Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Calling…

Joff Velaryon

Jacaera Velaryon had always been a problem-solver, even as a child. When there was an odd number of kids at the playground while they were forming teams, she volunteered to sit out so everyone else could play. When her classmates disagreed on what was a “fair” distribution of work during a group project, she took on more tasks to ensure they all got an A. When the girls in her university dormitory complained about somebody leaving hair in the shower, she unclogged the drains then put up a sign asking everyone to please clean up after themselves. (The signs were usually torn down after a week.)

“That’s not being a problem-solver. That’s being a pushover,” her sisters often told her. But Jacaera believed in giving more than she took. If everyone did that, the world would be a better place.

On days like today, however, Jacaera felt particularly uncharitable toward the world. Usually she was grateful for her job. Strong Associates paid her very well to manage public relations for the firm’s many celebrity clients. Celebrities always had problems to solve. The work was…not exactly fulfilling, but it definitely tested her problem-solving and diplomacy skills. Honestly, she was grateful for the daily opportunities to challenge herself.

Those “opportunities” tended to multiply exponentially around the holidays. Something about the holidays seemed to make people either the best or worst versions of themselves. Unfortunately for Jacaera, her clients leaned toward the latter.

She rubbed her aching forehead as she read one client’s latest Ravengram post. She had been so proud when she was given Alys Rivers’ account back in March. But then Jacaera realized, too late, why her more senior coworkers all declined taking on the high-profile client.

Alys Rivers, the star of the biggest horror movie franchise ever made, was their boss’ half-sister. That meant he would never drop her as a client, no matter her behavior. Most of the time, Alys was fine. She posted photos of her pet owl and advertised her homeopathy MLM, which was standard behavior for crunchy celebrities.

But on the rare occasion that Alys was not fine…

Bile rose in Jacaera’s throat as she stared at the AI-generated photo of a dog being served like a roast turkey. It wasn’t real, but it looked real enough. Thankfully, Jacaera’s stomach was empty. She hadn’t eaten or drunk anything except coffee since yesterday morning.

The Ravengram post was already an hour old. Jacaera should have been working on damage control fifty-nine minutes ago. But she had overslept, which never happened, and that threw off her morning routine. And the M had no signal in the underground portions, so Jacaera didn’t even see the post until just now while the railcar was aboveground.

Her phone buzzed as she received a text from her boss.

Larys Strong sent a link to Oxcross’ Croaker account. Oxcross was a luxury leather goods designer that had an endorsement deal with Alys. They just posted a Croak that boded ill for Jacaera’s peace of mind the rest of the day.

Jacaera wanted to scream at the unfairness of the situation. Alys wasn’t even a real vegan! Larys took his sister out to lunch at a YiTish barbecue restaurant last week.

Then she saw that someone had sent a new message to her company Ravengram account.

Jacaera really did not want to deal with that particular thorn in her side right now. Resisting the urge to throw her work phone across the railcar, she shoved the device deep into her work bag. She would handle everything after she arrived at the office.

Trying to calm herself, she took out her personal phone, which had no social media apps whatsoever, and checked the group chat with her sisters.

Joff had still left her on “read.”

Jacaera was so busy glaring at her phone that she almost missed her stop. She leapt out of the railcar at the last second. The sudden movement made her rather dizzy, which she blamed on her lack of sleep. She had slept for an average of less than four hours per night the past week.

When she emerged from the M station, the sight of her office building heightened the dread that was eating at her insides. Or maybe she was just hungry. Jacaera marched straight toward the coffeeshop in the building’s lobby, determined to obtain caffeine and carbs.

Griffin’s Roast was always busy, and they had no app so Jacaera couldn’t order ahead. She joined the long queue at the same time as a familiar face. “Good morning!” She managed a convincing smile for Emmett, whom she liked to think of as her coffee buddy. They got into the queue for Griffin’s Roast at the same time most mornings, and they often chatted while waiting for their turn.

“Good morning.” Emmett was a tall, slender man with perfectly styled silver hair, never a single strand out of place. He wore tinted glasses—not sunglasses, but dark enough that they mostly concealed the sapphire-esque prosthetic in his left eye socket. Although Jacaera was curious about Emmett’s lack of one eye, she never stared or asked about it. That would be rude.

“Do you have any Yule plans?” Jacaera asked as the queue inched forward.

“Company holiday party. Family reunion. Maybe my prodigal older brother will actually turn up this year,” Emmett said, sounding doubtful about the prospect. “And you?”

“My sisters and I will visit family too.” Typically Jacaera loved seeing her family during the holidays, but this year was different. This year wouldn’t be just her Velaryon grandparents and cousins. This year…

“Not too long a trip, I hope?” Emmett asked politely.

“Oh no, we’re staying in the Crownlands. We’re just going over to—” Jacaera was distracted by the television over the counter. It was tuned to the Mushroom Network, an entertainment channel that was no better than a tabloid. To her dismay, the host was blathering about Alys Rivers.

Emmett followed her gaze to the screen. His pale cheeks turned ever so slightly pink. “Hm. I used to be a big fan of her…movies. Didn’t she get into that arsonist cult? The Red Priesthood?”

“No, she’s in the green cult,” Jacaera muttered. Then she silently chastised herself for giving away client information to a stranger. To be fair, that particular tidbit about Alys was publicly known, but it was best practice not to blab about clients at all.

“I’ll take your word for it. I don’t usually follow this sort of dross.” Emmett tapped on his phone. “By chance, have you ever been to the King’s Landing Yule Market? My sister has forcibly volunteered me to go shopping on her behalf.”

“I’ve always been too busy around the holidays. But my sister has a booth there this year, so I really should make the time to go.” Then Jacaera stiffened, praying that Emmett didn’t read too much into her words. Ordinarily, men would seize the opening to ask if she wanted to go together to the Yule Market. She would hate for that to happen now. She’d been enjoying having Emmett as a platonic coffee buddy, and she didn’t want to have to change her daily caffeine routine.

Although Emmett did remind her of…somebody. Maybe it was his silver hair, which was common in the Crownlands. Maybe it was his cheekbones. Maybe it was the way he picked at his nailbeds when he was thinking.

But those reminders were excellent reasons not to risk their coffee buddy relationship. It would be unwise for Jacaera to dig up ghosts from the past after so many years.

Jacaera shook her head and stubbornly faced forward. If Emmett reminded her of anyone, it was the “boys from good families” whom her grandparents tried to set her up with. They were impeccably polite and charming, as one might expect from being raised by expensive nannies and etiquette tutors, but there was no spark. She felt more of a spark from static electricity when she was getting clean laundry out of the dryer.

They reached the front of the queue. Emmett ordered the same thing he always ordered: one protein coffee, black. It was an…interesting choice. But who was Jacaera to judge?

Emmett stepped aside so Jacaera could place her usual order. “Cafe miel with extra cinnamon. And a scone, please,” she said.

“Right away, Jane!” the barista chirped as he scrawled “Jane” on her cup. No matter how many times Jacaera corrected him, he kept calling her Jane. She stopped trying to correct him ages ago.

Jacaera reached for her bag to pay. Her hand met only air. Where was her bag? She wildly looked around, wondering if the strap had somehow fallen off her shoulder. Then she remembered the last time she’d seen her bag.

“I left my bag on the M,” she said faintly. She left her work bag, with her work phone and laptop, with her confidential client information, in the railcar.

She was, without a doubt, going to be fired. She felt light-headed. Black spots danced in her vision.

“I’ll pay for your coffee,” Emmett offered, already taking out his credit card. “You can try filing a report with M security—whoa—!”

“Thank you for catching me,” said Jacaera, embarrassed. “The last thing I need now is a concussion.”

The paramedics were packing up their gear. Jacaera really didn’t think it was necessary to call them just because she fainted for a few seconds, but the barista insisted. Emmett had positioned himself near Jacaera so his tall frame shielded her from the nosy stares of other customers, which she was grateful for.

One of the paramedics, an older woman with a kind face, said sternly to Jacaera, “Now, Miss, are you going to listen to what I said about cutting down on stress?”

“I will try,” said Jacaera. “I just need to finish the next few days of work and—”

“You should stop working now! I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw your blood pressure. At this rate, you’ll have a heart attack before you’re forty.” The paramedic patted Jacaera’s shoulder. “You’re only young once, Miss. There will always be other people who can do your work, but only you can take care of yourself. Eat a real meal, drink water, and get some sleep.”

“I will try,” Jacaera repeated.

The paramedic looked skeptically at her then turned to Emmett. “Make sure your girlfriend doesn’t run herself ragged.”

“She isn’t my girlfriend,” Emmett said hurriedly, but the paramedic had already turned away. He pursed his lips as he glanced at Jacaera. “I hope I didn’t give the wrong impression. I’m not looking for a relationship at the moment.”

“No wrong impressions whatsoever,” Jacaera assured him. “I appreciate your gentlemanliness. That is all.”

That seemed to appease Emmett, who offered her a hand. “Stressful job?” he asked.

“Very stressful.” Jacaera accepted his hand, and he helped her stand. “That’s why I never have time to go to the Yule Market. I never have time to do anything outside of my apartment.”

“I’m in a similar boat,” said Emmett. “Getting a cat helped a lot, though. There are studies that say having a pet can drastically reduce stress levels.”

Jacaera shook her head. “I don’t have the time to take care of another living creature.”

“Cats are very low maintenance,” Emmett persisted. “I adopted one who failed my brother’s therapy animal training program. She’s happy to be alone during the day, and she just sits near me when I come home.”

“I will consider it,” said Jacaera, just to be polite. A cat had scratched her when she was younger. Dogs were much friendlier, but they were needier than cats. She definitely didn’t have time for a dog.

That reminded her of an online post she recently made. She had simply wanted to vent about the holidays behind an anonymous username. A random commenter suggested that Jacaera get a dog. Was there a new social media trend touting the health benefits of pets? She would have to look into it when she arrived at the office. Perhaps she could parlay that into saving Alys Rivers’ reputation.

Jacaera and Emmett said goodbye. He went to reorder his coffee, as he’d dropped his first drink in order to catch Jacaera. The concerned barista had made Jacaera’s drink while the paramedics were checking on her.

Clutching her coffee cup, Jacaera rode the elevator up to her office. Now she was late, and she had to explain to her boss that she’d lost her work phone on the M. She hoped Larys would give her time to pack up her personal items before he ordered security to escort her out.

She stepped out of the elevator into the reception area for Strong Associates. The receptionist, Megga, was speaking with a silver-haired man, who was holding Jacaera’s work bag.

Jacaera gasped and rushed forward. “That’s my bag!”

The man turned around and smiled brightly. He was wearing a King’s Landing University shirt underneath his jacket. “Good morning! I saw you leave your bag on the M, so I came to drop it off.”

Jacaera took the bag and checked its contents. Everything was there, including her work phone. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You saved my life.”

He smiled bashfully. “I promise I didn’t snoop. I saw your company logo on the outside, and I brought it here straight away.”

“Thank you,” Jacaera said again. She fumbled with her wallet. “Here, for your trouble.”

He held up his hands and backed away. “I don’t need a reward. I just wanted to do the right thing.”

Jacaera beamed at him as she hugged her bag to her chest. “That is very kind of you. Can I at least buy you a coffee downstairs?”

“No thanks. I have to get going, and I want to say hello to my brother. He works in this building. But I appreciate the offer!” He tugged down his knitted hat, which was decorated with the KLU Dragons mascot. “I hope this means you can enjoy your holiday, now that you don’t have to stress about work. Happy Yule!”

Jacaera waved goodbye. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she would be stressed about work anyway.

“What a nice young man,” said Megga. “I believe he just saved your Yule, Miss Velaryon.”

“I suppose he did.” Jacaera sighed as she saw the dozens of texts and messages she had missed during the thirty minutes she lost her work phone. She dearly hoped the satellite internet at Dragonstone worked as promised.

“You are going to relax this year, aren’t you?” Megga asked shrewdly.

“I will try,” Jacaera said for the umpteenth time that morning. She mustered the courage to check her messages.

There was no way Larys would allow Jacaera to log off for her holiday while Alys was having a crisis (which Alys had started). He might even force Jacaera to cancel her time off and stay in the office until the crisis was over.

That was certainly one way to get out of Yule on Dragonstone. But her mother would be so disappointed. And if Jacaera found an excuse for her absence, however valid, then Lucera and Joff would follow suit.

Jacaera couldn’t delay anymore. Putting on her professional smile—no exposed teeth, her lips curving up a little but not too much so people didn’t think she was overly excited—Jacaera strode past reception into the office area. Despite the holiday season, the office of Strong Associates was no different than during the rest of the year. The company colors of red, blue, and green (which otherwise clashed garishly) were finally seasonable during the month of December.

Once she was in her windowless office, Jacaera pounced on her scone. She was savoring the last few bites when it occurred to her that she should warn her sisters that she might not be able to go to Dragonstone.

Jacaera paused to drink deeply from her coffee cup. Well, now she knew that if she wanted Joff to answer her texts, she just needed to have a medical emergency. Simple enough.

Jacaera put down her phone. She did a few breathing exercises (inhale four seconds, hold breath seven seconds, exhale eight seconds). Then she calmly drank the rest of her coffee before picking up her phone again.

Jacaera was distracted from her sisters’ texts when she received another message from Larys.

“Oh no,” Jacaera mumbled as she stood, brushing scone crumbs from her hands. Larys probably knew she arrived late. Larys probably knew she fainted at Griffin’s Roast. Larys probably knew she temporarily lost her work bag. Larys knew everything.

But Larys was a believer in the ends justifying the means. If Jacaera found a way to speedily resolve Alys Rivers’ crisis, Larys would overlook all her other mistakes. As Jacaera walked down the hall, she quickly cobbled together a plan. By the time she arrived at Larys’ corner executive office, she was wearing her professional smile again.

“Good morning, Mr. Strong,” Jacaera greeted after Larys’ assistant waved her inside.

Larys continued typing on his computer. “It is a morning, Miss Velaryon. Whether it will be a good morning depends on you.”

Jacaera maintained her professional smile. “The public are so quick to jump to the worst conclusions. There are many animal shelters in need of funding, and this is the most popular time of the year to do acts of charity. Now that Miss Rivers has attracted attention—all publicity is good publicity—she can direct her followers to make donations. She has a generous spirit and wishes only to help those who most need help.”

Larys did not look up from his screen. “Which animal shelter?”

“Well, there are many in the area—”

“Miss Velaryon.” Larys tapped the delete key on his keyboard. The tap seemed to echo in the room. “I do not pay you to come up with half-baked plans.”

Jacaera resisted the urge to wring her hands. It was a very unprofessional habit. “Sunny Dog Rescue, on Dragonstone.” She prayed that Lucera had not led her astray.

Larys’ fingers flew across the keyboard. “They don’t even have their own web domain. They use a Wyrmpress URL.”

Jacaera’s heart thudded. “As you can tell by their inability to pay the twenty dragons per year for a web domain, they are in dire need of funding.”

“A small establishment, judging by their number of…” Larys wrinkled his nose. “‘Doggo Bios.’ Fewer than half a dozen dogs in residence.”

Jacaera tried not to sound desperate. “People love to support small businesses—or small charities, in this case. Donations go a lot further when the charity is so small in the first place.”

Larys swiped his finger down his mouse, just once, to scroll the website. “No information about its staff. Only a donation form, an email address, and a link to a Ravengram account.”

“They want to focus on the dogs themselves, not the people.” Jacaera’s voice squeaked a tad toward the end of her sentence.

Larys finally sat back in his ergonomic desk chair and stared at Jacaera. “Miss Velaryon, I have found your performance satisfactory during your employment thus far. If you are willing to stake your career on this Sunny Dog Rescue, then I am inclined to allow you to do so.”

Jacaera didn’t feel comforted by his statement. “I will do my due diligence—”

“Alys will insist on doing a photo op before she agrees to this.”

Alright, they were going ahead with this, then. If Sunny Dog Rescue was a dud, Jacaera would never forgive Lucera. “I will call the shelter and make arrangements.”

“This requires a more personal touch. Alys is one of our firm’s most important clients. I want you to investigate this shelter. Ensure that it meets Alys’ standards.”

“I shall send someone to the shelter,” said Jacaera, mentally reviewing the list of private investigators that the firm had on speed dial. “Mysaria doesn’t celebrate Yule, so she—”

“No. You go.”

Jacaera blinked. “Me?”

“This is not something we should outsource. Alys has very particular requirements, as you know.” Larys smiled. It wasn’t an assuring smile. “You are going to Dragonstone for your family’s Yule celebration, are you not?”

Jacaera hadn’t told Larys about her holiday plans. “I am.”

“Then this gives you an excuse to get a head start on travel, and now the firm can cover your expenses.” Larys typed on his computer again. “Go see Simon in Accounting. He will purchase your tickets and reserve your hotel room. You leave on the four o’clock ferry to Dragonstone.”

“Today?” Jacaera exclaimed.

“Of course. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can resolve this debacle.” Larys stared at her again with an inscrutable expression. “Unless you have any…objections?”

Jacaera swallowed. “No objections. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Strong.”

“My pleasure, Miss Velaryon.” Larys focused on his computer again. “Take care not to misplace your belongings on the Dragonstone ferry. It would be a terrible way to start your holiday.”

Chapter Text

Aemond’s morning schedule probably would have survived Jane the Drinker of Coffee With Too Much Cinnamon’s unexpected medical emergency. Aemond’s morning schedules were always designed to withstand multiple untoward events, because Managing Untoward Events, while not technically listed in Aemond’s job description, was undeniably one of the sharpest tools in his broad skill set. It was why any snide comments about nepotism at Hightower Corp were wiped out within minutes of a sit-down with a target company.

Oh, it’s the CEO’s grandson, they would say, snickering to themselves. Got the job because of who he knows, not what he knows. We’ll walk all over him.

Then Aemond would open his briefcase, sip his protein coffee, remove his glasses, and Manage them. And that would be that.

But Aemond’s schedules, however skillfully orchestrated, still wilted like week-old arugula in the face of talkative human hurricanes who were always sure of their welcome. Especially human hurricanes that Aemond, for better or worse, didn’t entirely despise. 

No one’s schedule withstood Daeron Targaryen.

“What are you doing here?” Aemond asked his little brother wearily. (He should have requested an extra shot of espresso in his coffee.) “Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“I was nearby, so I thought I’d come see you!” Daeron grinned, blissfully impervious to Aemond’s lack of encouragement as always. (When growing up, one of the only things Aemond and Aegon agreed on was that their parents had clearly brought the wrong Daeron Targaryen home from the hospital. Somewhere in the Crownlands there was a cheerful, peppy Targaryen family wondering why their Daeron was so emotionally stunted. Served them all right for not choosing a more unique name.) “Are you ready for Yule yet?”

“No,” said Aemond. “But I will be. Are you ready for exams?”

Instead of taking the Go back to campus, twerp hint as it was intended, Daeron flopped into Aemond’s bespoke executive chair like it was a stained dorm room flip-an’-fuck foldout. His KLU shirt and hat—if Daeron had any clothing that wasn’t KLU merch then Aemond had certainly never seen it—added to the distasteful effect. “It’s all projects this semester,” he said. “I’m pretty much done.”

“Good grades?”

“Think so. There’s this one mythology course that’s a little…” As Daeron droned on about a class that Aemond genuinely could not care less about, he spotted (through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows lining his office) the figure of Otto Hightower striding down the hallway. The old man was gesturing imperiously to the small legion of lickspittle assistants who followed him everywhere, always fighting to keep up with his long steps. 

Aemond considered letting Otto spot them and allowing the chips to fall where they may. But—well. That would ruin his little brother’s day, and Aemond didn’t enjoy the prospect of ruining his little brother’s day. So: “Watch out. Grandfather’s coming.”

Daeron squeaked and dropped to the floor.

(No question, he was definitely switched at the hospital. There was no way this could be the right Daeron Targaryen.)

Aemond focused on his laptop—dear gods, how did Jason Lannister let the Slynt account melt down that fast, it was fucking fine two hours ago—and kept a very neutral expression as their mother’s father walked by. Otto only spared him a small wave before continuing on to whatever life-ruining action items were penciled into his calendar today, giving no indication he’d noticed his youngest grandchild hiding under a mahogany desk the size of a pianoforte.

“He’s gone,” Aemond said after a suitable period of time had passed.

“Whew.” Daeron crawled out, then brushed off his knees as he stood. “He texted me twice last week about interning here next semester. I tried to be polite, but he’s just not getting the message.”

“No idea what that’s like.” 

“Right?”

Aemond suppressed a sigh as Daeron, rather than taking his near miss as a sign to exit the office and building and maybe the entire country, dropped back into the chair. “I know you and Aegon and Helaena have convinced yourselves it’s terrible here,” Aemond said, “but you might enjoy it, if you gave it a try.” At least if Daeron had an office at Hightower Corp he’d have his own furniture to disrespect.

Daeron didn’t even hesitate. “I’m not suited.”

“Gwayne can find you something in whatever department you’d like. It doesn’t have to be acquisitions. PR, maybe, or—”

“I’m not suited, Aemond.”

Aemond shrugged and turned back to his email.

(All right, so none of his siblings approved of his career. And yes, private equity investment wasn’t the kind of thing that earned humanitarian awards and a statue in the town square, but Aemond was good at it. He had a natural talent for spotting weaknesses in target companies, and if his time at Hightower Corp had honed that talent into a reflexively ruthless weapon, then that was how it had to be. It made Mother smile to see her father and her son working together. It meant something to build the Hightower reputation in a city where reputation was everything. Aegon and Helaena and Daeron could do as they liked, but at least one of them had to think of the family.)

“Anyway,” continued Daeron (who could never stand to express a conflicting opinion for longer than ten seconds at a stretch), “how’s Vhagar doing?”

“She’s well.” Aemond pulled out his phone and showed Daeron his new lock screen. “Look, her eye infection cleared up.”

“That’s…that’s great,” said Daeron slowly. “Any changes in her insulin dosage?”

“No. Two units, injection at eight, same as always. I’ll text you the current front door code on Friday. Still got your spare keys?”

Daeron pulled out a chain weighed down with enough metal to anchor a Pentoshi shipping barge, then flipped through to find two silver keys topped with bright blue tabs. “Deadbolt and knob,” he said proudly. “Is the bottle of insulin still in the crisper drawer?”

“Yes.” And this was why Aemond trusted Daeron to care for Vhagar whenever he got stuck with an evening engagement, or had an early meeting that couldn’t be done remotely. Daeron might be alarmingly upbeat, but he remembered things. Daeron was responsible. Helaena meant well (she always meant well) but her concept of time was…erratic. And Aegon—

—even if Aegon still lived in King’s Landing, Aemond would never be stupid enough to rely on him for something important. “Thanks,” said Aemond. “Oh, and watch out for that crackpot in the unit above me. She’s still out to get Vhagar.”

“You say that every time.”

“Last week she was in the lobby reading a book about pet taxidermy.” Daeron snickered, and Aemond frowned. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny. Maybe she just has a strange sense of humor?”

Sure. Before much longer Aemond was going to have to get on the Baelor Condo homeowner’s association just to bring the little psycho to heel, and it was not something he was looking forward to. He didn’t mind that her anti-Yule campaign had ended an interminable eight weeks of holiday music in the elevators, but pushing for a pet ban was something else entirely. “I’ll be leaving for the party around six,” he said, deciding to drop the subject. “And I’m not staying on site, so you don’t have to worry about the morning dose.”

“Cool.” Then Daeron eyed him shrewdly, which was something he’d started doing recently. Aemond didn’t care for it. “Taking Cassandra?”

Aemond groaned. “You’re the second person to ask me that this morning. No. I’m not.”

“Did you break up?”

“We were never together.” Daeron gave him a Look unnervingly reminiscent of their mother, which—to Aemond’s irritation—triggered the same defensive impulse to over-explain that hers did. “We weren’t. The occasional joint attendance at society events does not constitute a relationship.”

“Does Cassandra know that?”

“Yes.”

“Does Grandfather know that?”

Aemond bristled. “It’s not Grandfather’s business.”

Another one of those shrewd looks. “Everything about you,” said Daeron, “is Grandfather’s business.”

That was becoming more true than Aemond liked. It was Otto who had introduced him to Cassandra Baratheon (back when she worked in the Hightower Corp legal department before switching to full-time Ravengram influencer). The Baratheons were an old name, even if the last several generations had been singularly unimpressive, and Grandfather collected old names for the Hightower family the same way Viserys collected LEGO sets of Old Valyria.

But while Cassandra was attractive—and attracted to him, which was not something that always happened for Aemond—they had nothing of substance in common. It had been convenient to have a “plus one” on dial for business dinners (and, very rarely, for the kind of recreational sex that limited itself to a mutually-disinterested exchange of orgasms and no follow-up call the next morning). But even that perfunctory connection lost its flavor once Cassandra started saying “they” should exploit the pirate aesthetic trend on social media; when she demanded the right to post gym photos of him sans shirt or glasses, he removed her number from his contacts. They hadn’t spoken in over three months. So, yes: he would be going to the Hightower Corp Twenty-Sixth Annual Yule Party alone, and if Otto didn’t like it, that was too bad.

None of which he would be sharing with Daeron. Aemond checked his watch. “I’m going to take an early lunch and visit that craft fair Helaena’s been pestering me about,” he said. “Do you want something from there too? I haven’t gotten your Yule gift yet.”

Daeron looked utterly appalled. “I’m not going to just tell you what present to get me for Yule,” he said, aghast. “You’re supposed to figure it out for yourself, as an indication of how well you understand and appreciate me.”

“But I don’t understand or appreciate you.”

“Yes, you do. I’m your brother. It’s required.”

“I’m going to buy you the literal first thing I see and then pay someone else to wrap it.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Watch me.”

“Oh, for fudge’s sake.” Daeron pulled out his phone while Aemond tried to reconcile the fact that he somehow had a sibling who wouldn’t say the word fuck and, yet again, considered the possibility that Daeron had been switched at birth. “We need to coordinate our gifts. I'm firing up the sibling chat.”

“I left that ages ago. Don't add me back in.”

“Too late!”

The first messages arrived less than three minutes after Daeron’s departure from Aemond’s office—and probably only took that long because cell signals couldn’t penetrate the elevator shafts.

“For fuck’s sake,” muttered Aemond (for he, unlike some siblings, had no problem cursing). Briefly he wondered if Jane the Drinker of Coffee With Too Much Cinnamon had this much trouble with her family. Passing out on the floor rather than continuing to communicate with them was not without its appeal.

Aemond stood up, swapped his indoor low-tint sunglasses for his outdoor cloudy day mid-tint sunglasses, grabbed his peacoat, and shut his laptop. Yes, he was heading out.

Well, the morning was shot anyway.

Aemond had worried that the Yule Market would be uncomfortably busy. He didn’t loathe crowds (not like Helaena, who would vibrate out of her own skin if the population density of a location got too high), but he certainly didn’t love them, and the Eel Alley arts scene had never been his thing. But the combination of it being before eleven o’clock, being a work day, and being (to use the scientific term) cold as balls outside seemed to be keeping foot traffic to a manageable level.

The scent of something deep-fried saturated the air like a vent leak from a sewer drain. Booming from a sound system strung over the rows of booths was the kind of seasonal music that a person just learned to subconsciously tune out if they wanted to keep their sanity intact through New Year’s.

“LAST YULETIDE, I GAVE YOU MY HEART
BUT THE VERY NEXT DAY, YOU GAVE IT AWAY”

The military-grade subwoofers were making his prosthetic eye literally vibrate in the socket, and for a very, very brief moment, Aemond felt a certain kinship with the mutant in the condo above his own. At least regarding the anti-Yule campaign. She might be onto something there.

There was a specific booth he was supposed to visit, right? He checked the text from Helaena.

Aemond resigned himself to a very cold search, but it only took a few minutes to find his quarry at the end of the third lane: a booth festooned with an aquamarine banner proudly proclaiming BLUE MERMAID KNITS in silver block letters. Aemond checked his watch; still enough time to pick up Helaena’s gloves and get back to the office before his next meeting. Time management was a beautiful thing.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t until he approached that he realized the booth was manned by someone having a complete psychotic break with reality. 

She was very short, with a cloud of curly black hair held down by a knitted cap in the exact same aquamarine shade as the banner over her head. She faced away from the display table, hands clapped over her ears, and was for some reason hopping up and down like a maddened songbird as she shouted “LALALALALALA I CAN’T HEAR IT I CAN’T HEAR IT” at the top of her lungs.

Aemond glanced side to side. None of the other vendors seemed to consider this to be weird. 

What in the seven hells was going on with this day.

As it didn’t seem appropriate to interrupt whatever…that…was, he started sorting through Blue Mermaid Knits’ brightly-colored merchandise as the market’s aggressively festive music switched to ordering innocent passersby to rock around Yule trees. Aemond was no expert on arts and crafts, but everything looked well-made and well-loved. Given the holes in the display, the little stuffed dragons wearing tiny KLU shirts seemed to be the most popular.

He checked the price tag on one about the size of his hand. “Ninety?” he said aloud, stupefied. “For a child’s toy?”

“It takes hours to make,” said a feminine voice, slightly husky from all the shouting. “Plus cost of materials.”

Aemond looked up from the stuffed dragon…

…and swallowed.

The proprietress of Blue Mermaid Knits had stopped behaving like a madwoman and was now giving him her full attention. The fact that the top of her head didn’t even reach the bottom of his chin in no way diminished her impact. The large, pale purple eyes set in a heart-shaped, bronze-shaded face shone with sardonic amusement; as he stared, her arms crossed over a garish jumper emblazoned with the words KEEP CALM AND WEAR UGLY YULE SWEATERS, an action which brought into sharp relief her almost illegally perfect brea—

“The gift wrapping is free,” said the woman. “I’m nice like that.” Her nose was pink with cold, and something that might have been a dimple peeped at the corner of her mouth. “What do you say? And don’t tell me you can’t afford it. That coat of yours probably costs more than my car.”

Aemond had a strong opinion of his own self-possession. But the disorientation of standing stock still in temperatures better suited to beyond-the-wall, cheesy Yule music blasting his eardrums to shreds, while holding a stuffed animal that cost more than Vhagar's prescription refills, with his cock half-erect due to a single raised eyebrow from a frighteningly lovely stranger in an ugly Yule sweater and a hat so vivid it might be permanently damaging the retina of his only remaining eye, led him to say something that, in retrospect, was monstrously stupid.

“I could get this for fifteen dragons at Spicemart,” he told her.

A beat.

Another beat.

A third, longer beat.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, Aemond had a vague memory from when he was a kid of Aegon calling him a twat. Aemond, you are a twat. It was so clear in his mind—his older brother rolling his eyes and cutting him down three sizes with one four letter word—that Aemond could have sworn he’d heard it aloud, and nearly turned to check. Or would have, if he could look away.)

“You,” growled the woman, her previously amused expression now promising murder, “do not deserve nice things.” She grabbed a pair of wicked-looking knitting needles and pointed them directly at his heart as though they were fencing foils. “Give the stuffie back.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to buy it."

“You’re not allowed to buy it.”

“Refusing to sell merchandise to interested customers is a questionable retail philosophy,” he said, half-daunted by her sudden onset of rage, half-entertained, and—to his growing alarm—entirely enchanted.

“Thanks for the unsolicited advice. Put the stuffie down.”

“No. I want it for my brother.”

“Your brother isn’t allowed to have it either.”

“And I need gloves for my sister.”

“Your entire family is welcome to order inferior mass-produced Astapori slave-labor garbage shipped straight to their doors by Blackwater.com. You can’t have my dragon and you can’t have my gloves.”

“How do you manage to stay in business?”

“I sell to people who aren’t rude.”

“People who aren’t rude?” Aemond did not like smiling at strangers. And yet, here he was, smiling. “In King’s Landing?”

The needles remained firmly pointed at his chest, ready to skewer him if he stepped wrong, but the woman sank her upper teeth into her lower lip for just a moment. As though she were trying not to return his smile. Her cheeks were still flushed with indignation and Aemond suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. “People who aren’t as rude as you,” she amended, voice quivering a little. “Which, so far today, has been literally everyone.”

“It’s not even noon yet,” he pointed out. “Someone worse than me is bound to come along before closing.”

“I doubt it.”

“Statistically speaking—”

“Nope.”

“You’re really this mad just because I observed a market price variation in your product line?”

“Aren’t you insightful,” she snapped.

In Aemond’s experience, there were very few social mistakes that couldn’t be fixed with money. “If I buy your products at double the listed price,” he said, reaching for his wallet, “will you concede I’m probably not the worst person you’ll meet today?”

She blinked. Her lashes were so long they brushed her cheeks. “Excuse me? Do you think you can pay me to stop feeling insulted by your shitty Spicemart comment?”

“Yes,” said Aemond, feeling confident. Fairly confident. Mostly confident. And more than a little uncertain about whether he’d prefer her to stop being angry (so that she would like him) or continue to be angry (so he could keep watching that flush in her cheeks). “How much?”

“Wow. Wow. I don’t care who else shows up, you are definitely the biggest son of a—”

“Luce! Hey, Lucera!”

The woman—Lucera?—raised up on her tiptoes and peered around Aemond’s side. Her eyes widened. “Oh, shitballs,” she muttered. Aemond started to turn, thoroughly prepared to remove whoever was daring to interrupt the most fascinating five minutes he’d spent with another human being in at least the last year, but Lucera prodded him sharply in the forearm with her needles before he could. “Don’t look!”

“Luce! I brought a whole shopping list!”

“Fuck,” she moaned, drawing out the expletive to three syllables in a long, soft undertone that left Aemond very glad for the length of his coat. “Right. What’s your name?”

“Aemond,” he said.

“Aemond. Great. You want me to forgive your dickish behavior, Aemond?”

“I do.”

“Fantastic. Be my boyfriend.”

“Okay.” Then— “Wait. What?”

“Just shut up and follow my lead.” Lucera grabbed his hand, pasted a bright smile on her face, and said directly over Aemond’s shoulder: “Hi, Clem!”

Aemond turned around—

—to see Clement Celtigar from the Hightower Corp internal finance department coming up at a near run. “Aemond?” he said, skidding to a halt, surprise written all over his notoriously-open face. “What are you doing here?”

Lucera paled. “You two…know each other?”

“He works in payroll,” said Aemond. “What do you think I’m doing here, Clement?”

Clement’s eyes dropped to where Lucera was clutching Aemond’s hand. Then he blinked. Multiple times. “Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

And, very, very faintly, Aemond heard Lucera say “fuck” under her breath once again.

Chapter Text

The early morning chill nipped at Aegon’s face while he and the dogs jogged around Dragonstone Village. As he adjusted his knitted scarf so it covered his nose, he noticed that itty bitty Cannibal was struggling to keep up with his larger comrades. Aegon tugged on the leashes. “C’mon, let’s go back home! If you guys still had balls, they would be freezing off! No offense to the gals.”

As their troupe circled around, the village was stirring. It wasn’t even 6AM yet, but Dragonstone Village was the kind of place that made the sun seem a late-sleeper. Granted, the winter solstice was coming up, so daylight hours were limited. That didn’t change the fact that Dragonstone was mostly populated with pensioners, fishermen, and people in the hospitality industry. The only occupants still abed were the tourists who had come for the Medieval Yule Festival.

Aegon used his free hand to wave at Saera Targaryen while she swept the front stoop of her bed and breakfast. Saera was old enough to be his grandmother. She often tried to pinch Aegon’s cheeks (not the ones on his face). But she donated several dragons to the shelter every Sunday, and she wrote that Dragonstone Chronicle article last week, so he made sure to smile at her when they passed. As a rule, Aegon strove to be nice to old ladies who did him favors—which reminded him that he would need to make a visit to Hull soon.

The instant that they arrived at the shelter, the dogs raced toward their food bowls and stared expectantly at Aegon.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, you gluttons.” Aegon shed his outerwear then grabbed his feeding checklist. Nobody expected Aegon to be a checklist person. Aegon didn’t expect Aegon to be a checklist person. There had been a time when he was caring for ten dogs all at once, each with their own nutritional and medication needs. Taking care of five dogs now was a breeze in comparison, but he still kept up the habit. When it came to the dogs, there was no such thing as being too careful.

He prepared everyone’s food then set down the bowls one by one. Cannibal’s bowl was always first, or else he would fight the other dogs for their food. Second and third were Dreamfyre and Tessarion, because it was rude to keep ladies waiting for too long. Fourth was Grey Ghost, who had a bit of a territorial rivalry with Sunfyre.

Last but not least was Sunfyre, the best boy. Aegon was not biased in any way whatsoever.

While the dogs chowed down, Aegon hopped into the shower. As he shampooed, he belted out one of the songs he was going to perform at the Medieval Yule Festival. “And down the road, from here to there, three boys, a goat, and a dancing bear! They danced and—”

A pitchy ding sounded from the ancient computer in his office. An email! Aegon flew out of the shower, still wet and sudsy and naked. When he reached the computer, he was met with disappointment. The email was not from the potential donor he had contacted.

Worse: the email was from his mother.

“Ughhh.” Aegon wiped his hands dry on a sweatshirt hanging over the back of the desk chair. Then he grabbed the computer mouse and clicked on the email.

Aegon squinted at the top two paint swatches in the checklist that his mother had attached to the email. They looked identical. He was on the general contractor’s side.

Considering his mother’s urgency, he sped through the rest of his shower—the hot water had run out while he was reading Alicent’s email—and morning routine. He didn’t bother shaving. Hammer King wouldn’t care about his stubble. He threw on a shirt from the heap of clean laundry on his desk chair, which he swore he would get around to folding one day, and grabbed two socks at random from his dresser. They didn’t match. None of his socks matched.

The dogs had finished digesting and were playing amongst themselves. Aegon grabbed his keys. “Be back soon! Don’t burn down the place while I’m gone.” He pointed directly at Cannibal. “I mean you, whacko.”

Cannibal barked in displeasure. Of course he did, the pint-sized pyromaniac.

Sunfyre immediately abandoned his game of tug-of-war with Grey Ghost and hurried over to Aegon. Sunfyre gazed up at him with soulful brown eyes while his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

“Alright, fine, stop begging. You can come with me.” Aegon led the way out and held open the door of his battered but reliable truck. Sunfyre happily climbed inside.

Aegon laid out a blanket on the backseat. The truck took forever to heat up, and he didn’t want Sunfyre getting cold. Then he hopped into the front, cranked up the radio, and began the drive up the island’s hilly roads. Luckily, he didn’t encounter any other drivers at this early hour. The roads were so narrow, there were places that could only accommodate one car at a time. There had been several past incidents when Aegon needed to carefully reverse until the road widened enough for the other car to pass.

When Aegon arrived at the house, a Hammer King Construction van was already in the driveway. Aegon attached a leash to Sunfyre’s harness, and they walked inside. He nodded at the workers who were applying touchup paint to the walls, then he stopped at the foot of the marble staircase.

Aegon remembered sliding down those banisters ten years ago rather than walking down the stairs like a normal boring person. His parents hadn’t been around to yell at him to stop messing around. There was just a housekeeper and a cook, hired specifically to keep Aegon fed, clothed, and more-or-less alive during his Exile to Dragonstone. One time, the rotten wood splintered beneath Aegon, and he almost bashed his head open when he fell.

The contractors had repaired the banister and brought the stairs up to code. Somehow they managed to match the original wood material, which came from an endangered tree that wasn’t supposed to be cut down anymore. Aegon ran his hand over the polished wood as he and Sunfyre proceeded to the upper level.

Aegon stuck his head into the bedrooms that had been allocated to Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their brood. Seven daughters. Three daughters from Rhaenyra’s first marriage, two from Daemon’s first marriage, and another two shared between them. Well, at least Helaena couldn’t complain about being outnumbered by “stinky boys” anymore.

He compared the paint colors in each room with the full list that Alicent had sent, but honestly, Aegon had no way of knowing whether the color was incorrect. His mother had put a ridiculous amount of effort into personalizing each room. Rhaenyra and Daemon’s adult daughters weren’t expected to stay longer than one or two nights (despite being so generously invited to stay for the whole week at a stranger’s wannabe castle in the middle of bumfuck nowhere), but Alicent was determined to dazzle them with her hostess abilities. She would give Rhaenyra nothing to complain about during their stay.

For Aegon’s entire life, his parents refused to utter the name of his older half-sister, whom Viserys had adopted after marrying his first wife Aemma. Then Viserys fell and broke his hip, and suddenly it was Rhaenyra Rhaenyra Rhaenyra in every other sentence.

Viserys was old, but not that old. And yet everyone treated him like a geriatric plague victim on his deathbed. Aegon suspected that his father had exaggerated his injuries, to ensure that Rhaenyra and her husband Daemon (who was also Viserys’ brother; Rhaenyra wasn’t doing much to discredit the widespread joke that all Targaryens were related) visited him at the hospital. “I just want to see my entire family together before I die,” Viserys had wheezed while scarfing down a hospital pudding cup.

Now here they were, one week away from what Aegon had no doubt would be the worst Yule of his life.

Aegon was pretty sure his mother had paid a private investigator to discover all the girls’ likes and preferences. Daughter #7’s room was a glitter-filled monstrosity straight out of a cartoon princess movie. Daughter #6’s room was covered in autographed boy band posters. Daughter #5’s room had a bookshelf stuffed with philosophy tomes that could kill someone either by boring them to death or by being dropped on their head. Daughter #4’s room was piled with knitted blankets and stuffed sea creature plushies. Daughter #3’s room resembled a Barbie Dreamhouse, but somehow high fashion. Daughter #2’s room was more like a sports bar than a bedroom.

He paused at the threshold of Daughter #1’s room, the one that had given his mother conniptions over indistinguishable shades of pink. Even though this room was not how he would have chosen to decorate, he liked this one the best. It had an elegant warmth that made him feel…calm.

Aegon wrapped his fingers around one of the bedposts, which were carved with roses. There were a lot of roses in the room, which made his heart ache. Maybe Daughter #1 was a Highgarden fan. He wandered over to the vanity, an antique that had been restored by a specialist. Aegon had used the vanity to hide things from the housekeeper during his Exile. The housekeeper regularly turned his room inside-out, but she never checked the abandoned guest room on the other side of the house.

He idly opened a drawer. Inside was an assortment of expensive-looking cosmetics, brand new and sealed. Among them was a bottle of perfume that was, unsurprisingly, rose-scented. Aegon snorted as he picked up the perfume bottle, which was decorated with real gold. His mother was really going all out for Rhaenyra’s family, huh? He couldn’t remember the last time his mother expended this much effort into learning his interests.

