Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It had been a year now since the Heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon, and the Princess broke his heart.

A year since Criston Cole tried to commit suicide, but was stopped by Queen Alicent.

A year since he became completely the Queen's ally and knight.

Now, both the Princess and the Queen have given birth to their sons. The Princess gave birth to her first son and heir, Jacaerys Velaryon. And before his birth, the Queen gave birth to her third child and second son, Aemond Targaryen.

Criston was standing behind the Queen as he watched the royal family with the children. King Viserys was smiling at his new grandson, not even paying any attention now to his five years old son, Aegon, his four years old daughter, Helaena, and even his new baby son, Aemond.

His Queen was hurt that her husband was paying more attention to his older daughter and son, and not their children.

Everyone knew that Jacaerys wasn't Laenor's son. They didn't look alike. Jacaerys's growing hair was brown, and he had brown eyes, while Laenor had the Valyrian features. The snowy white hair, the violet eyes.

Jacaerys was a bastard.

And the King didn't care.

Not since he's his daughter's son.

Criston was joining in on the hunt that was happening today, it will be him, the King, Laenor and others from the court. With a nod from Queen Alicent, he got on his horse and joined on the hunt.

The hunting party moved deeper into the Kingswood, following the tracks of a great stag. Criston rode behind King Viserys, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. Something felt wrong in the air - a heaviness that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

As they rounded a bend in the forest path, Criston felt a chill that had nothing to do with the autumn breeze. He pulled on his reins, bringing his mount to a halt. The rest of the party continued forward, their laughter and conversation fading among the trees.

"What is that?" he muttered, cocking his head to listen.

A faint wailing sound came from somewhere to his right, deeper in the woods. He glanced ahead where the King rode safely flanked by Ser Harrold and the others. They showed no sign of having heard the noise.

Hesitating only briefly, Criston turned his horse toward the sound. The King was well-protected, and something in that cry compelled him forward.

He navigated carefully through the underbrush, following the increasingly distressed sounds. When he came to a small clearing, he saw it - a small bundle wrapped in a dirty blanket, moving slightly on the forest floor.

"Seven hells," he breathed, dismounting quickly.

Tiny arms poked from the blanket's folds, reaching up desperately. Criston knelt beside the bundle and carefully pulled back the cloth.

It was a baby girl. Her olive-brown skin matched his own Dornish complexion, the sight making Criston's breath catch in his throat. He scanned the clearing frantically, searching for any sign of the mother or father, but saw only shadows between trees and heard nothing but distant birdsong.

With practiced hands, he tugged his leather gloves off and carefully lifted the infant, blanket and all. She wailed louder at the movement, her tiny face scrunched in distress.

"Shh, it's alright," he whispered, cradling her awkwardly against his armored chest. "You're safe now."

Gradually, her cries subsided to hiccupping whimpers. Dark eyes, still unfocused but somehow knowing, stared up at him. Criston felt something twist inside his chest as he adjusted her weight in one arm and reached with his free hand to touch her tiny fist.

The babe gurgled softly and latched onto his finger with surprising strength. A small, unbidden smile crossed his face before he caught himself and forced his expression back to stern vigilance as he surveyed the woods once more.

Looking down at her peaceful face, he estimated she couldn't be more than a few days old. Her umbilical stump was still fresh. What monster would abandon such a helpless creature to the mercies of the forest? To the wolves and foxes that prowled these woods?

He sighed deeply, his decision already made before he even acknowledged it. The hunting party would be wondering where he'd gone, but he couldn't simply leave her here to die.

"Well, little one," he murmured, "it seems you're coming with me."

Mounting his horse one-handed proved challenging, but Criston managed it, tucking the babe securely against his chest. He turned his mount back toward the hunting path, mind racing. What would the Queen say? What would anyone say? A Kingsguard with a child was unprecedented.

The ride back felt longer than it should have, each jolt of the horse making Criston anxious for the infant's comfort. He'd torn a strip from his undershirt to create a makeshift sling across his chest, securing the babe against him as he navigated the forest paths back to the hunting party.

When he finally emerged into the clearing where the royal entourage had gathered, all eyes turned to him. King Viserys stood beside a freshly killed boar, his expression changing from triumph to confusion at the sight of his Kingsguard approaching with something clutched to his chest.

"Ser Criston, where've you been?" Queen Alicent asked, her voice carrying a mixture of concern and relief. She stepped forward, her green dress catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

"You were supposed to be by the King's side alongside me while on the hunt," Ser Harrold scolded, his weathered face contorting with disapproval. "A Kingsguard does not simply wander off."

"Apologize, Your Grace," Criston said with a respectful nod toward the King and Queen, deliberately ignoring Harrold's rebuke.

As he approached, the bundle in his arms shifted, drawing everyone's attention. The small blanket fell away slightly, revealing the tiny face within.

Criston glanced down at the babe, who had begun to stir from the jostling movement. "I had to change direction when I heard crying in the woods."

"That's..." Queen Alicent's words died on her lips as the infant let out a piercing wail, tiny fists flailing against Criston's breastplate.

"I found her abandoned in a clearing," Criston explained, awkwardly trying to soothe the crying child. "There was no sign of her mother or any caretaker. I couldn't have left her out there alone."

The Queen's face softened as she approached, her maternal instincts overriding court protocol. "The poor thing is hungry," she said, reaching out with practiced hands. "May I?"

Criston surrendered the bundle, watching as Alicent expertly cradled the infant against her chest. The Queen's fingers gently stroked the babe's cheek, quieting her momentarily.

With the babe secured in her arms, Queen Alicent walked toward the wagons where the wet nurses tended to Prince Aemond and the other royal children who had accompanied the hunt. She spoke quietly to one of the women, who nodded and took the small bundle with gentle competence.

"See that this little one is fed and cleaned," the Queen instructed as the wet nurse carried the infant into one of the carriages.

King Viserys approached Criston, his expression unreadable. "A curious find, Ser Criston. Not the quarry we expected from today's hunt."

"Indeed not, Your Grace," Criston replied, standing stiffly at attention.

"You've done well," King Viserys told Criston with an approving nod, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Not all hunts are for beasts. Sometimes the gods place other treasures in our path."

The King turned and walked away, Ser Harrold falling into step beside him. Criston watched them go, relieved that his abandonment of post had been forgiven so easily. His attention shifted to the closed door of the carriage where the wet nurse had taken the infant.

A prickling sensation at the back of his neck made him turn. Across the clearing, Princess Rhaenyra stood beside her husband Laenor, her eyes fixed on Criston. When their gazes met, she quickly looked away, pretending to adjust the sleeve of her riding dress. Even after a year, the sight of her still caused a dull ache in his chest.

"She will need a name," Queen Alicent said, appearing at his side and following his gaze to the carriage. "The little one you found."

Criston cleared his throat. "I hadn't thought that far ahead, Your Grace. I was merely concerned with her immediate safety."

"A noble concern," the Queen replied, her voice soft. "She appears to be of Dornish blood, like yourself."

"I noticed the resemblance," Criston admitted. "Though I know not how she came to be abandoned in the King's forest."

A brief silence fell between them before Criston asked, "What will happen with the babe, Your Grace?"

Queen Alicent folded her hands before her, considering. "She will need care beyond what a wet nurse can provide in the field. I will have the Grand Maester examine her when we return to the Keep." She paused, watching as servants began packing up the hunt's spoils. "Until we are certain of her health, she will remain in the Red Keep under my supervision."

Criston's brow furrowed. "Will His Grace approve of such arrangements? The child is not of royal blood."

"The King will allow it," Alicent assured him with quiet confidence. "He has already given his blessing in his own way."

Criston nodded, feeling an unexpected sense of relief. His gaze drifted back to the carriage.

The nursery room in the Red Keep was bathed in soft afternoon light when Criston entered. Queen Alicent stood by the window, swaying gently with the infant cradled against her shoulder. The sound of her humming filled the quiet space.

"She's finally settled," the Queen whispered when she noticed him. "Her appetite has improved considerably since you brought her to us."

"I've noticed," Criston replied, his voice unusually gentle. "The wet nurse says she takes her milk eagerly now."

As if sensing his presence, the child stirred against the Queen's shoulder. Tiny eyelids fluttered open, and dark eyes found him immediately. A small hand reached out, fingers grasping at the air between them.

Queen Alicent's lips curved into a knowing smile. "It seems your little foundling prefers her shining knight to a queen." She crossed the room and carefully transferred the bundle into his waiting arms. "Go on, then. She's been waiting for you."

The weight of the child felt familiar now as she nestled against his shoulder, her small head finding its place beneath his chin. For a man trained to wield sword and shield, Criston had surprised himself with how quickly his hands had learned this gentler purpose.

"She favors you, Ser Criston," Queen Alicent said softly, watching as the infant nestled comfortably against Criston's neck. "Children have a way of recognizing those who truly care for them."

Criston smiled a little as the babe nestled against him, her tiny eyelids growing heavy before closing completely. A small yawn escaped her lips before she settled into sleep.

"She trusts you," Queen Alicent observed, her own smile fading as she moved to straighten the blankets in the nearby cradle. "The King asked me this morning what our intentions are regarding her future. Now that Grand Maester Mellos has declared her healthy, Viserys expects a decision."

Criston's smile vanished. He nodded slightly, his eyes still on the sleeping infant. "Have you found someone suitable to take her, Your Grace?"

The Queen shook her head, her fingers tracing the embroidered dragons on the cradle's linen. "In truth, I haven't been looking with much... enthusiasm." She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on the babe's back. "I fear I've allowed myself to grow fond of this little one. The thought of simply handing her away..." Her voice trailed off.

"I understand," Criston said quietly, unconsciously tightening his hold on the child. The thought of never seeing her again created a hollow feeling in his chest he hadn't anticipated.

"Princess Rhaenyra approached the King yesterday," Alicent continued, her voice cooling at the mention of her stepdaughter. "She suggested placing the child in the Children's House in Flea Bottom. Said perhaps someone there would want her."

Criston's head snapped up, his expression one of disbelief. "The Children's House?"

The Queen scoffed, shaking her head. "The Princess clearly has no notion of what befalls many of those poor children. The fortunate ones become servants. The others..." She didn't finish the thought.

Criston's jaw tightened as his gaze moved to the door, glaring as if Rhaenyra herself stood there. The child in his arms stirred slightly at his tension, and he immediately forced himself to relax.

Alicent watched him for a long moment, noting how protectively he cradled the infant. Her eyes softened with sudden understanding.

"You care for her," she said. It wasn't a question.

Criston looked down at the sleeping child, her tiny hand curled against his white cloak. "I found her," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

"There is another option," the Queen said carefully, moving to the window to gaze out at the city below. "One I've been considering since you brought her to us."

"Your Grace?"

"You could claim her as your own," Alicent suggested, turning to face him. "Officially adopt her as your daughter."

Criston froze, his expression unreadable. "A Kingsguard is forbidden to father children, Your Grace. We take vows--"

"Vows against fathering children, yes. But this child already exists." The Queen approached him, her green eyes intent. "The vows speak nothing of adoption, particularly of an orphaned child who shares your Dornish coloring."

Criston looked down at the babe, considering the Queen's words. The child's olive skin and dark hair indeed matched his own. Anyone who saw them together would assume a blood relation.

"I would need to arrange quarters outside the White Sword Tower," he said slowly, thinking aloud. "A Kingsguard with a child would be unprecedented."

"Not entirely," Alicent replied. "There have been widowers who joined with children. They simply didn't live within the Tower." She smiled slightly. "I could arrange suitable apartments within the Keep. And nurses when your duties require your absence."

Criston studied the child's peaceful face. "She would need a name."

"She would," the Queen agreed. "Something fitting for the daughter of a knight."

Criston was silent for a long moment, weighing possibilities against duty, want against wisdom. Finally, he looked up at Alicent.

"Vera," he said softly. "Her name is Vera Cole."

The Queen's smile returned, genuine and warm. "A beautiful name. I'll speak with the King tonight. He will agree, I'm certain of it."

As if sensing her future had been decided, the newly-named Vera Cole stirred in Criston's arms, her tiny hand reaching up to touch his chin. When her dark eyes opened and found his, Criston felt something shift and settle within him.

"Hello, Vera," he whispered, and for the first time in a year, the ache in his chest eased.

Chapter Text

"I'll fall!"

"No you won't, I'll hold your hand"

"Yes, and then you will let go and then I'll fall."

The seven year old Prince Aemond smiled as he rolled his eyes. He looked at the seven year old Vera and held out his hand, "Grab it, and I'll prove you wrong." She looked at his hand before slowly taking it in hers. He led her closer to the ocean stones and nodded to them, "Go on."

Vera let out a soft sigh and grabbed in one hand her skirts and hopped on the wet stones. Aemond started to walk while holding her hand, and she followed as she jumped on the stones.

Criston smiled watching them from his position among the other Kingsguard knights. The sea breeze ruffled his dark hair as he kept vigilant eyes on Vera and Prince Aemond playing on the stones at the shoreline. Their laughter carried across the beach, a sound that still surprised him with the joy it brought.

"Careful now," he called out, though not too sternly. Vera had always been adventurous, much like the Targaryen prince who now guided her across the slippery rocks.

It had been Vera's idea to come here today. She'd approached Queen Alicent with such earnestness, presenting her case for why the royal children needed fresh air and sunshine away from the Red Keep's walls. The Queen, always fond of Vera, had taken the suggestion to King Viserys, who readily agreed.

Now the entire royal family sprawled across the beach in a rare moment of unity. King Viserys sat beneath a canopy with Queen Alicent.

It was moments like these that reminded Criston how far they'd come. Seven years had passed since he'd found Vera in the forest, and in that time, much had changed within the royal family. Queen Alicent had given birth to her fourth child, Prince Daeron, when Vera was four years old.

Criston still remembered how Vera had pouted for weeks after Daeron's arrival, suddenly finding herself no longer the youngest in their strange, extended family. She'd shadowed Queen Alicent constantly, tugging at her skirts whenever the Queen held the baby prince.

"You still love me too, don't you?" she'd asked one evening, her dark eyes showing nervousness beneath her furrowed brows.

The King had laughed heartily at that, ruffling Vera's hair. "The heart grows, little one. It doesn't divide."

Alicent had knelt beside her, balancing baby Daeron in one arm while pulling Vera close with the other. "I could never forget about you, my sweet girl," she'd assured her with an amused smile.

Now, watching Vera leap gracefully from the stones, Criston felt a surge of pride. She had her father's agility, people often remarked—not knowing how true their words were. The resemblance between them was uncanny enough that no one questioned her parentage. His olive Dornish complexion, his dark hair and eyes—all mirrored in Vera's features. The gods had been kind in that small mercy.

Princess Helaena approached the playing children, little Daeron's hand clasped in hers. The four-year-old prince struggled to keep up with his sister's longer strides, but his face shone with excitement as he clutched a collection of colorful seashells.

"Look what we found!" Helaena called out, holding up a spiral shell with a pearlescent interior.

Vera's face lit up. She released Aemond's hand and dashed across the sand toward the King and Queen. Prince Aegon sat nearby, looking thoroughly bored with the whole outing, picking at the sand with a stick.

Without hesitation, Vera grabbed the ten-year-old prince's hand. "Come," she insisted, ignoring his immediate protests.

"I don't want to play with shells," Aegon grumbled, but Vera was already pulling him to his feet.

"Not shells. Water!" she declared, dragging the reluctant prince toward where Aemond waited by the shoreline.

King Viserys chuckled as he watched them go. It was rare to see him so attentive to his younger children—usually his focus remained firmly on Princess Rhaenyra, who had declined to join them today. Her absence seemed to free something in the King, allowing him to see the children before him rather than constantly looking for the one who wasn't there.

Criston shifted his position slightly, moving to keep all the children in his sight. He nodded respectfully to Ser Harrold, who was similarly vigilant despite the relaxed atmosphere.

A sudden splash and shout drew everyone's attention. Vera and Aemond had worked together to push Aegon into the shallow water. The older prince stood sputtering, his fine clothes soaked, while Vera and Aemond doubled over with laughter.

For a moment, Criston tensed, ready to intervene if Aegon's infamous temper flared. But instead, a mischievous grin spread across the prince's face. With surprising speed, he lunged forward and grabbed Aemond, pulling his younger brother face-first into the surf.

King Viserys's laughter boomed across the beach, deep and genuine. Beside him, Queen Alicent's eyes sparkled with amusement. Helaena clapped her hands in delight while little Daeron bounced excitedly, begging to join the fun but kept safely on shore by his sister.

The Queen glanced at her husband, a gentle smile playing on her lips. These moments when Viserys truly saw his children were precious and rare. She reached out, briefly touching his hand.

Criston's gaze returned to Vera, now splashing water at both princes while skillfully dodging their retaliatory strikes. Her laughter carried across the beach, mingling with the sounds of waves and seabirds. Sometimes he still marveled at how completely she had woven herself into their lives.

The knights of the Kingsguard had taken to Vera immediately, treating her as their collective niece. Even Ser Harrold, stern as he was, could often be found showing her proper sword stances when he thought no one was watching. And the bond she'd formed with Queen Alicent was something Criston could never have anticipated—the Queen had become the mother figure Vera needed.

More surprising still was how the royal children had accepted her. Aegon might grumble, but he always saved sweet cakes for her from feasts. Helaena shared her books and treasures freely. And Aemond—well, those two had been inseparable almost from the start, kindred spirits in their boldness.

Even Princess Rhaenyra's bastard sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, had fallen under Vera's spell.

A movement caught Criston's eye as Vera suddenly broke away from the water play. She bent down, examining something in the wet sand where the waves receded. With careful hands, she lifted her discovery and began running excitedly toward the royal canopy, her wet skirts clinging to her legs.

"Your Grace! My Queen!" she called, her face alight with wonder. Water droplets sparkled in her dark hair as she hurried across the sand, clutching something gently in her small palms.

Criston moved closer, curious about what had captured his daughter's attention so completely. Vera came to a breathless halt before Queen Alicent, her eyes bright with excitement.

"Look what I found," she said, extending her cupped hands. There, nestled in her palms, lay a five-pointed starfish, its reddish-orange surface textured and alive.

Queen Alicent leaned forward, her expression softening as she studied the creature. "It's beautiful, Vera," she said with genuine appreciation.

King Viserys peered over his wife's shoulder, his interest piqued. "A fine specimen indeed," he agreed, his voice warm with affection for the child's enthusiasm.

Vera's eyes widened suddenly. "I can feel it moving," she whispered with reverence, her fingers carefully cradling the sea creature. "It's tickling my hands."

Ser Erryk Cargyll, who had been standing guard nearby, stepped forward and knelt beside Vera. His face was kind as he addressed her.

"My lady," he said gently, "such creatures belong in the sea. If kept from the water too long, they cannot survive." He gestured toward the ocean. "It would be a kindness to return it to its home."

Understanding dawned on Vera's face. Without hesitation, she nodded solemnly and turned, racing back toward the shoreline with the same urgency with which she'd approached.

Criston watched as his daughter knelt at the water's edge, carefully lowering her hands into the foaming surf. He could just make out her lips moving as she whispered something to the creature – an apology, perhaps – before releasing it. The incoming wave gently pulled the starfish from her grasp, carrying it back to deeper waters where it belonged.

For a moment, Vera remained there, watching the retreating tide. Then she rose and made her way back to where Aemond, Aegon, and the others continued their play.

"She has a gentle heart," Queen Alicent remarked quietly to Criston as he resumed his position. "You've raised her well, Ser Criston."

"Thank you, Your Grace," he replied, feeling a surge of pride. "Though I cannot take all the credit. She has had many fine examples to follow."

The Queen's smile widened slightly at his words, but whatever she might have said was interrupted by a sudden commotion from the children. Prince Aemond had climbed atop a large rock and was declaring himself "King of the Tides," much to his siblings' protestations.

"I challenge you!" Aegon called out, scrambling up the same rock. "The throne is mine by right!"

Vera stood below, hands on her hips. "You can't both be king," she declared with the certainty only a seven-year-old could muster. "One of you must be the dragon!"

King Viserys laughed heartily at this. "Already settling succession disputes," he said to Queen Alicent. "Perhaps we should put Vera on the Small Council."

The Queen's laughter joined his, a rare moment of shared mirth between them. "She would certainly keep the peace better than some of your current advisors."

As the afternoon wore on, the tide began to rise, pushing the royal party farther up the beach. The children's energy showed no signs of waning, however. Vera had somehow organized them all into building a sand castle, with Aegon surprisingly taking charge of the construction.

"It needs a moat," Vera insisted, digging her hands into the damp sand.

"And dragons," added Helaena, carefully placing shells to represent the beasts.

Criston observed how effortlessly Vera moved between the royal children, belonging to all of them and yet remaining distinctly herself. She had no dragon blood, no claim to greatness by birth, and yet she commanded attention in her own quiet way.

The sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the beach. Prince Aegon's elaborate sand castle, despite Vera and Helaena's best efforts to protect it with stones and shells, finally surrendered to the rising tide. The children watched with a mixture of disappointment and fascination as the waves gradually reclaimed their creation.

"All that work," Aegon muttered, crossing his arms with a scowl.

Vera patted his arm consolingly. "We can build an even better one next time," she promised, her voice growing softer as exhaustion began to catch up with her. The day's excitement had taken its toll on all the children. Even Aemond, usually bursting with energy, had grown quieter, his movements more subdued.

Queen Alicent rose from her seat beneath the canopy, brushing sand from her skirts. "I believe it's time we returned to the Keep," she announced, her eyes taking in the tired faces of her children. "The tide is coming in, and you've all had quite enough sun for one day."

No protests came from the children - a sure sign of their fatigue. Little Daeron was already half-asleep in Helaena's arms, his head lolling against her shoulder. Servants began gathering their belongings while the Kingsguard formed a protective circle around the royal family for the journey back.

Criston noticed Vera struggling to keep her eyes open as they made their way up from the beach. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms. She didn't protest, merely nestled against his armor with practiced ease, finding the spots where the metal wouldn't dig into her cheek.

"Was it a good day?" he asked softly as they followed the royal procession.

"The best," Vera murmured, her voice thick with approaching sleep. "Can we come again tomorrow?"

Criston chuckled. "Perhaps not tomorrow. But soon."

By the time they reached the Red Keep, the sky had darkened to deep purple, and stars were beginning to appear. The children, normally full of chatter and mischief, filed quietly into the castle, yawning and rubbing their eyes.

Queen Alicent smiled knowingly at Criston as they entered the main hall. "I believe your little explorer has finally run out of adventures for today," she said, nodding toward Vera, who had fallen completely asleep in his arms.

"Indeed, Your Grace," Criston replied with a small bow of his head. "If you'll excuse me, I should get her to bed."

The Queen nodded her permission, turning to guide her own tired brood toward their chambers. Prince Aemond glanced back at Vera's sleeping form, a look of disappointment crossing his face that their day's play had ended.

Criston carried Vera through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, nodding respectfully to servants and guards they passed. Their apartments weren't far from the royal family's chambers - another kindness from Queen Alicent, who had insisted Vera remain close.

When they reached their family quarters, Vera stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open just enough to take in her surroundings. Instead of directing Criston toward her own chamber, she pointed drowsily toward his door.

"Wrong room," Criston said in amusement as he picked her up a little higher. Vera sighed tiredly as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm tired," she muttered.

Criston chuckled, "Yes, I can tell," he said as he took her into her chamber and placed her gently on the bed. "Lyla will be here in a moment, she'll help you change and you can go rest."

As if summoned by his words, there was a soft knock at the door before Lyla entered. The ten-year-old girl curtsied quickly to Criston before moving to Vera's side.

"I'll help Lady Vera prepare for bed, Ser Criston," she said with the seriousness of someone much older.

Criston nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Lyla."

He stepped out to allow the girls privacy, using the time to remove his white cloak and armor. The day had been long, but good - one of those rare peaceful days that seemed to come too infrequently in King's Landing.

When he returned to Vera's chamber, she was already in her nightclothes, sitting on the edge of her bed while Lyla brushed the sand from her dark hair. Lyla gave another quick curtsy before leaving them for the night.

Criston pulled the blankets back for Vera as she climbed under them. "It's getting cold in the evening," he said, tucking the covers around her.

"Warmer?" he asked, pulling the blanket higher.

Vera nodded, "Mmm. Father?"

"Mmm?" Criston smoothed a strand of hair from her forehead.

"Why mother isn't here?"

The question hit Criston like a blow to the chest. He froze, his hand still resting on Vera's hair. She didn't know the truth. He could have never told her that she was left to die in the forest. He didn't want to see her little heart break from finding out she wasn't his blood. That he wasn't her true father.

Criston thought about what to say to her at the moment. "Remember what happened to the King's first wife?"

Vera nodded, "Yes. She died during childbirth. But the babe didn't survive after."

Criston sat on the edge of the bed, choosing his words carefully. "Sometimes... mothers don't survive bringing their children into the world. Your mother was very brave, but she grew very ill after you were born."

It wasn't entirely a lie. Whatever woman had abandoned Vera in that forest had indeed left her - whether through death or choice, Criston would never know.

Vera's dark eyes studied his face, searching for something. "Did you love her very much?"

The question caught him off guard. "I... yes," he said, surprising himself with how true the lie felt. "I loved her for giving me you."

This seemed to satisfy Vera, who nodded solemnly. "Queen Alicent says I look just like you. So do everyone else. Did I look like my mother too?"

Criston chuckled, deflecting the question with ease. "Is it so terrible to look like me?" he teased, raising an eyebrow dramatically.

Vera's smile returned, the earlier seriousness fading from her eyes. "No," she said softly. "I just wondered if I had anything of hers in me too."

"Well," Criston said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "if you look like me, then that means you're destined to be the most beautiful lady in all the realm." His eyes twinkled with mischief. "The bards will write songs about Lady Vera's beauty."

Vera burst into laughter at this, her earlier melancholy forgotten. "Songs!"

"Oh yes," Criston continued, warming to his theme. "I'll have to keep you locked up here in the Red Keep. Otherwise, every lord and knight from Dorne to the Wall will come trying to steal you away."

Vera's laughter grew as she shook her head. "But Father," she said between giggles, "you aren't that pretty!"

Criston's mouth fell open in mock outrage. "What did you say?" he gasped, placing a hand over his heart as if wounded.

Before Vera could respond, his fingers found the ticklish spot just below her ribs. She squealed with delight, trying to squirm away as he continued his playful assault.

"What was that?" he asked, grinning as she twisted beneath the blankets. "Did I hear my own daughter call me ugly?"

"Yes!" Vera managed between peals of laughter, then immediately, "No! Wait! I surrender!"

Criston relented, smiling down at his breathless, giggling daughter. Her dark hair was splayed across the pillow, her cheeks flushed with laughter.

"Come on," he chuckled, pulling the blankets back up around her shoulders. "Time for sleep now."

"Father?" Vera's voice had grown quiet again.

"What?"

"I love you," she said softly, her eyes shining in the candlelight.

Something in Criston's chest tightened. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her forehead, his touch gentle. "I love you as well."

"I still think you're a bit ugly," Vera added with a mischievous giggle.

"All right, come here."

"No, wait! I was jesting!"

Chapter Text

"It looks beautiful on you."

Vera smiled and gave a small twirl, the blue fabric of her new dress catching the light streaming through the Queen's windows. "Thank you, Your Grace. I really love it."

Queen Alicent's eyes warmed with affection as she gazed down at the girl. "I'm glad, my dear." She picked up a silver brush from her dressing table and began to gently work it through Vera's dark hair. "The painter will arrive soon. Would you like to help pick a dress for me? You and Talya could choose something suitable."

Excitement flashed across Vera's face. "May I truly?"

"Of course," the Queen nodded toward her lady-in-waiting. "Talya will show you my wardrobe."

Vera practically skipped across the room, following Talya into the Queen's massive wardrobe chamber. She ran her fingers along the rich fabrics, marveling at the intricate embroidery and jeweled embellishments that adorned Alicent's royal garments.

"What about this one, my lady?" Talya suggested, gesturing toward a deep emerald gown.

Vera's eyes widened. "It matches her eyes! Perfect!"

Moments later, Vera burst from the wardrobe, her face alight with anticipation as Talya followed carrying the selected gown. The rich green silk caught the sunlight, its gold threading glimmering as the lady-in-waiting presented it to the Queen.

Queen Alicent nodded approvingly. "An excellent choice."

The Queen's handmaidens helped her change into the green dress, the color bringing out the emerald of her eyes just as Vera had hoped. Once dressed, Alicent turned to the girl with a smile.

"Now, what jewelry should accompany this fine gown?" she asked, leading Vera to her jewel boxes.

Vera studied the collection carefully before selecting a delicate gold necklace with emeralds that complemented the dress perfectly. She added matching earrings and a simple bracelet, her small face serious with concentration as she considered each piece.

A knock at the chamber door announced the painter's arrival.

As the Queen settled onto her ornate chair, the painter bowed deeply, his thin face serious as he assessed the light in the chamber. "Your Grace, if I may suggest tilting your chin slightly... yes, perfect."

Vera watched in fascination as the man mixed his pigments, his weathered hands working with practiced precision. The Queen sat perfectly still, her posture regal and composed as the painter began to sketch her likeness onto the canvas.

"May I watch from behind him?" Vera whispered to Talya, who nodded permission after a glance at the Queen.

Vera moved quietly to stand where she could observe the painter's work without disturbing him. His brushstrokes were quick and confident, capturing the elegant lines of the Queen's profile against the emerald fabric.

The chamber door opened suddenly, and Vera turned to see her father enter. Ser Criston's white cloak billowed slightly as he approached the Queen, his expression carefully neutral as he bowed.

"Your Grace, I've just received word," he announced. "Princess Rhaenyra has finished her labor. She has delivered another son."

Queen Alicent's face remained composed, though Vera noticed a slight tightening around her eyes. "Another?" she said, the single word heavy with meaning. "That makes three now."

The painter paused, brush hovering uncertainly over his palette as the Queen shifted in her seat.

"You," Alicent addressed one of her younger maids, "go to the Princess's chambers. I wish to see the child."

The maid curtsied deeply. "At once, Your Grace." She hurried from the room, her footsteps fading down the corridor.

Vera stepped closer to the Queen, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Why do you want to see the babe right away?" she asked softly, the directness of youth overcoming court protocol.

Queen Alicent's expression softened as she looked down at Vera. She reached out, gently brushing a strand of dark hair from the girl's cheek.

"I simply wish to see if he's healthy," she explained, her voice gentle but carrying an undercurrent Vera couldn't quite identify. "And to see if the child has white hair, like his mother."

Understanding dawned in Vera's eyes, and she nodded slightly. At ten years old, she was no fool. Like everyone else at court, she knew that Princess Rhaenyra's sons—Jacaerys and Lucerys—bore no resemblance to their supposed father. Instead of Ser Laenor's Valyrian features, they had brown hair and eyes that matched those of Ser Harwin Strong, the Princess's sworn shield.

Yet Vera never referred to them as bastards, not even in her thoughts. Jace and Luke were her friends, after all. They played together in the gardens, practiced their letters side by side. It wasn't their fault they were born with brown hair and eyes. It wasn't their fault their mother hadn't been faithful to Ser Laenor Velaryon.

"Shall we continue, Your Grace?" the painter asked hesitantly, breaking the momentary silence.

"Yes," Queen Alicent replied, resuming her pose. "We shall make use of the time while we wait."

The minutes stretched on, the painter working in silence while Queen Alicent maintained her perfect pose. Vera stood near the window, watching sunlight dance across the courtyard below. She could see Prince Aemond practicing with his wooden sword, his movements precise despite being only ten years old. Nearby, Prince Aegon lounged beneath a tree, seemingly bored with his younger brother's dedication.

When the door finally opened, Vera turned expectantly, assuming the maid had returned. Instead, her eyes widened at the sight of Princess Rhaenyra herself entering the chamber, a bundle cradled in her arms. Ser Laenor followed closely behind, his silver-gold hair gleaming in the chamber's light.

Queen Alicent's composure faltered momentarily, surprise evident in her eyes before she quickly recovered. "Rhaenyra! You should be resting after your labors."

The Princess' lips curved into what might have been a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I have no doubt that you would prefer that, Your Grace."

Something in the air shifted, a tension that even Vera could feel. Queen Alicent rose gracefully from her chair, moving toward her stepdaughter with measured steps.

"You must sit. Talya, fetch a cushion for the Princess."

"There's no need," Princess Rhaenyra said, shaking her head slightly.

"Nonsense," the Queen insisted, turning to the painter who had frozen with brush in hand. "We'll finish this later."

The man bowed deeply, gathering his materials with practiced efficiency before slipping out the door, clearly relieved to escape the palpable tension between the two women.

Talya approached with a silk cushion, curtseying to the Queen. "Your Grace." She placed the pillow on the nearby couch while Ser Laenor guided his wife across the room.

Vera moved forward instinctively, placing her small hand on the Princess's arm to help steady her as she lowered herself onto the couch. Despite the strain between the royal women, Vera had always been treated kindly by the Princess.

"Thank you, dear," Princess Rhaenyra said, her features softening as she smiled at the girl.

Curiosity overcame Vera's shyness as she peered at the blanket-wrapped bundle. "Can I see him?"

Princess Rhaenyra carefully adjusted the blankets, revealing the tiny face nestled within. The babe's eyes were closed in peaceful slumber, his features delicate and perfect.

As Vera leaned closer to examine the sleeping infant, her eyes widened with delight. The babe's tiny features captured her heart instantly.

"He is really cute," she said sincerely, her smile brightening the room.

Princess Rhaenyra's expression softened at Vera's words, a genuine smile replacing her earlier tension. Even Queen Alicent's lips curved upward slightly at the girl's innocent remark.

The chamber door opened again, and Ser Criston stepped aside with practiced formality. King Viserys entered slowly, his face drawn with fatigue yet illuminated by anticipation. The years had not been kind to the King—his left arm was gone now, lost to infection three years prior, and his frame had grown thinner, more frail. Yet his eyes sparkled with joy as he beheld his daughter.

Criston remained in the corridor, pulling the heavy door closed behind the King.

"What happy news this morning," the King announced, his voice stronger than his body suggested. He beamed at his daughter, affection evident in his tired eyes.

Ser Laenor rose to his feet, bowing slightly. "Indeed, Your Grace."

Viserys's gaze darted around the room eagerly. "Where is he? Where is my grandson?" he asked, his excitement palpable.

Princess Rhaenyra carefully passed the bundled infant to her husband, who approached the King with measured steps. Laenor placed the child gently in Viserys's remaining arm, helping to position the babe securely.

The King's face transformed with wonder as he gazed down at his newest grandson. "There he is. Oh. A fine Prince. Sturdy." He chuckled softly, rocking the child. "You will make a fearsome knight."

Vera watched the scene with fascination, her curiosity overcoming her usual restraint. "Does the babe have a name yet?" she asked softly.

Princess Rhaenyra placed a gentle hand on the girl's arm. "Oh, we haven't spoken--"

"Joffrey."

All eyes turned to Ser Laenor. The room fell silent as he stood straighter, his jaw set with unusual determination. "He'll be called Joffrey," he repeated, a note of finality in his voice.

Queen Alicent tilted her head slightly, her gaze moving between Laenor and Rhaenyra. "That's an unusual name for a Velaryon," she observed, her tone carefully neutral though her eyes betrayed her thoughts.

Princess Rhaenyra's smile didn't reach her eyes as she nodded in agreement, the tension in the room thickening once more.

Vera glanced between the Queen and Princess, recognizing the familiar undercurrent of hostility. She gently tapped Rhaenyra's arm, drawing the heir's attention.

"May I hold Joffrey too?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rhaenyra's expression warmed instantly. "Of course you may," she replied, the genuine affection in her tone momentarily dispelling the room's tension.

King Viserys carefully returned the baby to Rhaenyra, who motioned for Vera to sit beside her on the couch. "Hold your arms like this," she instructed, demonstrating the proper position.

Vera settled beside the Princess, arranging her arms as shown. Her heart fluttered with nervous excitement as the small weight of baby Joffrey was placed in her embrace.

"Support his head," Rhaenyra guided gently, adjusting Vera's hold. "Just so."

"You're a natural," King Viserys remarked, his voice warm with approval. "Perhaps you'll have children of your own someday, Lady Vera."

Queen Alicent's expression softened as she watched the girl. "She certainly has a mother's instincts."

Vera beamed at the compliment, though her attention remained fixed on the sleeping babe in her arms. She'd held Prince Daeron when he was small, but never a newborn so tiny and delicate.

"He's so light," she whispered in wonder. "Like holding a bird."

Ser Laenor moved to stand behind his wife, placing a hand on her shoulder in a rare public display of unity.

Joffrey's tiny fingers curled against Vera's thumb, his eyelids fluttering slightly. The movement caught the King's attention, and he leaned closer with a smile of pure delight.

"May I?" Viserys asked, extending his arm toward Vera.

She nodded and carefully transferred the baby back to the King, who cradled him with practiced ease despite his missing limb. Viserys studied the infant's face with grandfatherly adoration.

"I do believe he has his father's nose," the King declared, looking from the babe to the parents. Ser Laenor chuckled softly, the sound not quite reaching his eyes.

The King tilted his head, addressing the infant directly. "Don't you?"

Vera couldn't help but notice the look exchanged between Ser Laenor, Princess Rhaenyra, and Queen Alicent. Something unspoken passed between them—knowledge shared but never acknowledged aloud. The air in the chamber seemed to thicken with tension.

Ser Laenor cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, Your Grace, your daughter has exerted herself heroically and should rest."

"Of course," the King agreed immediately, concern replacing his earlier joy.

Vera moved to Princess Rhaenyra's side, offering her arm for support as the woman struggled to stand. She felt the Princess tense as Queen Alicent approached and took the babe from the King's arms.

The Queen smiled down at the infant, her expression unreadable as she gently moved the blanket away from his head, revealing the small brown hairs on top. Her finger traced the curve of the baby's cheek in a gesture that appeared loving, though Vera sensed something else beneath the tenderness.

Queen Alicent moved across the chamber with the babe, Ser Laenor following dutifully behind her. She handed Joffrey to him with care, leaning close to speak words meant only for him.

"Do keep trying, Ser Laenor," she murmured, her voice barely carrying to where Vera stood. "Soon or late, you may get one who looks like you."

Vera pretended not to hear as she watched Ser Laenor's face tighten momentarily before he masked his reaction with practiced composure. He nodded stiffly to the Queen before returning to Princess Rhaenyra's side. Together, they made their way from the chamber, the new parents moving with the slow, careful steps of those carrying a precious burden.

The King lingered only briefly after their departure, pressing a kiss to Queen Alicent's cheek before following the same path his daughter had taken.

Vera sat back down on the couch, smoothing her new blue dress absently as she watched the Queen dismiss her remaining ladies with a wave of her hand. When they were alone, Queen Alicent approached and settled beside her.

"I feel bad for him," Vera said quietly, unable to keep the thought inside any longer. "Ser Laenor. He doesn't deserve it. To be cheated on. Her sons suffering from this as well." She twisted her fingers in her lap, struggling to articulate her complicated feelings. "I don't hate or dislike the Princess... but, what she's doing is wrong. I hate that people are talking behind Jace and Luke's backs, and call them bastards," she muttered, looking down at her hands.

Queen Alicent was silent for a moment, studying the girl's downturned face. When she spoke, her voice was measured and careful.

"You have a good heart, Vera," she said finally. "It's natural to feel sympathy for those who are wronged." She reached out, tilting Vera's chin up to meet her gaze. "But court is a complicated place, my sweet girl. Sometimes what seems simple on the surface has many layers beneath."

Vera nodded, though confusion still clouded her eyes. "But lying is wrong. My father always says so."

"Your father is a man of honor," the Queen agreed, a flash of something—perhaps admiration—crossing her features. "And he has taught you well. But remember, not everyone holds to the same principles."

A little after Vera had left to let the Queen work with the painter, she found herself with unexpected free time. Septa Eglantine had sent word that today's lessons on needlework and the Seven-Pointed Star were canceled due to the septa's sudden bout of fever.

Vera wandered through the Red Keep's corridors, enjoying the rare solitude. The stone halls echoed with her footsteps as sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting geometric patterns on the floor. She was considering whether to visit the library when familiar voices caught her attention.

"I still say it's a waste of time," came Aegon's petulant tone from around the corner.

Vera quickened her pace and spotted the two Targaryen princes walking alongside Ser Arryk Cargyll, whose white cloak billowed behind him as he escorted the royal children.

"Aegon! Aemond!" she called out, lifting her blue skirts slightly to hurry toward them.

The boys paused, turning at the sound of her voice. Aemond's face brightened immediately while Aegon merely crossed his arms, clearly impatient to continue on his way.

"What are you doing here?" Aegon asked as she approached. "Shouldn't you be learning prayers with the septa or something equally tedious?"

Vera smiled as she fell into step beside them. "And where are you three off to in such a hurry?"

Aegon sighed dramatically, running a hand through his silver-gold hair. "The Dragonpit. Father insists I continue with these ridiculous lessons, though I don't understand why. Sunfyre responds perfectly to my commands already."

Vera rolled her eyes at his boasting. In truth, Prince Aegon had shown remarkable skill with his golden dragon, but his arrogance about it grated on everyone's nerves.

"Perhaps because there's more to being a dragonrider than simply making the beast fly where you want," she replied, unable to resist needling him.

Aemond looked at her curiously, his expression more subdued than his brother's. "What about you? Where are you heading?" he asked, changing the subject.

Unlike his siblings and nephews, Aemond had no dragon of his own. His dragon egg had never hatched. She'd seen the hurt in his eyes whenever dragons were discussed, how he would turn away when Aegon boasted of Sunfyre's magnificence.

"Septa Eglantine is ill today, so my lessons are canceled," Vera answered with a small shrug. "I thought I'd meet Helaena in the gardens. She's been tending to those new flowers from Highgarden, and she promised to show me when they bloomed."

Ser Arryk cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the stone corridor. "My princes, we must be going. The dragon masters await, and they don't appreciate tardiness, even from royalty."

Aegon sighed dramatically and nodded to Vera. "We'll see you later, I suppose. Perhaps you can watch me fly Sunfyre tomorrow if you're not busy with your flowers and sewing."

Vera inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, not rising to his teasing. Aegon turned away with characteristic impatience, his silver-gold hair catching the light as he followed Ser Arryk down the corridor.

Aemond lingered a moment longer, his violet eyes meeting hers. "The blue suits you," he said quietly, gesturing to her new dress. "It's... nice."

A smile bloomed across Vera's face at his simple compliment. Aemond returned it with a shy one of his own before hurrying after his brother, his slender form disappearing around the corner.

Lyla approached from where she had been waiting respectfully at a distance, her steps light on the stone floor. "They're going to train again?" she asked, coming to stand beside Vera.

Before Vera could answer, the rapid patter of small feet drew her attention. She turned to see Lucerys Velaryon running toward them, his brown hair bouncing with each step, face bright with excitement.

"Lady Vera!" he called out, skidding to a stop before her, slightly out of breath.

"Hello, my Prince," Vera greeted him warmly. "Are you going to the Dragonpit?"

Jacaerys appeared behind his younger brother, moving at a more dignified pace with Ser Laenor following closely. The resemblance between the boys was striking – and strikingly different from the silver-haired man who claimed them as sons.

Lucerys nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Are you coming as well?"

Vera shook her head regretfully. "No. Not today, it seems."

The disappointment on Lucerys's face was immediate and heartfelt. His shoulders slumped as he looked down at his boots.

Jacaerys placed a consoling hand on his brother's shoulder. "Don't worry, Luke. She'll come see us training soon." His eyes found Vera's, seeking confirmation.

"Mmm," Vera agreed with a small nod, touched by their desire for her company.

Ser Laenor placed his hands on both boys' shoulders, his silver-gold hair gleaming in the corridor's light. "Come on, we best be going," he said, his voice gentle but firm.

Jacaerys offered Vera and Lyla a parting smile, his brown eyes lingering on Vera's face for a moment longer than necessary. Ser Laenor inclined his head respectfully to the girls before guiding his sons away, their excited chatter about dragons fading as they disappeared down the corridor.

"They're very fond of you," Lyla observed once they were alone. "Especially the older Prince."

Vera felt a flush creep up her neck. "Jace is just being friendly," she replied, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her dress. "Come, let's go find Helaena."

The gardens beckoned with their vibrant colors as Vera and Lyla made their way down the stone path. They found Helaena kneeling beside a flowering bush, her slender fingers carefully untying a small silk bag hanging from one of the branches.

"There you are," Vera called out, quickening her pace.

Helaena looked up, her Targaryen features brightening at the sight of her friends. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

"The Septa is ill today," Vera explained, joining Helaena on the grass. "What have you got there?"

Helaena's eyes lit up as she loosened the drawstring of the silk bag. "I've been keeping them safe until they were ready," she whispered, her voice filled with reverence.

As the bag opened, a flutter of delicate wings emerged - first one, then another, until half a dozen butterflies hovered momentarily around the three girls. Their wings were a brilliant blue, edged with black, catching the sunlight as they tested their newfound freedom.

"Beautiful," Lyla said with a smile as they watched them flying away. The butterflies danced on the air currents, spiraling higher toward the cloudless sky.

"Perhaps we could find some more," Vera said as she looked to the grass. Her eyes scanned the garden floor, searching among the fallen leaves and flower petals. A small movement caught her attention - the segmented body of a centipede winding its way through the grass. She reached down carefully and picked it up, cradling it in her palm.

"Helaena, look," Vera called, stepping closer to the princess.

Helaena turned, her eyes widening with delight as Vera approached. She smiled broadly as she took the centipede into her palm, handling it with surprising gentleness.

"Thank you," she said softly, stroking the centipede with her index finger. The creature curled slightly at her touch, its many legs moving in perfect synchronicity.

Vera watched her friend's fascination with a fond smile. Helaena's strange interest in insects had always been a source of whispers among the court ladies, but Vera had never understood their discomfort. There was something beautiful in the way Helaena approached these small creatures - with wonder rather than disgust, with care rather than fear.

Lyla moved closer, peering over Helaena's shoulder with interest rather than revulsion. "It has so many legs," she observed. "How many do you think there are?"

"Forty-two," Helaena answered without hesitation. "This species always has forty-two."

The three girls huddled together, watching the centipede explore the landscape of Helaena's palm. These were the moments Helaena treasured most - when she could be herself without the judgment that usually followed her unconventional interests. With Vera and Lyla, there were no sideways glances, no whispered comments behind fans. Just acceptance.

The centipede continued its methodical exploration of Helaena's palm, tiny legs working in perfect harmony. Vera watched her friend's delight with a smile, glad to have found something that brought her such joy.

A sudden burst of voices from within the castle caught their attention. The girls exchanged curious glances before rising from their spot in the garden.

"It sounds like your brothers," Vera whispered, tilting her head toward the sound.

Helaena carefully cupped her hands around the centipede, ensuring it wouldn't fall as they moved toward the corridor. The voices grew louder as they approached the arched entryway, revealing Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond walking down the hall in heated conversation.

"I still cannot believe you told Mother," Aegon was saying, his voice tight with annoyance. "You've always been such a tattler."

Aemond's face was set in a stern expression far too mature for his ten years. "You and our dear nephews shouldn't have done it in the first place."

"It was just a pig," Aegon scoffed, his lips curving into an amused smile despite his irritation. "With a little wing decoration. How were we to know you'd get so upset about it?"

"Brothers," Helaena called softly, interrupting their argument.

Both princes stopped abruptly, turning toward the sound of their sister's voice. Aegon's expression darkened further at the interruption, while Aemond's face noticeably softened when he spotted Vera beside Helaena.

"I'll see you later," Vera whispered to Lyla, who nodded and bowed respectfully before retreating down the corridor.

The two girls approached the princes, Helaena still carefully cradling the centipede in her palms. Aegon's eyes immediately fell to his sister's hands, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

"Another one?" he asked with exasperation. "Do you really need to collect every crawling thing in the gardens?"

Helaena glanced down at the centipede, then shrugged with a serenity that seemed to further irritate her older brother. "Vera gifted it to me."

Aegon's gaze shifted to Vera, one eyebrow raised in silent judgment. The look was so reminiscent of his mother that Vera almost laughed. Instead, she merely shrugged, unrepentant.

"What's this about a pig?" Vera asked, deliberately changing the subject. "What did you do?"

Aemond crossed his arms, his violet eyes narrowing. "They dressed up a pig with fake wings and presented it to me in the Dragonpit. Said perhaps it was the only mount I'd ever have, since no dragon will have me."

The hurt behind his matter-of-fact tone made Vera's heart clench. She glanced at Aegon, who at least had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

"That's cruel," she said firmly, stepping closer to Aemond. "And untrue. You'll have a dragon someday, I'm certain of it."

Aegon rolled his eyes. "Don't coddle him. It was just a jest. Everyone was laughing--"

"Everyone except Aemond," Helaena interrupted, her voice surprisingly sharp. The centipede curled into a tight circle in her palm, as if sensing her sudden tension.

"You should apologize," Vera added, lifting her chin to stare directly at Aegon despite the prince being taller than her.

Aegon's face flushed. "I will not be lectured by a--"

"A what?" Vera challenged, her dark eyes flashing dangerously.

Aemond's head snapped toward his brother, his violet eyes narrowing with a warning that needed no words. The silent message was clear: don't you dare! His jaw tightened as he stared Aegon down, daring him to finish that sentence.

Helaena watched the exchange with unusual stillness, her fingers gently stroking the centipede in her palm. There was a quiet certainty in her expression, as if she knew—despite Aegon's temper—that even he wouldn't cross that particular line.

Aegon held Aemond's gaze for a long moment before something in his expression shifted. His shoulders sagged slightly as he exhaled.

"I'm sorry, Aemond," he muttered, the words coming out stiff but sincere enough. He turned to Vera with a forced smile. "Happy now?"

Vera's stern expression softened into a small smile. "You can do better than that," she said, her tone gentler but still firm. "But it's a start."

Helaena's attention suddenly shifted back to the centipede crawling across her palm. Her eyes took on that distant look that often concerned her septas but that Vera had come to recognize as simply Helaena being Helaena.

"Two dragons fighting for the sun," she murmured, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

Vera tilted her head, trying to make sense of the strange words. Aegon rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly accustomed to his sister's odd pronouncements.

"What?" Aemond asked, leaning closer to Helaena with genuine curiosity.

Helaena blinked rapidly, as if waking from a dream. She looked at her brother with confusion, then shrugged, seemingly unaware of what she had just said.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew their attention. Ser Criston Cole strode toward them, his white cloak flowing behind him. "Your Graces," he said with formal courtesy.

Vera's face brightened instantly. She rushed to her father's side, her earlier seriousness forgotten. Criston's stern expression softened as he placed a hand on her shoulder, the gesture both protective and affectionate.

"The King and Queen request the presence of all three of you in His Grace's chambers," he announced, addressing the Targaryen children.

"Great," Aegon muttered under his breath, making no effort to hide his annoyance.

Aemond's eyes found Vera's. "I'll see you later," he said, his voice carrying a warmth reserved solely for her.

Vera nodded, a small smile playing at her lips.

Helaena gently placed the centipede on a nearby leaf before waving goodbye to Vera. The Targaryen siblings fell into step behind their older brother, heading toward the King's chambers.

As their figures disappeared down the corridor, Criston turned to Vera. "How was your day with the Princess?" he asked, his voice softening as it always did when they were alone.

"It was great!" Vera replied enthusiastically as they began walking in the opposite direction. "We released the butterflies today. They were beautiful, Father. Blue as the summer sky with black edges on their wings."

Criston nodded, listening attentively as they made their way through the Red Keep's corridors. Vera's excitement was contagious, bringing a rare smile to his usually stern face.

"Oh! Father!" Vera suddenly exclaimed, stopping in her tracks. Her eyes shone with determination as she looked up at him. "I have a question for you. It's really important, and you have to say 'yes.'"

Criston raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious. "No promises," he replied cautiously.

"Can you teach me how to use a sword?"

"...No."

Chapter Text

Morning light filtered through the curtains of their family chamber as Criston sat at the small wooden table, breaking his fast with bread, cheese, and a small cup of watered wine. Vera joined him a short while later, her hair freshly braided and her face washed clean. The stiffness from the previous evening seemed to have melted away overnight.

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, the only sounds the gentle clink of cups against the wooden table and the distant calls of birds outside their window. It was a peaceful moment, one of those quiet interludes that Criston treasured amidst the constant vigilance required of a Kingsguard.

"Father," Vera began innocently, breaking the silence as she reached for a piece of bread, "have you given any more thought to teaching me how to use a sword?"

Criston nearly choked on his wine. He set the cup down carefully, regarding his daughter with a mixture of exasperation and disbelief.

"Sweetheart," Criston started, setting down his cup, "we discussed this yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that." He counted off on his fingers. "In fact, I believe this is the ninth time you've asked me this week."

Vera blinked up at him, her dark eyes growing wide and mournful. Her lower lip protruded slightly in a practiced pout that had melted many hearts throughout the Red Keep, including Queen Alicent's on numerous occasions. It was an expression Criston had come to recognize as particularly dangerous to his resolve.

"But Father," she said softly, her voice taking on that pleading quality that usually weakened his determination, "I only want to learn to protect myself. Isn't that what you've always taught me is important? Being safe?"

Criston pressed his lips together, steeling himself against the sad eyes that had so often swayed his decisions in the past. "There are guards to protect you. And myself, of course."

"But what if you're not there?" Vera persisted, leaning forward earnestly. "What if something happens and I'm alone?"

"That won't happen," Criston said firmly. "You are never without protection in the Red Keep."

"Ser Harrold showed me his sword collection yesterday," Vera said, changing tactics swiftly. "He explained all about the different types and their uses. He said I asked very intelligent questions."

Criston nodded slowly. "I'm sure you did. Ser Harrold appreciates curiosity. But I notice you said he showed you the swords--not that he let you handle them."

Vera's pout deepened. "Well, no. He didn't let me touch them." She picked at a piece of bread on her plate, crumbling it between her fingers. "But that's exactly why I need you to teach me! I want to know how it feels to hold one properly."

"The answer is still no, Vera," Criston said, his voice gentle but firm. "A lady does not need to wield a sword. You have other lessons to focus on--your letters, your history, your needlework."

"Needlework," Vera muttered with such disgust that Criston had to suppress a smile. "What good is embroidery when someone is attacking you?"

"You could perhaps stab them with the needle," Criston suggested dryly, "though I imagine it would not be terribly effective."

Vera glared at him, clearly unamused by his attempt at humor. She crossed her arms over her chest, her breakfast forgotten as disappointment clouded her features.

"It's not fair," she declared, slumping back in her chair. "What about the warrior queens from Dorne? Father, we're Dornish! Surely you know those stories. Queen Nymeria led ten thousand ships! She must have known how to fight."

Criston raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself by her historical knowledge. "Reading beyond your assigned lessons again, I see."

A flicker of pride crossed Vera's face before she remembered she was supposed to be upset with him. The pout returned in full force.

"I could be careful," she promised. "We could start with wooden swords, like Prince Aemond uses. No one would even have to know."

Criston reached across the table to take her small hand in his. "Vera, listen to me. The life of a warrior is not a game. It's not glamorous or exciting like the stories make it seem. It's dangerous and painful."

"I know that," she insisted. "I'm not a baby."

"No, you're not," he agreed, his expression softening. "You're growing into a fine young lady. One who will find many ways to be strong without needing a sword in her hand."

Vera withdrew her hand from his, her disappointment evident in every line of her small body. She pushed her plate away, appetite gone.

"May I be excused?" she asked stiffly.

Criston nodded, watching as she rose from the table with as much dignity as her ten-year-old frame could muster. She didn't look back as she headed for the door, her shoulders set in a stubborn line that reminded him painfully of himself.

As the door closed behind her, Criston sighed deeply, running a hand over his face. He knew this wouldn't be the end of it. Vera had his determination—a trait he usually praised, except when it was turned against him.

A few hours later, Vera sat on the wide stone steps in the hallway leading to the library, her fingers moving absently over the carved wooden chess pieces arranged on the board between her and Prince Aemond. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor.

"Your move," Aemond prompted, studying her face rather than the board.

Vera blinked, forcing her attention back to the game. She moved her knight without much thought, a mistake that Aemond immediately capitalized on by capturing her bishop.

"That was careless," he said, setting her piece aside. "You're not playing like yourself today."

Vera shrugged, her usual competitive spirit notably absent. She stared at the board without really seeing it, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Aemond leaned forward, his silver-gold hair falling across his forehead as he lowered his voice. "What's wrong? You've hardly said a word since we started playing."

When she didn't immediately respond, he reached across the board and gently tapped her hand. "Vera?"

She sighed, finally meeting his violet eyes. "It's nothing important."

"It must be something," Aemond insisted, "for you to sacrifice your bishop so carelessly." A small smile played at his lips. "You never let me win so easily."

Vera's shoulders slumped. "I asked my father to teach me how to fight."

"And he refused," Aemond guessed, his expression knowing.

"Again," Vera confirmed, twisting a pawn between her fingers. "Nine times now. I've kept count. So did he." She set the pawn back on the board with more force than necessary. "He won't even consider it. Says it's not proper for a lady."

Aemond nodded thoughtfully. "Ser Criston is... traditional in some ways."

"In all the wrong ways," Vera muttered. "He's a knight sworn to protect others, yet he won't teach his own daughter to protect herself." She moved another piece without strategy, her frustration evident in the jerky movement. "It's not fair, just because I'm a girl."

Aemond studied Vera's downcast expression, his brow furrowing in concern. Deep down, he didn't know what to do to cheer her up. The chess game lay forgotten between them, pieces arranged in a battle neither was truly fighting anymore.

Vera suddenly looked up, her dark eyes meeting his violet ones. "You could teach me," she said, the words coming out in a rush.

"Me?" Aemond blinked in surprise. "But I'm still in training myself."

"I know," Vera acknowledged, leaning forward eagerly. "But you do know how to handle a sword. Better than most boys your age."

Aemond hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. Her words held truth - Master Ormund had often praised his form and dedication. Still, the thought of going against Ser Criston Cole, the finest swordsman in the Kingsguard...

"I don't want to go behind your father's back," he said carefully. "He would be furious if he found out."

"No one needs to know," Vera insisted, her voice dropping to a whisper. She glanced around the empty hallway before continuing. "We can find somewhere private to practice. There are plenty of places in the Red Keep no one ever visits."

Aemond's fingers drummed against his knee as he considered her request. Teaching Vera would mean defying not only her father but also potentially angering his own mother if they were discovered.

But when he looked at Vera's pleading expression, the hope shining in her eyes, he found his resolve crumbling. He couldn't bear to disappoint her the way her father had. Besides, wasn't it unfair that she should be denied the chance to learn simply because she was a girl?

"All right," he said finally. "I'll teach you."

Vera's entire face transformed with joy. Her smile was radiant as she reached across the chess board to squeeze his hand gratefully. "Thank you, Aemond! You won't regret it."

"I already do," he muttered, but there was no real resistance in his tone. "We'll need wooden practice swords. I can probably take two from the training yard without anyone noticing."

"When can we start?" Vera asked, already gathering the chess pieces with new energy.

"Tomorrow," Aemond decided. "There's an old storeroom in the east wing that no one uses anymore. Meet me there after midday prayers, when everyone is resting."

Vera nodded eagerly, her earlier melancholy completely vanished. "I'll be there."

Aemond watched her practically bouncing with excitement and couldn't help smiling despite his misgivings.

The following day, Vera slipped away from her chambers the moment Septa Eglantine dismissed her from her midday prayers. She had spent the morning in a state of barely contained excitement, earning several reproachful looks from the septa for her fidgeting during lessons.

The east wing was quieter than the rest of the castle, its corridors less traveled and dimly lit. Vera moved quickly, her soft leather shoes making little noise on the stone floor. When she reached the abandoned storeroom, she found the door already ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway.

"Aemond?" she whispered, pushing the door open wider.

The prince stood in the center of the room, which had been cleared of its dusty furniture to create an open space. Two wooden practice swords lay on the floor beside him. He had changed from his usual finery into a simple tunic and breeches, his silver-gold hair tied back from his face.

"You came," he said, looking both pleased and nervous.

"Of course I came!" Vera closed the door carefully behind her. "I wouldn't miss this for anything."

Aemond nodded toward a small bundle beside the swords. "I brought you something to change into. Those skirts will trip you up."

Vera lifted the bundle to find a pair of breeches and a linen shirt that looked like they might have belonged to Daeron. "Where did you get these?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," Aemond replied with a small smirk. He turned his back politely. "Hurry and change. We don't have much time."

Vera quickly slipped behind a large wooden cabinet and changed into the borrowed clothes. The breeches felt strange against her legs, but there was a freedom to them that she immediately appreciated. When she emerged, Aemond was testing the weight of one of the practice swords, swinging it in careful arcs.

"How do I look?" she asked, extending her arms.

Aemond turned and nearly dropped the sword. For a moment, he simply stared, something unreadable flickering across his face. "Different," he finally managed. "But good different."

Vera grinned and moved to pick up the second practice sword, but Aemond shook his head.

"Not yet," he said. "First, I need to show you how to stand."

For the next hour, Aemond proved himself a surprisingly patient teacher. He showed Vera the proper stance, how to position her feet, how to hold the wooden sword without straining her wrist. He corrected her form with gentle touches to her elbow or shoulder, always explaining the reason behind each adjustment.

"Your balance is important," he explained, demonstrating by shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "If you're off-balance, you'll fall with the first strong blow."

Vera mimicked his movements, her face set in concentration. When she finally got to hold the practice sword, the weight of it surprised her, making her arm dip momentarily.

"It's heavier than it looks," she admitted.

"This is actually lighter than what we train with," Aemond told her. "Master Ormund says we build strength by practicing with heavier weapons than we'll use in battle."

By the time their hour was up, Vera's arms ached pleasantly, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her brow. She hadn't managed anything like actual swordplay yet - Aemond had insisted they focus entirely on stance and grip - but she felt a deep satisfaction nonetheless.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked hopefully as they prepared to leave, her back in her dress.

Aemond hesitated. "We should be careful not to establish too regular a pattern. Someone might notice." He thought for a moment. "Three days from now."

Vera nodded, trying not to show her disappointment at having to wait so long. "Three days, then."

They fell silent as they walked down the corridor, the afternoon light casting long shadows through the high windows. Vera glanced sideways at Aemond, noticing the thoughtful expression on his face as he stared ahead.

"Aemond?" she said softly, breaking the silence between them.

"Hmm?" He turned to look at her, his violet eyes questioning.

"Could you..." Vera hesitated, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Could you teach me High Valyrian?"

Surprise flickered across Aemond's face, his eyebrows rising slightly. "You want to learn High Valyrian?" he asked, studying her with newfound curiosity.

Vera nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. "Yes."

Aemond considered her request for a moment before shrugging lightly. "Sure," he said, his voice casual though his eyes remained thoughtful. "I can teach you."

They turned a corner, passing a pair of servants who bowed respectfully as they walked by. When they were alone again, Aemond glanced at her. "Are we still meeting later at the library?"

"Yes," Vera confirmed with a nod, "if you didn't find something better to do."

Aemond slowed his pace, a shadow crossing his features. He seemed to wrestle with something before finally asking, "If Jacaerys knew High Valyrian, would you have asked him instead?"

The question caught Vera off guard. She blinked, considering his words before shrugging uncertainly. "I don't know. I guess so." She tilted her head, studying his expression. "Is that a problem?"

"No," Aemond said quickly, shaking his head. But something in his eyes told Vera he wasn't being entirely truthful. "No problem at all."

They walked in silence for several more steps before Vera gently bumped her shoulder against his. "I asked you because I trust you," she said softly. "And because you're my friend."

The tension in Aemond's shoulders eased slightly, though he kept his gaze fixed ahead. "We'll start tomorrow then," he said, his voice lighter than before. "After your lessons with the Septa."

"Thank you," Vera replied, a warm smile spreading across her face.

As Vera and Aemond walked through the corridor, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed against the stone walls. They paused, turning to see who approached with such urgency.

Lucerys Velaryon came bounding toward them, his brown hair tousled and a wide grin lighting up his face. Behind him, Jacaerys followed at a more measured pace, his expression carefully composed as he caught sight of Vera and Aemond together.

Aemond's posture stiffened instantly. He let out a barely audible sigh, violet eyes narrowing as the Velaryon boys approached. The annoyance on his face was evident—another moment with Vera interrupted.

"Lady Vera!" Lucerys called out excitedly, skidding to a halt before them. "We're going to sword lesson. Are you coming to watch?"

Vera glanced briefly at Aemond before offering Lucerys a smile. "I suppose I could," she replied, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

Jacaerys stepped forward, his brown eyes meeting Vera's. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "You might get bored rather quickly," he warned, his voice gentle. "It's mostly just drills and footwork today."

"I won't get bored," Vera assured him confidently. "I find swordplay fascinating."

Aemond's lips curled into a smirk as he regarded Jacaerys. "Why wouldn't you want her there, Jace?" he asked, his voice dripping with false innocence. "Could it be that you're not particularly skilled with a sword? Afraid to embarrass yourself in front of her?"

A flush crept up Jacaerys's neck as he glared at Aemond, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Before the tension could escalate, Lucerys reached for Vera's hand. "Come on!" he urged, tugging her gently. "We don't want to be late or Ser Criston will be cross."

Vera allowed the younger prince to lead her away, casting an apologetic glance over her shoulder at Aemond. Lucerys chatted animatedly as they walked, describing the new move their master-at-arms had promised to show them today.

Aemond's smirk widened as he looked at Jacaerys once more before deliberately brushing past him to follow Vera and Lucerys down the corridor. Jacaerys remained where he stood for a moment, his jaw tight with unspoken words, before reluctantly following after them.

The training yard was already bustling with activity when they arrived. Squires and pages rushed about carrying equipment, while servants filled water buckets for the thirsty fighters. Prince Aegon stood in the center of the yard, practicing lunges with a blunted tourney sword. Ser Criston Cole supervised him closely, calling out corrections to his form.

As Vera entered the yard with the three princes, her father looked up, surprise crossing his features before settling into a questioning frown.

"Ver, what you doing here?" Criston asked, stepping away from Aegon.

"I was invited to come and watch the training," Vera answered, her voice carrying a hint of defiance despite her innocent expression.

Criston's eyebrows drew together. "You have a lesson with the Septa," he reminded her, his tone stern.

Vera's eyes widened slightly as realization dawned on her face. "Oops..." she murmured, having genuinely forgotten her scheduled lessons.

Behind her, Aemond and Aegon exchanged amused glances, both poorly concealing their smirks. Criston observed his daughter for a long moment before sighing in resignation.

"All right, we'll speak to her later," he conceded with a nod. He gestured toward a wooden bench at the edge of the yard. "Go sit there."

Vera settled onto the bench, smoothing her skirts as she watched the princes take their positions. Ser Criston returned his attention to the boys, his demeanor shifting noticeably as he addressed them. When he spoke to Aegon and Aemond, his voice carried encouragement, with a firm but patient tone. But when he turned to Jacaerys and Lucerys, his words became clipped and cold, his dark eyes regarding them with barely disguised disdain.

She'd always known of his dislike for the Princess's sons, of course. When she was five, he'd even tried to forbid her from playing with them. Vera had responded with a day of complete silence—refusing to speak a single word to him until he relented. It had been, according to Criston himself, the worst day of his life.

As the training continued, Vera observed how her father consistently favored Aegon and Aemond, spending more time correcting their techniques and offering praise when they executed a move correctly. Meanwhile, Jacaerys and Lucerys received only cursory instruction, their efforts met with critical remarks regardless of how well they performed.

Criston clapped his hands sharply. "Enough drills! To the dummies, all of you. Show me what you've learned."

The princes moved quickly to the straw-filled practice dummies arranged along the eastern edge of the yard. Each boy selected a target, drawing their training swords with varying degrees of skill and confidence.

A new figure appeared at the entrance to the training yard—Ser Harwin Strong, his broad shoulders and imposing height making him instantly recognizable. He leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed over his chest as he observed the princes' training with particular attention to Jacaerys and Lucerys.

Vera noticed her father's jaw tighten at Harwin's arrival. The tension between the two men was palpable even across the yard.

At the castle wall King Viserys had sat on his chair, with Lord Lyonel Strong, the Hand of the King and Harwin's father, at his side.

Jacaerys lunged forward with particular enthusiasm. He drove his practice sword deep into the belly of his training dummy, the impact sending straw flying. His moment of triumph was short-lived.

Aemond approached silently from behind, his movements quick and purposeful. With a precise strike, he knocked Jacaerys's sword from his hands, sending it clattering across the stone pavement.

Jacaerys whirled around, his face flushing with anger as he glared at his uncle. Aemond stood with his practice sword still extended, fighting visibly to keep a smirk from forming on his lips.

"Don't stand too upright, my Prince," Criston called out, his voice carrying across the yard as he observed the two boys. "You'll get knocked down."

The advice, delivered with such casual indifference, only deepened the color in Jacaerys's cheeks. He turned away, striding toward the weapons rack to select another sword.

Aemond watched him go before returning to his own dummy with renewed vigor, his strikes becoming more precise, more controlled, as if Jacaerys's humiliation had somehow improved his own technique.

Vera's attention shifted to Prince Aegon, who was attacking his dummy with ferocious intensity. Each blow landed with impressive force, sending bits of straw flying in all directions. His silver-gold hair clung to his forehead with sweat, his face flushed with exertion.

The sound of feminine laughter caught Aegon's attention. He paused mid-strike, his head turning toward two young maidservants who were crossing the yard with baskets of linens. A slow smile spread across his face as he straightened, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that was clearly meant to be impressive.

The maids noticed his attention, exchanging quick glances before lowering their eyes and quickening their pace, their expressions carefully neutral despite the prince's obvious interest.

Vera couldn't help but roll her eyes at Aegon's behavior. At thirteen, he already fancied himself irresistible to any female who crossed his path. The fact that these girls clearly weren't interested seemed to escape his notice entirely.

"Aegon!" Criston's voice cut through the yard, stern and commanding.

The prince turned toward the Kingsguard, not at all abashed by the reprimand. Instead, he gestured to his thoroughly battered dummy with a triumphant smirk.

"I've won my first bout, Ser Criston," he announced, his voice carrying a note of smug satisfaction. "My opponent sues for mercy."

Criston nodded, his stern expression softening slightly with amusement. "You'll have a new opponent then, My Lord of the Straw," he replied, striding toward the weapons table. "Let's see if you can touch me." He selected a blunted tourney sword, testing its weight with a practiced hand. "You and your brother."

Aegon's eyes widened with excitement at the challenge while Aemond's expression turned serious. The younger prince glanced at Vera, seeking her reaction, before returning his attention to her father. Both princes moved toward Ser Criston with determined strides, wooden practice swords gripped tightly in their hands.

Vera felt someone approach and turned to see Ser Cedric Blackpool take a seat beside her on the bench. The young Kingsguard knight gave her a friendly smile.

"Hello, Ver, what you doing?" he asked, his Northern accent still noticeable despite years in King's Landing.

"Hello, Ser Cedric. The Princes invited me to watch today their training," she replied with a bright smile. Her eyes drifted back to the scene unfolding in the yard, a mischievous smirk playing across her lips. "And to watch my father beat them up."

Ser Cedric's laughter rang out across the yard as he settled more comfortably on the bench. "That he will, little lady. That he will."

In the center of the yard, Aegon and Aemond had taken positions on either side of Criston, attempting to flank him. The Kingsguard knight stood relaxed, his stance deceptively casual as he held his practice sword with the ease of a man who had spent a lifetime mastering its use.

Aegon attacked first, lunging forward with a powerful overhead strike. Criston sidestepped effortlessly, the wooden blade missing him by inches. Aemond seized the opportunity to thrust toward Criston's exposed side, but the knight pivoted smoothly, deflecting the blow with a subtle twist of his wrist.

Vera noticed Ser Harwin Strong watching the fight with particular intensity, his eyes narrowed as he studied Criston's movements.

"You're gonna have to do better than that," Criston said with a smirk, not even breathing hard as the princes regrouped for another attack.

Aegon and Aemond circled Criston, exchanging glances as they coordinated their next attack. Aemond feinted left while Aegon moved right, trying to divide Criston's attention. The Kingsguard remained centered, his eyes flicking between them, anticipating their movements.

Aemond charged at him again, his practice sword raised high. Criston blocked the attack with his sword, sliding it down Aemond's blade with practiced precision. In the same fluid motion, he extended his reach to lower Aegon's incoming sword and swung his hand in a swift arc, catching Aemond squarely in the chest.

The impact sent the young prince sprawling to the ground with a heavy thud.

Vera winced and let out a soft sigh as she watched Aemond hit the dirt. Beside her, Ser Cedric chuckled at the display.

Taking advantage of Criston's momentary focus on Aemond, Aegon ran towards him with his sword pointed directly at his chest. The reckless charge made Vera chuckle lightly—despite her father's earlier words, he had taught her enough about swordplay to recognize the foolishness of such a straightforward attack.

True to her expectations, Criston ducked beneath the thrust with graceful ease. As Aegon's momentum carried him forward, Criston pivoted and smacked the prince's backside with the flat of his practice sword.

Aemond pushed himself up from the ground, brushing dirt from his training clothes. His eyes immediately sought Vera at the stone bench. She gave him a small smile of encouragement, which he returned with a slight nod before walking toward Aegon, who was now leaning on his sword.

The brothers exchanged quiet words, likely plotting another strategy against their formidable opponent. Their conversation was interrupted when Ser Harwin Strong stepped forward from his position at the edge of the yard. He tore his eyes away from Criston and looked at Jacaerys and Lucerys, who had been watching the sparring session from the sidelines.

"Weapons up, boys," Harwin called out, his deep voice carrying across the training grounds. "Give your enemies no quarter."

Vera looked from Harwin to her father, noticing how Criston was now staring at the Strong knight coldly. The transformation in her father's demeanor was stark and immediate. Gone was the patient instructor, replaced by something harder, colder. The way he was staring at them... he looked so much different at that moment, which made Vera shiver.

"It seems the younger boys could do better with a bit of your attention, Ser Criston," Ser Harwin said while walking around the training grounds, his tone deceptively casual though his eyes remained challenging.

Criston's jaw clenched visibly. "You question my method of instruction, Ser?" The words came out clipped and dangerous.

"I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils," Harwin replied evenly, stopping a few paces from Criston.

Jacaerys and Lucerys stood next to Aemond and Aegon, their expressions a mixture of nervousness and determination. Aegon, still flushed with exertion, gave Lucerys a playful push, sending the younger boy stumbling slightly to the side. Lucerys recovered with a small chuckle.

Meanwhile, Aemond and Jacaerys locked eyes, their mutual dislike evident in the hard stares they exchanged. Neither boy made any attempt to hide their animosity.

Criston surveyed the four princes, his expression calculating. "Very well," he announced, his decision made. "Jacaerys, come here."

