth of his situation. But it was quite another thing to hear Rhaenyra lay it out so bluntly. To taunt him with it. Had she already picked out this second spouse for her beloved Lucerys? Some simpering highborn virgin. Cerelle Lannister, maybe.

“Was there anything else, your grace?” he made himself say through the hard lump in his throat.

“Only to warn you to behave yourself on Dragonstone. Lucerys might hold sway there, but it’s still within the borders of my kingdom. I’m granting you this freedom, but I can take it away again just as easily. Remember that.”

“What’s wrong, sister?” Aemond sneered. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No,” said Rhaenyra. “Oh, I believe you want to see Luke on the throne sure enough. After all, when he rules, you’ll be by his side. And Luke is hopelessly weak for you. But are you willing to wait until the gods decide to take me? I know you want your revenge.”

“Just like you want yours,” Aemond shot back. “Both of us have been denied it. Or haven’t you given up on ordering my execution one day?”

Rhaenyra regarded him cooly. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked tired and drawn. “I don’t expect you to believe me, Aemond. Because I can barely believe it myself. But no, I find I’ve no desire to see you dead anymore. Would I shed a tear if the Stranger came for you? No. But I won’t order your death – unless you give me cause.”

“Because of Lucerys.”

“Because I’m sick of death!” Rhaenyra snapped, eyes blazing. It startled Aemond. “I’ve lost enough of my family. You and I might hate each other, but by the gods, you’re the only brother I have left - for all you’re a traitorous dog. Our House is depleted. Our blood is thinned! So go to Dragonstone and make my son happy, because he can’t be happy with anyone else! Go there and be out of my sight! Go there and…”

Rhaenyra paused, breathing hard, overcome with emotion. “Go there and try to be happy yourself, if you’re capable of it,” she finished wearily, slumping back in her chair. “Go there and be with Luke.”

Aemond watched Rhaenyra carefully. He thought he ought to say something cruel. Something to take advantage of his sister’s unexpected vulnerability. But the words dried up on his tongue. Instead, he stood silently and bowed stiffly. He wanted to leave this conversation behind. He didn’t wait to be formally dismissed by the Queen, and she didn’t scold him for it. But when Aemond had made it a few paces, Rhaenyra called out.

“Aemond.”

He paused and looked back over his shoulder.

“Lucerys loves you. I can’t fathom it, but he does. And he’s risked a great deal for you. I want you to remember that, after you arrive at Dragonstone. Remember everything he’s done for you.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed. He didn’t understand why Rhaenyra would say that. The unsettling feeling that there was something going on he didn’t know about crept over him. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation - when Daemon suddenly came striding into the Queen’s chambers. As fast as his constant limp would let him, at least.

“Aemond,” his uncle drawled dismissively. “Scurry along back to your alpha, why don’t you.”

Aemond’s lip curled angrily, but Daemon only seemed to find that amusing. Glowering, Aemond marched out of the Queen’s apartments, only to find himself immediately flanked by four guards who escorted him back to his own rooms. By the gods, he couldn’t wait to leave this place. It’d been his childhood home, but now it was his prison. A pretty prison, full of fine food and many comforts. But still a prison. Aemond’s every step dogged. The few choices he was permitted to make for himself, entirely at the discretion of others.

And somehow made all the worse by the knowledge that it was extraordinary mercy. Far more mercy than Aemond would’ve shown, if their positions had been reversed.

He wanted Lucerys. The wheedling neediness was rearing its ugly head again. But Lucerys wasn’t in their chambers. Aemond tried to read something, but his uneasy mind kept replaying his conversation with Rhaenyra. He also couldn’t forget what Gerardys had said – that Aemond might’ve done permanent damage to his body. Gods, he wanted his mate. Where in the seven hells was he? Off sniffing around some other omega, scouting for his second spouse already…

Aemond threw the book down on the floor. He couldn’t have his alpha. The next best thing was to curl up on their bed and surround himself with Lucerys’ scent. So that’s what he did, feeling utterly pathetic the whole time. The smell of sea-salt clung to the sheets. Just one inhalation was enough to ease Aemond’s anxiety. He squirmed, feeling a little aroused too. Not the relentless, burning need of heat, but his cock was definitely hard.

He was going to have to talk to Lucerys about it. He couldn’t go into heat on the ship to Dragonstone. He’d rather die than endure the humiliation. A couple of days, Gerardys had said, and then the fever would hit.

If it hit. If he wasn’t broken.

At some point, Aemond fell asleep. He was woken by Lucerys lying down next to him, a hand cupping his cheek affectionately, and a thumb brushing over his mouth. In normal circumstances, Aemond might’ve played it cool. But he’d spent all afternoon wanting his alpha, and now here the wretched man was…

“Are you alright?” Lucerys asked as Aemond wrapped around him like a limpet, sticking his face into the crook of the alpha’s neck, where the scent of his husband was strongest. “Aemond?”

“I can’t get on the ship tomorrow morning.”

“What? Why not?” Lucerys asked as he wrapped his arms around Aemond.

“I’m going into heat,” Aemond muttered sullenly. “I won’t endure it on a ship, Lucerys. Not where everyone will be able to scent it. To hear it. I won’t do it.”

At once Lucerys pressed his bearded cheek to the side of Aemond’s face, and when that apparently proved insufficient, he rolled his husband onto his back so that Lucerys could sprawl on top of him – shoving his nose against Aemond’s neck.

“You are,” he breathed. “I can smell it. It’s faint still.”

“I know I am,” Aemond grumbled, pushing his mate back. “Did you hear me? I can’t get on the ship. I won’t.”

“You were never going to.” Lucerys was determined to worry at Aemond’s neck, stubbornly pressing himself back in so that he could mouth at the mating bite.

“What?”

“You were never going to get on the ship,” Lucerys mumbled. “We’re going to fly.”

It took Aemond a second to process these words. “On your little dragonling?” he said incredulously.

“Arrax isn’t that little anymore,” Lucerys said, pushing up on his elbows so he could stare down at Aemond, quite shamelessly grinding against his thigh. “Just like me.” Whatever faint heat scent clung to Aemond, it’d clearly gone straight to his husband’s cock.

“Your dragon won’t let me near him,” Aemond protested.

“Yes, he will,” Lucerys reassured him. “You’re my mate. Arrax will let you ride with me.”

He sounded so confident, but Aemond wasn’t sure. The last time he’d seen the dragon Arrax had been years ago, when he’d chased Lucerys through a wild storm. Dragons were clever things. Nobody knew just how clever, or how much they truly understood. Would Arrax remember Vhagar looming threateningly out of the darkness, Aemond on her back?

But then… Vhagar had let others ride her, so long as they were with Aemond, hadn’t she?

No. He wasn’t going to think about that. Much better forgotten.

“Don’t you want to fly again?” Lucerys asked. “Don’t you miss seeing the clouds from the other side?”

Yes. More than anything. Aemond had spent most of his childhood yearning bitterly for a dragon. Dreaming of what it might be like. The reality had been even more breathtaking than his wildest imaginings. The loss of Vhagar had been a brutal blow. His magnificent old girl. The great hoary beast of Visenya. His dragon.

“We’ll fly to Dragonstone, and when we get there, when your heat comes on you… I’ll make you feel so good. I promise, my love.”

Aemond closed his eye and let himself believe it. He wondered what it was like, to have an alpha see you through the fever. To want… and to get.

“Make me feel good now, and I’ll chance your scaly beast eating me alive,” he declared.

Lucerys laughed. “Well, as you’ve asked so nicely,” he said sarcastically – but then fell upon his omega to do just that anyway.

…

The Velaryon ship sailed first thing after dawn, taking advantage of the favourable tide. It carried Aegon and Viserys, as well as Baela and that cocksure bastard Alyn. Lord Corlys captained the vessel that would take the two young princes to Dragonstone, and then himself and his heir home to Driftmark. It was time the Lord of the Tides sat upon the Driftwood Throne once more.

Surrounded by guards, the Queen and prince consort had gone down to the harbourside to see their sons off. No doubt there’d been tears. When she returned to the Red Keep, Rhaenyra summoned Lucerys to speak with her privately. To say her goodbyes. And likely to warn him not to trust Aemond with too much freedom.

There was nothing to do but wait. The clothes laid out for Aemond that morning hadn't been the usual fine ones in velvet and linen. They’d been the old leathers he’d favoured for dragon-riding. Aemond had simply stared at them for a long time, before a nervous looking page had entered the room and asked if he required assistance dressing. They were just clothes. But there seemed to be an endless number of memories caught up within them. Helaena holding his hand. The rare moments when Aegon had been happy – not drunk or gleefully unpleasant, but happy. His mother fussing over him, fretting that Aemond had been gone too long, grown too cold up in the skies.

Made faint by the passing of years, the stink of dragon still clung to the leather.

Lucerys returned from saying his farewells. He looked sad, and there was a telltale glassiness to his eyes. He was going to miss his mother. By contrast, Aemond couldn’t wait to see his own again.

Most of their possessions were making the crossing on Corlys’ ship. But some things had been kept back, placed into the large leather bags to be hooked onto Arrax’s saddle. Some clothes. Aemond had packed the oil he liked for his hair. A silver comb Lucerys had given him. His eyepatch, and a salve Gerardys had made – to soothe his empty socket, if it grew irritated.

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked Lucerys, observing his husband’s gloomy mood.

“No. Of course not. I just… I feel like I’m abandoning my mother when she needs me most.”

Aemond turned away sharply. Guilt twisted in his belly. He’d done that, during the war. Abandoned his mother and poor Helaena. He should have flown straight back to King’s Landing, but instead…

“You aren’t,” he said in a hollow voice. “When she calls, you’ll come to her.”

Unlike Aemond.

“Have you changed your mind?” Lucerys asked, noticing Aemond’s melancholy and misreading it.

“No,” Aemond brushed the concern off. “I’m just impatient. Let’s get on with it.”

Horses and an armed escort awaited them in the bailey. This would be only the second time Aemond had left the confines of the Red Keep in more than half a year. He made sure to drink in every detail. The smallfolk stopped to stare as the two princes rode past them. Aemond had never much cared for the opinions of the common rabble. Why would he? But now he found himself wondering what they made of it. All those years of war. So many dark deeds. The city in turmoil. And now… here Lucerys and Aemond rode, side-by-side, alpha and omega. Like none of it had happened.

Was the sight of them comforting? Were they a reminder that the war was over? Or did it seem a poor joke to the smallfolk?

Aemond frowned and turned his gaze away from them. Some called out his name.

The River Gate was busy. As soon as they were out of the city, the horses were spurred to a brisk canter. The sun blazed, and the filthy stink of animal shit hung heavily over the road. But Aemond didn’t care. This was the most freedom he’d enjoyed in many moons. The first time he’d been out of the city since being dragged back in chains. He wasn’t trussed to the damned saddle this time either.

It was only now, riding hard along the coastal road with the sea wind whipping against his face, that Aemond realised just how much he’d withered away shut up in those rooms. He wasn’t meant for that life. The gods had cursed him when they’d made him an omega. At least he was male - and had been able to choose the sword over embroidery. Had been allowed to fight. But now he was mated, the world still expected him to prefer the hearth fires of home, where he could be safe. Where his alpha could be assured he was safe. Safe and bored out of his wits. Safe and pregnant. Safe and shepherding a gaggle of royal brats about, listening to them squall and squeal.

Aemond realised he was gripping the pommel of his horse’s saddle so hard that his fingernails were digging into the firm leather. He let go and looked to his right, where Lucerys was riding alongside him on a bay gelding. He grinned at Aemond, clearly enjoying the fresh air. Despite his brooding, Aemond couldn’t help the smile he offered back. He liked seeing Lucerys happy.

He laughed, short and sharp, the sound snatched away by the wind. He liked seeing Lucerys happy. How many times had his younger self fantasied about cutting out little Lord Strong’s eye? Humiliating him. Hurting him. Making him pay. And now here they were. Here Aemond was. Fretting about the happiness of his alpha, like one of those hearth fire omegas he was so afraid of becoming.

Fate wasn’t just cruel, she was strange as well.

About two miles out, the party left the road and followed a short track to a quiet cove. There were three guards stationed there, playing dice. They jumped to their feet as a dozen men on horseback suddenly arrived in a flurry of activity. Lucerys, riding at the head of the group, pulled his horse up and dismounted.

Aemond also dismounted, shouldering the bag containing his clothes and few other possessions. The cove was a peaceful place, with a large cave visible at the far end, where the sandy beach cut into the earth. Aemond could guess what’d made its den in there. His blood thrummed with excitement and trepidation.

Just the two of them, Lucerys and Aemond walked across the golden sand of the beach. “Stay close,” Lucerys said as they approached the cave. “Don’t look him in the eye.”

His free arm, the one he wasn’t using to carry his bag, wrapped around Aemond’s waist and pulled him so close that they were pressed together from ankle to shoulder. Aemond had no intention of making a fuss about it. His heart was starting to beat fast behind his ribs.

“He won’t hurt you,” Lucerys murmured as something stirred within the cave.

“You don’t know that,” Aemond said between clenched teeth.

“To hurt you, he’d have to hurt me. And he won’t hurt me.”

From within the darkness, emerged Arrax. The beast was larger than Aemond remembered. Certainly big enough to carry two. Its thick hide of scales glimmered dully in the sunlight. There was a large scar carved into the flesh of the dragon’s thick neck. Daeron was responsible for that, according to the tale Aemond had been told in his sick bed. His brave and daring brother, fighting valiantly whilst Aemond was weak and useless. Arrax yawned, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth as the beast shook itself. The dragon’s gaze turned towards them, and at once Aemond dropped his eye to the sand. He pressed even closer to his husband, freezing absolutely still.

“I know, I know,” Lucerys crooned as the dragon snorted a puff of steaming hot air out through its great snout. “We haven’t been flying in so long. I’ve been busy my old friend.”

His hand tightened on Aemond’s waist. Lucerys hadn’t gone out dragon-riding once since things had begun warming between them. Since they’d started sharing a bed. Aemond wondered why. Was it really because Lucerys hadn’t wanted to leave him shut away in their rooms, even for one afternoon? The idea made Aemond ache oddly. Arrax was close enough now he could feel the heat of the dragon’s breath washing over him. It smelled of sulphur and old meat.

“Come on,” Lucerys murmured quietly. “Stay close to me.”

Lucerys made Aemond climb up onto Arrax’s back first. A thick rope hung from the dragon’s saddle, looped and knotted to make a foothold. It was a long way from the rope ladder that’d been required to climb up to Vhagar’s saddle, but still – it was a testament to how much the once puny dragonling had grown. Aemond settled, anxiously aware that, if Arrax was going to really protest his presence, this was the moment. But the beast remained calm. A moment later, Lucerys clambered up, seating himself behind his mate. The scent of him lulled Aemond into relaxing a little, leaning back against his alpha’s chest. One of Luke’s hands gripped the arch of the saddle, the other arm wrapped itself around Aemond’s waist.

“Are you ready?” Lucerys said, lips brushing the outer shell of Aemond’s ear. “Ready to see the world as only we ever see it?”

Yes. Beyond ready. Aemond turned his head, so that their temples brushed. “Are you going to talk about it? Or are you going to do it?”

Lucerys grinned and then kissed him fiercely, before calling out a sharp command to his dragon. Arrax lurched beneath them, summoning his strength and spreading his wings, before suddenly they were jolting into the sky. This was always the most uncomfortable bit. It’d been so on Vhagar as well. But within a few moments the young dragon had cleared the beach, and the climb became rapidly smoother. Beneath them, the world fell away. Aemond’s heart soared along with his body. By the gods, he had missed this.

The great expanse of Blackwater Bay spread out before them. Arrax levelled out, turning towards the sea. King’s Landing was clearly visible off to the side, the great bulk of the Red Keep looming ominously over the city. Aemond watched until it disappeared behind him, blocked by the broad stretch of Lucerys’ right shoulder. He was glad to leave his confinement, but… it’d been his home. It might’ve become a prison, but it was a familiar prison. One he knew inside out.

Lucerys pressed his face into the crook of Aemond’s neck. The skin was covered by the leather of his coat, but that didn’t stop his alpha from nuzzling against it with a satisfied groan. His nose was cold where it brushed the underside of Aemond’s jaw.

“Gods, I could get drunk on the scent of you now,” Lucerys mumbled. “It won’t be long.”

“I’m not going into heat on this damned dragon,” Aemond insisted.

“Why not?” Lucerys teased. “You could sit on my knot all the way to Dragonstone.”

“Or I could push you off into the sea. That’d cool your blood quickly enough.”

That said… in truth, Aemond was no better. The sensation of Lucerys pressed against his back was doing strange things to his body. And his mind too. Uneasy thoughts kept pushing their way forward. How sweet it was to be held. How strong and able Lucerys was. How Aemond needed nothing else but him, and that nothing else mattered so long as they were together. He yearned for Dragonstone, where they could find their new bed that would smell of nothing but soap, and get down to the business of smothering it in their scents…

“I’m going to take you to bed for a week,” Lucerys groaned. “And keep you there.”

“Arrogant of you to think you could keep me anywhere I didn’t want to be,” Aemond said – but without much fire. Indeed, his husband’s words had sent a shiver through him.

“You’ll want to be there. I’ll keep you out of your mind with pleasure. With not a single stitch on you.”

Aemond absolutely refused to get aroused whilst sitting on a dragon half a mile above Blackwater Bay. Damn Lucerys and his loose tongue.

“You’re making a lot of tall promises, husband,” he said, laying his own hand over Luke’s, which was still pressed to Aemond’s waist. Their fingers intertwined.

“I’ll keep them. You’ll see. I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

Aemond snorted. “The honourable Prince Lucerys.”

“That’s me,” Lucerys laughed. “The honourable Prince Lucerys, happily wed to the terribly cynical Prince Aemond.”

“Is this your idea of love talk?”

“Oh, is that what you want? Because if so, I could talk for hours. All the way to Dragonstone…”

“I’d rather not hear all the sweet nothings you’ve whispered to the whores on the Street of Silk.”

“I wouldn’t say those things to you,” Lucerys said softly. “There’d be no point.”

“Wouldn’t there?” Aemond said sharply.

“No,” said Lucerys. He pressed his cheek to Aemond’s, rubbing gently so that their scents intermingled. “Why would I play at love with you? I do love you.”

Soon they were far enough out over the Bay that the sight of land disappeared behind them. Dragonstone would be a speck in these waters, but Arrax would find it – much like the messenger ravens always found their roosts again. The dragon drifted up through the low clouds. The chilly vapour made Aemond shiver. His coat wasn’t enough to keep the worst of the cold off, and he wished he’d worn a cloak. Then he remembered that Lucerys was wearing a cloak.

“I’m cold,” he declared.

At once the heavy, fur-lined breadth of Luke’s black cloak folded around him, large enough to encompass both of them, especially given Aemond’s comparative slightness next to his mate.

“Is that better?” Lucerys asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Yes.” What in the seven hells was happening to Aemond? Not so long ago, he’d have rather sat there and frozen to death than allowed Lucerys to coddle him like this. He tried to dredge up what remained of his pride, but the well was dry. Was it Aemond’s impending heat stuffing his head full of straw? Yes. Of course it was. He gritted his teeth. He’d been so preoccupied fearing his body was damaged, that he’d forgotten he was about to take leave of his senses. Would he shame himself? Would he beg? Would Lucerys delight in the power he was about to have over his difficult, frustratingly defiant omega?

“Promise me something,” Aemond found himself demanding, as Arrax swayed beneath them, beating his leathery wings, tilting onto another air current far above the sea.

“What?” mumbled Lucerys, his chin hooked over Aemond’s shoulder. He sounded a little sleepy. Or was that contentment?

“Don’t humiliate me,” Aemond said. “During my heat. Don’t… don’t lord it over me. Don’t laugh at me – ”

“Never,” Lucerys interrupted vehemently. “Gods Aemond, do you really think I would?”

“I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Lucerys. He kissed Aemond’s neck, right behind his ear. “I promise you. I never will.”

Did Aemond believe him? Yes. Perhaps he did. More than he’d believe any other alpha. He’d despised the very idea of being mated when he’d been younger. Hated the thought of being told what to do. Forced to submit himself. Debase himself. His mother’s insistence that Aemond wouldn’t mind it, that the bite would make him want to belong to whichever rotten cur he’d found himself married off to, had only made it worse. For starters, what did she know of it? Secondly… how was that better? How was being told that who he was and what he wanted would be fundamentally changed - without his permission, entirely an accident of his nature! - better?

Aemond was struck with the sudden absurd impulse to ask Lucerys if he’d ever wished Aemond was some simpering, docile lamb. Compliant and submissive. He smothered it viciously. He didn’t want to know. He tried to clear his head. He knew he was acting strangely. Thinking strangely. Perhaps because his heat was so close. Or perhaps it was being here, far above the world like this. It felt like being outside of himself. As though Aemond were briefly removed from his own life. Literally and figuratively above it all.

“What's it like?” he said instead. “Dragonstone?”

“You’ll like it,” Lucerys said. “It’s nothing like the Red Keep. No courtiers. No visitors. Nobody demanding anything from us. We’ll be left alone.”

“Won’t it be dull? No company. No amusements.”

“You don’t care about any of that,” Lucerys declared confidently. And correctly.

“You do though. You like amusements. You like company.”

“I’ll have your company.”

“I’m poor company,” Aemond said sourly. “I know it.”

“You’re my mate,” Lucerys said firmly. “Yours is the company I want more than any other. I’d rather you in a foul mood than the cleverest wits in all the kingdom.”

It was a sweet sentiment, but also a laughably obvious lie.

As time dragged past, Aemond found himself feeling sleepy. Sudden and intense fatigue was one of the annoying symptoms of his looming heat. He was in no mood to fight it. Wrapped in his alpha’s cloak - and his arms too - Aemond let himself drift away into a light slumber.

He woke sometime later. Nothing much seemed to have changed. Blackwater Bay was still beneath them. Lucerys’ chin was still tucked over Aemond’s shoulder. But the sun had moved some ways across the sky. Arrax had dropped lower too. The chill in the air was much less sharp down here.

“How long was I asleep?” Aemond muttered.

“Quite a while,” said Lucerys. He sounded a little startled, as though he’d been a million miles away and hadn’t realised Aemond had woken up. “Look, on the horizon. There it is. Dragonstone.”

Sure enough, there was an island in the distance, growing larger by the minute as Arrax closed in. Aemond regarded it curiously. Generations of Targaryens had been born there. Aegon the Conqueror had been born there. A faint echo of a great empire long dead.

“When we get there, I want to see my niece and nephew,” Aemond said insistently. “I want to see my mother.”

Lucerys’ scent turned suddenly sour. Aemond frowned, annoyed. Was his husband really so opposed to the idea? Did he intend to refuse? He could refuse until he was blue in the face, Aemond would find them. If he had to fight every guard in the fortress, he’d find them.

“Of course,” was what Lucerys actually said, sounding strange. “You’ll have the freedom of the castle, Aemond. I’m not going to keep you locked away. You can see who you want.”

Aemond’s frown deepened. Did Lucerys not trust him? What exactly did he think Aemond and his kin were going to scheme? There was nothing left to scheme for. They’d lost. Lost everything. Aemond had Lucerys’ bite on his neck and Rhaenyra’s shackles around his wrists. He was defeated.

Arrax swooped low over the fortress and landed with a hard thud on the windswept grassland at the castle’s flank, by the gate.

“Stay close,” Lucerys said. They dismounted and Lucerys unhooked their bags before Arrax took to the skies again, flying off in the direction of the Dragonmont.

Aemond held out a hand for his bag. Instead, Lucerys hefted both over his shoulder. Aemond narrowed his eye. “I’m not a cripple,” he said sharply.

“Seven hells Aemond, accept a bit of chivalry for once,” his husband said moodily.

Aemond scowled. Somehow the atmosphere between them had changed, growing cold and tense, and very quickly too. Lucerys’ scent was still sour. He looked unhappy too, mouth set in a pinched line. It made Aemond uneasy. Something was wrong. Something he couldn’t make out. He was about to demand Lucerys explain himself, but decided against it when two knights arrived to greet them. They were met in the bailey by the castle’s steward a few moments later.

“Welcome to Dragonstone, Prince Lucerys,” the steward announced, bowing low. “I’ve had rooms prepared for you and your mate in Sea Dragon Tower. I hope they’re to your liking.”

“Not my mate,” Lucerys snapped testily. “Prince Aemond. You will address him properly.”

The steward flushed. “My apologies,” he snivelled.

“Which rooms?” Lucerys demanded to know. “My old chambers?”

“No, my prince. I’ve had the Queen’s old apartments made ready for you, as I thought befitted your new position as lord of…”

“Yes, yes,” Lucerys interrupted impatiently. “Very good.”

“And for Prince Aemond I’ve had the apartments below your own prepared. But I can make alternative arrangements if you wish.”

“Aemond will live in my rooms. Our rooms,” said Lucerys firmly.

The steward nodded. He’d likely anticipated the possibility. Mated pairs nearly always shared a bed, even the highborn ones. A small part of Aemond had wondered… after all, the only reason they shared rooms at the Red Keep was because Rhaenyra had forced it so. But Lucerys had been so determined to coax Aemond into sleeping in his bed, it seemed unlikely he’d cast him out now. Especially when just a few hours ago he’d been so eager for Aemond’s impending heat.

“Have some food brought up for us,” Lucerys continued. "I’m starving. And when you have chance – ”

He trailed off, looking at something over Aemond’s shoulder. Aemond turned. Standing in the great doorway that led into the castle were two children. Both had pale hair and the same soft faces. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. The twins. It’d been so long since Aemond had last seen them. They’d grown. Gods – Jaehaerys had begun to look like his sire. Aemond felt his spirit soar. His family.

Jaehaerys stepped forward as his sister hung back. Her face was blank, as though she didn’t recognise Aemond at all.

“Uncle Aemond,” Jaehaerys spoke. “They said you were coming! They said…”

The boy glanced nervously at Lucerys. Aemond clenched his jaw. What had his nephew been told? Had they explained that Aemond had been bound to Lucerys? That he’d taken the bite in exchange for comfort and status? Was Jaehaerys disappointed in him for it? Ashamed? Gods, was Aemond’s mother ashamed? Unconsciously, he drew closer to his mate, seeking the reassurance of being near him. But there was none to be had. Lucerys still smelled sour. What in the seven hells was wrong with him?

“It’s good to see you, Jaehaerys,” Aemond said, keeping his voice steady. He drew up tall, keen to appear as dignified as possible, even though he wanted to reach out. To clasp the boy by the shoulder and feel that his nephew was solid and real beneath his hand. He'd been so small the last time Aemond had seen him. “Are you well?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“And your sister?”

“Jaehaera doesn’t speak much, but I know she likes it here.”

“And your grandmother?” Aemond asked. “How fares she? Is she close by?”

Jaehaerys frowned, tilting his head in confusion. “My grandmother?” he said.

“Queen Alicent,” Aemond pressed impatiently. “Is she in good health? Have you spoken to her today?”

Jaehaerys’ eyes flittered about anxiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, uncle. Our grandmother isn’t here. I haven’t seen her in more than a year.”

