theenchantresx

[theenchantresx]

Blades of Desire

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f! You

Word Count: 1,020 words

Trigger Warnings: explicit sexual tension, suggestive language, violence, underlying power dynamics

All pictures are taken from Pinterest: credits to the original owners

The air is filled with the sound of clashing steel: Aemond Targaryen stood at the center of the training grounds, the sharp hiss of his sword meeting that of a younger swordsman’s blade reverberating through the space. His movements were precise, elegant, and deadly, as one would expect of a prince with his reputation. His single violet eye, the one not hidden behind the patch, gleamed with an intensity that sent a shiver through anyone watching.

Including you.

You stood near the edge of the training field, your gaze never straying far from Aemond. His presence was magnetic, a force of nature you couldn’t ignore even if you wanted to. And you didn’t want to. You had known the prince long enough to understand that beneath his controlled demeanor, beneath his sharp words and sharper blade, was a storm of passion waiting to be unleashed. The tension between the two of you had always been palpable, simmering beneath the surface, but never crossing the line. Not yet.

The younger swordsman, barely more than a boy, struggled to keep up with Aemond’s brutal pace. His sword arm was faltering, his swings growing desperate as he tried to keep his footing against the relentless onslaught.

Aemond’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he anticipated the final blow. He was toying with the boy, pushing him to his limits.

The boy’s sword slipped, leaving him exposed for the briefest of moments.

It would’ve been his defeat.

But something in you moved faster than thought. In a fluid motion, you reached for the dagger strapped to your thigh and stepped into the ring, tossing it into the boy’s hand with precision.

"Always have another weapon with you," you said, your voice low but clear, your eyes meeting Aemond’s.

The boy, wide-eyed, glanced between the two of you and gave a shaky nod. He clutched the dagger with trembling hands, a new surge of determination flowing through him. He held his ground a little longer, but the outcome was inevitable. Within moments, Aemond’s blade met the boy’s throat, pausing just before it would have cut.

"Enough," Aemond said, lowering his sword. The boy exhaled, staggering back, drenched in sweat and relief. He quickly bowed, mumbling his thanks, and all but fled the training grounds.

But Aemond’s eye wasn’t on the boy. It was on you.

"You shouldn’t interfere with my training, my lady," he said, his voice cold, but there was an edge to it that betrayed his otherwise calm demeanor.

You shrugged, stepping closer, not the least bit intimidated by his warning. "Perhaps your pupil wouldn’t have needed my help if you weren’t toying with him."

Aemond tilted his head, a faint, almost dangerous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You’ve always had a habit of testing my patience, haven’t you?"

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze drifting to the sword still in his hand. "And you’ve always had a habit of overestimating your strength. One should never rely on just one weapon."

The double meaning in your words was unmistakable, and you saw it flicker in his eye—the sharp, knowing glint of understanding. The tension between you thickened, an invisible cord pulling tighter with every breath.

"Is that so?" Aemond murmured, stepping closer, his tall frame casting a long shadow over you. He slowly sheathed his sword, his movements deliberate, as if he were considering every motion carefully.

You held your ground, even as your pulse quickened. "Of course," you replied, the corner of your lips lifting into a small smirk. "A true warrior knows that a dagger—small, but sharp—can sometimes cut deeper than the largest blade."

Aemond's gaze darkened, his jaw clenching slightly as he considered your words. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword once more, fingers tightening around it. The air between you was charged, crackling with the tension that had been building for what felt like years.

"Perhaps," he said softly, voice laced with a dangerous edge, "you’d care to demonstrate your theory?"

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and yet, you felt a wicked thrill curl deep inside you. You took a step forward, bringing yourself closer to him, your chest nearly brushing against his as you looked up into his singular, intense eye.

"Is that a challenge, Prince Aemond?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, but heavy with meaning.

His lips quirked, a dark, predatory smile forming. "Everything with you is a challenge, isn’t it?"

Without warning, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist—the one that had thrown the dagger—firm but not painful. There was an electric spark in his touch, a burning heat that seemed to race through your skin. He pulled you closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Do you truly believe you know how to wield a blade better than I?"

The intimacy of his words, the feel of his body so close to yours, ignited something inside you. "I know how to strike where and when it matters most," you breathed back, your lips brushing his ear.

Aemond growled low in his throat, the sound primal and filled with barely restrained desire. He released your wrist only to cup your chin, forcing you to look into his eye, the intensity in his gaze nearly overwhelming. "Careful," he warned, his voice a dangerous purr. "Keep talking like that, and I might just show you what it’s like to be at the mercy of a real weapon."

Your heart pounded in your chest as the meaning behind his words settled in. The tension between the two of you was unbearable now, the line between anger and lust blurring until they were indistinguishable.

"Perhaps that’s exactly what I want," you challenged, your voice breathless but steady.

For a long moment, the world seemed to stop around you. The heat between your bodies was unbearable, the unsaid words and untaken actions hanging in the air, heavy and intoxicating.

Then, without warning, Aemond’s mouth was on yours, hot and demanding, his lips claiming you with the same ruthlessness he wielded on the battlefield. His hands slid down your body, rough and firm, pulling you against him with a possessive need. You responded in kind, your hands tangling in his silver hair as you kissed him back with equal fervor.

Every touch, every brush of his hands against your skin felt like a brand, marking you as his. The dagger you’d given to the boy earlier felt like a distant memory now as Aemond pushed you against the cold stone wall of the training grounds, his body pressing into yours.

Your hands wandered down, finding the hilt of his sword still strapped to his side. You gripped it, teasingly running your fingers along the cold steel as you pulled back slightly, breathless and flushed.

"Are you always this eager to draw your weapon, Prince?" you whispered, the playful taunt earning you a low, dangerous laugh from him.

Aemond leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours, his breath warm against your skin as he murmured, "Only when I know the battle will be worth it."

And this, you both knew, was a battle neither of you intended to lose.

[theenchantresx]

The Dance of Conquest - Part 2

Part 1 here

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!OC reader

Trigger Warnings: sexual tension, suggestive language, power dynamics, implied sexual themes and innuendos

A/Notes: It was supposed to be a one-shot but the tension is so high that a sequel was needed: I hope you like it!

All images are taken from Pinterest: credits to the original authors

You turned to leave Aemond behind, your heart racing with a mixture of exhilaration and apprehension. His gaze burned into your back, an ember of intrigue ignited in his eye. But you were not ready to yield to his magnetic pull; you needed to maintain some distance, to remind him of the barriers that still existed between you.

The hall was alive with laughter and chatter, the clinking of goblets creating a symphony that was entirely separate from the tension spiraling between you and the prince. You found a quiet corner near the towering windows, the soft glow of moonlight illuminating the intricate patterns etched into the glass. You leaned against the cool stone, taking a moment to steady your breath and gather your thoughts.

Aemond, however, was not one to be easily deterred. Moments later, you felt the unmistakable presence of his figure approaching. He moved with a confidence that was almost predatory, yet there was a hint of curiosity that set him apart from the usual suitors vying for your attention.

“Trying to escape me, my lady?” His voice was smooth, carrying a teasing undertone that sent a thrill of apprehension through you.

You turned to face him, forcing a composed smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It is merely a moment’s respite, Prince Aemond. The hall is quite... overwhelming.”

He stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Overwhelming?” he echoed, his tone dripping with mockery. “Or perhaps exhilarating?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his gaze. “Perhaps both,” you replied, your voice steady. “It’s hard to think clearly with so many eyes upon us.”

Aemond’s lips curved into a sly smile, his single eye gleaming with mischief. “Hmm, but isn’t that the thrill of it? To be watched, to be desired?” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy the attention.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, but you held your ground, determined not to let him see how much his presence affected you. “Attention is one thing,” you said, your tone cool and measured. “But I prefer to be valued for my mind, not merely my appearance.”

“Is that so?” He stepped back slightly, as if considering your words. “Then let me ask you this: what do you find intriguing about a man like me?”

You took a breath, unsure of how to navigate this line of questioning without revealing too much. “How arrogant and contemptuous you are! Your reputation precedes you, Prince Aemond. Many admire your strength and cunning, but I find that I prefer conversations rooted in substance rather than bravado.”

Aemond regarded you with a mixture of surprise and admiration. “Substance, you say? Most would seek to flatter me with tales of glory and conquest.”

“There is more to a person than their title or deeds,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze head-on. “To be understood beyond the facade is far more compelling.”

He watched you intently, the teasing glimmer in his eye giving way to something deeper, a flicker of respect and intrigue. “And yet, here you stand, engaging with the very man whose reputation you claim to dismiss.”

“Not dismiss,” you corrected gently, “but rather… dissect. To know the man behind the legend and the infamous lore....”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, a smile that hinted at his appreciation of your demure approach. “You have a talent for words, my lady. A way of disarming even the most guarded of hearts.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck, but you maintained your composure, refusing to let him draw you into an emotional display. “It is merely a means of understanding the complexities of those around me,” you said, your tone careful.

“And what have you discovered about me, then?” he asked, his voice a low murmur that felt intimate against the backdrop of the bustling hall.

You hesitated, contemplating your response. “That you are more than the tales told in court,” you finally said. “You are… layered, unpredictable.”

Aemond leaned in closer, a glimmer of something fierce igniting in his gaze. “Unpredictable can be dangerous, my lady. Perhaps you should reconsider your interest in me.”

“I am not interested in danger,” you countered, though a part of you reveled in the tension that simmered between you. “I merely seek clarity.”

“Clarity,” he echoed, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Such a delicate word for someone standing in the path of a storm.”

You held his gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “And yet, storms can bring change,” you replied, your voice steady. “Perhaps... even transformation...”

His expression shifted, the playful challenge replaced with a more contemplative look. “Transformation is a double-edged sword: It can reveal as much as it conceals.”

You sensed the shift in the air, the way the conversation had deepened, moving from playful banter to something more meaningful. “Then - perhaps - it is worth the risk,” you said, your heart racing as you stepped just a fraction closer.

Aemond watched you, his expression inscrutable. “You tempt fate with your words, but I wonder if you understand the game you’re playing.”

“Games can be enlightening, my prince,” you replied, your voice soft but resolute. “But I do not seek to be a pawn in anyone’s scheme.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Engaging in a dance that could lead to… unexpected places.”

You felt your resolve wavering, a thrill of anticipation washing over you. “Maybe,” you allowed, meeting his gaze with determination. “But only if the steps are shared equally.”

He regarded you, his expression a mix of admiration and intrigue. “An equal partnership is a rare find, especially in court. Tell me, what would you require from me to ensure that balance?”

You took a breath, the air thick with unspoken tension. “Honesty, for one,” you said. “And a willingness to be seen for who you are, not just who you pretend to be.”

Aemond stepped back slightly, considering your words. “You ask for a great deal. But honesty can be dangerous, especially for those of us accustomed to wearing masks.”

“Said the man with a patch covering his face... I’m not asking for your secrets,” you replied, your voice steady. “Just a glimpse of truth.”

His gaze bore into yours, the intensity making your heart race. “And if I give you that glimpse, will you share your truth in return?"

You hesitated, the weight of his question hanging in the air. “If I must,” you said finally, your voice a mere whisper. “But only if you promise to respect the boundaries I set.”

The air between you was thick with unspoken desire, a magnetic pull that drew you closer to Aemond despite the barriers you had attempted to maintain. His gaze held yours with a burning intensity that ignited something deep within you, something that thrummed with anticipation and the promise of forbidden pleasure.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle tension in his body a reflection of yours. Each second that passed felt like a heartbeat, quickening the air around you, a pulse that echoed your own racing thoughts.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry whisper that sent shivers cascading down your spine, “are you truly unaffected by the weight of my gaze?”

You swallowed hard, the sincerity in his question contrasting sharply with the playful banter that had dominated your earlier conversation. “It is not your gaze that affects me,” you managed to reply, though the tremor in your voice betrayed the truth.

