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Aemond Targaryen awakes in darkness, a dull throbbing sensation at the back of his head. He tries to reach back and check to see if there is a wound but his arm won’t move. 

It can’t.

There’s something around his wrists binding them together. Not rope, but something almost as strong. Slippery when he bends a finger to stroke the fabric, unyielding when he tugs against it. 

The room he’s in is small and dark; the only light slips through the crack beneath the door. It’s too small to be a room. He looks up, blinking until his bleary eye adjusts to the darkness. A row of empty hangers dangle above him, swaying slightly when he shoulders the wall beside him. 

He tries to shout, but the sound is muffled by the gag that’s been shoved into his mouth.

He’s naked, knees bent, ankles tied together, feet pressing against the door. Cramped in the dark space; trussed up and shoved inside like an afterthought. Something to be gotten out of the way.

Panic sluices through him, sharper and more demanding than the dull pain in his head. He tries to remember where last was but it’s hard to think, hard to hold onto anything long enough to think. His head is swimming, his thoughts all tangled up.

He was at a party, he remembers that much. For his father’s birthday. Not at the family estate but somewhere else… 

A hotel.

Mother had rented the biggest ballroom at the swankiest hotel in King’s Landing and had hired the best event planners in the city to celebrate the birth of a dying man. The ballroom had been teaming with scores of business associates and family friends, with hangers-on and complete nobodies. All had lined up to pay their respects, to rub hands with the fading patriarch of the Targaryen dynasty one last time. 

The entire family had been there. Daeron took the train up from Oldtown for the weekend and Rhaenyra was there with her bastards and both of their fathers: the one who actually whelped her and the one who’d given her children his name despite it. Even Uncle Daemon had flown in from Essos, his first time back on the continent since his wife’s death. He’d been repulsed by the shrunken husk that Father had become and spent most of the night brooding in the corner, staring down a disinterested Rhaenyra.

Aemond’s actual memory of the party is as fuzzy as his tongue, heavy and useless against the dry fabric in his mouth. There had been a dinner beforehand: a private and tedious affair for the immediate family. At the party, Mother had made him dance with each of the Baratheon girls in turn, an experience made even more miserable by the fact that Helaena had been shunted off on their nephews at the same time. 

He’s pretty sure their uncle had asked Helaena to dance a few times too, but that was later in the evening, after Mother had taken Father to bed and the flutes of champagne had turned to tumblers of whiskey. The tumblers had eventually turned to flasks; first one Aegon kept hidden in his boot and then one produced from Uncle Daemon’s breast pocket, filled with something he’d said was from his ‘personal supply.’

He’d insisted that Aemond join them, pressing the flask into his palm with a wink. “Come now,” he’d goaded. “Have some fun.”

Aemond remembers even less after that. Only faint impressions and half-forgotten conversations, partial memories that bleed together and swirl through his discombobulated mind. He remembers the terrace and a hand-rolled cigarette. Watching the red tip burn as Daemon held the filtered end to Helaena’s lips, his own lungs expanding and aching when the spit-soaked filter was pressed between his.

Aegon was there too, he thinks. But not really, not there there. He was on the ground and groaning by that point, a puddle of his own sick in the corner by the potted plants. Aemond thinks he remembers Daemon poking Aegon with the tip of his boot, a derisive giggle floating up and away on the midnight air as Aegon retched again.

“He does this all the time,” Helaena had explained. Despite his wretched state, Aemond remembers her arm pressed against his, her head resting on his shoulder as she spoke. It made his chest purr to have her so close, leaning on him for support. “You’d think he’d be able to hold his liquor at this point,” she’d sighed. “But he really can’t.”

But what had happened after that? Aemond remembers Helaena’s laughter as she tried to help Aegon to his feet; the way she shrieked when he pulled her to the ground instead. She’d landed awkwardly on top of their older brother, her legs splayed and her dress upturned. All white panties and howling laughter as she scrambled to right herself, to pull down the bright red dress she’d borrowed from Rhaenyra and insisted on wearing despite Mother’s pinch-faced disapproval. 

Aemond remembers Uncle Daemon helping her to her feet. He remembers because Daemon had also slipped his hand around her waist and whispered something into her ear that made her blush, the pale of her skin turning the sweetest shade of pink all the way down to her chest. 