Chapter Text

Lucerys woke up the same way he had yesterday – and the day before that. Alone in an unfamiliar bed, arm outstretched. Reaching over for somebody who wasn’t there. Finding only cold sheets.

It was only just dawn, far earlier than Lucerys normally woke. Left to his own devices, he nearly always slept late. But not this morning, or the last two mornings either. The bed was wrong. It smelled wrong. It felt wrong, leaving him restless and ill-tempered. He was bone tired still – but he’d learned by now that there’d be no going back to sleep. He might as well get up.

He called for hot water and breakfast. The water arrived first, steaming hot in a pewter basin. The servant placed it on the table, with a neatly folded square of linen cloth. Lucerys washed his face, wincing as he gingerly patted his left eye and lower lip.

There was a mirror on the wall. It was very old, having been made within the Valyrian Freehold itself. A pattern of dancing dragons wound their merry way around the frame. Lucerys peered into the glass and inspected the damage.

The swelling around his eye had reduced significantly. The bruise, on the other hand, was darker than ever. It was plum purple and spread down his cheek as well as his eye. Dragonstone’s maester had feared perhaps the cheekbone was fractured. But he’d inspected the injury again yesterday, and decided it was safely intact after all. Further down his face, Lucerys’ split lip was beginning to knit together nicely. There was nothing to do now but wait for it to heal on its own. Lucerys had been offered a draught for the pain – and declined.

His breakfast arrived. Dragonstone’s kitchens weren’t well-stocked at the moment, but the meal was reasonable - if plain. The steward assured Lucerys that he’d sent to the mainland for good food and wine as soon as he’d received word that the Prince of Dragonstone would be arriving to take up his seat. But Lucerys had turned up before the supply ship, so it’d have to be simple fare for a couple of days yet, if not longer.

The Velaryon ship carrying Aegon and Viserys was due to arrive today, if the winds favoured them. Tomorrow if not. Lucerys was anxious to have his brothers safe on dry land. He glanced out the window. The early daylight was weak, the sky ominously grey, and the sea choppy. It was only the knowledge that his grandsire was such an excellent sailor that eased Luke’s anxiety. The wily old Sea Snake would see the young princes safely to their new home, stormy weather be damned.

Gloomily, Lucerys got dressed. At the Red Keep, a page hovered to help him with his clothes every morning. On Dragonstone, Luke was left mercifully in peace. He wore plain breeches and a dark tunic. Hoping to shake off his exhaustion, Lucerys put on a cloak and went for a wander along the battlements, the sea wind whipping at him. Troubled, he eyed the dark clouds, cursing the gods for such terrible luck. Weeks of calm weather! And now this. Lucerys slapped his hand on the stone crenel in frustration, scanning the horizon, hoping to see a ship approaching. But there was nothing.

He hissed as his lip throbbed with sudden pain, and a thin trickle of blood dripped down his chin. Luke hadn’t realised he’d been biting at it, but he had. And now it’d split open again, undoing all the healing of the last three days.

The wind picked up and the cold became too much. Lucerys went back inside. He sought out the steward, eventually finding the man in the Stone Drum. He was seated behind a desk covered in parchment, scribbling something in a large book of records.

The steward was a young westlander by the name of Blude. He was a nervous character. A sharp contrast to the jovial Robert Quince – who was busy touring the Kingswood, preoccupied with the Queen’s tourney. Lucerys missed the old steward. Quince was a familiar face, at ease in royal company. Blude looked like he might shit himself every time he spoke to Luke.

“Did you sleep well, my lord?” the steward asked, standing up and bowing.

“Yes,” Lucerys lied. He suspected the dark circles beneath his eyes gave him away. “Thank you.”

“… is there anything I can do for you?” Blude ventured after a brief pause.

“Is everything prepared for the arrival of my guests?”

“Yes, my lord. Rooms have been made ready. As I explained before, I wish the kitchens had more fitting food to offer, but alas the supply ship has yet to – ”

“Yes, yes,” Lucerys waved Blude’s concerns away. Fish would be fine. The Velaryons were well used to it, and Dragonstone had plenty. He looked down at all the correspondence on Blude’s desk, suddenly unable to look the steward in the eye. “And Prince Aemond? Has he left his rooms this morning?”

“Ah, still no, my lord,” Blude replied awkwardly. “I fear, in his condition, it wouldn’t be advisable anyway.”

“You’ve been to see him yourself?” Blude was an omega. It wouldn’t’ve been scandalous for him to have visited Aemond in his chambers – although it still chafed on Luke’s nerves. Like all alphas, he despised the very idea of anybody else seeing his omega in heat.

“Only to ensure he was comfortable and had everything he needed,” Blude affirmed.

“He’s fully taken by the fever now?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What state was he in?” Lucerys asked. “What did he say?”

Blude hesitated, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“The truth,” Lucerys interjected, before the steward could answer. “I know my husband. I know how sharp his tongue is.”

Blude nodded, although he still looked uncomfortable. “Prince Aemond didn’t acknowledge his heat, but it was clear that the fever was affecting him. He was wearing only a robe, and I thought he looked tired and pale. And to be honest with you, my lord… I… well, I could smell it on him. The heat-scent. It was very strong. I know what it is to endure a heat, and I’m surprised Prince Aemond was able to sit up and talk to me at all, the scent of the fever was so intense.”

“What did he say?”

“He said to bring him water, and to fuck off. I asked if he wanted any servants to attend to him, and he said…”

“Yes?”

“He said he’d rather fling himself off the top of the tower than let anybody else touch him.”

Yes, that sounded like Aemond. Blude was probably leaving out a lot of other insults and threats as well.

Lucerys ached. He wanted to go to Aemond’s rooms. He wanted to force open the door and pull his omega into his arms. To take him to bed and shut the rest of the world out. It wasn’t right. Aemond was in heat – it was Lucerys’ duty to see him through it. That was the natural order of things! Aemond needed him, his mate needed him. Would he eat enough? Drink enough? Could the guards on his door be trusted? What if Aemond hurt himself whilst he was lost in the fever? What if he was in pain? What if –

Lucerys closed his eyes and forcibly got a grip on himself. “Has he eaten anything?”

“No. I offered to have breakfast brought to him, but Prince Aemond declined. Very uh… very firmly.”

“Take him some anyway,” Lucerys insisted. “If he leaves it untouched, I want you to tell me. He must eat.”

“Yes, Prince Lucerys.” Blude looked uneasy. He surely had many questions. Questions he’d never dare actually ask. Lucerys would be lucky if the gossip remained contained to Dragonstone. He’d no doubt the whole fortress was whispering of it.

Nearly a dozen people had witnessed Aemond screaming furiously at his husband. Had seen him punch Lucerys in the face. They’d heard the meaty thud of bony knuckles colliding with flesh, sending Luke staggering backwards clutching at his eye – which had exploded with pain. Aemond hadn’t pulled the punch at all. Every bit of his unhinged fury had been poured into the blow.

Lucerys remembered the guards drawing their swords. Remembered his husband grabbing him by the collar and punching him again, in the mouth this time. And he remembered himself, blood pouring from his split lip and coating his teeth, howling furiously at the men hauling Aemond off him to let go. To not dare lay a single hand on his mate.

Aemond had been too mad with rage to be reasoned with. He’d been taken away to the separate apartments Blude had prepared for him – and had refused to leave them ever since. He wouldn’t see Lucerys at all. It was the worst irony. Luke had wanted to bring Aemond to Dragonstone to give him more freedom. And now he was simply confined to a different set of chambers. Less comfortable ones, without even the pleasure of fine food and good wine. Alone.

And then, to make matters worse, Aemond’s heat had struck.

“Have me fetched the moment my grandsire’s ship is sighted,” Lucerys instructed Blude. “I want to be ready to receive my brothers.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lucerys was too uneasy to settle to anything. He suspected he’d remain so until Corlys’ ship arrived safe. He felt both drained and yet full of anxious energy. He went for yet another walk, this time along the island’s grassy cliffs. His gaze couldn’t settle either. It was torn between the sea, hoping to see a ship ploughing through the high waves, and Sea Dragon Tower – where Aemond was holed up, suffering through his heat alone.

Luke paused near the cliff edge and deliberately turned his face into the wind. It lashed so hard that his cheeks stung and his split lip throbbed viciously. Silently he prayed to any gods that were listening for… for what? A turn in his luck. A turn in all of their luck.

Hunger brought Lucerys back to the castle. He ordered food brought to his chambers. He was just striding up the stone staircase, wallowing in his dour mood, when he unexpectedly came across the boy Jaehaerys.

Now that he was older, the boy looked remarkably like Aegon – except for his gentle eyes. His character was nothing like Aegon’s, however. Jaehaerys was quiet, seeming content not to be noticed. Even now he shrank away from Lucerys, gaze dropped to the floor. The girl Jaehaera was even more withdrawn. The maester who taught the twins had confided in Lucerys that he found the princess to be a strange child. Damaged by all she’d been through.

If he was honest, Luke had never given much thought to his cousins. They’d been nothing more than potential figureheads for a rebellion. A problem that’d need to be dealt with one day. And recently, two people Aemond wanted very badly to see. But Lucerys hadn’t really considered the twins themselves, or what they’d endured – the loss of both parents, and their little brother too. None of the Targaryens had been untouched by terrible loss these last blood-soaked years, but perhaps nobody had lost quite so much as Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. And yet, they often went forgotten.

Lucerys regarded his little cousin contemplatively. “Have you eaten your midday meal?” he asked the boy.

“No, my lord,” Jaehaerys replied softly.

“Would you care to dine with me?”

The young prince looked uncertain. “I’d be glad to, my lord.”

“You know, we’re close kin, you and I,” Lucerys told him gently. “I know it hasn’t felt like it, but we’re family. There’s no need to stand on ceremony. You should call me Luke.”

“I…” Jaehaerys mumbled nervously. He clearly thought Luke was trying to catch him out somehow.

“But whatever you prefer,” Lucerys breezed, wanting to put the boy at ease. “Come on. I’m starving.”

With his little cousin in tow, he continued up to his apartments. Lucerys shrugged off his heavy woollen cloak and tossed it carelessly over a chair.

“The maesters think winter will be on us soon,” Lucerys said conversationally as he sat at the table in his solar. “Though they’ve been wrong before, of course. Do you remember winter, Jaehaerys? You would’ve been very small still, I think.”

The boy shook his head. “Maester Hunnimore taught me about it. And I’ve read about it in the library.”

“Yes, Aemond told me you were fond of the library,” Lucerys said. “You like the Valyrian books there, don’t you? Do you read Valyrian well?”

“Yes, my lo – Luke,” Jaehaerys mumbled.

“Se ziry sesīr ȳdrā?” And speak it too?

“Sȳrtrī zijosy pikīban daor,” Jaehaerys replied haltingly, taking his time over each word. “Naeniom issarossi gaomōbagon aeman daor. Hēzīr Jaehaera ȳdragon vaoresas daor. Se Maester Hunnimore va mōriot botis.” Not as easily as I can read it. I don’t have many people to practise with. Jaehaera doesn’t like to talk much anymore. And Maester Hunnimore is always too busy.

“Sepār, sīr issa,” Lucerys declared. “Ynoma gaomōbagon aemā. Se sesīr Aemond. Skorī… skorī arlī zgiēnilza. Sȳrī valyrie ȳdras.” Well, you do now. You have me to practise with. And Aemond too. Once he’s… once he’s in better health. He speaks Valyrian very well.

“I know,” said Jaehaerys, brightening. “He used to speak it to us all the time before…”

The boy trailed off, going quiet again. Lucerys didn’t have to ask before what. He knew very well.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he said, carefully changing the subject. “You don’t need to wait for my permission.”

Two pages arrived with the food - white flaky cod, some cold roast pork and manchet bread. Lucerys encouraged Jaehaerys to help himself to what he wanted, doggedly keeping up the conversation as they ate, even though his cousin remained reluctant to speak.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jaehaerys ventured nervously as they came to the end of their meal.

“Of course.”

“Why did Uncle Aemond hit you? Why was he so angry?”

It was asked with the innocence of a child. Nobody else in the castle would’ve dared put that question to their prince, even though every last one of them was eager to know the answer. Lucerys wondered grimly what answers they’d invented for themselves. Probably they blamed the outburst on Aemond being mad. Half the kingdom thought he was.

“I lied to him,” Lucerys said frankly. “Or rather… I let him believe something I knew wasn’t true.”

“What?” Jaehaerys pressed, curious.

“I let him believe his mother was here with you. Your grandmother.”

“She isn’t.”

“No,” Lucerys agreed glumly. “She isn’t.”

Jaehaerys considered this. “My mother’s dead,” he said at last, in a heartbreakingly small voice. He bowed his head. “She killed herself.”

“I know,” Lucerys said helplessly. He felt overwhelmed by the urge to comfort the boy somehow, but he didn’t think it’d be welcome. Luke was a stranger to Jaehaerys after all. “I’m very sorry for it.”

“Why are you sorry? She was your enemy, wasn’t she?” There was no malice in the boy’s accusation. He’d said it in a startlingly matter-of-fact manner. That only made the words cut deeper.

“No, she wasn’t. Helaena wasn’t ever my enemy. Not ever. And even if she had been… I wish all of it hadn’t happened. I wish your mother was alive still. It doesn’t please me, Jaehaerys, how the war turned out. It doesn’t please my mother either. I’m glad we won. I’m glad the rightful ruler sits on the Iron Throne. But the cost was terrible.”

The boy nodded, twisting his hands in his lap anxiously.

“But you must’ve been pleased to hear your uncle was still alive?” Luke asked.

For the first time, Jaehaerys smiled properly. It changed his whole face. “Yes,” he said. “But I already knew he was alive.”

Lucerys narrowed his eyes. What did the boy mean he’d already known Aemond was alive? Was there a traitor in the castle? A Green sympathiser? Had they been slipping messages to the twins? Plotting to free them? Conspiring against the Queen?

“How?” he said sharply.

“Jaehaera told me. She dreamed it. And it came true.”

Baffled, Luke opened his mouth to ask another question, when there was a sharp rapping at the door to his chambers. “Enter,” he called out.

It was the steward, Blude, who entered and bowed. The man had a thin slip of rolled paper clutched in one of his hands.

“Forgive me, Prince Lucerys. But a raven has arrived from Driftmark.”

“From Driftmark? Show me.”

Jaehaerys departed, and Blude handed Luke the scrap of parchment. The message was short and to the point. Lord Corlys had deemed the stormy seas too perilous considering just who he had aboard his vessel, entrusted by the Queen herself to his care. To that end, his ship had sought shelter at Driftmark. Aegon and Viserys would be his guests at High Tide until Blackwater Bay was calm again. Then Corlys would bring the princes to Dragonstone.

Lucerys was relieved as he thanked Blude and dismissed him. He was sorry he wouldn’t be seeing his brothers soon, but the news that they were safe on Driftmark lifted a terrible weight from his shoulders. Perhaps it was for the best even. Lucerys still needed to find a way to talk to Aemond. To explain himself. To somehow persuade his husband to forgive him. And that was more easily done without company. Not that there’d be anything easy about it.

It was one lie! Not even a lie. An omission. With somebody else, it might’ve been smoothed over with a bit of grovelling. But not with Aemond. Forgiveness wasn’t in his nature. He mistrusted everyone around him – with the sole exception of Lucerys. An exception that now lay in tatters. And then there was Aemond’s pride. Lucerys knew his mate. Oh, Aemond would scoff contemptuously at the notion, but Luke did know him. He knew what Aemond was surely thinking. That Lucerys had taken him for a fool.

Lucerys looked out the window. The glazing was thin and crystal clear – but sturdy. Nobody knew how to make glass like that anymore. The secret had been lost with Valyria. Luke watched the sea churning far below. It felt less ominous now he knew his loved ones weren’t at its dubious mercy. He pressed his brow to the cold glass. Aemond was just one floor below. Luke ached to go to him.

He laughed humourlessly as he recalled the way he’d eagerly anticipated Aemond’s heat. All his ardent promises about how good he’d make his mate feel. How well Lucerys would take care of him. What sweet self-delusion that’d been.

…

Aemond rolled onto his front, the bedsheets tangling about his torso and legs. He pressed his face firmly into the fat, goose-feather pillow, and howled furiously – voice safely muffled.

Why the hells had he wanted this? Why’d he been so afraid that his body was broken? That his heat might not come? Seven hells, he should’ve been praying it was true! Aemond felt like he was going to burn up from the inescapable need he felt. His skin was hot as a furnace. His cock was permanently hard. And his thighs were slick with the wetness that was fucking leaking from him.

Once again, desperately seeking relief, he reached down and pushed his fingers into himself. Aemond moaned into the pillow as he pleasured himself, his cock managing to find a little friction against the down-stuffed mattress for good measure. It felt good – but it wasn’t enough. It was so, so far from enough. Aemond’s orgasm was weak and unsatisfactory. Within a scant minute or two, the urgent arousal was clawing at him again, the cursed fever surging once more. Frustrated beyond words, Aemond took his head out of the pillow and let the next angry howl echo around his bedchamber.

He wanted Lucerys. Whatever else he tried to think about, his treacherous thoughts circled immediately back to his mate. He wanted him more than he’d known it was possible to desire another person. He wanted his alpha – he ought to be here! He ought to be in Aemond right now. Fucking him free of this misery! Filling him, knotting him, wrapped all around him. Aemond didn’t care how. He’d let Lucerys fuck him however he wanted, just so long as he came here and fucked him.

No. No. He didn’t want Lucerys. He’d cut off the bastard’s cock if he tried to come in here! He didn’t want him. He didn’t.

Maybe any alpha would do. Perhaps Aemond would drag in one of the guards and demand they fuck him instead. A hysterical laugh erupted as he imagined it. He could make a proper whore of himself. Then everybody in the kingdom would know just how far he’d fallen. What a disgrace he’d made of himself. What a fine pair he and Lucerys would make then. The young scions of House Targaryen. The Black prince and the Green. The bastard and the whore.

The intensity of the heat came and went. When it was bad, it was bad. But when it eased, Aemond could think straight for brief stretches. His body was temporarily his own again. When the worst of this current spike had passed, Aemond got out bed, body wrapped in his bedsheets – which were filthy with his own seed, slick, and sweat. His legs were unsteady beneath him, like a newborn foal’s.

He staggered out of the bedchamber and into the solar. The air was cool. It’d been storming for the last two days. Aemond had listened to the wind screaming as it whipped around the tower – and been glad for it, because it drowned out the obscene noises he was making. Still, he was cold. He pulled the linen bedsheet more tightly around himself. Despite the chill, he couldn’t bear the thought of dressing. He rubbed at his eyes – eye. He’d taken the moonstone out on the first day of his heat. There was nobody to see him anyway, and Aemond currently lacked the energy to keep the thing clean. He’d worn his eyepatch whenever that cur the steward had come to pester him.

There was a silver jug of water on the table. Its handle was shaped like a young dragonling, the little beast’s wings hooked over the rim – so it could snarl up at whoever used the thing. Aemond poured a cup, sank wearily down into a chair, and downed the water thirstily – and then another cupful too. There was food on the table as well. Aemond hadn’t asked for it, but he knew he ought to eat something. He’d had nothing at all since yesterday. Even then, it hadn’t been much. But his appetite had deserted him. He picked listlessly at some bread, managing to eat a couple of mouthfuls. But he couldn’t stomach anything more than that.

Even now, with the worst of his heat briefly diminished… Aemond’s thoughts turned inevitably towards his husband. His hand tightened around the cup until his knuckles turned white.

The liar. The two-faced whoreson liar. Had he and Rhaenyra laughed about it together? Just how gullible Aemond was? How stupid he was? How often had he spoken about wanting to see his mother in front of Lucerys? And the cur had said nothing! Not a single fucking word! She’d been there the whole time, in the Red Keep! The whole time!

With a snarl, Aemond hurled the pewter cup in his hand across the room. It hit the stone wall and clattered to the ground.

He was stupid. He’d trusted Lucerys. Fool! Gods-damned fool. The humiliation burned in Aemond’s chest. It burned, it burned…

Seven hells, his blasted heat was rising again. The fever consumed Aemond from within, coming over him with frightening speed. He forced himself back to his feet, grinding his teeth as he tried his best to ignore the sudden obscene demands of his body. He marched back to his bedchamber and fell upon the messy bed in a miserable tangle of limbs.

It took another couple of hours for this fresh bout to pass. By the time it did, the afternoon was dragging into evening. Aemond was exhausted, filthy, and wrung out. The emotions boiling inside of him – shame, longing, fury – abruptly became more than he could bear. A sob erupted from him, followed by another. Curled up in the disarray of this unfamiliar bed, in this new and strange place, Aemond cried himself to a restless sleep.

Tired right down to his marrow, he must’ve slept for a good eleven hours, because it was dawn when he finally woke. Aemond’s mouth felt as dry as the deserts of Dorne. His poor throat was so parched it was painful to swallow. He groaned, rolling over. His head ached bitterly, and his back was sore. And yet somehow, despite all of that, a heady flush of arousal washed over him. Aemond’s first clear thought was that he hoped more water had been brought for him. His second thought, hot on the heels of the first, was that he wanted Lucerys.

Seven fucking hells. This was grim. This was unbearable. He should’ve drunk more of the asp water, not less. Should’ve ruined himself with the stuff.

Wrapping up in his filthy sheets again – which stank worse than ever – Aemond forced himself to get out of bed. The bread had been taken away, but - thank the gods – the silver jug of water had been refilled. With a hand that shook pitifully, Aemond poured cupful after cupful until at last his terrible thirst was sated. Then he went back to his bedchamber and stuck his own fingers inside himself yet again, trying hopelessly to pretend it was his alpha’s cock.

It was much later in the morning, and Aemond was dozing listlessly, his energy having run out completely. He was reluctantly roused by a tentative knock on his bedchamber door.

“Wait!” he snapped groggily. “Enter now and I’ll have your head.”

Aemond scrambled to make himself presentable, even though his limbs felt like they were made of lead. He put on the robe that’d been provided for him. It was a fine one, if a little dog-eared, dark green and embroidered with classic Valyrian embellishments. Probably made for some old Targaryen long dead. In despair, Aemond tried to run his fingers through his hair, but it was horribly tangled from all the miserable writhing around he’d done.

He tried to find his eyepatch, then remembered that he’d left it in the solar. The moonstone eye was to hand, however. Aemond carefully inserted the pale orb into his empty socket. There was a mirror in his bedchamber, but he didn’t dare look in it. He dreaded what he’d see. How pathetic he must surely appear.

As put-together as he could possibly make himself, Aemond opened the door. Standing outside was the steward. What was the knave’s name? Blude? A nervous wretch of a man.

“Yes?” Aemond ground out. “What is it?” Gods – something was dripping slowly down his leg. Aemond kept his face stony. Let the cur smell it if he must. Blude was an omega himself, unmated and unwed. He’d surely suffered through many lonely heats before – many more times than Aemond ever had.

“Would you like something to eat, Prince Aemond?” the steward enquired tremulously.

“No.” Aemond knew he ought to be starving. He certainly felt drained. But he wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t even sure he could eat if he tried, and he was in no mood to try.

“My prince, you really should eat something. I… I know from my own experience that it can be hard to summon up the – ”

“I need no advice from you!” Aemond snapped.

“I’ll have some food brought anyway.”

“Are you deaf, you fool? I said I didn’t want anything to eat.”

“Please, my prince. Your husband is most concerned that…”

“Oh, is that it? Are you Lucerys’ scuttling little creature?” Aemond sneered. “You can tell my husband to shove his concern up his bastard backside.”

Blude flushed. Without another word he bowed stiffly and left the room. Aemond returned to his bed and crawled back beneath the sheets. His heat had settled, for the time being, into a constant, damnable ache. The spikes of really intense arousal and out-of-control fever had passed. Or perhaps Aemond’s body was just too exhausted for that. He fell into an unhappy doze. Never fully asleep, but not properly awake either.

Later, as the afternoon dragged on and the wind picked up outside, someone entered Aemond’s bedchamber without knocking. He knew who it was immediately. Not because he saw them – he was slumped face-down on the bed – but because he could smell them. By the gods, the scent took him like a drug. Like the milk of the poppy took the idle men who supped it for pleasure in King’s Landing. The all-consuming arousal he’d hoped was over… it came roaring back with a vengeance. Aemond actually trembled with it.

Pushing himself up on unsteady arms, he sat in a tangled nest of his own bedsheets. Lucerys was standing in the doorway, staring at Aemond with a pinched expression on his face. A face marred by a large bruise and a scabbed over split lip. Aemond’s gaze lingered on those injuries. Gods, he hoped they hurt.

“Get out,” Aemond hissed, bare chest heaving.

“No,” said Lucerys, although his voice quavered a little. “Not until you agree to eat something.”

“Get out,” Aemond spat back, louder this time. “Get out!”

“Eat something, and I’ll leave,” Lucerys insisted. “Aemond, I won’t let you starve yourself out of spite.”

“Out of spite? You sanctimonious cunt! Not everything is about you, Lucerys! Leave me alone! Leave me… leave…”

Aemond felt suddenly light-headed. The powerful waves of both desire and rage had sapped away the very last of his strength. He struggled not to let his arms give way and send him toppling backwards onto the mattress. It was a fight he was rapidly losing.

“Aemond? Seven hells, Aemond…”

Unexpectedly, there were arms around him, holding him steady. A brow pressed itself to his temple, and a hand slipped into his own, holding it. Clutching at it, in truth.

“Get off,” Aemond complained angrily. Or tried to. To his disgust, it came out more like a whine.  

“No,” Lucerys said firmly. “Eat something. Please. Please. Do you want me to get down and beg? I will.”

Aemond opened his mouth to insist that he wasn’t hungry – and abruptly realised that he was. Gods, he was starving in fact. One minute ago, he couldn’t have eaten anything if a great feast was laid before him. Now he was ravenous.

“Fine. I’ll eat something if it’ll stop you from…”

He trailed off. Lucerys was so close. Entirely without meaning to, Aemond pressed against his mate. He wanted… he wanted…

“Gods, Aemond… you are… I…” Lucerys inhaled sharply, pupils blown wide. He pressed his mouth across the curve of Aemond’s jaw and then down, until his teeth scraped over the mating bite. Aemond moaned and clutched at him. If he’d felt less dizzy, he would’ve tried to climb into his husband’s lap.

“You need to eat,” Lucerys choked out. He pulled away with a grimace, as though it pained him. “I’ve had food brought up. Please come and eat.”

Aemond wanted to grab his tunic and pull him back. It took every scrap of self-control he still possessed not to. He wrapped the bedsheet around himself again, limbs heavy and sluggish. Aemond closed his eyes – the real one and the pale gem. He considered taking the moonstone back out again. But Lucerys was here now. He wanted… seven hells, he wanted to look pleasing for his alpha.

What a pathetic joke! Aemond had probably not looked so terrible since he’d been dragged out of the Gods Eye. How Lucerys was surely regretting his choice of mate now. Alphas looked forward to their omegas’ heats. Their mates were never more desirable to them – never more irresistible, never more alluring. What did Lucerys see, what he looked at Aemond now? An irresistible, alluring figure? Hah. No. He saw a mutilated face, tangled hair, and sallow skin. All wrapped up in a filthy old bedsheet.

