AN:
I will be dropping the next update once this chapter hits more comments and 25+ votes!

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The dawn breaks with a soft light filtering through the high, narrow windows of the bedchamber, casting a pale glow over the silk sheets tangled across the floor. Aemond blinks awake, the familiar weight on his chest grounding him instantly. He is not alone; Daervon lies draped across him, his head resting on Aemond's stomach, one arm wrapped possessively around his waist. For a moment, Aemond simply stares down at his lover, a small, fond smile curving his lips.

He moves to sit up, careful not to wake Daervon, but the latter groans, his grip tightening.

"My love," Aemond whispers, brushing a hand through Daervon's dark hair. "Someone's at the door."

Daervon grumbles, barely opening his eyes. "At this hour?"

The knocking persists, more urgent this time, yet Daervon only buries his face deeper into the crook of Aemond's hip. "Pretend to be asleep. They'll leave."

Aemond's chest vibrates with soft laughter. "It's been a while. Must be something important."

"I'm certain they can wait." Daervon clings tighter, his sleep-muddled words stubborn.

"Go to sleep," Aemond murmurs, pressing a kiss to Daervon's brow. "I'll be back soon. And when I return, I'm all yours."

Daervon hums sleepily, his grip finally loosening as he falls back into the world of dreams.

Aemond watches him for a moment longer, the steady rise and fall of his lover's chest soothing him. Then, quietly, he slides from the bed, gathering a tunic and pants from the floor. He glances over his shoulder once more before pulling the door open, and his face instantly falls as he meets his older brother's smirking visage. "Aegon."

"Brother," Aegon slurs, his eyes glassy and unfocused. "Did I wake you?"

"You did." Aemond's tone is clipped, annoyance seeping through. "It's too early. Go bother someone else."

Aemond moves to close the door, but Aegon wedges his boot in the gap, grinning drunkenly. "Let me in, or I'll scream." He leans forward, whispering conspiratorially, "I'll have the entire Red Keep gathered outside your bedchambers in no time."

Alarm prickles through Aemond, though his expression remains cold. With a swift motion, he pulls his brother inside, slamming the door behind him.

Aegon, ever the opportunist, lets his eyes wander over the room, clearly expecting to find something scandalous. Aemond steps into his line of sight, his posture tense as he blocks the view of the bed.

"What do you want, Aegon?" Aemond snaps, his patience thinning.

Aegon waves a dismissive hand, but a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. "I heard noises last night. From your bedchambers. Who was it?"

Panic flickers in Aemond's eye. "You were mistaken."

"I was drunk, brother, not deaf. Who was it? A handmaiden, perhaps?" Aegon's smirk grows, leaning closer, clearly enjoying Aemond's discomfort.

"I am not you," Aemond retorts sharply, glaring at his brother.

Aegon laughs, stepping past Aemond before he can stop him. As he stumbles toward the bed, his eyes scan the room hungrily, searching for evidence. His gaze pauses briefly on the Soul Reaper - Daervon's unmistakable sword - and the honey badger-hilted dagger lying on the settee. For a brief moment, recognition flashes in Aegon's eyes, but his intoxicated mind quickly moves on, more focused on uncovering Aemond's secret.

"I knew it," Aegon says triumphantly as he stands by the messy bed, eyes gleaming with self-satisfaction. The sheets are tangled, clothes strewn haphazardly across the bed, though, thankfully, no one is in sight. Aemond breathes a silent sigh of relief.

But his respite is short-lived. Hidden in the shadows, Daervon watches from a blind spot Aegon had walked right past. His eyes are sharp, cold with fury. His shirt hangs open, half-buttoned, and his dark pants are hastily pulled on, but even in his disheveled state, Daervon emanates a quiet, dangerous power.

Aegon lounges smugly, the corner of his lips twisted in amusement as he glances at Aemond. "You sneaked in a whore then? Did you fuck her like a hound?" He barks like a dog, laughing loudly at his own joke, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Aemond barely spares him a glance, unimpressed. "Are you done?"

