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After your arrival, you had to come clean to Aang about your interaction with Zuko. You hadn't seen the Firelord since, and you had been hesitant to question Aang about it.

Zuko remained near the railing with his hands folded behind his back, his gaze fixed upon the nation stretched before him.

The afternoon light cast itself across the sharp lines of his face, catching against the scar along his left eye while the wind stirred the ends of his robes faintly behind him.

For a brief moment, you considered turning around.

But he had already noticed you.

"Good afternoon," he greeted, his voice surprisingly loud for how calmly he said it.

You bit your tongue, knowing you had no way around it anymore.

"Good afternoon, Fire Lord Zuko," you returned eventually, approaching with measured steps.

His attention shifted fully toward you, though his posture remained unchanged, carrying the authority he so obviously had.

There was still undeniable tension lingering between you both after your argument aboard the ship, hiding beneath the polite exchange.

Zuko broke the silence first.

"I trust your stay within the palace has been pleasant thus far?" he asked. "It has been three days already."

You moved to stand beside him, leaving enough distance between you to remain proper as your looked upon the view below.

"It has been well," you answered politely. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Zuko hummed quietly at that.

"It seems," he began after a pause, "you informed Aang about our...interaction."

Your expression nearly faltered.

So Aang had spoken to him after all.

You had not known whether he would, nor had Aang shared anything regarding whatever conversation followed afterward.

The realization unsettled, and you resisted the instinctive tension threatening to surface across your face, drawing yourself subtly straighter beside him instead while your hands folded neatly before you.

"My intention was never to offend you," he said at last, his tone stripped of it's usual sharp edge.

"I am aware my words overstepped, and I am very sorry they caused you hurt."

The apology settled awkwardly between you, leaving you unsure on how to respond.

You felt embarrassingly childish, standing there knowing you had confessed the entirety of your disagreement to Aang the moment you arrived at the palace.

It reminded you far too much of a child tattling on their bullies' parents, having to face a confrontation later.

You composed yourself quickly, each movement measured carefully to preserve what remained of your dignity despite the embarrassment steadily tightening within your chest.

"Thank you," you replied softly. "I appreciate the apology."

Your fingers folded neatly over the railings before you as your head lowered briefly.

"And I must apologize as well," you admitted after a moment. "It appears I have become the reason behind your difficulty in trusting your own friend."

Zuko's brows furrowed faintly.

"There is no need for you to apologize," he answered immediately.

"The fault lies with me. It is I who failed to trust Aang's decisions."

You nodded quietly at his words. 

Another silence followed afterward, though this one felt less suffocating than before, neither of you quite willing to speak further yet you no longer carried the same urge to leave his presence.

Then Zuko broke it once more.

"There is something else I would like to apologize for."

Your brows furrowed faintly.

"What for?"

For the first time since you had arrived, hesitation crossed his face properly, as his jaw tightened briefly before he answered.

"That night," he began carefully, "at Katara's home...I overheard part of your conversation with Aang."

Your eyes snapped toward him instantly and he did little avoid your gaze.

"I had gone to return his emblem," he continued evenly.

"I did not intend to intrude, but by the time I realized what I had walked into..." His expression hardened slightly at himself.

"I remained long enough to hear more than I should have."

You stared at him for a moment, very stunned by the confession itself but also by the fact that he had admitted it to you.

If it had been you, you would taken it to the grave.

"How much did you hear?" you asked quietly.

Zuko exhaled through his nose, leaning slightly against the railing beside him.

"I could not tell you how much was spoken," he admitted. "Only that I heard enough to understand very little."

He turned, facing away from you as he spoke.

"In truth, the more I seem to learn about you, the less I understand."

There was no mockery in his statement, only honesty as you lowered your eyes briefly, fingers folding together.

"I understand your concern for Aang," you said after a moment.

"I appeared rather suddenly in all of your lives, and in doing so, I seem to have complicated matters that existed long before me." Your voice softened slightly at the next words.

