The knock to his door that morning had been unexpected—to see Alma on the other side of it when he finally wrenched it open even more so.

His sister's handmaiden was comely and bright; over the years he had become more comfortable with the cheery way she trailed after his sister, but Aemond had never been able to squash the quick, instinctive unease he felt every time she sought him out specifically. She was older, betrothed, and effective at tending to Helaena…but also positively besotted. Alma's quiet admiration of him amused Aegon, exasperated his mother, and left him somewhat disquieted. The sight of her seeking entry to his private rooms before breakfast did not bode well on any account.

Aemond didn't even have time to greet her properly before the raven-haired beauty had locked eyes with him, turned impatiently on her heel, and began sashaying right back down the hall from whence she came. Alma's skirts were swishing quick at her ankles at her hasty retreat and a naked frown crossed Aemond's brow. Even his guard stared after the handmaiden in puzzlement.

When Alma realized the prince wasn't following her, she slowed and turned to call over her shoulder, "You best follow, my prince. It's the princess."

That was all it took. Aemond leapt after her with long strides, and when he fell into step with her moments later, he took note of Alma's wringing hands and unhappy, pinched mouth. Her obvious urgency to get back to Helaena's chambers dampened his flare of annoyance at her rudeness. "What has happened?" he asked her quietly. They were making quick work of travelling through the Holdfast and the kingsguard parted for the pair effortlessly with each corner they turned. Helaena's chambers were nearest their Queen mother's; once more he found himself wishing he had been his sister's twin so it would be more proper for them to share adjacent rooms.

Alma's voice was low, and she didn't dare look at the prince when she responded. "The princess has heard the rumors about Prince Aegon."

Dull rage gathered behind Aemond's left eye and made the empty socket throb—just what he needed, he thought darkly. The headaches were frequent, but they became ever worse when his oldest brother was involved. "Who told her?" he asked. He had personally instructed Helaena's ladies in waiting to not breathe a word in her direction about what had happened. Who would be daft enough to not heed his warning?

Aemond glanced over to see Alma shrug. "That I don't know. What I do know is that she is inconsolable and nothing we do or say seems to be helping. She's been wailing for you for hours now, my prince."

The thought of his sister—soft, gentle Helaena—calling for him in the small hours of the morning with no one to fetch him stoked his dull rage into something hotter, sharper. "Why wasn't I called for immediately?" His voice was much harsher than he intended, but Alma was used to his capricious moods.

"Queen Alicent asked that you not be disturbed until breakfast," Alma said. They had reached the door to his sister's chambers and she didn't move to enter. "I would join you, my prince, but the princess has banished her ladies. She only wants you." The apologetic note in her voice was only made more penitent by her handsomely furrowed brow and flushed cheeks. Aemond didn't find himself in any mood to alleviate her remorse.

"You've disobeyed me," he hissed to her. The guard standing post at Helaena's door was steadfastly pretending he could not hear how the prince addressed the handmaiden, but the slight inclination of his ear gave him away. As Aemond continued Alma kept stealing embarrassed glances at the eavesdropping knight, but Aemond cared not for whatever the guard could hear. "I specifically instructed you to come to me and me alone when Helaena gets in one of her moods. What would make you disregard my orders and instead tell the Queen?"

Alma's face tipped forward and her frown was nearly pitiful. "I am sorry, my prince, but—"

"Get out of my sight. Now," he dismissed her.

She dropped into the fastest curtsy he had ever witnessed and scurried away.

Aemond gathered his breath—his patience with it—and entered Helaena's rooms. Her muffled crying greeted him through the shut door to her inner chamber.

His Queen mother was on the velvet lounge chair near his sister's vanity. Shockingly, she was still in her nighttime dressing gown and her curls were loose around her face. Usually such a sight, so intimate and rare, would stir something akin to affection in Aemond's heart; this morning, however, he could muster no other emotion besides anger. "Mother," he greeted her with a clipped tone. "Where is Helaena?" A redundant question, for sure, but it was the most polite thing he could muster.