But then Aegon had somehow managed to climb to his feet, bleary-eyed and not quite steady. Aemond thought they should leave him there to figure out his own way, but Helaena had already ducked beneath Aegon’s arm and began to lead him back inside. “Well, come on then,” she’d sighed. “Let’s get you to bed before you cause more trouble.”

After that, it was just Aemond and Daemon. Uncle Daemon and his flask; his little smile and a jerk of his head. “Come upstairs,” he’d said. “I’ve got something to show you.”

The elevator ride made Aemond’s queasy stomach flip. He’d had to press his forehead against the cool wood of the elevator’s interior to keep himself from being sick. A drunken fool, he’d thought of himself. No better than his brother. 

He remembers thinking it odd that they ended up at the door to his hotel room, but his uncle seemed to know what he was doing. Aemond unlocked the door and Daemon strolled right in like he owned the place, like he was the one meant to be there and Aemond was just his guest. 

Aemond had had to sit down after that, because the room had been spinning and his stomach had been churning and he hadn’t been sure if he was going to die or not. Daemon promised him that he wasn’t. He even brought him a cup of water from the bathroom, watching closely as he drank it all. 

And then he’d brushed the sweat-soaked hair off Aemond’s face and wrapped his arm around Aemond’s neck. 

“It’s okay,” Daemon had whispered as everything in Aemond’s field of vision began to darken. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Now, Aemond’s neck still hurts. He tries to call for help, but between the gag and the pain he can only produce short, muffled bursts of sound. Without a voice with which to shout, he tries using his body, crashing his shoulders against the wall behind him again and again. The sound is loud but dull, matching the pounding in his skull, but it only takes a few thumps before the closet door swings open, the bright light of the room outside nearly blinding him as it rushes in.

“There you are,” Daemon purrs, crouching down. He takes Aemond’s face between his hands and turns his head from side to side, examining him. “I was starting to get worried,” he murmurs, leaning close so he can peer into Aemond’s eye, his brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t want you to miss the show.”

Aemond tries to yell, but his protests come out quieter than a whisper. His throat is dry behind the gag, unworking beneath his command. Still, he wants to rage and shout and demand to know what’s going on, but the more he tries, the harder it becomes to keep his head up, his eye open. 

His brain feels fuzzy; his body feels weak. The only sounds that come out are pitiful and pleading, too quiet to be heard by anyone but the man in front of him, the one whose face is so much like his own, only older. Harder. 

They both stiffen at the sound of knocking on the door. 

“Aemond?” Helaena’s voice calls in the distance. “I got your text. Are you still up?”

Daemon flashes a bright smile, toothy and sharp. He slides Aemond’s eyepatch off in one swift motion, letting it dangle from his finger in front of Aemond’s face. “Just need to borrow this for a minute,” he says with a wink. 

He centers the curved leather over his eye. It’s only then that Aemond realizes Daemon has changed out of the double-breasted suit he wore to the party and into Aemond’s. Aemond has always felt a swell of pride at the comparisons between himself and his uncle, but the dark mirror he looks at now makes his blood run cold. 

In the dim light, he might even mistake himself for his uncle. The only tell is the length of Daemon’s hair, too short but still long enough to grace his shoulders, to hang over his face when he leans down to tussle Aemond’s hair.

“What do you think?” he asks, standing up to show himself off. “Convincing?”

There’s another soft knock, Helaena calling for Aemond again, her voice sweet and lilting. “Aemond? Are you there?”

Aemond tries to shout, to yell for Helaena to run. But Daemon clamps his meaty palm over Aemond’s mouth, burying what little sound he can make. “Don’t be stupid,” he hisses, breath hot and whiskey-soaked. “If you kick, if you scream, if you do anything to fuck this up, she’ll be the one to pay for it. Do you understand?”

Blood pounds in Aemond’s ears. He’s still having trouble focusing his eye, but he glares at his uncle the best he can. He may be weak, he may be disoriented, but he won’t always be. He wants Daemon to know that, to see the promise of revenge in his eye.

“Do you understand?” Daemon repeats, each well-enunciated word more threatening than the last. “Tell me you understand, boy.”

