King's Landing, The Red Keep – 132 AC

I made my way down the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep toward my mother's chambers. But just as I approached the door, I heard voices inside. One of them was unmistakably my mother's, calm but weary, like someone who'd been carrying the weight of the world for too long. The other, to my surprise, was Aegon's. That caught me off guard. Aegon rarely, if ever, spent time in our mother's presence. His resentment for her was legendary, as infamous as his pettiness. To find him in her chambers was… odd, to say the least.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I lingered by the door, close enough to hear their conversation but far enough to remain unseen. I leaned in slightly, my ear practically pressed against the wood.

"I was wrong to put you through that," I heard my mother say, her voice heavy with regret. "For trying to make you into something you were not. I let my fear cloud my judgment. I thought that if you were on the throne, you'd be safe. But after everything that has happened—my father's execution, Viserys' passing—I'm just… tired."

Aegon stayed quiet, and I could picture him standing there, probably lounging in that casual, disinterested way of his, as if nothing could faze him. But what my mother said next struck me like a hammer.

"Seeing you as you are now," she continued, "you were never meant to rule."

I held my breath, stunned by the words. Mother, who had spent her entire life maneuvering, manipulating, and sacrificing to put Aegon on the throne, was now admitting she was wrong. And she wasn't just wrong—she was tired, defeated, like the years of political games and endless battles had finally caught up with her. It was an admission I never thought I'd hear, not from my mother.

Aegon, of course, responded with his usual smirk. I could hear it in his voice. "I'd make a terrible king."

There was a pause, and I imagined the rueful smile that must have crossed my mother's face. "Yes, you would," she said, but there was no malice in her words, just an acceptance of what had always been true. "But the one thing I can say, despite our conflicts, is that you have proven yourself a far better parent than I ever was to you… and a much kinder father than mine was to me."

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in my throat. Those words weren't just directed at Aegon—they were an admission of her own failures, her guilt. Mother had spent her life trying to mold Aegon into something he could never be, and it had torn them apart. I knew that better than anyone. Aegon had spent his entire life rebelling against her expectations, and now… now they were standing on the other side of it, both broken in their own ways but somehow still standing.

There was a pause, a long one, and I could almost hear the air between them shift. When Mother spoke again, his voice was softer, more vulnerable than I'd ever heard.

"Are you happy?" Alicent asked quietly.

"Yes, I am," Aegon answered, and for the first time in what felt like years, he sounded sincere. "I love my wife, maybe not in the way a man should love his wife, but she is my best friend and confidant. And that's without mentioning, the adoration I feel for my children. I want to see them grow up well and happy."

Hearing Aegon speak like that… it was like hearing a different person. This wasn't the brother who had once drowned his sorrows in wine and brothels, who seemed to care about nothing and no one. This was someone who had changed, who had found something to live for beyond the weight of a crown he never wanted.

"I'm glad, and I'm proud of you," Alicent said, her voice filled with a quiet warmth I hadn't heard in a long time.

Aegon's response was just as soft. "Thank you… Mother."

Another pause. There was a heaviness to the silence, the kind that came when years of bitterness and resentment began to melt away, slowly but surely. It wasn't a full reconciliation, but it was something. A step.

"You picked a beautiful name for your daughter," Alicent said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

Aegon chuckled, and I couldn't help but smile too, knowing exactly what was coming next. "I'll be honest," Aegon said, "I named her Saera to piss you off a little."

I nearly laughed out loud at that. Of course, he did. It was such an Aegon thing to do—naming his daughter after the rebellious Targaryen princess Saera, knowing full well how much that name would ruffle our mother's feathers.

But instead of being angry, Mother just sighed, her voice filled with a kind of resigned affection. "If there's one thing I've learned after twenty years, it's not to react to anything you intentionally do. Besides, I was only angry for a second… until I saw those big little eyes. They remind me of you."

There was a soft, shared laugh between them, a moment of lightness that felt so rare, so out of place in the world we lived in. Aegon and Mother had never been close, not really, but this… this felt different. It felt like, for the first time in years, they were starting to rebuild something. Maybe not as mother and son, but as something else—something that resembled a friendship.