Queen Alicent gave him a long-suffering look and resumed picking at her hands. A quick scan of his mother's cuticles confirmed they were shredded bloody. "She won't get out of the bath," his mother sighed. Alicent had never been particularly adept at comforting her children, not even when they were small—Aemond wondered why she continued to try.

Without another word he immediately started for his sister's private privy chamber. His mother made to protest but he didn't heed her—his sister needed him and there was nothing he could lay eyes on that he hadn't seen before.

The silver princess was hunched in her grand washing tub when he barreled through the door. With a hard slam Aemond had it shut and locked just as his mother reached it, and with some measure of relish he heard Alicent's palms slap impatiently at the surface and rattle ineffectively at the knob. She was calling to him, telling him it was improper, trying to convince him with low pleading that Helaena would be fine without his interference…but the princess was not fine.

Helaena's face was flushed ruddy crimson, her hair damp and lank, and she sat in a shallow pool of sudsless water with her arms looped protectively over her bent knees. At the sight of her middle brother she raised those small hands and reached for him, a choked sob clawing out of her mouth. Fat tears slid down her cheeks, her neck, her chest; Aemond took a knee beside the tub and allowed his sister to cling to him, those tears burning hot to his skin like a cattle brand.

She cried openly right into the crook of his proffered shoulder and he smoothed his hands gently over her hair and back. "It will be alright," he whispered to her. "Hush now. I'm here and I've got you," he urged her. His sister was shaking like a leaf in a storm's gale and she was mindlessly splashing the tepid bathwater right into his lap. Aemond pressed the right side of his face right up against hers when she pulled back, and they breathed like that for several heartbeats, cheek-to-cheek with Helaena's hot tears between them. The prince didn't even notice when his eyepatch snagged and slipped.

"You've got me now but he will have me soon!" she finally keened. "I can't believe—Laera—"

Aemond pressed the point of his chin to the top of her head and cuddled her closer. "I know," he soothed. "I know." He could make no excuses or explanations for his brother's behavior—and why would he, when it served to paint him in such favorable light?—but any rationalization he could offer wouldn't halt her cries. Helaena buried herself, hand-face-finger, into her younger brother and howled like the realm was collapsing. Aemond silently vowed to have the head to the wretch that dared tell her what Aegon had done, but soon she quieted, and her hands loosened.

Aemond was grateful that his presence was able to calm his sister. Helaena managed to cry herself out and with a raise of his voice Aemond was able to call for his mother to return. Alicent answered his summons with the help of a keyholding guard, and when she stepped into the privy chamber for the second time, she turned dark, disapproving eyes on her embracing children.

"I would rather you weren't so…familiar with each other," Alicent said at length. Her darting eyes took in her daughter's puffy face, her son's soaked undershirt, and the abundance of pale skin glinting lightly in the morning glow filtering in from the window. Helaena had goosebumps. Aemond had chapped his lips from pressing constant kisses to his sister's temple. "Aemond, come. Let's allow your sister to dress. I called for Alma…she can help Helaena. You and I have much to discuss in the meanwhile."

Aemond grit his teeth at the mention of his sister's disobedient handmaid. His hands must have clenched tighter on his sister's shoulders because she openly shuddered in his grasp. "I can help her," he assured his mother. "I don't want Alma around her right now."

"Aemond. Follow me into the bedroom. Now." And there it was—suddenly it was his Queen addressing him, not his mother.

Aemond reluctantly extracted himself from Helaena's grip and tried not to shiver at her low hiccup of protest. The chamber was so much colder without his sister pressed desperately against him. "Yes, Your Grace," he said.

Alicent had positioned herself in front of the low window on the far wall when he came into the bedroom. Both of his mother's hands were resting on the sill and her head was canted forward; for all Aemond knew she could have been taking a moment for prayer. Somewhere behind him Alma was rushing into the privy chamber with fresh towels and a gown for Helaena. "I assume you had good reason for preventing Alma from coming to me earlier than this," he started. Aemond couldn't quite keep the bitter venom from coating his words, and if the bunch of his mother's shoulders were any indication, Alicent had heard it loud and clear.