With a swift movement that took everyone by surprise, Criston grabbed Jacaerys by his collar, pulling him forward. The boy stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the rough handling.

"You spar with Aegon," Criston declared, releasing his grip on Jacaerys's collar.

Aegon and Aemond immediately broke into laughter, exchanging pleased glances. From her seat on the bench, Vera frowned, her brow furrowing with concern as she watched the scene unfold.

"Eldest son against eldest son," Criston announced as he stepped back, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

Jacaerys flinched visibly when Criston let go of him. His eyes darted frantically toward Ser Harwin, seeking support. The Strong knight was glaring at Criston, his large hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"It's hardly a fair match," Harwin protested, stepping forward. His voice carried the weight of barely controlled anger.

Criston turned to face him, his expression coldly amused. "I know you've never seen true battle, Ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn't something anyone should expect."

Vera bit her lower lip, conflicted. Her father's words held truth—she'd heard him say similar things many times during his rare discussions of combat. Yet watching Jacaerys's pale face as he gripped his practice sword, she couldn't help but worry. Aegon was not only older and stronger but also known for his lack of restraint.

Aegon swaggered past Jacaerys, patting him on the shoulder with mock camaraderie. The wicked smile that played across his lips promised no mercy in the coming bout.

Criston took his position at the edge of the training circle, his satisfaction evident as he looked between the two eldest sons. "Blades up," he commanded.

Lucerys stood at the sidelines, his young face a mask of anxiety as he watched his brother prepare to face the much larger opponent. He gulped visibly, his fingers twisting together in a nervous gesture.

Nearby, Aemond leaned back casually on his sword, the tip pressed into the dirt as he smirked at Jacaerys's obvious discomfort. The younger Targaryen prince was clearly enjoying the spectacle.

"Engage."

Aegon wasted no time. With a battle cry that echoed across the yard, he charged at Jacaerys, his practice sword swinging in vicious arcs. Jacaerys retreated hastily, focusing on avoiding the onslaught rather than attempting to counter.

The flurry of attacks drove Jacaerys backward across the yard. Lucerys and Aemond had to dodge quickly to avoid being caught in Aegon's wild swings, the younger boys scrambling out of the way as the uneven match continued.

Despite his disadvantage, Jacaerys managed to parry several blows, his footwork proving more nimble than expected. For a brief moment, it seemed he might hold his own.

Then Aegon changed tactics. Feinting left, he stepped in close and used his superior weight to shove Jacaerys hard. The younger boy lost his balance and fell backward, landing hard on the packed earth of the training yard.

Aegon stood over him, laughing triumphantly before turning and walking away, his posture radiating smug satisfaction.

Jacaerys's face flushed red with humiliation and anger. Rather than accepting his defeat, he scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving with each rapid breath. Something in the boy's eyes changed—the timidity replaced by a fierce determination that seemed to transform him entirely.

Without warning, Jacaerys bolted forward, wooden sword gripped tightly. The sudden counterattack caught Aegon completely off-guard. The older prince barely had time to turn before Jacaerys was upon him, driving him backward with unexpected strength and speed.

Aegon's eyes widened in surprise as he stumbled backward, desperately trying to regain his footing. Each of Jacaerys's strikes came faster than the last, the practice sword whistling through the air with newfound precision. The training yard fell silent except for the sharp clack of wood against wood and Aegon's increasingly labored breathing.

Ser Harwin's face split into a proud grin as he watched his charge force the arrogant prince steadily backward. King Viserys leaned forward in his chair, suddenly attentive, while Lord Lyonel Strong's eyebrows rose in appreciation of the display.

Aegon's back hit the training dummy, leaving him nowhere to retreat. Panic flashed across his face as Jacaerys pressed his advantage, wooden sword raised for another strike. In a desperate move, Aegon ducked behind the straw figure, grabbing it with both hands and heaving it directly at his opponent.

The stuffed dummy flew through the air, straw spilling from its seams as it hurtled toward Jacaerys.

"Aegon!" Vera cried out, leaping to her feet in outrage.

Ser Harwin was already striding into the training circle, his face thunderous. "Foul play!" he bellowed, positioning himself between the princes.

Criston's head turned sharply at the sound of Vera's voice, his expression changing as he seemed to suddenly remember his daughter was witnessing the entire scene. Something shifted in his demeanor—a subtle softening around the eyes, a slight lowering of his shoulders.

"I'll deal with him," Criston stated firmly, meeting Ser Harwin's challenging gaze. He beckoned Aegon with a sharp gesture.

The silver-haired prince approached sullenly, his earlier triumph evaporated. Criston placed a hand on Aegon's shoulder, leaning close to speak words too quiet for others to hear. Though his face remained stern, there was none of the harshness he typically showed when disciplining the Velaryon boys.

Across the yard, Ser Harwin crouched beside Jacaerys, offering similar counsel. The Strong knight's massive hand rested supportively on the boy's back as he spoke, his expression encouraging despite the circumstances.

Vera returned to the bench beside Ser Cedric, her dark eyes still tracking the unfolding scene with concern. She caught her father glancing over his shoulder at her, his expression unreadable before he released Aegon with a final word of instruction.

The moment Criston stepped away, Aegon's face contorted with fresh anger. "You!" he shouted, pointing accusingly at Jacaerys.

Vera frowned deeply as Aegon stalked toward the younger boy with renewed purpose. Jacaerys pushed Ser Harwin gently aside, squaring his shoulders as he prepared to meet Aegon's renewed attack. As Aegon launched into another series of attacks, Jacaerys focused on evasion, ducking and weaving with surprising agility.

"Close with him."

Aegon listened to Criston's words, and Jacaerys began to realize in a panic that he was not going to win this fight. Aegon tried to attack him at close range, which made it impossible for Jacaerys to dodge or really fight back with his sword.

"Press him backward! Close with him! Stay on the attack! Use your feet!"

Aegon kicked Jacaerys down to the ground.

"Don't let him get up."

Aegon started attacking again, Jacaerys didn't have time to get up.

"Stay on the attack!"

"Enough!" Ser Harwin yelled, lunging forward with startling speed for a man his size. He grabbed Aegon by the shoulders and threw him bodily away from Jacaerys, sending the prince sprawling across the training yard dust.

Vera let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the bench.

Aegon scrambled to his feet, his face contorted with rage and disbelief. "You dare put hands on me?" he shouted, his voice cracking with fury.

"Aegon!" King Viserys called sharply from his seat, the warning clear in his tone.

Criston stepped forward, his hand resting meaningfully on the hilt of his sword. His eyes were cold as he addressed Harwin. "You forget yourself, Strong. That is the Prince." He nodded toward Aegon, whose chest heaved with indignation.

Ser Harwin's massive shoulders tensed as he stood protectively near Jacaerys. "This is what you teach, Cole?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet as he began collecting the scattered practice swords from the ground. "Cruelty... to the weaker opponent?"

Harwin walked past Criston, deliberately ignoring the wooden sword that was tossed at his feet.

"Your interest in the princeling's training is quite unusual, Commander," Criston remarked, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent yard.

Vera frowned deeply, recognizing the dangerous edge in her father's tone. She'd never heard him speak that way before—the words seemed coated in venom.

Harwin bent down, focusing intently on gathering the remaining swords, his back rigid with tension.

"Most men would only have that kind of devotion toward a cousin..." Criston continued, turning to face Harwin directly. The training yard had gone deathly quiet, every eye fixed on the two knights. "Or a brother... or a son."

At that final word, something snapped in Ser Harwin. He stood abruptly, the swords clattering to the ground as he clenched his jaw and whirled toward Criston. His fist connected with the Kingsguard's face with a sickening crack.

Vera gasped, jumping to her feet in horror. Beside her, Ser Cedric leapt up as well, rushing forward to intervene.

Harwin's massive fists pummeled Criston with frightening speed, driving him backward against the weapons rack. Blood sprayed from Criston's nose as he struggled to defend himself against the larger man's fury.

Jacaerys and Lucerys backed away from the violence, their faces pale with shock. Aemond grabbed his brother's arm, pulling Aegon back with him toward the edge of the yard.

"Father!" Vera shouted, her voice cracking as she rushed forward. Two guards moved with her, racing to separate the brawling knights.

Before Vera could reach the brawling knights, strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, lifting her clean off her feet. She let out a startled cry as Aegon pulled her away from the violence, turning swiftly to position himself beside Aemond.

"Let me go!" Vera struggled against Aegon's grip, her eyes fixed on her father's bloodied face. "I have to help him!"

"You'll only get hurt," Aegon grunted, tightening his hold as she twisted frantically in his arms. His breath was hot against her ear as he added, "Be still, Vera."

Aemond stepped in front of them protectively, his violet eyes wide as they watched the chaos unfold. Ser Cedric had reached the fighting men now, his white cloak billowing as he and two guards attempted to pull Ser Harwin's massive form away from Criston.

"Breakwater, help me!" Ser Cedric shouted to one of the guards, straining against Harwin's bulk.

The guard grabbed Harwin's right arm while Ser Cedric secured his left. Together with the second guard, they managed to drag the enraged knight backward, his boots leaving furrows in the dirt as he fought their restraint.

"That's enough!" King Viserys's voice thundered across the yard. He had risen from his seat, Lord Strong at his side looking ashen.

With a final heave, the guards and Ser Cedric pulled Harwin away from Criston, who slumped against the weapons rack, blood streaming from his nose and a cut above his eye. Harwin continued to struggle against his captors, his face contorted with fury as he spat curses at Criston.

Only when Ser Harwin was fully restrained and being dragged forcibly from the training yard did Aegon finally release his hold on Vera. The moment her feet touched the ground, she bolted toward her father.

Chapter Text

"Ow."

"Stop been a baby. And stop moving."

Criston rolled his eyes but smirked lightly in amusement at his daughter's orders. "I wouldn't be moving if you weren't trying to touch where I got hit," he protested, wincing as she brought the cloth closer to his face.

Vera gave him a withering look. "I need to touch it. That's how cleaning works."

"You don't need to clean it because I'm fine," Criston insisted, leaning away from her ministrations.

Vera raised an eyebrow skeptically, then deliberately pressed the cloth against his split lip. Criston hissed sharply, jerking back.

"'I'm fine' my butt," she muttered, dipping the cloth back into the basin of water, which had already turned pinkish from his blood.

After the violent confrontation in the training yard, Vera had practically dragged her father back to their family chambers, ignoring his protests that he could see to his own wounds. He'd flatly refused the Maester's attention, claiming it was nothing more than a bloodied nose and split lip. The cut above his eye, however, was still seeping blood down the side of his face.

Vera wrung out the cloth and reached for him again, her expression determined. "Hold still. Unless you want blood all over your white cloak."

A sharp knock at the door interrupted them. Before either could respond, the door swung open to reveal Queen Alicent, her green dress rustling as she swept into the chamber. Behind her followed Grand Maester Orwyle, his heavy chain clinking with each step.

"Your Grace," Criston attempted to rise, but Alicent gestured for him to remain seated.

"Stay where you are, Ser Criston," the Queen commanded, her green eyes taking in his bloodied face with concern. "I hear Ser Harwin Strong has quite the right hook."

"It was nothing, Your Grace," Criston said stiffly. "A minor disagreement."

"A minor disagreement that left you looking like you've been trampled by a horse," Queen Alicent observed dryly. She turned to Vera, her expression softening. "You should not have had to witness such violence, child."

"I'm alright, Your Grace," Vera replied, though her hands still trembled slightly as she held the bloodied cloth.

The Grand Maester stepped forward, setting his leather bag on the table. "Allow me to examine those wounds, Ser Criston. The cut above your eye may need stitching."

"I said I'm fine," Criston insisted, his pride clearly wounded more than his face. "Vera is taking care of it."

Orwyle exchanged a glance with the Queen, who nodded slightly. "Nevertheless," the Maester said firmly, "I should ensure nothing is broken. Lady Vera has done an admirable job cleaning the blood, but I believe my expertise might be useful."

Vera sighed and set down the bloodied cloth, moving to stand beside Queen Alicent. She crossed her arms and fixed her father with a stern look that mirrored his own when he was being particularly stubborn.

"Father," she said, her voice suddenly taking on a formal tone that made Criston's eyebrows rise slightly, "if you don't let the Grand Maester look at your wounds right now, I'll..." She paused, searching for a suitable threat before her face brightened with inspiration. "I'll tell Ser Harrold about the time you fell asleep during your night watch and I had to wake you before the King found out!"

Criston's mouth fell open in shock. "You wouldn't dare," he gasped, looking between his daughter and the Queen, who was clearly fighting to keep her expression neutral.

"I would," Vera insisted, raising her chin defiantly. "And I'll tell Aegon that you were the one that let me go into his chambers to put a spider on his bed."

Queen Alicent looked between father and daughter, her lips quirking upward. "I had wondered who was responsible for that particular prank," she said with barely suppressed amusement. "Aegon was convinced it was Aemond or the Princess's sons doing."

Criston's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine," he muttered, turning his face toward Grand Maester Orwyle. "Do what you must."

As the Maester began examining the cut above his eye, Vera caught the Queen's gaze and offered her most innocent smile, as though she hadn't just implicated herself in the spider incident. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief, completely at odds with her angelic expression.

Queen Alicent shook her head fondly at the girl's transparent attempt at innocence. She reached out to smooth a strand of Vera's dark hair, her touch gentle despite her knowing look.

"Perhaps we should discuss the proper behavior expected of young ladies at court," the Queen suggested lightly. "Particularly regarding the placement of spiders in royal bedchambers."

"But Your Grace," Vera replied earnestly, "I was merely helping the spider find a new home."

Queen Alicent's lips twitched with amusement. "I'm certain that's what you'll tell the Septa during your extra prayer sessions this week."

Vera's face fell at the pronouncement of her punishment, but she accepted it with a small nod. The Grand Maester continued tending to Criston's wounds, cleaning the cut above his eye with practiced hands.

"This will need two stitches," Orwyle declared, reaching for his needle and thread.

Criston grimaced but remained still as the Maester prepared to close the wound. Vera watched with fascination rather than disgust, leaning forward slightly to observe the procedure.

The Queen glanced to the doors to see Ser Cedric approaching. He bowed deeply, his white cloak pooling around his boots.

"What news of Ser Harwin, Ser Cedric?" Queen Alicent asked, her voice carrying that perfect blend of authority and casual interest that had become her hallmark at court.

"Your Grace, Ser Harwin has been stripped of his position as Commander of the City Watch," Cedric reported, his northern accent more pronounced in his formality. "Lord Strong agreed it was for the best, given the... circumstances."

The Queen's expression remained carefully composed, though a flicker of something—perhaps disappointment—crossed her features. "Is there anything else?"

Ser Cedric shook his head. "No, Your Grace. That is all."

"I see. Thank you, Ser Cedric."

The knight bowed once more, offering a respectful nod to Criston and a small smile to Vera before departing.

Grand Maester Orwyle finished tying off the final stitch above Criston's eye and stepped back to examine his handiwork. "The wound should heal cleanly," he said, gathering his instruments. "Ser Criston may return to his duties, though I would advise against any strenuous combat for at least two days."

The Queen nodded her approval as the Maester bowed and took his leave, the heavy door closing softly behind him.

"Well," Queen Alicent said once they were alone, "it seems Ser Harwin's temper has cost him dearly." She moved to the window, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns carved into the stone sill. "Though not as dearly as some might have wished."

Criston rose from his chair, wincing slightly as he tested his bruised jaw. "The punishment seems... insufficient for assaulting a Kingsguard."

"Indeed," the Queen agreed, turning back to face him. "But the King is loath to punish any Strong too severely these days, particularly when the Princess's... interests... are involved."

Vera looked between them, sensing the undercurrents of court politics flowing beneath their measured words. She had grown accustomed to these half-spoken conversations, where what remained unsaid often carried more weight than what was voiced aloud.

"Your face will heal," Queen Alicent said, her tone softening as she regarded Criston. "Your pride may take longer." Her gaze shifted to Vera, who was carefully gathering the bloodied cloths from the table. "Though I suspect having such a devoted nurse will speed your recovery."

Vera smiled at the compliment, but her expression grew serious as she approached her father. "Will there be trouble because of this?" she asked quietly.

Criston exchanged a glance with the Queen before resting a hand on Vera's shoulder. "No more than usual," he assured her, though his eyes told a different story.

"The Princess will be displeased," Queen Alicent remarked, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her emerald skirts. "She valued Ser Harwin's... protection."

"Will he leave the Red Keep?" Vera asked, looking up at the Queen.

"That remains to be seen," Alicent replied. "Lord Lyonel may recall him to Harrenhal, though I suspect our dear Princess will argue against it." She moved toward the door, her decision to depart made. "I must return to the King. He was quite disturbed by today's events."

As the Queen reached for the door handle, she paused and turned back to Criston. "The King has requested your presence at council tomorrow morning. I believe he wishes to discuss changes to the royal guard rotation."

Criston bowed, wincing slightly at the movement. "I'll be there, Your Grace."

With a final nod to Vera, Queen Alicent swept from the chamber, leaving father and daughter alone once more.

Vera waited until the Queen's footsteps had faded before speaking. "Father, what really happened in the training yard?" she asked, her dark eyes serious. "Why did Ser Harwin attack you like that?"

Criston sighed deeply, moving to the sideboard where a pitcher of water stood. He poured himself a cup before answering. "Some men cannot bear to hear truths spoken aloud," he said finally, his back still turned to her. "Especially when those truths concern their honor... or lack thereof."

"You mean about Joffrey, Jacaerys and Lucerys?" Vera pressed, never one to shy away from difficult topics despite her young age. "About them being his sons instead of Ser Laenor's?"

Criston turned sharply, surprise evident on his face despite the pain it caused him. "Where did you hear such things?"

"People talk," Vera shrugged, sitting on the edge of the table. "And I'm not blind, Father. They look just like him, not like Ser Laenor."

A mix of emotions crossed Criston's face—pride at her perception, concern at her knowledge, and something darker that Vera couldn't quite name. He set down his cup and approached her, kneeling despite his injuries so they were at eye level.

"Vera," he said softly, taking her small hands in his, "there are things spoken of at court that should not be repeated, even if they are true. Especially if they are true. Do you understand?"

Vera nodded, understanding immediately. She'd seen the King's face whenever anyone dared question the parentage of his grandsons. His rage was terrible to behold, and not many get to see it.

"I promise I won't say anything," she said solemnly. "Not in front of the King or anyone else."

Criston studied her face for a moment longer before nodding in satisfaction. "Good girl." He rose with a slight grimace, his hand going to his bruised ribs.

"Now," he continued, his expression lightening somewhat, "I believe you have lessons with Septa Eglantine this afternoon? The ones you conveniently forgot about earlier?"

Vera groaned dramatically. "Must I? After all the excitement today?"

Criston's stern expression cracked into a small smile. "Yes, you must. Extra prayers for the spider incident, remember?"

With a heavy sigh of resignation, Vera slid off the table and headed for the door, her shoulders slumped in theatrical despair.

The library was quiet as evening approached, golden sunlight slanting through the tall windows and casting long shadows across the shelves of leather-bound tomes. Vera entered silently, having slipped away after Criston returned to his duties guarding the King for a bit.

She made her way to their usual spot at the far side of the room near the windows, where she and Aemond often met to read or talk away from prying eyes and listening ears. The prince wasn't there yet, which wasn't unusual—his mother sometimes kept him longer than expected for family matters.

Vera wandered among the shelves, trailing her fingers along the spines of books as she searched for something to occupy her while waiting. A volume with faded lettering caught her eye, and she carefully pulled it free from its place. The cover was worn leather, its pages yellowed with age. "Watchers on the Wall," she read aloud, intrigued by the title.

"You should read it."

Vera gasped, nearly dropping the book as she whirled around to find Aemond standing directly behind her, a mischievous glint in his violet eyes.

"Aemond!" she hissed, hitting his arm lightly with her free hand. "Why would you sneak up at me like that?" Her voice was quiet but filled with annoyance.

He stepped back slightly, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Sorry," he said, though his smirk suggested he wasn't sorry at all. He nodded toward the book she held. "You should read it. It's good."

"You've read it already?" Vera asked as they walked together to the windows and settled onto the cushioned window seat, the setting sun bathing them in warm light.

"Yes," Aemond confirmed, leaning back against the wall. "So listen to me, and read this one."

Vera shrugged and placed the book down beside her, more interested in talking than reading at the moment. She turned her full attention to the prince, studying his face for any sign that he'd heard about the earlier confrontation.

"How's your father?" Aemond asked, his expression suddenly serious.

"He's alright," Vera answered with a small sigh. "He's back on duty. Ser Harwin, on the other hand..."

Aemond smirked and nodded, "Already heard about that. The whole castle knows. Stripped of his position as Commander of the City Watch."

Vera sighed, leaning back against the window frame. "Both sides were wrong."

Aemond's smirk disappeared, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"My father was wrong to speak about the rumors to him, and Ser Harwin was wrong to let his anger get the better of him," Vera said, twisting a loose thread from her sleeve. "Words against fists... neither of them should have done it."

"Your father didn't do anything wrong," Aemond said firmly, reaching for a book that lay beside him on the cushioned seat. "He has the right to speak his mind." He opened the volume, running his fingers along the gilded page edges. "Especially when it's the truth."

Vera rolled her eyes. "I agree, but..." She hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. "What if it were different? What if rumors were going around about you, and my father spoke about them to your face? Would you just let him get away with it?"

Aemond's fingers stilled on the book page. He stared at it for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. "I would ask him where he heard it and from who," he finally replied, not meeting her eyes. "And I'd ask him not to speak of it again."

"Yeah, right," Vera muttered under her breath.

Aemond's head snapped up. "It's true! I can be reasonable."

"You can be nice," Vera agreed with a teasing smile, "but only to me, Helaena, Otto, Daeron and your mother. Everyone else gets to see your prickly side."

"That's not true," Aemond protested, though a hint of color touched his cheeks. "I'm perfectly civil to many people."

"Name three people outside your family--besides me--that you're genuinely kind to," Vera challenged, folding her arms across her chest.

Aemond opened his mouth, then closed it again. His brow furrowed in concentration as he appeared to mentally search through the inhabitants of the Red Keep.

"See?" Vera said triumphantly after several seconds of his silence. "You can't think of anyone."

"I can," Aemond insisted. "I'm kind to... to..." He trailed off, his expression growing increasingly frustrated. "I'm kind to Old Garl in the stables."

"You're kind to him because he gives you extra time with the horses," Vera pointed out. "That doesn't count."

Aemond's shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. "Fine. Perhaps I'm not the most... approachable person in the castle."

"Perhaps?" Vera echoed with a laugh.

The prince's lips twitched upward despite himself. "You're one to talk. You're hardly the picture of perfect courtesy yourself."

"What do you mean?" Vera asked, feigning offense. "I'm the very soul of politeness."

"Really?" Aemond raised an eyebrow. "What about the time you told Lady Redwyne her new headpiece looked like a dead bird had landed on her?"

Vera bit her lip to suppress a giggle. "I was seven! And it did look like a dead bird."

Aemond's smirk widened. "I thought you said that because you overheard my parents discussing a possible betrothal between me and Lord Redwyne's daughter."

Vera's cheeks flushed instantly. She kept her eyes fixed on the book in her lap, refusing to meet his gaze. "It really did look like a dead bird," she insisted with a shrug. "It's not like I was annoyed about the betrothal talk or anything."

Aemond tilted his head, his violet eyes dancing with amusement as she deliberately avoided looking at him. The way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the book page told him everything her words didn't.

"Anyway," Vera said abruptly, "did you know the Citadel has over a million books? Maester Orwyle told me. Can you imagine reading that many books? It would take several lifetimes."

Aemond allowed her to change the subject, though his smirk remained. They continued talking as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the library floor. Eventually, Vera selected a book of ancient tales from the eastern lands, and they decided to leave the library together.

The corridor outside Aemond's chambers was mercifully empty when they arrived. No servants bustling about, no guards stationed nearby – a rare moment of privacy in the constantly watched lives of those who dwelled in the Red Keep.

Inside his chambers, they settled onto the plush couch near the window. Without ceremony, Aemond laid his head in Vera's lap, his silver-gold hair spilling across the blue fabric of her dress. It was a familiar position for them, one they'd adopted during countless storytelling sessions over the years.

Vera opened the book, finding a tale about the first dragons to fly over Valyria. As she read, her voice soft and melodic in the quiet chamber, Aemond closed his eyes, his features relaxing in a way they rarely did around others.

After several pages, Aemond interrupted her mid-sentence. "Vera," he said, his eyes still closed, "do you think I'll ever have a dragon of my own?"

The vulnerability in his question made her pause. She looked down at him, studying his face—the sharp Targaryen features softened by youth, the slight furrow between his brows that betrayed his deepest insecurity. She set the book aside.

"Yes," she answered with complete conviction. "I think you'll have the largest, strongest dragon the world has ever seen."

Aemond's eyes opened, fixing on hers with startling intensity. One eyebrow rose as a light smirk played across his lips, clearly pleased by her answer.

"Don't make me regret saying that," Vera warned with a small smile, her fingers gently brushing through his silver-gold hair.

"Too late," he replied, his voice warm with amusement. "I'll remember those words."

Vera giggled softly. Aemond's smile deepened as he closed his eyes once more, content simply to listen to her laughter.

The gentle morning light filtered through the windows of their family chambers, casting a warm glow over the breakfast table. Vera noticed her father's unusually cheerful demeanor as he buttered his bread. It was so unlike him that she couldn't help but frown slightly.

"Father?" she asked, setting down her spoon.

Criston looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. "Yes?"

"Did something good happen? You seem..." she gestured vaguely at his face, "...happy."

Criston hesitated, his knife pausing over his bread. After a moment's consideration, he set it down with deliberate care.

"Ser Harwin left for Harrenhal last night," he said, unable to keep a note of satisfaction from his voice. "With his father, Lord Strong."

Vera's face fell slightly. "Oh. I see. I wonder how the princes are doing now."

Criston's expression softened at her concern. "You don't have to worry about the Princess's sons, sweetheart."

"He is their father," Vera said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And he was sent away."

"I'm sure they will exchange letters," Criston replied, his tone gentler now. "And the boys will go visit him."

Vera didn't respond, focusing instead on her breakfast. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably until a knock at their chamber door broke it. Lyla opened it and stepped inside, curtseying quickly.

"My lady," she announced, "Prince Jacaerys would like to meet you in the garden."

Criston's jaw clenched visibly. "Wonderful," he muttered under his breath.

Vera ignored his comment and looked at him expectantly. "May I be excused?"

With a reluctant nod, Criston granted permission. As Vera rose from the table, he turned to Lyla. "Stay with her, alright?"

"Yes, Ser Criston," Lyla replied with another curtsy before following Vera from the chamber.

Once in the corridor, Vera quickened her pace, her mind racing with thoughts of what Jacaerys might want. The boy had always been kind to her, despite the obvious tension between their fathers.

"Do you know why he wants to see me?" she asked Lyla as they descended the stone staircase that led to the gardens.

"He didn't say, my lady," Lyla replied, hurrying to keep up with Vera's determined stride. "He seemed... troubled, though."

Vera's steps faltered slightly at this news. She paused at the garden entrance, suddenly uncertain. Through the archway, she could see Jacaerys pacing near the flowering bushes, his brown hair catching the morning sunlight. Even from this distance, the slump of his shoulders spoke of his distress.

Taking a deep breath, Vera stepped into the garden while Lyla gave them privacy. "Jace?"

The prince turned at the sound of her voice, his face brightening momentarily before settling back into lines of worry.

Jacaerys bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry for calling on you so early," he said, his voice quieter than usual.

"It's alright," Vera replied, moving closer to him. "I was already awake." She hesitated, fidgeting with the sleeve of her dress. "Jace, I'm so sorry about what happened yesterday. If my father hadn't provoked Ser Harwin..."

"No," Jacaerys interrupted, shaking his head firmly. "It's not on you, Vera. None of this is." His eyes met hers, earnest and sad. "I wanted to tell you myself, before you hear it from someone else."

Something in his tone made Vera's stomach tighten with apprehension.

Jacaerys took a deep breath. "My parents spoke with Luke and me last night. We're leaving King's Landing for a while."

"Oh," Vera breathed, her shoulders dropping slightly. "I... I wasn't expecting that."

Jacaerys offered her a small, sad smile. "We're going to Dragonstone. Later today, actually."

"So soon?" Vera's voice was barely audible.

He nodded, his brown eyes never leaving her face.

"I'll miss you," Vera said softly. "All of you."

"We'll miss you too," Jacaerys replied. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly looking nervous. Before Vera could say anything more, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

Vera's eyes widened in surprise, her hand instinctively rising to touch the spot where his lips had been.

"Until we meet again," Jacaerys said with a shy smile, his cheeks flushed.

Vera nodded, returning his smile though sadness lingered in her eyes. "Until then."

Chapter Text

Almost a week had passed since Vera watched Jacaerys and his family depart for Dragonstone. Vera had thrown herself into her studies with unusual dedication, spending long hours with Septa Eglantine and practicing swords and High Valyrian with Aemond whenever they could steal away together.

But today, the castle's quiet was shattered by frantic activity.

The news arrived at court like a thunderclap on a clear day—Lord Lyonel Strong and his son Ser Harwin had perished in a fire at Harrenhal. The ancient fortress, already half-ruined by dragonfire centuries before, had claimed two more lives in its blackened walls.

Vera learned of it during breakfast when her father entered their chambers, his face grim as he set a sealed letter on the table.

"What happened?" she asked, immediately sensing his unease.

Criston hesitated, weighing his words carefully. "There's been a tragedy at Harrenhal. Lord Strong and Ser Harwin... they died in a fire two nights ago."

Vera's spoon clattered against her bowl. "Both of them? How?"

"The ravens say the fire began in Lord Lyonel's chamber," Criston replied, his voice measured. "By the time the servants noticed, it had spread too far. Neither man escaped."

A heavy silence fell between them. Vera thought of Jacaerys and Lucerys, who had only just lost their father's presence at court, and now had lost him forever. She remembered the fury in Ser Harwin's eyes as he struck her father, the protective way he'd stood near the boys during training.

That evening, whispers filled the Red Keep. Servants and courtiers alike traded rumors in hushed voices—some claiming the fire had been no accident, others insisting it was merely Harrenhal's curse claiming new victims. Vera listened from the shadows as two kitchen maids discussed it while gathering linens.

"Mark my words," the older woman muttered, "that castle's cursed. Has been since Harren the Black. No family that holds it prospers long."

"Still," the younger maid replied, glancing nervously over her shoulder, "two men burning on the same night? Seems strange, doesn't it?"

"Not as strange as what Lord Larys will inherit now," the older woman snorted. "The clubfoot as Lord of Harrenhal and Master of Whispers. Who'd have thought?"

Their voices faded as they continued down the corridor, leaving Vera alone with her thoughts.

Three days later, King Viserys announced the appointment of Ser Otto Hightower to return to the Keep and be the Hand of the King once more. The news spread through court like wildfire, with some courtiers openly celebrating the return of the Queen's father while others exchanged worried glances.

That night, Vera found herself in Queen Alicent's chambers, helping arrange roses while the Queen wrote letters at her desk. The scratching of the quill against parchment filled the comfortable silence between them.

"My father arrives in two days," Queen Alicent said suddenly, looking up from her writing to look at the girl. "I believe he'll be pleased to see how you've grown."

Vera smiled, carefully placing white roses in a crystal vase. "I look forward to seeing him again, Your Grace. It's been nearly a year since our last visit to Oldtown."

The Queen set down her quill, a fond expression softening her features. "He taught me to play cyvasse," Vera continued, her smile widening at the memory. "Though I think he let me win that first game."

Queen Alicent laughed softly. "My father never lets anyone win, child. If you defeated him, it was on your own merit."

Vera felt a rush of pride at this, carefully arranging the last rose in the vase. "Do you think he'll have time for another game when he arrives?"

"I'm certain he will make time," the Queen assured her, rising from her desk and moving to inspect Vera's handiwork with the flowers. "Beautiful," she murmured approvingly.

During the 10 years, the Queen had visited her home with her children and had brought Vera along as well. Criston, at the first time, wasn't sure if bringing Vera, his new daughter, along to the trip was a good idea but he trusted the Queen when she said it was alright.

He was pleasantly surprised when Otto welcomed Vera into the family despite him knowing she wasn't his daughter's child or even her knight's true daughter. The Queen had told him about Criston finding the babe alone in the forest in the letter, and when Vera started to understand, she asked her father not to speak about it, nor tell her that Criston isn't her true father, in fear it could crush the child.

Otto understood that, after all, Vera's true parents could have abandoned her or who knew what could have happened to them, so what good could come to bring that news to her. During those 10 years, the man has grown to like Vera's company when she came to visit with the Queen and his grandchildren and even considering her as one.

Vera's fingers traced the soft petals of the white roses she'd just arranged, a thoughtful expression crossing her face.

"Your Grace," she asked suddenly, "do you know what the white and the deep pink colors of the roses mean?"

Queen Alicent tilted her head, studying the flowers with renewed interest. "I confess I don't," she admitted, curiosity warming her voice. "I've always chosen them for their beauty rather than their meaning."

"The white ones," Vera explained softly, gently touching a pristine bloom, "symbolize innocence and new beginnings. Some say they represent new love as well." Her fingers moved to the deep pink roses nestled among the white. "And these deep pink ones represent gratitude and appreciation."

The Queen smiled, clearly touched by this revelation. "I had no idea flowers carried such specific messages."

"I actually looked for green roses in the garden for you," Vera continued, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "But I couldn't find even one. The gardener told me they're exceedingly rare."

"And what would green roses have meant?" Alicent asked, her fingers joining Vera's among the blossoms.

"Mixed with pink, they would symbolize gentleness and harmony," Vera replied. "Love and affection to a family." She looked up at the Queen, her dark eyes earnest. "I thought they would be perfect for you."

Queen Alicent's expression softened, and she reached out to cup Vera's cheek gently. "That's a lovely thought, my dear. Perhaps we should ask the royal gardeners to procure some green roses for the next planting."

"Could we?" Vera's face brightened with excitement.

"I don't see why not," the Queen replied. "Though I suspect they may be difficult to find. We might need to send to Highgarden or even across the Narrow Sea."

Two days later, the royal procession heralding Otto Hightower's arrival wound through the streets of King's Landing. Vera stood with Criston among the assembled courtiers in the throne room, her blue dress freshly pressed for the occasion. The anticipation in the air was palpable as the great doors swung open.

Ser Otto entered with the measured stride of a man returning to familiar territory. Though years had passed since his dismissal as Hand, he carried himself with the same quiet authority he'd always possessed. His beard had more gray than Vera remembered, but his eyes remained sharp and observant as they swept across the assembled court.

King Viserys welcomed him with surprising warmth, rising from the Iron Throne despite his increasing frailty. Queen Alicent stood at her husband's side, her happiness at her father's return evident in her rare, genuine smile.

After embracing his daughter, Otto's gaze swept over his grandchildren who stood in a neat line beside the Queen. Aegon shifted his weight from one foot to the other, offering a small, nervous smile. Unlike his siblings, the eldest prince had never formed a close bond with his grandfather, finding the elder Hightower's scrutiny somewhat intimidating. Not to mention, his desire to see his grandson take the throne.

"Aegon," Otto acknowledged with a formal nod. "You've grown taller since last we met."

"Thank you, Grandfather," Aegon replied stiffly, his relief evident when Otto moved on.

Aemond stepped forward without prompting, his posture straight and proud as he greeted his grandfather. "Welcome back to court, Grandfather. Your counsel has been missed."

Otto's stern features softened slightly as he clasped Aemond's shoulder. "You've been practicing your swordplay, I hear. Good. A prince must be skilled in arms."

Helaena curtsied gracefully, her shy smile brightening when Otto praised the delicate embroidery on her sleeve.

When Otto turned to Vera, his smile deepened. She dipped into a perfect curtsy, her dark eyes shining with excitement.

"Lady Vera," he said warmly, "I see the Queen's lessons in courtly manners have served you well."

"I've had excellent teachers, my lord," Vera replied, unable to suppress her smile.

Later that afternoon, as servants unpacked Otto's belongings in his chambers, he summoned Aemond and Vera. They arrived to find him sorting through a collection of leather-bound volumes that had been carefully packed among his possessions.

"Ah, there you are," Otto said, looking up as they entered. "I brought something for each of you."

He selected two books from the pile, their covers embossed with gold lettering that caught the candlelight. "This one," he said, handing a thick volume to Aemond, "chronicles the Targaryen conquest of Westeros, with particular attention to the dragon Balerion's role."

Aemond's eyes widened as he accepted the gift, his fingers tracing the embossed dragon on the cover reverently.

Otto turned to Vera next, presenting her with a slightly smaller book bound in deep blue leather. "And for you, my dear--the complete history of the Rhoynar and their journey to Dorne. I recalled your interest in Queen Nymeria."

"Thank you!" Vera exclaimed, clutching the book to her chest with undisguised delight. "I've been wanting to read more about her."

That evening Vera and Aemond were sitting together on the plush couch in the prince's chambers, their new books open before them.

Vera glanced up from a particularly interesting passage about Nymerian war tactics, watching Aemond's face as he concentrated on his own reading. His silver-gold hair fell across his forehead as he leaned closer to the page, completely absorbed.

"It's nice to have your Grandsire around," Vera remarked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

"Yes, I suppose so," Aemond replied without looking up from his book. After a moment, he added, "He's always brought me interesting books. And he actually listens when I speak, unlike many adults around here."

"He treats me like I'm part of the family," Vera said softly, her fingers tracing the edge of her book's cover. "Even though I'm not really."

Aemond's head snapped up at that, his violet eyes narrowing. "Don't be stupid. Of course you're family."

Vera raised an eyebrow at his blunt response. "I'm not a Targaryen or a Hightower, Aemond."

"So?" he challenged, closing his book with more force than necessary. "My grandfather considers you family, and so does my mother. Even Aegon tolerates you better than most people." His lips quirked into a slight smirk. "Which is saying something, considering how insufferable he's becoming."

Vera laughed despite herself. "He has been rather full of himself lately."

"And I'm quite certain Helaena would be lost without you," Aemond continued, his voice growing softer. "You're the only one who doesn't think her strange for her love of insects."

Vera smiled at the mention of the gentle princess.

"She truly cares for you," Aemond said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "As do I."

A soft flush crept up Vera's cheeks at his words. Before she could respond, there was a knock on the door. The guard outside opened it to reveal Queen Alicent, her expression grave as she entered the chamber.

Aemond and Vera looked up at her approach. Vera immediately stood and bowed lightly while Aemond straightened his posture, instantly alert to his mother's solemn demeanor.

The Queen settled onto a chair across from them, gesturing for Vera to sit back down. She sighed softly, her green eyes moving between the two children.

"A raven has arrived with a letter," she said, her voice measured and careful. Her gaze fixed on Aemond. "It's from your uncle Daemon. His wife, Laena Velaryon, has died."

Vera glanced at Aemond, watching his face carefully for his reaction. His expression remained neutral, though she noticed the slight tightening of his jaw.

"Does this mean we need to be at the funeral?" Aemond asked, his voice steady.

"Of course," Queen Alicent replied. "Her funeral will take place in Driftmark once Daemon and his twin daughters return from their voyage with Laena's ashes." She looked between them, her expression softening slightly. "We'll be leaving on the morrow. Pack warm clothes—the sea air can be quite chilling this time of year."

Aemond and Vera nodded their understanding. With nothing more to add, the Queen rose gracefully and departed, leaving them alone once more.

Vera turned to Aemond, studying his impassive face. "Are you alright?" she asked softly.

Aemond shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in a deliberately casual gesture. "Yes. I've never even met my uncle or his new family."

Vera hesitated, weighing her next words carefully. The Princess and her sons would surely attend as well—Laena had been Ser Laenor's sister, after all. She knew how much Aemond dreaded seeing Jacaerys and Lucerys again, especially after everything that had happened.

Gently, she reached for his hand, covering it with her own. "I'll be there with you," she promised, her voice quiet but firm.

Aemond squeezed her hand in return, offering her a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know you will."

The waves slapped against the hull of the ship as it cut through the dark waters toward Driftmark. The vessel pitched slightly, causing Vera to steady herself against the wooden railing. The sea journey had begun early that morning, with only the King's party aboard the royal ship while Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena had departed on dragonback, their massive beasts casting great shadows over the castle as they took flight.

Vera found Aemond sitting alone on the wooden steps leading to the upper deck, his silver-gold hair whipping about his face in the salt-laden breeze. She settled beside him, drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders against the chill.

"It's colder on the water," she observed, glancing toward where her father stood with the Kingsguard near the King. Ser Criston caught her eye briefly before returning his attention to his duty.

Aemond nodded absently, his gaze fixed on the horizon. After a moment of comfortable silence, he turned to her.

"Do you remember what dragon Lady Laena rode?" he asked suddenly.

Vera tilted her head, thinking back to the stories she'd heard at court. "Vhagar, wasn't it? The oldest living dragon since Balerion died."

Aemond nodded, a small, secretive smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "The largest dragon in the world now," he confirmed. "I've been thinking..."

"About what?" Vera prompted when he trailed off.

"About what it would be like to claim her," he admitted, his violet eyes gleaming with excitement. "To have Vhagar as my dragon."

Vera's eyes widened, her brow furrowing with concern. "You want to claim Vhagar? So soon after Lady Laena's death?"

"Not immediately," Aemond clarified, his voice lowering as a sailor passed nearby. "I'll wait until after the funeral, of course. It would be... disrespectful otherwise."

Vera bit her lower lip, anxiety blooming in her chest. "Aemond, that could be dangerous," she said softly. "What if Vhagar won't accept you? What if she won't let you get close? Dragons aren't like horses--they can kill you in an instant."

Aemond's gaze drifted back to the sea, watching the white-capped waves breaking against the ship's bow. "You worry too much," he said dismissively.

"And you don't worry enough," Vera countered, nudging his shoulder with her own. "You're my best friend, I don't want to hear about you been dead."

Aemond looked at her and gave a confident smile. "I'll be fine, Vera. Trust me." He reached out and squeezed her hand. "Vhagar will accept me--I know it."

Despite his reassurance, worry gnawed at Vera's stomach throughout their journey. By the time they reached Driftmark at midday, her anxiety had only intensified. The island rose from the sea like a sentinel, its rocky shores crowned by the ancient seat of House Velaryon.

As their party disembarked, Vera caught sight of Jacaerys and Lucerys standing with their father near the stone steps leading to High Tide. Both boys wore somber expressions, their dark hair tousled by the sea breeze. Her heart gave a small lurch at the sight of them, but before she could approach, Criston's hand settled firmly on her shoulder.

"Stay close," he murmured, guiding her to walk between himself and Queen Alicent.

The funeral procession wound its way down to the shore, where a wooden platform had been constructed at the water's edge. Laena's ornate casket rested upon it, draped in the sea-green colors of House Velaryon. The assembled mourners formed a semicircle facing the sea, their voices hushed against the constant rhythm of the waves.

Vaemond Velaryon stepped forward, his silver-white hair gleaming in the sunlight. His voice carried across the shore as he began speaking in High Valyrian, the ancient tongue flowing melodically despite the solemnity of the occasion.

Vera strained to understand, catching only fragments—"valiant rider," "blood of Velaryon," "returned to the sea." She silently thanked Aemond for the lessons they'd begun, though she wished she could comprehend more than these scattered phrases.

Her gaze drifted across the gathering until she found Princess Rhaenyra, standing with her sons on the opposite side of the semicircle. To her surprise, Jacaerys was already looking in her direction. Their eyes met across the space between them, and Vera offered him a small, sympathetic smile. The young prince returned it briefly, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly before he looked away, his attention returning to the ceremony.

Laena's casket was pushed into the water. The tide caught it immediately, drawing it out toward the deeper waters and slowly sinking.

As the casket disappeared beneath the waves, the mourners turned away from the shore. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed as they made their way back toward High Tide. Vera walked alongside her father, the hem of her dark dress gathering sand despite her careful steps.

Everyone gathered in the small courtyard of High Tide, where servants moved among the guests with trays of wine and small morsels of food. The atmosphere was subdued, conversations happening in hushed tones as befitted the occasion.

Vera's eyes swept across the courtyard until she spotted Jacaerys standing alone near a stone column, his expression distant as he gazed at nothing in particular. She glanced up at her father, who was engaged in quiet conversation with Queen Alicent.

Taking advantage of their distraction, Vera slipped away, making her way through the crowd toward Jacaerys. As she approached, he seemed to notice her presence, his brown eyes focusing on her face.

"Hello, Jace," Vera said softly, offering him a small, sad smile. "I'm sorry about your aunt."

Jacaerys nodded slightly, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. "Thank you," he murmured. His eyes darted over her shoulder, lingering briefly on Ser Criston before returning to her face. "May I ask you something?"

Vera nodded, curious about his serious expression.

Jacaerys hesitated, lowering his voice. "Have you ever asked your father about your mother?"

The question caught Vera off guard. She blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. "I... yes," she admitted finally. "But we spoke of her only once. He said she died when I was born."

Something flickered in Jacaerys's eyes—a mixture of curiosity and something else Vera couldn't quite identify. Before he could respond, Vera noticed Princess Rhaenyra approaching them, her silk dress rustling softly against the stone floor.

Vera immediately dipped into a respectful bow. "Your Grace."

Princess Rhaenyra's gaze moved between them, a hint of nervousness visible beneath her composed exterior. She offered Vera a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Lady Vera, might I have a moment alone with my son?"

"Of course, Your Grace," Vera replied with another small bow. She cast one last glance at Jacaerys before moving away, weaving through the clusters of mourners.

As she retreated, Vera glanced back over her shoulder to see the Princess's expression shift into something more serious as she leaned closer to her son. Their hushed conversation was lost to the murmur of the crowd, but the tension in their postures was unmistakable.

The Princess turned to Jacaerys, her face tight with concern. He met her gaze steadily, his voice dropping to barely a whisper as he assured her he hadn't revealed anything significant to Vera. Princess Rhaenyra's shoulders sagged with visible relief as she cautioned him against speaking of such matters.

But Jacaerys wasn't finished. He leaned closer to his mother, his young face suddenly serious beyond his years as he argued that Vera deserved to know the truth about her parentage. The Princess glanced around nervously, checking for eavesdroppers before fixing her son with a hard stare. Her words were quiet but cutting as she questioned whether he truly wished to inflict such pain—to tell a girl who believed herself loved that she was nobody, a child of unknown origin, and that the knight who had raised her with devotion wasn't truly her father.

The weight of his mother's words seemed to land heavily on Jacaerys's shoulders. He looked down at the stone floor, unable to counter her argument, the fight draining from his posture.

Vera, unaware of their exchange, had made her way across the courtyard to where Aemond and Aegon stood watching their sister. Helaena was crouched near a flowering bush, her pale fingers extended as a large black spider crawled across her palm. Her lips moved in a rhythmic chant, the words carrying faintly to where they stood.

"Hand turns loom; spool of green, spool of black; dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread. Hand turns loom; spool of green."

Aegon's face twisted with distaste as he watched his sister's fascination with the creature. "We have nothing in common," he muttered, shaking his head.

Vera glanced at him curiously. "You're siblings. You must have something in common."

"Not enough to justify marriage," Aegon replied bitterly.

Vera's eyes widened in shock. "Marriage? What do you mean?"

Aemond turned to her, his expression grim. "Father announced it this morning. Aegon and Helaena are to be wed next year."

"Oh," Vera breathed, understanding washing over her. The tradition of Targaryen siblings marrying was ancient, but seeing the displeasure on Aegon's face made it clear this wasn't a welcome arrangement.

"I don't want to marry her," Aegon continued, his voice low enough that only they could hear. "And she doesn't want to marry me either. But what choice do we have?"

Vera remained silent, unsure what comfort she could offer. The politics of royal marriages were far beyond her influence, and the tradition of Targaryen intermarriage was older than the conquest itself.

Aemond's jaw tightened as he watched Aegon's expression. "She is our sister," he said quietly, his tone more defensive than he perhaps intended.

Aegon scoffed. "You marry her, then."

"I would perform my duty, if mother had betrothed us," Aemond replied matter-of-factly, glancing first at his brother and then toward Helaena, who remained oblivious to their conversation as she continued her communion with the spider.

Vera felt something cold settle in her chest at his words. The casual way he spoke of marriage—as though it were merely an obligation to be fulfilled rather than a matter of the heart—struck her more painfully than she would have expected. She quickly schooled her features, masking the sudden, inexplicable disappointment that threatened to show on her face.

A small frown creased her brow as she shook her head slightly. Without a word to either prince, she turned and walked away, her steps measured and deliberate as she crossed the courtyard toward her father and Queen Alicent.

Aemond's violet eyes followed her retreat, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as he watched her go.

As Vera approached, the Queen extended her arm slightly, welcoming the girl to her side, her conversation with Criston pausing. When Vera stopped beside her, Alicent placed her hands gently on the girl's shoulders, a gesture both protective and affectionate.

"Is everything alright?" the Queen asked softly, sensing Vera's disquiet.

Vera nodded, the lie coming easily though her eyes remained troubled. "Yes, Your Grace."

Criston's attention had shifted elsewhere. His dark eyes scanned the courtyard, his posture tensing slightly as he spotted something—or someone—of interest.

"Lyonel Strong's son's been staring at you since the moment we arrived, Your Grace," he informed the Queen in a low voice, his expression hardening.

Queen Alicent glanced over her shoulder, following Criston's gaze to where Larys Strong stood leaning on his cane. As their eyes met, the new Lord of Harrenhal raised his goblet in a silent toast, his lips curving into what might have been a smile.

"Unabashedly," Criston added, his tone conveying his distaste.

The Queen looked away quickly, something like nervousness flickering across her features. Vera noticed the change, looking up at her with concern.

"It is only a look of pride, Ser Criston," Queen Alicent said with a soft sigh. "Larys is the new Lord of Harrenhal."

Vera's eyes drifted to the man with renewed curiosity. "What happened to his leg?" she asked quietly, immediately wondering if the question had been too forward.

"He was born like this," the Queen answered, her voice neutral though her eyes remained wary as she deliberately turned her back to Larys.

Vera nodded slightly, accepting the explanation. She was about to ask another question when a sound split the air—a deep, resonant roar.

A roar of a dragon mourning.

Chapter Text

Vera searched the courtyard for Aemond, finding him standing apart from the others, his face tilted toward the direction of the roar, a look of determination hardening his features.

The feast that followed the funeral was a somber affair. The great hall of High Tide was filled with nobles from across the realm, their subdued conversations occasionally punctuated by the distant roars of Vhagar. Each time the dragon cried out, Vera noticed Aemond's eyes gleam with anticipation.

When the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the stone floor, Queen Alicent beckoned Vera to her side once more.

"The hour grows late," she said quietly, her green eyes moving to where Helaena sat examining a small insect that had crawled onto the tablecloth. "Would you take Helaena back to your guest chambers? I fear all this... emotion... has wearied her."

Vera nodded, curtseying slightly. "Of course, Your Grace."

As she moved to collect Helaena, Vera felt eyes upon her. She turned to find Aemond watching her intently from across the hall. When their gazes met, he gave her a single, deliberate nod—a silent confirmation of his intentions. Her stomach tightened with worry as she understood his meaning.

He was going after Vhagar tonight.

Vera gently touched Helaena's shoulder, drawing the princess's attention away from the insect. "Your mother thinks we should retire for the evening," she said softly.

Helaena looked up, her violet eyes distant for a moment before focusing on Vera's face. "Yes," she agreed, rising gracefully from her seat. "The stones here whisper too loudly."

They slipped out of the great hall without drawing attention, making their way through the torchlit corridors of High Tide. Vera's mind raced with concerns about Aemond's plan as they walked in silence, the only sound their soft footsteps against the stone floor.

"What's on your mind?" Helaena asked suddenly, her head tilted slightly as she studied Vera's troubled expression.

Vera glanced at her and then back forward, her eyes fixed on the corridor ahead. "Nothing... it's just a worried feeling," she muttered, unwilling to betray Aemond's confidence even to his sister.

A pained groan echoed from around the corner, interrupting their conversation. Both girls paused, exchanging curious glances before continuing forward. As they turned the corner, they discovered the source of the sound—Otto Hightower struggling to support a clearly intoxicated Prince Aegon, who was leaning heavily against his grandfather.

"Really, Aegon?" Vera asked, unable to keep the exasperation from her voice. "Again?"

Aegon raised his head at the sound of her voice, his silver-gold hair falling across his flushed face. He attempted what might have been a charming smile, though the effect was somewhat ruined by his inability to focus properly.

"Vera!" he slurred, attempting to straighten up before stumbling slightly. "And my lovely sister-bride!"

Helaena wasn't surprised or even looking annoyed at the display. She merely let out a soft sigh, as though this was an all-too-familiar sight.

Vera stepped forward, addressing Otto with concern. "Do you want me to take care of this?" she offered, having helped manage Aegon's drunken episodes before.

Otto shook his head firmly, adjusting his grip on Aegon's arm. "No need. I'll deal with him. You two can go and rest."

Vera and Helaena nodded, watching as Otto half-dragged Aegon down an adjacent corridor, the prince's incomprehensible mutterings fading as they disappeared from view.

With a small sigh, Vera shook her head before continuing down the hall with the princess. "I'm sorry about the..." she trailed off, gesturing vaguely in the direction Otto and Aegon had gone.

"Yes, well, could have been worse," Helaena muttered, her tone matter-of-fact.

Vera raised an eyebrow, thinking to herself that she couldn't imagine anything worse than Aegon's behavior. Yet even as the thought formed, she remembered moments when Aegon had shown her a gentler side—times when he'd defended her from court gossip or shared a genuine laugh over some private joke. At least with Vera, he occasionally dropped his arrogant facade.

The pounding on their chamber door jolted both girls from sleep. Vera sat up groggily, her heart racing as the urgent knocking continued. Beside her, Helaena blinked confusedly in the darkness.

"Lady Vera! Princess Helaena!" Ser Cedric's voice called through the door, tight with urgency. "You must come at once!"

Vera scrambled from her bed, fumbling for her robe as she moved to open the door. Ser Cedric stood in the corridor, his white cloak hastily donned over his nightclothes, his face grave in the flickering torchlight.

"What's happened?" Vera asked, dread pooling in her stomach.

"There's been an incident," the knight replied, his eyes flicking between the two girls. "You're needed in the great hall immediately."

Vera turned to help Helaena with her robe, her fingers trembling slightly as she tied the sash. The princess seemed oddly calm, as though she had expected to be woken in such a manner.

"It's Aemond, isn't it?" Helaena asked softly, her voice carrying no surprise.

Ser Cedric's expression confirmed her words without him needing to speak. He ushered them into the corridor, his pace brisk as he led them through the sleeping castle.

"What happened?" Vera pressed, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. "Is he hurt?"

"I'm not at liberty to explain," Ser Cedric replied, his northern accent thickening with stress. "You'll see for yourselves soon enough."

The great hall of High Tide was alive with activity despite the late hour. Servants rushed about with basins of water and clean linens, their faces grim in the torchlight. Guards stood at attention along the walls, their expressions somber.

Queen Alicent had positioned herself by the large fireplace, where a chair had been pulled close to the warmth of the flames. Her elegant funeral attire had been replaced by a simple gown, her brown hair falling in loose waves around her face. As they entered, Vera saw tears glistening in the Queen's green eyes as she knelt beside the chair.

An elderly maester bent over the chair's occupant, his weathered hands moving with surprising dexterity as he worked. Prince Aegon stood nearby, all signs of his earlier intoxication replaced by a sober gravity that aged his young face.

Vera's steps faltered as she and Helaena moved closer, her breath catching in her throat as she finally glimpsed who sat in the chair.

Aemond.

But not the proud, confident Aemond she knew. This Aemond stared back at her with one eye—his right—dull and glazed with shock. Where his left eye should have been was a horror of torn flesh and blood, a vicious gash cutting diagonally across his face. The wound was raw and angry, still seeping crimson despite the maester's efforts to close it with neat, careful stitches.

"Aemond," Vera whispered, her voice breaking as she rushed forward. She reached for his hand, clutching it between both of hers. His skin felt cold and clammy beneath her touch.

Aemond's remaining eye focused on her face, recognition flickering through the haze of pain. His lips parted as though to speak, but no words came.

King Viserys stood nearby, his face contorted with a fury Vera had rarely witnessed in the usually genial monarch. He turned toward the assembled Kingsguard, his gaze particularly hard as it fell upon Criston.

"How could you allow such a thing to happen?" he demanded, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "I will have answers!"

Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stepped forward, his lined face grave. "The princes were supposed to be abed, my King," he explained, his tone respectful but firm.

For the first time, Vera noticed the others gathered in the hall. Jacaerys and Lucerys stood with their cousins, Daemon's twin daughters. All four children were disheveled, their nightclothes stained with what could only be blood. Jacaerys's lip was split, while Lucerys nursed what appeared to be a broken nose, dried blood crusted beneath his nostrils.

"Who had the watch?" the King asked, his voice cutting through the tension in the hall.

Criston stepped forward, his face drawn with regret. "Young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace," he said, his eyes flicking briefly toward Jacaerys and Lucerys.

The King's face darkened further as he looked around at the assembled guards. "You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!" he thundered, spittle flying from his lips in his rage.

"I'm very sorry, Your Grace," Lord Commander Westerling replied, his eyes fixed on the floor, shame evident in his posture.

"The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes, Your Grace," Criston added, his voice steady despite the King's fury.

"That is no answer!" the King shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the great hall.

Throughout this exchange, Queen Alicent hadn't taken her eyes from her son's ruined face. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out to touch the uninjured side of his cheek. "It will heal, will it not, Maester?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible above the King's anger.

Vera squeezed Aemond's hand tighter, silently reassuring him of her presence. His fingers were cold against hers, but they returned the pressure weakly.

The Maester straightened from his work, wiping bloodied hands on a cloth. "The flesh will heal," he answered with clinical detachment, "But the eye is lost, Your Grace."

A visible shudder ran through Queen Alicent's body at these words. Her face crumpled momentarily with heartbreak before hardening into something colder, more dangerous. She rose slowly from her position beside Aemond, her green eyes now burning with fury as she turned toward her eldest son.

"Where were you?" she demanded, her voice cutting like a blade.

Aegon blinked in surprise, taking a small step backward. "Me?"

The sound of the Queen's palm striking his cheek echoed through the suddenly silent hall. Several gasps arose from the assembled witnesses, shock evident on their faces at this public display.

Aegon stared at his mother in disbelief, one hand rising to touch his reddening cheek. "What was that for?"

"That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool," the Queen hissed, her voice low but venomous.

Before Queen Alicent could continue her tirade against Aegon, the great wooden doors of the hall crashed open. Lord Corlys Velaryon strode in with Princess Rhaenys at his heels, their faces etched with fury and concern.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lord Corlys demanded, his silver-white hair gleaming in the torchlight as he surveyed the bloodied children.

"Baela, Rhaena!" Rhaenys cried, rushing past her husband toward her granddaughters. She pulled the twins into her embrace, her silver-streaked hair falling forward as she bent to inspect them. "What happened? Are you hurt?" Her fingers gently tilted their faces, searching for injuries.

The doors swung open once more, this time revealing Princess Rhaenyra, with her uncle Daemon following slower from behind.

"Jace! Luke!" Princess Rhaenyra called, rushing to where her sons stood. She fell to her knees before Lucerys, gently cradling his face between her hands. "Show me. Show me." Her fingers hovered over his broken nose, her eyes widening with horror. "Who did this?"

Aemond's body tensed beneath Vera's touch. His remaining eye blazed with sudden, violent rage as he twisted in his chair to face his half-sister and nephews. "They attacked me!"

"He attacked Baela!"

"He broke Luke's nose!"

"He stole my mother's dragon!"

"Enough," the King said thought the children's shouting.

"He was gonna kill Jace!"

"I didn't do anything!" Aemond spit as he glared with one eye at them.

"Enough."

"It should be my son telling the tale!" the Queen said.

"He called us--" Jacaerys started.

"Silence!" the King yelled, making the children stop. 

Jacaerys whispered something to his mother. She stood up and turned to face the room with a gloomy expression on her face. 

"Aemond..." King Viserys addressed his son and started walking towards him, "I will have the truth of what happened." Vera didn't let go of Aemond's hand and squeezed it, which gave him a little comfort. "Now."

"What else is there to hear?" the Queen asked, looking at him in disbelief. "Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible."

"It was a regrettable accident," Princess Rhaenyra said quietly but firmly.

"Accident?" the Queen repeated in disbelief, glaring at the Princess, "The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son."

"It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves!" the Princess said, "Vile insults were levied against them."

The King looked at her, "What insults?"

Silence.

"The legitimacy of my sons' birth was put loudly to question," the Princess spoke after a moment.

The King looked confused, "What?"

"He called us bastards," Jacaerys finally whispered, though his voice was quite clear.

Alicent's eyes flashed to Aemond who wasn't even ashamed to hide a mischievous smile. Vera noticed too, and looked down as she shook her head.

Viserys's face darkened as he caught sight of the smile playing at his son's lips. His gaze shifted to Rhaenyra, whose face had gone deathly pale.

"My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace," the Princess said, her voice trembling with barely controlled rage. "This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders."

Aemond leaned forward in his chair, his one good eye blazing with defiance as he glared at his half-sister and her sons.

"Over an insult?" Queen Alicent's voice broke, tears glistening in her green eyes as she gestured toward her son's mutilated face. "My son has lost an eye!"

Viserys ignored his wife's plea, focusing his attention on Aemond. "You tell me, boy," he commanded, his voice low but firm.

Aemond's jaw clenched stubbornly as he stared down at the floor, refusing to meet his father's gaze. Vera felt his fingers tighten around hers, his knuckles white with tension.

"The insult was training yard bluster," the Queen interjected desperately, trying to divert her husband's attention. "The lot of boys. It was nothing."

The King paid her no heed, his eyes never leaving his injured son. "Aemond," he said, the name a command in itself.

Slowly, reluctantly, Aemond raised his head to meet his father's gaze, his remaining eye defiant despite the pain etched across his features.

"I asked you a question," Viserys said, his voice dangerously quiet.

Queen Alicent looked frantically around the hall, her desperation evident. "Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder?" she demanded suddenly, turning toward Rhaenyra with barely disguised hostility. "The boys' father? Perhaps he might have something to say in this matter."

The King finally broke his stare-down with Aemond, turning toward his daughter with renewed interest. "Yes. Where is Ser Laenor?"

In the momentary reprieve, Aemond's eye found Vera's. The relief that washed over his face was palpable when he saw no disgust in her expression—only concern and loyalty. She gave him a small, sad smile and squeezed his hand gently, a silent promise that she remained at his side regardless.

"I do not know, Your Grace," Princess Rhaenyra finally answered, her voice measured. "I... could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk."

Queen Alicent's gaze drifted toward her son and Vera, a fleeting softness crossing her features as she noted how the girl remained steadfastly at Aemond's side, her small hand still clasped firmly in his. The Queen exhaled slowly, visibly relieved that at least someone was providing comfort to her injured child.

"Entertaining his young squires, I would venture," she muttered under her breath, lips barely moving as she cast a sidelong glance at the Princess.

King Viserys turned his attention back to his son, his expression hardening once more. "Aemond," he said, his voice carrying the full weight of royal authority, "look at me. Your King demands an answer."

Vera felt a flicker of annoyance rise within her at the King's words. She looked away, unable to witness the coldness with which Viserys addressed his own wounded child. You're his father before you're anything else, she thought bitterly. Why won't you protect him? The words burned on her tongue, but she swallowed them back, knowing her place.

"Who spoke these lies to you?" the King pressed when Aemond remained silent.

Aemond's remaining eye darted toward his mother, a moment of silent communication passing between them. The King followed his gaze, his own narrowing with suspicion.

"It was Aegon," Aemond said suddenly, his voice stronger than it had been all night.

The King looked back at him and then at Aegon, who stood behind Vera next to Helaena, his expression stunned.

"Me?" Aegon asked, his voice higher than normal.

King Viserys walked toward his eldest son, leaning heavily on his cane. His face was tight with anger. "And you, boy? Where did you hear such calumnies?"

Aegon didn't answer, keeping his eyes fixed on the stone floor. The silence stretched uncomfortably through the hall.

"Aegon!" The King yelled, startling all the children with the sudden fury in his voice.

Vera flinched at the outburst, her hand still firmly gripping Aemond's. She felt him tense beside her, his breathing shallow and pained.

"Tell me the truth of it!" the King demanded.

Aegon took a moment before speaking, his voice surprisingly calm and steady. "We know, father. Everyone knows." He lifted his gaze to meet his father's eyes. "Just look at them."

The King's shoulders slumped, the anger seeming to drain from him, replaced by a weariness that made him appear decades older. "This interminable infighting must cease!" he said loudly, looking around at everyone gathered in the hall. "All of you! We are family!"

Aemond slowly raised his gaze to look at his father as the King walked around from behind Vera to stand directly in front of the injured boy. Blood had begun to seep through one of the stitches near his temple, a thin crimson line tracing down his cheek.

The King looked from Aemond to his grandsons, his expression softening slightly. "Now make your apologies and show good will to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your King demands it!"

King Viserys looked around at the people who avoided his gaze and remained silent. The tension in the hall was palpable, no one willing to be the first to speak. With a disappointed sigh, he turned and started to walk past Queen Alicent.

Vera watched him go, indignation building in her chest. Apology? she thought, the unfairness of it burning through her veins. How could he expect Aemond to apologize when he was the one who had lost an eye?

"It's not enough," she muttered, her voice quiet but audible in the silent hall.

Everyone's eyes turned to her, and she froze in sudden terror at her own boldness. Aemond squeezed her hand in warning, but it was too late. Criston's eyes grew wide with worry as the King turned back toward the source of the voice.

He took a step forward, but Queen Alicent was quicker, moving to block Vera's small figure from her husband's view.

"What did you say, child?" the King asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Queen Alicent placed a protective hand on Vera's shoulder. "Your Grace, she is merely upset. The hour is late, and we are all--"

"I asked the girl a question," the King interrupted, his gaze fixed on Vera's face.

Vera swallowed hard, gathering her courage. She could feel Aemond's hand still clasped in hers, drawing strength from his touch.

"An apology is not enough," she said, her voice stronger now. "Prince Aemond has lost his eye. Forever. Words cannot restore what was taken from him."

Princess Rhaenyra stepped forward, her face flushed with anger. "My sons were defending themselves against vile slander! They are the victims here as much as--"

"Victims?" Queen Alicent's voice cut through the hall like a blade. "Look at my son's face and tell me who the victim is!"

"Enough!" the King roared, silencing both women. He turned back to Vera, his expression unreadable. "What would you have me do, Lady Vera? Would you have me take an eye from one of my grandsons in payment?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and terrible. Vera felt sick at the suggestion, her stomach turning at the thought of more violence.

"No, Your Grace," she answered quietly. "I would not have more blood spilled. But neither would I have Prince Aemond's suffering dismissed with mere words."

The King's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing through Vera. "Then tell me, child, what would you have done?"

Before Vera could answer, Queen Alicent stepped forward, placing herself between the King and the girl once more. Her green eyes flashed with a mother's ferocity as she addressed her husband.

"That is insufficient. Aemond has been damaged, permanently, My King." Her voice carried through the hall, clear and unyielding. "'Good will' cannot make him whole."

Behind them, Aegon silently slid in front of Vera, shielding her from the King's view. The movement was subtle, noticed only by his siblings and Vera herself.

Helaena stepped closer as well, her movements graceful and deliberate. She placed one hand on Vera's shoulder and the other on Aemond's.

The King sighed heavily, the weight of the night's events evident in the slump of his shoulders. "I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye."

"No," the Queen replied coldly, "because it's been taken."

"What would you have me do?" Viserys asked, spreading his hands in a gesture of futility.

Queen Alicent lifted her chin. "There is a debt to be paid."

Vera frowned slightly, a sense of unease creeping up her spine at the Queen's tone.

The hall fell silent, tension thick in the air as everyone awaited the Queen's next words. She turned slowly, her gaze settling on Princess Rhaenyra and her sons with terrible purpose.

"I shall have one of her son's eyes in return."

Gasps erupted around the hall. Servants exchanged horrified glances while lords and ladies whispered frantically behind their hands. Princess Rhaenyra instinctively pulled her sons closer to her sides, her face draining of color.

Vera felt the air leave her lungs as the Queen's words hung in the hall. Her eyes darted to Lucerys, who stood trembling beside his mother, his small face pale with terror.

"My dear wife--" the King started, his tone softening as he tried to regain control of the situation.

"He is your son, Viserys," the Queen said, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes, "Your blood." She gestured toward Aemond, whose face was a mask of blood and stitches.

Vera's grip on Aemond's hand tightened unconsciously. The prince's remaining eye was fixed on his mother, a strange mixture of emotions—pride, fear, and something darker—swirling in its violet depths.

"Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment," the King warned as he walked closer to her, his voice low but firm.

The Queen's face hardened as Viserys turned from her. "If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will," she declared, her voice ringing through the silent hall. "Ser Criston..."

Vera looked from the Queen to her father, her heart hammering in her chest. Criston stood frozen, his face a careful mask that betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

"Bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon," the Queen commanded, her green eyes blazing with fury.

Vera looked from him to Lucerys in concern. The little boy backed away from the Princess, his face contorted with terror.

"Mother," he whimpered, reaching desperately for Rhaenyra.

Lord Corlys moved with surprising speed for a man his age, positioning himself protectively in front of his grandson.

"Alicent," the King warned, his voice dangerous now, all pretense of patience gone.

Chapter Text

No one could sleep after the event.

Neither did Vera.

She hadn't left Aemond's side since then. She sat perched on the edge of his bed in the guest chamber, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve as she watched the Maester work. The old man's hands moved with practiced efficiency as he wrapped clean bandages around Aemond's head, covering the ruined socket where his left eye had been.

Queen Alicent stood by the window, her face drawn with exhaustion, while Ser Criston remained near the door, his expression grim. The chamber was quiet save for the occasional snap of the fire in the hearth and the soft rustling of the Maester's robes.

"There," the Maester said, securing the last of the bandages. "The wound is clean, my Prince. With proper care, the risk of fever should be minimal."

Aemond said nothing, his remaining eye fixed on some distant point beyond the chamber walls. The milk of the poppy they had given him earlier was clearly wearing off—Vera could see it in the tightness around his mouth, the subtle tension in his shoulders as pain returned.

The Maester reached for a goblet on the nearby table, swirling its contents before offering it to Aemond. "More milk of the poppy, my Prince. It will ease the pain and help you rest."

Aemond's head turned sharply, his single violet eye focusing on the goblet with sudden intensity. "No," he said, the word clipped and final.

"My Prince," the Maester insisted gently, "the pain will only worsen as the night progresses. This will--"

"I said no." Aemond's voice was harder now, an edge of steel beneath the weariness.

Vera leaned forward, placing her hand gently on his arm. "Aemond, please," she whispered, her dark eyes full of concern. "You need to rest."

His gaze shifted to her face, his expression softening almost imperceptibly before hardening once more. "No," he snapped, pulling his arm away from her touch.

Vera flinched slightly, hurt flickering across her features before she schooled them into careful neutrality.

Aemond's eye swept across the room, taking in each person with a glare that belied his young age. "Get out," he said, his voice low but commanding. "All of you. I wish to be alone."

Queen Alicent hesitated, pain etched across her features as she studied her son. After a moment, she nodded once, accepting his decision. "Very well."

As the Queen turned to leave, Criston placed a gentle hand on Vera's shoulder. "Come, Ver," he murmured. "Let's give the prince some space."

Vera shook her head firmly, her dark eyes never leaving Aemond's face. "I'm staying," she said, her voice quiet but resolute.

"Vera--" Criston began, his tone carrying a note of warning.

"I'm staying," she repeated, her chin lifting slightly in defiance.

Aemond's head snapped toward her, his silver-gold hair falling across the bandage that covered half his face. "I don't want you here either," he growled. "Leave me alone. All of you."

Vera's face flushed with hurt, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She stared at Aemond for a long moment, her hands clenched into small fists at her sides. Then, something shifted in her expression—a flash of determination replacing the wounded look.

"Fine," she snapped, rising from the bed with a dramatic huff. "I don't want to be here anyway."

She stormed toward the door, brushing past her father without looking back. Criston's eyebrows rose in surprise at her uncharacteristic display of temper, exchanging a quick glance with Queen Alicent.

The Queen followed after Vera, concern etched across her tired features. The Maester bowed and gathered his supplies, heading for the door as well. Criston hesitated, looking back at the young prince.

"Rest well, my Prince," he said quietly before following the others out.

As the door closed behind them, Aemond exhaled shakily, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. He'd been certain Vera would refuse to leave—had counted on her stubborn nature, her loyalty that had never wavered before. The sudden absence of her steady presence left him feeling unexpectedly hollow.

Outside in the corridor, Queen Alicent reached for Vera's shoulder. "Child, he doesn't mean--"

But Vera was already moving with surprising speed, her small figure darting down the hallway. The Queen and Criston hurried after her, exchanging concerned glances as they followed.

Instead of heading toward her own chamber, Vera turned abruptly, making for Aegon's guest quarters. She pushed the door open without knocking, startling Helaena who stood by the window, her pale face illuminated by moonlight.

Helaena turned at the intrusion, her violet eyes widening slightly. "Vera? What's happening? How is Aemond?"

"He's being impossible," Vera replied, her voice tight with frustration. She glanced around the room, taking in Aegon's sleeping form sprawled across the large bed. "We should all be with him now. He shouldn't be alone."

Queen Alicent and Criston appeared in the doorway. The Queen's expression softened as she understood what Vera was attempting to do.

"Vera, darling," she began gently, "if Aemond wishes for solitude--"

"He doesn't," Vera interrupted firmly. "He thinks he does, but he doesn't."

Aegon stirred at the noise, lifting his head groggily from the pillow. "What's going on?" he mumbled, blinking sleep from his eyes. Upon seeing the assembled group in his chamber, he groaned and flopped back down, burying his face in the mattress.

The Queen sighed, disappointment evident in her posture as she watched her eldest son attempt to return to sleep while his brother suffered alone.

Vera shot a quick, apologetic glance at Queen Alicent before marching toward Aegon's bed. In one swift motion, she grabbed a pillow and brought it down on the prince's head with surprising force.

"Get up, lazy prince!" she demanded, punctuating her words with another swing of the pillow.

Aegon jolted upright, his silver-gold hair standing on end as he stared at Vera in shock. "Have you lost your mind, little demon?!"

Criston stepped forward instinctively to intervene, but Queen Alicent placed a restraining hand on his arm, her lips twitching with a hint of amusement at the scene unfolding before them.

Helaena's soft giggle filled the room as she watched Vera's assault on her brother. Her expression suggested this was exactly the sort of behavior she'd come to expect from the spirited girl.