The hate in Aemond’s chest feels like burning, but there’s nothing he can do right now. Daemon has every advantage while Aemond has rocks in his head, his hands bound behind his back. He won’t always be like this, but for now, he is.

Reluctantly, Aemond lowers his gaze.

“Trust me,” Daemon whispers, warm breath tickling Aemond’s cheek like a soft kiss. “I know what I’m doing.”

He leaves the door open just a crack, just enough that Aemond can see a thin slice of the room beyond, the bed and the window and the little nightstand that sits in between. 

The door opens on the other side of the room. Aemond strains to hear, but he can’t make out the quiet words that his uncle and sister exchange. His stomach clenches when he hears Helaena’s familiar giggle, the one that sometimes ends with a little snort and is then followed by another even more embarrassed giggle. Something clatters to the ground and there’s another round of laughter and a sing-song apology. He can just make out the gentle timbre of his uncle’s voice, quiet and reassuring. 

His fear is gone, replaced only by a cold anger and an electric twinge of anticipation. He’s not sure what his uncle is planning, but he knows it’s not good. He knows Helaena isn’t safe. 

And yet she sounds happy, only soft laughter and gentle words, the sound of glasses clinking filtering through the air. She says his name, soft and sweet, and Aemond has to stop himself from calling out in response. 

There’s another sound—something crashing. It’s followed by another nervous giggle—one that gets cut off so abruptly that Aemond’s heart skips a beat. But then Healena appears a moment later in his narrow field of vision, walking backward on unsteady feet. She falters when her legs hit the edge of the bed, but Daemon steadies her with an arm around her waist, tugging her toward him.

She gives him a glassy smile, her grin wide and dreamy, lips slick with spit. “How long?” she asks, voice so soft and breathless. “Aemond, how long?”

Daemon’s eyes flick in the direction of the closet. There’s a sharpness to his smile that isn’t meant for Healena but the boy trapped inside: the one he’s choked out, stripped down, and trussed up; the one he’s pretending to be when he runs his thumb across the soft pillow of Helaena’s lip. 

“Since forever,” Daemon says in a voice softer than Aemond has ever heard from him: gentle in a way that makes him sound younger, more like Aemond. “You had to have known.”

Helaena sways on her feet, eyes fluttering shut as she leans into Daemon’s touch. “I thought it was just me.”

She sighs when he caresses her face, turning to press a dry kiss to the palm of Daemon’s meaty hand. She lifts her hand to his cheek, slender fingers seeking the scarred slash of skin she knows so well. 

She means to slide the eyepatch off, but Daemon is faster. He catches her wrist and tugs her against him. Helaena gasps, body as taut as a bowstring. 

“I can feel you,” she whispers. 

Daemon pushes her hand down between their bodies. “Can you feel that?” he asks. “Can you feel what you do to me, Helaena?”

A noise escapes Helaena’s parted lips: half-gasp and half-whimper, more than enough to make Aemond’s blood run hot as the reality of this situation settles in. Daemon’s threats replay in his mind, making a pit open in his stomach: bottomless and full of dread. 

If even half the things people whisper about his uncle are true, he is not the kind of man who makes empty threats.

Something cracks in Aemond’s chest when Daemon kisses her. When he sees the way she melts against him, hungry for his embrace. But it’s not Daemon’s embrace she wants so desperately; it’s Aemond’s–and yet Aemond is here, bound and gagged, forced to watch as Daemon takes the one thing Aemond’s wanted for as long as he can remember. 

It makes him sick. 

Helaena whimpers and lets her head fall back, unaware of how much danger she’s in as Daemon sucks a line of kisses down her throat. 

“No one can ever know,” she whispers. “Promise me, Aemond. No one.”

“No one,” Daemon swears, yanking hard enough on the front of her little red dress that the straps rip. He tugs the fabric down to reveal her breasts, full and round and pink-tipped. 

“Oh no!” she gasps, a happy and girlish sound that makes Aemond want to cry. “What am I going to tell Rhaenyra?”