With an effort, Aemond got to his feet. He looked at his husband, expecting to see… what? Pity. Maybe even disgust at the state of him. Instead, Lucerys’ expression was almost frightening in its hunger. Aemond swayed forward without meaning to, but caught himself and turned away quickly. Which was for the best, because in the face of that stare, he’d been about to beg for something humiliating.

Lucerys hovered as Aemond dragged himself out into the solar. He wished the alpha would back off. The scent of Lucerys made it hard to think. Made it hard to resist. Why was he so gods-damned close? Did he think Aemond was likely to keel over? Yes – yes by the gods, he probably did, didn’t he? Aemond glowered and forced himself to stand up at his full height, striding forward with far more confidence than he actually felt in his unsteady legs.

The food was plain. A hunk of soft bread. Some cheese and fish. Aemond ate a bit of all of it, praying his empty belly wouldn’t growl loudly. Mercifully, it didn’t. Although he’d been starving, Aemond found he was sated quickly. It wasn’t long at all before he couldn’t manage another bite. All the while, Lucerys stood there, watching. It was irritating.

“There,” Aemond muttered sullenly when he was done. “Are you happy now?”

“No,” said Lucerys dully. “How can I be happy about anything when you hate me?”

Aemond’s tenuous hold on his temper abruptly broke. “Perhaps you should’ve thought about that before you lied to me!” he seethed. “I could’ve seen my mother! She was right there, in the Keep, the whole time! Was it amusing to you, Lord Strong? Did you and your whore mother have a good laugh about it?”

“No!” Lucerys snapped. “It wasn’t like that! Gods damn it. It wasn’t like that! The Queen would’ve never let you see your mother, Aemond. Not under any circumstances. I knew you wouldn’t accept that. I knew you’d do something stupid to try and force her hand!”

Aemond scoffed angrily. “Wanting to see my mother is stupid?”

“I didn’t say – ”

“Who the hells are you to make that choice for me!” Aemond snarled. He rose to his feet, his legs strong again. Whether thanks to the food he’d eaten, or the sheer rage coursing through his veins… Aemond didn’t know. He slammed his fist down on the table. His other hand clutched at the bedsheet, holding it around his body. Gods, he wished he was dressed. It was humiliating to be nearly naked like this. “It isn’t your place, you bastard!”

“Of course it’s my place!” Lucerys yelled back. “It’s my place to protect you from anything that threatens your wellbeing. Including yourself!”

Those words provoked a heady flush of arousal in Aemond. He hated himself for it. His heat rose like an unstoppable tidal wave. Just a handful of feet away, Lucerys made a noise like a wounded animal.

“Gods, Aemond. I need… I need to leave. I can’t stay. I can’t talk about this now. I want you too badly. I can’t think…”

Face flushed, Lucerys marched past in a hurry - leaving Aemond’s chambers. Doing exactly what Aemond had demanded. What he wanted him to do.

Aemond’s hand shot out and grabbed Lucerys by the arm, startling himself. Had he meant to do that? His mind didn’t feel like his own. Gods, he was so angry with Luke. So furious it might eat him alive. And so full of despair he could sink beneath the water and never rise. Aemond felt like crawling out of his own skin. He wanted to break something. To smash and cleave and lay waste. To his marriage, to this fortress, to his sister’s throne. To everything that’d brought him to this moment. He wanted to grab a sword and spill blood until all this wretchedness went away. Until Aemond was in control again.

And yet, what he wanted still more than any of that, was for his alpha to take him to bed and make him forget it.

“What else is your place?” he said hoarsely, tightening his grip, until his fingers were digging into the firm muscle beneath Luke’s tunic. It must’ve hurt, but the alpha made no effort to stop him.

“What?” said Lucerys stupidly.

“What else is your place? What else is your duty?”

“I don’t understand.” Lucerys’ dark eyes flickered down, fixed on Aemond’s mouth.

“Why should I suffer because you are a liar?” Aemond felt a little manic. He surely looked like a madman. He used his other hand to seize Lucerys by the collar. That left the bedsheet unsecured, just barely hanging onto his body. “Why should I be forced to live as your wretched possession – your whore – and yet enjoy none of the benefits?”

“Aemond,” Lucerys whined. The intensity of his scent was dizzying. “Gods, what do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Aemond said fiercely. “I don’t want you to talk. I don’t want to hear any of your pathetic excuses. But I can’t stand this anymore! I need your knot. The rest of you can go to each of the seven hells in turn.”

Their bodies pressed together, their chests, bellies and thighs touching. Aemond had been hard more or less from the moment Lucerys had stormed into his bedchamber. Gratifyingly, he discovered that his husband was in the same condition.

“You don’t mean that,” Lucerys choked out. He was breathing hard, nostrils flaring. “You’ll regret it afterwards. I don’t want you to hate me more than you already do.”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean!” Aemond hissed, yanking hard on Luke’s collar. “You think you know me so well, do you?”

“Yes,” said Lucerys plainly. His hands wrapped themselves around Aemond’s waist.

“You arrogant bastard,” Aemond sneered, as icily as he could manage when every part of him was on fire. “Fine. If you won’t do it, perhaps one of the guards will.”

Lucerys went dangerously still. “If anyone else touches you, I’ll cut their throats and hurl their bodies into the sea for the fish,” he snarled, face twisted with sudden fury. His scent went dark, the heather sour and bitter. A thrill seized Aemond at this display of possessive jealousy from his mate. He found himself held tighter still, Lucerys wrapping his arms fully around Aemond. The bedsheet slipped, falling off Aemond’s shoulders and catching on Lucerys’ forearms.

“Are you too weak?” Aemond murmured. Lucerys thought he knew him, did he? Well, that knife cut both ways. How long had they shared a bed now? How long had they spent at least half of every day together? Aemond knew Lucerys. Knew which strings to yank on to get a reaction out of the cur. “Too feeble? Is that it? Are you no dragon, but a prancing lamb – ”

Lucerys kissed him with a mad fervour that had Aemond’s blood pounding in his ears. He flung his arms around Lucerys’ neck as his body sang. At last! His alpha was here. His alpha would give him what he needed. His virile mate, who’d take Aemond to bed, fill him up, put a babe in his belly and keep him safe…

Lucerys began manhandling Aemond towards the bedchamber. The fever had fully swallowed Aemond’s capacity for rational thought. Nothing else mattered but what his body craved – his alpha’s knot. He wanted to be knotted as many times as it took. Bedded, sated, and held. Everything passed in a haze of desire and impatience. There was a hot mouth worrying at the scar on his neck. Aemond was suddenly on his back, on the bed. The bedsheet wrapped around his body was gone, and Lucerys was hurriedly stripping out of his own clothes. Aemond whined – gods, what was taking so long? He needed it now.

“I know, I know,” Lucerys babbled. He managed to get himself naked too, and then there were large hands on Aemond’s thighs, lifting and spreading them, and…

Aemond had heard plenty of tales of what it was like to have sex in the fever. Aegon, despite being a beta himself, had taken great delight in regaling the young Aemond with tales of what alphas were like in rut, and omegas in heat. Stories of things Aegon had seen at the brothels he’d already begun to visit with sordid regularity.

How much had been true, and how much stupid bravado, Aemond didn’t know. He’d believed all of Aegon’s nonsense back then. Tales of alphas made violent by the force of their rut, desperate to fuck anything. And omegas literally sobbing with need of a knot. And how the pleasures experienced by both were incomparable. How it was a terrible shame for them both – as Aemond had still been thought a beta at the time – that they’d never get to experience it. Aegon had nevertheless tried his best to get a taste, bedding omega whores in heat like it was going out of fashion. He went to them, yet always refused to see poor Helaena through any of her fevers.

Aemond had hated hearing about his brother’s lechery – which, of course, had been exactly why Aegon had so enjoying telling him. But Aegon was far from the only person who enjoyed lewd stories about raptures of sexual bliss. During the war, Aemond had overheard countless alphas boasting about driving fever-struck omegas wild with ecstasy. They never, ever mentioned their own mates. And would reliably become furiously jealous and protective if anybody dared inquire how their husbands or wives behaved in heat. But telling tall tales of past conquests was a common pastime for knights and lowborn soldiers alike. Aemond had even met a handful of other omegas who’d repeated such fanciful stories.

It'd almost been enough, when they’d been occupying Harrenhal, for him to consider skipping a dose of the asp water. Just to find out. Just to know, in case he should die and the chance would be gone forever.

Well, now he did know. And all the gossip and bragging had done absolutely no justice to the reality of it.

Aemond’s rationality came back to him slowly, as he fought to catch his breath. His body was damp with sweat and wracked by little shivers of pleasure as he lay in a post-orgasmic daze upon the mattress. Seven hells. Lucerys was slumped over him, his knot buried inside. It was uncomfortable, actually, in this position. Bordering on painful. Aemond whined and shoved at his alpha. Lucerys groaned, wrapped his arms tightly around him, and in one sudden movement, turned them over so that Aemond was sprawled in his lap. The discomfort eased.

They didn’t talk. Aemond was utterly exhausted. His eye grew heavy. He was vaguely aware of their bodies parting, and of being carefully laid down on the bed and a blanket pulled over him. Then he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

…

Aemond woke at first light the next day, out of his mind with heat again. He reached desperately out across the large bed. Seeking his alpha. Had Lucerys left? Was he alone again? The bedchamber faced away from the rising sun. It was still quite dark, and Aemond couldn’t see. He could smell his mate, but that might’ve been nothing more than lingering scent left on the bedsheets. Where was he? Where…

“I’m here, I’m right here,” Lucerys mumbled groggily. His arms wrapped around Aemond from behind and his mouth fell onto his neck. “Gods, you smell so good.”

They fucked laying on their sides, Aemond whining and moaning like a back-alley whore and Lucerys grunting with the effort. Soon they were knotted again – Luke’s thick, muscled thigh flung over Aemond’s. The heat of his alpha at his back was like a smith’s furnace. Aemond would’ve enjoyed it, if his addled mind hadn’t finally cleared and he’d remembered vividly just what a lying bastard Lucerys was.

“This isn’t forgiveness,” he muttered.

“I know,” Lucerys mumbled against the nape of Aemond’s neck. He sounded sad.

When they were separated again, Lucerys rose from the bed. Aemond watched him. It seemed pointless not to enjoy the sight of his husband’s naked body after what they’d just done. There were marks on his back where Aemond had dug his short nails in the day before. Lucerys pulled his clothes back on, covering them up.

“Wait here,” Lucerys said. “I won’t be long.”

Aemond itched to tell him not to come back at all. But that seemed pointless too. He’d already given in, after all. Already debased himself.

He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. His body still sated from that last knot, Aemond felt briefly in control. He brooded despondently on his situation. His strength of will hadn’t been enough. He thought he’d probably been doomed from the moment Lucerys had entered his bedchamber.

Aemond closed his eye, ashamed of himself.

After a while, Lucerys came back, just as he’d said he would. He was carrying a plate of food and a cup of water. He sat down on the bed and proffered both.

“You need to eat and drink. Please Aemond.”

Aemond sat up and silently took the cup. He was desperately thirsty and downed the water in one go. The food was harder. He managed to eat a few mouthfuls of the cheese and a little of the bread. Lucerys frowned - but didn’t press the matter.

“Do you want me to…” Lucerys started to say, and then stopped, apparently thinking better of it.

“Spit it out, Lucerys,” Aemond muttered irritably.

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to comb your hair?” Lucerys said. “Or… if you really want, I suppose I could get one of the servants…” Despite his words, he sounded like he hated the very idea.

Yes, gods damn it all, Aemond wanted Lucerys to comb his hair for him. He hated that he wanted it, but he did. An alpha fussing over their heat-struck omega, taking care of them, making sure they were fed and watered… it was the natural way of things. Base instinct, for both parties. Not so long ago, Aemond would’ve let Lucerys do it without hesitation. Hells, he’d let his husband brush his hair when they’d both been entirely clear-headed.

But now? Gods… Aemond’s anger hadn’t abated. He felt betrayed. All those pretty words. All those earnest promises. How good they’d sounded. But they’d been as meaningless as the love talk of a well-paid whore. Perhaps that was where Lucerys had learned the art of it. From all the no doubt very well-paid whores he’d enjoyed.

Yet… the idea of the servants seeing Aemond in this state was mortifying. Bad enough that the snivelling steward had.

“Give me a knife and I’ll cut it all off,” he mumbled sullenly.

There was a heavy pause. “Please don’t,” Lucerys said at last, sounding dejected. Good, Aemond thought viciously. But it did need doing. Why not? Why not let the whoreson see to it?

“Fine,” he muttered. “Get it over with then. There’s a comb over there.”

Lucerys retrieved the comb from the table by the window. It was the silver one Aemond had brought from King’s Landing. A gift from Lucerys. The alpha paused, staring at the thing in his hand for a long moment, before perching himself on the edge of the bed.

Aemond’s hair was long, but it was thin and fine. Tangled, but by no means snarled together in a rat’s nest. Lucerys combed it through with careful patience, trying to avoid causing any pain.

“Don’t be soft with me,” Aemond snapped. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, realising with a sinking feeling that his gods-damned heat was starting to creep back over him.

“I can’t be any other way with you.” Lucerys continued running the comb through Aemond’s hair. It slid through smoothly now. “I love you.”

Aemond snorted derisively. But at the same time, he shivered. His mind was succumbing again, and it craved those words. His alpha loved him, would take care of him, would fill him up and knot him and…

…

Lucerys finished combing Aemond’s hair. The disbelieving noise his husband had made after being told Luke loved him was painful to hear. Perhaps not unexpected. But painful.

“Don’t believe it, if you want,” Lucerys said wearily, putting the comb down. Without thinking, he began to braid Aemond’s hair.

“What’re you doing?” Aemond demanded. His scent was strengthening again. The sweetness of apples filled the room. Lucerys’ blood began to grow hot. His cock swelled uncomfortably beneath his breeches.

“It’ll stay neater like this,” Lucerys explained as he wove Aemond’s hair into a braid. He thought about stopping. He hadn’t really meant to start. But his husband didn’t turn and slap his hands away, so he carried on. Gods, Aemond had such beautiful hair.

“Where did you learn to braid hair?” Aemond asked incredulously.

“From watching the maids attend my mother, when I was a boy,” Lucerys lied smoothly. In truth, he’d learned it from the whore whose heat he’d once paid a great deal of coin to share. She’d had long, tumbling locks, and she’d had him brush and braid them every morning of the fever for her. To keep her hair from getting hopelessly tangled as they’d rolled around together beneath the sheets. But Luke would’ve rather gone to the top of Sea Dragon Tower and jumped off than tell Aemond that.

Lucerys had been only too happy to do it as well – the braiding of her hair, that was. Once he’d grasped the basics. It’d been a pleasure to take care of such a beguiling omega during her heat. Even in such a small way as brushing and plaiting her hair for her. It hadn’t been as pleasurable as the uninhibited sex had been, obviously. But nevertheless…

There was nothing pleasurable about trying to take care of Aemond now. Lucerys was worried. Aemond hadn’t eaten anything like enough – although, thank the gods, he’d finally eaten something. He looked unwell and exhausted, and Lucerys couldn’t shake the voice in the back of his head insisting that he wasn’t good enough. Couldn’t even take care of his omega. Couldn’t keep him healthy, or make him happy, or hold him close. Couldn’t even tell Aemond he loved him and get believed.

Rationally, Lucerys knew Aemond was in this state because he wouldn’t let Lucerys look after him. Not properly. But primal instinct held the reins right now. And primal instinct wasn’t rational at all.

And yet… seven hells, Lucerys had never wanted anybody more. Aemond was miserable, resentful, and looked as though he needed to sleep for ten hours straight despite having only just woken up. But by the gods, Luke wanted to fuck him through the mattress. And as Aemond reached towards him, pale chest heaving as he visibly succumbed to his heat… Lucerys lurched forward to do just that. He fell onto his omega, who grabbed hungrily at him. Aemond’s perfect, breathtakingly long legs wrapped themselves around Luke’s waist, and his strong thighs squeezed…

When Luke finally came, the gods only knew how much time later, it was so intense that he swore spots briefly danced across his vision. He made a ragged noise as his body trembled from head to toe. Gods, he could go mad with this. He’d never known anything like it. Aemond was worse, still lost in the delirium of his heat, squirming on Luke’s knot, lone eye hazy with pleasure. Lucerys gathered him close, awkwardly managing to shift their bodies around so that they were comfortably arranged to wait out the knot – and preoccupied himself with kissing Aemond’s shoulder, his collarbone, and the long stretch of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he went, knowing that Aemond was too dazed to really hear him. “Please forgive me. Please my love.”

When his knot had gone down enough to slip free, Luke left his husband dozing in the bed and got up. He stretched his arms over his head, feeling all the muscles in his back loosen up. It felt good. Luke was well-rested, for the first time since arriving on Dragonstone. After three awful nights he’d finally gotten some real sleep – because he’d finally been able to sleep next to Aemond again.

Luke picked his rumpled clothes up from the floor and put them back on, before quietly slipping out the bedchamber. He opened the door to Aemond’s apartments and addressed the guards standing watch on the door. They weren’t there to keep Aemond prisoner, they were there to keep him safe. Especially now.

“Have the chamberlain sent for,” he ordered. “And – no, he’s an alpha, isn’t he? No, not him. Whoever the most senior household servant who’s an omega. Bring them here.”

Lucerys didn’t have to wait long. A woman arrived shortly afterwards. She was old, with a weather-beaten face, but she was stout, strong, and her ruddy cheeks and bright eyes spoke of good health.

“I want a hot bath made up,” Lucerys told her. “There’s an empty room in these apartments. You know the one. Put the bath in there. And while my mate is in it, I want everything on the bed changed. I want new linens, new pillows, new blankets, everything. And I want fresh food brought up. I know the kitchens are poorly stocked, but bring whatever can be had. Omegas prefer sweet things when they’re in heat, don’t they?”

The old woman smiled and nodded. “That’s right, my prince.”

“And more water too. But only omegas are to enter these chambers. I don’t want an alpha or even a beta to set a single foot inside. And nobody sets eyes on my husband. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly clear, my lord.”

The woman departed to see to her duties. Lucerys went briefly back to his own rooms and collared a page boy to bring him some fresh clothes. By the time he was done, there were already servants in Aemond’s rooms. A large bathtub had been hauled up and placed in the empty chamber that’d once served as a study. Omegas carrying pewter jugs filled the thing with steaming hot water. Usually, expensive scented oils would’ve been added to the bath. But not this time. Cloying scents wouldn’t be pleasant for Aemond, not in his condition, when the smell of everything was heightened.

Lucerys entered Aemond’s bedchamber, closing the door firmly behind him. His husband was still laid out on the bed, the sheets and blankets wrapped awkwardly around him. He opened his eye and turned his head to stare at Lucerys. There was a groggy set to Aemond’s face. He still wasn’t quite in his right mind. Still a little fever struck. Good. That would make this easier.

“Aemond, get up for me, would you?” Luke said softly, picking up a green robe that was discarded on the floor. It’d been a fine thing once upon a time, but now it was rather threadbare at the collar and cuffs. Lucerys looked at it, annoyed. Was this really the best Dragonstone had to offer his mate? A prince no less?

“What for?” Aemond muttered as he sat up on the edge of the bed. Lucerys stared down at him. The milky whiteness of his skin. The wound on his arm that was nearly healed. The other, older scars he bore. The narrowness of his waist and the way the muscles shifted in his back. Lucerys would never tire of looking. But there was a hot bath that would begin to grow cold if left too long.

“You’ll see,” Lucerys said, handing the robe to his husband who shrugged it on.

“I don’t enjoy guessing games,” Aemond grumbled irritably.

“Don’t guess then. Get up and see for yourself.”

As instructed, the servants were nowhere to be seen. Aemond regarded Luke with suspicion as he was led to the waiting bath. But his eye widened when he saw the steaming hot water.

“Thank the gods,” Aemond groaned.

To the hells with the gods, thank me, a part of Lucerys thought ungenerously. Tell me I’m looking after you properly. Tell me you forgive me.

Luke half-expected to find himself summarily dismissed. But Aemond said nothing as he threw aside the robe and stepped into the bath. Lucerys’ eyes caught on the glistening mess that was smeared down his omega’s pale thighs, and his pulse briefly quickened. But then Aemond sank into the hot water. He was tall. Too tall to disappear beneath the water altogether, even in such a large tub, but Lucerys got the distinct impression that he would’ve if he could’ve.

With little else to do, Lucerys sat on the floor next to the bath, his back pressed to its side. He wanted to try and have something approaching a normal conversation. He feared once this heat was over, his mate would resume despising him from a distance. Luke had to take advantage of this closeness now. He had to say something. But he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make it worse. So, they sat in silence – apart from the gentle splashing of the water as Aemond washed himself.

“I never set out to deceive you,” Lucerys blurted out all of a sudden. “I know I did. But it wasn’t a plot. I didn’t scheme this with my mother. She wanted me to tell you the truth about Alicent. I just… I knew you’d be so angry with me. And I knew you’d do anything to see her, even if the Queen forbade it, and I was afraid you’d do something stupid. Something that would give my mother cause to…”

“Shut up,” Aemond interrupted. “I’m not interested in your pitiful excuses, you fork-tongued bastard.”

“It’s not an excuse,” Luke protested. Although it was. Of course it was. But he’d never actually lied to Aemond – although he’d never corrected his husband’s assumptions either. He’d thought, at the time, that distinction counted for something. Aemond clearly didn’t think so. Luke’s mother had warned him, hadn’t she? She’d told him that Aemond would be just as furious either way. And she’d been right. Of course she’d been right!

“You made a fool of me,” Aemond hissed. “A fool. You had a hundred chances to tell me the truth! But you didn’t! What other lies have you told me, Lucerys? What other honied horseshit have I swallowed?”

“Nothing!” Luke protested. He turned, rising up to his knees so he could look Aemond in the eye. “Gods, nothing.”

“Is that so? You think I believe that?”

“You should,” Lucerys pleaded with him. “It’s the truth.”

“The truth,” Aemond scoffed contemptuously.

“It is. I didn’t lie to you. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t lie to you. I didn’t tell you the truth. I admit it. But I didn’t lie.”

“And what other truths will you fail to tell me?” Aemond said angrily. “What other things will everyone know but me? I’ve been made your dog on a leash! Your kept whore!”

“Seven hells Aemond!” Lucerys snapped. “Don’t be fucking absurd.”

“Get out!” Aemond snarled. He was flushed – from the hot water, from his heat, or from sheer rage… Lucerys didn’t know. “Leave me alone! I’m sick of seeing you! You should’ve left me to that dusty sept Rhaenyra had planned!”

Luke couldn’t take hearing any more of it. He stormed out. The moment the door slammed shut behind him, he sagged back against it. The gods damn it all. He’d known Aemond would be like this. Vicious, difficult, and thinking the absolute worst of Lucerys. He had a melodramatic streak that reminded Luke of Daemon of all people. But it was painful to listen to. Lucerys felt a tide of despair bubble up inside of him and forced himself to choke it back down.

Perhaps he ought to leave. But the servants had left food on the table, as Luke had instructed. A plate of thin, sugared biscuits – still warm. Fresh baked and golden. Aemond needed to eat. He needed to drink as well. He’d had far too little water, and that hot bath would only make things worse. So Lucerys sat and waited. After a long while, the door opened and Aemond emerged. He was wearing the green robe again. He didn’t look surprised to see Lucerys still in his chambers.

“I told you to get out.”

“Eat and drink something, and I will,” Lucerys replied.

“I’m not a child.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

Aemond’s lip curled – but he did sit down. Lucerys poured a cup of water and pushed it over the table. Aemond drank it at once, so Luke poured another and then stared pointedly at his husband until he drank that too. The sweet biscuits went down far easier than the other food Luke had tried to ply his mate with. Aemond ate one, rather sullenly, before eating two more with much greater enthusiasm.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t even look at each other. In fact, Aemond avoided looking at Lucerys so determinedly, it was as though he was repulsed by the very sight of him. Perhaps he was. Maybe that’s how deep the resentment ran. Lucerys, for his part, pretended to inspect a whorl in the polished oak tabletop, while keeping Aemond carefully in his peripheral vision. Making sure he ate.

Slowly, Luke became aware of the sweet scent in the room intensifying again. He shifted in his chair, abruptly achingly hard. He needed to leave now – before he did something stupid. Said something stupid. Made it worse. Wordlessly, Lucerys rose to his feet, intending to march straight out.

“Luke…” Aemond moaned softly.

Lucerys stopped short, as though a chain around his neck had pulled taut. Aemond so rarely called him by the shortened, familiar version of his name. It was nearly always ‘Lucerys’ – even in bed.

The one-eyed gaze Aemond turned on him was glassy. Gods, he’d fallen back into the fever so quickly. And badly too. As Luke watched, his mate sank down into the high-backed oak chair he was sitting in. The green robe caught on the ornately carved wood and pulled wide open at the neck. Lucerys inhaled sharply. He needed to control himself. He needed to…

“I hate you,” Aemond said. His voice shook a little.

“I know.”

“Good. Come to bed and fuck me.”

“You wanted me to leave a moment ago.”

“And now I don’t,” Aemond retorted, visibly aggravated. Despite that, he sounded whiny. Anxious, even. “Or do you want to go? Do you have somewhere else to be? Some other omega you’d prefer to be bedding?”

Lucerys felt a sudden and uncharacteristic surge of anger. He slammed his fist down hard on the table. The plate and cups jolted. “Why are you forever saying stupid things like that?” he snapped. “If I’d wanted someone else, I could’ve had them! But I didn’t! I wanted you, Aemond! Gods help me, I still want you. I will always want only you!”

Aemond stared. Then suddenly, without warning, he lurched up out of his chair and practically threw himself at Luke, kissing him as though his life depended on it. The scent of his heat was so strong it made Lucerys dizzy. Dizzy and out of his mind with arousal. He grabbed at Aemond frantically, not sure what part of him he wanted to touch first. Aemond’s hands wrapped around his face – one of them pressing hard over the bruise there. Luke hissed, sucking air sharply between his teeth as pain bloomed across the curve of his cheekbone.

“Does it hurt?” Aemond demanded.

“Yes.”

Whether that pleased him or not, Lucerys didn’t know, because Aemond just kissed him again. Gods, Luke was going to fuck him on the table if they didn’t move to the bedchamber right now. Summoning up all his willpower, he pulled Aemond in that direction. It was slow and clumsy, because Lucerys couldn’t actually bear to let go of him, kissing his mate like he wanted to devour him. Aemond’s teeth scraped over his split lip, and despite the sting, for some reason it drove Luke wild. He was gone.

Chapter Text

Aemond woke up and groaned into his pillow. He’d been lying on his side, arm trapped beneath his body. Now the damned thing had gone numb. He turned on his back, rolling out his aching shoulder. Sensation flooded back into his limb – but at the cost of a thousand painful pins-and-needles stabbing at him from the elbow down.