Otto stepped into the room, standing next to his daughter, his eyebrow rising at the chaotic scene before him. His weathered face remained impassive save for the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Vera didn't pause in her assault. She tossed the pillow aside and planted her hands on her hips, glaring down at Aegon. "Your brother is alone right now when he needs you most," she scolded, her voice rising with each word. "What kind of brother are you?"

Aegon groaned and pulled the blankets over his head. "I'm sure he wants to be alone! Even you got kicked out, that means something."

"Because he's being stubborn and proud," Vera snapped. "And you're being selfish."

Without warning, she grabbed Aegon's ankles and began pulling with all her might. "Get up!" she demanded, tugging harder. "Be a big brother and go to Aemond!"

Otto's eyebrows shot up as he watched the small girl attempting to drag the prince from his bed. He glanced at his daughter, who appeared more entertained than scandalized by the display between her son and the girl.

Criston took a half-step forward, clearly torn between his duty to maintain decorum and his desire to let his daughter's passionate display continue. Queen Alicent subtly shook her head at him, silently commanding him to allow the scene to unfold.

"This is ridiculous," Aegon protested, trying to kick free of Vera's grip. "Let go of me!"

Vera only tightened her hold, bracing her feet against the floor as she pulled harder. To everyone's surprise—Vera's most of all—Aegon suddenly slid off the edge of the bed and landed on the floor with a heavy thud.

"Seven hells!" he cursed, sprawled on his back in his nightclothes.

"Language, Aegon," the Queen chided automatically, though her lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement.

"Get up, you lazy prince," Vera commanded, standing over him with her arms crossed. "Either you walk to Aemond's chamber on your own two feet, or I'll drag you there across the floor. Your choice."

Aegon stared up at her in disbelief. "You wouldn't dare."

Vera narrowed her eyes.

Without fear, she grabbed his legs again, starting to pull him to the door and the adults. The Queen covered her mouth to hide her smile while Otto shook his head in disbelief. Helaena giggled softly, clearly delighted by the spectacle.

"Stop it, you little demon!" Aegon protested, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth stone floor. Finding nothing to grip, he lunged for one of the bed legs, wrapping his arms around it desperately.

"Fine!" he shouted, his face flushed with embarrassment. "I'll go! Just stop pulling me like a sack of grain!"

Vera released his ankles, a triumphant smirk spreading across her face as she stepped back. "From now on, whenever you have trouble waking up," she declared, brushing her hands together with satisfaction, "I'll be there to make sure you get up. Just like that."

Aegon clambered to his feet, smoothing down his rumpled nightclothes with as much dignity as he could muster. "Please don't," he groaned, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Why not?" Vera asked innocently, tilting her head. "It seems to work quite well."

She turned toward Helaena, extending her hand. The princess took it without hesitation, her violet eyes still dancing with amusement at her brother's predicament.

"I am the prince here," Aegon muttered under his breath as he straightened his shoulders.

"Of course you are," Vera agreed cheerfully, "Now, march!"

Aegon quickly stepped out of the room.

The Queen and her father exchanged a surprised look, witnessing Aegon's uncharacteristic obedience. Otto's eyebrows rose slightly as he watched his grandson actually following the small dark-haired girl's commands without protest.

Criston stood a respectful distance behind them, pride mingling with amusement in his dark eyes as he watched his daughter march determinedly down the corridor, leading the royal siblings like a tiny general commanding troops.

The three adults followed at a measured pace, keeping enough distance to give the children some privacy while remaining close enough to intervene if necessary. As they approached Aemond's chamber, they watched Vera reach for the door without hesitation, pushing it open without even a courtesy knock.

Aegon and Helaena followed her inside without protest, as though this breach of etiquette was entirely expected. The adults paused outside the open doorway, silently observing the scene unfolding within.

Aemond sat propped against the headboard, his remaining eye closed though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his wakefulness. Without opening his eye or turning toward the intrusion, he snapped, "I said I want to be alone."

"Well, that's unfortunate," Aegon replied, crossing his arms over his chest, "because I was rudely awakened, and now nobody gets to sleep."

Aemond's eye flew open, genuine surprise flickering across his face before he quickly masked it with his usual scowl. He hadn't expected anyone to defy his wishes, especially not Aegon.

With a dramatic sigh that seemed to involve his entire body, Aegon strode across the room and threw himself onto the opposite side of Aemond's bed, the mattress bouncing beneath his weight.

"The little demon dragged me out of bed," he complained, gesturing toward Vera. "Literally. By my ankles. Across the floor."

Aemond's lips twitched slightly, the closest thing to a smile he could manage through his pain. "I've been through that a few times myself," he admitted, his voice softer than before.

Vera's face brightened with a triumphant smile while Helaena giggled softly, her delicate fingers covering her mouth. The girls moved in unison to sit on the edge of the bed, completing the circle around Aemond.

None of the children noticed the three figures watching silently from the doorway—the Queen, her father, and Ser Criston. Their faces held varying expressions of approval and relief as they observed the small gathering.

"Does it hurt terribly?" Helaena asked suddenly, her dreamy voice cutting through the quiet.

Aemond stiffened slightly at the direct question. "It's nothing," he lied, even as his hand unconsciously moved toward the bandage.

"Don't be stupid," Aegon scoffed, rolling onto his side to face his brother. "Of course it hurts. You lost an eye."

Aemond winced, his hand moving protectively toward his bandaged eye. "You don't need to remind me," he muttered, his voice strained despite his efforts to appear unaffected.

Vera's expression softened with concern. She reached out hesitantly, her fingers hovering near his uninjured cheek before drawing back. "You should take the milk of the poppy," she said gently. "Just enough to help with the pain."

"No," Aemond insisted, his jaw set stubbornly. "I won't have my mind clouded."

Otto placed his hand on his daughter's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"The hour grows late," he said quietly. "Perhaps we should let the prince rest."

Queen Alicent looked up at her father, uncertainty flickering across her tired features. "I don't want to leave him," she whispered.

Otto nodded toward Criston, who stood waiting at the doorway. "The children seem determined to stay," he observed, his voice carrying a hint of approval. "And Ser Criston will ensure their safety."

With a final glance at his grandson, Otto took his leave, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

Vera slipped off her shoes and laid down on the bed beside Aemond, rolling to her side to face him. "If you won't drink something to calm your pain," she said stubbornly, "then at least lay down and sleep."

"I'm not tired," Aemond protested, though the dark circle beneath his good eye told a different story.

"We're staying here with you," Helaena said softly, her dreamy voice carrying a rare note of determination. "So you won't be alone." She settled herself at the foot of the bed, her silver-gold hair spilling across the dark blankets. "No one is going to try and harm you again. Ser Criston is going to watch over from outside the door. He will protect us all."

The Queen's lips curved into a small smile as she caught Criston's eye, approval warming her gaze. The knight inclined his head slightly, accepting the unspoken command to guard the children through the night.

"You better listen to them, brother," Aegon warned, settling more comfortably against the pillows. "Or who knows what the little demon has in mind for you."

Vera's lips curved into a mischievous smile, her eyes sparkling despite her exhaustion.

"Look," Aegon pointed at her expression, "she already has a plan in that demonic mind of hers."

"If you don't stop," Vera threatened with playful menace, "I'll hit you with a pillow again."

The Queen and Criston exchanged an amused look as they observed the children's banter.

Seeing the children settled, Queen Alicent finally allowed herself to relax. She stepped back into the corridor, beckoning Criston to follow. The knight moved silently, pulling the heavy door closed behind him with barely a sound.

"I'll remain here, Your Grace," he said quietly, taking his position beside the door. "No harm will come to them tonight."

Aegon propped himself up on one elbow, looking at Vera with newfound respect. "I would have said you couldn't move me, but after being dragged across the floor like that..." He shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "I've learned my lesson."

"Good for you," Vera replied with a satisfied smirk, her dark eyes dancing with amusement. She shifted closer to Aemond's side, making room as Helaena crawled under the covers to join them.

The bed creaked slightly under their combined weight. Though not particularly large, it accommodated the four of them comfortably enough. Aemond remained stubbornly upright, his back rigid against the headboard despite his obvious exhaustion.

With surprising gentleness, Aegon placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Lie down," he said, his voice softer than usual as he guided Aemond to rest his head on the pillow. "You need to sleep."

Aemond resisted momentarily before surrendering to his brother's insistence, allowing himself to be eased down onto the soft pillows. His silver-gold hair fanned out around his face, contrasting starkly with the white bandages covering his left eye.

"Don't get used to this," Aegon warned, though his tone lacked its usual edge. "I'm not making a habit of playing nursemaid."

The comment drew a soft laugh from Vera and even coaxed a faint smile from Aemond. Helaena giggled quietly, her eyes already beginning to droop with sleepiness.

The chamber grew quiet as Aegon's breathing gradually deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep. Helaena followed soon after, her delicate features relaxing as she drifted off, one arm stretching to rest lightly against Vera's back.

Aemond remained awake, his remaining eye fixed on the ceiling. The pain throbbed relentlessly beneath his bandages, but he refused to show any sign of weakness. Vera shifted beside him, her small form warm against his side as she adjusted her position, resting her head gently on his shoulder.

"You don't have to do all of this," Aemond whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet chamber. "Stay here, I mean."

Vera tilted her face up to look at him, her dark eyes serious in the dim firelight. "You're my best friend," she said softly, reaching for his hand and holding it firmly. "I won't let you push me away."

Aemond didn't respond with words. Instead, his fingers moved slowly, intertwining with hers in silent acknowledgment. The tension in his body gradually eased as exhaustion finally overcame his stubbornness. His eye drifted closed, his breathing becoming deeper and more regular as sleep claimed him at last.

Vera watched him for a moment longer before allowing her own eyes to close.

The first light of dawn filtered through the shutters when Ser Criston eased the chamber door open. He stepped aside, allowing Queen Alicent to enter first, followed by the King and Otto. They moved quietly across the stone floor.

They stopped not far from the door. The Queen smiled as she pressed her hands to her chest, her eyes softening at the sight before them. The children lay tangled together on the bed, their sleeping forms a tableau of unexpected tenderness. Aegon's arm curved protectively around his younger brother, while Vera's dark head rested against Aemond's silver one, their hands still clasped tightly between them. Even Helaena had shifted in her sleep, one slender arm draped over both Vera and Aemond in a protective embrace.

"It seems our prince will be alright," Otto observed quietly, his weathered face gentler than usual as he regarded his grandchildren.

The King nodded, a rare smile ghosting across his features. "He always is when Lady Vera is near," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the small dark-haired girl nestled among his children.

"Let them sleep a while longer," Queen Alicent whispered, her expression tender as she watched over the sleeping children. "They've earned their rest."

The three adults retreated silently from the doorway, leaving Ser Criston to resume his vigilant post. 

Chapter Text

Two weeks after their return to King's Landing, Vera sat cross-legged on Aemond's bed, watching as he practiced removing and replacing the black leather patch that now covered his empty eye socket. The wound had healed well, leaving a jagged scar that ran from his brow to his cheekbone.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked, leaning forward to study his face as he adjusted the patch.

Aemond shook his head, his silver-gold hair brushing against his shoulders with the movement. "Not anymore," he replied, his remaining eye meeting hers steadily. "And I've grown used to seeing with just one eye."

Vera nodded, relieved that the worst of his suffering had passed. Though he'd never admit it, she knew the first week after the attack had been excruciating for him—nights spent fighting fever and days filled with blinding headaches that left him pale and short-tempered.

"You look fierce with the patch," she offered with a small smile. "Like a warrior from the old stories."

A hint of a smirk tugged at Aemond's lips. "Is that so?"

"Definitely," Vera confirmed, her dark eyes sparkling. "Like Daemon the Rogue Prince, only less... murdery."

Aemond snorted at her description, a genuine laugh escaping him. "Murdery isn't a word, Ver."

"It is now," she insisted with mock seriousness. "I just made it one."

The sound of their laughter echoed off the stone walls of Aemond's chamber, a rare lightness in the somber atmosphere that had settled over the Red Keep since their return from Driftmark. As their amusement faded, Vera noticed Aemond's gaze drift toward the window, where the distant silhouette of Vhagar could be seen in the courtyard of the dragonpit.

"You want to go see her, don't you?" Vera asked, already knowing the answer.

Aemond nodded, his hand automatically adjusting the leather eyepatch Ser Cedric had gifted him. It fit perfectly against the contours of his face, the black leather stark against his pale skin and silver-gold hair.

"Come on then," Vera said, sliding off the bed and extending her hand. "I'll walk with you."

They made their way through the corridors of the Red Keep, Vera's arm linked firmly with Aemond's. She'd taken to guiding him this way since their return, helping him navigate until he fully adjusted to his altered depth perception. Though he insisted he didn't need the assistance anymore, he never pulled away from her touch.

Servants and courtiers alike stepped aside as they passed, their whispers following in the young pair's wake. Aemond's transformation since the incident had not gone unnoticed. The once proud but still approachable prince had grown noticeably colder, his remaining violet eye regarding most people with open suspicion or indifference.

Only with Vera did he still show glimpses of his former self. And with his mother, sister, Ser Criston, and Ser Cedric—though even they sometimes faced the wall he'd built around himself.

"Your father asked about you this morning," Vera mentioned carefully as they descended the steps toward the courtyard.

Aemond's jaw tightened visibly. "Did he? How unusual."

"He wanted to know how your training was progressing," she continued, ignoring his bitter tone.

"If he truly cared, he would ask me himself," Aemond replied flatly. "But he hasn't visited me once since we returned."

Vera squeezed his arm gently. "Perhaps he doesn't know what to say."

"Or perhaps he's too busy ensuring everyone forgets what really happened," Aemond muttered, his voice hardening. "Making sure no one dares speak the truth about his precious grandsons."

They emerged into the bright sunlight of the courtyard, the massive form of Vhagar visible across the open space. The ancient dragon raised her enormous head at their approach, steam rising from her nostrils as she recognized Aemond.

"She's waiting for you," Vera said, deliberately changing the subject.

Aemond's expression softened as he gazed at the dragon. "She always is."

For the next hour, Vera watched from a safe distance as Aemond bonded with Vhagar. The dragon seemed to understand the prince's wounded state, her usual ferocity tempered when in his presence. She lowered her massive head, allowing him to stroke the scales along her snout while he spoke to her in soft High Valyrian.

Later that afternoon, they made their way to the training yard where Ser Criston waited, practice swords in hand. Since their return, the Kingsguard knight had devoted more time to Aemond's training than Aegon's, understanding the younger prince's need to prove himself despite his injury.

"Ready, my Prince?" Ser Criston asked, tossing a wooden sword toward Aemond, who caught it deftly with his right hand.

Vera settled onto a nearby bench, pulling her knees to her chest as she prepared to watch. These sessions had become a daily ritual for them—Aemond training with single-minded determination while she observed, offering encouragement when frustration threatened to overwhelm him.

"Remember," Ser Criston instructed, circling Aemond slowly, "you must compensate for your blind side. Always keep moving, never let an opponent remain in the area you cannot see."

Aemond nodded, his stance shifting as he adjusted his position. The past two weeks had been challenging as he learned to fight with limited vision. Simple movements that had once been instinctive now required conscious thought and adaptation.

"Begin," Ser Criston commanded, lunging forward with a measured strike.

Aemond pivoted, bringing his practice sword up to block the attack. His movements were improving, though still lacking the fluid grace he'd possessed before. He overcompensated, leaving his right side exposed as he focused too much on protecting his blind left.

Ser Criston took advantage, tapping Aemond lightly on the ribs with his wooden sword. "Mind your right as well as your left, my Prince," he advised. "Your good eye doesn't mean that side is invulnerable."

Frustration flashed across Aemond's face, but he nodded grimly and reset his stance. The second attempt went better, his footwork more deliberate as he kept Ser Criston in view.

Vera leaned forward, her dark eyes never leaving Aemond's form as he worked through the drills. She winced when he missed an obvious feint, Ser Criston's practice sword slipping past his guard to tap his shoulder.

"Again," Aemond demanded, his voice tight with determination.

They continued for nearly two hours, far longer than their usual sessions. Sweat plastered Aemond's silver-gold hair to his forehead by the time Ser Criston called a halt to the training.

"Enough for today," the knight said, lowering his sword. "You've improved, my Prince."

Aemond's chest heaved with exertion as he nodded tersely, acknowledging the praise while clearly dissatisfied with his own performance.

Vera hopped down from the bench, approaching with a cloth and waterskin. "Here," she offered, handing them to Aemond. "You did well today."

"Not well enough," he muttered, though he accepted the items from her with a slight softening of his expression.

"Progress takes time," Ser Criston reminded him, wiping his own brow. "You cannot expect to master fighting with one eye in a fortnight."

Aemond's jaw tightened, but he nodded reluctantly. "Tomorrow we'll train longer," he declared, handing the empty waterskin back to Vera.

Ser Criston exchanged a glance with Vera, who gave a small nod of understanding. The Kingsguard knight bowed respectfully. "As you wish, my Prince. Same time tomorrow."

As Ser Criston departed, Vera linked her arm through Aemond's once more. "Come on," she said, tugging him gently toward the gardens. "You need fresh air that doesn't smell like sweat and leather."

"I should practice more," Aemond protested, though he allowed himself to be led away from the training yard.

"You've practiced enough for one day," Vera insisted, her tone brooking no argument. "Besides, I heard the winter roses are finally blooming."

The gardens were quiet at this hour, most courtiers having retreated indoors for afternoon refreshments. Vera guided Aemond along the winding paths, pointing out the various flowers in bloom despite his feigned disinterest. She had taken it upon herself to ensure he didn't spend all his time brooding in his chambers or with Vhagar, dragging him on these walks whenever she sensed his mood darkening too much.

Queen Alicent had expressed her gratitude to Vera privately, admitting that her own attempts to coax Aemond outdoors had been firmly rebuffed. "He listens to you," the Queen had said, her green eyes warm with affection. "When he won't listen to anyone else."

Each day, Vera arranged for Aemond's meals to be brought to his chambers where she would join him, ensuring he didn't retreat completely into solitude. She had started the practice after noticing his conspicuous absence from the family table that first evening back.

"I'm not hungry," he had insisted that first night when she appeared at his door with a tray.

"Then watch me eat," she had countered, pushing past him into his chambers with determined grace.

He'd given in eventually, as she knew he would. Now their shared meals had become a fixture in their daily routine, a private time when Aemond could speak freely without fear of judgment or pity.

They settled on a stone bench near the winter roses, their pale blue petals contrasting sharply with the dark foliage surrounding them. Aemond leaned back, tilting his face toward the weak winter sun. His silver-gold hair caught the light, creating the illusion of a halo around his severe features.

"Your father asked to see you this evening for dinner," Vera said quietly, watching his profile for a reaction.

The effect was immediate. Aemond's entire body tensed, his jaw clenching so tightly that a muscle jumped visibly beneath his skin. His remaining eye darkened with an emotion that Vera had become all too familiar with these past weeks—a cold, simmering rage that seemed to have taken permanent residence within him.

"I have no desire to see him," he replied, his voice flat and distant.

Vera sighed softly, twisting a loose thread from her sleeve between her fingers. "He is still the King. And your father."

"A king who demands apologies from the wounded," Aemond said bitterly. "A father who lets those who maimed his son walk free without consequence."

His hand drifted unconsciously to his eyepatch, fingers tracing the edge where leather met scarred skin. The wound had healed well enough, but the memory remained as fresh as the day it happened—the searing pain, the shock, the humiliation of being forced to apologize while blood still dripped from his ruined eye.

Vera reached out, gently taking his hand away from the eyepatch. "I know," she said softly. "It wasn't right. None of it was."

Aemond's gaze shifted to her, his violet eye studying her face with intensity. "You were the only one besides my mother who spoke for me that night," he said, his voice dropping to little more than a whisper. "Even when it meant defying the King himself."

Vera squeezed his hand, remembering her own boldness that night, the words that had tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. "I only spoke the truth. An apology wasn't enough for what you lost."

A distant look came over Aemond's face, his eye focused on something far beyond the garden walls. His thoughts turned inward, to a promise he had made to himself in the dark hours after the attack—a vow of vengeance that burned within him, sustaining him through the pain of recovery.

One day, he would be stronger. One day, when no one expected it, he would take from Lucerys what had been taken from him. An eye for an eye. The thought brought a cold comfort, a purpose that drove him forward through each grueling training session, each painful adjustment to his new reality.

"What are you thinking about?" Vera's soft voice broke through his dark reverie.

Aemond blinked, turning to find her watching him with concern etched across her features. She had shifted closer on the bench, her shoulder now touching his as she leaned in, searching his face.

"Nothing important," he lied, forcing his expression to neutrality.

Vera's dark eyes narrowed slightly, clearly unconvinced. "You know you can tell me anything," she said, her voice steady despite the worry in her gaze. "Even the things you think might frighten me."

A humorless smile curved Aemond's lips. "There are some thoughts best kept private, even from you."

"Especially from me?" she challenged, raising one eyebrow.

Aemond hesitated, studying her face—the determined set of her jaw, the unwavering loyalty in her eyes. In the aftermath of his injury, when others had recoiled from his rage or offered empty platitudes, Vera had remained steadfast. She had seen him at his weakest, his most vulnerable, in growing fearsome temper, and still she stayed.

She was always staying by him.

Seeing his hesitation, Vera decided to change the subject. "Would you like me to come with you to dinner tonight?" she asked softly, her voice gentle. "With your family, I mean."

Aemond's expression shifted, the hardness in his face easing slightly at her offer. After a moment's consideration, he nodded. "Yes," he said simply, the word carrying more weight than its brevity suggested.

Vera studied his face, her eyes drawn to the scar tissue visible around the edges of his eyepatch. Without thinking, she reached up, her fingers hovering uncertainly before gently touching the jagged line that ran from his brow to his cheekbone.

Aemond's breath caught, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his good eye drifted closed as her fingertips traced the path of the scar with feather-light pressure.

"Does it hurt again?" she asked in a whisper, her touch as gentle as her voice.

Aemond opened his eye, meeting her concerned gaze. Vera quickly withdrew her hand.

"No," he admitted, his voice low.

In truth, his scar did ache sometimes, a phantom pain that would flare unexpectedly. But it never hurt badly enough to warrant milk of the poppy. And there was something about Vera's soft touch along his scar that soothed him, brought a sense of calm he rarely felt these days. It reminded him of the times she would absently run her fingers through his hair while they read together, a gesture that had always relaxed him completely.

Vera let her fingers linger on his scar, tracing the path that would forever mark him as changed. Aemond remained perfectly still, allowing her touch when he would have recoiled from anyone else. The only other female he let touch his hair or even his face was his mother, yet there was something about Vera's gentle exploration that felt right.

Her touch was soft like Queen Alicent's, but different somehow—less maternal, more curious. Her fingertips moved from his scar to brush aside a strand of silver-gold hair that had fallen across his forehead.

Suddenly aware of his intense gaze, Vera withdrew her hand. "You're staring," she said quietly, a flush spreading across her cheeks.

Aemond looked down, the moment broken. "Sorry," he muttered, embarrassed to be caught studying her so openly.

Vera smiled a little and shook her head lightly. The awkwardness between them felt new and strange. She stood up and grabbed his arm gently. "Come. I want to show you something."

Aemond stood and slowly walked with her inside the castle. They moved through the corridors in comfortable silence, her hand still resting lightly on his arm. When they reached her family's chambers, she pushed the door open and led him inside.

"Your father isn't here?" Aemond asked, glancing around the empty room.

"No. He's on duty with the King," Vera replied. "Sit," she instructed, gesturing toward the couch.

Aemond sat down, watching curiously as she disappeared into her bedchamber. A moment later, she returned carrying a small wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. She sat beside him on the couch and carefully opened the lid.

"Your mother gifted this to me on my last name day," she explained, lifting out a delicate silver necklace with a sapphire pendant that caught the light filtering through the windows.

Aemond nodded, remembering the celebration. His mother had spared no expense for Vera's tenth name day, treating her almost as she would a daughter.

Vera reached into the box again and pulled out another sapphire stone, this one unset and slightly larger than the one in her necklace. "I want you to have this," she said, placing the gemstone in his palm.

Aemond studied the deep blue stone, turning it to catch the light. "Why?" he asked, genuinely puzzled by the gift.

"Because it matches your eye," she replied simply. "And because sapphires are said to protect travelers and bring strength to those who carry them." Her voice softened. "I thought you might need that now."

Aemond closed his fingers around the stone, feeling its cool weight against his skin. "Thank you," he said, the words inadequate for the emotion behind them.

"I had another thought," Vera continued, her dark eyes brightening with excitement. "What if we had it set into your empty socket? Master Toman, the jeweler who made my necklace, could shape it better."

Aemond considered this, imagining how it would look—the deep blue stone where his eye had once been. 

"It would suit you," Vera added when he remained silent.

Aemond's throat tightened at her words. Since the attack, he had felt diminished, regardless of how fiercely he fought against the feeling. But in Vera's eyes, he saw no pity, only admiration and a steadfast belief in his worth.

"I would like that," he said finally, his voice rougher than he intended.

Vera beamed at him, clearly pleased by his acceptance. "We can speak to Master Toman tomorrow, if you wish. He works quickly."

Aemond nodded, still holding the sapphire tightly in his palm. The stone had begun to warm from his touch, as though absorbing his body heat. "It's the same color as Vhagar's flames when they burn hottest," he observed, opening his hand to study the gem once more.

"Is it?" Vera asked, leaning closer to look at the stone. "I've never seen dragon fire that close."

"You will," Aemond promised, a hint of his old confidence returning to his voice. "When we're older, I'll take you flying on Vhagar."

Vera's eyes widened at the offer. "Truly?"

"Truly," he confirmed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. "You'll need to hold on tight, though. She flies faster than any other dragon alive."

"I'm not afraid," Vera declared, lifting her chin proudly.

Aemond's smile grew wider, more genuine than any she'd seen since before his injury. "No," he agreed, "you never are."

A comfortable silence fell between them as Aemond continued to study the sapphire, turning it this way and that to watch how it caught the light. Vera watched him, pleased to see the spark of interest in his eye that had been missing these past weeks.

"I should put this somewhere safe until we can see Master Toman," Aemond said finally, reluctantly closing his fingers around the stone once more.

Later that evening, Vera walked alongside Aemond toward the family dining room.

Now, as they approached the dining room, Aemond's steps slowed imperceptibly. His hand drifted up to touch the eyepatch, an unconscious gesture he'd developed since receiving his injury.

"Are you nervous?" Vera asked quietly, her dark eyes searching his face.

"No," Aemond replied, too quickly to be convincing.

Vera slipped her hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Remember, I'll be right beside you."

The familiar warmth of her small hand in his steadied him. He straightened his shoulders, his expression settling into the carefully neutral mask he'd perfected over the past weeks.

Several Kingsguard knights stood at attention along the corridor, their white cloaks pristine in the evening light.

Ser Cedric stood at attention near the high table, his northern features impassive though his eyes warmed slightly at the sight of Vera and Aemond.

Queen Alicent rose from her seat as they approached, her green gown rustling softly with the movement. Her face brightened with unmistakable joy at the sight of her son.

"Aemond," she said warmly, extending her hands toward him.

"Mother," Aemond replied, his voice noticeably gentler as he moved to stand beside her. Vera remained at his side, a quiet presence offering silent support.

The Queen's gaze shifted to Vera, a smile of genuine affection spreading across her features. "You look beautiful, dear," she said, reaching out to touch the girl's cheek lightly.

Otto Hightower sat nearby, observing the scene with keen eyes. Aegon and Helaena were already seated, the former looking bored while the latter seemed distracted, her gaze fixed on something invisible to everyone else.

Queen Alicent's attention suddenly shifted toward the doors, her expression changing subtly. Vera turned to see King Viserys entering the hall, leaning heavily on his ornate cane. The King paused briefly when he caught sight of Aemond, something like relief flickering across his tired features.

"Aemond," the King said, his voice carrying a note of genuine pleasure.

"Your Grace," Aemond replied, his tone noticeably cooler than when he had greeted his mother. The formality of the address was not lost on anyone present.

An awkward silence threatened to descend before the King gestured toward the table. "Please, sit," he said, including Otto, the Queen, and the children in the invitation. "The meal is ready to be served."

Vera took her place beside Aemond, with Queen Alicent on his other side. The table was laden with silver platters and crystal goblets that caught the light from the candelabras overhead.

For a while, the only sounds were the clink of silverware against plates and the occasional murmur as dishes were passed. Vera noticed Aemond barely touched his food, his attention focused on cutting his meat into increasingly smaller pieces rather than actually eating it.

Eventually, the King cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "How are you feeling, Aemond?" he asked, his voice carrying genuine concern despite its formality.

Aemond glanced up briefly, his eye flicking from his father to his barely-touched plate. "Better," he said simply, the word clipped and final.

The King nodded slightly, accepting the minimal response. "Ser Criston tells me your swordsmanship is improving rapidly," he continued, clearly attempting to maintain the conversation. "He says you've adapted well to your... changed circumstances."

Vera felt Aemond tense beside her. Under the table, she discreetly placed her hand on his knee, a silent reminder of her presence.

"And your dragon?" the King pressed when Aemond remained silent. "Have you made time for Vhagar?"

"Yes," Aemond replied, offering nothing more.

Vera's fingers tightened slightly on his knee, silently encouraging him to elaborate. After a moment's hesitation, Aemond seemed to relent.

"I've been visiting her daily," he added, his voice marginally less cold. "She's adjusting well to King's Landing."

The King's face brightened at this slight thaw. "Excellent," he said, reaching for his wine goblet. "Perhaps one day soon, you might demonstrate your bond with her.

Aemond's jaw clenched slightly at the King's words, but he gave a curt nod. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Aegon, who had been pushing food around his plate with evident boredom, suddenly looked up. His brow furrowed as though a thought had just occurred to him.

"Father," he said, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere, "is it true what people are saying? That Rhaenyra has married Uncle Daemon?"

The King's hand froze midway to his goblet. He looked at his eldest son, then quickly averted his gaze with a heavy sigh. "Yes," he admitted reluctantly. "They were wed."

Queen Alicent shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. "Right after Ser Laenor died," she added pointedly. "The body was barely cold."

Aegon's eyes widened. "I heard whispers that Daemon and Rhaenyra arranged his death," he said, leaning forward with unusual interest. "That they killed him."

"That is not true," the King said sharply, his knuckles whitening around his goblet.

Aegon coughed into his fist, his expression skeptical. "How can you be so certain? Everyone knows what Uncle Daemon is capable of."

"They are merely rumors, Aegon," the King insisted, his voice strained. "Nothing more."

Aemond, who had remained silent during this exchange, looked up from his plate. His single violet eye fixed on his father with cold intensity.

"Don't you find it strange, Father," he asked, his voice carrying an edge of ice, "that Ser Laenor conveniently died, and now Rhaenyra is free to marry our uncle?" He returned his gaze to his plate, stabbing a piece of meat with unnecessary force. "I wonder how exactly Ser Laenor found himself in that fire."

"There was a fight between him and another man," the King replied firmly. "It had nothing to do with Rhaenyra or Daemon."

"Of course not," Aemond muttered, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

"Aemond," the King warned, his voice sharpening dangerously.

Helaena, who had been silent throughout the meal, suddenly spoke in a dreamy, distant voice. "The blue eye dragon will rise to the top, the green sun will rise with him."

Her words went unnoticed as tension crackled between the King and his son. Every eye at the table was fixed on the standoff, the air heavy with unspoken accusations.

Aemond turned his full glare toward his father, his face a mask of barely contained contempt. Beneath the table, Vera slipped her hand into his, squeezing gently. She felt the rigidity in his fingers gradually ease as he returned the pressure, drawing strength from her touch.

Vera watched the growing tension between father and son, her heart pounding in her chest. She had seen this pattern before—Aemond's cold fury met with the King's dismissal, each exchange driving them further apart. The unfairness of it all suddenly overwhelmed her.

"I am sorry, my King, but I don't think it is fair."

Everyone at the table turned to her in shock. Ser Cedric and the other Kingsguard knights stationed at the corners of the room glanced over, their expressions carefully neutral though their eyes betrayed interest. Vera kept her gaze fixed on the King, refusing to be intimidated despite the sudden attention.

"What isn't fair, child?" King Viserys asked, his brow furrowing in genuine curiosity.

Ser Criston entered the room then, having heard his daughter's voice raised to the King. He moved quickly to stand beside Ser Cedric, his face tight with worry.

Vera took a deep breath, steadying herself. "You claim you don't have a favorite child, Your Grace, but you do. It's Princess Rhaenyra." Her voice grew stronger as she continued, "In case you've forgotten, you have three sons and another daughter with Queen Alicent."

Criston's eyes darted anxiously to the King, but Viserys remained surprisingly calm, regarding Vera with an expression of thoughtful consideration rather than anger.

The knights exchanged subtle glances across the corners of the room, their eyes reflecting agreement with their 'niece' though none dared speak.

"Your son was bullied by Rhaenyra's boys," Vera continued, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "They mocked Prince Aemond for not having a dragon, and you did nothing to stop it. When he finally claimed Vhagar, they attacked him--four against one--and Prince Lucerys took his eye with a knife."

The King's face darkened, but Vera pressed on, unable to contain the words that had been building inside her for weeks.

"Even then, you did nothing to punish them. You only acted when they were called bastards--when words were spoken against your grandsons." Her dark eyes flashed with indignation. "You demanded Aemond apologize while his face was still bleeding."

The room fell deadly silent. Every breath, every heartbeat seemed magnified in the stillness that followed her words. Queen Alicent stared at Vera with wide eyes, surprise evident in her expression though it quickly softened to something like pride. She should have expected this fierce loyalty by now, yet the girl's boldness still astonished her.

Otto watched the scene unfold with keen interest, a subtle nod of approval barely perceptible as he observed the young girl standing her ground before the King.

Aegon raised his goblet to his lips, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched his father's stunned expression from behind his hand.

"Your real concern should have been for your son," Vera said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper that somehow carried throughout the silent room. "He was the one who was permanently injured. If it had been Prince Lucerys who lost an eye to Aemond, would you have been so quick to forgive? Or would you have punished him immediately?"

King Viserys sat utterly still, his face a mask of shock that slowly transformed into something more complex—a mixture of guilt, anger, and realization. His gaze shifted to Aemond, truly seeing the eyepatch and what it represented perhaps for the first time.

Criston took a step forward, fear for his daughter evident in his stance. "Your Grace, I apologize for--"

"No," the King interrupted, raising a hand to silence him. "Let the girl speak. She clearly has more to say."

Vera swallowed hard, surprised by the King's response. She had expected rage, perhaps even punishment for her outburst. The calm consideration in his eyes was almost more unnerving.

"I have nothing more to say, Your Grace," she replied softly. "Except that Prince Aemond deserves better from his father."

The King's fingers tightened around his goblet, knuckles whitening with the pressure. After what seemed an eternity, he released a long, shuddering breath.

"You speak boldly for one so young," he said finally, his voice carrying no anger, only a deep weariness. "And perhaps... perhaps there is truth in your words."

Queen Alicent's eyes widened slightly at this unexpected concession. She glanced at Otto, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of satisfaction.

"I have tried to be fair," the King continued, his gaze moving from Vera to Aemond. "To balance the needs of all my children. But perhaps in that effort, I have failed to see what was before me."

Aemond remained silent, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts. His hand, however, tightened around Vera's beneath the table, the pressure almost painful in its intensity.

"I cannot undo what has been done," King Viserys said, addressing Aemond directly now. "Your eye is lost, and for that, I am truly sorry."

Aemond looked at him, his face a mask of indifference despite the King's apology. "May I be excused?" he asked, his voice carrying a chill that seemed to lower the temperature of the entire room.

The King hesitated, pain flickering across his features as he studied his son's closed expression. After a moment that stretched uncomfortably, he nodded once.

Without another word, Aemond stood, releasing Vera's hand beneath the table. He walked with measured steps around the table, his back straight and shoulders squared, refusing to show any weakness as he departed.

Queen Alicent watched him go, her green eyes filled with concern. She turned to Vera, giving her a slight nod of permission.

"Your Grace," Vera said softly, addressing the King, "may I also be excused?"

King Viserys nodded, his expression weary as he gestured toward the door.

As Vera rose from her seat, Helaena's dreamy voice drifted across the table, barely audible. "Two dragons fighting for the sun," she murmured, her gaze fixed on something no one else could see.

Vera hurried from the dining room, her footsteps quickening as she made her way through the corridors toward Aemond's chambers. When she reached his door, she knocked softly before entering, closing the heavy oak panel behind her.

The room was warm and golden with candlelight, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Aemond stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the darkening sky beyond. At the sound of the door closing, he turned, his single violet eye finding her in the dimness.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said harshly, his voice cutting through the silence. "The King could have punished you."

Vera moved further into the room, undeterred by his tone. "I've been through worse," she replied with a casual shrug.

"No, you haven't," Aemond countered, his brow furrowing.

A teasing smile spread across Vera's face as she approached him. "Yes, I have. I've faced one of your moods before." She tilted her head, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "That's scarier than any king."

Despite himself, Aemond's lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. "Very funny," he muttered, turning back toward the window.

Vera joined him there, their shoulders nearly touching as they gazed out at the night sky. The first stars had begun to appear, pinpricks of light against the deepening blue.

"I meant what I said," she told him quietly. "It wasn't fair what happened to you."

Aemond's jaw tightened. "My father's apology changes nothing."

"I know," Vera agreed, her voice soft in the candlelit chamber. "But at least he acknowledged it. It's a start."

Aemond scoffed, his breath fogging the glass slightly. "A start?" he echoed bitterly. "After all this time?" He shook his head, silver-gold hair catching the light with the movement. "It's too late for that."

Vera studied his profile, noting the hardness that had settled into his features since Driftmark—the way his mouth seemed permanently set in a grim line, the wariness that never fully left his eye. The boy she had grown up with was still there, but he was changing, hardening like steel forged in fire.

"It's never too late to try," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Aemond turned to her then, his expression softening slightly. "You don't believe that any more than I do," he observed. "Not really."

Vera sighed, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window. "Perhaps not," she admitted. "But I wish things could be different. I wish..."

"What?" Aemond prompted when she trailed off.

"I wish you didn't have to hurt so much," she whispered, her breath creating another small cloud on the glass.

Aemond was silent for a long moment, his gaze returning to the night sky. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its edge, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable.

"It doesn't hurt as much when you're here," he said, the words so soft she almost missed them.

Vera looked up at him, surprised by the admission. Their eyes met in the reflection of the window, and something unspoken passed between them—a current of understanding that needed no words.

"Then I'll stay," she promised, her hand finding his in the shadows between them. "For as long as you need me."

Aemond's fingers closed around hers, warm and solid in the dimness. "And if I always need you?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

"Then I'll always stay," Vera replied without hesitation.

Chapter Text

"Your footwork is improving," Aemond remarked as he circled Vera in the training yard. "But you're still telegraphing your strikes."

Vera adjusted her grip on the practice sword, sweat dampening her dark hair despite the cool spring air. At sixteen, she had grown into a graceful young woman, though she still had to tilt her head back to meet Aemond's gaze.

"Am I?" she asked, feigning innocence before lunging forward with surprising speed.

Aemond sidestepped her attack with practiced ease, his own blade tapping her lightly on the shoulder. "Yes," he confirmed with a smirk, "you are."

Ser Criston watched from the edge of the yard, arms crossed over his chest as he observed their sparring match. Over the years, he had trained Aemond relentlessly, helping the prince overcome the disadvantage of his lost eye until it was barely noticeable in combat. In Vera's estimation, Aemond had become one of the finest swordsmen in the realm, rivaling even her father and Ser Cedric in skill and ferocity.

"Don't let him get in your head, Ver," her father called, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "His pride makes him vulnerable."

Aemond shot the knight a mock glare. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side, Ser Criston."

"I'm on the side of proper technique," Criston replied with a grin. "And my daughter needs all the help she can get against you."

Vera narrowed her eyes at this assessment, determined to prove them both wrong. She feinted left before spinning to the right, her practice sword whistling through the air. Aemond blocked her just in time, genuine surprise flickering across his face at the speed of her attack.

"Better," he acknowledged, pressing forward with a series of quick strikes that forced her to retreat across the yard.

Vera parried each blow, her movements growing more fluid as she found her rhythm. Three years of regular training had made her surprisingly proficient with a blade, though she still couldn't match Aemond's raw strength and reach.

Their practice swords clacked together in a rapid exchange that drew appreciative nods from the Kingsguard knights watching nearby. When Aemond finally disarmed her with a particularly clever maneuver, Vera conceded defeat with a rueful smile.

"One day I'll beat you," she promised, accepting the waterskin he offered.

"Perhaps," Aemond replied, his violet eye gleaming with amusement. "But not today."

As they walked toward the edge of the yard, Vera caught sight of her father speaking with Ser Cedric, their heads bent close together in serious conversation. When they approached, both knights straightened, exchanging a glance that made Vera immediately suspicious.

"What is it?" she asked, wiping sweat from her brow with her sleeve.

Criston hesitated, his expression uncharacteristically uncertain. "A raven arrived from home this morning," he said finally. "My father is ill."

Vera's heart sank. Though she had only met her grandfather once, at the age of thirteen, the memory of that tense, uncomfortable visit remained vivid in her mind. She had been so excited to finally meet her father's family, only to discover the reason Criston had never taken her to his ancestral home.

Eddard Cole, stern-faced and unyielding, had barely acknowledged her presence, treating her as though she were invisible rather than his son's daughter. It wasn't until later, when she'd overheard a heated argument between her father and grandfather, that she understood the truth.

"I don't want your orphan in my home," Eddard had spat, unaware that Vera stood just outside the door. "Or worse, some man's bastard that you've taken pity on."

"She is my daughter," Criston had replied, his voice tight with controlled fury. "In every way that matters."

"Not by blood," Eddard had countered. "And that's all that counts in this world."

That had been the last time Criston spoke to his father. He had chosen Vera over his own blood, raising her as his own at the Red Keep without a backward glance. Though she had been devastated to learn the truth about her origins—that she wasn't truly born a Cole—her father's unwavering love had been a balm to that wound.

Now, looking at Criston's troubled face, Vera felt a pang of guilt. He had sacrificed his relationship with his father for her sake, and she couldn't help wondering if he regretted that choice.

"How ill?" she asked quietly.

"Gravely," Criston replied, his voice carefully neutral. "He has asked to see me before..." He trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

"You should go to him," Vera said firmly, pushing aside her own complicated feelings about the man who had rejected her. "I'll be fine here."

Criston studied her face, his dark eyes searching for any sign of distress. "Are you certain? I wouldn't leave you if--"

"Father," Vera interrupted gently, "he's your father. Whatever has passed between you, you should be with him now."

Criston nodded lightly. "You're right. I'll head out tomorrow morning." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I shouldn't be gone more than a few days--a week at most."

"Take whatever time you need," Vera insisted, squeezing his hand. "I have plenty to keep me occupied here."

Aemond stepped forward, his posture straightening as he addressed Ser Criston. "I'll watch over her while you're away," he promised, his voice carrying the weight of a solemn oath.

Criston's eyes moved between the two of them, a flicker of amusement crossing his face despite his concern. "I'm sure you will, my Prince," he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Though I suspect she'll be watching over you just as much."

When evening fell, Vera returned to her own chambers after dining with Queen Alicent and her children.

The soft glow of candlelight welcomed her, casting golden shadows across the familiar space. Her gaze immediately fell on her bed, where a single red rose lay atop her pillow.

A smile bloomed across her face as she crossed the room and gently lifted the flower. Its velvety petals brushed against her fingertips, the deep crimson hue rich and vibrant in the candlelight. She brought it to her nose, inhaling its sweet fragrance.

For three years now, she had found a rose waiting for her almost every evening—each a different color, each carrying a meaning that both she and Aemond knew.

It had begun innocently enough, a single white rose left in her chambers after she admitted she found out that she is not her father's birth child. When she'd questioned him about it, Aemond had merely shrugged, his face betraying nothing.

"You said white roses symbolize new beginnings," he'd reminded her. "I thought you might need that after today."

The memory made her smile as she twirled today's red rose between her fingers. Red for passion, for love. She wondered if Aemond truly understood the significance of the colors he chose, or if he simply selected whatever caught his eye in the royal gardens.

The hour grew later, the castle gradually settling into its nighttime rhythms as servants extinguished torches and guards changed their posts. Vera prepared for bed, shedding her day clothes and slipping into a simple nightgown of pale blue silk—a gift from Helaena on her last name day.

After washing her face in the basin of cool water left by her maid, she sat at her dressing table and began brushing her long dark hair.

As she brushed her hair, a faint rustling sound came from behind the large tapestry depicting the Dance of Dragons that adorned her wall. Vera paused mid-stroke, a small smile playing on her lips. The noise grew more distinct—the scrape of stone against stone, followed by careful footsteps.

"You're not as quiet as you think you are," she called softly, setting down her brush and turning toward the tapestry.

The heavy fabric shifted as a figure pushed it aside. Aemond emerged from the hidden passage, ducking slightly to clear the low entrance. In the candlelight, his silver-gold hair seemed almost luminous against his black doublet.

"You should lock your door," he said without preamble, letting the tapestry fall back into place behind him. His expression was tighter than usual, a muscle working in his jaw.

Vera tilted her head, studying him. "What's wrong?"

Aemond crossed the room in a few long strides, his movements betraying the tension coiled within him. "I saw how my brother was looking at you during dinner," he said, his voice low and clipped. "It was... inappropriate."

"Aegon?" Vera asked, though she knew perfectly well whom he meant. She had noticed Aegon's lingering glances throughout the meal, his eyes following her whenever she moved. "He was just being Aegon."

"He's married to Helaena," Aemond reminded her, as though she might have forgotten. "And father to twins. Yet he watches you like--" He cut himself off, his hand clenching into a fist at his side.

Vera stood from her dressing table, turning to face him fully. The silk of her nightgown whispered around her legs as she moved. "Are you jealous, Prince Aemond?" she asked, a teasing lilt entering her voice.

His eye narrowed slightly. "I'm concerned," he corrected stiffly. "Lock your door from now on."

Vera crossed her arms, a challenge sparking in her dark eyes. "I'll consider it," she said with deliberate slowness, "if you take off that eyepatch."

Aemond's brow furrowed. "What?"

"You heard me," she replied, stepping closer to him. "I'm tired of you hiding behind it when we're alone."

They stood facing each other, neither willing to yield. Finally, Aemond exhaled sharply and reached up, his fingers working at the leather strap that secured the patch. He pulled it away, revealing the sapphire embedded where his left eye had once been. The deep blue stone caught the candlelight, seeming to glow from within.

The candlelight flickered across his scarred face as Vera's eyes traced the jagged line that ran from his brow to his cheekbone. Without hesitation, she reached up, her fingertips gently touching the raised tissue. The scar felt smooth beneath her touch, a permanent reminder of that terrible night at Driftmark.

"You shouldn't hide it," she whispered, her dark eyes meeting his violet one. "The stone suits you."

Aemond remained still under her touch, his gaze dropping to take in the pale blue silk of her nightgown, the low neckline revealing more than she typically showed in the light of day. Something shifted in his expression—a darkening of his eye, a tightening of his jaw. Without warning, his hands moved to grasp her upper arms, pulling her body firmly against his.

Vera's breath caught in her throat, but she didn't resist. This gesture had become familiar in their private moments, and she couldn't deny the thrill that ran through her at his touch. Her hands instinctively came to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath her palm.

"Keep your door locked," Aemond murmured, his face inches from hers, his breath warm against her lips. "Promise me."

"I promise," she whispered, unable to look away from the intensity in his gaze.

For a moment, they stood frozen in that embrace, the air between them charged with unspoken feelings. Vera could feel the heat of his body through the thin silk of her nightgown, his grip on her arms firm but careful, as though she were something precious he feared might break.

"Your father leaves tomorrow," Aemond said, his voice lower now, rougher. "I meant what I said about watching over you."

Vera smiled, tilting her head slightly. "And who will watch over you, my prince?"

His lips curved into a rare smile, transforming his severe features into something softer, more vulnerable. "You always have," he admitted. "Even when I didn't deserve it."

Slowly, reluctantly, Aemond released his hold on her arms, though he didn't step away. His hand moved to her face, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear with gentleness that only Vera get to see and experience.

"I should go," he said, though he made no move toward the hidden passage.

Vera nodded lightly. "You should go," she agreed, though her eyes betrayed her reluctance.

Aemond studied her face one last time, his gaze lingering on her lips before he stepped back with visible effort. "Good night, Vera," he said, his voice husky in the candlelit chamber.

"Good night, Aemond," she replied softly.

With obvious reluctance, he turned and made his way back to the hidden passage, disappearing behind the tapestry with one final glance over his shoulder. The sound of stone scraping against stone signaled his departure.

Vera stood motionless for several heartbeats, staring at the place where he had vanished. Then, remembering her promise, she crossed the room to her door and turned the heavy iron key in the lock, hearing the mechanism click into place.

She returned to her bed, lifting the red rose to her nose once more before placing it carefully on her nightstand. Sleep came slowly that night, her thoughts filled with violet eyes and the memory of Aemond's hands on her arms.

Dawn broke with a pale golden light filtering through her shutters. Vera rose early, selecting a simple but elegant blue dress from her wardrobe. Lyla arrived to help with her hair, weaving the dark strands into an intricate style that suited the somber occasion of her father's departure.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Lyla said, stepping back to admire her work. "Though I daresay a certain prince would think so no matter what you wore."

Vera felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I don't know what you mean."

Lyla's knowing smile only deepened Vera's blush. "Of course not, my lady," she replied, her tone making it clear she believed otherwise.

The courtyard was already bustling with activity when Vera arrived. Three horses stood saddled and ready, their breath visible in the cool morning air. Ser Criston was speaking with Ser Cedric and Ser Harrold, their white cloaks gleaming in the early light.

Criston turned as she approached, his face brightening at the sight of her. "There you are," he said, opening his arms.

Vera stepped into his embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and steel that had always meant safety to her. "I'll miss you," she murmured against his chest.

"And I you," he replied, pulling back to look at her face. "It won't be long, I promise."

She nodded, forcing a smile despite the worry gnawing at her stomach. "Return safely soon," she said, straightening the clasp of his cloak with gentle fingers.

Criston nodded, his dark eyes warm with affection. "I will."

Vera hesitated, then asked quietly, "Did the Queen say anything to you? About... while you're away?"

"The same as you," Criston assured her with a small smile. "And she promised that you will be safe. I know the Kingsguard will watch over you in my absence."

The moment was interrupted by hurried footsteps. They turned to see Lyla approaching, a woven basket in her hands.

"Ser Criston," the maid called, slightly breathless from her rush across the courtyard. "The kitchen packed food for your journey at the Queen's request." She extended the basket, which emitted enticing aromas of freshly baked bread and spiced meats.

"Thank you, Lyla," Criston said warmly, accepting the basket with a grateful nod. He had always appreciated the maid's kindness toward Vera, recognizing the friendship that had developed between the two young women.

With final preparations complete, Criston mounted his horse, the animal shifting beneath him with eager energy. His two companions—Ser Martyn Bulwer and Ser Bryce Yronwood—were already astride their own mounts, ready to begin the journey.

Vera stepped back, watching as her father adjusted his position in the saddle. He looked down at her one last time, his expression softening with affection.

"Be good," he said, the familiar farewell making her smile despite the circumstances.

"I always am," she replied with mock innocence.

Criston's laugh was the last thing she heard clearly as he turned his horse and rode toward the gate, his companions falling in beside him. Vera and Lyla stood side by side, watching until the three riders disappeared from view.

"He'll be back before you know it, my lady," Lyla said softly, placing a comforting hand on Vera's arm.

Vera nodded, blinking back the unexpected moisture in her eyes. "I know."

They turned to walk back toward the keep, the morning sun now fully risen above the walls of the Red Keep. Lyla leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

"Prince Aemond asked me to tell you he'll meet you at the library before breakfast," she said, a hint of excitement coloring her tone.

Vera felt a flutter in her chest at the news. "Thank you, Lyla," she replied softly, her mind already racing ahead to the meeting.

The Red Keep's corridors were quieter than usual at this early hour. As Vera and Lyla made their way toward the library, their footsteps echoed softly against the stone walls. Vera glanced around, taking comfort in the familiar figures stationed along their path.

Ser Cedric stood at attention near the entrance to the royal apartments, his northern face softening into a brief smile as they passed. Further along, Ser Steffon Darklyn nodded respectfully, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. These men had been fixtures in her life since she was a babe, watching her grow from a curious little girl into the young woman she had become.

"Your uncles are keeping a close eye today," Lyla remarked quietly, noting how Vera had registered each guard's presence.

Vera nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude for these men who had always treated her with kindness and protection. With her father gone, their presence felt especially reassuring.

"The Queen likely instructed them to be vigilant," she replied.

As they turned down a less frequented corridor, away from the busier sections of the keep, Lyla slowed her steps.

"I should return to your chambers and prepare your things for the day," she said, glancing toward the library entrance ahead. "Will you be alright on your own from here?"

"Of course," Vera assured her with a warm smile. "Thank you, Lyla."

The maid gave a small curtsy before turning back the way they had come, her skirts swishing softly against the stone floor. Vera watched her go for a moment before pushing open the heavy wooden door of the library.

The familiar scent of parchment, leather, and dust greeted her as she entered the cavernous room. Morning light streamed through the high windows, illuminating dancing motes of dust in golden beams. At this hour, the library stood empty—just as she had expected.

Her footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet as she made her way between towering shelves toward their special place. The alcove by the eastern windows had been their meeting spot since childhood, a quiet corner tucked away from prying eyes where they could read, talk, or simply sit in comfortable silence together.

The cushioned window seat awaited her, bathed in warm sunlight. Vera settled onto it, smoothing her blue skirts as she gazed out at the spectacular view of Blackwater Bay. Ships dotted the horizon, their sails catching the morning light as they made their way to and from the bustling harbor below.

She didn't have to wait long. The soft sound of approaching footsteps made her turn, a smile already forming on her lips as Aemond appeared from between the shelves. He wore riding clothes of black leather, his silver-gold hair pulled back from his face, revealing the black leather eyepatch.

"You're early," he remarked, his voice carrying that particular softness he reserved only for her.

"So are you," she countered, making room for him on the window seat.

Aemond joined her, his tall frame dwarfing the space as he settled beside her. For a moment, neither spoke, content to simply exist in each other's presence while the morning light warmed them through the leaded glass.

"I saw your father leave," Aemond said finally, breaking the comfortable silence. "He rode with Ser Martyn and Ser Bryce."

Vera nodded, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the cushioned seat between them. "Good men, both of them."

"The best the Kingsguard has to offer," Aemond agreed. "After your father and Ser Cedric, of course."

A small smile tugged at Vera's lips, grateful for his subtle reassurance. Vera's expression sobered at the reminder of her grandfather's illness. Though she had no love for the man who had rejected her, she understood the importance of this journey for her father.

Aemond noticed her expression and leaned closer, his violet eye studying her face. "Are you thinking of him? That miserable old man who calls himself your father's father?"

Vera's eyes flashed with momentary hurt. "Don't call him that," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Even if he isn't truly my grandfather... he's still Father's blood."

"Anyone who fails to see your worth is a foolish bastard to me," Aemond stated flatly, no hint of humor in his voice. His hand found hers on the cushion between them, his fingers curling around hers with protective intensity. "Blood or not."

His jaw tightened as memories surfaced—Vera at thirteen, returning from Blackhaven with tear-stained cheeks and wounded eyes. He remembered how she had sought him out in the godswood after overhearing that terrible argument between Criston and Eddard Cole. How she had collapsed against him, her small body shaking with sobs as she whispered the truth she had discovered—that she wasn't truly a Cole, that her origins remained a mystery even to her father.

"I never told you," he said quietly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand, "but I wanted to take Vhagar to Blackhaven that day. To show him what happens to those who hurt my best friend."

A small smile touched Vera's lips despite the painful memory. "That would have been... excessive."

"Perhaps," Aemond conceded, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "But effective."

The white rose he'd left in her chamber that night had been a desperate attempt to bring her comfort—something beautiful to counteract the ugliness of the day's revelations. He'd known little of flower meanings then, only that white seemed pure and hopeful. The way her face had brightened when she found it had been worth the thorns that had pricked his fingers during his clumsy attempt to cut it from the garden.

"Do you remember what you told me that night?" Vera asked, her dark eyes lifting to meet his. "After you left the rose?"

Aemond nodded slowly. "I told you that family isn't always blood," he recalled, his voice lower now. "That sometimes it's the people who stay when they have every reason to leave."

"Words I've never forgotten," she said softly. "You helped me more than you know."

He shrugged, uncomfortable with her gratitude even after all these years. "I only spoke the truth."

Vera studied his face, noting the tension that still lingered in his jaw. "You're still angry about it," she observed. "After all this time."

"Of course I am," Aemond replied without hesitation. "He hurt you. Some offenses can't be forgiven."

The intensity in his voice sent a shiver down Vera's spine—a reminder of the fierce, uncompromising loyalty that defined him. For all his hardness toward others, Aemond had always shown her a gentleness that few would believe possible from the fearsome Prince of the Sapphire Eye.

"Sometimes I wonder," she said hesitantly, "about who my real parents might have been."

Aemond's expression darkened. "Ser Criston is your real father," he said firmly. "Blood means nothing compared to what he's given you."

"I know," Vera assured him quickly. "I don't doubt that for a moment. But still, I wonder sometimes... where I came from. Who I might have been."

"You would still be you," Aemond said with certainty. "Stubborn, loyal, and far too kind for your own good." His eye softened as he looked at her. "Nothing could change who you are at your core, Vera."

Vera smiled lightly, touched by his unwavering faith in her. "You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better," she said, reaching up to brush a strand of silver-gold hair from his face.

His expression softened further at her touch. "Only with you," he admitted quietly.

The library door creaked open in the distance, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps. Aemond straightened immediately, his posture shifting back to the rigid formality he maintained around others.

"Grand Maester Orwyle," he muttered under his breath, recognizing the distinctive gait.

Vera sighed softly, reluctant to end their private moment. "We should go to breakfast," she suggested, rising from the window seat.

Aemond stood as well, towering over her as he offered his arm. "Mother asked specifically that you join us this morning," he said as they made their way through the shelves. "She wants to ensure you're not lonely with your father away."

Vera smiled softly at the Queen's thoughtfulness. "Her Grace is too kind," she said, warmth filling her chest at the consideration. "Though I'm hardly a stranger to your family table."

"Half your meals are with us anyway when your father stands guard," Aemond noted, his arm still linked with hers as they exited the library.

They walked through the corridors toward the royal apartments, nodding to the guards they passed. Aemond led her not to the formal dining hall but toward the Queen's private chambers, where the family often broke their fast in more intimate settings.

Ser Erryk Cargyll stood at attention outside the Queen's door, his white armor gleaming in the morning light. He bowed slightly as they approached, his solemn face warming with a small smile for Vera.

"Good morning, my Prince, Lady Vera," he said, pushing open the heavy oak door to admit them.

The Queen's solar was awash in golden morning light, the large windows overlooking the bay thrown open to catch the spring breeze. Queen Alicent sat at the round table, already dressed in a gown of deep emerald that complemented her eyes. Helaena was beside her, absently stirring honey into her tea while watching something invisible move across the tablecloth.

"Vera, darling," Queen Alicent called, extending her hand in welcome. "Come, sit with us."

Vera curtseyed gracefully before taking the offered seat beside the Queen. Aemond moved to the opposite side, pouring himself a cup of watered wine as he settled into his chair.

Glancing around the table, Vera noticed the conspicuous absence of the eldest prince. Her lips curved into a mischievous smile as she reached for a slice of bread.

"Is Aegon still sleeping?" she asked, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "Shall I go wake him as usual? I've perfected the technique over the past six years."

Helaena looked up from her tea, a rare smile lighting her dreamy features. "The last time you did that, he threatened to have you thrown in the dungeons," she recalled, her voice carrying its characteristic ethereal quality.

"An empty threat," Aemond scoffed, selecting a pear from the fruit bowl. "He's too afraid of what Mother and Grandsire would do to him if he tried."

Queen Alicent sighed, though a smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Let him sleep this morning," she said, reaching to pat Vera's hand affectionately. "It will be much more pleasant without his complaining, don't you think?"

"As you wish, Your Grace," Vera replied, though she couldn't help adding, "though I had a new method I was eager to try. Involving cold water and possibly a live frog."

Aemond nearly choked on his wine, his eye widening with surprised delight. "Where would you even get a frog at this hour?"

"I have my sources," Vera replied mysteriously, spreading honey on her bread with deliberate care.

Queen Alicent shook her head fondly, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. "I see you remain full of mischief no matter how the years pass, child."

"It keeps life interesting, Your Grace," Vera replied with an innocent smile.

"Perhaps," the Queen agreed, "but I must insist you refrain from gifting my eldest son any more spiders or snakes. The last incident with that garden snake nearly caused poor Ser Arryk to draw his sword in the royal chambers."

Vera's expression turned thoughtful as she took a delicate bite of her honeyed bread. "I'm afraid I can't make such promises, Your Grace," she admitted after a moment. "Some opportunities are simply too perfect to ignore."

Queen Alicent laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine in the sunlit chamber. Across the table, Aemond's lips curved into a knowing smirk, his violet eye gleaming with appreciation for Vera's unrepentant spirit.

"You encourage her too much, Mother," he remarked, though his tone held no reproach.

"Perhaps I do," the Queen conceded, reaching for her tea. "But her pranks keep Aegon on his toes, which might be the only exercise he gets some days."

Helaena looked up suddenly, her dreamy gaze focusing on Vera with unusual clarity. "The next time," she said, her voice soft but certain, "try a lizard."

Aemond and Vera exchanged a look of delighted conspiracy that promised future torment for the eldest prince. Queen Alicent noticed their silent communication and sighed dramatically.

"What have I unleashed?" she murmured, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

Chapter Text

Days passed in a blur of routine. Each morning, Vera would meet Aemond in the training yard before the sun had fully risen, their practice swords clashing in the cool dawn air. She was improving steadily, though still no match for his strength and skill. Yet there was something comforting in the rhythm of their daily ritual—the familiar ache in her muscles, the satisfaction of mastering a new technique under his critical eye.

"Your footwork is becoming less terrible," Aemond remarked one morning as he circled her.

Vera laughed, adjusting her grip on the practice sword. "Such high praise from my prince. I'm overwhelmed."

The rest of her days were spent in the familiar company of the royal family. She joined Queen Alicent for needlework in the afternoons, helped Helaena tend to her collection of insects or help her with the twins, and occasionally tormented Aegon with small pranks that left the older prince grumbling and the Queen hiding her amusement behind a carefully raised hand.

But a shadow hung over the Red Keep. King Viserys had not been seen outside his chambers for nearly two years, his illness confining him to his bed. The Grand Maester came and went with increasing frequency, his face growing more grave with each visit.

"Have you seen him?" Vera asked Aemond quietly one evening as they walked through the gardens.

Aemond's jaw tightened, his single violet eye fixed on the path ahead. "Once," he admitted. "Mother insisted." His voice dropped lower. "He's wasting away. The smell of decay is already upon him."

Vera slipped her hand into his, offering silent comfort. They both knew what was coming—the King's death was inevitable now, only a matter of time. And when it came, everything would change. The tension between those who supported Rhaenyra's claim and those who stood with Aegon had been simmering for years, threatening to boil over at any moment.

"Has there been a word from Dragonstone?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"None," Aemond replied bitterly. "Six years she's stayed away with her bastards and her husband. Six years without so much as setting foot in King's Landing." His hand tightened around hers. "She'll come when he dies, though. Like a vulture to a corpse."

Vera said nothing, troubled by the hatred that colored his voice whenever he spoke of his half-sister. The wounds from Driftmark had never truly healed—not the physical one that had taken his eye, nor the deeper injury to his pride and sense of justice.

On the tenth day since her father's departure, Vera was sitting with Queen Alicent in her solar, helping to sort silks for a new tapestry, when the door opened without announcement.

Her heart leaped at the sight of her father's familiar figure, still dusty from the road. Without thinking of protocol, Vera rushed across the room and threw her arms around him, breathing in the comforting scent of leather and horse that clung to his travel clothes.

"You're back," she whispered, relief washing through her.

Criston returned her embrace briefly before stepping back, his dark eyes tired but warm as they met hers. "As promised," he replied softly.

Queen Alicent approached, her green eyes searching Criston's face. "How was your journey, Ser Criston?" she asked, her tone gentle.

"Uneventful, Your Grace," he replied with a small bow. "We made good time."

Vera studied her father's face, noting the new lines that seemed to have appeared during his brief absence. "And your father?" she asked hesitantly.

A shadow passed over Criston's features. "Still clinging to life when I left," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

Later that evening, after Vera had retired to her chambers, Criston sought a private audience with the Queen. She received him in her solar, dismissing her ladies with a gentle wave of her hand.

"Tell me truly," she said once they were alone, "how does your father fare?"

Before Criston could respond, the door to the solar opened without announcement. Aemond strode in, his tall figure casting a long shadow across the floor in the evening light. He inclined his head respectfully to his mother before turning to Criston.

"Welcome back, Ser Criston," he said, his voice carrying its usual measured formality.

"My Prince," Criston replied with a bow.

Aemond's violet eye studied the knight's face, noting the weariness etched into his features. "How does your father fare?" he asked directly, never one to circle a subject.

Criston's shoulders tensed slightly at the question. "He lives still, though barely," he answered truthfully. "The maesters say there is a chance--slight, but present--that he might recover some strength."

"That's something, at least," the Queen offered gently.

Criston's expression tightened. "Perhaps, Your Grace." He hesitated, glancing between the Queen and Aemond before continuing. "He made a request of me before I left."

"What sort of request?" Aemond asked, his brow furrowing.

"He asked that I return to him," Criston said, his voice carefully controlled. "That our House need me."

The Queen's eyebrows rose slightly. "That would mean leaving the Kingsguard," she observed. "An oath not easily broken."

"Yes, Your Grace," Criston agreed. "But there was more." His jaw tightened visibly. "He insisted that if I were to return... Vera must remain here."

Aemond's eye narrowed dangerously. "He would have you abandon your daughter?"

"He doesn't consider her my daughter," Criston replied, a rare flash of anger coloring his tone. "He never has."

"And your response?" the Queen asked, though her knowing expression suggested she already had her answer.

"I said my goodbyes and left," Criston stated simply. "My place is here, with my daughter and my sworn brothers."

Aemond's face remained impassive, but a muscle jumped in his jaw—the only outward sign of the fury building within him. The audacity of the old man to make such a demand, to expect Criston to choose between his oath and his child, stirred a deep well of contempt. Yet he kept his anger carefully contained, knowing it would serve no purpose to voice it now.

"You made the right choice," he said instead, his voice controlled and even. "Your father is a fool if he cannot see the value of what--who--he rejects."

The Queen nodded in agreement. "Family is more than blood, Ser Criston. You've proven that through your devotion to Vera all these years."

Criston bowed his head slightly, gratitude evident in his tired eyes. "Thank you, Your Grace. My Prince."

"Does Vera know of this?" Aemond asked, his thoughts turning to the dark-haired girl who had stood by him through every trial and triumph of his life.

"No," Criston replied firmly. "And I see no reason to burden her with it. She's suffered enough rejection from that quarter already."

"I agree," the Queen said. "Some truths serve no purpose but to wound. You must be exhausted from your journey. Rest now, and resume your duties when you've recovered your strength."

As Criston bowed and took his leave, Aemond remained, his tall figure silhouetted against the firelight. His mother turned to study him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his mouth.

"You're angry," she observed softly.

"Wouldn't you be?" Aemond replied, his voice low and controlled. "That old man would rather die alone than accept Vera as his granddaughter."

Queen Alicent sighed. "Some men cling to their pride until the very end, even when it costs them everything that matters."

"It's more than pride," Aemond countered, pacing the room with restless energy. "It's cruelty. She has done nothing to deserve his rejection."

"No, she hasn't," the Queen agreed, watching her son's agitated movements. "But your anger won't change his mind, nor ease Ser Criston's burden."

Aemond stopped pacing, looking at his mother with barely contained rage. "I would burn the old fool's house to the ground if it would spare Vera another moment's pain," he admitted, his voice low and dangerous.

"I know you would," the Queen said softly, her green eyes gentle as she studied her son's face. "But I also know you won't do that, because despite everything, Vera wouldn't want you to."

Aemond's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "He's the reason she found out in such a cruel way that she wasn't Ser Criston's true born daughter," he said, the memory still sharp after all these years. "When she and Criston returned to the Keep... she cried in my arms for hours. I wanted to mount Vhagar and burn his place to ash."

"But you didn't," Queen Alicent said softly, rising from her seat to approach her son. "You stayed with Vera because that was what she needed in that moment--not vengeance, but comfort."

Aemond's eye dropped to the floor, his anger momentarily checked by his mother's gentle reminder.

"I know how much you care for her, how deeply you love her," the Queen continued, placing a hand on his arm. "You've always protected her from anything that might threaten her safety or happiness." Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Like you did last year with Lord Jasper's son when he was showing interest in Vera."

A flush crept up Aemond's neck at the mention of the incident. "The fool was unworthy of her attention," he muttered defensively. "His intentions were dishonorable."

"Perhaps," the Queen acknowledged, her green eyes twinkling with amusement. "Or perhaps you simply couldn't bear the thought of her smiling at another man the way she smiles at you."

Aemond stiffened, uncomfortable with his mother's perception. "He was following her through the gardens, cornering her in hallways. She was uncomfortable with his advances."

"And you made that abundantly clear when you threatened to feed him to Vhagar if he so much as looked in her direction again," Queen Alicent remarked dryly. "Poor boy nearly soiled himself in the great hall."

"He deserved worse," Aemond insisted, though a hint of satisfaction crept into his voice at the memory of that boy's terrified face. "He put his hands on her without permission."

Queen Alicent studied her son's face, noting the possessive gleam in his eye whenever Vera's name was mentioned. 

"You know," she said carefully, "one day Vera will marry. She's sixteen now, of age to be betrothed."

Aemond's expression darkened immediately. "She's too young," he said flatly.

"I was younger when I married your father," the Queen reminded him gently.

"That's different."

"Is it?" Queen Alicent asked, her voice soft but pointed. "Or are you simply unwilling to consider what you truly want from her?"

"Fine," Aemond snapped, his voice suddenly cold. "Marry her off then. Tell Ser Criston to find her a suitable match. I'm sure there are plenty of lords who would be eager to claim her."

"Aemond," the Queen said his name softly, her tone carrying a gentle warning.

He turned to face her fully, his violet eye blazing with barely contained emotion. "I know Grandsire's plans, Mother. He wants to marry me to a daughter from a house that will be loyal to our cause." His voice was bitter, edged with resignation. "Another political arrangement to strengthen our position."

The Queen sighed softly, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Yes," she admitted, unable to deny the truth of his words. "But I will speak with him about this. Perhaps there's another way--"

"Since when have you or Grandsire cared what any of us want?" Aemond interrupted, his voice rising with sudden fury. "You let him force Aegon and Helaena to marry, and look at them now. They're miserable."

Queen Alicent flinched as if struck, pain flashing across her features at the accusation.

"Don't speak to me of these matters," Aemond continued harshly. "I know what's coming. Soon enough, Vera and I will be separated from each other. You'll convince Ser Criston to marry her to some lord or another, and you'll let her suffer." His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "Just as I will suffer."

Before the Queen could respond, Aemond strode past her and out the door, his black cloak billowing behind him like a storm cloud.

Queen Alicent remained motionless, staring at the space where her son had stood. Tears welled in her green eyes, but she blinked them back, years of practice allowing her to regain her composure quickly. She moved to the window, gazing out at the darkening sky as she contemplated her son's words.

Aemond stormed through the corridors of the Red Keep, servants and courtiers alike scurrying from his path. The rage that had begun in his mother's solar now burned white-hot within him, fueled by the knowledge that forces beyond his control threatened to tear Vera from his life.

When he reached his chambers, two servants were inside, bent over the hearth as they arranged kindling for the evening fire. At his entrance, they straightened quickly, bowing with nervous deference.

"Out," he commanded, his voice like a whip crack in the quiet room.

The servants exchanged alarmed glances before hurrying past him, their footsteps quick and frightened as they fled his presence. The heavy oak door swung shut behind them with a resonant thud, leaving Aemond alone with his fury.

He crossed to the hearth in long strides, bracing one hand against the stone mantel as he stared down at the newly lit flames. The fire cast dancing shadows across his face, highlighting the hard angles of his features and the tension in his jaw.

His mother's words echoed in his mind, tormenting him with their truth. One day Vera will marry. The thought of her belonging to another man, sharing another's bed, bearing another's children—it was unbearable. His free hand clenched into a fist, knuckles whitening with the force of his grip.

With a frustrated growl, Aemond reached up and removed his eyepatch, tossing it carelessly onto a nearby table. The sapphire embedded where his left eye had once been caught the firelight, glowing with an eerie blue luminescence in the dimly lit chamber.

His gaze drifted to the tapestry hanging on the far wall—an elaborate scene depicting Vhagar in flight, her massive form silhouetted against a blood-red sky. Vera had commissioned it for his nameday two years past, working with the finest weavers in King's Landing to create something worthy of his dragon's majesty.

Aemond's breathing slowed as he studied the tapestry, his thoughts turning inevitably to Vera. He needed her now—needed her calming presence, her quiet understanding, her ability to soothe the rage that threatened to consume him. Only she could pull him back from this dangerous precipice of anger.

Aemond strode to the hidden passage behind his own tapestry. The narrow corridor was dark, but he knew the way by heart, having traversed it countless times over the years. The passage wound through the walls of the Red Keep, a secret route known only to a select few.

The journey took mere minutes, though it felt like an eternity to Aemond's impatient mind. When he reached the section of wall that opened into Vera's chambers, he paused, listening for any sound that might indicate she wasn't alone. Hearing nothing but silence, he pressed the hidden mechanism that caused the stone to slide inward.

Vera was seated at her dressing table, brush in hand as she worked through her long dark hair. She wore the nightgown of pale blue silk; the one Helaena had gifted her. At the sound of the stone door opening, she turned.

Vera stood immediately, her brush falling forgotten to the floor as she took in his appearance—the missing eyepatch, the tension radiating from his tall frame, the barely contained fury in his violet eye.

"Aemond? What's happened?" she asked, alarm evident in her voice as she moved toward him.

Without speaking, he closed the distance between them in two long strides. His hands found her waist, pulling her roughly against him with a possessiveness that stole her breath. The sudden proximity sent her heart racing as she felt the heat of his body through the thin silk of her nightgown.

Vera frowned slightly, raising her hand to gently trace the jagged scar that ran from his brow to his cheekbone. Her touch was feather-light as her fingers moved across the familiar terrain of his damaged face, a soothing gesture that had calmed his tempers countless times before.