I barely had time to step back into the shadows before the doors to my mother's chambers creaked open. Aegon sauntered out, a smug grin plastered on his face, and I groaned internally. That look was never good news for me. His eyes flicked to where I stood, half-concealed behind a column, and he caught me with a raised brow and a knowing smirk.

"Well, well," he drawled, that infuriating smirk growing wider as he crossed his arms. "Eavesdropping on Mother, are we, brother?"

I scowled, though it took every ounce of willpower not to roll my eyes. Of course, Aegon had to catch me. It wasn't enough that I'd been standing there listening to a rare, genuine moment between him and our mother. No, now he had to act like he was the wise older sibling who had one up on me. As if.

"Aegon, don't—"

Before I could finish, he grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the door, practically yanking me down the corridor with a spring in his step that made me want to punch him. "Come on, little brother, let's go before Mother catches you spying on her. Honestly, have you no shame?"

His voice was filled with mock chastisement, but the gleeful look on his face betrayed the act. This was Aegon's favorite kind of situation—one where he had some piece of leverage to lord over me. I could already hear the taunts that would come later. He'd probably hold this over my head for weeks, maybe months, all while pretending it was all in good fun.

"I wasn't spying," I grumbled, shaking his grip off my arm as we made our way through the halls. "I was... curious."

"Curious, right," Aegon said, the grin never leaving his face. "If you were any more curious, you'd have your ear pressed to the door like a lovesick maid."

I glared at him, but he just laughed, clearly enjoying himself far too much. Typical. But as much as I wanted to snap back at him, I couldn't deny that I'd been caught in a compromising situation. Aegon, ever the opportunist, was just reveling in his moment of superiority.

After a few more steps, I decided to change the subject. "How are Orys and Saera?"

Aegon's face immediately softened, the mischief fading from his eyes as he shifted into what I'd come to recognize as his 'fatherly' mode. It was strange, seeing Aegon like this—genuinely proud, genuinely happy when it came to his children. It wasn't a side of him I was used to growing up, but it had become more common in recent years.

"Ah, they're doing great," Aegon said, his voice warm with affection. "Orys is getting bigger every day. He's starting to really look after Saera, you know? A good older brother in the making." He beamed, his chest puffing out with pride as he spoke. "And Saera... Gods, she's going to be the future Realm's Delight. You should see her, Aemond. She's got that Baratheon fire in her, but with our blood—those Targaryen eyes. She's going to break hearts, mark my words."

I couldn't help but smile. Despite everything, despite how different Aegon and I were, I adored his children. Orys was a good boy, sharp and quick to laugh, and little Saera... well, she was a sight to behold with those striking purple eyes of hers. It was strange, really, how much Aegon had changed since becoming a father. Gone was the reckless boy who seemed to care about nothing and no one, replaced by a man who loved his family fiercely. It was... almost admirable.

"I'm sure they'll grow up to be just as insufferable as you," I teased, earning a mock scowl from Aegon.

"Oh, they'll be worse," he said with a grin. "Twice the trouble, if I'm lucky."

We walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the weight of the earlier conversation with Alicent forgotten for the time being. But, of course, Aegon couldn't leave things on a light note for long. He shot me a sideways glance, the mischief creeping back into his expression as he said, "So, are you eager for your wedding?"

I knew this was coming. With the war over and the lords of the realm still gathered in King's Landing, it had been decided that after a fortnight of celebration for our victory over Dorne and the Triarchy, I would finally marry Lucerys. The moment the plans had been made, I knew Aegon would poke and prod at me about it. He lived for moments like this.

But instead of rolling my eyes or giving him some curt response, I found myself smiling—softly, warmly. "I've been waiting for this my entire life," I said, the words coming out more easily than I expected. "Lucerys has always been mine, and soon it will be official. I'll have her as my wife, and nothing will be able to take that away."

Aegon raised a brow, clearly surprised by my sincerity. He was so used to me being cold, calculating, always keeping my emotions in check. But when it came to Lucerys... I couldn't hide it. She was the one person who had always seen me for who I was, not for the mask I wore in front of the world. She was the one person who had stood by me, even when others doubted. And now, she would be mine.