"Not exactly." Aegon snickers as he theatrically searches the room, even going so far as to peer under the bed. "Where did you hide your whore?"

Before Aegon can process what's happening, Daervon moves like a shadow, stepping forward with predatory grace. His hand grips the back of Aegon's neck with swift precision, forcing him down. Aegon lets out a yelp of pain, his earlier bravado evaporating as Daervon's grip tightens.

"He is right behind you," Daervon murmurs with quiet menace, holding Aegon firmly in place.

"How dare you? I am a prince!" Aegon's voice is a mix of outrage and fear as he struggles against Daervon's hold.

"Fuck your princely warnings. Apologize to your brother. Right now." Daervon's voice is low, each word a threat.

"S-sorry, Aemond," Aegon stammers, his voice trembling.

"Mean it." Daervon tightens his grip, and Aegon gasps, pain flashing across his face.

"I'm sorry!" Aegon repeats, more earnestly this time, terror clear in his eyes.

Aemond watches the scene unfold, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. For once, it feels good to see his older brother cower after years of torment and bullying.

Daervon leans in, his lips brushing dangerously close to Aegon's ear. "You seemed to enjoy barking like a hound. Do it again. This time, on your knees."

"He apologized. It's enough." Aemond's voice is calm, though there's a glint of amusement in his eye. "Let him go."

Daervon releases Aegon reluctantly but not without a final warning. "If you utter a single word about this to anyone-"

"I won't," Aegon blurts out, shaking his head frantically.

"Good. Now get out." Daervon's tone leaves no room for argument, and Aegon scrambles for the door, his fear overriding his drunkenness.

As the door slams shut behind him, Daervon sighs, his tension melting away. He turns to Aemond with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you let him treat you like that?"

"He's my brother," Aemond responds, though his tone lacks conviction.

"Well, fuck your brother." Daervon shrugs out of his shirt, tossing it aside as he falls back onto the bed. He pats the empty space beside him. "Come back to bed and hold me."

Aemond chuckles softly, joining him. "You're so needy."

"And you love it," Daervon teases, pulling Aemond down for a kiss. It's slow, lazy, the kind of kiss shared between two people who have nothing to prove and all the time in the world. When they finally break apart, Aemond wraps his arms around his lover, holding him close as they drift back into sleep.

Daervon stirs awake not only to the familiar warmth of Aemond's embrace, but also to the cold, piercing stare of his uncle. Vidor stands at the foot of the bed, his posture rigid, arms crossed over his chest, his face a careful mask. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, Daervon can feel the fury simmering just below the surface, the tension thick enough to suffocate the room.

"Good morning, uncle," Daervon mutters, sitting up slowly, unbothered by the storm brewing in Vidor's eyes.

Without a word, Vidor turns sharply, motioning for Daervon to follow. The younger man exchanges a brief look with Aemond before rising from the bed, dressing quickly. The prince gives him a smirk, but it fades as Daervon leaves the room.

The halls of the Red Keep are still and quiet in the early morning. The silence only magnifies Vidor's palpable frustration as they make their way back to Daervon's bedchambers to prepare for the day. His footsteps are heavy, while Daervon's are light, almost careless.

Vidor's anger remains unspoken, but every step he takes sends ripples through the air. The tension mounts, a storm waiting to break.

"I'm furious, but I don't dare to speak out," Vidor mutters through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowed as he watches Daervon stroll casually ahead.

"Then don't," Daervon replies with an indifferent roll of his eyes. His tone is sharp, a careless dismissal, as if Vidor's anger is an inconvenience rather than something of concern.

Vidor clenches his jaw. "It's bad enough that you're always sneaking off to fool around with the prince, but today of all days?" His voice lowers dangerously as his eyes catch the faint bruise blooming on Daervon's neck. His gaze darkens. "Gods, this love is going to fucking kill us all."

"Let death come for me," Daervon says coolly, almost as if daring it, his head held high as if the world could not touch him.

Vidor's nostrils flare, his patience wearing thin. "You might be fine being a flippant little shit, but I'd prefer to keep my head attached to my shoulders."