Daemon shoves her onto the bed, rough enough that Helaena gasps but not so hard that she thinks anything is amiss. “I don’t care what you tell her,” he says, crawling on top of her. He cages her in with his arms, trapping her beneath him. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

A smile splits Helaena’s face; another drunken giggle bubbles out. “I’ve wanted it too. Oh, Aemond, you don’t know how hard it’s been to stop myself sometimes.”

Daemon lowers himself and whispers something into her ear, his hips pressing against her center. Whatever he says turns Helaena’s flushed face scarlet. “Don’t be crude,” she laughs nervously, tucking herself against his chest.   

His response is buried in the swell of Helaena’s breasts, drowned out by the sharp gasp she makes when he sinks his teeth into a pink nipple. 

Aemond looks away, unable to bear it any longer, and fixes his gaze on the dark wall. His jaw hurts from how hard he’s been clenching it, muscles aching from the tension he holds in them. He feels nauseous. Not just disoriented from the liquor or lightheaded from the chokehold, but violently ill; his stomach sour and churning, the hot burn of bile in his throat. 

He quickly learns that although he can look away, can refuse to watch, he can’t block out the spit-slick sounds they’re making. No matter how tightly he clenches his eye shut, he can’t escape the aural evidence of the uncle’s deceitful pleasure.

It’s hardest when she says his name, soft and breathless, still so sweet to his ears despite the provenance. “Aemond,” she whimpers, a throaty moan offered right up to the ceiling. “Your hand—it’s so big.”

It’s even worse like this, being able to hear but not see. Aemond looks away as long as he can stand it, but he can’t bear not knowing what’s happening, what Daemon is doing to her. 

How she looks when it’s being done.

When he opens his eye there’s a red puddle of fabric on the floor by the bed, his suit jacket and shirt crumpled up beside it. Daemon has Helaena on her back, her pale curls hanging over the foot of the bed. Her back is arched, bare tits thrust up into the air. Aemond can only see the silver crown of Daemon’s head where it’s buried between his sister’s thighs. 

It hurts to watch, like poking at a fresh bruise: painful, but not enough to want it to stop, a test of endurance to prove how just much he can take. 

“Please,” Helaena whines, hands wrapped around Daemon’s shoulders, trying to tug him toward her. “I can’t wait any longer. Please, Aemond.”

Daemon crawls up Helaena’s body, her slick making his lips shine in the dimly lit room. The belt Daemon took from Aemond is gone and his pants have been shoved down below his ass, his cock hanging heavy between his legs, thick and red and veiny. Helaena gasps when she sees it, and even Aemond feels a little faint, unable to stop himself from imagining the way it would split his sweet sister in two. 

“Aemond,” Helaena breathes, a hint of awe in her voice as she reaches down to stroke him with delicate fingers. “What a big cock you have.”

Daemon lifts his head. His eyes flick toward the closet door while a smirk tugs at his wet lips. “All the better to fuck you with. Has anyone ever fucked you before, sweet thing?”

Aemond’s stomach swoops; the realization of what’s about to happen a few mere feet from him hits him even harder with Daemon’s cock laying atop Helaena’s belly. Anticipation creeps up his spine even as fear pulls at his gut, as eager for it to start as he is for it to stop. 

Helaena shakes her head, breath hitching when Daemon takes himself in hand and lines himself up. “Good,” he hisses, hips pushing forward, cock sinking inside. “I wanted to be your first. Ever since you were little, I knew I’d have you one day.”

Helaena gasps, back arching and fingers twisting in the bedsheets, trying her best to accommodate the thick cock being pressed inside her. 

Daemon is relentless, pushing forward without stopping to allow Helaena time to adjust. He’s so much less careful than Aemond would have been, seemingly uncaring of Helaena’s comfort, only concerned with seeking his own sick pleasure from her innocence.

When he’s fully seated, Daemon looks up, eyes darting toward the closet. Aemond freezes, afraid of what might come next, of what cruel punishment his uncle has in store. But Daemon only hold himself still, cock pressed deep and fully seated inside Heleana.

“I fit perfectly, don’t I?” he asks. “Like you were made for me.”

“Yes,” Helaena sighs, her soft voice full of contentment. “Like we were made for each other.”

