•──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•

TW: Smut Content

Her chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, as though each breath demanded more effort than it truly should. The air in the chamber was heavy, almost suffocating, despite the open windows letting in daylight. The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the sound of laces being drawn tight and the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth.

She stood motionless on a small platform, struggling to maintain her balance as though her body refused to cooperate. Her legs felt like jelly, and her gaze wandered aimlessly around the room, seeking something to anchor herself. She avoided looking at the mirror, though she knew she would have to eventually. Finally, she forced herself to lift her head and face her reflection. What she saw was not what she had expected. The dim glow of candles cast a grayish hue on the glass, making her silhouette appear distorted. She looked more like a ghost than a young, noble lady. Her porcelain skin seemed almost translucent, devoid of any sign of life. The shadows under her eyes appeared deeper than ever, robbing her face of its former glow. Her purple eyes were dull and lifeless, though they once sparkled with vitality.

Her silver hair was meticulously styled into an elaborate updo, adorned with a small golden diadem at its peak, while delicate pearl earrings hung from her ears, glimmering faintly in the pale candlelight with every slight movement she made.

The gown she wore, though undoubtedly magnificent, brought her no joy. Its creamy white hue and the velvet texture of the fabric contrasted sharply with the dark walls of the chamber. The sleeves ended at her elbows, cascading into long, flowing trains lined with crimson silk. A golden embroidery on the bodice formed a V-shape, decorated with a motif resembling dragon wings.

This was no ordinary dress. It was her mother's wedding gown.

Maegelle closed her eyes, trying to push away childhood memories of when, as a little girl, she would dream about her wedding day. In her imagination, she had always seen herself joyful, radiant, and surrounded by the love of her family. It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Now, however, she felt like a prisoner being led to the gallows. She was not happy, even if she was to marry the man she loved with all her heart. All she felt was a bitter taste of regret and emptiness.

Despite the crowd of people surrounding her, she felt lonelier than ever before. Their gazes seemed cold, judging her every move. She felt like prey, surrounded by a pack of predators waiting for the right moment to pounce. She knew exactly who was responsible for this state of affairs — her mother had made sure she wouldn't forget.

Alicent had ensured that Maegelle would quickly regret her actions. During the wedding preparations, she had sent away Harra, her closest servant, depriving Maegelle of the only person she felt at ease with. Harra's place had been taken by a trusted maid of the queen, who meticulously monitored every step the princess took, reporting all her actions. She could do nothing outside the rigid framework imposed on her, making her feel like a prisoner in her own home.

What hurt her most, however, was her separation from Aemond. She hadn't seen him in many days, and each passing hour without him seemed to stretch into eternity. She wondered what he thought of all this. Was he happy? Or, like her, did he feel only unease? With each passing second, new doubts flooded her mind, tearing her heart into even smaller pieces.

At the same time, she couldn't stop thinking about Gerold. She pictured his face when he learned of the broken engagement. He had always been so kind, so respectful toward her. The thought of betraying his trust was unbearable. If only she had known what her mother had planned... If only she hadn't given him false hope that she held deeper feelings for him. If only she hadn't ruined everything.

She felt unworthy of respect or, least of all, love. Not after how many people she had hurt in her pursuit of happiness. Everything she did seemed only to bring suffering to others.

Deep down, she longed to flee, to disappear and start anew, but she knew it was far too late for that. All she could do now was suffer in silence.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the emotions bubbling within her, but it was no use. Her stomach clenched tightly, and she felt bile rising in her throat. Grief was like poison, slowly seeping into her heart and soul. The tears that had recently streamed down her cheeks had long since dried, leaving only crusted traces behind. She bit her lower lip until it bled, forcing herself to straighten up. She had to be strong. If she wasn't, no one else would do it for her.

She winced quietly as Talya, her mother's handmaiden, tugged too harshly on the laces at her back. Pressing her hand to her stomach, she struggled to catch her breath, feeling the fabric digging into her skin.

"Too tight," she muttered hoarsely, breaking the silence.

Her words immediately drew her mother's attention. Alicent, standing by the window with an inscrutable expression, turned abruptly toward her. The woman raised an eyebrow, fixing Maegelle with a cold, measured gaze.

"You always find something to complain about, don't you?" she said in a calm, calculated tone. There was no anger in her voice, only an unforgiving edge, as though every word had been carefully chosen to strike at her most vulnerable point. "You should have thought about this sooner before you forced my hand. So don't expect me to conjure up a new gown befitting the daughter of a king in less than two weeks. You should be grateful you have any dress at all."

The maids in the room exchanged quick glances, but none dared to speak. Maegelle lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning with shame and humiliation. She knew exactly what her mother meant. Alicent had a way of weaving her words so subtly that they betrayed nothing to outsiders, yet cut deeply where it hurt most. Each of her barbs was another needle piercing Maegelle's heart.