Daervon chuckles, his amusement faint but present. "The guests are likely resting in their apartments. Why are you so anxious, uncle? Are you Lady Shireen now?"

"If I were Lady Shireen, I'd break your legs on the wedding night," Vidor growls as they finally arrive at Daervon's bedchambers. He shoves the doors open, his temper simmering beneath the surface.

Once inside, Daervon strips away the remnants of last night's indiscretion, his clothes lying discarded on the floor, before sinking into the bath prepared by the maids. The warm water laps at his skin, soothing the tension that lingers in his body, though his thoughts are already elsewhere-perhaps with Aemond, perhaps with the upcoming meeting he so dreads. Vidor watches with a grimace, his arms crossed as if keeping himself from lashing out at his nephew.

"Can you stop pulling a long face?" Daervon mutters as he emerges from the bath, the water dripping from his dark hair. He dresses himself with languid ease, his movements unhurried. "If I look at you too much, I'll have bad luck the whole day."

"Since I became acquainted with a certain someone, I've been unlucky every day," Vidor retorts, his expression not softening even a fraction.

Daervon scoffs, fastening the clasps of his tunic with a lazy smirk. "And what exactly have I done this time?"

Vidor's lips twitch into an amused smile, though his eyes remain sharp. "As I said, 'a certain someone.' Why are you so eager to respond?"

"If you're so miserable," Daervon says with a mock sigh, "perhaps I should send you to patrol the palace."

"Thank you, young master," Vidor replies dryly. "I'll do as you say."

Daervon huffs, a sound of irritation. "You're so boring."

"Being boring will save me from your father's wrath," Vidor mutters under his breath before pulling a folded parchment from his jacket. He thrusts it toward Daervon with a pointed look. "Read this."

Daervon takes the letter, his brows furrowing as he unfolds it. His eyes scan the delicate handwriting-Lady Shireen's words, graceful and formal, but full of pressure. His expression twists with distaste, and he shoves the letter into his jacket pocket with a grimace.

"This is pure nonsense," Daervon mutters, his distaste evident in the way he spits the words.

"Now you know how I feel every time I deal with your bratty self," Vidor quips, crossing his arms with a faint smirk.

"Not everyone is lucky enough to bask in my glorious presence," Daervon jokes, though his tone is less light-hearted than usual.

"Glorious presence, my foot," Vidor scoffs, though amusement flickers in his eyes as they turn a corner and spot Princess Rhaenyra standing at the entrance to the courtyard.

Vidor bows low at the waist, making a quick retreat. His eyes flick to Daervon once more before he leaves, a silent warning in his gaze.

"Daervon, there you are," Rhaenyra says, her tone warm but laced with the weight of expectation.

"I shall marry for love, not for political gain," Daervon says, his voice laced with defiance. "I still don't understand why in the seven hells Father believes I would even consider this marriage. I will not wed the Stormcrest girl."

Rhaenyra's gaze softens with understanding, but her tone remains firm. "This was my idea, not Daemon's. You do not have to marry her, Daervon," she says gently. "Just speak with her. See how things go. For me?"

Daervon exhales sharply, his resistance wavering. "Fine," he mutters, resigned.

"Excellent," Rhaenyra says, her smile one of quiet triumph as they finally approach Lord Stormcrest and his eldest daughter.

The courtyard is filled with light, the stone walls gleaming under the morning sun. Standing among the group is Lady Shireen, a strikingly beautiful woman with cascading golden curls that frame her soft face. Her emerald green eyes gleam in the sunlight, set against her fair skin. There is a delicate grace to the way she carries herself, a gentle warmth in the soft smile that plays on her lips. She radiates an air of quiet composure, her slender figure adorned in a gown of deep green and gold.

"And you must be Lady Shireen," Rhaenyra greets with the grace of a queen, her gaze appraising but kind. "Do you enjoy your stay at King's Landing?"

"I do, Princess," Lady Shireen replies, her voice as gentle as her demeanor. "The Red Keep is as grand as the tales say. I find the gardens particularly beautiful."