Possibly never.

Aegon knew it wasn’t the small army of daughters whom Alicent was trying to impress. He’d heard that she used to be Rhaenyra’s best friend in university. Sometimes Aegon wondered whether his mother would have preferred to marry Viserys’ daughter instead, but that was way too progressive for their stuffy circle of corporate oligarchs. It was much more acceptable for a girl barely out of school to marry a man over twice her age.

Although Aegon was disinclined to like his prodigal older sister, he was on Rhaenyra’s side this particular time. If one of his friends—Aegon’s money was on Leon Estermont—tried to even flirt with his mother, Aegon would kick his arse hard enough to make him taste his own rectum.

Disgruntled, Aegon opened the cap and sprayed the perfume once, expecting a cloying cloud of wasteful luxury and animal cruelty.

Instead, he was surrounded by a cloud of memory. Black waves of hair falling around his face, a curtain hiding them from the rest of the world. Slim bronze fingers tracing hearts on his open palm. Vanilla-flavored lip balm on a soft mouth, shy and eager in equal measures. Dark purple eyes full of trust—trust for him, trust in him, trust that he would be gentle, trust that he wouldn’t hurt her, trust that he wouldn’t let her down.

A droplet of water fell on the perfume bottle in Aegon’s hand. As he stared at it, another tear dripped onto the glass.

A familiar warmth pressed against his legs. Sunfyre whined in concern. Aegon set down the perfume bottle with a loud clunk then dragged his sleeve over his face. When he was sure his face was dry, he took out his phone and called his mother.

Thanks to the higher elevation, the signal in the house was better than anywhere else on the island. The phone rang four times before Alicent answered, sounding surprised. “Aegon? You’re awake?”

“It’s almost nine. Of course I’m awake. The dogs won’t walk themselves.”

“Oh. Yes. Well, I thought you had people for that,” his mother said awkwardly.

Aegon didn’t have the money to hire people. And if he did have the money, he would be spending it on the dogs, not humans. “I’m at the house. It looks fine.”

“You’re at the house,” Alicent repeated incredulously.

“You asked me to come up here,” said Aegon, trying not to let irritation leak into his voice. “Did you change your mind?”

“No, I didn’t. I just—well.” She cleared her throat. “How are the paint colors? Mr. Hammer doesn’t have a good eye for these things.”

“The colors are fine.”

“Are you sure? You might need to—”

“I’m sure.” Aegon leaned down to scratch Sunfyre behind the ears, and he instantly felt better. “I went through your list.”

“You did? Well—good. Good. Then I shall remit payment to Mr. Hammer posthaste.”

Aegon continued scratching Sunfyre. “Do you want me to look at anything else while I’m here?”

“No… No, I don’t think so.” There was a prolonged pause. “I…appreciate you checking on the house.”

Aegon stopped scratching Sunfyre. “It wasn’t a big deal. Easy drive up the mountain.”

“Aegon, I…” His mother hesitated.

He held his breath.

“I…hope you’re eating fruits and vegetables. Fresh, not frozen. It’s better for you.”

The air seeped out of his lungs. “Yes, Mother.”

“Your father and I will see you soon.” Another pause. Then, hurriedly: “Thank you, Aegon.” She hung up.

Aegon gazed at his phone for a long time. Sunfyre whined again. Aegon put his phone away and devoted a full five minutes to petting Sunfyre, who returned the favor with messy kisses.

“Let’s get out of here, Sunny,” Aegon muttered. “Be happy you don’t have to come up here for that party. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

On their way out of the room, Aegon swiped the perfume bottle from the vanity and shoved it in his jacket pocket. He felt no guilt about it. Daughter #1 could buy her own damn perfume.

Aegon picked at the dregs of his frozen meal—supposedly something with chicken—as he glared at his computer. Spreadsheets were his mortal enemy. As a child, he had vowed never to get a desk job, so he wouldn’t have to deal with spreadsheets. But even dog shelter owners needed to make spreadsheets on occasion.

The numbers weren’t adding up. No matter what he did, no matter that he didn’t even pay himself a salary, there wasn’t enough money. He used a calculator and everything, so it wasn’t just him sucking at math. The shelter had been operating on a razor-thin margin since inception. Now it was solidly in the red.

Like most animal shelters, Sunny Dog Rescue depended heavily on donations. Donors came and went, but Aegon had always been able to manage the fluctuation with well-timed Ravengram campaigns. And the holidays were when people felt especially charitable, so he was counting on an influx of last-minute donations before the end of the year.

But Aegon hadn’t expected so many big donors to pull out all at once. He didn’t know why they were all canceling their recurring donations right now. It probably wasn’t his fault. He was careful to keep the shelter’s public image squeaky clean. He even made sure to use proper punctuation on the shelter’s social media accounts, and other than Saera’s Dragonstone Chronicle article, he avoided featuring himself in any promotions about the shelter. He didn’t want to be the reason the shelter got dragged through the mud.

He was running out of ideas. And begging his family for money was not an option.

Sighing, Aegon threw out the rest of his frozen meal. It was tasteless, anyway. He grabbed an open bag of stale chips then checked his phone, which was plugged into the computer, which was plugged into the ethernet. It was the only way he had any internet connection.

Aemond hadn’t texted the chat since lunchtime, when he ran off to that craft market. It was very unusual for someone perpetually glued to his phone. Aegon swore that Aemond had emerged from the womb holding a flip-phone.

Aegon smiled tiredly at the dogs, who were enjoying the milk-bones that he gave them as a bedtime treat. “If I get really desperate, I suppose we can just ask Saera to be our sugar mama. What do you think?”

Cannibal looked up from his milk-bone and barked.

“Yeah, me neither.” Aegon finished his stale chips then went to get ready for bed.

Chapter Text

Seasmoke (Lucera’s thirty-year-old silver Vezhak station wagon that no, she would not be replacing, thank you very much, even if she’d spent enough on repairs over the last decade to buy a new car twice over) huffed to an undignified stop in the parking garage under Jacaera’s building. “Good boy,” Lucera said, patting the dashboard with her left hand as she turned the engine off with her right. Dad had taught her it was important to give Seasmoke positive reinforcement after performing well, and climbing a fifteen percent grade without a single stall-out for sure counted. “You did a great job.”

Seasmoke wheezed, which meant he agreed. Seasmoke hated Aegon’s High Hill. But the High Hill was the most sophisticated neighborhood in King’s Landing, and—even in a family known for producing sophisticated women—Jacaera was the most sophisticated person Lucera knew. So of course her sister would live here. It was only natural.

Even the door from Parking Level 3 felt refined. A sleek, modern, complicated intercom system gleamed on the wall, waiting for aspiring guests to prostrate themselves at the feet of the residents and beg for entry.

Lucera ignored it entirely.

A moment later the door unlocked with a click, and Lucera let herself in.

Jace fainted. Jace is having a crisis. During her trip up the (chrome) elevator and her long walk down the (carpeted) hall to #1421, Lucera sternly went over what she’d been telling herself she left the market. This is about Jace. This is about being here for Jace. Do not let Jace use her oldest-sister-superpowers to avoid dealing with HER problems by focusing on YOURS instead. Do NOT let Jace—

Jacaera opened the door of her apartment before Lucera even lifted her hand to knock. As usual, she didn’t have a single hair out of place or a solitary wrinkle on her skirt. Only someone who’d known her for decades would be able to tell that Jacaera was at the end of her rope…and, as one of those someones, Lucera could indeed tell. Her sister never twitched her fingers quite like this, or curled her lips in just that way, unless she was about to lock herself in her bedroom and emerge two hours later with red eyes that her whole family had to pretend not to notice.

“That was fast,” Jacaera said. “Did you—” Then she stopped. Abruptly. “Wait. What happened?”

This is about Jace. This is about being there for Jace. “Nothing,” said Lucera. “Nothing happened. Everything’s fine.”

“Lucera.”

“Seriously! Everything’s fine!”

“Lucera Velaryon.”

Fuck. “Everything’s…basically fine,” Lucera said, in what she really really hoped was a convincing tone. “I might have just accidentally instigated a little bit of drama, is all. A smidge. A smidglet. But it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“A smidglet of drama,” replied Jacaera, unconvinced.

“The smidgliest of smidglets. Minuscule drama.”

Jacaera looked at her.

“Microscopic. Infinitesimal.”

Jacaera looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

Ugh. Oldest-sister-superpowers were the worst. “I grabbed a random stranger to be my fake boyfriend and kind of kicked off some weirdness,” Lucera confessed in a rush. “But it doesn’t matter because I’m here to support your problems. Just forget about it. Where’s your suitcase?”

“Lucera!”

The problem with Clement Celtigar was that Lucera had seen him eat paste.

They’d gone to school together on Driftmark from kindergarten through fifth grade (which was when Dad and Aunt Laena died and then Mum met and married Daemon and the entire family got relocated to Duskendale because according to Gran even when there’s no blood relation it’s extremely awkward when your son-in-law, who is also your cousin many times removed, marries your daughter-in-law, who is also-also your cousin many times removed, and does it just six months after your only children drown). She and Clem had been on projects together sometimes, and played tag during recess. He’d traded his fries for her carrot sticks at lunch. But she lost track of him after the move, and aside from occasional nostalgia while glancing through old yearbooks, Lucera hadn’t thought of him again.

Until six months ago. Which was when Clem ran into her on the M Line. 

To be fair, it wasn’t entirely his fault that he’d gotten the wrong impression. Lucera might have shown much more excitement than she actually felt, because…well, she’d had absolutely no idea who he was. (In her defense, it had been fifteen years, and she wasn’t great at recognizing people out of context even under the best of circumstances.) So she’d faked enthusiasm for five minutes—

Oh my gods, I can’t believe it’s you, this is amazing! How the heck have you been?!

—and got off the train two stops early just to escape before the mystery acquaintance caught on that she still couldn’t place him. And she’d thought that awkward encounter had been it, until Clem slid into her Ravengram DMs two days later. Hey, I found you! Want to get a coffee and catch up?

Saying yes seemed like an okay idea at the time. She’d been in a dry spell. Lots of the trashy novels Jacaera read (and thought no one else knew about) featured stories with people who were close as kids, then coincidentally met up again as super-hot adults and began a spicy romance that always ended with a Happily Ever After. Would that happen to Lucera? She hadn’t had any better prospects lined up. Why not?

But in kindergarten Clem had been a paste-eater. And it turned out Lucera just couldn’t have sexual thoughts about paste-eaters, even if the eating of the paste had taken place nearly twenty years ago. Just wasn’t possible.

There was the whole science-fair-partner history, though, and Clem appeared to have overcome his tragic paste past to grow into a nice enough human, so Luce had tried to let him down gently. She’d thought dodging the end-of-coffee kiss, and then turning down every offer to repeat the experience, would be enough for Clem to take the hint without her having to be harsh about it. After all, what man didn’t understand what “Sorry, I have to wash my hair tonight” meant?

This man, apparently. Excuses didn’t work, because he was always willing to ask again later. Blocking him on Ravengram didn’t work—he just came up with sock puppet accounts and asked if she needed help with her app settings. Clem was as dense as a box of rocks.

So it was with this history that Lucera Velaryon decided the best move upon seeing Clement Celtigar approaching her at the King’s Landing Yule Market was to snatch literally the first person in arm’s reach and use him as a human shield.

(Possibly this was why people were always accusing Lucera of being impulsive.)

“Just follow my lead,” she hissed to Hot Smug Dickhead whose name was apparently Aemond. She grabbed his fingers—which were cold—then said with nothing but the most platonic friendliness in her tone: “Hi, Clem!”

Clem came to a stop. The expression of shock on his unsuspecting face would have made Lucera feel a little bad, oh, fifteen or so Ravengram sock puppets ago. But then, instead of addressing her…

…he addressed Hot Smug Dickhead. “Aemond? What are you doing here?”

No. No way.

Lucera felt all the blood drain out of her face. “You two…know each other?” It couldn’t be. The population of King’s Landing was over six million, what were the odds—

“He works in payroll,” Aemond told her, all hotly and smugly and dickheadedly. Then he did that thing with his mouth that looked like it may be a smile, but it was so slight she couldn't tell for sure. 

(It was inappropriate for someone as rude as him to be so attractive. Lucera hadn’t quite seen the vision at first, because she’d been too distracted by the disrespect to her life’s purpose, but then he’d teased her about all of King’s Landing being rude and the maybe-smile thing happened and her entire brain had shorted out into a single blinking neon sign of Oh No, He’s Hot. Such a terrible personality didn’t deserve to wear a maybe-smile like that. There was no justice in this world.)

But credit where credit was due: terrible personality or not, Aemond could get into character quickly. “What do you think I’m doing here, Clement?” he asked, with an extremely obvious squeeze of her hand.

Clement looked at Lucera, then down at where she held Aemond’s hand in a death grip. “Oh,” he said. His eyes widened as comprehension dawned (or at least whatever counted as comprehension for Clem). “Oh.”

They worked together. Fuck. How did she get herself into these situations? And how, exactly, was she supposed to get herself out of it? “Yeah,” she said, like it was no big deal. “Yeah, Aemond and I are… Yeah. He was just, you know, stopping by to see me during his lunch break.” She dug her thumbnail into his palm. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Aemond turned in her direction. Lucera couldn’t quite tell, what with the sunglasses, but he certainly seemed to be looking at her face (as opposed to her tits, which was a step up from Clem). She shot him her brightest of smiles, one with a nice little flavoring of Please do this for me, I’ll make it worth your while (somehow).  

(Lucera could see the faint line of a scar along his cheek. It led up under his sunglasses, then reappeared just above to cut a few inches across his forehead, and it didn’t…well, it didn’t detract from the hotness, and she’d leave it at that.)

“That’s right,” he replied. “And it’s certainly been a more enjoyable use of my time than client meetings.” A slow, slightly evil grin started to spread across his face. “Besides, I needed to pick up some Yule gifts.”

Then—then!—he pointed to the dragon stuffie and the scale gloves. The ones whose prices he had just disparaged. The ones she had just told him he could not have. “Those,” he added, in case she’d somehow missed the message. 

What. A. Dickhead.

“Sure thing,” she said through gritted teeth. “One dragon and one pair of gloves—”

“Two, please, shortcake.” The evil grin widened. “I also need some for my mother.”

Shortcake. “Two pairs of gloves, coming right up.” If this didn’t get Clement off her back then she was going to stuff the gloves right down Aemond’s throat.

(No, she wouldn’t. Her gloves didn’t deserve that. She’d shoplift some cheap knock-off alternatives from Samwell’s Club and stuff those down his throat.)

Clem had been goggling at them all through the exchange. Clem was undeniably excellent at goggling. “Well,” he said at last. “Huh. I wouldn’t think—well. Huh.”

“Wouldn’t think what?” Aemond asked as Lucera busied herself packing his purchases and swiping his platinum IronCard (and controlling the temptation to overcharge him, if it were even possible to overcharge a platinum IronCard). His tone was mild.

“Just…Luce doesn’t seem like your type, is all.”

Lucera looked up, frowning. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all! But—Aemond, I thought you were with Cassandra?”

(Oh shit.)

“I’m not,” he said curtly.

(Whew. Thank the gods. At least she hadn’t chosen a fake boyfriend with a real girlfriend. That would have gotten weird in a hurry. Well, weirder.)

“Oh. I see.” It was very obvious that Clem didn’t see, but he certainly seemed to be trying to work it out. Lucera was reminded of when they were in third grade math class and he’d struggled with multiplication tables. “Well then, if you’re not—maybe I’ll…” He trailed off, an embarrassed flush splotching across his face. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get going.”

Lucera couldn’t help but note that suddenly there was no mention of Clem’s shopping list. If it ever existed in the first place. “Happy holidays,” she told him, in the same neutrally pleasant tone she’d use with any customer.

“Yeah. And I’ll see you at the big party next Friday, right?”

Wait. What party? 

Oh, shit. Had she left something out of her calendar again? It wouldn’t be the first time, and sometimes the Velaryons and Celtigars wound up at the same Driftmark events. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” she said vaguely, because the last thing she needed was for Clem to call his father who would call her grandfather and then there’d be some big blow-up again about how she was disrespecting family obligations, when probably there was just an email somewhere that she’d forgotten to read. She could always ask Jacaera.

Aemond became still.

As soon as Clem disappeared into the crowd, Lucera heaved a sigh of relief so huge she felt a seam pull in her sweater. “Okay,” she said, “I owe you for that one. Thanks.” She handed him his gifts (which she hoped his family would appreciate more than he did). Dickhead or not, he did help her out. “Have a great Yule, Aemond.”

Aemond didn’t take the bag. “You just told the biggest loudmouth in my entire company that you’re coming to our annual holiday party,” he said. “Presumably as my date.”

Oh.

Oh, shitballs.

“And then you texted me,” finished Lucera, “and I slammed down the booth shutters and ran for it.”

“You…you ran for it?”

“Well, yeah. What else was I supposed to do?”

Jacaera just shook her head. During the recital of events they’d gone to her bedroom to start packing; she was carefully folding a perfectly tailored ivory silk blouse in a way that would undoubtedly ensure the blouse arrived at Dragonstone in pristine condition. Jacaera was like a cartoon princess who sang to animals that did her bidding, but instead of animals, it was designer clothes that looked better on her than on the original models, and instead of singing, she merely looked in gentle disapproval at the clothes, and the clothes would go of course we won’t develop any wrinkles in transit, Jace, anything for you, Jace. “Only you, Luce,” she said.

(She meant it lovingly, Lucera knew. Her big sister meant Only you, Luce in the best possible way. But this sort of thing would never happen to the perfect Jacaera Velaryon; Jacaera would never act impulsively, or speak without thinking, or cause workplace drama for a stranger then bail and leave him to clean up the mess. Only you, Luce.)

“Anyway,” Lucera said, shaking off the twinge of hurt. “Like I told you, it’s no big deal. Trust me, he seemed like the kind of guy who could handle Clement Celtigar.”

Jacaera looked doubtful. “You couldn’t handle Clement Celtigar. That ridiculousness has gone on for much too long, anyway. We should do something. Maybe if we—”

“No, no, stop it, no. You are not going to work on my problems when I specifically came here to help with your problems. No more stalling. Why is Strong Ass sending you to Dragonstone all of the sudden?”

By the time Jacaera had finished relaying how her seventh hell of a morning had gone, Lucera had already started texting.

“Who are you talking to?” Jacaera asked suspiciously.

“No one,” Lucera lied.

“You’re texting Joff about me, aren’t you.”

Lucera stuck her phone in her back pocket. No point in denying it. “Would you rather I text Mum?”

Jacaera shook her head and tucked a pencil skirt into a garment bag.

“We’re just worried about you, is all.”

“I’m fine, Luce.”

“No, you’re not. Look at you. You’re taking a garment bag on the ferry to Dragonstone.”

“I’m going there on business, which means business attire, which means—”

“When’s the last time you wore anything but business attire? Or walked around without pointy-toed heels? For gods’ sake, Jace, you’re headed to a tourist-infested fishing village with a total population of eight hundred who are almost all the actual inbred types of Targaryens. Put on some jeans!”

“I don’t like jeans,” said Jacaera primly. “Now if you really want to help me, start unloading the perishables from the refrigerator. There’s a container of mango yogurt that’s going to expire on Tuesday.”

“I can’t believe you have the expiration date of your yogurt memorized,” grumbled Lucera, but went to do her big sister’s bidding all the same.

Lucera had loaded a whole bag of groceries into Seasmoke’s trunk and was deep into contemplation of whom she would have to murder at Joanna’s when her butt vibrated.

Ravengram Just Now AemTarg9898
Hello. Is this Lucera?

Uh-oh.

Lucera tapped on AemTarg9898’s profile so hard she almost cracked the phone screen. No posts, no followers. Not even a profile image. He’d just created this account.

Of course, there were an almost unlimited number of people whose names started with “Aem.” Aemons popped up like mushrooms in King’s Landing, right along with the countless Daerons and Rhaenas and Aegons. So maybe it wasn’t—

Well. Shit.

Lucera groaned and banged her forehead on Seasmoke’s rear window.

Aemond typed for over two minutes. Lucera counted.

She blinked. Then she swiped up, force-quit out of Ravengram, and reopened it, just to see if there had been a glitch in the app and she’d misread the message.

Nope. Still there.

Good gods, was he still typing?

What. A. Dickhead.

Unfortunately—very, very unfortunately—he had a point. This guy was in a difficult position now through no fault of his own, and if he were responding in an even slightly less pompous way, Lucera would be feeling really terrible about it. No one deserved to be the butt of other people’s jokes. Not even hot smug dickheads.

Plus, it was true: she was running out of ideas on how to stop Clem from hitting on her. And if he learned what had really happened, he’d probably interpret it through some twisted funhouse-mirror lens, like she was playing hard-to-get. Or trying to make him jealous. She’d never be rid of him then.

So…

Wow. Wow.

Lucera went through multiple different variations of the following: 

My mother taught me how to walk in heels before I was ten and the dresses in my closet are made by designers you’ve never even heard of  

and

You know Spicemart? The multi-billion dragon retail empire? Guess who was the heir apparent until she had a fight with her grandfather about international labor practices?  

and

Having a jawline that could cut glass doesn’t give you the right to look down on ugly Yule sweaters, ugly Yule sweaters are the reason for the season you self-important motherfucker

until she’d finally left the chat sitting silent for too long.

And instead of giving this hot smug dickhead the setdown he deserved…

…Lucera Velaryon did something impulsive again.

This time he typed for three minutes. Jacaera’s fancy mango yogurt was going to rot in the trunk at this rate. But instead of an essay, all Lucera got was:

She frowned.

Lucera groaned. Just her luck to pick a guy with no sense of humor for her fake-relationship.

Maybe this would be a good place to find common ground? Any man who loved his cat had merit. Even the (hot) smug dickheads. Lucera was sure of that.

Yeesh. So much for that.

Lucera stuck her phone back in her pocket, and prepared to drive home, throw a bunch of dairy in the fridge, and haul ass back to the Yule Market for the evening rush. 

Still lots of gloves to sell.

Chapter Text

Jacaera frowned at the search suggestions as she attempted to look up Sunny Dog Rescue.

Aegon Targaryen.

It was one of the most common names in the Crownlands. The odds that this was the same Aegon Targaryen were very, very slim. There was an Aegon Targaryen in IT at work (he regularly sent her memes through the office’s messaging system, which she dutifully liked but never commented on). She knew of a not-particularly-famous actor named Aegon Targaryen; he played a minor character who died quite graphically in her favorite fantasy show.

One of the residents in her apartment building was named Aegon Targaryen, which she discovered when his mail got misdelivered to her. When Jacaera knocked on his door to return his mail, she was relieved—not disappointed—to learn that Aegon Targaryen in #1521 was a middle-aged divorcee with two preteen children, who lived primarily with his ex-wife. After some friendly chit-chat, Aegon Targaryen #1521 asked her out to dinner.

Even if he were closer in age, she wouldn’t have accepted. Not with that name.

Jacaera pressed the enter button on her laptop keyboard. Instead of receiving her search results, she got an error message: no internet connection. “Confound it,” she muttered. She had hoped to research Sunny Dog Rescue during the hours-long ferry ride to Dragonstone, but the ferry’s wifi was spottier than the polka dot dress that Jacaera’s grandmother had made her wear in kindergarten yearbook photos.

She’d had no time before now to do any research. She was still catching her breath from rushing home to pack then rushing out to catch the ferry. She was glad Lucera offered to lock up her apartment for her, otherwise Jacaera would have missed the boat.

Jacaera thoughtfully sipped the green tea she had purchased in the ferry’s canteen, which offered standard tourist fare. Most of the ferry’s passengers were tourists, and Dragonstone hosted a popular Medieval Yule Festival during December. Simon Strong in Accounting, a relative of Larys, managed to snag one of the few remaining hotel rooms—really a bed and breakfast—in Dragonstone Village for Jacaera.

She had been on alert the instant that Lucera volunteered to close her market booth at the beginning of the lunch rush. Lucera was a shrewd businesswoman who knew that the penultimate Friday before Yule was a prime time to make sales. Jacaera surmised that something must have happened at the Yule Market, and her suspicions were confirmed when Lucera arrived at her doorstep with the expression of someone who had wrestled a fire-breathing dragon and lived to tell the tale.

If Jacaera hadn’t been in such a hurry, she would have pressed her sister for more details. Or was that too overbearing? Jacaera had to remind herself that Lucera was an adult, not a twelve-year-old hellion frantically knitting a Jonquil’s Day gift for her latest crush. Lucera had more experience than her older sister in the realm of romance, anyway. (As Joff once crudely put it, the closest thing that Jacaera had to a relationship in the past decade was with her vibrator.)

Lucera would deny that her Yule Market encounter was anything remotely resembling a romantic entanglement. But despite Lucera’s proclamations that it was just a one-time ruse, Jacaera could tell that her little sister was quite affected by “Hot Smug Dickhead.” Maybe she ought to text Lucera and—

Adult! Luce is an adult! Scolding herself, Jacaera closed her work laptop and put it away. If there was no wifi, she wouldn’t be able to get anything productive done. She might as well relax for the first time in…three months?

As Jacaera took out her personal tablet, she nervously glanced around to make sure she wasn’t being watched, even though she was alone in a private cabin. Then she set up her tablet and opened the internet browser. She had previously switched the tablet to airplane mode, so the webpage she last visited was still showing.

It had been over three months since Jacaera last updated her story. She felt guilty for leaving her readers hanging, but her job rarely allowed her time to write. She barely got any sleep as it was. Now, unable to do any paid work, Jacaera settled in to review the comments while she nibbled on a limp chicken wrap, courtesy of the canteen.

Jacaera tried not to bristle at Green_Queen’s obvious dislike of Valerion, who was Jacaera’s favorite character. Green_Queen left thoughtful, analytical comments on every chapter; Jacaera didn’t always agree with their opinions, but that was fine. They didn’t have to agree on everything, as long as they were respectful. And Green_Queen was much more enthusiastic about the chapters from the POV of Rosamund, Jacaera’s original character, so that bought Green_Queen some goodwill.

For the next hour, Jacaera typed away on her tablet—or tried to, at least. She was struggling with writing the next part after Valerion’s big emotional confession in the last chapter. Every so often, she referenced the fandom resources that she had previously downloaded. If she spent a bit more time than necessary on Valerion’s Wiki page with his handsome character’s profile picture…well, that was nobody else’s business.

Inevitably, the canteen tea made its way to Jacaera’s bladder. She put down her chicken wrap, which she’d barely touched, and went to find the restroom. Radio music was playing through the tinny speakers in the hallway. “Next up,” said the announcer, “it’s everyone’s favorite holiday classic, ‘Last Yuletide’!”

Jacaera clapped her hands over her ears and hurried to the restroom. After she washed her hands, she took out a tube of rose-scented lotion from her purse and leisurely applied it. Only when she was sure the song had finished playing did she emerge from the restroom. To her relief, the radio station had switched to an ad for Spicemart’s holiday sales.

Then she returned to her private cabin, where she discovered an intruder.

“Oh!” Jacaera exclaimed. She stared at the dog who was perched on the table, caught in the act of stealing the chicken from her dinner.

The dog was rather small with long, matted fur that was probably chestnut and white beneath all the dirt. Its ears were floppy and just begging to be scratched. When the dog turned its large brown eyes toward her, a piece of chicken between its teeth, Jacaera could practically hear it saying, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad. As the dog backed away into the far corner of the table, Jacaera noticed its—her—extremely swollen belly.

“Oh,” Jacaera said again, softer this time. She remained where she stood, not wanting to spook the dog. “Hello, darling. Where did you come from?”

The dog stayed in her corner, trembling.

Slowly, Jacaera reached for the abandoned chicken wrap. She plucked out the remaining bits of chicken and set them on the table. Then she stepped back and waited.

For a moment, she and the dog just stared at each other. Jacaera resisted the urge to scoop the dog into her arms and coo over the poor thing. She merely offered a smile.

That seemed to do it. The dog finally padded forward and tentatively sniffed the chicken. Then she looked at Jacaera. Jacaera smiled again.

The dog tore into the chicken, so ravenously that Jacaera wanted to cry. Rocking on her heels, she waited until the dog finished eating every piece and sat back, sated. Only then did Jacaera carefully extend her hand toward the dog.

Once more, they stared at each other. The dog’s nose twitched. Then she leaned forward and sniffed Jacaera’s hand.

At last, Jacaera allowed her fingers to gently stroke the dog’s head. The dog didn’t protest. Jacaera felt dirt and who-knew-what-else transferring from the dog’s fur to her skin, which ordinarily would make her flinch in disgust. But she was too entranced by the way the dog nuzzled into her hand and gazed at her with wide, trusting eyes.

The dog allowed Jacaera to pick her up. Belatedly, Jacaera realized the dog’s grimy fur was staining her expensive sweater. Hopefully there was a dry cleaner in Dragonstone Village. “Let’s find your owner,” Jacaera murmured to the dog, although she was skeptical that the dog had an owner. The dog had no collar, and she had clearly not been cared for in a while.

The ferry attendant whom Jacaera found in the hallway shared this opinion. “There are lots of strays around the King’s Landing docks,” said the pimpled young man, Petyr, who appeared to be a student working part-time during his holiday break. “Must’ve snuck on board.”

“Should I…leave her with somebody?” asked Jacaera. She made no move to hand over the dog.

Petyr didn’t seem eager to take the dog, either. “I’ll ask my manager. He’ll assign someone to take her to the dog shelter on Dragonstone.” Petyr sighed tiredly. “He’ll probably make me do it since I’m the one reporting it.”

“Well, why don’t I take her to the shelter? I was planning to go there anyway.” Jacaera had intended to go to Sunny Dog Rescue tomorrow morning, but she didn’t mind speeding up her schedule.

“Oh yes, please, thank you! Now I don’t have to do all the paperwork.” To show his gratitude, Petyr offered to bring Jacaera whatever she wanted from the canteen, free of charge. Jacaera requested soup and crackers to replace her dinner, unseasoned chicken, and a bowl of water.

Jacaera ate her soup one-handed while using her other hand to pet the dog, who contentedly chewed on the chicken that Petyr had procured. The dog was almost certainly pregnant, judging by the size of her belly and nipples. Jacaera refrained from touching the dog’s belly, in case the dog wouldn’t like it.

When the ferry arrived at Dragonstone, Jacaera bundled up in her coat then wrapped the dog in a KLU Dragons blanket that Petyr requisitioned from the lost and found. Petyr helpfully carried Jacaera’s bags and loaded them onto the shuttle that would bear the ferry passengers to Dragonstone Village.

“The shelter is right next to the sept. Can’t miss it,” Petyr informed her. Then, blushing, he gave her a slip of paper. “Let me know how everything goes?”

Jacaera smiled, close-lipped, as she took the paper. When Petyr turned around, she crumpled the paper and shoved it into the bottom of her purse. She would throw it out when she found a trash can. Petyr was nice, but she couldn’t fathom going on a date with someone barely out of his teens.

After the shuttle deposited everyone in the village square, Jacaera tried to check into her bed and breakfast, the Dragonmont. The proprietress, Saera, took one look at the filthy dog and pointed at the door. “Don’t bring that in here! It looks diseased!”

“I’m bringing her to the shelter straight away,” Jacaera protested, offended on the dog’s behalf. “I just wanted to drop off my bags first.”

“You can leave your bags behind the front desk.” Saera wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t have lice, does it? Don’t you dare bring lice into the shelter.”

Jacaera placed everything except her purse and work bag behind the front desk. She was loath to exit the warm lobby, but she told herself she was doing this for the dog’s sake. She turned up her collar to cover her face then grimly marched into the frigid night.

As Petyr promised, the sept was impossible to miss. The medieval structure had seven ominous turrets, which only added to the ambience of the village’s Medieval Yule Festival. But Sunny Dog Rescue wasn’t nearly as obvious a landmark. Jacaera went the wrong way and circled around the entire sept before she finally found her destination. By then, her feet were aching in her heels, and she was worried she might actually have frostbite.

It was 10PM. The sign at the door of Sunny Dog Rescue said CLOSED. Hoping she wasn’t waking anyone, she pressed the doorbell then jumped when a series of high-pitched yip yip yips pierced the air.

“Calm your tits, it’s not a burglar!” said a muffled male voice. The yip yip yips did not abate. A light turned on inside. “Okay, if it is a burglar, what can you do about it? You’re barely tall enough to bite their ankles.”

Jacaera froze, and it wasn’t just because of the weather. That voice sounded familiar.

It was probably her imagination. Her subconscious was coming up with things. But why would her subconscious come up with his voice? It had been ten years. She was over it. Over him.

No, it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. This was some other man who just happened to sound like—

The door opened. Her first boyfriend—and arguably only boyfriend—sleepily rubbed his eyes as he said, “It’s really late. What’s going—” Aegon jerked back. All vestiges of sleep vanished from his wide eyes. “Jace?”

“Aeg-g-gon,” Jacaera stammered. Her teeth chattered. In her defense, it was very cold. She held her dog closer to her chest for warmth. And maybe comfort. But mostly warmth.

Aegon Targaryen (not Aegon Targaryen #1521, not Aegon Targaryen in IT at work, not Aegon Targaryen the actor whose Dragons in the House character died of disembowelment after three minutes of screentime—her Aegon Targaryen, her ex-boyfriend from ten years ago) gaped at her for a long moment. He paid no mind to the dachshund who dashed to the door and continued to yip yip yip at the intruders. He just stared at her, his eyes fixed on her face.

An icy blast of wind raced over them. Jacaera and her dog shivered at the same time. Aegon shook his head and opened the door wider. “Come in, it’s freezing outside—hey, stop that!” He picked up the still-yipping dachshund and dropped him into an old baby crib. Taped to it was a sign scrawled with the words CANNIBAL JAIL. “You’re in timeout until you learn to be polite to guests.”

Jacaera should turn around. She should go back to the bed and breakfast. She should leave the entire island and board the first ferry in the morning. She should report to Larys that Sunny Dog Rescue was utterly unsuitable, and they ought to look at a different shelter for Alys’ PR needs.

But she was about to freeze to death, and she was holding a pregnant dog who needed better care than what Jacaera could offer. So Jacaera stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind her.

Aegon switched on more lights then looked at her again. He seemed to want to say a million things, but then he swallowed and focused on the dog in Jacaera’s arms. “Who’s this?”

If Aegon could be professional, then so could she. Jacaera donned her professional smile. “I found her on the ferry. She was a stowaway. The ferry attendant thinks she was a stray at the King’s Landing docks.”

Aegon took one step forward and gestured at the dog. “May I?”

Jacaera nodded. Aegon came closer. Her dog didn’t flinch when he reached out to pet her. The movement brought him in close proximity to Jacaera as well. Now that she wasn’t fighting for survival in the tundra, Jacaera had the wherewithal to study him.

He’d cut his hair. Of course he’d cut his hair, it had been ten years since she last saw him; he was bound to have cut his hair multiple times in that decade. What she meant was he cut his hair shorter than she remembered, although it was still longer than most men’s hair, a bit past the chin. He was wearing a white undershirt and striped pajama pants, which indicated that she had indeed disturbed his sleep when she rang the doorbell. She felt bad about that, but she was grateful he’d heard the commotion. If he hadn’t answered the doorbell, she didn’t know what she would have done with her dog.

He looked up at her. Now she could see his face. He was…healthier. His violet eyes weren’t bloodshot, and his cheeks weren’t ruddy. Despite the shock and awkwardness of seeing him again after so long, she was relieved. He looked much better than she would have imagined, and much much better than she had feared in her worst nightmares.

She forced herself to focus on more trivial details so she didn’t suddenly burst into tears of relief in her ex-boyfriend’s shelter-slash-business-slash-residence. His silver hair, although clean, needed to be brushed (to be fair, he had just been sleeping). He also seemed in need of regular applications of moisturizer, and she suspected he didn’t wear sunblock as often as he ought.

He smelled good. She sniffed quietly, discreetly. No cologne. What kind of soap did he use?

She was so absorbed in studying him that she almost missed what he was saying. “I’ll be shocked if she’s actually a stray. She looks like a Cavalier Queen Alysanne Spaniel,” he mused.

Jacaera wasn’t familiar with most dog breeds, but that sounded quite fancy. “I presume that’s an expensive dog?”

“A puppy can easily cost thousands of dragons.” Aegon gently ran his fingers down her dog’s belly. “But she looks like she’s been on her own for a while. For all we know, she could’ve been seduced by a stray chihuahua. Is that what happened, little lady? Did you fall for a sexy, rogue chihuahua?”

Her dog made a happy little sound when Aegon stroked her ears. Then she furiously scratched herself and whined.

“Our mum-to-be needs a bath. I can take care of her from here.” Aegon tried to take her dog, but for some reason Jacaera’s grip refused to loosen. “Unless…you want to do it, Jace?”

“I, uh, have a moral obligation to see to her continued well-being. Considering I found her,” Jacaera blurted. She never left an assignment unfinished. Granted, this was a self-assigned assignment, but it was the principle of the thing.

Aegon gazed at her for a few seconds. The corner of his mouth crept up as his eyelashes fluttered. The familiar, knowing expression made her heart skip a beat. “Sure. Not a problem. Come with me.”

He stopped in the cramped kitchen to put on the kettle, despite Jacaera’s protests that he needn’t go through the trouble. In the back of the building was a designated grooming area, where he gestured at a bathtub specifically for dogs. Jacaera carefully lowered her dog into the tub.

Aegon picked up the shower hose and tested the water until he was satisfied with the temperature. He held it out to Jacaera. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Jacaera started to take the hose but then hesitated. “I’ve never done this before,” she admitted, glancing at her dog. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

Aegon gave her another one of those familiar half-smiles, simultaneously teasing and reassuring. “You can watch me this time, and next time you’ll know how to do it.”

Jacaera tried to memorize all the steps and bottles of shampoo that he used, but she got distracted. As Aegon rinsed her dog, he kept her calm by speaking low, soothing words that practically rumbled out of his chest.

“That’s a good girl. Gonna get you nice and clean. That’s my girl, you’re being so good for me.”

You’re my good girl, aren’t you, Jace?

Heat flooded Jacaera’s belly as she recalled callused fingers teasing the hem of her uniform—no. No. She wasn’t seventeen anymore! She had more self-control than this.

Then she realized her thighs were pressed together, slowly moving back and forth as they sought friction. Blushing, she quickly adjusted her stance. This was simply biology. She was nearing the end of her follicular phase, so of course she was feeling…stimulated. No matter. She could just take care of herself when she was alone.

When Aegon turned off the hose, her dog immediately shook herself dry. Water sprayed both humans, although Aegon was closer and got the brunt of it. He just laughed and brushed his damp hair out of his face. His wet undershirt—practically transparent now—clung to his chest, so Jacaera was able to see all the lines and muscles beneath the white cotton.

She didn’t remember him having abs like that ten years ago. Did he go to the gym? Did Dragonstone have a gym? Was running around after a herd of dogs really capable of creating muscle definition like that? But that was just cardio, not strength training. What else did he do, bench press the dogs?

Sweet Mother Above, why didn’t she pack her vibrator? It was a work trip, and part of her had worried that Larys would somehow find out exactly what she put in her suitcase, but that was silly. Her boss wasn’t actually omniscient…probably.

Well, maybe there was a store in the village that—

No. Not an option, even if they had a store like that. Villages this small talked, and she didn’t want anyone telling Aegon what she was shopping for. If she grew really desperate, she could place a discreet order on Blackwater.com. They probably offered same-day shipping to Dragonstone, right?

Worst case scenario, she would just use her hand and a smutty Valerion/reader fic. She absolutely, positively, did not need any outside assistance to deal with…this.

Then Aegon looked at Jacaera and smiled. Not a half-smile, a full smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his lovely violet eyes that were so much clearer than the last time she beheld them. Her stomach fluttered with the same butterflies that she’d felt around him a decade ago. (The same butterflies she’d felt when she decided I really like him and he really likes me, so why not go on an actual date? The same butterflies she’d felt when she decided saving myself for marriage is such an outdated social norm, so why not wear the cute lace underwear that Baela bought as a gag gift? The same butterflies she’d felt when she decided a penis isn’t so intimidating once it’s been inside me a dozen times, and he has fun putting his mouth on my parts, so why not put his penis in my mouth and try it myself?)

The kettle whistled in the kitchen. “Do you want some tea, Jace?” asked Aegon. His smile was strained now—nerves? “We could…catch up? Once we’re done with the dog?”

At her job, Jacaera was supposed to stop problems before they happened. If she couldn’t do that, then she was supposed to manage the problem as early as possible, so it didn’t get worse.

She should say no. She should leave, as she should have done the instant he opened the door. She should be satisfied that her dog was getting quality care and flee from this island. She should forget Aegon Targaryen, because Aegon Targaryen would be a problem, if he wasn’t already one.

As the shock of seeing her ex-boyfriend wore off, she remembered why he was an ex and why she had stoically refused to look him up (if that was even possible among the thousands of other Aegon Targaryens on the internet) for almost a decade. She had loved him as much as a seventeen-year-old girl who’d only ever lived a sheltered life could love someone. She had wanted to bring him home to her family. She had dreamed about a fairy tale wedding and a house in the suburbs and rosy-cheeked children with violet eyes.

But he couldn’t give her that. Not with the way he was. She’d known that at seventeen, and she should know even better now at twenty-seven.

So even though every instinct screamed at her to stay, she smiled her professional smile and said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Please send me the bill for anything the dog requires. I’m staying at the Dragonmont.”

Then she walked away, just like she did ten years ago.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Aegon rarely used an alarm clock. He didn’t need one when he had Cannibal, who kindly informed his caretaker-slave the instant that his teeny bladder demanded relief.

Yip yip yip! Yip yip yip! Yip yip yip!

Aegon didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to abandon his warm blankets. He didn’t want to venture outdoors, so cold that it made his cock shrivel back into his body. He didn’t want to go anywhere near the Dragonmont. He didn’t even want to look at the Dragonmont.

A warm snout gently bumped his head. Aegon continued pretending to sleep. Then Sunfyre licked his face, and Aegon couldn’t pretend anymore. “Agh! Okay, fine, I’ll take you guys out for your morning shit.”

There were a lot of things Aegon didn’t want to do, but the dogs needed him to do those things. So he got out of bed.

