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Lucerys ran.
He didn’t know where he was going anymore, only that he had to keep moving.
The black dress clung to his thighs, ripped in places where thorns had bitten through. His legs were slick with sweat, mud, and blood. His breath came in ragged gasps, mouth dry, heart pounding like a war drum inside his chest.
Somewhere behind him, the horn blew again.
Aegon’s voice—slurred with wine and delight—echoed through the trees.
“Bring me the little whore alive! I want him sobbing when I take him!”
Lucerys nearly vomited.
He pushed himself harder, faster, even as every step felt heavier. His bare feet bled, his knees buckled, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
The trees blurred past him in streaks of green and gold. Birds scattered from the canopy, startled by the pounding of hooves in the distance. The hunt was closing in.
Then—
He collided with something solid.
He let out a startled cry, stumbling back, catching only a glimpse of dark leather, silver hair, and a single cold lilac eye before a hand shot out and seized his wrist.
He struggled, kicking, trying to tear free, but the grip was iron. Unyielding.
“Dohaeras,” came the voice. Low. Dangerous. Familiar.
Lucerys froze.
His head snapped up and he met Aemond’s eye.
The world stilled.
For a breathless moment, all he could hear was the thud of his heart and the slow, deliberate inhale Aemond took as he scented him.
“Gods,” Lucerys whispered, trembling.
His stomach twisted.
This was worse. So much worse than if it had been a guard or even Aegon himself. Because it was Aemond standing there. Aemond, who had never forgotten the nephew who took his eye. Aemond, who had helped take everything from Lucerys in the war that followed.
And now the man who stared down at him like a beast studying prey that had just walked straight into its den.
“What are you doing out here on your own, nephew?” Aemond said softly, mockingly.
Lucerys shivered, trying again to pull away. “Let me go,” he gasped. “He’s coming. I have to—”
Aemond’s grip only tightened.
“I know he’s coming,” Aemond said, voice low. “And you fled… straight into my arms.”
Lucerys shook his head. “I didn’t mean to—I just—I don’t want him—”
“Your cunt’s wet.”
He realized too late that his scent was betraying him. Heat and adrenaline had thickened the air around him. That damned vanilla-sugar sweetness his body produced, unbidden, curling into the space between them like an invitation.
He saw Aemond’s nostrils flare. Lucerys’ cheeks burned. He tried to step back but his spine met bark. A tree. No more running.
“He put something in my tea!” he explained, humiliated. Aemond snorted. “You think I wanted to be hunted like some animal?”
“What am I to do with you, Lucerys?” Aemond’s voice was soft. Far too soft. He leaned in, pressing a thigh between Lucerys’ legs. “I can smell you. Feel it through your dress. You’ve been leaking since the moment I found you. Dripping… as if you knew I’d come.”
Lucerys turned his face away, mortified.
His body was betraying him. His scent was thick now, cloying, and he could feel the warmth pulsing between his thighs. Shame curled in his gut. And something else. Something awful. Want.
“Gods help me, I despise you all.” he choked out.
Aemond’s lips curled.
“And yet, I’ve loathed you longer.”
And then he kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. It was a claiming, rough and bruising. His mouth crushed against Lucerys’, tongue sweeping in like he owned it. Lucerys whimpered, pushing at his chest, but the strength difference was hopeless.
One hand grabbed both of Lucerys’ wrists and pinned them above his head. The other slid down, gripping his arse, squeezing hard. Lucerys cried out into the kiss.
“You were mine from the moment you took my eye,” Aemond snarled against his lips. “Did you truly think I’d suffer him to touch you? That I’d stand by whilst my brother claimed what belongs to me?”
Lucerys was shaking, breathless, confused.
“I’m not yours,” he whispered but it lacked conviction. “You hate me!”
“I do,” Aemond said. “And I’ll fuck you anyway.”
Lucerys let out a soft noise, fear and something else.
“Uncle Aemond—please—”
“Begging already?” Aemond hissed, dragging his mouth down Lucerys’ throat. “Oh, sweet boy. You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.”
He yanked up Lucerys’ skirt, exposing the omega’s soft thighs, the slick between them catching the fading light. Lucerys gasped, squirming, thighs instinctively pressing together but Aemond shoved a hand between them.
“You’ll scream,” he promised, kissing along his jaw. “You’ll scream my name when you come. And when Aegon arrives, he’ll know he was too late.”