His mother sighed and turned to face him. She leaned uncharacteristically against the wall, bone-tired, and gave a sharp nod. "You and Helaena are close, but I need her to be stronger for the days ahead. She cannot keep turning to you for small childish comforts. She will be a wife and mother soon and will need to be able to turn to her ladies in waiting for guidance. To turn to her lord husband. To turn to me if she wishes."

Aemond clenched his hands behind his back to hide his fists. He took care to flatten his tone to avoid disrespect. "Helaena will never be able to turn to Aegon, you know this." And will never be able turn to you, either. "Especially not after what he's been doing to each of her handmaids. We're at, what, practically one a year? If he keeps bending them over—"

His mother silenced him with the raise of a stiff hand. Her eyes shut at his crude words and she shook her head as if to dispel them from her ears. "Stop. The issue has been handled and I need Helaena to move forward, now. The wedding is in four moons and she needs to be ready, which she can't become if she's constantly leaning on her younger brother."

Aemond swallowed the scoff he so dearly wanted to make. "This betrothal is a mistake, mother. You and father both know that Helaena should have been promised to me."

It wasn't often that the Queen curled her lip in true disgust—Aemond watched Alicent's expression contort at his bold proclamation and he felt a shiver of pleasure at seeing such a visceral reaction. This wasn't the first time he had expressed such a wish and it deepened her unease each time he dared voice it. Some desires had no place in the heart. "Aegon is the oldest son and this was the King's wish. I've yielded much to Targaryen customs—"

"You are a Targaryen, mother."

Alicent considered her son. There was something heavy sitting on her shoulders and her typically rigid posture practically sagged under its weight. "Not in the way you are, my boy. But, like I said, this is the King's wish and we will follow in turn. I know that Helaena has a hard road in front of her—oh I know it—but I need you to be on her side, Aemond, not your own. Guide her to Aegon and make this transition easy for her."

"So that includes abandoning her?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Alicent drew closer and placed her small hands on either side of her son's face. He stood an entire head taller than her, now, and she was looking up at him with something much more intense than simple askance in her eyes. Her palms were warm on his cheeks and his mother was begging. "You aren't abandoning her. We are not abandoning her. But you understand, do you not? You understand that she must learn to stand on her own if she is to succeed in her marriage?"

Carefully, Aemond brought his hands to his mother's wrists. His long fingers looped entirely around them, and with utmost care, he pulled them away from his jaw. "Helaena will never be alone," he promised quietly. When Aemond released his mother's hands she moved them to his chest instead, and he allowed her to rest them right over his pounding heart. The pair stood silently and listened to Helaena's mounting cries of distress from the chamber just beyond.

Making it to breakfast hadn't been a priority for Aemond after he had seen Helaena dressed and coifed for the day—his sister's face was still splotched and her eyes still puffed, but the watery smile he offered him upon exiting the privy chamber told of a particular fortification he could admire. Aemond wanted to whisk her away to the gardens, or the library, or to her private solar to her collection of prized insects; the thought of food turned his stomach, but his mother insisted.

"Go," she instructed her children, one hand planted firmly on each of their backs as she steered them from Helaena's room and into the long hall. "Go to my solar and break your fasts. I need to speak with Aegon."

Aemond was about to protest but the guiding hand on his back turned to a warning claw when he attempted to stall. "I won't send him to you, not to worry," his mother amended. The gentle promise in her tired words gave him the strength to not face her in anger once more.

The siblings' journey to the maidenvault where the Queen kept her apartments was quick and quiet. Helaena kept her arm tucked tight into his own and only allowed him to move away from her when they were safely in their mother's solar, the knowing, prying eyes of the kingsguard finally hidden from view. They paid no mind to the new eyes, those of the waiting servants, who took their place.

Aemond wondered briefly how Helaena would react if he plunged the blade of his dagger straight through the serving girl's pretty jade eye.