As he wrestled Cannibal into a dachshund-sized snowman sweater, Aegon glanced at the newest member of their family. He had placed the Cavalier Queen Alysanne Spaniel in Cannibal Jail during the night. Usually he would have a new dog sleep in his office, separately from the others, during the adjustment period, but mum-to-be had vocally expressed her displeasure at the prospect of being alone. Aegon wasn’t going to leave her where Cannibal could harass her (if only Cannibal had been around while Vhagar was in residence, Aegon could’ve made a fortune selling tickets to that spectacle), so into Cannibal Jail she went. Aegon was going to have to rename it to something nicer, like “Mum Spa.”

Mum-to-be was still bundled in her KLU Dragons blanket as she lay in the old crib. When she noticed Aegon watching her, she flicked an ear but otherwise didn’t move. Now that Cannibal was properly attired, Aegon went to the crib and petted mum-to-be on her head. She would need a name. Aegon didn’t like the dogs to remain nameless for too long. He wondered if Ja—if someone else already had a name in mind.

“I’ll take you out after the others are done,” he informed mum-to-be. During their walks, the other dogs could get up to a speedy pace, even Cannibal. Too speedy for a heavily pregnant dog who was already on the small side.

Aegon took the dogs on a different route than usual. He wasn’t keen on going through the village square, where the Dragonmont was situated. He focused on pumping his legs as he jogged, on the dogs’ panting, on the wind battering his face. He focused on anything and everything happening outside of his head. He would not allow a repeat of the last time Jacaera Velaryon left him. He would not allow himself to succumb to his old weaknesses when his thoughts and emotions became too much to bear.

The dogs were what mattered. The dogs needed him. They had nobody else. He had to keep his shit together, for their sake if not his own.

As usual, Cannibal slowed down before the other dogs did. Aegon wasn’t ready to turn back yet, so he scooped up the dachshund and tucked him under one arm like a stinky, yappy package. As they rounded the corner of the trail, Aegon spied the first ferry of the day departing from Dragonstone’s docks. He wondered if Jacaera was on that boat, eager to put as much distance between herself and her ex-boyfriend as possible.

Aegon could have sworn, for several minutes while they were bathing mum-to-be, that Jacaera was enjoying herself. He even swore that she’d given him bedroom eyes for a moment; no matter how many years passed, he would never forget what Jacaera’s face looked like when she wanted him. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe she had changed. He had certainly changed—not that he would ever have a chance to prove it to Jacaera.

After a very extended walk, they finally returned to the shelter. Then it was mum-to-be’s turn to go outside, and she clearly didn’t like the cold. She hurriedly conducted her business then raced back to Aegon’s side, whining. As he picked her up and cuddled her for warmth, he remembered the way Jacaera looked so longingly at mum-to-be last night.

Aegon had seen that expression before. He’d seen it when that family with an obscene number of children adopted Vermithor, then later Silverwing when they realized the two dogs had fallen in canine love-at-first-sight during the Night of the Stranger parade. (Aegon knew that knitted dragon costume for Silverwing had been a good idea. Best money he ever spent.) He’d seen it when Nettles, a veterinarian based in Driftmark, won over Sheepstealer by sneaking him treats every time she came to visit. He’d seen it when that military veteran adopted Balerion, so “two old geezers could live out their twilight years together.”

Jacaera might not realize it, but she wanted mum-to-be. And judging by how mum-to-be kept glancing at the door as if waiting for someone to return, the feeling was mutual.

But Aegon wasn’t going to seek her out. Jacaera wanted nothing to do with him. As much as he yearned to throw himself on his knees, kiss her high heel-clad feet, and beg her for a second chance, it would probably result in him being slapped with a restraining order. Wouldn’t that be the shitty cherry on top of his shitty Yule?

Aegon fed the dogs and sent an email to Nettles. Hopefully she was free for a quick stop-in.

After his shower and shave, he went to assemble his own breakfast. His pantry was rather bare, so his options were cereal (no milk) or toast (no jam). He picked the cereal.

He was debating whether cereal with coffee creamer was a bad idea or a terrible idea when he heard the telltale ding of an email. Aegon put the coffee creamer back in the fridge and munched on dry cereal as he checked his inbox. He almost choked when he saw who had emailed him.

Aegon read the email several times. Now it made sense why Jacaera showed up on Dragonstone right before Yule, when she had a loving family she would much rather spend time with. She had come for business, not for him. Her obvious surprise when he answered the door last night was sufficient proof that she had not abruptly decided to track down her ex-boyfriend after ten years of no contact.

He put down his cereal bowl and tried to think about this objectively. Jacaera’s proposition was the stroke of fortune he had been praying to the donation gods for. The shelter would get money and publicity. He opened the internet browser on his computer and impatiently waited for it to load.

A quick search told him that Strong Associates had quite a few celebrity clients. If a pop star or famous actor came to take a few photos, that would boost Sunny Dog Rescue’s profile immensely.

Jacaera was obviously attempting to reduce the time she needed to spend with Aegon in-person. That stung. A lot. Then again, he couldn’t blame her, not after how he colossally fucked up ten years ago.

But…

Aegon took out a token from his pocket and spun it on the desk. When it landed, the etched number 7 shone beneath the desk lamp. Seven was a very lucky number in Westeros. Although Aegon wasn’t superstitious, even he was inclined to believe that this year, his seventh year of turning his life around, was supposed to be a good one.

He looked at the boutonniere of roses, dried and yellowed from age, hanging over his desk. It served as a reminder of his biggest mistake, his greatest regret, the reason he’d let Jacaera slip through his fingers the first time. Maybe he was delusional for being stuck on a girl he’d dated for less than a year when he was nineteen. Maybe he was delusional for being convinced she was the one great love of his life. Maybe he was delusional for believing he finally had a chance to atone and show her that he had changed.

Aegon had been called worse things than “delusional.”

For years, he had managed to keep himself busy with the dogs. If old memories—good memories, bad memories, memories that were both good and bad—resurfaced, there was always a dog that needed brushing or pee that needed cleaning. But now Jacaera had literally shown up on his doorstep. Aegon would not let the opportunity pass him by. He would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t try.

At the very least, he needed to tell Jacaera how sorry he was for the way things ended. He absolutely was not going to do that via email, which her workplace IT was probably monitoring.

He ate more cereal as he pondered his next steps. Then he carefully typed out his response to Jacaera’s email.

At precisely nine on the dot, Aegon watched Jacaera click-clack down the cobblestone path in her utterly impractical high heels. To be fair, those heels made her stockinged calves look very good—although the paper-thin stockings were also an impractical choice in this weather.

He was relieved that his gamble with the email paid off. Part of him had worried that she might take his “no” at face value. To be fair, he was saying no to her proposition—according to the terms she’d set. He was willing to negotiate, but he wanted to do it in person. That was why he included the photo of mum-to-be. Anyone with a heart—and Jacaera had always had a big heart—would be unable to resist those enormous eyes and floppy ears.

He moved away from the window so she wouldn’t glimpse him observing her. He was close enough to the door that he heard the click-clack cease at the threshold, as she presumably paused to read the sign he’d made and hung up at 7:45AM:

Aegon could vividly imagine her conflicted expression as she debated what to do. On the one hand, Jacaera Velaryon was a very good girl who always followed the rules, which included obeying signage. On the other hand, when Jacaera Velaryon had an assignment to do, she fucking did the assignment. That was how she became the valedictorian at her inappropriately-named prep school back in the day.

The silence at the threshold drew out, longer and longer. Aegon fidgeted as he began to doubt himself. What if she turned around and walked away? Damn it, he shouldn’t have made that stupid sign. He just wanted to see what she would do if he threw a teeny obstacle in her way, but now he was a moron who ensured that he would never see her again—

The doorbell rang. No burglar alarm followed this time; Cannibal was napping after gorging himself on breakfast.

Aegon sagged with relief. Then he hastened to the door. He rested one hand on the handle while his other hand hurriedly smoothed his hair. At last, affecting a calm demeanor, he opened the door. “Morning,” he said casually, as if this were an everyday occurrence for them.

Jacaera looked like she had stepped out of a fashion magazine for women’s business wear. Her navy skirt suit fit her perfectly; he wouldn’t be surprised if it was custom-made. Despite the wind, every strand of her black hair was neatly in place in a low bun at the back of her neck, which was decorated with a single, elegant strand of pearls. Her makeup was done in such a way that she looked like she wasn’t wearing makeup at all. Aegon only realized she was wearing it, because he noticed the difference compared to last night when she was windswept and frazzled from traveling.

(She probably didn’t wear vanilla-flavored lip balm anymore. That saddened him. He had very fond memories of that vanilla-flavored lip balm.)

Jacaera smiled. Her smile was close-lipped and didn’t reach her eyes. “Good morning, Mr. Targaryen. I’m afraid I don’t have an appointment, but I was hoping you had a few minutes to talk.”

“Weeellll…” Aegon drew out the word, not wanting to sound over-eager. “I’m quite busy with the dogs, but if you’re willing to follow me around while I take care of chores, then you can come in.”

Just then, the kettle whistled in the kitchen. He had put it on the stove several minutes ago, anticipating that she would make an appearance as soon as business hours started at nine. Only now did Aegon remember that it was Saturday. Why was Jacaera working on a Saturday? She shouldn’t be working on a Saturday. She should be sleeping late and enjoying a leisurely breakfast at the Dragonmont. (Aegon was working on a Saturday, but that was because dogs had no concept of weekends. He was constantly working, although that wasn’t a bad thing. He liked his work, and it kept him busy. Busy was good. Boredom had always been dangerous for him.)

“Tea?” he asked, still feigning casualness.

Jacaera hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yes, thank you.”

Aegon had run out to the grocery store earlier, even though he tried not to do that except in emergencies. Everything that had to be transported from the mainland was more expensive on an island. Like most residents in the village, he saved money by doing his bulk shopping once a month at the Samwell’s Club in Rook’s Rest. But if his ex-girlfriend showed up on his doorstep again, he wasn’t going to present her with discount teabags and stale saltines, so off he went to the overpriced grocery store.

Whenever Aegon drank tea, he tended to just toss the teabag into a mug of water, walk away, and come back when he felt thirsty. Today, he used the timer on his phone to ensure the tea was steeped according to the directions on the tin. His wallet had wept when he purchased the organic rosehip tea leaves from the Reach, so he was damn well going to make sure it tasted good. He also brought out a sleeve of cinnamon biscuits, which he tried to arrange nicely on a plate.

Once the tea finished steeping, he poured Jacaera’s portion into a pretty cup with a stained glass effect, which he had acquired at a past Medieval Yule Festival. He poured his own portion into a lumpy, pale blue mug that Helaena had made during her pottery phase. When he turned around to offer the tea, Jacaera was standing over Cannibal Jail and smiling—a real smile—at mum-to-be, who had gotten to her feet. Mum-to-be raised her head high, and Jacaera obligingly scratched the dog behind her ears.

“She needs a name,” Aegon said as he approached, tea and biscuits in hand.

Jacaera accepted her cup. “What do you have in mind?”

“I was going to ask you that.”

“Me? Why me?” Jacaera sipped her tea. The pleased smile that flickered across her mouth was well worth his mournful wallet.

Aegon decided against declaring that she clearly wanted mum-to-be. He didn’t want to be too pushy and turn her off the prospect entirely. “Why not? You found her and took care of her during the ferry ride. You might as well get the privilege of picking a name.”

Jacaera delicately bit into her biscuit. “Hm. I haven’t really thought about it. How did you pick the other dogs’ names?”

“I started by giving them cool names, like Sunfyre.” Aegon nodded at his retriever, who had been calmly lying near Cannibal Jail for most of the morning. “Then a few years ago, my brother found a stray cat who was possessed by the seven devils. He insisted on giving her a pretentious name from Valyrian mythology, right before mythological pet names became trendy. So now some of the dogs have Valyrian names instead of cool names.”

“Valyrian names can be cool. You and I have Valyrian names,” Jacaera protested before washing down her biscuit with more tea.

Aegon sipped his tea too. The floral taste reminded him of the tea parties that Helaena used to force her brothers to partake in. “Valyrian names are overrated. Do you have any idea how many Aegon Targaryens are out there?” Truthfully, it was to his advantage that his name was so common. He rarely appeared on the first page of search results when someone tried to look him up.

“I do have an idea, yes,” Jacaera muttered, then hurriedly drank more tea. “I will need to think about a name. In the meantime, I was hoping I could persuade you to reconsider my business proposition.”

Aegon ate a biscuit and waited.

Jacaera’s fingers twitched impatiently around her cup. “Why did you say no?” she asked with a hint of petulance.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Aegon hadn’t intended to fling Jacaera’s words from last night back at her. When she winced, he hastened to elaborate. “Isn’t it common knowledge that you aren’t supposed to mix business with personal matters? There’s a proverb about not working with your ex. ‘If you’ve already burned the bed, don’t try to build a house out of the remains.’”

“You just made that up,” she said primly. “Anyway, this is strictly professional. We won’t mention any personal matters at all. We will only talk about the shelter, my client—”

“I’m not good at compartmentalizing,” Aegon said seriously. “I can’t just treat you like a faceless corporate suit who’s here to write me a check. You’re… You’re you, Jace. I can never forget that. And I don’t want to ever forget you.”

A blush spread across her cheeks. Not a blush derived from powders and creams—this blush was one hundred percent Jacaera Velaryon. Aegon had missed the sight.

“Aegon, I…” She held his gaze. Her eyes glimmered with unspoken longing, the same expression that she had worn ten years ago, when she was a good schoolgirl and he was the ne’er-do-well she’d met in the wrong part of town.

All of a sudden, Aegon felt more hope than he had the entirety of the past decade. So he pushed his luck. “Jace, I’m really sorry that I let you down back then. I want to make it up to you, if you’ll let me. You don’t have to let me, but I hope you do. But you can see why it would be a bad idea to drag business into all this, can’t you? I can’t promise I’ll be able to keep it professional, and that wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“Oh, Aegon…” Jacaera put down her tea and wrung her hands nervously. Aegon was rather charmed by the familiar habit; at least this much had stayed the same. “Aegon, I hope you don’t think I’ve been angry with you all this time. I haven’t been angry. I was actually quite glad to see you yesterday. For so long, I’ve been worried that you—I’ve been worried about you. But now I’m not, because you look really good! I mean—you look like you’re doing well, and I truly am happy about that. All I really wanted was for you to get better, and you seem like you have gotten better, and—”

Aegon gently pressed a finger against her lips. The movement was so reflexive, even after ten years, that he didn’t think about it at all. He just did it. “You’re rambling, Jace,” he teased. “Remember to breathe.”

She obediently inhaled and exhaled. Seven hells, she was even cuter than he remembered, and she was impossibly cute in all his memories. Her nerves had always been her own worst enemy. Aegon had quickly figured out that the key was distracting her from her anxiety. Sometimes that meant abruptly changing the topic, sometimes that meant making her laugh, sometimes that meant…other things that he shouldn’t think about right now, or else he was going to get an inappropriately-timed erection.

Jacaera made no move to brush his finger away from her mouth. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. He stared back, drinking in the rich, dark purple of her irises. Purple eyes were as common as blue and green eyes in the Crownlands, but he’d always thought that hers were a uniquely beautiful shade.

He was so busy admiring that purple color, he almost missed her next words as she spoke in a rush, with his finger still on her mouth. “Aegon, I might get fired.”

He blinked. His hand fell from her face. “What? Why?”

She cringed. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said that. I—I’m sorry for bothering you. I’ll go.”

“No, wait!” He took a step forward. “What’s wrong?” Please tell me how I can help. Please tell me how I can be your hero again.

She looked away, patting her perfectly arranged hair as if to make sure no tresses had gotten loose. “If I go back to my boss empty-handed, he won’t be happy. I’ve been…making mistakes. Nothing major, but they add up. This particular client is very important to my boss, so if I make a mistake again—I don’t think he’ll give me any more chances. If you say no, I suppose I can research another animal shelter…”

Aegon was struck by the vision of Jacaera going to another shelter—a cat shelter filled with a hundred Vhagars—run by a smarmy, suit-wearing, smooth-talking prick. The prick would sweep Jacaera off her feet with his profound knowledge of corporate lingo and ability to afford organic, gluten-free, fat-free, carb-free, dairy-free, flavor-free dinner dates. They would get married, have a bunch of babies whose onesies were always spotless and perfect, and adopt a cranky cat who tried to eat the aforementioned babies.

It was a waking nightmare.

“I’ll help you,” Aegon said hurriedly. “You can tell your client to come to Sunny Dog.”

Her eyes lit up. “I can? Are you sure? If you aren’t comfortable mixing in business, I can figure out something else.”

“Well…” Aegon scratched the back of his neck, thinking. “We can do business. It’s fine, we’ll make it work. But we can’t just do emails, Jace. I’m very careful about the people I let around my dogs. If you’re going to use my dogs for a publicity stunt, then you have to get to know them, and they have to get to know you.”

Jacaera bit her lip then nodded. “I understand. I will do whatever I can to make this process comfortable for them. And the internet connection isn’t great at the Dragonmont, so it would probably be faster to speak in person.”

“The wifi sucks on the entire island.” Aegon thought quickly. “An ethernet connection is the only way to get reliable internet. You can use my office if you need to work.” The more excuses he had to see her, the better.

“That is kind of you to offer,” Jacaera said uncertainly, “but I wouldn’t want to impose…”

As she hesitated, Aegon decided to play dirty. All was fair in love and war, and he was absolutely not a pacifist. There was a piece of shit in an orange jumpsuit, wasting away in King’s Landing Penitentiary, who could attest to that.

Hiding his hand behind his back, Aegon made a gesture with his fingers. Sunfyre obediently barked. Aegon seized the excuse to look over at Sunfyre and, by extension, mum-to-be in Cannibal Jail beside him.

“What’s up, Sunny?” Aegon gave Sunfyre some well-deserved scratches. “Am I neglecting the lady? I sincerely apologize.” Aegon picked up mum-to-be, who wagged her tail as he carried her to Jacaera. “I try to give the new dogs extra attention when they first arrive. Make them feel safe and welcome,” he explained to Jacaera.

Jacaera’s face brightened as she gazed at mum-to-be. “Of course. That makes sense. She deserves a good home.”

Aegon stroked mum-to-be’s ears. “I won’t keep her forever. All the dogs are meant to be adopted out once I finish training them. I only get to keep Sunfyre—and maybe Cannibal if he keeps failing the training. I suspect he’s failing on purpose.”

He could tell that Jacaera was on the verge of making the request. It was on the tip of her tongue as she opened her mouth. But the request refused to fall from her lips.

That was alright. Aegon had plenty of time to continue chipping away at Jacaera’s defensive walls. “Mum-to-be likes you a lot. She missed you last night. When you’re getting to know the dogs, why don’t you spend extra time with her?” he suggested. “I think it’ll help her transition.”

Even if Aegon failed to win back Jacaera, he would make sure that mum-to-be claimed a place in her heart. Somebody ought to get a happy ending with Jacaera, even if he didn’t.

“I… Yes. I would be happy to.” Jacaera petted mum-to-be. When her hands brushed Aegon’s, she didn’t immediately pull them away. “Yes. I think we can make this work, Aegon.”

Then Jacaera whipped out a file from her bag, spread several papers on the table, and ordered Aegon to sign here, here, initial here, here, and sign and date here. Aegon tried to read what he was signing, but he gave up after the first paragraph of incomprehensible legalese.

“Thank you, Aegon.” Jacaera handed him a copy of the contract. “Now that you’ve signed the non-disclosure, I can inform you that my client is Alys Rivers.”

The paper wrinkled in Aegon’s hand when he laughed in surprise. “Really? Alys Rivers? From the Black Harren movies?”

“Yes. Are you a fan?”

“Eh. I thought the movies were predictable. But my brother was a huge fan.” Aegon was unable to hide his grin. The Black Harren franchise would have been utterly forgettable among the countless other trope-filled horror movies in existence—if it weren’t for Alys Rivers’ topless scenes. Her breasts had a cult following of their own, and Alys milked it (pun intended) with her suggestive product placement posts on Ravengram.

Teenaged Aemond had insisted that he was above such cheap entertainment. Aegon knew for a fact that his brother found the Black Harren movies titillating (pun also intended). Aemond was definitely a boob man.

“I could get an autograph for your brother,” Jacaera offered. She put the file back in her bag then smiled at Aegon—a real smile. “Thank you, Aegon. I mean it.”

Aegon smiled back. He had another vision of Jacaera getting married, but this time he was the groom, and they had Sunfyre and mum-to-be, neither of whom ever tried to eat any babies. The babies still wore spotless and perfect onesies.

Was he getting ahead of himself? Probably. But his family kept telling him he needed to be more ambitious. Granted, their idea of “ambition” involved a soulless corporate job that required bespoke suits and silk neckties, not getting back together with his ex-girlfriend from ten years ago. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Aegon rubbed his hands with genuine excitement. “Let’s get started. Come meet the dogs, Jace.”

Chapter Text

Voicemail Just Now Grandfather
Voicemail 6m14s Phone 7 minutes ago Grandfather
Missed Call Phone 15 minutes ago Grandfather
Missed Call Phone 22 minutes ago Grandfather
Missed Call Phone 36 minutes ago Grandfather
Missed Call

Aemond wasn’t charismatic. 

That had been a hard truth to absorb when he was younger (what with Aegon effortlessly charming everyone in a ten mile radius), but he’d adjusted—as he’d adjusted to everything else—and learned how to use a combination of intelligence and composure to get what he wanted instead. It was an alternative approach that served him well after losing his eye. Maybe he wasn’t as naturally likable as his brothers, but Aemond had presence. Presence could be more powerful than charisma, he’d discovered. Certainly it was more effective.

Most of the time.

It seemed his skills didn't translate well to social media. “I misstepped somewhere,” Aemond said to Vhagar.

Vhagar growled from his lap, unsympathetic to his measly human concerns, and pricked her claws into his thighs. 

“Sorry,” he said in reply, scratching her chin apologetically. All this Ravengram conversation review was interrupting their sacred half-hour of dedicated post-supper petting. He was supposed to be using both hands. “I’m trying to figure something out. Forgive me?”

His old girl rumbled, but leaned into his fingers. Aemond scrolled back up to the beginning of the chat. Again.

Well, that part wasn’t the problem. She’d agreed to his scheme, hadn’t she?

Given a bad situation that—judging by his family's rapid response—had the potential to get much worse, Aemond felt he’d developed a very practical solution to their dilemma. From where he was standing, blasting the truth to the Hightower Corp gossip chain would make things more uncomfortable, not less. (Oh, remember the time that random girl pretended Aemond was her boyfriend? Hey, Aemond, tell us the story again!) He’d never hear the end of it. And before long the debacle would draw Mother and Grandfather's renewed interference into his personal life, which was a headache he most emphatically did not need.

Then…once his siblings found out…which they would…

That didn’t bear thinking about.

With regards to Lucera, he shouldn't have cared how things turned out for her. This was her mess, after all. But Aemond had been a complete stranger at the Yule Market, and Lucera had clung to his hand anyway, her bright, fake smile practically begging him to help her. If he announced that it had all been a ruse she’d be right back where she started with Clement Celtigar’s unwanted advances.

He found he didn’t care for that prospect.

Yes. Taking her to the Yule party as an ordinary plus-one was a clean, simple answer. He’d considered it from multiple angles. It would work.

But it wasn’t a real date. Aemond did not have time in his life to pursue relationships, and he most certainly did not have time in his life to pursue relationships with hot-tempered women in handmade clothes with questionable product-pricing techniques and a malleable sense of honesty. It was critical to be upfront and direct on that subject, right from the beginning.

“In retrospect,” he admitted to his cat, “I may have over-explained.”

Vhagar regarded him with her large, luminous amber eyes…and then bit his hand. 

“Beast,” he said without heat, and resumed stroking her ears. “Point taken.”

“Now what was wrong with that?” he demanded aloud. 

(Vhagar didn’t even bother to open her eyes in response.)

Formal wear for a Hightower Corp evening event could run into four figures. Aemond’s business was to understand businesses; he could tell on sight whether someone was operating in the black or the red, and anyway, it didn’t take a financial genius to know that anyone who sold handmade stuffed animals in a local market wasn’t living a comfortable lifestyle. Lucera shouldn’t empty her bank account for a party he’d asked her to attend. It made no sense that she’d taken offense.

At least she liked cats.

Aemond scrolled back to the top of the Ravengram app, ready to go over the conversation for the ninth time, when he noticed he had another message from a different user.

Oh. Wonderful.

Aemond was going to kill Clement Celtigar.

Possible. The list of women who thought so seemed to be growing by the hour.

He took a few moments to tap on Cassandra’s profile and scroll through her posts. They seemed—to him, anyway—decidedly banal: duck-face selfies, plates of haute cuisine, her family’s prize-winning show dogs, sunsets that may or may not have been generated by AI. None of that meant much to him one way or another; how Cassandra spent her time was her own business. More relevant to their current conversation was the fact that (as expected) she'd had “company” in many of the pictures.

Ravengram was not worth the trouble.

Lucera was already at the diner when Aemond arrived on Saturday evening. She’d set herself up in a two-person booth; a red glow from the fluorescent Gyles’ Pies sign behind the counter reflected off her dark hair, which had been freed from its knit cap to bounce freely in every direction. She was steadily working her way through what looked like a five pound piece of lemon meringue pie. “You’re punctual,” she said by way of greeting.

“You’re early.”

“It’s colder than the Wall out there and I’ve been at my booth for ten straight hours. You’d get inside as fast as you could, too.” She looked up at him with her wide purple eyes, and Aemond realized with a jolt that if he took two steps forward, she’d be able to rest her forehead against his stomach. Her hair was within easy reach of his hand. Her breath would warm his belt buckle.

It was not an unpleasant image at all, and that…was an issue. Lucera was as frighteningly lovely under halogen lights with a spot of lemon meringue at the corner of her mouth as she had been wearing a fluorescent blue cap and yelling at him about the price of knitted dragons. On the other end of a semi-hostile Ravengram direct message, she could be just another tiresome problem for Aemond to solve; in person, Lucera had an entirely different effect, and if he didn’t get past that immediately then none of this was going to work.

Oblivious to his increasingly scattered thoughts (at least he hoped so), Lucera said, “Listen, before we get started, I just want to tell you again that I am really, really sorry I dragged you into this mess. I mean it. If it will be easier for you to just tell everyone the truth, then you should do it. You don’t know me and you don’t owe me any favors—”

“I accept.”

She blinked. “You accept what?”

“Your apology.” Something about how the light was glinting off her hair had Aemond feeling unusually charitable.

“Oh. Right. Great.” Lucera seemed thrown off her stride by his reaction, though he wasn’t sure why. She also seemed to be glancing somewhere in the neighborhood of his hands. (He hadn’t actually reached for her, had he? Gods, he hoped not.) She nibbled on her lower lip for a moment, then said, “How’s your cat?”

“She’s well.” Aemond stepped back and slid into the opposite side of the booth, which was a safe distance away. He was an adult man, not some teenager ruled by hormones, and they had a problem to solve. “She only yowled once during her shots tonight.”

Lucera winced. “Oh, poor kitty,” she said sympathetically. “What does she have?”

“It'd be quicker to list what she doesn’t have.” Just in case Lucera got the wrong impression—what if she was expected an invalid and instead ran into…well…Vhagar?—Aemond added, “None of it slows her down, though. She’s tough.”

“I’d think so.” Lucera dug into another bite of pie. “Vhagar is the goddess of war, right?”

She remembered Vhagar’s name. Even though he’d only mentioned it once. (Had she reviewed their messages to the point of memorization, too?) “You know your Valyrian mythology.”

“Yeah, I went through a phase when I was a kid. Did you?”

“I never came out of it,” he admitted.

Lucera appraised him for a moment. “Yeah, I can believe that,” she said, and Aemond couldn’t tell if she considered that a good thing or not. “The first stuffie I ever crocheted was named Arrax. He looked more like a potato than a cat, but in my defense, I was eight.” She looked thoughtful. The smudge of meringue seemed bright white next to the pink of her lips. “I bet I still have him somewhere.”

Aemond hummed in acknowledgement, because the only other response on his tongue was If Arrax is under your bed I’ll be happy to help you find him and that would be grossly inappropriate.

(It was past time for him to develop a new physical relationship with some suitably disinterested partner, instead of just jerking off in the shower to clear his mind and his balls when necessary. That was the problem here. He’d work on finding someone after the holidays.)

They didn’t say much for a good few minutes, which was long enough for Lucera to finish her pie and for Aemond to order a cup of dangerously burnt coffee. (When it scalded his tongue, he imagined pouring it onto his lap instead; that took care of that.) But just before the silence became uncomfortable, she blurted out, “I still can’t believe this happened. All the people in King’s Landing, and I had to grab someone that Clem recognized.” She scowled. “If I’d known you two worked together I would have just ducked under the table and kept my mouth shut.”

“I never thought you set us up for a week-long charade on purpose.”

“Exactly.”

“Just a five minute one.” He hid his smirk behind a sip of coffee. “Ten, at most. Right?”

Lucera dropped her fork and hid her face in her hands. “Yes, yes, okay, okay,” she mumbled from behind her fingers. “I know I’m impulsive. Don’t rub it in.”

She seemed genuinely embarrassed, which hadn’t been Aemond’s intention at all. “If we execute next Friday properly then this should all be resolved to everyone’s satisfaction,” he said, trying for reassurance.

“Right.” She took a deep breath. (Aemond did not notice how today’s Ugly Yule jumper—“I’M ON THE NICE LIST”—stretched across her chest.) “Right. Well. Let’s do it properly then.” Lucera pushed her crumb-strewn plate aside, then heaved an enormous canvas bag from beneath the table; Aemond watched in fascination as she rummaged through several balls of yarn, what looked like a hot glue gun, and a host of potentially lethal needles and hooks before finally fishing a tablet out from the depths. A tap and a swipe brought up a document with the header FAKE RELATIONSHIP in large, blocky font. When she noticed his observation, she said defensively, “I thought we should have a knowledge base of what we’ve agreed on.”

He took out his phone and showed her his own app. “I made a spreadsheet,” he informed her.

Lucera grinned. It was the first real smile she’d given him since they met; Aemond knew because it was so different from the others. And the smudge of meringue was still in the corner of her mouth.

Aemond looked down to his phone before he did something as foolish as smile in return. “So, we have to be in a relationship,” he said, clearing his throat. “You implied as much to Celtigar, which he then stated as fact to my coworkers.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Clem. Where do you work, anyway?”

“Hightower Corp.” Aemond watched as Lucera painstakingly typed out the name into her tablet. The keyboard took up nearly half the screen. To be helpful, he said aloud: “H-I-G-H—”

“I know how to spell it,” she replied, nettled. “It just takes a little time, is all.”

Oh. Probably she was near-sighted, or had astigmatism. “You should purchase prescription lenses instead of just enlarging your font. They can be expensive but it’s not worth ruining your eyes long-term.” He should know.

“It’s dyslexia.” Lucera glanced up, and clearly she did not like whatever she saw in his expression, because she adjusted the tablet’s folio so that he couldn’t see the screen. “You thought I was stupid, didn’t you.”

“No,” he said quickly.

“You did. From the way I text.”

“No! Just…”

“Just what?”

She was right. He was terrible at this. “Informal,” he said, as neutrally as he could. This wasn’t going to help the situation. “Stylized.”

“You're telling me you thought my spelling was shitty on purpose?”

“Yes.” More or less.

“Hmph.” Lucera returned to typing. “If I spent all my time trying to be as perfect as you on my texts and DMs, every conversation would be over before I’d even joined in. I’m careful when it matters.” She paused. “But I suppose thinking I’m being cutesy is better than thinking I’m dumb. Not much better, though.”

Aemond took another sip of burnt coffee and tried not to think of what kind of emojis Helaena would be sending him if she knew how this conversation was going.

“Anyway,” Lucera continued, apparently willing to let him off the hook (or at least move on), “you work at Hightower Corp. That’s in the shiny new building on Shepherd’s Way, right?”

“It is. You know it?”

“I do.” She didn’t elaborate. “And your family works there too?”

“Yes, my grandfather and my uncle. My grandfather is CEO.”

Lucera tapped on the tablet again. “Okay, so, we can’t have been dating for long,” she said. “Or they would have known about me before Clem shot his mouth off.”

Probably not, but Aemond didn’t correct her. “A month, perhaps?”

“A month sounds right.” More taps. “That’s long enough for you to bring me to the party, but not so long that it will look suspicious if they ask questions I can’t answer. What about the rest of your family?”

“You wouldn’t have met them.”

“But I’d still know something about them, right?”

“Not really.” In this fantasy scenario where he wanted to keep her—where she wanted to be kept—he'd avoid sharing her with anyone else for as long as possible. “I’d still be trying not to scare you off.”

Lucera blinked. “Oh,” she said, surprised. “That bad?”

“Not bad, exactly.” Lucera tilted her head to the side, and the way her wide eyes shone with wordless curiosity made him want to elaborate. At least a little. “I’m the third of four. Two brothers, one sister. My parents are both alive. It’s my maternal grandfather and uncle at Hightower. That’s all I would have shared by this point. They’re…” Aemond reached for the right word. “Complex.”

She made a commiserating noise. “I understand complex,” she said wearily. “I’ve got sisters.”

“Sisters?” That didn’t sound so bad. He’d trade Daeron and Aegon for two more Helaenas in a heartbeat.

“Oh, yeah. Full sisters. Half-sisters. Stepsisters. Plus my mother, and my grandparents, and my stepfather…” She trailed off, then coughed slightly. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t know about all that yet. I wouldn’t want to scare you off, either.”

Aemond swallowed back a protest that it would take a lot to scare him off. If he’d gotten past near-impalement on knitting needles, he’d certainly not have turned craven at a pack of sisters.

Besides, despite her warnings, Lucera struck him as the kind of person who could only be produced by a largely conventional, generally undramatic family. A grandmother in a checkered apron who baked sugar cookies and crocheted heirloom doilies. Parents who, recognizing their differences, chose amicable divorce over the slow poison of a dysfunctional marriage. A stepfather with a dad-joke for every occasion and a garden designed to attract pollinators. Sisters busy producing a whole legion of nieces and nephews to knit tiny hats for.

And one day soon, no doubt, she would meet a cheerful, conventionally attractive, inexplicably likable man who captivated her with easy smiles and stupid songs. Who helped cover her Yule festival booth and charmed all her customers into buying expensive stuffed animals. Whenever he messed up he would know exactly how to coax her into giving him another chance. Then they’d marry, settle down into their own equally pollinator-friendly home, adopt a bunch of obnoxious dogs, and get to work creating their own legion of children in tiny knitted hats.

A charming vision, certainly. 

Instead of throwing up, Aemond scrolled through his spreadsheet of all the details necessary for crafting a fake relationship with a girl who didn’t like him very much.

“Do you spell Targaryen the usual way?” Lucera asked, before he could inquire as to her family name. Apparently their lists were running in similar directions. “Or are you one of those R-E-I-O-N Targs?”

Aemond frowned. “I don’t recall telling you my last name was Targaryen."

Lucera shot him a patronizing look, one eyebrow raised. “Your Ravengram handle is AemTarg,” she said.

Alright, Cassandra may have had a point. “It’s the usual spelling. Is this the part where you make a tasteless joke about inbreeding? Because I assure you, I’ve already heard them all.”

“No, I have too many Targaryens in my own family to get away with that. Besides…” She sighed deeply. “I’m a Velaryon.”

Ah. He thought he’d recognized a faint accent. “So you’re from Driftmark.”

Lucera rolled her eyes. “Not all Velaryons are from Driftmark,” she told him.

“But you are.”

“...Yes.”

He smirked, making a note on his app. “Usual spelling?” he asked innocently. Lucera huffed an affirmative, so Aemond checked off the item on his list and moved on. “I would know how long Blue Mermaid Knits has been in business.”

“You would? Why?”

“It’s the first thing I would have asked.”

“You have weird dating priorities,” she grumbled. “I started Mermaid two years ago. It’s been my full-time job since January.”

“How do you manage your sales? Storefront? Distribution to other retailers?”

“Pop-up booths and online orders through Craftsy.”

“Any other employees?”

“No. Is this a job interview or a date?” 

"Neither," he said, turning these details over in his mind. New business; self-managed sales; not enough profit to hire associates. Under no circumstances would Aemond allow her to purchase her own dress for this event. He’d buy a pair of socks and leave her a two-thousand dragon tip if necessary.

Lucera motioned to the waitress for her own coffee, and the way her wrist moved clued Aemond into the fact that she was annoyed for some reason. “What about you?” she demanded. “What do you do? Unless your grandfather just hired you to sit at a desk and look pretty.”

Aemond opened his mouth. Then closed it again. “Hightower Corp is an investment management firm,” he said after a moment. “I work in acquisitions. That means—”

She snorted. “I know what it means," she told him, acid dripping from each word. "You buy companies in trouble, then suck the life out of them until they're shriveled husks left on the side of the road.”

“Not quite." He’d heard that description from his siblings often enough. (Helaena had in fact used the exact sucking the life out phrasing, though she’d referenced aphids in her analogy.) “I investigate businesses in need of external funding, and arrange to deliver them that funding once we’ve outlined some mutually agreed-upon goals.”

“Uh-huh. And if they don’t meet Hightower’s goals?”

“I provide a series of suggestions for how they may do so.”

“Yeah, I bet.” She swallowed a gulp of her coffee. “Tell me, how many of these businesses come out the other side in better shape than when they started?”

“Very few,” he replied coolly. No point in dissembling. It didn’t matter what she thought of him, after all. After Friday they'd never see each other again. “Any company asking for this level of investment is already bleeding out on the battlefield. I help them acknowledge the reality of their predicament, that’s all.”

“You make it sound like you’re at war.”

“Business is war.”

“Only because people make it that way!” Lucera slammed down her mug. Coffee sloshed onto the table. “It drives me crazy,” she moaned, digging her hands into her hair, and Aemond was a little shocked by the depth of feeling behind it. “Why does anyone choose to spend their lives doing this when they don’t have to?”

“I’m good at it.”

“If you’re good at eating companies alive and spitting out their bones, you’ve got to be good at a lot of other stuff, too.” She looked up at him, suddenly all hopeful earnestness. It was a little alarming. “Deconstructing large-scale financials is not easy. You have to be really talented to do it well. So why don’t you use all that skill to work on something less, you know…”

“No, I don’t know. Less what?”

She gestured helplessly. “Less…heartless?”

That should not have hurt. “Hightower Corp is my grandfather’s legacy,” Aemond said, making sure there was not a hint of emotion in his tone. It wasn’t hard. He’d had lots of practice. “That means something to me, even if it doesn’t mean much to anyone else.”

(His siblings could go their own ways; they could say he’d sold his soul if it made them feel better about abandoning their obligations. Aemond Targaryen didn’t shirk his duty. And he didn’t apologize for it to strangers, no matter how beautiful.)

Lucera continued to hold his gaze for a long moment. Then she glanced away and visibly deflated. “I’m sorry,” she said, chagrined. “That wasn’t any of my business. And I get it—the pressure of the family legacy thing, I mean. It’s just, uh…it’s a sensitive topic for me, is all.” She tapped out another few notes on her tablet, and Aemond suspected she was typing just to have something to do with her fingers. “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

There were many times in Aemond’s life that he had enjoyed making other people uncomfortable. This was not one of them. “I owe you a few explanations,” he said, hoping he sounded a little warmer. “That’s the point of this meeting, after all.” Lucera’s lips twitched slightly, so he continued, “But if you start evangelizing on the evils of private equity at this event it’s going to be a very short evening.”

“I’ll keep that in my back pocket,” she said, tension leaving her shoulders. “Just in case we have to make a quick escape.” She cleared her throat and scrolled through her app. “Speaking of which, tell me more about the party. Where is it?”

“In Hayford, at The Casterly. It starts at seven and runs till two. I’ll be expected to stay until the end, but we’ll return to King’s Landing afterwards.”

“Oh. It’s not in town?” 

“No.”

Lucera gave him a quick side-eye as she added more notes. “You do know I’ll be telling everyone that if they don’t hear from me once an hour then they should immediately call the local watch, right?”

“Everyone? How far do you want this deception to spread?”

“Okay, not everyone. My roommate. She’s one of my stepsisters. And if she suspects something, she’ll tell my stepfather.” Lucera smirked. “You wouldn’t like that.”

Aemond pictured a pollinator garden. “It won’t be necessary,” he told her, because I’m not afraid of stepfathers wouldn’t reassure her in the slightest. And she had a legitimate point; they barely knew each other, and he was expecting her to drive out of town with him to a party where the only other person she’d know would be the lowlife she was trying to avoid. “Do you want a reference?”

“Yeah, actually, I would.”

“This is my sister,” Aemond said, writing down Helaena’s number on a spare napkin and sliding it over to Lucera with a quick prayer to the Seven that this wasn’t an enormous mistake. “If you have any concerns about my trustworthiness, you can check with her.” He paused. “She can be a little…perplexing, at times. Please don’t disrupt her routine too much.”

“I won’t,” promised Lucera. She took the napkin and tucked it into her pocket. “And thank you. I trust sisters way more than uncles and grandfathers. Now, exactly how formal is this thing?”

“Black tie.” Lucera whistled, and he added, “I’ll send you some online etiquette tutorials.” Hightower Corp events were notoriously exacting; he didn’t want her to feel unprepared or embarrassed. “Also some addresses of appropriate fashion boutiques. Choose whatever you want, and I’ll GoldPal the money to you afterwards.”

“I already told you—”

“Or,” he continued, overriding her objections, “if you don’t have a card with a high enough limit, just let me know what you want and I’ll place the order myself.”

Lucera regarded him for a long moment, and Aemond could tell she was debating whether or not to continue fighting him on this. She could if she wanted, but he had no intention of giving way. “Well…what if I just wear the dress once and then return it?” she said, eyes narrowed, tone innocent. “Can’t I do that?”

Aemond winced. “That would be in poor taste,” he explained to her.

“Right,” she said, drawing out the word slowly. “Thank you for informing me. I wouldn’t have known otherwise.” She shook her head slightly, then scrolled up on her tablet. “Moving on to how we met,” she said with the tones of someone closing the door on an unpleasant subject, “there was a craft fair by the Dragonpit at the end of November. I had a stall on game days. You were doing early Yule shopping and stopped by my booth.”

He blinked. “You’ve already thought about this.”