She pressed her lips together, trying to rein in her emotions. She was tired — not just physically, but emotionally. If she truly was such a burden to her mother, she had no intention of begging for forgiveness any longer. The emptiness her mother left behind was punishment enough.

The queen sighed and nodded at the red-haired maid, who silently finished tying the gown. Maegelle felt the fabric constrict her movements, but she said nothing more.

At that moment, a soft knock came at the door. All eyes turned toward it, but none of the women present moved to answer. Irritated by their inaction, Alicent approached the door herself and cracked it open. She froze at the sight of who stood on the other side.

"Ser Gerold," she said in evident surprise, meeting her cousin's gaze. Her fingers nervously tightened on the doorknob, though she maintained a neutral tone in her voice.

The man raised his eyes. His usual warmth and liveliness were replaced by a somber, almost dimmed expression. He straightened slightly, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Your Grace..." he replied softly, and Maegelle, still standing on the platform, stiffened at the sound of his voice.

"What brings you here, ser?" Alicent asked, striving for politeness, though her movements betrayed her unease.

Gerold hesitated, as if weighing the wisdom of what he was about to say. His gaze rested on the queen before flickering toward the room's interior.

"I..." he began, but quickly trailed off. Clearing his throat, he straightened again. "May I speak with the princess? Alone," he added, his eyes briefly scanning the assembled maids. "It will only take a moment."

Alicent frowned, her skepticism evident. She studied him carefully before glancing toward Maegelle, who had turned her back on them, avoiding their gazes as if they were fire. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. She had already endured enough embarrassment when she had to break the news of his broken engagement to her daughter. Yet, seeing the plea in his expression, she sighed heavily and nodded.

"Of course," she said quietly. She opened the door wider, allowing Gerold to enter. The door clicked softly shut behind the queen as she left the room with the maids, leaving Maegelle and Gerold alone.

A heavy, almost suffocating silence filled the room. Maegelle stood with her back to Gerold, trying to steady her rapid, uneven breaths. Her shoulders were tense, and her hands nervously clutched the fabric of her gown. She didn't dare look at him — not after what had happened.

Gerold's gaze lingered on the silhouette of the princess, turned away from him. He could see her unease. Taking a cautious step forward, he moved as if afraid that even the slightest sound might startle her. In his hand rested a small object, clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He took a deep breath, breaking the silence.

"Princess, I..." he began, though his voice faltered momentarily. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to continue. "I came to apologize. I had no idea things would turn out this way."

Maegelle tensed at his words. Clasping her hands in front of her to hide their trembling, she nervously picked at the skin around her fingers to calm herself. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, and her thoughts swirled, leaving her at a loss for words. Finally, she spoke, though her voice was barely audible.

"It's not you who should apologize — it's me," she whispered, her voice trembling. She squeezed her eyes shut and hunched her shoulders, as if trying to shield herself from his gaze. "I made a fool of you in front of everyone, leading you on."

Gerold took another step toward her, his expression softening. He wanted to reach her, to break through the walls she had built around herself.

"I knew what I was doing. No one forced me into anything," he said firmly.

Maegelle gasped softly, struggling to regulate her shallow, uneven breathing. She clenched her hands into fists, battling the storm of emotions inside her.

"But was it worth it?" she asked bitterly, still not looking at him. "To endure a lifetime of whispered rumors about you, even if they're just lies? Was it worth the price?"

"Every moment spent with you was worth its weight in gold," he said earnestly, his voice imbued with an undeniable sincerity. "And I will never change my mind about that, even if you marry another."

A single tear escaped from Maegelle's tightly shut eyes, sliding down her cheek and catching the sunlight. She turned slowly to face him, pain evident in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Gerold. If only..." she began, but her voice broke. "If only I had known it would end this way, I would never have let it happen. Then neither of us would have to suffer."

Gerold shook his head, a faint but sorrowful smile gracing his lips.

"You couldn't have known. To be honest, I didn't realize it myself until a certain point. But when my uncle proposed a marriage between us on behalf of the queen, something inside me... came alive," he admitted, pausing to gather his thoughts. "I never planned to marry, as I told you before. In all my life, I was never interested in any woman... until I met you."

Maegelle looked at him with a mixture of pain and guilt. Her hands trembled again as she clasped them tightly in front of her. Gerold lowered his gaze, his shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of the conversation.

"I know you don't share my feelings, Princess, and I don't expect that to change," he said bitterly. "But..."

"Gerold..." she began, but the knight interrupted her.

"Let me finish," he said, looking at her with gravity. "Please." At his plea, she nodded silently, allowing him to continue. "I just want to know the truth."