Aemond waited impatiently for the pain to fade. His heat was finally subsiding. This was the first morning in five days he hadn’t woken up writhing and desperate for his alpha’s knot. Something of the fever still lingered, but it wasn’t anything like the burning need that’d eaten Aemond alive for this last miserable fucking week.

Well, if he was feeling generous, Aemond supposed it hadn’t been entirely miserable. By the gods, he hadn’t known his body was even capable of feeling like that. Lucerys had always been good at taking him apart in bed. Shockingly, shamefully good at it. But this? Seven hells. When it’d been good, it’d been truly obscene just how good it was. When Lucerys had given Aemond what his body craved… the raw sensation had been overwhelming. Pleasure so intense it was nearly pain. Aemond had been desperate for it, mad for it, even worse than he remembered being during that awful heat he’d fallen into locked away in the Red Keep’s dungeons. But this time… this time, he’d gotten what he needed so badly.

Aemond flushed as he thought about it. Being knotted, being held, getting fucked. Just the memory was enough to turn his pale cheeks a little pink. His blood might’ve cooled some, but he wasn’t entirely free of his heat yet.

The backwards folk in the North, who still kept to the heretical religion of their barbarian ancestors, believed that when alphas and omegas fell into their fevers, they were in touch with the old gods. Heats and ruts made men and women savage again, and in that savagery, there was mysterious power. So said the northerners, anyway. Before the war, Aemond had always scoffed at such blasphemous, filthy nonsense. But, for the first time in his life, he thought perhaps he could vaguely understand what the First Men had been driving at.

He glanced at the other side of the bed. Lucerys was still fast asleep, arm flung over Aemond’s waist. It was easy enough to push it off. Lucerys didn’t even stir. He slept through Aemond putting the green robe back on and leaving the bedchamber too.

The plates were still on the table. They’d been picked clean, nothing but a few crumbs left. As they’d fucked the previous day away, Lucerys had forced Aemond to eat more of those sweet little biscuits. He’d plied him with water too, constantly pressing cups into Aemond’s hands and pleading with him to drink them dry. Aemond had grumbled and complained about it all, but truthfully… he’d felt better every time he’d eaten something. Every time he’d had a cup of cool water. The lightly-sugared biscuits had at least tasted pleasant – unlike the bread and cheese, which’d been like chalk dust on Aemond’s tongue.

Just like the plates, the bath was still there too. Clearly, no servants had entered his apartments overnight. Lucerys must’ve forbidden it. It wasn’t too surprising. Alphas famously loathed anybody else seeing their omegas in the throes of heat. Even those people who normally went invisible and unnoticed.

The water in the tub was stone cold. But Aemond shrugged off the robe and sank into it anyway, gritting his teeth against the sudden chill. He washed his body as best he could, even as he began to shiver. It might’ve been summer, but the thick walls of Dragonstone absorbed little heat from the sun, even at midday. And it was a long way from midday yet.

To Aemond’s surprise, it was perversely satisfying to be so frozen. After all the softness and merciless heat of the last few days… to be cold and uncomfortable felt like an escape. He stayed sitting in the water for far longer than was probably healthy. By the time Aemond got out, he felt dizzy and sluggish. He couldn’t feel his hands and feet properly either. He wrapped himself up in the green robe and waited until he felt vaguely normal again.

There were clean clothes in the bedchamber. Just braies and hose, and a plain black tunic. Aemond had intended to wear them during his heat – before he’d realised just how severe the accursed fever would be. Aemond quietly retrieved them, finding Lucerys still asleep. By the gods, without the morning sun to rouse him, the bastard really was dead to the world. Like a lazy old dragon, slumbering the years away.

Aemond dressed in silence. His mutilated eye-socket felt sore. He’d had the moonstone eye in for too long, without removing it to clean. Grimacing, he took the thing out now – after quickly checking that Lucerys was indeed sound asleep. Aemond slipped the moonstone into his pocket and retrieved the soothing salve he'd been given by the Grand Maester. He gingerly dabbed it around his scarred flesh.

His eyepatch was out in the solar. Aemond found it and put it on, concealing the empty space and the ugly drooping eyelid that hung over it. Washed and dressed, he felt something like himself again. Something like he was in control.

There were guards on his door. Of course there were. The idea that Aemond would enjoy some middling freedom here had been another one of Lucerys’ shameless lies. The men startled at the sight of Aemond. He scented the air and was quietly relieved that neither guard was an alpha. Aemond’s heat was winding down, but it wasn’t entirely finished. He didn’t want to be anywhere near any alpha other than his own. And even then… well, his tolerance for Lucerys was distinctly fucking dubious.

“I want more food and water,” he demanded as imperiously as he could. He wasn’t sure the guards would obey him. At the Red Keep, Lucerys had instructed the servants to bring Aemond whatever he asked for. That’d been the only reason he’d been able to give orders. Not because Aemond was a prince. Not because the blood of the dragon ran in his veins. No, only because his husband had permitted it. Perhaps the same didn’t hold true here on Dragonstone. Maybe the guards would ignore Aemond, treating him like… like exactly what he was. A glorified prisoner.

But they didn’t. The men glanced at each other, but didn’t question Aemond’s right to issue commands. “Yes, my prince,” one of them muttered sullenly - but obediently.

Satisfied, Aemond closed the door again. The food and water he’d requested arrived quickly. Once again, the kitchen had sent up sweet things. Sundried grapes from Dorne and peeled almonds. Aemond wondered suspiciously at it – until he suddenly remembered that omegas were supposed to prefer sweet food when they were in heat. During that first appalling heat he’d endured in his youth, his mother had ordered all manner of sugared treats brought to Aemond. He’d been so horrified by what’d just happened to him, and what it meant for the rest of his life, that he’d eaten hardly any of it. In-between the bouts of fever, he’d just cried.

The sweet food did taste good. Aemond ate the almonds and dried grapes greedily. He drank the water. Then he’d nothing to do but sit and brood. He wished he had something to read. There’d always been books at the Red Keep and Lucerys was forever bringing him new ones. An absurdly diverse variety, some interesting, some staggeringly dull - but Aemond, bored out of his wits, had read them all.

With a slight creak, the bedchamber door opened. Lucerys stepped out. He’d also gotten dressed. Unlike Aemond, who’d carefully ensured he was as perfectly presented as possible – eager to claw back as much dignity as he could – Lucerys’ clothes were rumpled, and the ties of his breeches and tunic were both unfastened. He stared at Aemond.

“Your heat is over,” he stated plainly.

“Not quite,” Aemond admitted moodily. Damn it all, just the sight of his alpha – the pale dip of his bare chest, his dark curls wild and tousled, and his lips a little swollen from kissing Aemond over and over – was enough to reignite an ember of desire. Curse the gods for making Lucerys so fair and strong. Aemond’s heat couldn’t rule him anymore… but the fire hadn’t yet turned to ashes.

“But enough that you don’t need me anymore,” Lucerys said hollowly.

“I never needed you. You barged in here.”

“Because I didn’t want you to starve! And then you asked me to stay.”

“I asked you to do your duty. Now it’s done.”

“Have I outlived my usefulness then?” Lucerys asked dourly.

“What use do I have for a liar?” Aemond spat back angrily.

Lucerys seemed to sag. His shoulders slumped, as though a great weight were pressing down on them. “I’ll leave you in peace then,” he said. “Is there anything you want of me before I go?”

“Moon tea.”

“Of course. I’ll have some brewed.”

“And… I’d like some books. There’s a good library here, isn’t there? Spare me a few books from it.”

Lucerys frowned. “Aemond, I’ll happily bring you as many books as you desire, but… you can go to the library and get them yourself. You’re not a prisoner in these rooms. I said you’d have the freedom of the castle. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“There are guards on the door,” Aemond pointed out.

“For your protection. To ensure your privacy. That’s all. They won’t follow you. They won’t stop you leaving.”

It was a meagre sort of freedom. But it was still more freedom than Aemond had enjoyed for a long time. He was damned if he’d thank Lucerys for it though.

“But perhaps…” Lucerys added. “Perhaps, just until your heat is completely over, it would be best if I…”

“Yes, yes,” Aemond muttered. “Fetch me whatever blasted things you like. I won’t leave these rooms until I’ve stopped stinking like a whore.”

“You don’t stink like a whore. Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re in heat. You smell… gods, if I tried to tell you how good… you wouldn’t believe me. Fresh, and sweet, and…”

“I’m not going to fall for your flattery anymore,” Aemond snapped, even as a pathetic part of him preened. Stupid, stupid. Hadn’t he learned anything?

“So that’s it then, is it?” Lucerys said bitterly. “Everything I say to you is a lie now?”

“How am I to know? Clearly, I cannot tell the difference between lies and the truth! Not when it comes to you! You should be proud of yourself, husband. You’ve got a talent for it. Who’d have thought that behind that pretence of honour lurked such a gifted liar!”

Lucerys’ bruised face shuttered as the insult landed. Aemond enjoyed the sight of his discomfort immensely. He wanted to be cruel. He wanted to hurt Lucerys as badly as his mate had hurt him. And wasn’t that the whole pitiful story of Aemond’s life? Being hurt by Lucerys, yearning to hurt him back just as brutally – and failing. Were they both doomed to it? Was Aemond doomed to it? Being hurt and humiliated over and over, whilst Lucerys lived exactly as he wished, unscathed and untroubled. Yet another joke of the gods, once again played entirely at Aemond’s expense.

“I didn’t lie to you,” Lucerys said. That same contemptable excuse again. Aemond couldn’t bear hearing it. “I never claimed your mother was here.”

“Get out,” Aemond sneered. “If that’s truly the best defence you have, then get out of my sight. You’re right, I’ve no further use for you!”

Lucerys paused for a long time, standing there like a fool. He opened his mouth to speak – then closed it again. At last he dragged himself away like a scolded dog, still barefoot, rubbing at his forehead as though trying to soothe a headache. The door closed firmly behind him, leaving Aemond alone.

…

Lucerys went straight to his own chambers, just one floor above. He’d meant to call for some breakfast. He’d meant to have a bath. To dress in fresh clothes and summon the steward. But instead, he went to his bed and collapsed upon it. His throat was painfully tight, and he was having trouble breathing. He could only snatch short, sharp breaths. Vaguely, as though it was happening to someone else, Luke was aware that he was on the verge of a flood of tears. His head ached miserably.

Luke had stayed awake, that first night he’d spent back in bed with Aemond, long after his exhausted and heat-stricken mate had fallen asleep. He’d kept on adjusting the blankets, so they covered Aemond better. He’d watched his omega carefully for any signs of discomfort or distress. Noticed how his hair was tangled, and his lips were dry. How the sheets on the bed were stained with seed and slick, and needed changing.

Of course Lucerys wanted always to look after Aemond. To keep him safe, comfortable, and happy – like all alphas did their omegas. All alphas worth a damn, at least. But the urge to take care of his mate had been all-consuming as Luke had laid in that rumpled bed, silently watching him sleep. The scent of Aemond’s simmering heat had been thick in the air, filling Lucerys’ nose with every breath. And with each of those breaths, it sweetly drugged him.

Aemond was his. His to care for, his to bed, his to love. In a strange way Aemond’s heat had been a blessing. It’d gotten Luke back into his husband’s bed, after all. Surely this would soothe things between them. Surely now Lucerys could make Aemond understand. It’d soften him - Luke had been sure of it. How could they possibly be so intimate with one another, and not rekindle even a little affection?

Not for the first time, Lucerys had sorely underestimated Aemond’s capacity to hold a grudge. He was still bitterly furious.

Luke closed his eyes and waited out the despair. Waited for the tightness in his throat to ease, and the wetness prickling his eyes to dry up. When he thought he had control of himself again, he sent for food and water. He ate and drank, and then he ordered that bath. The hot water was cleansing. Luke sat in the bath, trying not to let his mind wander too much. He ran his hand over his beard. It was growing too long. Luke liked it kept short and neat. When he was done with the bath, he had the barber summoned to trim it. Altogether, it was nearly midday before he finally sought out the steward.

“The supply ship arrived at first light,” Blude informed him as they walked side-by-side through the bailey. “They had bad seas for most of the journey. But last night their luck turned, thank the gods.”

The sailors’ luck had turned, and so had the weather. As was so often the case with storms, now that it was over, the skies were gloriously clear. Lucerys couldn’t see a single cloud overhead. It was warm too, the sun beating down on Dragonstone. Some of the knights were sparring in the yard, stripped to the waist and sweating furiously. One of them, a hulking great brute of an alpha, winked vulgarly at Blude – before catching sight of Lucerys and quickly pretending he’d only had the sun in his eyes.

“If the supply ship made harbour, then I expect Lord Corlys will make the crossing today – or else tomorrow,” said Lucerys. It was a short journey from Driftmark to Dragonstone. With fair winds and an early start, it could be done in a day.

“I’ll have preparations made, my lord,” said Blude. “Thankfully, we now have the provisions to entertain your guests properly.”

“Good. Have me informed the moment any ship flying the Velaryon colours is sighted.”

“Of course. And… is there anything Prince Aemond requires?”

“Prince Aemond will ask for anything he needs,” Lucerys said firmly. “And it will be provided for him with the deference he is due, am I clear?”

“Yes, my lord. I’ll see to it. Was there anything else?”

Lucerys squinted up at the sun. “It’s a fine day,” he said absently. “I’m loathe to spend it indoors. Maybe I’ll chance my arm with the knights.”

“It’s a fine day indeed,” Blude remarked. “I understand Maester Hunnimore is giving the young prince and princess their lessons in the garden this afternoon.”

“Is he? Perhaps I’ll look in on them instead. It’s important my cousins receive a good education.”

“Maester Hunnimore is an excellent teacher,” Blude reassured him.

“I don’t doubt it,” said Lucerys. “But I'm worried the twins have been neglected. Not by you or anyone else here. But by me. By the Queen. We put them here and forgot about them. Well, I intend to take an interest now.”

When Lucerys stepped out into Aegon’s Garden, he paused for a moment to drink it in. This place was nothing like the perfectly manicured gardens of the Red Keep. It possessed a wild beauty that Luke much preferred. The scent of rambling roses and sweet honeysuckle hung on the air like the finest perfume. A gentle breeze stirred the trees as bees flew lazily from flower to flower. Old memories surfaced. How many times had Luke played hide and seek here with his brothers? He’d been chased about the trees by Jace. He’d lain in the shade with his siblings and listened to their mother telling them stories. He recalled a laughing Daemon swinging a shrieking and delighted Joffrey around in the air. Luke remembered all of it like it was yesterday.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let the familiar grief wash over him.

Maester Hunnimore was sitting with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera beneath a tall pine. He was a plump fellow, with thin hair and ruddy cheeks. He had a book open in his lap and was reading aloud from it. When he saw Lucerys approaching he quickly made to rise.

“No, please,” Lucerys insisted, holding up his hands. “Stay seated. I’m the one who’s interrupting. My apologies, Maester Hunnimore.”

“Not at all, not at all. What can I do for you, my lord? I… if you wish for solitude, I can take the children inside.”

“No, in fact I came here to see them. What lesson are you teaching?”

“History,” said the maester. “Prince Jaehaerys’ favourite subject.”

“Is it?” Luke smiled. “And what history are you studying today, my young cousin?”

“The Doom of Valyria,” said Jaehaerys quietly.

Lucerys nodded solemnly. “A fitting topic to learn about within the walls of Dragonstone. One small bit of Valyria left in the world. Do you mind, Maester, if I join you? It’s been a very long time since I heard this tale."

“Please do,” said Hunnimore politely, although he looked a little nervous to have Lucerys there.

Lucerys sat cross-legged on the grass. Hunnimore began reading again – telling the grim tale of the Fourteen Flames and the rain of fire hot enough to sink an entire nation beneath the waves. He lacked Maester Gerardys’ flair for storytelling. Luke might’ve even described the man as a bit of a droner. But Jaehaerys hung off every word. Hunnimore hadn’t been lying, this was clearly the young prince’s favourite subject. By contrast, Jaehaera’s gaze was so dreamlike Lucerys couldn’t tell if she was listening to any of it. There was a daisy in the girl’s hand that she twirled around absently.

Despite Hunnimore’s monotonous voice, the tale of the Doom was as captivating as it’d been the very first time Lucerys heard it – told to him by his grandfather. The way Corlys had described Valyria… it’d sounded like a realm of dreams and nightmares. A land where miracles were commonplace, and magic was as real and tangible to the Valyrians as the earth beneath their feet.

Lucerys had found it fascinating… but frightening too. Corlys clearly believed the loss of Valyria to be a great tragedy. Luke, even as a boy, hadn’t been so sure. If Valyria had endured, where would the Targaryens be now? Nothing but another minor house among countless others. Unremarkable and unexceptional. What did it mean to be more like gods than men, when you lived in a land bursting at the seams with the divine? But the Doom had happened. Valyria was gone. And now the Targaryens were kings.

Hunnimore’s lesson came to an end. He closed the book.

“Perhaps that’s enough for today,” he said, addressing the twins. “I’m sure you’d prefer to play outside, and I’ve my research to see to. Unless, Prince Lucerys, you think…”

“Oh no, by all means,” Luke said, just about suppressing a yawn. It really was warm. “I’ll stay here with the children.”

Maester Hunnimore stood up. It was some effort for the portly man, as though his joints were giving him trouble. Perhaps he had gout. The maester bowed and left - the heavy book of history tucked securely under his arm.

“Do you like the maester?” Luke asked Jaehaerys, once the man was safely out of earshot.

The boy shrugged. “Yes,” he said, without too much enthusiasm. “But… he likes his experiments better than teaching us. I think he sometimes wishes we weren’t here, so he could spend more time on them.”

“Experiments? What experiments?”

“He wants to find the secret of Valyrian steel,” said Jaehaerys.

Lucerys snorted. “Him and a thousand others. Good luck to the man. I’ll give him his weight in gold if he cracks it.”

Jaehaerys picked at the grass. “Maester Hunnimore did say we could play…”

“Of course you can.” Luke didn’t bother to suppress his next yawn, leaning back on his arms. “I’ll be right here.”

The twins disappeared into the garden, hand-in-hand. Lucerys scooted over to the tree and sat with his back against the old pine. He drifted off into a light doze. He could’ve almost felt content, if only Aemond were here. Sat next to him. Perhaps holding his hand. Gods, perhaps even asleep with his head resting on Luke’s shoulder. It was a mawkishly domestic image, but Lucerys felt near sick with yearning for it.

After a while, and despite being half asleep, Luke became aware that somebody was staring at him. Slowly he opened his eyes. It was the girl, Jaehaera. Her brother was nowhere to be seen.

“Hello,” he said, for lack of any better ideas.

“Hello,” Jaehaera replied, so quietly Luke barely heard it.

Luke waited patiently for her to say something else, but she didn’t. Hunnimore had described Jaehaera as strange. Lucerys could certainly see where the maester had gotten that impression from.

“Do you like it here on Dragonstone?” he prompted.

Jaehaera nodded.

“Do you miss the Red Keep?”

Jaehaera shook her head. There was a long pause, while Luke tried to think of something else to say. A butterfly landed on Jaehaera’s shoulder, batted its wings, and flew away again. She didn’t seem to notice it.

“Does that hurt?” the princess suddenly asked, pointing to the bruise on Luke’s face. It was finally beginning to fade, turning from plum purple to yellow.

“It does,” he told her honestly. “But not as much as it did.”

“Uncle Aemond hit you.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Did you deserve it?” the girl said in her hushed little voice.

Luke smiled sadly. “Yes.”

Jaehaera seemed satisfied by this answer. She turned her gaze upwards to the branches of the tree, squinting as though there was something far more interesting than pine needles to see up there. Lucerys tried to spot what she was staring at. But he couldn’t see anything.

“What do you see?” he asked, confused.

“A wyrm,” Jaehaera whispered. “Black and squirming.”

A wyrm? Was there a dragon overhead? Lucerys craned his head further, but the sky was empty. Frowning, he turned back to the girl. She wasn’t looking upwards anymore, but back at him.

“Do you see it too?” she said, wide-eyed.

“No.” Lucerys glanced back up, hoping to glimpse whatever Jaehaera had mistaken for a dragon. Gods, perhaps she really did live in a dreamworld. Was she seeing things that weren’t there? Or was this just some childish game she was playing?

“I miss my mother,” Jaehaera suddenly offered from nowhere.

That sobered Lucerys quickly. “Of course you do.”

“Why did she kill herself?”

“I don’t know.”

“No-one can tell me,” Jaehaera said. “No-one knows.” Her small shoulders were hunched.

Gods – Lucerys had no idea what to say. His heart broke for the girl. Without realizing, he held out his hand. It was a stupid gesture. He didn’t know Jaehaera, and she certainly didn’t know him. They might’ve been bound by blood, but that was it. It should be Aemond here, offering comfort to his niece. Jaehaera stared, and Luke – feeling idiotic – began to lower his arm, when suddenly the girl stepped forward and took his outstretched hand. Her palm was so small in his.

At that moment Jaehaerys appeared, looking uncertain. Lucerys stood up, still holding Jaehaera’s hand, and held out the other one for the boy. Very hesitantly, he took it.

“What sort of food do they give you here?” Luke said. He might not know the twins, but he’d spent plenty of time with his brothers, who were nearly the same age. What children didn’t enjoy being spoiled with treats? “The kitchens made some sweet biscuits for your uncle the other day. Shall we see if there’s any left?”

“Can we see him?” Jaehaerys asked as they left the garden. “Uncle Aemond?”

“As soon as he’s well,” Lucerys said. “I promise.”

He took his young cousins down to the kitchens. The cooks were unsettled to see them. That was different. When Luke had been a child here, before the war, he and his brothers were forever begging for morsels between meals. The head cook, a beta with a crooked smile and a soft spot for brazen young children, had always indulged them. She’d died of an illness last year. Luke was sorry for it. He thought perhaps he ought to send a small gift of coin to her family. A belated payment for all those smuggled pastries.

There were more of the biscuits, and some marchpane too. Luke took the twins up to the battlements to eat their little treats, so he could look out for any ships sailing for Dragonstone. Apart from a few fishing boats, there were none. Still, the trip wasn’t wasted, because for the first time Lucerys saw Jaehaera smile as she nibbled on the golden marchpane clutched in her hand. Hunnimore had been right – she was a strange child. That odd business about a black wyrm had confirmed as much. She was melancholy and lost in her own head. But really, was any of that surprising? After all the poor girl had been through?

It'd been so easy, in King’s Landing, to think of the twins only as potential figureheads for a rebellion. A potential threat. Now Luke found he could only see a pair of orphans far too long neglected.

He’d do better by them. He would.

Evening drew in. Lucerys went to the library and chose a book he thought Aemond would like. He briefly debated selecting one of the old tomes written in High Valyrian but decided against it. He was sure his husband would like the book about Nymeria and the Rhoynar. He got a servant to bring along a carafe of wine too – the good wine that’d arrived on the supply ship – and two goblets. He went straight to Aemond’s chambers, rapped sharply on the door, then entered without waiting for a response. If Aemond wanted to tell him to fuck off, he could at least look Luke in the eye as he did it.

The servant put the wine on the table, her eyes fixed firmly to the floor, before departing hurriedly. Aemond was sitting up, the room falling into darkness around him. Lucerys sighed as he realized he was going to have to call the servants back in to light the candles. Aemond’s heat was on the very cusp of being over. Just the faintest flicker of it hung in the air.

“What do you want?” Aemond asked tetchily.

“To talk to you,” Lucerys said. “To have a drink with you. But not in darkness.”

“I don’t want to have a drink with you. Leave me alone.”

Lucerys fought to keep his composure. “At least let me talk to you about the twins.”

“What about them? Is there a problem?”

“Have a cup of wine with me and find out,” Luke said.

Aemond scowled – but relented. “Fine,” he said sullenly.

A beta came and lit the candles. Aemond’s heat scent was so faint Lucerys was confident a beta wouldn’t be able to detect it. Still, he watched her like a hawk until she was gone. By the candlelight, he could see Aemond’s clothes were rumpled. As if, at some point, he’d taken them all off and put them back on again later. The idea lit a fire in Luke – which he hastened to stamp out.

He poured the wine and gave a cup to Aemond. Lucerys sat down and took a mouthful from his own goblet. It was good wine. Rich and brambly sweet.

“Did I ever tell you that my brother Aegon is frightened of dragons?” he said.

Aemond eyed him warily. “No. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“A Targaryen afraid of dragons,” said Lucerys, shaking his head. “It sounds like a poor joke, doesn’t it? But it was the war that made him that way. All Aegon knows of dragons is loss. Where dragon-riders go, suffering and death follows after.”

“The deaths of our enemies,” Aemond pointed out, as if that justified all of it. Of course he thought that. Aemond had not shied away from using Vhagar to kill hundreds at a time during the war. He’d revelled like a demon in the blood he’d spilled.

“And when our enemies are each other? What then?”

“What’re you driving at, Lucerys? If you’ve come here to moralize at me, you can leave.”

“I’m saying the children of our House might not have fought in the war, but they bear scars from it, nonetheless,” Luke said. “Aegon’s scared of dragons, yes, but at least he still has the joy of youth. But the twins? There’s a sadness to them that worries me. Children shouldn’t be that melancholy.”

“Have they been mistreated?” Aemond asked sharply, leaning forward in his chair.

“No! No, of course not. Jaehaerys says they like it here. He said the same to you, remember? The day we arrived? Before…”

“Before I gave you that black eye.”

“Yes.” Luke reached up to brush the edge of the bruise with his fingers.

“Does it still hurt?”

“A little. Does that please you?”

“Not particularly. Of course the twins are melancholy. What the hells else did you expect, you fool? Their parents are dead. They’ve seen nobody who loves them in two years!”

“They’ve seen you,” Lucerys said. “Only briefly, I know but… you love them, don’t you?”

Aemond’s jaw tensed. “Do you want me to make some sentimental speech?” he said derisively.

“No. Just the truth.”

“Of course I love them,” Aemond said testily. The words didn’t come easily to him. Lucerys wondered why. Oh, he wasn’t surprised as such. Aemond was quick to anger and to pride – and slow to any other emotion. Luke had known that about him for a long time. But only now, despite having been mated for many moons, did he stop to question why.

“Jaehaera asked me why Helaena killed herself,” Luke said quietly. “I didn’t know what to tell her. The girl misses her mother. Of course she misses her mother. I wish… gods I wish I could…”

He stopped talking. What did he wish, exactly? That he could bring Helaena back from the dead? That more had been done for the twins? Or that none of this had happened at all?

Aemond said nothing. He just sat there, holding his goblet of wine, staring at Lucerys across the table. He was still wearing the eyepatch. It made him look colder. The same way Luke remembered him being before the war, when they'd despised one another.

Luke drank deeply of his own cup before taking a deep breath. “I should’ve told you the truth about your mother. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Aemond said contemptuously.

“Yes! What else do you want me to say? I’m sorry. I’m not proud of it! I knew… gods, I knew you’d hate me for it. I just wanted to…”

“What?” Aemond spat. “You wanted to what?”

“Keep you happy,” Lucerys said helplessly. “If you’d known she was so close by, if you’d known and not been able to see her… you’d have been miserable.”