“That’s right,” Daemon groans as he begins to move, letting out a bone-deep sigh of satisfaction that makes Aemond’s cock twitch and dribble against his thigh despite his fury. “You were made just for me, Helaena. You’re all mine.”

Aemond’s body trembles, aching with the knowledge that it could have been his cock, his sigh, his hips that Helaena wraps her legs around. No, not that it could have been. That it should have been.

Though Daemon is not as gentle as Aemond would have been, he starts that way, licking kisses down Helaena’s neck as he begins to move. But it doesn't stay that way for long. His hips move faster, pressing harder as he pushes on the back of her thighs, bending her in half. Opening her up. Making him take her deeper as he thrusts harder, each thrust pushing her further and further down the bed, until her head is hanging off the edge, silver hair brushing against the floor.

Aemond grinds his teeth together, feeling his jaw click even as his cock throbs. What Daemon is doing is disgusting. It’s reprehensible. And yet every gentle whimper, every throaty moan exhaled by his sweet sister courses through him like an electric current, making his skin tingle and his brain buzz. 

He can hear the slick sound of Helaena’s cunt as it takes their uncle’s cock and the sharp clap of Daemon’s balls slapping against her where their bodies meet.

It makes him sick.

It makes him jealous.

Not only is it the worst thing he’s ever heard, it’s also the best. His body strains and his head spins and all he can do to stop from squeezing his thighs and thrusting against nothing, so desperate for any kind of friction he’ll grind against the empty air, repulsed by himself but unable to stop. 

“Please,” Helaena whimpers. She reaches again for Aemond’s eyepatch. “Let me see you.”

Daemon catches her wrist, turning it over so he can sink his teeth into the delicate skin as his eyes meet Aemond’s, sparkling with triumph. He sucks a howl from Helaena; her back arches, request forgotten as she grinds her hips against his, as desperate for his cock as he is to give it to her. 

Daemon shoves her back onto the bed so suddenly it shocks Aemond. He pulls her ankles over his shoulders and loops his arms around her thighs, bending her in two and thrusting so hard the bed shakes beneath them.

It’s better than any porn Aemond has ever seen, this depraved real-life sex show starring the only woman he’s ever cared about, being fucked by the only man he’s ever admired. The heat of his jealousy only works to fan the flames of his desire, his cock aching and desperate for any kind of release, no matter how debasing.

Daemon’s chest shines with sweat as he fucks a litany of curses from Helaena, of gasps and moans, until finally, she starts to whine, her fingers twisting in bedsheets. 

“That’s it,” Daemon hisses. “You’re so tight, Helaena. Being so good for me. Such a good, sweet girl.”

Aemond doesn’t want to watch, but he can’t look away. Can’t tear his eye from the sight of his sister as she peaks, at the way she shakes and moans and cries out when she comes, giving their uncle the orgasm that should’ve been his. 

Aemond hates his cock for leaking almost as much as he hates Daemon for stealing this from him. He sees the moment his sister’s pleasure ebbs and covets the dreamy smile that takes its place as her body goes soft and loose beneath Daemon.

She’s pliant and pliable, allowing Daemon to gather her in his arms and flip her over, yanking her hips in the air. Helaena gasps when he shoves back inside, brows furrowing at the sudden and shocking invasion. But still, she doesn’t protest, believing herself safe in the arms of her beloved brother.  

Aemond can see that Helaena is trying. Trying to bear Daemon’s rough thrusts without complaint, teeth digging into her lip, brow furrowed. She can’t do it, though. Can’t brace herself against his punishing thrusts. She tumbles forward with a cry, bouncing gently when she lands against the mattress, face-down. 

“Aemond,” she groans, face pressed against the mattress. 

Daemon barely seems to notice, one hand on her hip, his brutal pace unchanging. He tugs her back against him, curling his hand in her hair and forcing her head up so that her spine is curved into a sharp arch.

In this position, Aemond can see her every expression, every wince she makes when Daemon fucks into her. It’s cruel and he hates it, but his anger is shifting from his uncle to himself, because as cruel as it is, there’s a part of him that is also jealous of that cruelty, of Daemon’s selfish pursuit of his own pleasure. How long has he secretly and silently coveted his sister? How much has he denied himself? And for what? So that another man could act first and use her like this?