"Especially between Aang and Katara."

Zuko remained silent, allowing you to continue.

"But Aang loves me," you finished quietly, not leaving any room to object your statement.

At that, Zuko nodded once.

"Yes," he said simply. "He does."

The answer is earnest.

"And if it offers you any reassurance," he continued, "from what I have observed, Aang and Katara do share a long history together, but it remains precisely that. History."

His gaze held yours steadily. "And if you still seek an answer to the fears you carried that night, then no, I do not believe Aang would ever betray you."

"I know he will not," you confirmed, and the firmness in your voice surprised even yourself.

"But...that is not my greatest concern."

Zuko studied you carefully then.

"Then what is?"

The question settled heavier, realizing you had opened another gate for a topic you shouldn't be discussing with him.

Your eyes drifted from him once more, deciding to speak on it anyway.

"I have always feared," you admitted slowly, "that one day he may regret it."

Your throat tightened slightly around the next words.

"Regret me."

Zuko's brows pulled together, recalling Aang's words from that fated night.

"Was he not the one who asked you to marry him?"

"Yes," you replied softly. "But the circumstances of our marriage were...unorthodox."

You chose the word carefully, careful enough not to reveal too much.

Zuko noticed regardless.

"How so?" he asked quietly.

You paused for a long moment after his question, your fingers curling slightly against the railing beneath your hands.

Then, quietly, you confessed.

"I was meant to marry the crown prince of my nation."

Zuko, despite the barrel of questions pouring in his mind, does not interrupt you.

For once, he remained entirely silent, understanding instinctively that this was the first genuine glimpse into your past you had willingly offered him.

"It had always been decided," you continued.

"My father served as the king's advisor for most of his life. And when the crown prince and I were born on the very same day, my father believed it to be fate." A faint smile touched your lips, but it carried little to no amusement.

"Eventually, he convinced the king of the same."

The wind swept past the balcony again, carrying the warmth of the afternoon.

"The prince and I..." You hesitated briefly, choosing your phrasing carefully. "We were acquaintances, nothing more. I could never truly call him my friend."

You let out a sigh, coming to terms with the fact you were actively sharing your history with Aang's friend.

"In truth, I do not believe he considered me one either."

Zuko watched you quietly.

"We rarely saw one another despite growing up together," you admitted.

"But it did not matter. From the moment we were born, everyone around us already knew that our futures will be united," Your fingers tightened even further against the railing.

"So we simply accepted it."

Then you fell silent entirely.

Zuko's gaze lingered on you, before he finally asked the question he had been waiting to speak.

"What changed?"

You remained still, your attention drifting upward toward the open sky stretching endlessly beyond the palace walls.

"Then," you said softly, turning your head just enough to glance at him, "Aang arrived."

Something in Zuko's expression shifted faintly, only growing more curious by the second.

"And you fell in love?" He asked carefully,

The laugh that escaped you caught him entirely off guard.

"Spirits, no!" you replied immediately, amusement finally alive in your voice.

"What exactly do you take me for, Fire Lord Zuko?"

One of his brows lifted slightly.

You shook your head softly, the remnants of your laughter fading.

"Perhaps had I not already been betrothed, I might have understood what people describe as love at first sight." You admitted after a moment.

Zuko's attention sharpened immediately.

"Then why?" he pressed again, the careful mask of indifference beginning to fracture at last beneath his growing curiosity.

You looked back toward him then, a small smile lingering upon your lips.

"Tell me something, Fire Lord," you began softly.

"Between a king and the Avatar, who do you believe commands greater authority over the world?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard entirely.

Zuko's brows furrowed faintly, as though he were attempting to understand where exactly you intended to lead him.

Still, after a brief pause, he answered honestly.

"A king."

"I believed so as well," you admitted.

"After all, the Avatar possesses no royal standing. The Avatar exists to preserve balance, to remain impartial above all else."