"A dream come true, eh?" Aegon said with a chuckle, though there was a note of something softer beneath the humor. He might have been teasing, but I could see the way he looked at me—the way he understood, perhaps for the first time, that this wasn't just another royal match for me. This was everything.

"Yes," I said, my voice quieter now, but no less certain. "A dream come true."

Aegon clapped me on the shoulder, a rare gesture of camaraderie. "Well then, brother, I hope your wedding is as perfect as you've always imagined."

I smirked at him. "Just don't drink yourself into oblivion before the vows. I'd hate for Lucerys to trip over you on the way to the altar."

Aegon laughed, the sound echoing through the halls as we walked. "I'll do my best, but no promises. You know how I get at these things."

I shook my head, still smiling. Aegon's laugh echoed in the halls as we walked together, the sound bouncing off the stone walls like a fleeting reminder of the boy he used to be. I could tell he was in a rare, good mood—probably still basking in the glow of his newfound reconciliation with our mother. It was strange to see him like this, so lighthearted, but I wasn't about to question it. Moments of peace between us were few and far between, so I enjoyed it while it lasted.

As we rounded another corner in the winding corridors of Maegor's Holdfast, a familiar figure came into view—Lucerys, walking toward us with that calm, determined stride of hers. The sight of her sent a wave of relief through me, it was so good to see her back to her old spirits.

Aegon noticed the change in my expression immediately. He didn't miss a thing, my older brother, especially when it came to something he could use to tease me later. With a mischievous grin, he released his hold on my arm and gave me a little shove toward Lucerys.

"Go on, little brother," he chuckled, winking at me. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to it. But don't keep her too long. I'll need your help later with the wine selection for the wedding feast. Can't trust Daeron not to choose something sour."

I shot him a look, though it was more playful than annoyed. "If you think I'm letting you near any wine barrels before the wedding, you're mad."

Aegon just laughed and waved me off before turning on his heel and strolling down the corridor, no doubt heading off to find more trouble to get into. I shook my head but couldn't keep the smile from my face. Despite all his faults, Aegon had been more... stable in the past few years.

Turning my attention back to Lucerys, I closed the distance between us, offering her my arm. "Shall we?"

She smiled softly and took my arm without hesitation, the warmth of her hand immediately grounding me. Together, we began walking down the corridor, our steps in sync as we moved through the familiar halls of Maegor's Holdfast.

We spoke quietly as we walked, our voices low and steady, though the castle buzzed around us with the energy of last-minute wedding preparations. It seemed like everyone had somewhere to be or something to do, but in that moment, it was just us, our steps echoing softly through the stone corridors.

The conversation, practical at its core, revolved around the final details of the wedding. It was the kind of talk that could have easily overwhelmed me—guests arriving from across the realm, lords and ladies from every corner of Westeros, all expecting to be treated like the most important person in the room. There were discussions of seating arrangements for the feast, the delicate dance of courtly politics, where placing one noble too far from the center could spark years of insult and injury.

"Lord Tully is arriving with a larger retinue than expected," she said, her voice calm but thoughtful. "We'll need to adjust the seating for the feast. It's... not ideal, but we can move some of the lesser houses further down the table. The Mallisters won't mind."

I nodded, letting the words wash over me. It wasn't that I didn't care—I did—but there was something soothing in the way she handled it all. Each word she spoke filled me with a strange sense of calm, as though every potential disaster was nothing more than a minor inconvenience that could be neatly smoothed over.

She continued, her thoughts moving effortlessly from one detail to the next. "I've already spoken with the cooks about the feast. The roasted boar is being prepared as we speak, and the wine from the Arbor has arrived. They were short on lemons, but I've asked the merchants from Spicetown to bring extra fruit just in case."

I couldn't help but smile at the way she handled everything. Where others might have panicked or fussed, she remained composed, organizing every detail with the kind of grace that made it all seem effortless.

"And your garments," she added, her gaze flicking to me briefly. "The final adjustments will be done by tomorrow morning. The seamstress says it's one of her best pieces yet, and I'm inclined to believe her. You'll look stunning."

I let her talk, content to listen to the steady rhythm of her voice as we walked, each word filling the spaces of my mind and pushing away the chaos of it all. She made everything seem manageable, even as the weight of what was to come pressed down on us both. Her ability to turn even the most complicated matters into something simple was a gift, one that I'd come to rely on more than I cared to admit.