“Is that so?” His lips curled into a knowing smile, one that spoke of confidence and challenge. “Hmm... Then why do you find it so difficult to look away?”

His challenge hung in the air, a tension so palpable it could have been sliced with a knife or rather... a sword. You stepped closer, the distance between you diminished to mere inches, the warmth of his body inviting yet daunting. “Perhaps I am simply captivated by...” you replied, your voice steady despite the heat that pooled in your stomach. “the enigma waiting to be unraveled.”

Aemond leaned in, his breath ghosting over your skin, igniting a trail of heat that made your heart race. “An enigma?” he echoed, his lips barely brushing against your ear, sending a wave of goosebumps cascading down your arms. “I promise you, I can be far more than that.”

You felt your breath hitch as he leaned closer, the mere brush of his presence sending a thrill coursing through you. “Can you?” you whispered, your voice wavering as you attempted to maintain your composure, though your body ached to lean into him, to let him pull you into his orbit.

“Well.. just let me show you,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to lock his single eye with yours, a smoldering fire reflected in his gaze. “But first, you must trust me.”

You hesitated, the word echoing in your mind. Trust. It was a delicate thing, especially with someone like Aemond, whose reputation was as sharp as his tongue. “Trust is not easily given, my prince,” you replied, your voice low yet defiant. “It must be earned.”

Aemond’s expression shifted, the playfulness melting away to reveal something deeper, darker. “And what would it take for me to earn your trust?” he asked, his voice thick with an intensity that made your pulse race.

“As I said before... a willingness to bare yourself, to reveal the truth behind the mask,” you said softly, your heart racing at the challenge you had set forth.

He stepped back slightly, his gaze steady, as if weighing your words. “And what truth do you seek?”

“Not just the truth of your conquests or victories, but the truth of who you are... beneath it all,” you replied, emboldened by the fire flickering between you. “The man who needs more than just power or admiration.”

Aemond regarded you, the weight of your words sinking in, and for a moment, the playful banter slipped away entirely. “Very well,” he said finally, his voice a low rumble. “But be careful what you wish for, my lady. I may reveal more than you bargained for.”

He stepped forward again, the air crackling with the tension of unfulfilled desire. His hand brushed against yours, the contact igniting a fire within you that was impossible to ignore. Your breath caught as he held your gaze, his fingers tracing along the edge of your palm with a gentleness that belied the storm brewing in his expression.

“Do you feel that?” he murmured, his voice almost reverent. “The tension that pulls us together? It’s dangerous, intoxicating, and yet... it’s undeniable.”

Your heart raced: that simple grip could still light a fire in your chest, the electric current between you sparking with every stolen glance and lingering touch. “I feel it,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “But this is like a dance, Aemond. One that requires balance.”

“Then let us dance,” he replied, his tone dark and enticing. “But know this: I have no intention of letting you lead.”

With that, he closed the distance between you, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer as he leaned in, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you encased in this moment of reckless abandon.

Your breath mingled, an intoxicating mix of anticipation and uncertainty. “You play with fire, Aemond,” you warned softly, though your body betrayed you, leaning into him, craving his touch.

“Hmm I'm used to doing it... Besides, the fire burns inside me so... allow me to ignite the flames in you too,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours with a feather-light caress that sent shivers racing through your entire being.

You gasped, the sensation flooding your senses, and your heart raced as he pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, searching for permission, for a sign that you were willing to step into the abyss with him.

With a sudden burst of courage, you tilted your head slightly, allowing your lips to hover dangerously close to his. “Then let us see how deep this fire burns,” you murmured, your voice thick with longing and uncertainty.

Aemond’s gaze darkened, and without another word, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips with his in a searing kiss that sent shockwaves of heat cascading through you. The world around you melted away as he poured himself into the kiss, an urgent desperation that left you breathless.

His hands gripped your waist possessively, drawing you closer as you melted against him, surrendering to the kiss that held promises of conquest and desire. You felt every fiber of your being ignite under the weight of his touch, the soft contours of his body fitting perfectly against yours.

But just as quickly as it began, he pulled back, leaving you gasping for air, your heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and frustration. “You taste like temptation,” he whispered, the shadow of a mocking smile mixed with surprise appears on his face and his breath mingling with yours, thick with desire. “And I am a man who is not accustomed to denying what I want.”

“I... I can't be claimed, Aemond,” you replied, your voice a mix of defiance and yearning. “At least not without consequences.”

“Consequences... thrilling...” he countered, his gaze darkening with an intensity that made your skin tingle. “But I will respect your boundaries, for now... In the meantime, I know that you will soon give in even if you still have trouble believing it.”

Aemond stepped back slightly, allowing you a moment to catch your breath, though the air still pulsed with the remnants of his touch. He was playing your game so well that you didn't have the heart to argue back. He might be right and you didn't want to risk your voice making that clear.

“Good,” he replied, a wicked smile curving his lips.

You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but the thrill of the chase consumed you, and you felt yourself desperate, unable to turn and walk away... to escape from his grip, from his heated gaze.

Aemond reduced the space between you two in an instant, the air thick with tension, anticipation crackling like lightning. He captured your chin gently, tilting your face to his, the world around you fading into a blur. “What are you doing or better, what are you trying to do with no success?” he asked, his voice low and heavy, a mixture of wonder and desire. "Hmm? You're at a loss for words now?"

Your breath hitching as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “You tempt me dangerously,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as if testing the boundaries, igniting a desperate hunger within you.

With a surge of boldness, you closed the gap, capturing his lips with yours once more, this time with a fervor that took you both by surprise. Aemond responded instantly, his hands pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened, igniting again the fire that raged out of control.

Every heartbeat echoed the urgency of the moment, every breath mingled with the desperation that had built between you, the tension thick, almost suffocating, but neither of you moved to break it. His fingers hovered just above your skin, ghosting over the fabric of your dress, as if daring you to lean into his touch, daring you to shatter the fragile restraint that held this moment together.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that sent shivers down your spine. His restraint was maddening, palpable. He was everywhere, surrounding you, filling every thought, every inch of your awareness, yet somehow still out of reach.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied, your voice soft but defiant. You tilted your head slightly, your lips brushing his in the faintest of touches, just enough to test him, to see if he’d break. Aemond’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, though there was nothing playful about it. “You’re good at pretending,” he said. His eye locked onto yours, daring you to deny the pull between you, daring you to resist the fire that had been building for so long. “But you can’t hide from me.”

Your breath hitched at the implication in his words, the truth he was so keen to expose. You’d been pretending—pretending that this was nothing more than a passing infatuation, a game of wills that you could win. But Aemond saw through every carefully constructed defense, stripping them away one by one with nothing more than a look, a whisper, a touch that never quite landed; in the same way you were trying to untie the laces and reins that went beyond his eyepatch.

“What do you think you see?” you asked, your voice barely more than a breath, a challenge hidden beneath the trembling need you tried to suppress.

Aemond’s smirk deepened, and his thumb brushed against your left rosy cheek. “I see what you’re trying to control,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “The way your body betrays you... the way your pulse races under my touch.”

He was right. Your heart was pounding, each beat echoing in your ears, and every nerve in your body was on fire, hyper-aware of how close he was, how desperately you wanted him to close the distance. But you couldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not yet.

“And what about you?” you countered, trying to keep your voice steady even as his fingers skimmed along your side, the lightest of touches that set your skin ablaze. “You’re just as controlled. As if you’re holding back... afraid to let go.”

His eye narrowed slightly, but there was no anger there, only intensity. “Is that what you want? For me to lose control?”

You swallowed: he was waiting—for you, for a sign, for the moment when you would finally crumble beneath the tension.

His breath was hot against your neck now, his lips so close, so maddeningly close, but still, he didn’t kiss you again.

The need inside you was unbearable, but you couldn’t let him win—not yet. “Perhaps it’s not about losing control,” you whispered, your lips barely grazing his jaw, “but seeing how long we can hold onto it.”

Aemond’s grip now tightened slightly around your waist and you could feel the tension radiating off of him, his restraint hanging by a thread. “Careful, my lady,” he murmured, his voice dangerous, and filled with dark promise. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand slid upward, his thumb tracing the curve of your breast, but he stopped just short, hovering on the edge of something forbidden, something that would break the tension between you entirely.

“And what if I want to play?” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the desire you could no longer deny.

Aemond’s eye darkened, and for a moment, you thought he would break, that he would finally give in to the fire that burned between you. But instead, he pulled back, just enough to leave you gasping, wanting.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, his voice low and filled with barely restrained hunger. “When you’re ready to stop playing games, using polished and clever words as a shield but you start to give voice to your body...,” he whispered, his voice rough and full of promise, “then, you know where to find me.”

And with that, he pulled away, leaving you breathless, aching, and suspended in the tension that still thrummed between you.

Tag: @thhriller @readerselegance

[theenchantresx]

Under the reddish tree

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader (Winterfell OC)

Inspiration (author in the watermark):

Pictures taken from Pinterest: credits to all the artists/original owners

Warnings: none? Just a cute and palpable encounter "under the cherry tree"

Word Count: 2654

The tournament grounds buzzed with life—the clattering of armor, the bellow of noblemen cheering for their favorite champions, the sharp, distinct sounds of steel on steel. Ladies in vibrant silks lined the viewing stands, their smiles sweet, their whispers coy as they admired the knights below. You stood among them, but apart. Always apart.

You weren’t here for yourself. You were here for Lady Alysanne, your duty to remain by her side, attending to her every whim. She and the other highborn ladies giggled and exchanged gossip, their attention focused on the spectacle of the tourney. You were a lady-in-waiting from the cold, rugged North, where the wind bit and the people were as hard as the land itself. In a place like King’s Landing, you were often seen but never truly noticed—too quiet, too different.

Too cold.

You’d slipped away from the stands unnoticed, seeking a moment of peace beneath the sprawling branches of the red tree near the cloisters. Its leaves were a deep crimson, stark against the pale sky—a reminder of the North, where the weirwoods stood, ancient and silent. It was strange to find one here, in the capital, amidst all the heat and glamour.

The cool breeze kissed your cheeks, bringing some calm back to you. You were used to the cold. The North lived in your bones, and the relentless warmth of the South made you long for the icy winds of your homeland.

But your peace was short-lived.

A shadow fell over you, casting a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. You felt him before you heard him—the presence that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Aemond Targaryen.

Your heart quickened, and you chastised yourself for the involuntary reaction. He was just a man—no, he was a prince, and that made him far more dangerous. You’d noticed him before, felt his gaze on you in passing, though you told yourself it was merely your imagination. Aemond had no reason to notice you. You were a northern girl, a lady-in-waiting—plain, reserved, and far removed from the those ladies who caught his attention.

Or so you thought.

“Lady of the North,” came his voice, smooth as silk but with an edge that could cut glass. You looked up, and there he was, standing far too close, his silver hair glinting in the late afternoon sun. His one eye fixed on you with unsettling intensity, while his eyepatch and irregular scar only seemed to add to the sharpness of his features. “Hiding from the festivities, are we?”

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond, your back stiffening as you faced him. He was a prince, after all. “I’m not hiding, my prince,” you said quietly, your voice betraying none of the nerves fluttering in your chest. “I merely sought some… quiet.”

His lips curved, not quite a smile, but close enough to send your heart into a strange rhythm. “Hmm... Quiet.” The word rolled off his tongue like he was tasting it. “The North must be quiet. But here… the South is loud, isn’t it? Overwhelming.”

You blinked, caught off guard. He knew. Somehow, he knew exactly how you felt. “It is,” you admitted softly, glancing away, trying to compose yourself under the weight of his gaze. “King’s Landing is far different from Winterfell.”

Aemond’s eye didn’t leave you, and you felt its pull, like the lure of a flame drawing in a moth. He tilted his head, as though studying you more closely. “And yet you’ve adapted, haven’t you? A northern lady surviving in the lion’s den or rather the dragon's den.”

Your cheeks flushed at the observation, but you kept your composure. “I have done what is expected of me, my prince.”