“It’s the most important part,” she pointed out. “And the part people are most likely to ask about. We have to get it right. Anyway, you bought some gloves and thought I was pretty, so you asked me out.”

“That’s it?”

”That’s it. Simple, clean, and close enough to what really happened that we shouldn’t get tripped up.”

That was true. But it also didn’t sound like him at all. “I’m supposed to tell people I asked you out, two minutes after meeting you, just because I thought you were pretty?”

“Well, you can’t exactly say I liked her tits and thought if I bought her dinner I’d get to see them, can you.” Lucera motioned to the waitress for more coffee as he sputtered. “Not to your grandfather, anyway. But then you realized I had a sparkling personality to go along with the cup size, and so here we are.”

“I don’t think it would have happened quite like that,” he protested, though the knowledge that she wasn’t entirely off the mark was mortifying. “And that doesn’t explain why you would have said yes, especially if you thought I was only interested in your…” He fumbled for the right word, realizing with horror that his face was getting hot. “Endowments.”

“Oh, you bought a pair of mittens and I saw your platinum IronCard. That was enough for me.”

Right. “Yes, that would make sense.” And was probably also very close to what really happened, come to think of it.

Lucera’s eyebrows almost climbed off her forehead. “I was kidding, Aemond,” she said. “And even if I weren’t you can't think I'd say that to your friends, let alone your family.”

He took a sip of coffee. It didn't matter. “That's the explanation they're most likely to believe.”

She stared at him. “Sheesh. You weren't kidding about complex, were you,” she muttered, stabbing at her tablet again. “You thought I was pretty. I thought you were handsome. We had dinner and liked each other. That’s it.”

“I’m not sure they'd believe that part, either.”

A silence stretched.

When Lucera spoke again it couldn’t be more clear that she was choosing her words extremely carefully. “If we’d only just met in November,” she said, studying her screen with more concentration than it probably deserved, “would...would I know about what happened to your eye?”

Ah. Yes. That.

“You might not have told me yet,” she added quickly. “Not so soon. It’s completely believable that you would have kept the details to yourself.”

Aemond took a breath, then removed his glasses. “It was a mugging,” he told her. She didn’t need the whole story. “I was seventeen. Wrong place, wrong time.”

He kept his expression neutral while waiting for her reaction. (It wasn't difficult, not after ten years.) The initial cut hadn’t been clean; the staph infection that followed only made it worse. Later surgeries reduced adjacent scarring but they couldn't make the eyelids move or close, nor did they help with the blackened flesh around the socket. The end result wasn't grotesque, exactly, but there was a reason he wore tinted glasses except when he needed to put someone on their back foot. No one would call his face a handsome one.

Lucera didn't flinch, which he appreciated. Her expression was nearly as neutral as his own...though for a moment, he imagined he'd seen a spark of interest in her gaze. “And would I know why you picked a blue marble instead of something more realistic?”

“It’s a sapphire, actually.” Lab-created (even Viserys couldn’t afford a real stone of that size) but still wildly expensive, especially after all the necessary work had been done to make it functional for its purpose. But at that moment in the hospital his parents had been ready to give him anything he asked for, and a gem for a prosthetic was the most spiteful thing his pain-addled teenage mind could think of. “Realism is for other people. I’m not going to pretend I have two eyes just to make strangers more comfortable.”

He noticed that Lucera didn’t add any of what he’d said to her tablet. Nor had she gotten up and left. That was nice.

And then—and then—she did exactly the right thing.

She gave him a wry smile. “Well,” she said, “at least it wasn’t your cat.”

He burst out laughing. “Vhagar would never,” he assured her, tension broken. “Not to me, anyway. Other people...”

“How did you get her?”

“She was living in the alley behind my building,” he said. “My brother was going to take her, but he’s a dog person, so she needed a home. Want to see a picture?” He handed her his phone without waiting for an answer.

(He’d never had a pet before. Not even a fish. But then one evening Aemond had been coming home with some sushi takeout and there she was, next to the dumpster: a matted ball of pure hissing rage chomping into a carton of rotten eggs. He’d told her to calm down, and she did. Then he offered her his spicy salmon roll and moments later she’d been rubbing her scabby, flea-infested body against the leg of his thousand-dragon wool suit. He’d contacted Aegon, since Aegon was the undisputed expert on strays; his brother showed up the next day with a carrier and a ziplock bag full of kibble, no questions asked, ready to take on a homeless cat even if he’d only ever worked with dogs before. It was the most Aemond had ever respected him.

But what if this cat didn’t like dogs? Aemond couldn’t get the thought out of his head, so he’d followed them to Dragonstone on the next ferry, and arrived at Aegon’s shelter in time to see his cat leap on the back of some frivolous brown animal and sink her claws into its shoulders. Aegon—bleeding from multiple wounds—insisted the attack had been unprovoked, but Aemond knew better. His cat just wasn’t suited for the kind of ill-mannered company Aegon kept. The next day Vhagar came home with him, and that was that.)

“You can see why I named her Vhagar,” he said proudly. “She looks like a goddess of war, right?”

Lucera stared at his phone. Then she looked up at him. Then she looked back at the phone. Up at him again. “You give this cat medicine every night?” she asked. “Pills and injections?”

“Yes. And in the morning. It all has to be carefully timed.”

“And she doesn’t like it?”

“Naturally.”

“But you do it anyway.”

“Of course I do. Why?”

Lucera handed him his phone back, a faint smile on her face. “Nothing,” she said. “You just…never know about people, I guess.”

“Is that good?”

The smile widened. “It is. Come on, let’s order more pie.”

He and Lucera stayed at the diner until the staff kicked them out at eleven, and later, lying in bed, he wasn’t even sure how they’d spent the time. Only that it was the longest he'd talked to another person outside the office in maybe the last five years.

And if he’d remained awake until half-past two, mind spinning from all the processed sugar, contemplating exactly how inappropriate it would be to send her another message on Ravengram in the middle of the night (right up until Vhagar solved the dilemma for him by sitting her unexpressed anal glands directly on his phone), then that was no one’s business but his.

Chapter Text

Ten Years Earlier

The September afternoon was unreasonably hot when bells rang to signal the end of classes at Valaena Velaryon Preparatory School for Girls. Jacaera wiped sweat from her forehead as she sorted through her textbooks at her locker, deliberating which to bring home with her that day. In the end, she decided to stuff all of her textbooks into her oversized bookbag.

University applications would open soon, so she needed to keep up her grades. She needed to get into King’s Landing University. Most of her family had attended the school. But good grades alone were insufficient for KLU’s demanding standards. Jacaera also needed extracurriculars: student body president, equestrian club, debate team, High Valyrian National Honors Society, yearbook, volunteer tutoring for children from disadvantaged backgrounds.

In the worst case scenario, her grandfather Corlys would have no qualms about buying a new dorm building to ensure she got into KLU. But Jacaera knew that wasn’t right. If she took a seat at KLU from some other hard-working student, she wanted to be sure that she’d earned it.

Her bookbag was bursting at the seams when she finally crammed the last notebook inside. Staggering beneath its weight, Jacaera hurried outside. The activity shuttle was waiting to take her and the other members of the equestrian club to the stables, which were located just outside of Spicetown’s town limits. During the commute, Jacaera was scandalously distracted by the newest school gossip that the other girls were exchanging. (“Barba Ruthermont-Velaryon was running around with an international student for five months. Then he went back to Lys, and now she has to go live with her grandparents in Gulltown for the next four months. If you know what I mean…”)

They were still chattering about Barba Ruthermont-Velaryon’s fall from grace when the shuttle arrived at the stables. As they all ambled toward the changing rooms so they could change out of their school uniforms, one of the riding instructors pulled Jacaera aside. “I’m afraid that Vermax cannot be ridden today, Miss Velaryon.”

“Is something wrong with Vermax?” Jacaera asked anxiously.

“A respiratory infection. Nothing major, but we want her to rest. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Miss Velaryon.”

Jacaera was allowed to visit and pet Vermax, who was her usual sweet self despite her ailment. After a few moments, she bade goodbye to her horse, stroking her chestnut and white coat one last time, then headed toward the activity shuttle. Maybe she could return home early and spend the extra time studying.

To her dismay, the shuttle had already departed. It wouldn’t be back until the other girls finished training with their horses in two hours. There were benches outside where Jacaera could spread out her books, but the mid-afternoon sun was blazing. She went to the stables’ office to ask if she could study there for the time being, only to discover that the air conditioning was broken; the office felt like a steam bath. The changing rooms were no better, and they reeked of sweat.

Jacaera took out her phone to call her grandparents’ driver, but the signal was predictably terrible for this part of Blackwater Bay. She was about to return to the office when she spotted the bus stop in front of the stables.

Although Jacaera had never taken a public bus before, she had taken her school shuttle plenty of times. Buses and shuttles were similar. There was a bus stop right outside her grandparents’ gated community (which was mostly used by people working for the rich residents rather than by the rich residents themselves). The bus would be faster than waiting for the driver to come all the way out here to pick her up.

In fact, the bus was approaching at that very moment. Jacaera’s lumpy bookbag bounced against her back as she hurried over, just in time for the bus to slow to a halt. Its pneumatic doors groaned open, sounding like an old man who was relieved to finally sit down. The scruffy driver stared impassively at the windshield as he chewed on a toothpick.

Jacaera took a step forward, then hesitated as she recalled the newest Black Harren horror film that she’d watched with her friends. All the characters had been trapped on a bus with a serial killer. But buses were safe, weren’t they?

As she hesitated, the driver sighed loudly. “Are you getting on or not? You’re gonna make me late for my next stop.”

Embarrassed, Jacaera boarded the bus.

The driver loudly tapped the fare machine. When she took out her credit card, he said, “Card reader’s broken.”

“Oh.” Jacaera peeked inside her wallet. The smallest bill she had was a fifty. “Um…do you have change?”

He gawked at her for a long moment before sighing again. “Just sit down.” Then, muttering under his breath: “Rich kids. Pah.”

Mortification flooded her cheeks as she hurriedly took a seat. There were a handful of other passengers, who paid no attention to her. Jacaera decided to mind her own business too. She took a book out of her bag, A Long Summer Night’s Dream by Willem Spearshaker, and started her literature class reading.

She was so engrossed in the text that when someone tapped her shoulder, she jumped and yelped. The driver rolled his eyes as he withdrew his hand. “End of the line, kid. You need to get out.”

Jacaera looked out the window. All she could see were warehouses. “Where are we?”

“Bus depot at Hull.”

“Hull?” she exclaimed. “I thought the bus was going to Spicetown!” She’d lived on Driftmark for most of her life (other than the one year in Duskendale after Rhaenyra and Daemon married and attempted to blend their families, before Jacaera was able to escape back to Driftmark and live with her grandparents during high school), but she had never been to Hull before. It wasn’t as nice or safe as Spicetown.

“You should’ve gotten on the bus going the other direction. C’mon, get out. My shift’s over.” The driver rudely ushered her off the bus and pointed at a rusty, lopsided bus stop sign. “Stand there and wait. The bus you want will be here in about an hour.”

“An hour?” she protested, but the driver was already walking away.

Unsure what else to do, Jacaera shuffled over to the bus stop sign. There was a route map, but most of it had been spray painted over with phallic imagery. She checked her phone: no signal again, other than for emergency services.

This didn’t constitute an emergency, but maybe the local watch would let her wait at the nearest station? They might even offer her a ride back to Spicetown if she informed them who her grandfather was. Everybody on Driftmark knew of Corlys Velaryon, founder and president of the Spicemart corporate empire. Usually she tried not to ride on her grandfather’s coattails, but in this case—

A loud clatter made her whirl around, startled. Farther down the street, in the opening of an alleyway, were two skeletally thin men. Their clothes, which were so threadbare that they would serve better as rags, hadn’t been washed in a while. Their faces were frightfully gaunt, and their eyes seemed half-dead as they stared at her.

Jacaera held her bookbag like a shield in front of her. She regretted not accepting Daemon’s offer to give her a taser last Yule. Did the warehouses have a security booth nearby? She could just calmly walk away, find a security guard, and borrow their phone. Her grandparents’ driver would come find her, and she would go home, and this would become a brief bad memory that she would recount as a grand adventure one day when—

One of the men clambered up to his feet and began stumbling her way. As he staggered forward, a syringe fell from his hand and clattered on the pavement.

Jacaera let out a terrified squeak. She turned and rushed away in the opposite direction, praying that she would find a cafe, or a shop, or—or—or somebody who didn’t look like the exact sort of drug-addled predator that her school warned students about during their annual safety assemblies!

Her horrible sense of direction failed her. She felt trapped in the maze of warehouses, alleys, and dumpsters. Unsteady footsteps continued following her. She didn’t dare look around.

Her phone was still in her hand, but she was afraid that calling for help would slow her down. Surely the bus depot had employees roaming around? If she could just find them—

“Hey, don’t panic. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Despite the warning, Jacaera almost screamed in panic when another man appeared in front of her, as if out of nowhere. He held up his hands in a pacifying gesture and smiled at her.

As she stared at him, her chest heaving, he pushed back his hood. He was young, maybe a year or two older than her. His untidy silver hair reached his shoulders, and he had a piercing in his left ear. He wore a KLU zip-up and gym shorts, and his scuffed sneakers were from a nice brand that she recognized.

“If you go that way,” he said, pointing, “you’ll find a cheap deli. Their sandwiches are crap, but their fries are excellent. They’ll let you wait inside if you buy something.”

Jacaera’s feet turned in the direction that he indicated, but then she stopped. Should she trust him? What if it was a trap? What if the men chasing her were his friends?

“I know you’re probably—hey, scram! Yeah, I’m talking to you. Fuck off!” His lip curled menacingly as he glared over her shoulder.

When Jacaera looked around, her pursuers were slinking away into the nearest alley. Her grip tightened on the straps of her bookbag. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

His expression softened, and he smiled again. “Come on. You deserve some fries after all that.”

As promised, there was a deli just around the corner. He held open the door for her and let her walk inside first. Although the sandwich fillings seemed past their best-by date, the smells from the fryer were heavenly. Her rescuer bought two cherry sodas and a big tray of fries to share.

“My mum would murder me if she found out I let a girl pay,” he said, waving away the cash she tried to give him. “I get bad grades? She grounds me. I stay out past curfew? She grounds me. I give my brother a black eye because we’re fighting over the video game controller? She grounds me. I let a girl pay for food? She goes straight to filicide.”

Jacaera let out a shaky laugh as she relaxed her grip on her bookbag. Her rescuer smiled, picked up the fries and drinks, and motioned for her to sit at a booth.

Although Jacaera tried to eat healthy, the fries were impossible to resist. She gobbled a dozen of them with shameful haste. Cringing, she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“I figured. Just got out of school?” He nodded at her uniform.

“Yes.” For some reason, she felt compelled to add, “I’m in my last year. I’m applying to universities soon. KLU is my top choice, actually. Are you a student there?”

“I was for a year.” He shrugged. “My family wanted me to go, but being a student just isn’t my thing. So now I’m taking a break and figuring out what I want to do.”

Jacaera nodded in understanding. People took leaves of absence from school all the time. Then she remembered her manners. “Thank you for the fries. And for your help. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there.”

He flashed her a brilliant, white smile that made her stomach tingle. “Always a pleasure to help a pretty lady in distress.”

She ducked her head and sipped her soda to hide her blush. Now that she was no longer terrified out of her wits, she could get a better look at his face. He was handsome, albeit tired, judging by his red eyes and pallor. Beautiful violet irises, despite the bags beneath his eyes. As he ate a fry, she watched him lick his lips and suck the salt from his fingers.

When she realized she was staring, she sat back in her chair, remembering her manners. “I’m Jace,” she blurted.

He looked up and smiled that tingle-inducing smile again. “I’m Aegon.”

Now

Grey Ghost was a shy thing who tried to hide his massive body behind the coffee table when Aegon introduced him to Jacaera. Dreamfyre and Tessarion gladly accepted her pets and compliments about how pretty they were. Cannibal was…vocal, to put it politely.

Sunfyre was Aegon’s dog, never to be adopted out like the others. His natural expression, which Aegon called his “derpy” face, made him appear happy by default. He could get rambunctious, especially when Grey Ghost attempted to encroach on what Sunfyre deemed as “his” territory (usually that was Aegon’s lap; both dogs were much too large to be lapdogs, although neither seemed to care about this size limitation). But a single word or gesture from Aegon was enough to make Sunfyre sit down and gaze at his owner in adoration.

All the dogs were wonderful—even Cannibal—but Jacaera had a preference for the Cavalier Queen Alysanne Spaniel. She cuddled with her dog, whose chestnut and white fur was gloriously shiny now that she was clean, as they watched Aegon and the other dogs engage in playtime. Periodically, Sunfyre padded over to curiously sniff her dog, who sniffed him back. Sometimes he would sit quietly next to them for a minute, but he always hastened back to Aegon’s side before long.

Aegon was very invested in the dogs’ playtime. He played games of tug with them. He raced them up and down the stairs. He crawled around with them on the floor. He had a “doggy dance” playlist (which had a lot of Jacaera’s favorite songs from high school) and waltzed, bopped, and pranced around with the dogs while they gleefully howled off-key.

Jacaera’s interest was especially piqued when Aegon picked up Cannibal and used the dachshund as a weight while doing squats and push-ups. Dogs were useful for strength training, after all. She was no longer confused about how The Abs came into being.

Lunchtime came quicker than she expected. Jacaera’s stomach growled as she attempted to brush dog hair off her clothes. It was a futile effort, although she wasn’t as upset about the mess as she usually would be. “I should go back to the Dragonmont and file the papers we signed,” she said.

Aegon handed her a lint roller. “You can borrow my computer if you want. I’ll take the dogs out for their midday walk so you get some privacy while you work. Then maybe we can grab lunch at The Dragon and the Egg? The big pub in the square? Their fries are excellent.”

When Jacaera met his eyes, she knew he was also thinking about their first meeting. He smiled, and even though it had been ten years, the same tingles formed in her stomach.

She wanted so badly to say yes. She wanted to know everything that had happened in the past ten years, whether he really had gotten better, as he appeared to be. But she reminded herself of the advice that she gave to all her clients: Don’t make important decisions while you’re emotional. Usually her advice was given in the context of controversial social media posts, but it was the same principle.

Jacaera didn’t want to reject Aegon out of hand, though. So she settled on a compromise. “Why don’t we meet for dinner instead? And since it’s a business dinner, I can expense it.” They were business associates now. She could have a friendly, harmless dinner with a business associate.

“Yeah, we can do dinner. But I’ll pay,” Aegon said stubbornly.

“Aegon, I’m not really paying for it. It’s a free meal from my firm which has entirely too much money.” She paused then ventured to joke, “So don’t worry about your mother chasing you down for letting a girl pay.”

Aegon’s lips twitched. He relented. “Fine. But I insist on buying you something at the festival.”

“The festival?” Jacaera shook her head. “I’m here for work, not the festival.”

“The festival is work,” Aegon argued. “If you go with me, you’re building rapport on behalf of your client. See? Work.”

“I’m not sure my boss would agree.”

Aegon’s smirk turned sly. “They rent out pretty medieval gowns you can wear around the festival. And there will be bards singing old-timey songs.”

Oh, that was unfair. He knew she loved the big flowing dresses and romantic ballads! Jacaera had always wanted to attend Dragonstone’s Medieval Yule Festival, but there were too many family obligations around the holidays. Then she started working at Strong Associates, and there was no chance she could take the time off to go.

But now she was here, because of work. She wouldn’t be able to get much done on her laptop, not with the terrible wifi. What else could she do while sitting around in her tiny room at the Dragonmont? Maybe she should work on writing her Valerion fic. She didn’t want to disappoint her readers.

On the other hand, going out to the actual historical village with its actual medieval festival would be more fun than just writing about imaginary medieval scenes on her tablet. And she really did want to wear a big flowing dress.

“I will consider it,” Jacaera conceded.

Aegon offered to walk with her back to the Dragonmont. He leashed all the dogs except mum-to-be, who was too pregnant to keep up with the others. As they and the dogs walked up the cobblestone path to the Dragonmont, Jacaera admired the decorations that had been put up for the festival. Most of the buildings in the village already had a medieval (or reconstructed pseudo-medieval) facade. Now they were also decked in wreaths, ornaments, and fairy lights, which made Jacaera feel like she was walking around Santa Nicolas’ workshop beyond the Wall.

Today was the first day of the Medieval Yule Festival. Vendors had set up market stalls selling roasted chestnuts, mulled wine, and giant turkey legs. The turkey legs weren’t historically accurate, but festival-goers would be disappointed if there weren’t turkey legs. Tourists swarmed around, some in their rented lords’ and ladies’ costumes, others in their modern insulated parkas. There was a puppet show happening on the other side of the square, to the delight of several dozen small children. The festival workers were setting up braziers which would be lit for the evening events. Hopefully that meant she wouldn’t freeze to death—if she chose to go.

Jacaera’s left heel got stuck between the cobblestones. She paused to extract her foot. Instinctively, she leaned on Aegon’s arm in order to stay balanced. He didn’t complain about being used in such a manner.

“Do you have other shoes?” asked Aegon.

“I brought a pair of sneakers in case I wanted to work out, but the Dragonmont doesn’t have any exercise facilities.” Jacaera had admittedly been slacking off on her exercise routine. Her work days were too long to allow for regular trips to the gym, and she was too tired to do anything when she got home.

Aegon hummed. “I’m the first to admit that I know very little about women’s fashion, but might I suggest you wear those sneakers while you’re at Dragonstone?”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“The dogs don’t care what’s on your feet. And I won’t tattle.” Aegon leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I am impressed by how well you walk in those heels. I would’ve tripped and fallen on my face a dozen times by now. And you look great in them.”

Jacaera was still smiling like a fool when they parted ways and she returned to her room at the bed and breakfast. She changed into lounge clothes before sitting on the wooden four-poster bed, which was adorned in rich sheets and curtains that made her feel like a lady in a castle. She muttered prayers for the wifi to hold while she uploaded the signed documents to the firm’s database. Once that was accomplished, she composed a message to Alys Rivers, who refused to look at emails but responded instantly to Ravengram DMs.

The wifi began to glitch. Jacaera sighed as she closed her laptop. At least she’d managed to get her most urgent tasks done.

She opened her personal tablet and resumed working on her fic. There was a smut scene coming up, her first one. All her other fics had been M-rated at most. For the next hour, she typed a bunch of words then frustratedly deleted most of them. Everything she wrote sounded so…technical.

Groaning, Jacaera set aside her tablet and flopped back to lie on the bed. There were prolific smut writers, like blackswan and c_wylde, who made it seem so easy when they churned out endless PWP fics. Jacaera closed her eyes, envisioning the scene.

Valerion had just made his big confession about the travails of his childhood. Now he and Rosamund shared a deep emotional intimacy, which led to them wanting to share physical intimacy as well. Valerion had previously been a serial skirt-chaser while Rosamund was a typical sheltered highborn lady, so naturally he took the lead.

He was used to experienced courtesans, but it was her first time, so he was careful with her, more careful than anyone who knew him thought him capable of being. He let her touch him through his clothes first, and she eagerly ran her hands over his arms, his chest, his stomach. Inevitably, she was drawn to the hardness between his legs. She had felt it many times before, when their kisses grew impassioned and he ground himself against her, eager to show how much he desired her.

It used to frighten her a little. Well-bred ladies weren’t supposed to trifle with men of ill-repute. But now, as he hungrily peeled off her dress and whispered you’re such a good girl for me against her throat, how could she believe that what she was doing was anything other than good?

She loved him. She was sure of it. If she loved him, and if he loved her, then there was nothing wrong about consummating that love. Maybe she hadn’t envisioned her first time taking place on a truck bed, lying naked and exposed on a pile of blankets in the wilderness. But when his fingers slipped between her legs and rubbed circles around her clit so that her voice joined the chorus of insect nightlife around them, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

She wasn’t frightened at all when his weight settled on top of her, cradled between her thighs. His movements were achingly slow as he entered her, all his muscles tense with self-control as his eyes blazed with impatient wanting. It hurt just a bit, but she wanted more, she wanted all of him. His thrusts instinctively matched the rhythm of the tides that beat against the nearby cliffs. Do you like that, pretty girl? Won’t you make more of those pretty sounds for me?

And then she was seeing stars, all the stars, every star in the universe. There were no clouds in the night sky as she bit his shoulder like an animal, and he adjusted their hips so his cock struck her just so, and she gasped out the pretty sounds he wanted: Oh yes please yes Aegon Aegon Aegon—

Jacaera’s eyes flew open, panicked. She yanked out her hand where it had been stuck down the crotch of her lounge pants. She glared at her damp fingers as if they had committed a heinous betrayal.

What the hell was that? She had masturbated countless times in the past while imagining Valerion/Henly Gavel, and his face never transformed into Aegon’s. Except now.

It’s because of The Abs, she thought frantically as she chugged a bottle of water. Those Abs could single-handedly start a viral trend for dog-assisted fitness routines. It’s not fair.

When she calmed down, she tried again, but this time it was worse. She couldn’t even conjure Valerion/Henly Gavel in her mind. All she saw was Aegon’s violet eyes, Aegon’s messy hair, Aegon’s abs, Aegon’s mischievous smile…

Clearly, her hand wasn’t going to do the job. She longed for her vibrator, which was sitting uselessly in her nightstand back in King’s Landing. When she used her vibrator, she didn’t have to imagine anything at all. She just turned on the vibrator, and bam, an orgasm in mere minutes.

Grumbling to herself, she opened her tablet. The wifi was working again, so she hastily logged into Blackwater.com before the wifi decided to resume striking.

Aegon was already waiting for Jacaera in front of the Dragonmont when she went downstairs to meet him for dinner. She had thoroughly checked her reflection before exiting her room, but she was still worried that somehow he could just look at her and know that she’d been thinking about him while orgasming that afternoon.

The Dragon and the Egg wasn’t far. Mounted on the pub’s rooftop was a fake dragon wearing a red Santa hat, curled around a nest of eggs tied with ribbons. It was the first evening of the Medieval Yule Festival, so the pub wasn’t crowded as most people were wandering around outside. As soon as they sat down, Aegon grabbed the drink menu and, without looking, tossed it onto the neighboring table. He didn’t say anything about it, so Jacaera didn’t either, although she was pleasantly surprised.

“What do you recommend?” Jacaera asked, skimming the food menu.

“We’re on a rock in the middle of the sea, so anything with fish is good,” said Aegon. “It’s usually fresh-caught the same day. Fish and chips. Fisherman’s pie.”

“How about one of each, and we can share?” she suggested instinctively. It was what they used to do when they ate together.

Aegon’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

They ordered their food, as well as two cherry sodas. Jacaera fiddled with her glass as she tried to think of what to say. “Aegon, how did you end up here?”

“At Dragonstone or at Sunny Dog?”

“Both.”

He looked pensive as he slurped soda through his paper straw. “The Dragonstone part is easier to explain. Rent here is as cheap as it gets in the Crownlands if you don’t care about getting a touristy view, and I’m on the ugly reconstructed side of the sept. As for Sunny Dog…”

Aegon paused when the server arrived with their appetizers. Two bowls of seafood chowder were set down on the table. In order to give Aegon some time to gather his thoughts, Jacaera started on her chowder, which was hearty and tasty. She determinedly did not think about how much heavy cream and butter must be in the chowder. She was on vacation—kind of. She was allowed to enjoy the occasional calorie-dense bowl of chowder while she was on kind-of vacation.

“After we broke up, I tried going to rehab several times.”

Jacaera put down her spoon and gave Aegon her full attention.

“I relapsed a lot. I almost gave up, but my siblings kept dragging me back. Then one day, this older lady Nelly showed up with her therapy dogs. She noticed that I did really well with them, so she suggested I move to a different facility on Driftmark, close to where she raised and trained her dogs. So I went.” Aegon suddenly looked shy, an expression that Jacaera had rarely seen on him. “Part of me was hoping I might run into you at Driftmark, even though I knew you must have gone off to KLU by then.”

“I left Driftmark as soon as I graduated from school,” Jacaera confirmed. She had spent that summer before university at Rhaenyra and Daemon’s home in Duskendale, where she got to know her two young half-sisters, who had been born while she was living with her grandparents at Driftmark. Then she started her first semester at KLU and signed up for as many courses as she was allowed, determined to keep her mind off the boy she had left behind.

“I wanted to call you, but I figured you probably blocked my number,” Aegon admitted.

Jacaera hadn’t blocked his number. When her sisters caught her staring sadly at her phone too many times, they wrested the device from her and deleted his number.

“Then I changed my phone and number entirely, and I lost your information. So that wasn’t an option anymore.” Aegon dropped an oyster cracker in his chowder and used his spoon to push the cracker deep below the surface. “I was cutting contact with some people from my old life. I didn’t want them to have a way to reach me.”

“A wise decision,” Jacaera said approvingly as she fidgeted with her purse. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she took out her phone and laid it on the table. “Could I get your new number?”

Aegon dutifully tapped his number into his new contact page on her phone. 786-3973. “It spells ‘Sunfyre,’” he whispered, as if telling a secret.

Jacaera giggled. “You really love him, don’t you?”

“I was there when his mum gave birth to his litter. I knew right away he was meant for me. But I wasn’t ready to take responsibility for him yet, so Nelly adopted him.” Aegon’s smile faded. “When he was a year old, Nelly…couldn’t take care of him anymore. I had to be there for him. I’ve been sober ever since.” He took a coin out of his pocket and placed it on the table beside her phone.

When Jacaera took a closer look, she realized it wasn’t a coin, but a token—a sobriety token. The number 7 glimmered up at her. She looked at Aegon and smiled broadly. “I’m proud of you, Aegon.”

As he gazed back at her, he looked like he wanted to cry. But it seemed like a good kind of cry, not a sad one. When he spoke again, his voice was thick. “I made sure that it stuck before I started Sunny Dog, on the same day as my second anniversary. I try to take the dogs that nobody else wants. They deserve to have someone who won’t give up on them.”

Jacaera suddenly burned with guilt. “Aegon, I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. “Why are you sorry?”

She said quietly, almost a whisper, “I gave up on you.”

After they started dating, it had taken her time to realize that Aegon was a heavy drinker, and still more time to realize that it wasn’t just alcohol. By then, she was headfirst in love, and she was convinced that she could fix him. She researched, she read books, she made phone calls to clinics and hotlines.

Aegon had sworn that he would get better. He would get better for her. But he never did. Then he disappointed her for the last time, and she realized she couldn’t fix him. He had to fix himself. But she didn’t know how many years it would take for him to reach that point—if he ever did.

She had been afraid. She had been afraid that Aegon would become like those homeless addicts who chased her the day she met him, starving and half-dead on the streets. She had been afraid that she would become like Barba Ruthermont-Velaryon, pitied and scorned by her former peers because she tangled with someone who was no good. She had been afraid that she would lose her reputation, her family’s respect, and her future, all for the sake of a boy she’d known, loved, and dated for one academic year.

So she left him.

When she mustered the courage to look at Aegon again, she was surprised to see he was smiling. Not a mocking smile. It was a sincere smile, tinged with sadness. There was none of the anger and devastation she’d seen in his face when she broke up with him. “Jace, you were seventeen,” he said. “You had your whole life ahead of you. It took me a while to realize, but now I know it’s the best thing you could have done for yourself.”

He rubbed his eyes. There were faint lines on his face from sun and laughter. He didn’t have those lines ten years ago, but neither did he have the maturity and experience that he possessed now.

When Aegon looked at her again, he was still smiling, despite the single tear leaking down his cheek. “Whenever I thought about you, I hoped that wherever you were, you were happy.”

Her chest swelled with emotion, so overwhelming that she almost choked on it. Many times, deep in the middle of the night, she had lain awake wondering what if. What if she stayed with Aegon? What if he’d gotten worse after she left? What if he hit the “rock bottom” that all addicts inevitably hit? What if he died, and she never knew?

Now she wondered: what if she’d kept his number? What if she’d checked on him after a year, two years, three? What if she had seen him working to get better, and succeeding at it? What if she had been brave enough to show him the unconditional love that he needed? What if she could have been by his side this entire time?

A warm hand tentatively rested on top of hers on the table. “Still an overthinker?” Aegon teased gently.

“Just a bit,” Jacaera said sheepishly.

His thumb stroked her knuckles. Tingles again. “Don’t worry about what already happened. We can’t change it. I’m just…” The lump in his throat bobbed.

Somehow, she knew what he was trying to say. “I’m glad we found each other again,” she finished for him, smiling. She had been smiling a lot today. Real smiles. It was a refreshing change of pace from her endless professional smiles in the office.

Aegon seemed like he wanted to say something else, but the server returned with their main dishes. Aegon quickly released her hand so he could grab his token and put it back in his pocket.

As they started on their food—the fries were excellent—Aegon asked hoarsely, “How long will you stay at Dragonstone?”

“I was originally only planning to stay until the twenty-fifth.” Jacaera was already considering extending her stay after the family Yule gathering. She found herself reluctant to end this…this…whatever this was, so soon. “I wasn’t planning on coming to Dragonstone at all until Yule Eve, but my boss insisted I come here personally to check out Sunny Dog.”

Aegon took a bite of fisherman’s pie. “Do you travel a lot for work?”

“Usually not, but this is a special case. My client is important to the firm, and I’ve been…slipping recently.”

“How have you been slipping?”

“It’s just been very busy at the office, and I’ve been frazzled more than usual.” She forced a smile. “It’s fine. I’ll catch up on my sleep while I’m at Dragonstone, and I’ll be back to normal in no time.”

Aegon looked knowingly at her as he licked his spoon clean. She tried not to stare at his tongue as it swirled around the utensil. “You’ve been running yourself ragged, haven’t you?” he asked.

She looked away. “No…”

“I thought you would be done with the overachieving tendencies after you got into KLU,” he said affectionately. “Wasn’t that the whole point? You would get good grades and do extracurriculars to get into KLU, which would help you get a good job. Now you have a good job. What are you trying to overachieve at this point?”

“I’m trying to keep the good job.”

“Do you like your job?” he asked bluntly.

She fidgeted with her fork. “It pays well, and my family is pleased to hear about my career.”

“That’s a no, then.” Aegon plucked a fry from their shared plate. “Jace, you know that I’m speaking from experience when I say you shouldn’t waste the best parts of your life on something that won’t make you happy. I certainly regret it. I don’t want you to make the same mistake.” He froze, mid-chew, then hurriedly clarified, “Dating you was not the mistake that I’m talking about. Dating you was the best decision I ever made.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” she said warmly. “I’ll think about what you said, Aegon. I just… I don’t want anyone to accuse me of being a nepo baby or getting opportunities because I come from money.” That was why she didn’t go anywhere near Spicemart after graduation. Her grandfather had been disappointed but quickly turned his attention to business-minded Lucera—who eventually disappointed him as well.

“Some people might say you’re lucky to have been born into a good family,” Aegon said seriously, “but I think it’s the other way around. Your family is lucky to have you.”

Jacaera ducked her head and sipped her soda to hide her blush. “I could say the same for your family, Aegon. It’s like I told you back then: they’re the reason you exist. And I’m grateful to them for that, because the world is better with you in it.”

Her foot inadvertently brushed Aegon’s beneath the table. She kept it there. So did he. Their toes took turns tapping each other while they bit back smiles and pretended they weren’t horsing around under the tablecloth.

For a moment, she felt seventeen again, sneaking around Driftmark with a boy whom her family would never approve of. Fleetingly, she wondered how her family would react now if she brought Aegon to the Yule party. They despaired of Jacaera’s perpetual state of singlehood, even though she’d gone on dozens of first dates over the last ten years. Maybe her family would be relieved to see her with someone, anyone.

But she was getting ahead of herself. She wasn’t dating Aegon, and she had no intention of changing that any time soon. Besides, it would be a terrible idea to take him to the Yule party. He already had more than enough family issues of his own without being dragged into her family’s mess.

Chapter Text

Lucera didn’t get home from Gyles’ Pies until midnight. She didn’t finish packaging Craftsy orders until an hour after that. She didn’t get cleaned up, showered, and into bed until an hour after that. And all on the heels of a full day standing in the cold selling to panicked procrastinators who’d just realized they had less than a week left until Yule and were not very happy about it. 

She should be exhausted. 

She was exhausted.

So there was no reason for her to still be awake at four fucking AM.

Lucera lay in bed, arm flung over her eyes, listening to the sound of Rhaena’s snores as they echoed down the hallway of their rented townhouse with too-thin walls. Probably the snoring was made worse by an atmosphere of free-floating wool fibers; between Blue Mermaid Knits and Rhaena’s dogged pursuit of her MA in Fashion Design, they were basically living in their own subsidiary of Joanna’s Fabrics. So it was the noise keeping her awake. That was all.

She flopped over onto her stomach. Again.

Okay…she couldn’t sleep mostly because of Rhaena’s snoring. But maybe also a little bit because of Hot Smug Cat-Dad Dickhead Possible-Secret-Softie Extraordinaire and his stupid frustrating…self.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t appreciative of all that Aemond was doing for her by orchestrating this fake date thing instead of just ratting her out to Clem. She was! But how was she supposed to just roll over and fall asleep when that walking mess of contradictions who clearly spent a small fortune on self-grooming products had spent half the evening identifying with her, half the evening insulting her, and all the evening trying not to glance at her tits and then being so obviously embarrassed that he’d failed?

And—and!—Aemond had come in all prepared to do this properly, unaware that Lucera found spreadsheets to be kind of a turn-on. Maybe it was just that her own brain always felt like a hurricane of ideas unless she’d pinned everything down (sometimes literally, as evidenced by the corkboard on her wall) but there was something appealing about a man who kept things organized.

Plus, his clothes fit perfectly.

Plus, his hands.

That level of annoyance would interrupt anyone’s sleep, right?

She flopped over again and thought about sending him a DM on Ravengram. That would be weird in the middle of the night, right? That would be weird.

In a way, his condescension was kind of hilarious. The way he assumed she didn’t know how financial firms worked. The way he assumed she was too lazy to spell properly. The way he assumed she couldn’t afford formal clothes and didn’t even question the idea that she would be trashy enough to buy a dress for one day and return it the next. The way he assumed she’d embarrass him in front of all his investment ghoul buddies if he didn’t send her videos about how to use the right fork.

If you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME.

Bullshit. Hot Smug Cat-Dad Dickhead Possible-Secret-Softie Extraordinaire was only making an ass out of himself and no one else. If he chose to waste all that hotness on being a stuck-up know-it-all, then that was his business. And it was a waste, because there were several ways he could be putting those hands of his to good purpose. Plus, he couldn’t use that mouth to say anything annoying if she happened to be sitting on his face—

Nope.

Lucera kicked off her sheets. Rhaena had cranked the furnace too high, she was sure of it. That was why she couldn’t sleep.

If only he hadn’t beamed like that when talking about his ugly cat. It made his whole demeanor different.

Wait. 

Maybe he had sent her a DM.

She should check. Just in case. Lucera grabbed her phone off the nightstand and pulled up her Ravengram messages, where she found…

…absolutely nothing from AemTarg9898.

She swiped over to her most recent post, which reminded everyone that there were only a few days left of the Yule Market. Lots of engagement. Lots of promises to visit. Some disappointment that she wouldn’t be available on Yule Eve. A few requests for rush orders, which she politely replied to with links to her Craftsy page.

No likes from Aemond, though—and no comments, either. And his own profile page remained stubbornly empty.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Lucera tossed her phone aside in disgust. 

She wasn’t some preteen knitting gifts for a Jonquil’s Day crush anymore. Late-night obsession over the deeper meanings behind followers and upvotes and hashtags was…was unacceptable, was what it was. Furthermore, she had to be at the market in—she checked the clock again—four hours.

Ugh. 

Too much sugar. She should have quit after one piece of pie. And the coffee—she should have asked for decaf. Plus Rhaena’s snoring. Who would sleep under these circumstances? No one, that’s who. No one would sleep.

He’d blushed when she teased him that their “relationship” would have started because he wanted to see her shirtless. Blushed.

Ridiculous.

She overslept, of course.

“I’m going to a formal event on Friday night,” Lucera said from the doorway, tucking as many of her curls under her cap as she could. No time to tame it, but by the end of the day she would be a mess anyhow. (It might be easier to twist her hair into locs, except she had a feeling it would remind her too much of Dad.) “Are you going to be around today?”

Rhaena, facedown on the breakfast bar, whimpered piteously. Her final year of graduate school had turned Lucera’s mild-tempered, even-keeled roommate into a stepsister-shaped ball of pure exhaustion and existential angst. “I have six more samples to make for my portfolio,” she moaned. “And we’re out of coffee.”

“So…yes?”

“Yes. I’ll be here. I’ll be here forever.”

“At least until Thursday.” Rhaena’s semester ended on Wednesday; on Thursday Rhaena would be taking the train to Duskendale, then boarding the ferry to the Targaryen Yule Catastrophe with Mum and Daemon and their youngest sisters. (Rats, she needed to text Joff and figure out what they were doing now that Jacaera was already on Dragonstone. Shitballs.) “It’ll all be over in a few days.”

“It won’t matter. I’ll be dead by then. Suffocated under an avalanche of poly-cotton blends.”

Lucera reminded herself to never get a master’s degree. “Okay, well, before you die, do you think you’ll have time to check in my closet for a dress?” She crammed her feet into a pair of fluffy boots; there wasn’t any snow on the ground, but they would keep away the chill of frozen concrete. Somewhat, anyway. “I’m going to have to order online if there’s nothing that will work.”

“How formal?”

“Black tie.”

Rhaena raised her head with a spark of interest. “This is for that fake-thing with that fake-guy from the market?”

“Yes, and you are still under strict secrecy for that.” None of this was going an inch farther than it had to. It was bad enough Jacaera knew as much as she did. Only you, Luce.

“Who would I tell?” her stepsister grumbled, dropping her face back to the counter with a thunk. “I have no life. I have no girlfriend. All I have are silk swatches and colored pencils—”

“And a degree next spring!”

“A degree that won’t get me anything. I’ll have to go work for Spicemart making bulk purchases from Volantene sweatshops so Grandfather can show off his profit margin to yet another blue-blooded asshole who still is going to sneer at him for being new money anyway.”

Lucera winced.