"And the musicians," she continued, glancing down at a small list she had in her hands. "They'll be positioned near the head of the hall, but not so close that they drown out conversation. I've asked them to play softer during the meal and save the livelier tunes for later in the evening, once the feast has turned to dancing."

I nodded again. Lucerys paused, folding the list in her hands and tucking it into her sleeve. "That's most of it for now," she said, her voice soft but sure. "There are still a few small things to handle, but they'll be done by the end of the day. You don't need to worry."

And I didn't. Not with her by my side. She had a way of turning chaos into order, of making the overwhelming seem manageable. Even now, with the wedding looming closer, I felt at ease simply listening to her.

We walked in silence for a few moments, the sound of our footsteps filling the quiet between us. But as we turned another corner, something unexpected broke the tranquility of the moment. A faint sound—low, breathy, almost muffled—reached our ears. Lucerys and I stopped mid-conversation, exchanging confused glances.

"What is that?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

I tilted my head, straining to hear more clearly. The sounds grew louder, unmistakable now. Moaning. Gods, was someone actually...?

Lucerys raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as she met my gaze again. Without a word, we both turned toward the source of the sound, our curiosity getting the better of us. I wasn't one for sneaking around, but something about this moment felt strange. Unnatural, almost.

We crept forward silently, staying close to the walls, and the moans grew clearer with every step. Finally, as we neared the corner, we peeked around it—and what we saw left me momentarily speechless.

There, pinned against the wall, was Daeron. And in his arms, with their lips locked in a heated kiss, was Joffrey. My youngest nephew was gripping Daeron's tunic as if his life depended on it, and Daeron... well, Daeron looked like he was holding on just as desperately.

For a long moment, Lucerys and I just stood there, frozen in place. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. This was my youngest brother—the one who was always dutiful, always responsible, always so... proper. And yet, here he was, lost in the arms of another man, a prince no less.

I mean, I always knew it would happen. But I thought they would at least be more careful about it!

Joffrey was the first to notice us. His eyes snapped open, and he pulled away from Daeron with a start, pushing him back as if the reality of what he had been doing finally hit him. Daeron, too, looked stunned, his usually calm and composed expression replaced with one of wide-eyed panic. Both of them stared at the floor, refusing to meet our eyes, their shame written plainly across their faces.

Lucerys remained quiet beside me, her expression unreadable as she looked between the two of them. For a moment, the silence stretched on, heavy and uncomfortable. I had no idea what to say. What could I say? This wasn't the kind of situation I'd ever imagined myself in.

But Lucerys... she handled it the way only she could.

She stepped forward, reaching out to take Joffrey's hand gently in hers. Her voice, when she spoke, was calm and kind. "Joffrey," she said softly, "it's all right."

Joffrey looked up at her, his face pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and embarrassment. He didn't say anything, but the way he squeezed her hand told me everything I needed to know. He was terrified—terrified of what this meant, of how we would react, of what the consequences might be. And Daeron... well, Daeron just looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Lucerys glanced over at Daeron, her gaze softening. "Both of you," she continued, her tone still gentle but firm, "there's nothing to be ashamed of."

As I looked at Joffrey's face, at the fear in his eyes, I realized how right Lucerys' words were. I never thought twice about the clear attraction my brother had towards our nephew, but I always saw it as more of two dragons being attracted to each other, not about two men being together. This wasn't something to be punished for. They were just two people, caught in the impossible mess that was our lives. They hadn't asked for this—they hadn't asked for the expectations placed on them, the marriages they would be forced into. They had just found each other in a world that offered them little choice.

Lucerys gave Joffrey's hand another reassuring squeeze before looking back at me, her eyes clear and steady. "We'll help them," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Whatever it takes."

I nodded, still feeling like the ground had shifted beneath my feet, but trusting her judgment, nonetheless. If anyone could help Joffrey and Daeron navigate this, it was Lucerys. She always knew what to do, always knew how to handle things with grace and understanding.