Your fingers traced absent patterns against the railing, running your nails across the carvings.

"A king commands nations. The Avatar merely guides them."

You paused for a clock's tick before continuing.

"But answer one more question for me." Your eyes gaining yet another glint of interest.

"If the Avatar stood to your right, and The King of..." You trailed off, looking away in thought before you continue.

"...The King of the entire world, supposedly, stood to your left..." Your smile deepened slightly.

"Which direction would your eyes turn to?"

The question lingered between you both.

Zuko inhaled slowly through his nose, and despite already knowing the answer, he still found himself considering it properly, turning the thought over in his mind before responding.

"...Right." he admitted at last.

Your smile widened in approval.

Zuko exhaled quietly, realization settling over him piece by piece as he turned his face away.

"So," he said slowly, "your father convinced Aang to marry you."

"You catch on rather quickly," you mused, confirming his statement.

A faint huff escaped him, not entirely convinced.

"But Aang is not someone who would agree to it." Zuko replied, looking back toward you now.

"Especially not regarding something of this matter." His eyes narrowed. "How exactly did your father convince him?"

"He did not," you answered softly, shutting down Zuko's trail of thoughts.

"I did."

The confession struck him immediately, his head turning toward you fully now, disbelief flashing openly across his face for the first time since this conversation began.

"How?" he asked at once.

You did not answer him.

Instead, you tilted your head slightly, your gaze settling on him.

"Do you have a sister, Zuko?"

The question caught him entirely off guard.

His face morphed and something solemn crossed his features, his posture stiffening despite the obvious effort to conceal whatever memory your question had stirred.

You noticed it instantly.

"Oh," you murmured. "My apologies. Have I touched upon a sensitive matter?"

Zuko exhaled quietly through his nose before answering.

"No," he replied after a moment. "It is alright. I...do have a sister."

You nodded, choosing not to prod it the matter just yet.

"Then surely, as royalty, you already know the answer to what I am about to ask."

Zuko's attention narrowed down to your next words.

"If a woman of noble or royal standing were to become intimate before marriage," you said carefully—

"would a future king still choose to marry her?"

Maybe it took him a second, perhaps two, but the understanding struck him soon enough.

Zuko's eyes widened faintly as he turned completely toward you now, his body shifting as disbelief settled into his expression.

"Aang would never..." he whispered, the words leaving him almost involuntarily.

You smiled at that, and it was not bitter. If anything, it seemed strangely fond.

"You are correct," you replied quietly.

"Aang would never." Your gaze held his steadily.

"He had Katara, after all."

The statement, though quietly said, rang loud between them, filling the gaps of what Zuko could not.

You were waiting for some semblance of a comment, but none came, so you looked away first.

"My feet have begun to ache," you said, smoothing your hands along the fabric at your sides.

"I shall go rest now." You inclined your head politely.

"Good day, Lord Zuko—"

You had barely turned before his hand closed around your wrist, the force of it startling you entirely.

Pain shot sharply through your arm as your breath caught, instinctively trying to pull yourself free from his grip, but his hold remained firm.

"Did you..." His voice faltered once, entirely unsure how he could even go about asking his question.

He formed the words slowly in his mind, but when they left him, they were laced with his disbelief.

"Did you force yourself upon him?"

You froze.

The accusation struck harder than his grip ever could, halting your faint struggle against him.

The shock on your face was immediate, your expression falling apart so suddenly it seemed you could not even comprehend the words that had just been spoken to you.

You lifted your eyes toward him.

"Unhand me," you whispered plainly.

After a moment, he did. The second his fingers released your wrist, you stepped back from him, staring in utter shock before something entirely unexpected escaped you.

A laugh.

It was faint at first, as if you were trying to suppress it beneath your lungs.

But then another followed, your hand rising quickly to cover your mouth while your shoulders trembled beneath the sound.