Maegelle lifted her head, her heartbeat quickening.

"About what?" she asked, her voice trembling, though she knew exactly what he wanted to hear.

Gerold looked at her, and she could have sworn she saw tears glistening in the corners of his eyes.

"Do you love him?" he asked bluntly, his voice heavy with pain and regret. "You know who I mean. I just need a simple answer. Nothing more."

Maegelle drew in a sharp breath. She clenched her hands so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, sending a sharp pain through her. Finally, she nodded.

"Yes," she managed to say.

Gerold smiled sadly. Though his face remained calm, his eyes betrayed a deep sorrow.

"Very well. Thank you for your honesty. Not many would have the courage to be so truthful. I appreciate it."

Maegelle shook her head, her voice quivering with emotion.

"You shouldn't. I'm not worthy of your respect. You should curse me, wish for me to burn in hell for ruining your reputation."

Gerold sighed, and his expression softened.

"I don't care about my reputation. Only the Father has the right to judge His children. If anyone thinks otherwise, they should already be asking the Mother for mercy," he said, stepping closer to her. "Don't blame yourself for your ability to love. Blame those who cannot accept it." Maegelle stared at him, her eyes wide with disbelief at his words. Gerold offered a gentle smile, though sadness still lingered in his gaze. "I hope you remember that when I'm no longer here," he added quietly.

"You're leaving?" she asked, startled.

Hightower nodded.

"Right after the wedding. At dawn, I'll return to Oldtown."

"But... you don't have to leave just because—" she began, but he interrupted her with a soft gesture of his hand.

"I know... but my brother insists on my return home. Even if I were to stay, I know my presence wouldn't be welcomed by certain company. I don't want to make things more difficult for you." He glanced at the object he still held in his hand, then looked back at her. "I doubt we'll have another chance to speak before I leave, but I wanted to give you something. Would you turn around, Princess?"

Maegelle nodded and did as he asked. She felt his warm breath on her neck, then something cool rested against her skin. She glanced down, her fingers touching a pendant shaped like a seven-pointed star.

"It belonged to my mother. She gave it to me before her death, intending for me to give it to my future wife," he explained, his voice calm as he watched her.

The girl spun around abruptly to face him.

"I can't accept this. It's far too precious a gift!"

Gerold looked her straight in the eyes.

"I won't take no for an answer," he said firmly. "Please, do this one thing for me."

Maegelle sighed deeply. "Very well."

Gerold gave her a gentle smile.

"Now that that's settled, I'll leave you so you can prepare in peace," he said, turning toward the door. Just as he reached for the handle, her quiet voice stopped him.

"Ser Gerold."

He turned, glancing over his shoulder. "Yes, Maegelle?"

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "For everything you've done for me."

Gerold inclined his head, his smile faint but genuine.

"There's no need to thank me. That's just who I am." With those words, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Maegelle looked down at the pendant now adorning her neck. She grasped the seven-pointed star in her hand, clutching it tightly as though trying to draw strength from it — the strength she so desperately needed.

***

The echo of her footsteps reverberated through the cold, stone walls of the Great Sept, ascending toward the high vaulted ceiling where it was swallowed by the darkness. Each step, though carefully placed, sounded in her ears like the blow of a hammer. The air was thick with the scent of wax and incense, mingling with the chill of the stone and piercing her to the bone.

The long train of her gown trailed behind her, rustling softly against the stone floor. Silence enveloped the space, broken only by her own ragged breathing, which refused to steady. Her heart pounded erratically, almost painfully, as though trying to break free from her chest. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, focusing on not tripping over the hem of her dress.

The towering statues of the Seven loomed above, their stony visages illuminated by the flickering shadows of countless candles, casting an aura of awe and fear over all present. She felt their stern, unyielding gazes bearing down on her, scrutinizing her every step.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she tightened her grip on her grandsire's arm. It was only through his support that she remained upright. Otto Hightower, rigid and unyielding, guided her with a steady pace, as if the entire ceremony was merely another item on a list of duties he was obligated to fulfill. His gaze, as always, was cold. She felt no trace of support or compassion from him, only the weight of obligation carried out in the family's name.

It should not have been him. It was not his arm she should be clutching. Her father should have been the one to escort her to her future husband, but with the king's illness advancing, Otto had taken his place.

She stole a furtive glance at the gathered guests. Their faces, clear at first, began to blur as though she were peering at them through a pane of dark, thick glass. Their murmurs and whispers merged into a singular hum, incomprehensible to her. She was certain they were judging her, that each of them harbored thoughts she would rather never know.