The effect was immediate. Aemond's breathing slowed, his grip on her waist loosening slightly though he didn't release her. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the small space between them.

His eye drifted closed at her touch. Desire coursed through him like wildfire, fierce and consuming. How easy it would be to lower his mouth to hers, to lay her back on the bed and claim her completely. To make her his in every way that mattered. To give her his children, heirs with silver-gold hair and her dark, gentle eyes.

Yet even as the wanting threatened to overwhelm him, Aemond knew he couldn't. She was too good, too pure for someone like him—someone scarred by hatred and revenge, whose dreams were filled with blood and fire. She was his closest friend, his family in all but name. She deserved better than what he could offer.

With a gentle sigh, Aemond bent down and pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there as if drawing strength from the contact. Vera's eyes fluttered closed at the familiar touch, a gesture he had offered countless times throughout their lives, though it felt different now—heavier with unspoken meaning.

He pulled back slightly, releasing his grip on her waist, but Vera quickly captured his hand in hers, unwilling to lose the connection between them. Her fingers interlaced with his, steady and grounding.

"Tell me what's troubling you," she whispered, her dark eyes searching his face. "Please."

Aemond's gaze softened as he looked down at her. "Soon," he said quietly. "I'll tell you everything soon. Tonight, I just need..." His voice trailed off, unable to articulate what he truly wanted.

"To not be alone at this moment?" Vera offered gently.

He nodded once, the gesture barely perceptible in the dim light. Without another word, Vera stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest. She could feel the tension in his body, the anger still simmering beneath the surface despite his calmer exterior.

Aemond remained still for a heartbeat before his arms encircled her, pulling her closer against him. His chin came to rest atop her head as he exhaled slowly, some of the rigidity leaving his tall frame.

She closed her eyes, feeling utterly secure in his embrace. This had become their ritual since that terrible night at Driftmark—these quiet moments when Aemond would seek her touch in private, allowing himself a vulnerability he showed to no one else. She had learned over the years how her presence seemed to soothe him, how the simple act of holding him could drain away his anger like poison from a wound.

What Vera couldn't know was how profoundly her touch affected him—how her heartbeat against his chest anchored him to sanity when rage threatened to consume him, how her scent of lavender and jasmine filled his senses until there was room for nothing else, how her small hands against his back felt like salvation itself.

"You should sleep," he said finally, though he made no move to release her.

Vera nodded against his chest but remained where she was, unwilling to break the connection between them. "Stay with me tonight," she whispered, the words slipping out before she could consider their implications.

Aemond tensed, pulling back slightly to look at her face. "Vera," he began, his voice carrying a note of warning.

Vera rolled her eyes. "Not like that," she said, her voice softening with mild exasperation. "Like when we were children. I don't want to be alone tonight."

Aemond's expression shifted, a glimmer of amusement replacing the intensity in his violet eye. His hands moved slowly up and down her back, the gesture both comforting and teasing.

"Since when does my spirited girl beg someone to stay with her?" he asked, his voice low with humor. "To share her bed, no less?"

Vera stiffened, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She pulled away completely from his arms, stepping back until several feet separated them.

"Fuck off then," she muttered, crossing her arms defensively across her chest.

Aemond smirked, clearly enjoying her discomfort. The anger that had driven him to her chambers had dissipated, replaced by something warmer, more playful.

"Such language from a lady," he chided, his eye dancing with mischief. "What would the Queen say?"

"She'd say you deserved it," Vera retorted, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Are you staying or not?"

Aemond's smirk softened into something more genuine as he studied her face. "I'll stay," he agreed, moving toward the large bed. "But only because you asked so nicely."

Vera scoffed, shaking her head as she followed him. "Your definition of 'nicely' needs work."

Without ceremony, she climbed onto the bed and slipped beneath the covers, watching as Aemond removed his boots and riding jacket. He hesitated briefly before joining her, careful to maintain a respectable distance between their bodies as he settled on top of the blankets.

"You're too far away," Vera complained, reaching for his hand in the space between them. "And you'll freeze on top of the covers."

"It's more proper this way," Aemond replied, though he allowed her to take his hand.

"Since when do you care about proper?" she challenged, her dark eyes finding his in the dim light. "No one will know."

Aemond sighed, turning onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "You're impossible," he muttered, though there was no heat in his words.

Vera rolled onto her side to face him, studying his profile in the dim light. His silver-gold hair splayed across her pillow, the strong line of his jaw tense despite his relaxed posture. Without hesitation, she reached out and touched his scar again, her fingertips gently tracing the jagged line that ran from his brow to his cheekbone.

His body tensed momentarily at her touch before gradually relaxing. Vera smiled softly as his eye drifted closed, his features smoothing out under her gentle ministration. Her gaze moved to the sapphire embedded where his left eye had once been, glinting faintly in the candlelight.

"Don't you need to take it out sometimes?" she asked quietly, her fingers still resting lightly against his scarred skin.

Aemond opened his eye, turning his head slightly to look at her. "I only remove it when it becomes painful," he admitted, his voice low in the quiet chamber.

Vera tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes thoughtful. "Does my father know? I've noticed he dismisses you early from sword training occasionally."

"Yes," Aemond nodded slightly. "I told him some time ago."

Instead of feeling hurt that he had confided in her father but not her, Vera felt a rush of warmth. It pleased her that Aemond trusted Criston enough to admit such vulnerability—her father had been like a father to Aemond and his siblings for as long as she could remember.

"Why have you never taken it out in front of me when you're in pain?" she asked softly, her fingers still resting against his scar.

Aemond's jaw tightened slightly. "It's not something you should see," he replied, his voice rough with emotion.

"I've seen it before," Vera reminded him gently.

"That was different," he said firmly.

Vera shook her head slightly, her dark eyes never leaving his face. "No, it wasn't."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft crackle of the dying fire and their quiet breathing. Aemond's violet eye studied her face, searching for any sign of disgust or pity.

"You were a child then," he said finally. "We both were. It's different now."

"Because I'm a woman?" Vera challenged, her voice still gentle despite the confrontation in her words.

Aemond's gaze dropped briefly. "Because I don't want you to see me as... less."

The vulnerability in his admission made Vera's heart ache. She shifted closer, her hand moving to cup his cheek. "I could never see you as less," she whispered fiercely. "Never."

His eye closed again at her touch, his face turning slightly to press into her palm. "I've always been careful," he admitted quietly. "To never appear weak in front of others. Even when the pain is... significant."

"But you don't need to be strong for me," Vera said softly. "Not like that."

Aemond's eye opened, meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "I do," he insisted. "Especially with you."

Understanding dawned on Vera's face. "You think I'll turn away from you if I see the worst of your injury," she realized aloud. "That I'll be repulsed."

When he didn't answer, she knew she had hit upon the truth. The thought that he could believe such a thing—that after all these years, he still feared her rejection—filled her with a fierce determination.

"Show me," she demanded softly.

Aemond stiffened. "Vera--"

"Show me," she repeated, her voice gentle but unyielding. "Please."

For a long moment, he remained motionless, conflict evident in his face. Then, with a resigned sigh, he reached up and carefully pressed his fingers against the sapphire. With practiced movements, he eased the stone from its setting.

Vera kept her expression carefully neutral as he lowered his hand, revealing the left empty socket where his eye had once been. The skin was puckered and scarred, the hollow a shade darker than the surrounding tissue. It was a brutal reminder of what had been taken from him, but it didn't diminish him in her eyes—if anything, it made him more remarkable for what he had overcome.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked softly, her eyes never leaving his face.

"Sometimes," Aemond admitted, his voice rough with tension. "When I've worn the stone too long."

Without hesitation, Vera leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to the edge of the scar, just above the empty socket. She felt him freeze beneath her touch, his breath catching audibly in the quiet room.

"Vera," he whispered, her name a prayer on his lips.

She pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze without flinching. "You are not less," she said firmly. "You have never been less. Not to me."

Something shifted in Aemond's expression—a softening, a surrender. His hand came up to cup the back of her head, fingers threading through her dark hair as he drew her closer. For a breathless moment, Vera thought he might kiss her, but instead, he pressed his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the small space between them.

They remained that way for several heartbeats, foreheads touching, sharing breath in the intimate darkness. Then Aemond pulled back slightly, reaching for the sapphire he had placed on the bedside table.

"Wait," Vera said, staying his hand. "Leave it out tonight. Let the socket rest."

Aemond hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion. "You don't mind?" he asked, vulnerability evident in his voice.

"Of course not," Vera replied without hesitation. "I just want you comfortable."

After a moment's consideration, Aemond nodded, returning the sapphire to the table. He settled back against the pillows, tension gradually leaving his body as Vera nestled closer, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Sleep now," she murmured, her arm draping across his chest in a protective gesture.

Aemond's arm curled around her, holding her securely against his side. "You as well," he replied softly, his breath stirring her hair.

Chapter Text

Vera stirred as the first pale light of dawn filtered through the shutters, painting soft golden patterns across the chamber. She became aware of a steady heartbeat beneath her ear, a comforting rhythm that had accompanied her throughout the night. Her eyes fluttered open to find Aemond already awake, his violet eye watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch.

The sapphire had been returned to its place, glinting with a deep blue radiance in the early morning light. His arms encircled her completely, one hand splayed protectively across her back while the other rested possessively on her hip, holding her firmly against him.

"How long have you been watching me sleep?" she whispered, her voice still rough with slumber.

"A while," Aemond admitted, making no move to release her from his embrace. His silver-gold hair was tousled from sleep, falling across his forehead in a way that softened his usually severe features.

Vera shifted slightly, becoming acutely aware of their intimate position—her body half-draped across his chest, her leg tangled between his, her nightgown having ridden up to expose her calf. Heat rose to her cheeks, but she didn't pull away.

"Did you sleep at all?" she asked, noting the shadows beneath his good eye.

"More than I have in weeks," he replied, his thumb absently tracing circles against her hip. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent a shiver down her spine.

Outside, the castle was beginning to stir—distant footsteps and muffled voices signaling the start of a new day. Soon the corridors would be filled with servants and courtiers, and this stolen moment of peace would be shattered.

"We should get up," Vera said reluctantly, though she made no move to disentangle herself from his embrace.

"Should we?" Aemond countered, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly. The morning light caught in his silver-gold hair, creating a halo effect that contrasted sharply with the darkness in his eye.

For a moment, they simply gazed at each other, caught in a private world where nothing existed beyond the warm cocoon of her bed. The castle continued to wake around them, but in this chamber, time seemed suspended.

Vera finally sighed and placed her palm against his chest, gently pushing herself up. "You should go before someone notices you're not in your chambers."

Aemond caught her hand, his fingers encircling her wrist. "Let them notice," he said, his voice carrying an edge of defiance.

"Aemond," Vera warned softly, though a smile played at the corners of her mouth.

He released her with obvious reluctance, watching as she slipped from the bed and straightened her nightgown. The silk clung to her curves in a way that made his throat tighten.

"I'll see you at breakfast," she said quietly, turning back to look at him.

Aemond hummed in response, a low sound that resonated deep in his chest. Vera felt that familiar delightful shiver race down her spine, and the knowing gleam in his eye told her he was well aware of the effect it had on her. He had to be.

Without another word, he rose from the bed and moved toward the hidden passage. At the entrance, he paused, casting one final glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the darkness. The stone door slid shut behind him with a soft scraping sound, leaving Vera alone with the memory of his warmth.

She stood motionless for several heartbeats, her fingers absently tracing the place on her wrist where his hand had been. The moment was broken by a soft knock at her chamber door.

"Enter," she called, quickly composing herself.

Lyla appeared, already dressed for the day with a fresh pitcher of water balanced on her hip. Her eyes widened slightly at the rumpled state of the bed.

"Good morrow, my lady," she said, moving to pour water into the washing basin. "Did you sleep well?"

"Very well, thank you," Vera replied, hoping the flush in her cheeks wasn't too obvious.

As Lyla helped her wash and dress, selecting a pretty green gown that complemented Vera's olive complexion, she leaned in with a conspiratorial smile.

"The Queen has a special request this morning," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "She's asked if you might wake Prince Aegon for breakfast. He's apparently ignored three servants already."

Vera couldn't help the delighted laugh that escaped her. "What mischief should I inflict on him this time, I wonder?"

"Whatever you wish, my lady," Lyla replied with a chuckle, clearly anticipating the entertainment to come. "Though perhaps nothing involving live animals this time? The last incident with the frog caused quite a stir."

"No promises," Vera said with a wink as she made her way to the door. Lyla was already turning her attention to the rumpled bedsheets, shaking her head with fond exasperation.

The corridors of the Red Keep were already bustling with morning activity as Vera made her way toward Aegon's chambers. She passed several servants who nodded respectfully, a few ladies-in-waiting who offered polite curtsies, and two members of the Kingsguard who greeted her by name.

She knew her father would be standing guard outside the King's chambers by now, his white armor gleaming in the morning light as he maintained his vigilant watch. She would see him later in the day, perhaps during the midday meal.

When she reached Aegon's door, Ser Arryk Cargyll stood at attention outside, his solemn face breaking into a knowing smile at her approach. The knight had witnessed enough of these morning wake-up calls to anticipate what was coming.

"Good morrow, Lady Vera," he greeted, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Without further comment, he pushed the heavy door open, stepping aside to allow her entry.

"Good morrow, Ser Arryk," Vera replied with a soft chuckle, offering a grateful nod as she slipped past him into the dimly lit chamber.

The room was thick with the heavy stillness of prolonged sleep. Heavy curtains had been drawn across the windows, allowing only thin slivers of sunlight to penetrate the gloom. In the massive bed that dominated the center of the room, a large form lay sprawled beneath tangled sheets, soft snores emanating from beneath a pillow pulled over his head.

Vera approached silently, surveying the scene with practiced assessment. Aegon had clearly dismissed his servants before they could properly prepare him for the day. A pitcher of wine sat half-empty on the bedside table, and discarded clothing lay strewn across the floor where he had dropped it before collapsing into bed.

With deliberate care, Vera reached for one of the large pillows that had been kicked to the floor during the night. She weighed it in her hands, testing its heft with a mischievous smile. Then, without warning, she brought it down firmly on Aegon's head.

The effect was immediate. Aegon bolted upright with a startled yelp, silver-gold hair standing on end as he flailed against his invisible attacker. When his bleary eyes focused on Vera standing beside his bed, pillow in hand and triumph on her face, he groaned dramatically and flopped back onto the mattress.

"No," he moaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Again?"

"Good morrow to you too, lazybones," Vera chirped, entirely too cheerful for Aegon's liking. "The Queen requests your presence at breakfast."

"Tell Mother I died in my sleep," Aegon mumbled, attempting to burrow deeper into his bedding. "Tragic accident. Very sad. Funeral at sunset."

Vera rolled her eyes, utterly unimpressed by his theatrics. "Get up, Aegon. Don't make me get creative."

Aegon groaned and looked at the young beauty standing over him, her dark eyes gleaming with determination. He knew exactly what the demon was capable of—she'd proven it countless times over the years.

"Fine," he muttered, "I'm up. I'm up."

Vera smiled triumphantly and strode to the windows, yanking the heavy curtains open in one swift motion. Sunlight flooded the chamber, harsh and unforgiving against Aegon's sensitive eyes. He groaned again but didn't dare protest about the light. As much as he wanted to sleep—to spend the entire day hidden away from his family and their expectations—he knew better than to try Vera's patience further. If he dared to lie down again, she would simply drag him bodily from the bed. Again. And not a single person in the Red Keep would intervene to save him.

Vera moved back to the bed, perching on its edge as she studied his disheveled appearance. "How much did you drink last night?" she asked, her tone somewhere between disapproval and amusement.

Aegon shrugged noncommittally, running a hand through his tangled silver-gold hair. "Don't remember," he admitted.

Vera sighed softly, shaking her head as she rose and crossed to the side table where a pitcher and goblets waited. With practiced movements, she poured water for herself and watered wine for Aegon, the routine as familiar as breathing after years of these morning wake-up calls.

She returned to the bed, holding out the goblet of watered wine. Aegon took it without protest, their fingers brushing momentarily in the exchange. Vera settled beside him once more, raising her goblet in a small toast. They clinked their vessels together before drinking.

The cool liquid soothed Aegon's parched throat, easing some of the fog from his mind. He drained half the goblet in one long swallow, then lowered it with a satisfied sigh.

"Better?" Vera asked, one eyebrow arched elegantly.

"Marginally," Aegon conceded, rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness. "Though I still maintain it's cruel to wake a man before midday."

"Get dressed," Vera instructed, standing up and smoothing her green dress. "We're expected at Mother's table for breakfast."

Aegon flopped back against his pillows with a dramatic sigh. "I suppose I don't have a choice in the matter." His lips curled into a suggestive smirk. "Though I know what you'll do to me if I refuse, and sadly, it won't be anything like what I've been fantasizing about."

Vera rolled her eyes, immune to his provocative comments after years of hearing them. "Get up," she said flatly, already moving toward the door.

With surprising agility for someone so recently asleep, Aegon swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his tall frame. Vera paused at the threshold, one hand on the heavy oak door.

"I'll wait for you outside," she said, her tone making it clear this was not a request but a command. "Don't make me come back in."

She stepped into the corridor, and Ser Arryk pulled the door closed behind her with a knowing smile. The knight's eyes twinkled with amusement as he resumed his post.

"Will he actually dress himself this time, my lady?" Ser Arryk asked, his voice low enough that only Vera could hear.

"If he knows what's good for him," she replied with a small smile. "Though I've never known Prince Aegon to choose what's good for him when there's a more difficult option available."

Ser Arryk chuckled softly, his white armor gleaming in the morning light. "True enough, my lady."

The door swung open several minutes later, revealing Aegon in a hastily donned crimson doublet that complemented his Targaryen coloring. His silver-gold hair remained slightly disheveled despite obvious attempts to tame it, and dark circles shadowed his violet eyes, testament to the previous night's indulgences.

"That was quick," Vera remarked, a hint of surprise in her voice. "I'm impressed."

"Don't be," Aegon muttered. "I simply didn't want to risk whatever torture you were planning next."

Vera laughed and extended her arm. Aegon took it with a dramatic sigh. Together they began walking toward the Queen's chambers, Ser Arryk following at a respectful distance.

They passed servants who bowed respectfully, knights who nodded in acknowledgment, and ladies who offered perfect curtsies. None showed any surprise at the sight of Lady Vera Cole with her arm linked through Prince Aegon's. It was a familiar sight in the Red Keep—the dark-haired beauty guiding the reluctant prince. The Lady had grown up alongside the royal children since their earliest days, her place among them unquestioned despite her lack of royal blood.

When they reached the Queen's chambers, Ser Erryk stood at attention outside the heavy oak door. His eyes, identical to his twin brother's, crinkled slightly at the corners—the only indication of his amusement at Aegon's bedraggled appearance.

"Good morrow, my Prince, Lady Vera," he greeted, pushing the door open to admit them.

The Queen's private dining room was awash in morning sunlight. Queen Alicent sat at the head of the table, her emerald gown complementing her eyes as she supervised a servant arranging freshly cut flowers. Helaena was already seated, absently stroking the hair of one of her twins while the other played quietly with a wooden dragon. Aemond stood by the window, his tall figure silhouetted against the bright light.

At their entrance, Aemond turned, his violet eye finding Vera immediately. Something unreadable flickered across his face as he took in the sight of her arm linked with his brother's.

"You're late," Queen Alicent remarked, though her tone held more amusement than censure.

"You will have to blame him, Your Grace," Vera replied cheerfully, releasing Aegon's arm to approach the Queen. She bent to place a respectful kiss on Alicent's cheek. "He was determined to sleep until midday."

"I was having the most wonderful dream," Aegon complained, dropping into a chair beside Helaena. He reached over to ruffle the hair of the twin nearest him, earning a giggle from the child. "Something about a beautiful dark-haired maiden who didn't torment me with pillows."

"Sounds dreadful," Aemond commented dryly, moving to take his seat. "No wonder you didn't want to wake."

The servants began bringing in platters of food—freshly baked bread still steaming from the ovens, bowls of honey and preserves, plates of sliced fruits, and pitchers of watered wine. The rich aroma of spiced eggs and roasted meats filled the chamber as more dishes appeared.

Vera took her seat beside Aemond, accepting a cup of tea from a servant with a gracious smile. As everyone settled into their breakfast, the twins—Jaehaerys and Jaehaera—began vying for her attention from across the table.

"Aunt Vera," Jaehaerys called, his silver-gold curls bouncing as he leaned forward eagerly. "Will you come see our new beetles today?"

Jaehaera nodded enthusiastically beside him. "Mother helped us find them in the garden yesterday. They have shiny green shells."

Vera smiled warmly at the children. "I'd love to see your beetles. Perhaps after that we could visit the garden together?"

"Could we bring bread for the birds too?" Jaehaera asked, her violet eyes brightening.

"Of course," Vera agreed. "We'll make a proper adventure of it."

Helaena's face lit up with one of her rare, fully present smiles. "I'll join you. The roses are speaking more clearly these days."

Queen Alicent set down her cup with a gentle clink, drawing everyone's attention. Her expression had shifted, a subtle tension appearing in the lines around her eyes.

"Before you all disperse for the day, there's something I must share," she said, her voice carrying a weight that immediately sobered the table. "I received word this morning from Driftmark."

Aemond straightened in his chair, his full attention focused on his mother.

"Lord Corlys has been gravely injured while fighting in the Stepstones," the Queen continued, her green eyes moving deliberately around the table. "It's unknown when or if he will wake up."

"That's unfortunate," Aegon remarked, reaching for his wine.

The Queen nodded. "Indeed. But there's more. His younger brother, Vaemond Velaryon, has sent word that he intends to press his claim as heir to Driftmark."

"But Lord Corlys named Lucerys Velaryon as his heir," Vera pointed out, her brow furrowing. "He's been quite clear about his wishes."

"Vaemond disputes the boy's right to inherit," the Queen replied carefully. "He will be arriving at court within days to present his case before the King."

Aemond's lip curled slightly. "Lord Strong has no true claim to Driftmark," he said, his voice carrying a deliberate edge. "The Sea Snake's blood doesn't flow in his veins."

Vera turned sharply toward him, her dark eyes flashing a warning. The Queen cleared her throat pointedly.

"We will not speak of such matters at this table," she cautioned, though her tone lacked genuine reproach.

"My brother speaks only truth," Aegon interjected, leaning forward with sudden interest. "Everyone knows those boys are Strong's bastards, not Laenor's true sons."

"Enough," Queen Alicent said firmly. "I merely wished to inform you all why the Keep will soon feel... tense. This matter will bring many visitors to court."

Helaena looked up from her plate, her dreamy eyes suddenly focused with unsettling clarity. "Sister will come," she said softly. "With her sons."

The Queen sighed and nodded. "Yes, Rhaenyra will certainly attend. The claim involves her son, after all."

"Will Father preside over this dispute?" Aegon asked, reaching for another slice of bread.

"No," the Queen replied, her voice softening. "The King's health has worsened. He will remain in his chambers. However, the petition with heard at the Throne Room, with the Hand and I making the final judgment."

Vera exchanged a glance with Aemond, noting the calculating gleam in his violet eye. She could practically see the thoughts forming behind that careful mask—the opportunity this dispute presented, the potential to expose what many whispered but few dared speak aloud.

"When will they arrive?" Aemond asked, his voice carefully neutral despite the intensity in his gaze.

"Vaemond is expected within three days," the Queen answered. "Rhaenyra and her sons perhaps at the same day."

A tense silence fell over the table at the mention of Rhaenyra's arrival. Vera studied Aemond's face, noting the muscle that jumped in his jaw and the way his fingers tightened around his goblet. She could read the signs of his rising anger better than anyone—the slight flare of his nostril, the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eye.

Vera placed her hand gently on Aemond's beneath the table, feeling the tension coiled within him. Six years had done little to dull his hatred for Lucerys Velaryon. If anything, time had only hardened his resentment, transforming it into something cold and unyielding.

"Uncle Aemond," Jaehaerys called suddenly, his small voice cutting through the tension. "Will you come to the garden with us today?"

Aemond blinked, pulled from his dark thoughts by his nephew's question. "What?"

"The garden," Jaehaera echoed, her violet eyes wide and hopeful. "You haven't played with us in ages."

"We miss you!" Jaehaerys added earnestly. "No one else can lift us both at the same time."

Vera bit back a smile as she watched Aemond's expression soften slightly, the hard edges of his anger blunted by the children's innocent request. The twins had always held a special place in his heart, though he tried to maintain his stern demeanor even with them.

"Please, Uncle Aemond," Jaehaera pressed, clasping her small hands together. "We want to show you our favorite hiding spots."

"And the new flowers," Jaehaerys added quickly. "The blue ones that look like dragons."

Aemond glanced at Vera, who raised an eyebrow expectantly. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "Very well," he conceded, his voice gentler than before. "After breakfast."

The twins exchanged delighted grins, their excitement palpable as they wiggled in their seats. Queen Alicent smiled softly, her green eyes warm with approval as she watched the interaction.

As breakfast concluded, the twins could barely contain their excitement, practically bouncing in their seats as they waited for the adults to finish. The moment Queen Alicent signaled the end of the meal, they slid from their chairs and rushed to Aemond's side, each claiming one of his hands.

"We should go now!" Jaehaerys tugged insistently on Aemond's hand, his small face alight with anticipation.

"Before all the good treasures are gone," Jaehaera added solemnly, as though imparting a great secret.

Helaena rose from her seat, her movements graceful despite her distracted air. "The garden will be lovely this morning," she murmured, her eyes focusing briefly on Vera.

The small party made their way through the corridors of the Red Keep, the twins chattering excitedly as they led the way. Vera walked beside Aemond, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they navigated the hallways. Each brief contact sent a pleasant warmth through her, a reminder of their shared intimacy from the previous night.

The royal gardens welcomed them with a riot of color and fragrance. Spring had transformed the space into a verdant paradise, with blossoms of every hue competing for attention against the lush greenery. A light breeze carried the sweet scent of roses and honeysuckle, mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly turned soil.

Vera and Helaena settled on a stone bench beneath the shade of a flowering cherry tree, its pale pink blossoms occasionally drifting down around them like delicate snow. From this vantage point, they had a perfect view of the central garden where Aemond now knelt on the grass, his tall frame looking almost comically large next to the tiny twins.

"Go explore," he instructed the children, his usually stern voice gentled for their benefit. "Show me these hiding places you mentioned."

The twins needed no further encouragement. They darted off in opposite directions, their silver-gold curls catching the sunlight as they disappeared among the flowering bushes.

"He's different with them," Helaena observed quietly, her dreamy gaze fixed on her brother. "Softer."

Vera nodded, unable to suppress her smile as she watched Aemond scanning the garden, pretending not to notice Jaehaerys hiding poorly behind a slender tree trunk. "They bring out a side of him few others see."

"You see it," Helaena replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "You always have."

Before Vera could respond, Jaehaera emerged from behind a rosebush, clutching something in her small hands. She ran to Aemond with an expression of pure triumph, her violet eyes wide with excitement.

"Uncle Aemond! Look what I found!" she exclaimed, carefully opening her cupped palms to reveal a smooth, speckled stone.

Aemond leaned forward with exaggerated interest, examining the offering as though it were a priceless gem. "An excellent find," he declared solemnly. "Worthy of the royal collection."

Jaehaera beamed with pride, placing the stone carefully in Aemond's outstretched hand before rushing off to discover more treasures. No sooner had she disappeared than Jaehaerys appeared, brandishing a slightly bent feather with equal enthusiasm.

"This came from a special bird," the boy announced confidently, presenting the feather to his uncle. "Maybe even a dragon!"

"Perhaps," Aemond agreed, accepting the gift with appropriate gravity. "Though dragons have scales, not feathers."

"This one might be different," Jaehaerys insisted, unwilling to abandon his theory. "A special dragon."

Vera couldn't help but laugh at the boy's determination. The sound carried across the garden, drawing Aemond's attention. His violet eye found her, and for a moment, his severe features softened into something approaching tenderness.

"They adore him," Vera remarked to Helaena, watching as the twins continued their treasure hunt, periodically returning to present Aemond with their findings—a uniquely shaped leaf, a fragment of blue pottery, a small white flower.

"The dragons circle each other," Helaena murmured, her gaze suddenly distant. "The blue eye watches, waiting for the moment to strike."

Vera had grown accustomed to Helaena's cryptic statements over the years, learning not to dismiss them despite their apparent nonsense. She opened her mouth to ask for clarification when the twins' excited exclamations drew her attention.

Both children were looking toward the garden entrance, their faces lighting up with delight. Following their gaze, Vera saw her father approaching, his white armor gleaming in the morning sunlight. Despite his formal appearance, Criston's expression was relaxed, a rare smile softening his features as the twins abandoned their treasure hunt and raced toward him.

"Grandfather!" they cried in unison, small arms outstretched as they collided with his armored legs.

Criston chuckled, bending down to meet them at eye level. "Good morning, little dragons," he greeted, his voice warm with affection. He took their hands and walked with them back toward the others.

"Look what we found for Uncle Aemond!" Jaehaerys exclaimed, pointing to the small collection of treasures now arranged beside the prince.

"Very impressive," Criston replied seriously, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement as he approached Aemond, Vera, and Helaena.

"Grandfather is here to see our treasures too," Jaehaera announced happily, swinging his hand as they walked.

Criston's expression turned apologetic. "I'm afraid you can't call me that, little ones," he said gently. "It's not proper."

Jaehaerys looked up at him with confusion written across his small face. "Why not? Mother, father, Uncle Aemond and Uncle Daeron all say you're like their father," he reasoned with a child's simple logic. "So that makes you our grandfather."

Vera felt warmth bloom in her chest at the boy's words. She glanced at her father, noting the subtle shift in his expression—a complex mixture of pride, humility, and deep affection.

"The young prince makes a compelling argument," Aemond remarked, rising to his feet with fluid grace.

Helaena nodded dreamily. "Father in all but name," she murmured. "The white knight who guides the dragons."

Criston looked momentarily overwhelmed by their words, his usually composed demeanor faltering slightly. He cleared his throat, visibly gathering himself before responding.

"I am deeply honored by your regard," he said formally, though emotion underlay his words. "But I must maintain proper respect for His Grace, your true grandfather."

"Can't you be both?" Jaehaera asked innocently, tugging on his hand.

Vera smiled at the child's persistence. "Perhaps when no one else is around," she suggested, meeting her father's gaze with understanding. "A special name just for private times."

Criston's expression softened as he looked at the hopeful faces of the twins. After a moment's consideration, he nodded slightly. "Very well," he conceded. "But only when we're alone, understand? It would not be respectful otherwise."

The twins nodded solemnly, though their violet eyes danced with delight at this small victory. Jaehaerys immediately launched into a detailed explanation of their morning treasure hunt, while Jaehaera pulled Criston toward the collection to show him her favorites.

Vera rose from the bench and moved to stand beside Aemond, watching the scene with a warm smile. "You've made quite the impression on them," she observed quietly. "They practically worship you."

Aemond's expression remained impassive, but she caught the subtle softening around his eye. "They're good children," he replied, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Innocent of the ugliness in this world."

"Thanks in part to you," Vera pointed out. "You protect them from it."

Aemond's gaze lingered on the twins as they continued showing their treasures to Criston. "Someone must," he said softly. "The world will try to harden them soon enough."

"Come," Vera said, touching his arm lightly. "Let's join them before the twins exhaust my father with their endless questions."

The rest of the morning passed in pleasant companionship, with the twins leading them on an elaborate treasure hunt throughout the garden. By midday, even Aemond's severe demeanor had softened, a rare contentment settling over him as he watched Jaehaerys attempt to climb a small ornamental tree.

After their garden adventure, Vera spent several hours with Queen Alicent, helping prepare for the upcoming arrivals. The Queen seemed grateful for her company, speaking openly about her concerns regarding Vaemond Velaryon's petition and what it might mean for the delicate balance of power at court.

"Your father will stand guard during the proceedings," Queen Alicent said as they reviewed seating arrangements. "I would have you attend as well, if you're willing. Your presence has always had a... calming effect on certain members of my family."

Vera understood the Queen's meaning perfectly. "Of course, Your Grace. I'll be wherever you need me."

The day slipped away, and as evening shadows lengthened across the Red Keep, Vera bid goodnight to her father outside his chambers. Criston looked tired but content, the day's events having eased some of the strain from his journey.

"Sleep well, Father," she said, embracing him briefly.

"And you, my dear," he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead before retreating into his room.

Vera made her way through the quiet corridors, nodding to the guards who stood at attention along her path. When she reached her chambers, she slipped inside and closed the heavy door behind her.

As she turned, her breath caught in her throat. There, resting on her pillow, lay a single blue rose—its petals a rare, deep azure that seemed almost luminous in the candlelight.

A smile spread across her face as she approached the bed. With gentle fingers, she lifted the bloom, bringing it to her nose to inhale its sweet fragrance.

A soft knock at her door startled her from her reverie. She quickly tucked the rose into the pocket of her dress before calling, "Enter."

Lyla appeared with fresh linens and a pitcher of water. "Would you like help preparing for bed, my lady?" she asked, setting down her burdens.

"No, thank you," Vera replied, trying to keep her voice casual despite the warmth in her cheeks. "I can manage tonight."

After Lyla departed, Vera removed the blue rose from her pocket.

Chapter Text

Three days had passed since the Queen's announcement, and the Red Keep now buzzed with anticipation. Lord Vaemond Velaryon had arrived that morning, bringing with him an entourage of supporters eager to witness the coming dispute.

She adjusted the sapphire pendant at her throat—a gift from Queen Alicent to match her royal blue dress. The Queen had insisted she wear it today, saying it brought out the warmth in her dark eyes. With one final look in the mirror, she nodded to Dyana, her new lady's maid.

Vera and Dyana moved through the corridors with purpose, Dyana walking slightly behind as protocol demanded. The young maid had only been in Vera's service for two days, given to her by the Queen as another helper.

"Have you heard anything more about Princess Rhaenyra's arrival, my lady?" Dyana asked quietly as they turned down a lesser-used hallway that would bring them more quickly to their destination.

"Only that her ship was sighted this morning," Vera replied, her thoughts turning to what the day might bring. Six years had passed since she'd last seen the princess and her sons. She wondered how much they had changed—particularly Lucerys, whose knife had forever marked Aemond.

She was so lost in thought that she nearly missed the sound of approaching footsteps from the intersecting corridor ahead. Two young men rounded the corner, stopping abruptly at the sight of her.

Vera halted, recognition washing over her. Brown hair and eyes. Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon had grown considerably since she'd last seen them. No longer children, they stood on the cusp of manhood, dressed in the fine clothing befitting their status.

Both boys fell silent as they noticed Vera standing before them, her blue dress catching the late afternoon light streaming through a nearby window.

"Vera," Jacaerys said, his voice deeper than she remembered, his eyes fixed on her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.

She approached them slowly, surprised but not displeased by the encounter. Despite everything that had happened at Driftmark, she had never harbored ill feelings toward Rhaenyra's sons. They had been children then, as had Aemond.

"I'm happy to see you both," Vera said with a gentle smile, her dark eyes moving between the two princes. "You've grown so much since I last saw you."

Jacaerys seemed momentarily lost for words, his brown eyes taking in every detail of her appearance. Lucerys shifted uncomfortably beside him, still glancing occasionally over his shoulder.

"We arrived this morning," Jacaerys finally said, finding his voice. "Mother and our stepfather went to see Grandfather."

An awkward silence fell between them, heavy with six years of separation and the unspoken tensions that had driven their families apart. Vera was acutely aware of Dyana standing quietly behind her, witnessing this unexpected reunion.

Vera smiled softly, trying to ease the tension. "How is little Joffrey?" she asked, genuinely curious about their youngest brother.

Lucerys' expression immediately brightened, relief evident in his face at the change of subject. "He's great," he answered, his voice warming. "Growing up fast. Already trying to climb onto Tyraxes whenever I'm not looking."

Jacaerys shifted his weight, his eyes never leaving Vera's face. "Vera," he said, his voice lowering slightly, "could we speak? Alone?"

The request surprised her, but she nodded without hesitation. "Of course." She turned to her maid. "Dyana, would you mind staying here with Prince Lucerys for a moment?"

The young maid curtseyed gracefully. "As you wish, my lady."

Lucerys looked momentarily alarmed at being left alone with a stranger but seemed to relax when Dyana offered him a polite smile.

Vera followed Jacaerys down the corridor and through a small archway that led to one of the lesser-used garden terraces. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the stone pathway, highlighting the deep reds and purples of the autumn blooms that climbed the nearby walls.

When they reached a secluded bench partially hidden by a flowering trellis, Jacaerys stopped and turned to face her.

"I'm surprised you would want to speak with me at all," Vera admitted, studying his face. The boy she had known had disappeared, replaced by a young man with a serious gaze and the weight of succession on his shoulders.

Jacaerys frowned slightly. "Why would you say that?"

Vera's brow furrowed in confusion. "I sent you a letter," she said, "that first month after... after Driftmark. When we were separated."

"I know," Jacaerys replied, his brown eyes searching her face. "I read it. I sent letters in return--for three years, Vera. But you never responded."

Vera's frown deepened, genuine surprise washing over her features. "I never received any letters from you," she said slowly, trying to make sense of his words. "Not a single one."

They stared at each other in mutual confusion, the implications of this revelation hanging in the air between them.

"That's not possible," Jacaerys said finally, his voice tight with controlled emotion. "I wrote to you regularly. I gave the letters to our maester myself."

Vera shook her head. "I never received them, Jace. I swear it." She paused, considering. "Did you think I was ignoring you all this time?"

"What else was I to think?" he asked, a hint of old hurt coloring his words. "I poured my heart into those letters. When you never replied..." He trailed off, looking away.

Vera reached out impulsively, touching his arm. "I would have written back," she assured him earnestly. "We were friends before that night, and I still didn't change it after. I wouldn't have simply ignored you."

Jacaerys shook his head, his expression softening. "I should have known," he said quietly. "Someone must have intercepted the letters."

"I thought perhaps you hated me," Vera admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "After what happened that night. I didn't want anyone to get hurt anymore, so I just accepted the silence between us."

Jacaerys stepped closer, his expression softening as he gently placed his hand against her cheek. The unexpected tenderness of the gesture made her breath catch.

"I could never hate you, Vera," he said softly, his brown eyes filled with warmth. "None of us do--not me, not Luke, not even my mother. What happened that night... we were all children, caught in something bigger than ourselves."

Before Vera could respond, Jacaerys leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was gentle, hesitant at first, then growing more certain. For a brief moment, Vera returned it, surprised by the warmth that spread through her at his touch.

She pulled back suddenly, her dark eyes wide with confusion. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her fingers instinctively touching her lips.

Jacaerys smiled, though a flush had risen to his cheeks. "Don't apologize. It was my move, not yours. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," Vera assured him quickly. "I just wasn't expecting--"

The words died in her throat as she caught sight of a tall figure standing in the archway. Aemond's imposing silhouette was unmistakable. He stood perfectly still, watching them.

The air between them seemed to freeze, time stretching into an unbearable moment of silence. Jacaerys tensed beside her, instinctively shifting his stance as he followed her gaze.

"Aemond," Vera breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Aemond's face remained expressionless, a mask of perfect control that betrayed nothing of his thoughts. Only the slight narrowing of his violet eye and the rigid set of his shoulders revealed the fury building within him.

"The Queen requests your presence," he said, his voice dangerously soft as he addressed Vera. His gaze never once acknowledged Jacaerys, as though the other prince didn't exist.

Vera took a small step forward, acutely aware of the tension crackling in the air between the two men. "Aemond--"

"Now," Aemond interrupted, his tone brooking no argument despite its quietness.

Jacaerys moved forward, positioning himself slightly in front of Vera. "We were just talking, uncle," he said, his voice calm despite the challenging glint in his eyes. "There's no need for that tone."

Aemond's gaze finally shifted to Jacaerys, and Vera felt a chill run down her spine at the cold hatred she saw there. Six years had done nothing to diminish the enmity between them—if anything, it had grown stronger, crystallizing into something dangerous and volatile.

"I wasn't speaking to you, Strong," Aemond replied, deliberately using the surname that questioned Jacaerys' legitimacy.

Jacaerys' jaw tightened at the insult, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "My name is Velaryon," he said evenly, though anger simmered beneath his controlled tone.

"Is it?" Aemond's lip curled into a cold smile that never reached his eye. "How fascinating."

Vera moved quickly, placing herself between the two princes before the situation could escalate further. "Stop," she said firmly, looking directly at Aemond. "This isn't the time or place."

For a moment, she thought he might ignore her, his gaze still fixed on Jacaerys with deadly intent. Then, slowly, his eye shifted to her face.

"Go with Dyana," Aemond said, his voice as cold as winter in the North. "Now."

Vera narrowed her eyes at him, defiance flashing across her features. She held his gaze for a moment longer before deliberately turning away from him.

"We'll speak later, Jace," she said softly, her voice gentling as she addressed the other prince.

Jacaerys nodded, his expression softening when he looked at her. "I'd like that," he replied, though his eyes hardened when they returned to Aemond. The two princes exchanged a heated glare that seemed to crackle with six years of accumulated hatred.

Jacaerys was the first to break the standoff, turning on his heel and walking away with measured steps. Vera watched him go, waiting until his figure disappeared around the corner before she moved.

When Dyana appeared at the archway moments later, looking concerned and slightly out of breath, Vera walked past Aemond without a word, deliberately avoiding his touch when their shoulders nearly brushed. She joined her maid, and together they walked down the corridor in silence.

After they'd put some distance between themselves and Aemond, Vera took a deep breath, willing her racing heart to slow. She glanced at Dyana, who kept shooting nervous looks over her shoulder.

"I'm going to my chambers for a little while," Vera said softly, composing herself. "You're dismissed for now, but please tell the Queen I'll be late."

Dyana nodded, though hesitation was evident in her face. "Yes, my lady. I can escort you to your--" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she looked behind them. "Prince Aemond is coming," she whispered.

Vera could hear the familiar cadence of his footsteps echoing off the stone walls, growing closer with each passing second. She continued walking, her spine straight and her chin lifted.

"You can go, Dyana," she said quietly. "Please do as I asked."

After a moment's hesitation, the maid nodded and departed down a side corridor, casting one final worried glance over her shoulder before disappearing from view.

Vera reached her chambers and pushed open the heavy door, grateful that the corridor empty of guards or servants. Just as she moved to close it behind her, a hand shot out, stopping the door's progress. Aemond stepped inside, his tall frame filling the doorway momentarily before he shut the door with a decisive click.

The air in the chamber seemed to thicken as they faced each other, tension crackling between them like lightning before a storm. Aemond's violet eye burned with barely contained fury, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle jumped visibly beneath his skin.

"What do you think you're doing?" Vera demanded, refusing to be intimidated despite the dangerous energy radiating from him.

"I could ask you the same question," he replied, his voice deceptively soft. "Kissing our enemy in broad daylight, where anyone could see?"

Vera's cheeks flushed with indignation. "He is not our enemy. And I didn't kiss him--he kissed me."

"And you kissed him back," Aemond countered, taking a step closer. "I saw you, Vera."

"It was a moment of surprise, nothing more," she insisted, standing her ground despite his advancing figure. "And what right do you have to question me about it?"

"I have every right," Aemond said coldly. "I am a prince of House Targaryen."

Vera's eyes flashed dangerously. "I don't care if you're a prince!" she shot back, her voice rising. "You could be the king himself, and I still wouldn't answer to you about this!"

Aemond stared down at her, fury radiating from his tall frame. His violet eye narrowed dangerously, his hands clenching at his sides.

"We were talking about letters," Vera said, her voice steadier now. "Letters Jace sent me for three years that I never knew about or received."

Something flickered in Aemond's eye—a flash of recognition quickly masked behind his anger—but Vera caught it.

"Good," he said flatly.

Vera stared at him, her breath catching as realization dawned. "You knew," she whispered, the pieces suddenly falling into place. "You knew about the letters."

Aemond remained silent, his jaw clenched tightly, but his silence was answer enough.

"How could you?" Vera demanded, hurt and betrayal washing over her in equal measure. "You had no right to keep them from me!"

"I had every right," Aemond countered, stepping closer. "He doesn't deserve your attention. He and his brother took my eye!"

"That doesn't give you the right to decide who I speak with!" Vera shot back, her voice rising with each word. "Those letters were mine!"

"I was protecting you," Aemond insisted, his voice hardening. "From him, from his family, from their lies."

"No," Vera shook her head, tears of anger gathering in her eyes. "You were controlling me. Making decisions about my life without my knowledge or consent."

"You don't understand--"

"I understand perfectly," Vera cut him off. "You lied to me for years. By omission, perhaps, but still a lie."

Aemond's expression darkened further. "You're overreacting."

"Get out," Vera snapped, turning away from him. "Get out. Get out of my chambers now."

Aemond's expression darkened dangerously. "You don't command me," he snapped, grabbing her arm to turn her back toward him. "I am a prince of the blood. You are no one."

They both froze, the cruel words hanging in the air between them.

Vera blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She stepped back, pulling her arm from his grasp. When Aemond reached for her again, his expression instantly regretful, she moved further away.

"Vera," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. "I didn't mean--"

"Yes, you did," she interrupted, her voice hollow. "And perhaps you're right. I am no one. Just the orphan girl Ser Criston took pity on."

Aemond's face twisted with remorse. "That's not what I meant. You know that's not how I see you."

"Don't I?" Vera asked. "You've made it quite clear what I am to you. A possession. Something you can control."

"That's not true," Aemond insisted, taking another step toward her. "You're everything to me."

Vera shook her head slowly, her dark eyes hardening as she fought to keep her expression composed. "No," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not."

She stepped back, putting more distance between them as she blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears gathering in her eyes fall. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

"Please leave, Prince Aemond," she said formally, the title a deliberate barrier between them. "Now."

Aemond flinched at her use of his title, as though she had physically struck him. For a moment, vulnerability flashed across his features, his hand half-raised toward her before dropping back to his side.

"Vera, listen to me--"

"I said leave!" Her voice cracked slightly, the only indication of her internal struggle. "Or shall I call for the guards? I'm sure my father would be interested to hear why you're in my chambers uninvited."

A muscle jumped in Aemond's jaw as he stared at her, conflict evident in his violet eye. He struggled to maintain his composure.

"This isn't over," he said finally, his voice low and tightly controlled. "We will discuss this further when you're being reasonable."

"Reasonable?" Vera repeated incredulously. "There is no need to talk anymore later. A prince shouldn't worry himself over a nobody." Vera's voice cut through the tension like a blade, each word precise and deliberate. She straightened her shoulders, chin lifting as she stepped toward the door and pulled it open. "Your Highness."

The words hung between them like a physical thing, sharp-edged and cutting. Aemond's face went completely still, his eye widening as though she had slapped him.

Without another word, he strode past her, the black leather of his doublet brushing against her arm as he passed. In the corridor, he paused, half-turning as though to speak, but Vera closed the door firmly before he could utter a sound.

Chapter Text

She slept fitfully, waking several times throughout the night to find her pillow damp with fresh tears. When the first pale light of dawn filtered through her curtains, Vera was already awake, her body aching from tension and grief.

Rising slowly, she moved to the hearth where the fire had long since died out. Her eyes fell on the empty grate where yesterday, in a moment of fury, she had thrown the roses Aemond had left for her. Now they were gone, leaving no trace of his gift or her anger.

Vera stared at the cold ashes, feeling a heaviness in her chest that seemed to press against her very soul. Despite this weight, a quiet determination settled over her. She would not seek Aemond out. She would avoid him as much as possible, hoping their paths wouldn't cross in the confined space of the Red Keep.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. "My lady?" Dyana's voice called through the door. "I'm here with the Queen."

Vera hastily grabbed her robe, wrapping it around her nightgown before crossing to the door. She turned the key in the lock with trembling fingers and pulled it open.

Queen Alicent stood in the corridor, her emerald gown immaculate despite the early hour. Her green eyes immediately took in Vera's disheveled appearance with concern.

"Vera, child," she said softly as she entered, Dyana following behind her.

Vera closed the door, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I apologize for not coming yesterday, Your Grace," she murmured, her voice still rough from crying.

Dyana moved quietly around the chamber, gathering fresh clothing and preparing for a bath while the Queen approached Vera.

"There's no need for apologies," Queen Alicent said, placing a gentle hand on Vera's cheek. "Aemond came to me last night. He confessed that you had quarreled, and that he said things to you that he deeply regrets."

Vera managed a small, forced smile that didn't reach her eyes. "It's alright, Your Grace," she lied, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

"Is it?" the Queen asked, studying her face carefully.

Vera changed the subject. "How did the hearing go yesterday?"

Queen Alicent's expression shifted, her green eyes momentarily clouding with displeasure before she composed herself. "Driftmark has been granted to Lucerys Velaryon," she said, her tone carefully neutral. "The King himself appeared."

"I see," Vera replied softly.

"There was... an incident," the Queen continued, her voice lowering. "Lord Vaemond spoke against Rhaenyra's sons, calling them bastards. For his words, Prince Daemon struck off his head with Dark Sister."

Vera's eyes widened in surprise. "He killed him?"

"Indeed," the Queen confirmed with a grim nod. "And there is more news. Jacaerys and Lucerys have been betrothed to Princess Rhaena and Princess Baela Targaryen."

Vera drew in a deep breath, absorbing this information. Jacaerys betrothed. She nodded slowly, unsure how to feel about this development. "I understand," she said finally.

The Queen studied her face, seeming to search for something in her expression. "The King wants to have dinner, with all of us," she said after a moment. "You are a family, I would like you to attend, if you feel well enough."

The thought of facing Aemond across a table made Vera's stomach twist with anxiety, but she couldn't refuse the Queen. "Of course, Your Grace," she replied, forcing another smile. "I'll be there."

Queen Alicent's eyes softened with sympathy. "My son can be... difficult," she said carefully. "Proud and stubborn. But his heart is true, Vera. Whatever he said to hurt you, I know he regrets it deeply."

Vera remained silent, unable to respond without revealing the depth of her pain. The Queen seemed to understand, squeezing her hand gently before changing the subject.

"Let Dyana help you prepare for the day," she said, gesturing to the maid who had discreetly returned. "A hot bath and fresh clothes will help restore your spirits."

After the Queen departed, Vera allowed Dyana to guide her through the motions of bathing and dressing. The hot water eased some of the physical tension from her body, though it did little for the ache in her heart.

"You look lovely, my lady," Dyana said softly as she finished arranging Vera's dark hair in a simple but elegant style. "The blue brings out the warmth in your eyes."

Vera managed a small smile of gratitude, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you, Dyana."

Rising from her dressing table, Vera steeled herself for the day ahead. She would need all her strength to maintain her composure in Aemond's presence. As she prepared to leave her chambers, she touched the sapphire pendant at her throat—a reminder of what she had lost, and perhaps, what she had never truly had.

"Let's go," she said quietly, straightening her shoulders as she moved toward the door. "The day won't wait for my broken heart to mend."

The corridor outside was already bustling with activity as servants prepared for the evening's feast. Vera kept her eyes forward, her expression carefully neutral as she made her way toward the Queen's solar. She would focus on her duties, on being useful and present for the royal family that had welcomed her as their own.

And if her heart felt like a shattered thing inside her chest? Well, that was her burden to bear alone.

The morning sun streamed through the high windows of the dining hall as Vera entered, her head held high despite the hollow ache in her chest. She deliberately chose a seat between Helaena and the twins, positioning herself as far from Aemond as the table would allow. When his tall figure appeared in the doorway, his violet eye immediately seeking her out, she turned her attention to Jaehaerys, asking the boy about his dreams with exaggerated interest.

"They were full of dragons," the child replied eagerly, silver-gold curls bouncing as he described elaborate visions of fire and flight.

Vera nodded and smiled at all the right moments, hyper-aware of Aemond's gaze burning into her from across the table. When he attempted to catch her eye, she shifted in her seat, angling her body away from him.

"Vera, would you help me with my needlework later today?" Helaena asked dreamily, rescuing her from an uncomfortable silence.

"Of course," Vera replied with genuine warmth, grateful for the escape.

When Aemond opened his mouth to speak to her, Vera rose smoothly from her seat. "If you'll excuse me, I promised Queen Alicent I would help her with arrangements for tonight's feast."

She departed swiftly, Dyana following close behind, before Aemond could utter a single word.

Throughout the day, Vera moved with purpose through the Red Keep, always ensuring she had company or a ready excuse to leave whenever Aemond appeared. She spent an hour with Queen Alicent discussing seating arrangements, another with Lord Otto reviewing correspondence, and then joined Aegon in the garden where he was watching the twins play.

"You're avoiding my brother," Aegon observed lazily, stretching his long legs before him as they sat on a stone bench.

Vera kept her eyes on the children. "I don't know what you mean."

Aegon snorted. "You've been running from room to room all morning like you've got wildfire at your heels. And he's been stalking the corridors with a face that would curdle milk."

"Perhaps your brother should consider his words more carefully before he speaks them," Vera replied stiffly.

Aegon raised an eyebrow. "Whatever he said must have been truly terrible. Everyone noticed that you two weren't together today. It's strange, you can't find one without the other."

Vera brushed a strand of dark hair from her face, her expression carefully neutral. "We're sixteen years old, Aegon. Eventually we all get separated. I just took my time to realize that."

Aegon studied her face with unexpected perceptiveness. "So that's it? You're giving up?"

"There's nothing to give up on," she replied, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "He made his feelings quite clear."

As the twins called for Aegon to join their game, Vera slipped away, grateful for the distraction. In the corridor, Dyana appeared at her side, a small leather-bound book clutched to her chest.

"Prince Aemond is in the library, my lady," she whispered. "Shall we take the eastern passage instead?"

Vera nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Dyana."

Throughout the day, Dyana proved invaluable, always appearing at precisely the right moment with warnings of Aemond's whereabouts or convenient excuses to whisk Vera away from potential encounters. The maid seemed to have developed a sixth sense for the prince's movements, allowing Vera to navigate the Keep without crossing his path.

"You've been a godsend today," Vera told her quietly as they prepared for the evening feast. "I don't know how to thank you."

Dyana smiled, adjusting the sapphire pendant at Vera's throat. "There's no need, my lady. You've shown me nothing but kindness since the Queen assigned me to you." Her eyes dropped momentarily. "Not all in the royal household are so considerate."

Vera understood the unspoken reference to Aegon's notorious treatment of servants. "Well, you have my gratitude nonetheless."

In his chambers, Aemond paced like a caged beast, fury radiating from his tall frame. With each passing hour of Vera's continued avoidance, his anger had grown, transforming into something dark and dangerous that threatened to consume him entirely.

He was angry at Jacaerys for kissing her, for daring to touch what was his. He was angry at himself for losing control, for saying words he never meant to speak aloud. But most of all, he was angry at Vera for ignoring him—for acting as though he didn't exist, for fleeing rooms the moment he entered them.

A servant entered with fresh clothing for the feast, only to retreat hastily at the sight of Aemond's thunderous expression. Alone again, he moved to the window, staring out at the darkening sky as his thoughts spiraled.

The more she avoided him, the stronger his desire to claim her became. He imagined locking her in his chambers, keeping her there until she forgave him, until she understood that she belonged to him and no other. He wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to make her his in every way.

When a knock sounded at his door, he turned sharply, hope flaring briefly that it might be Vera. Instead, Ser Criston entered, his expression serious.

"My Prince," he said formally, "the Queen requests your presence. The feast begins shortly."

Aemond nodded curtly, struggling to mask his disappointment. "I'll be there momentarily."

As Criston turned to leave, Aemond called after him. "Ser Criston."

The knight paused, looking back expectantly.

"How is she?" Aemond asked, unable to keep the question contained any longer.

Criston's dark eyes studied him carefully. "My daughter is as well as can be expected, given the circumstances."

"Has she spoken of me?" The question escaped before Aemond could stop it, revealing more vulnerability than he had intended.

"No," Criston replied simply. After a moment's hesitation, he added, "But her silence speaks volumes, my Prince."

The dining Hall glittered with candlelight as Vera entered, her blue dress catching the golden glow.

As Vera swept into the Great Hall, her eyes immediately fell upon Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, who had arrived earlier than the rest of the royal family. Rhaenyra's silver-gold hair gleamed in the candlelight, her violet eyes bright despite the obvious fatigue of pregnancy. Her rounded belly was prominent beneath her crimson and black gown, the fabric stretched taut over her six-month pregnancy.

Daemon stood protectively at her side, his tall figure imposing in dark clothing that accentuated his Targaryen features. 

Vera took a deep breath, steadying herself before approaching the royal couple. She swept into a graceful curtsy before Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"Vera," Rhaenyra said warmly, her violet eyes lighting up with recognition. "It's been far too long."

"Princess," Vera replied, rising from her curtsy. "It's wonderful to see you again."

To Vera's surprise and relief, Rhaenyra opened her arms, inviting an embrace. Vera stepped forward hesitantly, then found herself enveloped in the princess's warm hug. The rounded swell of Rhaenyra's belly pressed gently against her as they embraced.

When they pulled apart, Vera's smile was genuine. "Congratulations on your marriage and the child, Princess. I wish you an easy pregnancy and safe delivery."

"Thank you, dear," Rhaenyra said, one hand resting protectively on her rounded stomach. "I heard you weren't feeling well yesterday. Jace was concerned."

Vera felt heat rise to her cheeks. "It was... not entirely truthful, I'm afraid. The situation is rather complicated."

"I understand," Rhaenyra nodded, her expression softening with sympathy. "Sometimes we need distance from difficult matters."

"I was told about the outcome of the hearing," Vera said, changing the subject. "I'm pleased Luke remains heir to Driftmark. He'll make a fine lord someday."

Rhaenyra chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "For now, he feels somewhat insecure about the responsibility, but with time, he'll grow into the role."

Vera glanced between the princess and her imposing husband. "I also heard about Lord Vaemond's... unfortunate end." She turned her gaze directly to Daemon, a hint of mischief breaking through her melancholy. "Though I must say, Prince Daemon, despite my surprise, you did everyone a favor."

Daemon's stern expression cracked, a dark laugh escaping him as he regarded Vera with newfound interest. "I like this one," he remarked to Rhaenyra, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Rhaenyra laughed, her hand resting on her rounded belly. "She's always been sharp-witted. Even as a child, she could put the maesters to shame with her observations."

Before Vera could respond, the great doors of the hall swung open. Aemond entered first, his tall figure commanding immediate attention in his black and crimson doublet, and black eyepatch. His violet eye swept the room, freezing when it landed on Vera. Helaena followed, in pale lavender silk, her gaze fixed on something only she could see. Aegon sauntered in behind them, his expression one of practiced boredom as he adjusted his golden circlet.

Vera's heart hammered painfully against her ribs as Aemond's gaze bore into her. She turned deliberately back to Rhaenyra, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

The tension in the hall thickened as the three siblings approached. Daemon straightened, his hand instinctively moving to where Dark Sister would normally hang, though he was unarmed for the feast.

Before the brewing storm could break, the doors opened again. Jacaerys and Lucerys entered. Behind them came Daemon's twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena, their silver-gold hair gleaming in elaborate braids as they clung to each other's hands.

Vera seized her opportunity. With a quick curtsy to Rhaenyra and Daemon, she moved swiftly toward Aegon, who was pouring himself a generous cup of wine. She placed her hand lightly on his arm, leaning close to his ear.

"Please," she whispered urgently, "let me sit between you and Jace tonight. I don't want to face your brother."

Aegon's violet eyes flicked to Aemond, noting the barely contained fury in his younger brother's stance. Understanding dawned in his expression, followed by a rare flash of genuine concern.

"Of course," he murmured, patting her hand with surprising gentleness. "I'll sit between you and Helaena."

Relief washed over Vera. "Thank you," she breathed, squeezing his arm gratefully.

The doors opened once more, revealing Queen Alicent in a magnificent gown of emerald silk, her silver-streaked dark hair arranged beneath a golden circlet. Beside her walked Otto Hightower, stern and imposing in black velvet trimmed with gold.

The assembled family members moved toward the long table as servants bustled about, placing the final touches on the elaborate feast. Vera kept close to Aegon, using his larger frame as a shield against Aemond's burning gaze.

Aegon guided her to a seat between himself and Jacaerys, then settled beside Helaena, effectively placing himself as a barrier between Vera and Aemond. As Vera took her place, Jacaerys offered her a warm smile, his brown eyes gentle with understanding.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said softly, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear.

"Thank you," Vera replied, grateful for his kindness amid the tension surrounding them.

Across the table, Aemond's jaw clenched visibly as he watched their exchange. His knuckles whitened around his goblet, threatening to shatter the fine crystal with the force of his grip.

Queen Alicent surveyed the assembled family, her green eyes sharp as she noted the unusual seating arrangement. Her gaze lingered briefly on Vera's strained expression and Aemond's barely contained fury before moving on.

"We await only His Grace," she announced, her voice carrying the practiced authority of years as queen. "He should join us shortly."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Rhaenyra and Daemon sat close together, her hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. The twins, Baela and Rhaena, whispered to each other, occasionally giggling behind their hands. Lucerys shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting between his brother and uncle with obvious apprehension.

Vera stared down at her empty plate, acutely aware of Aemond's gaze burning into her. She could feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch, heavy and demanding. When she finally gathered the courage to look up, the raw emotion in his violet eye made her breath catch—fury, yes, but beneath it, a desperate hunger that frightened her with its intensity.

Aegon leaned closer, breaking her trance. "Drink," he suggested quietly, pushing a goblet of wine toward her. "It helps."

Vera accepted the cup gratefully, taking a small sip of the sweet Arbor gold. The wine warmed her throat, easing some of the tension that had coiled within her since that morning.

"I heard about your betrothal," she said to Jacaerys, desperate for any distraction. "Congratulations."

Jacaerys's expression shifted, a mixture of resignation and duty crossing his features. "Thank you," he replied, his voice carefully neutral. "It was... unexpected."

Before Vera could respond, the doors opened once more. A hush fell over the assembly as two Kingsguard knights entered, flanking a frail figure in a chair. King Viserys had aged decades in the years since Vera had last seen him. His once robust frame had withered to a skeletal thinness, his skin hanging loosely from his bones. The gold crown upon his head seemed too heavy for his wasted form, and a half of a mask covering his side of the face.

Everyone rose as the King was brought to the head of the table. Vera's heart ached at the sight of the once-vigorous monarch reduced to this shadow of himself. His rheumy eye swept the table, struggling to focus on the faces of his family.

"Sit," he commanded, his voice a weak rasp of its former strength. As they resumed their seats, the king was set down between his daughter and his wife. "Let us eat together, as a family should."

"How good it is to see you all tonight," he continued quietly as he looked around the table, "Together."

Queen Alicent looked to the King, "Prayer before we begin?"

"Yes," the King agreed softly with a nod.

"May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest."

"This is an occasion for celebration, it seems," King Viserys said, "My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Princes... and their betrothed."

They all raised their goblets, the golden liquid catching the flickering candlelight as they drank to the betrothals. Vera took only the smallest sip, the wine tasting like ash on her tongue as she caught Aemond's burning gaze over the rim of her cup.

Aegon leaned close, his warm breath tickling her ear. "I've suddenly lost my appetite," he murmured, eyeing the tension between his brother and Jacaerys. "This feels more like a battlefield than a feast."

Vera turned slightly, her lips nearly brushing his ear as she whispered back, "I haven't been hungry since yesterday. Just play along." She pulled away with a forced smile.

Aegon scoffed quietly, amusement dancing in his violet eyes despite the tension surrounding them. He reached for his wine again, taking a long swallow as servants began bringing in the first course—a creamy soup of mushrooms and leeks garnished with fresh herbs.

"Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys... the future Lord of the Tides," the King said.

"Hear, hear," Rhaenyra said, smiling proudly at her younger son and they all took a sip from their goblets.

The King slowly started to stand out of his chair, and Queen Alicent rested her hand on his back, trying to give him support. The King put his hands down on the table and he looked around the table.

"It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table," he said, "The faces most dear to me in all the world... yet grown so distant from each other... in the years past."

Silence filled the room as the King spoke. He reached up towards his gold mask and fumbled with the clasp keeping it together. Once undone, he pulled it away from his face to show his disfiguration, and Vera took a deep breath.

"My own face..." he trailed off, "Is no longer a handsome one... if indeed it ever was. But tonight... I wish you to see me... as I am. Not just a King... but your father. Your brother. Your husband... and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems... walk for much longer among you."

King Viserys threw the mask onto the table, letting it clatter against the dishes, and he looked around the table. "Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown... then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly."

The King breathed heavily and slowly sat back down on his chair, the Queen placed her hand on his arm. After there was a moment of silence, Rhaenyra stood up from her chair, one hand on her pregnant belly and the other raising her goblet.

"I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen," she said as the Queen helped King Viserys with his mask. She looked at her with surprise. The Princess looked at her. "I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood... more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with... unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude... and my apology."

Rhaenyra sat back down, and everyone took another sip of their wine. "Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess," the Queen said, "We are both mothers... and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow." She took her goblet and stood up from her chair. "I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine Queen."

They both looked at each for a moment. The Queen sat back on her chair and Rhaenyra looked down. She smiled a little and they all took a sip.

The tension in the hall seemed to ease slightly after the Queen's toast. Servants moved silently around the table. The rich aroma filled the air as conversations began to flow more freely around the table.

Vera kept her eyes fixed on her plate, meticulously arranging the food without actually eating any of it. She could feel Aemond's gaze upon her, unrelenting and fierce from across the table. When she dared a quick glance upward, the raw hunger in his violet eye made her stomach twist with a confusing mixture of anger and longing.

Aegon, who had been watching this silent exchange, suddenly leaned around Vera toward Jacaerys. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, though it remained just loud enough for those nearby to hear.

"So, Jace," he drawled, wine loosening his tongue, "are you the reason my brother and Vera have suddenly fallen apart? I've never seen them this distant before."

Jacaerys stiffened, his brown eyes flashing with warning as he glared at Aegon. Vera closed her eyes briefly, mortification washing over her in a hot wave. When she opened them again, she fixed Aegon with a withering look.

With swift, deliberate movements, she placed her hand firmly on Aegon's chest and pushed him back into his seat. "If you say or do anything else remotely stupid tonight," she whispered fiercely, leaning close to his ear, "I swear by all the gods I will put a snake in your bed again tomorrow morning. And this time, it won't be a harmless garden snake."

Aegon's eyes widened slightly before he raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin spreading across his face despite her threat. "Peace, little demon," he murmured, clearly enjoying her discomfort. "I was merely curious."

Vera glanced across the table, her heart sinking as she caught sight of Aemond's expression. His face had gone completely still, a mask of cold fury that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. His knuckles were white around his goblet, and for a moment, she feared the crystal might shatter in his grip.

"Your curiosity will be the death of you one day," she muttered to Aegon, turning her attention back to her untouched food.

King Viserys was oblivious to the undercurrents of tension flowing around his table. "Let us have some music," he said, and the small band started playing a folk tune.

The music filled the hall, a lively folk tune that lifted spirits and softened the lingering tension. Jacaerys leaned close to Baela, whispering something in her ear that made her nod with understanding. In one fluid motion, he rose from his seat and turned toward Vera, extending his hand with a gentle smile.

"Shall we, my Lady?" he asked, his brown eyes warm with invitation.

Vera looked from his outstretched hand to his face, a mix of surprise and amusement playing across her features. She was acutely aware of every eye at the table turning toward them—especially one burning violet gaze from across the table.

"If we must..." she replied with feigned reluctance, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she placed her hand in his.

"We must," Jacaerys confirmed with a warm smile that reached his eyes. He helped her to her feet with practiced grace, leading her to the open space before the musicians.

As they took their positions, Aegon's expression was one of surprised, his eyebrows raised in annoyance as he reached for his wine. But Aemond's face had transformed into something dangerous. His jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle jumped visibly beneath his skin, his violet eye darkening with barely contained fury.

Jacaerys placed one hand at her waist, the other holding hers as they began to move with the music. "He's watching us," he murmured, guiding her through the first turn.

"I know, let him," Vera replied, forcing herself to focus on the dance rather than the burning gaze following her every movement. Deep down, a small, vindictive part of her was pleased by Aemond's reaction—let him see what it felt like to be hurt, to be treated as insignificant.

They moved together with surprising ease, their steps matching perfectly despite having never danced together before. Jacaerys was a skilled partner, leading with confidence but without the commanding force that characterized Aemond's dancing.

"You're quite good at this," Vera remarked as he guided her through a complex turn.

"My mother insisted on lessons," Jacaerys replied with a small laugh. "Said a future king must know how to dance properly."

As they continued their dance, King Viserys suddenly slumped in his chair, his frail body overcome with exhaustion. The music faltered as Queen Alicent rose swiftly to his side.

"His Grace needs rest," she announced, her voice calm despite the concern in her eyes. "Guards, please escort the King to his chambers."

Two Kingsguard knights stepped forward immediately, carefully lifting the King's chair with him still seated. As they carried him toward the doors, Viserys raised a trembling hand.

"Continue," he commanded weakly. "Enjoy yourselves. That's... an order."

The hall remained silent until the doors closed behind the King and his escort. Slowly, conversation resumed, though more subdued than before. The musicians hesitantly began playing again, and Jacaerys guided Vera back into the rhythm of their dance.

Servants entered with the next course, placing a magnificent roasted pig at the center of the table. The beast was golden-brown, an apple in its mouth, surrounded by roasted vegetables and glazed fruits.

Aemond's attention snapped to the pig, his expression shifting from fury to something darker, more visceral. He stared at the roasted animal with such intense hatred that the servants hurried away, unwilling to remain in his presence a moment longer than necessary.

Lucerys, seated across from Aemond, couldn't help but notice his uncle's reaction. A small chuckle escaped him before he could stop it, memories of a childhood prank surfacing—a pig they had dressed with golden fabric, a crude mockery of the dragon Aemond had not yet claimed.

Aemond's eye snapped away from the pig, fixing on Lucerys with deadly intent. The younger boy brought his goblet to his lips, trying to hide another chuckle that threatened to escape.

The sound of Aemond's fist slamming into the table reverberated through the hall. The music stopped abruptly, all eyes turning to the prince as he rose to his full height, towering over the seated guests. His face was a mask of cold fury as he raised his goblet into the air, a sinister smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"A final tribute," he announced, his voice carrying clearly through the silent hall. "To the health of my nephews. Jace..." His eye flicked to where Jacaerys stood frozen with Vera. "Luke... and Joffrey." His lip curled slightly. "Each of them handsome, wise... hm, strong."

"Aemond," Queen Alicent warned, her voice sharp with authority.

"Come," Aemond continued, ignoring his mother's caution. "Let us drain our cups to these three..."

Aegon raised his goblet as well, a knowing smirk spreading across his face as he sensed the coming insult.

"Strong boys," Aemond finished, emphasizing the name in a way that left no doubt about his meaning.

"I dare you to say that again," Jacaerys said, glaring at his uncle.

"Why?" Aemond asked, his voice dangerously soft as he lowered his goblet. "'Twas only a compliment." His violet eye gleamed with malice as he stepped away from the table.

Jacaerys released Vera's hand, moving toward Aemond with measured steps.

"Do you not think yourself Strong?" Aemond asked, emphasizing the name once more, his lip curling into a cruel smile.

With a growl of fury, Jacaerys lunged forward, his fist connecting with Aemond's jaw in a vicious blow that echoed through the silent hall. Aemond barely flinched, his head turning slightly with the impact before he straightened, chuckling darkly.

Vera gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. Before she could move, Otto Hightower appeared at her side, pulling her away from the brewing fight. He guided her toward Helaena, who stood frozen in place, her dreamy eyes suddenly sharp with fear.

Across the table, Lucerys leapt to his feet, rushing to aid his brother. Aegon was just as quick, intercepting the younger boy with brutal efficiency. He slammed Lucerys face-down onto the table, pinning him there with one hand pressed firmly against the back of his neck.

Aemond seized his advantage, shoving Jacaerys backward with enough force to send him sprawling onto the floor. He loomed over the fallen prince, laughter bubbling from his throat as he stepped back.

"Jace!" Rhaenyra cried, her hands protectively covering her swollen belly as she attempted to rise.

"That is enough!" Queen Alicent's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

Guards rushed forward, seizing Lucerys and Jacaerys with firm grips. Rhaenyra's sons struggled against their captors, fury etched into their young faces as they glared at their uncles.

Vera broke free from Otto's protective hold, rushing to Aemond's side. She grabbed his leather-clad arm, forcing him to look at her. Her dark eyes burned with hurt and confusion.

"Why would you say such a thing?" she demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond's expression softened for the briefest moment as their eyes met, before hardening once more into a cruel mask. His lips curled into a dark smirk as he regarded her.

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family," he replied. He pulled his arm free from her grasp, turning his attention back to his nephews. "Mm, though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs."

Queen Alicent moved swiftly, taking Vera's arm and pulling her gently away from her son. She guided the young woman toward Otto, placing herself between Vera and the brewing violence.

Jacaerys broke free of the guard's grip, lunging toward Aemond once more with murder in his eyes. Before he could reach his target, Daemon stepped between them, one hand extended to halt his stepson's advance.

"Wait, wait!"

Jacaerys's chest heaved with rage as he glared past his stepfather at his smirking uncle.

Daemon took a stand in front of his family and looked toward Aemond as Rhaenyra spoke to the children, "Go to your quarters. All of you go, now."

Jacaerys hesitated, his gaze shifting between Daemon and Aemond. Finally, with a curt nod to his stepfather, he stepped back, fists still clenched at his sides.

"Come," he said to Lucerys, voice tight with controlled fury. "This isn't worth it."

Baela and Rhaena hurried to their betrothed's sides, each taking one of the boys' arms as they made their way toward the door. The twins cast nervous glances over their shoulders as they departed, their silver-gold hair gleaming in the candlelight.

Daemon stepped forward, his tall figure imposing as he faced Aemond. The two men stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to look away.

Daemon's lips curved into a knowing smile, one hand resting casually on his hip where Dark Sister would normally hang.

Aemond matched his smile with equal confidence, his violet eye gleaming with dark amusement.

After what felt like an eternity, Aemond broke the standoff. With a dismissive hum that somehow conveyed both contempt and boredom, he turned away from Daemon and strode toward the door.

Vera watched him go, her heart sinking in her chest. She turned to Queen Alicent, who stood rigid with barely contained fury at the evening's disaster.

"I have no choice it seems," Vera whispered, her voice barely audible in the silent hall. "I must speak with him."

The Queen's green eyes softened with understanding as she nodded once, releasing Vera's arm with a gentle squeeze. Without another word, Vera slipped from the hall, her blue dress swishing softly against the stone floor as she hurried after Aemond.

She knew exactly where he would go. Her feet carried her swiftly through the familiar corridors of the Red Keep, past startled servants and curious guards. When she reached Aemond's chambers, she didn't hesitate or announce herself as protocol demanded. Instead, she pushed the heavy door open without knocking and stepped inside.