(There had been years when working for Spicemart was all she wanted. Her brain wouldn’t organize thoughts and her eyes wouldn’t organize letters, but while everyone else focused on what she couldn’t do, it was Grandfather who pointed out her skill with numbers. It was Corlys who showed her his financial reports and beamed with pride when she caught his head accountant’s mistakes. Jacaera had declined participating in the family business, but when Lucera graduated from KLU—a finance degree, with honors—she’d accepted a position in the Spicemart home office without hesitation, hungry for the fast track, eager to be groomed as her grandfather’s chosen successor.

Until she’d dug into the books and realized just how much of their company’s success revolved around partnering with Essosi factories who paid their workers in pennies instead of dragons. Maybe other businesses were worse—none of the Spicemart goods came from the region people still called “Slaver’s Bay,” thank the gods—but  their money, their position, their legacy that she was meant to inherit, had been built on the backs of people whose lives could be a hundred times better…if only Spicemart would adjust their practices.

Jacaera would have approached Corlys with cool composure and reasoned him into submission, probably. Joffrida would have sat herself in Grandfather’s office and stared at him in silence until he relented. But Lucera came in with passion and righteousness and no small amount of anger, arguing that if they settled for a hundred million in yearly profit instead of two hundred million then Spicemart could literally change the world. She came in like a little girl who still believed her grandfather was a demigod, not a flawed, impossibly proud man who had turned a handful of Spicetown corner stores into a multinational juggernaut and now ranked his worth as a man in the very success his granddaughter disparaged as ill-gotten gains.

They’d barely spoken in the three years since.)

“Just tell me if you see anything in there that will work,” Lucera said to Rhaena, wrapping her scarf around her neck three times. “I’ll buy something new if I have to, but I’d rather not.” Doing that would require Daemon’s Daughter Emergency IronCard. Lucera only used it in dire circumstances, but if the alternative was letting Hot Smug Cat-Dad Dickhead Possible-Secret-Softie Extraordinaire pay, then the circumstances were indeed dire.

“I’ll take a break this afternoon,” replied her sweet, never ever dramatic stepsister. “DM me on Ravengram, I’ve turned off my text notifications. And if I don’t respond then just assume I’ve thrown myself from the city walls.”

Nope, Lucera was never getting a master’s degree.

She coaxed Seasmoke to the post office, dumped a dozen boxes down the delivery chute, and made it to the market with barely enough time to shove more merch onto her displays before raising the shutters. (She hadn’t even managed coffee, which was definitely Aemond’s fault, because if she hadn’t been up all night thinking about what a smug dickhead he was, she would have remembered to grab drive-thru.)

It was a rough start, given both the tragic coffee deprivation and the fact that it was way colder than she had anticipated. But she kept the conversations rote, and while maybe she wasn’t putting loads of effort into personalizing the shopping experience for each and every customer, after a few hours Lucera was in the swing of things. Her hands were busy, which always helped her think—mostly about how Aemond clearly expected that without his benevolent guiding hand, she’d show up to his black-tie Yule gala in spandex.

Which…gave her an idea.

Not a very nice idea. But an idea nevertheless.

Lucera ducked behind her table just long enough for a quick GreenSite image search and grabbed a few, ah, appropriate pictures. She wasn’t about to leave her gloves off in these temperatures just to slow-peck her way through a conversation, so she opened her DMs and hit her microphone. This was why the gods invented voice-to-text, after all.

Lucera accepted payment from a merch-bedecked KLU mum who cooed over a double-length dragon scarf. Then she exposed her fingers for a frosty moment and uploaded one of the GreenSite pictures she’d saved.

Lucera was able to ring up three customers before Aemond’s dots finally coalesced into an actual response.

See, this was the problem. How dare he blurt out the snobbiest, most condescending shit, then say stuff like…like that?

And if he couldn’t see her blush, then it didn’t count, right? Like a tree falling in the woods that no one’s around to hear.

“What’s so funny?” asked the man buying a set of mittens he’d chosen at random.

“Nothing,” said Lucera.

She was freezing, but Lucera didn’t feel like saying that to Aemond. She hadn’t checked the weather report before leaving the house. Aemond probably had an app that beamed weather reports directly into his frontal lobe. He probably knew the Blackwater Bay storm surge predictions for hurricanes that wouldn’t even form until six months from now. She wasn’t inclined to display her scatterbrained tendencies to him—she’d much rather he be the scatterbrained one right now.

So she pulled up another picture.

This time Lucera was able to ring up five customers before Aemond stopped typing and sent his message.

When the carb-crash began Lucera hung the “Back in 10” sign on her booth, closed the shutters, and was halfway through her third granola bar when she jabbed the Ravengram app with her pinky.

Lucera frowned.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Ha ha,” Lucera muttered to herself, licking granola stickiness off her left hand. If she remembered the Aubrey Ambrose correctly—and she was pretty sure she did—the neckline was really high. It had been perfectly appropriate for a nineteen-year-old, of course. Very…demure.

Lucera might only be kidding Aemond about the tube dress and stripper heels, but that didn’t mean she intended to show up at The Casterly looking like a virginal debutante. And there was definitely no time for Rhaena to drop the bustline two inches.

Lucera did like the Nevio. Ruched always worked for her. And there were some killer heels in her closet that complemented it perfectly.

(She was not wondering what Aemond would think of those heels, or whether he approved of stilettos in general. That didn’t cross her mind whatsoever and in no way factored into her decision making.)

Lucera was scanning through the lingerie link Rhaena sent when there was another rap on the shutter window. “Just a second!” she shouted, tapping on a couple of possibilities. (Garters or no garters? Probably garters.)

A firm knock this time, loud enough that she nearly dropped her phone. “Okay, okay!” Seven hells. How was a girl supposed to find underwear during the Yule season? She sent off one last message to Rhaena, tugged her gloves back on and adjusted her cap, did a super-quick back shelf restock, then flung the window open. “What can I help you with toda—” And she blinked.

There was Aemond, disposable coffee cup in one hand, phone in the other. He was staring down at the screen.

“Oh!” she said, surprised. “Hi! Uh…what are you doing here?”

Aemond didn’t look up. (He had on darker shades today, and a black-green wool coat so well-tailored that Rhaena would weep. Lucera did not notice these things.) “I’ll put in the order,” he said after a moment, voice stilted, “and—and yes to seams.”

“What?”

She leaned over to look at his phone…then pulled out her own.

“OH MY GODS.” Lucera lunged across the stacks of mittens and stuffies and scarves to slap her palm over the screen of Aemond’s phone. “THAT WASN’T FOR YOU.”

“Ah,” said Aemond.

“THAT WAS A MISTAKE. FORGET THAT HAPPENED.”

“Right,” said Aemond.

“PURGE IT FROM YOUR BRAIN.” Oh, gods, she was going to have to throw herself in the sea and fucking drown.

“It’s purged.” He thrust out the cup of coffee in a mechanical movement. “I brought you this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a cafe miel.” What she could see of his cheeks were pink, even pinker than when she’d teased him in the diner. “I don’t drink them, but there’s a person at this coffee shop who always orders it, so I thought—”

Lucera snatched it from his hand. “I love miels. I love anything with cinnamon. Do you like cinnamon? Do you put stuff in your coffee? When it’s not drip coffee, I mean?” Please, please, let’s talk about literally ANYTHING except the fact that I just sent you the lingerie I’m planning to wear on our fake-date.

“Protein powder,” he said.

“I…what?”

“I put protein powder in my coffee.”

Lucera blinked. “That’s…wow, that’s really disgusting.”

Aemond hummed in a sort of acknowledgement, those long fingers of his absently stroking the fringed hem of one of her scarves. That was not something she should be noticing. She should never, ever think about anything even vaguely sexual with regards to Aemond Targaryen ever again, because this was the most embarrassed she’d ever been in her life, and Lucera had a hearty streak of embarrassing moments to her name.

She took a sip of the cafe miel. Damn, it was good. And familiar. “Is this from Griffin’s Roast?”

“It is. They’re on the first floor of my office building. Do you know it?”

“Yeah. One of my sisters works on the fifth floor. Maybe you’ve seen each other.” 

Except probably they hadn’t, because Jacaera, she of the flawless business attire who had certainly never sent a mistake text in her life, would have caught the interest of a Hot Smug Cat-Dad Dickhead Possible-Secret-Softie Extraordinaire right away. He’d have seen her wrinkle-free pencil skirts and asked what kind of authenticator software she preferred. She’d have read his quarterly presentations and tossed her high school ex-boyfriend hangups out the window along with her panties. If they’d crossed paths even once they’d already be married by now, no fake-dating required.

So yeah. Aemond and Jacaera had almost definitely never met before.

“Maybe,” he said vaguely. He seemed to be watching the coffee cup, or her mouth as she sipped from it. Hard to tell, with the glasses. (Lucera understood why he chose to wear them, and of course would never ask him to justify something so personal, but…was it wrong, that instead of the disgust he’d very obviously expected her to feel when he showed her his scar and false eye, she’d felt, uh, something that was decidedly not disgust? Gods, she was learning all kinds of new things about herself, wasn’t she.) “Are you warmer now?”

“Yes, much.” Then she processed what he’d said. “Wait, did you bring this for me because I said I was cold?”

“I was headed to the office,” he said. “I wanted coffee. You’re right here. It wasn’t far.”

“On a Sunday?”

Aemond shrugged.

“And if you wanted coffee, where’s yours?”

He didn’t answer.

“Excuse me.” An obvious fratboy, looking frazzled with the hassle of having left his shopping to the last minute, leaned over the table and raised his hand like a kindergartener in Circle Time. “Should I get my mum gloves for Yule, or a scarf?”

Lucera turned to him and put her customer service smile on. “Well, I don’t know your mum,” she said. “What is she like?”

The hapless student shrugged. “I dunno. She’s a mum.”

Retail during the holidays. Always an adventure.

“Get both,” Aemond advised the student.

The student checked the price of a pair of gloves and winced. “Nah,” he said, putting her knitting back down. “I’ll just go to Spicemart.”

Lucera bit down hard on her lower lip as the potential customer disappeared back into the crowd. It didn’t matter. She’d had tons of sales so far today, and she’d have tons more. She’d be spending most of the evening boxing up more online orders. She was coming out well in the black. She couldn’t be everything for everyone.

You dare to call this business immoral? Where did you think your trust fund came from, Lucera? Every choice I’ve ever made has been for my children and my grandchildren! For you! I’ve built a legacy for our family, and if you think you can walk in here and order me to wave my hands and fix the world—

“You know,” said Aemond, a twitch at the corner of his lips, “if you adjusted the margin a little then you’d—”

“I didn’t ask for your soul-sucking investment portfolio opinion,” she snarled. “Can’t you talk about anything except business?”

His mouth snapped shut.

Oops. Ouch. “I’m sorry,” she said at once, the guilt sitting uncomfortable in her chest. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t—that wasn’t about you. I didn’t sleep well, is all.” She held up the coffee cup and fought for a smile. “Thanks for the miel, it was really sweet.”

“Oh. I’ll have the barista add less sugar next time.”

Seven hells, he was so bad at this. “No, not literally sweet. I meant…” Lucera trailed off as that maybe-smile of his curved into an almost-definite-smile. “You’re fucking with me,” she said, kind of delighted.

“A little,” he admitted. He looked as though he wanted to say something more, but a wave of shoppers who looked like they’d arrived on a tourist bus from Storm’s End was headed towards the booth, and he stepped back. “You’re occupied,” he said. “Message me later with the dress you actually want to order.” He coughed slightly. “And, uh…anything you need to go with it.”

“THAT WAS NOT MEANT FOR YOU,” she screeched, but then she had mittens to sell, and Aemond disappeared back into the crowd.

After the market closed, just as Lucera had parked Seasmoke and was prepared to go into the house and take off her shoes (which was the absolute best thing she could imagine right now), the texts from Joff arrived.

Oh. Oh, no.

Every single one of Lucera’s sisters and stepsisters would require way, way more explanation at this point. Even Alyssa and Viserra. But there was a tiny spark of rebellion in Lucera that, when it came to Joff, always popped up and said things like Yeah, but let’s see how this plays out. Isn’t it nice not to be the only one who makes Mum slap her palm to her forehead? Isn’t it great when, every now and then, instead of “Only you, Luce,” someone says “Only you, Joff”?

Plus, Joff never caused too much trouble with her…frequently indecipherable-to-laypeople activities.

So it was probably fine.

“As a heads up,” Lucera said aloud as she opened the front door, “Joff needs wire cutters for some reason. Do you have…” Then she stopped.

Rhaena was smashing her hand against the bluetooth radio. “That was ‘Last Yuletide’ by—” Another slap, and the broadcast shut off.

“You’re out?” guessed Lucera.

“I’m out.” Rhaena looked better than she had when Lucera left that morning. Probably the multiple empty two-liter bottles of cola sitting on the table had something to do with it. “I got distracted and left the station running. But at least I made progress on my portfolio. Did you pick out something from Sylvi’s?”

For a brief moment, Lucera thought about telling Rhaena what had happened—then decided just as quickly that she’d be taking that little mishap to the grave. “Yeah, I, uh, decided to send in the order myself.” She showed Rhaena the completed cart. “That’ll work, right?”

“Should be fine,” Rhaena said, with a critical eye. “But why seamed stockings? They won’t be visible with the Nevio.”

“I was just in the mood,” Lucera lied.

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He’d been going through her profile.

Lucera smiled, friended AemTarg9898, and—this time—went straight to sleep.

Chapter Text

Ten Years Earlier

Jacaera Velaryon was surprisingly easy to talk to. Aegon had expected idle chit-chat about the weather or some other banal, socially acceptable topic to pass the time while they finished their fries and waited for her bus. As he debated grabbing one of the beers in the deli’s drink fridge, she mentioned reading the works of Willem Spearshaker in her literature class, and Aegon let out a snort. “Spearshaker sucks when you read the plays. You have to see the plays to really appreciate them.”

“Which plays have you seen?” asked Jacaera.

“A few of them here and there.” Actually, Aegon had seen all of the plays.

His father thought of himself as a cultured man, so Viserys had frequently popped old Spearshaker movies into the VHS when Aegon was a child. Viserys inevitably fell asleep before the end of Act Three, but Aegon continued watching. At first it was because there was a bedroom scene in Florian and Jonquil where Florian’s butt and Jonquil’s boobs were on full display, which woke something in eleven-year-old Aegon. Then Aegon learned about the dirty jokes, and he was wholeheartedly sold on Spearshaker. Aegon was half-convinced that the Bard’s name was a dirty joke itself.

“Have you seen Florian and Jonquil? It’s my favorite,” Jacaera enthused. Of course that was her favorite. Every teenaged girl loved a forbidden romance.

“First Spearshaker play I ever saw.” Aegon couldn’t resist recounting one of his favorite dirty jokes from that particular play. “‘Now will he sit under a medlar tree, and wish his mistress were that kind of fruit as maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.’”

Jacaera didn’t even giggle. She merely smiled and said, “You recited that very well.”

“Do you get the joke?” he asked.

“What joke?”

Aegon gleefully rubbed his hands. It was always fun when he got to inform somebody that Spearshaker was for the vulgar masses, not the hoity-toity scholars. “He’s saying that he wishes his lady-love were like a medlar. Do you know what a medlar is?”

“It’s a fruit, isn’t it?”

“It’s a fruit that looks like a butthole.” Aegon had no compunctions about saying arse, but he was curious whether even the milder terminology would get a reaction out of her. He wasn’t disappointed.

Jacaera, who had just taken a sip of her cherry soda, spat it back up and sprayed it all over her uniform. As she coughed and tried to mop up the dark stain on her white blouse, Aegon shrugged off his KLU zip-up and passed it over the table. She took it with an instinctive “thank you.” Then, as she put on the zip-up, she said with a pout, “I don’t believe you.”

“You can look it up later,” Aegon said cheerfully. “You know the line that immediately follows, don’t you? ‘O Florian, that she were, O that she were an open-arse, thou a pop’rin pear!’”

“Now I really don’t believe you! I would remember if it said open—open—open that.” She couldn’t even say arse. How adorable.

“Some editors censor it because they’re prudes, but ‘open-arse’ was a nickname for medlars,” Aegon explained in his best professorial voice. “A pop’rin pear is a different fruit that looks like penis. So he’s saying, ‘Florian, you wish that she had an open butt for your penis to go into.’”

Jacaera raised her hands to cover her bright red cheeks. He wondered how much harder she would blush if he’d said cock or dick instead. “No!” she said plaintively.

“Yes.” Aegon grinned. “Spearshaker is full of dirty jokes. You want to hear more?”

She looked so flustered, he was convinced she would say no. To his surprise and delight, she stubbornly jutted out her chin and challenged, “Oberyn.”

Aegon’s grin grew. “‘I am one, ser, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Dornishman are now making the beast with two backs.’ Translation: they’re fucking.”

“Taming of the Mouse-Pig.”

“‘What, with my tongue in your tail?’ That one’s about performing oral sex on a lady.”

“A Long Summer Night’s Dream.”

“‘I kiss the wall’s hole, not your lips at all.’ Another one about buttholes.”

“Fourteenth Night.”

“‘By my life, this is my lady’s hand: these be her very C’s, her U’s, and her T’s and thus she makes her great P’s.’ It spells C-U-N-T, which is how she makes her pee.”

Jacaera’s blush was an astonishingly bright shade of red upon her bronze skin. Aegon loved to see it. “It seems I need to read the text more carefully,” she said, sounding strangled.

When they finished their fries and soda, Jacaera asked, with a confident poise that belied her violent blushing, whether Aegon wanted to go for a quick stroll near the water.

Aegon’s interest, already piqued by her willingness to indulge in dirty Spearshaker jokes, skyrocketed to new heights. He had pegged her as the demure, pseudo-aristocratic sort of girl who would never do anything as indecent as visibly demonstrate interest in a man. Pseudo-aristocratic girls waited for men to approach them, not the other way around.

Well, there was no harm in humoring her. He could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon than in the company of a pretty girl whose face would’ve inspired Spearshaker to come up with a dozen romantic sonnets.

Before they left the deli, Aegon bought her another cherry soda to go. His hand hovered over the beer selection, but he forced himself to pick up a second soda instead. Although the dirty Spearshaker jokes hadn’t scared her off, he didn’t want to push his luck. He could get a beer whenever he wanted. He might never get another chance to stroll along the waterfront with Jacaera Velaryon.

Their quick stroll became an extended stroll as they chatted about music (she liked girl pop; so did Aegon, unabashedly—if it was catchy, then it was catchy), university (she planned to major in business and marketing; Aegon had been forced to take some econ classes, but he didn’t enjoy them nearly as much as he did his drawing and dance electives), and their favorite fantasy movie trilogy, The Ring War (they both had ideas about what a redemption arc might look like for Hurin, who had succumbed to the Ring’s temptations, if he hadn’t died saving the halflings).

The bus to Spicetown came and went multiple times, but they kept getting distracted and missing it. After the second missed bus, Jacaera texted her grandparents to inform them that she was staying out late with a friend.

“Do you have any siblings?” asked Jacaera.

Aegon’s mood instantly plummeted. He had no issues with two out of three of his siblings. But Aemond, the faithless snitch, was the reason that Aegon was sent into Exile on Dragonstone. Wah wah, Mummy, Aegon is hanging out with a bad crowd, wah wah, they drink bottom-shelf liquor and wear polyester blends, wah wah, make it stop, Mummy.

Maybe if Aemond ever unclenched enough to remove that massive stick from his arse, he would be able to make his own friends and stop trying to get rid of Aegon’s friends.

Well, the joke was on Aemond and their mother and father and all the other classist snobs back home. Aegon was perfectly capable of making friends wherever he went. He’d actually been on his way to meet some new acquaintances in Hull when he ran into Jacaera.

“Never mind,” Jacaera said in a small voice. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

Aegon realized that he’d been scowling while brooding over the twat. “No, it’s not your fault. I just…don’t get along with my brother.”

Jacaera nodded and changed the topic away from family, with the effortless ease of someone who’d been trained in social courtesies since birth.

Eventually, the hour grew late enough for them to grab dinner from a dinky street stall that sold Dornish kebabs, which Jacaera was wary of until she took her first bite of the succulent pork. When she let out a happy little moan, Aegon belatedly realized his error in giving her a meat-stick that made hot juice dribble down her chin.

As he subtly adjusted his gym shorts, he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have spent so much time teaching her about dirty Spearshaker jokes. But her reactions had been so delightful, he couldn’t bring himself to truly regret it, even if he was now imagining her licking his pop’rin pear.

All in all, it felt like a date. A cheesy, picture-perfect date from a romcom movie. Aegon hadn’t been on a date like that since he was twelve, when he took a classmate to the local carnival under parental supervision. Jacaera was exactly the type of girl—good manners, good education, good family (presumably, if she could afford the overpriced tuition at her elite prep school)—who would make his mother fall to her knees and weep for joy if Aegon brought her home.

Which was why, ever since he lost his virginity to an older girl who chain-smoked cigarettes behind the school building, Aegon had deliberately gone for the opposite type of girl (and occasional boy). The type of girl who could be found in night clubs, public parks after dark, and “dens of ill repute,” as his mother called them. The type of girl who could spot a sexual innuendo from miles away. The type of girl who was always up for the craziest shit imaginable, and some that even Aegon hadn’t imagined.

Most of the dates that Aegon went on didn’t involve dinner and romantic walks. Oftentimes, they just went straight to fucking in the nearest semi-private area. Maybe they would get a bite to eat afterwards, so they could recharge their batteries.

Jacaera clearly wasn’t the type of girl who would be down to fuck in a bathroom stall or dark alleyway. She probably expected silk sheets covered in rose petals while jazz music played in the background. Aegon didn’t have the patience for that romantic fairy tale rubbish. He wasn’t interested.

(If he imagined Jacaera lying on silk sheets while she was covered only in rose petals—well, he was a simple hot-blooded male. She was undeniably pretty, her legs were long and shapely, and her laughs were genuine when he told his jokes. Who could blame him?)

So it was a good thing this wasn’t a date. It didn’t matter that Jacaera obviously liked him. It didn’t matter that she blushed whenever she looked at him (and she looked at him a lot). It didn’t matter that he was fighting a boner as he watched her wrap her lips around a meat kebab. It didn’t matter that he was sure that if he put his mind to it, he could convince her to go with him to the nearest pay-by-the-hour motel and pick out her favorite flavored condom from the vending machine.

It didn’t matter. Because this wasn’t a date, and Aegon wasn’t going to take advantage of a lost, grateful schoolgirl with negative street smarts. It might come as a surprise to his mother, but her endless lectures about acting gentlemanly toward girls did manage to stick in his brain.

Being gentlemanly was the reason that, when Jacaera’s bus finally arrived (and they actually managed to make this one in time), Aegon decided to hop on after her at the very last second. He could have just waved goodbye instead of taking an unnecessary detour to Spicetown. Not even his mother would have expected him to personally escort Jacaera all the way back.

But the last thing he wanted was for Jacaera to somehow end up in the bus depot at Hull again. This was the only way to ensure that she got home safely.

Aegon felt vindicated in his decision when, halfway through the bus ride, Jacaera dozed off in the middle of their conversation. When he realized why she had stopped responding to his questions, Aegon shook his head, grinning. She really needed to be more situationally aware on buses.

He stared out the window. It was dark, so he couldn’t see much outside, but it was better than staring at the seat in front of him. A few minutes later, her head drifted and came to a rest on his shoulder. She was still snoozing.

Now Aegon had something even better to stare at. He looked down at her, admiring how pretty she appeared even when her mouth gaped open in her sleep. He clasped his hands on his lap, so he didn’t give into the urge to touch her cheek and see whether her skin was as soft as it appeared. He did allow himself to turn his head and sniff her hair. She smelled like roses.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she dreamed. What did good girls dream about? Charming princes in tailored suits taking her to fancy society events? Well, Aegon could turn on the charm when he felt like it, and he used to own multiple tailored suits before he ripped them up after quitting KLU. But he wasn’t a high society kind of guy, no matter that he was born into it. He wasn’t the socially acceptable Prince Charming that Jacaera would want to introduce to her family.

She liked him today, but that was probably because she was dazzled by him rescuing her from those meth heads. She would forget about him after a few days.

Still, Aegon couldn’t remember the last time that somebody gazed at him with so many stars in their eyes. He liked being looked at as if he were somebody’s hero. It was a far cry better than the sneers and sad disappointment of his family. He would enjoy it while it lasted.

Then he realized her stop was next. Panic bubbled in his chest when he realized it was time to say goodbye. For a moment, he contemplated not pressing the signal button and missing her stop. He could keep her for a while longer. He could keep her for the entire night if she continued sleeping while the bus turned back to Hull. She would trust him if he told her it was safest to get a motel room with him for the night then head home in the morning. They didn’t have to fuck. They could just lie down together and keep talking (although he wouldn’t say no if she wanted to fuck).

Eyes closed, Jacaera sleepily nuzzled against Aegon’s neck and let out a soft, content sigh. He knew that it probably meant nothing. He knew that she would probably do that with anyone she slept on. But he let himself believe that this meant she trusted him. She trusted him to take care of her even when she was sound asleep. She trusted him to ensure she made it home, where she belonged, not wandering the dingy streets of Hull with someone who was no good for a good girl.

So Aegon leaned over and hit the button to signal the driver to stop. “Jace,” he murmured, shaking her gently, “we’re here.”

They both got off the bus. The gated community where Jacaera’s grandparents lived resembled every other rich people neighborhood that Aegon had ever seen, full of oversized houses with uselessly large lawns. There was a security guard who seemed surprised to see them approaching from the bus stop. “Miss Velaryon! Welcome back.” The guard looked sidelong at Aegon. “Is everything alright, Miss Velaryon…?”

If Aegon wanted to, he could draw himself up to his full height and exude his My first car—which I crashed—cost more than twice your annual salary, so don’t look down at me, you peasant aura, which he had learned before he started crawling. But he liked to save that for emergencies only. So he kept quiet.

“I’m perfectly well,” Jacaera assured the guard. “My friend is walking me home.”

The guard cast another suspicious look at Aegon but didn’t dare argue with her. “As you say, Miss Velaryon. Have a good night.”

Although Jacaera’s grandparents’ home was nestled deep in the neighborhood, the walk felt too short. Aegon stopped at the end of the long driveway, handed over the heavy bookbag he’d been carrying for her, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well…this is it.” He wasn’t usually so tongue-tied around girls, but Jacaera made him do a lot of things he didn’t usually do.

Jacaera fidgeted with the bookbag’s straps. “It’s really late. Would you like to stay the night? In a guest room, I mean. My grandparents would be happy to host you after everything you did for me.”

Her grandparents would take one look at Aegon and order their butler to kick him out. But if they knew who he was, if they knew which family he came from—not a run-of-the-mill Targaryen, but a Targaryen who could trace a direct line of descent from the former royal house and had the bank accounts to prove it—they would roll out the red carpet for him.

He’d always hated red carpets, though. Too many eyes on him, eagerly waiting to see what he would do this time to fuck up. Jacaera’s grandparents would definitely keep their eyes glued to him, assessing whether he was worthy, ensuring that he didn’t try to defile their precious granddaughter, even though he’d had ample opportunity earlier.

“Nah. I should get going.” Aegon might be able to catch the last ferry back to Dragonstone for the night. Or maybe he would see if one of his acquaintances could meet up in Spicetown. He was desperate for a drink. Maybe something a little stronger.

“Oh.” Jacaera’s shoulders slumped. “Can I… Can I see you again?”

Aegon smiled, a touch bitterly. “For your sake, I hope you don’t.” Then, because he was despicably selfish, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. Her skin was as soft as it looked. He thought about moving just one inch to the left and seeing whether her lips were soft too. But what if she’d never kissed anyone before? Then he would be the cad who stole her first kiss and ditched her.

So he stepped back, drank in her starstruck expression for the last time, then disappeared into the night.

Now

They had just finished eating dinner. Aegon was embarrassed about crying, but Jacaera didn’t make fun of him for it. She never made fun of him, or of anyone else as far as he knew.

Jacaera fidgeted with the strap of her purse as they lingered outside the Dragonmont. “Can I… Can I see y—the dogs! Can I see the dogs again soon?” She gazed hopefully at him.

She’d looked at him with that same expression ten years ago, when she asked Can I see you again? But he was an idiot who said no, for dumb reasons like she’s not my usual type and it’s just the adrenaline talking, she doesn’t actually like me that much. Then he sulked in the Dragonstone house for several days, glugging his secret stash in the guest room and kicking himself for being so stupid, until he swallowed his pride, hopped on the ferry to Driftmark, and went to find her at her prep school.

He had never been able to stay away from Jacaera Velaryon for long. Now that she was within his reach again, he was desperate to keep her there. So he gave the only answer he could give: “Of course. Come by anytime. Mum-to-be is waiting for her name.”

“Maybe tomorrow evening?” she asked. “I want to go to sept in the morning. I heard that the sept here is doing a service in High Valyrian as part of the festival. Then I need to check on work emails, if the wifi lets me. But after that, I would like to go to the festival—if your offer still stands?”

“Yes. It absolutely still stands,” he said hurriedly. “Tomorrow evening works. It’s a—” He barely managed to stop himself from saying date. “It’s a…plan,” he said lamely instead, feeling like an idiot.

She beamed at him, and he decided it was totally worth feeling like an idiot if it meant she continued looking at him like that.

The next day, Aegon felt lighter than air when he took the dogs out for their morning walk. He remained chipper as he sat at his desk and opened up his budgeting spreadsheets. Usually the onerous task caused his mood to plummet, but the numbers looked much better now that he added the fee that Strong Associates would pay the shelter. He might actually be able to pay Nettles on time for her vet bill when she came to check on mum-to-be on Monday. Nettles charged him dirt-cheap rates for her visits, but it was still a struggle scraping together the funds.

Once that was done, he checked his texts in case somebody had messaged him while he was out. He doubted it; his family wasn’t the type to casually say oh hey I hope you’re doing OK out there on that isolated rock, and if they did need something from him, they usually emailed him.

Nope, the most recent text was still from Daeron two nights ago.

Aegon felt a twinge of guilt for brushing off Daeron on Friday night. Ordinarily, Aegon would’ve drilled his baby brother for details about the girl supposedly coming onto him. (Daeron was a good-looking kid but way too wholesome for his own good. If the runt ever saw a girl’s boobs, he would drop dead on the spot, and then he would try to argue with the Stranger that he deserved to be sent to the seven hells for the sin of bearing witness to naked titties.) Unfortunately for Daeron, he’d texted Aegon several minutes after Jacaera rejected his first offer to catch up over tea.

Now Aegon was in a much better mood to give sage, big brother advice. He really hoped Daeron hadn’t gone to Aemond for help. Aemond treated dates like business transactions, only Aemond felt more passionate about business transactions. Aemond’s advice to Daeron would probably involve making spreadsheets about the girl’s personal information and exchanging character references to ensure the other person wasn’t a psycho. There was a reason that Aemond had never had a more meaningful relationship than that soulless, “synergetic” fuck-buddy arrangement with Cassandra Baratheon.

Aegon was about to tap out a follow-up message to Daeron when his phone buzzed. Chills went up Aegon’s spine upon realizing that the new text he just received was from his grandfather.

No hello. No explanation. Nothing. Just a link to an article in The King’s Landing Times.

Aegon refused to click on the link. He knew very well that Otto was deeply disappointed in his eldest grandchild’s vocation. Otto had mostly given up on Aegon, but he occasionally sent messages like this, as if hoping they might inspire Aegon to make a career adjustment. If Aegon started breeding poodles and corgis for the Lannisters, Baratheons, Tullys, and Otto’s other corporate friends, his grandfather might welcome Aegon back into the fold.

No fucking way. There were already enough dogs who needed a home. The abandoned mutts deserved love and affection just as much as the fancy purebreds did.

Aegon wandered over to Cannibal Jail so he could pet mum-to-be. She was peering through the bars of the crib to stare at Sunfyre, who was staring back at her. Sunfyre was exhibiting a remarkable amount of interest in their new lady friend. They made an odd couple, but Aegon had a fondness for odd couples.

“Where did you come from?” Aegon asked mum-to-be. When Nettles visited, she would check mum-to-be for a microchip. It was hard to believe that someone would be so careless as to lose a Cavalier Queen Alysanne Spaniel.

Mum-to-be didn’t answer. She just licked Aegon’s hand.

Jacaera rang the doorbell shortly before sundown. Aegon opened the door, and his mind instantly emptied of any coherent thought.

“Hello,” Jacaera said nervously. “I don’t look that bad, do I? I was hoping that the festival might have some noblewomen’s costumes available for rent, but apparently those all sold out first. They still had some ‘fair maiden’ costumes, though. It’s a rental so I know it doesn’t fit perfectly, but it looks alright, doesn’t it?”

Fair maiden? More like tavern wench.

Aegon was doing his best not to stare. Really, he was. But the costume’s corset was doing an impressive job of pushing up Jacaera’s breasts, which she used to complain were too small (Aegon never had any complaints; all boobs were great boobs, especially if he was allowed to touch them), and creating an extraordinary amount of cleavage. The bodice’s neckline was rather low, low enough that she was in danger of a wardrobe malfunction if she moved too vigorously.

He would never have guessed that Jacaera would wear something like this. (In public, at least. She’d been full of surprises in private.) Had her fashion preferences really changed that much in ten years? When he saw her yesterday, she’d worn a conservative skirt suit in the morning then a turtleneck sweater and pleated pants at dinner. But maybe she was more willing to let loose at a festival.

“Oh no, it does look awful, doesn’t it?” Jacaera self-consciously wrapped her cloak—presumably another rental—around herself when he failed to speak. “I’ll just return it and put on some normal clothes.”

“No, don’t,” Aegon blurted. “It looks good.”

Jacaera smiled in relief. “Really?”

“Really.” His rock-hard dick would gladly attest to that. He stuck his hands in his pockets and discreetly adjusted his cargo pants. He tried his best to look her in the eyes so his gaze didn’t wander downwards.

Jacaera swished her skirts. “Well, that’s good. I do wish I could’ve gotten one of the noblewoman gowns, but maybe there will be some available later in the week?”

“Maybe. I’ll help keep an eye out. I know most of the festival vendors.” Aegon cast his memory back to the last time he’d snooped around the storage rooms in the Dragonstone house. His ancestors had been really into throwing big costume parties in their cavernous ballroom. He was pretty sure he’d seen some fancy dresses while he was poking through the boxes.

“Could I see my dog—I mean, the dog I brought?” asked Jacaera. “Then, if the dogs aren’t keeping you busy, maybe we could explore the festival for a bit?”

“Sure. I mean—of course. To both things.” Seven hells, Aegon hadn’t been this tongue-tied around a girl in years. (Ten years, to be precise, and around the same girl he was talking to right now.) “I was going to take the dogs out to the festival anyway. They love it, and people love them.” He cleared his throat as he adjusted his pants again. “Come—uh, over here. Mum-to-be’s been waiting for you.”

Mum-to-be was curled up in the crib, which she seemed to have requisitioned from Cannibal. Jacaera beelined for the crib and cooed over her dog. As she did, she bent over the crib, which gave Aegon a truly spectacular view of her tits. If the laces of her bodice were a hair looser, he would be able to see her nipples.

He raised his gaze to the ceiling, bemoaning his lack of foresight to have a wank earlier that day. He did have a wank the previous afternoon after he got back from the big house, lying in bed amid a cloud of expensive rose perfume. The smell had reminded him of Jacaera, and he’d taken himself in hand while remembering the way she used to wrap her long legs around his waist and rake her fingernails across his back. (She was always embarrassed and apologetic about the scratches afterward. He wore them with pride.)

But that was before she burst through his front door in the middle of the night. If the mere memory of Jacaera was intoxicating, then the real thing would drive him insane.

The real thing might actually kill him. There was so much blood going to his cock right now, he was starting to feel lightheaded. It had been almost a decade since he had sex, when he made some poor, not-sober-at-all decisions in the aftermath of being dumped by Jacaera. He could almost hear his balls sobbing for relief now that the subject of his masturbatory dreams was standing in front of him, wearing a tavern wench costume that was practically shoving her tits in his face.

Jacaera looked up from her dog, smiling. “I thought of a name for her. Vermax.”

Aegon gratefully seized the distraction. “Like your horse from equestrian club?”

“Yes. Vermax also had chestnut and white coloring, and she was a sweetie, just like mum-to-be.” Jacaera leaned down again (Aegon averted his gaze again) to kiss the top of mum-to-be’s head. “May I call you Vermax?”

Mum-to-be—Vermax—cheerfully licked Jacaera’s cheek.

“We dub thee Vermax,” Aegon announced. He removed the Cannibal Jail sign, flipped it over, scribbled Castle Vermax on the other side, and reattached the paper to the crib.

Jacaera helped him prepare the dogs for their festival outing. It was a great opportunity to get interest from potential adopters, especially for Dreamfyre. Aegon had ordered costumes from Blue Mermaid Knits for all the dogs except Vermax, who was a last-minute addition. Sunfyre had a crown and cape, Greyghost got a jester hat, Dreamfyre looked like a unicorn, Tessarion was bedecked in crocheted chainmail, and Cannibal wore a full-body dragon outfit. Aegon didn’t want Vermax to feel left out, so he gave her a little tiara from the shelter’s anniversary party.

Vermax was tucked into a wagon, which Jacaera pushed in front of her while Aegon held the other dogs’ leashes. As they set out toward the festival, Jacaera teased, “Where’s your costume, Aegon?”

“I’m saving it for when I perform at the festival in a few days. Don’t want to spoil the surprise.” Aegon’s jester motley wasn’t very warm, so he was planning to wear it only for the duration of his performance. Frankly, he was reconsidering whether he wanted to wear it at all. Jester motley looked ridiculous, which was fine when he had nobody to impress. But now he did have somebody to impress, and he didn’t want to resemble a clown while she was watching him onstage.

Jacaera’s eyes lit up. “You’re performing? Are you singing?”

“And playing guitar. These guys are my backup vocals.” Aegon nodded at the dogs. “Our troupe is called Aegon and the Aegoons.”

She brushed some of her hair over her shoulder. The movement drew his attention to her cleavage. Thank fuck that it was so damn cold, his cock was incapable of rising to attention. “I missed hearing you sing,” she confessed, bashfully looking up at him through her dark eyelashes.

Warmth filled his chest. “Then I’ll have to dedicate a song just for my pretty girl.” Pretty girl. It had been so long since that endearment passed his lips. Now it was the only thing he wanted to say. Pretty girl, pretty girl, pretty girl, my pretty girl.

The dogs received many compliments from other festival-goers, as they deserved. Several people expressed interest in Dreamfyre. Aegon directed them to the shelter’s website, although none of them jumped out as The One for Dreamfyre. He vetted potential adopters very thoroughly. He never rushed the process. The last thing he wanted was to send a dog to a bad home.

Quite a few people cooed over Vermax. Jacaera’s smile grew strained whenever somebody inquired about Vermax’s availability. Aegon tried not to smile as he explained that Vermax wouldn’t be ready for adoption anytime soon.

In the center of the square, a familiar figure was running around being a menace, as usual. Ulf White, the local drunk, was the kind of acquaintance Aegon would’ve enjoyed hanging out with ten years ago. But now? Aegon had hated Ulf’s guts ever since he caught Ulf trying to feed beer—beer!—to Silverwing. Aegon would have beat the crap out of Ulf if Saera hadn’t intervened.

Ulf was dressed in a cheap troubadour costume, pretending to strum a guitar as music played from a nearby speaker. Whenever a remotely attractive woman under the age of forty appeared, Ulf—who was at least fifty—raced over and tried to serenade her, even if she was accompanied by a boyfriend or husband or a gaggle of small children. As Jacaera was the most attractive woman on the island (and possibly in the entire country), Ulf unsurprisingly ran straight toward her when she came into view.

“She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair, but he licked the honey from her hair,” Ulf sang off-key as he pressed his face uncomfortably close to Jacaera’s. “Her hair! Her Hair! He licked the honey from her—”

Aegon stuck his hand in front of Ulf’s face, forcing Ulf to back away. “She’s not interested, Ulf.”

“All the ladies are interested in Ulf!” Ulf slurred. He winked at Jacaera. “I’m descended from Willem Spearshaker, y’know. Got a silver tongue just like the Bard if you’d like to try it out.”

“That’s nice,” Jacaera said politely. “We have to get go—”

Ulf struck a dramatic pose as he prepared to monologue. “‘The rod becomes me well enough, does it not? It hangs like a distaff of flax, and I hope to see a housewife take me between her legs and spin it off.’” He waggled his eyebrows as he leered at Jacaera’s tits.

Jacaera tilted her head thoughtfully. “That’s from Fourteenth Night, isn’t it?”

“A fellow lover of the Bard! Fair lady, I would be honored to buy you a drink and—”

“I thought the joke was that the man with the rod contracts syphilis from the housewife and loses all his hair.” Jacaera frowned, although her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Are you accusing me of having syphilis?”

Aegon burst into laughter upon seeing Ulf’s bewildered, panicked expression. He was still laughing when Jacaera turned her back on Ulf’s gibbering apologies, linked her arm with Aegon’s, and steered them away from the square.

When he managed to stop laughing, Aegon wiped a tear from his eye. “That was brilliant, Jace.”

“I was simply utilizing my knowledge from my old Spearshaker lessons.” She smiled coyly at Aegon. “I had a very good tutor.”

His heart thumped erratically.

Aegon paid for all their food and drinks that evening: handheld pies, apple dumplings, hot non-alcoholic cider, unseasoned popcorn that they shared with the dogs as a treat. When Jacaera bit into an apple dumpling, fruity filling squirted out onto her chin.

Reflexively, Aegon used his thumb to wipe the mess from her face then stuck his digit in his mouth. As he licked his thumb clean, Jacaera’s eyes darkened, and her cheeks pinked. She’d looked the same ten years ago whenever she was ready to wrestle him into the backseat of his truck. He thought she might’ve looked at him the same way last night while they were bathing Vermax, but he’d been too caught up in his own head to analyze her expression. Maybe he was still able to read her, even after all this time.

He slowly removed his thumb from his mouth. His lips curled up in a knowing smile. “Something catch your eye, Jace?” It was so easy—too easy—to slip back into their old roles. He’d always loved experimenting with all the different ways he could make her blush.

Sure enough, her cheeks turned even pinker. “Ye—no. I mean—um. Thank you for getting that off my chin. It was…very kind of you.” She cleared her throat. “It’s getting late. Should we…walk back together?”