If only he wasn’t so cowardly, so scared of his own emotions, his own desires.

“Aemond,” Helaena whimpers, words muffled and slurred. “Please, brother. It’s too much. Too hard.” 

Daemon curls over her back, his hand wrapping around her throat. “Be a good girl,” he grunts, thick fingers pressing into her mouth as he watches Aemond watch them. “I’m almost done with you.”

Helaena whines but doesn’t object. She lets him push and pull and mold her body how he wants it, limp and pliable, perfect and sweet, and taking him so well.

“Is this how you’ve always imagined it?” Daemon asks. 

Helaena’s response is incomprehensible, meaningless babble obstructed by the fingers in her mouth. But Aemond closes his eye and imagines himself in Daemon’s place; he imagines that he’s the one bearing down on her, the one grinding his cock into her tender cunt. 

“Yes,” whispers into the darkness. It's even better. 

It doesn’t take long for Daemon’s thrusts to falter, for a deep, guttural sound to rumble out of his chest. It only takes a moment for him to slip out and flip Helaena over, to toss her onto her back once again. He crawls over her, one hand on his cock and the other reaching for her hair, tipping her head back until Aemond sees the whites of her eyes as Daemon strokes himself furiously, sac tight against his body, watching Aemond with a cruel grin. 

Daemon comes with a beastly growl; a loud, feral sound that makes Aemond shudder and ache and drip against his thigh. Helaena gasps as the first spurts of come splatter against her face, her surprise quickly turning to giggles and coos as she reaches up to examine the pearlescent spend Daemon’s left on her face. Aemond sinks his teeth into his lip, trying to distract himself from the tight pull behind his belly button as she watches Helaena lift a curious finger to her mouth, the aching need threatening to burn him up from the inside as she licks her hand clean.

The room beyond his dark little closet is startlingly quiet once their uncle has finished, filled only with Helaena’s little grunts and soft sighs as Daemon rearranges her on the bed without bothering to clean up his mess. He helps her to sit up and turn around, helps her crawl beneath the covers and snuggle up, his seed soaking the blankets as if he’s marking territory. 

Aemond can hear quiet murmuring, but can’t make out their exchange; more soft, secret words whispered right into her ear.

Aemond hopes he’s being kind. Telling Helaena how lovely she was, how sweet and amazing and unbelievably beautiful. He hopes he’s leaving her with a good memory, something she can look back on and cherish. 

It seems unlikely, but Helaena’s sleepy smile is radiant by the time he leans back. She reaches for the eyepatch once more, but Daemon catches her hand again and presses his lips to her open palm. He directs her hand to his chest, right above his heart. He whispers something that makes her giggle, makes her bury her face into the pillow to hide her blush.

A different kind of jealousy burns through Aemond. 

Helaena’s happy sighs turn to gentle snores within minutes, her face buried in the contours of Daemon’s chest. Daemon extricates himself carefully and pads toward the closet, his spent cock hanging thick and heavy between his muscular legs, shining with Helaena’s slick even in the dim light of the room. 

He opens the closet door and crouches down in front of Aemond, lips set into a grim line. “I’m going to take the gag off now, so don’t be stupid. Keep your mouth shut and don’t ruin this for yourself.”

Aemond doesn’t listen. “You bastard,” he spits just as soon as he can speak. “That’s my sister!” he hisses, ignoring the fact his cock is still hard and straining, that ]esire burns through him so hot he can nearly feel himself shake. “Your niece!”

Daemon rolls his eyes, shoving Aemond unkindly as he reaches for the binds that hold Aemond’s wrists together. “I didn’t do anything you haven’t thought about a million times,” he says. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Aemond could kill him; he thinks he just might.

“You’re welcome?!" he demands. "You rape my sister and expect me to thank you for it?”  

Daemon scoffs, turning toward the bed where Helaena sleeps, curled up and content, a small smile still playing at the corner of her lips. He turns back, shaking his head. “Does she look like she’s just been raped? I did you a favor, you ungrateful brat.”