He stepped closer, just a fraction, but it was enough to make your pulse race. “And what is it you truly desire?” His voice was low, smooth, the kind of tone that seemed to slip under your skin and coil around your heart. “What do you want, hidden away here beneath the red leaves?”

You blinked, flustered, your breath catching in your throat. He was standing close now, too close for propriety, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. There was something magnetic about him—something dangerous. His presence was overwhelming, all-consuming, and despite the cool breeze, the air between you seemed to heat up.

“I…” you stammered, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to answer a question you didn’t fully understand yourself. “I only sought… a moment of peace.”

“Peace.” Aemond’s lips twitched in amusement, his eye gleaming as he took in your nervousness. “Do I not bring you peace, my lady?”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The prince’s words were laced with mockery, but there was something else in them, something that sent a shiver down your spine. He reached out, his gloved hand brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. The touch was light, fleeting, but it left a trail of warmth in its wake.

“Your cheeks are flushed.” His voice was a low murmur, his smirk deepening as his eye flicked over your reddening face. “Is it the southern heat, or… something else?”

The teasing note in his voice made your cheeks burn even hotter, and you bit the inside of your cheek, struggling to maintain control. “I— I’m not accustomed to the weather here,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond’s smirk widened, and he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “Hmm... Is that so?”

You couldn’t breathe. His closeness, the way his presence seemed to envelop you, made it difficult to think. Your pulse quickened, and you cursed yourself for reacting so strongly to him. You were a northern lady, raised in the cold, taught to be composed. Yet here you were, crumbling under the heat of a Targaryen prince’s gaze.

Aemond’s fingers brushed against your jaw, a subtle, teasing touch that sent a spark through your veins. “You may be from the cold North, but you burn just the same,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing, sending a wave of heat through you.

Your breath hitched at his words, and you instinctively leaned back against the tree, needing something to steady yourself. His touch, his gaze, everything about him was too much. And yet, you found yourself craving more.

“I… I don’t know what you mean, my prince,” you whispered, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Aemond tilted his head, the smirk still playing on his lips as his fingers ghosted down your arm, tracing an invisible path along your skin. “Don’t you?” His voice was dangerously soft, almost a purr. “I think you do.”

The air between you crackled with tension, a silent, unspoken pull that neither of you could ignore. His touch, though barely there, was enough to set your skin alight, your heart pounding in your chest. Every breath you took felt heavy, the space between you shrinking with every passing second.

“I’ve seen you,” Aemond murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. “Standing quietly at the edges, trying not to be noticed. But I notice.” His hand slid to your waist, resting there lightly, just enough to make your heart race even faster. “I always notice.”

Your eyes widened, and you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat. He was so close now, his body mere inches from yours, his face hovering just above yours. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the intensity of his gaze as he watched you.

“Tell me now,” he whispered, his voice soft but commanding, “what is it that you truly want, my lady of the North?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. His question hung in the air between you, heavy with implication, and you knew there was only one answer.

But could you say it?

Could you admit to yourself what you really wanted?

Aemond’s lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You need only ask,” he whispered, his voice a seductive promise.

And in that moment, you realized—there was no escaping the fire of the dragon.

Your heart pounded so loudly in your chest you feared he could hear it. His breath was warm against your skin, each exhale fanning your flushed cheeks as his hand rested against your waist, the touch both teasing and possessive. You could feel the rough bark of the tree pressing into your back, grounding you, even as the world spun around you.

Aemond was close—too close—and yet not close enough.

His lips hovered just above yours now, close enough for you to feel the warmth of him but not quite touching. The anticipation hung between you like the weight of a blade, suspended and sharp. His good eye flickered over your face, taking in every detail—the way your breath came quick and shallow, the way your fingers clenched nervously at the fabric of your skirts, the way your eyes darted between his lips and that haunting violet gaze.

"Tell me, sweet thing... Just tell me," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

Your throat tightened. What did you want? The air between you was so thick, so charged that it felt like a physical thing pressing against your chest. You could barely think beyond the heady warmth of his proximity, the way his presence swallowed everything around you.

But you knew.

Your lips parted, your breath hitching as you met his gaze. For a moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. Time seemed to slow as his hand moved, trailing upward from your waist, his fingers grazing your arm before settling gently at the back of your neck. His thumb brushed your skin, and you shivered at the contact, your pulse quickening.

"I…" Your voice faltered, but your body betrayed you, leaning into him, closing the unbearable distance between you. Your hands, once clutching your skirts, found purchase against the firm muscles of his chest, the leather of his tunic smooth and cool beneath your palms. You weren’t even sure how your fingers had moved, but now you couldn’t pull them back.

And neither could he.

With a soft, almost predatory hum, Aemond closed the final gap between you, his lips finding yours with a soft, deliberate pressure. The kiss was slow, measured—no wild passion, but something deeper, more controlled. It was as if he was savoring you, testing the boundaries of what you would allow. The warmth of his lips, the soft scrape of his thumb against your neck—it all sent a dizzying sensation through you, like you were falling, falling into something you couldn’t escape.

Your back pressed more firmly against the tree, and you felt the rough bark dig into your skin, the contrast between it and the softness of his lips a heady mix of sensations. You let out a quiet sigh against his mouth, your body relaxing into him without realizing it.

That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed.

The hand at the back of your neck tightened just slightly, drawing you closer to him as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against yours with more urgency now, though still controlled, as if he was holding back something far more dangerous. His body pressed lightly against yours, but not enough to trap you—just enough to remind you of the power he held, the dragon lurking just beneath the surface.

His free hand moved down to your waist again, but then, as if sensing your hesitance, he reached for your hand. His fingers slipped between yours, intertwining them gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a surprisingly tender gesture.

That small touch—the simple act of holding your hand—made your heart stutter, your breath catching in your throat. The intimacy of it, more than the kiss, was enough to make your chest tighten.

Aemond pulled back slightly, his lips hovering over yours as you both breathed heavily, the charged air between you now buzzing with something electric. His forehead rested against yours, his eye half-lidded as he studied your face.

"You're trembling," he whispered, the hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. His fingers squeezed yours gently, grounding you amidst the storm he had created. "Why is that?"

You tried to speak, but words seemed to fail you. Your body was still pressed against the rough trunk of the tree, your legs weak, your heart pounding in your ears. The cool breeze from the tournament grounds swept through the leaves, but it did nothing to ease the heat coursing through you.

"I…" Your voice cracked, and you had to swallow to gather the courage to speak. "I'm not used to—"

"To this?" Aemond’s voice was a teasing purr, and his thumb continued to trace soft circles on your knuckles as his lips grazed your temple, sending another wave of warmth through you.

"To… you," you admitted, your words barely a whisper, but they were enough to make his smirk deepen.

"Ah," he murmured, his voice low and rich as he brushed his lips over your cheek, his breath sending shivers down your spine. "And yet, here you are." A sly smile crosses his face and lights up his gaze.

He pulled back enough to look at you, his thumb still gently stroking the back of your hand, the touch strangely comforting in contrast to the heated kiss that had left you breathless. His lips twitched, amusement dancing in his eye as he watched the way you struggled to regain control of yourself.

"You pretend to be ice," Aemond murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "But you burn, my lady. You burn just as brightly as any fire."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you clenched your fingers around his, seeking some kind of anchor amidst the maelstrom of emotions swirling within you. His touch was both gentle and possessive, his presence overwhelming yet grounding all at once. It was a paradox, one you didn’t know how to unravel.

Aemond leaned back slightly, his gaze dark and intense as he searched your face. For a moment, you thought he might speak, but then he pressed his lips to yours again, this time more urgently, more insistently. His hand tightened around yours, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

You could feel the strength of him—the sharp edges hidden beneath his smooth exterior. But still, there was restraint. He held you as though you were something precious, something fragile, and that contradiction—his strength and his gentleness—made your heart race even faster.

You didn’t know how long you stood there beneath the red leaves, entwined with him in the shadows of the ancient tree. The world outside—the noise of the tournament, the laughter of nobles—faded into nothing. There was only him, only Aemond, and the way he made you feel as though you were the center of the universe.

Finally, he pulled back, just enough to allow you both to catch your breath, though he still held you close. His fingers, still interlaced with yours, gave a gentle squeeze as he tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You hide from the world, my lady," he murmured, his voice soft but teasing. "But you cannot hide from me."

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you felt a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the southern sun. There was something undeniable between you, something that had ignited the moment he had stepped beneath those red leaves.

And now, there was no turning back.

[theenchantresx]

The Dance of Conquest

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!OC reader

Word Count: 1,225

Trigger Warnings: sexual tension, suggestive language, power dynamics, implied sexual themes and innuendos

The great hall of the Red Keep was buzzing with quiet conversation as lords and ladies dined beneath the glittering light of chandeliers. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air, and yet, despite the lively atmosphere, your attention was elsewhere—focused entirely on the man seated across from you.

Aemond Targaryen, the Prince, was a figure both striking and impossible to ignore. His sharp features, the silver hair that cascaded down his back, and the single eye that gleamed with intelligence and something darker made him the center of every gaze. Yet tonight, he had eyes only for you.

It had been this way for several nights now—Aemond watching you, tracking your every movement with an intensity that made your skin prickle with awareness. You had felt the weight of his gaze from across the table, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth whenever you caught him staring.

Tonight, however, was different. Tonight, his attention was not subtle, and it felt as though the entire hall could sense it. You shifted slightly in your seat, the low murmur of conversation becoming little more than background noise to the tension building between you and the prince.

Aemond raised his goblet to his lips, his eye never leaving yours as he drank slowly, savoring the wine. When he set it down, his voice was quiet but carried through the hall like a soft command. "You're hardly eating, my lady."

The way he said "my lady" made your heart skip. His tone was deceptively casual, but there was a note of challenge beneath it, something that hinted at more than just concern over your meal. You picked at your food, aware that he was waiting for a response, but before you could find the right words, Aemond spoke again.

"Do I make you nervous?" he asked, his voice lower now, meant only for you.

Your breath caught, and you quickly glanced around to see if anyone had overheard. But no, the conversations around you continued, oblivious to the current between you and the prince. When you turned back to Aemond, his gaze had darkened, a hint of satisfaction tugging at his lips as if he already knew the answer.

"Hardly," you managed to reply, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Aemond chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a thrill down your spine. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing as if stripping away the barriers you had carefully built. "Good. I'd hate to think my presence unnerves you."

"It doesn't," you replied, your words firmer this time, though your pulse quickened under his intense scrutiny. The prince had a way of drawing out the truth with nothing more than a look, and even now, you could feel yourself unraveling under the weight of his attention.

Aemond’s lips curved into a slow smile, one that promised mischief. "No? Then what is it that has kept your gaze on me for most of the evening?"

Heat rose to your cheeks at the accusation, though you couldn't deny it. You *had* been watching him, just as he had been watching you. There was something about Aemond—something dangerous, alluring, that drew you to him in ways you couldn't fully explain. But you were not about to admit that to him, not here, not like this.

"I could ask the same of you," you countered, tilting your head slightly, hoping to throw him off balance, though you doubted such a thing was possible with Aemond.

His smile widened, but there was a predatory gleam in his eye now, one that sent a shiver down your spine. "Perhaps I find the company more... engaging than the meal."

His words were like a caress, subtle and dangerous, and you felt yourself leaning ever so slightly toward him, drawn in by the way his voice wrapped around you like silk. It wasn't just the words themselves, but the way he said them—each syllable dripping with suggestion, each pause pregnant with meaning.

Aemond’s hand moved, slowly, deliberately, as he reached for his goblet again. But instead of bringing it to his lips, he offered it to you, his eye never leaving yours. "Taste it," he murmured.

For a moment, you hesitated. There was something intimate, something forbidden in the gesture, as if accepting the goblet was a silent acknowledgment of the game being played between you. But the heat in his gaze left you with little choice.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his as you took the goblet from him, the contact brief but electric. Bringing the rim to your lips, you took a small sip, the wine rich and heady as it slid down your throat. When you handed the goblet back to him, Aemond’s fingers lingered against yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

"You've tasted mine," he said softly, his voice low and full of intent. "Now I wonder how you would taste."