Aegon tried not to sweat like a teenaged boy who was optimistic about the signals being sent by his crush. The shelter was closer, so they dropped off the dogs first. Then Aegon walked Jacaera back to the Dragonmont, waving off her apologies for having him go out of his way on such a cold night. “There might be good-for-nothing KLU dropouts waiting for you around the corner. I’ll fend them off,” he joked.

She held his gaze as she smiled. “I quite liked the last KLU dropout I met, and I wouldn’t call him good-for-nothing.”

Their footsteps slowed as they neared the Dragonmont. The cast-iron lamps near the front door bathed them in a warm glow. “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” he asked.

“Today was a long day, so I might sleep in for once. And tomorrow is Monday so I have to check on work in the morning, but…” Jacaera adjusted her costume. The bodice slipped lower on her chest. “After that, I’m all yours.”

He smirked as he seized upon her fortuitous choice of words. “All mine?”

There was that delightful blush again. “I mean, I’ll be free to do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” He cackled when she stomped her foot, huffing.

“If you’re going to be like that, then maybe I’ll rescind the offer,” she said, sticking her nose up in the air.

“No, don’t.” His laughter abated. “We’ll walk the dogs and have tea and play a game or something.” (Maybe roleplay in that tavern wench costume if he was lucky. He probably wouldn’t be lucky, but a man could dream.)

Jacaera adjusted her costume again. If Aegon didn’t know any better, he would swear she was intentionally tugging the neckline lower. “I had fun tonight, Aegon.” She took a half-step closer to him. “Can we do it again sometime?”

“With pleasure.” He took his own half-step to match hers. Her eyes were fixed on his mouth, and her own lips were parted. When she used to do that, it meant she wanted him to kiss her. Heart pounding hopefully, he bent his head to bring his face closer to hers.

The Dragonmont’s door banged open, startling them into jumping apart.

“Who’s skulking on my doorstep?” Saera demanded in an unnecessarily loud voice. “No loiterers, no solicitors!”

Aegon held up his hands. “Relax, Saera, it’s just us.”

Saera’s scowl immediately flipped into a smile. “Oh, Aegon! Would you like to come in for a minute? I saved some cupcakes from dinner.”

“No thanks. I was just walking Jace back here.”

Saera’s smile dimmed. “You’re always such a gentleman, Aegon.” The old woman ducked inside to grab something then immediately popped back out. She thrust a cardboard box toward Jacaera. “A Blackwater.com delivery for you, Miss Velaryon. Rush shipping, hm? Must be important.”

For some reason, panic swept over Jacaera’s expression as she tried to hide the box beneath her cloak. “Thank you, Ms. Targaryen.”

Saera sniffed and opened the door wider. “Well, are you coming in or not? You’re letting all the heat out.”

As Jacaera hurried across the threshold, she looked over her shoulder at Aegon. “Goodnight, Aegon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Jace.” He was certain that his smile could be described as dopey as he watched the door to the Dragonmont close. As he headed back to the shelter, he made sure to jog at a speedy pace, desperate to get back to his bed and visions of a pretty tavern wench who smelled like rose perfume and recited dirty Spearshaker jokes.

Chapter Text

Messages Just Now Maternal Unit
I am dying

Chapter Text

Aemond was supposed to pick up his mother at half past eight on Sunday morning. By the time he parked his Korzia in the driveway of his parents’ house, he was nine minutes late.

He despised tardiness. It was unprofessional and discourteous. He had lectured more than a few interns at Hightower Corp for strolling through the door with a cup of Starkbucks after they were supposed to be at their desks, ready to start the day. But Aemond’s tardiness today was a strategy that he had deliberately undertaken, despite the black mark it made on his sterling record of timeliness.

“Sorry I’m late,” Aemond told his mother as she got into the passenger seat. “We’ll still make it in time if I hurry.”

“Drive safely,” said Alicent. She buckled her seatbelt and gripped the handle above the window.

Aemond ran three red lights and two stop signs. At least one camera flashed at him, but he could afford the traffic ticket. The important thing was that they arrived at the sept four minutes before the service started. Just enough time to find their seats, but not enough time for Alicent to ask prying questions about Aemond’s personal life.

As he went through the rote motions of standing, sitting, kneeling, and praying, he contemplated his next evasive maneuver. Although Alicent would force him to provide answers sooner or later, he wanted to stall the inevitable interrogation about his current “significant other.” Cassandra Baratheon had come pre-checked and pre-approved, her lineage and social class confirmed long before they were formally introduced, so there had been no need for a cross-examination. He doubted he would escape this time around.

When the service ended, Aemond began his little white lie. “Something urgent came up at work, Mother. I have to go to the office, but I’ll schedule a WheelHaus to take you home after you’re done with fellowship—”

“No need for that. You can just drop me off at home now. Your father’s hip had a flare-up yesterday, so it’s best I not be gone for long.” As Alicent spoke, her eyes flashed with the same knowing look from Aemond’s childhood, when he and Aegon accidentally broke an expensive vase while horsing around and tried to hide the pieces.

Aemond pursed his lips but otherwise gave no sign of his dissatisfaction at being thwarted.

As they walked out to the parking lot, his mother said casually, “Gwayne told me that you’re seeing someone.”

So it begins, Aemond thought grimly. “The head of HR really shouldn’t partake in office gossip.”

“It doesn’t count when it’s family.” Alicent waited for Aemond to unlock the doors of his Korzia. “You’re bringing her to the Hightower Corp Yule party. That’s nice.”

She asked no questions, so Aemond offered no answers as they got into the car.

Alicent’s fingers drummed on her lap. “What’s her name?”

The conversation wasn’t too painful thus far. Aemond thought his mother was being rather normal about it, all things considered. She had never been this normal with Aegon. Aegon had done few things in his life that made Aemond grateful, but Aemond was admittedly grateful that, as the eldest child, Aegon had borne the worst of their family’s…thorough tendencies concerning their children’s romantic prospects.

“Lucera,” Aemond answered as he started the engine.

Alicent sat on Aemond’s right, so he was able to see the furrow in her brow as her fingers stilled. “Lucera?” she repeated, voice tight. “That is…a lovely name. Very classic. What is her surname?”

During his meeting with Lucera at Gyles’ Pies, Aemond had decided to lie when he was eventually asked this very question. His family would uncover the falsehood before long, but he only needed the falsehood to hold up for a short while. Just until the Yule party was over, and then he could come up with an unremarkable story about a cordial breakup.

“Rivers,” replied Aemond.

He had previously done a GreenSite search to confirm that there were quite a few women named Lucera Rivers in Westeros. They would serve as convenient red herrings while his family conducted their usual research. The last thing he wanted was someone following Lucera around, making notes on the price of her hand-knitted sweaters, writing up reports about things she would rather keep private: her sisters’ ages and where they lived, why her parents were no longer married, and any other details which she’d determined weren’t any of his business.

For whatever reason, Lucera hadn’t seen fit to disclose that information to Aemond, which was her prerogative. Therefore, Aemond wasn’t going to make it easy for an investigator to dig up that very same information then share it with his family over the phone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the stiff lines of Alicent’s shoulders relaxing. “Any relation to that actress you used to like?” she asked. 

Aemond fervently hoped that he wasn’t blushing. He fervently hoped that his mother didn’t know why he used to like Alys Rivers. “No relation. Mother, you ought to know better than most that sharing a surname doesn’t necessarily mean a familial connection.”

“Of course. I was just curious.” Alicent resumed drumming her fingers. Aemond could practically see her storing the name Lucera Rivers in her mental filing cabinet. He expected her to conduct a GreenSite search of her own as soon as he dropped her off. “How did you two meet?”

“We met at the Dragonpit in November,” Aemond said, like he and Lucera had rehearsed. “We haven’t been together long. It isn’t serious. You don’t need to worry about nefarious gold-digging motivations.”

On the contrary, Lucera was mind-bogglingly uninterested in Aemond’s bank accounts, to the point that she was blatantly disgusted with his high-earning career. He told himself not to take it personally.

“It is a mother’s nature to worry.” His mother turned to look at him when he stopped at a red light. “What is she like?”

Now that was a surprising question. Aemond had expected a barrage of more utilitarian inquiries: What is her job? What are her parents’ jobs? Do they need jobs? What neighborhood does she live in? Is there a family history of genetic disorders? He had been prepared to fend off questions of that ilk, but this question caught him off-guard with its startling normalcy.

That was why, instead of giving a carefully curated response that would satisfy his mother for the time being, Aemond said the first thing that came to mind: “Short with an equally short temper, but in possession of more than enough personality to make up for her lack of height.”

Alicent’s eyebrows rose. “That was a rather artful description.”

“Were you expecting a bullet point list of her personality traits?” Aemond drawled sarcastically.

His mother didn’t reply right away. That meant her answer was yes. Tactfully, she said instead, “I look forward to meeting her. I don’t suppose you’re bringing her to Dragonstone?”

“Absolutely not,” Aemond said vehemently.

Even if he were seeing Lucera in truth, he wouldn’t take her anywhere near that accursed family reunion. That would be a surefire way to ensure that any potential girlfriend blocked his number as soon as she escaped back to the mainland.

Not that Aemond had any hopes or expectations of Lucera becoming his girlfriend. This was a temporary arrangement, meant to fix a problem that she caused. He cleared his throat and said more calmly, “It’s much too soon to bring her, an outsider, to what is supposed to be a private family gathering.”

“That is sensible,” Alicent approved.

The conversation faded to companionable silence. Aemond took a breath and relaxed his grip on the steering wheel.

Then his mother asked, “What is her job?”

Aemond ran the next few red lights, so he could (politely) kick his mother out of his car that much faster.

The queue at Griffin’s Roast on a Sunday afternoon was much shorter than on a weekday morning. Ahead of Aemond, a frazzled mother was trying to shout her order over the screams of her child, who looked much too old to be throwing a public tantrum about getting a giant cookie. Really, it ought to be illegal for children under age twelve to step foot inside office buildings. Aemond hoped that Rhaenyra’s youngest daughters were decently behaved, or else Yule was going to be even more wretched than he anticipated.

At long last, the mother was able to convey that she wanted a cafe miel. Aemond spared a thought for Jane the Drinker of Coffee With Too Much Cinnamon, who ordered the same thing every morning. Was a cafe miel the caffeinated drink of choice among women in their twenties these days? Lucera had consumed an impressive amount of sugary pie last night, so it was probably safe to assume that she would prefer a sweet beverage.

As Aemond ordered a cafe miel (with extra cinnamon, though it pained him to utter the words), he wondered whether Lucera might think he was overstepping. She didn’t ask him for coffee. She denied that she was cold. She might not even want caffeine this late in the day.

But, as he did a quick cost-benefit analysis, he decided it was worth the minor risk. At worst, she wouldn’t want the coffee, and he would be out a measly seven dragons. It was more likely that she would appreciate the gesture, and this would improve their working relationship.

Besides, it was normal for a boyfriend to bring a hot coffee to his girlfriend on a cold day. This was simply good practice for when they had to perform at the Yule party.

Aemond welcomed the warmth of the coffee cup in his hands during the brisk walk to the Yule market. The market wasn’t far from his office building. If he took his legally mandated lunch break (which he usually skipped), he could easily walk there and back again to supply Lucera with a hot beverage every day this upcoming week. Aemond had never been a coffee errand boy, not even when he was a mere intern at Hightower Corp, but this was all part of the act. He needed his coworkers to witness him playing the role of dedicated boyfriend if he wanted them to believe the ruse.

Oh, and Celtigar would believe it too. Celtigar was the whole reason that Aemond was stuck in this fake boyfriend scenario. It could only be to Lucera’s benefit if Aemond continued to be her personal caffeine courier.

When he arrived at Lucera’s booth, the shutters were closed. A “Back in 10” sign hung on the front. As he drew closer, however, he heard Lucera’s muffled voice within the booth. He didn’t hear anyone else’s voice. Was she on the phone?

If the temperature were a few degrees warmer, Aemond would have waited for her to finish her call before interrupting. But frankly, he didn’t want to stand around shivering for ten minutes while he metamorphosed into an icicle, so he knocked on the shutters.

“Hang on, I’ll be out in a minute!” she shouted.

Aemond sighed, adjusted his grip on the cooling coffee cup, and resigned himself to waiting. He tried not to eavesdrop on Lucera’s conversation—honestly, he didn’t—but the materials comprising the booth weren’t exactly soundproof.

He only caught a few snippets here and there. “Sapphire,” he heard Lucera snap at one point, which piqued his interest. Then a moment later, “Implications!”

Was Lucera talking about him? Aemond didn’t have a monopoly on all things sapphire, but they did just have a conversation about his sapphire prosthesis last night. If Lucera was talking about him, what was she saying? To whom was she talking?

Aemond realized he was getting himself worked up for no good reason, and he reminded himself this was why he tried not to eavesdrop. Incomplete information could be worse than no information at all. For all he knew, Lucera was planning a trip to Tarth, which touted itself as “the Sapphire Isle” to tourists.

Deciding to remove himself from further temptation of eavesdropping, Aemond took a quick stroll up and down the row of booths. None of Lucera’s neighbors were her direct competition, he noted with satisfaction. The only other purveyor of fiber goods in the vicinity was a weaver whose stock consisted mostly of blankets. There was another merchant who sold stuffies, but hers were made with a sewing machine.

They aren’t as well-made as Lucera’s, Aemond observed as he cast a judgmental eye over the collection of limp little dragons.

Aemond circled back to Lucera’s booth. The sign was still up, even though it had been more than ten minutes. At this rate, the coffee was going to become iced coffee. He knocked again.

“Just a second!” Lucera bellowed.

Aemond generously gave her thirty seconds before knocking again, even louder. Then, figuring that she was probably glued to a cat video or meme on her phone, he took out his own phone and sent her a message.

She replied a second later, so quickly that he was surprised she’d managed to type out more than two words.

He stared at her response and the photo she sent. And stared. And stared some more. And continued staring as the shutters of the booth finally flew open.

“What can I help you with toda—oh! Hi! Uh…what are you doing here?” Even though Lucera was standing right beside him on the other side of the booth’s counter, her voice sounded oddly distant to Aemond’s ears.

Aemond drew upon his deep wells of self-control, forcing himself to stay focused on his phone screen and not look up at her. If he looked at her, he was one-hundred percent going to imagine her wearing that…that…that diabolical thing of lace and see-through fabric.

This thing was obviously an undergarment of some sort. Was this another one of Lucera’s unserious suggestions for inappropriate attire to wear to the Yule party?

But Aemond had been trained to pick up on the nuances of verbiage. A single word change in a contract could completely upend a corporate merger; every preposition mattered. Lucera’s previous screenshots had been accompanied by facetious commentary, such as I was thinking about this or what do you think of this one?

This latest photo had come with a link to a store and an imperative for Aemond to purchase the garment. Did she actually want this one? Was she actually planning to wear it to the Yule party? (Presumably underneath an actual dress, because Aemond refused to believe that Lucera was as clueless about professional norms as she had pretended to be earlier.)

Aemond knew little about women’s fashion. If Lucera claimed that this undergarment was a necessity, who was he to question it? Sure, it was possible that Lucera was using him to get free clothes, but Aemond could afford it. And maybe, just maybe, he would be able to see her wear—

He hastily shut down that grossly inappropriate thought. Quite a bit of time had already elapsed since Lucera greeted him. He needed to respond. So he said, trying very hard not to think about the fact that the majority of his blood was pooling in his lower anatomy, “I’ll put in the order, and—and yes to seams.”

What did she mean by seams, anyway? Didn’t all clothing have seams?

“What?” Lucera sounded baffled as she leaned over to look at his phone. Then she whipped out her own phone. Then—“OH MY GODS.” She flung her hand over his phone with an audible slap, almost knocking the device out of his grip. “THAT WASN’T FOR YOU.”

“Ah.” Aemond hoped he didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt.

What? No. He wasn’t disappointed. Being disappointed implied that he’d had certain expectations, which he most definitely did not.

“THAT WAS A MISTAKE. FORGET THAT HAPPENED,” she screeched.

“Right.” Aemond wondered who was supposed to receive that undergarment photo. Was she seeing somebody?

No, of course she wasn’t seeing somebody. If Lucera had some other male acquaintance in her back pocket, she would have used him as a deterrent for Clement Celtigar, not a stranger like Aemond. She would have mentioned something during their information exchange at Gyles’ Pies. Of course Lucera was single.

Unless her fake relationship with Aemond counted. Which it didn’t. But it did count in the eyes of his coworkers. Maybe it half-counted.

“PURGE IT FROM YOUR BRAIN.”

“It’s purged,” Aemond lied.

No chance of that happening.

Late that night, Aemond found himself scouring Lucera’s Ravengram page. For research purposes. Even though he was sure she had been truthful at Gyles’ Pies, it was best practice to acquire firsthand information when possible.

The page for Blue Mermaid Knits was solely for business purposes and didn’t mix in her personal life at all, which Aemond approved of, even though it impeded his research. People who were unable to keep their work lives and personal lives separate were bound to fail in at least one regard, if not both.

(In Aemond’s case, his work life was his personal life, more or less. But he didn’t have any social media, except this Ravengram account which he would delete immediately after the Yule party, so it wasn’t a problem for him.)

The first time he “liked” one of her posts, it was an accident. He was trying to zoom in on a photo of an exquisitely knitted dragon scarf, and he didn’t realize that double-tapping a post was a shortcut to liking that post.

Aemond froze when he saw that the little heart icon under the photo turned from white to red. He could easily unlike the post. But would Lucera still get the notification that he’d “liked” it in the first place? What would she think if she went to check on the post and saw that he no longer “liked” it? Would she think he didn’t like the scarf?

Well, there wasn’t anything wrong with “liking” the post. The scarf was truly well-made and deserving of accolades. He liked the scarf. Simple and factual.

Then he wondered if “liking” her post would be beneficial to her business page. Aemond wasn’t usually involved in the marketing side of the business, so he wasn’t sure exactly how the Ravengram algorithm worked, but engagement was always a good thing. Perhaps his “like” would cause Lucera’s post to show up on a potential customer’s feed, and that would be an extra sale that she wouldn’t have made without Aemond’s clumsy thumb.

Yes, his “likes” could only be a positive for Lucera. With that in mind, Aemond “liked” the next few dozen Blue Mermaid Knits posts he saw. There was no reason for him to be stingy. “Liking” her posts cost him absolutely nothing. And he really did like all her knitted and crocheted creations, so he was even being honest about it.

He didn’t just blindly “like” everything in sight, though. He made sure to actually look at each photo and read each caption. He even browsed the comments; feedback was more valuable than gold when you were trying to sell something.

Aemond scrolled again and snorted when he saw a photo of a dachshund wearing a ridiculous knitted sweater. Then he looked at the caption and comments underneath.

Sunny Dog Rescue?

What were the odds that there was a different Sunny Dog Rescue located on Dragonstone? Infinitesimally low, but not impossible. Aemond’s thumb slammed on the link that would take him to Sunny Dog Rescue’s Ravengram page.

Alas, the statistics spoke for themselves. Aemond recognized the dog in the profile photo, a fluffy retriever mix with an insipid expression which spoke volumes about its intelligence, or lack thereof. Aemond grimaced as he remembered how Sunfyre had slobbered all over his Myrish leather loafers the last time they encountered each other.

Aegon knew Lucera. Aegon had an ongoing relationship with Lucera—at least in a professional capacity, but what if it went beyond that? If Lucera made custom sweaters for Aegon’s grubby mutts, that required extensive conversations about measurements and patterns and whatever went into making asinine canine apparel.

They might even have met before. The distance between King’s Landing and Dragonstone was inconvenient for a regular commute but easily traversable via ferry. Were they friends? Were they more than friends? Did they have an arrangement similar to what Aemond used to have with Cassandra?

Aemond could imagine it now: Lucera went to Dragonstone to hand-deliver a stupid clown outfit for that dachshund. Upon meeting in person, Aegon saw that Lucera was a very desirable woman. Aegon had been quite the womanizer before rehab, so he knew all the right buttons to press. He invited Lucera inside for cheap tea and biscuits, used his little army of dogs as wingmen so Lucera would coo about how cute they were, then took her out to eat at a chippy or whatever qualified as fine dining on Dragonstone. Lucera would find it all endearingly quaint and charming, and when they got back to Aegon’s—

Mreow.

Inhaling sharply, Aemond shook the unwelcome thoughts from his head and looked over at Vhagar, who was looking back at him in obvious disapproval.

“You’re right. I’m overthinking this,” Aemond replied. He picked up Vhagar, handling her with as much care as he would a crown jewel, and set her on his lap. “Odds are they’ve never met in person. It would be much cheaper and more convenient for Lucera to simply mail Aegon’s purchases to him, and considering how terminally online most people are these days, there’s no reason—”

Vhagar dug her claws into Aemond’s thigh.

Aemond winced. “Yes. Still overthinking it. Sorry.”

He busied himself with petting and scratching Vhagar, just the way she liked. Her content purrs soon filled the room. As always, he was soothed by her warmth and the steady rise-and-fall of her breathing. Vhagar could sense when he was upset, which meant it was critical for him to become un-upset, or else she would become upset, and that would mire them in a vicious cycle of upsetness.

Aemond waited until he was completely, totally calm before he allowed his thoughts to return to Lucera and Aegon. This was, he reflected, similar to when he unintentionally eavesdropped on Lucera’s phone call. The information he possessed had huge gaps, so his imagination was filling them in—luridly.

His next steps consisted of two options. One: he could attempt to put the whole matter out of his mind and never think about it again. (Considering his tendency to brood, he knew this was doomed for failure.)

Or two: he could attempt to obtain the missing information, which would give him the full picture of Lucera and Aegon’s relationship, whatever it may be. If it even existed.

Vhagar squinted suspiciously when Aemond picked up his phone again.

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “I just need to message Aegon.”

Vhagar hissed unhappily. She was an astute judge of character.

Aemond deliberated what he would say to Aegon. He couldn’t just ask What is the nature of your relationship with Lucera Velaryon, d.b.a. Blue Mermaid Knits? Aegon would be suspicious and launch a counter-interrogation, demanding to know why Aemond wanted to know. So Aemond needed to come up with a pretext that would make Aegon believe this was an ordinary, boring, reasonable question to be asking in the middle of the night.

He spent the better part of an hour drafting the message in his notes app. It underwent at least four major revisions. Then he read it aloud to Vhagar, who gave her approval by way of making biscuits on his lap. Finally satisfied, Aemond pasted the message into his text to Aegon.

Aemond included several paragraphs about the imaginary project’s business value and requirements. It was all bullshit, but it would sound plausible to somebody like Aegon, who had no idea how these things actually worked.

Aemond hit send. Then he waited. And waited. And waited some more.

A minute passed. Then five minutes. Then ten.

Still no response from Aegon.

“It’s barely midnight. He can’t possibly be asleep already,” Aemond muttered to Vhagar. Granted, it had been a decade since Aemond last lived with his brother in their childhood home. Aegon’s habits could have changed. But Aemond resented his brother for the inconvenience, anyway.

Vhagar stared coolly at him—then violently batted his phone out of his hand. Aemond’s quick reflexes saved the phone from smashing onto the ground.

Maybe it was time for bed.

The next morning, Aemond awoke to Aegon’s response.

Perhaps Aemond should have put his questions into picture book format instead, so Aegon could digest the information at a more appropriate reading level.

Aemond was about to summarize his most pertinent questions into a bullet point list, but then he wondered if Aegon’s non-response was, in fact, a response of sorts. Aegon demonstrated no reaction to Blue Mermaid Knits. It was possible that Aegon had skimmed the text so fast that he didn’t even notice the mention of Blue Mermaid Knits, but if Aegon did have a personal relationship with Lucera, surely the name would have jumped out at him?

There was no time to brood. Aemond had to shower and dress now if he wanted to give Vhagar her insulin shot at eight on the dot. He mentally filed the situation under to be pondered after work then went to get ready for the day.

Jane the Drinker of Coffee With Too Much Cinnamon wasn’t in the queue for Griffin’s Roast today. Aemond briefly worried whether her unexpected health emergency on Friday was the reason for her absence. Or maybe she was just starting her holiday early. Hopefully, her weekend had been more relaxing and uneventful than Aemond’s.

The Hightower Corp receptionist hailed Aemond as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. “The CEO would like to see you in his office, Mr. Targaryen.”

Aemond suppressed a sigh. He had known this moment would come, although he’d hoped to have enough time to finish his coffee first.

The decor of Hightower Corp’s headquarters followed a sleek and modern aesthetic. His grandfather’s corner office was no exception—shareholders appreciated consistency—although there were a few nods to Otto’s more traditional preferences. The mahogany credenza and bookshelves along the wall were made by a master woodworker in Oldtown, whose family had been in the business for six generations. A collection of fountain pens (each one designated for signing a different type of document) was arranged on the desk, perfectly parallel with one another. Hanging in the corner was an oil painting of a landscape set in the Reach; only a handful of people at the company knew that the artist’s initials in the corner were those of Otto’s long-dead wife.

When Aemond entered the office, his grandfather slowly raised his eyes from his three-monitor setup and gazed at him for a long moment. Aemond remained calm and composed, as he would beneath the assessing stare of a potential business partner or competitor.

Otto picked up his porcelain espresso cup, took a sip, and set it back down on its saucer. Then he stated without preamble, “You aren’t bringing Cassandra to the party.”

“I am not,” said Aemond.

“Why did you two break up?”

“We were never dating.”

“You were together.”

“That wasn’t dating.” Seven hells, Otto was the second worst person with whom Aemond could imagine discussing his sex life. (The worst person was Viserys.)

Otto steepled his fingers. “She is a Baratheon.”

“I’m aware of that fact.”

“And yet you traded her for a Rivers.”

A muscle twitched in Aemond’s jaw. Traded, as if they were stocks in the market. This was Otto’s typical way of speaking. Aemond was accustomed to it, but for some reason, it irritated him now. He blamed Lucera’s anti-capitalism rant on Saturday night.

On the plus side, Otto calling Lucera a Rivers instead of a Velaryon meant that he had yet to do a deep-dive into her background, other than asking Alicent what she knew about Aemond’s date. There was still a chance that Aemond could spare Lucera from his family’s antics.

Then Otto said, “I have a one-on-one with Celtigar at twelve o’clock. I believe he is already acquainted with Miss Rivers.”

Fucking Celtigar, Aemond swore mentally. Clement Celtigar had loose lips and the self-awareness of a brick. He would no doubt tell Otto everything about Lucera, including her real surname. Once Otto and Alicent found out that Aemond had lied about that very important, very basic detail, they would double-down on their investigation.

Alright. Fine. The situation wasn’t a complete loss. Aemond’s goal was to ensure that a private investigator didn’t knock on Lucera’s door, search her garbage bins, and scrape her entire online history. He might have to forfeit a little ground, but he could still scrape together a win where it really counted.

One possible solution: Aemond could inform Otto that he was breaking up with Lucera, and she wouldn’t attend the party after all. If Aemond emphasized that he was the one initiating the breakup, then he would be able to avoid getting pitying looks from his coworkers for being dumped right before Yule. He could even invent some melodramatic reasons for the breakup that might deter Celtigar from renewing his pursuit of Lucera.

Lucera would understand the change in plans if Aemond told her he was helping her avoid an ordeal with his family. She would probably thank him for his thoughtfulness. Then they would go their separate ways, with no reason to ever see each other again.

But…deep down, even deeper than the ancient defunct mines in the Westerlands, there was a small part of Aemond that, if pressured, might admit that perhaps he wanted to attend the party with Lucera.

So Aemond tweaked the parameters of his solution. If he put an expiration date on his non-relationship with Lucera, that ought to satisfy Otto for the time being.

“A one-on-one with Celtigar? I don’t envy you, Grandfather.” Aemond smirked knowingly. Otto didn’t return the smirk, although his lips twitched a smidgen. “But if you’re forcing yourself to endure this suffering for my sake, there’s no need.”

“Oh?” Otto arched an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“If I am still interested in seeing the Rivers girl after the holidays, then you are welcome to do your standard research into her background,” Aemond said smoothly. “And if you find something objectionable, then I’ll proceed accordingly from there. But I don’t see any reason to waste your time until then on something that is unlikely to go anywhere. I’m already growing tired of her…but she wanted to go to the party.” Aemond finished his monologue with a careless half-shrug.

Otto searched his expression, which Aemond kept firmly neutral. “Ah,” Otto said at last, apparently satisfied with whatever he’d found. His tone turned to understanding. “I was young once too. There isn’t anything wrong with the occasional dalliances, as long as you keep them discreet. As your brother never did.”

Aemond coughed into his fist to cover up a snort. Apparently Otto Hightower wasn’t omniscient after all, or else he would know why Aegon had kept his head low during that year when their parents put him in time-out at Dragonstone.

But there was no reason to bring that up now. Otto would recognize it as a ploy to distract him from Lucera. It didn’t benefit Aemond to mention it, so he decided to let the secret of Aegon’s mystery girl remain buried in the past, where it couldn’t hurt anyone.

(The ghost of Aemond’s left eye twinged in his socket. He ignored it.)

“I see no reason to go any further at this time,” Otto concluded. “But Aemond, do make sure that Miss Rivers is aware of how to conduct herself appropriately. We don’t want any embarrassments.”

“Of course,” said Aemond. “Do you require anything else from me, Grandfather?”

Just then, Otto’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. Otto checked the caller ID then held Aemond’s gaze as he answered the call. “Good morning, Borros,” Otto greeted pointedly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Aemond resisted the urge to roll his eye.

Otto waved Aemond out of the room in a clear dismissal. Otto’s voice grew fainter as Aemond walked away. “Yes, give my best to Elenda. Oh, before I forget, did you ever find that dog of yours? No? Still missing? What a shame, such an expensive breed…”

Chapter Text

Ten Years Ago

A battered truck was parked on the far side of the school parking lot. None of the other students paid any attention to it. Only Jacaera noticed the silver-haired man lounging in the truck bed. Aegon was wearing earbuds, bobbing his head to the rhythm of his music.

Jacaera glanced at the activity shuttle that her friends were boarding. She was supposed to go with them and tutor kids at the public elementary school on the other side of Spicetown. She couldn’t just skip the volunteering session without a valid reason, so she placed one foot on the bottom step of the shuttle.

Then she looked back at Aegon.

He finally spotted her. Smiling, he took out the earbuds and held up two bottles of what looked like cherry soda.

“Jace?” Her friend Elinor leaned forward from her seat. “Are you coming?”

“I…” Uncertain, Jacaera returned her gaze to Aegon. “I…can’t. I’m supposed to speak with Mr. Wode about my essay grade. I’m sorry! I’ll do extra tutoring next week.” Jacaera stepped down from the shuttle. 

She waited until the shuttle was out of sight. Then she walked through the mostly-empty parking lot, keeping a sedate pace so she didn’t seem too excited. Once she was within earshot, Aegon waved the two soda bottles and asked, “Thirsty?” He patted the empty spot beside him in the truck bed.

She hesitated for only a second before climbing up to join him. There was nobody watching. Even if there was, she wasn’t doing anything wrong, was she? She wouldn’t hesitate to get in a car with one of her school friends. Aegon was her friend.

Once seated, Jacaera opened her bookbag and unearthed the KLU zip-up that was hidden at the bottom. She had forgotten to return the zip-up to Aegon before he left her at her grandparents’ house. Jacaera hadn’t been sure whether she would see him again, but she washed the zip-up and kept it in her bookbag, just in case. “This is yours. Thank you for the loan,” she said, holding out the folded zip-up.

Aegon glanced at it for only a second. “Keep it.”

“But—”

“Consider it a gift.” Aegon took the zip-up from her hands and draped it around her shoulders. “It looks better on you anyway.”

“Well…if you insist,” Jacaera said with only a little reluctance. It was rude to reject gifts. And the zip-up was comfortable. “What are you doing here, Aegon?”

“I had business here.” He took a swig from his soda bottle. The bags under his eyes were dark, and his face was even paler than she remembered. Perhaps he had been ill recently.

Jacaera asked dubiously, “What business do you have at ValVel Prep? It’s a girls’ school.”

Aegon choked on his soda. “What did you say?”

“It’s a girls’ school,” she repeated.

“No, before that.”

“ValVel Prep?” It was the common shorthand for Valaena Velaryon Preparatory School for Girls.

Aegon searched her expression, grinning mischievously. “Uh-huh. Why are you so skeptical about me having legitimate business at Vulva Prep?”

“Like I said, it’s a girls’—” Jacaera froze as she was about to drink from her soda bottle. “I beg your pardon!”

“Pardon for what?” he said innocently.

“What you just said!”

“What did I just say?”

“You know what!”

“You’re going to have to refresh my memory.” His grin grew as she sputtered in outrage. “So, you were saying something about Vulva Prep being for girls only?”

“Aegon, that is incredibly inappropriate.”

“You said it first.”

“I said ValVel, not—not that.”

“Vulva? You can say vulva, Jace. It’s just a body part, like arm. Foot. Head. Finger. Breast. Medlar—I mean, arse. Pop’rin pear. Penis. Vulva. See? Easy.”

Jacaera pouted into her soda. “You’re making fun of me.” She glared at the floor of the truck bed. There were empty bottles littering the corner; they didn’t look like soda.

Aegon scooted up behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder. She stopped breathing. “I didn’t mean it like that, Jace.” The warmth in his voice made her stomach flutter. “I missed my Spearshaker buddy. That’s why I’m here.”

“I missed you too,” she said before she could think better of her words. The sentiment was much too forward for a young lady, but it was true. In the days since she met Aegon, she had caught herself randomly smiling as she remembered his jokes. Then the smiles faded when she remembered she had no way to contact him.

Now here he was, snuggling his chin against her, saying he missed her. She didn’t push him away. There was nothing wrong with a little friendly physical contact. She often hugged her friends and sisters.

“I’ve never explored Spicetown before,” said Aegon. “Want to show me around?”

She could almost hear her grandmother and mother’s voices warning her about suspicious men who only wanted one thing from unsuspecting girls. But Aegon had acted gentlemanly while he was showing her around Hull, and it was polite to return the favor.

“I would be happy to,” Jacaera replied. She let him help her out of the truck bed and into the passenger seat.

He parked the truck downtown (“I won it in a poker game last night. Now you don’t have to worry about missing your bus.”), and they undertook their exploration on foot. Jacaera pointed out her favorite establishments. There was a Lengii milk tea bar, where Aegon bought them drinks after they finished their sodas. There was a confectionery shop, which made candied rose petals that dissolved instantly on her tongue. There was a local bookstore, whose proprietress had recommendations for romance novels every time Jacaera visited.

As soon as Jacaera entered the bookstore, Mrs. Flowers-Velarion trilled, “Jace, I got a new title and I know you’re going to love it!” She held up a book whose cover depicted a woman and man wrapped together in an amorous pose. “Rogue Delights. I should warn you it’s very steamy, but—oh! Hello, young man.” Mrs. Flowers-Velarion hastily hid the book behind the counter when she noticed Aegon following Jacaera inside.

“Steamy?” Jacaera squeaked, refusing to look at Aegon’s reaction. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Mrs. Flowers-Velarion, but I would never read something like that.”

“Of course not, Jace. My mistake.”

Jacaera ushered Aegon out of the bookstore, as quickly as they had entered. Although Aegon’s eyes twinkled with amusement, he made no snarky comments about Rogue Delights. Jacaera was too relieved to question it.

At the end of the evening, he drove her to her grandparents’ house, stopping at the end of the long driveway. Again, he declined Jacaera’s offer to come inside. “I don’t think your grandparents would be happy to see someone like me.”

Jacaera wanted to argue. Her grandparents weren’t even home! (Spicemart was negotiating a huge deal with another company; Rhaenys and Corlys would have to stay in the office past dinnertime for the foreseeable future.) But the housekeeper was there, and she would report to Rhaenys and Corlys about Jacaera bringing back a suspicious man with long hair, pierced ears, and a t-shirt advertising a popular vodka brand. Reluctantly, Jacaera reached for the handle of the truck door.

“One last thing.” Aegon leaned toward her. His eyes were dark and heated.

Her heart sped up as she sat perfectly still, watching his face come closer and closer. When his nose was only a couple of inches away from hers, he stopped. Something rectangular was pressed into her hands.

“Another gift for you,” he said, grinning.

Jacaera gawked at the copy of Rogue Delights she was holding.

Aegon tapped the bare-chested man on the book’s cover. “Don’t let it give you unrealistic expectations. If a man has abs like that, he’s probably on steroids. Or seriously dehydrated. Or both.”

She was too mortified to do anything other than flee from the truck.

In her room, Jacaera laid her textbooks on her desk so she could do the homework she’d been neglecting all day. Then she picked up Rogue Delights and furrowed her brow. When did Aegon even have time to buy it? It was possible he dashed back to the bookstore while she was in the restroom at dinner, but that seemed like an awful amount of effort for a gag gift.

Jacaera finished all her homework that was due the next day. Then she stayed up until 3AM reading the first half of Rogue Delights. It would be rude not to appreciate a gift, even if it was a gag gift.

It resulted in her yawning throughout the school day, despite the two cups of coffee she drank in the morning. When classes ended, she eagerly looked around the parking lot, but Aegon’s truck was nowhere to be seen. Disappointment curdled in her stomach as she boarded the activity shuttle to the stables.

She was sweaty and reeked of horse when she finished training with Vermax. Exhausted, Jacaera trudged out of the stables—then perked up when she saw a familiar truck near the bus stop.

“How’s Vermax?” Aegon asked when Jacaera hopped into the passenger seat. He listened as she blathered about horses, and he made the occasional, surprisingly insightful remark about equestrianism.

“Do you ride horses?” she asked between yawns.

“My sister used to. Not her favorite thing. She preferred petting the horses to riding them.” Aegon drove the truck along a cliffside road which gave them a breathtaking view of the sea. “So. Jon Blackwater seems like a git.”

Jacaera was surprised by the mention of the male love interest in Rogue Delights. “You read the book?”

“I got myself a copy. Started it last night. He’s a git.”

“He is not!” she protested. “Have you reached the part where he talks about how he was never good enough for his father?”

“Yeah. And I still think he’s a git.” Smirking, Aegon glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “What did you think of the scene after that conversation?”

Jacaera’s cheeks warmed at the reminder of the smut scene that ensued. “I…stopped reading at that point. I had to go to bed.”

Aegon snorted. “So did Jon and Marya.”

Clasping her hands on her lap, she admitted, “I might have skimmed it.”

He chuckled as he turned the steering wheel. “Like I said, don’t let it give you unrealistic expectations.”

Jacaera took a breath. Then, with false confidence, she asked, “Are you saying it’s unrealistic for a man with a twelve-inch sexual organ to make a virginal woman orgasm after zero foreplay and three thrusts?”

Aegon immediately stopped his truck on the side of the road and spent several minutes cackling into the steering wheel. There were tears in his eyes when he finally caught his breath, looking at her in wonderment. “Are you sure you’re the same girl who was scandalized by medlars and Vulva Prep?”

She shrugged, pleased with herself. “I’m a quick learner.”

His eyes were dark and heated again, like the night before, like when he watched her eat the Dornish kebabs at Hull. “I’m sure you are,” he said in a low, velvety tone that made heat blossom between her legs.

The truck was stopped in an abandoned stretch of road. They hadn’t seen any other vehicles in some time, and there were no buildings within walking distance. She didn’t need to check her phone to know she had no service out here. Aegon wasn’t especially tall or large, but she wasn’t especially strong, either. He could do as he liked with her. It was the exact type of scenario she had always been warned to avoid.

But was that such a problem if she…didn’t mind? The idea of him doing as he liked? Her breath caught in her throat as she imagined him kissing her, holding her, sliding his hand up her leg beneath her skirt. Was it wrong of her to want that from someone who was practically a stranger? Did that make her a loose woman, like everyone thought of Barba Rutherford-Velaryon after she developed her nine-month problem?

Jacaera was startled from her thoughts when the truck engine roared to life again. Aegon steered the truck back onto the road proper. “I should take you home,” he said gruffly.

“No!” She surprised herself with her own vehemence. “I mean—we’ve only just started hanging out.” Did she read him wrong? She’d thought there was desire in his eyes, but maybe she was mistaken. Or maybe she stank too much of horse.

“You’ve been yawning every other minute, Jace.” He kept his eyes glued to the road. “You should rest.”

“I was up late doing homework,” she acknowledged, “but I just need coffee, then I’ll be good for another few hours. I would rather hang out with you.”

Now Aegon looked at her, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Really?”

She nodded firmly. “Really.”

“Huh.” He was quiet for a minute. “There’s a coffee place up ahead. I’ll buy you a drink.” Then he said with mock sternness, “And you have to do your homework.”

Jacaera laughed, then was dumbfounded when Aegon did, in fact, make her do her homework at the coffeehouse.

“Homework now, so you can get a full eight hours of beauty sleep tonight.” He set a cafe miel with extra cinnamon in front of her. “Not that you need it.”

Aegon read his copy of Rogue Delights while Jacaera did her homework, scoffing every so often as he turned the pages. Although he offered to help with her homework, he was hopeless at every subject except literature, for which she had to answer reading questions about Spearshaker.

He bought her dinner again before taking her home. This time, Jacaera remembered to ask, “Could I get your number? In case—in case I have more questions about Spearshaker.”

Aegon smiled as he took her phone. “Sure. In case you have Spearshaker questions.”

As soon as he left, Jacaera sent him a text.

She didn’t get a response for a long time. At first she presumed he was busy driving, and perhaps his signal was poor. But as the hours passed, she began to worry. Did he give her a fake number? Why would he do that, though? He seemed to like her enough to keep hanging out.

But he didn’t like her enough to give her a kiss goodnight. Not even a kiss on the cheek, like the first time he took her home. She huffed in frustration as she paced in her room, glaring at her phone.

It was almost midnight when she gave up and got ready for bed. As she turned off the lights, her phone vibrated. She snatched it from the nightstand.

Her stomach plummeted. Seconds later, he sent another text.

Relieved, Jacaera wrapped herself in her blankets and prepared to reply. Then a troubling thought occurred to her.

Did Aegon have other girls?

Did Aegon have a girlfriend?

Maybe that was why he hadn’t tried anything with Jacaera. Maybe he was with her right now, some girl he’d met at KLU, and they were laughing at Jacaera for believing he might be interested in a stupid high school student who couldn’t even navigate a bus route.

Her phone vibrated again.

Her spirits lifted again. They were rising and falling so frequently, she was starting to feel queasy.