Her audacity—to whisper such indignities, to take such liberties voicing her observations in his very earshot—enraged him almost as much as his sister's previous tears. The blonde, round servant was clumsy and unpolished and now rude, and if he thought for a single moment it wouldn't upset his mother further and cause his sister undue stress, he wouldn't think twice about lashing out physically in retaliation.

He had invited the girl to their breakfast table with something like that in mind; he had wanted to get his hands on her, to take out her tongue, to punish her for even daring to wag her jaw about he and his sister's small affections. He knew what the smallfolk thought of Targaryen customs—and their gentle contact had been nothing but innocent, fraternal—but that didn't give them permission to voice such unimportant opinions in his presence. If the girl thought she could get away with saying such a thing right before him, then what would she tell her compatriots in private?

Her quick, pitiful apologies to his sister only lightly mollified his ire. What had stilled his anger more than the promise of hurting her—or hurting her more, seeing how tense his shins had been around her own under the cover of the table—was the sudden clarity in Helaena's eyes and his sister's small hand reaching out to touch the serving girl. No need to apologize. You'll soon forgive my brother for his protectiveness; his sister had assured her. A curious steadiness had settled over his sister's words and it had quieted Aemond's temper to hear it. This was the first time that morning that Helaena had managed much more than broken sobs or half-sentences.

Helaena was often comforted by odd things—insects, spider webs, fallen leaves, and now, apparently unlearned servants who didn't possess a single ounce of social decorum. Aemond's decision was made before he consciously considered it. He found himself addressing the new girl and Miranda both, and deigned to look at neither. "Now sit here and keep my sister company," he directed to the insolent blonde, retracting his legs from the vicelike grip they had squeezed upon hers. "And you," the prince addressed Miranda, who was still shifting uneasily by the fireplace, "your services won't be needed for the rest of the morning. My guard will see you out." The less eyes on them, the better.

Aemond's breakfast of eggs and salted meats were cold but he turned back to them all the same. It was as princely a dismissal as he could make while still seated. Miranda swept from the room on stomping feet.

He didn't look to the servant directly—he couldn't, not with how she was stationed to his left—and Aemond faintly regretted seating her just out of his immediate sight. The girl wasn't a threat but he wouldn't have considered her to have such a willful tongue, either. Vigilance in the face of this stranger was paramount.

Helaena had retracted her hand from the serving girl's face and was now absently patting over one of her hands. The girl still hadn't let go of the tabletop. "I remember you from dinner last night. What is your name?" Helaena asked her.

Aemond heard an involuntary gust of air leave the girl's lips as she opened them, but she hastened a proper response seconds after. "My name is Dyana, my princess," she granted demurely.

Helaena hummed and returned to her plums. "Dyana of which house?"

The girl, Dyana, chuckled nervously. "No great house, my princess. My last name is Waters."

"A bastard," Aemond said quietly. It made sense—she was gauche and hard, and with nowhere near the level of grace the other handmaidens possessed.

Dyana's use of his title was a touch sharper than polite, but Aemond allowed it in the light of Helaena's buoying demeanor. "Yes, my prince," she snapped.

"Did you know my lady Laera?" Helaena asked Dyana. His sister's pale violet eyes were suddenly intent on the serving girl's, and such unrestrained, unfettered attention from the princess was a rare thing to witness. It took Aemond precious seconds to compose his surprise and intervene before the conversation got out of hand.

Aemond's violet eye cut to his sister. "Don't," he warned her in High Valyrian. He had just managed to calm her down—surely such a discussion would usher back her desperate tears, and as it were, he had already exhausted his supply of sweet words for the day.

Helaena waved a hand dismissively at him and eagerly turned to Dyana. "Well?"

Aemond turned his head to watch Dyana as she responded, no longer trying to hide his watchful attention. The girl's eyes were firmly on the tabletop and her flushed cheeks had paled considerably, but her fingers were back to clutching hard at the table's edge. Her embarrassment was slightly sweet. Almost lovely, the prince mused.