Lucerys whimpered, eyes fluttering closed, heart hammering in his chest.
He didn’t want this.
He didn’t want him.
But his body—traitorous, wretched thing—was already responding, slicking, opening, wanting.
Aemond’s mouth found the soft spot beneath his ear. Bit it.
Lucerys whimpered, but grabbed the front of Aemond’s tunic with both hands.
“Wait!”
The alpha stilled, breathing harshly against his throat.
“If you want me,” Lucerys whispered, voice shaking but clear, “you’ll swear me a promise.”
Aemond’s good eye met his, sharp, lilac, and burning.
“You’re in no position to bargain, my Lord Strong.” he said flatly.
“Then you don’t get me. Not unless you swear it. Because without that promise… you’ll be no better than Aegon—forcing himself on me like I’m nothing.”
That made Aemond pause.
Lucerys could feel the tight leash he kept on his instincts fray, almost snap. But then Aemond nodded once.
“Speak your terms.”
Lucerys swallowed hard. “First. You swear—swear—that Aegon will never touch me. Not now, not ever. I’d rather die.”
“Done,” Aemond growled. “He’ll lose his hands before he ever lays one finger on you.”
Lucerys breathed a little easier.
“Second,” he said. “My brothers. Aegon, Viserys. You keep them safe. You keep them out of all this.”
Aemond hesitated a moment longer but nodded again.
“Done.”
Lucerys stared at him, trembling.
And then, the final thing.
The most important.
“Third… you don’t breed me. Ever.”
Aemond tilted his head.
“That’s the one thing you’re afraid of?” he asked softly, almost amused.
Lucerys’ lips trembled. “I will not carry your child. I will not let you mark me. You may use me, Aemond, if that’s what it takes to survive—but I will never bear you a dragonspawn.”
The wind moved between them. The trees listened.
Aemond, at last, nodded.
“You have my word.”
Lucerys exhaled.
And then… he let go.
He released the tension in his shoulders. Let his legs part slightly, thighs damp and slick and trembling. He looked up, eyes wide and glassy, and nodded once.
“Then take me, uncle.”
That was all it took.
Aemond lunged, his mouth crashing back onto Lucerys’, this time not cruel but hungry. Their teeth clicked. Lucerys moaned softly, opening for him. He let Aemond kiss him, really kiss him, tongues sliding together in something messy and brutal and real.
Aemond's hands were everywhere, palming his ass, lifting him, grinding into the heat between his thighs. He lifted Lucerys like he weighed nothing, pressing him back against the tree, one strong arm under his thighs, the other gripping his jaw.
Lucerys clung to his shoulders, legs wrapping around the alpha's waist. Their bodies pressed together—heat against heat, hard against soft, slick coating Aemond’s leathers as Lucerys rutted helplessly against him.
“Please,” Lucerys whispered into his mouth.
“I know,” Aemond murmured, voice like crushed velvet. “I’ve wanted to split you open since the moment I saw you walk into Storm’s End that night. Gods, I could smell your cunt from across the hall.”
Lucerys whimpered, flushed and panting.
Aemond reached between them and tore the dress up over Lucerys’ hips, baring him completely. His fingers found the slick-soaked mess between his thighs. Lucerys gasped as two fingers slid inside easily, his body open and eager despite everything.
“Look at you,” Aemond groaned. “Tight and wet and perfect.”
“More,” Lucerys begged, hips rocking down onto his hand. “Give me your cock, not your fingers. You said you’d take me.”
Aemond didn’t need to be told twice.
He undid his breeches with one hand, cock springing free, thick, flushed, veined, the head slick already. Lucerys’ eyes widened slightly.
“You’ll fit?” he asked, breathless.
Aemond smirked.
“You’ll take it.”
And he did.
He lined himself up and began to press in, slow, steady, unrelenting. Lucerys let out a strangled moan, nails digging into Aemond’s shoulders as his slick eased the way, inch by inch. It hurt—a stretch that bordered on unbearable—but it was good, too, terrifyingly so.
“Fuck—” Lucerys gasped. “You’re—gods—”
“Tight little hole,” Aemond hissed, holding his hips still. “Clenching like a fist around me. You like this, don’t you? Being full of your enemy’s cock.”
Lucerys let his head fall back, gasping.