Daeron and Joffrey remained silent, their gazes still fixed on the ground. But slowly, I saw the tension begin to ease from their shoulders, the weight of their fear lifting just slightly.

Daeron and I stood in silence, watching as Lucerys and Joffrey walked away. Lucerys had taken Joffrey's hand like it was the simplest thing in the world, offering comfort with nothing more than her presence. I should've known she'd handle the situation with such grace, but it still left me reeling. Watching the two of them walk off together felt like watching a storm calm itself, leaving only the quiet after the chaos. But the weight of the moment hadn't passed for Daeron and me. There was still so much left unsaid between us.

I could feel Daeron's tension beside me, the unease still rolling off him in waves. He hadn't expected to be caught like that, hadn't expected his secret to be laid bare so suddenly, so publicly—well, as public as an empty corridor could be. But I wasn't angry. I wasn't even disappointed. If anything, I was relieved.

"So," I said, breaking the silence between us as we stood there. "You and Joffrey."

Daeron flinched, his jaw clenching as if he were bracing for some kind of reprimand. I didn't blame him. We'd both grown up under the same roof, under the same weight of expectation. The same religious mother…

"Don't look at me like that," Daeron muttered, his voice low, almost bitter. "I know what you're going to say. It's wrong. I shouldn't feel like this."

I shook my head slowly, watching as his eyes flickered with uncertainty. "I'm not going to tell you it's wrong," I said, surprising myself with the calm in my voice. "I'm going to tell you that I understand."

Daeron turned to face me fully, confusion written all over his face. "You understand?"

I nodded, meeting his gaze head-on. "More than you think." The words hung in the air between us, thick with meaning. I didn't have to say it aloud for him to understand what I meant—about my own feelings for Lucerys, about how I'd been in love with her for as long as I could remember, even before we were betrothed. And now, as I stood here with my brother, I could see the parallels between us, the shared burden of loving our eldest sister's children.

He blinked, and I could see the realization dawning on him. Slowly, a rueful smile crept onto his face, though it was tinged with sadness. "That's why you used to look at me like that," he said quietly, almost to himself. "When we were younger. You always knew, didn't you?"

I nodded again, remembering the countless times I'd caught Daeron staring at Joffrey just a little too long, just a little too fondly. It was a look I knew all too well, the way I used to watch Lucerys when no one else was paying attention. I had always known that Daeron's feelings for Joffrey went beyond the love of an uncle. But back then, I hadn't said anything. I had kept quiet, thinking it wasn't my place to interfere.

And now here we were.

Daeron let out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I used to think I was mad," he admitted. "That something was wrong with me for feeling this way. I'd watch him, and I'd try to stop myself, but it never worked." He sighed, his voice heavy with the weight of it all. "And now... I don't know what to do, Aemond. How am I supposed to live in a world where I'm meant to marry someone who isn't him? How do I watch Joffrey marry another?"

His words hit harder than I expected. I could see the pain in his eyes, the same pain I'd felt when I thought Lucerys would be taken from me, back when our betrothal was still a distant dream. The name of Oscar Tully still makes me want to throw something to the wall. It was a cruel twist of fate, to love someone so deeply and know that the world would never allow you to have them.

But I had been given a chance. Lucerys was mine now, and soon, she would be my wife. Daeron, though... he didn't have that luxury.

I took a deep breath, choosing my next words carefully. "You trust Lucerys, don't you?"

Daeron glanced at me, confusion flickering across his face again. "Of course, I trust her. She's... she's always been kind, always understood things no one else does."

"Then trust her to help," I said, my voice steady. "If she says she can help, she will. You know how Lucerys is—she doesn't make promises lightly."

For a moment, Daeron just stared at me, as if weighing my words. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his emotions warred with reason. He wanted to believe me, wanted to believe that Lucerys could somehow fix this impossible situation, but there was still that lingering doubt. And I understood that, too. We were Targaryens, after all—nothing in our lives had ever been simple.

"What if she can't?" Daeron asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if... what if we're just fooling ourselves?"

I reached out, gripping his shoulder tightly. "Then you do what you've always done, brother. You endure. We're Targaryens. We survive the impossible, and we rise above it."