Aemond laughs. He feels hysterical, like he’s going insane. “A favor? How is-”

Before he can finish his question, the back of Daemon’s hand crashes against his cheek. “Use your brain,” he growls, squeezing Aemond’s wrists so hard lightning bolts of pain shoot up his arm. “She’s going to wake up in the morning and think her dickless younger brother fucked her brains out.” He grins, white teeth flashing in the darkness as he uses one hand to slap Aemond’s cock, making it wobble between them while he laughs. “You’re going to love it, Aemond. She gets so wet-”

“Shut up!” Aemond hisses, lunging forward. There’s nothing he can do with Daemon’s grip around his wrists, but he doesn’t care. He’ll kill him somehow. Anyhow. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

“Like what?” Daemon asks, lips curling into a smirk.“It’s true; go feel for yourself. I bet she's still dripping.”

Aemond’s gaze travels back to the bed, to the halo of silver curls spread across the pillow. His sister looks beautiful like this. Peaceful. Almost divine. 

“Do you really want to tell her the truth?” Daemon asks in a low whisper, bending toward Aemond. “Wake her up and tell her that it wasn’t you? That she was tricked? Violated? That you just sat here and watched?” He pauses, his warm breath tickling Aemond's cheek. His hand curls around Aemond's softening cock as he strokes it gently this time. “That you liked it?” 

“That’s not-” Aemond says stubbornly, ignoring the shiver that runs up his spine. “That’s not what happened.”

“All you have to do is go in there and get in that bed,” Daemon whispers. “I’ve done all of the hard work for you. Don’t you understand? You should be thanking me. You don’t deserve her, and yet I got her for you anyway.”

“But-” Aemond stutters, the pieces finally slotting in place. His mind whirls with possibilities, a half-dozen scenarios playing out before him, only one with an acceptable ending. 

“You know, you’re being quite ungrateful,” Daemon drawls, letting Aemond's cock drop from his hand. “Perhaps you’re right, perhaps I should wake your sister and tell her the truth.” His eyes drift lower. “After all, the evidence of your depravity is right here.”

Shame courses through Aemond as he realizes his uncle is right. His erection is flagging, but it’s not entirely gone. Were he to wake Helaena, she would know the truth. She would take one look at him and know that he felt more than just disgust watching Daemon violate her. There was only one way to get out of this situation with Helaena's love intact. 

Aemond drops his gaze, unable to meet Daemon’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he mumbles. 

Daemon’s grin pulls tight, eyes shining in the half-light. “That’s my boy.”

He unties Aemond’s ankles and tugs him to his feet, his grip on Aemond’s shoulder, warm and avuncular. It’s not gratitude Aemond feels, but something close to it. It twists his belly in a way both unpleasant and sweet; a gift he knows he shouldn’t accept, but one couldn’t refuse if he tried.

Helaena sleeps on as if nothing is happening. As if Aemond isn’t standing over her naked body while Daemon redresses, slipping Aemond’s eyepatch off and holding it out for him, slick leather dangling from his fingertip. 

“She’s all yours.”

Aemond pulls his eyepatch on. A final wave of nausea courses through him at the sound of the hotel door clicking shut, Daemon’s footsteps disappearing down the hall. He pushes it from his mind and crawls into bed.

The sheets are warm when he slips beneath them. Helaena makes a little noise and curls toward him, hair tickling his nose and her soft, sweet scent enveloping him. His skin burns where it touches hers, an electric buzz that travels through him as she presses closer, a low rumble in her chest and a faint smile on her lips.

“Aemond,” she murmurs, spitty lips and warm breath, Daemon’s come drying on her cheek. “I love you.”

His heart clenches. He slips his arm around her, squeezing tight. “I love you too, Helaena.”

Wordlessly she reaches up, slim fingers slipping beneath the leather, and peeks his eyepatch off. She tosses it to the side and she gives him a warm smile, dreamy and half-asleep. “I’m glad it was you,” she whispers. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to be my first.”

“Me too,” he says, hand in her hair, tipping her head back. He presses a soft kiss to her swollen lips, his erection twitching back life when her lips part and her warm, wet tongue slides against his. 

He wants her so badly, wants her insanely, but he can wait until morning. Until the booze has worn off and the scent of Daemon’s cologne has faded, until it’s just him and her and no one else. 

Just him and Helaena, as it was always meant to be. 

Just as it was that night.