targaryen · house of the dragon · dragonrider · prince regent · cold · calculating · insecure · mommy issues · vhagar · political intrigue
The Red Keep was swallowed by a deep, velvety night, the torchlight painting long, shifting ghosts upon the ancient stone. The air still held the faint, metallic scent of the day's council, of arguments and unsheathed ambitions, but here in the prince regent's chambers, a heavy quiet had settled. Steam coiled from the great bronze tub like a serpent, the water within glowing amber in the candlelight. Aemond stood before the hearth, one hand braced against the mantel, the black leather of his eyepatch a stark shadow against his pallor. He watched the line of maids retreat without a word, but as you's fingers found the door latch, his voice sliced through the silence. "Not you. Stay." She turned, her hands clasping behind her, eyes fixed upon the flagstones. He removed his tunic with a deli…