“You’re not my enemy,” he said. “Not tonight.”
Aemond groaned, buried to the hilt now.
He began to move.
He fucked Lucerys against the tree, hard and deep, the slap of skin on skin muffled by forest moss and Lucerys’ breathless cries. The omega clung to him, mouth open, taking every thrust like he was made for it. He moaned into Aemond’s ear, bit his shoulder, rocked his hips to meet every brutal drive.
“You’re mine,” Aemond growled. “Say it.”
Lucerys didn’t fight him this time.
“I’m yours,” he whispered.
“Say my name.”
“Uncle Aemond—Aemond—fuck, please, please uncle—”
His orgasm hit like lightning, sharp and bright and overwhelming. He came untouched, clenching hard around Aemond’s cock as slick poured from him, making a mess of both their thighs.
Aemond snarled, teeth sinking into Lucerys’ shoulder but he didn’t mark him, didn’t knot him. He remembered. He kept his promise.
He spilled inside him with a long, low groan, burying himself deep one last time.
They stayed like that, pressed together in the aftermath, panting.
Lucerys blinked up at him, eyes wide, glassy, stunned.
“You kept your promise,” he whispered.
Aemond leaned in, kissing him softly now.
“I’ll keep all of them,” he said. “You’re mine now, Lucerys. And I protect what’s mine.”
The trees no longer whispered.
Lucerys leaned against Aemond’s chest, legs still trembling from the way the alpha had taken him—marked him without marking, claimed him without ever breaking his word.
But his eyes—those wide, soft, doe-like eyes—gleamed now with something cold and gleeful.
He heard the thunder of hooves first.
Then the creak of saddles, snorting of hounds.
And then—Aegon.
He burst through the brush like a specter of chaos, hair wild, cloak slashed from thorn branches, his cheeks flushed with wine and fury.
“Where is he—?” the king snarled, twisting in his saddle. “Where’s the little whore—?”
His gaze landed on them.
Lucerys. Disheveled, debauched, pressed against Aemond’s chest like a satisfied lover. Aemond, calm and still, one arm possessive around Lucerys’ waist, the other resting casually on the hilt of his sword.
Aegon went utterly still.
He looked from the ruined black dress, to the bruises blooming along Lucerys’ neck, to the thin trail of white dripping down one of his pale thighs. His expression shifted—shock, rage, disgust.
“You fucked him?” Aegon hissed, voice sharp and incredulous.
Aemond said nothing.
He merely looked at his brother.
One eye. Cold as winter. Unblinking.
That look was enough.
It was a warning, a threat, a death sentence wrapped in silence.
Aegon flinched—flinched—and for the first time, his mouth snapped shut.
Lucerys stepped forward, slowly. He didn’t hide behind Aemond. Didn’t shrink.
He stood tall, even as his legs trembled, even as his dress hung from one shoulder like a ghost of modesty.
And then—he smiled.
Not sweetly. Not shyly.
No, this smile was wicked. Quiet. Dark.
I won.
That’s what it said.
Lucerys tilted his head, curls spilling down his back, and met Aegon’s stunned, furious gaze.
“Thank you for the hunt, Your Grace,” he said sweetly. “But it seems the prize was already claimed.”
Aegon’s face twisted. “You little—”
Aemond stepped forward.
Not fast. Not loudly.
Just one quiet, deliberate step.
Aegon shut his mouth again.
Lucerys could feel the tension rippling in Aemond’s body, like a hound on a short leash. He would kill for him. Lucerys knew that now.
And so did Aegon.
A beat passed.
Two.
Then Aegon pulled harshly at his reins.
“Keep the whore, brother,” he spat, wheeling his horse around. “I’m done wasting my time.”
He rode off.
No more horns.
No more laughter.
Only the sound of silence, broken by the crackling of leaves beneath hooves as the hunting party slowly disbanded.
Lucerys let out a slow breath.
Aemond’s hand found his waist again. Warm. Anchoring.
Lucerys turned his head slightly, cheek brushing Aemond’s chest.
“He looked like he wanted to strangle me,” Lucerys murmured.
“He’ll never touch you again,” Aemond said simply.
Lucerys looked up at him.
“And if I told you I enjoyed that, uncle?”
Aemond’s lips curled. “I’d say you’re more Targaryen than you seem, nephew.”