Aemond stood by the window, his back to the door. He had already removed his eyepatch and shirt, his muscular torso gleaming in the firelight.

Vera closed the door firmly behind her, the sound echoing in the quiet chamber. She didn't care about his state of undress—they had known each other too long and too intimately for such concerns.

"What in seven hells was that?" she demanded, her voice sharp with anger and hurt. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

Aemond turned slowly to face her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "So we're back in speaking," he said softly, dangerously. "After avoiding me all day, now you grace me with your presence."

"Don't you dare turn this around," Vera snapped, advancing toward him with righteous fury. "You humiliated Jacaerys and Lucerys. You could have started a war tonight with your stupid pride!"

Aemond's lip curled into a sneer. "They deserved worse than words for what they did to me. Or have you forgotten who took my eye?"

"That was six years ago!" Vera exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"So you defend them now?" Aemond's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper as he stepped closer, looming over her. "Have you fallen so quickly for Jacaerys that you would take his side against me?"

Vera met his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to be intimidated by his height or his anger. "This isn't about taking sides. This is about you being cruel and petty. About you keeping Jace's letters from me for years, and then having the audacity to be angry when I discovered your deception!"

"Deception?" Aemond repeated, his voice rising. "I was protecting you!"

"From what?" Vera demanded, stepping even closer until they were mere inches apart. "From having friends? From making my own choices? Or were you afraid I might actually care for someone other than you?"

Something dark and possessive flashed in Aemond's violet eye. With a growl of frustration, he seized her upper arms, his grip firm but not painful as he pulled her against his chest.

"You are mine," he snarled, his face mere inches from hers. "You have always been mine, Vera. Since we were children. I will not share you with anyone, least of all with him."

Vera's breath caught in her throat at his declaration, her heart hammering against her ribs. For a moment, they stood frozen, his hands on her arms, their faces close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath against her lips.

"I don't belong to anyone," she whispered finally, her voice steady despite the trembling of her body. "Not to you. Not to Jace. Not to anyone. I am a no one."

Aemond's grip tightened at her words, his eye darkening with rage. The muscle in his jaw jumped as he fought to maintain control, but her defiance ignited something primal within him. He wanted to lock her in his chamber, to keep her there until she forgave him, until she understood that she belonged with him and no one else. The thought of her with Jacaerys made his blood boil.

"Is that what you truly believe?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft. "That you are no one?"

"You said it yourself," Vera replied, her chin lifting defiantly despite the tears gathering in her eyes.

Something snapped inside him. He released her arms suddenly, stepping back as though her touch burned him.

"Is that what you want, then?" he asked coldly, his voice like ice. "To be betrothed to Jacaerys instead? Is that why you let him kiss you? Why you danced with him tonight?"

Vera's eyes widened at his accusation, hurt and anger flashing across her features. "How dare you," she whispered, her voice trembling with rage. "After what you've done--"

"Answer the question," Aemond demanded.

A dangerous gleam entered Vera's eyes. "Maybe I should ask the Queen to find me someone else entirely," she snapped, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue but worth it for the shock that crossed his face. "Someone who won't lie to me for years. Since Jace is clearly unavailable now, perhaps there's another lord who would treat me with more respect than you have."

"Then go right ahead," Aemond said coldly, his eye hardening to stone. "Do as you please. Perhaps you'll find a man weak enough to tolerate your willfulness."

The words struck Vera like a physical blow. Vera shook her head and turned away, unable to bear the coldness in his gaze any longer. Without another word, she walked to the door, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled it open. She didn't look back as she stepped into the corridor, closing the door firmly behind her.

The walk to her chambers seemed endless. Vera kept her head high, nodding mechanically to the guards she passed, though she barely registered their presence. Her mind replayed Aemond's words over and over, each repetition cutting deeper than the last.

When she finally reached her chambers, she closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling slowly as she fought to compose herself. The fire had been lit in her absence, casting a warm glow across the familiar space. She pushed away from the door, crossing to her dressing table where she removed the sapphire pendant with shaking fingers.

The soft sound of movement from the bathing area made her turn. Dyana emerged, carrying fresh linens. She paused, her eyes widening slightly as she took in Vera's appearance.

"My lady, are you alright?" she asked softly, setting down her burden and moving closer.

Vera let out a long breath, forcing her lips into a semblance of a smile. "I'm fine," she lied, her voice steadier than she expected. "Would you help me out of this dress, please? I'd like to bathe before bed."

Dyana nodded, concern evident in her eyes despite accepting the obvious falsehood. She moved behind Vera, her nimble fingers working at the laces of the blue gown with practiced efficiency.

"I took the liberty of preparing your bath when I heard the commotion from the feast," Dyana explained softly. "I thought you might want to wash away the evening."

"Thank you," Vera murmured, genuine gratitude warming her voice. "That was thoughtful."

Once free of the constricting gown, Vera slipped into the steaming water, a small sigh escaping her as the heat enveloped her aching body. She leaned back, closing her eyes as Dyana gathered scented oils and a small pitcher for rinsing her hair.

"Shall I wash your hair, my lady?" Dyana asked, kneeling beside the tub.

Vera nodded, too exhausted to speak. She sat forward, allowing Dyana to pour warm water over her dark locks. The maid's fingers were gentle as she worked a lavender-scented soap into Vera's hair, massaging her scalp with soothing pressure.

"The feast ended rather... abruptly," Dyana remarked cautiously as she worked. "The servants' corridors are buzzing with talk."

"I imagine they are," Vera replied, her eyes still closed. "It was quite the spectacle."

Dyana's hands paused briefly before resuming their rhythmic motion. "They say Prince Aemond nearly came to blows with Prince Jacaerys."

"He did," Vera confirmed, too tired to pretend otherwise. "Over a stupid, childish insult that should have been left in the past."

Silence stretched between them for several moments as Dyana rinsed the soap from Vera's hair, the gentle trickle of water the only sound in the quiet chamber.

"May I speak freely, my lady?" Dyana asked finally, her voice hesitant.

"Of course."

Dyana's hands continued their gentle work, rinsing soap from Vera's hair as she spoke. "I've only been in your service a short time of a few days, but I've watched you and Prince Aemond together before the fall out. The way he looks at you..." She paused, seeming to search for the right words. "It's not the way a friend looks at another friend."

Vera remained silent, unable to deny the truth of Dyana's observation.

"And the way you look at him," Dyana continued softly. "It's the same, though perhaps you don't realize it."

"It doesn't matter how we look at each other," Vera said finally, her voice hollow. "Some things cannot be."

"Because he's a prince?" Dyana asked, reaching for more clean water to rinse Vera's hair.

"Partly," Vera admitted. "But also because..." She hesitated, unsure how to explain the complex tangle of emotions that bound her to Aemond. "Because we hurt each other. Because he sees me as something to possess, not as someone to love."

Dyana's hands stilled again. "Forgive me, my lady, but possession and love often walk hand in hand, especially for men of power, and proud ones. Prince Aemond may not know how to separate the two."

Vera turned slightly, studying the young maid's face with new interest. "You speak from experience?"

Dyana's face fell, and her expression turned a little sad but she quickly composed herself. "Not really, my lady. I just... see things. Watch people." She lowered her gaze, hands resuming their gentle work. "I apologize if I've overstepped."

"You didn't," Vera said softly, turning back to allow Dyana better access to her hair.

As the maid's fingers worked through the wet strands, Vera found herself curious about this perceptive young woman. "Where did you serve before the Queen gave you to me?" she asked gently.

Dyana's hands hesitated for a moment before continuing their rhythmic movements. "With Princess Helaena," she answered, her voice carefully neutral.

"Were you around Prince Aegon, then?" Vera asked, already suspecting the answer.

"Yes," Dyana replied quietly, focusing intently on Vera's hair.

Vera let out a slow breath, disappointment settling in her chest. "Did he... did he do something to you?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. Aegon's reputation with servant girls was well-known, at least among the women of the Keep.

A heavy silence fell between them. The only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the copper tub.

"Yes," Dyana finally admitted, her voice barely audible. "But I was told not to speak of it. The Queen... she didn't want you to worry."

Vera closed her eyes, a wave of sadness washing over her. "I'm so sorry for what happened to you," she said softly.

"It's alright," Dyana replied, her voice steadier now. "I'm in a better place now."

Vera smiled softly, grateful that at least this young woman had found some peace in her service. After the bath was complete, Dyana helped her into a fresh nightgown of pale silk, her movements efficient and practiced.

"You can go and rest now," Vera told her gently as she settled onto the edge of her bed, tying her robe. "We'll meet tomorrow morning."

Dyana nodded with a small bow before slipping quietly from the chamber, leaving Vera alone with her thoughts.

The silence of the room pressed in around her, heavy with the weight of everything that had happened that day. Vera stared into the dying embers of the fire, Aemond's cold words echoing in her mind. Perhaps you'll find a man weak enough to tolerate your willfulness.

A soft knock at her door startled her from her thoughts. For a wild, hopeful moment, she thought it might be Aemond, come to apologize. Her heart leapt traitorously in her chest as she rose from the bed, crossing the chamber in quick strides.

When she pulled the door open, however, it was her father who stood in the corridor, still in his Kingsguard armor. Criston's dark eyes were filled with concern as he took in her appearance.

"May I come in?" he asked quietly.

Vera nodded, stepping aside to allow him entry. She closed the door behind him, watching as he moved to stand before the hearth, his white cloak gleaming in the firelight.

"I heard about what happened at the royal dinner," Criston said, turning to face her. "And I saw you leave after Prince Aemond."

Vera sighed, sinking onto the edge of her bed. "We quarreled," she admitted, her voice small in the quiet chamber. "Badly."

Criston crossed to sit beside her, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his armored weight. Despite the formal barrier of his Kingsguard plate, his presence was comforting, familiar.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked gently.

Vera hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. Her father had always been protective of her, especially where Aemond was concerned. She didn't want to burden him with the full truth of their argument.

"He kept letters from me," she said finally, deciding on a partial truth. "Letters from Jacaerys. For years."

"I see. And this upset you?"

"It wasn't just the letters," Vera admitted. "It was the deception. The control. As if I'm not allowed to make my own choices."

Criston was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the dying fire. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft with understanding. "Prince Aemond has always been... possessive of those he cares for. Especially you."

"I'm not his to possess," Vera replied, a hint of defiance creeping into her tone.

"No," Criston agreed. "You're not. But you must understand, Ver--Prince Aemond has never had much that was truly his. His mother's attention was divided among four children. His father..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "The King always favored Princess Rhaenyra. And then there was the incident at Driftmark..."

"That doesn't excuse his behavior," Vera insisted.

"No, it doesn't," Criston conceded. "But it might help explain it. In his mind, you have always been the one constant--the one person who was entirely his."

Vera fell silent, considering her father's words. There was truth in them, she knew. She had always been Aemond's best friend, his confidante, his anchor in the storm of court politics and family rivalries.

"What should I do?" she asked finally, her voice small.

Criston reached out, taking her hand in his armored one. The metal was cool against her skin, but his touch was gentle. "That depends on what you want."

"I don't know what I want," Vera admitted, tears threatening once more. "I'm angry with him. Hurt by his words. But..."

"But you care for him still," Criston finished for her, his expression softening. "Despite everything."

Vera nodded, unable to deny the truth. "Is that foolish of me?"

"Love is rarely wise," Criston replied, a hint of old pain flashing across his features. "But it is honest." He squeezed her hand gently before releasing it. "Get some rest. Things often appear clearer in the morning light."

As he rose to leave, Vera caught his arm. "Father," she said softly, "did you ever... did you ever love someone you shouldn't have?"

Criston's expression shifted, a complex mixture of pain and resignation crossing his features. For a moment, he seemed to debate whether to answer. "Yes," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Once."

"What happened?" Vera asked, though part of her already knew the answer.

"I chose duty," Criston replied simply. "And honor." He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Sleep well. We'll speak more tomorrow."

After he had gone, Vera extinguished the candles and slipped beneath her blankets, staring up at the darkened canopy of her bed. Her father's words echoed in her mind, alongside Aemond's cruel dismissal and Dyana's perceptive observations.

Love is rarely wise. But it is honest.

She closed her eyes, exhaustion finally claiming her as she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the windows as Dyana carefully arranged Vera's dark hair, weaving small white flowers into the elegant braids. Her touch was gentle, each movement precise and practiced despite her young age.

"My lady," Dyana said softly, her eyes meeting Vera's in the mirror's reflection. "Prince Jacaerys asked me to deliver a message when I was fetching your breakfast. He would like to speak with you in the garden."

Vera's hands stilled in her lap. "Alright," she replied, her voice betraying little emotion though her heart quickened at the thought of facing Jace after the previous night's disaster. She sighed deeply. "I suppose he and his family won't be staying after what happened at dinner."

"I think not, my lady," Dyana agreed, carefully pinning another small bloom into place. "The servants say Princess Rhaenyra's household is preparing to leave. The Prince seemed... urgent about seeing you before they sail."

Vera nodded, her expression thoughtful as Dyana finished the final touches to her hair. "There," the maid said with quiet satisfaction, stepping back to admire her work.

Rising from her seat, Vera smoothed the skirts of her pale green dress, a simple but elegant gown that complemented her olive complexion. "Let's go," she said, moving toward the door with Dyana following close behind.

As they stepped into the corridor, Vera glanced back at the young maid. "Walk beside me," she instructed gently. "Not behind me."

Dyana hesitated momentarily before moving to Vera's side, clearly unused to such treatment. They walked in companionable silence through the stone corridors, the morning sun casting long shadows through the high windows.

As they rounded a corner, Vera stopped abruptly. Ahead of them stood Aemond and Aegon, deep in conversation. Aegon was hastily adjusting his doublet and running fingers through his disheveled silver-gold hair, while Aemond stood tall and imposing in black leather, his eyepatch firmly in place.

Vera felt Dyana tense beside her, the young maid instinctively stepping backward until she was partially hidden behind Vera's slender form. Taking a deep breath, Vera straightened her shoulders and approached the princes, deliberately avoiding Aemond's piercing gaze.

"Good morrow, Aegon," she said coolly, focusing solely on the elder prince. "I'm surprised to see you on your feet at this early hour."

Aegon sighed dramatically, still attempting to tame his unruly hair. "Don't ask how it happened," he muttered, shooting an annoyed glance at his younger brother.

Vera glanced around, noting they were alone in the corridor – no servants, no guards within earshot. She turned back to Aegon, her expression hardening slightly.

"Do you remember a maid named Dyana?" she asked, gesturing behind her.

Aegon's brow furrowed in confusion while Aemond's gaze shifted to the blonde maid cowering behind Vera. Dyana's eyes remained fixed on the floor, her slender frame rigid with fear.

"No," Aegon replied with a dismissive shrug.

"Look behind me," Vera insisted, her voice taking on an edge of steel.

Aegon's violet eyes flickered over Dyana's trembling form. A flash of recognition crossed his face, quickly replaced by practiced indifference.

"I've learned you weren't very nice to her," Vera continued, anger simmering beneath her calm exterior. "Just as you haven't been nice to many of the maids."

Aegon shrugged, unconcerned. "It was harmless fun."

Dyana's gaze remained firmly on the floor, her cheeks flushed with shame and remembered fear.

"It isn't harmless fun forcing yourself on someone," Vera said, her voice rising with indignation. "It's cruel and it's wrong."

"Oh come on," Aegon scoffed, crossing his arms defensively.

Vera raised an eyebrow at her brother-figure, the challenge in her dark eyes unmistakable. A tense silence stretched between them, broken only by Dyana's shallow breathing.

Aegon rolled his eyes dramatically. "What? You want me to apologize or something?"

"Of course," Vera replied with a sweet smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Though I'm not the one you forced yourself on."

Aegon gave her an incredulous look, his violet eyes widening as he glanced between Vera and the trembling maid. "You can't be serious," he said quietly, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard. "You want me to apologize to a servant?"

Aemond raised his eyebrow, his single violet eye reflecting clear skepticism. His expression made it obvious he didn't believe his brother would perform such an act of humility. Not even for Vera.

"Yes," Vera said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. She gently pulled Dyana to her side, one arm protectively around the maid's shoulders as she fixed Aegon with an unwavering stare.

Dyana looked between them, her eyes wide with surprise, clearly unused to anyone defending her so boldly against a prince.

"I'm a prince of the blood," Aegon told Vera quietly, a hint of desperation entering his voice. "I don't apologize to... to low people."

"Well," Vera smiled sweetly, though her eyes remained hard as steel, "it seems I have more power than you, then. And since we're family in all but name..."

Aegon hesitated, looking to his brother for support, but Aemond remained impassive, watching the exchange with unexpected interest. After a moment, Aegon sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Fine," he muttered, turning reluctantly toward Dyana. "I... apologize for my behavior." The words were quick, barely audible, and utterly lacking in sincerity.

He looked back at Vera, relief washing over his features. "There. Happy now?"

"I think," Vera replied with exaggerated sweetness, "that Dyana should be the one to answer that question."

All eyes turned to the young maid, who seemed startled to suddenly be the center of attention. She swallowed hard, her gaze darting nervously between the royals before settling on the floor again.

"It's... it's alright, Your Grace," she said quietly.

Vera squeezed Dyana's shoulder encouragingly, then stepped forward to kiss Aegon's cheek. "Thank you," she murmured. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Aegon's expression softened slightly at her touch, though he still looked thoroughly disgruntled.

Vera was acutely aware of Aemond's gaze upon her, but she refused to meet his eye. "We should go," she said to Dyana, preparing to step around the princes. "Prince Jacaerys is waiting."

At the mention of Jacaerys, Aemond's expression darkened visibly. "So eager to bid farewell to Strong, are you?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

"His name is Velaryon," Vera replied evenly, finally meeting his gaze. "And yes, I am. Unlike some, he has shown me nothing but kindness and respect."

Aemond's jaw tightened, the muscle beneath his skin jumping with tension. "By all means, then," he said coldly, stepping aside with a mocking bow. "Don't let us detain you from your precious farewell."

Vera smiled sweetly at Aemond's cold demeanor and turned back to Aegon, placing another gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Stay out of trouble, brother," she said affectionately, her hand resting briefly on his arm. "And remember what we discussed about the maids."

Aegon gave her a half-hearted scowl that couldn't quite hide the fondness in his eyes. "You're impossible," he muttered, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile.

Vera turned away without acknowledging Aemond, though she could feel the heat of his furious gaze burning into her back as she walked away with Dyana. Her spine remained straight, her chin lifted in defiance as they moved down the corridor.

Once they were safely around the corner and out of earshot, Dyana spoke softly, her eyes still downcast.

"My lady, you didn't need to do that for me," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their footsteps on the stone floor. "Confronting Prince Aegon like that..."

"I absolutely did," Vera replied firmly, her dark eyes flashing with conviction. "If not, Aegon will simply continue his behavior with other maids. Someone needs to make him understand there are consequences to his actions."

Dyana glanced at her with something akin to wonder. "Do you think it will work? That he'll stop?"

"I hope so," Vera sighed, though uncertainty colored her tone. "At the very least, I hope it made him think twice before trying again."

They continued in silence for several moments before Dyana spoke again, her voice trembling slightly.

"No one has ever stood up for me like that before," she admitted quietly. "Especially not against a prince. The others... they told me to stay quiet, that it was an honor to be chosen by His Highness."

Vera's expression softened as she looked at the young maid. "There's no honor in being forced," she said gently. "And you don't need to thank me for something like that. It's what any decent person should do."

Dyana's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she managed a small smile, grateful for Vera's kindness.

They reached the entrance to the garden, sunlight streaming through the arched doorway and illuminating the lush greenery beyond. Dyana paused, gesturing toward a nearby alcove.

"I'll wait here, my lady," she said softly. "To give you and Prince Jacaerys some privacy."

Vera nodded her thanks before stepping through the archway into the quiet garden. The morning air was fresh and cool, carrying the sweet scent of flowers and herbs. Birds sang in the trees, their cheerful melodies a stark contrast to the heaviness in her heart.

She spotted Jacaerys immediately, standing where they had been yesterday. His back was to her, his brown hair stirring slightly in the gentle breeze. He wore riding clothes, clearly prepared for the journey ahead.

As she approached, he turned, his face lighting up with a smile that reached his warm brown eyes. "Vera," he greeted, his voice carrying a note of relief. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Of course I came," she replied, coming to stand beside him. "I heard you're leaving."

Jacaerys nodded, his expression turning solemn. "Mother thinks it best after last night. We sail for Dragonstone within the hour."

"I'm sorry about what happened," Vera said softly, genuine regret coloring her words. "Aemond was cruel and unfair."

"It's not your fault," Jacaerys assured her, reaching out to take her hand in his. His touch was gentle, his palm warm against her skin. "I wanted to see you before we left."

"Have a safe journey," Vera said softly, squeezing his hand. "I'll be here when you and your family return again."

Jacaerys smiled, though a shadow of hesitation crossed his features. "I... I didn't know I would be betrothed to Baela until my grandmother spoke of it at the hearing," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It came as quite a surprise."

"I understand," Vera nodded, her dark eyes gentle with acceptance. "You're a prince, and one day you'll be King. Betrothals were always going to be part of your future, sooner or later."

Jacaerys looked down at their joined hands, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin as he nodded lightly.

"It's alright," Vera said, her voice soft but steady. "Your family must be waiting for you. We'll speak again soon."

Jacaerys lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a final kiss against her knuckles before reluctantly releasing her. With one last lingering look, he turned and walked toward the harbor, his shoulders set with the weight of duty and the crown that would someday be his.

Vera watched him go, a complicated mixture of emotions swirling within her chest. When his figure disappeared from view, she turned and made her way back to the corridor where Dyana waited.

To her surprise, Lyla stood beside Dyana, the two engaged in quiet conversation that ceased abruptly at her approach.

"Lyla, where have you been?" Vera asked softly, studying her friend's face.

Lyla smiled, though Vera immediately noticed the strain around her eyes, the forced quality of her expression. "I had some things to attend to outside the Keep," she replied, her voice carefully casual.

Vera nodded slightly, concern growing at her friend's obvious discomfort. Before she could press further, Dyana leaned close, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper.

"Prince Aemond is watching," Dyana whispered urgently, her eyes darting to a point over Vera's shoulder.

Vera stiffened but didn't turn around. She could feel his gaze on her back like a physical weight, burning with intensity she could sense even without seeing him. The corridor suddenly felt too small, too confined, as if the very air had been sucked away.

"Let him watch," she said, her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated by his presence. "Come."

With her handmaidens flanking her sides, Vera strode purposefully through the corridor, her steps measured and graceful despite the storm of emotions raging within her. The day stretched before her, hours to fill with activities that would keep her far from Aemond's path.

And fill them she did.

She spent the morning with her father in the training yard, watching him instruct the younger Kingsguard recruits. The familiar sound of steel against steel and Criston's commanding voice brought her a measure of comfort she desperately needed. When he noticed her sitting quietly on a nearby bench, he paused his instruction to join her.

"You look tired," he observed, his dark eyes studying her face with paternal concern.

"I didn't sleep well," Vera admitted, offering him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Criston nodded, understanding without needing further explanation. "Will you join us for lunch in the White Sword Tower? The brothers have been asking after you."

The invitation was a welcome distraction. "I'd like that," she replied, genuine warmth entering her voice for the first time that day.

Lunch with the Kingsguard proved exactly what she needed—their easy camaraderie and respectful treatment providing a sanctuary from the tension that had consumed her life. Even Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk seemed to sense her need for normalcy, regaling her with tales of their recent duties that had her laughing despite herself.

Afterward, she sought out Queen Alicent, finding her in her solar with a pile of correspondence. The Queen looked up as Vera entered, her green eyes softening with sympathy.

"Ah, Vera," she said, setting aside her quill. "Come sit with me. I could use your help with these letters."

They worked together in comfortable silence, Vera's neat hand copying out the Queen's dictated responses. When they finished, Alicent poured them both cups of lemon water, studying Vera over the rim of her goblet.

"Aemond was looking for you earlier again," she remarked casually.

Vera's fingers tightened imperceptibly around her cup. "Was he?"

"Mm," the Queen hummed noncommittally. "He seemed... agitated. Again."

"I'm sure he'll manage," Vera replied, her voice carefully neutral as she returned her attention to the letters before her.

After leaving the Queen, Vera spent the remainder of the afternoon with Helaena and the twins in the garden. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera's innocent excitement over a family of rabbits they'd discovered provided the perfect distraction, their small hands tugging at her skirts as they led her from one discovery to another.

"Aunt Vera, look!" Jaehaera called, pointing to a particularly bold rabbit that had ventured close to their picnic blanket. "He wants to be friends!"

Vera smiled, her heart lightening at the child's delight. "Perhaps he does," she agreed, watching as the twins carefully offered the creature a piece of carrot.

As evening approached, Helaena touched Vera's arm gently. "You're sad today," she observed.

"I'm fine," Vera assured her, squeezing the princess's hand affectionately. "Just tired."

When the shadows lengthened across the garden, Vera bid them goodbye and returned to her chambers, Dyana trailing silently behind her. The young maid had been a constant, comforting presence throughout the day, anticipating Vera's needs with quiet efficiency.

"Would you like a bath before dinner, my lady?" Dyana asked as they entered Vera's chambers.

Vera nodded gratefully. "Yes, that would be lovely."

As Dyana busied herself preparing the copper tub, Vera moved to the window, gazing out at the darkening sky. She had successfully avoided Aemond all day, though several times she'd felt the weight of his gaze from a distance, burning into her back like a brand.

Once the bath was ready, Vera allowed Dyana to help her undress, stepping into the steaming water with a soft sigh of relief. The heat soothed her tense muscles, easing some of the strain that had settled between her shoulders.

"I'll fetch fresh towels, my lady," Dyana said, moving toward the door. "These are damp from earlier."

Vera nodded, leaning back against the copper rim and closing her eyes as the door closed softly behind Dyana. She allowed herself to relax fully for the first time that day, the warmth of the water seeping into her bones, easing the ache in her heart.

A moment passed in blissful silence. Then another.

Suddenly, she felt fingers gently trailing across her bare shoulder, brushing her hair aside with deliberate tenderness. Her eyes flew open in shock, a gasp escaping her lips as she found herself staring up into Aemond's intense violet gaze.

"Aemond!" she exclaimed, instinctively sinking deeper into the water as her arms crossed over her chest. "Get out! What are you doing here?"

Rather than responding, Aemond held out a white towel, his expression unreadable as his gaze remained fixed on her face with unwavering intensity.

"Turn around!" Vera snapped, reaching for the towel with one hand while trying to maintain her modesty with the other.

Aemond hummed low in his throat, a sound that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine despite her anger. He turned his head slightly to the side, though Vera noticed he didn't fully look away.

She rose quickly from the bath, water cascading down her body as she wrapped the towel around herself with trembling hands. Once covered, she stepped onto the floor, keeping her distance from him as water pooled at her feet.

"Where is Dyana?" she demanded, tightening the towel around her body.

"I sent her away," Aemond replied simply, his voice deep and controlled. "We need time alone."

Vera narrowed her eyes, anger replacing her initial shock. "You had no right to dismiss my maid."

"I had every right," he countered, stepping closer. "This conversation has been delayed long enough."

"There's nothing to discuss," Vera said coldly, taking a step backward. Water dripped from her hair, trailing down her neck and disappearing beneath the towel. She was acutely aware of how vulnerable she was – barefoot, wet, wearing nothing but a thin white towel while he stood fully clothed.

Aemond's gaze traveled over her form, lingering on the water droplets sliding down her collarbone. "Did you enjoy Lord Strong's attention this morning?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Vera narrowed her eyes. "Don't call him that," she said firmly. "Not again."

"Defending your lover so passionately," Aemond remarked coldly, taking another step toward her.

"Jace is not my lover," Vera shot back, clutching the towel tighter. "He's going to be married. To Baela."

"And yet you ran to him the moment I hurt you," Aemond said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Why is that, Vera?"

"Because he treated me with respect," she replied, her chin lifting defiantly despite the vulnerability of her position. "He listened to me. He didn't try to control me or hide things from me for years."

Aemond's expression darkened. He closed the distance between them in two long strides, towering over her. "I was protecting you."

"From what?" Vera demanded, refusing to back away despite her racing heart. "From knowing someone cared about me? From having the freedom to choose my own path?"

"From being hurt!" Aemond's voice rose suddenly, echoing off the stone walls. His composure cracked, revealing raw emotion beneath. "From being used as a pawn against me."

Vera stared at him, momentarily stunned by his outburst. "Is that what you truly believe? That Jace only cared for me to hurt you?"

"Why else would a future king pursue the daughter of a knight?" Aemond asked bitterly. "The bloodline of dragons does not mix with common blood without purpose."

The words struck Vera like a physical blow. She took a step back, water pooling around her bare feet. "So that's how you see me," she whispered. "Common blood. No one."

Something shifted in Aemond's expression—regret flashing across his features before his mask fell back into place. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Vera challenged, her voice stronger now despite the tears threatening to spill. "Explain to me exactly what you meant when you called me 'no one.'"

Aemond's jaw clenched, the muscle jumping beneath his skin as he struggled for words. "I was angry," he finally said. "I didn't mean it."

"I think you did," Vera replied quietly. "I think you meant every word. If you didn't, you wouldn't say it."

Aemond's expression shifted, his cold mask crumbling as pain flashed across his face. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them with sudden urgency.

"Don't say that," he said, his voice low and raw. "You are not nothing. You are everything."

His hands reached up hesitantly, hovering near her face as if seeking permission. When she didn't pull away, he gently cradled her cheeks.

"I was a fool," he admitted, his violet eye searching her face with desperate intensity. "I spoke from anger and fear, not truth. You are the most important person in my life, Vera. The only one who's ever truly known me. The only one I've ever--" he stopped, swallowing hard. "I never meant to hurt you."

Vera stood perfectly still beneath his touch, the warmth of his hands against her damp skin sending shivers down her spine. Water continued to drip from her hair, running in rivulets down her neck and shoulders as she looked up at him.

"You are to me as well," she admitted softly after a long silence, her voice barely audible. She blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. "That's why it hurt so much when you said those things. I already know what I am, Aemond. I know I'm nothing--especially since I learned Criston isn't my real father. I didn't need my best friend to remind me of that."

Aemond's eye widened, his grip on her face tightening fractionally. "Is that what you believe? That you're nothing because of your blood?"

"What else am I supposed to think?" she asked, vulnerability bleeding into her voice. "I don't even know who my real father is. I have no name, no house, no claim to anything."

"You are Vera," Aemond said fiercely, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped despite her efforts. "You are brave and stubborn and infuriating and brilliant. Your worth isn't in your blood or your name--it's in who you are."

A choked laugh escaped her. "That's rich coming from a Targaryen prince who values bloodlines above all else."

"I value you above all else," he countered, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I always have."

The sincerity in his voice made her heart stutter in her chest. She searched his face, looking for any sign of deception, but found only raw honesty in his expression.

"Then why did you keep Jace's letters from me?" she asked, needing to understand. "Why try to control who I speak with, who I befriend?"

Aemond's jaw tightened, but he didn't look away. "Because I was afraid," he admitted, the words clearly difficult for him. "Afraid you would choose him over me. That you would see what I lack--what he has. Kindness. Gentleness. A whole face." The last words were bitter, his hand unconsciously moving toward his eyepatch.

Vera caught his wrist before he could touch it, her fingers wrapping around the leather of his sleeve.

"I never cared about that," she whispered fiercely. "Never."

She reached up and carefully removed his eyepatch, revealing the empty socket with its sapphire stone glinting in the dim light.

"This is part of you," she said softly. "And I accept all of you."

She leaned forward, pressing her lips gently against the scarred flesh around the socket. The kiss was feather-light, reverent, an act of acceptance that made Aemond's breath catch in his throat.

When she pulled back slightly, his eye searched her face with burning intensity.

"You didn't pull away when Jacaerys kissed you," he observed, his voice low and rough with emotion. "You kissed him back."

Vera looked down, unable to deny it. Water droplets fell from her damp hair onto the floor between them.

"I was surprised," she admitted quietly. "And curious, perhaps. I was hoping that my first kiss..." Her voice trailed off, the words dying on her lips.

"What?" Aemond prompted, his hand coming up to tilt her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Vera let out a soft breath, her dark eyes meeting his violet one with newfound courage. "I wanted my first kiss to be with you," she confessed. "But you never took the step when you had the chance."

Something fierce and possessive flashed in Aemond's eye. "And now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as his thumb traced the outline of her lower lip.

Vera hesitated, her heart racing as she looked up into his expectant face. How desperately she wanted to whisper those words—to ask him to kiss her, to claim her lips as his own. The desire to feel his mouth against hers was almost overwhelming, a physical ache that threatened to consume her.

But reality crashed over her like cold water, dousing the warmth that had bloomed between them. She gently pulled away from his touch, stepping back as the water pooled around her bare feet.

"It won't matter," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of water dripping from her hair. "I'll only get hurt in the end. Grandsire spoke of your betrothal when I was passing his chambers earlier. You'll marry a highborn lady soon enough, and I'll just... step aside. As I should."

Aemond went still, his hand frozen in the air where her face had been moments before. "What did you hear?" he demanded, his voice suddenly sharp.

"Enough," Vera replied, tightening the towel around herself as she took another step back. "He was discussing potential matches with the Queen. Your name was mentioned several times."

A muscle jumped in Aemond's jaw as he clenched his teeth. "And you believe I would simply accept whatever match they arrange? That I would let them dictate my future?"

"It's what princes do," Vera said softly, unable to meet his gaze. "It's what you were born to do. Make alliances through marriage. Strengthen House Targaryen."

"Look at me," Aemond commanded, closing the distance between them once more. When she didn't raise her eyes, he gently but firmly tilted her chin upward. "Look at me, Vera."

She reluctantly met his gaze, her dark eyes swimming with unshed tears.

"I am not Jacaerys," he said fiercely. "I will not bow to duty if it means losing you."

"You can't fight your mother and grandfather on this," Vera argued, though her voice lacked conviction. "And even if you could, what then? The baseborn daughter of a Kingsguard isn't a suitable match for a prince of the blood. The court would never accept it."

"I don't care what the court accepts," Aemond growled, his fingers tightening slightly at her jaw. "I've never cared for their opinions. Why would I start now?"

Vera pulled away from his touch, needing distance. She moved swiftly from the bath side to her chambers, clutching the towel tightly against her body.

"This is pointless, Aemond," she said, her voice soft but resolute. "Nothing beyond friendship can happen between us. We can continue as we were before--as friends, nothing more."

Aemond's eye followed her movements, his expression darkening with frustration as he stalked after her. "So you would have me marry someone else?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Some highborn lady chosen for political advantage?"

"I have no say in who you marry," Vera replied, keeping her back to him as she reached for her robe. "That's not my decision to make."

In three long strides, Aemond closed the distance between them. His hands grasped her arms gently but firmly, turning her to face him. He pulled her body against his, their faces mere inches apart. His breath was warm against her skin, his violet eye searching her face with desperate intensity.

"My mother is yours as well," he muttered, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The Queen cares for you deeply. If we tell her that we both wish to marry, she will agree to it. She has always pointed out how good we are together, Vera. You know this."

Vera shook her head lightly, though she didn't pull away from his embrace. "Your mother is a Queen first," she said softly. "When it comes to your marriage, she won't have a choice. The realm will demand a politically advantageous match."

Aemond's grip tightened slightly, his eye searching her face with burning intensity. "You're afraid," he said, realization dawning in his expression. "Not of what others might say, but of me. You fear I'll claim you as mine, only to discard you when duty calls."

The truth of his words struck her like a physical blow. Vera's breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him, unable to deny what he'd seen so clearly.

"Would I be wrong to fear such a thing?" she asked quietly.

Aemond released her arms, but only to frame her face between his hands. "Yes," he said simply. "You would be wrong."

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "I am many things, Vera--cruel at times, vengeful always, and perhaps too quick to anger. But I am not fickle. When I claim something as mine, it remains mine."

Aemond released her face, his hands falling to his sides as he watched her.

Vera leaned back slightly, studying his face—the sharp angles, the proud nose, the full lips set in a determined line. Slowly, she raised her hand, her fingers tracing the edge of his scar with feather-light touches. She'd done this countless times before, yet something felt different now, charged with unspoken meaning.

Aemond's eye fluttered closed at her touch, his breath hitching slightly as her fingertips caressed the sensitive skin.

Following an impulse she could no longer deny, Vera leaned forward and pressed her lips softly against the corner of his mouth, not quite a kiss on the lips, but far more intimate than any touch they had shared before.

Aemond's eye snapped open, surprise and hunger darkening the violet to a stormy hue. For a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other, the air between them heavy with possibility.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.

"My lady?" Dyana's concerned voice called from the corridor. "Is everything okay?"

Vera stepped back hastily, clutching her towel tighter around her body. "Everything's fine, Dyana," she called, her voice remarkably steady despite her racing heart. "Wait just a moment, please."

She turned back to Aemond, who stood rigid with frustration, his jaw clenched as he glared at the door.

"You must go," she whispered urgently, gathering her robe from the bed and pulling it on over her towel. "Now, before she comes in."

Aemond's expression darkened with reluctance. "This conversation isn't finished," he said, his voice low and determined.

"I know," Vera assured him, tying the robe securely around her waist. "But you can't be found here--not with me in this state."

For a moment, she thought he might refuse, his stubborn nature warring with practicality. Then, with a curt nod, he moved toward the far wall where the tapestry hung.

"Tomorrow," he said, the word a promise and a command as he ducked through the opening of the secret tunnel.

Vera nodded, watching as the tapestry fell back into place, concealing any evidence of his departure. She took a deep breath, composing herself before moving to the door.

When she opened it, Dyana stood anxiously in the corridor.

Dyana stepped inside and closed the door behind her, her eyes downcast with obvious distress.

"My lady, I'm so sorry I left you," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Prince Aemond... he ordered me to fetch fresh linens from the laundry. I tried to explain I'd already done so, but he insisted I go immediately."

"It's alright, Dyana," Vera replied gently, reaching out to squeeze the maid's hand. "You're not at fault. Prince Aemond can be... quite insistent when he wants something."

Relief washed over Dyana's face as she moved to help Vera. She retrieved a pale silk nightgown from the wardrobe and held it open, allowing Vera to slip into it with practiced ease. The soft fabric settled against Vera's skin, still warm from her bath.

As Dyana began combing through Vera's damp hair, her movements gentle and methodical, Vera caught her gaze in the mirror.

"Dyana," she said softly, "when we're alone like this, I'd prefer if you called me Vera, not Lady Vera."

The comb paused mid-stroke as Dyana's eyes widened with surprise. "But my lady--I mean..." she stammered, clearly flustered by the request.

"Please," Vera insisted with a warm smile. "There's no need for such formality when it's just us."

Dyana hesitated, her brow furrowed with uncertainty before she nodded slowly. "If that's what you wish... Vera." The name felt foreign on her tongue, but she managed a small smile.

"Is there anything else you need tonight?" she asked, setting the comb aside as she finished with Vera's hair.

"No," Vera replied, rising from her seat. "You should go and rest. It's been a long day for both of us, and I'm sure tomorrow will bring its own challenges."

"I'll see you in the morning then," Dyana said, moving toward the door. She paused with her hand on the latch, turning back with a small nod of acknowledgment before slipping quietly into the corridor.

Morning light filtered through her window, casting golden patterns across her bed as Vera stirred awake. For a moment, she simply lay there, enjoying the peaceful quiet before the day's demands began.

A soft knock at her door announced Dyana's arrival, and Vera sat up, pushing her tangled hair from her face.

"Come in," she called, her voice still husky with sleep.

Dyana entered, her hands then clasped before her. "My--Vera, the Queen has requested your presence in Princess Helaena's chambers immediately." Her voice remained steady, though a hint of concern shadowed her features.

"Has something happened?" Vera asked.

Dyana hesitated, her gaze dropping briefly to the floor. "I'm not entirely certain," she admitted softly. "There's... unusual activity this morning. The guards are gathering servants and taking them somewhere. Her Grace specifically asked that I remain to fetch you."

"Help me dress quickly," Vera instructed, slipping out from the bed and moving toward her wardrobe with purposeful strides. "Something simple but appropriate."

As Dyana assisted her into a modest gown of pale blue silk, Vera's mind raced with possibilities. The Queen summoning her to Helaena's chambers rather than her own was unusual enough, but the mention of guards gathering servants sent a chill down her spine.

"Do you know if my father is with the King?" she asked Dyana as the maid fastened the laces at her back.

"I saw him with the Queen and the Princess," Dyana replied, her fingers working swiftly through the eyelets.

"There," Dyana said, securing the final lace. "You're ready."

Vera nodded, quickly running her fingers through her dark hair to smooth it before heading toward the door. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she and Dyana stepped into the corridor, their footsteps echoing against the stone floors.

They had barely turned the corner when Vera spotted Aemond striding toward them, his tall figure imposing in black leather, his eyepatch firmly in place. His expression was grave, tension evident in the set of his shoulders.

"Are you being summoned to Helaena's chambers as well?" Vera asked, studying his face for any clue about what was happening.

"Yes," Aemond confirmed, his voice low and controlled though she could sense the underlying urgency. He extended his arm to her without hesitation. "We should hurry."

Vera placed her hand on his offered arm immediately, drawing comfort from his solid presence despite the lingering tension between them. Whatever had happened, it was serious enough to override their personal discord.

As they walked briskly through the corridors, Vera noticed the unusual stillness of the Keep. No servants scurried about their morning duties, and only guards stood at their posts, their expressions uncharacteristically grim.

Glancing behind her, Vera saw Dyana following at a respectful distance, her eyes darting nervously at each guard they passed. Vera reached back and took the maid's hand, pulling her closer.

"Stay with me," she murmured, unwilling to let the young woman out of her sight amidst whatever strange events were unfolding.

Dyana squeezed her hand gratefully, moving to walk directly behind them rather than at the customary servant's distance.

When they reached Helaena's door, a Kingsguard knight stood at attention, his white cloak immaculate in the morning light. He nodded respectfully, stepping aside to let them pass without a word.

Inside, Queen Alicent sat on a plush couch, her arm wrapped protectively around Helaena's shoulders. The young princess's eyes were red-rimmed, though she wasn't actively crying. Ser Criston Cole stood nearby, his white cloak immaculate as always, his dark eyes immediately finding his daughter as they entered.

The Queen looked up, visible relief washing over her features as she took in the sight of her son and Vera entering together, their earlier conflict apparently resolved.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," she said, her voice steady despite the tension evident in her posture.

Vera dropped into a curtsy while Aemond inclined his head respectfully. The Queen's gaze lingered on their linked arms for a moment, a flicker of understanding passing across her features before she turned to Dyana.

"Thank you for bringing them, Dyana," she said. "Please go to the twins now and help their nurse. They should be kept occupied and away from... everything."

Dyana curtsied deeply. "Yes, Your Grace." With one last glance at Vera, she slipped from the chamber, closing the door quietly behind her.

Aemond stepped forward, his violet eye moving from his sister's tear-stained face to his mother's composed expression. Though his face remained calm, Vera felt the tension in his arm beneath her fingers.

"What's happened?" he asked, though something in his tone suggested he already suspected the answer.

The Queen and Ser Criston exchanged a meaningful glance, some unspoken communication passing between them. After a moment, Alicent turned back to face her son and Vera, her green eyes solemn as she drew a deep breath.

"The King is dead."

Chapter Text

"The King wanted Aegon to be King," Alicent said quietly, her voice steady despite the weight of her words.

The Queen, Vera and Aemond stood alone in the small chamber, morning light streaming through the narrow windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air between them.

Aemond moved away from Vera, approaching the small hearth where a fire burned low. He sat at the armchair and stared into the flames, his face a carefully composed mask. After a long moment, he released a slow breath and turned to his mother.

"Where is Aegon?" he asked, his voice betraying nothing of his inner thoughts.

Alicent shook her head slightly, her green eyes troubled. "I don't know. Ser Criston is searching for him now. We are to wait for him here."

The Queen moved to the window, gazing out at the city below. Her profile was sharp against the morning light, her shoulders set with the tension of a woman carrying an impossible burden.

Vera approached Aemond hesitantly, taking a seat on the second armchair before the hearth. She placed her hand gently over his, her fingers warm against his skin.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, her dark eyes searching his face.

Aemond's gaze remained fixed on the dancing flames. Was he? The question echoed in his mind, stirring memories he'd rather forget. His father had always favored Rhaenyra, had always taken her side. Even after Lucerys had taken his eye, Viserys had done nothing—had let the boy escape punishment while Aemond was left permanently scarred. And now Aegon would wear the crown that should have been his. Aegon, who cared nothing for duty or honor, who spent his days drinking and whoring while Aemond had dedicated himself to becoming a warrior worthy of the Targaryen name.

"I'm fine," he replied finally, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

Vera squeezed his hand gently, understanding what he couldn't say aloud. She had always been able to read him, to see past the walls he built around himself.

"What happens now?" she asked, directing her question to both Aemond and the Queen.

Alicent turned away from the window, her gaze moving between Aemond and Vera. For a moment, something flickered in her green eyes—doubt, hesitation, a mother's pride in her second son that she could not fully suppress. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her slender fingers twisting the emerald ring on her right hand.

Aemond had always been different from Aegon—disciplined where his brother was reckless, focused where Aegon was distracted, and above all, ambitious where the firstborn seemed only interested in immediate pleasures. She had spent years watching Aemond train relentlessly, study diligently, and prepare himself for responsibilities that weren't even meant to be his.

We should crown you instead.

But then her father's stern voice echoed in her memory from their earlier conversation. "Aegon is the firstborn son. The laws of succession are clear, Alicent. We cannot risk dividing our supporters by suggesting otherwise."

She knew Otto was right. Choosing Aemond over Aegon would create a dangerous precedent, one that could tear House Targaryen apart even further. And they needed unity now more than ever, with Rhaenyra's claim looming over them all.

Alicent drew a deep breath, steadying herself as she approached the hearth where Aemond and Vera sat. Their hands were intertwined, a small gesture of comfort.

"We need to crown Aegon," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the tense silence. "As soon as possible."

She crossed the chamber to stand before her son, reaching out to touch his face with gentle fingers. "The Small Council has already been gathered. Your grandsire insists that we must move quickly."

"Of course he does," Aemond replied, his tone carefully neutral though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "The Hand always knows what's best."

Vera's fingers tightened around his, a silent reminder of her presence, her support. Aemond glanced down at their joined hands, his expression softening slightly at the sight.

"When Ser Criston returns with Aegon, we will proceed immediately," Alicent continued, her gaze moving to include Vera. "The coronation must happen today, before Rhaenyra can mobilize her forces."

Vera nodded, her dark eyes solemn as she absorbed the Queen's words. "What would you have me do, Your Grace?" she asked quietly.

Alicent's expression warmed as she regarded the young woman she had come to love as a daughter. "Stay close to me," she replied. "I will need your steady presence in the days to come."

A sharp knock at the door interrupted them. All three turned as Ser Criston entered, his white armor gleaming in the morning light. His expression was grim as he bowed to the Queen.

Vera exchanged a look with Aemond, seeking his approval. His violet eye met hers, and he gave a single, subtle nod, indicating she should follow the Queen's instructions.

Rising gracefully from her chair, Vera curtseyed to the Queen. "I'll await your summons, Your Grace," she said softly.

As she slipped from the chamber, the corridors of the Red Keep seemed eerily quiet as she made her way back to her chambers, her footsteps echoing against the stone floors.

When she finally reached her door, Vera pushed it open and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind her. Only then did she release the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, her shoulders sagging as the tension of the morning washed over her.

Vera moved to the window, gazing out at the city below as morning light bathed King's Landing in a golden hue. Birds soared over the red stone walls, oblivious to the momentous changes occurring within them. The King was dead, and soon Aegon would wear the crown.

A knot formed in her stomach as she thought of Aegon sitting on the Iron Throne. She loved him, of course—had grown up alongside him as if they were true siblings. But love didn't blind her to his faults. Aegon was reckless, self-indulgent, and utterly unprepared for the burden of kingship.

No, Aegon wasn't fit to be king. Not by any measure.

"It doesn't make sense," she whispered to the empty room.

She thought of Queen Alicent, of the brief flicker in her eyes when she'd looked at Aemond. Vera had caught it—that moment of hesitation, of unspoken acknowledgment. The Queen knew, just as Vera did, that Aemond would make the better king. He had the discipline, the intelligence, the strength of will that kingship demanded. Where Aegon sought pleasure, Aemond sought perfection. Where Aegon shirked responsibility, Aemond embraced it.

Yet she wouldn't challenge the Queen's decision. Alicent had been more mother to her than anyone, had given her a place in court that a foundling child could never have hoped for. If the Queen believed crowning Aegon was necessary, then Vera would support her—even if privately, she believed it was the wrong choice.

Vera paced the chamber, her thoughts circling like ravens. An hour passed this way, though it felt like an eternity. Finally, unable to bear the confinement any longer, she decided fresh air might clear her head.

She left her chambers, welcoming the cooler air of the corridor. Perhaps a walk through the gardens would clear her mind, give her perspective on all that had transpired. She had barely taken three steps when she spotted Otto Hightower approaching, flanked by Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk. Their expressions were grave, their strides purposeful.

The Cargyll twins were dressed not in their white Kingsguard armor but in simple brown tunics and breeches—the garb of smallfolk that looked strange against their noble bearing. Vera paused, confusion flickering across her features at their unusual attire.

"Lady Vera," Otto greeted her with a formal nod, his shrewd eyes assessing her carefully. "I was hoping to find you. Might I have a word in private?"

Vera glanced between the Hand and the twins, noting the tension in their postures despite their casual clothing. Something wasn't right.

"Of course. Please, come in."

The three men followed her inside, the twins taking positions near the door while Otto moved to the center of the room. Vera closed the door firmly behind them, anxiety building in her chest as she turned to face the Hand.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. "Has Aegon been found?"

Otto's expression tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Unfortunately not yet," he replied. "But we may have a lead." He paused, studying her face carefully. "Do you know someone who goes by the name 'White Worm'?"

Vera blinked in surprise, her mind searching for any recognition of the strange moniker. "No," she said slowly, puzzlement evident in her tone. "Why do you ask?"

Otto exchanged a brief glance with the twins before returning his gaze to her. "Because this woman claims to know you," he explained. "And more importantly, she knows where Aegon is." His voice lowered further. "She says she will only reveal his location after speaking with you first."

"With me?" Vera's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Why would she want to speak with me? I don't even know who this person is."

Ser Erryk cleared his throat softly. "Her messenger wouldn't say, my lady," he offered. "Only that her mistress insists on meeting with you before she'll divulge the prince's whereabouts."

Vera's mind raced, trying to make sense of this strange development. She had no connections in the city's underbelly, no dealings with anyone who would use such a cryptic name. Yet somehow, this mysterious woman knew of her and wanted to speak with her specifically.

"You won't be alone," Otto assured her immediately, his voice firm with conviction. "Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk will accompany you. They'll ensure your safety at all times."

The twin knights nodded in unison.

Vera took a deep breath. "Let's see what she wants," she said with a slight nod, her voice steadier than she felt.

Vera's dress was covered by her cloak, she walked down the streets with the twins by her side, leading her to the location 'the white worm' gave them.

The Street of the Sisters.

Vera and the twins moved to a collection of tables outside a tavern, and sat at one of the tables, waiting for a woman to approach them.

A woman with dark hair approached their table, her steps measured and unhurried. Despite her fine attire, none of the locals seemed to be surprised by her presence. Their eyes simply slid past her, focusing on anything but the striking figure making her way toward Vera and the twins.

The woman sat down across from Vera with graceful poise, her dark eyes assessing. "Lady Vera."

"You are the White Worm, I assume," Vera replied, studying the woman's features carefully.

"Yes." The woman inclined her head slightly. "My condolences on the passing of your King."

"Thank you," Vera acknowledged with a small nod. "I was told you know where Prince Aegon is."

The White Worm's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "He is safely tucked away."

Vera resisted the urge to sigh in frustration, aware of the twins tensing slightly on either side of her. "What do you want?" she asked directly.

"I want an end to the savage use of children in Flea Bottom," the White Worm replied, her voice hardening slightly.

Vera frowned, confusion flickering across her features. This was not what she had expected.

"They are forced to fight, and worse..." the White Worm continued, her gaze never wavering. "The gold cloaks take the bribes given them to look away. An obscenity either tolerated or ignored by the crown."

"Why are you telling me this and not the Hand?" Vera asked, her brow furrowed in genuine puzzlement.

The White Worm's lips curved into a knowing smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I don't trust the Hand," she admitted candidly. "I trust you. And I know that the royal family trusts you and will listen to you."

Her dark eyes held Vera's, something like hope flickering in their depths. "You can make it stop. Help these children."

Vera considered her words, thinking of Dyana and the other servants who had suffered under Aegon's unwanted attentions. If the crown could ignore such abuses within its own walls, what hope did the children of Flea Bottom have?

"I will take care of it," she promised with a determined nod.

The White Worm searched her face, seeming to weigh the sincerity of her words. Whatever she found there must have satisfied her, for she nodded once.

"Your Prince is at the Grand Sept," the White Worm said, her eyes gleaming with subtle amusement. "I am sure he would be pleased to see you." She rose gracefully from her seat, smoothing her skirts with elegant hands. "Until we'll meet again."

Before Vera could ask any further questions, the woman turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd with surprising swiftness.

"The Grand Sept," Vera murmured, turning to the twins who stood rigid with tension. "We should go immediately."

They made their way through the crowded streets, Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk flanking Vera protectively as they navigated the bustling market. The Grand Sept loomed ahead, its seven crystal towers gleaming in the morning light. The walk took only a few minutes, but to Vera, it felt like an eternity, her mind racing with what she would say to Aegon when they found him.

As they approached the stone stairs leading to the massive doors, Vera paused, turning to address the twins.

"Give me a moment to speak to him alone," she said softly, her voice barely audible above the distant sounds of the city. "He'll be more receptive if I approach him without guards."

Ser Erryk's brow furrowed with concern. "My Lady, it could be a trap," he warned, his hand resting instinctively on the pommel of his sword. "We cannot guarantee your safety if you enter alone."

Vera considered his words, then reached toward Ser Arryk, her fingers finding the small dagger sheathed on the other side of his belt. With deft movements, she slipped it free, concealing it within the folds of her cloak.

"I'll be alright," she assured them, offering a confident smile that belied her inner nervousness. "Wait here for a few minutes."

Before either knight could protest further, Vera slipped through the heavy wooden doors into the sept. The air inside was cool and still, heavy with the scent of incense and melted wax. Hundreds of candles burned throughout the vast chamber, their flickering light casting dancing shadows across the marble floors and ornate statues of the Seven.

Vera moved slowly through the space, her footsteps echoing in the silence. The sept appeared empty, yet something—instinct perhaps—told her she was not alone.

A soft cough from the center of the room caught her attention. Vera frowned, moving cautiously toward the main shrine where the cough had originated. As she approached, she noticed a dark bundle of fabric partially hidden beneath the altar.

Kneeling down, she grasped the edge of what appeared to be a heavy velvet cover and pulled it back. "Aegon?"

"Vera?" Aegon's voice was thick with confusion as he peered up at her from his makeshift hiding place. His silver-gold hair was disheveled, his violet eyes bloodshot from what she suspected was a combination of drink and lack of sleep.

Vera released a sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging slightly. "I'm here to talk to you," she said gently, as if approaching a skittish animal. "Will you come out?"

Aegon's eyes darted past her, searching for others. "I'm not going back," he stated flatly, his voice hollow.

"Aegon, please," Vera said softly, extending her hand to him. "Everyone's looking for you. Your mother is worried sick."

He hesitated, eyeing her hand warily. "They want to make me king, don't they?"

"Yes," she admitted, not seeing any point in lying to him. "Your father is gone, Aegon. The realm needs you now."

Aegon's face darkened. "The realm doesn't need me. It never has."

"I need you," Vera said, her voice gentle but firm. "Please, come out. At least talk to me properly."

Something in her tone must have reached him, for after a long moment, Aegon sighed heavily and took her outstretched hand. She helped him crawl from beneath the altar, the velvet cover falling away as he rose to his full height.

Vera helped him to his feet, then stepped back to take in his appearance. Her heart sank as she studied him properly. Aegon was dressed in the smallfolk clothes, his silver-gold hair matted with dirt and sweat. His handsome face was haggard, smudged with grime and exhaustion.

"Oh, Aegon," she whispered, frowning as she noticed the dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days.

A pang of guilt struck her as she realized none of them had noticed his absence until it became politically urgent. How long had he been missing? How long had he been held here, alone and afraid?

"Are you alright?" she asked gently, reaching up to place her hand against his cheek, her touch feather-light against his skin.

Aegon leaned into her palm, his eyes briefly closing at the contact. "I'm fine," he muttered, though his voice betrayed his exhaustion.

"The White Worm," he said suddenly, eyes snapping open. "How did you find me?"

"She told me where you were," Vera replied, dropping her hand from his face.

He glanced around the sept, taking in the soaring ceilings and flickering candles. Suddenly, he let out a hollow chuckle that echoed in the vast space.

"What is it?" Vera asked, puzzled by his reaction.

Aegon gestured at their surroundings, his smile bitter. "Of all the places the White Worm could have hidden me, she chose the one I hate most."

"Why do you hate this place so much?" Vera asked softly, her eyes tracing the marble statues of the Seven looming above them.

Aegon's gaze followed hers upward, his expression hardening as he looked at the towering figures. "I still curse them every day," he muttered, his voice barely audible in the vast chamber. "The Gods, for making me who I am."

He turned to her suddenly, his violet eyes intense despite their redness. "Look at me, Vera. Really look. I'm not the man I should be—not the prince, not the son, certainly not the king." His voice cracked slightly on the last word. "That's why you don't look at me the way you look at him."

"At who?" Vera asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Aemond," Aegon replied, his voice tinged with bitterness. "My perfect brother. The warrior. The prince who should be king."

Vera tilted her head, letting his words sink in. She had always dismissed his flirtations as meaningless, the same empty charm he used on every woman who crossed his path.

Aegon stared at her, his violet eyes filled with a longing that made Vera's heart ache. His thoughts drifted to all the mornings he'd awakened alone, imagining instead that it was her face he'd see first, her dark eyes looking back at him with love. He pictured children with her olive skin and his silver hair, running through the corridors of the Red Keep. These dreams had sustained him through countless empty nights.

"Aegon," Vera said softly, her voice cutting through his reverie.

"I love you, Vera," he confessed suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "Not like a sister, not like a friend. I wish... just once, you would look at me the way you look at Aemond. Like I'm worth something. Like I matter."

Vera's eyes widened, genuine surprise washing over her features. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, clearly searching for the right words.

"You do matter," she finally said, reaching for his hand and clasping it between both of hers. "You've always mattered, Aegon."

"But not the way I want to matter to you," he replied, a bitter smile twisting his lips.

Vera stepped closer, her hand reaching up to rest gently on his shoulder. "Aegon, I care for you deeply, but--"

A noise behind them made Vera turn. The twins approached from the entrance of the sept. They strode forward with purpose.

Aegon tensed beneath her touch, his gaze following hers. His expression hardened as the Kingsguard knights drew near, their hands moving to the hilts of their swords.

"Your Highness," Ser Arryk said, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. Without ceremony, the twins flanked Aegon, each taking hold of one of his arms in a firm grip.

"The Hand is waiting for you," Ser Arryk continued, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Aegon's face contorted with anger as he looked from Vera to the twins. He struggled against their hold, his violet eyes flashing with defiance. "I want my mother," he demanded, glaring at the knights.

Vera stepped forward, her heart clenching at the mixture of betrayal and fear in Aegon's eyes. "Take him to the Queen," she said to the twins, her voice gentle but firm.

The Kingsguard knights exchanged a glance. Ser Arryk opened his mouth, clearly about to refuse, but Vera moved closer, her dark eyes pleading.

"Please do as I ask," she implored, her voice soft yet unyielding.

"Lady Vera," Ser Arryk began, hesitation evident in his tone.

"As you wish," his brother interrupted, nodding slightly to Vera.

Vera inclined her head gratefully, relief washing over her features. Ser Arryk's lips thinned, but he gave a small nod of acquiescence before turning Aegon toward the door, his brother following close behind.

Ser Erryk remained at Vera's side, watching as she stared after the retreating figures. Her shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of Aegon's confession and the morning's events settling heavily upon her.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Ser Erryk asked quietly.

Vera nodded, though the gesture lacked conviction. "We should go," she murmured, her voice barely audible in the vast space.

Ser Erryk offered his arm, which she took with a grateful smile. He led her toward the doors of the sept, his steady presence a comfort as they followed the others.

As they reached the doorway, Vera's steps faltered. Her father and Aemond, both dressed in smallfolk clothing similar to the twins and Aegon, with Aemond's distinctive silver-gold hair concealed beneath a dark hood. Her father's sword was drawn and pointed directly at Ser Arryk's throat, while Aemond's gaze darted between Aegon and Vera, his single violet eye narrowing dangerously.

"What are you doing?" Vera asked, her voice rising with alarm.

Before anyone could answer, Aegon seized the moment of confusion. With a sudden burst of strength, he wrenched himself free from Ser Arryk's grip and bolted toward the entrance, shoving past her father.

"Aegon!" Vera cried, but her voice was drowned by the clash of steel as Ser Criston engaged Ser Arryk, their swords meeting with a resounding ring that echoed through the sept.

Aemond darted past the fighting men, pursuing his fleeing brother with swift, determined strides. Ser Erryk quickly pulled Vera backward, shielding her with his body as the combatants moved dangerously close.

"Stay back, my lady," he warned, one hand on his sword hilt while the other held her firmly behind him.

Through the open doors, Vera watched in horror as Aegon stumbled down the stone steps. He had barely reached the bottom when Aemond launched himself forward, tackling his brother with brutal force. They tumbled together onto the hard pavement of the courtyard, a tangle of limbs and fury.

Aegon struggled desperately, attempting to crawl away on his hands and knees. His movements were clumsy, hampered by exhaustion and whatever substances he'd consumed to numb his pain. Aemond seized his ankle with merciless efficiency, dragging him backward across the rough stone.

"No!" Aegon shouted, his voice cracking with panic as he flailed wildly, trying to break his brother's grip. "Stop! No!"

Aemond straddled him, pinning Aegon's thrashing limbs as he fought to restrain his brother's arms. In the struggle, his hood fell back, revealing his silver-gold hair gleaming in the morning sunlight—his identity exposed for all to see.

"I was hoping you disappeared," Aemond snarled, his face inches from his brother's as he wrestled him into submission.

Aegon ceased struggling for a moment, his chest heaving with exertion as he stared up at his younger brother. "Is our father truly dead?" he asked, his voice suddenly small, almost childlike in its vulnerability.

"Yes," Aemond replied coldly, his grip tightening. "And they're going to make you King."

Aegon's face contorted with rage and fear. With a desperate lunge, he spat directly into Aemond's eye and sank his teeth into the hand restraining him. Aemond reeled back with a pained shout, instinctively releasing his grip as he protected his remaining eye.

Seizing his opportunity, Aegon scrambled to his feet and darted away, but his freedom was short-lived. Aemond recovered quickly, lunging forward with the speed and precision that had made him such a formidable warrior. His arms locked around Aegon's waist, hauling him backward with brutal efficiency.

"No!" Aegon's voice cracked as he fought against his brother's iron grip. Though both princes were now standing, Aegon was clearly at a disadvantage, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated compared to Aemond's disciplined strength.

Aemond secured his arm around Aegon's neck, effectively trapping him in a hold that allowed no escape. "Let me go!" Aegon pleaded, his struggles growing increasingly desperate as Aemond pushed him inexorably toward Ser Criston, who had emerged victorious from his clash with Ser Arryk. The Kingsguard knight lay unconscious on the sept steps.

"I have no wish to rule!" Aegon shouted, his voice echoing across the courtyard. "No taste for duty! I am not suited!"

"You'll get no argument from me," Aemond replied coldly, continuing to propel his brother forward.

Vera descended the steps slowly, her heart heavy as she watched the struggle between the brothers. The morning sunlight caught in her dark hair as she moved, illuminating the sorrow in her eyes.

With a sudden burst of strength born of desperation, Aegon twisted in Aemond's grasp, spinning himself free. But rather than fleeing as everyone expected, he remained where he stood, facing his younger brother with pleading eyes.

"You let me go," he whispered urgently, his voice low enough that only Aemond could hear. His hands came up to clutch Aemond's face, fingers trembling against his brother's skin as if this physical connection was his final lifeline. "I will find a ship and sail away, never to be found."

Aemond's expression froze, his single violet eye widening slightly at his brother's words.

"You could take the crown," Aegon continued, his voice barely audible even in the tense silence between them. "Make Vera a real Queen. You already have her heart."

Something flickered in Aemond's eye—a momentary hesitation, a flash of longing quickly suppressed. He said nothing, simply staring at his brother with an unreadable expression.

Vera approached cautiously, her father close behind her. "Aegon," she said softly, drawing both brothers' attention to her.

Ser Criston moved forward with quiet authority, placing a firm but gentle hand on Aegon's shoulder. "The Queen awaits," he murmured, his dark eyes reflecting a mixture of duty and compassion.

Aegon's shoulders slumped in defeat, the fight draining from him as he allowed Ser Criston to guide him away from Aemond. His violet eyes found Vera's one last time, silently communicating a depth of feeling that made her heart ache.

Ser Criston gently pulled Aegon away, his grip firm but not unkind. The eldest prince offered no further resistance, his earlier fire extinguished by the weight of inevitability. Ser Erryk knelt beside his twin, helping the dazed knight to his feet. Blood trickled from a cut above Ser Arryk's brow, but he stood steadily enough once upright.

Vera watched this tableau with a heavy heart, the morning's revelations swirling in her mind like autumn leaves caught in a whirlwind. She took a hesitant step toward Aemond, drawn by some invisible thread that had always connected them.

Aemond's single violet eye locked onto her, his expression darkening as he realized she had been alone with Aegon inside the sept. The fury in his gaze was palpable, a silent accusation that required no words. Vera could read his thoughts plainly enough—what had transpired between her and his brother in that sacred space?

Vera shook her head at his possessive glare, rolling her eyes with exasperation. Without dignifying his silent interrogation with a response, she turned and followed the men as they led Aegon back toward the Red Keep. She could feel Aemond's presence behind her, his tall figure stalking her like a shadow.

The journey back to the Keep passed in tense silence. Once inside the familiar stone walls, Vera separated from the group without a word, heading directly to her chambers while her father escorted Aegon to his rooms. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Ser Erryk supporting his injured twin, guiding him toward the maester's quarters for treatment.

When she reached her chambers, Vera pushed open the heavy wooden door with a weary sigh. The events of the morning had left her emotionally drained, and she longed for a moment of solitude to collect her thoughts. She was about to close the door when Aemond suddenly appeared, pushing past her into the room with purposeful strides. Before she could protest, he turned the key in the lock with a decisive click.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, startled by his sudden intrusion.

"Why were you alone with him in the sept?" Aemond's voice was dangerously quiet, his tall frame blocking her path to the door. "What happened between you two?"

Vera straightened her spine, meeting his accusatory glare with defiance. "That's not your business, Aemond," she snapped, her dark eyes flashing with indignation.

"Not my business?" He took a step closer, looming over her. "You were alone with my brother in an empty sept, and you think that's not my business?"

"I was helping find your brother, as your grandfather requested," Vera retorted, refusing to be intimidated by his proximity. "Everything I did was for your family."

Aemond's jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. "Did he finally confess it to you?" he asked, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Did my brother finally tell you he's in love with you?"

Vera's eyes widened with genuine surprise. "You knew?" she asked, momentarily forgetting her anger. "You knew about Aegon's feelings for me?"

"Of course I knew," Aemond scoffed, his expression darkening further. "Everyone knows. He's hardly subtle when he looks at you." His eye narrowed dangerously. "The question is, do you feel the same way about him?"

The accusation in his tone made Vera's temper flare. "I love Aegon as a brother," she stated firmly, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "Nothing more."

Something shifted in Aemond's expression—relief, perhaps, or satisfaction—before the mask of anger slipped back into place. "And yet you were alone with him."

"You have no right to be angry about who I'm alone with," Vera snapped, stepping closer to him rather than backing away. "I'm not yours to command, Aemond Targaryen. I make my own choices."

A dangerous glint flashed in his violet eye. "Is that so?" he growled, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

"Yes," she challenged, tilting her chin up defiantly. Part of her knew she was provoking him deliberately, pushing him toward the edge of his control. "And right now, I choose to remind you that you are a prince with duties to your house. Your grandfather will select a suitable bride for you--a highborn lady with the right bloodline and political connections. Not some baseborn girl with no name."

In one swift motion, Aemond seized her by the shoulders and backed her against the stone wall. His hand moved to her throat, not squeezing but resting there possessively, his thumb tilting her chin up to meet his burning gaze.

"Is that what you think?" he asked, his face inches from hers, breath hot against her skin. "That I would let them choose for me? That I would accept anyone but you?"

Vera's heart hammered wildly in her chest, but she refused to show fear. "It doesn't matter what either of us wants," she insisted, her voice steady despite her racing pulse. "You have obligations as a prince that cannot be--"

Aemond silenced her with his mouth, claiming her lips with a ferocity that stole her breath. His kiss was nothing like Jacaerys's gentle exploration—it was fire and possession, a declaration of intent that brooked no argument.

For a heartbeat, Vera froze in shock. Then something broke loose inside her, a dam of restraint crumbling under the force of his passion. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands reaching up to tangle in his silver-gold hair, pulling him closer as years of unspoken longing poured through her.

The world narrowed to the sensation of his lips against hers, his body pressing her against the wall. His hand at her throat slid up to cradle her jaw, his touch gentler than she would have expected from such an intense man.

When she finally pulled away, breathless and dizzy, reality crashed back over her like a wave of cold water.

"We can't," she gasped, her voice trembling as she pressed her palms against his chest. "This isn't possible, Aemond. We can only be friends, nothing more."

Aemond's eye darkened with primal hunger. He didn't speak, didn't argue—he simply captured her lips again, swallowing her protests with another searing kiss that melted her resistance like snow in summer.

This time when they broke apart, Vera's legs threatened to give way beneath her. Aemond's arm around her waist was all that kept her upright, his forehead resting against hers as they both struggled to catch their breath.

"Do you still believe we can be only friends?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.

Vera closed her eyes, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. "It doesn't matter what I believe," she whispered. "The world won't allow us to be more."

"The world," Aemond scoffed, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek with surprising tenderness. "I don't care about the world. I care about you. Only you."

He stepped back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes while keeping her within the circle of his arms. "I have loved you since we were children, Vera. Not as a friend, not as a sister--but as the woman I want beside me. Always."

Vera's breath caught in her throat at his declaration. "Aemond--"

A sharp knock at the door interrupted them, followed by Dyana's concerned voice. "My lady? The Queen is asking for you."

Aemond's expression hardened with frustration, but he didn't release her. "Tell her she'll come shortly," he called, his gaze never leaving Vera's face.

"Y--yes, Prince Aemond," Dyana replied, clearly startled by his voice coming from within Vera's chambers. Her footsteps quickly retreated down the corridor.

"We need to go," Vera said softly, though she made no move to leave his embrace. "Your mother needs us both now."

Aemond reluctantly loosened his hold, but before stepping away completely, he pressed one last, lingering kiss to her lips. "This conversation isn't finished," he promised, his voice low and determined.

"I know," Vera whispered, her fingers brushing against her kiss-swollen lips as she watched him move toward the door.

Aemond paused with his hand on the latch, turning back to look at her with an intensity that made her heart skip. "Tonight," he said simply. It wasn't a question.

Vera nodded, unable to deny the inevitability of what had begun between them. "Tonight," she agreed softly.

With a satisfied nod, Aemond unlocked the door and slipped into the corridor, leaving Vera alone with the ghost of his touch still burning on her skin.

She took a moment to compose herself, smoothing her hair and taking several deep breaths to calm her racing heart. As she moved to follow him, Vera caught sight of her reflection in the small looking glass above her washing basin. Her lips were flushed and slightly swollen, her cheeks stained with color, her eyes bright with a light she had never seen there before.

She barely recognized herself.

With trembling fingers, she splashed cool water on her face, trying to erase the visible evidence of Aemond's passion. The Queen was waiting, and there was a coronation to prepare for. Whatever had begun between her and Aemond would have to wait—at least until nightfall.

But as she hurried through the corridors toward the Queen's chambers, Vera knew with absolute certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.

When she reached the Queen's chambers, two Kingsguard knights stood at attention outside the ornate doors. They stepped aside without a word, allowing Vera to enter.

Inside, Queen Alicent sat in a high-backed chair, her slender fingers twisting the emerald ring on her right hand. Criston stood by the hearth, his white cloak immaculate despite the morning's confrontation at the sept.

"You sent for me, Your Grace?" Vera asked, dropping into a graceful curtsy.

The Queen rose, crossing the chamber to take Vera's hands in her own. "My dear," she said warmly, though strain showed in the fine lines around her green eyes. "I understand the Hand asked for your assistance in finding Aegon."

"He did," Vera confirmed, squeezing the Queen's hands gently. "I'm glad we were able to bring him back safely."

"And for that, you have my deepest gratitude," Queen Alicent replied sincerely.

"When is the coronation to be held?" Vera asked, already mentally preparing for the difficult conversation ahead.

"In an hour," Alicent replied decisively. "At the Dragonpit. The people need to see their new king as soon as possible."

Vera nodded slowly.

The Queen exchanged a quick glance with Ser Criston, some unspoken communication passing between them. She turned back to Vera, her expression softening with maternal concern.

"But there is... another matter we must discuss," she said, her voice growing more hesitant.

Vera noticed her father shift uncomfortably, his dark eyes meeting the Queen's in another silent exchange.

"What is it?" Vera asked, apprehension building in her chest.

The Queen took Vera's hands in hers once more, her touch gentle but firm, letting her sit with her. "My dear," she began, her voice carefully measured, "Lyla will no longer be serving at the Red Keep."

Vera felt as though the floor had dropped away beneath her. "What? Why?" she demanded, pulling her hands free as she sat up straighter. "What's happened to her?"

The Queen's face remained composed, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of regret. "Lyla was not who you thought she was, my dear. She was a spy."

Vera stared at the Queen, disbelief etching across her features. "A spy? That can't be true."

"I'm afraid it is," Alicent continued, her voice gentle but firm. "She isn't the only one. We've discovered several others in our household, including Talya."

The revelation hit Vera like a physical blow. She felt the blood drain from her face as she processed the Queen's words. These were women she had lived alongside for years, had shared meals with, had confided in.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "There must be some mistake."

Ser Criston stepped forward, his expression grave. "There is no mistake, Ver."

Vera looked away, her dark eyes filling with tears she refused to let fall. "Lyla was my friend," she said softly, the words catching in her throat.