Her words are spoken with a lightness that belies the tension in the air, her green eyes flicking toward Daervon for only a brief moment before returning to Rhaenyra.

"You are to make yourself at home, child," Rhaenyra says with a gracious smile before her gaze shifts to Daervon, a subtle warning in her eyes.

Daervon straightens, his posture stiff, though there's little enthusiasm in his tone. "I'm Daervon. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, my lady," he says, the words formal but hollow, barely sparing Lady Shireen a glance.

"We all are," Rhaenyra adds swiftly, her smile diplomatic as she glances back at the Stormcrest family. "Daervon understates our joy."

Rhaenyra's eyes meet Lord Stormcrest's, and the two share a knowing look. "Your correspondence made mention of some particulars you wish to discuss in person," she says. "Perhaps we can confer in private."

"Yes," Lord Stormcrest agrees with a nod. "We elders have some matters to attend to-trivial affairs, nothing to bore the young ones with." His eyes sweep over Daervon and Lady Shireen with a faint smile. "They have a far more important task at hand. They must get to know each other."

Rhaenyra nods in agreement, her gaze flicking toward Daervon once more, silently reminding him to behave. With that, she leads Lord Stormcrest away, leaving Daervon and Lady Shireen alone in the sun-drenched courtyard.

The courtyard feels quieter now, the air between Daervon and Lady Shireen thick with the unspoken tension of their situation. Lady Shireen glances at him once, her smile gentle, though there is a quiet strength in her demeanor. Daervon stands stiffly beside her, his mind wandering, the weight of duty pressing heavily upon him as the silence stretches between them.

As Daervon guides Lady Shireen through the courtyard, the tension between them starts to ease. Their footsteps fall in unison, muffled against the soft stone beneath them. A faint breeze stirs the air, carrying with it the scent of freshly bloomed roses from the nearby garden. The atmosphere is delicate, as if both are waiting for the other to break the fragile peace.

"Do you have any questions of me?" Daervon finally breaks the silence, his tone polite but distant.

"Questions of what subject?" Lady Shireen responds, glancing sideways at him, her golden curls catching the light of the sun. Her emerald eyes seem to study him, assessing the prince who seemed so aloof earlier.

"You may choose the subject," Daervon says, his voice steady but his thoughts elsewhere, perhaps still with Aemond.

Lady Shireen narrows her eyes, sensing the lack of enthusiasm in his words. "What do you think about me?" she asks suddenly, catching Daervon off guard. Her question is bold, direct, and cuts through the formality that has hung over their conversation.

Daervon blinks, taken aback. "Pardon?"

"Well, you seem disinterested at best, which is your prerogative," Lady Shireen says, her voice measured but firm, "but I'd like to know if the person I'm being guilted into marrying truly likes me or not."

There's a moment of silence between them as Daervon processes her words. He hadn't expected such forthrightness, and for the first time, he feels a flicker of guilt for his earlier indifference. "If my attitude offends you, I do apologize," Daervon says, his voice softening. "It was not my intent. However, I was unaware that...um, you were being guilted into anything."

Lady Shireen tilts her head, her lips curling into a slight smile. "You will be the Lord of House Silvercrown someday, and my father fears for the doom of our house and our people," she explains, her voice calm but laced with a certain sadness that doesn't escape Daervon's notice.

"Doom?" Daervon asks, genuine curiosity entering his voice for the first time. "In what way?"

"My late uncle, Lord Gerard Stormcrest, was a harsh leader," she says, her emerald eyes darkening. "And he deserved that ending for his crimes. I am truly sorry for your lady mother... Her kind soul is still living and worshipped among the orphanages and streets of the poor. You must understand that neither my father nor our people were a part of it."

Daervon, catching the sincerity in her voice, softens. "I am not unreasonable, my lady," he says gently. "I never blamed it on you or your people. It was all in the past. I have no bad blood against you, your people, nor your house. You have my word." He pauses for a breath. "But I cannot agree to this union. I love another."