The breath left your lungs in a rush, your heart pounding in your chest as the full weight of his words settled over you. There was no mistaking his meaning now—Aemond wasn’t playing coy anymore, and neither were you. The room around you seemed to fade, the laughter and chatter of the other guests dimming as the air between you crackled with tension.

"Bold words, Prince Aemond," you whispered, trying to maintain your composure even as your pulse raced.

He leaned in closer, his gaze locking onto yours with a fire that made your skin burn. "Bold actions, if you allow it."

Your breath hitched, and you felt the full force of his presence bearing down on you, the challenge in his voice daring you to take the next step. There was a hunger in his eye, one that mirrored your own, and in that moment, the carefully constructed boundaries between you began to crumble.

You leaned in, your voice barely audible as you met his gaze head-on. "And if I do?"

Aemond’s smile was slow, dangerous, and utterly captivating. He reached out, brushing his fingers against your hand in a way that sent a jolt of heat through your body. "Then I will show you the meaning of conquest."

The unspoken promise in his words left your heart racing, the world around you slipping away until there was only him, only this—Aemond Targaryen, and the game you had both been playing for far too long. And in that moment, you knew that this was no longer just a dinner. It was the beginning of something far more dangerous—and far more exhilarating.

The tension between you and Aemond hung thick in the air as his words settled between you like a challenge—one you weren't sure you were ready to face, yet your body screamed in anticipation. The din of the great hall seemed a distant hum, as though the world had shrunk down to just the two of you. Every flicker of candlelight reflected in his violet eye, turning the prince into something more than just dangerous. He was intoxicating.

You held his gaze, your pulse fluttering in your throat. The meaning of conquest. The way he said it, with that seductive smile and the promise in his tone, made your skin burn with heat. He was toying with you, but there was no mistaking his intent. You felt the way his gaze raked over you, the hunger in his eye barely contained. He wanted you—and gods, you wanted him, too.

But two could play at this game.

You leaned in slightly, your lips just barely curving into a smile as you allowed your gaze to flicker over him. His broad shoulders, the curve of his jawline, the way his silver hair fell loosely around him, making him look both regal and untamed. You met his eyes again, not shying away from the simmering tension between you.

"And what would your conquest entail, my prince?" you asked, your voice low, a playful edge to your words as you dared him to make his next move. You weren't going to make this easy for him.

Aemond's lips curled into a slow, predatory smile, as if he knew you were challenging him, and he welcomed it. He leaned in even closer, the warmth of his body radiating across the narrow table that separated you. The look in his eye was dangerous, full of desire and something darker, something you couldn't quite name.

"To conquer means to take, does it not?" he murmured, his voice smooth, though there was an undeniable edge to it. His hand, which had been resting casually on the table, slowly inched closer to yours. The tension grew, the gap between your hands narrowing until his fingers brushed against your skin in the lightest of touches.

You shivered at the contact, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head, your eyes never leaving his. "Is that what you wish?" you whispered, daring to use his name. "To take me?"

He smirked, his fingers grazing your skin again, this time with more purpose. "To take, yes. But not as you think," he whispered, his voice soft yet filled with meaning. "I would take my time with you." His voice lowered, so only you could hear. "Taste every part of you. Learn every secret your body holds."

Your heart hammered in your chest at his words, your mind spinning. Aemond had always been intense, but tonight, there was something different, something more deliberate in his approach, as if he were setting a trap and you were walking straight into it. And yet, there was no part of you that wanted to stop.

"You speak as though I am yours already," you replied, your voice barely a whisper, but you could feel the shift in the air, the game you had started now teetering on a dangerous edge.

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound rumbling low in his chest. His fingers finally closed over your hand, firm and possessive, as he leaned in even closer, his face inches from yours. The scent of wine and something distinctly him filled your senses, and you felt your pulse quicken as his thumb lightly traced circles on the back of your hand.

"Am I wrong?" he asked, his voice a soft, seductive purr.

Your breath caught in your throat. He was close now, too close, his face hovering near yours, his lips just a whisper away. Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the rapid beating of your heart. The heat between you was unbearable, the tension thick enough to cut through, and every nerve in your body was on edge, waiting, wanting.

You swallowed hard, trying to regain control of the situation, but it was slipping away with every passing second. Aemond was winning this game, and you knew it. But something in you refused to give in just yet.

"If you wish to claim me, Prince Aemond," you whispered, your voice bolder than you felt, "then you will have to do better than this."

His smile widened, and the challenge in your voice only seemed to fuel the fire burning behind his eye. He didn’t pull away—instead, he brought his face even closer, so close that his breath fanned over your lips. His thumb pressed more firmly into your hand, the touch sending sparks of electricity through you.

"Trust me," he murmured, his voice barely audible but filled with promise, "when I claim you, you will know it. You will feel it in every part of your body, and you will beg for more."

The words sent a shockwave through you, your body responding before your mind could process the full weight of what he had said. Your breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, you felt yourself teeter on the edge of giving in.

But just as quickly, you snapped yourself back, your pulse racing as you pulled your hand away from his, though the space between you was still charged with energy. "Bold words," you said softly, though there was a tremor in your voice that betrayed the effect he had on you.

Aemond watched you carefully, his smirk deepening as if he knew exactly how close you were to surrender. He leaned back slightly, giving you the barest bit of space, though the air between you was still thick with unspoken desire.

"This is not over," he promised, his voice low, full of certainty. "You may resist now, but the night is long."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, the intensity in his gaze making it clear that this was far from over. Aemond Targaryen was a man who got what he wanted, and tonight, it was clear that what he wanted was you.

"Perhaps, Prince Aemond," you said, a smile tugging at your lips as you rose from your seat, knowing full well that this dance was far from its conclusion. "But you’ll have to catch me first."

With that, you turned and left the table, feeling his gaze burn into your back as you walked away. The night was indeed long—and the game had only just begun.

[theenchantresx]

Shadows of the Crown

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC Reader

Trigger Warnings: Violence and war (discussions of bloodshed, massacres), Emotional manipulation, Psychological trauma and guilt, Grief and loss (discussion of family betrayal, loss of loved ones), Mentions of past abuse and cruelty, Toxic relationships

Word Count: 3,500 words

All images are taken from Pinterest: credits to the original owners

The halls of the Red Keep were darker than usual, dimmed not just by the oncoming twilight but by the heavy weight of tension that seemed to seep into every corner. War loomed over the Seven Kingdoms like an ill-fated storm, and its cold winds had finally reached King's Landing. As Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen was supposed to be the pillar of strength, but even steel cracks under enough pressure.

The fire of his kin was burning him alive.

You had been one of the few who could still approach him without fear of being dismissed. Though "approach" was a loose term—he never truly allowed anyone close, not since he had turned his back on his family. His eye, the one left unscathed, was hard as dragonstone whenever you stood before him. And the one that was lost, now replaced by the sapphire, seemed even colder.

Tonight was no different.

You found Aemond in the council chamber, the stench of conspiracies still lingered in the air. Maps, letters, and spilled wine cluttered the table before him, untouched since the maesters had delivered the latest reports. He stood by the window, tall and rigid, the flames of the fireplace casting flickering shadows against his sharp features.

"You’ve come again," Aemond said without turning around. His voice was like poisoned honey, slow, sharp, and dangerous. "I do wonder, have you come to scold me like the rest of them?"

You stepped forward cautiously, sensing the sharp edge of his temper beneath the calm. "I didn't come to scold. I came because you're alone, Aemond. And you know it."

He turned then, slowly, his single violet eye locking onto you. He was regal, tall, a figure that inspired both awe and fear, but the cruelty in his gaze had grown over time—thicker, more consuming, as if the loss of his family’s loyalty had stripped away the last of his humanity.

"Alone?" He chuckled darkly, stepping toward you with a deliberate slowness that made your heart pound. "It is a crown that sits heavy, not companionship I seek. I need no one."

"You've turned everyone against you," you said, keeping your voice steady despite his approach. "Your family, the council, even those who once supported you. What will your rule be, Aemond, if there's no one left to support you?"

He stopped just inches from you, looming over you like the shadow of Vhagar herself. His lips curled in a bitter, mocking smile. "You think I seek fairness? To be a king like my brother? Weak, foolish Aegon… he was an idiot, and where did that get him, hmm? I will not make the same mistake."

The intensity of his gaze was almost unbearable, but you didn’t back down. "And what will your cruelty gain you? Fear? Power? They’re fragile things, Aemond. They slip through your fingers the moment you think you have control. There’s no peace in ruling with only fire and blood."

His smile faltered, just for a moment, but enough for you to see the weariness beneath the façade. Aemond turned away sharply, stalking back to the window with a frustrated exhale. "Peace?" he spat the word as if it were poison. "There is no peace, not for men like me. Only war and treachery. The time for peace ended when my family betrayed me. When they left me to burn in the fires of their ambitions."

"You’ve betrayed them too," you said quietly, knowing it was a risk to push him further. "Your mother, your sister, your brother… You abandoned your house loyalty for what? To avenge wrongs you suffered as a child? To prove you matter because having the biggest and oldest dragon isn't enough? And where did all this lead you?"

Aemond’s hands gripped the windowsill so tightly you could see his knuckles whiten. His back was to you, but you could feel the violent tension rolling off him. "They never saw me," he whispered, low and venomous. "Not truly. I was always the second son, the lesser, the shadow of Aegon. And now they would dare question my rule?"

"They did see you, Aemond. Perhaps not in the way you wanted, but they cared about you in their own twisted way. You still have time to make this right. You don’t have to—"

"Enough!" He whirled on you, his patience snapping. The rage in his eye was feral, unhinged, as if your words had struck a nerve too deep to bear. He advanced on you again, his tone icy. "You think I will grovel before them, beg for their forgiveness? I am Aemond Targaryen, the rider of Vhagar, the right ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. I will not be questioned by anyone. Not by my family, not by you."

His hand shot out and gripped your arm, firm but not painful, though the threat lingered in the air between you. His touch was cold, as though all the warmth had been leeched from him by the cruelty he had embraced.

"I am not here to question you," you said, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I’m here because I know you. Beneath all this, I know there’s a part of you that doesn't want to rule like this. You’re stronger than the hatred you’re clinging to, Aemond."

His eye searched yours for a long, agonizing moment, as if trying to find some weakness, some opening to crush. And yet, he hesitated. His grip on your arm tightened, but his face betrayed something you hadn’t seen in him for a long time—doubt.

For a heartbeat, you thought he might let go, that the cruelty might crack, but then he released you abruptly and turned his back once more. The coldness returned, the wall between you rising higher than before.

"You think you understand me," he said, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. "But you’re wrong. I will not bend. And you’d be wise to remember your place."

You stood in silence, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a cloak of frost. There was still a glimmer of hope, buried deep beneath his anger and pride, but it was slipping away, just as he was.

"If you continue down this path, Aemond," you said softly, taking a step back, "you’ll end up with nothing but ashes in your hands."

He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The silence between you spoke volumes, and as you turned to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just witnessed the last flicker of light before the darkness consumed him entirely.

Perhaps one day he would see reason. Or perhaps, like his dragon, he would only ever know how to burn.

And if that day came, you feared even you might not be able to save him.

The door creaked behind you, the weight of your words still heavy in the air, but Aemond's silence held you rooted to the spot for a moment longer. You had seen the fleeting doubt in him, but that spark was suffocated as quickly as it had surfaced. His back remained turned, his gaze locked on the darkening horizon beyond the Red Keep’s windows.

You lingered by the threshold, hesitating. Leaving him like this—angry, alone—felt like sealing his fate. The civil war had already claimed too much; if Aemond fell further into his madness, there might be nothing left to salvage.

“I dreamt of Harrenhal,” you said softly, not quite looking at him. “Before the war… before all of this.”