She pressed a hand to her warm cheek. Aegon wouldn’t say that if he had a girlfriend, would he? A boy wouldn’t say that to someone he only felt friendly toward.

She was smiling so widely, it almost hurt her face.

Then, feeling daring, she sent a final text.

She held her breath, counting the seconds until his reply came.

Now

As Aegon walked her back to the Dragonmont after the festival, Jacaera found herself leaning in for a goodnight kiss. It was a natural instinct at the end of a lovely, date-like evening. She felt seventeen again, being dropped off at home after a full day of Spearshaker homework and milk tea and romance novel debates, eagerly waiting for him to press his lips to hers.

When Saera interrupted them, Jacaera almost cursed the old woman, but Jacaera held her tongue as she slunk upstairs with her Blackwater.com package. In her room, she opened the package to examine her new vibrator. She carefully washed the vibrator in the sink, rinsing off any manufacturing residue.

Emerging from the bathroom, she was surprised to find that her phone managed to receive a text despite the poor connection. She was even more surprised by the identity of the text’s sender.

Jacaera smiled as she typed a response.

She laughed, surprised and delighted that Aegon still remembered the details of Rogue Delights. She wracked her memory, trying to recall the scene that he was referencing. Princess Marya was disguised as a barmaid when Jon Blackwater came into the tavern. He quickly uncovered her identity, and…

…and then there was a crazy smut scene which was the reason Rogue Delights was shelved under “Erotica” instead of “Romance” half the time.

Her palms were sweaty. She wiped them on the skirts of her costume.

The most obvious way to interpret his message was that he was, in fact, interested in a potential tavern wench roleplay fantasy. And she was, conveniently, dressed as a tavern wench. (The rental worker called it a fair maiden costume, but really, it was a tavern wench costume.)

She pressed her thighs together as she remembered how Aegon used his thumb to wipe off globs of apple dumpling from her face at the festival. As he sucked his thumb clean, she had vividly envisioned him kneeling between her splayed legs while he licked her arousal from his fingers.

She blamed her next text on a temporary bout of insanity.

“Fuck!” Jacaera rarely swore, but now felt like as good a time as any. When she tried to resend the text, the error message remained.

Maybe it was Dragonstone’s perpetual connectivity issues. Maybe it was Fate intervening to knock common sense into Jacaera. It had only been forty-eight hours since she met Aegon again after ten years apart. It would be a bad idea to jump in bed with him so quickly. Or at all.

Not that sex with him would be bad. Quite the opposite. Jacaera had never had sex with anyone else (the less said about that embarrassing attempt with Cregan Stark, the better), so she didn’t have a true point of comparison. But Aegon had set a really, really high bar for other potential lovers. To this day, she was unable to watch any of the horseriding scenes in The Ring War without violently blushing.

Groaning, she flopped down on the four-poster bed. She loved the medieval-themed decor in this room. It would have been so easy to pretend she was a tavern wench being ravished by…a knight? A lord? No, an outlaw who was accustomed to simply taking what he wanted.

Pretty little wench, flashing your pretty little teats at me, he would say while ripping her bodice open, baring her breasts. Did you really think you could get away with teasing me like that?

Get away? Why would I want to get away? she would protest as she yanked at his breeches. I have you exactly where I want you.

Oh, you want me, alright, he would say, pressing his fingers into her soaking wet folds. You’re drenched for me already. I don’t even need to eat out your pretty little cunny. I can just fuck you with my cock just…like…that.

Jacaera stifled a scream of frustration and grabbed her new vibrator. Desperately searching for an orgasm, she remembered how Aegon used to fill her up, how he knew the exact angles that would make her moan and scream.

A silicone phallus, even one that vibrated on ten different settings, just wasn’t the same. She managed to orgasm in the end, but it wasn’t as satisfying as she’d hoped.

As Jacaera lay on the bed in her sweaty wench costume, tossing the vibrator aside in frustration, she viciously cursed Saera’s poor timing.

After Jacaera finished her work tasks on Monday morning, she went to the grocery store. It was nearing lunchtime, when she was supposed to meet Aegon. She wasn’t the best cook, but she could throw together a decent salad.

The produce section was unimpressive. Jacaera scrutinized each vegetable until accumulated a decent selection. The seafood offerings were much better; she happily picked out a large piece of fresh-caught salmon. On her way to the cashier, she stopped by the beverages and snagged a six-pack of cherry soda.

Jacaera stumbled beneath the weight of her purchases as she made her way toward Sunny Dog, taking care not to slip in any icy patches as a result of the rain late last night. As she cautiously made her way across the cobblestones, she rehearsed what she would say to Aegon. Good morning! Or afternoon. I’m here for our lunch date—which isn’t a date. Unless you want it to be? I mean, I’m here for lunch! I thought we could cook instead of eating out—unless you want to eat me out? I mean, we are going to cook and make salads, and it’s going to be perfectly healthy and wholesome.

She continued working on the verbiage as she rang the doorbell. She set her groceries down on the front step, so she could give her arms a break.

When Aegon opened the door, all her thoughts fell silent. He was shirtless. Why was he shirtless?

“Hi,” Jacaera said stupidly, transfixed by The Abs. “Are you…not cold?”

He looked down at himself. “Oh. Nettles was helping me measure something, then Cannibal started bullying Grey Ghost, so I had to run over to break them up. Then you rang the doorbell, so I ran over here.”

Nettles? Who was Nettles? What were they measuring?

“Aegon! Get your slutty little waist back here!” shouted a female voice. Footsteps stomped down the stairs. A dark-skinned woman came into view, brandishing a measuring tape like a weapon. Her black hair was braided in rows close to her scalp, and there was a scar across her nose that gave her an air of daring and mystery. “Do you need my help with your wiener?”

Horror burgeoned in Jacaera’s throat, threatening to choke her. Oh gods, she was so stupid! She was still the naive little girl she’d always been.

She had thought Aegon was interested in her, but she was too optimistic reading the signals. He only wanted to be friendly and make amends because he felt bad for disappointing her ten years ago. He only looked at her boobs during the festival because he was a hot-blooded man, and she was actively thrusting them in his face. She had believed he was waiting for her all these years, just as she had subconsciously been waiting for him all these years, finding something wrong with every man she went on a date with because they didn’t meet the Aegon-shaped standards she had set for herself.

She never considered the possibility he might have a girlfriend. Of course he had a girlfriend. He was handsome, he was funny, he loved his dogs, he had The Abs, and he knew seventy-seven ways to give a girl an orgasm. She was silly for believing she could jump back into his life after he put in the hard work to become sober. Some other girl had stood beside him all this time, and now Jacaera was the homewrecker trying to reap the fruits of someone else’s labor.

Her eyes watered as she took a step back from the door. “I’m sorry, I’m interrupting. I—I’ll go.” She spun around and hurried away.

“Jace! Jace, wait!” Aegon’s footsteps thundered behind her. “Come back! Jace—”

Something slammed into her back, knocking her face-first into the ground. She managed to cushion her head with her arms, but that didn’t save her from getting a mouthful of icy mud. As she spat out the grime and wiped the mess from her eyes, she wondered incredulously if Aegon had tackled her.

Then she spotted the wolfhound standing beside her, proudly wagging his tail.

“Grey Ghost, what the hell!” Aegon sounded furious as he stooped beside Jacaera and helped her up. He was still shirtless, despite the freezing weather. “You can’t do shit like that, Grey Ghost! Go inside, we’ll talk about this later.”

Grey Ghost’s head drooped at Aegon’s unhappy tone, and he plodded indoors.

Jacaera’s legs wobbled as she stood. Ice and mud covered the entire front of her body. She shuddered to imagine how her hair and face looked.

Aegon was babbling. “Jace, I’m sorry. Grey Ghost has never done that to a person before, only to other dogs. I think he has a bit of sheepdog in him, so it’s his herding instincts, but—ah, shit. Come inside, you can use my shower.”

A hot shower sounded heavenly to her filthy, frozen self. But then she remembered why she had been running from Aegon in the first place. “No,” she mumbled. “I’ll go back to the Dragonmont. I don’t want to bother you and Nettles.”

“Nettles?” Aegon blinked, surprised, as if he had forgotten about Nettles. “Oh. Fuck. Jace, it’s not what you think.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” She tried to step around him, but he stepped in front of her again. She shivered as she felt ice seeping through her blouse. “You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want. It’s been ten years, it’s fine—”

“Nettles is a vet, she was measuring me for my new festival costume, and she likes to call Cannibal my ‘wiener’ because she thinks she’s funny but she’s not funny,” Aegon said in a rush.

“I take offense to that!” Nettles yelled from where she was watching on the shelter’s doorstep.

Aegon ignored her. His eyes were focused on Jacaera, his hands extended as if to grab her should she try to run. “Please don’t leave,” he said softly. “I’ve been dying to see you all morning.”

It was shameful how rapidly Jacaera’s heart beat upon hearing his confession. “Really?”

“Really.” He stepped closer and clasped her muddy hands. “And I would love to keep hanging out with you all day—after you shower. You’re freezing, Jace. My place is way closer than the Dragonmont. You’ll feel a lot better once you’re warm and clean.”

Jacaera felt mud sliding out of her hair. Her fingers twitched around his, tempted by the offer.

He continued, “I’ll kick out Nettles if she’s annoying you.”

“That’s not a nice way to treat someone who’s doing you a favor,” Nettles shouted, still standing on the doorstep. “I don’t have to break out my sewing machine for you, dickhead.”

Aegon ignored her again as he continued gazing at Jacaera.

She tightened her grip on his hands. “Just a quick shower,” she muttered. “I must look frightful.”

He smiled. “Still the most beautiful person on this island, even covered in mud.”

For the first time, Jacaera felt grateful for the mud covering her. It hid the blush that was spreading across her face.

Holding her hand, Aegon led her toward the front door. Nettles was moving the groceries inside. She paused to look at their faces, then at their joined hands, then at their faces again. She said bluntly, “I swore off dating after the last guy turned out to be married. I’m pretty sure his wife tried to order a hit on me. So don’t worry, I’m happy being a single dog-mum.”

“Oh, goodness. Um.” Jacaera tried not to drip mud on the floor, although Aegon didn’t seem to care about the puddle she was creating. “I’m sorry to hear that. About the guy and his wife, I mean. Not about you being a single dog-mum. It’s good that you’re happy.”

Stepping aside so Aegon could take Jacaera up the stairs, Nettles remarked, “Damn, you’re awfully polite for someone who just took an unscheduled organic mud bath.”

“Nettles,” Aegon said sharply over his shoulder, “I told you, I’ll pay you for the sewing help.”

“Nah, it’s fine. You gave me all those knitted costumes for Sheepstealer for free.” Nettles raised the measuring tape again. The movement seemed threatening. “I need to finish measuring you…or do you want your girlfriend to do it instead?”

“If you’re just going to be annoying, then leave!” Aegon bellowed from the top of the stairs. He lowered his voice when he turned to address Jacaera. “Sorry. I’ll tell her to stop yapping.”

Jacaera nodded, wondering if he was annoyed by the suggestion that she was his girlfriend. She was his ex-girlfriend. That was a critical distinction.

Aegon showed her to the bathroom and laid out a clean towel. “Use as much hot water as you’d like. I’ll find something for you to wear while your clothes are in the wash. I really am sorry about Grey Ghost.”

“It’s not your fault. Thank you, Aegon.” Jacaera closed the door.

Clean and feeling human again, Jacaera securely wrapped the towel around herself before peering out into the hallway. On the floor in front of the door was a pile of clumsily folded clothes. She brought them into the steam-filled sanctum of the bathroom. There was a plain white shirt, pajama pants, and a mismatched pair of socks.

She glanced at her heap of sodden clothes on the floor. Even her bra and panties had gotten wet, and she was unenthusiastic about putting them back on in their current state. So she simply put on the shirt, pajama pants, and socks—no underwear. Maybe Aegon wouldn’t notice.

Thus attired, Jacaera tiptoed out into the hallway. Downstairs, Aegon was saying sternly, “You can’t herd people, okay? Humans aren’t sheep. Not literally, at least. Sometimes they are in a figurative sense. But you still can’t herd them.”

A dog whined in response.

Smiling, Jacaera descended the stairs. Aegon, who had finally put on a shirt (with Sunny Dog’s logo on the front), was sitting on the floor in the front room with Grey Ghost’s head on his lap. As Aegon scolded the dog, he scratched and petted Grey Ghost, who seemed contrite but not despondent. There was no sign of Nettles.

When Jacaera stepped into the room, Aegon looked up at her. His expression froze as he stared. She worried whether she had missed cleaning up a spot of mud. Or was it her lack of makeup that was the problem?

Shaking his head, Aegon said to Grey Ghost, “Apologize to Jace. Go on.”

Slowly, Grey Ghost clambered up to his feet and padded over to Jacaera. He gently bumped his head against her hip then looked back at Aegon as if to say, Did I do that right?

“All is forgiven,” Jacaera said, to the man as much as to the dog.

“You heard her, Grey Ghost,” said Aegon. “You’re forgiven. You can resume being a hermit.”

Grey Ghost gladly bounded over to a corner of the room and dove into a massive pile of blankets. When he finished burrowing, only his wet snout could be seen poking out of the mountain of fleece.

Aegon stood, brushing dog hair off his clothes. “Good shower?”

“Very good,” Jacaera answered. “Where’s your laundry room? I can put my clothes in after I rinse out the worst of the mud in the tub.”

“No, I’ll do that. You sit down and rest. Tea?”

She wrung her hands. “Aegon, I’m capable of doing my own laundry.”

“I know. But you’re a guest, and it’s my fault your clothes got…” He waved his hand. “Grey Ghosted. The least I can do is clean them for you.”

Jacaera wrung her hands for another moment before deciding to be forthright. They were both adults. “I need to launder my underthings too.”

Aegon paused, then grinned. “So? I’ve seen and handled your bra and panties hundreds of times before, Jace.”

She stared at him, uncertain whether she should feel offended. Then she laughed. “Those past instances were in a very different context, Aegon.”

He winked as he bounded up the stairs. “Make yourself at home!” He halted on the landing and pointed at the coffee table. “I tried to clean your purse, but I’m afraid it might be done for. I’ll buy you a new one.”

Jacaera picked up her purse from the table and examined it. She wasn’t optimistic about getting the stains out. “That’s alright. I don’t like the purse anymore.” The purse was from Oxcross, and Jacaera was no longer a fan of Oxcross after the company gave her so many Alys Rivers-related headaches. Everything inside the purse looked fine, though.

It felt wrong to sit and do nothing while Aegon laundered her clothes, so Jacaera started on lunch. She was almost done grilling the salmon when Aegon came back downstairs.

“Clothes are soaking,” he said. “That smells great. You didn’t have to cook, though.”

“I wanted to, and I was craving a vegetable after all the fried food at the festival.” Jacaera transferred the salmon to a plate.

“My mum will be thrilled. She’s always nagging me to eat more greens.” Suddenly, Aegon whipped his phone out of his pocket. “Shit. I need to call her. It’s about Yule, so it might take me a while.”

“I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear from you,” Jacaera assured him as she guiltily thought about how she hadn’t called her own mother in several days. Rhaenyra would be able to tell from Jacaera’s voice that something was…not exactly wrong, but off. Perhaps a text, at least? “May I use your internet? I should message my family.”

“Of course. My computer’s in my office if you need it.” Aegon pointed at his office then rushed upstairs, pressing his phone to his ear.

The office was cramped and untidy, like most of the other rooms in the building. As Jacaera booted up the ancient computer, she examined the wall decorations. Tons of dog photos, unsurprisingly. Sunfyre was featured the most often. The other dogs in residence also appeared in the collage; there was even a polaroid of Vermax wearing her tiara from last night. The other dogs in the photos were presumably former residents who had been adopted out.

The front page of the December issue of The Dragonstone Chronicle was pinned up by the door. Jacaera had read the article about Aegon and Sunny Dog Rescue several times already. Saera kept a framed copy at the front desk of the Dragonmont. (Saera had a tendency to gush about Aegon like a proud grandma—or a proud girlfriend. It was uncomfortably difficult to tell the difference.)

When the computer monitor finished loading, Jacaera went to plug her phone in. That was when she noticed it.

Hanging above the computer was a boutonniere of dried, yellowed roses, which had originally been white. The boutonniere was almost ten years old. Jacaera knew this for a fact, because she had been the one to pick out the boutonniere at the florist’s in Spicetown before her senior prom. The last time she saw the boutonniere, it had been lying on the ground at Aegon’s feet.

He kept it. He kept it after all this time, after all the harsh things she said to him that night.

Why did he keep it? That night was horrible for him too. Why would he want a keepsake?

Her phone vibrated repeatedly as she received multiple texts that had been stalled by Dragonstone’s terrible signal. Forcing herself to look away from the boutonniere, Jacaera sent proof-of-life texts to her mother and sisters. Then she switched to her work phone, where she found an update from Alys Rivers.

Finally being able to schedule Alys’ photo op was a huge load off of Jacaera’s shoulders. She finished a few more work tasks then rewarded herself with replying to comments on her fanfic. Most of the commenters received heartfelt thank yous; she ignored the rude reader demanding updates.

Then she reached the last comment from Green_Queen.

Frowning in thought, Jacaera moved from her phone to the computer. She had a lengthy reply in mind, which required a larger screen.

As she logged into her fanfic account on the computer, she heard snippets of Aegon’s call with his mother. “Yeah, I can check on that the day before. What? No, I’m not going to forget! I’ve been very on top of all the house stuff—Mother, that was over ten years ago, you can’t hold that over my head forever.”

When Jacaera finished typing her comment, Aegon was no longer speaking. She ventured out of the office and found him in the front room. He was lying on the couch, pressing his hands over his face. His phone had been discarded on the coffee table.

Jacaera knelt on the floor beside him. “Aegon, are you okay?”

Sighing, he removed his hands from his face. “It’s family stuff. Crazy Yule plans.”

“It can’t possibly be crazier than my family’s Yule plans,” she replied.

Aegon grinned as he sat up. “Oh, I bet it can.” Then he glanced at Vermax, who was napping in her crib, and he sobered. “I need to tell you something about Vermax. Nettles checked her over, and…”

Jacaera tensed. “Is something wrong with Vermax?”

“No—well, not really. Her pregnancy is going as well as it can be. Nettles agrees with me that Vermax might give birth any day.”

“Oh. That’s good. Then…” Jacaera’s heart sank. “Did Nettles find a microchip? Does Vermax have an owner?”

“No microchip. It’s just…” Aegon raked his fingers through his hair. “A lot of this is guesswork because we don’t have Vermax’s records, but Nettles thinks Vermax is just shy of two years old.”

“Alright,” Jacaera said slowly. “Is that a problem?”

“A Spaniel shouldn’t be bred until she’s two-and-a-half, at minimum. Recommended at least five years old. Spaniels sometimes have health issues that show up around age three.”

Jacaera looked over at Vermax. Vermax was stirring. “Are you saying Vermax and her puppies might have problems?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Time will tell.” Aegon clenched his jaw. “Nettles also thinks this isn’t Vermax’s first litter.”

Jacaera stared at him. “So…Vermax might have other puppies wandering around the docks of King’s Landing?”

“Possibly, if she’s been on her own for a long time.” Aegon hesitated. “Considering how expensive purebred Spaniels are, it’s more likely her previous owner sold the puppies.”

Vermax was awake now. She wagged her tail when she spotted Jacaera, and Jacaera hurried over to pet Vermax. “Then someone was breeding Vermax and selling her puppies while she was too young?”

Aegon joined her at the crib and scratched Vermax’s ears. “That’s what I would bet on if I still gambled.”

Jacaera’s knowledge about dog breeding was limited to what she had gleaned from the occasional late-night documentary about puppy mills. She imagined a greedy villain ripping Vermax’s puppies away from her and immediately throwing Vermax at the next available male dog. Horror flared in Jacaera’s chest, then burning rage. “You said no microchip?”

“No chip,” Aegon repeated.

“Then we don’t have to give her back.” Shunting her red-hot anger aside, Jacaera gently kissed Vermax’s head. “We can keep her here, where she’ll be safe and happy with her puppies.”

Aegon smiled as he watched them. “Yeah. We can keep her here as long as you want.”

Chapter Text

Lucera was preparing for the impending Monday lunch rush when she realized she’d received a DM from Aemond fifteen minutes ago, while she was busy restocking.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about his message. The polite thing would’ve been for him to ask Would you like me to order you a coffee? But he simply stated that he was going to do it, without regard for her opinion. It was very presumptuous. Maybe she didn’t want coffee.

(She did. She almost always wanted coffee.)

Six minutes later, after the WheelHaus driver dropped off the coffee—still piping hot—Lucera reconsidered her feelings as she savored the sweet beverage. There was something sexy about a guy just taking charge and deciding he was going to do the thing. That kind of quality was best in moderation (and ideally saved for the bedroom), but right now she was enjoying it. And he was spoiling her a little with all the free coffees. Who was she to complain?

This was giving her flashbacks to when he asked her Are you cold? and then showed up less than an hour later with a coffee in hand.

Lucera had dated a lot of guys in her twenty-five years of life. Her past partners had ranged all along the socioeconomic spectrum, from fellow trust fund brats to broke scholarship students. But whether their idea of fine dining was caviar and steak tartare or a non-generic brand of instant noodles mixed with egg, one thing remained constant:

If a man offered to feed her, then nine times out of ten, he was hoping to see her naked tits in exchange.

Lucera had noticed Aemond looking at her chest a few times. She was used to it. People had been looking at her chest since she was thirteen, when her boobs exploded in size almost overnight. As long as it was a quick, instinctive glance—and Aemond always looked away quickly—then she could pretend it never happened.

But it was confirmation that Aemond found her—or parts of her, at least—attractive. And honestly, the feeling was mutual. If Aemond had been some guy buying her a drink at a bar, she would have accepted and struck up a conversation with him. She might even have gone home with him for the night, depending on whether he was acting more “hotly” or “dickheadedly” during their chat.

She got distracted when a horde of sorority girls swarmed her booth, squealing over the little KLU dragon stuffies. Then came a couple of grandmas who griped incessantly about how crochet was inferior to knitting, before they finally deigned to purchase a few hats and scarves that demonstrated “passable colorwork.” After that was a customer from yesterday who’d bought a pair of woolen socks, immediately tossed them in the wash (where they predictably shrank), and was now demanding a refund.

By the time Lucera finished dealing with that headache, Aemond had sent her another DM.

Lucera’s eyebrows flew up as she once again contemplated whether she was irritated or turned on by his high-handedness. (He had very nice hands. Such long fingers… No, nope, she couldn’t think about that right now.) She turned her attention to her next customer, an exhausted father whose three children kept trying to dig their sticky paws into a pile of crocheted farm animals.

Just as the lunch rush died down, and Lucera was able to breathe and think about how she was actually hungry, the WheelHaus driver (same as the one who delivered her coffee) showed up. The timing was so impeccable, it made her wonder whether Aemond had instructed the driver to watch and wait for the perfect moment. The bag of food felt hot, so the driver couldn’t have been waiting for too long.

She was surprised to see the familiar logo of High Tide Pride, her favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant, on the bag. She was even more surprised when she opened the takeout box, revealing her usual order of sweet lemon chicken and cinnamon plantains.

“What the fuck is this?” she said aloud to herself. Then she texted the exact same words to Aemond.

When he put it that way, it sounded very reasonable and not-stalkerish. Just observant. Lucera hadn’t thought he paid so much attention to what she ate and drank. Then again, attention to detail was a big part of his corporate soul-crushing job. Her initial anger and panic faded, replaced with chagrin.

(The lemon chicken and cinnamon plantains were delicious.)

After the Yule Market closed that evening, Lucera went to visit Joff, per Rhaenyra’s orders to make sure her third daughter hadn’t fossilized into a stone statue hunched over her computer. Lucera had a spare key for their grandmother’s condo, but she didn’t know the current code for the building entrance, which changed every day. Rich retirees and their stupid paranoid security measures.

Lucera repeatedly hammered the buzzer button for Unit #6, bellowing into the speaker for Joff to let her up. While she waited in the entryway vestibule, she read the Santa Nicolas advertisement on the community bulletin board. Before she could read the various other notes littering the board, Joff finally buzzed her in.

Flinging open the door to the condo, Lucera hollered, “Joff, if you’re dead, tell me now so we can start planning the funeral.”

Joff’s muffled voice sounded from the master bedroom. “Cremation, not burial. Don’t let Mother keep me on the mantel.”

“Do you want to come out here and talk to me normally instead of shouting from the other side of the condo?”

“No, I’m watching a video on safe rope-climbing techniques.”

Yet another of Joff’s esoteric interests that she had developed for no comprehensible reason. Good old Joff.

Lucera went to snoop around the kitchen. The fridge was bare except for a few takeout containers and a mostly empty gallon bottle of chocolate milk. The pantry held an impressive assortment of packaged cookies, organized by brand, flavor, and expiration date.

“Mum told me to bring you a spinach salad for dinner,” Lucera called over her shoulder. “I’m putting it in the fridge.”

Joff didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Before I forget, how do you want to get to Dragonstone now that Jace can’t give us a ride?”

“I was planning to book a WheelHaus to the docks and a private cabin on the Saturday ferry,” Joff replied, not budging from the bedroom.

“You’re not going to take the M?”

“Too many people.”

And this was why Joff never got invited to her classmates’ birthday parties while growing up. “You could go to Duskendale a few days early and hitch a ride with Mum and the others,” Lucera suggested. “That’s what Rhaena is doing.”

“Can’t. I have plans here Friday night.”

Lucera perked up. Since when did Joff have plans that took place in real life instead of on the internet? “What kind of plans? Is this related to your request for the scissors? I’m leaving them on the counter, by the way.”

“Yes, it is related to my class. You can throw the salad in the trash and go.”

Lucera positioned the salad prominently in the fridge, in front of the chocolate milk, where Joff would have no excuse not to see it. “Mum wants you to send her a photo of you eating the salad. Can you give me just one hint about this classwork? Just so I know whether to expect the City Watch to break down my door with an arrest warrant in the middle of the night.”

“If all goes well with my classwork, it will vastly improve the quality of life in this building.”

“That ‘if’ is doing a lot of work in that sentence,” Lucera snarked. She stole a package of honey butter cookies from the pantry. She deserved it after a long day of dealing with customers.

“My odds of success are favorable. I will have an assistant. He will help me with anything I’m unable to do on my own.”

Lucera gasped in amazement as she ripped open the cookie package. “He? Is this a boy friend or a boyfriend?”

“He is an assistant!” Joff snapped. “I have provided your requested hint. You may vacate the premises.”

As Lucera stepped out the door, she couldn’t resist yelling over her shoulder, “You can order condoms through WheelHaus. Just so you know!” Cackling, she shut the door in the middle of Joff’s indignant response.

Lucera went down to the parking garage, where she had parked Seasmoke in a guest spot. As she started the engine, her phone lit up with another notification from AemTarg9898.

She was rather surprised and impressed that he didn’t immediately launch into unsolicited criticism about her store. It was probably killing him not to be able to polish and hone Blue Mermaid Knits into a shining exemplar of late-stage capitalism.

Then a more charitable voice in her head suggested, Or maybe he’s genuinely interested. Maybe he just wants to know how you’re doing.

It was indeed a question that a boyfriend would ask his girlfriend. But they weren’t actually boyfriend-girlfriend, so it made no sense for him to ask it.

Lucera was about to refuse his offer. Then she paused and thought, Why the heck not? Rhaena was going to stay on campus until very late tonight, and there was barely any food in their townhouse at the moment. Left to her own devices, Lucera would probably just chow down on a can of baked beans before collapsing into bed.

Lucera could almost hear Jacaera, Rhaena, her mother, her grandmother, and every other woman in her life screeching that it was a terrible idea to give her home address to a man she’d met three days ago. But Lucera had a pretty good radar for whether someone was a potential serial killer or otherwise bad news. Aemond wasn’t setting off any alarm bells, and his sister Helaena had been very nice when they texted (although Helaena’s excessive usage of emojis confused Lucera, who generally considered herself an expert on emojis). Besides, Lucera had looked up Aemond on his company’s website and confirmed that he did work there, just as he’d stated. He’d been telling the truth about everything so far.

So she sent him her address and started driving home.

Lucera had just gotten home and was kicking off her boots when the doorbell rang. She eagerly ran to answer it, expecting the WheelHaus driver. When she saw who was actually standing there with her Papa Jon’s cheese pizza, she stared at him for several seconds before saying, “This isn’t helping your assertion that you aren’t a stalker.”

Aemond’s face turned a delightful shade of pink. It was kind of cute. “I was already in the area, so I decided to save on the delivery fee.”

“What is this newfound frugality? Did Hightower Corp lose a bunch of money today?” Lucera grinned to show that her teasing was good-natured.

“Rich people don’t stay rich by frittering all their money away,” Aemond deadpanned. Oh, she liked him so much better when he made jokes, even if he made them with a straight face. “I also have something to give you,” he added, nodding at the package tucked under his other arm.

“Food and presents? You shouldn’t have.” Lucera extended her hands toward the pizza he was holding, wiggling her fingers in a gimme gimme gesture. “Extra-large! How hungry do you think I am?”

“You can save the leftovers,” Aemond said, handing over the pizza.

Most of the guys she used to date would’ve seized the opportunity to make a size queen joke. (“You’re little but I’m confident you can fit it in there, teehee.”) Or suggest that they reenact one of those pizza delivery boy pornos. Lucera felt oddly disappointed that Aemond uttered no such thing. “Have you had dinner?” she asked, even though she was sure he must have. It was already past nine.

“I have some chicken and broccoli that I meal-prepped at home.”

Lucera made a face. Sure, healthy eating had its benefits. There was a reason Aemond looked so damn fit. But that seemed like a sad meal late on a Monday night. “Why don’t you have some of this pizza?” she suggested. “You bought it, so you might as well partake.”

Aemond hesitated. “I don’t eat pizza.”

She gawked at him in horror. “But pizza is delicious! Everyone eats pizza.”

“Not I.”

“Why not? Oh, are you gluten-free?”

“I was for a few months before I realized the health benefits weren’t significant enough to justify the effort,” he said seriously.

“Dairy-free?” Lucera pressed.

“Dairy is fine in moderation. I’m just very careful about what I eat. I already have a high-stress job. The last thing I need is high blood pressure or cardiac arrest because I decided to stuff my face with sodium and fried food.”

Lucera gazed mournfully at him. “That’s a lot of yummy food you’re missing out on.”

Aemond shrugged. “That’s the price of ensuring I will still be in good health when I’m eighty.”

“Yeah, but that’s eighty years of un-yummy food. That’s no way to live.” Lucera adjusted her grip on the pizza box. She had been keeping him at her doorstep in the freezing cold for a while; she really ought to let him get back home. But she felt bad just sending him away after he hand-delivered her pizza. “Uh…do you want to come in for a minute? We have herbal tea somewhere. That’s allowed in your diet, right?”

The lump in his throat bobbed. “I…would appreciate some tea. Thank you.” He stepped inside.

Lucera had been drilled in etiquette growing up. That included being a good hostess. She offered to take his coat, and when she went to hang it up in the closet, she sneaked a peek at the label. Holy shit, it was a Galeo Galare! Custom-made just for Aemond, by the looks of it. Hightower Corp must really be raking in profits.

Aemond was surveying the living room, eyebrows raised in judgment. To be fair, the living room looked like a Joanna’s Fabrics store had vomited all over it. There were cardboard boxes, skeins of yarn, and giant rolls of bubble wrap everywhere. Lucera wasn’t sure she even remembered what the floor looked like anymore.

“I’m still packing rush orders that have to be shipped out before Yule,” Lucera explained. “I’m out all day at the market, so I only have a few hours at night to do it.”

“Packing and shipping seems like a task that could easily be delegated,” he remarked.

“I would have to pay someone to do it for me.”

“It’s worth the money if it frees you from the menial labor so you can focus on higher-value actions, like creating and marketing.”

Lucera groaned loudly. “Aemond, I’m really not in the mood to be treated like some little company that you acquired and are tearing apart. I am going to make you tea, and then I am going to stuff my face with pizza that will probably take six months off my lifespan, but it will totally be worth it.”

He followed her to the kitchen, where her and Rhaena’s breakfast plates were still lying on the table. Aemond looked at them for a moment. “Do you live with somebody?” he asked, sounding tense.

“Yes.” Lucera deposited the plates in the sink and started rinsing them. “My stepsister. She’s a master’s student at KLU.”

“Ah. What is she studying?” Aemond no longer sounded tense.

“Fashion Design.”

He wrinkled his nose. “And what is her career plan? I am dubious about the earning potential for a degree in Fashion Design.”

Lucera turned off the sink and faced him, frowning. She wondered what he was thinking right now as he looked around her and Rhaena’s rented townhouse. It was in an older neighborhood, perfectly safe but not as desirable as the neighborhoods uphill. The townhouse was showing its age, all creaky floorboards and groaning pipes in the walls. Lucera and Rhaena could have afforded a much better place if they wanted, but Lucera refused to touch her trust fund. She didn’t need her grandfather’s money. Rhaena had a trust fund too, but she had agreed to only match the money that Lucera put toward rent, and no more. What Rhaena spent outside of rent was her own business.

“Aemond,” Lucera said calmly, “you don’t need to manage everybody you come across. It’s okay to let people do their own thing, even if you think they’re fucking up. That’s how we learn.”

Aemond appeared flabbergasted, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “If we saw someone about to trip off a cliff, we would be morally obligated to at least try to stop them from falling.”

“Well, yeah, if it’s a life-or-death situation, then of course we aren’t just going to watch and record a video to post on Ravengram later,” Lucera said, striving to be patient. “I’m talking about the not-so-critical situations, like getting a degree that some people deem ‘useless,’ or setting less than optimal prices for maximizing profits. Personal experience is the best teacher.”

“But how do we decide what’s critical enough to intervene in, and what isn’t?” Aemond argued. “What if someone fucks up, and it ends up hurting everyone around them instead of only themselves?”

The conversation was getting a lot deeper than Lucera had expected. It was also sounding rather personal for Aemond.

“Intervening too much can be a problem as well. Sometimes we meddle too much, care too much, speak out too much, and we end up driving people away.” Oh great, now it was getting personal for her. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Right, then. Herbal tea! Are you okay with lemon and ginger?”

Aemond offered to put on the kettle while Lucera gobbled a few slices of pizza. She was famished, so she was done before the kettle even finished boiling. As she was washing her hands, she remembered the package he’d left by the door.

“Can I open the present?” she asked eagerly, already inching toward the package.

“Yes, but it’s not a present.” Aemond’s cheeks turned that adorable shade of pink again. “It’s the…garment that you asked me to order for you.”

Lucera had almost forgotten about that. She stood there, waiting for Aemond to make a quip like I can help you try it on and I’ll tell you if it looks good on you. But he just continued sitting at the table with that little blush.

“Right. Thanks! I appreciate it. I’ll open it later, then.” Lucera awkwardly gestured at the living room. “Do you mind if I work on packing some orders? The more I get done now, the earlier I can go to bed.”

“Not at all. I would be a hypocrite if I told someone to work less.” Aemond watched from the kitchen as she took out her tablet and opened her shipping spreadsheet. After she finished packing the first order, he asked, “Would you like some help?”

“You’re a guest. I can’t make you work,” she said as she moved on to the next line in her spreadsheet.

“I would prefer to keep myself occupied. It really is no trouble.”

Free coffee, free food, and now free labor? He really knew how to spoil a girl. “Alright, if you insist.” Lucera shrugged. If Aemond ended up being more of a hindrance than help, she could just kick him out once he finished his tea.

It shouldn’t have shocked her as much as it did that Aemond turned out to be exceedingly helpful. He reviewed her spreadsheet, asked a few questions about her process, and hummed thoughtfully to himself. “May I make some suggestions?”

“Sure, why not,” she said, preoccupied with finding a new roll of packing tape.

He spent the next few minutes revolutionizing her packing and shipping system. He did…something to her spreadsheet to reorder it to what he claimed was a more efficient layout. And he was right. Suddenly she was zipping through her orders, now that she didn’t have to double-check every single column.

It also helped that he lent a physical hand instead of just a metaphorical one. He proved himself adept at attaching shipping labels, getting them perfectly straight on the first try. They kept their little assembly line going, completely forgetting about the cooling kettle on the stove, until the front door flew open.

“Some arsehole with a Korzia stole my parking spot!” Rhaena stomped inside, furiously yanking her scarf from her neck. “I’m going to have them towed, I—oh. Uh. Hi?” She blinked at Aemond, who looked placidly back at her as he finished taping yet another shipping label.

Lucera dropped the crocheted dolphin she had been about to put in a box. “Rhaena! I thought you wouldn’t be back for another few hours.”

“My classmate had a family emergency and had to go home.” Rhaena’s eyes were huge as she gawked at Aemond. “I didn’t know you were having people over.”

“Not people. Person. Just…” Lucera waved at Aemond. “Just Aemond. Aemond, this is Rhaena, my stepsister.”

Aemond fluidly rose to his feet and extended his hand. “Good evening, Rhaena. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said as they shook hands. Rhaena continued gawking at him. “I believe I’m the arsehole with the Korzia who stole your parking spot.”

“…Oh.” Rhaena laughed nervously. “I’m sure you’re not really an arsehole.”

“I can name twenty people off the top of my head who would gladly tell you that I am indisputably an arsehole.” Aemond absently straightened the shipping materials on the coffee table, as if organization was second nature for him. It probably was. “I should get going anyway. I will return your parking spot, although I must say I didn’t see a sign marking it as reserved.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to the landlord about that,” Rhaena grumbled. She was still gawking at him.

Lucera fetched Aemond’s coat and walked him to the door, ignoring Rhaena’s blatant staring. “Thanks for the pizza and all your help, Aemond. It’s going to be so much easier doing all the packing and shipping from now on.”

“It wasn’t any trouble.” Aemond donned his coat then hovered at the threshold, seeming reluctant to venture out into the cold night. He said haltingly, “If you require further assistance, I can stop by after work again.”

“What? No.” Lucera shook her head. “You live and work on Visenya’s Hill, right? You would be going completely out of your way to come here.”

“My brother is a student at KLU. I visit him sometimes.” Aemond finally took one step out the door, but his other foot remained inside. “I could even help you close your booth at the end of the day. Just send me a message. Goodnight.”

As soon as Lucera shut the door behind him, Rhaena pounced. “I have two questions—no, three,” Rhaena said urgently. “First, is that the corporate holiday party guy?”

“Yes, but—”

“Okay, I lied, four questions. Why was he here? Are you guys…?” Rhaena made a suggestive gesture with her hands.

“No!” Lucera snapped. “He brought me pizza and helped me with my Yule orders. There was absolutely no funny business.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She wasn’t sure how she felt about a lot of things.

Rhaena looked sidelong at her then started to say, “Actually I have—”

“You don’t get any more questions!” Lucera bellowed. “You’ve asked two out of four, and that’s all you're getting.”

“Fine!” Rhaena huffed. “Third question: do you think he would be willing to model some of my men’s designs?”

Lucera gaped at her. “You’re really wasting one of your questions on that?”

“It’s an important question! My classmate who was supposed to model them had the family emergency I mentioned earlier.” Rhaena dragged her hands down her face. “My degree depends on it, Luce. And holy cow, you don’t see a body like that every day. He was made for modeling.”

Lucera narrowed her eyes, wondering if Rhaena’s admiration for Aemond’s physique went beyond pure aesthetics and educational needs. When it came to dating, Rhaena strongly preferred other women, but that didn’t mean she was completely blind to men (even though Rhaena hadn’t even touched a guy, other than to take his measurements for clothes, since her first year of university). She was just pickier about men. If Aemond met her picky standards…

“Pleeeeease!” Rhaena was practically wailing. “I’m so close to the finish line. I don’t have anyone else I can call to do it last minute. I won’t take up too much of his time, I promise.”

“He’s busy too,” Lucera said defensively before relenting. “I can ask him, but no promises. He does have a day job.”

“Yaaay, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Rhaena was so overjoyed, she twirled Lucera around the living room in a silly dance. Eventually they both collapsed on the floor, giggling breathlessly.

Later, as they finished the rest of the cheese pizza, Lucera remembered: “Didn’t you have a fourth question?”

Rhaena lowered the piece of crust she’d been gnawing on. There was a deep furrow in her brow. “I did.”

Lucera wrapped her hands around a mug of herbal tea. She’d already gotten out the teabags for Aemond earlier, so she figured she might as well make some for herself. “Alright. Just ask. Then we can go to bed.”

Rhaena scratched her chin, frowning. “I suppose it’s not really a question, more of an observation. It’s just… Don’t you think Aemond kind of looks like Dad?”

“Your dad? Uncle Daemon?” Lucera squinted as she thought about it. “On a surface level, maybe, if you’re just looking at their height and coloring. But their jaws and foreheads are completely different.” She shook her head. “You might as well say they look like Henly Gavel. Similar hair, eyes, and skin, but that’s it.”

“I guess,” Rhaena muttered. She resumed gnawing on her pizza crust.

The extra two hours in her evening felt luxurious. Lucera gladly took the opportunity for a hairwash day. She even had time to cook, so she decided to be healthy for the first time in days as she prepared a dinner that might actually tempt Aemond. Lucera heated up some frozen chicken and vegetable soup that Jacaera—who was also a proponent of healthy eating—had made, then sliced some multigrain bread that she’d bought from another vendor at the Yule Market.

While she waited for Aemond, she worked on some of her own crafting projects for once. She still needed to add the finishing touches to her Yule gifts for her family. Lucera put on an old horror movie for background noise as she knitted. She’d seen it several times before, so she didn’t bother pausing it when Aemond rang the doorbell.

“Come in! Soup should be ready.” Lucera let him inside.

A piercing scream erupted from the TV, followed by wet gurgling. Aemond arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“Just a horror movie. I can turn it off if it isn’t your thing,” Lucera offered.

“No, it’s alright. I used to watch a lot of—” Aemond froze when he saw the TV screen. “…Actually, I think it would be best to turn it off.”

“No problem.” Lucera punched the power button on the remote. Black Harren movies were controversial. They could get pretty gory, and critics called the Alys Rivers topless scenes excessive catering to the male gaze.

Aemond complimented the soup after he sampled it.

Lucera admitted, rather grudgingly, “My sister made it. I had it in the freezer. She makes good soup and salad, but not much else.”

“The sister who works in my building?” Aemond asked, dipping his bread in the soup.