They began to walk—Lucerys barefoot, filthy, and bruised—but proud.
He didn’t look back.
But he smiled.
Later, that night, the Hand’s Tower felt quiet.
Too quiet.
Lucerys stood at the edge of the bathing chamber, arms wrapped around himself, curls still wild and tangled, the bruises on his throat darkening into plum and ink.
The servants had long since been dismissed, Aemond hadn’t spoken, only waved them away with a flick of his hand.
The bath had been filled with hot water, thick with lavender oil and goat’s milk, steam curling into the air like breath from a beast.
Lucerys stared at the water.
Then at Aemond, who stood across from him, removing his leathers with methodical precision. He hadn’t touched Lucerys since the woods—hadn’t spoken much on the ride home either, only glancing back every so often as if to make sure he hadn’t vanished.
The moment they were alone, the mood shifted.
Not lustful.
Just… heavy. Strange.
Lucerys peeled off the loose robe Aemond had given him—black velvet, too large, lined with fur. His body was still sore, thighs aching in ways that made him blush if he thought too hard. But he stepped into the steaming water anyway, gasping softly as the heat kissed his skin.
A moment later, Aemond joined him.
They sat across from one another, knees brushing under the water. The bath was large enough for two, warmed by coals beneath the floor. Candlelight flickered across the tiles, casting shadows that danced along Aemond’s pale chest, his long limbs folded neatly beneath the surface.
For a while, neither spoke.
Lucerys dipped a cloth into the water and began scrubbing his thighs. The scent of himself still lingered, clinging to his skin, Aemond’s scent too, deeper, darker, like iron and storm clouds. It made his belly feel oddly warm.
Aemond cleared his throat.
Lucerys looked up.
“Did I…” Aemond paused, visibly struggling. “Did I hurt you?”
Lucerys blinked.
“What?”
“Down…” Aemond shifted awkwardly, refusing to meet his eye. “Down there.”
His voice dropped into something almost bashful.
Lucerys burst out laughing, light, breathy, bubbling like spring water. It was the last thing Aemond expected. His brow creased in offense, but Lucerys just shook his head, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“You’re blushing,” he said, delighted. “Gods, you’re blushing.”
“I am not,” Aemond muttered, sinking slightly lower into the water.
“Yes, you are,” Lucerys teased. “The fearsome Kinslayer, brought low by the word ‘cunt.’”
Aemond glared at him but it was faint. Embarrassed. He looked down, swirled his hand through the water.
“You didn’t answer.”
Lucerys softened then.
He set the cloth aside and slid closer, knees now resting against Aemond’s. His foot brushed Aemond’s calf underwater.
“You didn’t hurt me,” he said gently. “Not like you mean.”
Aemond looked up.
Lucerys tilted his head. “You promised. You kept your word. That… surprised me.”
“I don’t break promises.”
“No. You don’t.”
Lucerys reached out and trailed his fingers down Aemond’s jaw. The skin was warm from the steam. His silver hair stuck to his neck and temples, making him look younger, almost soft.
“You’ve been watching me for a long time, uncle.” Lucerys murmured in Valyrian.
“Always,” Aemond admitted.
Their faces were close now, the heat between them gentler than the forest. Lucerys let his hand trail down to Aemond’s chest, fingertips brushing the faint scars there…
“You want me like a mate,” Lucerys said, softly amused.
“You are one,” Aemond murmured. “In all but ceremony.”
Lucerys snorted. “How romantic.”
“I meant it.”
Lucerys met his eye, lilac and flame. And found, unexpectedly, not hunger but yearning.
For a moment, the whole world narrowed to the warm water between them, the scent of lavender and wet skin, and the weight of everything unspoken pressing into the steam.
“If I’m your mate,” Lucerys said slowly, “draw me a bath after every fuck.”
“Done.”
“Brush my hair.”
“Gladly.”
“And speak sweetly when you take me. Like a mate should.”
Aemond leaned in, nose brushing his.
“You’ll be spoiled before the moon turns,” he whispered.
Lucerys kissed him.
It was soft, this time. A kiss shared not out of survival, not out of fear but something else. Trust, maybe. Or curiosity. Or something dangerously close to affection.
The water rippled around them as Aemond pulled him gently into his lap, arms winding around his waist, both of them sinking deeper into the warmth.