Aemond stiffened, but he didn’t turn around. The mere mention of Harrenhal twisted something in him, something raw. You had struck another nerve, deeper than the last.

“I’ve seen the ruins in those dreams. I’ve seen you there, standing in the ashes.”

Still, no response. His silence was damning.

You took a breath and pressed on, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "That place… Harrenhal… it broke something in you, didn’t it?"

At that, Aemond finally turned, his single eye narrowing dangerously. “Broke me? Do not presume to know what I endured there.” His voice was a low growl, filled with a venomous bite. “Harrenhal did not break me. It forged me.”

There was a cold pride in his tone, but beneath it, you heard something else—something darker. You had heard the rumors, the whispers of what had happened at Harrenhal when Aemond had claimed the cursed castle. There had been blood, fire, and a cruelty even you had not imagined he was capable of.

“I know what you did there,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “The executions, the massacre. The blood on your hands… and for what, Aemond? What did it gain you?"

He stepped closer, the firelight catching the gleam of his sapphire eye. “It gained me control. Fear. Power.”

“Power built on ash,” you countered, your voice steady despite the cold dread pooling in your chest. "You didn’t need to kill all those people, Aemond. They weren’t your enemies; they were just… there.”

“They were in my way,” he said, as if that justified everything.

You shook your head, fighting the urge to step back from him. "The blood of innocents isn’t a price worth paying for your throne. Harrenhal… it’s cursed, you know that. It’s been a ruin since the day it was built, and now you carry that curse with you."

Aemond’s lip curled in a sneer. "Cursed? Don’t speak to me of superstitions. I don’t fear ghosts, nor do I fear the weight of my decisions. I did what needed to be done. And if I have to do it again, I will."

“You’ve become as cursed as the place itself,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “And it’s driving you mad.”

For a moment, his sneer faltered, and you caught a glimpse of something else—an unease that flickered in his eye before it hardened again. He was quick to push it down, burying it beneath layers of bitterness and pride.

Aemond turned away from you, pacing the room like a caged dragon. “I am not mad,” he hissed, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. “I see clearly, clearer than I ever have before. I see the weakness in my family. I see the cowardice in their hearts.”

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, frustration swelling with each word he spoke. “This isn’t about your family anymore, Aemond! This is about you. You’ve let your hatred consume you.”

“Hate is all I have left,” he said, his voice a quiet, dangerous whisper. “What else do you expect me to hold onto? Love? Forgiveness?”

His eyes bored into yours with a cold, mocking intensity, and you could see the bitterness in them—the pain he refused to admit, even to himself. He was a prince surrounded by shadows, a ruler with a kingdom of ash beneath his feet.

But there was something else—something that hadn’t been spoken of yet.

“Helaena…” you said, and Aemond’s jaw tightened visibly at the sound of her name. “She saw all of this before it happened, didn’t she? The blood, the war… the destruction of your family. She tried to warn you.”

The mere mention of Helaena seemed to crack something in him. He turned sharply, his voice trembling with a barely-contained fury. “Do not speak of my sister.”

“She loved you, Aemond. Despite all, she tried to save you with her prophecies, but you wouldn’t listen—”

“Her words were riddles,” he spat, advancing on you again. “Nonsense! How could she save me when she could barely save herself?”

You could hear the agony beneath his anger now, the guilt he tried so desperately to hide. Helaena’s death had wounded him more deeply than any battlefield loss, and you knew he carried the weight of it like a chain around his neck.

“Helaena wasn’t mad, Aemond. You know that. She saw things none of us could. She warned you—she saw this war, saw the death that would come if you continued down this path. And yet you ignored her, even when you knew she spoke the truth.”

Aemond’s face twisted with grief, but it was fleeting, quickly replaced by a mask of cold indifference. “It’s too late now. Helaena is gone. And her words…” He trailed off, his voice low and bitter. “They mean nothing anymore: I faced death and I'm still here.”

“They mean everything, Aemond.” You stepped closer, your voice urgent. “You’ve become the one that destroys everything it touches.”

He recoiled at that, as if your words had struck him harder than any blade. For a moment, you saw the raw, wounded soul beneath the cruel mask he wore, the boy who had once been overshadowed by his brother, by his family. But that boy was long gone, buried beneath layers of hatred and vengeance.

“I am a Targaryen, a rider of dragons, a ruler by fire and blood. I will not be cowed by whispers and riddles.”

You could feel the distance between you growing once more, the coldness settling in the room like a thick fog. Aemond had buried his humanity beneath the weight of his ambition, and no matter how hard you tried to reach him, the walls he had built around himself were too high to scale.

“If you continue like this,” you said softly, your voice filled with a deep sorrow, “you’ll end up destroying everything, just like Harrenhal. There’ll be nothing left but ruins.”

Aemond stood in silence, staring at the darkened horizon beyond the window, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You could see the war raging within him—the battle between the man he had once been and the monster he was becoming.

But in the end, the shadows won.

“Leave me,” he said coldly, his voice distant. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”

Your heart ached as you looked at him, knowing that you had lost him to the darkness. There was no reasoning with him now, no way to pull him back from the edge.

With a heavy heart, you turned and left the room, the weight of your failure pressing down on you. You had tried to save him, but Aemond had already chosen his path.

And it was a path that led only to destruction.

You paused again at the door, Aemond’s cold command echoing in your mind. Your hand hovered over the handle, but you couldn’t leave. Not like this. The ache in your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled from your lips, raw and trembling.

"Am I nothing to you?"

Your voice cut through the heavy silence, and for a moment, it seemed to still the air in the room. Aemond’s back remained to you, his figure unmoving by the window, but the tension in his posture deepened, like a bowstring pulled too tight.

He didn’t respond immediately, and you took a tentative step forward, your heart hammering in your chest. "After everything… after all these years… do I mean nothing to you? Or am I just another piece to be cast aside like the others?"

Aemond’s head tilted slightly, but he still refused to look at you. You could see his fingers tightening around the windowsill, white-knuckled with restrained anger. His silence felt heavier than any response he could have given.

"I stood by you when no one else would. I tried to understand you when even your family turned away. And yet, here I am, begging for the smallest scrap of the man I thought I knew." Your voice trembled, but you pressed on. "Am I nothing, Aemond? Is that what I am to you?"

At last, Aemond turned to face you, and the coldness in his eye sent a shiver through your spine. The firelight flickered across his sharp features, casting deep shadows that only made him look more like the ruthless dragonlord he had become. But in that moment, there was something else, buried beneath the layers of cruelty—a flicker of guilt, of something he couldn’t admit.

“You presume too much,” he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. “You think your presence here makes you special? That your words can change what I have become?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. "I thought I was more than just another voice in the crowd, Aemond. I thought I mattered to you. But maybe I was wrong."

His eye flashed with something you couldn’t quite place—rage, perhaps, or regret. It was fleeting, but enough to make your chest tighten painfully.

"You do not understand," Aemond said through gritted teeth, his tone laced with frustration. "You cannot understand. There is no room for sentiment, not in this war, not in my world. Feelings, loyalty, love—they are weaknesses, chains that bind me to the past. I cannot afford them."

You felt the sting of his words, but you refused to back down. "You think you’re strong by pushing everyone away, by cutting yourself off from the people who care about you? That’s not strength, Aemond. That’s fear."

His expression darkened, and he took a step toward you, his presence looming like a shadow. "Fear?" he scoffed. "Do you think I fear anything? I’ve faced dragons, war, betrayal, and you think this frightens me?"

"I think you’re afraid of feeling anything at all," you whispered, holding his gaze despite the storm you saw brewing in his eye. "You’re terrified that if you let yourself care, if you let yourself be human for one moment, everything you’ve built will come crashing down."

Aemond’s face twisted with a mix of anger and something far more vulnerable. "You know nothing of what I’ve built, what I’ve sacrificed. My family, my blood, all of it—gone. I have no place for softness, no place for—"

"For me?" you interrupted, your voice breaking. "Is that it? You have no place for me in your life anymore, either?"

For a long, excruciating moment, Aemond didn’t respond. His eye locked onto yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw something—some hint of the man you used to know, the man who had once allowed you close. But whatever softness had flickered in him was quickly smothered by the cold, unyielding mask of the prince regent.

He stepped back, his expression hardening once more. “You are asking questions you don’t want answers to.”

The cold dismissal in his tone was like a blade to your chest, and the silence that followed was suffocating. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, not in front of him.

"So I’m nothing," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. The realization hit you like a cold wave, and you turned away, your hand gripping the door handle. "After all this time… I’m nothing."

You moved to leave, but before you could open the door, Aemond’s voice cut through the room, softer now, almost pained.

“You were never nothing to me.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room seemed to freeze. You stopped, heart pounding in your chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. His voice, so controlled, so cold, had cracked, just for a moment. But it wasn’t enough—not after everything.

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes as the weight of his words settled over you. “You have a strange way of showing it.”

And with that, you opened the door and stepped out, leaving Aemond Targaryen standing in the shadow of the crown he had so ruthlessly claimed, alone with the weight of the choices he could never take back.

[theenchantresx]

Thanks to everyone who got me to 250 likes!

[theenchantresx]

Under the Prince’s Gaze

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen & fem! maid reader

Word Count: 1,150

Trigger Warnings: 18+, MDNI, prince/servant relationship, light coercion, dominance/submission themes, explicit sexual content, rough language, mild degradation

All images used here have been downloaded from Pinterest: credits to the original owners

The flickering candlelight danced across the walls of Prince Aemond Targaryen’s chamber. The hour was late, and the Keep had grown silent, save for the distant echo of footsteps and the rustle of servants finishing their tasks for the night. Within the room, Aemond sat on the edge of his bed, a small mirror before him as he cleaned his sapphire eye with a damp cloth.

His jaw was clenched, the muscles taut with concentration as he delicately wiped around the empty socket. The sapphire gleamed in the low light, a brilliant contrast to the shadows that played across his face. He exhaled softly, setting the cloth aside and picking up a vial of cleaning solution, preparing to finish the nightly routine.

A gentle knock on the door drew his attention, and his sharp eye turned toward the entrance.

“Enter,” he commanded, his voice low, yet carrying the authority of a prince.

The door creaked open slowly, and you stepped inside, your hands nervously clutching a bundle of clean clothes. You kept your gaze respectfully lowered, though you could still feel the intensity of his single eye upon you, its scrutiny like a weight pressing down on your skin.

"My prince," you said softly, bowing your head. "Your bath is ready, as you requested, and I’ve brought fresh clothes for you."

Aemond's gaze lingered on you for a moment before he set the vial aside. He was used to your presence by now; you were often the one tasked with seeing to his needs in the late hours. Still, there was something about you — the quiet, respectful way you carried yourself, the way your eyes never lingered on his face longer than necessary, the way you seemed to know exactly what he needed without him having to ask — that piqued his interest.

"You may set them down, there on that table" he said after a moment, his tone clipped but not unkind.

You stepped further into the room, your footsteps barely making a sound on the stone floor as you moved to place the clothes on a table in front of his bed. When you straightened, you found yourself stealing a glance at him — at the way his long, silver hair fell over his shoulder, at the tension in his shoulders, the rigid line of his back. You could tell something weighed heavily on him, though you would never dare to ask what.

As you turned to leave, Aemond’s voice stopped you.

"Wait."

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Slowly, you turned back to face him, your hands clasped in front of you as you awaited his command.

"Come here," he said, his voice softer now, though still carrying that edge of authority that made your pulse quicken.

You hesitated only for a moment before obeying, stepping closer until you were standing just before him. Up close, the intensity of his presence was even more palpable, and you had to fight to keep your composure under the weight of his gaze.

"Look at me," he ordered quietly.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you lifted your eyes to meet his. His eye studied you, searching for something you couldn’t name. His face, though handsome in a sharp, almost cruel way, held a vulnerability in this moment, his sapphire eye catching the candlelight and gleaming with a strange kind of beauty.