Zuko stood frozen before you, caught between confusion and rage.

"What is so amusing?" He asked slowly, observing how you pressed the bridge of your nose, much like Aang had done.

"You!" you answered through the remnants of your laughter, lowering your hand slightly as tears gathered painfully in your eyes.

"It's amusing how easily you throw around such statements." You shook your head faintly.

"At least Sokka merely believed me status-hungry. Even that is kinder than the vile accusation you just made."

"I was not accusing you—"

"You were," you cut him off immediately. "And you did so without hesitation."

The humor vanished from your face entirely then.

"You are pathetic, Lord Zuko," you whispered, the hurt in your voice far louder than your anger could have ever been.

"You spoke those words so easily without once considering how heavily they might weigh upon me."

Only then did he properly notice the tears, realizing he completely misjudged the situation.

Regret struck his face instantly.

"I am sorry—"

"Forget it," you interrupted sharply, already turning away from him.

"I cannot even disguise this as your concern for Aang anymore." You stated as you walked away from him.

Your pace quickened across the corridor, hurt and humiliation burning through you.

"For you to stoop so low..." Your throat tightened around the next words. "It was...unexpected."

Zuko followed after you immediately.

"Please!" he called after you, urgency finally breaking through his facade, "Allow me to apologize."

"No!"

You turned around so abruptly that he stopped mere inches away from you, the closeness sudden enough to steal the breath from him entirely.

Your eyes glistened as you looked up at him, wounded frustration pulling harshly at the muscles of your face.

"Why must every conversation of ours begin with an apology and end in an argument?" You asked quietly.

For once, Zuko had no answer.

But his hands lifted instinctively, settling carefully on your shoulders in an attempt to steady both you and the conversation unraveling between you.

"I am sorry," he said again, the words stripped entirely of pride.

"I swear to you, I never intended to hurt you." He inclined his head, not trying to avoid your gaze but doing so anyway.

"I was worried for my friend, and I allowed that concern to cloud my judgment."

You said nothing.

You only stared at him with that same wounded frown, your silence far harsher than anger.

Then, after a long moment, your voice finally returned you.

"Please let me go," you murmured tiredly. "I wish to rest."

And this time, Zuko listened.

His hands fell away from your shoulders immediately, giving you space to turn around and disappear down the corridor alone.

The meeting had dragged on far longer than Aang had anticipated.

By the time he entered the throne room later that afternoon, you had already been settled into your temporary room within the palace.

He had stayed with you longer than he should have, making certain you had bathed after spending some time beneath the sheets together.

He made sure you had eaten properly, and that you were comfortable as the afternoon sleep finally took you, visibly tired from your journey.

Only then had he forced himself away.

And now, seated within the throne room amongst ministers, generals, and advisors of the Fire Nation court, Aang found his thoughts nowhere near the matters being discussed before him.

Usually, his presence within political meetings carried a certain lightness to it, an ease that often softened the stiffness of royal proceedings.

Even during disagreements, there remained something breezy about him, an openness that made people forget, if only briefly, that they sat in the presence of the Avatar.

Today, that ease was absent.

His posture remained straight throughout the entirety of the meeting, his expression unreadable, responses short and precise whenever his input was requested.

The shift in demeanor had not gone unnoticed either, several members of the court exchanging uncertain glances whenever any matter settled too long on him.

Even Zuko had noticed.

From atop the elevated throne platform, the Fire Lord's eyes drifted toward Aang more than once during the meeting, sensing something unsettled beneath the stillness he wore.

So when the final matter concluded and Aang spoke before anyone else could rise—

"Leave us."

—the entire room had fallen silent.

No one moved at first.

The command had not come from the Fire Lord.

A few uncertain gazes shifted toward Zuko instead, waiting for correction or dismissal, because at the end of the day, regardless of the Avatar's status, this remained the throne room of the Fire Nation.