They stayed like that, tangled in steam and silence.
Two enemies.
Two mates.
The next morning, Lucerys woke to warmth.
Not fear. Not a cold cell. Not a locked door.
A bed.
A real bed. Heavy with furs, scented with cedar and leather and something soft beneath it all…
The same smell that clung to Aemond’s skin.
The chamber was gilded in soft sunlight, the windows cracked open just enough to let in the morning breeze. Silk curtains swayed gently like whispers. Aemond’s tunic was gone from the floor. His boots, too. Only the sound of armor shifting told Lucerys he wasn’t alone.
He turned his head.
Aemond stood near the hearth, already half-dressed, pulling on a leather glove, the early light making his hair look almost white. He glanced over, as if sensing Lucerys stir.
Their eyes met.
And for a long moment, there was only that.
Lucerys sat up slowly, the linen shift he’d been dressed in whispering against his skin. He blinked at him sleepily. “You’re leaving?”
“Only briefly,” Aemond said, voice low. “You’ll rest here. When I return, I’ll bring someone.”
Lucerys frowned. “Someone?”
Aemond hesitated, then looked down at the glove he was fastening. “Your brothers.”
Lucerys stared.
“Aegon and Viserys? You mean—here? With me?”
Aemond gave a short nod. “They’ve been in the Keep. Just… kept apart. On Aegon’s order.” He looked back at him. “That ends today.”
Lucerys’ breath caught. For a moment, nothing moved inside him but hope. Too fragile to touch.
“I haven’t seen them in weeks,” he whispered. “I—”
“I know,” Aemond said quietly.
Something about the way he said it—I know—made Lucerys’ throat tighten. He looked down at his lap, hands curling in the sheets, trying to make sense of this man. This version of Aemond who kissed his shoulder in the morning and spoke of promises like they were sacred things.
And then Aemond spoke again.
“Lucerys.”
The way he said his name—soft, unsure—made him look up.
Aemond was watching him with something unreadable in his face. Careful. Guarded.
“You don’t have to force yourself,” he said at last.
Lucerys blinked. “What?”
“This,” Aemond said. “Last night. The way you touched me. Let me hold you in the bath. Let me… kiss you,” he continued. “You don’t have to pretend you want any of it.”
Lucerys stared at him.
“You think I was performing like a common whore?” he asked softly.
Aemond didn’t answer. Not right away.
“You were given no choice,” he said. “You made a bargain to protect your brothers. And I—”
He cut himself off. Jaw tight. “I won’t shame you for doing what you must. I won’t mistake it for affection.”
Lucerys rose from the bed slowly, bare feet touching the stone floor, the shift clinging to his legs.
He crossed the distance between them and looked up, so close now he could see the tension in Aemond’s throat, the quiet restraint in every line of his body.
“You think touching you repulses me?” Lucerys asked, almost amused. “You think I’m the one pretending?”
Aemond said nothing.
Lucerys shook his head.
“Gods, you truly hate yourself, don’t you?”
Aemond flinched. Just a little.
Lucerys stepped closer still.
“It’s not pity,” he said. “It wasn’t last night.”
Aemond’s breath hitched.
Lucerys touched his chest, lightly, fingers brushing over leather and buckle.
“You kissed me. You touched me like I wasn’t a bastard. Like I wasn’t the boy who took your eye.”So maybe I wanted it. Maybe I even want you.”
Aemond’s gaze burned through him, sharp and unreadable.
Lucerys drew a breath.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, softer now, but steady. “Not gentleness. Not restraint. Not after what I did.”
He swallowed.
“You should hate me. I should be begging your forgiveness. But you kept your promise—you didn’t hurt me. And now you’re bringing my brothers here. Keeping another promise.”
A pause.
“If you give me kindness, Aemond… I won’t call it pretend.”
Then Aemond leaned down, and kissed him, slow and uncertain.
Lucerys kissed back.
And when they broke apart, Aemond said nothing more. He only nodded once, jaw set, and turned to leave.
Lucerys watched him go, lips still warm from the kiss.
Hope bloomed in his chest. And this time, he let it.
The day was nearly gone when the knock came.
Lucerys had paced the floor so many times he’d worn a trail into the rug. He still wore the same soft linen, though someone—likely Aemond—had left fresh clothes folded at the foot of the bed: dark blue velvet, finely stitched, with a brooch in the shape of a small three-headed dragon. He hadn’t dared put it on.