Her legs felt like they were made of lead, her muscles faltering, while her heart raced uncontrollably. The urge to run overwhelmed her — to flee beyond the thick walls of the Sept, far from the prying eyes of all these people. Spots danced before her vision, and a cold sweat dampened her temples.

Then, suddenly, amid the sea of silhouettes, she caught sight of a familiar face — Gerold. He stood off to the side, partially obscured in the shadow of a column, his hands clasped behind his back. Sensing her gaze, he offered her a faint, fleeting smile and nodded almost imperceptibly. Yet it was enough.

The constriction around her chest eased. Her breath deepened, and her heartbeat began to steady. With a simple, unspoken gesture, he had pulled her back from the edge of the abyss.

She blinked rapidly, dispelling the dark spots from her vision, and the sounds around her rushed back as if a veil had been lifted. The faint rustling, distant murmurs, and the sound of her own footsteps on the stone floor — all became clear again. Swallowing hard, she straightened her posture and lifted her head with newfound determination. Her gaze shifted to the center of the Great Sept, toward the path leading her to her destination.

Between the statues of the Mother and the Father stood the Septon. A tall man in a long robe, he regarded her intently, as though trying to read her thoughts. But it was not his presence that caused her heart to freeze once more.

A little farther away, just beside him, stood Aemond.

He was turned slightly to the side, appearing entirely uninterested in the proceedings around him. In his hands, he held a cloak bearing the sigil of House Targaryen — a red three-headed dragon on a black field. Aemond's slender frame was unnaturally still, his gaze drifting aimlessly along the Sept's walls, as if the ceremony in which he played a role was no more than an unpleasant chore.

Hearing the sound of her footsteps, he turned slowly. Their eyes met, and a chill ran down Maegelle's spine. His piercing gaze bore into her, cutting through her defenses as if he saw more than she wanted to reveal. Her lips twitched slightly, as though she wanted to speak, but no words left her mouth. There was something in his expression — something she couldn't name — that made her feel utterly exposed, as though her innermost thoughts had been laid bare.

Otto came to an abrupt stop, just before a short flight of steps leading up to the dais. Maegelle halted as well, momentarily frozen in place. Without a word, Otto cast her a cool glance. She would have to proceed on her own. Reluctantly, she let go of his arm, her fingers trembling as she reached for the hem of her gown. Gripping the fabric, she lifted it slightly and began ascending the steps. Each step felt like an eternity, her legs threatening to give out beneath her, as if the weight of the moment might crush her entirely.

At last, she stood before the Septon, and Otto stepped away, offering her not a single word of comfort. He took his place beside the queen, leaving her alone. Maegelle could feel his gaze on her back but did not turn to look. She couldn't. Instead, she glanced at Aemond, who was still watching her intently. She could have sworn there was a flicker of satisfaction in his eye when he noticed her staring back at him.

The Septon cleared his throat softly, drawing the attention of everyone present.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection," he instructed, addressing the one-eyed prince.

Aemond unfolded the black cloak he held, its fabric stretching to reveal the Targaryen sigil. He looked at her, and she turned around, allowing him to drape the cloak over her shoulders. She gripped its edges to keep it in place, and together they turned their attention back to the priest. The Septon gave them a nod, prompting them to join hands. He then bound their clasped hands with a ribbon.

Aemond glanced at her, but Maegelle turned her gaze away, fixing it on the Septon standing above them. The priest began to speak again.

"The love of the Seven is holy and eternal. The source of life and love. We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife..." His eyes swept over the assembled guests. "And to join two souls as one. Father... Mother... Warrior... Smith... Maiden... Crone... Stranger."

Maegelle let her eyes wander over the crowd, locking onto Gerold's sorrowful gaze. Her heart clenched painfully. Aemond's hand tightened around hers, drawing her attention back to him. She looked his way.

"You look unhappy," he murmured, meeting her gaze. "Is this not what you've always wanted? For us to be married?"

Maegelle gasped softly, her eyes filling with tears.

"Not like this," she replied quietly, her voice trembling.

"Hear now their vows," the Septon continued.

Aemond turned to face her, and she did the same.

"I am yours, and you are mine, from this day until the end of my days," he said firmly, his gaze steady and solemn.

Maegelle glanced nervously at the crowd, her eyes catching her mother's stern face, glaring at them with an unrelenting stare. Her gaze shifted to Gerold, who turned his face away with visible regret. The ache in her heart deepened, knowing there was no turning back now.

She looked back at Aemond, who was watching her expectantly. His gaze was neither cold nor stern; his expression carried a warmth that surprised her. In his eye, she saw a depth of feeling she hadn't expected. Her lips parted slightly, and she looked at him with something akin to admiration. Her heart pounded in her chest.

"I am yours, and you are mine," she whispered, locking eyes with him. His lips curled into a faint smile. "From this day until the end of my days."