He raised a hand, and your breath hitched as his fingers lightly grazed your cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost hesitant, as though he wasn’t used to such things. His thumb brushed the corner of your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You don’t look at me with pity," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Why?"

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to answer. "I… I would never presume to pity you, my prince," you said softly. "You are strong. Fearsome. There is nothing to pity."

Aemond’s lips twitched, a shadow of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate line along your jaw, his touch growing bolder as he seemed to consider your words.

"And yet, you tremble," he observed, his tone both teasing and predatory. "Do I frighten you, little one?"

Your breath came quicker now, your heart pounding in your chest. "No, your grace," you whispered, though the way your body reacted to his closeness betrayed the truth. It wasn’t fear that made you tremble — not exactly. It was something deeper, something more dangerous.

Aemond chuckled softly, a vibrant sound that sent heat pooling low in your belly. His hand slid down to your throat, resting there lightly as his eye bored into yours. "You lie well," he mused, his voice dark and velvety. "But I can feel your pulse racing beneath my fingers. You are afraid… but not of me."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. The scent of him — leather, smoke, and something uniquely his — filled your senses, making your head spin.

"I think," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "you are afraid of what you want."

His words sent a shock of heat through you, and your knees nearly buckled as his hand tightened ever so slightly around your throat. You let out a shaky breath, your body instinctively leaning into him, drawn to the dark allure of his presence, to the raw power he exuded.

Aemond’s free hand slid around your waist, pulling you against him in a possessive grip. The contrast between his firm hold and the delicate way his fingers traced your skin left you breathless, your body tingling with anticipation.

"I could have you," he murmured, his lips ghosting over your neck. "Right here. Right now."

The promise in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you bit your lip to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape.

"Would you let me?" he asked, his tone daring, yet almost tender. "Would you submit to your prince?"

Your head swam with the intensity of the moment, with the conflicting emotions that warred within you. Every instinct screamed at you to pull away, to maintain the boundaries that separated servant from prince. And yet… every fiber of your being yearned to stay, to give in to the fire that burned between you.

"Yes," you whispered, the word escaping your lips before you could stop it.

Aemond’s eye darkened with satisfaction, and in a swift motion, his lips claimed yours. The kiss was fierce, possessive, filled with all the pent-up desire and tension that had been building between you. His hand tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, while the other tangled in your hair, holding you to him as though he feared you might disappear.

You melted into him, your body responding to his every touch, his every command. The kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that sent your heart racing.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your bodies pressed together, your skin tingling from the intensity of his touch.

"Good girl," Aemond whispered against your lips, his voice a dark, seductive purr. "Now… let’s see how well you obey your prince."

Aemond’s grip on your waist remained firm, grounding you even as your head swam with desire. Every inch of you was aflame under his touch, a mixture of fear, anticipation, and raw need.

His fingers traveled down to the laces of your bodice, toying with the ties as though savoring the power he held over you. He paused for a moment, his eye locking with yours, a question unspoken between you. You gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and that was all he needed.

With a flick of his wrist, he began to undo the laces, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he enjoyed watching your skin gradually being revealed to him. Each tug of the fabric brought a fresh wave of anticipation, and the cool air of the room made your skin prickle as your bodice loosened. His touch, though teasing, was methodical, precise — like everything about him.

You couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips when his hand slid beneath the fabric, fingers grazing your bare skin. He smirked at the sound, his eye never leaving yours as he lowered his head to place a heated kiss on your collarbone. You gasped at the sensation, your knees trembling as his mouth continued its descent, lips brushing over your chest, each touch more possessive than the last.

“You tremble so easily,” Aemond murmured against your skin, his voice a deep, husky whisper. His hand cupped your breast through the fabric of your dress, his thumb brushing over the peak with deliberate slowness. “Have you thought about this? About me? I think you have.”

You swallowed hard, the truth burning on your tongue. You had. How could you not? Every night spent in his presence, watching him from the corner of your eye, feeling the weight of his gaze on you even when you weren’t looking. You’d tried to push it away, to bury the desire that stirred within you whenever he was near, but now, with his hands on you, his lips marking you as his… there was no hiding it anymore.

“Yes,” you whispered, barely audible, your confession making your body shiver against his.

Aemond’s smirk deepened, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he spoke again, his breath warm and intoxicating. “Good. Then there will be no need for restraint tonight.”

He pulled back just enough to shrug out of his own shirt, tossing the fabric carelessly aside. You couldn’t help but let your eyes roam over his body, his lean muscles flexing as he moved, the scars of past battles marking his skin. His chest was as chiseled as the stone walls of the Keep, every inch of him a reminder of the warrior he had become, of the deadly precision that defined him. Your gaze was drawn to the blue sapphire nestled in his eye socket, gleaming with an otherworldly light, a symbol of both his power and his pain.

And yet, here he was before you — vulnerable in his own way, baring not just his body but his desire for you.

Aemond took your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Do you know how many nights I’ve thought of this?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “How many times I’ve watched you, imagining what you’d look like beneath me?”

The confession sent a jolt of heat straight through you, your breath hitching in your throat. His lips claimed yours again, this time more urgent, more demanding. His tongue swept into your mouth, exploring, tasting, as his hands moved to rid you of the rest of your clothes.

Your dress pooled at your feet, leaving you exposed under the candlelight. You stood there, vulnerable and trembling, as his eye raked over your body with unabashed hunger. Aemond reached out, his fingers skimming over your waist, your hips, before pulling you flush against him, his heat searing against your bare skin.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, the admiration in his voice sending a thrill through you. “Every inch of you… mine.”

His hand slid between your thighs, and you gasped at the intimate touch. He moved with deliberate slowness, teasing you, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips as he explored your body. His other hand moved to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads rested against one another.

“Look at me,” he demanded softly, his voice edged with a possessiveness that made your core tighten.

You obeyed, meeting his gaze. His eye burned with intensity, his focus solely on you, as if the rest of the world had faded away. The weight of his stare was both exhilarating and terrifying, as if he could see right through you — to your very soul.

Without warning, he pushed you back onto the bed, his hands guiding you until you lay beneath him. Aemond hovered over you, his long silver hair framing his face like a veil as he looked down at you with a mixture of hunger and awe. His lips curved into a smirk, and he lowered himself, his body pressing down against yours, his heat mingling with your own.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his voice both a command and a plea. “Say it.”

Your breath came in shallow gasps as his body pressed against yours, his hands exploring your every curve. Every nerve in your body was alight, burning with need, with want. You parted your lips, your voice trembling with desire.

“You,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I want you, my prince.”

Aemond’s lips curled into a feral grin, and in one swift motion, he claimed you completely.

[theenchantresx]

Bound by fire

Aemond Targaryen & wife! reader

Word Count: 1,349

Trigger Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, depictions of injuries and blood, themes of possessiveness and dominance, angst, smut, not proof read

The battle had ended, but its aftermath lingered like a shadow over the keep. The air in Aemond Targaryen’s chambers was thick with the scent of fire and blood, the echoes of war still resonating in the walls. Y/N entered the room, her heart heavy with both relief and anxiety. She had waited for him, her husband, with bated breath, fearing the worst. Now that he was here, alive but wounded, her concern turned to the task of tending to his injuries.

Aemond sat in the armchair, his posture regal despite the exhaustion that clung to him. The dim light of the fire cast flickering shadows across his chiseled features, making him appear both ethereal and dangerous. His silver hair, usually meticulously kept, now fell in disarray around his face, partially obscuring the sapphire eye that glowed with a dim, weary light. He had discarded his armor, leaving his torso bare, revealing the extent of his injuries. Cuts and bruises marred his alabaster skin, but the most severe gashes ran along his chest and down the sharp V of his abdomen.

Y/N swallowed hard, her gaze lingering on the angry red slashes that marred his flesh. She approached him slowly, her hands trembling slightly as she set down the basin of water and the bundle of cloths she had brought with her. Aemond’s eye followed her every movement, his silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. He watched as she dipped a cloth into the water, wrung it out, and then hesitated for the briefest of moments before placing it gently against one of his wounds.

Aemond hissed at the initial sting, his muscles tensing under her touch. But he did not pull away. Instead, he leaned back, closing his eye as if surrendering to the care she offered. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she worked, each gentle swipe of the cloth revealing more of his torn skin, more of the pain he endured. She couldn’t help but notice the way his body responded to her touch—the subtle clenching of his jaw, the way his breaths became shallow.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eye opened, meeting hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. “It’s nothing I can’t bear,” he replied, his tone low and gravelly. “I’ve had far worse.”

Y/N nodded, but her concern was far from alleviated. She moved closer, her knees brushing against the edge of the table as she leaned in to tend to a particularly deep cut just above his hip. Her fingers worked deftly, cleaning the wound with practiced care. The proximity between them was intoxicating—the warmth of his body radiating towards her, the scent of leather and smoke mingling with the heady aroma of the herbs she used to dress his injuries.

As she finished with the last of his wounds, Y/N found herself lingering, her hands still resting on his skin. The room seemed to grow warmer, the flickering flames of the hearth casting a golden hue over them. Aemond’s gaze had never left her, and now, as she looked up, she realized just how close they were. The tension between them crackled like the fire in the hearth, unspoken desires simmering beneath the surface.

Without thinking, Y/N shifted slightly, her thighs brushing against his knee, which was still clad in the leather of his battle-worn trousers. The sensation sent a jolt through her, and she gasped softly, her cheeks flushing with heat. Aemond’s eye darkened, a wicked glint flickering within it. He tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice laced with something dangerously seductive. “You might find yourself in a position you’re not ready for.”

Y/N swallowed hard, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she met his challenge with a soft defiance that surprised even herself. “Maybe I’m exactly where I want to be,” she whispered, her words barely audible over the crackling fire.

Aemond’s gaze burned into hers, and for a moment, the room seemed to freeze in time. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he placed his knee firmly between her thighs, the leather rough against her sensitive skin. The friction ignited a fire deep within her, her body responding instinctively as she pressed down, seeking more of that intoxicating sensation.

He let out a low growl, his hands moving to grip her hips, pulling her closer until she was perched precariously on the edge of the table. “Is this what you want, Y/N?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper that sent shivers down her spine.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she rocked her hips against his leg, the friction sending waves of pleasure through her. Aemond’s hands tightened on her, guiding her movements with a possessive intensity that left her gasping for breath. The heat between them was overwhelming, their shared need palpable in the air.

Aemond leaned forward, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Then take it. Take what you want.”

His words were a command, and she obeyed without hesitation. Y/N moved against him with increasing urgency, her hands clutching at his shoulders for support. The edge of the table dug into her thighs, but she hardly noticed, too consumed by the sensation of him against her, the way his knee pressed between her legs, creating a delicious pressure that made her head spin.

But then, she felt something else, something even more intimate. Aemond’s hand slipped from her waist, fingers trailing up her side with a deliberate slowness that made her shiver. His touch was both gentle and possessive as it moved higher, tracing the curve of her ribs, the softness of her skin. Y/N’s breath hitched, anticipation curling in her belly as his hand continued its journey, sliding around to her back, pulling her closer until her chest pressed against his.

Then his other hand moved lower, fingertips grazing the exposed skin of her thigh, just below where her dress had ridden up. His fingers were rough from battle, but his touch was achingly tender as they brushed against her inner thigh, sending a thrill of heat straight through her core. Y/N gasped, her hands clenching around his shoulders as she instinctively arched into him.

Aemond's mouth found her neck again, his breath hot and heavy against her skin as his fingers continued their slow, torturous exploration. He dragged his knuckles against her, the friction driving her to the edge of sanity. His thumb brushed against her most sensitive spot, drawing a shuddering breath from her lips as he began to circle it with maddening precision.

“Does this please you?” he whispered against her ear, his voice dripping with dark promise.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling with the weight of her desire. “Gods, yes.”

Aemond’s fingers pressed deeper, coaxing soft whimpers from her as he worked her with a deliberate skill that spoke of experience, of a man who knew exactly how to unravel her. His lips found hers, capturing her gasps in a bruising kiss as his fingers brought her closer and closer to the brink.