Daeron's eyes dropped to the ground, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. But there was something else in his expression now—something that looked like hope, fragile but growing. He didn't say anything for a long time, and I didn't push him. We stood there in the quiet, letting the gravity of the situation settle between us.

Finally, Daeron nodded, though it was more to himself than to me. "I'll try," he said softly, his voice carrying a new sense of resolve. "I'll trust her."

I squeezed his shoulder one last time before letting go, stepping back as I felt the weight of the moment begin to lift. There were no easy answers, no simple solutions for what lay ahead. But for now, it was enough to know that Daeron wasn't alone in this—that we weren't alone in this.

Lucerys would find a way. She always did. And whatever came next, we would face it together, as brothers, as family. Because if there was one thing I had learned in this world of chaos and blood, it was that family—our family—was the only thing worth fighting for.

Even if that meant bending the rules a little.

Daeron glanced at me one last time, his expression softening. "Thank you, Aemond," he murmured. "For... everything."

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. "We'll figure it out, Daeron. We always do."

The days leading up to the wedding had passed in a blur of preparations and ceremony, and somehow, amidst the chaos, I hadn't found a single moment alone with Lucerys. Not until now, our wedding day. And Gods, when she said she'd "fix" everything after we stumbled upon Daeron and Joffrey, it seemed she actually did. Somehow, some way, Lucerys had worked her subtle magic—without bloodshed, without scandal—and now the four of them, Daeron, Joffrey, Rhaena, and Baela, were happier than I'd ever seen them.

I didn't know how she'd done it. Frankly, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. All I cared about was that the tension between my brother, nephew, and cousins had melted away, replaced with something lighter, something almost... free. I'd caught them more than once around King's Landing—Daeron and Joffrey exchanging secretive smiles over the castle walls, Baela and Rhaena walking arm in arm, their steps more carefree than they had been in months. It was as if Lucerys had plucked the burden of duty and expectation right off their shoulders, letting them breathe again.

I'd watched it unfold with a kind of quiet satisfaction, knowing my wife-to-be had managed what seemed impossible. But, Gods, if only I could stop scowling now.

Because here I was, sitting at the High Table of our wedding banquet, watching Lucerys—my Lucerys—dance with every man in the room except me.

I ground my teeth, barely keeping my irritation from showing as I watched her twirl in the arms of my brother, Aegon, his lazy smirk firmly in place as he led her around the dancefloor. The music swelled, and soon enough, Aegon passed her off to Jacaerys, who, with his ever-polite smile, spun her around with an ease that made my blood simmer.

This was our wedding. She should be dancing with me.

I sighed, tearing my gaze away from the dancefloor as Laenor swept his daughter up in a twirl, her silver dress shimmering in the candlelight. Despite the warmth and laughter that filled the hall, my mood remained sour. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly—it was more the fact that this was our night, and yet, somehow, I was sitting here like an afterthought while Lucerys was passed around like she was the crown jewel of the evening.

And in truth, she was.

She had always been radiant, but tonight—tonight she was something else entirely. Her gown, an ethereal silver, clung to her in all the right ways, glinting like stars every time she moved. Her hair was pulled back with intricate braids, adorned with pearls, and the way she smiled, the way her eyes lit up every time someone spun her around—it was like she was born for this moment.

But that didn't stop me from glowering.

As I turned my gaze away from the dancefloor for the hundredth time, my eyes landed on an unexpected scene off to the side of the hall. Cregan Stark and Coryanne Martell. They were standing close to each other, the Northern lord's usual stony expression softened into something more amused, and Coryanne—well, she was smiling up at him, her dark eyes gleaming with a kind of mischief that could only mean trouble.

Now that was intriguing. The Wolf of the North and the silent Martell ex-princess? I hadn't seen that coming. But then again, with all the odd pairings and strange alliances cropping up lately, I shouldn't have been surprised. Still, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of disaster—or perhaps adventure—those two would find themselves in. Coryanne was sharp-tongued, when she stopped hiding under her sister's shadow, and fiercely independent, and Cregan was... well, Cregan. Stoic, solid, unmovable as a mountain. Watching them flirt by the side of the dancefloor was like watching two opposing forces collide, and I found myself almost entertained by the spectacle.