"Let it be known that Maegelle and Aemond of House Targaryen... they are one flesh. One heart. One soul," the Septon declared, untying their hands as they exchanged a glance, their grip on each other's hand tightening. "Now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

Aemond released her hand and gently cupped her cheek with his palm.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," he said, and she closed her eyes as he pressed a brief kiss to her lips.

The gathered guests erupted into applause for the newlywed couple, and together, she and Aemond turned to face the crowd.

She fixed her gaze ahead, feeling the weight of countless stares: her mother's piercing glare, her grandsire's cold, steely gaze, and the sorrow and regret emanating from Gerold. Her throat tightened, and nausea roiled within her. A single tear slipped down her cheek, quickly joined by another.

Aemond looked at her with concern and lightly touched her shoulder, prompting her to instinctively lean into his chest, sobbing quietly. He gently rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her, though it did little good. Gerold, watching the scene unfold, lowered his gaze in resignation.

The cheering crowd remained oblivious to the turmoil among them. Unbeknownst to all, there were three exceptional souls in their midst. Three hearts entwined by fate. And each of them was broken.

***

The feast following the wedding ceremony took place in a thick, almost oppressive atmosphere. The spaciously decorated hall echoed with the laughter of guests and the sound of music, leaving Maegelle with a pounding headache. For most of the evening, she sat silently beside Aemond, staring at the table laden with an array of dishes. Several times, she tried to start a conversation with her newlywed husband, but each time she fell silent, intimidated by Queen Alicent's stern gaze.

The guests reveled heartily, raising their cups in toasts to the newlyweds. They seemed oblivious to the tension among the royal family, maintaining a polite but distant demeanor toward one another. Even the well-wishes extended to the young couple felt hollow, uttered out of obligation rather than genuine sentiment.

When the feast finally ended, Maegelle felt an immense sense of relief, as if an invisible weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Moments later, she found herself in the chamber she was now to share with Aemond. As soon as the door closed behind her, she let out a heavy sigh and sank onto the soft mattress of the bed. Her hands immediately went to the diadem on her head, which she tossed into the corner without a second thought, uncaring if it was damaged.

Aemond entered shortly after her, shutting the door and glancing at her tired face.

"Is everything all right, ābrazȳrys?" he asked with concern, stepping closer. His voice, though as calm as always, carried a hint of worry.

Maegelle raised her eyes to him, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.

"Nothing is all right, Aemond. Our wedding was supposed to be the most beautiful day of my life, and instead, it felt like I was attending a funeral," she said, fixing her gaze on the floor.

Aemond crouched in front of her, taking her hand and pressing a gentle kiss to its back. He looked into her eyes with a seriousness that made it clear he wanted her to believe every word he spoke.

"Don't grieve, my wife. There's no reason to."

Maegelle frowned, her hand twitching as though she wanted to pull it away from his grasp.

"But mother—" she began, only for the one-eyed prince to cut her off mid-sentence.

"She's foolish to think that rejecting you would hurt you," he said firmly. "But you don't need to concern yourself with her anymore. Not anymore," he added, gazing at her with tenderness. "I'll see to that."

Maegelle looked at him with a mixture of relief and uncertainty. She nodded slowly, and he lifted her chin between his fingers, gently forcing her to meet his eye.

"Now stop tormenting yourself," he said in a softer tone. "You're far too beautiful to cry."

He placed a brief kiss on her forehead before standing and walking further into the room. For a moment, Maegelle watched him as if she wanted to say something, but she held back. Carefully, she got up from the bed and followed him with slow steps. Aemond, in the meantime, filled two goblets with red wine and pushed one toward her.

"Drink," he encouraged. "You'll relax and feel better right away."

Maegelle raised the goblet, only to pull it away from her face immediately. She grimaced as the bitter scent of wine reached her nose.

"I don't feel like it. Just the smell of it makes me nauseous."

Aemond shrugged, offering no comment. He took a small sip of his own goblet before setting it down on the table. For a while, silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. Maegelle glanced hesitantly around the room, realizing this was now her chamber as well. She had no intention of returning to her old room or living separately from her husband, as her mother did or as Aegon did with Helaena.

Her eyes fell on the mirror standing in the corner, and she walked over to it, gazing at her reflection. She sighed softly, noting that at least she no longer looked like a living corpse, as she had felt for most of the day. She reached for her ears, removing the ornate earrings and carefully placing them on the nearby table. The exhaustion of the day was beginning to take its toll on her.

Her hands moved to her back, trying to undo the laces of her dress, but the task proved more difficult than she anticipated. Usually, Harra took care of such things, but now she was on her own. With a loud huff, she glanced at the mirror and immediately caught Aemond's intense gaze as he watched her.

