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The mourners drift back to the castle for the reception, their faces etched with grief and loss. Daervon joins Laenor Velaryon on the coast, where the waves crash rhythmically against the shore. Laenor stares blankly at the water, his eyes hollow with sorrow.

"She always spoke fondly of you," Daervon says softly, trying to bridge the chasm of their shared grief.

Laenor glances at him, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with unshed tears. "Leana was not just my twin. She was my best friend, the only person who truly knew me. Losing her is like losing a part of myself. I'd join her in death gladly if it meant I could see her again."

Daervon nods, his own grief mirrored in Laenor's eyes. "I understand. She meant so much to all of us."

As they talk, Laenor's rigid posture begins to soften. He speaks more about Leana, sharing memories and moments that defined their bond. "She always knew how to make me laugh, even on the darkest days," he recalls with a faint smile. "I feel like I'm adrift without her."

Daervon listens, offering his silent support. "She was incredible. I think she'd want us to find strength in each other now."

Later that night, Daervon retreats to his chambers, the weight of the day pressing heavily upon him. On his way, he encounters Aemond retreating to his own chambers, his face set in a scowl.

"What brings you here?" Daervon asks.

"I could not sleep," Aemond replies tersely, clearly displeased to see Daervon.

"I know a way to lift one's spirits," Daervon says. "Don't ask me how I knew you were unhappy. It's written all over your face: 'I'm angry, disturb not.'"

"Why do you do the exact opposite, then?" Aemond retorts.

"Indeed. Sometimes people know they shouldn't be angry, but they can't help it," Daervon muses.

"Aegon is right. There's a word carved between your eyebrows," Aemond says.

"Decent?" Daervon asks. "Or refined?"

"Bastard," Aemond spits. "You're nothing but a filthy bastard. Stupid, shallow, and useless."

"That's no way to treat a friend. Oh, are we not using 'friend'?" Daervon quips.

"I don't need your pity or your excuse of a friendship," Aemond snaps.

Daervon hums softly. "Are you trying to hurt my feelings, Aemond? It's downright indecorous of you."

"You're a real nuisance, aren't you?" Aemond glares.

"Though you often disguise yourself with a cold facade, I know you're not heartless," Daervon says.

"Then you do not know me well," Aemond replies.

"Do you even feel?" Daervon's eyes meets his intense ones, the lilac soulless orbs that rarely showing anything. "It seems like you want me to hate you."

"And do you? Do you hate me, Daervon?" Aemond challenges.

"Is that what you want?" Daervon counters.

"Yes. That's what I want," Aemond insists.

"I suppose everyone needs a hobby or passion. Hating me could be yours," Daervon says with a shrug.

"Every time I'm near you, I say more in five minutes than I've said in weeks. And I always regret it," Aemond admits.

Their conversation is interrupted by Vidor, who approaches with a worried look. "Why are you back?" Daervon asks.

"Princess Helaena hasn't returned to her chambers," Vidor says urgently. "I have a bad feeling. Something isn't right. Both of you, go back to your chambers. Bar the doors. And do not open them for anyone you do not know."

"What is it? What's happening?" Daervon asks, alarmed.

"Do as I told you," Vidor insists.

The two boys nod and turn toward their bed quarters, but Aemond suddenly pauses, determination flashing in his eyes. "I will not stay in my room until someone finds Helaena."

"Let's go together then," Daervon says.

As they move through the castle's dimly lit passages, their footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. The torches flicker weakly, casting long, wavering shadows that make the corridors feel even more abandoned. The air is thick with foreboding, and every creak of the old stone seems to whisper danger.

As they navigate the labyrinthine passages, they stumble upon a horrifying sight: a guard lying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes wide open and unseeing. Aemond's breath catches, as Daervon stares at the dead body with horror. The visible signs of struggle and blood splatter across the stone walls tell a silent story of a violent struggle.

"Stay close," Daervon whispers, his voice trembling slightly despite his attempt to remain calm. "Hold my hand."

"I'm not scared, and I'm not holding your hand," Aemond replies stubbornly.

"You are the one with the blade in hand," Daervon explains. "If we see the assassin, you will have a split second to act. If you're not sure where I am, you will spend that split second making sure I am alright and will be killed. If you have my hand, you will know. You will act on instinct."

"And why would I care about your safety?" Aemond questions, his hand gripping on the blade.

"Because I'm your friend," Daervon responds simply.

"We're not friends," Aemond mutters, but he holds Daervon's hand anyway.

"Soft hands," Daervon remarks, trying to lighten the tension.

The darkness of the castle seems to close in around them, and Daervon's grip on Aemond's hand tightens further, a silent vow to protect each other against the looming threat, and seeking solace in their shared fear.

They continue, and soon they find Helaena hiding in a corner, shaking with fear. She has witnessed the assassin killing the guard and is in shock. "Helaena, it's alright. We're here," Daervon whispers, helping her to her feet.

As they try to escort her back to her chambers, they come face to face with the assassin. All three scream, the sound piercing the quiet of the castle.

The maid, Mae, rushes to the scene, her eyes wide with fear but resolute, "Leave the 'Unburnt Prince' alone!" she pleads, throwing herself between Daervon and the assassin, The assassin's blade flashes, and Mae gasps as it pierces her heart, She collapses to the ground, blood pooling around her. Pespite her mortal wound, she grabs the assassin's leg, trying to hold him back.

"You won't... hurt him," she gasps, her strength fading. "I will not let you."

The assassin looks down at her with cold disdain and delivers a final, deadly stab to her side. Mae's grip loosens, and she falls still, her sacrifice in vain.

Realizing they can't outrun the assassin, Daervon decides to stay behind. "Aemond, take Helaena and find help. Now!"

Aemond hesitates but then thrusts his blade into Daervon's hand. "Stay alive," he commands, before he and Helaena run for their lives.

Daervon faces the assassin, trying to fend him off with Aemond's blade. The assassin taunts him, his voice dripping with malice. "Blood seeks blood," he hisses. "Your life ends here, bastard. It's your blood that shall flow tonight."

And it somehow reminds Daervon of Haelena's words, 'A hidden blade shall whisper secrets in the dark. Blood seeks blood.' A shiver runs down his spine as he realizes the truth in her words.

Daervon grits his teeth, struggling to keep up with the assassin's relentless attacks. "You think you can kill me because of my blood? You'll find I'm not so easily taken down," he retorts, though fear creeps into his voice.

Just as Daervon is about to be overpowered, Vidor appears and beheads the assassin from behind.

Tears stream down Daervon's face as he apologizes to his uncle. "I'm sorry for not listening to you."

Vidor pulls him into a tight hug, relief evident in his voice. "You're alive, and that's all that matters." The sense of relief washes over them both as they cling to each other, the weight of the night's events slowly lifting.