Almost.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms as I tried to tune out the laughter and music around me. I could still hear Lucerys' laugh, that bright, lilting sound that always made something stir deep inside me, and it only added to my frustration. The banquet was grand, of course—fit for a wedding of this magnitude—but all I wanted was a moment with her. A moment where I didn't have to share her with every lord and lady in the realm.

As I sat there, brooding, I caught sight of Daeron and Joffrey slipping away from the dancefloor, their faces flushed from the wine and the festivities. They looked more at ease than I'd ever seen them, and despite my own foul mood, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. Lucerys had kept her promise, and whatever she had done, it had worked. Daeron's usual reserve was gone, replaced with something lighter, and Joffrey—well, Joffrey looked like he was finally where he belonged, at ease with himself for the first time in a long while.

I had to give it to Lucerys. She really did have a way of making things right.

A cheer went up from the dancefloor, pulling my attention back to the present. I glanced up just in time to see Corlys Velaryon, his silver hair catching the light as he twirled Lucerys around with the grace of a seasoned sailor. The sight was almost enough to make me laugh—almost. Corlys, for all his gravitas and history, was clearly having the time of his life spinning my wife around like she was still a little girl. And the way Lucerys grinned at him, laughing like she didn't have a care in the world, only made the scene more heartwarming.

Still, my patience was wearing thin. I'd had enough of watching everyone else enjoy the night. This was our wedding banquet, and I was done waiting.

With a sigh, I pushed myself up from the chair, smoothing down the front of my tunic as I made my way toward the dancefloor. As I approached, Corlys released Lucerys with a flourish, and I stepped in before anyone else could sweep her away.

Lucerys' eyes met mine, and I could see the glint of amusement there, the knowing smile that tugged at her lips. She'd felt my frustration from across the room—of course she had. She always knew when I was being too serious for my own good.

"Finally decided to join the celebration, my prince?" she teased, her voice soft but full of that familiar mischief.

I raised an eyebrow, taking her hand and pulling her close. "I thought it was time I reminded everyone who you belong to."

She laughed, the sound sending warmth through me. "Is that so?"

"That's so," I murmured, spinning her around in a slow circle. As we moved together, the rest of the hall seemed to fade away. It was just the two of us, the music, and the gentle sway of our steps.

For the first time that night, I felt at peace. Here, with her in my arms, everything else—duty, politics, the war behind us—seemed so far away. It was just Lucerys and me, as it had always been, and I knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, we would face them together.

"I have to admit," I said, my voice low as I looked down at her, "you've been quite busy tonight."

Her lips curved into a smile, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "It is my wedding day, Aems. Did you expect me to sit idly by while everyone else had fun?"

I chuckled, pulling her closer. "No, but I'd prefer it if you danced with me for the rest of the night."

Lucerys tilted her head, her smile softening. "And what if I prefer that too?"

I grinned, my chest swelling with something close to happiness—true happiness. "Then I suppose I'm a lucky man."

The music swelled around us, and as we moved together, the world outside the dancefloor fell away completely. It was just us—just Aemond and Lucerys, the prince and his pearl.

Soon, the time had finally come for us to leave King's Landing and fly to Dragonstone for the Valyrian wedding ceremony, the one that truly mattered. The Seven could have their blessing, their songs and prayers, but this… this was for us. This was for the blood of Old Valyria, the fire that burned in our veins, and the bond that only we, as dragonriders, could fully understand.

I mounted Arrax, the wind in my hair, the weight of the armor lighter than it had ever been before. Beside me, Lucerys was a vision atop Ghost, her Valyrian robes billowing in the wind, shimmering with the red threads that caught the sunlight like dragon scales. She looked like something out of legend, a figure born of fire and fury. My heart swelled at the sight of her, at the thought that she was mine now, bound to me in ways no one else would ever understand.

We flew together, soaring high above the Narrow Sea, the salt air whipping past us as the distant shape of Dragonstone appeared on the horizon. There was something sacred about this flight—just the two of us and our dragons, alone in the sky, bound by something deeper than blood or name. It felt like the final act of becoming, like we were shedding the last remnants of our old selves and stepping fully into the roles we were always meant to play.