Lady Shireen's gaze sharpens, her lips twitching in amusement. "I believe it is Prince Aemond you are in love with," she says, her voice low, intimate. "I saw the two of you yesterday, whispering in the night, giggling like a pair of girls."

The alarm on Daervon's face is immediate. "We were careful..." he mutters, more to himself than to her.

Lady Shireen lets out a soft laugh, her amusement clear. "Sometimes, luck simply casts her lot against you," she says with a small shrug. "I'm not here to expose you. I know what it's like to love someone from a forbidden class. But you and the prince won't stand a chance."

Daervon's throat tightens, and his heart twists at her words, no matter how kindly they are spoken. "I know," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I still love him."

Lady Shireen's gaze drifts toward the edge of the courtyard, where Aemond lingers, watching them with a sharp, displeased look. "Your princeling seems worried," she notes, a light chuckle escaping her as she nods in Aemond's direction.

Daervon follows her gaze, guilt pooling in his chest. Aemond's stare is intense, his lips pressed into a thin line, barely concealing the jealousy that burns beneath the surface. He makes no effort to hide his displeasure nor that the fact that he's watching them.

"Poor soul must be thinking I'm here to snatch you away from his royal grasp," Lady Shireen remarks, a mischievous glint in her green eyes.

"Would you?" Daervon asks, his tone softening, almost playful despite the weight of the conversation.

"Would I what?" she replies, tilting her head curiously.

"Snatch me from his royal grasp?" Daervon asks, a small smile playing at his lips, though there's still tension in his voice.

Lady Shireen smirks. "Perhaps," she says lightly, though her tone is laden with the complexities of her own reality. "My father had no sons, just me and my sister. This union will save us. It will bond our houses as one again. I've made my peace with it. My happiness is a small price to pay for the future of my people."

Her words linger in the air, heavy with the burden of duty, and for the first time, Daervon sees her not just as a pawn in their families' games, but as a woman sacrificing her own desires for the good of her house. The guilt he felt earlier returns, stronger this time.

"Is something wrong?" Lady Shireen asks, noticing the shift in his expression.

"It's just... in the letter you sent in advance of your arrival, you sounded different." Daervon pulls the letter from his jacket pocket, holding it up as though it contains the answer to some riddle.

Lady Shireen laughs, a soft sound that surprises him. "Different? In what way?"

"Far more... um," Daervon trails off, searching for the right word.

"Flowery?" she finishes for him, her smile widening. When Daervon nods, they both chuckle. "Maybe that's because my stepmother dictated most of it."

Daervon raises an eyebrow, his amusement growing. "Charming," he teases.

"She likes to ensure all is presented in the most perfect light," Lady Shireen explains, her voice tinged with a hint of exasperation.

As they continue walking through the courtyard, the conversation flows more naturally, the earlier formality between them fading away. There's a shared understanding now, a mutual respect that wasn't there before.

"May I ask you another question?" Daervon inquires.

"Certainly," she replies, her emerald eyes now soft and curious.

"What is your dream, my lady?" Daervon's tone is more earnest now, his earlier aloofness having melted away.

Lady Shireen's smile fades, and she looks away for a moment, her expression contemplative. "The world doesn't allow girls to decide their own fate," she says quietly. "But if I were a man, and I looked like you, I'd rule the fucking planet."

Daervon chuckles softly, but there's a shadow in his eyes. "I don't want to rule the fucking planet," he says, his gaze briefly drifting back to where Aemond had stood moments ago. But the prince is gone, having vanished from sight.

"You say that now," Lady Shireen replies, her tone light. "But that's what every man wants-to rule."

Daervon shakes his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I am not every man. I am Daervon Targaryen."

Lady Shireen tilts her head, studying him once more. "Perhaps you're not, my lord," she says softly, as if seeing something new in him.

In the fading light of the afternoon, as they part ways, the tension between them has shifted. Though they are still bound by the expectations of their families, there is now a burgeoning friendship, a bond formed through mutual understanding.

As Daervon walks away from the courtyard, his mind drifts back to Aemond, wondering where he's gone and what, if anything, he might have seen.