The pressure of his knee between her thighs, the heat of his body against hers, and the relentless rhythm of his fingers—all of it combined into a heady mix that drove her mad with need. Y/N was lost to the sensations, her mind a haze of pleasure as Aemond took control, his grip on her unyielding, his touch unrelenting.

Just as she thought she might shatter, Aemond’s hand stilled, his fingers pausing just at the brink, leaving her teetering on the edge of release. Y/N whimpered in protest, her hips rocking against his hand, desperate for the pleasure he had so cruelly denied her.

“Aemond, please,” she begged, her voice a breathless plea.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze burning with a predatory hunger as he looked at her. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “I want to feel you fall apart for me.”

Y/N’s heart raced as his fingers began to move again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if savoring every reaction he coaxed from her. His other hand slipped into her hair, tugging gently to expose the curve of her neck, his mouth descending to kiss the pulse that fluttered wildly beneath her skin.

With a soft cry, Y/N felt herself unravel completely, her body trembling as Aemond finally gave her what she needed. The world around her seemed to disappear as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her body tightening and releasing in a torrent of sensation that left her gasping for breath.

Aemond held her through it all, his touch grounding her as she came apart in his arms. When it was over, she slumped against him, her forehead resting on his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. Aemond’s hands were gentle now, soothing as they stroked her back, his lips pressing soft kisses against her temple.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice a mix of triumph and affection. “Never forget that.”

Y/N nodded weakly, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure. She looked up at him, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but filled with a fierce love that matched his own. “Always,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible.

In that moment, with the fire crackling beside them, the glowing candles casting soft light over their entwined bodies, and the lingering tension of the battle finally giving way to something deeper, Y/N knew that she was exactly where she belonged.

[theenchantresx]

Thanks to everyone who got me to 50 likes!

[theenchantresx]

Fire of Vengeance

Summary, Prelude and Chapter 1 here

Characters : Aemond Targaryen & Visenya Velaryon

Word Count: 1,700 (more or less, I added a couple of little paragraphs)

Warnings: Dark Themes, Non-Consensual Undertones, Manipulation, Immorality, War and Political Intrigue, voyeurism, prelude and plans of SA, Not proofread

The images above and the previous ones were taken from Pinterest: credits to the original owners

Chapter 2: The Gathering Storm

The afternoon sun was barely a memory as dark clouds rolled in, bringing with them a tempest that would not be denied. The winds howled, tearing through the sky with a ferocity that even dragons feared. Visenya Velaryon, on her mission to rally Lord Borros Baratheon to her mother’s cause, found herself at the mercy of the storm. The original plan had been to reach Storm’s End by evening, but the brutal weather had other designs.

Vardyx landed with a reluctant thud in the courtyard of an ancient, abandoned castle she had spotted through the sheets of rain. The stone structure was worn by time and the elements, its once grand walls now a shadow of their former glory, but it was the only shelter in sight.

Visenya hurried inside, her cloak heavy with rain and her boots squelching on the cold stone floor. The interior was as bleak as the storm outside, with a damp chill that clung to everything. She quickly found what seemed to be the main hall, its hearth long cold and the air thick with the smell of decay. With practiced hands, she managed to ignite a small fire in the hearth, its flames weak but a small comfort against the encroaching cold.

As the flames began to flicker to life, she heard the distant roar of another dragon, its cry almost lost in the howl of the storm. Her heart sank. There was only one dragon that would be out in this storm, heading the same way she was. Vhagar.

Moments later, Aemond Targaryen strode into the castle, his tall, dark figure cutting through the gloom with an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. His single eye, gleaming with a cold light, locked onto her as he approached.

“Visenya,” he greeted her with a smooth, almost mocking tone. “It seems you and I are both at the mercy of this storm.”

“So it appears, Uncle” she replied evenly, refusing to rise to his bait. “I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone else on this route.”

Aemond smirked, clearly enjoying the situation more than she did. “Fate has a way of bringing people together in the most unexpected of places, don't you think, Niece?”

“It seems the storm has forced our paths to cross,” she responded, attempting to keep her tone neutral.

He smirked, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “Or perhaps the storm simply reveals what was inevitable.”

Visenya turned away, focusing on tending the fire. “This castle will have to suffice for the night. The storm is too fierce to continue my journey.”

“Yes,” Aemond agreed, though there was something in his voice that made her skin prickle. “A pity. I’m sure you were eager to plead your mother’s cause before Lord Borros.”

He knew, she thought. She could feel his eyes on her, probing, searching for a weakness.

“I am here on behalf of my family,” she replied, keeping her voice steady. “As you are here for yours, I presume.”

Aemond chuckled, a dark sound that echoed through the empty hall. “Does your mother send you out to rally support for her cause all alone and in the cold? Should this be her job, or is your fake queen afraid to get her hands dirty?”

Visenya turned sharply to face him, her eyes blazing with anger. “She is our queen—”

“Yes, exactly,” Aemond interrupted, his voice a low, taunting whisper, “only yours.”

There was a moment of tense silence, the crackling fire the only sound between them. Visenya’s jaw tightened as she fought to keep her composure.

“She’s too important for us,” she finally said, her voice firm despite the tremor of emotion underlying it. “It’s not right to send her to do these tasks.”

Aemond took another step closer, his eye narrowing as he studied her. “Important enough to send her children into the storm, while she remains safe behind the walls of Dragonstone? How noble.”

Visenya bristled at his words, but she knew better than to rise to his bait. She held his gaze, refusing to back down.

"Our mother carries the weight of our house,” she said. “We all do our part.”

“And what part will you play in this war, Visenya?” Aemond’s voice was softer now, almost gentle, but the threat beneath his words was unmistakable. “Will you be the dutiful daughter, rallying banners for a lost cause? Or something more?”

His question hung in the air, heavy with implications that sent a chill down her spine. She knew he was testing her, searching for any sign of weakness he could exploit. But she would not give him the satisfaction.

“The cause is not lost,” she replied, her voice steady, though her heart pounded in her chest. “Not while there are still those loyal to the true queen.”

Aemond’s smile was thin, almost cruel. “Loyalty is a fragile thing, Visenya. It can be bought, broken, or twisted to serve one’s own ends.”

The firelight flickered across his face, casting sharp shadows that made him look more sinister than ever. Visenya could feel the tension in the room, thick as the storm raging outside, and she knew that whatever game Aemond was playing, it was only just beginning.

She tried to ignore the tension that crackled in the air between them. But Aemond was not one to be easily dismissed.

He settled himself near the fire, closer than she would have liked, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the distant roar of the storm. But Visenya knew that this silence was only temporary.

“Lord Borros is a man of ambition,” Aemond said suddenly, breaking the quiet. His tone was casual, but his words were carefully chosen. “He values strength, not empty promises. What exactly do you intend to offer him on your mother’s behalf?”

Visenya kept her gaze on the flames, unwilling to reveal too much. “Lord Borros knows what’s at stake. He’s no fool.”

“Indeed he’s not,” Aemond agreed, his voice smooth. “But neither is he a man easily swayed by sentiment. What can Rhaenyra offer him that will ensure his loyalty?”

“We both know that the Iron Throne offers more than just gold or land,” Visenya replied carefully. “Loyalty to the rightful queen secures not just Borros’ future, but his legacy.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly, a subtle sign that her words had not gone unnoticed. “Legacy is a powerful motivator, I’ll grant you that. But Borros has daughters of his own to think of. Marriages, alliances... these are the currency of war. What bride price is your mother willing to pay?”

“We’re not pawns,” Visenya said, meeting his gaze. “We’re players, with our own roles to fulfill.”

Aemond’s smile widened, though there was little warmth in it. “Ah yes, duty. The heavy burden we all must bear. But tell me, Visenya, how much of this duty is truly yours, and how much is simply your mother’s will?”

She hesitated, unsure of how to answer. The truth was, she had always done what was expected of her, never questioning the orders she was given. But now, faced with Aemond’s probing gaze, she found herself doubting for the first time. Was she here because she believed in her mother’s cause, or because she had no other choice?

“You speak as if you have a choice,” Aemond continued, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “But we both know that in war, choice is a luxury. We are all pawns indeed... in a game that was set in motion long before we were born.”

“We’re not pawns,” Visenya repeated, though her voice lacked conviction.

Aemond regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Hmm... Very well, niece. We shall see how far your sense of duty takes you.”

The hours dragged on as the storm outside refused to relent. The castle’s cold, damp walls seemed to close in around them, the air thick with the unspoken tension between them. Aemond remained near the fire, his presence a constant reminder of the danger that lurked beneath his calm exterior.

As night fell, the fire began to dwindle, the warmth it provided no longer enough to ward off the chill. Visenya’s clothes were still damp, her skin prickling with the cold. She knew she couldn’t go on like this, not if she wanted to get any rest.

“I need to get rid of this dampness,” she murmured, more to herself than to Aemond.

Without waiting for a response, she made her way to a small adjoining chamber she had found earlier. It was as bleak as the rest of the castle, but it offered some privacy. Inside, she found a rusty basin filled with water that had leaked in from the storm. The water was icy cold, but she had no choice.

She began to undress, her fingers numb as she struggled with the laces of her dress. The fabric, soaked through with rain, clung to her skin, making the task even more difficult. At last, she managed to peel it off, the wet cloth falling to the floor with a heavy thud. She removed her clothes, cloak and undergarments, leaving her shivering in the cold air.

The moonlight filtered through a narrow window, casting a pale, ethereal glow over her body. In this light, her dark hair seemed almost silver, a reflection of the Targaryen blood that flowed through her veins.

She stepped into the basin, gasping as the freezing water bit into her skin. Her breath hitched, her nipples hardening from the cold. But she forced herself to continue, washing away the grime and the lingering discomfort of Aemond’s earlier gaze.

Little did she know, that very gaze was still upon her. Aemond had not left her side for long. His curiosity, his need to dominate, had drawn him back to her. He watched her through a narrow crack in the dilapidated door, his eye tracing the curves of her body as she bathed.

Duty and honor should have made him turn away, but something far darker held him there. The sight of her, vulnerable and unaware, stirred something deep within him. What had started as a desire for revenge was now tainted with a yearning that both thrilled and unnerved him.

Visenya finished quickly, the cold too much to bear for long. She reached for her clothes, only to remember they were still soaked through and lying in a heap on the floor. With no other choice, she grabbed her damp cloak, wrapping it around herself as best as she could.

As she stepped out of the chamber, Aemond retreated into the shadows, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and something else—something he wasn’t ready to name. The storm outside continued its assault on the castle, but the storm within him had only just begun.

[theenchantresx]

Fire of Vengeance

Characters : Aemond Targaryen & Visenya Velaryon

Word Count: 1,060

Warnings: Dark Themes, Non-Consensual Undertones, Manipulation, Immorality, War and Political Intrigue, prelude and plans of SA, Not proofread

Summary: The Dance of the Dragons has set fire to the realm, but Aemond Targaryen's vengeance burns hotter than dragonfire. With his left eye taken by Lucerys Velaryon, Aemond has harbored a deep-seated desire for revenge. But as the flames of war engulf the Seven Kingdoms, he devises a plan more cunning and cruel than any before. His target? Visenya Velaryon, the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and sister to Jacearys, Lucerys, and Joffrey. In her innocence, Aemond sees a way to not only exact revenge on Lucerys but to strike at Rhaenyra's very claim to the throne. By taking Visenya's virtue, he aims to tarnish her honor, thus shattering her prospects for marriage and the alliances Rhaenyra so desperately needs.

Prologue: The Spark of Vengeance

The bitter cold of Harrenhal's ancient stone walls did little to soothe the burning rage in Aemond's chest. Every time he closed his eye—the one he had left—he saw the smug face of Lucerys Velaryon.

The memory of the boy's taunting smile as he took Aemond's eye would haunt him until his dying day. But Lucerys wasn't the only Velaryon who lingered in Aemond's thoughts.