A heavy silence filled the chamber. Vera's hands trembled slightly in her lap as she fought to maintain her composure. After several heartbeats, she lifted her gaze to meet the Queen's.

"Where is she?" Vera asked, her voice barely audible.

The Queen reached for Vera's hand, squeezing it gently. "Those who betrayed Aegon, who committed treason against the crown," she said softly, "were executed at dawn."

"Did they suffer?" Vera asked, the question escaping before she could stop it.

"No," Ser Criston answered immediately, stepping forward. "I ensured it was quick and clean. They felt no pain."

Vera nodded numbly, unable to reconcile the image of her laughing friend with that of a traitor deserving death. Had Lyla been playing her all along? Every conversation, every shared secret—had it all been a performance designed to gather information? For who?

Vera's chest constricted painfully as the full weight of the revelation settled over her. Memories flashed through her mind—Lyla helping her dress for feasts, whispering gossip as they walked the gardens, their shared laughter echoing through the corridors. Had it all been false?

"May I go?" she asked suddenly, her voice strained. "I need some air."

The Queen's expression softened with understanding. "Of course, my dear. Take Dyana with you. She should be outside."

Vera nodded slightly, rising from her seat with careful dignity despite the storm raging within her. She moved toward the door without another word, aware of her father and the Queen exchanging concerned glances behind her.

Dyana waited in the corridor, immediately falling into step beside Vera as they left the Queen's chambers. They walked in silence through the winding passages of the Red Keep, Vera's thoughts too chaotic for conversation. Her feet carried her instinctively away from the busy areas, seeking solitude in the maze-like structure she had called home for most of her life.

They emerged into a small, secluded courtyard nestled between the royal apartments and the White Sword Tower. Stone benches lined the perimeter, surrounding a modest fountain whose gentle burbling was the only sound in the otherwise silent space. Mercifully, the courtyard was empty of people.

Vera sank onto one of the benches, her shoulders slumping as the careful composure she had maintained in the Queen's presence finally crumbled. Dyana sat beside her, close enough to offer comfort but respecting the invisible boundary of Vera's grief.

"Would you like me to fetch you something to drink?" Dyana asked softly after several moments of silence.

Vera shook her head, staring unseeing at the rippling water of the fountain. "No, thank you."

Her mind drifted to the few times Lyla had accompanied her and Aemond to see Vhagar. The massive dragon had always seemed uneasy during those visits, her ancient eyes following Lyla's movements with unusual intensity. At the time, Vera had attributed it to the dragon's general wariness of strangers, but now...

"She sensed things we cannot," she murmured, almost to herself.

"Vera?" Dyana questioned quietly, leaning slightly closer.

"Vhagar," Vera explained, turning to meet her maid's concerned gaze. "Aemond's dragon. She never liked Lyla. Whenever Lyla came with us to see her, Vhagar would grow restless, especially when Lyla stood near me. She would stare at her, as if..." She trailed off, remembering the dragon's massive head swinging toward Lyla, nostrils flaring, golden eyes narrowing to suspicious slits.

"As if what?" Dyana prompted gently.

"As if she didn't trust her," Vera finished, a hollow laugh escaping her lips. "I should have paid attention. Vhagar knew something wasn't right long before any of us did."

Dyana remained silent, her presence steady and comforting as Vera continued to work through her thoughts aloud.

"I trusted her completely," Vera said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I told her things I've never told anyone else."

A shadow fell across the stone pavement before them. Vera looked up to see Aemond approaching, his tall figure dressed entirely in black, from his leather doublet to his polished boots. His silver-gold hair gleamed in the sunlight, creating a striking contrast against the darkness of his attire.

Dyana immediately rose to her feet, dropping into a respectful curtsy. "Your Grace," she murmured, her head bowed.

Aemond acknowledged her with a slight nod as she passed him, withdrawing to the far side of the courtyard to give them privacy while remaining within sight.

He settled beside Vera on the stone bench, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. For several moments, neither spoke, the only sound between them the gentle splashing of the fountain.

"Did you know?" Vera finally asked, her voice barely audible. "About Lyla?"

Aemond turned toward her, his violet eye studying her profile. With surprising gentleness, he reached up to brush away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. "I did," he muttered, his voice low and controlled. "I was the one who agreed with the sentence of quick death."

The revelation hung in the air between them. Vera swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the rippling water of the fountain. "Who was she spying for?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

Aemond's jaw tightened. "She refused to answer," he admitted, frustration evident in his tone. "Even when faced with death, she would not name her master." He hesitated, then continued more softly. "She claimed she was not spying on you to cause harm, but to watch over you."

Vera shook her head, turning away from him as fresh pain lanced through her. "She was my friend," she said quietly, her voice breaking on the final word. "And it was all a lie."

Aemond's hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with her own in a rare public display of affection. "Perhaps not entirely," he offered, his voice gentle. "Mother said she wept when she spoke of you. That even at the end, she asked for your forgiveness."

"Did she deserve to die?" Vera asked suddenly, turning to face him fully. "Was there no other punishment that would have sufficed?"

Aemond's expression hardened. "She committed treason," he stated firmly. "During a time of succession, when the crown is most vulnerable. The penalty for such actions has always been death."

"But if she truly meant me no harm--"

"It doesn't matter what she claimed her intentions were," Aemond interrupted, his voice sharpening. "She betrayed the trust of the royal family. She betrayed you."

Vera fell silent, unable to argue against the truth of his words despite the ache in her heart. She had been raised in the Red Keep, had witnessed firsthand the harsh realities of court politics. Mercy was a luxury rarely afforded to traitors, regardless of their stated intentions.

"I should have seen it," she whispered after a long moment. "There were signs I missed."

Aemond's grip on her hand tightened. "We all missed them," he admitted grudgingly. "She played her role well."

"Vhagar knew," Vera murmured, her voice growing steadier as the realization crystalized. "Your dragon sensed what we couldn't see."

Aemond's eye narrowed thoughtfully, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. "What do you mean?"

"Every time Lyla came with us to see Vhagar, your dragon would grow restless," Vera explained, turning to face him fully. "Remember how she would stare at Lyla?"

Aemond's eye widened slightly as he processed her words, his grip on her hand tightening imperceptibly. He looked down at their intertwined fingers, his expression darkening with realization.

"Vhagar was trying to protect you," he said softly, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "She was warning us both." His jaw clenched as understanding dawned fully. "I should have realized why my dragon only reacted that way when Lyla was around us."

Vera could see the rising fury in Aemond's expression, the way his fingers curled into a tight fist as he stared at nothing. She rose from the bench, gently tugging at his arm to pull him up alongside her.

"Come," she said softly, releasing his hand to take his arm properly. "Would you escort me to my chambers? I need to get ready to the coronation."

Aemond nodded, his jaw still tense as he stood.

The carriage for Aemond and Vera awaited near the gates, its black lacquer gleaming in the sunlight. The Targaryen sigil had been painted on the doors in vivid red, the three-headed dragon seeming almost alive in the morning light. A knight held the door open, bowing deeply as they approached.

Aemond helped Vera inside before following, settling beside her on the plush velvet seat.

The journey to the Dragonpit passed in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts as the carriage rattled through the streets of King's Landing. Outside, they could hear the excited chatter of the smallfolk who had gathered to catch a glimpse of the royal procession.

As they approached Rhaenys's Hill, the massive dome of the Dragonpit came into view, its ancient stone weathered by centuries of dragon fire and storm. Crowds had already gathered along the main avenue, held back by gold cloaks who maintained a clear path for the royal carriages.

When they reached the Dragonpit, the carriage halted with a gentle lurch. Aemond exited first, his movements fluid and precise as he stepped onto the stone path. He turned, extending his hand to Vera with a courtly formality that belied the heat in his violet eye.

Vera placed her hand in his, allowing him to help her from the carriage. The touch lingered a moment longer than propriety dictated, his thumb brushing against her palm in a subtle caress before he released her.

Together they walked toward the massive entrance, where two Kingsguard knights stood at attention. The knights bowed as they approached, stepping aside to allow them passage into the ancient structure.

The smallfolk had already begun to fill the viewing galleries, their excited murmurs creating a constant undercurrent of sound that echoed through the cavernous space.

Aemond led Vera from the side, they approached the raised stone dais at the far end of the Dragonpit.

Aemond led Vera toward the raised stone platform at the far end, where the ceremony would take place. His stride was confident, his bearing regal despite the absence of a crown. Vera matched his pace, her green gown rustling softly with each step.

As they approached the stone stage, a white-cloaked figure detached from the shadows. Ser Arryk Cargyll moved toward them with purposeful strides, his expression carefully neutral as he intercepted their path.

"My lady," he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only she and Aemond could hear, "I have the information you requested."

Vera's eyes widened slightly, though she maintained her composed expression. Aemond's hand tightened almost imperceptibly on her arm.

"My brother and I found it," Ser Arryk continued. "A fighting pit that enslaves young children. It's..." He hesitated, glancing around to ensure they weren't overheard.

Vera studied his face, noting the disgust and anger that tightened his features. She nodded in understanding.

"I take it Aegon knows of this place?" she asked softly, her dark eyes holding Ser Arryk's gaze.

The knight shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening. "Yes, my lady."

Vera nodded, her expression hardening with resolve. "Find the owners," she instructed quietly. "Bring them to the black cells and inform me when they are locked away."

"Understood, my lady," Ser Arryk replied with a small nod of acknowledgment.

Aemond watched this exchange in silence, his violet eye narrowing as he processed the implications. As Ser Arryk moved away, disappearing into the crowd with purposeful strides, he turned to Vera.

"What was that about?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"About children in Flea Bottom being forced to fight for sport, and more," Vera replied softly, her eyes scanning the gathering crowd.

Aemond's expression darkened further, the muscle in his jaw jumping beneath his skin. "And my brother is involved?"

"It seems he at least knows of it," Vera replied carefully.

Before Aemond could respond further, a ripple of excitement swept through the crowd. Vera turned to see the main procession approaching - Queen Alicent approached, with Helaena followed close behind, her dreamy gaze drifting over the assembled crowd without truly seeing them. The twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, clung to her skirts, their small faces solemn beneath their silver-gold curls.

"We should take our places," Vera murmured, gently pulling Aemond toward the dais.

They ascended the stone steps, positioning themselves as protocol demanded. Aemond stood to the right of where Aegon would be crowned, his tall figure imposing in his black attire. Vera moved to her designated spot behind Helaena, beside where the royal children would stand.

Septon Eustace was already in position, his ceremonial robes gleaming with gold thread as he clutched the crown of Aegon the Conqueror. Otto Hightower stood nearby, his face a mask of dignified solemnity as he surveyed the gathering crowd. Ser Criston took his place beside the Queen, his white cloak pristine against the dark stone of the dais.

When the royal family reached their positions, a hush fell over the Dragonpit. Vera could feel the weight of thousands of eyes upon them, the collective breath of King's Landing held in anticipation. She glanced at Aegon, noting the tension in his shoulders, the careful blankness of his expression as he stared straight ahead.

Otto Hightower stepped forward, raising his hands for silence. The last whispers died away as all attention focused on the Hand of the King.

"People of King's Landing..." he called out, his voice carrying loudly and firmly through the massive space. The Dragonpit was so full that Vera could see people still trying to push their way in, some left standing outside the enormous doors. "Today is the saddest of days. Our beloved king... Viserys the Peaceful... is dead."

The Dragonpit filled with whispers and gasps. Some people began crying openly, while others remained silent, their faces solemn. Vera watched as the news rippled through the crowd like a stone dropped in still water, grief and uncertainty spreading in its wake.

Otto continued, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "But it is also the most joyous of days... for as his spirit left us... he whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon... should succeed him."

The people whispered among themselves before they all started to clap, the sound building gradually until it thundered through the ancient structure. Marching guards pushed through the crowd, creating a clear lane and pressing against each other so that no one could penetrate inside the ceremonial space.

"Halt! Turn! Present... arms!"

The horns blared with a sudden, deafening intensity that vibrated through the Dragonpit, echoing off the ancient stone walls. A command was shouted, and in perfect unison, the guards drew their swords from their scabbards, the sound of steel scraping against leather cutting through the momentary silence. The blades caught the light as they raised them high above their heads, creating a glittering archway that stretched from the entrance toward the dais.

From the shadows of the entrance, Aegon emerged. His silver-gold hair gleamed in the scattered light filtering through the dome, yet his expression remained utterly blank as he walked forward with measured steps. His royal garments seemed to weigh on him, his shoulders stiff beneath their opulence. The path of raised swords closed behind him as he advanced, sealing his fate with each step he took toward the crown.

"It is your great good fortune and privilege to be here to witness this: a new day for our city... a new day for our realm. A new King... to lead us."

Aegon Targaryen had unshed tears in his eyes as he looked at his mother who was staring straight ahead with a blank face. When he walked up the stairs to her, she took a step towards him and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. She placed a hand on his back and gently pulled him towards the Septon before taking her place next to Helaena.

With one nod from Otto Hightower, Aegon knelt down.

"May the Warrior give him courage," Septon Eustace said, "May the Smith lend strength to his sword and shield. May the Father defend him in his need. May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light his way to wisdom."

Septon Eustace handed Ser Criston the black crown with ruby in the middle. Criston nodded to the man, and he turned to the crowd, lifting the crown.

"The crown of the Conqueror, passed down through generations."

He stepped forward, laying it upon Aegon's head.

"Let the Seven bear witness! Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne!"

The crowd murmured again, whether they agreed with the statement or not, Vera could not tell.

She followed Aemond's gaze back to Aegon as he stood with Septon Eustace offering his hand for him, which he took and stood. The new King watched Criston and Septon Eustace bowing to him. He then looked at his mother, who dutifully curtsied, then to his siblings and Vera.

Helaena had been looking away since the crown was placed on his top of his head, but she turned when she sensed her husband's gaze and curtsied as well. Vera followed with an encouraging small smile while Aemond simply dipped his head.

Their acknowledgment seemed to strengthen Aegon, who then looked to Otto defiantly until the Hand, too, bowed to his new King.

"All hail His Grace, Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!" Septon Eustace called.

The silence that ensues is downright painful until Criston interrupted it again.

"Aegon the King!"

First the bells ring. Then, between the paused that occur between them, a faint applause was heard, but it quickly grew louder. Vera's eyes soften as she watched Aegon looking around like he was not sure it was real. He hesitated at first, but then drew his sword and raised it into the air. People cheered louder and louder with his every move.

An explosion interrupted the joy and celebration.

The room was filled with dust and the screams of people running away. Running away from the beast beneath the boards.

Running away from Rhaenys Targaryen on the back of her dragon, Meleys.

The Red Queen.

Chaos erupted through the Dragonpit. The ancient stone floor splintered upward in a violent explosion of debris as Meleys burst through from below, her massive red scales gleaming like fresh blood in the scattered light. The dragon's enormous head swung toward the royal dais, intelligent eyes fixing on the newly crowned king.

Aemond reacted instantly, his body moving before his mind could fully process the danger. With one powerful arm, he yanked Helaena backward, his other hand reaching for Vera. He pulled both women behind his tall frame, shielding them with his body as chunks of stone and wood rained down around them.

"The children!" Vera gasped, lunging past him to grab Princess Jaehaera. The little girl's silver-gold curls bounced as Vera swept her into protective arms, pressing the child's face against her shoulder to shield her from the terrifying sight.

Helaena, momentarily shocked from her usual dreamy state, reached for Jaehaerys with surprising quickness. She clutched her son to her chest, turning his small body away from the chaos.

The crowd's screams reached a deafening pitch as people trampled each other in their desperation to escape. Through the pandemonium, Otto Hightower's voice rang out, sharp with panic.

"Open the doors!" Otto's voice cut through the chaos, his face contorted with fury as he gestured wildly at the guards. "Open the doors!"

The massive bronze doors at the far end of the Dragonpit began to swing shut despite his commands, the guards outside prioritizing the protection of those who had already escaped over those still trapped within.

Rhaenys Targaryen sat atop her great red dragon, her silver hair whipping around her face as she surveyed the pandemonium she had created. Her eyes, hard as flint, moved deliberately across the dais where the royal family stood frozen in shock.

Alicent moved with surprising speed, pushing past Ser Criston with desperate strength. "Protect my children!" she commanded him, her voice barely audible above the screams. She placed herself directly in front of Aegon, her slender body a pitiful shield against the massive dragon that towered before them.

Ser Criston hesitated only a moment before rushing to where Aemond stood with Vera and Helaena. The Lord Commander drew his sword, positioning himself before the three with grim determination.

Vera clutched Jaehaera tightly to her chest, turning the child's face away from the terrifying sight before them. Beside her, Helaena did the same with Jaehaerys, murmuring soothing nonsense into the boy's ear as she shielded his eyes with her hand.

Time seemed to slow as Meleys lowered her massive head, bringing her enormous maw level with where Aegon and Alicent stood. Steam rose from her nostrils as she exhaled, the heat of her breath washing over them like a furnace. Her eyes—ancient, intelligent, and utterly merciless—fixed on the newly crowned king and his mother.

No one moved. No one breathed.

The dragon's chest expanded as she drew in air, the telltale sign of impending flame.

Vera's arms tightened around Jaehaera, her body tensing to shield the child with her own flesh if necessary. She felt Aemond shift beside her, his hand reaching for a sword that wasn't there—left behind in the ceremonial preparations.

Then, without warning, Meleys released a deafening roar that shook the very foundations of the ancient structure. The sound reverberated through Vera's bones, rattling her teeth and sending fresh waves of panic through the remaining crowd.

But there was no fire.

Rhaenys stared down at them from her perch atop the dragon, her expression unreadable as she held their lives in her hands. For a heartbeat that stretched into eternity, her eyes met Alicent's—woman to woman, mother to mother.

Then, with a slight shift of her weight and a gentle tug on the chains, she turned Meleys away from the royal family. The great dragon spread her wings, the movement creating a gust of wind that sent cloaks flapping and loose debris swirling through the air.

With powerful thrusts of her muscular legs, Meleys launched herself upward toward the open dome of the Dragonpit. Vera watched, still clutching Jaehaera tightly, as the dragon tucked her wings close to her body to fit through the opening.

The last glimpse they had before the bronze doors finally slammed shut was of Meleys emerging into the sunlight, her scales gleaming like polished rubies as she soared into the open sky.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen over the Red Keep, casting long shadows through the corridors as Vera made her way to the new Queen's chambers. The events at the Dragonpit still echoed in her mind—the dragon bursting through stone, the screams of terror, Rhaenys Targaryen's unflinching gaze as she spared them all. Her hands trembled slightly at the memory, and she clasped them together to still the motion.

When she reached Helaena's door, she found it already ajar, warm candlelight spilling into the darkened hallway. Vera pushed it open gently, her gaze immediately falling on the twins. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera sat on their mother's enormous bed, still dressed in their formal attire from the coronation, though their silver-gold hair was disheveled from the day's chaos.

"Aunt Vera!" Jaehaera called out, her small face lighting up with delight. The little princess scrambled across the bedcovers, nearly tumbling in her haste to reach her.

"Careful, sweetling," Vera cautioned, catching the child as she launched herself from the edge of the bed. She gathered the princess in her arms, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender that clung to her silver curls.

Helaena looked up from where she sat beside Jaehaerys, her violet eyes unfocused as usual. "They won't sleep," she said simply, her voice dreamy and distant. "They keep talking about the red dragon."

"Of course they do," Vera replied gently, carrying Jaehaera back to the bed. "It was frightening for all of us."

A movement by the wardrobe caught her eye, and Vera felt a wave of relief wash over her as Dyana emerged, carrying freshly laundered nightclothes for the twins. The maid thankfully was completely unharmed, though her face still bore traces of the tension that had gripped them all at the Dragonpit.

She approached the bed, laying out the children's nightclothes. "I've drawn baths for the little ones."

"The dragon came through the floor," Jaehaerys announced solemnly, his violet eyes wide as he looked up at Vera. "Like this!" He punched his small fist upward, mimicking Meleys' explosive entrance.

"It was very loud," Jaehaera added, her lower lip trembling slightly at the memory. "And scary."

Vera sat on the edge of the bed, drawing both children close. "Yes, it was," she agreed, seeing no point in denying what they had witnessed. "But you were both very brave."

"Brave as dragons," Jaehaerys declared, sitting up straighter.

"Braver," Vera corrected, tapping his nose gently. "Now, let's get you both bathed and ready for bed. It's been a long day."

Helaena drifted to the window, her attention seemingly captured by something in the night sky. "The red one flies still," she murmured, her fingertips pressed against the glass.

Vera exchanged a concerned glance with Dyana. "Helaena," she called softly, "will you help me with the twins? They need their mother tonight."

Something in her words seemed to pull the Queen back from whatever distant realm her mind had wandered to. Helaena turned, blinking slowly as if just remembering where she was. "Yes," she said, moving toward the bathing chamber. "Yes, of course."

The next hour passed in a flurry of splashing water, soap bubbles, and the twins' excited chatter about the day's events. Vera knelt beside the large copper tub, sleeves rolled up as she helped wash Jaehaera's silver-gold curls while Helaena tended to Jaehaerys. Dyana moved efficiently around them, laying out towels and preparing the bedchamber.

"Aunt Vera, will the red dragon come back?" Jaehaera asked suddenly, her small voice wavering as Vera rinsed the soap from her hair.

"No, sweetling," Vera assured her, though the certainty in her voice was forced. "The red dragon has gone away."

"Father will protect us if it does," Jaehaerys declared confidently from where he sat in the second tub. "He's the King now. He has a crown and everything."

Helaena's hands stilled in her son's wet hair, her eyes growing distant once more. "A crown doesn't stop dragon fire," she murmured, so quietly that only Vera heard her.

"Time to get out," Vera announced brightly, deliberately changing the subject as she lifted Jaehaera from the water. She wrapped the child in a large, fluffy towel, rubbing her dry with gentle efficiency. "Let's get you both warm and into bed."

Once the twins were dried and dressed in their nightclothes, Vera led them back to Helaena's enormous bed. The Queen had insisted they sleep with her tonight, unwilling to let them out of her sight after the day's events. Dyana had already turned down the covers and placed their favorite stuffed animals—a dragon for Jaehaerys and a butterfly for Jaehaera—atop the pillows.

"Aunt Vera, will you tell us a story?" Jaehaerys asked as he climbed into bed, his violet eyes pleading as he looked up at Vera.

"A happy one," Jaehaera added quickly. "With no dragons."

Vera smiled, settling onto the edge of the bed. "No dragons? In a Targaryen bedchamber? What would your ancestors say?"

"They can have dragons in their stories," Jaehaerys conceded grudgingly. "Just not today."

"Very well," Vera agreed, tucking the covers around them both. "A happy story with no dragons."

She began a tale of a brave knight and a clever maiden who outwitted a trickster god, her voice soft and melodic in the candlelit chamber. Dyana moved quietly around them, extinguishing most of the candles until only a few remained, casting a gentle, golden glow across the bed.

Helaena sat beside her children, her fingers absently stroking Jaehaera's hair as she listened to Vera's story. Occasionally her gaze would drift to the window, searching the night sky for something only she could see, but each time Vera would gently touch her arm, drawing her attention back to the present moment.

By the time Vera reached the story's end, with the knight and maiden living happily ever after in a castle by the sea, both twins were fighting to keep their eyes open. Jaehaerys yawned widely, his small hand clutching his stuffed dragon.

"I'm not tired," he protested weakly, even as his eyelids drooped.

"Of course not," Vera agreed solemnly. "You're just resting your eyes, aren't you?"

He nodded, already half-asleep, his silver-gold curls splayed across the pillow. Beside him, Jaehaera had already surrendered to slumber, her breathing deep and even, one arm wrapped around her butterfly toy.

Vera rose quietly from the bed, gesturing for Dyana to follow her to the far side of the chamber where they could speak without disturbing the children.

"Will you stay with them tonight?" she asked the maid softly. "I think the new Queen needs the company."

Dyana nodded, her blue eyes serious. "Of course, my lady. I'll watch over them."

"Thank you," Vera said, reaching out to squeeze the young woman's hand gratefully. "Send for me if anything changes, no matter the hour."

She returned to the bedside, where Helaena still sat watching her sleeping children. The Queen looked up as Vera approached, her violet eyes surprisingly clear.

"You should rest too," Vera told her gently, reaching out to smooth a strand of silver-gold hair behind Helaena's ear. "It's been a difficult day." She gently urged Helaena to lie down beside the twins. "Tonight, you need to rest."

Helaena allowed herself to be guided onto the bed, her body curling protectively around her children. Vera pulled the covers over all three of them, tucking the edges carefully around their shoulders.

"Will you come back in the morning?" Helaena asked, her voice already growing drowsy as exhaustion overtook her.

"First thing," Vera promised, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her sister's forehead. "Sleep now. You're all safe."

She straightened, catching Dyana's eye across the chamber and nodding once in silent understanding. The maid settled into a chair near the bed, prepared to watch over the royal family through the night.

With one last glance at the peaceful tableau before her, Vera slipped from the chamber, closing the door quietly behind her. The corridor outside was dimly lit, most of the household having retired for the night after the day's traumatic events.

She leaned against the closed door for a moment, exhaustion washing over her in a sudden wave. The adrenaline that had carried her through the day was finally ebbing, leaving her drained and shaky. She closed her eyes briefly, drawing a deep breath to steady herself.

When she opened them again, a tall figure stood at the end of the corridor, silhouetted against the torchlight. Even in shadow, there was no mistaking Aemond's distinctive profile.

He strode toward her with purpose, his footsteps almost silent against the stone floor. As he drew closer, the torchlight revealed his face—tense, controlled, but with an undercurrent of emotion that only she could recognize.

"How are they?" he asked, his voice low as he reached her.

"Sleeping now," Vera replied, pushing herself away from the door. "The twins were frightened, but they're resilient. Helaena..." She hesitated, unsure how to describe the Queen's strange lucidity. "Helaena is as well as can be expected."

Aemond nodded, his violet eye studying her face intently. "And you? How are you?"

Vera hesitated, her dark eyes meeting his violet one. She shrugged, the gesture uncharacteristically uncertain for someone usually so composed.

"I don't know what I feel," she admitted quietly. "Everything happened so quickly. I was just... I was so afraid the twins and Helaena would get hurt. I didn't think about myself."

Aemond's expression softened, the harsh lines around his mouth easing as he reached for her. His gloved hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing gently across her skin. "You never do," he murmured, voice rough with emotion. "Always thinking of others before yourself."

"You should rest," he said, his hand sliding from her cheek to her shoulder. "Come, I'll escort you to your chambers."

The walk through the darkened corridors was silent, both lost in thoughts of the day's events. When they reached her door, Aemond pushed it open, ushering her inside with a gentle hand at the small of her back. The chamber was dark and cool, the hearth unlit.

Aemond glanced around the empty room. "Where is your maid?"

"I asked Dyana to stay with the twins and Helaena tonight," Vera replied, moving toward the hearth. "They needed her more than I do."

She knelt before the cold grate, arranging kindling and logs with careful precision. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, striking the flint just as Lyla had taught her. The memory of her friend sent a pang through her chest, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. After several attempts, a small flame caught, gradually growing as it consumed the dry kindling.

"There," she said with quiet satisfaction, rising to her feet as warmth began to radiate from the growing fire.

Aemond watched her for a moment, his gaze intense in the growing firelight. Without a word, he moved to the door and closed it firmly, turning the key in the lock with a decisive click.

Vera stood by the fire, its warmth seeping through her gown as she reached behind herself, fumbling with the laces at her back. After several frustrated attempts, her arms dropping in exhaustion, she looked up to find Aemond watching her, his expression unreadable.

"Would you..." she began hesitantly, her voice barely audible above the crackling fire. "Could you help me with this?"

He crossed the chamber in three long strides, coming to stand behind her. His fingers, so sure and confident, moved with unexpected gentleness as they worked at the laces of her dress. The leather of his gloves brushed against her skin with each movement, raising goosebumps along her spine.

As the laces loosened, Vera quickly brought her arms up, holding the front of her dress to her chest before it could fall. The warmth of his breath against her neck made her shiver despite the heat from the hearth.

Slowly, she turned to face him, still clutching the fabric to her body. Their eyes met in the flickering light, neither speaking for several heartbeats.

"I'm afraid," she confessed finally. "About tomorrow. About what Rhaenyra will do when she learns of Aegon's coronation."

Aemond's expression softened, his hand coming up to brush a strand of dark hair from her face. "You needn't worry," he assured her, his voice low and steady. "Grandfather will ride to Dragonstone at first light with knights and a peace offer. Rhaenyra will see reason."

Vera nodded slightly, though doubt lingered in her dark eyes. She knew the Princess of Dragonstone well enough to question whether any peace offering would be accepted after today's events.

She hesitated, gathering her courage before meeting his gaze once more. "Will you stay?" she asked softly. "Tonight, I mean. With me."

Aemond went still, his violet eye searching her face. "I should go," he said finally, though the words lacked conviction. His hands betrayed him, settling on her waist as if unable to let her go.

Vera stepped closer, pressing herself against him. The dress remained between them, held in place only by their bodies touching. Her hands slid up his arms, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his doublet as they came to rest on his shoulders.

"Vera," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion as his forehead came to rest against hers.

"I need you," she admitted, the words barely audible between them. "I've always needed you."

Aemond pulled back slightly, enough to look into her eyes. His gaze burned with an intensity that stole her breath.

"Whatever happens starting tomorrow..." she continued softly. "We'll forget just for tonight. Tonight I want you here with me. I need you here."

Aemond's control shattered at her words. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both gentle and filled with unmistakable desire. Vera responded immediately, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed herself closer to him. The dress, still loosely held between them, slipped slightly as her grip relaxed.

His hands moved to cradle her face, the leather of his gloves cool against her flushed skin. The kiss deepened, years of longing pouring into this single, perfect moment. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Aemond's eye was dark with hunger.

"Are you certain?" he asked, his voice husky with restraint.

In answer, Vera stepped back slightly, allowing her dress to fall in a whisper of fabric to the floor. She stood before him in only her thin shift, the firelight casting her silhouette through the delicate material.

Aemond's breath caught audibly in his throat. His gaze traveled slowly over her form, drinking in every curve with reverent appreciation. He reached for her again, his movements more urgent now as he pulled her against him.

His mouth found hers once more, the kiss deeper, more demanding than before. Vera's hands moved to the fastenings of his doublet, fumbling slightly in her eagerness. Aemond broke the kiss long enough to help her, his own fingers making quick work of the clasps before shrugging the heavy garment from his shoulders.

When his hands returned to her waist, they were bare, his gloves discarded alongside his doublet. The feel of his skin against hers sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. His fingers traced the curve of her hip, the touch feather-light yet possessive.

"I have wanted this," he murmured against her lips, "for so long."

He lifted her easily, carrying her to the bed where he laid her down with unexpected tenderness. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he joined her, his body hovering over hers as he searched her face.

"I love you," Vera whispered, reaching up to touch his face, her fingers tracing the edge of his eyepatch with gentle acceptance. "I have always loved you."

Something in Aemond's expression shifted at her words—a vulnerability rarely glimpsed beneath his carefully maintained exterior. He leaned down to kiss her again, this time with such tenderness that tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

His hands moved with increasing confidence, caressing her through the thin fabric of her shift before gradually pushing it upward. Vera trembled beneath his touch, a mixture of nervousness and desire coursing through her as she helped him remove the last barrier between them.

Vera reached up to untie his eyepatch, her movements slow and deliberate. When it fell away, she pressed her lips gently to the scarred socket.

Aemond captured her lips again in a searing kiss, his breathing growing ragged as his desire mounted. His mouth left hers to trace the delicate line of her jaw, then moved lower to the sensitive skin of her neck. Each kiss was deliberate, worshipful, as if mapping territory he had long dreamed of claiming.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured against her collarbone, his warm breath sending shivers across her skin.

Vera's fingers tangled in his silver-gold hair as his lips continued their journey downward. When his mouth found her breast, she gasped, arching into his touch. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced—exquisite pleasure bordering on pain that made her body tremble.

Aemond took his time, savoring each reaction as his lips and tongue explored her body with increasing boldness. His hands caressed her sides, her hips, her thighs, each touch igniting new flames beneath her skin. He moved lower still, pressing kisses across her stomach, the curve of her hip.

"Aemond," she whispered, uncertainty mixing with desire as she realized his intent. "What are you--"

"Trust me," he murmured, looking up at her with such tenderness that her protests died on her lips. "Let me make this good for you."

His kisses trailed lower, following the curve of her hip and down to her inner thigh. Vera's breath caught as she realized his intentions, her body tensing with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. No one had ever touched her so intimately before.

"Relax," Aemond whispered against her skin, his warm breath sending shivers through her core. "I want to show you something."

When his mouth finally found her center, Vera gasped sharply, her back arching off the bed. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound, eyes wide with shock at the intense sensation. His tongue moved with deliberate patience, exploring and tasting her with reverent care.

"Aemond," she breathed against her palm, her other hand instinctively reaching down to tangle in his silver-gold hair.

He hummed against her, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through her body that made her thighs tremble. His hands gripped her hips firmly, holding her in place as he continued his intimate exploration.

Vera bit down on her lower lip, struggling to contain the sounds threatening to escape. Her head pressed back into the pillows as waves of pleasure unlike anything she'd ever experienced washed over her. The chamber walls suddenly seemed too thin, the night too quiet—surely someone would hear if she gave voice to the sensations coursing through her.

Aemond's eye flicked upward, watching her face with intense satisfaction as she fought for control. His tongue circled and pressed with increasing confidence, guided by her muffled whimpers and the way her body responded to his touch.

"Someone will hear," she whispered urgently, her voice breaking as he found a particularly sensitive spot.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, "Then be quiet," before returning to his task with renewed determination.

A strangled sound escaped her throat as tension coiled tighter within her. Her fingers clutched at the bedsheets, knuckles white with strain as she struggled to remain silent. Each stroke of his tongue brought her closer to some unknown precipice, her breathing growing shallow and rapid.

When he slipped a finger inside her, gently stretching and preparing her while his mouth continued its sweet torture, Vera's eyes flew open. The dual sensation was almost too much to bear. She pressed both hands over her mouth now, muffling the desperate sounds she couldn't contain.

The pressure built relentlessly, her hips moving unconsciously against his mouth as he guided her toward release. When it finally came, the pleasure crested like a wave breaking against shore, washing through her in pulsing waves that left her trembling and breathless.

Aemond pressed gentle kisses to her inner thighs as she came down from her peak, his expression one of masculine pride as he watched her recover. He moved back up her body, his lips finding hers in a kiss that tasted of her own essence.

"You did well," he murmured against her mouth, his voice rough with desire. "Staying so quiet."

Vera's cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and lingering pleasure. "I didn't know it would feel like that," she admitted softly.

"That was only the beginning," he promised, his hand cupping her cheek tenderly. "Are you ready for more?"

She nodded, suddenly shy despite what they had just shared. Aemond's eye darkened with hunger at her consent. He rose briefly to remove his remaining clothes, and Vera's breath caught at the sight of him fully revealed in the firelight.

When he returned to her, positioning himself between her thighs. Before he could position himself fully, Vera surprised him by suddenly pushing against his chest. In one fluid motion, she flipped their positions, straddling his hips with newfound boldness. Aemond's eye widened in shock, then darkened with desire as she hovered above him, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders like a curtain.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice husky with want.

"Taking what I want," she whispered with confidence.

A slow smirk spread across Aemond's face as he gazed up at her. He had always loved her strength, her quiet defiance that emerged when least expected. Seeing her like this—taking control—sent heat coursing through his veins.

His hands moved to her hips, guiding her as she positioned herself above him. "Like this?" he murmured, his thumbs tracing circles on her skin.

Vera nodded, uncertainty flickering briefly across her features despite her bold move. Aemond saw the hesitation and sat up abruptly, his arms wrapping around her waist to steady her in this new position.

"I've got you," he promised, his lips finding hers in a tender kiss. "We'll go slowly."

Vera sank her fingers into his silver-gold hair, deepening the kiss as she gathered her courage. With his guidance, she began to lower herself onto him, gasping against his mouth at the unfamiliar sensation of stretching around him.

"Wait," Aemond whispered, his hands tightening on her hips to pause her movement. "Breathe."

She did as instructed, drawing in a deep breath as their foreheads pressed together. When she felt ready, she nodded slightly and continued, taking him inch by inch until she had fully joined with him.

"Are you alright?" Aemond asked, his voice strained with the effort of remaining still.

"Yes," Vera breathed, adjusting to the feeling of fullness. After a moment, she experimentally rolled her hips, drawing a strangled groan from Aemond's throat.

Emboldened by his reaction, she moved again, establishing a tentative rhythm. Aemond tried to take control, attempting to flip them over, but Vera pressed her palms against his chest, holding him in place with surprising strength.

"I'm in control now," she whispered against his ear, her voice low and seductive as she continued to set the pace. "Not the prince. Not the warrior. Just mine."

A growl rumbled deep in Aemond's chest, his instincts screaming to flip her beneath him, to claim her completely. His muscles tensed with restraint, jaw clenching as he fought against his natural dominance. He hated admitting it, even to himself, but she was right—in this moment, she held all the power.

Vera's confidence grew with each movement. She swept her dark hair over one shoulder, exposing the elegant curve of her neck to the firelight. The sight of her—flushed with desire, eyes half-lidded—was almost his undoing.

His hands explored her body with reverent hunger, tracing the contours of her waist, the swell of her breasts, the soft skin of her thighs. Each touch drew a new reaction, teaching him what pleased her most. When his thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves where they joined, Vera's breath hitched, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"There," she breathed, her rhythm faltering momentarily as pleasure coursed through her.

Aemond watched her face intently, memorizing every expression as she rode him with increasing confidence. Her inexperience was evident in her movements, yet there was something unbearably arousing about her determination, her willingness to claim her pleasure.

Unable to resist any longer, he sat up suddenly, one arm wrapping around her lower back to press her body flush against his. His other hand tangled in her hair, gently pulling her head back to expose her throat. His lips claimed hers in a passionate kiss that stole her breath, his tongue sliding against hers in a sensual dance.

"Aemond," she gasped when they broke apart, her voice trembling with need.

The sound of his name on her lips drove him to the edge of madness. He trailed hungry kisses down her neck, nipping at her collarbone before soothing the sting with his tongue. Their bodies moved together in perfect rhythm now, finding a harmony that seemed as natural as breathing.

"I need..." Vera whispered, her words dissolving into a moan as he shifted beneath her, changing the angle of their connection.

"Tell me," he urged, his voice rough with desire. "Tell me what you need."

Her dark eyes met his, vulnerability and trust shining in their depths. "More," she admitted. "Faster."

Aemond's hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements with increased urgency. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound barely registering through the haze of pleasure enveloping them both.

Vera's breath came in short gasps, her fingers digging into his shoulders as tension built within her once more. Aemond could feel her tightening around him, her body trembling on the precipice of release.

"Let go," he whispered against her ear. "I've got you."

His words pushed her over the edge. Vera buried her face against his neck to muffle her cry as ecstasy washed through her in powerful waves. The sensation of her pulsing around him was too much for Aemond to bear. With a stifled groan, he followed her into bliss, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

For several heartbeats, they remained locked together, breath mingling as they came down from their shared peak. Vera's forehead rested against his, her eyes closed as she savored the lingering sensations. Aemond's hands moved soothingly across her back, tracing gentle patterns against her damp skin.

When she finally opened her eyes, the vulnerability in her gaze made his chest ache with tenderness. He brushed a strand of dark hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with surprising gentleness.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.

Vera nodded, a small smile curving her lips. "More than alright," she assured him, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

With careful movements, Aemond helped her lift off him, both of them wincing slightly at the separation. He guided her to lie beside him on the bed, pulling the rumpled covers over their cooling bodies. Vera immediately curled against his side, her head finding a perfect resting place on his chest.

"I never thought..." she began, then trailed off, uncertain how to express the tumult of emotions swirling within her.

"What?" Aemond prompted, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on her bare arm.

"That it would feel like that," she admitted softly.

Aemond's arms tightened around her, drawing her closer against his body. His chin rested atop her head, one hand trailing lazily up and down her spine in a protective, possessive gesture that made her feel utterly safe.

Suddenly, Vera's eyes widened as memories of their passionate encounter flooded back. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she recalled her own boldness, the commands she'd issued, the way she'd taken control. With a mortified groan, she covered her face with both hands, burying her embarrassment behind her fingers.

Aemond pulled back slightly, studying her with a mixture of amusement and confusion dancing in his violet eye. "What?" he asked.

Vera peeked through her fingers, then dropped her hands and pressed her face against his chest instead, unable to meet his gaze.

"I can't believe what I said during..." she mumbled against his skin, her voice muffled with embarrassment. "When I told you I was in control now. That you were mine."

Aemond smirked, satisfaction evident in his expression as he traced the curve of her shoulder with his fingertips.

"I quite enjoyed your... assertiveness," he murmured, his voice dropping to a seductive rumble that sent shivers racing down her spine. "Though I admit it surprised me."

Vera couldn't look at him and just hid her face against his chest, her words coming out muffled against his warm skin. "Promise you'll never speak of what I said. Ever."

Aemond's chest rumbled with silent laughter, his fingers threading through her dark hair as he held her against him. The smirk that spread across his face was equal parts satisfaction and amusement.

After several moments, Vera finally pulled away, sitting up with the sheet clutched to her chest. She met his gaze directly, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features as realization dawned on her.

"You didn't pull out," she said, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "I'll need moon tea in the morning."

Aemond's smirk only deepened, his single violet eye gleaming with mischief. "As I recall, you didn't exactly let me," he replied, his voice a low, sensual rumble. "You were quite... determined to keep me where I was."

Heat flooded Vera's cheeks, the blush spreading down her neck as she looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

"I wasn't thinking clearly," she muttered, still not looking at him.

"Clearly," Aemond agreed, his tone making it obvious he wasn't remotely apologetic. He reached for her, his fingers gently turning her face back toward him. "I'll have moon tea brought to you before anyone else is awake. No one will know."

Vera sighed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Thank you," she said softly, allowing him to pull her back down beside him.

"Though I admit," he continued, his voice taking on a dangerous edge as he traced patterns on her bare shoulder, "there's something appealing about the thought of you carrying my child."

Vera stiffened beside him, her eyes widening as she pushed herself up to look at him. "Aemond, you can't mean that. Not now, with war brewing. And we're not even--"

"Married?" he finished for her, his expression suddenly serious. "We could be."

Vera stared at him, momentarily speechless. "You can't possibly--"

"I can and I do," Aemond interrupted, pulling himself up to a sitting position. The sheet pooled around his waist, leaving his scarred torso bare in the firelight. "I've never wanted anyone but you, Vera. I never will."

The conviction in his voice made her heart stutter in her chest. She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw with tender reverence.

"The realm is about to be torn apart," she reminded him gently. "Your brother was crowned king today, and Rhaenyra will not accept it. This isn't the time for--"

"For what? For happiness?" Aemond challenged, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. "For claiming what we both want?"

Vera sighed, the weight of reality settling heavily on her shoulders. "For making promises we might not be able to keep," she finished quietly.

A shadow passed over Aemond's face, but he didn't argue. Instead, he gathered her against him once more, his arms encircling her with protective strength.

"Get some sleep," he murmured against her hair. "Tomorrow will come soon enough. I'll be tomorrow morning at the Small Council Meeting."

Vera hummed, nestling against him, her head finding its place on his chest where she could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Despite the uncertainty that loomed before them, she felt safer than she ever had, wrapped in the arms of the man she loved.

As sleep began to claim her, Vera allowed herself to imagine, just for a moment, a world where their future together was possible. Where they could stand before the Seven, pledging themselves to each other without fear or hesitation. Where she could bear his children without shame or secrecy.

It was a beautiful dream, however unlikely.

Chapter Text

Aemond drummed his fingers against the polished table, struggling to mask his growing irritation. The Small Council chamber felt stifling despite the morning chill, the air heavy with tension and competing ambitions. He sat rigidly in his chair, his single violet eye narrowed as he surveyed the men gathered around the table—his brother slouched in the king's seat at the head, their mother seated to Aegon's right, their grandsire opposite her, then Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, Larys Strong, and Grand Maester Orwyle completing the circle of power.

Ser Criston stood just behind Aegon's chair, his white cloak pristine in the morning light that streamed through the windows.

"We must secure more allies," Otto Hightower declared, his fingers steepled before him as he addressed the newly crowned king. "Princess Rhaenyra will not accept your ascension quietly, even if I will come and speak with her. The display at the Dragonpit yesterday was merely the beginning."

Aegon shifted uncomfortably. "Princess Rhaenys could have killed us all," he muttered, reaching for his wine cup. "Why didn't she?"

"A question for the philosophers," Larys Strong offered, his voice silky smooth as he leaned forward on his cane. "Perhaps she wished to demonstrate her power without bloodying her hands with kinslaying."

Otto waved away the speculation with an impatient hand. "Her motivations matter less than our response. We must consolidate support for your reign immediately." His sharp gaze settled on Aemond. "Prince Aemond must be betrothed to secure a powerful alliance. The Baratheons would be ideal—Lord Borros has four daughters."

Aemond tensed, his fingers stilling their rhythmic tapping against the table. He straightened in his chair, fixing his grandfather with a cold stare.

Alicent looked at her father, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. "We've already spoken of this," she said, her voice carrying a note of finality. "Aemond should be allowed to choose his own bride."

Otto's expression hardened, his thin lips pressing into a tight line. "We cannot afford to surrender such an advantage, daughter. The Stormlands must be secured if we are to maintain our position. Lord Borros commands significant forces that could turn the tide should conflict arise."

Aegon smirked, twirling his wine cup between his fingers, the ruby liquid catching the morning light. "When Lord Borros and his daughters visited last year, the youngest one—what was her name? Floris? Seemed quite taken with my brother," he remarked, his violet eyes glinting with amusement as they settled on Aemond. "She'll make a good and quick match. And she is at the same age as you."

Aemond's jaw clenched, the muscle jumping beneath his skin as he fought to maintain his composure. The memory of Vera's body entwined with his just hours before was still fresh in his mind, her scent lingering on his skin despite his hasty morning ablutions.

"I have no interest in a Baratheon bride," he stated coldly, his voice cutting through the chamber like Valyrian steel.

Otto's face darkened with frustration. "You cannot simply dismiss this strategic necessity, Prince Aemond. The realm requires—"

"I find your strategic necessities tedious, grandsire," Aemond replied, his tone dripping with boredom as he examined his fingernails. "I will not marry a Baratheon girl, no matter how many daughters Lord Borros has to offer."

Larys Strong tilted his head, a calculating gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps the prince has already selected a bride for himself?" he suggested, his voice carrying that peculiar blend of deference and cunning that had become his trademark.

Aemond met the Master of Whispers' gaze directly. "I have."

Queen Alicent's expression softened slightly, understanding dawning in her green eyes. "Vera," she said softly, the name barely audible in the tense quiet.

Aegon's head snapped toward his mother, his wine cup freezing halfway to his lips. "What?" he demanded, his voice sharp with sudden attention.

Otto's face contorted with annoyance, his fist coming down hard on the table. "This cannot happen. The girl is baseborn, with no house, no name, no political advantage whatsoever. She may be like a granddaughter to me, but this match is impossible."

"I disagree," Tyland Lannister interjected, his shrewd eyes calculating possibilities. "Lady Vera is beloved by the court and smallfolk alike. Her marriage to Prince Aemond would demonstrate that the crown values loyalty and service above birth."

Jasper Wylde nodded thoughtfully. "The legal impediments could be overcome. A royal decree legitimizing her as Ser Criston's daughter would elevate her status sufficiently."

"Or perhaps," Larys added silkily, "we might discover some noble blood in her lineage after all. Records can be... illuminating when properly examined."

Otto stroked his beard thoughtfully, weighing Larys's suggestion. His eyes flickered between Aemond's defiant posture and Aegon's tense expression before settling on his daughter.

"If there were another option, I would take it," he said. "But sentiment cannot guide policy. If this match is to happen, it must serve the realm. We need the Baratheons at our side. Their swords and ships are essential if we hope to maintain Aegon's crown. The realm's stability must take precedence over personal desires."

Aegon straightened in his chair, setting down his wine cup with unusual decisiveness. "For once, I agree with our Hand," he announced, his violet eyes hardening as they met his brother's. "You will fly to Storm's End and betroth yourself to one of Lord Borros's daughters. Whichever one pleases you most." His lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Consider it your first act of service to your king."

A cold smile spread across Aemond's face, not reaching his eye as he regarded his brother. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as tension crackled between them.

"Then as my King commands, I shall do as asked," he conceded with exaggerated courtesy. "Though I fear Lord Borros may find the arrangement rather insulting in the end. His daughter will stand alone while my attention remains... elsewhere." His words hung in the air, their meaning unmistakable.

Aegon's face darkened with anger, his fingers tightening around his cup until his knuckles whitened.

"I suppose it's better," Aemond continued with clinical detachment, "to insult Lord Borros and his daughters than to lose the Stormlands entirely. We need every sword we can muster for the war to come. I'll depart for Storm's End in an hour."

"Go now," Aegon commanded, rising from his seat with unexpected authority. "The sooner you depart, the sooner this alliance is secured while Grandfather and the knights proceed to Dragonstone with the peace offer."

Aemond stretched his long legs before him as if they were discussing nothing more important than the weather. "One hour," he replied, his voice carrying a deliberate note of boredom. "I'll depart in one hour, or I won't be going at all." His lips curled slightly at the corners. "Your choice, brother."

The challenge hung in the air between them, heavy with implications. Ser Criston Cole remained impassive, his dark eyes betraying nothing of his thoughts. Queen Alicent's expression showed no surprise at her second son's defiance, while Otto Hightower merely sighed, as if he'd expected nothing less from his grandson.

Jasper Wylde shifted uncomfortably in his seat, exchanging a meaningful glance with Grand Maester Orwyle. The silent communication between them spoke volumes about their discomfort with the growing tension between the royal brothers.

More telling was the subtle shift in Tyland Lannister's posture as he leaned slightly toward Aemond's side of the table, a nearly imperceptible gesture of support. Across from him, Larys Strong's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, his shrewd eyes moving between the brothers with undisguised interest.

"Very well," Aegon finally conceded, his jaw tight with suppressed anger. "One hour. But not a moment more."

Aemond rose from his seat with a mocking bow. "As Your Grace commands," he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. Without waiting for dismissal, he strode toward the door.

Aemond made his way toward Vera's chambers, needing to see her before the news of his impending journey spread through the castle. As he approached her floor, he slowed, catching sight of Ser Arryk Cargyll ahead. The Kingsguard knight was speaking in hushed tones to Vera, who stood with Dyana beside her.

Aemond watched as Ser Arryk leaned close to Vera, whispering something that made her expression harden with resolve. She nodded once, her back straightening as she absorbed whatever information the knight had shared.

Vera turned to her maid, her voice carrying softly down the corridor. "Dyana, please return to the twins and Princess Helaena. They shouldn't be alone today."

"Yes, my lady," Dyana replied with a quick curtsy before hurrying away.

Vera and Ser Arryk moved in Aemond's direction, their expressions grim as they approached. Aemond stepped forward from the shadows, making his presence known.

"What is it?" he asked, noting the tight set of Vera's jaw, the determined gleam in her dark eyes.

"Ser Arryk has found the men who own that horrible place I told you about," Vera replied, her voice taut with controlled anger. "The fighting pit where they force children to fight for sport. Where is Aegon?"

"Council meeting."

Vera walked past him and continued down the corridor, her steps quick and purposeful. Aemond exchanged a glance with Ser Arryk before following her, noting the determination in her stride as she approached the Small Council chamber.

When they reached the ornate doors, Vera paused, drawing herself up to her full height. Though she barely reached Aemond's shoulder, there was something formidable about her in this moment—a quiet authority that commanded respect.

"Open them," she instructed the two young knights standing guard.

The knights hesitated, looking to Aemond for confirmation. 

Vera rolled her eyes quickly, turning her attention fully to the guards. "Don't look at the Prince," she said firmly. "I'm the one speaking to you. Open these doors. Now."

The knights exchanged uncertain glances before complying, pulling the heavy doors open without further hesitation. Vera gave them a practiced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she strode past, Ser Arryk following a few paces behind.

The Small Council members looked up in surprise at the interruption. Otto Hightower's eyebrows rose slightly, though his expression suggested more curiosity than irritation. Ser Criston merely raised an eyebrow, the hint of a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The Queen's face registered mild confusion as she straightened in her seat.

Vera approached the table with measured steps, her gaze fixed solely on Aegon. The newly crowned king slouched in his ornate chair, wine cup still in hand.

"Aegon," she said simply, her voice carrying in the sudden silence. "Is this meeting important?"

Aegon looked up at her, then around at the councilors, before shrugging. "Not particularly."

"Good. Then you're coming with me."

Aegon muttered, "Thank the Gods." He placed his cup down before he stood. "We are done here."

Before anyone could say anything, Aegon followed Vera through the doorway and into the corridor. As they walked, Aegon glanced from Vera to Aemond, then to Ser Arryk, registering the determination in their expressions.

"As much as I'm grateful for you getting me out, where exactly are we going?" he asked.

"To the black cells," Vera replied, her voice cold with fury as she continued forward. "There's something you need to see."

They descended further, past the level of ordinary dungeons, down to where the black cells waited in perpetual darkness. The air grew colder, damper, the stone walls slick with moisture as they reached the lowest level. Two guards stood at attention, their faces illuminated by the sputtering torches that provided the only light in the oppressive gloom.

The guards bowed deeply at the unexpected royal presence. One of them, a grizzled veteran with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward.

"This way, my lady," he said to Vera, leading them down a narrow corridor lined with heavy iron doors. The distant sounds of moaning and occasional rattling of chains echoed through the dank passageway.

They stopped before a cell near the end of the corridor. The guard produced a heavy iron key, the metal scraping loudly in the lock before the door swung open with a protesting creak.

Inside, two men huddled against the far wall, their bearded faces haggard in the dim torchlight. Both wore the remnants of what had once been fine clothing, now filthy and torn from their rough handling. Their similar features marked them clearly as brothers.

Vera stepped forward, her stance regal despite her lack of royal blood. "Your names," she demanded.

The brothers exchanged nervous glances before the taller one cleared his throat. "Boros Bracken, m'lady," he answered, attempting a bow despite his shackles. "And this is my brother, Edmyn."

Vera's expression remained impassive as she studied them. "Boros and Edmyn Bracken," she repeated, her voice carrying an authority that belied her youth. "You stand accused of operating a fighting pit in Flea Bottom where children are forced to battle for the entertainment of paying spectators."

Aegon shifted uncomfortably beside her, his eyes darting briefly toward the prisoners before fixing on a point on the far wall. He recognized these men—regular patrons who operated one of his favorite establishments. But he remained silent, acutely aware of Aemond's watchful gaze boring into him from behind.

"My lady, there's been a misunderstanding," Boros protested, stepping forward until his chains pulled taut. "We run a legitimate business. The children are paid well for their performances."

"Performances?" Vera's voice was dangerously soft. "You call forcing starving children to beat each other bloody a performance?"

"They volunteer!" Edmyn insisted, desperation creeping into his tone. "We feed them, clothe them--"

"Enslave them," Vera corrected coldly. "Break their bodies for coin and the amusement of men like yourselves."

"The children come willingly," Boros argued, glancing nervously toward Aegon. "Your Grace, surely you understand the nature of our establishment. You yourself have—"

"Save your breath," Vera cut him off, her voice sharp as Valyrian steel. "You'll need it for your final prayers." She looked at Aegon. "They should be executed at dawn."

The two men's faces drained of color, their eyes widening in terror as they looked desperately to Aegon.

Aegon nodded slightly and looked at the guard. "See it done."

"Your Grace, please," Boros pleaded, falling to his knees with a clank of chains. "You've visited our establishment. You know us."

"Do not concern yourselves," Vera said, her voice cold as winter. "Your deaths will be quite painful." Her dark eyes gleamed with merciless determination. "The children you've harmed deserve nothing less."

Aemond stood just behind her, a satisfied smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he watched Vera deliver justice. Pride radiated from him, his violet eye fixed on Vera's regal bearing.

"My lady, please," Edmyn begged, crawling forward until his chains pulled taut. "We swear we'll never harm another child. We'll close the pit, leave King's Landing—"

"I could spare you," Vera conceded, her voice softening deceptively before hardening once more. "But I won't. What message would that send to others who think to profit from children's suffering?" She stepped closer to the bars, her face illuminated by the flickering torchlight. "Your deaths will teach that lesson far more effectively than your banishment ever could."

Without another glance at the condemned men, Vera turned sharply on her heel and strode from the cell, her back straight and head held high. She didn't acknowledge their desperate pleas as the door clanged shut behind her, sealing their fate with iron finality.

Aemond followed immediately, his tall frame a dark shadow at her back. Aegon hesitated only briefly before trailing after them, Ser Arryk bringing up the rear as they ascended from the dank gloom of the black cells.

When they reached the upper levels of the dungeon, Aegon released a long, shaky breath, the weight of what had just transpired settling visibly on his shoulders.

Vera turned to Ser Arryk, her expression betraying nothing of the fury that still simmered beneath her composed exterior. "See that the execution happens tomorrow at dawn," she instructed, her voice carrying the quiet authority that had cowed men twice her age. "Have their bodies displayed afterward in the city square—somewhere visible to all. The message must be clear about what happens to those who enslave children in King Aegon's realm."

"It will be done, my lady," Ser Arryk replied with a respectful nod, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword as if eager to carry out her commands personally.

Without waiting for further acknowledgment, Vera continued down the corridor, her steps purposeful and measured. Aegon and Aemond followed in her wake, neither speaking as they emerged into the main hallway of the Red Keep.

Only when they were several corridors away from the dungeons did Aegon finally find his voice.

"Vera, wait," he called, his tone more commanding than she had ever heard from him before. She paused, turning to face the newly crowned king with a questioning look. "We must speak. In my chambers. Now."

Vera hesitated, noting the unusual determination in Aegon's violet eyes. This was not his typical petulant demand but something more serious. She opened her mouth to respond when Aemond stepped between them, his tall frame creating a barrier between her and his brother.

"Whatever you need to discuss can wait," Aemond stated coldly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Vera has other matters to attend to."

The brothers stared at each other, tension crackling between them like lightning before a storm. Aegon's jaw tightened, his gaze flickering briefly to Vera before returning to meet his brother's challenging stare.

"As your king—" Aegon began, drawing himself up to his full height.

"As my brother," Aemond interrupted, his voice dangerously soft, "you should know when to retreat."

Without waiting for Aegon's response, Aemond turned to Vera, placing his hand at the small of her back as he guided her away. She allowed herself to be led, glancing back only once to see Aegon standing motionless in the corridor, his expression unreadable as he watched them leave.

Aemond's stride was purposeful as he led her through the winding passages of the Red Keep, his hand never leaving her back. When they reached his chambers, he ushered her inside, closing the heavy door behind them with a decisive click of the lock.

"What was that?" Vera demanded, turning to face him with her arms crossed over her chest. "You can't just—"

Her words died in her throat as Aemond closed the distance between them in two long strides. His hands cupped her face with surprising gentleness, thumbs brushing her cheekbones as he gazed down at her with naked hunger in his violet eye. Before she could gather her thoughts, his mouth claimed hers in a searing kiss that stole her breath and scattered her protests to the wind.

Despite her initial surprise, Vera's body responded instantly, her arms uncrossing to slide around his neck as she returned his kiss with equal fervor. Aemond backed her against the wall, his body pressing against hers as one hand tangled in her dark hair, the other sliding down to her waist to pull her closer.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Aemond rested his forehead against hers. "I'm leaving for Storm's End within the hour," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "Grandfather insists I secure the Baratheon alliance through marriage."

Vera stiffened in his arms, pulling back slightly to search his face. The warmth drained from her expression as understanding dawned in her dark eyes. This moment—she had always known it would come eventually. The fantasy they'd shared last night had been just that—a beautiful, impossible dream.

"I see," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she disentangled herself from his embrace. She stepped away, creating a small but deliberate distance between them. "Of course you must go."

Aemond reached for her, but she moved further back, her shoulders straightening as she composed herself.

"Vera—" he began, his voice rough with frustration.

"Good luck in Storm's End," she said, forcing a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I hope Lord Borros's daughter proves a worthy match."

Aemond's expression darkened, his jaw tightening visibly. "This changes nothing between us," he insisted, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Nothing."

"It changes everything," Vera countered softly, her composure remarkable despite the pain evident in her eyes. "You're a prince of the blood. I've always known this day would come."

She moved toward the door, her hand finding the latch. Before opening it, she paused, turning to look at him one last time. "I won't be your mistress, Aemond. I deserve better than that, and so does your future wife."

Aemond crossed the room in two swift strides, his hand slamming against the door to keep it closed. He loomed over her, his violet eye blazing with a mixture of anger and desperation.

"Do you think I care about some Baratheon girl?" he growled, his face inches from hers. "Do you think any vows I make to her will matter when it's you I want?"

Vera met his gaze unflinchingly, her dark eyes steady despite their sheen of unshed tears. "They should matter," she replied, her voice soft but firm. "Vows always matter, Aemond. Even when they're inconvenient."

Something shifted in Aemond's expression. His hand fell away from the door, though he remained standing close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"I won't marry her," he stated flatly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I'll refuse."

"And start a war with the Stormlands as well as Dragonstone?" Vera asked, shaking her head sadly. "You know you can't."

Aemond's silence was answer enough. They both understood the precarious position the Green Council now occupied—with Rhaenyra's claim looming over them, they could ill afford to alienate potential allies.

"You should pack what you need," Vera said, reaching for the door latch once more. "And I should attend to Helaena and the children."

This time, Aemond made no move to stop her. He watched as she opened the door, her slender figure silhouetted briefly against the light from the corridor before she slipped away.

For several heartbeats, he remained motionless, staring at the closed door as if he could still see her through the solid wood. Then, with a snarl of frustration, he seized a nearby goblet and hurled it against the wall, where it shattered in a spray of silver fragments.

Chapter Text

Vera sat by the window in Helaena's chambers, absently threading beads onto a string while watching Jaehaerys and Jaehaera play with their wooden dragon figurines on the floor. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, bathing everything in a warm golden glow that contrasted sharply with the hollow feeling in her chest.

"The red one is the fastest," Jaehaera declared, swooping her dragon through the air with dramatic flourishes. "She can outfly all the others."

"No, Vhagar is the fastest," Jaehaerys countered, thrusting his larger green dragon forward. "Uncle Aemond says she's the greatest dragon that ever lived."

At the mention of Aemond's name, Vera's fingers fumbled, dropping a bead that rolled across the stone floor. She quickly composed her face into a mask of pleasant attentiveness before either child could notice her momentary lapse.

"When will Uncle Aemond come back?" Jaehaera asked, abandoning her game to climb onto Vera's lap. Her small fingers reached up to touch Vera's cheek. "Do you miss him?"

"Of course she misses him," Helaena said dreamily from where she sat embroidering by the hearth. "The way flowers miss the sun when clouds cover the sky."

Dyana, folding linens nearby, exchanged a knowing glance with Helaena. The maid had said nothing when Vera had appeared at Helaena's chambers that morning with reddened eyes, her composure brittle as glass.

"Uncle Aemond has important business in the Stormlands," Vera explained carefully, smoothing Jaehaera's silver-gold curls. "He's meeting with Lord Baratheon and his daughters."

"Why does he need to meet daughters?" Jaehaerys asked, abandoning his dragons to join his sister. He clambered onto Vera's other knee, nearly toppling the beadwork from her lap.

"Because one of them will be his wife," Vera answered, her voice steady despite the sharp pain that lanced through her at the words. "That's how alliances are made between great houses."

"I don't want him to have a wife," Jaehaera declared with a child's forthright honesty. "I want him to marry you, Aunt Vera. Then you'd really be our aunt."

Vera's smile faltered for just a moment before she recovered. "That's very sweet, little one, but princes must marry for the good of the realm. It's their duty."

"Duty," Helaena echoed softly, her needle pausing mid-stitch. "Such a small word for such a heavy burden."

Dyana approached, setting down her folded linens to rescue Vera from the conversation. "Who would like honey cakes? I believe the kitchen just prepared a fresh batch."

"Me!" both twins chorused, scrambling off Vera's lap with excited squeals.

"Why don't you help me fetch them?" Dyana suggested, offering her hands to the children. "We'll bring back enough for everyone."

As Dyana led the twins from the chamber, Vera released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her shoulders slumped slightly, the perfect posture she'd maintained all morning finally giving way to the exhaustion of pretending.

"You needn't wear a mask with me," Helaena said, setting aside her embroidery to join her foster sister by the window. "I see more than people think."

"I'm fine," Vera insisted, the words sounding hollow even to her own ears.

"No," Helaena replied simply, taking Vera's hands in her own. "You're not. And that's alright."

Something in Helaena's gentle understanding broke through the careful walls Vera had constructed. A single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek before she could stop it.

"He'll return," Helaena said, her voice carrying that peculiar certainty that sometimes accompanied her statements—as if she glimpsed things others couldn't see. "Though not as he left."

Vera wiped away the tear with the back of her hand. "With a Baratheon bride, you mean."

Helaena tilted her head, her expression becoming distant once more. "The storm rises, but the dragon flies above it," she murmured cryptically. "Some chains are forged to be broken."

The chamber door opened with a soft click, drawing both women's attention. The Queen Dowager Alicent stood in the doorway, her elegant green gown catching the afternoon light as she stepped inside. Her eyes moved between Helaena and Vera, a gentle smile touching her lips though sadness lingered in her gaze.

Vera immediately rose from her seat by the window, smoothing her skirts with hands that trembled slightly. Alicent approached with measured steps, her experienced gaze taking in Vera's reddened eyes and the tension in her shoulders.

Without a word, the Queen Dowager opened her arms. Vera hesitated only a moment before stepping into the embrace, allowing herself to be held as Alicent's arms encircled her with maternal warmth.

"Oh, my dear girl," Alicent murmured, one hand stroking Vera's dark hair.

Vera permitted herself this brief moment of comfort before pulling away abruptly, composing her features into a mask of calm. "I'm fine, truly," she insisted, her voice steadier than her heart. "There's no need to worry about me."

Alicent's hands rose to cup Vera's face, her touch gentle but firm as she tilted the young woman's chin up to meet her gaze. "Vera," she said softly, "I raised you alongside my own children. I know when you're hurting, just as I know when Helaena retreats into her dreams or when Aemond hides his pain behind anger."

Vera's carefully constructed facade cracked slightly at the Queen's words. She drew a shaky breath, her dark eyes filling with tears she refused to shed.

"I've known this day would come," Vera whispered. "I've always known he would need to marry for alliance."

Alicent guided Vera back to the window seat, sitting beside her while keeping one arm around her shoulders. Helaena drifted back to her embroidery, giving them space while remaining close enough to offer silent support.

"My father's requests are... difficult," Alicent acknowledged, her green eyes reflecting her own experience with political marriages. "But Aemond has never been one to follow a path simply because it was laid before him."

"He must," Vera insisted, staring out at the darkening sky. "The realm needs the Baratheon alliance. I would never ask him to jeopardize his family's position for me."

Alicent squeezed Vera's hand reassuringly. "My son may surprise you yet. Aemond has always forged his own path, regardless of what others expect of him."

Before Vera could respond, the chamber door opened once more. Ser Leon Estermont entered, his white cloak pristine against his polished armor. The young knight bowed respectfully, his gaze finding Vera.

"Lady Vera," he said, "His Grace King Aegon requests your presence in the council room immediately."

Alicent, Vera, and Helaena exchanged quick, questioning glances. Tension crept back into Vera's shoulders as she rose from her seat.

"I suppose I should see what he wants," Vera sighed, smoothing her skirts with practiced composure.

Alicent watched with poorly concealed concern as Vera followed the young Kingsguard into the corridor. Ser Arryk Cargyll, who had been standing guard outside, fell into step beside them as they made their way through the winding passages of the Red Keep.

The walk to the council room passed in tense silence. When they reached the ornate doors, Ser Leon turned to Vera with an apologetic expression.

"His Grace wishes to speak with you alone, my lady."

Ser Arryk straightened, his expression hardening. "That won't happen," he stated flatly, his tone making the younger knight shift uncomfortably.

"It's alright, Ser Arryk," Vera interjected, placing a gentle hand on his armored forearm. She gave him a reassuring smile, the kind they had shared since her childhood when he would sneak her honey cakes from the kitchen. "I'll speak with the King. Would you wait for me here?"

The older knight studied her face for a long moment before nodding reluctantly. "I'll be right outside this door."

Vera stepped through the doorway, the heavy oak closing behind her.

The council room was empty save for Aegon, who stood by the window, his back to the door as he gazed out at the darkening sky.

"Aegon?" Vera approached, studying his rigid posture. "What did you wish to speak of?"

Aegon turned slowly. His shoulders slumped slightly. He sighed heavily and moved to the large chair at the head of the table. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the seat on his left.

Vera complied, smoothing her skirts as she settled into the ornate chair. The tension between them stretched like a thread pulled too tight, ready to snap at the slightest pressure.

"Grandfather returned from Dragonstone not long ago," Aegon said finally. "Rhaenyra has declared herself Queen. She refuses to accept the peace offer unless I stand down." He drummed his fingers against the polished wood, a nervous habit he'd never outgrown. "We'll need the Baratheons if it comes to war."

Vera remained silent, her face a careful mask that betrayed nothing.

Aegon turned to study her, his violet eyes watching her reaction closely as he added, "Aemond will be betrothed soon. To one of Lord Borros's daughters."

"I know," Vera replied with remarkable composure, though a flicker of hurt darkened her eyes momentarily. "Good for him."

Aegon's fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the table's surface. "He'll do his duty to the realm," he continued, watching her carefully.

Vera looked at him, her dark eyes searching his face. She leaned back in the chair, her posture relaxed yet dignified despite the unmistakable hurt lingering beneath her composed exterior.

"Are you happy now?" she asked softly, her dark eyes never leaving his face.

Aegon frowned slightly, caught off guard by her direct question.

"Are you satisfied, knowing you've hurt me?" Vera clarified, her tone remaining measured despite the pain evident in her eyes. "Is this the revenge you wanted? I hurt you because I love you as a brother—a family, and nothing more."

Aegon hesitated, his violet eyes searching her face. "It's not what you think," he said finally, his voice soft.

Vera nodded, a sad smile touching her lips. "It is exactly how I think," she replied quietly.

She looked away from him, taking a deep, shaky breath to steady herself before meeting his gaze once more. "You got your wish, Aegon."

Aegon opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp knock interrupted him. The door swung open, revealing a young knight.

"Your Grace," the knight announced hastily, "word just arrived by raven. The betrothal between Prince Aemond and Lord Borros's younger daughter, Lady Floris, has been arranged."

Aegon's face darkened. "Leave us. Now," he commanded.

The knight hesitated, glancing uncertainly between the king and Vera, who had dropped her gaze to her lap, her fingers twisting the fabric of her gown.

"Did you not hear your king?" Aegon snapped.

The knight bowed hastily and backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Vera forced a small smile as she looked back at the King, the pain in her chest threatening to steal her breath. "Congratulations. You've secured the Stormlands." The words tasted like ash in her mouth, knowing she had been the one to tell Aemond to do his duty, to marry for the realm's sake. She had pushed him away, and now the reality of that choice cut deeper than any blade.

She stood, smoothing her skirts with hands that barely trembled. "If you'll excuse me, Your Grace."

Aegon blinked, visibly startled by the formal address.

Vera turned away from his surprised expression and began walking toward the doors, her back straight, her steps measured and dignified despite the hollow ache spreading through her chest.

"Vera, wait," Aegon called, rising from his seat. "Don't leave like this."

She paused, her hand already reaching for the door latch. Without turning, she asked quietly, "Is there something else Your Grace requires?"

"Stop calling me that," Aegon demanded, frustration evident in his voice as he moved around the table toward her. "I'm still me. I'm still Aegon."

Vera turned slowly to face him, her dark eyes meeting his violet ones with unflinching directness. "No," she said softly. "You're the King now. And I must remember my place."

"Your place has always been with us—with me and Aemond and Helaena," Aegon insisted, stopping a few paces from her. "That hasn't changed."

Aegon gently pulled Vera away from the doors, keeping his hands on her arms. His violet eyes, usually filled with mischief or petulance, now held something she rarely saw there—genuine remorse.

"You're right," he admitted quietly. "I was angry at Aemond because he wanted you as his bride. That's why I agreed with grandfather's plan for the Baratheon match." His fingers tightened slightly on her sleeves. "But I never meant to hurt you, Vera. Not like this."

Vera let out a measured breath, her composure remarkable despite the pain evident in her dark eyes. "It won't matter now," she said calmly. "I was the one who told Aemond to do his duty to the realm, and he did. He made his choice."

She looked down at where Aegon's hands still rested on her arms, a sad smile touching her lips. "I've always looked after others and not myself. You know that better than most."

Aegon's expression faltered, guilt flashing across his handsome features as he recognized the truth in her words. She had spent her life caring for him and his siblings even when she was a child herself, putting their needs before her own.

"I wish..." Vera hesitated, then met his gaze directly. "I wish you would have stopped him. You're the King now, Aegon. You could have forbidden the match if you truly wanted to."

Aegon released her arms, stepping back as if her words had physically struck him.

"I care for your happiness, Aegon. I always have," she continued softly. "So if seeing your brother marry someone who isn't me makes you happy, then I suppose you've gotten what you wanted after all."

The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken regrets and the weight of choices that could not be unmade.

"That's not fair," Aegon finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't want to see you hurt."

"Didn't you?" Vera challenged gently. "Even a little?"

Aegon's gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet her searching eyes. The answer was written clearly in his silence.

Vera nodded, accepting this final confirmation of what she had already known.

"I feel tired," Vera said softly, her voice barely audible as she stepped away from Aegon. "I think I need to rest."

Before he could respond, she turned and slipped through the door, leaving the king standing alone in the council chamber, his hand half-raised as if to call her back.

Ser Arryk straightened immediately when she emerged, his experienced eyes taking in her carefully composed expression. Though she maintained her dignified bearing, the slight tightness around her eyes and the almost imperceptible tremor in her hands told him everything he needed to know.

"Allow me to escort you to your chambers, my lady," he offered, falling into step beside her as they moved through the corridors of the Red Keep.

Vera nodded gratefully, drawing comfort from the knight's steady presence. Though she appeared outwardly calm to any who might pass them, Ser Arryk knew his "niece" too well. The pain she carried was evident to him in the slight droop of her shoulders when she thought no one was watching, in the distant look that occasionally clouded her dark eyes.

They rounded a corner and saw Ser Criston approaching from the opposite direction, his white cloak billowing behind him as he strode purposefully through the hallway. His steps faltered momentarily when he caught sight of his daughter, concern immediately etching itself across his features.

Vera forced a small smile as they drew closer, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "Father," she greeted, her voice carefully modulated to betray nothing of her inner turmoil.