“You arrogant cur!” Aemond raged. He slammed his goblet down on the table hard enough that some wine splashed out. “Who in the hells were you to make that decision?”

“I was trying to make the best of it! Your mother isn’t in a stable frame of mind, Aemond! She believes you’re dead.”

“She still thinks I’m dead? You didn’t tell her?”

“She’s been told. She just doesn’t believe it.”

“She doesn’t believe it?” A dangerous fire blazed in Aemond’s one eye. “Why? What in the hells has Rhaenyra done to her?”

“Nothing!” Lucerys said. “Your mother has been kept in comfort! Far more comfort than some would say she deserves, believe me. Her mind has cracked, Aemond. Do you understand me? She’s not the person you remember. She talks to the gods as though they’re there in the room with her!”

“What?” Aemond was intensely agitated now, hands gripping onto the edge of the table so hard his knuckles had turned white. “You should’ve let me see her!”

“That was never going to happen! The Queen would’ve never permitted it!”

“And why not?” Aemond demanded, face twisted up with rage.

“Because the two of you are traitors!” Luke cried. “Seven hells Aemond! You are a traitor. Your mother is a traitor. The only reason both of you weren’t executed the moment you fell into our hands is because my mother’s grasp on the throne wasn’t strong enough to risk it! Please… in the name of all the gods, please my love… you must see the truth of it.”

“I don’t have to see a damned thing!” Aemond stormed. He stood up and leaned forward over the table in a menacing fury. “Do you expect me to think any of this is mercy? Because I haven’t been killed? Do you want me to fall to my knees and praise Rhaenyra for her benevolence? You sit there and tell me my mother is mad! That she does nothing but weep all day long! She thinks I’m dead, and yet you’ve taken me three hundred miles from her! I’ve abandoned her! I’ve… I’ve abandoned her again…”

Luke was alarmed to realise that, through his burning rage, Aemond was crying. At once he rose from his chair, stepping around the table and reaching out towards his husband.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Aemond snarled. He backed away, wiping frantically at the tears sliding down his pale cheek. His narrow shoulders shook as he fought to choke down his sobs. But the crying didn’t get better. It got worse. Lucerys couldn’t stand it. The sight felt like a knife in the gut. He didn’t give a shit if Aemond punched him again, he had to try and do something. His omega was distressed… he couldn’t simply stand there. He moved closer, tentatively placing a hand on one of Aemond’s hunched, shaking shoulders.

“You can write to her,” he said helplessly, searching for something, anything to soothe his mate. “My mother wants you to write to her.”

“I don’t want to fucking write to her!” Aemond cried out. “I want to see her. You bastard. You lying bastard! I trusted you.”

He shrugged Lucerys off violently, turning away and burying his face in his hands. His choked breathing sounded wretched, heartbroken and angry all at the same time. Luke despaired. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said desperately. “I’m sorry. You can trust me. I promise you I won’t keep anything from you again. I promise it, Aemond.”

“Liar!” Aemond hissed. “Gods I’m a fool. A fool! I forgot what I am here – your prisoner.”

“You’re not my prisoner,” Lucerys insisted. “You’re my husband. My mate.”

Aemond sneered. “I’m not some dewy-eyed simpleton with their head stuffed full of romantic horseshit, Lucerys. I can be both your mate and your prisoner, husband mine. And I am. This is to be my life, is it? Picked up and put down as you choose! Told whatever you think will make your life easier.”

“No!” Lucerys said emphatically. He hated hearing Aemond spew this poison. He hated thinking his husband believed any of it. “None of that is true!”

“Yes, it is!” Aemond shot back, clenching his fist. He’d stopped crying now, although his cheek was damp with tears still and his one eye glimmered wetly. Had he shed tears from the other eye too? The empty one? Luke didn’t know. It was covered by the eyepatch. “You should’ve given the bite to somebody else! You should’ve let me go off to that cursed sept to wither away and die! I’ll never be what you want me to be Lucerys! I’ll never be content to be your fucking pet!”

“I don’t want you to be my pet!” Lucerys cried, flinging his hands wide with bewilderment. “Where in the seven fucking hells have you gotten that idea from? I love you. If I wanted a blasted pet, you think I would’ve chosen you? Aemond Targaryen! With blood enough on his hands to shame mad old Maegor? I wanted to save you from whatever dank pit my mother would’ve locked you away in! And… gods Aemond, I just wanted you. The gods alone know why. Perhaps I’m mad. Perhaps we’re both mad. But I did, I wanted you. I still want you. You – not some simpering, timid thing. But I don’t rule! And even if I did… I can’t sweep away the consequences of war. There are still those who’d like to see you dead. Who think my mother should’ve taken your head.”

“So I should thank you?” Aemond said incredulously.

“No, but you should try to understand! If the Queen says you can’t see your mother, then her word is law! I can’t change it! I can’t change any of it. You’re not a stupid man. You know why it has to be this way! Gods, I’m not asking you to like it. But you’re not my prisoner. And I swear to you, it won’t always be this way."

“I am your prisoner!” Aemond said. “Just because the prison you’ve made for me is comfortable, it doesn’t change anything! These are poor excuses! You expect me to swallow them? Tell me, Lucerys, why did you lie to me? To make life easier for yourself? To shut me up?”

Luke hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I lied to you because… because I thought it was for the best. Because I thought the truth would make you unhappy.”

“I’m not a child!” Aemond seethed. “I don’t need you fretting over my happiness like I’m some milksop weakling!”

“Of course I’m going to fret about your happiness!” Luke snapped. “You might not like it, but that’s my mark on your neck Aemond! You don’t know what it is to be an alpha – for all I know you think you should’ve been one! Worrying about your fucking happiness is all I can do sometimes!”

“Then you do a poor job of it! I am not happy!”

“But you were,” Luke said despondently. “Before we came here. I know you were. Not all the time. But sometimes, you were happy.”

“I was alone,” Aemond said. The fires of his anger seemed to have suddenly cooled. Like he’d run out of the energy to stoke them. He looked tired. Miserable. He drew further back, away from Lucerys.

“You weren’t alone,” Luke pleaded with him. “You had me. You still have me, Aemond. My only love. You’ll always have me.”

“Honied words. What do they count for?”

“To you? I don’t know,” Lucerys said dejectedly. “But to me? To me, they count for everything. Do you want me to vow it? I will. We can go to the sept right now and I’ll vow it on every altar there. We’re bound together by the gods. And I swear to you, that bond has me by my soul. I can’t even sleep properly without you!”

He stepped closer. Aemond didn’t recoil. He glared at Lucerys – but allowed his alpha’s hands to settle on his shoulders. They were tense as a taut bowstring.

“I promise, I won’t lie to you again. I swear it on the gods, on the throne, on our House. Please believe me.”

“That’s the difference between us,” Aemond said bitterly. “I have to believe you. What other choice do I have?”

Lucerys’ brow furrowed. “Of course you have a choice.”

“No I don’t. All the choices here are yours.”

Luke didn’t know what to say to that. All he could do was stare at Aemond. At his tear-stained face and general aura of defeated melancholy. He wanted so badly to make it better. To fix it somehow. But he’d no idea where to even begin. So he did the thing that came naturally. He slid his hand nimbly beneath the collar of Aemond's tunic, and pressed his palm over the bite scar on his neck, squeezing gently. The most basic gesture of comfort any alpha had to offer their omega.

“If I ever catch you in another lie, I’ll take that eye of yours after all,” Aemond muttered wearily.

“Those seem like fair terms,” Lucerys agreed. Tentatively he moved his hand from Aemond's pale throat, so that he could wrap his arms around him. He waited for the backlash - and it didn’t come. Aemond allowed it. This close now, the sour note of unhappiness in his scent was unmistakable. It made Lucerys ache.

“I know this life doesn’t suit you,” Lucerys murmured. “But truly… it won’t be forever. I don’t intend to keep you wrapped in silks and perfumes, hidden away indoors. I’ve never wanted that. Not for any omega of mine. We’ll both fight in my mother’s tourney, and you can best me and all the other alphas there in front of every noble between Dorne and the Wall. And I’ll only love you more for it.”

“I’ll fight only with your permission,” Aemond mumbled sourly. “I’ll escape the silks and perfumes only because you don’t want me smothered in them.”

Lucerys sighed. He pulled back a little so that he could press his brow to Aemond’s. “What would you have me say? That’s the way of the world. I’m an alpha, you’re an omega. That’s how the gods have made us.”

“Fuck the gods.”

“Such blasphemy,” said Lucerys. He chanced a crooked smile. “And to think, you used to be so pious.”

“What have the gods ever done for me?” Aemond said. “Nothing.”

“They saved you from the Gods Eye,” said Lucerys. “And they delivered you to me. Isn’t that something? Isn’t it better to be warm and safe and loved than dead at the bottom of a cold lake?”

“Hmm,” was the only response Aemond gave. He reached up to wipe away the tear tracks from his face with the heel of his hand. Impulsively, Luke caught his wrist to stop him – and then brushed the tears away himself. Aemond’s eye narrowed, but very surprisingly, he didn’t stop Lucerys.

“You’re lovely,” Lucerys confessed as he ran his thumb over the high curve of Aemond’s cheekbone. And he was. In a sharp sort of way. Like a very fine dagger.

“You’re deluded,” Aemond said scathingly. “How hard did I hit you the other day? Your brains have been rattled.”

“Why do you think that? Why do you always talk about yourself like you’re ugly?”

“Because I’m missing a fucking eye Lucerys.” Aemond stepped back and slapped Luke’s hand away irritably. “Can’t you see your own handiwork anymore? Because I promise you, the rest of the wretched world can.”

Lucerys faltered and cursed himself. When it came to Aemond, he never knew when to just shut up. He always had to open his mouth and say something that made matters worse. He couldn’t seem to help it.

Aemond threw himself back into his chair and picked up his goblet of wine, draining the contents in one go. Luke silently refilled his cup. He sat down and picked up his own goblet again. How long they sat in silence, Lucerys didn’t know. He let his mind wander – just as Aemond’s seemed to have. He thought about his own mother, back in King’s Landing. The danger she was in. He thought about his brothers – the ones he’d lost, and the ones he’d be seeing again any day now. And he thought about the twins. About how withdrawn they were. How badly they needed their mother, who was gone beyond all mortal reach.

“Helaena was a good mother, wasn’t she?”

Across the table, Aemond froze halfway through raising his cup back to his mouth. Slowly, he lowered it again. “Yes,” he said.

“Was Aegon a good sire?”

Aemond paused, considering his answer. “Not particularly. He preferred wine and whoring to parenthood. I’m sure he sired his fair share of bastards he was just as disinterested in.”

“Didn’t he love them? The twins?”

Aemond lowered his gaze for a moment. “Yes,” he said quietly. “He loved them.”

“You were close to the children, weren’t you? The twins are eager to see you again.”

A wry little smile tugged briefly at Aemond’s lips. “I liked them,” he admitted. “I think they were the only reason my mother didn’t despair completely of me.”

Lucerys frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She wept when I presented as an omega. She thought I was too hard for it. My mother thought I needed to become docile and meek, or else I’d suffer. But when she saw me with the children… I think she thought perhaps I could learn to be the sort of obedient sweetling that might convince some fat-headed lord to put up with a mangled face if it meant mating a prince.”

Aemond laughed humourlessly. “But I’d have killed any alpha who tried to make me that,” he continued. “And I told her so. I suppose, in a strange way, my sire did me a favour marrying me off to you. It stopped my mother worrying herself sick about what’d happen to me. And then the war came, and suddenly everyone was happy for me to prefer the sword to whelping children. Being an omega mattered far less than all the blood I could spill for them.”

He didn’t sound sorry about it. In fact, he sounded pleased. Proud.

“Is that the only reason King Viserys did you a favour by marrying you to me?” Lucerys asked. “Because it made your mother fret less?”

Aemond regarded him cooly. “I thought so at the time.”

“And now?”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, and for a moment Lucerys was certain he was going to say something cruel. But then an unexpected smirk played about Aemond’s mouth. “I suppose you’ve other virtues as well.”

Luke smiled at him. “Do I now?”

“Yes, you do,” Aemond said.

“And what are these virtues?”

Aemond’s eye briefly raked down Lucerys’ body. What part of it was visible above the tabletop, anyway. “I find I cannot recall exactly. Perhaps I need reminding.”

“I am your servant,” Luke said at once. It was only partly a flirtation.

“My heat is nearly over,” Aemond said bluntly. “It’ll be gone entirely by the morning. I would enjoy it one last time, whilst my head is clear enough to remember it all.”

A heady rush of arousal swept through Luke’s body. By the gods, he’d make Aemond howl. He’d use every trick he’d ever learned between the sheets. His husband would remember this alright. He’d remember how perfectly their bodies fit together. How clearly the gods had meant them for one another – despite everything that ought to have kept them apart. Luke would be focused solely on his omega’s pleasure tonight. He dug his fingernails into the arm of his chair, eager to get to it – but knowing he had to wait for Aemond to make the first move.

And indeed, Aemond drank down the last of his wine and stood up. There was no need for him to question whether or not Lucerys agreed to his request. He could surely smell his alpha’s desire in the air. It intensified as Aemond drew near, and without ceremony, sank into Lucerys’ lap.

Luke surged forward, intending to kiss Aemond breathless… only to be stopped by a hand grasping his jaw and squeezing to the point of pain.

“This still isn’t forgiveness,” Aemond warned. “I’m not so weak-willed as that.”

Lucerys’ heart sank. But he refused to be too disheartened. When he’d walked in here, Aemond could barely look at him. Now here he was, in Luke’s lap.

Luke meant to tell Aemond that he’d earn that forgiveness. That he’d win back his trust. But when he opened his mouth to speak, he found himself saying something else altogether.

“I love you,” he breathed earnestly.

Aemond’s grip on his jaw slackened. He swallowed hard, his lone eye burning with some emotion Lucerys couldn’t place. Slowly, he leaned down and kissed Luke.

“You’re a fool, Lucerys,” he mumbled against Luke’s mouth.

“Are you any better?” Luke bit softly at Aemond’s lower lip.

Aemond’s hand slid into his mate’s hair and tugged sharply on it. “Shut up and take me to bed.”

…

Lucerys woke the next day, disturbed by Aemond getting up out of bed. He watched him. Aemond was completely naked – so it was a sight worth the effort of keeping his heavy eyelids open. He still had the eyepatch on. Lucerys had wanted to tell him, in the middle of all their writhing around together last night, that he could take it off, if he wanted. That Luke didn’t care about the empty socket beneath. But he’d already put his foot in it enough.

“Come back to bed,” he whined, knowing Aemond wouldn’t. But it was worth a try.

“No,” said Aemond curtly. “Get up. I’m hungry and I don’t want to eat alone.”

Reluctantly, Lucerys dragged himself from beneath the blankets. These weren’t his chambers. He’d no robe or nightshirt to change into. He went to put his breeches and tunic of the day before back on, when suddenly Aemond threw a nightshirt at him. He himself had opted for the frayed green robe again. Gods, it probably needed one hells of a scrubbing. Even now, though the last of Aemond’s heat had passed the night before, the scent of it lingered all over the damned thing. It made Luke’s cock twitch.

He stretched his arms up towards the ceiling, before pulling Aemond’s nightshirt on over his head. It fitted poorly – far too tight across the shoulders and through the waist. But it was much better than having to put his clothes back on, and the soft, undyed linen smelled pleasantly of his omega.

Smothering a yawn, Lucerys went to the door to summon a servant. He found one already there, lurking out in the passageway.

“Forgive me,” the boy said anxiously. “I didn’t know if you wished to be attended…”

“Prince’s Aemond’s heat has broken, you may attend to him in these chambers again. Bring us breakfast.”

“Yes, my lord,” the boy bowed and scurried away.

It was nice, eating with Aemond again. Lucerys was pleased to note that his husband ate significantly more than he usually did for his morning meal. The last few days catching up with him, no doubt. Aemond had been coaxed to eat more towards the end of his heat, but he’d never really eaten anything like enough. Neither of them spoke as they ate, but the silence wasn’t unpleasant.

The peace was interrupted by a knock at the door. Lucerys drew breath to give permission to enter, then suddenly remembered that these were Aemond’s chambers. After their conversation – their argument – of the night before, about choice and control, about Aemond being Luke’s prisoner… it seemed wise to bite his tongue.

“Enter,” Aemond called out. He eyed Lucerys strangely. Perhaps he’d noticed him falter.

It was the steward, Blude. He bowed – to them both, Lucerys was pleased to note.

“Please forgive the intrusion, my lords,” he murmured.

“What is it?” Lucerys asked.

“You asked to be informed if any ship was sighted flying the Velaryon colours,” Blude said. “The men on the watchtower have reported such a vessel. It should arrive within the hour.”

Chapter Text

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Lucerys said as he and Aemond descended the stone steps between Dragonstone Castle and the landing far below.

“I’ll be damned if I’ll let your sister think there’s any strife between us,” Aemond insisted.

“But there is,” Lucerys pointed out.

“She doesn’t know that. And you won’t tell her.” Aemond couldn’t explain why it was so important that Baela Velaryon think everything was content between them, but it was. Luke was very close to his stepsister, and she hated Aemond. Baela surely believed her brother had made a terrible mistake in his choice of mate, and Aemond couldn’t stomach her thinking she’d been proven right. As if she’d any right to judge them! As if anybody did!

“You don’t think this bruise on my face might give the game away?” Luke gestured vaguely to his injured eye. It was starting to fade to yellow - but was nevertheless still impressively large. Aemond had really clocked his husband hard. He didn’t want to regret it. The gods knew he’d have done even worse if he hadn’t been hauled away. But… part of him did regret it. The part that was a slave to the bite. He’d hurt his mate, his alpha, and that was an affront to the gods.

Aemond wanted to viciously smother that part of himself – but wasn’t sure he could. Or… did he want that? He wished he wanted that… but did he really? Gah – he was so weak for Lucerys! He’d gone to bed with him just the night before, spouting some drivel about wanting to savour the last of his heat. When in reality, he’d just wanted the comfort and pleasure of his alpha’s body, of having Lucerys touching him, in him. The reassurance of feeling… of feeling…

Of feeling loved.

“Tell her you got it sparring with the knights,” Aemond said, trying his damnedest to stop thinking about such troubling things.

“Baela isn’t an idiot, and the entire castle knows you did it,” Luke said. “She’ll hear the truth by sundown.”

Aemond frowned. His husband was right, annoying though it was. But still… damn Baela Velaryon. Without a word, he slid his arm through Lucerys’ and pressed against his alpha’s side like a proper omega. If other people were going to listen to tawdry gossip about Luke and Aemond’s private business, then at least let the interfering curs believe all was well between them now.

Lucerys pressed a warm hand over his, thumb brushing affectionately across Aemond’s knuckles. Aemond thought he looked far too gods-damned pleased with himself.

On the beach, two burly sailors were dragging an empty rowboat up the sand. The first person Aemond recognised was the Lord of the Tides. Corlys Velaryon stood taller than the rest, still straight-backed despite his age. His ship would sail around the long crag to the harbour and unload its cargo there. Aemond had hoped his cousin Baela might’ve stayed behind at High Tide. It was her home now. Her seat, once the Sea Snake finally took his leave of the world. But no, there she was. And her accursed mate too.

Two shorter figures, each with a shock of silver hair, came barrelling towards them. It was the boys, Aegon and Viserys. The moment they’d seen their elder brother, they’d seemingly lost all control of themselves. Aemond despaired of their manners. He’d have been cuffed hard around the ear for such wild behaviour when he’d been a child. But was it really surprising? Look who their parents were.

“Luke!” Viserys cried out, ruddy-cheeked from the sea wind. Lucerys scooped up his laughing brother, embracing him warmly before placing the boy back down on his feet. Aegon was next. He was more reserved that his feral little brother, but he still threw his arms around Luke.

“I hate the sea,” the young prince announced loudly.

“Aegon was sick for two whole days,” Viserys declared gleefully.

“And you weren’t much better,” Corlys chastised the boy. “But you both found your sea legs in the end. Perhaps we’ll make sailors of you yet.”

The face Aegon made suggested there was nothing he’d loathe more. Privately, Aemond agreed wholeheartedly.

“What happened to your face, Luke?” Viserys asked, standing up on the tips of his toes to get a better look at Lucerys’ black eye.

“I… got it sparring with the knights,” Lucerys said quickly. Aemond felt an unexpected prickle of shame. As though everyone there knew the truth and were all judging him for it. He tried to draw away from his husband, but Lucerys slid a sneaky arm around Aemond’s waist and pulled him back in.

“How did you like Driftmark?” Lucerys swiftly changed the subject.

“I was glad to be on land again,” Aegon said. “The sea was so rough. I…”

The boy grimaced. He clearly hadn’t enjoyed the journey at all. Had probably been frightened by the storm. Was that surprising, truly? Targaryens weren’t meant for the sea. They were meant for the skies.

Baela stepped forward next, her arms outstretched and her eyes crinkling with affection for her stepbrother. Aemond really did pull away this time, watching from the sidelines as the two of them embraced. Baela’s mate, Alyn, lurked just as sullenly behind his own alpha. Aemond thought the arrogant little wretch looked reluctant to be there. Well, Aemond was reluctant to have him there, so at last they had something in common. The sea wind whipped around the jagged rocks that encircled the cove, rustling Baela’s mass of curls like a lion’s mane. Aemond suppressed a shiver.

“What in the seven hells has happened to your face?” Baela exclaimed. “By the gods, it looks nasty.” She took Luke’s chin and turned his head to the side to get a better look. She didn’t so much as glance sideways at Aemond.

“It was just an accident,” Lucerys said breezily. He really was a good liar. Aemond found that he minded it considerably less when those lies were being told for him rather than to him. A lie that, as Lucerys had pointed out himself, would be easily found out by sundown – but that he’d told anyway, for Aemond.

Baela’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and finally flickered over to Aemond. He glared back at her.

“It’s a long walk up to the castle,” Corlys said loudly. “At least for an old man like me. Shall we get to it?”

“You’re not that old,” Alyn Velaryon protested.

“Oh, I am,” Corlys replied. “Old and weary. And in need of a cup of wine. Come on now, before my knees refuse the task and Luke is forced to order me carried up like a sack of rocks.”

As they led the way up the long climb, Lucerys took Aemond’s hand in his own. Why the hells they couldn’t’ve just received their guests at the castle, Aemond didn’t know. But Lucerys had been determined to meet his brothers as soon as they made landfall, and Aemond had been just as determined to be there. Why? For the same reason he was allowing Lucerys to hold his hand now, knowing full well that everyone following them could see it. He knew he shouldn’t give a shit what any of these people thought. What did it matter if they thought his marriage an unhappy one? But it did matter. The idea that a single one of them might think Luke had any regrets gnawed at Aemond’s soul.

“You know, if you don’t want Baela to think there’s any strife between us, you probably ought to scowl less,” Lucerys murmured softly.

“She’d find it far more suspicious if I smiled at her,” Aemond muttered.

Lucerys stifled a laugh – just barely. “Yes, I think you’re probably right. But don’t look so gloomy. They’ll only stay three nights before they sail back to Driftmark. My grandfather wants to be home.”

Three nights would pass quickly enough, Aemond told himself. He felt out of place enough here in this strange castle, for all he’d wanted so badly to come here. Dealing with his husband’s family – they were not Aemond’s kin, no matter what the damned family trees might say – was the last thing he wanted to do. They loathed him, just as he loathed them in return. He hated that he was going to have to bite his lip and pretend everything was normal. Hated that they were going to have to share the same table and pretend they hadn’t all tried to massacre each other.

As they entered the castle, Aemond chanced a glance over at Lord Corlys. He’d killed the man’s wife. Did Corlys know that? Or did he think Aegon had been responsible? He wasn’t a man to take lightly. The alpha might be old now, but Aemond wasn’t stupid enough to think that age had yet weakened him, despite Corlys complaining about his knees. He’d never looked at Aemond with malice. But then, he’d never looked at Aemond at all. Not once that Aemond could recall, not since he’d been dragged back to the Red Keep as Daemon’s prisoner. Corlys behaved as though Aemond wasn’t there. As though he was some kind of ghost among them.

That was fine by Aemond. His only worry was that the shrewd old bastard was simply biding his time to take revenge.

The steward was waiting with a large group of pages and maids, ready to escort the Prince of Dragonstone’s guests to their chambers. Everyone would want to eat and rest after their journey. Baela looked around herself with a happy smile as she took her husband’s hand and pulled him gently away, following a servant to their rooms. Of course, she’d grown up here, hadn’t she? She probably knew every inch of this place. Whereas Aemond didn’t know it at all. He was completely lost. He looked around himself at all the doors and passageways, feeling frustrated as he and Lucerys were left alone.

“I want to see the twins,” he said. “But I don’t… I don’t know where anything is.”

“I’ll show you. The maester was teaching them in the garden yesterday. It’s another sunny morning, perhaps they’re there again?”

Aegon’s Garden was rambling and rather wild, not how Aemond had pictured it at all. He was fascinated though. This’d been the Conqueror’s refuge from the world. But it didn’t contain either Jaehaerys or Jaehaera. They weren’t to be found in the library either. At last, a passing servant curtsied low and told them she’d seen Maester Hunnimore taking the children to the Rookery. And that’s exactly where they found them.

“… a fine specimen, isn’t he?” Hunnimore was saying, a particularly large raven perched on his hand. Neither he nor the twins had noticed Luke and Aemond ascending the stairs, too engrossed in the lesson. “This one flies to King’s Landing, taking messages to the Red Keep. And listen, he speaks!”

“Fire and blood!” the black bird said in a rasping voice.

“I remember that raven,” Lucerys whispered into Aemond’s ear. “Gerardys raised him by hand. Taught him to say that – a bit of shameless flattery really. The bird still had his white feathers the last time I saw him.”

“All ravens are black, except a special breed kept only at the Citadel,” Hunnimore continued, carefully placing the bird back onto its perch. He still hadn’t noticed the visitors lurking at the top of the narrow stairwell. “They’re white as snow.”

“Do they take messages too?” Jaehaerys asked.

“Only one kind,” Hunnimore told the boy. “Those ravens tell the great Houses when the seasons are changing. When summer or winter is coming. When the days will begin to grow long or short again.”

“Not long now before we receive that white raven I fear,” Lucerys announced.

“My prince,” Hunnimore said, bowing. “And… oh, Prince Aemond.” He bowed again.

“Forgive me for interrupting your lessons yet again, Maester Hunnimore,” Lucerys said apologetically. “But my husband wanted to see his niece and nephew.”

“Of course,” Hunnimore said. Aemond examined the maester with a critical eye. He was rather young, especially for a tutor charged with the education of a prince and princess. He was a plump thing too, but that wasn’t unusual for the brotherhood of the Citadel, who spent most of their time seated at their studies. “It’s quite alright,” the man continued. “I’ve work of my own to see to. I bid you good day, my lords.”

“Good day,” Luke echoed. “Oh, and Maester Hunnimore, I need you to prepare a raven message for the Red Keep, informing my mother that my brothers have arrived safely.”

“Yes, my prince,” the maester nodded, then departed, leaving Aemond and Lucerys alone with the twins.