Her cheeks flushed bright red. Embarrassed, she turned her head in the opposite direction, clearing her throat before gesturing to the laces of her dress.

"Could you...?" she asked quietly, pointing to her back with evident shyness.

Aemond approached her without a word, his steps silent on the floor. He stopped just behind her, his cool fingers reaching for the laces of her dress. The moment his fingertips brushed against her skin, a shiver ran down Maegelle's spine. She held her breath, feeling his warm breath graze the back of her neck.

"You're trembling..." he observed in a low voice. "Shall I stop?" he added, lifting his gaze to catch hers in the mirror.

Maegelle shook her head, biting her lower lip.

"No... Continue," she replied softly, avoiding his gaze.

Aemond nodded, a subtle, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He resumed untying the laces of her gown, each movement deliberate and precise. The only sounds in the room were the faint rustle of fabric and the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth. Their eyes met in the mirror once again, and the tension between them seemed to grow with each passing moment.

"There's no need to be so tense," he murmured, breaking the silence. His voice held a gentleness that caught Maegelle off guard. His fingers lightly traced the curve of her exposed collarbone, his touch so delicate it was as if he feared startling her. "I won't hurt you."

Maegelle's lips parted slightly as she tried to steady her breathing. "I know," she whispered.

Aemond studied her face in the mirror, as though he were trying to read her thoughts. After a moment, he leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. Maegelle's eyelids fluttered closed as his warm breath caressed her skin.

"You need to relax, ābrazȳrys," he whispered softly.

Maegelle drew in a sharp breath when she felt the tip of his nose glide gently along the curve of her neck. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and her breathing grew shallow. Aemond's slender fingers finally undid the last of the laces, freeing her from the constricting fabric. Maegelle instinctively grabbed the gown, holding it against her chest before it could slip away completely.

Aemond let out a quiet hum, a sound that seemed both amused and calming. It was a noise that simultaneously annoyed and reassured her. He seemed fully aware of the effect he had on her, and there was a trace of satisfaction in the way he carried himself. Instead of speaking further, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the nape of her neck. Each touch sent a wave of warmth through her, spreading across her body and making her knees feel weak.

His lips traveled lower, trailing kisses down the length of her spine. The delicate press of his mouth against her skin made her shudder again, her breath coming faster. A soft gasp escaped her lips when she felt him gently nip at her skin.

Startled by her own reaction, she turned abruptly to face him. For a moment, they stood there in silence, the tension between them almost palpable. Before Aemond could say anything, Maegelle rose onto her toes and fervently pressed her lips to his. The kiss was passionate, heated, and filled with a yearning that had been building within her for the past two weeks.

Aemond let out a low hum, responding to her kiss with equal intensity. His hands rested on her waist, their touch both firm and tender. He pulled her closer until there was barely any space left between them. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, the beat of his heart, and the strength of his arms encircling her.

Her own hands found their way to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair. She breathed heavily, taking shallow breaths between their kisses. She trembled under his hands, yet she craved even greater closeness. Aemond's lips carried a hint of sweetness, laced with the subtle bitterness of the wine he had drunk earlier. The combination made her lose all sense of reality.

In his arms, it felt as though the world ceased to exist. All her problems, worries, and fears disappeared with every brush of his lips. Only one thing mattered — that she was here, with him.

When she had laid with him for the first time that night weeks ago, she had sought to feel like his, even if only for a fleeting moment. Now, she was truly his wife — in the eyes of the law, of the people, and of the gods.

She wanted to feel that way again, to forget the world for just one night, even if reality would come crashing back with the dawn. She wanted to be his once more.

She longed for it like never before.

As if reading her thoughts, Aemond's hands gripped the fabric of her dress, pulling it downward. It fell to the floor with a soft rustle. Maegelle paid it no mind, kicking it aside as she lost herself completely in their kiss. His hands settled firmly on her hips, gripping her skin with enough force to draw a quiet gasp from her lips. Aemond smiled at her reaction and, as though she weighed nothing at all, lifted her into his arms, setting her down on the surface of a nearby table, sending its contents clattering to the floor.

Maegelle shivered as her body came into contact with the cool surface of the table. Her eyes widened as she fixed her gaze on her husband. Her lips, swollen from his heated kisses, seemed to plead silently for more of the sweet torment he was inflicting on her.

Aemond positioned himself between her thighs as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, seeking his lips once again. Her hand caressed his right cheek gently, her fingertips tracing the line of his scar. When her fingers encountered the leather strap of his eyepatch, she quickly tugged it free, a soft chuckle escaping her as she broke the kiss and noted the expression on his face.