Visenya Velaryon, the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and sister to Jacearys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, had long been a figure of fascination. Unlike her mother and the false Velaryon father, Visenya bore the darker features of House Strong. Her curly black hair framed a face that held the proud lines of her ancestry, and her eyes—dark as her brother Jace’s—seemed to hold secrets as deep as the sea in torment in the heart of the night.

She was more than just a prize; she was a weapon, one that could either strengthen Rhaenyra’s claim or, if wielded properly, shatter it. Aemond knew that Visenya was key to many of the alliances Rhaenyra hoped to forge. A maiden of "royal" blood with unblemished honor—her future marriage was a linchpin in the delicate balance of power.

But Aemond’s thoughts were not of honor. They were of revenge. If he could ruin her, if he could tarnish her reputation beyond repair, he could deal a blow to Rhaenyra that no sword could match. The prospect of destroying Visenya’s future, of ensuring that she could never be the perfect bride her mother needed her to be, was too tantalizing to resist.

Aemond had never desired anything more than he desired to break Visenya. Not with a blade, as he dreamed of doing to Lucerys, but with something far more intimate, far more personal. It would be his ultimate victory, one that would echo through the history of House Targaryen.

Chapter 1: A Dangerous Game

The first time Aemond saw Visenya after his plan took shape, she was astride her dragon, Vardyx, flying above Dragonstone. Her black curls were wild in the wind, her expression fierce and commanding. She looked every bit the warrior princess, a fitting heir to her mother's legacy. But when their eyes met—dark meeting sapphire—Aemond saw more than just a formidable opponent. He saw an opportunity.

The war had brought her to the front lines, closer than she had ever been before, and Aemond seized upon it. He began arranging encounters, carefully orchestrating moments where they would be alone, but never out of sight of others. Each meeting was a careful dance—Aemond playing the part of the concerned prince, a man who could sympathize with the burdens she bore.

Visenya, however, was no stranger to the game of thrones. She met his attempts with suspicion, her sharp eyes never quite trusting the sincerity of his words. But she was also pragmatic, and she knew that outright rejection could be seen as a sign of weakness in the deadly dance of war and politics. And so, she played along, though her every move was calculated.

One afternoon, as they walked alone in the gardens of Dragonstone - enemy territory but at least enough hers to make her feel safe - Aemond decided to push further. The sun was low, casting long shadows across the stone paths, and the air was heavy with the scent of salt from the nearby sea. Aemond spoke softly, his tone laced with a carefully crafted mixture of concern and admiration.

“You deserve more than this,” he began, his voice low and earnest. “A lady of your stature should be cherished, not reduced to a mere pawn in this war.”

Visenya stopped walking and turned to face him fully, her dark eyes narrowing as they searched his face for the trap she was certain lay beneath his words. “And what do you suppose I should be instead, Uncle? A prize to be won? A tool to be used?”

Aemond smiled, a slow, almost predatory curve of his lips. “I think you are far more than that. I think you are someone who should be free to make her own choices, someone who should command respect, not just for her birthright, but for the woman she is.”

Her gaze did not soften, but Aemond could see the flicker of confusion in her eyes. He was beginning to unsettle her, and that was exactly what he wanted. The seeds of doubt were being sown, and it was only a matter of time before they took root.

“I know you do not trust me,” Aemond continued, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And perhaps you are right not to. But know this—I understand you, Visenya. We are not so different, you and I.”

Visenya held his gaze, her posture rigid, every inch the warrior. But Aemond could see the struggle in her, the war between her instincts and the game they were playing. She was strong, but even the strongest could be broken.

“I will never be what you want me to be, Aemond,” she finally said, her voice steady, though there was a note of something—uncertainty, perhaps—that pleased him.

Aemond reached out, gently taking her hand, his touch soft but firm. “We shall see, niece. The dance is far from over.”

As they walked back toward the keep, the sun dipping below the horizon, Aemond felt the stirrings of triumph. He had taken the first step in his plan, and with each encounter, he would draw her further into his web. Soon, Visenya Velaryon would be his, and with her, he would exact his revenge on those who had wronged him.

[theenchantresx]

Flames of the North

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/Elyria Stark (OC)

Summary: Sent to Storm's End as a messenger of her House, Elyria Stark did not expect to find herself in the midst of courtly intrigue. But when she catches the eye of Prince Aemond Targaryen, duty and desire clash in a dance of fire and ice.

Word Count: 3,900 words

Warning: smut, violence ... Nothing else (?) not proofread

The storm that battered the walls of Storm's End was a mere whisper compared to the tempest within Elyria Stark. The winds whipped her cloak around her as she strode through the castle's halls, her thoughts a tangled knot of duty, desire, and fear. She had never expected her simple mission to deliver a message from the North to Lord Borros Baratheon to spiral into this—a dangerous dance with a prince as wild and untamable as the dragons his House commanded.

From the moment she had arrived, she had sensed the undercurrents of tension in the air, but she had not anticipated the force of Aemond Targaryen. He was not like the stories she had heard, not just cold and calculating, but something fiercer, darker—a man driven by a fire that threatened to consume everything in its path.

She had witnessed that fire firsthand, seen it in the way he looked at her, a gaze that seemed to strip away her defenses and expose the raw, vulnerable heart beneath. Aemond was not a man to be crossed, and yet, she found herself drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

It had been a mistake, she knew that now, to think she could remain unaffected by him. She had come to Storm’s End with a single purpose, to serve her House and return to Winterfell unscathed. But Aemond had a way of unraveling her carefully laid plans, of igniting something within her that she had long kept buried.

Now, as she stood in the great hall of Storm's End, facing the furious glares of the Baratheon sisters, she realized just how deeply she had been pulled into Aemond's orbit. The storm was no longer just outside; it was here, in this very room, crackling in the air like lightning about to strike.

"You've bewitched him, haven't you?" Maris Baratheon hissed, her voice dripping with venom. The eldest of Lord Borros's daughters, Maris had always been the most ambitious, the most determined to secure her place as the future queen consort. "Prince Aemond was meant to choose one of us, to unite our houses. But now, thanks to you, everything is ruined."

Elyria held her ground, though her heart raced with the tension in the room. "I have done nothing but fulfill my duty as a Stark. Whatever choices Prince Aemond makes are his own."

Cassandra Baratheon, ever the composed one, stepped forward with a steely gaze. "Do not play coy, Lady Stark. We all saw the way he looked at you, the way he followed you out of the hall last night. You have stolen his attention, and with it, our future."

"I did not ask for his attention," Elyria replied, her voice firm despite the unease gnawing at her. "I came here to deliver a message, nothing more."

But even as she spoke, she knew it was a half-truth. She had felt the heat of Aemond’s gaze, the way it burned into her, the way it had made her pulse quicken and her breath hitch. There was no denying the connection between them, no matter how dangerous it was.

Ellyn Baratheon, the most hot-tempered of the sisters, sneered. "Lies. You’ve bewitched him with your northern coldness, made him forget his duty to the Crown. But we will not let you destroy what is ours."

Before Elyria could respond, the door to the hall swung open with a force that made everyone flinch. Aemond Targaryen stood in the doorway, his presence like a thunderclap, silencing the room. His silver hair, tousled from the storm outside, framed a face carved from marble, cold and unyielding. But it was his eye—the one not hidden by the patch—that held the room captive, a blazing violet that promised retribution to anyone who dared cross him.

"What is this?" Aemond's voice was a low growl, each word laced with the threat of violence. "What are you saying to Lady Stark?"

Maris, ever bold, met his gaze, though her voice trembled slightly. "We are speaking of your duty, my prince. You were sent here to choose a bride, to secure the loyalty of House Baratheon, yet you have been distracted by this… northern girl."

Aemond's lip curled into a snarl, and he took a menacing step forward. "My duty? Do you dare to lecture me on my duty, Lady Maris? I know what I was sent here to do, and I do not need the counsel of girls who think they understand the weight of a crown."

Elyria could see the fear in the sisters' eyes now, the realization that they had pushed too far. But Aemond was far from finished.

"I came here out of obligation, not desire," Aemond continued, his voice rising with barely contained fury. "But let me make one thing clear: I am not a prize to be won by the highest bidder, nor a puppet to dance on strings. I choose my fate, not my brother, not my grandfather, and certainly not you."

Cassandra, always the peacemaker, tried to step in. "Prince Aemond, we meant no disrespect—"

"Enough!" Aemond snapped, his eye blazing. "You speak of disrespect, but you stand here, daring to question my choices, my will. Do you think I do not see through you? You, who would tear each other apart for a chance at power, dare to challenge me?"

The hall was deathly silent, the sisters too stunned and terrified to speak. Elyria, too, felt the raw power of Aemond's wrath, but there was something else beneath it—a dark, simmering intensity that called to the very core of her being.

Aemond’s gaze finally turned to her, the storm in his eye softening ever so slightly. "Lady Stark, you will come with me. Now."

There was no room for argument in his tone, but Elyria found herself rooted to the spot, caught between the fury of the Baratheon sisters and the inferno that was Aemond Targaryen. "I—"

"Now," Aemond repeated, his voice a dangerous whisper that sent a shiver down her spine.

She nodded, unable to defy him, and followed as he turned and strode out of the hall, the tension in the room suffocating. The sisters watched them go, their resentment palpable, but none dared to stop them.

As they moved through the corridors, the silence between them was heavy, filled with the things neither dared to say. When they reached a secluded part of the castle, Aemond suddenly stopped, turning on her with a ferocity that took her breath away.

"Do you know what you’ve done?" he hissed, his hands gripping her arms, pulling her close. "Do you have any idea what you've unleashed?"

Elyria’s heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to flinch. "I did nothing but exist in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Aemond’s grip tightened, his eye blazing with that same dangerous intensity. "You have no idea, do you? From the moment I saw you, I knew—I knew that you would be my undoing, and yet I couldn’t stay away. You’ve stirred something in me, something dark and wild, and I am not a man who enjoys being out of control."

His words sent a thrill through her, mingled with fear. "Then let me go," she whispered, though even she knew it was a lie. "Release me, and we can both return to our duties, to our lives."

But Aemond only laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Release you? No, Elyria. I cannot. You are mine now, and I am yours, whether we like it or not. We are bound by this fire, this fury, and there is no escaping it."

Elyria’s breath caught as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a wave of heat through her. "You’ve awakened something in me, something that will not be tamed. Do you think I care for the Baratheons? For alliances? I care for one thing, and one thing only."

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze piercing, unrelenting. "You."

The word hung between them, heavy with the weight of all that it implied. Elyria’s heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears. She should be afraid, should be running as far from Aemond Targaryen as she could, but all she could feel was the pull, the inexorable draw towards the flame that was him.

"You are playing with fire, Aemond," she whispered, though there was no strength in her words.

Aemond’s lips curled into a dangerous smile, his thumb brushing against her jaw. "I am fire, Elyria. And so are you. Together, we will burn the world if we must."

And with that, he claimed her lips in a kiss that was fierce, demanding, full of the raw, untamed power that had always simmered beneath the surface. It was not a kiss of gentle affection, but one of possession, of dominance, as if he was marking her as his own.

Elyria responded in kind, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor. There was no room for hesitation, no room for doubt. In that moment, nothing else existed but the two of them, the fire that consumed them both, and the storm that raged within.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their gazes locked in a silent understanding. There was no turning back now, no returning to the way things had been before. The path they had chosen was fraught with danger, with darkness, but it was theirs.

"We are bound," Aemond said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "By blood, by fire, by fate. No one will come between us, not the Baratheons, not my family, not even the gods themselves."

Elyria nodded, her own voice barely above a whisper. "Then let the world burn, Aemond. If that is what it takes."

Aemond’s smile was fierce, triumphant, as he pulled her into another kiss, sealing their fate with the heat of their shared desire. And as the storm outside battered the walls of Storm’s End, inside, two forces of nature collided, forging a bond that would either lead to their destruction—or their ultimate victory.