Zuko studied Aang, watchful of the serious glint that showed beneath his friend's face.

Without question, Zuko inclined his head slightly toward the Grand Chamberlain.

The older man understood immediately.

"The meeting is adjourned," he announced loudly.

One by one, the members of the court began filing out of the throne room, robes sweeping across the floor while quick footsteps echoed beneath the towering ceilings.

The massive doors eventually closed behind the last remaining council member, the sound reverberating through the now empty hall.

Zuko finally rose from his place.

The elevated dais placed him high above everyone who entered the room, an intentional symbol of authority inherited through generations of Fire Lords.

From below, he appeared untouchable seated there, distant in both power and stature.

Yet now he descended the side steps without ceremony, his robes shifting behind him as he approached Aang directly, concern settled into his features almost immediately.

"What is it you wish to discuss?" he asked, voice loud and clear now within the emptiness of the throne room.

He doesn't receive an answer from the Avatar.

His brows furrowed faintly.

"You seem distressed. Is your wife dissatisfied with her chambers?"

Aang said nothing once more as he remained standing in the very center of the room, unmoving beneath Zuko's gaze.

Zuko slowed slightly near the final step.

"You had the court dismissed. What is this about, Aang?" he asked again, confusion beginning to edge into his voice.

Aang finally looked at him properly then.

"What was your real reason for bringing my wife here?"

Zuko stopped mid-step, his expression tightening faintly as he stood directly before Aang. He searched his face briefly, trying to determine how much exactly had been said.

"What do you mean?" he asked carefully.

Aang did not waver.

"Were you genuinely trying to help me," he asked bluntly, "or did you bring her here to investigate her?"

The Fire Lord was speechless; the frightening part was how accurate the accusation truly was.

Zuko felt the realization strike immediately, though years of royal composure kept it from reaching his face fully. But, beneath the surface, something unpleasant twisted sharply in his chest.

Not fear of confrontation.

Not fear of punishment.

Fear of disappointing.

It was an old feeling, one Zuko despised for how easily it returned whenever Aang looked at him like this.

Once, years ago, he had chased the twelve-year-old boy across the world in desperate pursuit of stolen honor, reducing the Avatar to nothing more than a target he believed might fix his broken life.

And even after all these years, even after friendship and forgiveness and peace, part of him still feared becoming that person again in Aang's eyes.

So he lied.

"Aang," he began steadily, "what would make you think such a thing? That was never my intention."

Aang's expression hardened faintly.

"It felt intentional when you questioned my wife about our marriage." Aang was agitated now, visibly trying to slow he thoughts down before saying the next words.

"Even more so when you lied and misled her after she answered you honestly."

Zuko folded his arms loosely across his chest.

"We were having a conversation," he replied. "One your wife initiated after entering my study."

"From what I heard," Aang countered immediately, "she was ready to leave. You were the one who stopped her."

"She appeared restless," Zuko answered. "I merely offered her tea."

"And with the tea," Aang countered coldly, "you offered to discuss Katara."

Zuko stared at Aang.

You truly had hidden nothing from your husband.

For some reason, Zuko had assumed you would omit certain details, particularly the conversation surrounding the Water Tribe girl.

Yet instead, you had recounted the interaction in full, trusting Aang enough to leave nothing concealed between you.

The realization settled, understanding that he underestimated your bond with Aang.

"Your wife was the one who asked about it," Zuko replied at last. "And out of respect for both you and Katara, I chose not to speak on it."

"That only made things worse!"

Aang's voice rose slightly then, frustration finally slipping through the restraint he had maintained since entering the throne room.

The sound echoed sharply through the empty hall before he abruptly stepped back, shutting his eyes as his fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, likely stopping himself from openly speaking of the insecurities you try to hide from him.

The gesture was familiar to Zuko. Aang would often do so whenever he was forcing himself not to say something harsher.

Zuko liked to think it was something the Avatar had picked up from him.