Smirking playfully, she claimed his lips once more, silencing his disgruntled huff as she pulled his face back to hers. Aemond, not to be outdone, pressed her down gently, urging her to lie flat against the table. Maegelle bit her lower lip as she watched him lean over her, his lips grazing the skin of her collarbone. His head dipped lower, leaving a trail of wet kisses along her body.

When his warm breath fanned over the sensitive skin of her lower abdomen, she squeezed her eyes shut, her nails digging into the wooden surface beneath her.

Aemond lifted his gaze to her, his eye ablaze.

"Look at me, ābrazȳrys," he commanded, his voice rough yet laced with undeniable desire.

Maegelle opened her heavy eyelids, meeting his intense stare through the curtain of her lashes.

"Do you want me to bring you pleasure, ābrazȳrys?" he asked sweetly, placing an innocent kiss on her stomach. She bit down on her lip, feeling her teeth break the delicate skin in the process. His hands slid along the outer sides of her thighs, gripping them tightly, drawing a moan from her lips. "Do you want me to satisfy you with my own hands?"

"Yes," she panted, her breath hitching as she struggled to regain control.

The corner of Aemond's mouth curved upward into a smirk. "Sȳz riña," he murmured.

His fingers slowly slid inside her, making her gasp loudly as she felt him within her. He moved a few times, then cursed under his breath.

"Fuck. Are you always this wet, or is it just me who does this to you?"

Maegelle could only moan in response as he quickened his pace, driving her to madness.

Again and again, his fingers slipped inside her, accompanied by soft sighs. Maegelle thought she had seen it all in life, but quickly changed her mind when his hand joined by his tongue.

She felt light-headed. She didn't even know it was possible to satisfy someone this way, let alone for it to be so pleasurable.

Her body writhed under his touch, experiencing sweet torment at his hands. Aemond's fingers moved tirelessly, giving her the pleasure she so desperately craved.

But she wanted more. She needed more.

"Aemond..." she whispered softly, drawing his attention.

"Yes, my dear wife?"

She tightly clenched her hands, digging her nails into the palms as his mouth sucked on her clit.

"I..." she started, but immediately moaned as he resumed his action.

"You..." he added, smiling under his breath, seeing her glazed eyes fixed on him. "What do you desire, Maegelle?" he asked tenderly. "Should I stop, or maybe just the opposite?" The girl shook her head. Her chest was rising and falling faster. "Or do you want to feel me inside you, filling your womb with my sweet seed? Do you want me to put my child inside you, my sweetling?"

Without a word, she nodded. Aemond grinned mischievously, leaning in to kiss her. Gently, he took the girl in his arms, then carried her toward the bed. His feet stopped just before it, and he carefully lowered her onto the mattress as he stripped off his clothes in the meantime.

Maegelle gasped, watching him with curiosity. She bit her lower lip thoughtfully, looking at him with fascination written in her eyes. Aemond swallowed hard. "What could this innocent girl do to his senses?" he wondered.

He leaned over her, then thrust forcefully into her mouth. Maegelle moaned, and he smiled through the kiss. Her sweet lips tempted him, almost begging him to taste them over and over. Her nipples hardened under his touch, whenever he fondled her shapely breasts with his free hand. His wife's body trembled and writhed in his arms, pleading for more. And he was more than happy to fulfill her desire.

He grabbed her hips, pulling her body toward his, then thrust his hardened cock inside her. Maegelle cried out, but he quickly silenced her with his lips, merging their mouths in a heated kiss.

Once the initial shock had passed, the girl began to slowly move up and down with a little assistance from Aemond. Her breath caught in her lungs, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Aemond's hands dug into her hips so tightly that they were likely to leave bruises on her skin, but she didn't mind. With a sigh, she rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes, which he quickly took advantage of, thrusting his tongue back into her mouth in a dominant struggle.

With each passing second, their movements grew faster and deeper. Aemond occasionally slowed down, teasing Maegelle, only to hear an annoyed gasp from her in response. Each time, he smiled, kissing her swollen lips again.

Their breaths became heavier, drawing them both closer to the desired finish. Maegelle let out a loud sigh, hiding her face with embarrassment in the curve of his neck as she felt herself reaching her climax. Moments later, she felt something warm spread inside her, and Aemond let out a muffled groan, pressing his lips to her shoulder.

For a moment, they stayed still, surrounded by silence, broken only by the sound of their uneven breaths. Aemond gazed at Maegelle's flushed cheeks, and his hand lifted to gently brush away a few stray strands of hair that had escaped her carefully arranged hairstyle. Her gaze, full of warmth and emotion, met his, and her lips slightly parted.

"I love you," she whispered softly, almost with a tremble in her voice, sliding her fingers along his right cheek.

Aemond took her small hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to it.