“Hello, Uncle Aemond,” said Jaehaerys, staring up wide-eyed. Gods, he might look like Aegon now, but that expression was all Helaena. It made Aemond’s heart clench in his chest. “Are you feeling better?”

Aemond glanced briefly at Lucerys, wondering just what the twins had been told about his absence. Generally, by the time children were their age, nobody bothered to hide the realities of heats and ruts from them. That was the way of the world, after all. Better they got used to it before they themselves presented. But the nobility still tended to gloss over the actual words out of a strange sense of decorum. Aemond’s mother had always been ‘indisposed’ – his sire too sick for it to matter. The last rut Viserys had ever endured had been the one that’d conceived Daeron.

“Yes,” Aemond told his nephew. “Thank you. And you? You’re well? Both of you?”

“We are,” said Jaehaerys. He looked nervous. Nothing like the bold child Aemond remembered – all curiosity and exuberance.

Aemond wished desperately he could bring that boy back. The one from his memories. The boy who’d never been shy of asking to be picked up whenever he’d felt like being carried. The boy who’d laughed so very easily. But Aemond wasn’t that naïve. He knew that child was long gone. Just as the person Aemond had been back then… that person was dead and gone as well. Drowned in the Gods Eye, and somebody else dragged out.

He didn’t know what to say. Jaehaerys felt like a stranger to him. Jaehaera lurked behind her brother, as though she was afraid of Aemond. These were the niece and nephew that Aemond loved, and yet… not at the same time. The immense weight of everything that’d passed since they’d last seen each other felt unbearable. As though it’d been a lifetime ago, rather than a scant handful of years.

Aemond knew he wasn’t a warm or approachable person. He’d never wanted to be, not since the night he’d claimed Vhagar. He’d been proud of it, in fact. Proud of not being what was expected of an omega. Proud of not being sentimental or soft. The war had scoured the last of those things from Aemond’s soul. Or so he’d thought.

But now, faced with the twins and completely unable to think of a single thing to say to them, he wished he was better at showing his feelings. He wished he knew how to be a little soft again. Like he’d been before, when he’d spent long afternoons with Helaena. He’d played with the twins and laughed with them then. Now he couldn’t even speak. Aemond felt the overwhelming urge to look to Lucerys for help – his mate, his alpha, the person he found it most easy to be affectionate with. But he refused to do it.

“Your uncle doesn’t know the castle well,” Lucerys spoke up anyway, filling the awkward silence. “I ought to show him around his new home. Would you help me?”

Both the children nodded. Lucerys held out his hand confidently, and Aemond was taken aback to see Jaehaera step out from behind her brother and happily take it. She tucked herself against Lucerys’ side and let him lead her away down the narrow Rookery steps.

They made for a strange sight. Like two separate worlds clashing together, two parts of Aemond’s life he hadn’t ever expected to meet. Jaehaera kept hold of Lucerys’ hand as he led them all over the great fortress, giving Aemond the tour. Occasionally, out of the corner of his eye, Aemond would catch Jaehaerys peering up at him, as though searching for something in his uncle’s face. But whenever Aemond looked back, the boy would immediately pretend to have been looking elsewhere.

Luke talked nearly constantly as they strolled about the home of their ancestors. He clearly knew Dragonstone like the back of his hand, and his commentary was a curious mixture of the castle’s history, old legends, and anecdotes from his own childhood. He mentioned Jacaerys once or twice, eyes a little sad. But a smile played about his mouth too. He clearly had many fond memories of his elder brother. Marred by terrible grief, but fond. Not like the memories Aemond had of Aegon.

“Uncle Aemond,” a quiet voice said as they walked down from the top of the Windwyrm Tower.

It was Jaehaerys. He was looking up at Aemond again, and this time he didn’t turn his head away when their gazes met.

“Yes?”

“You don’t wear your eyepatch anymore. Why?”

“I…” Aemond wasn’t sure what answer he wanted to give. What answer would make sense to a child? And would be the least mortifying?

Nothing sprang to mind, so he was forced to settle for the truth. “I mind people seeing what’s beneath less now."

“Why?”

“Because…” Aemond furrowed his brow, frustrated with himself. He didn’t know what to say again. Because the pale white moonstone made him appear blind, rather than missing the eye altogether? No, that wasn’t it. Aemond had enjoyed the way the enormous sapphire frightened people. Was it because his brush with death had made him less self-conscious? No, that wasn’t true either. He’d been humiliated when those filthy guards had snatched his eyepatch away as a trophy, when Rhaenyra had condemned him to the black cells.

Seven gods-forsaken hells, it was Lucerys, wasn’t it? Aemond cared less about other people seeing his left eye because of Lucerys. The very fucking reason Aemond’s face was ruined in the first place! Lucerys and his sweet words, his gentle coaxing, and his incessant, earnest insistence that Aemond was fair. Lucerys who touched and kissed the great scar on Aemond’s face as though it was nothing but a trifling scratch.

He glanced towards his husband. Luke and Jaehaera were further down the stairs. Too far to hear, if Aemond kept his voice low.

“I have an alpha now,” he shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “Bound to me by the bite. What does it matter anymore if the world sees how ugly I am?”

Jaehaerys frowned, but didn’t press the question. He obviously didn’t believe Aemond. Unsurprising, really. Aemond wouldn’t’ve believed himself either. It’d been a feeble answer.

Lucerys didn’t lead them all the way to the bottom of the Windwyrm Tower. Instead, they exited through a thick oak door onto the battlements. At once the smell of the sea filled Aemond’s nose. He looked out over the view. The water was a deep blue this morning.

Aemond was so busy gazing towards the horizon, that he startled when a small hand slipped into his. It was Jaehaera’s. She had a hand in each of her own now – Aemond’s in her left hand, and Lucerys’ in her right. The girl didn’t look up at Aemond. Didn’t do anything to acknowledge she’d taken his hand at all. But her grip was tight around his fingers. Aemond too pretended as though it was nothing remarkable. But he was glad for it. How pitiful, that a young girl had been able to do what he couldn’t. To reach out and make a small gesture of affection.

He squeezed Jaehaera’s hand carefully.

The guards patrolling the dizzy heights of Dragonstone’s battlements stepped aside as they passed. Lucerys was still talking, telling a story about a wild storm he remembered from his youth. He described waves twenty-feet-high battering the rocks below and mentioned how he’d snuck up to this very same place to watch them - and gotten soaked to the bone for his trouble, then spent the next full week in bed after coming down with a terrible chill.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera hung on every word of the ridiculous tale. Aemond found he was jealous. Lucerys clearly had a talent for talking to children. More than Aemond, by far. Even though he’d used to be decent enough at it! Even though these were his niece and nephew! The same children who’d fallen asleep in his lap more times than he could count, Helaena watching on with a soft smile.

Yes, Aemond was bitterly jealous. But at the same time… he was shocked by how easy it was to pretend, just for a few moments, that these were their children. That they were a family, taking a pleasant walk in the bright sunshine of a summer’s day.

Seven hells. He was still addled by his heat, surely. It’d only ended the day before. The overwhelming urge to get knotted was gone, and now Aemond’s treacherous body thought he was with child. Well, he wasn’t. He’d drunk the moon tea just hours ago.

“Luke,” Jaehaerys said. Aemond was surprised by the familiarity of the name. Lucerys must’ve asked the boy to call him that. “Can…”

“Yes?” Lucerys pressed gently.

“Can we see the Painted Table?” Jaehaerys sounded nervous about the request. “Or… I mean, can Uncle Aemond see it? And can we come too?”

Lucerys frowned. “Haven’t you ever seen it before?”

“I asked Maester Hunnimore, but he said it was forbidden.”

“Nonsense,” said Lucerys. “You’d like to see the Painted Table, wouldn’t you, Aemond my love? Where old Aegon and his sister-wives planned the conquest?”

Yes, Aemond wanted very much to see the famous map. He’d read about the thing. But he’d never seen it before.

Luke took them down to the Stone Drum. Jaehaera never once let go of Aemond’s hand, even as they (quite awkwardly) wound their way down a narrow spiral staircase. She never said a word, but she clung onto both him and Luke like a limpet, tucking herself between them whenever she could.

To get to the Chamber of the Painted Table, they had to pass through a dark room with a strange throne hewn into a large block of volcanic rock. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the floor. A little daylight entered through the narrow windows, and large braziers were placed to give more light in the gloom – but of course, they were all unlit. It was an imposing chamber. A shiver passed down Aemond’s spine – but not of fear. Of delight, as he imagined all the countless Targaryens that’d stood here over the years.

The Painted Table itself was bigger than Aemond had expected. He immediately wanted to touch the thing, trailing his hand lightly along the ragged edge. He wondered if Aegon the Conqueror had ever touched the table there. Or fierce Visenya, who’d ridden Vhagar a hundred-and-fifty years before Aemond. When the huge she-dragon had still been young and vital, instead of Aemond’s lazy, onery, glorious old girl.

Jaehaera finally let go of their hands, so she could reach out and pick up one of the figures on the table. It was a dragon. She turned it over in her hand, stroking her fingers down the ridges on the snarling figurine’s back. Jaehaerys too was fascinated by the Table. He walked to the top, to the miniature representation of the North, tapping his fingers along the Grey Cliffs as he went.

“What do you think?” Lucerys asked Aemond. An arm crept around his waist as his alpha pressed in tightly against his side.

“It’s a remarkable thing,” Aemond admitted.

“Isn’t it? There’s a hidden trick to it too. One night, I’ll show you.”

“Show me now,” Aemond demanded impatiently.

“No,” Lucerys said. “You have to see it at night. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

Aemond let the matter go. He walked around the Painted Table, circling around the flat deserts and mountainous marches of Dorne and up to the Westerlands. He reached out to touch the place where Casterly Rock was marked on the table. Lucerys stuck close, taking Aemond’s hand. He decided not to object. He didn’t want to argue in front of the twins. Besides… it was pleasant. Aemond could always resume being angry with Lucerys later on.

“You’ll rule all of this one day,” he muttered softly to his mate.

“If the gods will it,” Lucerys said – but there was a steely determination in his voice that was pleasing to hear.

Besides… to hells with the gods, Aemond willed it. Look what he’d done to win the throne for Aegon. All that fire and blood – and he hadn’t even believed his brother would make a good king. Lucerys would make a good king. Aemond would kill whoever he had to in order to put his mate on the Iron Throne.

“Are you alright?” Lucerys asked, and Aemond realized he’d unwittingly tightened his grip sharply around his husband’s hand.

“I’m fine,” he said, forcing himself to relax. At the head of the table, Jaehaerys was still examining the North. Jaehaera, her violet eyes glazed and foggy, flew the dragon figurine in her hand around the edge of the table, before abandoning it somewhere in the Reach.

…

By and large, Lucerys left his guests to their own devices that first day. He ate dinner with his little brothers and laughed at their tales of greensickness – with which he could empathise greatly. He smiled indulgently as they told him all about High Tide, as though Luke himself had never been there. As though he hadn’t once been meant to inherit it as his own seat. Perhaps in another life, he would’ve. He’d be there now maybe, learning how to be a sailor and hating every cursed second of it.

When Luke returned to his own rooms later on, he found the guard stationed on the door looking anxious and uncertain.

“Forgive me, Prince Lucerys,” the man – an alpha with a grizzled beard – said. “Prince Aemond is in your chambers. I tried to stop him entering, but he refused to listen, and I didn’t want to put my hands on him…”

“Prince Aemond may enter these rooms whenever he wishes,” Lucerys said sharply. “And you’re never to put your hands on him, understand me?”

“Yes, my lord,” the guard said at once. He looked relieved.

Luke found Aemond sitting in the solar, reading a book by candlelight. The scene reminded him powerfully of their life at the Red Keep. Before they’d come to Dragonstone, and it’d all been ruined. He felt a surge of intense affection for his mate. It was only the knowledge that Aemond had not actually forgiven him anything yet that stopped Luke from trying to kiss his omega.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” Aemond said testily, glancing up briefly. “You’re not the only one who finds it hard to sleep alone these days. I’m tired and I want a full night’s rest.”

“You don’t need to explain why you’re here,” Lucerys said. “The bed is as much yours as mine. These rooms are as much yours as mine.” He sat down and picked up a sheaf of parchment he’d been putting off reading – a detailed summary of Dragonstone’s income. It was dull material. Lucerys would’ve been happy to leave it all for Blude to deal with, but he’d once been given firm advice from Robert Quince that all lords should occasionally look over their steward’s shoulder - lest their gold should start going mysteriously astray. Blude didn’t seem the type, but then, who did?

Luke and Aemond sat in peaceful silence until they retired for the night. When they did, they slept on opposite sides of the bed, Aemond’s back pointedly to his alpha. But they did both sleep – deeply, comfortably, and above all, easily. Just the scent of Aemond on the bedsheets and knowledge that he was a mere arm’s length away was enough to lull Luke off into a contented slumber.

…

Lucerys ordered a fine meal prepared the next day, a small banquet really, to be served in the evening. For his family. He was looking forward to it. Dragonstone felt like home, in a way the Red Keep still didn’t. Luke had grown up here. He felt secure here. It was a fortress, not a palace. And it was hundreds of miles from his enemies. Or so he hoped. Nobody here was going to hurt his mate or his siblings. Here, they were all safe.

Lucerys only wished his mother could’ve been here as well, even though it was completely impossible.

Still, plenty of other people he loved would be at dinner tonight. Lucerys considered inviting the twins to join them. They were kin, and Luke intended to treat them as such. But they were both very shy. Asking them to sit at a table full of their dead sire’s enemies felt like a bad idea. No, Luke would need to be gentler with his young cousins than that.

Thoughts of the future kept him preoccupied as he walked the grassy cliffs around Dragonstone. Luke liked being out here with the fresh air in his lungs. It was a chance to be alone – although he had asked Aemond to join him and had been flatly refused. For all they’d woken up in the same bed that morning, things were still strained between alpha and omega.

Luke spied another figure atop the cliffs, gazing out over the sea. As he drew closer, he realised it was his grandfather, lost in thought. Luke was just wondering if perhaps he ought to leave him to it, when Corlys spotted him. He smiled, although Lucerys thought he looked rather melancholy.

“It’s a good day to sail,” Lucerys remarked, nodding towards the blue sky.

Corlys’ smile turned a little more genuine. “What do you know about what makes for a good day to sail?” he teased. “Your sea legs might as well be made of cheese.”

Lucerys laughed loudly at the good-natured gibe. He couldn’t deny it either. He was a poor sailor. He’d always preferred dragon-back to the deck of a ship. He’d have had to learn, whether he liked it or not, if he’d become the Lord of the Tides. But fate had turned out differently.

“And Baela’s sea legs?” he enquired. “How’re they coming along?”

Corlys sighed and shook his head. “She’s like you,” he said. “No love for it. She’s a Targaryen, in her soul. She wants to be up in the clouds, not navigating the waves.”

“The blood of Old Valyria runs in your veins, same as mine.”

“Old Valyria and sea salt,” said Corlys solemnly. “That’s what runs in a Velaryon’s veins. Bah, don’t listen to me, my boy. I’m just an old man bitter that I’ve no young apprentice to pass all my years of wisdom onto. Everything I’ve learned about the sea, cruel mistress that she is.”

“But Alyn’s a good sailor, isn’t he?”

“Alyn’s a very good sailor,” Corlys sighed. “That sea salt is in his blood alright. He looks to the distant horizon and feels it calling to him. But he’s a mated omega. He ought to be safe at home with his alpha, not sailing for foreign shores.”

Something about the tone of his voice… Luke knew it wasn’t the first time Lord Corlys had said those words.

“I’m glad to have run into you here, Luke,” his grandfather said, looking back towards the sea. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“I won’t be dining with you this evening. I can’t.”

Luke frowned. He tried to read the expression on Corly’s weathered face, but it was stony. “Why?”

“I’ve never judged you for your choice of mate,” Corlys said after a long and heavy pause. “Perhaps I should’ve. Maybe I ought to be furious with you. Perhaps I should even feel like you’ve betrayed me. But I don’t. I’ve had my bellyful of the spite and resentments of men, these last few years. I can’t stomach any more of it, even from myself.”

A brief burst of strong wind swept over the clifftop. It ruffled Luke’s thick hair. Corlys’ cloak streamed out behind him, before settling once more around his broad shoulders.

“You giving Aemond the bite has done more to secure your mother’s throne than anything I or Daemon have been able to do for her since the usurper’s death,” Corlys continued. “It was a shrewd move, for all I know your mother was desperate to break the bond. I value peace now, more than almost anything else. Not gold, or silver, or power. I want to live to see my great-grandchildren come into the world, and I want that world to be a peaceful one. But… Aemond and his brother killed my wife, and I can never forgive him for it. Oh, I can force myself to sit at the feasting table with the bloodstained bastard, for the sake of Queen and kingdom. But at a family dinner? I can’t do it Lucerys. I won’t.”

Luke bowed his head. “I understand,” he said quietly.

“You know… that terrible storm reminded me of her,” Corlys murmured. “A wild tempest, just like my Rhaenys. I wish I had…”

He went silent, turning his head slightly so that Luke couldn’t see his expression. He caught a fleeting glimpse anyway. It was sorrow and regret.

Luke had never been close to the woman that he’d thought, for a long time, was his grandmother. In her heart, Princess Rhaenys had always known that he and his brothers were bastards. Sired by Harwin Strong, not her beloved Laenor. She’d seen the truth in every inch of their pale faces and dark hair, and unlike her husband, she hadn’t been able to look the other way. Even before he’d understood why, Lucerys had sensed the chill between them. He’d noticed that the boundless warmth Rhaenys had for Baela and Rhaena didn’t extend to himself, or to Jacaerys and Joffrey either.

But Rhaenys had put all that aside when Aegon had stolen the crown. She’d fought like a battle-hardened knight for Rhaenyra’s cause. Luke respected her for it. Was grateful to her for it. Everyone said that Rhaenys should’ve been an alpha, not a beta. That she’d the fierceness for it. The ambition. But for that one twist of fate, she might’ve sat upon the Iron Throne instead of Viserys.

“I never meant…” Luke said, then stopped. He didn’t want to dig too deeply into this conversation, and the deep well of pain waiting beneath it. He didn’t want to think too hard about every horror Aemond was responsible for either. Perhaps that was cowardly. Not because there was any danger Lucerys would love him any less… quite the opposite. Because no matter what blood was on Aemond’s hands, Luke would love him madly anyway. His omega, his beloved, taker of countless lives and spiller of a river of blood…

It was a frightening thought. All Lucerys’ high morals and his much-prized honour… thrown to the dogs for Aemond. Without so much as a flicker of regret.

But he had to say something to his grandfather.

“I never meant any disrespect,” he said. “Not to you, or the memory of my grandmother. I hope you never thought that.”

“No, I didn’t think that.” Corlys smiled wearily.

They parted, Luke leaving the Sea Snake to his private thoughts atop the windswept cliffs.

…

Although he understood and respected his grandfather’s reasons, Luke missed him at dinner.

Baela and Aemond refused to acknowledge each other’s existence, which was probably better than the alternative. The alternative being an argument vicious enough to sunder the already shaky foundations of their House even further. It pained Lucerys, that two of the people he loved most in the world so despised each other, but it wasn’t as though he was surprised. They would likely always be this way. He supposed he ought to get used to it.

Alyn was quiet. Uncharacteristically so, sitting next to his wife and eating and drinking in silence. Occasionally Baela would lay her hand over his wrist, and Alyn would summon up a weak smile for her. This passiveness didn’t suit him at all. Perhaps he was ill.

Fortunately, Aegon and Viserys were quite content to talk enough for the entire table. Aegon had quite clearly despised life aboard ship – and wasn’t shy about making it known - but Viserys was full of childish excitement about having been caught up in such a terrible storm. He insisted on telling Luke every detail. Baela would interrupt sometimes, to gently correct her little brother about something he’d misremembered, but apart from that, Viserys barely drew breath. He also made Luke promise to help him write a letter to their mother, so that he could tell her all about his great adventure.

“He was frightened as a dormouse at the time,” Baela whispered.

Lucerys was aware of another conversation taking place at the table. A very different one. Aegon was complaining at length to his uncle about the voyage, and Aemond was listening with surprising attentiveness to the sorry tale of seasickness and general misery. It wasn’t the first time he’d indulged young Aegon. Lucerys might’ve almost been tempted to describe his husband as having a soft spot for the boy.

Altogether, the dinner was pleasant, but relatively short. There was too much tension around the table for the guests to linger. Luke didn’t want to push his luck. Both Baela and Aemond had held their tongues well so far, but neither one possessed a great deal of patience. No. Best not to tax their tempers too hard.

“I’ll have wine brought to our rooms,” Lucerys said to his husband as they all rose.

“You’d have me turn into a soak,” Aemond muttered. But he didn’t sound like he meant it.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to,” Lucerys replied mildly. He kissed Aemond on the cheek. “I’m going to walk my brothers to their chambers.”

Young Viserys was tired and was easily delivered to the care of the septa. Aegon, however, wanted to talk.

“Do you remember when Uncle Aemond gave me a lesson in the sword?” There was no septa in Aegon’s new apartments. He was old enough now to do without a nursemaid fussing over him, no matter what their mother thought. “Father was angry about it… but father isn’t here.”

“Daemon gave you some lessons in duelling after that, didn’t he?” Lucerys said. Shamed into it, he suspected, by the unwelcome discovery that his son had turned instead to Aemond of all people.

“But father isn’t here now,” Aegon repeated stubbornly.

Luke sighed. “If Aemond won’t, I will,” he promised. There was no getting away from it, Aegon was growing up. Every day he seemed taller. The puppy fat had long melted away from him. He was going to turn out like Daemon – strong but lean. The frightening thought occurred to Lucerys that it wouldn’t be long now before his little brother presented.

Sometimes you could tell which way a boy or girl was likely to lean - which second gender they truly were, beneath the cloak of childhood. Hedge witches and wise men the breadth of the kingdom claimed to be able to tell in all sorts of different ways, but it was horseshit. And sometimes even the best guesses were wrong. You got savage little brawlers that turned out omegas, and sensitive, soft-spoken things that turned out alphas. Just look at Aemond. Given his temperament, nobody in King’s Landing would’ve bet a single gold dragon that he’d present as an omega, even though all the clues had been there in his build.

What would Aegon be? Lucerys sincerely had no clue. His brother was fragile in some ways, but bold in others. Perhaps fate would make him a beta. Then at least he’d be free from mating fevers and base compulsions.

Luke spent longer than he’d intended with his little brother, before finally leaving him with firm instructions to go to sleep. He ran into the steward on the way back.

“Blude, while I have you here, order some wine sent to my rooms, would you? The best we have. And whatever else my husband wants.”

“Yes, my prince. I…”

Blude shifted uncomfortably, looking as though there was something he wanted to say - but wasn’t sure if it was a wise idea.

“What is it?” Lucerys pressed.

“It’s probably not my place,” the omega said nervously. “But… perhaps you ought to know. Lord Alyn has also called for wine. He’s atop the watchtower. He dismissed the guard.”

Lucerys frowned. What in the seven hells was Alyn doing up there? At this hour? Dismissing the watchmen?

“Thank you,” he said. “See to the wine. Tell Prince Aemond I’ve been delayed, but I won’t be long.”

The top of Dragonstone’s great watchtower was dizzyingly high. Lucerys, used to looking down on the world from the back of a dragon, was unfazed by the altitude. But he’d heard tales of guards who went dizzy and were too sick to carry on within minutes of starting their watch.

Alyn Velaryon was staring out over the dark sea. His fine jerkin from dinner had been pulled open at the neck, revealing both the white linen shirt beneath and the bite scar on his neck. He was frowning, a divot formed between his brows as he stared west. A large brazier burned behind him, providing a little warmth at these windswept heights. The summer sun touched the horizon, ready to sink beneath it. Luke enjoyed these long hours of daylight. He ought to savour them. If he was right, and winter was coming, then the days would soon be so short that it would’ve already been dark for hours by now.

The sunset set Alyn’s silver hair gleaming. It was a beautiful ornament for an omega generally considered too broad and stocky for the courtly ideal of his caste. “Are you well?” Lucerys asked him.

Alyn startled. Luke had thought his brother – for want of a better word – had been ignoring him. But no, he really had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t realised he was no longer alone.

“Seven hells Luke, you scared the shit out of me,” Alyn swore. He stood up straight. Now Lucerys could see the cup of wine resting on the crenel. It looked nearly all gone.

“Sorry,” Lucerys said. “But what’re you doing up here? Why did you send the watchmen away?”

Alyn shrugged. He picked up his cup and downed what remained. “Thinking. I wanted to be alone.”

“Atop a watchtower? At night?”

“Where would you have me do my thinking?” Alyn asked irritably. “Smothered in my alpha’s embrace? Wrapped up in soft blankets somewhere?”

Luke’s eyebrows rose. He met Alyn’s stare head on. Within a moment or two, the omega dropped his gaze, a muscle in his strong jaw twitching. “Ignore me,” he muttered. “I’m in a poor mood.”

“Shouldn’t you be with your mate?”

“Shouldn’t you be with yours? Or are you not welcome? I hear he gave you that.” Alyn gestured to Luke’s nearly healed black eye.

He was a cocksure cur, Luke would give him that. Despite his common birth, Alyn was rarely cowed by rank or protocol – even when he ought to be. And right now, he fucking ought to be. Luke took a step closer, towering dangerously over the short omega.

“Baela told me you’d wanted to blind Aemond,” Luke said.

That got Alyn to falter. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. The look on his face said it all.

“If you ever try again, I’ll make a gift of your eyes to my husband. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” said Alyn. He kept defiantly looking Luke in the eye, even though it was visibly costing him not to bare his throat in submission.

“Good,” said Lucerys, glad that was said and done. Threatening omegas didn’t suit him. Chivalrously, he offered Alyn his arm – even though he was damned sure the man wouldn’t take it. “Now, let’s go back down, there’s – ”

A shrieking cry pierced the twilight. Both of them turned to see Arrax flying over the fortress, leathery wings beating hard. The dragon disappeared into the half-light, heading in the direction of the Dragonmont. Gone to roost for the night, as they both should be.

“Do you think he’s lonely?” Alyn said.

“Who?” Lucerys said, surprised at the question. “Arrax?”

Alyn nodded. “The last of his kind. Or at least… the last here. How many dragons were there on this island before the war? And now yours is the only one.”

“Perhaps he is.” The thought hadn’t occurred to Luke before. Could dragons be lonely? They weren’t terribly social creatures. And when they turned on each other, it always ended in death.

“I wish I’d been able to ride one,” Alyn said wistfully. “I envied Addam. I suppose I shouldn’t’ve. Because he rode a dragon, he’s dead and I’m still alive.”

Luke sought to change the direction of their conversation. The topic of Addam of Hull was a dangerous one. He knew Alyn still felt very bitterly over his brother’s death. Still blamed Queen Rhaenyra for it. Not, Luke was pained to admit, entirely without reason.

“What were you thinking about just now?” he asked. “All the places you want to sail for?”

“You’ve been talking to Baela. Or my sire.”

“What if I have? Is it a secret?”

Alyn snorted. The intensity of his sweet scent increased, just a little. He was annoyed. Or perhaps… perhaps upset?