Ser Criston slowed his pace, dark eyes studying his daughter's face with paternal concern. "Vera," he replied, stopping before her. "I've been looking for you."

"Is something wrong?" she asked, maintaining the brittle smile.

"I heard about Prince Aemond's betrothal has been arranged," Criston said bluntly, never one to soften difficult truths. His gaze softened as he watched her reaction—the slight stiffening of her shoulders, the almost imperceptible flinch before she mastered herself.

"Yes," Vera acknowledged, her voice steady despite the pain lancing through her heart. "It's wonderful news. The Baratheon alliance will secure the Stormlands for King Aegon."

Ser Criston exchanged a meaningful glance with Ser Arryk over Vera's head. Both men knew her well enough to see through the perfect mask of composure she presented to the world.

"You needn't pretend with me, Ver," Criston said gently. "I know what he means to you."

Something in his gentle understanding threatened to crack the walls she had built around her pain. Vera swallowed hard, looking away briefly as she gathered her composure.

"It doesn't matter what he means to me," she replied softly, meeting her father's gaze once more.

"It does matter," Criston insisted quietly. "It matters to me."

Vera's composure wavered for just a moment, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears before she blinked them away. "I'm very tired," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "I think I need to rest."

Criston nodded, understanding in his gaze as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Come," he said softly. "I'll see you to your chambers."

The three walked in silence through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, Criston and Ser Arryk flanking Vera protectively. The setting sun cast long shadows through the windows, painting the stone walls with streaks of amber and gold.

When they reached her door, Vera paused, her hand resting on the latch. "Father," she said quietly, "could you ask Dyana to come? She's with Helaena and the twins."

"Of course," Criston replied, his dark eyes softening with paternal concern. "I'll fetch her myself."

Vera slipped inside her chambers, the heavy door closing behind her with a soft thud. Ser Arryk took up his position outside, standing at attention with one hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

Criston lingered a moment longer, exchanging a worried glance with his fellow Kingsguard. "Watch over her," he murmured.

"Always," Ser Arryk promised solemnly.

With a grateful nod, Criston turned and strode away toward Helaena's chambers, his white cloak billowing behind him like a ghost in the dimming light.

Inside her room, Vera stood motionless for several heartbeats, staring unseeing at the familiar surroundings. The bed where she and Aemond had lain entwined just the night before. The window seat where they had sat countless times over the years, talking in hushed voices long after the castle had gone to sleep.

A shaky breath escaped her lips as the first tear finally broke free, sliding down her cheek before she could stop it. She wiped it away with trembling fingers, angry at her own weakness.

Vera moved to her bed and sat heavily on its edge, her shoulders slumping as the weight of the day's events pressed down upon her. The news of Aemond's betrothal had been a blade between her ribs.

"No," she whispered fiercely to the empty room, straightening her spine with deliberate effort. "No tears."

She would not cry, even alone in her chambers where no one could witness her grief. Tears were a luxury she could not afford, not with war looming on the horizon. Not with the realm teetering on the edge of chaos. She needed to be strong.

Chapter Text

The morning bells had just finished their solemn tolling when Dyana burst into Vera's chambers without knocking, her face pale and her breath coming in short gasps.

"My lady," she stammered, clutching the doorframe for support. "Prince Aemond has returned from Storm's End."

Vera looked up from the letter she'd been writing, her quill freezing mid-word. "So soon?" Her heart leapt traitorously in her chest before she reminded herself of his betrothal. "I thought he would remain there longer to... finalize arrangements."

Dyana shook her head, her eyes wide with barely contained distress. "It's not that, my lady. There's more." She glanced nervously at the open door before stepping inside and closing it firmly behind her. "They're saying... they're saying he killed Prince Lucerys."

The quill slipped from Vera's fingers, spattering ink across the parchment like drops of blood. "What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "That can't be true."

"Lord Borros sent ravens," Dyana continued, wringing her hands. "Prince Lucerys came to Storm's End seeking support for Queen Rhaenyra, but was refused. As he departed on his dragon..." Her voice faltered.

"Tell me," Vera commanded, rising from her seat.

"Prince Aemond pursued him on Vhagar," Dyana finished quietly. "They fought in the storm clouds above Shipbreaker Bay. Neither Prince Lucerys nor his dragon survived."

Vera sank back into her chair, her legs suddenly unable to support her weight. Luke—sweet, gentle Luke with his easy smile and kind eyes.

"No," she whispered, though she knew from Dyana's expression that it was true. "He wouldn't..."

But even as she said it, doubt crept in. She had seen the darkness that sometimes consumed Aemond, the rage that had festered since he lost his eye. The hatred he bore for his Velaryon nephews had only grown with time.

Vera moved through the morning in a daze, deliberately avoiding the council chambers, the training yard, any place where she might encounter Aemond. When summoned to attend Helaena and the children, she went gratefully, losing herself in their innocent chatter.

"Aunt Vera, why do you look sad?" Jaehaera asked as Vera brushed her silver-gold curls.

"I'm just tired, sweetling," Vera replied, forcing a smile.

The day passed in a blur of routine tasks. By evening, the twins had requested a new story before bed, and Helaena suggested Vera find something in the library. Grateful for the errand, she slipped away, finding solace in the quiet, book-lined sanctuary.

The library was mercifully empty, the only sound the soft crackling of the hearth fire. Vera moved among the shelves, trailing her fingers along the leather spines, searching for something that might distract the children from talk of dragons and battles.

She had just pulled a promising volume from the shelf when a strong hand closed around her wrist, yanking her sideways into the shadows between the tall bookcases. A startled gasp escaped her lips as she found herself face to face with Aemond.

His violet eye gleamed in the dim light, his face hard and unreadable as he stared down at her. "You've been avoiding me," he stated flatly, his grip on her wrist unyielding.

Vera tried to pull away, but he only tightened his hold, backing her against the bookshelf. "Let go of me," she demanded, her voice low but fierce.

"Not until you speak to me," Aemond replied, his tone brooking no argument. "I've searched the entire castle for you."

"I have nothing to say to you," Vera hissed, anger and grief warring within her. "You killed Luke."

Aemond's eye narrowed dangerously. "Is that what you think? That I hunted him down?"

"Didn't you?" she challenged, meeting his gaze with defiant heat in her own. "The entire castle speaks of how Vhagar tore apart Arrax over Shipbreaker Bay. They're calling you kinslayer."

Something flashed across Aemond's face—pain, regret, or perhaps just anger at being questioned. "The boy should have stayed at Dragonstone where he belonged," he growled. "Storm's End is mine."

"Yours?" Vera echoed incredulously. "And does that include Lady Floris as well? I hear congratulations are in order for your betrothal."

Aemond's jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. "That means nothing."

"It does," Vera said, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away fiercely. "Let go of me, Aemond. Now."

To her surprise, he released her wrist immediately—only to grasp her waist with both hands. Before she could protest, he lifted her effortlessly and set her on the nearby side table, scattering scrolls and quills that clattered to the floor.

"Listen to me," Aemond said, his voice low and urgent as he leaned in close. "The betrothal is temporary. A political necessity that will never be fulfilled. I won't marry Lady Floris."

Vera went completely still, her breath catching in her throat.

"Did you truly believe," he continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "that just because you told me to do my duty, I would obey? That I would let myself be married to someone who isn't you?"

He moved closer, positioning himself between her legs, his hands rising to cradle her face. His touch was surprisingly gentle despite the intensity burning in his violet eye.

"You are the only one for me, Vera," he said, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. "The only woman who will ever bear my children. The only one I will ever want."

"You killed a child," Vera whispered, the words falling from her lips like stones.

Aemond went silent, his expression shifting subtly. For a moment, the mask of arrogance fell away, revealing something raw and unguarded beneath.

"It was an accident," he admitted quietly.

Vera stared at him in shock, searching his face for any sign of deception. She found none. "What?"

"The dragons," he explained, his voice rough with something that might have been regret. "They were fighting above the storm. Vhagar... she wouldn't listen to me. I couldn't control her."

His hands slipped from her face to her shoulders, gripping tightly as if anchoring himself. "I wanted to frighten him. But I never meant for him to die."

The admission hung between them, raw and unexpected. Vera studied his face, seeing past the mask of arrogance to the guilt that lurked beneath.

Vera's hands drifted up to cup his face, her fingers gentle against his skin as understanding dawned in her eyes. The truth was there in his expression—the guilt, the regret he would never admit to anyone else.

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" she asked softly, her thumbs tracing his cheekbones. "Why let everyone believe you murdered him in cold blood?"

Aemond's jaw tightened beneath her touch. "Better they think I killed him for revenge than know I couldn't control my own dragon," he replied, his voice a low rumble between them. "Either way, the result is the same. I am a kinslayer now, whether I meant it or not."

The weight of his confession settled between them. Vera leaned forward until her forehead rested against his, their breath mingling in the quiet space. For a moment, they simply existed together, sharing the burden of this terrible truth.

She pulled back slightly, her dark eyes searching his face before she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, an absolution he hadn't asked for but desperately needed.

Aemond's hands slid from her shoulders to her waist, his fingers splaying possessively across her sides as he drew her closer to the edge of the table. Something shifted in his expression—relief giving way to hunger as he bent his head and captured her lips with his own.

Vera kissed him back immediately, her arms winding around his neck as she pressed herself against him. The book she'd selected tumbled forgotten to the floor as she yielded to the desperate need that flared between them.

His kiss was demanding, almost punishing in its intensity, as if he could drive away the shadows of guilt and death with the heat of their shared passion. Vera matched him breath for breath, her fingers tangling in his silver-gold hair as she anchored herself against the storm of his desire.

Aemond's hand slid beneath the fabric of her dress, fingers tracing a path up her thigh with deliberate intent. The sensation of his touch against her bare skin sent a jolt of desire through her, mingled with sudden awareness of their surroundings.

"Wait," Vera gasped, pulling back from his kiss. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. "Not here. Someone could walk in at any moment."

His response was to trail his lips down her throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin below her ear. "Let them," he murmured against her neck, his voice a dangerous rumble that vibrated through her.

Despite her protest, Vera didn't stop him as his hands continued their exploration beneath her skirts. Her body betrayed her mind's caution, arching into his touch as heat pooled in her core. The distant part of her that still clung to reason knew they were being reckless—anyone could enter the library and discover them.

"Aemond," she whispered, the name half-warning, half-plea.

"I don't care," he growled against her collarbone, his fingers finding evidence of her desire despite her verbal protests. "I need you. Now."

The raw hunger in his voice shattered her resistance. Vera tangled her fingers in his silver-gold hair, pulling his mouth back to hers in a kiss that surrendered completely to the desire she'd been fighting. The sound of him unfastening his breeches barely registered through the haze of want that clouded her mind.

Their lips parted just enough for her to draw a ragged breath before he claimed her once more, swallowing her soft moan as he pushed into her with a single, powerful thrust. The pleasure was immediate and overwhelming, her body welcoming him despite the rushed nature of their union.

Vera clung to him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders through the fabric of his doublet as he established a rhythm that drove coherent thought from her mind. Each thrust pushed her further across the precipice of reason, her sounds of pleasure muffled against his demanding mouth. The table beneath her creaked dangerously with their movements, scrolls and quills scattering to the floor unheeded.

The risk of discovery only heightened her pleasure, the forbidden nature of their tryst sending waves of excitement through her already sensitized body. Aemond seemed equally affected, his movements growing more urgent, more demanding with each passing moment.

Aemond's lips found her neck, hot and demanding as he continued to thrust hard and deep. Vera clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as her body tightened around his. She buried her face against his shoulder to muffle her cries as waves of pleasure crashed through her, her release washing over her with startling intensity. The sensation of her pulsing around him pushed Aemond over the edge. With a stifled groan against her skin, he followed her into bliss, his body shuddering as he spilled himself inside her.

They remained locked together, panting, their heated breath mingling in the quiet space between bookshelves. Aemond rested his forehead against hers, their noses touching as they struggled to regain their composure. The library remained mercifully empty, the only sounds their gradually slowing breaths and the distant crackle of the hearth fire.

"You need to pull out," Vera whispered against his lips, her voice barely audible even in the silence of the library.

Aemond smirked against her lips, his violet eye gleaming with satisfaction as he slowly withdrew from her. The loss of connection left her feeling suddenly empty, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with their physical state.

They quickly fixed themselves, Vera smoothing her skirts with trembling hands while Aemond fastened his breeches. He bent to retrieve the fallen book, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk as he handed it to her.

"Children's tales?" he asked, noting the illustrated cover.

"For the twins," Vera explained, her cheeks flushing as she accepted the volume. "They requested a story before bed."

Aemond's expression softened slightly. "You should go to them, then," he said, though his hand lingered at her waist, reluctant to release her fully.

Vera nodded, though she made no immediate move to leave. "I should go," she agreed, her voice soft as her eyes searched his face. "Helaena will be wondering where I am."

"When will I see you again?" Aemond asked, his hand still possessively curled around her waist.

"Soon," she promised, reaching up to brush a strand of silver-gold hair from his face, her touch lingering against his cheek.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in one last, tender kiss before reluctantly pulling away. "I must go," she whispered against his mouth.

Aemond released her with obvious reluctance, a satisfied smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he watched her smooth her skirts and check her appearance once more.

"Go," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Before I change my mind and keep you here all night."

With a final glance over her shoulder, Vera slipped from between the bookshelves and hurried from the library, the children's book clutched tightly to her chest.

The corridors were mercifully empty as she made her way to Helaena's chambers, her cheeks still flushed with the aftermath of her encounter with Aemond. She paused outside the door, taking a moment to compose herself before entering.

Inside, she found Helaena seated by the hearth, her violet eyes distant as she stared into the dancing flames. The Queen looked up as Vera entered, a dreamy smile curving her lips.

"You found a story," she observed, nodding toward the book in Vera's hands.

"Yes," Vera replied, hoping the Queen wouldn't notice her slightly disheveled state. "An old tale about the children of the forest. I think the twins will enjoy it."

Helaena's gaze lingered on her sister's face, her head tilting slightly as if seeing something others could not. "The dragon has found his flame again," she murmured cryptically.

Before Vera could respond, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera burst from their adjoining chamber, still in their nightclothes, their silver-gold curls bouncing with each excited step.

"Aunt Vera!" Jaehaera exclaimed, rushing forward to wrap her small arms around Vera's waist. "You were gone so long!"

"The story," Jaehaerys demanded, tugging at her skirts. "You promised!"

Vera laughed, her earlier tension melting away in the face of their innocent enthusiasm. "Yes, I did," she agreed, allowing herself to be pulled toward their bedchamber. "Come along, then. Into bed, both of you."

The twins scrambled to obey, climbing onto their large bed and burrowing beneath the covers. Vera settled between them, opening the book across her lap as they nestled against her sides.

"Once, long ago," she began, her voice taking on the rhythmic cadence of a practiced storyteller, "before the First Men crossed the Narrow Sea, the children of the forest lived in the lands we now call the Seven Kingdoms..."

The story unfolded, tales of magic and ancient pacts, of greenseers and weirwood trees. The twins listened with rapt attention, their violet eyes wide with wonder. Occasionally, Vera would pause to answer their questions or elaborate on a particularly interesting detail, her own knowledge of the old stories supplementing the text before her.

By the time she reached the final page, both children were fighting to keep their eyes open, their small bodies growing heavy with sleep.

"And so the pact was made," she concluded softly, "between the First Men and the children of the forest, bringing peace to the land for thousands of years."

She closed the book gently, setting it aside as she gazed down at the drowsy twins. Jaehaerys had already surrendered to slumber, his breathing deep and even, one small hand clutching his stuffed dragon. Beside him, Jaehaera struggled valiantly against sleep, her eyelids drooping despite her efforts.

"Sleep now, little princess," Vera murmured, brushing a kiss against the child's forehead.

"Stay until I fall asleep?" Jaehaera asked, her voice slurred with exhaustion.

"Of course," Vera promised, stroking the silver-gold curls from the little girl's face.

Within moments, Jaehaera had joined her brother in sleep, her features softening in innocent repose.

Helaena entered quietly, her slippered feet making no sound on the stone floor. She moved to stand beside Vera, her dreamy gaze softening as she looked down at her sleeping children.

"They look so peaceful," she whispered, reaching out to adjust the blanket around Jaehaerys's shoulders. "So innocent."

"They are," Vera agreed, rising carefully from the bed to avoid disturbing the twins. "And we must keep them that way for as long as possible."

Together, they moved to the small sitting area near the hearth, settling onto the cushioned bench that offered a clear view of the sleeping children. A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire and the twins' gentle breathing.

"Something's changed," Helaena observed after several minutes, her violet eyes studying Vera's face with unusual clarity. "You seem... lighter somehow."

Vera felt heat rise to her cheeks, but she maintained her composure. "Perhaps I am," she admitted softly.

"Aemond has returned," Helaena stated simply, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "And found his way to you."

Vera glanced at her sharply, surprised by the Queen's perception. "Helaena..."

"It's alright," Helaena assured her, reaching out to squeeze Vera's hand gently. "I see more than people think. Always have."

Vera returned the pressure of Helaena's fingers, grateful for her understanding. "I worry for him," she confessed quietly. "For all of us. This war that's coming--"

"Will change everything," Helaena finished for her, her expression growing distant once more. "I've seen it in my dreams. Blood and fire. Dragons dancing until they fall from the sky."

A chill ran down Vera's spine at the Queen's words. Helaena's dreams had an unsettling way of coming true, her seemingly nonsensical ramblings often proving prophetic in hindsight.

"We should focus on protecting the children," Vera said firmly, pushing aside the foreboding that threatened to overwhelm her. "They're what matters most."

Helaena nodded, her gaze drifting back to the sleeping twins. "Yes," she agreed softly. "The children must be protected at all costs."

As they sat in companionable silence, Vera felt a sudden unease creep over her, a prickling sensation at the back of her neck that made the fine hairs there stand on end. Something felt wrong—a subtle shift in the air, a presence that didn't belong.

She gently took Helaena's hand, squeezing it to draw her sister's attention. When Helaena turned to look at her questioningly, Vera rose slowly to her feet, her body tense with growing alarm.

Turning toward the chamber door, Vera's breath caught in her throat. Two men she had never seen before were approaching silently from the shadows of the antechamber. One was tall and broad-shouldered, his face partially concealed by a hood, while the other was smaller, wiry, with a rat-like face and quick, darting eyes.

Helaena slowly stood beside her, still holding Vera's hand, her fingers trembling slightly as she sensed the danger.

"Who are you?" Vera demanded, her voice steady despite the fear clutching at her heart. "How did you get in here?"

The men continued their approach, ignoring her questions. The smaller one carried something in his hand—a sack of some sort that made Vera's stomach twist with dread.

"We've come for the boy's head," the larger man said, his voice a low rumble as he gestured toward the sleeping twins. "Step aside and no one gets hurt."

Vera's mind raced, understanding dawning with horrible clarity. These men had come for Jaehaerys. This was revenge for Luke's death, a son for a son.

"You will not touch him," Vera stated firmly, positioning herself between the intruders and the children's bed. She could feel Helaena frozen beside her, the Queen's grip on her hand now painfully tight.

The smaller man chuckled, the sound sending ice through Vera's veins. "We don't want to hurt you, pretty lady," he said, his gaze traveling over her in a way that made her skin crawl. "But we will if we have to."

"Guards!" Vera called out, hoping against hope that Ser Arryk or her father might be nearby. "Guards!"

"Won't do you no good," the larger man said with a cruel smile. "The guards are... indisposed. No one's coming to help you."

Helaena made a small, choked sound beside her, finally finding her voice. "Please," she whispered, her free hand moving protectively toward her children. "Please don't hurt my babies."

"That depends on you, Your Grace," the rat-faced man replied, his tone mockingly deferential. "We only need the boy. A son for a son."

Vera felt Helaena sway beside her, the new Queen's face draining of all color as the man's words confirmed her worst fears. Without hesitation, Vera pushed Helaena behind her, creating a human barrier between the intruders and both the Queen and her children.

"You'll have to kill me first," Vera declared, her dark eyes flashing with defiance as she faced the assassins.

The larger man sighed, drawing a wicked-looking knife from his belt. "That can be arranged," he said, stepping closer.

Vera's gaze darted around the chamber, searching desperately for anything she could use as a weapon. Her eyes fell on the heavy brass candlestick on the small table nearby. In one swift movement, she lunged for it, her fingers closing around the cold metal as she swung it with all her strength toward the approaching man.

The candlestick connected with his forearm with a sickening crack, causing him to howl in pain and drop his knife. It clattered to the floor between them as he staggered back, clutching his injured arm.

"You bitch!" he snarled, his face contorting with rage.

"Helaena, take the twins and run!" Vera shouted, gripping the candlestick tighter as she positioned herself between the assassins and the royal family.

Her sister hesitated only a moment before sprinting to the bed where her children had awakened, startled by the commotion. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera blinked in confusion, their violet eyes wide with fear as their mother scooped them up, one in each arm.

"Go!" Vera commanded, backing toward them to provide cover as Helaena clutched her precious burdens and fled toward the door.

The larger man lunged for Vera with a roar of rage, but she was quicker. She dropped low and drove her shoulder into his midsection, using his momentum against him. He toppled backward, crashing to the floor with a heavy thud that shook the chamber.

Vera whirled around just in time to see the smaller assassin darting toward Helaena, a dagger gleaming in his hand as he prepared to strike. With a desperate surge of speed, Vera launched herself forward, fingers closing around his bony wrist just as the blade arced downward.

"Run, Helaena!" she cried, wrestling with the surprisingly strong man.

For a moment, they struggled in deadly silence, the man's fetid breath hot against her face as he tried to wrench his arm free. Vera's grip remained iron, her dark eyes locked with his in fierce determination.

Then, with a serpent's quickness, he transferred the dagger to his other hand.

Vera saw the movement too late. Sharp, white-hot pain exploded through her side as the blade sank deep into her flesh. She gasped, the shock momentarily paralyzing her, but instinct took over. With a guttural cry, she drove her knee upward, catching the man in the stomach. He doubled over, and she followed with a powerful kick that sent him sprawling across the floor.

Warm wetness spread across her dress as Vera's fingers found the hilt of the dagger protruding from her side. The room tilted sickeningly, but she remained standing, one hand pressed against the wound while the other still clutched the candlestick.

Shouts echoed from the corridor—guards finally alerted to the intrusion. The assassins exchanged panicked glances, clearly realizing their plan had failed.

"Let's go!" the smaller man hissed, scrambling to his feet. Without another word, they bolted for the door, disappearing down a different corridor than the one Helaena had taken.

The candlestick slipped from Vera's fingers, clanging against the stone floor as her strength abandoned her. She slumped against the wall, sliding down until she sat in a growing pool of her own blood. The pain was overwhelming now, radiating outward from the wound in pulsing waves that threatened to drag her into darkness.

"Vera!" Her father's voice cut through the fog of pain as he burst into the chamber, Ser Arryk at his heels. Both knights dropped to their knees beside her, faces grim with concern.

"Don't touch the dagger," Ser Criston commanded, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes as he assessed the wound. "Moving it could make the bleeding worse."

Vera nodded weakly, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "Two men," she managed, wincing as each word sent fresh waves of pain through her side. "They went... that way." She lifted a trembling hand, pointing toward the eastern corridor.

Ser Criston's head snapped up as several knights rushed into the chamber, drawn by the commotion. "You heard her," he barked, his voice carrying the full weight of his authority as Lord Commander. "Find those men!"

The knights immediately drew their swords, racing in the direction Vera had indicated. Their armored footsteps echoed down the corridor, fading as they pursued the assassins.

"Stay with me," Ser Criston murmured, his calloused hand gently brushing hair from her forehead. "Arryk, fetch the Grand Maester immediately. Tell him to bring everything for a stab wound."

"At once," Ser Arryk replied, squeezing Vera's hand briefly before rushing from the chamber.

With extreme care, Ser Criston slid one arm beneath Vera's knees and the other behind her shoulders. "This will hurt," he warned softly, his dark eyes meeting hers. "Hold on to me."

Vera nodded, gritting her teeth as he lifted her. Despite his gentleness, pain seared through her side, drawing a strangled cry from her lips. She buried her face against his shoulder, the familiar scent of steel and leather offering small comfort as he carried her to the nearby couch.

"Easy now," he murmured, laying her down with the tenderness he'd shown when she was a child with scraped knees rather than a knife in her side. His white cloak was smeared with her blood, the crimson stain spreading across the pristine fabric like spilled wine.

The sound of running footsteps preceded Aemond's arrival by mere seconds. He burst into the chamber, his face a mask of barely controlled panic as his gaze landed on Vera's bloodied form.

"What happened?" he demanded, rushing to the couch and dropping to his knees beside her. His hand hovered over the dagger hilt, his violet eye wide with shock. "Who did this to you?"

"Assassins," Vera whispered, her vision blurring at the edges as she fought to remain conscious. "They came for Jaehaerys..."

Aemond's face drained of color, understanding dawning with horrible clarity.

Ser Criston pressed a folded cloth around the wound, careful not to disturb the dagger still embedded in her flesh. "The Grand Maester will be here soon," he assured her, though the worry in his eyes belied his confident tone.

The room grew increasingly hazy as Vera fought to keep her eyes open. Aemond's face swam before her, his lips moving, but the words became distant, muffled as if coming from underwater. She tried to focus on his expression, to draw strength from his presence, but the darkness at the edges of her vision expanded, consuming everything until finally, she surrendered to its embrace.

Pain was the first sensation that greeted Vera as consciousness returned. A dull, throbbing ache in her side that pulsed with each heartbeat. The second was warmth—a gentle pressure around her hand. She blinked slowly, her eyelids heavy as she fought to open them.

Soft candlelight illuminated her own bedchamber. She was lying on her bed, the familiar embroidered canopy above her. Queen Dowager Alicent sat in an armchair pulled close, her slender fingers wrapped around Vera's hand, her head bowed slightly as if in prayer.

Sensing movement, Alicent looked up, relief washing over her features. She immediately rose and perched on the edge of the bed, her green eyes warm with maternal concern.

"It's okay, my dear," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair from Vera's forehead and she pressed a cool palm to Vera's forehead. "Thank the Seven. The fever has broken. You're safe now."

Alicent turned toward the door where Dyana hovered anxiously. "Fetch Ser Criston and the Grand Maester," she instructed. "Tell them she's awake."

The maid nodded and rushed from the chamber, her footsteps fading quickly down the corridor.

Memory flooded back in a torrent—the assassins, the struggle, the blinding pain of the blade. Vera gasped, attempting to push herself upright despite the fire that blazed through her side at the movement.

"Helaena? The twins?" she asked urgently, her voice rasping from disuse. "Did they escape? Are they—"

"Shhh," Alicent soothed, gently pressing her back against the pillows. "Lie still, child. You'll tear your stitches." Her hand smoothed Vera's hair back with maternal tenderness. "They're alright. All three of them. You saved them."

Vera relaxed slightly, relief washing through her. "The assassins?"

Alicent's expression hardened, her green eyes flashing with cold fury. "One was caught trying to escape through the servants' passage. Aegon and Aemond..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "They dealt with him personally."

"Executed him, you mean," Vera whispered, reading the truth in the Queen Dowager's face.

Alicent nodded grimly. "They did what needed to be done. Before the man died, he admitted a rat catcher from Flea Bottom was the second assassin." Her fingers tightened around Vera's. "Aegon demanded for the arrest of all the rat catchers. Everyone is in the black cells at the moment."

Vera closed her eyes briefly, the rat-faced man's features etched in her memory. "I saw his face," she said softly, opening her eyes to meet Alicent's gaze. "I would know him anywhere."

A look of fierce satisfaction crossed Alicent's features. "Good. When you're stronger, you can show who it was."

Vera shifted slightly, wincing as pain lanced through her side. The movement made her suddenly aware of how weak she felt, how dry her throat was. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Four days," Alicent replied, reaching for a goblet on the bedside table, carefully supporting Vera's head as she held the rim to her parched lips. The wine inside was watered and sweet, soothing her throat as she drank gratefully. "The Grand Maester feared infection, but your fever broke last night."

Vera sipped gratefully, the cool water soothing her parched throat. "Four days," she repeated, her mind racing to understand what she had missed. "Has there been word from Dragonstone?"

Before Alicent could answer, the chamber door opened to admit Ser Criston and Grand Maester Orwyle. The knight's face, usually so composed, betrayed his relief as he strode quickly to Vera's bedside.

"You're awake," he said, his voice rough with emotion as he took her hand. His dark eyes searched her face, as if reassuring himself that she was truly recovering.

"I am," Vera confirmed with a small smile, squeezing his fingers. "Thanks to you."

Grand Maester Orwyle moved to the other side of the bed, his expression professional but kind as he began examining her. "The wound was deep, my lady, but clean. The dagger missed any vital organs, thankfully. Still, you lost a significant amount of blood."

He gently pulled back the blankets to check the bandages at her side. "No sign of infection. The poultice is working well." He nodded, satisfied with what he saw. "You must remain in bed for at least another week, and avoid any strenuous activity for a month thereafter."

Vera opened her mouth to protest, but Ser Criston's stern look silenced her. "You will follow the Grand Maester's instructions to the letter," her father commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

"Ser Criston has scarcely left your side these past four days," Alicent remarked, a gentle smile softening her features. "We practically had to order him to eat."

"And Aemond?" Vera asked before she could stop herself, immediately regretting the question when she saw the knowing look that passed between Alicent and her father.

"Prince Aemond has been... difficult," Grand Maester Orwyle offered cautiously, busying himself with mixing a draught for her pain. "After the execution, he nearly came to blows with the King when His Grace suggested posting more guards outside your door rather than allowing him to stand watch himself."

Vera felt warmth bloom in her chest despite the gravity of the situation. She could easily imagine Aemond's fury, his desperate need to protect her himself rather than entrusting her safety to others.

"The twins have been asking for you," Alicent said, clearly changing the subject. "Especially Jaehaera. She insists that her 'brave Aunt Vera' needs her butterfly to help her get better."

Despite her pain, Vera smiled at this. "I would like to see them, when it's permitted."

"Perhaps tomorrow," Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, handing her a small cup containing a thick, greenish liquid. "For now, drink this. It will ease your pain and help you sleep."

Vera accepted the draught reluctantly, wrinkling her nose at the bitter smell. "Will I dream?" she asked, remembering the nightmares that had plagued her during her fever—shadowy figures with daggers, Jaehaerys's terrified face, blood spreading across stone floors.

"No dreams," the Grand Maester assured her. "Just peaceful rest."

With a grimace, Vera downed the medicine in one swallow, shuddering at the taste. Almost immediately, a pleasant warmth began spreading through her limbs, dulling the sharp edges of her pain.

"We should let her rest," Orwyle advised, gathering his supplies. "I'll return in the morning to change the bandages."

Ser Criston nodded, though he made no immediate move to leave. Instead, he leaned down to press a kiss to Vera's forehead, his hand lingering on her hair. "Sleep well, daughter," he murmured. "I'll be just outside."

Alicent squeezed Vera's hand one last time before rising. "Is there anything you need before we go?"

Vera's eyelids were already growing heavy, the Grand Maester's potion working quickly through her system. "No," she managed, her voice slurring slightly. "Thank you, Your Grace."

The three adults moved quietly toward the door, speaking in hushed tones that Vera could no longer distinguish as the medicine pulled her toward sleep. Just before unconsciousness claimed her, she thought she heard the door open again, felt a familiar presence enter the room.

Through half-closed eyes, she glimpsed a tall figure approaching her bed—silver-gold hair gleaming in the candlelight, a black eyepatch stark against pale skin. Strong fingers entwined with hers, a voice murmuring words she couldn't quite grasp as darkness enveloped her once more.

Chapter Text

When Vera next awakened, dawn light was filtering through the partially drawn curtains, painting the chamber in soft golden hues. The pain in her side had dulled to a persistent ache, manageable enough that she could shift slightly without gasping.

A movement to her right caught Vera's attention. She turned her head, wincing slightly at the stiffness in her neck, and saw Aemond sitting in the armchair beside her bed, his tall frame folded into the space.

"Have you been here all night?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond's eye, previously fixed on some distant point, snapped to her face. "I have," he confirmed, leaning forward slightly. "How are you feeling?"

A small, pained smile curved Vera's lips. "Like I've been stabbed," she replied, attempting humor despite her discomfort.

Aemond's expression hardened, clearly not finding her jest amusing. Vera's smile faltered, replaced by a slight pout that softened her pale features.

With a quick roll of his eye, Aemond moved closer as Vera attempted to push herself into a sitting position. Her face contorted with pain at the movement, one hand instinctively going to her bandaged side.

"I'm not an invalid," she protested softly, even as her arms trembled with the effort of supporting her weight.

"No," Aemond agreed, his voice low and tense as he helped adjust her pillows. "You're a fool who nearly got yourself killed protecting my sister and her children." His hands were surprisingly gentle despite the harshness of his words. "What were you thinking, confronting armed assassins with nothing but a candlestick?"

Vera looked down at her hands, now resting atop the blankets. "I didn't really think," she admitted quietly. "There wasn't time. I just... acted."

Aemond's jaw tightened visibly, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. "You could have died," he said, the words coming out rough, as if dragged unwillingly from his throat. "If that blade had struck just a few inches higher..." He trailed off, unable or unwilling to complete the thought.

"But it didn't," Vera reminded him gently, reaching out to touch his hand. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, a stark contrast to the coldness she still felt lingering in her own limbs. "Helaena and the twins are safe. That's what matters."

"You matter too," Aemond said coldly, his violet eye fixed on her with an intensity that made her chest tighten. "Your life is not something to be thrown away so carelessly."

Vera let out a breath, looking away from the intensity of his gaze. She needed to lighten this mood before his concern suffocated her completely.

"Well, I'm a little disappointed with myself, if I'm being honest," she said, attempting a casual tone. "Two men, and I barely managed to hold them off. So much for all those training sessions with you and Father." She offered him a small smile, hoping he might share in her attempt at humor.

Aemond's expression remained stony, his jaw set in a hard line. He didn't even blink at her attempt to make light of the situation.

Vera tilted her head, rolling her eyes at his stubborn solemnity. "You could at least pretend to laugh, you know. I'm trying very hard to be charming while feeling like I've been trampled by a horse."

"There's nothing amusing about this," he replied, his voice low and tight with barely controlled emotion.

Vera sighed, letting her head fall back against the pillows. "Gods, you are such a fun caretaker," she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I have a request for someone else to watch over me. Perhaps one of the gargoyles from the Keep's battlements—they'd be more cheerful company."

Aemond rolled his eye, though the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

Vera moved her hand to his face, trailing her fingers from his scar under the eye patch, trailing them down to his lips.

"Despite your terrible bedside manner," she said softly, "I'm glad you're here. I feel... safer with you near me."

Something in Aemond's expression shifted at her words, the hardness in his features softening almost imperceptibly. He caught her hand against his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm before turning it over to kiss her wrist where her pulse beat steadily beneath the skin.

"You should," he said, his voice low and fierce. "I won't let anyone harm you again."

Vera smiled faintly, though her eyes remained serious. "That's a promise even you might not be able to keep, Aemond. Not with war has begun."

He leaned closer, his silver-gold hair falling forward to frame his face as he stared down at her with unwavering intensity. "Watch me."

Vera tilted her head lightly at Aemond's declaration, her finger reaching up to touch the side of his lips. The simple contact sent warmth through her, chasing away some of the lingering pain.

"I wish you were closer," she admitted softly, her dark eyes meeting his violet one. "Would you... would you lie here with me?"

Aemond hesitated, his gaze dropping to her bandaged side visible beneath her nightgown. Concern flickered across his features.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, his voice gentle.

"You won't," Vera assured him. "Please?"

After another moment's hesitation, Aemond nodded. He moved carefully around the bed, lowering himself onto the mattress on her uninjured side. The bed dipped beneath his weight as he stretched out beside her, his movements cautious and measured.

Vera turned slightly, ignoring the twinge in her side as she nestled her head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear was more soothing than any of the Grand Maester's potions. Aemond's arm came around her, the embrace protective yet gentle as he cradled her against him.

"Grandsire came to see you yesterday," he murmured, his breath stirring her hair. "And Daeron sent a raven from Oldtown. Uncle Gwayne as well. They're all asking about you."

Vera smiled softly against the fabric of his doublet. "That was kind of them."

She closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of his body against hers. For the first time since waking, she felt truly safe, the nightmares of shadowy assassins receding in the solid reality of Aemond's presence.

"Sleep," he murmured, his fingers trailing lightly through her hair. "I'll keep watch."

"You need rest too," she whispered against his chest.

Aemond made a noncommittal sound, his body gradually relaxing beneath hers despite his determination to remain vigilant. The warmth of her beside him, the soft weight of her head on his chest, the subtle scent of her hair—all of it worked to soothe the rage that had consumed him since seeing her bloodied form on the couch.

"I killed him slowly," he confessed quietly, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the chamber. "The assassin we caught, you did some damage to him so he was easy to capture. I made him suffer before the end."

Vera's fingers curled into the fabric of his doublet, but she said nothing, understanding the darkness that drove him.

"I almost torn apart all of King's Landing to find the other one," he continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "The rat catcher. I'll kill him once you will conform which of the rat catchers that are in the black cells."

"Violence won't heal me faster," she murmured sleepily.

His arm tightened fractionally around her. "No," he agreed, "but it might prevent others from trying the same. They need to know what happens to those who harm what's mine. I'll kill the little rat that stabbed you."

Vera wanted to argue, to remind him that vengeance only bred more vengeance, but exhaustion pulled at her, dragging her toward sleep despite her efforts to remain awake. The last thing she registered before surrendering to slumber was the press of his lips against her forehead, gentle in a way few ever witnessed from the second son of House Targaryen.

When she awoke some time later, the chamber was bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. Aemond remained beside her, his breathing deep and even, one arm still protectively curled around her shoulders. In sleep, the hardness had melted from his features, making him look younger, more vulnerable—a glimpse of the boy she had grown up with before life had carved its lessons into his flesh.

A soft knock at the door disturbed the peaceful moment. Aemond was instantly alert, his body tensing beneath hers as his eye snapped open, immediately scanning for threats.

"Who is it?" he called, his voice rough with sleep yet commanding.

"It's Helaena," came the soft reply from beyond the door. "With the twins."

Vera shifted carefully away from Aemond's protective embrace, mindful of her injury as she created a respectable distance between them. She smoothed her hair with one hand, trying to appear more presentable despite her bedridden state.

"Come in," she called, her voice stronger than it had been the previous day.

The door opened slowly, revealing Helaena's slender figure. The Queen hesitated in the doorway, her dreamy violet eyes taking in the scene before her—Aemond still stretched on the bed beside Vera, though now sitting up against the headboard, his expression carefully neutral.

Before Helaena could speak, two small forms darted past her skirts. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera raced into the chamber, their silver-gold curls bouncing with each eager step as they rushed toward the bed.

"Aunt Vera!" Jaehaera cried, her small face alight with joy and relief. "You're awake!"

The twins reached the edge of the bed, bouncing on their toes with excitement but hesitating to climb up without permission. Jaehaerys clutched a small wooden dragon in one hand, while Jaehaera held her beloved stuffed butterfly, its wings adorned with tiny glass beads that caught the afternoon light.

Aemond leaned forward, his movements surprisingly gentle as he reached for the children. "Come here, little dragons," he said, lifting first Jaehaerys, then Jaehaera onto the mattress with careful hands.

The twins wasted no time crawling across the blankets toward Vera, their small faces a mixture of concern and delight. They flung themselves against her, tiny arms wrapping around her neck and waist with enthusiastic affection.

A sharp pain lanced through Vera's side at the impact, and she couldn't quite suppress a wince. She quickly masked her discomfort with a warm smile, wrapping her arms around the children and holding them close despite the throbbing of her wound.

"Careful now," Helaena cautioned, approaching the bed with graceful steps. "Remember what your grandfather told you; Aunt Vera is still healing."

Jaehaera immediately pulled back, her violet eyes wide with concern. "Did we hurt you?" she asked, her lower lip trembling slightly.

"Not at all, sweetling," Vera assured her, though she couldn't quite hide the strain in her voice. She adjusted her position, trying to find a more comfortable angle that wouldn't put pressure on her injury. "I'm just a little sore, that's all."

"Grandfather Criston said we must be very gentle," Jaehaerys recited solemnly, his small face suddenly serious beyond his years. "Because you got hurt protecting us from the bad men."

Vera's heart constricted at his words, at the shadows lurking in his young eyes. Children should never have to think about assassins or danger, about the fragility of life or the brutality of men. She reached out to smooth his silver-gold curls, wishing she could erase the memory of that night from his mind.

"Are you going to die?" Jaehaera asked suddenly, her voice small and frightened as she clutched her butterfly to her chest.

"No, sweetling," Vera replied firmly, pulling the little girl closer. "I'm getting better every day. Soon I'll be able to play with you again, just like before."

Helaena settled on the edge of the bed, her slender fingers reaching out to stroke her daughter's hair. "Aunt Vera is very strong," she told the twins, her voice carrying that dreamy quality that often made her sound as if she were speaking from far away. "Strong as Valyrian steel, wrapped in silk."

Aemond watched this exchange in silence, his violet eye observing the interaction with an intensity that might have unnerved someone who didn't know him as well as Vera did. She could read the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he positioned himself—still close enough to intervene if the children accidentally hurt her, yet maintaining enough distance to appear proper in front of his sister.

"I brought you this," Jaehaerys announced, holding out his wooden dragon. The carving was exquisite, clearly crafted by a master toymaker, with scales meticulously painted in shades of green and gold. "It's Vhagar. Uncle Aemond says she's the strongest dragon, so she'll help you get strong again."

Aemond's expression softened slightly at his nephew's words, a flicker of pride crossing his features before his customary mask of indifference returned.

"Thank you," Vera said, accepting the gift with appropriate solemnity. "This is a great honor. I'll keep her right here beside me." She placed the dragon carefully on the bedside table, angling it so that its carved face seemed to watch over her.

"And I brought Flutterby," Jaehaera added, pressing her stuffed butterfly into Vera's hands. "She makes the bad dreams go away. You can borrow her until you're better."

Vera's throat tightened with emotion as she accepted the precious toy, knowing how much the little girl treasured it. "That's very kind of you," she managed, her voice slightly hoarse. "But won't you miss her?"

Jaehaera shook her head, her silver-gold curls bouncing with the movement. "You need her more right now," she declared with a child's simple logic. "To keep the bad men away from your dreams."

Helaena's eyes met Vera's over her daughter's head, understanding passing between them. Both knew the nightmares that haunted Jaehaera since the attack—the terrified whimpers in the night, the way the child now flinched at shadows.

"Perhaps Flutterby could visit Aunt Vera during the day," Helaena suggested gently, "and return to you at night? That way, you both have her when you need her most."

Jaehaera considered this compromise, her small brow furrowed in thought. "I suppose that would be all right," she agreed finally, though she made no move to reclaim her toy from Vera's grasp.

"I want to stay with you tonight," Jaehaera declared suddenly, her violet eyes wide with determination. "I'll keep the bad men away while you sleep."

"Me too!" Jaehaerys chimed in, straightening his small shoulders. "I can protect you like Uncle Aemond protects us."

Vera exchanged a quick glance with Helaena, whose lips curved into a gentle smile at her children's earnest request. Aemond shifted beside her, his expression carefully neutral though Vera detected a flicker of softness in his violet eye.

"That's very brave of you both," Vera said, reaching out to touch each child's cheek in turn. "But I wouldn't want to take you away from your mother."

"They've been asking since yesterday," Helaena admitted, her dreamy gaze drifting to the window where afternoon light streamed through. "They're quite determined."

"We'll be very good," Jaehaerys promised solemnly. "We won't jump or make noise."

"Or pull the blankets," Jaehaera added, clearly remembering previous scoldings. "We'll just sleep beside you and keep you safe."

Vera's heart melted at their earnest faces. How could she deny them when they looked at her with such love and concern? She glanced at Aemond, silently seeking his opinion.

"Your Uncle Aemond will be watching over me tonight," she told the twins gently. "He's very good at keeping people safe."

The twins turned to Aemond. Jaehaerys scrambled across the bed toward his uncle, his small face suddenly serious.

"We can help you," he offered eagerly. "We'll be your soldiers."

A ghost of a smile touched Aemond's lips. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

Jaehaera nodded vigorously. "We'll take turns staying awake," she declared with all the conviction a four-year-old could muster. "I'll watch first, then Jaehaerys, then you."

"A sound strategy," Aemond agreed, the corner of his mouth twitching with suppressed amusement. He looked to Helaena, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

"If Vera feels strong enough," Helaena said, "I see no harm in it. The children might rest easier knowing she's safe."

"Then it's settled," Vera said, unable to resist the twins' hopeful expressions. "You may stay with me tonight, but you must promise to behave and rest quietly."

"We promise!" the twins chorused, their faces lighting up with delight.

Aemond's expression shifted to one of mock severity as he regarded the children. "And you'll follow my orders without question? A commander must have obedient soldiers."

"Yes, Uncle Aemond," Jaehaerys replied, straightening his back in an attempt to look more soldier-like.

"We'll be the best soldiers ever," Jaehaera added, her small face solemn with responsibility.

Helaena rose gracefully from the bed. "Then I shall have Dyana bring their nightclothes after supper," she said, smoothing her skirts. "For now, I think Aunt Vera needs to rest before your night watch begins."

The twins' faces fell slightly at the prospect of leaving, but they nodded in understanding.

"We'll come back soon," Jaehaerys promised, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on Vera's cheek.

Jaehaera followed suit, her butterfly remaining firmly in Vera's possession. "Keep Flutterby until tonight," she instructed seriously. "She'll protect you until we return."

With one last round of hugs—gentler this time—the twins scrambled off the bed and took their mother's outstretched hands.

As the chamber door closed behind the royal family, Vera settled back against the pillows, the exhaustion of their visit washing over her. The twins' innocent determination to protect her had touched something deep within her heart.

"They love you," Aemond observed, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as he returned to his seat beside the bed. "Almost as much as I do."

Vera's dark eyes widened at his casual admission. Aemond rarely spoke of his feelings so directly, preferring to let his actions convey what words could not. Before she could respond, a soft knock at the door interrupted the moment.

"Enter," Aemond called, his hand instinctively moving to the dagger at his belt.

The door opened to reveal Grand Maester Orwyle, his chain clinking softly as he stepped into the chamber carrying a basket of fresh bandages and medicinal supplies.

"I've come to change your dressings, my lady," he announced, his gaze flickering briefly to Aemond before settling on Vera. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better," Vera replied, shifting slightly to sit more upright. "The pain is less severe than yesterday."

"Excellent," Orwyle nodded, approaching the bed. "Prince Aemond, if you would give us privacy..."

"I'll wait in the corridor," Aemond conceded reluctantly, squeezing Vera's hand once before rising. "Call if you need me."

A week passed in a blur of visitors and gradually decreasing pain. True to their word, the twins spent that first night curled beside Vera like small dragons guarding their treasure, while Aemond maintained his vigilant watch from a chair pulled close to the bed. The following nights established a pattern—Aemond would remain until she fell asleep, then return before dawn, his presence a constant reassurance.

The morning of her eighth day of recovery, Vera stood before her mirror, examining her reflection with critical eyes. The color had returned to her cheeks, and though she moved with deliberate care, her strength was returning. The Grand Maester had reluctantly agreed she could leave her chambers for short periods, provided she didn't overtax herself.

"Are you certain you want to do this?" Dyana asked, helping Vera into a simple black gown that would hide any potential bleeding from her wound. "His Grace said he will understand if you need more time."

"I need to see his face," Vera replied, her voice firm despite the flutter of anxiety in her stomach. "I need to look into the eyes of the man who tried to kill me."

A soft knock at the door announced Ser Arryk's arrival. The Kingsguard knight entered with a respectful bow, his experienced gaze assessing her condition.

"Prince Aemond and King Aegon are waiting in the corridor," he informed her. "Are you ready, my lady?"

Vera nodded, squaring her shoulders despite the twinge of pain the movement caused. "I am."

The walk to the black cells was slow, each step measured and careful. Aemond hovered at her side, his hand occasionally brushing against hers, ready to offer support if she faltered. Aegon walked ahead, uncharacteristically solemn, while Ser Arryk followed closely behind, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

"You don't have to do this," Aemond murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Say the word and I'll take you back to your chambers."

"I need to," Vera replied simply, her dark eyes meeting his with quiet determination.

At the bottom of the stairs, two guards straightened to attention as the royal party approached. One stepped forward, keys jangling at his belt as he bowed deeply.

"Your Grace, the prisoners are ready for inspection," he announced, gesturing toward the heavy iron door behind him.

Aegon nodded curtly. "Open it."

The guard complied, the door swinging open with a protesting creak that echoed through the damp stone corridor. Beyond lay a large cell where twelve men huddled in various states of filth and despair. All wore the simple, stained garments of rat catchers, their bearded faces gaunt from a week of imprisonment.

Vera's steps faltered momentarily as they entered, the memories of that night rushing back with unexpected force. Aemond's hand found the small of her back, his touch steadying her as she drew a deep breath and forced herself to look at each man in turn.

She moved slowly along the line of prisoners, studying each face with careful attention. Some met her gaze defiantly, others stared at the ground, but none showed the rat-like features of the man who had plunged his dagger into her side.

Then, near the end of the line, she saw him. He was thinner than she remembered, his face partially obscured by a week's growth of beard, but there was no mistaking those darting eyes, that peculiar twist to his mouth. The recognition must have shown on her face, for he suddenly tensed, his gaze darting toward the door.

Vera leaned toward Aegon, her voice barely above a whisper. "The one third from the end. With the scar across his chin. That's him."

Aegon's violet eyes hardened as he studied the man Vera had indicated. Without taking his gaze from the prisoner, he addressed the guard. "Take that one."

The moment the words left Aegon's lips, the rat-faced man bolted, shoving past his fellow prisoners in a desperate bid for freedom. He might have made it to the door had Ser Arryk not moved with the lightning reflexes that had earned him his white cloak. The knight's armored form blocked the exit, his sword drawn in one fluid motion.

"On your knees," Ser Arryk commanded, the point of his blade hovering inches from the fleeing man's throat.

For a heartbeat, the assassin seemed to consider his options. Then, with a snarl of defeat, he dropped to his knees, his hands raised in surrender.

"Your Grace, I'm innocent!" he pleaded, his voice high and desperate as two guards seized him by the arms. "I've never seen this woman before in my life!"

"Then why did you run?" Aegon asked coldly, his violet eyes regarding the man with undisguised contempt.

The prisoner's mouth opened and closed, no coherent defense forthcoming as the guards dragged him to his feet. His gaze found Vera's, hatred burning in his small, dark eyes.

"You should have died that night," he spat, struggling against the guards' grip. "You and those dragon-spawn brats!"

Aemond moved so quickly that Vera barely registered his intent before his fist connected with the prisoner's face. The crack of breaking bone echoed through the cell as the man howled in pain, blood streaming from his shattered nose.

"Get him out of here," Aegon commanded, his voice cutting through the commotion. "Take him to the courtyard. I want his head on a spike before midday."

The guards complied immediately, dragging the struggling, cursing prisoner from the cell. As he passed Vera, the assassin lunged toward her despite his captors' grip, teeth bared in a final display of hatred. Ser Arryk's armored form stepped between them, shielding her from the man's rage.

"Release the others," Aegon ordered once the assassin had been removed. "They've served their purpose."

The remaining rat catchers fell to their knees, babbling gratitude as guards moved among them, unlocking their shackles. Vera watched with a curious emptiness, the satisfaction she had expected to feel strangely absent. The man who had stabbed her would soon lose his head, yet it changed nothing.

Aemond's hand returned to the small of her back, gently guiding her toward the door. "Let's go," he murmured. "You've done what you came to do."

Vera nodded, suddenly weary beyond words. She allowed Aemond to lead her from the black cells, Aegon and Ser Arryk following close behind. The climb back to the upper levels of the Red Keep seemed interminable, each step requiring more effort than the last as the morning's exertions took their toll.

By the time they reached the main corridor, Vera's face had grown pale, a fine sheen of sweat beading on her forehead. Her wound throbbed with renewed vigor, the pain radiating outward in sharp, insistent pulses.

"You pushed yourself too hard," Aemond observed, his voice tight with concern.

"I'm fine," Vera insisted, though her slightly labored breathing betrayed her. "I just need to rest for a moment."

Aegon studied her with unexpected perception. "You should return to your chambers," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. The tension between them had eased somewhat during her recovery, with Aegon visiting daily, often bringing small gifts or news to distract her from her pain. "The execution can proceed without your presence."

Vera shook her head, straightening despite the pain it caused. "No. I want to see it done."

Aemond's expression hardened, his violet eye fixing on her with unmistakable concern. "No," he said firmly. "You've done enough for today. Your wound needs rest."

"But I should be there," Vera insisted, though her voice lacked its usual strength. "I need to see justice done."

"Justice will be done whether you witness it or not," Aemond countered, his tone softening slightly as he noted the stubborn set of her jaw. "Don't fight me on this, Vera. Not today."

Something in his voice—perhaps the rare note of pleading beneath the command—made Vera hesitate. She glanced from Aemond to Aegon, who watched their exchange with unusual patience.

"Listen to my brother on this one," Aegon said, his violet eyes meeting hers. "The man who harmed you will pay for his crimes. I'll see to it personally." He reached out, his fingers briefly squeezing her shoulder in an awkward gesture of reassurance. "Rest now. Regain your strength."

Vera sighed, the fight draining from her as exhaustion claimed its due. She nodded once, conceding defeat with as much dignity as she could muster.

Aegon's lips curved in the faintest of smiles before he glanced toward Aemond. Then he departed, Ser Arryk falling into step behind him.

Aemond placed his hand at the small of Vera's back, guiding her carefully through the corridors of the Red Keep toward her chambers. Each step seemed to require more effort than the last, her body finally rebelling against the morning's exertions.

"I want to go outside," Vera said softly as they neared her door. "Just for a moment. I need fresh air after those dungeons."

Aemond glanced down at her, noting the pallor of her skin and the slight tremor in her hands. "You will," he promised, his voice gentler than most ever heard it. "After you've rested."

Vera's lower lip protruded slightly in a pout that reminded him of their childhood, when she would sulk after being denied some small adventure. Despite her obvious exhaustion, the familiar expression tugged at something deep within him.

"Don't look at me like that," he warned, though there was no real heat in his tone as he opened her chamber door. "Your wound is barely healed. One step at a time."

Dyana rose quickly from her chair by the window as they entered, her concerned gaze taking in Vera's exhausted state. "My lady, you're pale as milk," she exclaimed, hurrying forward to help her mistress to the bed.

"I'm fine," Vera insisted automatically, though she didn't resist as Dyana and Aemond eased her onto the mattress. "Just tired."

"I'll fetch some wine and bread," Dyana offered, already moving toward the door. "You need sustenance after such an ordeal."

When the maid had departed, Aemond knelt beside the bed, his large hand enveloping Vera's smaller one. "You push yourself too hard," he murmured, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. "Always trying to be stronger than you need to be."

Vera turned her face toward him, dark eyes meeting his violet one. "I learned from watching you," she replied softly.

A ghost of a smile touched Aemond's lips. "Then I've taught you poorly," he said, reaching up to brush a strand of dark hair from her face. "Rest now. When you wake, if your strength allows, I'll take you to the Godswood. The fresh air will do you good."

Vera's expression brightened at this promise. "You won't leave?" she asked, her voice suddenly vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed others to hear.

"Not until you wake," Aemond assured her, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "Sleep, Vera. I'll be here."

As her eyes drifted closed, Vera felt the press of his lips against her forehead. With Aemond's presence anchoring her, she surrendered to exhaustion, secure in the knowledge that he would keep his promise.

Chapter Text

In the days that followed, Vera's strength gradually returned. The wound at her side still ached when she moved too quickly, but the sharp, debilitating pain had faded to a dull throb that she could mostly ignore with sufficient determination.

True to his word, Aemond had taken her to the Godswood that first afternoon, supporting her with gentle hands as they walked slowly among the ancient trees. The fresh air had revived her spirits, and each day thereafter she ventured a little farther from her chambers.

Sometimes Aemond accompanied her, his tall form a protective shadow at her side as they traced meandering paths through the castle gardens. Other days, Dyana would walk with her, chattering about castle gossip to distract her from the occasional twinges of pain.

The twins proved enthusiastic companions during her recovery, appointing themselves her official "helpers" with solemn dedication. They would toddle alongside her, their small hands clutching her skirts as they guided her through the corridors, proudly showing her their favorite hiding spots and secret passages.

"Careful, Aunt Vera," Jaehaera would say whenever they approached stairs, her little face serious with responsibility. "Hold the rail so you don't fall."

Helaena often joined these expeditions, her dreamy presence a calming counterpoint to the twins' exuberance. She would walk beside Vera, occasionally steadying her with a gentle hand when the children's enthusiasm threatened to overwhelm her still-healing body.

On other days, Ser Criston would escort his daughter through the castle grounds, his dark eyes constantly scanning for potential threats. These walks were quieter, filled with comfortable silences or discussions of her recovery.

"You're getting stronger," he observed one afternoon as they paused by the training yard to watch the squires at practice. "But don't push yourself too hard. Wounds like yours take time to heal completely."

The Queen Dowager proved a frequent companion during Vera's convalescence. Alicent would appear at her door most afternoons, offering her arm with maternal solicitude as they embarked on increasingly lengthy strolls through the castle. These walks became a cherished ritual, a time for private conversations away from the ever-present ears of the court.

Even Aegon sought her company, appearing at her chambers with surprising regularity to escort her on short walks through the less traveled corridors of the Red Keep. During these outings, he would speak of council matters, sharing the deliberations and decisions that occupied his days as king.

"Grandsire insists we should send more ravens to the Riverlands," he told her as they slowly climbed the serpentine steps. "But Lord Larys thinks it would appear desperate. What do you think?"

Vera considered carefully before responding. "Perhaps a more personal approach? A trusted envoy might accomplish what ravens cannot."

Aegon nodded thoughtfully, filing away her suggestion for later consideration. These conversations became a pattern—the young king seeking her counsel on matters both significant and trivial, listening to her responses with unexpected attentiveness.

Through it all, Ser Arryk maintained a discreet distance, following his "niece" with vigilant eyes, his hand never far from his sword hilt. His presence was a constant reassurance, a silent promise that no harm would come to her again under his watch.

On one particularly fine morning, Vera found herself walking the castle grounds with Otto Hightower. Her grandfather-figure's steps were measured and deliberate, matching her still-cautious pace as they traversed the garden paths. The Hand's emerald-and-gold robes gleamed in the sunlight, a stark contrast to her simple black dress.

"Your recovery progresses well," Otto observed, his shrewd eyes studying her with the same calculating assessment he applied to matters of state. "Though I note you still favor your left side."

"Maester Orwyle says the muscle needs time to fully heal," Vera replied, grateful for the stone bench that appeared around the next bend. "May we sit for a moment?"

Otto nodded, waiting until she was comfortably seated before joining her. Unlike Aemond's protective hovering or the twins' enthusiastic chatter, Otto's company carried a different quality—measured, purposeful, never wasting a word or gesture.

"I've received word from Storm's End," he said after a moment of companionable silence. "Lord Borros grows impatient regarding Prince Aemond's betrothal."

Vera's fingers tightened imperceptibly in her lap, though she kept her expression neutral. "I imagine he would," she replied carefully.

Otto's gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon. "Prince Aemond has shown remarkable... reluctance to fulfill his obligations. The girl waits, while he lingers here in King's Landing."

The unspoken question hung between them. Vera could feel Otto's assessment, the weight of his consideration as palpable as the morning sun on her skin.

"I would never encourage him to neglect his duty to the realm, grandfather," she said softly.

The familial term seemed to soften something in Otto's expression. His stern features relaxed slightly, the lines around his mouth easing as he regarded her with an almost paternal gaze.

"I know you wouldn't," he said quietly. "Which is why I find myself concerned about the growing tension between my grandsons."

Vera shifted on the bench, a twinge of pain from her wound momentarily distracting her. "Tension?"

Otto's shrewd eyes studied her face. "Come now, child. You're far too intelligent to play ignorant. The rift between Aemond and Aegon grows wider by the day. Both seem to harbor... affection for you, and neither is particularly skilled at hiding it."

Vera let out a weary breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. The weight of this knowledge had been pressing on her for weeks, but hearing Otto acknowledge it made it suddenly more real, more inescapable.

"Aegon expressed some feelings the day he became King," she admitted softly, her voice barely audible above the gentle rustling of leaves. "It was... unexpected."

Otto nodded, releasing a measured breath as he gazed across the garden. His ringed fingers tapped a thoughtful rhythm against his knee. "And your feelings on the matter? For both my grandsons?"

Vera hesitated, the question hanging between them like a delicate glass ornament that might shatter with a careless word. How to explain the complex tangle of emotions that bound her to the Targaryen brothers?

"I love Aegon," she said finally, meeting Otto's gaze directly. "But as a brother. Nothing more." She paused, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. "And Aemond..."

The words faltered on her lips, but Otto nodded in understanding, something like sympathy flickering across his features.

"I see," he said simply.

Vera looked down at her hands, a sad smile touching her lips. "I told Aemond to do as asked that day he flew to Storm's End," she confessed quietly. "To do his duty, even if it hurt me."

Otto's gaze softened further as he turned to look across the garden, where crimson roses bloomed in defiant splendor against the stone walls. For several moments, he seemed lost in thought, his calculating mind working through possibilities like a master player contemplating moves on a cyvasse board.

"Daeron is thirteen now," he said suddenly, his tone thoughtful. "He's of an age to be betrothed."

Vera turned to him, confusion furrowing her brow. What did the youngest Targaryen prince have to do with their conversation?

Otto met her puzzled gaze with familiar warmth. "I will speak with Aegon about changing the betrothal to Daeron instead of Aemond," he stated, his tone carrying the quiet certainty of a man accustomed to reshaping the fates of kingdoms.

Vera's heart stuttered in her chest, hope flaring sudden and bright before caution tamped it down. "But Lord Borros expects Aemond," she said carefully. "Would he accept such a change?"

Otto corrected her, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. "Lord Borros is expecting a prince, yes, but he cares more about securing the royal connection than which prince it might be." He patted her hand. "Lady Floris is sixteen—the age difference with Daeron is not so great as to cause concern. They'll wed when he comes of age"

Vera nodded, though her heartbeat faster at this unexpected possibility.

"I should warn you," Otto continued, his voice lowering slightly, "Lady Floris apparently took quite a liking to Aemond during her family's visit last year."

"I noticed," Vera muttered, looking down at her hands.

She remembered how Aemond had barely spoken to the Baratheon girl, choosing instead to remain by Vera's side throughout most of the visit. Lady Floris had masked her annoyance with courtly smiles, but Vera hadn't missed the flash of jealousy in the girl's eyes whenever Aemond chose Vera's company over hers.

"There will be a meeting in the council chamber on the morrow," Otto continued, his voice dropping to ensure they wouldn't be overheard by the gardeners tending the nearby roses. "I will speak of changing the betrothal, but I must ask you not to mention this to Aemond for now."

Vera nodded, understanding the delicacy of the situation. "Of course."

Otto stood up, smoothing his emerald-and-gold robes. "We should get inside. You need to rest a bit before dinner."

Vera took his arm when he held it out for her, grateful for the support as they began the slow walk back toward the castle.

"Thank you for trying," she said softly as they approached the stone steps.

Otto patted her hand where it rested on his arm. "Let's hope it will work."

Vera stood before her mirror, Dyana making final adjustments to her dress for dinner with the royal family. She had chosen a gown of deep blue silk, the color setting off her olive-brown skin. The high waist and flowing skirts concealed the still-healing wound at her side.

"You look beautiful, Vera," Dyana said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "The blue suits you."

Vera smoothed her hands over the soft fabric, studying her reflection with critical eyes. The past weeks had left their mark—she was a little thinner than before, but there was color in her cheeks again, and a new determination in her gaze.

A knock at the door announced Queen Alicent's arrival. The Queen Dowager entered with her usual grace, her green eyes warming at the sight of Vera.

"You look well," Alicent said, crossing the chamber to take Vera's hands in her own. "Strong enough for dinner with the entire family?"

"I believe so," Vera replied, forcing confidence into her voice despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach. This would be her first formal dinner since the assassination attempt, with the entire royal family present—including Aemond.

Alicent offered her arm, which Vera accepted gratefully. Together, they made their way through the corridors of the Red Keep toward the private dining hall reserved for the royal family.

They approached the dining hall, the guards at the door bowing deeply as they swung the heavy oak panels open.

The room beyond was warm with golden light from dozens of candles, the long table already set with the finest silver and crystal.

Aegon sat at the head of the table. Beside him, Otto's stern presence provided a stark contrast to the king's relative youth. Across from them, Helaena was helping Jaehaera arrange her napkin while Jaehaerys fidgeted in his seat, clearly impatient for the meal to begin.

Aemond stood by the hearth, a goblet of wine in hand, his tall figure silhouetted against the dancing flames. He turned as they entered, his violet eye immediately finding Vera, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.

"Aunt Vera!" Jaehaera cried, scrambling down from her chair and rushing across the chamber, her silver-gold curls bouncing with each step. "You're finally here!"

Jaehaerys followed his sister's example, abandoning his seat to race toward Vera. Both children collided with her skirts, small arms wrapping around her waist in enthusiastic greeting.

"Careful, children," Alicent cautioned, noting the brief flicker of pain that crossed Vera's features despite her smile. "Remember what we discussed about gentle hugs."

The twins immediately loosened their grip, looking up at Vera with apologetic expressions. "Sorry," Jaehaerys mumbled, his violet eyes wide with concern. "Did we hurt you?"

"Not at all," Vera assured him, bending carefully to place a kiss on each child's forehead. "I'm just a little tired."

"Come sit by me!" Jaehaera insisted, tugging gently at Vera's hand. "I saved your special chair!"

Vera allowed herself to be led to the table, where an empty seat waited between Jaehaera's place and another vacant chair. Aemond approached from the hearth, setting down his wine goblet as he pulled out her chair with surprising gallantry.

"Thank you," Vera murmured, settling into the seat with careful movements that betrayed her lingering discomfort.

Aemond took the empty chair beside her across his brother.

As servants brought dinner in and placed steaming dishes around the table, Vera noticed Aegon's gaze lingering on her and Aemond.

Otto, seated at Aegon's right hand, observed his grandson's face with narrowed eyes. The Hand's shrewd gaze moved between the king and the couple, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the table's polished surface.

Vera took a small bite of roasted pheasant, though her appetite had suddenly diminished. Beneath the table, Aemond's knee pressed reassuringly against hers, a silent communication that steadied her nerves.

Aegon took a long sip from his goblet, setting it down with deliberate care before turning his attention to his brother. "I have news that might interest you, brother," he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement that immediately put Vera on edge. "Lady Floris Baratheon will be arriving in King's Landing within a day or two."

The announcement landed like a stone dropped in still water. Vera's fork paused halfway to her mouth, her heart suddenly hammering against her ribs. She forced herself to lower the utensil carefully to her plate, fighting to keep her expression neutral despite the cold dread spreading through her chest.

Aemond sat perfectly still beside her, his face a mask of calm indifference that belied the tension she could feel radiating from him. Only the slightest tightening of his jaw betrayed his fury.

"Is that so?" Aemond replied, his voice dangerously soft as his eye moved from his brother to his grandfather, clearly seeking confirmation that Otto had orchestrated this surprise.

Otto's expression, however, reflected genuine surprise. The Hand straightened in his chair, his brow furrowing as he regarded his older grandson. "What have you done, Aegon?" he asked, his tone carefully measured.

Aegon shrugged, spearing a piece of meat with casual indifference. "I sent a raven to Storm's End," he explained, "inviting Lady Floris to court to spend time with her betrothed." He nodded toward Aemond, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "She responded quite eagerly. She'll be here soon."

Vera kept her eyes fixed on her plate, unable to look at either Aemond or Aegon. The conversation she'd had with Otto in the garden just that morning echoed painfully in her mind. So close to a solution, only to have it snatched away by Aegon's meddling.

Otto shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. "You did this without consulting me?" he asked, anger seeping into his carefully controlled voice.

Aegon merely shrugged again, seemingly unconcerned by his grandfather's displeasure.

Otto sighed heavily, placing his knife and fork carefully on his plate. "Then I must send a raven to Oldtown," he said, "and summon Daeron to court immediately."

Confusion rippled around the table. Even Helaena looked up from her plate, her dreamy eyes focusing with unusual sharpness.

"Daeron?" Aegon frowned. "Why would my younger brother need to be here?"

Vera kept her gaze lowered, her fingers twisting the napkin in her lap. She had promised Otto she wouldn't reveal their conversation to Aemond, but she hadn't anticipated Aegon's interference.

Otto glanced briefly at Vera and Aemond before returning his attention to the king. "I had intended to discuss this tomorrow at the Small Council meeting," he said, his voice tight with controlled frustration. "But since you've taken it upon yourself to act without consultation, I see no reason to delay." He straightened, his authority as Hand evident in his posture. "I planned to suggest changing the betrothal—from Aemond to Daeron."

A strange stillness fell over the table. Vera's heart beat so loudly in her ears she was certain everyone could hear it. She risked a glance at Aemond, finding his violet eye fixed on his grandfather with an intensity that seemed to burn the air between them.

"Change the betrothal?" Aegon repeated, his earlier amusement fading. "On what grounds?"

Otto leaned forward, his hands clasped before him on the table. "Aemond is needed here at King's Landing," he stated firmly. "Daeron will make a good husband to Lady Floris. The boy has a gentle temperament that would suit the Baratheon girl well."

Aegon's face darkened with anger, though he visibly struggled to maintain his composure. "Lady Floris wants Aemond," he said, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "She made that quite clear during her last visit."

"Lady Floris can still have a prince," Otto countered evenly. "Just not Aemond."

"Why should I change the betrothal?" Aegon demanded, his voice rising slightly as his control slipped. "The arrangements have already been made."

Otto remained calm, his expression unchanging as he met his grandson's gaze. "Because if Aemond is going to be married to Lady Floris, he will be going to Storm's End, and take Vhagar with him." He paused, letting the implications sink in. "King's Landing needs Aemond and Vhagar here, especially with Rhaenyra's forces gathering at Dragonstone."

The twins had gone quiet, sensing the tension crackling between the adults. Helaena gently stroked Jaehaera's hair, her dreamy gaze fixed on some point beyond the immediate scene.

Aegon's jaw tightened. "No," he said coldly. "I won't change the betrothal."

Otto's words hung in the air, the strategic wisdom in them evident to everyone at the table. But beneath the surface of Aegon's refusal lurked something deeper, something more personal than military strategy or political alliances.

Aegon's violet eyes flicked briefly to Vera, a flash of possessiveness darkening his gaze before he masked it behind kingly indignation. Though his face remained composed, the truth burned within him: he wanted Aemond gone, wanted his brother's shadow removed from Vera's life. With Aemond at Storm's End, perhaps Vera would finally see Aegon as more than just a brother.

Otto studied his grandson's face with narrowed eyes, his shrewd gaze penetrating the young king's careful mask. The Hand's expression tightened almost imperceptibly as understanding dawned. His concerns for Vera deepened, though he kept his silence, weighing his words carefully in the delicate situation.

"So much for not wanting to hurt people," Vera muttered, her dark eyes meeting Aegon's across the table.

The king flinched almost imperceptibly, recognizing her reference to their conversation in the council chambers. His violet eyes hardened even as his voice softened. "You must move on, Vera."

Vera's eyes narrowed, her gaze dropping to her plate. Without a word, she placed her napkin beside her barely touched food and rose from her chair. The sudden movement sent a wave of pain through her healing wound, though she masked her discomfort with practiced dignity.

"I'd like to return to my chambers," she announced quietly. "I find I'm not very hungry."

As she stepped away from the table, Aegon's voice stopped her. "I didn't give you permission to leave," he said, his tone carrying the unmistakable authority of a king rather than a foster brother.

Vera turned slowly, her dark eyes meeting his violet ones without flinching. "I wasn't really asking," she replied, her voice soft but unyielding.

Without another word, she turned and walked from the dining hall, her back straight despite the pain evident in each careful step. In her wake, silence fell over the royal family.

Alicent's disappointed gaze settled on her son, the queen dowager's lips pressed into a thin line of maternal disapproval. Across the table, Aemond's expression had hardened to cold fury, his violet eye fixed on his brother with barely contained rage.

In the corridor, Vera pressed her hand against her healing wound, the dull throb intensifying with each step she took away from the dining hall. The confrontation had cost her more than she cared to admit, both emotionally and physically.

The sound of armored footsteps quickened behind her. Ser Arryk moved swiftly to her side, his experienced gaze immediately noting her discomfort.

"My lady," he said, concern evident in his voice as he offered his arm for support.

Vera forced a small smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm feeling alright, Ser Arryk," she lied, the strain evident in her voice despite her efforts to hide it. "You can remain at the dining hall door. I'll be fine."

"I think not," the knight replied firmly, his tone brooking no argument as he gently supported her elbow. "Your father trust me to keep you safe, and that includes ensuring you don't collapse in the corridor."

Too weary to argue further, Vera allowed him to guide her through the winding passages of the Red Keep toward her chambers. By the time they reached her door, her face had grown pale with exhaustion, her breathing slightly labored from the exertion.

"Thank you, Ser Arryk," she said softly as they reached her chamber door.

The knight bowed slightly, his weathered face softening with paternal concern. "I'll stand guard outside your door tonight, my lady. Rest well."

Vera managed a small, genuine smile at his protective instinct. "Good night, Ser Arryk," she murmured, stepping inside her chamber.

"Good night, my lady," he replied as she closed the door behind her.

Alone at last, Vera leaned heavily against the solid oak, her composure finally crumbling as the pain and exhaustion of the evening washed over her. A single tear slid down her cheek before she brushed it away with an impatient hand. She would not cry over this—not over Aegon's selfishness or the impossible situation that seemed to tighten around her with each passing day.

With slow, careful movements, she crossed to her bed and sank onto its edge. She hadn't been entirely truthful with the Grand Maester about her recovery; the wound still pained her more than she admitted, especially after emotional strain.

A soft knock at her door drew her attention. For a moment, she considered ignoring it, too exhausted for further confrontation. But the knock came again, more insistent this time.

"Who is it?" she called, her voice steadier than she felt.

"It's me," came Dyana's familiar voice.

Relief washed through Vera. "Come in," she called, grateful it wasn't a member of the royal family seeking to continue the dinner's uncomfortable conversation.

Dyana walked inside, carrying a tray with food. Ser Arryk closed the door behind her, his armored silhouette briefly visible before the heavy oak panel shut with a soft click.

"Prince Aemond asked me to bring you dinner, my lady," Dyana said, moving to the small table near the hearth. She set down the tray, arranging the dishes with practiced efficiency. "Since you didn't touch your food at dinner."