"I love you too," he replied, leaning his forehead against hers.

***

The heavy doors closed behind her with a loud, dull thud that echoed across the castle courtyard. She clutched the hem of her gown to keep from tripping over her own feet as she ran down the stone steps. Her heart pounded like mad in her chest, and her breath quickened as she spotted Gerold's figure. He was just taking the reins from the stable boy, ready to mount his horse and ride away without a word of farewell.

"Ser Gerold, please wait!" she called, drawing the attention of onlookers.

The man turned at the familiar voice, his face momentarily showing surprise as he saw the girl running toward him.

"Maegelle? Shouldn't you be with your newly wedded husband now?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She reached him, panting heavily. In her eyes was seriousness, and her face held determination.

"Aemond can wait, but you apparently can't. Were you planning to leave without a word of goodbye?" she demanded, her voice teetering between anger and pain.

Gerold looked at her with visible regret. His gaze briefly darted to the side, searching for the right words.

"I thought it would be better..." he sighed heavily.

"Better for whom? For you or for me?" she retorted with a mix of reproach and sorrow in her voice. "That's not how it's done, Gerold."

The man looked at her with visible sadness.

"Forgive me, Princess," he replied resignedly.

Maegelle clasped her hands in front of her, trying to maintain what little dignity she had left, though tears shimmered in her eyes.

"I deeply regret how things turned out," her voice softened, but still trembled.

"So do I." Gerold raised his gaze to her, his look gentling as he noticed the necklace around her neck. A small smile touched his lips. "You didn't take it off?" he asked with obvious surprise.

Maegelle touched the pendant, which gleamed in the morning sunlight.

"If wearing it helps fill the void after you leave, I'll wear it for the rest of my life," she said firmly.

Gerold felt his heart tighten in an invisible vice. For a moment, he remained silent, looking at her with sorrow. When he saw a tear slide down her cheek from the corner of her eye, he instinctively stepped closer. He let go of the reins of the horse and gently lifted her chin.

"Hey, there's no need to cry," he said softly, trying to comfort her. "We can always meet again. If not here in the capital, you can always fly to Oldtown on your dragon. Your brother, Prince Daeron, would certainly welcome your visit. So would my niece and nephews, and I'm sure my brother Ormund and your uncle Gwayne wouldn't mind either."

Maegelle tried to smile, though her voice still quivered with emotion. "That's a great idea," she nodded.

Gerold looked at her with concern, his gaze softening even more.

"Maegelle—" he started, but she interrupted him before he could say anything else.

"I know, I know... I shouldn't be crying. A princess shouldn't do that," she tried to inject some lightness into her voice, but the tears streaming down her cheeks told a different story.

Without a word, he wrapped her in his arms. The warmth of his embrace brought her a temporary sense of relief, and she nestled against him, sniffling like a child.

"I don't want you to leave," she whispered in a trembling voice. "I don't have many friends in the Red Keep..."

Gerold gently patted her back in reassurance.

"You know I can't stay, even if I really wanted to," he replied softly. He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. "But you're not alone, Maegelle. I know I don't always see eye to eye with Prince Aemond, but I know you're in good hands. I trust he won't betray my trust regarding you, my dear friend."

The girl blinked, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

"Ñuha jorrāelagon raqiros," she said softly.

Gerold furrowed his brows. "I don't understand."

"Ñuha jorrāelagon raqiros," she repeated with more calm. "It's Valyrian for 'my dear friend'."

Hightower returned the smile, though a trace of melancholy lingered in his eyes.

"In that case, ñuha jorrāelagon raqiros."

The silence that settled between them was thick with unspoken words. Gerold leaned down, placing a tender kiss on the top of her head, to which Maegelle closed her eyes, wanting to remember the moment forever. When he pulled away, a gentle yet sorrowful smile lingered on his face.

"It's time for me to go," he said softly.

"I understand."

Hightower moved away from her, taking the reins of his steed and nimbly mounting its back. Maegelle looked up at him, and he nodded in response.

"Goodbye, Gerold," she finally whispered with a trembling voice.

"You too, Maegelle."

He glanced back at her one last time before spurring his horse toward the open gate. Maegelle stood still, watching as his figure slowly faded into the distance. Her shoulders began to tremble slightly, and the tears she had been holding back flowed freely now.

Hearing soft footsteps behind her, she wordlessly turned and nestled into Aemond's chest. The boy silently wrapped his arms around her, pulling her trembling form closer. Rocking her in his embrace, he gently stroked her back.

"I know. You don't have to say anything," he whispered softly before she could speak. "I just know."

Maegelle squeezed her eyes shut and let the silence between them speak for itself. In his arms, she found brief solace, though deep down, a searing pain still smoldered.