Aang exhaled as he lowered his hand.

"Zuko," he began, "I don't want to drag this out. I'm not here to fight with you."

Despite trying to remain calm with his words, Aang looked at Zuko dead in the eyes, telling a different story altogether.

"Just...don't meddle in my marriage."

"I never intended to—"

"You keep saying that," Aang interrupted, seemingly fed up with everything, "but right now I'm having a hard time believing you."

The words struck Zuko hard.

"Please," Aang continued, "don't turn against my wife just because you don't know her."

Zuko said nothing.

There was very little he could say.

"I'm the one who brought her here," Aang went on.

"If you have questions, ask me."

Perhaps the statement was genuine permission. Perhaps Aang truly would have answered whatever Zuko wished to know in this moment.

But something told him pressing further would only worsen matters.

So Zuko straightened himself instead and answered with the composure expected of a Fire Lord.

"I have no questions, Aang. It is an honor to extend my hospitality to both you and your wife."

Some of the tension in Aang's shoulders eased at that.

"Thank you."

And with that, he turned away.

His footsteps echoed through the empty throne room as he headed toward the doors, the guards outside already shifting in preparation to open them for the Avatar's departure.

Yet just before the doors parted, Aang stopped.

Without fully turning back, he tilted his head slightly for his voice to carry clearly across the room.

"If I hear you've spoken to her again," he said quietly, "it better be to apologize."

Then, before Zuko could answer, the doors opened, and Aang walked out.

Zuko could not sleep.

The palace had grow quiet, the halls outside his chambers empty save for the occasional shift of guards changing posts, yet sleep refused to claim him no matter how still he remained beneath the covers.

He had continued through the rest of the day despite the fight he had with you, burying himself beneath reports, meetings, and discussions in hopes that duty might silence the thoughts plaguing him.

It had not worked.

Now, with darkness stretched across room, he found himself replaying every word spoken between you both on the balcony earlier that afternoon.

And every time he reached the end of the memory, it only worsened.

Not only had he failed to offer the proper apology Aang had all but demanded of him days prior, he had managed to turn the conversation into something far uglier.

The worst part was that he had not even realized the severity of his words until he saw your face fall apart before him.

Zuko shut his eyes, exhaling through his nose before opening them again to stare upward.

The darkness above him became a canvas for recollection, his mind returning once again to the fragments of your conversation.

"If a woman of noble or royal standing were to become intimate before marriage, would a future king still choose to marry her?"

He understood more now.

Your previous engagement had ended because of intimacy before marriage. That part had become painfully obvious the moment you revealed the existence of the crown prince.

"Aang would never..." "You are correct. Aang would never. He had Katara, after all."

Zuko pressed back against the pillow beneath his head.

He had misunderstood you entirely.

At first, he had believed your words implied Aang's refusal came solely from loyalty to Katara, yet the more he replayed the conversation now, the more flawed that assumption became.

Because Zuko knew Aang.

He knew his values, the vows Air Nomads upheld, and that his discipline had been rooted into him since childhood.

Aang would never dishonor a woman in such a manner, regardless of Katara's existence.

You no longer sounded accusatory.

You were bitter. Hurt even

Then came the memory he regretted most.

"Did you force yourself upon him?"

Zuko shut his eyes again immediately, shame twisting sharply through his chest.

Spirits.

The answer had been right in front of him the entire time.

Whatever happened between you and your former betrothed had not been your choice.

That was why your engagement collapsed.

That was why honor weighed so heavily upon you.

That was why the accusation had shattered you so completely.

And instead of understanding, he had cornered you with the cruelest conclusion possible simply because he could not make sense of where Aang fit within the story.

So he had grasped onto the first explanation that seemed logical and hurled it toward you without thought.

The memory of your breakdown made his stomach twinge with guilt.

He should have known better.

While Zuko spent the night trapped within the unrest of his own thoughts, you had finally managed to find sleep.