The savory aroma of roasted meat and fresh bread wafted through the chamber, reminding Vera how little she'd eaten all day. Her stomach gave a traitorous rumble despite her earlier lack of appetite.

"Thank you, Dyana," Vera said softly, touched by Aemond's thoughtfulness even as her heart ached at the memory of the dinner's revelations.

Dyana straightened, her gaze taking in Vera's formal dinner attire. "Would you like me to help you with your dress, my lady? You'll be more comfortable in your nightgown."

"Yes, please," Vera replied, rising carefully from the edge of the bed. The blue silk felt suddenly constricting, a reminder of her failed attempt at normalcy.

With gentle hands, Dyana helped her out of the gown, careful not to disturb the bandages beneath. The fabric whispered against Vera's skin as it fell away, replaced by the soft linen of her nightgown. The familiar garment slipped over her head, enveloping her in its comforting embrace.

"How is your wound tonight?" Dyana asked softly as she folded the dinner dress. Her eyes lingered on the slight bulge of bandages visible beneath the nightgown.

"Better," Vera lied, ignoring the persistent throb that had intensified during her walk from the dining hall. No need to worry Dyana more than necessary.

Dyana finished folding the dress, her movements slow and deliberate as if reluctant to leave. "Would you like me to stay with you while you eat?" she offered, concern evident in her gentle eyes.

Vera smiled softly at her friend, grateful for her loyalty. "There's no need," she assured her. "You should rest now. You can come back later to take the tray."

Dyana nodded, though hesitation lingered in her expression. "If you're certain, my lady."

"I am," Vera confirmed, moving carefully to the table where the food waited. "Thank you, Dyana."

With a final concerned glance, Dyana slipped from the chamber, leaving Vera alone with her thoughts and the steaming tray of food.

Vera sank into the chair by the hearth, the warmth of the fire a welcome comfort against the evening chill. She picked at the food without much enthusiasm despite her hunger, her mind too occupied with the evening's revelations to fully appreciate the meal.

The soft knock at her door startled her from her brooding.

"Come in," she called, straightening in her chair.

The door opened slowly, revealing Aemond. His tall frame filled the doorway, his expression unreadable as he stepped into her chamber and closed the door behind him.

"You shouldn't be here," Vera said automatically, though her heart leapt at the sight of him. "If Aegon finds out—"

"I don't care what my brother thinks," Aemond interrupted, crossing the chamber in three long strides. He dropped to one knee before her chair, his violet eye searching her face. "Are you alright?"

Vera almost laughed at the absurdity of the question. "No," she admitted, the simple truth slipping past her carefully maintained composure. "I'm not."

Aemond's hand found hers, his fingers warm and strong as they wrapped around her smaller ones. "I won't marry her," he stated flatly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I don't care what arrangements have been made."

Vera trailed her fingers from his scar to his lips, softly tracing the outline of his mouth. "Lady Floris is coming to the Keep in a day or so," she reminded him, her voice barely above a whisper. "What will you do when she arrives?"

"Grandsire and I will take care of this problem," Aemond replied, his voice low and determined. "I won't let my brother's pettiness dictate my future—or yours."

The certainty in his voice warmed something deep within her. Despite everything—the assassination attempt, her still-healing wound, Aegon's manipulation—Aemond remained steadfast. His unwavering dedication to her made her chest tighten with emotion.

Vera leaned forward, ignoring the twinge in her side as she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. The contact was feather-light, a promise and a question all at once.

Aemond immediately returned the kiss, one hand sliding to the nape of her neck as he deepened the connection between them. His mouth moved against hers with desperate hunger, as if he could somehow bind them together through sheer force of will. The taste of him—wine and something uniquely Aemond—flooded her senses, driving away all thoughts of betrothals and royal duties.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Aemond rested his forehead against hers. His violet eye remained fixed on her face, drinking in her features as if committing them to memory.

"I won't lose you," he murmured, his breath warm against her lips. "Not to Aegon's schemes, not to Storm's End, not to anyone."

"And I don't want to lose you," Vera replied, her fingers curling into the fabric of his doublet. "But we must be careful. Lady Floris will be watching us closely when she arrives."

Aemond scoffed, his disdain evident. "Let her watch. It changes nothing."

"It changes everything if she reports back to her father," Vera argued softly. "Lord Borros is prideful. If he feels insulted, we could lose the Stormlands entirely."

A muscle jumped in Aemond's jaw as he considered her words. Much as he might wish to ignore the political realities, he understood the precarious position they occupied. With Rhaenyra gathering strength at Dragonstone, they could ill afford to alienate potential allies.

"Then we'll be discreet," he conceded reluctantly. "For now."

Vera smiled a little and softly said, "That will be a hard task for you, I think." She knew Aemond's temperament too well—discretion had never been his strong suit, especially when his pride was wounded.

Aemond's lips curled into that familiar smirk, the one that made her heart flutter despite everything. "Are you challenging me, Vera Cole?"

"Maybe I am," she replied, holding his gaze. The air between them felt charged, intimate in a way that made her forget the pain in her side for a moment. She reached for his hand, her fingers brushing against his. "Will you stay with me? For now?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation. He moved to the second chair beside her and sat down, his tall frame somehow making the sturdy furniture appear delicate by comparison. "Finish your meal. You need your strength."

Ser Criston stood at attention near Aegon's chair, his white cloak a stark contrast against the dark wood paneling of the council chamber. The fire in the hearth cast long shadows across the table where the king and his advisors had gathered despite the late hour. The chamber was warm, almost stifling after so many hours of discussion, but no one suggested opening a window to the cool night air.

Otto Hightower cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "One more matter before we adjourn. I suggest Lady Vera be present at tomorrow's hearing in the Throne Room."

Vera's name caught Aegon's attention immediately. He straightened in his chair, his expression carefully neutral as he considered his grandfather's words.

"The smallfolk respect her," Otto continued, his ringed fingers tapping thoughtfully against the polished table. "Many remember how she helped during the spring fever last year, distributing food and medicine in Flea Bottom. Her presence beside the throne would reassure those bringing petitions that their needs are being heard."

Alicent smiled at her father's suggestion, nodding in agreement. "Vera has a way with people," she said. "They trust her judgment."

"I agree," Tyland Lannister said, his golden hair gleaming in the candlelight. "Lady Vera's presence would be beneficial. The commons speak well of her."

Aegon saw Larys Strong, Jasper Wylde and Grand Maester Orwyle nodding in agreement.

Aegon drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, considering each endorsement. Vera's presence would certainly make the tedious hearing more bearable. Perhaps it would also help mend the strain between them since the dinner where Lady Floris's visit had been announced.

"Very well," he decided, nodding his approval. "Lady Vera will attend the hearing."

Otto seemed pleased by this decision, but his satisfaction was short-lived as Aegon continued.

"The hearing will commence after we receive Lady Floris Baratheon," Aegon added, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "I've just been informed her carriage was spotted on the Kingsroad. She should arrive by morrow."

Alicent shook her head, disappointment evident in her features. She exchanged a brief glance with her father, their shared frustration palpable in the silent communication.

Otto's eyes narrowed as he studied his grandson, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "Your Grace," he began, his tone carefully measured despite the obvious tension in his shoulders, "perhaps it would be wiser to attend to the realm's business before greeting Lady Floris."

"I agree," Tyland Lannister said, his voice calm but firm. "Lady Floris's arrival will inevitably cause... certain tensions within the court." His eyes flickered briefly toward Ser Criston, whose face remained impassive despite the clear reference to his daughter's relationship with Prince Aemond. "The hearing requires Your Grace's full attention, undistracted by social obligations."

Aegon's jaw tightened at the implied criticism. "Lady Floris has traveled far at my invitation," he countered, a note of petulance creeping into his voice despite his efforts to sound kingly. "It would be discourteous to keep her waiting while we listen to farmers complain about stolen chickens."

"The realm's business must take precedence over courtesy, Your Grace," Jasper Wylde remarked, his tone carefully neutral despite the rebuke in his words. "Even for a daughter of Storm's End."

Larys Strong tilted his head slightly, his calculating eyes fixed on Aegon. "Perhaps a compromise?" he suggested, his voice soft as spider silk. "Lady Floris could be received briefly upon arrival, then escorted to her chambers to refresh herself while Your Grace attends to the hearing. A proper welcome feast could follow in the evening."

Aegon considered this proposal, his violet eyes moving from one advisor to the next. None seemed particularly enthusiastic about Lady Floris's arrival, which only strengthened his resolve to proceed as planned.

"No," he decided firmly. "Lady Floris will be received upon arrival, with appropriate ceremony. The hearing will follow." He rose from his chair, signaling an end to the discussion. "It's late. We should all get some rest before tomorrow's events."

Chapter Text

Vera woke to the gentle pressure of fingers against her shoulder, dawn light filtering through the partially drawn curtains. For a moment, disorientation clouded her mind before the warm solidity beneath her cheek registered—Aemond's chest, bare and familiar beneath her.

"You were here all night," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep as she tilted her head to look up at him.

Aemond hummed, the sound vibrating beneath her ear. Vera smiled, nestling closer to his warmth. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath her cheek, a rhythm more soothing than any lullaby.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

"Much better now," she admitted softly, savoring the rare moment of peace. No royal duties, no political machinations, no talk of betrothals or war—just the two of them, cocooned in the early morning quiet.

Aemond's lips curved into a satisfied smirk as he tightened his arms around her, cradling her against him. His fingers traced lazy patterns along her spine, each touch sending pleasant shivers across her skin.

"You know Floris arrives today," he said, breaking the peaceful silence between them.

Vera tensed slightly, her fingers curling against his chest. "I know," she whispered, the momentary contentment fading as reality intruded once more.

"It changes nothing," Aemond stated with characteristic bluntness, his hand continuing its soothing path along her back. "You are mine, and I am yours. A Baratheon girl doesn't change that."

Vera pushed herself up on one elbow, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at her healing wound. She studied his face in the soft morning light—the sharp angle of his jaw, the silver-gold hair spread across her pillow, the intensity in his single violet eye.

"And when she tries to claim your attention? When she reminds everyone of your betrothal?" Vera couldn't keep the edge of bitterness from her voice. "What then?"

Aemond's expression hardened, his jaw tightening visibly. "Let her try," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I've never given her reason to believe I desired her company."

"That hasn't stopped her before," Vera muttered, remembering the girl's persistent attempts to engage Aemond during her last visit to King's Landing. "She's quite determined."

"Let her try all she wants," Aemond said with dismissive coldness. "I hardly care what she thinks. The only woman I will ever marry is you, Vera Cole."

His declaration hung in the air between them, bold and unwavering. Vera's heart quickened at his words, at the absolute certainty in his voice. She studied his face, tracing the lines of determination etched into his features.

Vera moved her hand to his face as always, and gently pulled the eye patch off, revealing the sapphire stone beneath.

"I'm angry with you," she said softly, "keeping this eye patch on all night."

Aemond's lips curled into a light smirk, the expression softening his usually severe features.

Vera tossed the eye patch aside, the black leather landing with a soft thud on the floor. She returned to her position against him, laying her head on his chest and breathing in his familiar scent. Aemond wrapped his arms around her again, his warmth enveloping her like a protective shield.

"I don't wish to talk about it now," she murmured against his skin. "Not about Lady Floris, not about Aegon. I just want to spend this moment with you."

"As my lady commands," Aemond replied, the smirk evident in his voice even as his fingers resumed their gentle path along her spine.

They lay in peaceful silence, the world beyond her chamber doors momentarily forgotten. Vera listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, felt the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.

After a few minutes, a thought occurred to her. "Is Ser Arryk still guarding outside?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I told him to rest," Aemond replied, his voice a low rumble beneath her ear. "The door is locked."

Vera smiled softly as she closed her eyes, savoring the knowledge that they were truly alone. Then she opened her eyes again, a different kind of warmth blooming within her. She moved from his side, ignoring the slight twinge in her healing wound as she leaned up to press her lips against his.

Aemond returned the kiss immediately, one hand sliding into her hair to cradle the back of her head. The gentle pressure of his mouth against hers quickly deepened, kindling a familiar heat that spread through her limbs.

Her hands slid from his chest downward, fingers tracing the defined muscles of his abdomen before reaching the laces of his breeches. Aemond's breath hitched slightly, but his hand gently caught her wrists, pulling back just enough to break their kiss.

"Your wound," he reminded her, his voice husky with desire despite his restraint.

Vera leaned forward again, pressing another kiss to his lips before speaking against them. "I want you to take me," she whispered, her dark eyes meeting his violet one with unmistakable intent.

Aemond's gaze darkened at her words, his grip on her wrists loosening. "Are you certain?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she assured him, her hands returning to the laces of his breeches. "Just be gentle."

His resistance crumbled at her words. Aemond slid his breeches down his legs with fluid grace, kicking them aside as Vera moved to straddle him. His hands settled on her hips, steadying her as she positioned herself above him. Their lips met with renewed hunger, weeks of restraint dissolving in the heat between them.

He broke away, his breathing ragged as he reached for the hem of her nightgown. The thin fabric whispered against her skin as he lifted it over her head, tossing it carelessly to join his discarded clothes on the floor. Morning light spilled across her olive skin, illuminating the angry red line where the assassin's blade had pierced her.

Aemond's fingers traced the healing wound with reverent gentleness, his touch feather-light against the puckered skin. His expression darkened momentarily, rage flickering across his features at the reminder of how close he had come to losing her.

Vera placed her hands on his cheeks, guiding his face up until their eyes met. She wouldn't allow this moment to be tainted by memories of violence or thoughts of what might have been. Her thumbs stroked his cheekbones, silently commanding his full attention.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that spoke of life and hope rather than fear and vengeance. Aemond responded immediately, his arms encircling her waist to draw her closer. The heat of his bare chest against her breasts pulled a soft moan from her throat, the sound swallowed by his eager mouth.

With deliberate slowness, Vera sank down onto him. They moaned in unison, the sound quiet but intense in the stillness of her chamber. Her fingers curled against his shoulders, nails digging lightly into his skin as pleasure rippled through her.

"I've missed this," she whispered against his lips, her body adjusting to the familiar fullness of him. "Missed you."

Aemond's hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements with careful restraint. Despite the desire evident in his flushed skin and quickened breath, he maintained control, mindful of her still-healing wound. 

"Are you in pain?" he murmured, his violet eye searching her face for any sign of discomfort.

Vera shook her head, dark hair cascading around her shoulders with the movement. "No," she assured him, rolling her hips in a way that made his breath catch. "I feel perfect."

The world beyond her chamber ceased to exist as they moved together in the gentle morning light. No royal duties, no political machinations, no impending arrivals—only the two of them, finding solace and strength in each other's embrace.

Aemond's lips traced a path along her jaw to the sensitive spot below her ear, drawing a shiver from her despite the warmth of their bodies. His hands roamed her back, supporting her weight as she arched against him.

Vera breathed Aemond's name near his ear. She moaned in pleasure as he hit a deep spot within her, sending waves of sensation coursing through her body. Her fingers tightened in his silver-gold hair, holding him close as they moved together in the soft morning light.

"There," she whispered, her voice breaking as he repeated the motion. Her body trembled around him, the pleasure momentarily eclipsing the dull ache of her healing wound.

Aemond's hand slid to the small of her back, supporting her weight as he guided her movements. His breathing grew ragged against her neck, hot and urgent as he fought to maintain control.

Vera's body tensed as pleasure built within her, each movement bringing her closer to the edge. Her breathing quickened, shallow gasps escaping her parted lips as she rocked against him. Through the haze of mounting pleasure, she felt Aemond's lips brush against her neck, his breath hot against her skin.

"I love you," he whispered, the words vibrating against her throat.

Something broke open inside her at those words. Vera pulled back just enough to cradle his face between her palms, her thumbs tracing the sharp line of his cheekbones as their eyes met. The intensity of his gaze made her heart stutter in her chest.

"I love you too," she whispered back.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, hungry and desperate as their bodies continued to move together. Aemond groaned low against her mouth as he felt her body tighten around him. The sound vibrated through her, pushing her over the edge. Vera moaned against his lips, pleasure washing over her in waves as her release claimed her.

Moments later, Aemond followed, his arms tightening around her waist as he shuddered beneath her. She felt the warmth of his release inside her, his body tensing then gradually relaxing as they held each other close.

For several heartbeats, they remained joined, foreheads pressed together as their breathing slowly returned to normal. Vera's fingers traced idle patterns across his shoulders, savoring the solid warmth of him beneath her touch.

Vera let out a breath, leaning her forehead against his. She pulled back slightly, her dark eyes narrowing as reality intruded on their moment.

"I need to take moon tea again," she whispered, the words falling between them like stones in still water.

Aemond's lips curved into that infuriating smirk that both irritated and thrilled her. Without a word, he pulled her back to him, claiming her mouth in another kiss that made her forget her concerns, if only for a moment. She surrendered to it, her body still humming from their lovemaking.

When she finally managed to pull away, Vera pressed her palms against his chest. "I need to get up," she murmured against his lips, though her body betrayed her as she shifted and felt him still inside her. A soft moan escaped her at the sensation, her wound forgotten in the wake of renewed desire.

"No, you don't," Aemond countered, his voice a low rumble that she felt more than heard.

Before she could protest further, he rolled them with surprising gentleness. Vera's head sank into the pillows as he settled above her, his weight supported on his forearms to avoid pressing against her wound.

A sigh of pleasure escaped her as his lips found her throat, trailing kisses down the sensitive skin. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation of him still joined with her, his mouth marking a path that sent shivers cascading through her body.

"Aemond," she breathed, her fingers tangling in his silver-gold hair. "We can't... again..."

Aemond's lips vibrated against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending new waves of pleasure through her body. He shifted his hips slightly, still buried deep within her, and the movement pulled a quiet moan from Vera's throat.

His lips found hers again, hovering just a breath away as he spoke. "If we can't again, then why is your body responding so well?" His voice was low, teasing, as he moved his hips in a slow, deliberate motion that made her gasp.

Vera's eyes fluttered closed as pleasure coursed through her veins. "That's not fair," she whispered, even as her body arched into his, betraying her words.

"Nothing about us has ever been fair," Aemond replied, his movements still achingly gentle as he mindful of her healing wound. His hand slid to her thigh, lifting it slightly to change the angle between them.

The new position sent sparks of sensation through Vera's body. She bit her lip to stifle another moan, aware of how sound carried in the quiet morning hours of the Red Keep. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, holding him close as he established a rhythm that was torturously slow yet devastatingly effective.

"Someone will come looking for us soon," she managed between shallow breaths, her body contradicting her words as it moved in perfect harmony with his.

"Let them," Aemond growled, his pace increasing slightly as his control began to slip. His lips found her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that made her shiver.

Vera's protest died on her lips as pleasure built within her once more, faster this time, a wildfire spreading through her limbs. She turned her head, capturing his mouth with hers to muffle the sounds that threatened to escape her throat.

A knock at the door froze them both mid-motion.

"My lady?" Dyana's voice called from the corridor. "Are you awake? The King has requested your presence this morning outside in the courtyard."

Vera's eyes widened in panic as she stared up at Aemond. He remained perfectly still above her, his expression darkening at the mention of his brother.

"One moment, Dyana," Vera called, impressed by how steady she kept her voice despite the circumstances. "I've just woken. I'll need time."

"Of course, my lady," came the reply. "Shall I prepare your bath?"

Aemond's lips curved into that infuriating smirk as his hips moved again, so subtly she might have imagined it if not for the jolt of pleasure that shot through her core. Vera glared up at him, slapping his shoulder in silent reprimand even as her body clenched around him.

"No need," she managed, her voice only slightly strained as Aemond continued his subtle torment. "I'll call for you soon."

"Very well, my lady."

Footsteps retreated from the door, and Vera released the breath she'd been holding. "You're terrible," she whispered to Aemond, though there was no real anger in her tone.

His smirk widened as he leaned down to capture her lips once more. "And yet you love me," he murmured against her mouth.

"The gods help me, I do," she sighed, surrendering to the inevitable as his movements became more purposeful.

Vera buried her face against Aemond's shoulder to muffle her cries as pleasure claimed her once more, her body tightening around him as she peaked. Aemond followed moments later, his release accompanied by a low groan that he stifled against her neck.

For several heartbeats, they remained entwined, reluctant to break the connection between them. Reality hovered at the edges of their sanctuary, demanding attention that neither wished to give.

Vera gave Aemond an amused look, placing her hands on his chest.

"Get off me, you great lummox," she said, though her tone held no real annoyance. "You're crushing me."

Aemond smirked, hovering just above her lips. "Am I?" he murmured, his breath warm against her mouth.

With deliberate slowness, he withdrew from her body before rolling to his side. The sudden emptiness left Vera feeling strangely bereft despite their recent intimacy.

She glanced over at him, taking in his satisfied expression and tousled silver-gold hair. "We need to get dressed," she said softly. "Aegon is expecting me, and Lady Floris will arrive soon."

The reminder of reality dampened the warm glow between them, though Aemond's expression remained untroubled. Vera sighed and carefully maneuvered herself off the bed, mindful of her healing wound. The movement sent a dull twinge through her side, but nothing she couldn't manage.

"I like it more when you aren't dressed," Aemond remarked, making no move to rise as he watched her naked form move across the chamber.

Vera let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head at his brazenness as she approached her wardrobe. The cool morning air raised goosebumps on her bare skin, though the heat of Aemond's gaze seemed to warm her from within.

She could feel his eyes following her every movement as she sorted through her gowns, considering which would be appropriate for the day's events. Behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric as Aemond finally stirred from the bed.

"You look thoroughly bedded," he commented, his voice rich with smug satisfaction.

Vera turned to find him standing beside the bed, his breeches now covering his lower half while his chest remained bare. His violet eye gleamed with masculine pride as he took in her disheveled appearance.

"And whose fault is that?" she retorted, though she couldn't keep the smile from her lips.

Aemond crossed the chamber to her, his movements fluid and predatory. His fingers caught a strand of her dark hair, tucking it behind her ear with tenderness only meant for her.

"Mine," he said simply, the single word carrying unmistakable possession.

Vera allowed herself one more moment of closeness, leaning into his touch before reality reasserted itself. "I need to bathe in the end," she said, stepping back reluctantly. "I can't go meet Aegon smelling of our activities."

Aemond smirked, his violet eye gleaming with mischief. "Yes, wouldn't want him thinking I've been inside you all morning."

Vera gave him a look, her dark eyes narrowing even as her lips twitched upward. She rolled her eyes in amusement, pushing against his chest with gentle pressure.

"Get dressed," she told him, glancing meaningfully at the door. "And fetch Dyana for me. I need her help with my hair and gown if I'm to face Aegon and Lady Floris today."

Aemond raised an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful as he regarded her. "Very well," he conceded, his voice carrying that note of command that never quite left it, even in their most intimate moments.

Vera smirked as she watched him gather the rest of his clothes, admiring the fluid grace with which he moved despite his considerable height. His muscles rippled beneath pale skin as he slipped his arms through his shirt sleeves. The transformation fascinated her—how quickly he changed from her lover back into the fearsome prince the rest of the world saw.

He reached for his eye patch last, securing it. The black leather against his skin completed his transformation, lending him that dangerous edge that made lesser men step aside when he walked the corridors of the Red Keep.

Aemond moved toward the secret passage hidden behind the tapestry, pausing before he disappeared into the darkness beyond. In two long strides, he returned to her, one hand snaking around her waist to pull her against him. His mouth claimed hers in a heated kiss that left her breathless, her fingers clutching at his doublet for support.

When he finally released her, his trademark smirk had returned, more pronounced than before. "Don't try to look too pleased with yourself," he warned, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "People might wonder what's put that glow in your cheeks."

"I suppose I should tell you the same," Vera replied, amusement coloring her tone as she straightened his collar. "Your smug expression will have the entire court gossiping before midday."

Aemond's smirk widened as he stepped back, his eye lingering on her face as if committing it to memory. With a final nod, he slipped behind the tapestry, the hidden door closing silently behind him.

Vera smiled and shook her head, biting her lower lip as she stared at the place where he had disappeared.

Dyana had outdone herself with Vera's appearance that morning. The beautiful blue gown hugged Vera's figure perfectly while still accommodating her healing wound, the color deepening her olive-brown complexion and making her dark eyes appear even more luminous. Her hair had been artfully arranged, falling in loose waves over one shoulder.

"You look beautiful," Dyana said, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

Vera smiled at her friend, warmth spreading through her chest at the genuine admiration in Dyana's eyes. "Thank you for your help," she said, smoothing her hands over the blue silk. "I couldn't have managed this on my own."

Ser Arryk waited outside her chambers, his white armor gleaming in the morning light. He offered her a small bow as she emerged, his weathered face creasing with a paternal smile.

"My lady," he said, offering his arm. "You look radiant today."

Vera accepted his support gratefully, her side still tender despite her earlier activities with Aemond. As they walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, she mentally prepared herself for what awaited—Lady Floris's arrival and the inevitable tension it would bring.

Vera caught her breath as they stepped into the courtyard, the morning sun momentarily blinding her. She squinted against the light, her hand tightening on Ser Arryk's arm as her eyes adjusted. The royal family had already assembled in a semi-circle around a woman.

Lady Floris Baratheon had arrived.

The Baratheon girl stood tall and proud, her chestnut hair gleaming in the sunlight as she smiled up at Aegon. Two maids hovered behind her, clutching small parcels and looking around the courtyard with wide eyes.

Ser Criston stood a short distance from the royal family, his white cloak rippling gently in the morning breeze. When he caught sight of Vera, his stern expression softened into a warm smile. Vera returned it, drawing strength from her father's presence as she approached the gathering.

Ser Arryk squeezed her arm lightly before releasing her, moving to take his place beside Ser Criston and the other knights. Vera straightened her shoulders, ignoring the dull ache in her side as she stepped forward.

Alicent turned at her approach, her polite mask dissolving into genuine warmth. She stepped away from the group, meeting Vera halfway and taking both her hands.

"You look beautiful, my dear," Alicent said, leaning forward to place a kiss on Vera's cheek.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Vera replied, acutely aware of both Aegon and Aemond's gazes shifting to her. She could feel their eyes on her like physical touches—Aegon's hungry and possessive, Aemond's heated and knowing. Heat crept up her neck at the memory of their morning activities, and she silently prayed her blush wouldn't betray her.

She moved past Alicent toward Otto, whose stern countenance dominated the small gathering. Rising on her tiptoes, Vera placed a gentle kiss on his weathered cheek, a gesture she'd performed countless times since childhood. The Hand's features softened momentarily, the lines around his eyes crinkling in rare display of affection.

"How are you feeling after last evening's dinner?" Otto asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"I'm alright," Vera assured him, meeting his shrewd gaze with a small smile. She lowered her voice further. "Thank you for trying."

Otto nodded almost imperceptibly before turning back to the gathering, his hand briefly squeezing her shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, Vera turned toward Lady Floris. "Lady Floris, welcome to King's Landing. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

The Baratheon girl's smile tightened at the edges as she dipped into a shallow curtsy. "Lady Vera," she replied, her voice honeyed but her eyes sharp as they swept over Vera's blue gown. "How kind of you to greet me. Yes, the journey was... adequate."

Behind that forced smile, Vera could see the jealousy simmering. Lady Floris's gaze lingered on Alicent's hand, still resting on Vera's arm, then flicked to Otto's softened expression. The contrast between her cool reception and Vera's warm welcome clearly rankled.

Vera maintained her polite smile, though her chest tightened at the undisguised animosity in the other girl's eyes. Lady Floris was pretty in a conventional way—fair-skinned with rosy cheeks and a generous figure showcased by her black and gold traveling dress. But there was a hardness to her features that beauty couldn't quite disguise.

"Perhaps Lady Floris would like to rest before the hearing and tonight's feast," Aegon suggested, his violet eyes sliding from Floris to Vera with unconcealed interest. "The journey from Storm's End is taxing."

"A wise suggestion, Your Grace," Lady Floris replied, dipping into a perfect curtsy. When she straightened, her gaze lingered on Aemond, who stood slightly apart from the group, his expression carefully neutral. "Though I had hoped to spend some time with my betrothed."

The word hung in the air between them, a deliberate reminder of her claim. Vera kept her expression carefully pleasant despite the twist of discomfort in her stomach.

"There will be time enough for that later," Alicent said smoothly, stepping forward to take charge of the situation. "Come, I'll escort you to your chambers myself. Your maids can follow with your things."

Lady Floris had no choice but to accept the Queen Dowager's guidance, though her eyes darted once more to Aemond before she allowed herself to be led away. Her two maids hurried after them, carrying small chests and parcels.

As Lady Floris disappeared into the Keep with Alicent, Vera felt a presence at her side. Helaena had moved beside her, her dreamy violet eyes watching the retreating figures with unusual focus.

"The storm arrives on crimson wings," Helaena murmured, her voice soft enough that only Vera could hear. "She seeks what isn't hers to claim."

Vera turned to her foster sister, recognizing the prophetic cadence in Helaena's words. "That was fun," she muttered sarcastically, keeping her voice low.

Helaena smiled gently and placed her hand on Vera's arm, her touch light as a butterfly's landing. "The twins have been asking for you all morning," she said, deftly changing the subject. "Jaehaera wants to show you her new doll."

Vera felt her tension ease slightly at the mention of the children.

Helaena took her hand and led her inside, away from the lingering stares of the courtiers. "Come. They'll be delighted to see you."

Ser Arryk and Ser Cedric fell into step behind them, their white armor gleaming in the corridor's torchlight. The knights maintained a respectful distance, close enough to protect but far enough to allow private conversation.

As they walked through the cool corridors of the Red Keep, Vera caught Helaena watching her with that peculiar, knowing gaze.

"You're different today," Helaena observed, her voice dreamy yet perceptive. "There's a glow about you."

Heat rushed to Vera's cheeks. She looked away, suddenly fascinated by a tapestry they passed. "I'm feeling better, that's all. The wound is healing well."

Helaena's lips curved into a soft smile that suggested she understood far more than Vera was saying. "Of course," she agreed, her tone making it clear she didn't believe that explanation for a moment.

The twins' delighted squeals when they entered Helaena's chambers pushed all thoughts of Lady Floris from Vera's mind. For the next hour, she lost herself in their innocent world of dolls and wooden dragons, savoring their uncomplicated love.

By midday, Vera found herself walking beside Aegon through the corridors of the Red Keep, her arm linked with his despite the lingering anger she felt. The golden crown sat heavy on his silver-gold hair, catching the light as they moved.

Ser Arryk followed a few paces behind, accompanied by two of Aegon's favorite knights—Ser Eddard Waters and Ser Leon, both young men who had risen quickly through the ranks since Aegon's coronation.

"The members of the council suggested you attend today's hearing in the Throne Hall," Aegon told her, his voice carrying that mix of command and persuasion he often used when he wanted something. "I agreed, of course."

Vera sighed, feeling trapped between courtesy and resentment. "Very well," she conceded, knowing refusal would only create more tension.

She attempted to lighten the heavy mood between them, tilting her head to look up at him. "If it's going to be a long hearing, I'll need to sit. Are you offering me the Iron Throne for the occasion?"

Aegon smirked, letting out a soft scoff that was half-laugh, half-dismissal. "The seat isn't comfortable, I assure you."

"I figured as much," Vera replied with a hint of amusement, grateful for the momentary ease in their interaction.

They approached the massive doors of the Throne Hall, where two guards stood at attention. At Aegon's nod, they pulled the heavy doors open, revealing the cavernous space beyond. Lords and ladies from court filled the hall, their colorful garments creating a sea of moving fabric beneath the high ceiling. Near the back, a small group of commoners waited nervously, clutching hats and papers—petitioners seeking the king's judgment.

Aegon led Vera down the central aisle, the crowd parting before them like water before a ship's prow. Whispers followed in their wake, but Vera kept her gaze forward, her expression carefully composed.

When they reached the steps leading to the Iron Throne, Vera gently removed her hand from Aegon's arm. With a small, proper curtsy, she moved to take her place between Otto Hightower and Aemond.

As Aegon ascended the steps to the imposing throne, Vera glanced at Aemond beside her. His expression remained carefully neutral, though she felt the brief pressure of his fingers against hers, hidden from view by the folds of her dress—a silent acknowledgment of their earlier intimacy.

"The King will hear petitions," the Hand announced, his voice echoing through the hall.

As the first petitioner approached—a farmer whose land dispute required royal judgment—Vera scanned the assembled crowd. Her breath caught when she spotted Lady Floris standing among a group of nobles. The Baratheon girl had changed from her traveling clothes.

Lady Floris's gaze was fixed on Vera, her eyes narrowed in undisguised animosity. The reason was clear—Vera's position next to Aemond spoke of an intimacy that Lady Floris coveted for herself.

Vera turned her attention back to the petitioner, determined not to let Lady Floris's glares affect her. She felt Otto shift slightly beside her, his shrewd gaze taking in the tension radiating from the Baratheon girl.

"This will be a long afternoon," he murmured, his voice too low for anyone but Vera to hear.

"Indeed," she agreed, keeping her expression pleasant despite the knot of anxiety forming in her stomach.

The farmer finished presenting his case, and Aegon leaned forward on the throne, his crown gleaming in the light streaming through the high windows.

The next petitioner stepped forward, a thin woman clutching a small child to her chest. Her tale of hardship following her husband's death in service to the crown drew sympathetic murmurs from the crowd.

Aegon nodded sympathetically to the widow, ordering a small pension be arranged for her and her child. The woman's grateful tears seemed to please him as he settled back against the throne, his posture more relaxed than when the proceedings had begun.

As the afternoon wore on, petitioners came and went. Vera maintained her attentive expression despite the growing ache in her side. Standing for so long had aggravated her healing wound, but she refused to show any sign of weakness, especially with Lady Floris watching her like a hawk from the crowd.

Finally, a broad-shouldered man with soot-stained hands and forearms approached the throne. His clothes were of good quality but simple, marking him as a craftsman of some means. He bowed awkwardly, clearly unaccustomed to court protocol.

"Your Grace," he began, his voice deep and steady despite his obvious nervousness. "I am Hugh the blacksmith, master of the Street of Steel guild. I come on behalf of all the smiths of King's Landing."

Aegon leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. "Speak, Master Hugh. What brings the blacksmiths before their king?"

The man straightened, gaining confidence. "It's the price of iron, Your Grace. Since the troubles began, merchants have tripled their prices. We've orders for weapons and armor from the crown, but without payment in advance, our work has stalled. Many smiths can't afford to buy the raw materials needed."

Otto shifted beside Vera, his posture stiffening. "The royal treasury has already allocated funds for arms," he said, his voice measured but firm. "Payment upon delivery has always been the crown's policy."

Hugh nodded respectfully to the Hand but stood his ground. "In normal times, yes, my lord. But these aren't normal times. The Essosi traders know war is coming, and they're charging accordingly." He turned back to Aegon. "We want to serve the crown, Your Grace, but we need coin to buy iron before we can forge it into swords."

Vera watched Aegon consider the request, noting how his fingers drummed against the arm of the throne.

"How much would you require?" Aegon asked.

Hugh named a sum that made Otto's eyebrows rise. The Hand leaned toward Aegon, speaking in low tones that Vera couldn't quite catch, though his disapproval was evident in the tightness around his mouth.

Aegon listened to his grandfather for a moment before holding up a hand to silence him. "The crown will advance the payment," he declared, his voice carrying through the hall. "Master Hugh, see Ser Tyland Lannister tomorrow. He will arrange for the coin to be transferred to your guild."

Relief washed over the blacksmith's face as he bowed deeply. "Thank you, Your Grace. The smiths of King's Landing won't forget this generosity."

As Hugh backed away from the throne, Otto's expression remained troubled. Vera glanced at her grandfather-figure, noting the concerned furrow of his brow. She leaned closer to him, keeping her voice pitched low enough that only he could hear.

"Grandfather, if you're worried about the treasury, I could speak with Ser Tyland myself," she offered. "Perhaps we could verify the actual costs before releasing the full amount."

Otto turned to her, his stern features softening slightly at her suggestion. His eyes studied her face, recognizing the diplomatic solution she was offering—a way to honor Aegon's public commitment while protecting the crown's finances.

"That would be wise," he agreed quietly. "Ser Tyland respects your judgment. See what can be arranged."

Vera nodded, pleased that she could be of practical help. The hearing was finally concluded, and Aegon rose from the Iron Throne, signaling an end to the day's petitions. The assembled nobles began to disperse, conversations rising in volume as the formal atmosphere dissolved.

As Vera turned to speak with Aemond, Lady Floris approached with determined strides, her beautiful face set in a pleasant expression that didn't reach her eyes. Vera's stomach tightened, but she maintained her composure, lifting her chin slightly as the Baratheon girl drew near.

Aegon descended from the Iron Throne with fluid grace, adjusting his crown as he approached. He moved to Vera's side, leaning close enough that his breath tickled her ear.

"How did I do?" he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of boyish uncertainty that reminded her of their childhood.

Vera smiled despite herself. For all his faults, there were moments when glimpses of the brother she'd grown up with shone through the kingly facade.

"Not bad," she admitted softly, pleased to see him actually caring about ruling well.

Aegon smirked, satisfaction evident in his violet eyes. The expression faded as he caught sight of Lady Floris approaching, her skirts swishing against the stone floor as she cut through the dispersing crowd.

"Your Grace," Lady Floris said, dipping into a perfect curtsy before Aegon. "That was most impressive. You have such wisdom in your judgments." Her voice dripped with honeyed admiration as she straightened, though her eyes quickly sought Aemond. "Prince Aemond, I was hoping you might show me around the Red Keep? As your betrothed, I should like to become familiar with what will be my second home."

Vera felt Aemond stiffen beside her, though his face remained impassive. To anyone else, he appeared merely thoughtful, but Vera recognized the subtle tightening around his mouth, the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eye. He was annoyed—deeply so.

Before Aemond could respond, Otto stepped forward smoothly. "I'm afraid I require my grandson's assistance this time with some pressing matters this afternoon, Lady Floris," he said, his tone regretful yet firm. "Perhaps later, if time permits?"

Relief washed through Vera, though she kept her expression neutral. She caught Otto's eye briefly, silently thanking him for the intervention.

Lady Floris's smile faltered for just a moment before she recovered, nodding graciously to the Hand. "Of course, Lord Hand. The realm's business must come first."

Otto nodded and placed a gentle hand on Vera's shoulder, his eyes holding a spark of approval. "Go ahead, child. See what can be arranged with Ser Tyland as we discussed."

"Thank you, Grandfather," Vera replied, grateful for the excuse to escape Lady Floris's piercing stare. She turned to Aegon and dipped into a curtsy. "Your Grace, with your permission."

Aegon waved his hand in dismissal, though his violet eyes lingered on her face longer than necessary. "Of course. You have matters to attend to."

Vera moved toward Alicent. The Queen Dowager's embrace was gentle, mindful of Vera's healing wound.

"Rest when you're finished," Alicent murmured against her ear. "Don't overtax yourself." She pressed a soft kiss to Vera's cheek, the scent of roses and spice enveloping her for a moment.

From the corner of her eye, Vera caught Lady Floris watching the exchange, her pretty face tight with jealousy. The Baratheon girl's fingers curled into the fabric of her crimson skirts, knuckles whitening with the force of her grip.

Vera offered a final polite nod to Lady Floris before turning away, feeling the weight of the girl's gaze burning into her back as she walked down the hall. Ser Arryk fell into step beside her, his white armor gleaming in the afternoon light filtering through the high windows.

Behind her, Otto's voice drifted through the hall as he engaged in quiet conversation with his daughter. Vera resisted the urge to look back, though she desperately wanted one last glimpse of Aemond before she left.

As she reached the massive doors of the throne room, a strange feeling prickled along her spine. She turned, unable to help herself, and caught Aemond's violet eye fixed on her retreating form. His gaze held hers across the crowded hall, intense and unwavering despite Lady Floris hovering at his elbow, clearly attempting to engage his attention.

The connection broke as Aemond turned to Otto. "Shall we go, Grandfather? Those pressing matters won't resolve themselves."

Otto nodded, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the hall. "Indeed."

Aemond stepped toward his mother, bending to press a kiss to Alicent's cheek in his customary farewell. The gesture was swift but affectionate, a glimpse of the dutiful son beneath the hardened exterior.

Without sparing even a glance toward Lady Floris, Aemond followed Otto from the hall through a different exit, his black cloak billowing behind him like a shadow.

Vera felt a small, secret satisfaction as she turned away, letting the heavy doors close behind her. The corridor stretched before her, cool and quiet after the crowded throne room.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun warmed Vera's skin as she walked through the castle grounds, Dyana and Ser Arryk accompanying her. After her meeting with Ser Tyland, she needed fresh air to clear her head. The treasury matters had been resolved satisfactorily—half the payment would be advanced to the blacksmiths' guild immediately, with the remainder to follow upon verification of costs and progress.

"This way, my lady," Dyana suggested, gesturing toward the gardens. "The roses are in full bloom."

Vera nodded gratefully, following her maid's lead. The sweet scent of flowers greeted them as they entered the garden, a welcome change from the musty corridors of the Red Keep. Ser Arryk maintained a respectful distance, positioning himself near the entrance where he could observe the entire area while allowing Vera some privacy.

A stone bench nestled between flowering bushes offered a perfect resting place. Vera sank onto it with a barely suppressed wince, her healing wound protesting the day's activities.

"You've pushed yourself too hard today," Dyana observed, settling beside her on the bench. Her concerned gaze swept over Vera's face, noting the slight pallor beneath her olive complexion. "First all that standing in the throne room then Lord Tyland."

"I'm fine," Vera insisted, though the dull throb in her side suggested otherwise. She adjusted her position on the bench, seeking a more comfortable angle. "Just tired."

Dyana's lips pressed into a disapproving line. "The Grand Maester said you should rest more. Your wound isn't fully healed yet."

Vera sighed, leaning back against the warm stone. "I know. But there's too much happening to rest properly." She glanced toward Ser Arryk, ensuring he remained out of earshot before lowering her voice. "Lady Floris's arrival has complicated everything."

"She certainly wasted no time making her intentions clear," Dyana remarked, her voice equally soft. "Half the castle is already gossiping about how she practically dragged Prince Aemond away after the hearing."

Vera's fingers tightened in her lap, though she kept her expression neutral. "Did she succeed in the end?"

"No," Dyana replied with a hint of satisfaction. "But she cornered the prince again near the Small Council chamber. I heard from Marta that he was... less than pleased."

A small smile tugged at Vera's lips despite her best efforts. She could easily imagine Aemond's cold dismissal of Lady Floris's attempts at intimacy.

"Vera," Dyana whispered suddenly, her voice dropping so low it was barely audible. "Don't look immediately, but there's a woman watching us from behind the rose bushes."

Vera's eyes opened slowly, her posture remaining relaxed despite the sudden tension that coiled within her. After a moment, she turned her head casually, as though simply taking in the garden's beauty. Her gaze settled on the figure partially concealed among the withered rose bushes—a dark-skinned woman wrapped in a plain brown cloak, her face partially obscured by its hood.

Ser Arryk had noticed the watcher as well. His hand moved to rest on his sword hilt as he stepped closer to the bench, positioning himself between Vera and the potential threat.

"It's one of the White Worm's messengers," he murmured, recognition dawning in his eyes.

The woman, seeing that she had been discovered, stepped out from her hiding place. She approached with unhurried steps, her movements fluid and graceful despite the simplicity of her attire. Her dark eyes remained fixed on Vera, her expression revealing nothing of her purpose.

"Good day," she greeted them, her voice carrying a slight accent that Vera couldn't quite place.

Dyana rose immediately, moving away from the bench with practiced discretion. "I'll give you privacy, my lady," she murmured, retreating to stand beside Ser Arryk, who maintained his vigilant watch.

The woman settled onto the bench beside Vera, close enough to speak privately but maintaining a respectful distance. For a long moment, she simply studied Vera's face, her dark eyes observant and keen.

"You look better," she said finally, her voice pitched low to avoid being overheard. "The fever has passed the second night."

Vera's brow furrowed slightly. "The White Worm sent you to check on me?" she asked, unable to mask her surprise.

The woman's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "You became an ally to the White Worm the moment you kept your promise about the children in the fighting pits," she explained, her hands remaining folded in her lap. "My mistress values those who honor their word, especially when it concerns the innocent."

"I don't understand," Vera said, lowering her voice further. "Why would she concern herself with my health?"

"The night after the attack, when fever took hold of you," the woman explained, her dark eyes never leaving Vera's face, "the White Worm sent me to your chambers with a special draught to break the fever. I mixed it with the wine that was by the bed when you were alone for a few moments. The White Worm protects those who protect children. She considers you a valuable ally in a city with few true friends."

Vera glanced toward Ser Arryk and Dyana, who stood at a respectful distance, pretending not to watch the exchange. "Why are you telling me this now?" she asked, turning back to the messenger.

"Because you will need friends in the days to come," the woman replied, her voice taking on a more urgent quality. "The city whispers of your prince's betrothal to the Baratheon girl. The White Worm knows how these games of power are played, and she offers you her assistance, should you require it. When the time comes that you need the White Worm's help, simply place a white candle in your window facing the city. Her people will find you."

With a respectful nod that bordered on a bow, the woman turned and walked away, her brown cloak blending into the autumn garden as she disappeared around a hedge.

Ser Arryk approached immediately, his expression concerned. "What did she want?" he asked, his voice low as his gaze followed the departing messenger.

"To offer... friendship," Vera replied carefully, her mind racing with the implications of this unexpected alliance.

Dyana returned to her side, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. "Was it about the children from the fighting pits? The two brothers?"

Vera nodded, rising from the bench with Dyana's assistance. "Partially. It seems I made an impression."

"The White Worm is not someone to be trifled with," Ser Arryk warned as they began walking back toward the castle. "Her influence in the city grows daily, especially among the common folk."

"All the more reason to have her as a friend rather than an enemy," Vera observed quietly, her dark eyes thoughtful as she contemplated this new piece on the game board.

*******

Vera sat alone in her chambers, attempting to lose herself in the pages of "The Conquest of Dorne." The afternoon light slanted through her windows, casting golden patterns across the stone floor as she curled on her couch, a blanket draped across her legs despite the warmth of the day. She found herself reading the same paragraph for the third time, her mind wandering to the morning's events.

A firm knock at her door pulled her from her troubled thoughts.

"Enter," she called, marking her place in the book.

Ser Criston stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His white cloak was impeccable as always, the golden fastenings gleaming in the afternoon light. Vera smiled at the sight of her father, setting her book aside as he approached.

"Father," she greeted warmly, but her smile faltered as she noted the grim set of his mouth, the subtle tension in his shoulders. Something was wrong. She rose to her feet, concern furrowing her brow. "What is it? Has something happened?"

Criston's dark eyes met hers, his expression carefully controlled despite the worry evident in their depths. "I'll be leaving King's Landing in a few days," he said without preamble. "Leading an army into the Crownlands."

"An army?" Vera repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why?"

"It's a submission of all the noble houses in the Crownlands to the King," Ser Criston explained, his voice low and steady. "We need to weaken Rhaenyra's tenuous hold on the mainland before she can gather more strength."

Vera sank back onto the couch, her fingers curling into the fabric of her blanket. "When was this decided?"

"Aemond and I have been planning it for weeks," Criston admitted, moving to sit beside her. "Otto agreed with the strategy. The Small Council approved it now."

A cold weight settled in Vera's stomach as she processed this information. Her father would be leading an army into potentially hostile territory. The dangers were numerous—ambushes, sieges, battles.

"Is Aemond going with you?" she asked softly, her dark eyes searching her father's face.

Criston nodded. "He'll be riding Vhagar, providing cover for the army from above. His presence should discourage any foolish resistance."

Relief washed through her at this news. Vhagar was the largest, most fearsome dragon in the realm. With Aemond and his mount watching over the army, her father would be safer than he might otherwise be.

"Your uncle Gwayne will be joining us as well," Criston added. "He's bringing half the Hightower army to bolster our forces."

A small smile touched Vera's lips at the mention of Gwayne Hightower. Alicent's older brother had always been kind to her, treating her like a niece despite the lack of blood relation. He was a capable commander, respected by his men and known for his level-headed approach to warfare.

"I'm glad Uncle Gwayne will be with you," she said, reaching for her father's hand. "But I'll worry for all three of you."

Criston squeezed her fingers, his calloused palm warm against her skin. "Everything will be alright," he assured her, his dark eyes softening as they met hers. "This is a show of strength more than anything. Most houses will bend the knee rather than face dragon fire."

Vera nodded, though the knot of anxiety in her chest remained. "How long will you be gone?" she asked, dreading the answer.

Criston hesitated, and that brief pause told her more than words could have. "Two or three weeks," he finally admitted. "Maybe four, depending on how quickly the houses submit."

Vera frowned, the full weight of his words settling over her. A month without seeing her father or Aemond—it would be the longest they had ever been separated. The thought left a hollow feeling in her chest.

"You'll be alright," Criston said, his tone gentling as he noted her expression. "You'll be safer here at King's Landing, at the Keep. Ser Arryk will watch over you in my absence."

"I know," Vera said softly, forcing herself to accept the reality of the situation. She straightened her shoulders slightly, pushing aside her selfish desire to keep them close. "When do you leave?"

"Three days hence," Criston replied. "Time enough to gather supplies and organize the men."

Three days. Such a short time to prepare for such a long absence. Vera's mind raced with all that needed to be done—supplies to gather, arrangements to make.

As twilight descended over the Red Keep, Vera stood before her mirror, studying her reflection with critical eyes. Dyana had dressed her in a flowing gown of deep burgundy, the color complementing her olive-brown complexion. Her dark hair had been styled elegantly, swept up to expose the graceful line of her neck where a small silver dragon pendant—a gift from Aemond—gleamed in the candlelight.

"You look beautiful, Vera," Dyana said, making a final adjustment to the gown's drape. "Like a true princess."

A sad smile touched Vera's lips at the maid's choice of words. "But I'm not a princess," she reminded her gently. "And tonight I must remember that more than ever."

The walk to the Great Hall seemed both too long and too brief. Ser Arryk escorted her through the torch-lit corridors, his white cloak billowing slightly with each measured step.

Vera paused as she caught sight of a familiar figure striding toward her from a side corridor. Aemond's tall form emerged from the shadows, his black doublet making his silver-gold hair seem even brighter in the torchlight. The sight of him sent a familiar warmth through her chest, momentarily chasing away her anxiety about the feast.

"I thought you would be already at the feast," she admitted quietly as he drew near.

Aemond scoffed, his violet eye meeting hers with familiar intensity. "I hate these things and you know it," he said softly, his voice carrying that characteristic edge even when lowered.

Vera let out a soft chuckle, the sound genuine despite her nerves. Of course he hated feasts—the noise, the pretense, the endless small talk with people he barely tolerated. His disdain for such events had been a constant since childhood.

He held his arm out to her, a silent invitation. Vera hesitated for a second, acutely aware of Ser Arryk's watchful presence and what accepting Aemond's escort might look like to others—particularly with Lady Floris waiting in the hall. But the resolute look in his eye made her decision for her. She placed her hand on his arm, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath the fabric of his doublet.

The touch steadied her, grounding her in the moment as they approached the open doors that led into the Great Hall. The space beyond glowed with the light of hundreds of candles, illuminating the gathered nobles in their finery. Vera caught sight of the royal family already seated at the high table, with Lady Floris positioned prominently among them, her crimson gown a splash of vibrant color against the more subdued hues around her.

As they crossed the threshold, Vera felt the weight of dozens of eyes turning toward them. The conversations dimmed momentarily before resuming with increased fervor, whispers fluttering through the hall like autumn leaves. She kept her gaze forward, chin lifted slightly, though her fingers tightened imperceptibly on Aemond's arm.

Vera caught fragments as they passed—some speculating on the impropriety of Lady Floris's betrothed escorting another woman, others dismissing the concern with reminders that Vera was practically family, a childhood friend of all the Targaryen children.

Aemond's grip on her hand tightened almost imperceptibly as they approached the high table. Alicent's face brightened at the sight of them, her green eyes warming with maternal affection. She smiled broadly, the expression lighting her still-beautiful features as they drew near.

Lady Floris's face remained fixed in a pleasant smile, though Vera didn't miss the flash of anger in her eyes or the slight whitening of her knuckles as she gripped her goblet. The Baratheon girl's composure was admirable, but the rigid set of her shoulders betrayed her true feelings.

When they reached the table, Vera discovered the seating arrangement with a sinking feeling. Her place was beside Alicent, while Aemond's was next to Lady Floris—a deliberate positioning that could not be mistaken for coincidence. Aemond's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he pulled out Vera's chair for her, his movements stiff with barely contained annoyance.

"Thank you," Vera murmured as she took her seat, offering him a sympathetic glance that spoke volumes between them.

Aemond moved to his assigned place with obvious reluctance, his tall frame seeming to radiate displeasure as he settled beside his supposed betrothed. Lady Floris immediately turned toward him, her painted lips curved in a smile that displayed perfect teeth.

"Prince Aemond," she said, her voice carrying just enough to reach Vera's ears. "I was beginning to worry you might not attend."

Vera couldn't hear Aemond's response, but the coolness of his expression told her all she needed to know.

Servants appeared with the first course—a delicate soup of leeks and mushrooms, fragrant with herbs. Vera lifted her spoon, though her appetite had diminished at the sight of Lady Floris leaning slightly toward Aemond, her proximity to him almost possessive.

"I've been thinking about your father's upcoming campaign," Alicent said, drawing Vera's attention from the unwelcome sight. "You must be concerned for him."

Vera nodded, grateful for the distraction. "I am," she admitted softly. "Though knowing Aemond will be watching over the army from above provides some comfort."

"Vhagar's presence will ensure a swift resolution," Alicent agreed, her green eyes softening with understanding. "Still, it will be difficult having them both away."

"Yes," Vera said, her gaze inadvertently sliding back to Aemond. He sat rigid beside Lady Floris, responding to her attempts at conversation with minimal courtesy. The muscle in his jaw jumped with tension, a tell Vera recognized from years of observing him—he was exercising extreme restraint.

The musicians in the corner began a new melody, livelier than the previous ones. Several couples rose from their seats, moving to the center of the hall where space had been cleared for dancing. Vera watched them with a distant smile, her fingers toying with the stem of her goblet.

Vera glanced to the rest of the royal family. Helaena, sitting between Aegon and Lady Floris, had leaned toward Aemond around Lady Floris. Vera couldn't hear what was being said over the music and chatter, but she noticed Lady Floris turning slightly, clearly trying to listen to their exchange.

Aemond tilted his head toward his sister, his expression softening in that rare way it only did for Helaena. His lips curved into what appeared to be a smirk as he replied to whatever she had said.

Helaena's face brightened with a smile, her dreamy eyes suddenly focused and clear as she spoke again. Lady Floris's brow furrowed in confusion, and Vera realized they must be speaking in High Valyrian—a language the Baratheon girl wouldn't understand.

Aemond nodded, his violet eye finding Vera's across the table for the briefest moment before he stood. Lady Floris looked up at him expectantly, her lips parting in what Vera assumed was an invitation to dance.

The Baratheon girl's expression shifted from anticipation to barely concealed outrage as Aemond walked past her without a word, circling the table toward where Vera sat with Alicent. Vera's heart quickened despite her efforts to maintain composure.

Aemond stopped behind his mother's chair, leaning down between Alicent and Vera. His proximity sent a familiar warmth through her, the scent of him—leather and something uniquely Aemond—momentarily overriding the feast's mingled aromas.

"The Queen is demanding I take my woman for a dance," he said quietly, his voice carrying only to their immediate circle. "The problem is, I have two."

Vera bit her lip to hide her smile, understanding immediately that he was teasing about Alicent being one of his "women." Otto, seated on Alicent's other side, raised an eyebrow, though Vera caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrayed his amusement.

Alicent placed her hand on her son's arm, her green eyes twinkling with maternal affection and amusement. "Take Vera," she told him softly.

Aemond straightened and held out his hand to Vera, his violet eye holding hers with unmistakable intent. Vera hesitated, acutely aware of Lady Floris watching them from across the table, her face a mask of barely contained fury.

She glanced at Alicent, seeking permission or perhaps reassurance. The Queen Dowager nodded subtly, her smile encouraging.

Vera placed her hand in Aemond's, his fingers warm and strong as they closed around hers. The touch sent a familiar shiver up her arm, her body remembering their intimate connection from that morning. She rose from her seat, acutely aware of the eyes that turned toward them as Aemond led her toward the open space where other couples danced.

"Helaena told you to ask me to dance?" she whispered as they moved away from the high table, conscious of Lady Floris's furious gaze burning into her back.

"She said it was both a sisterly request and a royal command," Aemond replied, his voice carrying that hint of sardonic amusement she knew so well. "Who am I to refuse my queen?"

They reached the center of the floor just as the musicians began a new song, the melody slower and more intimate than the previous tunes. Aemond turned to face her, placing his hand at her waist with careful precision, mindful of her healing wound. His touch was light yet possessive, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of her gown.

Vera's hand settled on his shoulder, feeling the solid strength beneath the fine black fabric. Their joined hands rose to the proper position as Aemond guided her into the first steps of the dance.

"Everyone is watching us," she murmured, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes following their movements.

"Let them watch," Aemond replied, his voice pitched low for her ears alone. "I don't care what they think."

"Lady Floris looks ready to murder me in my sleep," Vera observed, unable to resist a glance toward the high table where the Baratheon girl sat rigid with fury, her knuckles white around her goblet.

Aemond's lips curved into that arrogant smirk she both loved and found infuriating. "She's welcome to try," he said, his eye gleaming with dangerous promise. "I'd enjoy the excuse to send her back to Storm's End in pieces."

"Aemond," Vera scolded softly, though she couldn't quite suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. "That's terrible."

"It's honest," he countered, guiding her through a turn with surprising grace for such a tall man. His movements were fluid and controlled, his body moving in perfect harmony with hers.

The music swelled around them as they moved in perfect synchrony, their bodies remembering the countless dances they'd shared since childhood. Vera felt herself relaxing into his familiar rhythm, momentarily forgetting the eyes that followed their every movement.

At the high table, the royal family watched with varying expressions. Alicent's face glowed with maternal pride, her green eyes soft as she observed her son and foster daughter. Beside her, Helaena, who took Vera's seat for now, smiled dreamily, her violet eyes unusually focused as she followed the dancers' movements.

Otto leaned closer to Alicent, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried only to her ears. "I have sent a letter to Daeron. He will be coming by the end of the week."

Alicent's face softened with maternal relief, her green eyes momentarily clouding with emotion. "He should have been here long ago," she said softly, her fingers tightening around her wine goblet. "This war is no place for one of my sons to remain far from home."

Otto nodded once, his gaze shifting briefly toward Aemond and Vera dancing together among the nobles. The couple moved with an intimacy that spoke of years of closeness, their bodies perfectly synchronized despite the formal steps of the dance.

"What of Lady Floris?" Alicent asked, her voice barely audible above the music.

Otto's mouth tightened slightly, the lines around his eyes deepening as he considered the question. "Lord Borros will not be pleased when the change is announced," he admitted. "But by the time his anger settles, Daeron will already be here. The matter will be harder to contest."

Alicent sighed quietly, her fingers brushing the stem of her wine goblet. "Aegon will not take it well."

"No," Otto agreed, his eyes narrowing as he watched his eldest grandson observe the dancing couple with poorly concealed jealousy. "He will not. But he will have to go with it. He won't be able to force Aemond to marry Lady Floris."

"No, he will not," Alicent replied with a light nod, a hint of steel entering her voice despite its softness.

Aegon sat rigid in his chair, his knuckles white around his goblet as he watched his brother's hands on Vera's waist. His violet eyes darkened with each turn of the dance, each shared smile between the couple.

On the second seat near him, Lady Floris seethed with barely contained fury. Her beautiful face remained fixed in a pleasant mask, though her eyes burned with hatred as she watched Aemond guide Vera through another graceful turn. The crimson of her gown seemed to deepen with her anger, her fingers methodically shredding the delicate napkin in her lap.

The music drew to a close, and Aemond bowed formally to Vera. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against her knuckles that stretched the boundaries of propriety. His eye never left hers, the intensity of his gaze making her cheeks warm despite her best efforts to maintain composure.

"Gaomagon daor naejot jikagon ziry obvious," Vera whispered in flat High Valyrian, shaking her head in amusement. Don't make it so obvious.

Aemond's lips curved into a dark smirk as he replied in the same language, "Skorkydoso iksis se sȳz yn?" What is the fun in not?

Vera shook her head again, unable to suppress her smile despite her exasperation. She allowed him to lead her back to the royal table, acutely aware of the speculative glances that followed them.

Alicent glanced toward Aegon and Lady Floris, noting their poorly concealed anger. Her gaze drifted away from Aegon and Lady Floris, her attention caught by Helaena, who leaned close to whisper something in her ear.

"Mother, I should return to my seat."

Alicent smiled warmly at her daughter and nodded. "Of course, my dear."

Helaena rose and made her way back to her place between Aegon and Lady Floris. The Baratheon girl shifted slightly to make room, though her eyes remained fixed on Aemond with barely concealed frustration.

Vera noticed Ser Criston standing near the table, his white cloak a stark contrast against the shadows. He stood with several knights positioned at strategic corners of the hall, his dark eyes constantly scanning for potential threats. When his gaze met hers, he offered a subtle nod of approval that warmed her heart despite the tension of the evening.

With a soft sigh, Vera returned to her seat beside the Queen Dowager. The burgundy fabric of her gown whispered against the chair as she settled into it, acutely aware of Aemond returning to his own place at the end of the table next to Lady Floris. The distance between them felt like a physical ache after the closeness of their dance.

Alicent leaned closer, her voice a gentle murmur meant only for Vera's ears. "That was beautiful to watch, my dear. You dance so well together."

Heat bloomed in Vera's cheeks at the Queen's words. "Thank you, mother," she replied softly.

Across the table, Lady Floris had resumed her attempts to engage Aemond in conversation, her crimson lips curved in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Aemond responded with minimal courtesy, his answers clipped and his posture rigid.

"He's not very subtle, is he?" Alicent observed with quiet amusement, taking a small sip from her goblet.

Vera suppressed a smile, reaching for her own wine. "He never has been."

The servers arrived with the next course, a succulent roast duck dressed with cherries and surrounded by glazed vegetables. The aroma made Vera's stomach rumble despite her anxieties. She reached for her knife, determined to at least attempt to eat something substantial.

Across the table, Helaena suddenly rose from her seat again, her movement fluid and graceful. She glided around the table toward Aemond, her silver-gold hair catching the light of the candles as she moved.

Helaena positioned herself directly in Aemond's line of sight, effectively blocking Lady Floris from his view. The queen leaned down, her lips close to her brother's ear. The musical cadence of High Valyrian flowed from her lips, the ancient language sounding like poetry even in whispered form. "Gōntan ao raqagon lilāre?" Did you enjoy dancing?

A rare, genuine smile spread across Aemond's face as he looked up at his sister. He responded in the same language, his deeper voice matching her rhythm perfectly. "Nyke jurnegon ziry dārilaros. Issa jēda naejot ūndegon nykes Vera issaros hae gaomagon rȳ se jēdar." I enjoyed it greatly. It's time to see my Vera shine as she does in the light.

Lady Floris shifted in her seat, her face flushing with frustration as the siblings continued their conversation in a language she couldn't understand.

Helaena nodded, a knowing smile playing at her lips as she continued in High Valyrian. "Ziry looks hae se jelbazma riña issaros jation lēda ao." It looks like the storm girl is angry with you.

Aemond's gaze flickered briefly to Lady Floris before dismissing her entirely. He let out a soft scoff and replied, "Nyke daor care. Ziry ūndegon se olvie." I don't care. She sees the truth.

"Ziry ūndegon yn ziry daor jaelagon naejot jiōragon," Helaena said softly, still in High Valyrian. She sees but doesn't accept.

Aemond hummed, clearly not caring what Lady Floris accepted or not. His violet eye flickered back to Vera, the intensity of his gaze making her breath catch even from across the table.

Helaena gently placed her hand on his shoulder before returning to her seat.

The remainder of the meal passed in carefully maintained pleasantries, though the undercurrent of tension never fully dissipated. A maid appeared silently at Vera's side. She bent low, her lips nearly touching Vera's ear as she whispered urgently.

"My lady," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, "I've word from the woman you asked about. The blacksmiths families..." The maid's voice dropped even lower. "One child has already passed. Two others are sick with fever—little girls."

Vera's expression remained carefully composed despite the twist of grief in her chest. She turned slightly, keeping her voice low. "Do you know where the families live?"

The maid gave a small nod. "In the Street of Steel, my lady."

"Pack some food," Vera instructed quietly. "And please go to Grand Maester Orwyle. Ask him to accompany you and a guard to them. If he refuses, get whatever medicines might be needed from him, and I'll go myself."

"Yes, my lady," the maid whispered, straightening and slipping away as unobtrusively as she had arrived.

Vera watched the maid moving through the crowded hall, weaving her way toward the corner table where several council members sat. The maid's steps were purposeful as she approached Grand Maester Orwyle, tapping lightly on his shoulder. Vera held her breath, tension coiling in her stomach as she watched the exchange.

Orwyle turned, his chain clinking softly with the movement. The maid leaned close, her lips moving quickly as she relayed Vera's message. For a moment, his expression remained unreadable, and Vera's heart sank. Then, to her immense relief, he nodded.

The maid gave a small curtsy before hurrying away, presumably to pack food for the suffering families. Vera's shoulders relaxed slightly as she watched Orwyle speak briefly to the other men at his table. His chain gleamed in the candlelight as he rose, his robes swishing against the stone floor as he made his way toward the royal table.

When he reached Vera's side, he inclined his head respectfully. "My lady."

Vera smiled up at him, gratitude warming her chest. "Thank you, Grand Maester."

Orwyle moved past her, approaching Aegon from behind. He bent slightly, speaking in hushed tones to the king and Otto. Vera caught fragments of his explanation—something about Lady Vera requesting his assistance for sick children in the Street of Steel.

Aegon listened, his expression thoughtful as he glanced briefly in Vera's direction. He nodded and said something too quiet for her to hear, though she caught the words "three guards" and "safety."

Orwyle straightened, bowing to the king before turning to leave the hall. Vera watched him go, a mixture of relief and worry twisting in her chest. She turned her attention back to her plate, pushing the food around with her fork. Her appetite had vanished at the thought of those sick children—one already lost, two little girls fighting fever.

A gentle hand covered hers, startling her from her dark thoughts. Alicent was watching her, the Queen Dowager's green eyes soft with understanding. No words were needed between them; the Queen Dowager knew exactly what troubled her.

Across the table, Ser Criston's gaze lingered on his daughter, pride evident in his dark eyes despite his stoic expression. Vera felt a rush of warmth at her father's silent support.

The feast gradually began to wind down, lords and ladies drifting from the hall in small groups, their voices echoing against the stone walls. Vera leaned toward Alicent, suddenly exhausted by the evening's events.

"Mother," she said softly. "I think I'll retire for the night."

Alicent squeezed her hand gently and nodded. "Of course, my dear. Rest well."

Vera rose carefully, mindful of her healing wound. She moved between the chairs, pausing between Otto and Aegon.

"Grandfather, Aegon," she murmured, keeping her voice low. "I'm going to rest for tonight."

Otto reached out, briefly patting her hand in silent acknowledgment. Aegon nodded, his violet eyes lingering on her face a moment too long before he turned back to his wine.

Vera stepped away from the table, relieved to escape the tension that had permeated the feast. As she moved toward the doors, she felt the weight of multiple gazes following her—Aemond's intense stare, Lady Floris's resentful glare, and her father's protective watch.

Ser Arryk materialized at her side as she reached the massive doors, his white armor gleaming in the torchlight. "Allow me to escort you, my lady."

Vera nodded gratefully, her side beginning to ache from the long day. The corridors of the Red Keep were mercifully quiet compared to the feast hall, the silence broken only by their footsteps echoing against stone.

They reached her chambers, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across the stone walls. Vera paused before her door, turning to face her escort.

"Thank you, Ser Arryk," she said, offering him a tired smile. "Good night."

The knight bowed his head, his weathered face softening with paternal concern. "Good night, my lady. Rest well."

He took up his position beside her door as she slipped inside, his armored form a reassuring presence even as the heavy oak panel closed between them. The chamber was pleasantly warm, the hearth blazing with fresh logs. Dyana had been here earlier, ensuring her comfort as always. Vera let out a long breath, the tension of the evening slowly draining from her shoulders.

She moved toward the hearth, extending her hands toward the welcome heat. The flames danced hypnotically, casting a golden glow across the chamber. Her mind drifted to the sick children in the Street of Steel, hoping Orwyle had reached them in time.

A firm knock at her door startled her from her thoughts. Vera frowned lightly, wondering who would seek her at this hour.

"Enter," she called, turning toward the door.

It swung open to reveal Aemond, his tall form silhouetted against the corridor's torchlight. He stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him. Vera noticed immediately that Ser Arryk was no longer visible outside—Aemond must have dismissed him.

"You shouldn't be here tonight," she said softly, her heart quickening despite her words.

Aemond locked the door with deliberate movements before crossing the chamber toward her, his steps measured and purposeful. "You left early," he stated, his violet eye gleaming in the firelight.

Vera sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I was worried. There are children outside that need us—Orwyle went to help them." Her voice caught as she added, "One child to one family already died."

Aemond's expression softened as he reached her. His hands came up to cradle her face, his touch unexpectedly gentle for such a fierce man. "They will be alright because of you," he murmured, his thumbs tracing light circles against her cheekbones.

He leaned closer, his intent clear in the intensity of his gaze. Vera's breath hitched as she placed her hands against his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath her palms. She didn't push him away, but held him there, suspended in the moment between desire and duty.

"We can't," she whispered, her dark eyes meeting his violet one. "Lady Floris is at the Keep. She's here for you. She's your betrothed."

"So?" Aemond asked softly, his breath warm against her lips.

"We can't do this while she's at the Keep," Vera insisted, though her body betrayed her as she swayed slightly toward him.

Aemond hummed low in his throat, a sound that vibrated through her. He leaned closer still, his lips hovering just above hers. "Watch me," he murmured, the challenge clear in his voice.

Vera surrendered to the inevitable, letting him claim her mouth in a kiss that ignited something primal within her. She returned his passion with equal fervor, her hands sliding from his chest to wrap around him as he pulled her closer. The heat of his body against hers made her forget everything—Lady Floris, the feast, the watching eyes—everything except this moment.

"Aemond," she moaned softly as his lips traced a burning path down her throat. Her fingers tangled in his silver-gold hair, holding him to her as pleasure coursed through her veins.

His hands moved to the laces of her gown, deftly loosening them with practiced ease. The burgundy fabric loosened around her, the cool air a shocking contrast to the heat of his touch. Vera gasped as his fingers traced the sensitive skin revealed by the parting fabric.

"I've thought of nothing but you since this morning," he confessed against her skin, his voice rough with desire.

The burgundy dress slipped from Vera's shoulders, falling in a whisper of silk to pool around her feet. She stepped out of the circle of fabric, her olive-brown skin glowing amber in the firelight as her fingers worked at the fastenings of Aemond's doublet.

"Floris was so angry tonight," Vera murmured, her voice soft as she pushed the black garment from his broad shoulders. "The way she looked at me during our dance..."

Aemond's hands settled possessively on her bare hips as he let her undress him. "Good," he said, his voice low and rough with desire.

He reached up and removed his eye patch, revealing the sapphire stone. The blue gem caught the firelight, gleaming like a star against his pale skin.

"Let her see what she can never have," he growled, pulling Vera against him. "Let her know that I belong to you alone."

Their lips met in a hungry kiss that stole Vera's breath. Her fingers tangled in his silver-gold hair as his hands roamed her naked body, leaving trails of heat wherever they touched. The last of their clothing fell away until nothing remained between them but skin against skin.

Aemond lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed where he laid her gently on the pillows. Vera closed her eyes as his mouth began a slow, deliberate journey down her body. His lips traced the curve of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast. When his mouth closed over her nipple, a soft moan escaped her, her back arching instinctively into his touch.

Her hands found his shoulders, fingers digging into his muscle as his mouth continued its torturous path. The scrape of his teeth against her sensitive skin sent shivers cascading through her body. When his fingers slipped between her legs, finding her already wet and ready for him, another moan broke from her lips.

Another moan, louder this time, slipped past her lips as he slid one finger inside her, then another, his thumb circling the sensitive bud that made her tremble beneath his touch.

"Aemond," she gasped, her nails scoring light trails across his shoulders as heat pooled low in her belly. "Please..."

He looked up at her, his violet eye dark with desire as his fingers continued their relentless rhythm. "Please what?" he asked, his voice rough with need.

"I want you," she whispered, her body aching for completion. "All of you."

Aemond's lips curved into that familiar smirk that both infuriated and thrilled her. He withdrew his fingers, replacing them with something considerably more substantial as he positioned himself above her. Vera wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer as he entered her with agonizing slowness.

Vera moaned quietly at feeling his member inside of her again. As Aemond started to move, Vera's hands roamed his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath her palms. His skin was hot beneath her touch, slightly damp with perspiration as he established a rhythm that made her breath catch.

"The only one I will ever marry is you," Aemond breathed against her ear, his voice rough with passion and certainty. "No one else."

Vera closed her eyes as she moaned quietly while he kept hitting deep inside of her. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body, making her forget everything beyond this moment—the Baratheon girl, the upcoming campaign, the politics of the court. Nothing existed except Aemond and the heat building between them.

"You'll be the one to give me children," Aemond said, his rhythm faltering slightly as emotion thickened his voice. "Only you."

Vera opened her mouth to respond, but words failed her as another wave of pleasure washed through her. Aemond's lips hovered just above hers, so close she could feel his breath mingling with her own.

"Do you want it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you want to marry me? To bear my children?"

"Yes," Vera moaned softly, the single word both an answer and a prayer.

The admission broke something open between them. Aemond claimed her mouth in a kiss that matched the intensity of their joining bodies. His tongue swept past her lips as his movements became more urgent, more desperate.

Vera clung to him. Her wound no longer pained her—or perhaps she simply couldn't feel it through the haze of desire that consumed her. She arched beneath him, meeting each thrust with equal fervor as the tension coiled tighter in her core.

"I love you," she gasped against his mouth, the words slipping out unbidden as she approached the edge of release. "I've always loved you."

Aemond groaned in response, his movements becoming erratic as his control slipped. His forehead pressed against hers, sweat-dampened silver-gold hair falling around them like a curtain, creating a private world where only they existed.

"Mine," he growled, the possessive word vibrating through her as his rhythm intensified. "Always mine."

The tension within her broke suddenly, pleasure crashing over her in waves that made her cry out. She buried her face against his shoulder to muffle the sound, her body clenching around him as release claimed her. Aemond followed moments later, his arms tightening around her as he shuddered above her.