"Yes, I knew her," Dyana confided. Aemond's eye lingered at the way her tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip. Curious.

Dyana didn't offer any more information despite the siblings' obvious want for more. Helaena had all but abandoned her breakfast plate and was turned fully towards the blonde. "And?" Helaena pressed.

Dyana's green eyes shot to Helaena's and a subtle frown creased her full brow. She even turned her gaze to Aemond, just briefly, with something worried coloring her pale features. It was clear the girl sensed she was on fragile ground—just how would she navigate it? "I don't understand, my princess," she said to Helaena after a moment of quiet deliberation. Those green eyes of hers kept meeting Aemond's. He found himself unable to turn his attention elsewhere, also.

Helaena simply nodded. Aemond's sister was forever patient, thankfully. "What did you think of Laera?" she prodded. The line of questioning was improper—for why would a princess care for the opinion of a kitchen wench?—but Heleana had never held much stock in such social proprieties.

Dyana dropped her gaze back to the table, to her hands, to anywhere but at the Targaryens. Aemond found his attention was now on her completely, pretense of uninterested ease vanished in anticipation of her answer. Would Dyana disparage Laera, suggest that the encounter with his brother was consensual, entreaty his sister to take her place? "She was quiet and kind," Dyana seemed to struggle, but finally asked, "She's no longer in the Crown employ, I take it?"

There it is, Aemond thought savagely. Surely the pretty requests for favor would follow. Perhaps inviting this girl to the breakfast table, even as a mean ruse, was a mistake after all.

It wasn't the sort of question a servant should ever deign to ask a princess in the first place, either. Aemond was ready to open his mouth and tell her such when Helaena beat him to the response. "No, she isn't. She was my friend and I will miss her. Does everyone know what happened? Are you here to fill her vacated station?"

"Helaena, this isn't the time—" Aemond attempted to quell her in High Valyrian. His sister shouldn't be worrying about such things, and this bastard Dyana was not going to be his sister's lady in waiting if he had anything to say about it.

Helaena, shockingly, waved him off again. She gestured for Dyana to answer her, which she did. "No, my princess, I was just to fill Laera's absence. I'm sure the steward will pick a most lovely girl to wait on you." The answer was not what Aemond expected. He was used to people, men and women alike, clamoring to get closer and curry favor with his family. The notion that Helaena would be a 'soft target' due to her dreaminess enraged him…but he recognized the situation for what it was. Aemond had expected Dyana to use Helaena's soft heart for her own gain, and the fact that she hadn't made him feel ill at ease.

Helaena pouted. Aemond could barely contain his surprise at seeing such an expression on his sister's face; Helaena was nothing if not accepting of her situation, and not once had he ever witnessed her truly complain. "No," Helaena sulked. She raised her hand to swipe her fingers under the cerulean cloth of Dyana's bonnet once more. The girl didn't recoil, but Aemond could spy that she wished to. "I think you'll do nicely. I like how you say what you're thinking. It's a rare trait in the Keep."

Aemond's feet were now enclosing around his sister's once more, but this time in reprimand instead of fortifying affection. "It's a rare trait because those who gossip lose their tongues," he told his sister sharply. Her command of their ancestral language wasn't as adept as his, but he knew Helaena would understand enough to be chastised. "She may keep you company this morning; I see how it pleases you, but we are not going to keep her—"

"It's settled, my brother agrees," Helaena told Dyana breezily. Dyana turned wide eyes to Aemond who was looking at her with an equal measure of shock. "I'll have Alma inform the steward that you'll be staying with me."

If it weren't for the utter rarity in Helaena making such a proclamation, Aemond would have protested. Instead, he turned back to his breakfast, quietly seething, the girl's strange presence burning into his left side like a throbbing brand. Just there, out of sight, the quirk of her mouth a cutlass.

A/N: I'm a sucker for an inevitable slow-burn and uncomfortable family dynamics. Next up: Dyana ventures into King's Landing and perhaps sees something she shouldn't...