Lucerys had always been beautiful, but today, in her Valyrian robes, she was something else entirely. The deep ruby red and white embroidery reflected the light as she rode beside me, her hair flowing freely behind her, her posture proud and unyielding as she guided Ghost through the clouds. It was moments like this that reminded me why I loved her, why I had always loved her. She carried the weight of her heritage with grace, never allowing it to bend her. She was fire, just like me. And soon, she would be mine in every sense of the word.

When we landed at Dragonstone, the castle was quiet, waiting for us. The Valyrian ceremony was private—intimate, as it should be. No lords, no courtiers, no prying eyes. Just Lucerys, me, and the fire that burned in our blood.

As we stood before the sacred altar, the flames of the old dragonfire blazing high around us, I couldn't take my eyes off her. The soft glow of the firelight danced across her skin, casting a warm, golden hue that made her look otherworldly. She was everything. My wife, my equal, my other half.

The ceremony was perfect. The words were spoken in High Valyrian, the ancient tongue of our ancestors, and as I repeated the vows, I felt every word deep in my soul. This was what it meant to be Targaryen, to be bound not by the whims of the realm but by something far older, far more powerful. Fire and blood. We were the last of the dragonlords, and together, we were unstoppable.

When the final words were spoken, and the sacred blood of the dragon was mingled between us, I looked into Lucerys' eyes and saw that same fire reflected back at me. This was our moment, the beginning of the rest of our lives. And as I pulled her close, pressing my forehead against hers, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't known was possible. We were bound now, in the eyes of our ancestors and the gods of Old Valyria.

But the night wasn't over. Not yet.

The bedding ceremony in Dragonstone was different than in the courts of Westeros. Here, it wasn't about bawdy jokes or watching eyes. It was about something far deeper, far more intimate. As we made our way to the chambers that had been prepared for us, my heart raced, not with nerves but with anticipation. I had waited for this moment—waited to worship her, to show her what she meant to me, not just as my wife, but as the person who had always been by my side, who had always seen me, not the crown or the title, but me.

When we were alone at last, the heavy doors of the chamber shutting behind us with a finality that made my heart pound, I turned to her. Lucerys stood there, the firelight flickering around us, casting long shadows on the stone walls. She was everything in that moment—strong, beautiful, fierce. My goddess.

I crossed the room in a heartbeat, my hands finding hers, pulling her close. "You are mine," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, "and I am yours. Forever."

Lucerys smiled up at me, her eyes bright and full of that familiar mischief. "I have always been yours, Aems," she said softly, her voice a balm to my restless heart. "And you have always been mine."

I kissed her then, deeply, desperately, my hands tangling in her hair as I pulled her against me. It wasn't a kiss of conquest—it was a kiss of worship, of devotion. Every inch of her was sacred to me, every part of her was something I had longed for, yearned for, and now she was mine. My wife. My princess. My pearl.

As I undressed her, my hands shaking slightly with the weight of the moment, I took my time, savoring each breath, each touch. The Valyrian robes slipped from her shoulders like water, pooling at her feet as she stood before me, radiant and unashamed. She was perfect—flawless in every way—and I couldn't help but wonder how I had gotten so lucky, how I had been chosen to have this woman by my side.

"Lay with me," I whispered, my voice rough with emotion as I led her to the bed, my hand still clasped in hers. She followed without hesitation, her trust in me complete, and as we lay together beneath the heavy blankets, I took my time worshipping her as she deserved.

Every touch, every kiss was a promise—a vow that went beyond words. I would protect her, I would love her, and I would stand by her side, no matter what the world threw at us. This was more than just a union of bodies; it was a union of souls, a bond that would never be broken.

As I kissed her skin, as I whispered her name like a prayer, I felt the fire between us grow, the flames of Old Valyria burning bright in our veins. She was mine, and I was hers, and nothing—no war, no crown, no duty—could take that from us.

When we finally lay together, spent and entwined, I pressed my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

"I will love you until my last breath," I whispered, my voice raw with emotion.

"And I, you," Lucerys replied, her hand gently caressing my face, lingering a moment longer on my pearl-eye, her touch grounding me in a way nothing else could.

The night stretched on, as I held her close. Together, we were unstoppable.

Together, we were Targaryens.