“Not a secret,” Alyn grumbled. He looked into his drained cup, as if hoping to find some more wine in there. “A problem though. It’s a problem. That’s been made very fucking clear.”

They stood in silence for a while. The sun finally disappeared entirely. The burning brazier now provided the only light to see by.

“I’m curious to know something,” Lucerys said, breaking the peace. “But I know it’s none of my business.”

“Ask away,” Alyn sighed.

“Why did you accept the bite? If you want to sail to all these foreign lands?”

For a long moment, Alyn didn’t answer - thumb tapping restlessly against his cup. “First,” he finally said. “Who do we speak as here, Lucerys? Are you Prince of Dragonstone? Am I your noble sister’s lowborn mate who doesn’t know his place?”

“We’re two men who fought in the same long and bloody war,” Luke said firmly. “Spilled blood and lost brothers for the same cause. I promise, I’ll hear you out without judgement.”

“In that case… You know what it is to be a bastard, don’t you?”

Luke couldn’t help himself. A shocked bark of laughter escaped him. Gods, Alyn had really taken him at his word, hadn’t he? But Luke had meant it. No judgement.

“Yes.” Why pretend? They both knew. Half the kingdom knew. “I know what it is to be a bastard.”

“I was raised up to fight in your mother’s war,” Alyn said. “And when I’d outlived my usefulness, then what? Back to the gutter with me.”

“The gutter?” Luke scoffed. “Come on now. You think I believe that?”

“It might as well have been!” Alyn snapped angrily. “All the lords thought so! They still think so! They looked down on me, every one of the cunts. Even the lowliest knight, son of a penniless squire from some backwater shithole! Or else… or else they expected me to be somebody’s whore. Nothing more!”

He slammed his clenched fist down onto the stone, visibly agitated. His scent was sour. Luke felt the urge to soothe him… but restrained himself. He’d promised to hear Alyn out.

“And then Baela offered the bite. And everything that came with it. If she made me hers, then the Queen would have to legitimise me. The future Lady of the Tides couldn’t be mated to a bastard. And she did! Alyn Velaryon.”

“But don’t you care for Baela?” Luke said, pained to hear all this.

Alyn looked taken aback by the question. “Of course I do. She’s my alpha. What, you think my reasons cold-blooded? Really? You? Did Aemond take the bite because he was just so love-struck?”

“Watch yourself,” Luke said sharply. There were limits to his grace, and Aemond was it.

Alyn bowed his head, briefly chastened. “I do care for Baela,” he said softly. Absently, he reached up to run his fingers over the scar on his neck. “I want her to be happy. When… hells, when I’m in heat… the want of her eats me alive. But…”

He pressed his hands to his face, rubbing hard against the soft flesh, as though trying to snap himself out of some dream.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head back to that he could look Lucerys dead in the eye with such defiance that, if he’d been an alpha, Luke would’ve taken it as a challenge. “I always preferred the company of other omegas.”

Luke frowned. “But I thought you had no interest in - oh. Oh, you mean…”

It wasn’t that scandalous an admission. Alphas that lay with other alphas… now that was a scandal. Betas got a little more sexual leeway. But omegas? It wasn’t uncommon for unmated omegas to help each other through heats, to relieve the pain of the fever. It was frowned upon, amongst the nobility, but was reasonably common among the smallfolk. Some parts of the world didn’t even consider it a true loss of virginity, for one omega to take another’s cock. As though they were doing nothing more than playing dice together!

“I should’ve been an alpha,” Alyn said dourly. “Fate’s a cruel bitch.”

“You still prefer… even now?” Luke asked. “Even though you’re bonded to my sister?”

“I don’t know,” Alyn sighed. “The bond makes everything strange. I always craved a knot when I was in heat, even before the bite. Just like all omegas do.”

Despite himself, the casual crudity of the statement made Luke flush a little, embarrassed. He was glad for the nighttime shadows to hide it. His beloved sister’s precious omega was now telling Lucerys about how he yearned for a knot when he was in the fever. It was improper, to put it mildly. Baela would have a fit if she knew.

“And now Baela’s all I want when I’m in heat,” Alyn continued, oblivious to Luke’s discomfort. “But outside of the fever… hells, I don’t know. I want to run to her, but away from her as well…”

“Alyn…” Luke said, before stopping short. He didn’t know what to say. This admission had caught him off guard. He wondered if Baela knew.

“I know I’ll have to do my duty eventually. My sire would have me do it now. He thinks I can serve House Velaryon best in the marriage bed.” Alyn’s face screwed itself up with bitterness.

“But you want to go to sea.”

Alyn looked upwards. Above them, the stars shone brilliantly, and the moon had risen high enough to bath the sea in silver light. Alyn’s face, illuminated by the brazier, was the very picture of wistful longing.

“I want to go to sea. I want to fight. I want to meet strange people, visit strange places.” He looked sharply at Luke. “Don’t tell Baela we spoke of this. Or my father. Or anyone.”

“I won’t breathe a word,” Lucerys reassured him.

They left the watchtower and parted ways. But the conversation preoccupied Luke, long after he’d bid his brother good night. Alyn reminded him of Aemond – although they’d both hate the very idea that they in any way resembled each other. Aemond too chafed terribly under the expectations that came with his caste. Preferred glory and the sword to hearth fire and home.

“I was beginning to think you’d died,” Aemond remarked as Lucerys entered their chambers. He was sat in front of the hearth, where a small fire had been lit to ward off the cold that haunted the windward castle, even during the summer. He’d taken his boots off and rolled up his black hose, revealing bony ankles and narrow feet. Despite Aemond’s earlier complaining about turning into a soak, he’d already started on the wine.

“Sorry,” Lucerys said, throwing himself into the other chair before the hearth. He reached out for the wine and was pleasantly surprised when Aemond picked it up first and poured a cup for him. Their fingers brushed as he handed it over, and Luke had to stifle the impulse to grab his mate’s hand and kiss it. The talk with Alyn had put him in a funny mood.

Were they really alike? Luke pondered that question as he stared at his husband. For all Aemond hated being somebody’s possession… he’d never shrunk away from Lucerys. He wanted him. Even at the beginning, when Luke knew he’d desperately wished he didn’t… he had wanted Luke. Almost as frantically as Luke had wanted him in return. Even when they’d argued, even when Aemond had refused to let Luke touch him… the want had been there.

And hadn’t he admitted, just yesterday, that he couldn’t sleep properly without Lucerys? Their bond was strong. Too strong, perhaps. Stronger than was healthy or normal. But they were relatively newly mated. Perhaps it would fade as the years passed. Perhaps…

“Would you escape?” Luke blurted out. “If you could?”

Aemond looked confused. “Escape what?”

“This place. Me. Would… would you still want to flee across the Narrow Sea? If you could escape tomorrow, if a ship took you from this island with the twins?”

Aemond made a face that suggested he thought Lucerys had taken leave of his senses. “Of course not. Don’t be foolish.”

“But don’t you hate it? Being a prisoner?”

His omega’s mouth pinched into a scowl. Aemond was irritated by these questions, but Luke couldn’t help it. He had to know.

“I hate being a prisoner,” Aemond said. “And I hate being lied to. But that doesn't mean I want to leave you, you half-witted fool. Why? Are you looking to be rid of me?”

“I’d chase you wherever you went,” Luke replied fervently. “To the Shadow and beyond.”

Aemond leaned forward in his chair. “If I ever leave you, Lucerys,” he said, meeting his alpha’s gaze head on. “Then it’ll be by leaping from the top of this tower.”

The growing warmth in Luke’s chest turned to ice. “Don’t joke about that.”

“What makes you think I’m joking?”

Luke paused. He felt sick. He was reasonably sure Aemond didn’t mean it. Was just trying to upset him. But even the idea…

“If ever you find yourself contemplating such a thing,” Lucerys said, gazing solemnly at his mate. “Then just consider how happy you’ll make Daemon. Because if you leap from this tower, then I’ll leap after you, and he’ll get to see one of his sons on the Iron Throne after all.”

They continued staring at each other for a handful of seconds that felt like years, the only sound that of the fire crackling. Then a crooked smile overtook Aemond’s face. “How in the hells did we start talking about such wretched things? Have you been drinking some rotgut you found? Did you fall and hit your head?”

Luke laughed. “No. I just… ah never mind. I’ve a gift for you. Wait here.”

“I’ve been waiting here for an hour already!” Aemond called out waspishly as Lucerys went into his study. The linen-wrapped gift had arrived at Dragonstone yesterday, on Corlys’ ship. Luke took it out and went back to the solar, presenting the thing to Aemond, who rose to his feet to take it eagerly the moment he saw what it was.

“I thought you should have a sword of your own,” Lucerys said. “If you’re to compete in the Kingswood tourney.”

Aemond pulled the blade from its scabbard. The edge, fresh from the blacksmith’s whetstone, gleamed dangerously in the firelight. It was a bastard sword, meant for knightly combat rather than bloody brawls. The blade had been intended for the son of a wealthy merchant in King’s Landing, but Lucerys had paid good coin to have it instead. There hadn’t been much time for embellishments, but he’d found an engraver to etch the pommel with a three-headed dragon.

Luke watched as his mate tested the balance and weight of the weapon. Finally, Aemond slid it back into its scabbard and held it lengthways in both hands.

“Do you like it?” Lucerys asked him.

Aemond looked up. He stepped forward and wrapped his palm around the back of Lucerys’ head, pulling him in and kissing him hard.

“Yes.” Aemond’s lips were wet, and Luke couldn’t stop looking at them. “I like it.”

Lucerys grinned. A heady wave of contentment overtook him, just as it did every time he gave his omega a gift he liked. He leaned in close and rubbed his cheek against Aemond’s, their scents mingling just as the gods had intended.

Chapter Text

Lucerys was seated on an upturned water butt in the yard. It was a warm day, and he was dressed casually in a loose tunic with an unfastened jerkin over the top. He read the letter in his hand for what felt like the hundredth time. The wax seal, stamped with the three-headed dragon, hung loose on the paper. The handwriting was rigid and stilted – Daemon’s own. The message hadn’t been dictated to a clerk, as the prince consort usually preferred. Daemon hadn’t wanted anybody but Lucerys to know the contents.

A sudden cry distracted Luke. He glanced up in just enough time to see Jaehaerys stumbling backwards, clutching at his arm. The culprit was Aegon, stood with training sword in hand and a guilty expression on his face. Jaehaerys’ own blunted sword was held limply, the edge trailing pitifully along the flagstones.

“Hold it properly,” Aemond told him sternly. “You’ll blunt the blade.”

“It’s blunt already,” Jaehaerys grumbled, rubbing his arm and scowling.

“But a real one won’t be,” Aemond reminded him. “And stop making that face. If you’d kept your guard up properly, he wouldn’t’ve been able to hit you.”

He was a strict teacher. Surprisingly tolerant of mistakes, but utterly intolerant of any kind of laziness. Aemond had agreed to Aegon’s request for lessons, and then it hadn’t been long before Jaehaerys had wanted to join in. It’d been roughly a moon now, and both boys’ swordplay had improved significantly – to Luke’s eye, at least. If he’d been their teacher, he’d have let them know how pleased he was with their progress. But Aemond was scant with his praise. He offered just enough that the two princes knew it could be had, yet so little they were forever chasing just a scrap more.

Luke smiled as he watched Aemond showing Jaehaerys how he should’ve deflected the blow. There was nobody else in the bailey. Ostensibly, it was to give the young princes some privacy, but truthfully… just like at the Red Keep, Luke wasn’t sure he trusted House Targaryen’s knights around his husband. Nearly all of them had fought in the war. Probably they’d lost friends, brothers, even lovers to the conflict. What if they blamed Aemond for it? What if – and Lucerys couldn’t deny the grim possibility – he was to blame?

Some of the men might’ve been content thinking Luke had mated Aemond against his will, forcing him to submit and shackling him to their bed. But by now it was surely abundantly clear that wasn’t what’d happened. That Aemond lived comfortably. That he was Lucerys’ beloved mate, not his captive whore.

Was there a respectful way, Luke wondered, to tell your sworn men that, whilst you valued their loyalty beyond measure, if they laid a single finger on your husband, you’d cut off their balls and feed them to the dogs? Probably not. He’d have to ask Daemon. If anybody knew how to elegantly craft that threat, it’d be him.

Luke turned back to his stepfather’s letter and read it yet again.

Lucerys

I’m sure you recall the merchant Greymont, owner of the Sweet Garden and friend of the traitor Darke. Mysaria has discovered that he kept a house in secret on Shadowblack Lane. But when the gold cloaks arrived to search it, they found the place sealed by the city magistrates. Two men and a woman, all alphas, had been found there murdered, their bodies left to rot. By the time this news reached us, they’d been buried in a pauper’s grave, and the watch had cleared the house. Not one clue as to who these traitors were or what they were doing had been left behind. No clue as to who slaughtered the bastard whoresons either. Greymont’s sister insists she had no idea about any of it. I find I believe her.

Curse the gods for such poor fortune.

Prince Daemon Targaryen

Luke’s fingers tapped restlessly against the paper as he reread the message. It was the first communication from King’s Landing to make any mention of the conspiracy.

His letters from his mother had been full of well wishes and talk of her grand tourney. He’d replied, telling her how Aegon and Viserys were settling in. He’d also dared ask if perhaps Jaehaerys and Jaehaera might be permitted to attend the Kingswood tourney, though he’d no idea how his mother was likely to look upon the request. She’d probably think Aemond had strongarmed him into it – even though Luke had clearly explained he was sincerely concerned for the twins’ wellbeing. Rhaenyra was well aware of her son’s softheartedness, but she was also convinced Aemond had him firmly by the knot.

Speaking of Aemond, he’d finally written a letter to his own mother, though it’d taken him nearly a full week. There’d been multiple early drafts, all torn up and thrown angrily into the fire. Lucerys had read the final version, after Aemond had thrust it into his hands with a snide remark about being spied upon. It’d included a story from Aemond’s childhood – a sweet tale about picking flowers with Helaena for Alicent’s name-day. A story that might convince the mentally disturbed Dowager Queen that her son really was alive.

Aemond had ended the letter by telling his mother that he loved her. Lucerys had flushed with shame when he’d read that, suddenly feeling like he was intruding on something private. And he had been, hadn’t he? Queen Rhaenyra would read Aemond’s letter too, before it was finally passed onto Alicent Hightower. What would she make of it?

Lucerys frowned at Daemon’s letter. It disturbed him, and the more he brooded on it, the worse it got. What could he do? He was three-hundred miles away. And hadn’t that been the point? To take Aemond far away from the dangers of King’s Landing?

“Why do you look so gloomy?”

Lucerys looked up. Aemond was standing over him, in leather armour and a steel breastplate. They’d all stopped for water. Nearby, Aegon was trying to make his cousin laugh – and Jaehaerys was trying (and failing) to suppress a broad grin as he scuffed the ground with the heel of his boot. He wasn’t so painfully shy anymore, but Jaehaerys was still awkward and uncertain. He and Aegon got on well, at least. Luke hoped they’d be friends. It’d do them both some good.

Aemond raised an impatient eyebrow when he didn’t get a quick response to his question. “Or are you not glum?” he said. “Has the wind just changed direction and frozen your face like that?”

Luke snorted. He considered stuffing the letter inside his jerkin and pretending it was nothing. But he’d promised Aemond there’d be no more lies, and he’d meant it. A vow was easier to make than keep – but Luke had to keep this one. Wordlessly, he held the folded paper out. Aemond took the letter and read it, his expression growing steadily grimmer. When he’d finished, he reread the thing again, just as Lucerys had done countless times.

“What the hells is going on?” Aemond muttered. “Three strangers dead? Who were they? Did they help that whoreson Darke?”

“I don’t know. You know as much about it as I do.” Lucerys had all the same questions. Had these three dead alphas been agents of the conspiracy? Perhaps. Very likely, even. In which case, Lucerys was glad the filthy rats were dead. But corpses didn’t answer questions. Who’d killed them? Was the murderer friend or foe to House Targaryen?

“Do you really think we’re safe here?”

Lucerys sighed. “I think we’re safer here than we were at the Red Keep.” He plucked the letter from Aemond’s grasp and took his hand. It was covered by a leather glove. Aemond didn’t object as Lucerys pulled it off so he could kiss the skin beneath. “But I’d be a fool to imagine we were entirely safe anywhere,” Lucerys mumbled, mouth pressed the breadth of his mate’s slender hand. “These aren’t the same guards and servants I grew up with. And even if they were… well, everyone has their price.”

“Everyone has their price,” Aemond echoed. His index finger trailed lightly down Luke’s cheek. “How true that is. Even those you think you can be sure of. Even those you believe… yes, everyone has their price. Sweet smiles conceal venomous fangs.”

Lucerys frowned. It was an oddly poetic turn of phrase from Aemond. As though he’d brooded on the subject many times before. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

Aemond shrugged, although his mouth twisted into a brief, bitter grimace. “You trust too easily, Lucerys. This world is full of vipers and snakes. Sometimes they dress themselves up as lambs.”

“I’m not such a fool as you think,” Lucerys admonished. He didn’t deny that he liked to trust. Luke valued loyalty highly, and what was the point in loyalty if you didn’t believe in it? But he wasn’t naïve. Luke wasn’t above pretending to trust, when in truth he did not. “Besides,” he continued. “I’ve you for that now, don’t I? The suspicious voice whispering in my ear.”

Aemond smirked, amused. “I’ve been called far worse,” he said. Then his face went deadly serious. “Rhaenyra has many enemies.”

Luke eyed his mate warily. “Yes. Does that please you?”

Aemond gazed at his husband with a frustratingly blank expression. Sometimes, Lucerys could read him like a book. But other times, Aemond’s thoughts were a mystery to him. “Rhaenyra’s enemies are your enemies,” he finally said. “So no, it doesn’t please me. I would see them all dead.”

Only Aemond could make wanting to kill traitors sound like a romantic declaration. Or perhaps it was Luke who was cracked in the head for perceiving it that way. Nevertheless, it warmed his heart. He kissed his mate’s hand again.

They were distracted by the sound of the boys yammering away as they picked their blunted swords back up. Aemond took his glove back and turned his attention to the lesson again. Luke stared down at Daemon’s awkward handwriting. What insight he was hoping to ferret out between the lines, he’d no idea.

…

Time passed at Dragonstone. Eventually Aemond settled into a new rhythm of life. Lucerys had been true to his word, Aemond was free to go where he wanted and see who he wanted. The gods damn it, he was happier here. Dragonstone suited Aemond. There was no court to bother with. No hostile stares. No sense that Aemond was being displayed as his sister’s war trophy. There was just volcanic stone, dragons adorning everything, and peace. Aemond had once made a snide joke to Lucerys about his prisons getting steadily nicer. This was by far the pleasantest yet. So pleasant that Aemond often forgot it was a prison.

Four moons came and went. He endured another heat, arriving exactly on schedule. It seemed Aemond’s body hadn’t been broken by the years of asp water after all. Time had healed him, for good or ill. The heat was intense, but nothing like as debilitating as his last two terrible fevers. In fact, it hadn’t been painful at all. Not with Lucerys there to take Aemond straight to bed.

This, he supposed, was how it was meant to be. No chance for pain or miserably unfulfilled want. Instead, to get fucked through the fever right from the start. To know nothing but pleasure and satisfaction. Lucerys kept Aemond fed and watered. He braided his hair and kissed away all the humiliating noises he made. For his part, Aemond was enthralled. Everything was Lucerys. Everything.

“When’s your rut?” Aemond asked as they lay together in bed, knotted in a sweaty mass of tangled limbs and twisted bedsheets. Lucerys’ thigh was thrown over Aemond’s, and his face was shoved into Aemond’s neck, where his mouth worried lazily at the bite scar. It was nice. More than nice. If Aemond hadn’t already been fucked into a boneless, contented daze, he would've melted.

“Soon,” Lucerys mumbled. He kissed Aemond’s shoulder. “I’d just had one, before word arrived at the Keep of your capture.”

“Have you ever spent it with anyone?”

“No.” Lucerys tightened his grip on Aemond. “There was too great a risk I’d get lost in the fever and give whoever was warming my bed the bite.”

“There are ways around that,” Aemond pointed out. “You could’ve taken a beta to bed.”

“I didn’t want to,” Lucerys said plainly. “I didn’t want anybody to see me through my rut. It’s… it’s very rough. I’m rough. I might’ve easily hurt them. Pushed too hard. Taken what wasn’t on offer. You… you’re under no obligation, Aemond. I mean that, truly.”

Aemond mulled it over. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said at last. “You’ve seen me through two of my fevers now. I’ll see you through yours.”

“You’re caught in the fever now. You’re not in the right frame of mind to make this choice.”

Luke wasn’t wrong, but Aemond still bristled, irritated by the easy dismissal of his decision. “Ask me after then,” he said sharply. “I’ll say the same.”

Lucerys said nothing for a long minute. He just held Aemond and pressed his face into the crook of his omega’s neck. His beard itched. “It ought to be different with you,” he finally muttered. “Everyone says it’s different when you’re bonded. You’re careful with your mate. But I… I worry…”

“You worry far too much.”

“And you worry far too little,” Lucerys retorted - although he sounded fond.

After Aemond’s heat was over, he did still mean what he'd said. He’d lie with Lucerys during his rut. Three times now, Lucerys had seen him a helpless slave to his base nature. It would be nice for the shoe to be on the other damned foot for a change. It wasn’t fair that omegas were forced to suffer three fevers a year, and alphas only one.

Aemond wasn’t the only one grown accustomed to life on Dragonstone. Aegon and Viserys missed their parents, and would sometimes become unpleasantly moody and difficult, demanding to know why they couldn’t go back to King’s Landing. But on the whole, they seemed happy enough. Pleasingly, there was no animosity between the children. Aegon and Viserys surely knew the twins were the offspring of their mother’s great enemy, but if they’d been warned to keep their distance, they didn’t.

Aegon was forever trailing around after Jaehaerys, trying to draw his cousin out of his shell. And slowly, it worked. Jaehaerys smiled more often. Spoke up more. Grew bolder. Just like a boy his age should be. Jaehaera, in contrast, stayed quiet and shy. She still didn’t speak much, and she’d a taste for solitude the others didn’t share. But they were kind enough to her. None of the boys made fun of her strangeness – or at least, they never dared do so when Aemond could overhear.

Sometimes he’d catch himself thinking about Aegon, whenever he came across the children laughing together. Not the boy, but Aemond’s own brother. The usurper, as Rhaenrya would have it. Aegon had never been kind. He’d always seemed to be trying to punish Aemond for something. To humiliate and belittle him whenever the opportunity arose. Aegon had been careless with his cruelty, but he’d reserved a special spite for Aemond. It’d been relentless, too. He’d despised Aemond and yet been unable to just leave his brother alone. And young Aemond, pathetically desperate to be liked by Aegon, had fallen again and again for his horseshit.

Then Aemond had lost his eye, and suddenly Aegon had barely been able to look at him. The bullying had stopped, at least. Slowly, an uneasy truce had formed between them. Aemond had grown up, swiftly outstripping his brother in height and martial skill. And of course, by then he’d had Vhagar. The great hoary old beast – the largest dragon in the world, whose shadow had been large enough to cover an entire village. The scales of power had tilted in Aemond's favour, and they’d hadn’t tilted back again. Even when he’d presented as an omega. But then they’d put the crown on Aegon’s unwilling head, and Aemond had become his brother’s dog.

The sight of Aegon, burned and broken in his sick bed, had been terrible. Aemond had stared and drunk in every detail of his brother’s mutilation and pain. His heart hadn't bled. He’d waited and waited to feel compassion for Aegon. Or perhaps regret. Guilt. Those feelings had never come.

So, he didn’t understand why in the seven hells he felt regret so badly now, when he looked upon his brother’s orphaned children. He didn’t understand why he missed Aegon. Stupid, drunken, careless Aegon, who’d always been so wretchedly sad and pathetic beneath all that boorish degeneracy.

Apart from these occasional dark thoughts, Aemond was the happiest he’d been in a long time. Happier than he’d been at the Red Keep by far. Happier than during those long moons in hiding, flitting from place to place like a thief in the night. It was all an illusion, but a pleasant one. A dream that Aemond knew to be a dream - but was in no rush to wake from. Why not enjoy it, while it lasted? It would all be ripped away soon enough, and he was so tired of being miserable. He had his niece and nephew now. Gods, Aemond even found he grudgingly enjoyed the company of the whelps Aegon and Viserys. And, of course, he had Luke.

Luke. Aemond looked up from the letter he was trying to write, fixing his gaze on his husband. They were sat in the library. Lucerys was reading a large, leather-bound book, frowning intently at whatever was written on the page. He didn’t notice Aemond staring, too absorbed in his reading. The sunlight drifting in through the window caught in his dark hair, making it shine richly. Seven hells, where had that snub-nosed boy-child gone? Lucerys really did look as though he’d wandered out of some courtly poem about the noble heroes of old. A young man still, but a prince and a knight to his bastard core. Everything a highborn alpha was supposed to be.

Once, Aemond would’ve envied it bitterly. Did he still? Perhaps. But Luke was his. He loved Aemond. The rest of the world could simper and sigh after him until it was blue in the face, Aemond had him and would never let him go. There was satisfaction to be found in that, he'd slowly come to realise. Lucerys was everything Aemond had yearned to be. Everything he was furious with fate for denying him. And yet… by the gods, there was something to be said for having all that devoted to you instead. The thought made Aemond’s heart beat a little faster.

Lucerys suddenly glanced up. Aemond saw his mate’s nostrils flaring and realised his intensifying scent had caught Lucerys’ attention. Embarrassed, he turned back to his letter and swore vehemently as he clumsily pressed the quill down too hard, splattering black ink everywhere.

“Are you alright?” Lucerys asked as Aemond grabbed the ruined parchment and screwed it up in a temper.

“I’m fine.”

“Who’re you writing to?”

“My mother, who the hells else would I be writing to?” Aemond replied moodily.

“Oh.” Lucerys looked hesitant. The subject of Alicent was still a dangerous one between them. Aemond had written four letters to his mother and had received nothing in response. Rhaenyra had written assuring her brother that the Dowager Queen had been given every one of his letters. Despite each one containing some inane tale that Aemond was sure nobody except he and his mother would remember, it seemed Alicent was struggling to believe it was real. That one of her children yet lived.

What was there to do but keep writing? If he’d been at the Red Keep, Aemond could’ve stood before his mother. Shown her that he was flesh and blood. But he couldn’t do that – because he’d been tricked out to this island by his lying prick of a husband.

The familiar tide of resentment rose up. Aemond took a deep breath and tried to let it ebb away again. Lucerys was still watching him, looking tense. He was probably confused. One moment he’d scented Aemond’s simmering arousal in the air, and the next his omega was clearly on the brink of an angry fit.

“Aemond,” Lucerys began carefully. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Aemond retorted irritably.

Lucerys rose from his chair. “It’s a beautiful afternoon,” he declared loudly, peering through the narrow window. “Come for a walk with me.”

“No. Go by yourself. Not all of us share your strange love of windswept rocks.”