He hadn’t dared hope.
But when the door opened—just slightly—and Aemond’s figure appeared silhouetted in the light…
There were two smaller figures beside him.
Lucerys didn’t move at first.
He just stood there. Silent. Frozen. Hands pressed over his mouth.
And then—
“Muña!”
Little Aegon launched forward, his silver hair bouncing as he ran, violet eyes bright with tears and joy. Behind him, Viserys toddled quickly on too-short legs, a chubby hand reaching for his brother’s trailing sleeve.
Lucerys dropped to his knees just in time to catch them both.
“Oh—oh, gods, my sweet boys—my sweet loves—”
His arms wrapped around them, crushingly tight. Little Aegon clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder, while Viserys curled into his lap, hands grasping at his shift like it might vanish if he let go. Lucerys kissed their heads again and again, the scent of them filling his nose like memory: milk and soap and the faint scent of dragonfire.
He wept.
Not loudly, not brokenly just soft, steady tears as he buried his face in their hair.
“You called me Muña,” he whispered.
Little Aegon nodded fervently, still holding him.
“You look like her,” he said. “Like Mother. But your hair is dark. It’s soft.”
Lucerys laughed, wet and breathless.
“She was our mother. But I guess…I am your muña too, in my way.”
He pulled back just enough to cup Viserys’ face.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “My dragonling. You’ve grown.”
Viserys blinked up at him with enormous purple eyes and touched his curls. “Muña sad?”
“Not anymore,” Lucerys whispered, kissing his cheek. “Now that I have you.”
Behind them, Aemond stood quietly in the doorway, saying nothing.
He had removed his eyepatch—just for this moment—and Lucerys, glancing up, saw the raw truth in his face. The longing. The guilt. The strange softness.
“Thank you,” Lucerys said.
Aemond gave the faintest nod. “They are yours. They’ll remain with you, under protection. No one touches them.”
Lucerys stood slowly, one child on each hip, curls falling around his flushed, tear-damp face. He looked at Aemond over their shoulders, eyes wide with something that wasn’t quite forgiveness, but something gentler.
“You gave me back my heart,” Lucerys said quietly.
“No,” Aemond said, voice low. “You never lost it. You only thought you had.”
Lucerys held his brothers close and smiled, tired, tender, and real.
“They called me Muña,” he whispered again, like it was sacred.
“Then Muña you shall be,” Aemond said, watching them as if they were a vision he didn’t dare touch.“And I will make sure no one takes that from you again. Now, shall we dine?”
The table was small, intimate, carved from dark wood and polished until it shone. Now, for the first time, it was full.
Lucerys sat cross-legged on the cushioned bench, curls loosely tied back with a silver ribbon, his robe falling open at the throat. Viserys, plump and bright-eyed, was nestled in his lap, gnawing on a slice of peach and cooing happily to himself. Bits of juice stuck to his cheeks and lashes. Lucerys wiped at them gently, cooing back.
On his other side, little Aegon sat stiff and upright, clutching a piece of bread like a weapon. His violet eyes were locked—narrowed—on Aemond, who sat across the table eating with delicate precision.
Every few minutes, Aemond so much as shifted—
“Grrr.”
Lucerys sighed, amused. “Egg.”
“Grrrrr.”
“Calm down, Egg,” Lucerys said patiently, brushing crumbs from his brother’s curls. “He’s good.”
“He isn’t,” Aegon whispered fiercely. “He stares at you.”
Lucerys smiled at his plate, cheeks pink.
“That’s because I’m beautiful,” he winked, slicing a plum in half for Viserys.
“He’s scary.”
“He’s quiet,” Lucerys corrected. “You know who was truly scary? Kepa. And uncle Aemond’s practically a kitten by comparison.”
Across the table, Aemond—who had been watching this exchange in silence—raised a brow. He took a sip of wine, expression unreadable, but his eye lingered on Lucerys’ mouth when he licked juice from his thumb.
Viserys, unaware of the tension, dropped a piece of fruit onto the floor and squealed.
“Oops,” Lucerys said, laughing. “Disaster.”
He leaned down to pick it up, and when he sat up again, Viserys had curled tighter into his chest, already beginning to doze. Lucerys shifted to accommodate him, resting his chin atop the boy’s silver curls.