“Yeah. That one.” Lucera really didn’t want to talk about Jacaera right now—not with Aemond—so she changed the subject. “You have siblings too, don’t you? I’ve texted Helaena, and you mentioned a brother at KLU. Isn’t there another brother?”

Aemond’s face darkened. “Yes. He’s the eldest of us four.”

Lucera nodded. “The firstborn. So he’s the responsible one?”

Aemond laughed. It wasn’t a very nice-sounding laugh. “All the antics he used to get up to took years off our mother’s life.”

“You said used to,” Lucera pointed out. “But not anymore?”

“He’s better than was in the past,” Aemond admitted. “But I still wouldn’t depend on him for anything important. When someone fucks up as many times as he has, you would be a fool to expect otherwise the next time.”

“How long has it been since his last big fuckup?”

“Seven, eight years.”

Lucera frowned. “And he hasn’t had any major fuckups since then? Seems a bit unfair to keep holding his past mistakes against him when he’s improved his track record.”

Aemond pursed his lips. “You would understand if you knew the extent of his past mistakes.”

Maybe it was nosy of her, but Lucera dearly wanted to hear the rest of the story. “Such as?” she prompted.

He looked at her with a calculating expression, as if deliberating whether telling her would be a bad idea. “Substance abuse. All manner of reckless behavior. He was so sexually profligate as a teenager, it’s a miracle he doesn’t owe child support to a dozen different women.”

“That doesn’t sound great,” Lucera conceded. “But you said it’s in the past?”

“He started trying rehab about nine years ago, after—” Aemond suddenly turned his head, averting the left side of his face. “After an event. He’s been sober for seven years.”

“Sobriety is a huge achievement.” Lucera’s father had been prone to overdrinking when he was younger, but he worked hard to clean up after Joff was born. “He should be commended for it.”

“You don’t know everything,” Aemond snapped. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply. “I apologize. It’s a sore subject. Let’s speak of more pleasant topics.”

It would be wise to heed his suggestion, but it felt wrong to let the matter end on that note. There was something tragic about the animosity that Aemond clearly harbored toward his own brother. Lucera couldn’t imagine despising any of her sisters like that, no matter what they did. “One last thing, then we can move on,” she said. “Do you love your brother?”

Aemond stared at her as if she were speaking Dothraki.

“You don’t have to tell me the answer,” Lucera continued. “Just think about it. And be honest with yourself. Wouldn’t it be so much nicer if you could move on and have a good relationship with your brother? Isn’t that better than continuing to be bitter about things he did years ago?” She waved her hands frantically. “Don’t tell me the answers! I’m not the one who needs to know. Think about it.”

Aemond was quiet as she took their empty dishes to the sink. When she looked back at him, he had taken off his glasses and was rubbing the skin around his left eye socket. His sapphire prosthesis shimmered beneath the kitchen light.

Chapter Text

Ten Years Earlier

Jacaera was going to drive Aegon insane, and he was voluntarily signing himself up for a straitjacket at the asylum. He’d never been in a situation where a girl wanted him so blatantly, and he couldn’t just take her into the backseat of his car for a quick fuck.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. Technically, he could do that. He even suspected that Jacaera would be enthusiastic if he proposed it. But despite her constant, doe-like, please ravish me now eyes, he was seven hundred percent sure she was a virgin. He would feel like a huge arsehole if he took her virginity in the backseat of a truck, already worn and stained by its previous owner. And he was even more sure that once he started touching her, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

That was a problem. He needed to be able to cut ties with a girl, no hesitation, if (when) he felt like his family was going to be too much for her. Most of his past partners came and went without much heartbreak, but he could already tell that he was going to become addicted to Jacaera Velaryon.

So for a couple of weeks, as Aegon spent most of his afternoons exploring all corners of Driftmark with Jacaera, he pretended he didn’t want to bend her over the table every time she ate a popsicle. Or stretched out her long legs that were toned from horseback riding. Or analyzed filthy Spearshaker jokes. Or smiled at him. Or breathed.

(Aegon had learned early on in his very platonic friendship with Jacaera that it was best practice to have a wank before he went to meet her. It was also best practice not to wear sweatpants.)

It was fine. Aegon could tolerate this perpetual state of frustrated arousal if it meant hanging out with Jacaera without putting her in the sights of his insane family. But then Jacaera decided to change things up.

They were sitting in the back of Aegon’s truck, watching the sunset at one of Driftmark’s many beaches. Nobody else was around. Other than the seagulls lazily circling around the sky, he and Jacaera were the only living creatures in sight. They were cozily situated on Aegon’s collection of fleece blankets with sports team logos, which made the truck bed as comfortable as any dorm futon: KLU Dragons (Aegon still cheered for them even after dropping out), Highgarden Roses, Lannisport Lions, Gulltown Falcons.

Out of the corner of his eye, he observed Jacaera reapplying her lip balm and combing her fingers through her hair. She had popped a mint into her mouth fifteen minutes ago. Stomach fluttering with anticipation, he pretended as if he hadn’t noticed anything when she turned back to him and cleared her throat.

“Aegon?” Her voice was trembling with nerves. “Do you like me?”

Seven hells, she went straight for the throat. He’d thought she was going to work her way toward hinting that she might like a kiss. Aegon felt utterly unprepared. Instead of a straightforward answer, he said with a convincing smirk, “I wouldn’t spend so much time with you if I didn’t enjoy your company.”

She frowned. “You didn’t answer the question.”

He was impressed by how determined she got when she knew what she wanted. And apparently, she wanted him. Shit, what was he supposed to do now? “Yeah—yeah, I like you.” He hoped she couldn’t hear how strained his voice was.

“So is this a date?” she asked, radiating hope. “Are these dates that we’ve been going on?”

“Believe me, you would know if I were taking you on my kind of date,” he muttered.

Jacaera blinked and tilted her head to the side. “How is your kind of date different from a regular date?”

“My dates usually skip the dinner and dancing part and go straight to the fun part.” He playfully tapped her nose. “You’re too much of a good girl to do that.”

“If I were as much of a ‘good girl’ as you think, I wouldn’t be here right now,” she said indignantly. “I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near you when you showed up at school.”

“You’re right. I’ve been a terrible influence on you.” He grinned. If Jacaera knew half of the things he’d done before he turned fifteen, she would run away screaming from the truck right now. “Skipping your extracurriculars, slacking on your homework. Next thing we know, you’ll be breaking your school dress code and wearing the wrong color socks.”

She sat there visibly fuming, eyes narrowed and lips pouting. Then, quicker than he’d ever seen her move, she lunged at him.

Aegon was so startled, his elbows slipped from his reclining position and he landed completely supine on his back. She threw one leg around his waist, straddling him, then swooped down to mash their mouths clumsily together.

And then she froze. Their lips remained pressed together, neither of them moving. He was still confused by this turn of events. After a few seconds, she tentatively swiped her tongue across his bottom lip.

Oh, he realized stupidly. Oh, she’s kissing me.

Just as he arrived at this realization, she flung herself away from him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as tears welled in her eyes. “That wasn’t—I shouldn’t have—oh gods, you just said you weren’t interested. Forget that ever happened.” She lumbered to her feet and stumbled toward the edge of the truck bed, obviously intent on climbing out.

She thought he wasn’t interested. He didn’t say that. Did he say that? He’d fucked up somehow. He fucked up a lot. But of all the fuckups he’d ever committed, he knew he had to fix this one.

He lurched up and wrapped his arms around her waist. She squeaked in alarm, arms flailing, as he yanked her backwards. He kept a firm grip on her, ensuring that his body cushioned her as they fell to the bottom of the blanket-lined truck bed. As soon as they were on the floor, he twisted them around so she was lying on her back while he crouched on all fours over her.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” he rasped.

She stared up at him, her chest heaving. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was a mess as it fanned out around her head. “Yes. Once.”

“Who?”

“There was a polo captain at Daemon Velaryon Preparatory School for Boys. He took me to his homecoming dance last year. His parents picked us up afterwards and drove us to my house, because my grandparents said I had to be back before curfew. Then he kissed me.”

That was exactly how Aegon would’ve imagined her first septa-approved kiss happening. “Was he the one who taught you to use tongue?”

“Of course not,” she cried. “His parents and my grandparents were watching! There was no tongue whatsoever.”

“Just a quick peck on the lips, then?” Aegon almost pitied the poor guy. Almost. The polo captain’s failure to sweep Jacaera off her feet was ultimately Aegon’s gain.

“It was a nice kiss,” she said defensively.

“I’m sure it was.” He slowly brushed his index finger down the slope of her nose. She grew utterly still; he swore she was holding her breath. “You’re an overachiever, aren’t you, Jace? Would you like to know other ways to kiss?”

Her face reddened even further. “I know other ways to kiss. I read a lot.”

“Hands-on experience is a much better teacher.” He cupped a hand against her jaw. “What say you, Jace? Up for a little tutoring?”

He barely waited for her to finish saying “Please” before his mouth crashed down on hers. She tasted like the mint she’d eaten earlier, but also vanilla lip balm. He dragged his tongue across her lips, savoring the sweetness of her mouth.

He immediately knew that his fears about becoming addicted to Jacaera were well-founded. The noises she made, halfway between a gasp and a sigh, almost undid him then and there. And she was a quick learner, just like she’d once told him. Once he taught her how to use her tongue, she eagerly explored his mouth as her hands roamed across his chest, arms, arse.

When they broke apart to catch their breath, she asked, panting, “Is this a date now, Aegon?”

He laughed, surprised. Then he deliberately laid his hand on her breast and squeezed, which made her gasp into his mouth.

“Almost,” he murmured as he continued palming her breast through her top. “Usually I would’ve gotten you naked by this point in a date. Your blouse, your skirt, your socks, your underwear, all of it, gone. Then I would put my tongue in your tail, just like Spearshaker suggested, until you were orgasming loud enough for the next town over to hear you. And then I would fuck you right here in this truck bed where anybody could see us.”

She held his gaze as she lay beneath him. Her blouse had ridden up to expose the bottom edge of her bra—sensible white cotton, as he’d expected. “Then why don’t you?” she challenged.

By the gods, he wanted to. But he forced himself to roll off of her, which caused her to protest and try to pull him back. “You’re not on anything, are you?” he asked.

“On what?”

“Birth control.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “I never needed it before.”

Nodding, he reluctantly adjusted her blouse so it covered her again, although the pretense of modesty did nothing to make her any less tempting. “Let me take you on a date, Jace. A real date. Dinner, dancing…” He smirked. “And I’ll make sure I have a few condoms for the afterparty.”

She smiled shyly, a charming contrast to her earlier boldness. Then she furrowed her brow. “This isn’t what I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

Fidgeting, she admitted, “I thought guys didn’t like wearing condoms.”

“Ahhh. It’s true, guys usually jump at the chance to raw-dog.” Giving in to the urge to cuddle, he draped his arm around her and pressed their cheeks together. His cock twitched, excited by their renewed proximity. He ordered it to behave. “Blame Spearshaker. There’s an old Oberyn movie that goes into extremely graphic detail about the effects of syphilis. Scared me shitless during a formative age.”

STDs weren’t the only deterrent. Aegon also wasn’t keen on the idea of fatherhood before turning twenty. Viserys didn’t set an inspiring example, and Aegon had been terrified of dropping Daeron when the runt was a baby. Best not to tempt Fate.

“You know Spearshaker so well. I’m surprised you didn’t just major in Literature,” said Jacaera.

Aegon snorted. “My family would never have let me.”

She traced a finger upon his cheek. “I know something about high familial expectations too.”

“Not like mine.” His arm tightened around her. “If you never meet them, I’ll count ourselves lucky for it.”

Their kiss had opened the floodgates. He was intoxicated by images of a future with Jacaera, so he was already planning accordingly. That meant preparing for the most dangerous threat to their fledgling relationship: his family.

He remembered his first ever crush in third grade, Essie Waters. She gave out sparkly stickers to everybody, just because she liked sharing. Aegon made the mistake of telling his parents about her. The very next day, they had a two-inch thick dossier about her childhood, health history, and family tree going back at least four generations.

Alicent had a gossip network of fellow trophy wives, whom she had no qualms about calling for information. Those trophy wives’ children, AKA Aegon’s classmates, inevitably found out about his mother’s snooping (and Aegon’s crush), and they humiliated him for it at school.

Viserys was content to let his wife do the investigatory work, but he took great delight in trawling through the details in the dossiers. He would bring the file to wherever Aegon was hiding in the house and blather his unasked-for opinions, as if the girls’ backstories were puzzles he could tinker with for his amusement.

Their house is at the bottom of the Hill of Rhaenys? Poor resale value, tsk tsk. Oho, a Redwyne grandmother? That’s promising, maybe we can get some Arbor vintages for a good deal. Her father’s side is prone to diabetes, that bodes ill for future children. Who’s her family physician? Ah, I know him! I’ll ask for details next time we get drinks. What’s a little doctor-patient confidentiality between friends? Oh stop whining, Aegon, let your mother have this one hobby. It isn’t hurting anyone, and she needs something to keep herself busy when she isn’t hosting bunco nights…

Aegon didn’t want Jacaera anywhere near the Targaryens’ special brand of madness. He could practically hear his parents’ judgmental hmmms when they learned Jacaera’s family was new money. Aegon had tried to look up her grandfather, who worked at Spicemart HQ. The name Corlys and its variants were stupidly popular on Driftmark, and half of Spicemart’s middle-management were Velaryons. Eventually Aegon figured that Jacaera’s grandfather was probably Corliss Velaryon, the VP of…Brand Management? Something corporate-sounding.

But even for a family as old money as Aegon’s, a lack of pedigree could be overlooked in the right circumstances. And Aegon was afraid that his family might like Jacaera enough to overlook the new money stench.

What wasn’t there to like? She walked, spoke, and carried herself as elegantly as any blueblood. She was sweet. She was witty. She was well-read. She attended school with the daughters of politicians and CEOs. And she was very pretty, which was an important factor when his parents and grandfather were considering her future children, as if she were a brood bitch to whelp out more Targaryen show dogs.

A lot of the girls with whom Aegon had grown up got married right after graduating from university. Some of them didn’t even graduate. What use did they have for a degree when their predestined career path was being a trophy wife? Aegon’s own mother married Viserys literally one week after her graduation ceremony. Viserys’s study was covered in his framed diplomas, certificates, and industry awards, but Aegon had never seen Alicent’s diploma anywhere. He wasn’t even sure what his mother had majored in.

(Helaena seemed like she was on the path to escaping the trophy wife mill. She was so damn weird and obsessed with bugs, none of the men in their family’s circle wanted to marry her. Good for her, although it did deprive Aegon of the pleasure of intimidating his sister’s would-be admirers.)

Aegon wanted to keep Jacaera far, far away from his family’s fuckery. He didn’t want them to dig their claws into her and fuck her up too. So he needed to keep her a secret from them as long as possible, for her own good.

He was used to keeping secrets, anyway.

Now

Aegon slowly stirred, feeling unusually warm and heavy, but also unusually content. Eyes still closed, he heard the TV playing on low volume. He and Jacaera had found a channel that was running a marathon of The Ring War trilogy, extended edition. He’d fallen asleep partway through the first movie.

His phone vibrated on the coffee table. He could’ve sworn it vibrated earlier. That must have been what woke him.

The weight lying half on top of him moved. There was a mass of hair covering his face. It smelled like his shampoo—nothing fancy, just a rosemary-and-mint scented bottle from the grocery store—but it also smelled like something from a dream. It smelled like…like…

He opened his eyes. Jacaera was sprawled partially over him. She lay on her side, facing him. Her left arm and leg were thrown over him, and her breasts were crushed against his chest. Her cheek pressed against his as she continued to slumber.

His dick, excited by the close proximity of her shapely thigh, was already erect. Aegon really hoped Jacaera didn’t suddenly wake up and notice his boner prodding her.

Naturally, as soon as he had this thought, she began to wake up. And of course, as she stretched during that liminal stage between sleep and waking, her thigh pressed even closer to his boner.

Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked drowsily at him several times. A tired smile dawned upon her face. “Hello,” she mumbled.

He smiled back. “Morning. I think.”

“What time is it?”

“Considering they’re about to start the final battle…four in the morning, maybe.”

“I didn’t mean to stay here all night, I’m sorry.” She stretched again. This time her breasts brushed her torso oh-so-tauntingly.

His cock twitched against her thigh.

Her eyes widened. She looked down. “Oh!”

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” he said tensely. “Morning boners. A common affliction for men. It’ll go away after I get up.”

“I remember, Aegon.” While they were dating, she had sometimes stayed the night with him in a motel, when they wanted to fuck on something nicer than his blanket-lined truckbed. Those had been precious rare occasions. She didn’t want her grandparents’ housekeeper to notice she was away for too many nights. “But wasn’t I the cause of most of your erections back then?” Jacaera teased.

“You still are,” he replied, unthinking.

She fell silent, unmoving. He cursed himself for scaring her off, just as things were starting to look promising for the two of them.

Then she said, in a tone of voice that didn’t sound scared at all, “Oh?” And she slowly rubbed her thigh against his groin in a way that had to be intentional.

Aegon groaned as his hips instinctively bucked up, searching, wanting. “Jace, if you keep doing that, you’re going to make me come in my pants.”

She paused her delightfully evil movements. “I remember you lasting quite a while back then.”

“That was when we were teenagers fucking every day. Now I’m a geriatric twenty-nine-year-old who hasn’t had sex since we broke up.”

Jacaera’s jaw fell. “Really? That long? Not even once since then?”

He twitched uncomfortably. “I made some…questionable decisions in the days after. I was too high to remember most of it, but I was definitely…careless.”

He had been desperate to forget the pain in his heart, desperate to bury himself in warm bodies for comfort like he’d always done. He did remember one girl slapping him when he sobbed out Jace Jace Jace while they were fucking in the janitorial closet of a night club. Aegon didn’t like to think about that time period, especially not what happened toward the end with Aemond.

“Once I started rehab, though, I was celibate. I just…didn’t want anyone else,” he finished quietly.

Her fingers curled in his shirtfront. “I have a confession.”

“What’s that?” His phone vibrated again. He ignored it.

She looked away from him. “I’ve been on a lot of dates. Most of them didn’t get past the first date. But there was one guy… He checked all the boxes, so I took him home after the fourth date. I tried to have sex with him.”

Aegon’s temper flared at the mental image of Jacaera in bed with another man. It was unreasonable to expect her to have lived like a septa during the past decade, but gods knew he wanted to wring the neck of anyone who—

Then he realized a keyword she’d uttered. “Tried?” Aegon repeated.

Jacaera blushed. “He kept asking me if I liked what he was doing, and I…I…I started using corporate language to encourage him.”

He gawked at her. “Corporate language? As in, ‘your performance metrics are satisfactory’ and ‘the synergy is synergizing’ or whatever bullshit you guys say in the office?”

“Something like that,” she muttered. “He didn’t even make it past my underwear before he gave up and left. We never spoke again.”

Aegon chuckled. “Poor guy.” He didn’t really feel sorry for Mr. Satisfactory Performance Metrics, though. “Dare I ask about my performance evaluation?”

Face still pink, she tentatively ran her hand across his chest. “It’s been a while since the last assessment. I would hate to use outdated information.”

His smile faded as he held her molten gaze. She wanted him, didn’t she? There was no way he was misinterpreting her words and expression. Right?

“Jace,” he said hoarsely, “if you’re asking what I think you’re asking…I won’t be able to stop at just one time. So if you want this—if you want me—” He cut himself off with a groan when her hand moved to his groin, stroking his erection through his clothes.

“We haven’t even started yet, Aegon.” Her fingers searched for his waistband. “Why are you already talking about stopping?”

He gently grasped her wrist before her hand could slip into his pants. “Aren’t I the one being evaluated?”

“I thought we could take turns, then—” She gasped, dismayed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you have condoms?” Jacaera asked hopefully.

“No, I haven't needed them in ages.” Aegon swallowed. “No birth control?”

“I tried some, but I hated what they did to my hormones. And I wasn’t having sex, so I didn’t see the point.” Miserable, she sagged against him on the couch.

He rolled them over so he was on top of her. “Don’t look so glum, pretty girl. Have you forgotten all of my tutoring? There are millions of things we can do without fucking.”

She suddenly looked a lot less miserable. “Can you take off your shirt?”

Grinning, Aegon did as requested, flinging his shirt onto the floor. Her appreciative gaze was very gratifying.

She coyly batted her eyelashes. “And mine?”

“If you insist,” he murmured, reaching for the hem of her shirt.

When she emerged from the shower yesterday, he could tell instantly that she wasn’t wearing anything under the shirt he’d lent her. That was the thing with white shirts, they showed everything underneath. Aegon had debated offering her a shirt in a darker color, but…well, he was only human. As long as he didn’t leer too obviously at the outlines of her perky nipples through the white cotton, it was fine, right?

Now it was clear to him that even if he had been obvious in his leering, Jacaera wouldn’t have minded.

Slowly, he peeled her shirt up her midriff, pausing when the undersides of her breasts were exposed. He had given up hope years ago on ever seeing these tits again. Part of him was convinced he was still asleep and dreaming. Any moment now, he would wake up alone with only the dogs for company.

“Go on,” she urged.

“I’m just taking in the view.” Impatient now, he pulled the shirt off her entirely and threw it aside. “Gods,” he breathed, struggling to keep his wits together as all the blood in his body went straight to his cock. “You’re just as beautiful as I remember.”

Of course, she wasn’t entirely the same. It had been almost a decade, and he knew she hadn’t been frozen in time as the seventeen-year-old girl who haunted him for so long. Although she was still slender, her curves had filled out more, and she was softer in places that had once been lean muscle from horseback riding. He didn’t mind the changes. He liked the changes. After all, he’d changed too. The important thing was whether the two of them could still fit together—in multiple meanings—even after the separate paths they had walked before meeting again.

But some things remained the same. Her nipples were the same dusky, pinkish color. Her bronze skin was still soft and smooth beneath his callused fingers as he rested one hand on her waist. Her delightful blush still went down all the way to her chest.

She was reciprocating his examination. Her hands slid all across his torso as if intent on memorizing every muscle by touch, although her hands returned to his abs most frequently. When she reached for his waistband again, he was tempted to suggest they just fuck and obtain the necessary pills after—no. He was supposed to be responsible now, and he needed to prove it to her, despite her efforts to make him regress to a horny teenager.

He caught her wandering hand and entwined their fingers. “How would you like me to start this performance evaluation?” he purred.

His phone vibrated. Again. Why the fuck did his phone decide to catch Dragonstone’s abysmal signal now, of all times?

“Should you get that?” asked Jacaera.

“No, this is more important. My professional reputation depends on this evaluation.” His fingers crept below her waistband. “No underwear?”

“You didn’t give me any,” she said pertly.

“Forgive me, I forgot the office dress code. My boxers, and nothing else.” He began to slide her pajama pants down.

He had just exposed the first few dark hairs of the (unsurprisingly well-groomed) thatch covering her mound when his motherfucking phone vibrated for the umpteenth time.

“That’s it, I’m chucking it out the window.” Aegon sat up and grabbed the phone, intent on switching on the Do Not Disturb feature, which he should’ve done ages ago. Then he saw who had been harassing him via text.

“For fuck’s sake, Daeron,” Aegon grumbled.

“Daeron?” Jacaera raised her head from the couch. “Isn’t that your little brother?”

“Yeah, my favorite brother. He can wait.” Aegon reached for his phone’s power button.

“Aegon, I have little sisters. If one of them were texting me this early in the morning, it would have to be something important.” She smiled encouragingly. “Just a quick call. You’ll feel better once you know what’s going on.”

Aegon would feel better once Jacaera sat on his face and let him eat her out. But she had a determined expression that made him think she wasn’t going to let up until he figured out what was wrong with Daeron. He sighed, resigning himself to a delay in their fun. He’d already waited ten years. What was another ten minutes?

But he wasn’t going to let the mood turn cold while he talked Daeron down from whatever ledge he was on. As Aegon called his brother, he pressed the speakerphone button and set his phone back down on the coffee table. Now with both hands free, Aegon turned them to a much more valuable occupation.

Jacaera gasped when his hands greedily cupped her breasts. “Aegon!”

He shushed her just as Daeron picked up. “Aegon!” the runt cried. He sounded frazzled.

“What’s going on, runt?” Aegon ran his thumbs back and forth over Jacaera’s nipples. He concentrated better on conversations when he had something to do with his hands, anyway.

“It’s about that girl I thought was coming onto me. I know you said it wasn’t a good time, but—”

“Now is a great time.” His tongue darted out to swirl around one of Jacaera’s nipples. He watched with satisfaction as Jacaera arched beneath him. “I’m quite the expert on women coming.” He licked the other nipple, just to make things fair.

The joke completely flew over Daeron’s head, bless him. “Okay! I asked my friends for their opinions, and they’re all positive she was coming onto me. So I have a date on Friday night.”

“Congrats, runt. Your first ever date is a huge milestone.” Aegon slid his knee between Jacaera’s thighs and began to rub slowly against her clothed cunt.

“I’ve been on dates before!” Daeron snapped. “I had a girlfriend in high school!”

“Yeah, yeah. So why are you texting me now if you already got your answer from your friends?” Gods, he could feel how damp she was through the fabric of her pants. Why oh why didn’t he have any condoms?

“Well…uh…” Daeron’s embarrassment was audible. “She has something—sexual—planned.”

Aegon yanked Jacaera’s pants down to her ankles: immediate visual confirmation that she was, indeed, very damp. “I’m happy for you, runt. Why are you so worried? You do know where to put it, don’t you?” Now for the tactile confirmation. His fingers easily sank into her warm quim.

Daeron huffed. “Of course I know! It’s just…um…I don’t think they’re normal sexual activities.”

“Not normal? How so?” Holding Jacaera’s hooded gaze, Aegon brought his fingers to his mouth and languidly licked them clean, relishing the salty taste. She looked like she was on the verge of orgasming right then and there.

“She told me to bring rope,” Daeron said, almost a whisper.

Aegon let out a noise of genuine surprise. “Rope? Where the fuck did you run into a dominatrix, runt?”

“She’s my classmate! Anyway, I was just wondering… You’ve done that sort of thing before, right? What should I expect?”

This was turning out to be a hell of a morning, and it wasn’t even five o’clock. No complaints from Aegon. It wasn’t every day that he got to explain bondage to his baby brother while playing with his ex-but-hopefully-soon-to-be-NOT-ex-girlfriend’s cunt.

His fingers returned to her clit. It was like muscle memory, even after almost a decade. He remembered the exact angle, the exact amount of pressure on her clit that would make her quiver around his hand as her thighs instinctively clamped tight around his wrist. Aegon wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying to Daeron—something about safewords—too intent on watching Jacaera’s eyes rolling back as her muscles tensed.

When she came with a loud cry, Aegon had completely forgotten that Daeron could hear them until Daeron asked, “Uh…is there someone with you, Aegon?”

“Oh!” Jacaera covered her face, clearly mortified at being heard.

“Yeah. Sorry, should’ve mentioned it earlier. She won’t tell anyone about this conversation.” Aegon smiled at Jacaera as she got up from the couch. Her pants were tangled around her feet, so she kicked them off entirely then walked to the powder room, stark naked. He did his best to burn the sight into his memory.

“She?” Daeron sounded delighted. “There’s a girl with you this early in the morning? Do you have a girlfriend? Are you bringing her to the family Yule party?”

“Yes, I hope so, and fuck no,” replied Aegon.

“I hope so? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means she and I haven’t talked about it. But I know what I want the answer to be.”

“I think she’ll say yes,” Daeron enthused. “Is she listening now? You should say yes, Aegon’s future girlfriend! My brother is great.”

Aww. Aegon was going to have to remember to give Daeron a hug when he next saw him. The runt liked hugs. “She just went to the bathroom, but I’ll pass on your sentiments.”

“I want to meet her,” Daeron insisted. “If she’s with you, then she’s already on Dragonstone. Just bring her to the party! I really don’t think it’ll be as bad as you and Aemond are afraid of. Rhaenyra and her daughters are probably just as eager as we are for the family reunion to go well. Mum said that Rhaenyra promised to make sure that Uncle Daemon will be on his best behavior. And I borrowed a party game from a friend! It’ll be a good icebreaker with our nieces and cousins.”

Groaning, Aegon rubbed his temples. “Stop calling them our nieces, they’re the same age. I’m pretty sure Daughters 1 through 4 are older than you.”

“Rhaenyra and Daemon’s youngest two are our nieces and cousins, though.”

“That’s a sentence I had hoped to never hear,” Aegon muttered. “Anyway, just look up bondage etiquette on GreenSite, and text me any follow-up questions. I’m hanging up now.”

“Okay, thanks. Bye, Aegon. Bye, Aegon’s future girlfriend!”

Aegon made sure to turn his phone completely off. No more interruptions. As he waited for Jacaera to come back out of the powder room, he quickly replanned his morning routine. The grocery store in the village would open soon. He could pop out, buy some condoms, then hurry back, and he and Jacaera could resume their performance evaluation. Afterwards, she could get some rest while he took the dogs out for a later-than-usual, shorter-than-usual walk. Then they could have another performance evaluation.

Minutes passed. The powder room door remained closed. Worried, he got up. “Jace, are you okay?”

She didn’t answer right away. “I’m fine,” she said at last. She didn’t sound fine.

His stomach plummeted. “Did I do something wrong? Did I make you feel—shit. Is it the phone thing with Daeron? I thought you were enjoying it. I’m sorry.”

She finally opened the door. Folding her arms across her chest, Jacaera smiled at him. It was the insincere smile she used to give him when they first reunited, the smile that made him feel as if the Wall itself were erected between them. “I was enjoying it. I probably shouldn’t have, but I did. That’s not—that was fine.”

“Then what’s wrong?” He reached out to take her hand.

She stepped away from him. He felt cold. “I just remembered I have an early work call.” She hurried past him and began putting on the shirt and pants she’d borrowed from him. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I can get your laundry from the dryer—”

“No time. Sorry, I can’t be late.” Jacaera shoved her feet into her muddy sneakers and tugged on the puffer jacket he’d lent her; her coat was at the dry cleaner’s. “I’ll—I’ll talk to you later.” She forced another fake smile, grabbed the Sunny Dog tote bag he’d given her to replace her purse, then fled out the front door. She was gone before Aegon could even say goodbye.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at the spot where she’d last stood. He’d fucked up somehow. He knew he did. But he had no idea what he did, and no idea how to fix it.

Chapter Text

When Aemond arrived at dinner with Lucera, he expected a decent meal and fun banter that made him feel warm beneath his collar. He did not expect her to try playing relationship therapist between himself and Aegon.

The firstborn. So he’s the responsible one?

Seems a bit unfair to keep holding his past mistakes against him.

He should be commended.

Do you love your brother?

Wouldn’t it be so much nicer if you could move on and have a good relationship? Isn’t that better than continuing to be bitter?

Do you love your brother?

Aemond needed a drink.

It was an urge he rarely had, considering Aegon’s shining example as a former alcoholic. On the occasions that Aemond did drink, it was only at formal events, and he never had more than one glass. He was, however, considering making an exception for the impending family reunion of doom. That deserved at least two glasses.

Aegon was to blame for Aemond’s current urge to reach for whatever cheap boxed wine Lucera might have lying around. Talking about Aegon was generally headache-inducing. Worse still, Lucera defended him, despite not even knowing Aegon (as far as she was aware). His prodigal brother truly had an unerring ability to charm every female from age seven to seventy—even through Craftsy transactions and Ravengram posts, apparently.

Do you love your brother?

Lucera wouldn’t ask that if she knew the truth. She didn’t know how many sleepless nights Aemond had suffered as a teenager, because he was waiting for Aegon to stumble home from whatever illicit activity he was engaging in. Even when his parents gave up and went to bed, Aemond would continue waiting with a cooling cup of coffee while the night sky slowly lightened. Nobody would have blamed him if he prioritized being well-rested for school instead. But Aemond couldn’t help fearing that on the one night he decided to sleep instead of wait up for his brother, that would be the night Aegon ended up dead in a ditch.

So Aemond conducted his thankless vigil, night after night. Once he got his driver’s license, he would go out, find Aegon in whatever den of dissolution he was lying fallow in, and drag his brother home. Even when Aegon attended KLU, Aemond would be out the door the instant that Aegon’s roommate texted that Aegon still wasn’t back in the dorm. Aemond did it because that was what he was supposed to do for his brother, wasn’t it? Even if his brother was an ingrate about it all.

The year that Aegon was sent to Dragonstone was the most well-rested year of Aemond’s life. It was infeasible for Aemond to hunt down Aegon from the other side of Blackwater Bay, so Aemond stayed home and got his eight hours of sleep every night. At his mother’s behest, he traveled to Dragonstone on occasion to check on Aegon in person. There, Aemond found Aegon surprisingly well-behaved—because of a girl.

That girl was a miracle-worker, as far as Aemond was concerned. It seemed like Aegon was finally turning over a new leaf. Aemond let his guard down.

Then the girl smashed Aegon’s heart into smithereens, and everything went to shit.

Aemond could feel his heart rate rising just thinking about what happened. His eye socket throbbed painfully around his prosthesis.

Do you love your brother?

“I suppose you think it’s a straightforward question with a straightforward answer,” Aemond said quietly. Lucera turned around from the sink to look at him. “He’s my brother, so of course I should love him, right? But you don’t understand. You come from a normal family—”

Lucera chuckled. “Oh, my family is far from normal.” Her amusement faded, and her eyes grew misty. “My father and his sister died when I was ten.”

Aemond knew Lucera had a stepfather. He’d thought it was because her parents amicably divorced. Clearly, he was incorrect.

“It was a boating accident. They were both champion swimmers during school, so some people speculated foul play. It didn’t help that my mum remarried just six months later—to my aunt’s husband.”

Aemond made an appropriate noise of disapproving commiseration. It sounded like the sort of drama that happened on Real Housewives of Highgarden, his mother’s second-favorite comfort show. Alicent personally knew some of the housewives on the show, which made for interesting commentary.

“My grandparents didn’t like that. Their only children just died, then their children’s widowed partners married each other before the year was out. So my mum and stepfather moved us to Duskendale, away from everyone I knew. I had a huge row with my mum, and I told her I hated her. We made up eventually, but I don’t think I’ve ever completely forgiven her for it.” Lucera shrugged. “She’s my mum. I might not love everything she does, but I will always love her. That’s just how family is, right?”

So Lucera didn’t have a picture-perfect family after all. It reassured him, because if she was accustomed to a certain amount of familial dysfunction, then perhaps she wouldn’t flee from the country when she found out how much of a nightmare his family was.

But it also bothered him. Aemond’s mother married her best friend’s father, and he grew up resenting the shadow that Rhaenyra cast, even in her absence. Although his parents rarely spoke about her, he and his siblings just knew when Viserys was thinking about how his adopted daughter was so much more perfect than his biological children, or when Alicent was daydreaming about her university days as Rhaenyra’s roommate before she started popping out screaming children in quick succession.

Aemond and Lucera both had fucked-up childhoods. Somehow, Lucera still managed to turn out normal and emotionally stable, whereas Aemond…

Well. Aemond didn’t deny that he had his share of issues. The therapist he’d been forced to see after losing his eye made that abundantly clear.

“Most families, perhaps,” he replied at last. “But not mine. My brother—”

The front door flew open with a bang, just as it did the previous night when Rhaena made her grand entrance. Once again, Rhaena stood on the threshold with a blazing expression that broadcast her homicidal desires. Aemond was pretty sure he wasn’t the target of her ire this time. He’d made sure to park in a different spot, though he did note that “Rhaena’s” spot still wasn’t marked in any way.

Rhaena’s cheeks were wet. She stared at him and Lucera in the kitchen, took a deep breath, and made a strangled, high-pitched noise that sounded like a dying cat. Then she ran upstairs, footsteps thundering on the squeaky steps. A door slammed shut.

Lucera already had one foot out of the kitchen. “I should check on her.”

“Probably a good idea,” Aemond agreed. He had some experience dealing with a visibly distraught sister coming home from school, although Lucera was probably the greater expert, considering she had three (four? He’d lost count) of them.

Aemond tried to wait patiently while Lucera was upstairs. He checked his work email, and he immediately regretted it.

Gods, how was it possible for a man as annoying as Racallio to be so professionally successful? Aemond exited his work email without replying. Racallio could be tomorrow’s headache.

Lucera was still with Rhaena. Aemond disliked being idle, so he went to the sink and began washing the dishes. It was only fair, considering Lucera cooked (or reheated frozen soup, rather, but it still counted) and had been at her booth all day. Also, Aemond hated leaving dirty dishes in the sink. It felt unsanitary, and at home he didn’t want to risk Vhagar trying to lick a plate with something she wasn’t supposed to eat.

After he dried the dishes, he put them away. Spoons went in the silverware drawer. Bowls went in the cabinet with the other bowls. Easy. Logical.

He was putting the drinking glasses away when something in the cabinet caught his eye. The uppermost shelf was just within his line of sight, although it was too high for Lucera to use without a stepladder. The shelf held a single mug, shoved all the way to the back of the cabinet. Curious, Aemond took out the mug.

The ceramic mug looked like it came from one of those paint-your-own-pottery studios. Two different people had clearly decorated each half. One half was sloppily covered in glittery blue paint and a childish drawing of what might be a mermaid. The other half was more neatly painted with navy sailor stripes and an anchor.

On the bottom of the mug was an inscription: LUCY & POP-POP.

Was Pop-Pop her grandfather? Aemond imagined Lucera as a little girl, sticking out her tongue in concentration as she painted while an indulgent, gray-haired man looked on. Otto had never taken any of his grandchildren to a paint-your-own-pottery studio, not even Helaena.

Lucera hadn’t said much about her grandfather. Perhaps he’d passed away, and she was still grieving him? Then Aemond remembered a quip she made, something about how she trusted sisters more than uncles and grandfathers. She wouldn’t have said that if she had a harmonious, picturesque relationship with her grandfather.

Whatever happened between Lucera and “Pop-Pop,” she still kept this mug. She stored it on a shelf by itself, even though it would be easier to simply throw it out.

Lucera’s rapid footsteps heralded her return. “Sorry about that,” she said as she breezed into the kitchen. “Rhaena was freaking out about failing her master’s. She’s seriously thinking about asking her dad to be her emergency model, but he would have to come down from Duskendale, and Uncle Dae—” She froze, gaping at the mug in Aemond’s hands. “Why do you have that?”

“I noticed it while putting dishes away,” Aemond answered truthfully. “It seems sentimental.”

“It isn’t. It’s trash,” Lucera said tersely. “Put it back.”

“If it’s trash, why do you want me to put it back?”

“It’s none of your business! And I don’t appreciate you snooping through my things.”

“I was trying to be helpful,” he protested.

“Well, you’re not! You’re making things worse!” Lucera snatched the mug out of his hands.

“Worse?” Aemond repeated, affronted. “I maximized the efficiency of your packing and ship—”

Lucera groaned. “Would it kill you to refrain from using corporate speak during a normal conversation?”

“Fine. I’ll be more direct,” he said crisply. “Is your grandfather dead?”

“No! What—”

“So he’s alive, but you don’t get along with him. That’s why you banished that mug to the top shelf. You were all about loving and forgiving my brother, because ‘that’s just how family is.’ But what about you and your grandfather?”

Lucera’s face was ruddy with emotion. “Is there a point you’re trying to make, Aemond?”

She was angry, no doubt about that. But so was he, and he had the better claim to anger. She insulted him and accused him of snooping after he took the time to wash her dishes, even though he would’ve been within his rights to sit and do nothing as a guest. Honestly, he was very well-behaved right now, considering she had been the one to try snooping into his relationship with Aegon.

“My point,” he said, enunciating each syllable clearly, “is that maybe you shouldn’t lecture other people on their familial relationships when you obviously have problems with your own family.”

His point made perfect sense in his head. After all, he would never take professional advice from somebody who had demonstrated that they were unable to solve the issue in question. But it seemed Lucera disagreed, judging by the way she looked ready to strangle him with her bare hands.

Aemond braced himself for a shrill tirade. To his surprise, Lucera’s voice came out in practically a whisper: “Get out.”

“Lucera, I—”

“Get out!” Lucera’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “Out! Right now!”

Aemond didn’t try to argue a second time. He retrieved his coat from the closet. As he donned it at the front door, Lucera stormed toward him. Once again he braced himself, but Lucera just stomped up the stairs without meeting his eye.

A moment later, she reappeared with a familiar package. “You can return this to the store. I have no further use for it,” she said curtly.

Aemond refused to take the Sylvi’s package. “Lucera, we should talk—”

Lucera flung open the door and threw the package outside. It landed on the sidewalk. “Get your refund, or don’t. I don’t care. I’m not going with you to your snobby office party. In fact, I would be thrilled if I never see you again.”

He was caught off-guard when she shoved him out of the house. He stumbled on the front step, catching his balance. Before he could turn around to face her again, she slammed and locked the door.

“She was the one who escalated the situation,” Aemond complained to Vhagar once he returned home. “I was just putting dishes away. There was no need to call me ‘unhelpful.’”

Vhagar, who had just finished eating her tuna dinner, rumbled her agreement.

“If she doesn’t want anyone to touch that mug, then she shouldn’t put it in a cabinet where people look for mugs.” With a huff, Aemond sat down in front of his work laptop. He was too riled up to fall asleep any time soon, so he may as well be productive.

Aemond was reviewing the layoff announcement for Racallio’s employees when his Scrype dinged. He was far from the only person in the office who worked late, so he was unsurprised by the notification—until he saw who messaged him.

Clement’s capacity for dogged concentration was more impressive than Aemond expected. Aemond just wished that Clement would direct that doggedness toward something more useful, like making sure his spreadsheet formulas actually worked. If Hightower Corp didn’t use an automated system to send out paychecks, there would be a lot more angry employees on payday every two weeks.

Aemond couldn’t decide whether Clement truly was this stupid, or whether he was just in denial that the woman he liked was not interested.

Did Clement really move on from his concerning crush on Lucera, or was this a bluff? Maybe Clement hired someone to be his date.

Aemond sat back in his chair as he tried to comprehend the unlikely couple. When he told Cassandra to find someone else to bring her to the party, he’d expected her to find…anybody but Clement, honestly. Back when Cassandra worked at Hightower Corp, she only ever spoke to Clement when there was especially juicy gossip to share. Then again, Cassandra loved gossip, so maybe that was sufficient commonality for her to establish a relationship.