“Please. It really is a fine day. I’d much prefer to spend all of it with you.”

Aemond fiddled with the quill he’d been using, realising that the stem had cracked, and he’d have to get another if he wanted to carry on writing. “If you insist,” he sighed, throwing the broken quill down. “I’ve been indoors too long anyway.”

It was a beautiful day. Dragonstone could be gloomy. When the thick sea mists rolled in, it was downright eerie. Far from disliking it, Aemond felt drawn to the strangeness. Sometimes it even reminded him a little of Harrenhal - particularly the nagging feeling that unseen eyes were watching you. But he didn’t want to think too much about cursed Harrenhal.

Dragonstone was also striking like this – when the skies were so clear and blue that the sea was visible for miles around. Even the wind that lashed the island was more like a pleasant breeze today. Lucerys offered Aemond his arm – and without even thinking about it, he took it. He did that a lot, these days. Took Luke’s arm, like a good omega should. Often without realising he was doing it.

Many alphas had offered their arms to Aemond back at his father’s court, before the war. Grasping, ambitious pricks and slatterns, all more than willing to overlook a scarred face and a sour temper to mate a prince. Aemond had refused them all. Sometimes politely. Sometimes rudely. His mother had despaired. Again and again Queen Alicent had begged her son to be just a little softer. A little more gracious. More appealing. Aemond had always pretended to look chagrined, kissed his mother on her furrowed brow, and promised to do better – only to behave exactly the same way the next time some puffed-up cunt had tried to steer him around like a fucking horse.

“My mother would’ve been thrilled to see this, once upon a time.”

“See what?” Lucerys asked.

“Me. Arm in arm with an alpha. Married and mated.”

“Until she learned it was me.”

“Until she learned it was you,” Aemond agreed.

“Alicent didn’t think you’d ever marry?” Lucerys asked.

“Oh, she knew I wouldn’t have a choice,” Aemond said bitterly. “And when it came to it, I didn’t. No, she thought I wouldn’t submit to the bite. She thought I wouldn’t marry and not hate every last moment of it.”

“And do you?” Lucerys checked his shoulder into Aemond’s playfully. He was smirking. The mood lifted a little, and Aemond found his own mouth quirking upwards too.

“Not every moment,” he said. “Occasionally you’re tolerable.”

Lucerys nodded sagely. “When I have you on your back, squirming on our bedsheets, seeing stars – ”

Aemond let go of his alpha’s arm and shoved him hard. Luke stumbled back a couple of steps, already laughing. His joy was infectious. Aemond’s own face cracked into a grin. Lucerys opened his arms, still laughing, pulling Aemond into a gleeful kiss. He fell into it helplessly. Here it was again. The happiness. The dream Aemond didn’t want to wake from.

“I did hear that you refused to leave your chambers on the day of our wedding,” Lucerys said, pressing his forehead to Aemond’s. “That Otto Hightower had to force you out.”

It was true. Aemond could remember it now. His grandsire’s face flushed with anger as he’d furiously ripped into Aemond for refusing to do his duty. Telling him to endure whatever he had to rather than bring shame on them all. And finally grabbing him by the collar and literally dragging him from his apartments. Aegon had been there as well. At first, he’d enjoyed the sight of Aemond humiliated. But by the end, his face had been stony and sullen.

“And I heard you begged your mother to let you flee the city,” Aemond replied.

“Hmm,” was all Lucerys said to that. He kissed Aemond again. “Quite a pair, are we not?”

They finished their walk. Despite his initial reluctance, Aemond had enjoyed it. The land surrounding Dragonstone Castle was wild. To walk it felt like real freedom, even though it obviously wasn’t. At length, the two princes returned to the great fortress. They were immediately met by Maester Hunnimore. The man was flustered and pink in the face, as though he’d rushed to greet them.

“My lords,” he cried. “Forgive me, I’ve been looking for you. Prince Lucerys, this message arrived by raven. It’s from the Red Keep. I apologize, my lord, but I read it. It wasn’t marked as being for your eyes only! But once I saw what it said…”

Lucerys practically snatched the curled scrap of paper out of the anxious maester’s hands. His eyes scanned the short message and his face blanched. Aemond tensed. No minor upset would make Lucerys grow pale like that. Here it was then. The rude awakening from the dream.

“What is it?”

“My mother,” Lucerys said, voice strained. He looked straight at Aemond, expression stricken. “Somebody’s tried to poison her.”

“What?” Aemond said sharply. “Is she…”

“She lives,” Lucerys said. “That’s all it says. I don’t… by the gods, I have to get to King’s Landing. I promised I’d come at once if anything happened. I promised her!”

“You can’t go now,” Aemond tried to reason with him. “The crossing takes hours, even on dragonback. You’ll arrive in the dead of night.”

“Prince Aemond is right, my lord,” Hunnimore said. “Wait until morning, I beseech you.”

Lucerys didn’t like it, even though he couldn’t deny they were both right. All night he was agitated, pacing restlessly about their bedchamber. Aemond thought he ought to comfort his husband somehow. Wasn’t that what omegas were supposed to be good at? But not him. Aemond had never found comfort easy to give, and the bond hadn’t magically changed that. He wished he knew what to say. Any reassurance he tried to offer would only ring false. There was no love lost between him and his sister. Aemond wouldn’t care if she had downed a cup of poison, save for how greatly it would pain Lucerys.

Sometime in the smallest hours of the night, Lucerys fell back upon the bed after yet another round of pacing by candlelight. He wrapped himself around Aemond, clinging to him. With some difficultly, Aemond turned in his arms so that he could hold Lucerys in turn. He pulled his husband’s head down to rest on his shoulder, until finally Luke’s breathing turned shallow. He was sleeping. It wouldn’t be long until dawn now, but some sleep was surely better than none at all.

Dawn came, and with it a flurry of activity. Lucerys rose, despite having had scarcely a couple of hours of real rest. Servants brought his leathers for dragon riding and dressed him. Aemond stayed out of the way, watching quietly from a chair, still in his nightshirt, a loose robe flung over his shoulders. Just as he was about to depart, Luke stooped to kiss him.

“Don’t tell my brothers. They’re too young. Tell them… gods, I don’t know what. Tell them that I’ve had to return to the city on urgent business.”

Privately, Aemond thought Aegon was old enough to hear the truth, but he wasn’t going to argue about it. He watched from the battlements a short while later, dressed and ill at ease, as Arrax flew away across the sea. It felt like there was a stone in his belly.

…

The Queen was alive. The poison hadn’t killed her. Lucerys told himself that over and over as Arrax flew over Blackwater Bay. But he couldn’t stop picturing his mother collapsing to the floor, her pale brow thick with sweat, the life slipping from her…

Luke clenched his eyes tightly shut, willing the mental image away.

It was a long crossing. Three hundred miles was no small feat, even by dragon, and Lucerys was exhausted. He’d gotten barely any sleep last night, too anxious to rest. He was no less agitated now, but exhaustion had his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Eventually, safely chained to Arrax’s saddle, Luke fell asleep.

He awoke with a jolt as Arrax narrowed his wingspan and began dropping lower. Gods – where the hells were they? Lucerys blinked as the clouds cleared, and the great sprawl of King’s Landing came into view, growing larger by the second. Lucerys felt a surge of affection for his old friend – Arrax had brought him just where he wanted to be, despite Lucerys being little more than dead weight on his back.

The dragon skimmed low over the city, passing perhaps fifty feet over the streets. Good. Let the people see and let them remember. House Targaryen had lost a great deal in the war – but they hadn’t lost everything. Even one dragon was more valuable than an entire army. Let the Queen’s enemies remember the hard truth - that every man and woman, highborn and low, burned just the same.

Arrax landed in the gardens of the Red Keep with a guttural roar. Luke dismounted, and immediately his dragon took to the skies again with a mighty beat of his leathery wings. Seeking out his old roost in the nearby cove, most likely. Lucerys’ arrival hadn’t been a subtle one, and sure enough, within minutes he found himself greeted by the pleasantly rotund figure of Robert Quince.

“My mother?” he blurted out.

“She’s well, she’s quite well,” Quince reassured him. “Entirely unharmed Luke. Calm yourself.”

Lucerys sagged with the weight of relief. “What happened?”

“You’d best hear the tale from your parents,” Quince said. “Come on. I’ll escort you.”

Quince led Luke to the Tower of the Hand, where he found Daemon sitting in the small council chamber with a spread of letters before him. He looked bored.

“Luke!” his stepfather cried, rising to his feet. He clapped Lucerys hard on the shoulder. “Seven hells, did you come running the minute the message was put into your hand?”

“More or less,” Lucerys admitted. “Where’s my mother?”

“In the Great Hall, hearing petitioners,” Daemon said. “I’ll have her told you’re here.”

That, more than any other reassurance, put Luke at ease. The Queen wouldn’t’ve been holding court if she was hurt. She must truly have been untouched by the poison. He sank heavily into one of the empty chairs.

“You didn’t have to come here,” Daemon said, after a page had been dispatched to discreetly whisper into the Queen’s ear. “The raven wasn’t meant to summon you.”

“Of course I had to come here. How could I not? What happened? How was my mother poisoned?”

“It was in her wine,” said Daemon. “But Rhaenyra never drank it. The poison killed the food taster. Your mother was late to the table, otherwise..."

“Who did it? Who put the poison in her cup?”

“I don’t know,” Daemon said darkly. “Not yet. Mysaria is questioning the kitchen servants. But there’s damned near a hundred of them.”

“And… you’re sure it was poison?” Luke asked. “The food taster didn’t just suffer an apoplexy or something like it?”

“Gerardys said your mother’s wine was riddled with poison. Poison. The tool of cowards."

Lucerys wasn’t left waiting long before his mother arrived. “Luke!” she cried, holding out her arms. Within a second, he was folded into his mother’s embrace. She clung tightly, squeezing Lucerys as though he were still just a little lad. “My boy. My sweet boy. Why’re you here?”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Luke said. “Any trouble, and I’d fly straight here.”

“If I called for you!” Rhaenyra protested. “You didn’t have to come, but I won’t pretend I’m not glad to see you. Gods, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I had to see you,” Luke explained. “I had to see for myself that you weren’t hurt.”

“I’m perfectly well,” his mother assured him. She put her hands on Luke’s cheeks, smiling warmly. “I never so much as touched the poisoned cup.”

“But if you had…”

“If I had,” the Queen sighed. She released her son and sat down. “These last five moons and not one new crisis! I’d started to think that perhaps our troubles were over. That our enemies had fled back to their miserable ratholes. Foolish of me.”

“They still want to see you dethroned,” Lucerys said, sitting down next to his mother, grasping her hand. “Have we really discovered nothing?”

“Nothing apart from the house on Shadowblack Lane,” said Rhaenyra. “The one owned by the treacherous merchant. A dead end.”

“Dead in more ways than one,” remarked Daemon. “Three corpses, left to rot where they fell.”

“How were they killed?” Lucerys asked.

“One stabbed clean through the heart, the other with his throat slit, and the last gutted like a fish. Done with a sharp blade and an expert hand according to the guardsmen who found the bodies.”

“Who were they?”

Daemon threw his hands up. “Your guess is as good as mine. The bodies were mouldering in a pauper’s grave by the time the Queen’s men arrived at the house. Not a single thing was left. It’d been stripped by thieves, and probably the fucking guardsmen too. There was nothing.”

“And Tybor Greymont owned the house? You're certain?”

“Yes. And those bodies confirmed it, don’t you think? Murdered, just like Greymont himself. Somebody was tidying up loose ends.”

“Tidying them up with a dagger,” said Rhaenyra gloomily. “And they’d have their blade at my neck too, if they could.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Lucerys said earnestly. “I could – ”

“You’ve done enough just by coming here,” his mother interrupted him. She smiled fondly. “I heard the whispers in the Great Hall, even from the throne. A dragon flying over the city. A much-needed reminder that we’re far from powerless. But perhaps you could do me one more small service?”

“Anything,” Lucerys said at once.

Rhaenyra leaned forward. “Tell me how your brothers are. What they’ve been doing. Tell me everything.”

Luke did, gladly. Most of it he’d already put in his letters, but Rhaenyra was eager to hear it again anyway. Even discovering that Aegon had been taking swordsmanship lessons from Aemond didn’t dampen her enthusiasm. Remarkable, really. Not so long ago, discovering that her brother had been anywhere near her young sons with a weapon would’ve caused Luke’s mother to fly into a rage. If the war hadn’t already taught him that times could change with frightening speed, Lucerys would’ve realised it again now.

A message came for Daemon, from Lady Mysaria. He left to see her. Lucerys watched his mother carefully. Her mouth pursed a little, but that was all the displeasure she let slip. Luke wondered if the Queen wished to be rid of Mysaria. The woman had proven herself a gifted spymaster. But she’d been Daemon’s lover, many years ago. And the two of them spent a great deal of time together, scheming to root out Rhaenyra’s enemies. Could Daemon be trusted? The gods only knew. But if Daemon pined for anybody beyond his marriage bed, it was surely his darling Nettles still.

It would be a shame. Mysaria had eyes and ears all over the city. Luke almost admired her. It was no small thing for a lowborn omega, a woman no less, to claw her way to power. Mysaria had done it dancing in the whorehouses of King’s Landing, then on her back in Daemon’s bed, and now she did it with her sharp mind. Yes, it was admirable. But Lucerys wasn't a fool. Scandal and rumour hounded his mother badly enough as it was. Employing a former whore to be her lady of whispers had set plenty of tongues wagging. They’d whispered during the war, and they whispered still – muttering to each other about the Red Keep turned into a brothel.

Seeking to distract his mother, Luke talked of his little brothers until he’d nothing left to say.

“And are they lonely?” Rhaenyra asked. “I know they have you, and each other of course, but I worry after having friends their own age here…”

“They have the twins,” Luke pointed out.

“Yes. I recall you saying so.” Rhaenyra’s voice didn’t give away her feelings. Perhaps she disapproved. But if she did, then what else had she expected? Had Luke been supposed to keep his brothers and cousins separated, despite them living in the same castle? There was only one maester at Dragonstone, so they had to take their lessons together. Was Lucerys to deny Jaehaerys and Jaehaera their education?

“Speaking of the twins,” Luke said. “Do you remember I asked if they might attend the Kingswood tourney? You never mentioned it in any of your letters.”

Rhaenyra sat back with a frown. “What would you have me say, Luke? It doesn’t please me to keep two children as my prisoners. But you must understand, they’re dangerous. Potential figureheads for a rebellion. Haven't I conceded enough by allowing Aemond to be with them?”

“Leave them isolated and they’ll grow up resentful, believing you’re their enemy,” Lucerys tried to convince her. “Make them your allies instead!"

“It’s not as easy as that, and you know it. You’re not that naïve, Luke. You think the twins have been badly treated? You think I’ve been cruel? They live in comfort in a great castle, their every need attended to. There are many, many children orphaned by the war who’d give anything for such terrible cruelty.”

Luke clenched his jaw. That was the truth, he couldn’t deny it. But he’d grown close to Jaehaerys and Jaehaera these last moons. He felt oddly protective of them. Sometimes he could almost deceive himself that they were his children. His and Aemond’s – although the twins were far too old for that. Perhaps his yearning for a family of his own was addling his mind.

“I don’t suppose…” Rhaenyra began tentatively. “Have either of them shown any signs of presenting?”

“No,” Lucerys said. Although it wouldn’t be long now. A year or two perhaps - maybe sooner. But then… it could be much later too, if the twins took after their Uncle Aemond or their cousin Baela. Presenting late wasn’t as uncommon among those with Valyrian blood as it was for everyone else. “Why do you ask?”

“Things would be much simpler if they both turned out omegas,” said Rhaenyra with blunt honesty. “Or Jaehaera a beta perhaps. Then I could rest easier. It would be much less risky to bring them to King’s Landing.”

“And marry them off, in the fullness of time?” said Lucerys. “Use them to broker alliances?”

“That’s the fate of every royal child,” the Queen reminded him sternly. “Don’t you moralize at me, Lucerys. Just because you threw duty to the dogs, because you had to have Aemond, doesn’t mean everyone else can do the same."

She was annoyed. Genuinely needled by Luke’s remark.

His mother was being, Luke thought, a little hypocritical. Hadn’t she forgone duty to marry Daemon? Defied her father? Their situations weren’t entirely comparable – Daemon, for all he’d been exiled over and over, hadn’t been a traitor. Or fought tooth and nail to dethrone his brother. But Lucerys had been married off against his will, for the benefit of the realm. By King Viserys. To Aemond.

He hoped one day his mother would understand it’d been for the best. That he and Aemond had been intended for each other by the gods. Lucerys wished he could tell her that. But she’d only think he’d gone mad. And maybe she’d be right.

“Speaking of Aemond,” Rhaenyra said in a more conciliatory tone, breaking the tension. “How did he take finding out that Alicent wasn't on Dragonstone? None of your letters said anything about it.”

Luke grimaced. “Badly. Very badly.”

His mother watched him carefully. “But he’s forgiven you for it now?”

“Yes. I… mostly. Sometimes he’s still angry about it. I don’t think he’ll ever truly forgive me until he sees her.”

“I’ve given Alicent every one of Aemond’s letters. I put them into her hands myself. She reads them, she cries, and she demands to know how I found out such things. If a demon is whispering secrets into my ear.”

“She really doesn’t believe Aemond’s alive?”

“With each new letter she lets herself hope a little more, I think,” said Rhaenyra sadly. “Some part of her knows that’s his hand on the paper. Knows only he could’ve written those things. But she never lets herself truly believe it.”

“I should’ve brought something with me,” Lucerys said, annoyed with himself for not having thought of it. “Aemond’s doublet. A lock of his hair. Something with his scent on it. Proof.”

“I thought that a bad idea once,” said Rhaenyra. “Perhaps I was wrong. And how else is Aemond? Apart from angry with you, as he always seems to be. He had his heat?”

Lucerys shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to talk about this. “Yes.”

“And another?”

“Yes.”

The Queen nodded. “At least he hasn’t made himself barren then. And did you let him drink the moon tea?”

“Yes.”

“Seven hells, Luke…”

“I won’t force him to have a child he doesn’t want!” Lucerys snapped. “You already know that. Aemond wouldn’t endure it. He’d do something stupid. Something dangerous. You know his temperament! You know he’s…”

You know he’s got the madness in his blood. That’s what Luke wanted to say. And what he couldn’t quite bring himself to.

“You need an heir,” his mother said. “I need you to have an heir! Many husbands and wives have brought unwanted children into this cruel world. That’s the hard truth. Life isn’t a fair or just business, Lucerys. I must be ruthless if I’m going to keep the throne. You must be ruthless if you’re going to inherit it.”

“I know,” Luke said. “But not with Aemond.” He looked his mother dead in the eye, trying to make her see just how much he meant it.

“I could forbid it,” Rhaenyra said. “I could forbid the moon tea made for him.”

“He will hurt himself – ”

“Then I’ll have the traitorous knave kept in chains until he’s done his wretched duty!”

They glared at each other. It was Rhaenyra who faltered, and quickly too. “Forgive me,” she said. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Lucerys said quietly.

“I’ve not been myself since the taster died and the poison was found in my wine. And now my beloved son is here, who I’ve missed every day for the last five moons, and I argue with him.”

“It must’ve been frightening for you.”

“Oh, I’ve experienced many worse terrors,” his mother said bitterly. "But it’s been so long since anything happened! I’d really begun to think… stupid of me! Until I have these traitors’ heads, none of us are safe. That’s what’s shaken me, my darling boy. My own complacency.”

She took Luke’s hand in her own, eyes glimmering wetly. “I miss all of you so much. My precious sons. But by the old gods and the new, I’m glad you’re all a long way from here.”

“I should be here with you,” Lucerys said mournfully.

“No.” Rhaenyra wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and pulled her composure back over herself like a veil. Or perhaps a suit of armour. “You should be on Dragonstone, keeping your brothers safe. And persuading Aemond to give you a babe.”

“You talk as if I don’t want that more than anything. But I won’t take the choice from him.”

“Gods, you’re so stubborn, I could almost believe Daemon was your sire by blood sometimes,” Rhaenyra complained – although Lucerys was pleased to see a twinkle of fondness in her eye. He decided to risk a dangerous question.

“What about my real sire? Was he stubborn?”

“Laenor? No, he – ”

“Not Laenor Velaryon,” Lucerys interrupted gently. “Harwin Strong. Was he a stubborn man?”

The Queen was visibly shocked by the question. Her face froze and her mouth dropped open. After a couple of seconds, she closed it and swallowed deeply. Luke couldn’t read her expression, no matter how hard he tried.

“Yes, he was,” his mother said at last. “Stubborn and kind. Just like you.”

Luke nodded, pleased with this answer. His heart warmed as he mulled it over. So, he was like his sire, was he?

“When will you return to Dragonstone?” Rhaenyra asked, clearing her throat. It wasn’t a subtle change of subject, but it didn’t need to be. They both knew they’d been treading on ground best taken lightly. And slowly.

“Perhaps in two or three days,” Lucerys said. “So long as the weather favours it.”

The Queen nodded. “I wish it could be longer, but I understand. I suppose I should take advantage of having you here. Tomorrow, I must sit on the throne and hear petitions again. Join me. Let the court see you and learn a little more of your future duties.”

“Does the court know about the poisoning?”

“No.” Rhaenyra shook her head. “I must meet with the small council soon. I’ll tell my councillors then. Not that I think half of them will lift a finger to uncover the perpetrator. They might even be disappointed I didn’t drink the tainted cup.”

“Is that wise?” Lucerys said. “Wouldn’t it be best kept a secret?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” said the Queen. “But they’ll hear about it anyway. Mysaria is interrogating the kitchen staff – you think that won’t spark a dozen rumours alone? I’d prefer my lords heard it from me rather than palace gossip."

She stood and brushed out the wrinkles from her velvet dress. Lucerys rose and bowed to her. His mother laughed and kissed him warmly on the cheek.

“You’re my son, Luke,” she told him gently. “That’s all the matters. You know that, don’t you? You’ve as much right to my name as your brothers, because you are my son. Damn anyone who says anything else."

“I know,” Lucerys assured her as confidently as he could, because he wanted his mother to believe him. Because he meant it. He knew Harwin Strong was his sire, and he didn’t care. He was his mother’s heir, Prince of Dragonstone, and he defied anyone to dare question otherwise.

…

The following day, Luke stood next to the Iron Throne as the petitioners came and went. It was raining heavily outside, beating against the high windows of the Great Hall. The Queen let Lucerys ask any questions he wanted, encouraging him to offer his opinion. Afterwards, the courtiers assembled in the hall greeted him respectfully. Some enquired politely about Luke’s return to King’s Landing, but seemed satisfied enough with vague answers. Still, Lucerys watched every man and woman carefully, wondering if perhaps somebody might give themselves away. Perhaps in the slightest flicker of their expression, or a shiftiness in their eyes… but he saw nothing.

“And what brings you back to King’s Landing, my prince?” Lord Unwin Peake asked. It was the dozenth time the question had been put to Luke within the last hour. “I saw your dragon flying over the city. How large the beast has grown.”

“Oh, I just had some business with my mother’s steward,” Lucerys said lightly. “This tourney is a complicated arrangement.”

“I would’ve thought you’d see to such business by letter,” said Peake. “But perhaps you wished you see the Queen as well. No doubt you worry about her.”

“All grown children worry about their parents,” said Lucerys coolly.

“Of course,” said Peake. “I never meant to imply anything else, my lord.”

That evening, Lucerys dined with his parents, Lyonel Bentley, and Robert Quince. They talked until well after their plates had been cleared away, Quince in particular loved telling tales of his extensive preparations for the Kingswood tourney. He was obviously very proud of it.

“The only thing I can’t control is the weather,” said the old steward, his many chins wobbling with merriment and his bright eyes sparkling. “I pray the gods send us sunshine, so we can enjoy the contests – for I swear to you, it’ll be the grandest thing any of these lordlings have seen in their lives! I’ve arranged minstrels, mummers, and fools. There’ll be jousts and many feats of combat! And so much food the tables will groan with the weight of it.”

Good to know that something would be groaning with the weight of its bounty, because the royal purse certainly wouldn’t be. Luke brooded gloomily on the great expense. He hoped it’d be worth it. He hoped this time his mother’s plans would be successful – unlike Aegon’s name-day, and the magnificent feast that’d ended in disaster.

Still… he was looking forward to the tourney. If even half Quince’s boasts were true, then it really was going to be astonishing. He hoped Aemond would enjoy it too. Lucerys wanted the tourney to serve as a taste of their potential future together – when the war had finally become a dark but distant memory. Perhaps that was a vain hope, but Lucerys had always been inclined to hope for the best – even if he also made sure to prepare for the worst.

The five of them talked and drank until Rhaenyra, covering her mouth to conceal a yawn, excused herself from the table. She kissed Luke on the forehead as she went. Ser Lyonel followed shortly afterwards, followed by Robert Quince. Daemon, however, was in no rush to retire to bed. He called for more wine.

“Your mother’s missed you,” he informed Lucerys as he poured a fresh goblet of Dornish red. “She won’t tell you just how much.”

Stung, Lucerys paused before replying, supping his own cup of wine. Perhaps Daemon hadn’t meant it as a rebuke. Luke was probably just being thin-skinned. A jittery, oversensitive mood had settled over him. He felt antsy - and he knew why. His mate was three-hundred miles away, and he didn’t like it.

“You think I shouldn’t’ve gone to Dragonstone?”

“I didn’t say that.” Daemon shrugged. “I understand your reasons. And I won’t deny I rest much easier knowing my sons are there and not here. Even if you are allowing fucking Aemond to teach Aegon how to wield a sword.”

Luke smiled. “You might feel differently, if you saw him. Aegon, I mean. Aemond’s turning the boy into a fearsome little knight. He’ll be pestering our mother to let him compete before you know it.”

“Is that so?” Dameon drawled with affected casualness – but something gleamed in his eye. Lucerys recognised it as pride. “Well, I don’t think Rhaenyra need worry. Winter will be on us within a year, or so the maesters say. There’ll be no more tourneys until the next spring. Not after this Kingswood extravagance.”

“I hope the gods don’t send a hard winter. The war ruined many harvests.”

“Since when have the gods smiled on us?” Daemon snorted. “Bastards.”

“You sound like Aemond when you talk like that.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed briefly, before he smirked. “My pious nephew, really? I’m impressed Luke – did you fuck the religion out of him? Is your knot better than the gods themselves?”

“Don’t,” Lucerys said sharply. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

Daemon held his hands up in mocking conciliation. “How is Aemond anyway? Does life at Dragonstone suit the feral cur?”

“Yes, I think so,” Lucerys said gruffly. Talking about Aemond was only making the restlessness worse. He hadn’t hesitated to leap into Arrax’s saddle and fly away, but now the thought gnawed away at him that he shouldn’t’ve left his omega behind. Was Aemond safe alone on Dragonstone? What if… what if…

Lucerys tried to pull himself together. Aemond was fine. Of course he was fine. He was probably sitting in their chambers right now. Reading some dry Valyrian tome by candlelight. But Luke was nevertheless determined to fly home tomorrow. He’d ride for the cove where Arrax had made his den at first light.