“Aegon,” he murmured, “eat your food. You’re safe, you hear me? I’m right here.”
Little Aegon finally relented, muttering under his breath as he gnawed at his bread, eyes still flicking to Aemond like a wary hound.
Lucerys gave his brother a small kiss on the crown of his head, then glanced across the table.
Aemond hadn’t touched his food again.
He was still watching them.
His hand curled loosely around his goblet, and his gaze—far from hungry or possessive—looked almost... dazed. As if trying to commit this to memory.
Lucerys, cradling a dozing Viserys with one arm and stroking Aegon’s back with the other, smiled faintly.
“You’re staring again,” he said, voice low.
Aemond blinked, dragged his eye away, looked down at the wine.
“I know,” he said quietly.
Lucerys tilted his head.
“Why?”
Aemond didn’t answer for a long time.
Then—
“I don’t know what to call it.”
Lucerys looked down at the two boys curled into him. His voice, when it came, was soft but firm:
“It’s called peace.”
Aemond’s eye flicked to his face.
Lucerys met it.
“And you’re allowed to have it. If you want it.”
Aemond said nothing—but for the first time since Lucerys had come to the Keep, he looked not haunted, not dangerous.
Just still.
Little Aegon, half-asleep now and still pressed protectively to his brother’s side, murmured:
“If he touches you while you’re sleeping, I’ll bite his toes.”
Lucerys laughed so hard he nearly dropped the peach slice.
Even Aemond smiled.
It had taken nearly an hour to coax both boys into sleep.
Viserys had insisted on singing to his stuffed dragon—a battered grey thing with one wing missing—and little Aegon wouldn’t close his eyes unless Lucerys lay down with one arm firmly around him.
Now, the chamber was hushed. Candlelight dimmed low. The fire in the hearth whispered.
And Aemond Targaryen, Hand of the King, was lying flat on his back in bed… with one child sprawled across his chest and another curled between him and Lucerys like a sleepy dragon hatchling.
Lucerys, half-covered in furs, was fighting laughter against the pillow.
Aemond sighed through his nose.
“I never thought I’d share my bed with Daemon’s spawn,” he muttered.
Lucerys giggled.
“This is all your fault,” he whispered. “You brought them to me.”
“And now they’ve claimed my chambers like squatters.”
“You’re lucky they haven’t taken to scribbling on the walls.”
“Gods help me,” Aemond grumbled, eye twitching as Viserys shifted in his sleep and… clambered up his chest like a determined kitten.
Lucerys stifled another laugh as Viserys finally settled with his tiny arms draped around Aemond’s neck and his soft cheek smooshed against his collarbone. A delicate snore emerged moments later, high and innocent.
Aemond stared at the ceiling like a man questioning the gods.
“Oh,” Lucerys murmured, voice softening. “He used to sleep like that over Jace…”
Aemond’s head turned slightly.
Lucerys wasn’t looking at him, just gazing at the little boy now draped over his chest, his fingers twitching in dreams.
“Jacaerys was always warm. Viserys loved climbing on him when they napped. Like a little dragon finding its hoard.”
His smile faltered slightly. But just for a breath.
Aemond didn’t interrupt.
Lucerys blinked a few times and looked at him.
“Are you comfortable?”
Aemond raised a brow slowly. “I have a toddler wrapped around my throat, Lucerys.”
Lucerys snorted. “You’ll live, my prince.”
He turned on his side to face him fully, only a few inches between them now, his body curled around little Aegon’s sleeping form. The candlelight caught on his lashes. His voice dropped to something gentler.
“You don’t have to keep them here every night.”
Aemond looked down at the child snoring against his chest, then at the other one using Lucerys’ stomach as a pillow.
“I don’t mind,” he said. “They’re warm. And...adorable.”
Lucerys smiled.
Aemond hummed.
Then—after a pause, almost shyly—
“Will you stay forever with me?”
Lucerys tilted his head. “Do you want me to?”
Aemond met his gaze. And for once, he didn’t say something clever. He just nodded.
Lucerys leaned forward, barely brushing their foreheads together across the sea of tangled limbs.
“Then I will.”
Outside, the winds rolled across the rooftops of the Red Keep.
Inside, two princes lay with the last children of Rhaenyra tucked between them like sacred things.
And Aemond, of all people, slept easy.