The night was still early, but the hurt left behind by your argument had exhausted you more than you realized.

And after hours spent curled beneath the blankets, wishing for Aang's return, your mind had eventually surrendered to slumber. 

The palace had remained quiet then, the distant crackle of torches outside your chambers blending into the stillness of the night until everything faded into unconsciousness.

You did not remember what you had been dreaming about when you woke.

Only noise.

It reached you faintly at first, enough for your dreams to blur into confusion while sleep still clung heavily to your senses. 

Somewhere beyond the walls of your chambers, voices rang through the halls accompanied by hurried footsteps and the metallic clash of armor.

Your brows furrowed as your eyes slowly opened.

Another shout echoed through the distance.

Then another.

You pushed yourself upright immediately, the blankets slipping from your body while your heart began beating faster without fully understanding why. 

The room remained dark save for the pale wash of moonlight slipping through the heavy curtains, and in your disorientation, you could only sit there listening as the commotion outside grew louder by the second.

You still could not make out the words.

Your fingers fumbled for the robe resting near the edge of the mattress, quickly pulling the thin fabric around yourself before tying it shut with clumsy hands. 

The chill in the room suddenly felt unbearable, as you slowly got off the mattress and made your way towards the door.

Then came the scream that shattered through the corridor clearly enough for you to finally understand.

"Attack! Attack on the palace!"

You hadn't misheard. The statement was undeniable.

Every thought in your mind vanished.

You stepped back so abruptly, you almost lost your balance, panic flooding through your chest while your eyes darted around your chambers.

What were you meant to do?

Leave the room?

Remain hidden?

Find guards?

Your pulse hammered painfully while another wave of shouting erupted somewhere beyond in the palace, followed by the unmistakable sound of guards running.

You could not bring yourself to open the doors blindly.

Not without knowing what waited beyond them.

So instead, you hurried toward the windows at the far side of the room, your bare feet slipping slightly against polished floors as you reached for the thick cord holding the curtains shut.

Your hands trembled while pulling it.

The curtains slowly lifted upward with each tug, moonlight spilling wider into the chambers inch by inch.

At first, you saw as smoke curled upward from somewhere within the palace grounds.

Then, the fire caught your eye, orange light flickering violently against the night sky.

And then you saw it.

Something enormous burned through the darkness toward the palace itself.

Your breath caught instantly.

It resembled the sun more than fire, a massive sphere of blazing orange and gold tearing across the sky with terrifying speed, growing larger with every passing second until you realized—

It was coming directly toward you.

The cord slipped from your fingers as your body froze.

The curtains collapsed shut immediately, swallowing the room back into darkness while panic seized your entire body.

You turned and ran.

But before you could barely reach past the bed, the world behind you erupted.

The impact crashed through the chambers with catastrophic force, glass exploding outward while heat and destruction tore through the room in an instant.

chapter six coming soon...

a/n: I will just straight up say that i have projected myself onto zuko's character in my fic (NOT IN THIS CHAPTER), it will make sense in the future chapters and i may even explain it when the time comes. whatever happens with zuko going forward...everyone will not understand it, but i will explain my perspective on it, rest assured.

[taglist open] (please mention under the latest chapter or the story masterlist)

masterlist

Vera woke to the gentle pressure of fingers against her shoulder, dawn light filtering through the partially drawn curtains. For a moment, disorientation clouded her mind before the warm solidity beneath her cheek registered—Aemond's chest, bare and familiar beneath her.

"You were here all night," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep as she tilted her head to look up at him.

Aemond hummed, the sound vibrating beneath her ear. Vera smiled, nestling closer to his warmth. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath her cheek, a rhythm more soothing than any lullaby.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

"Much better now," she admitted softly, savoring the rare moment of peace. No royal duties, no political machinations, no talk of betrothals or war—just the two of them, cocooned in the early morning quiet.

Aemond's lips curved into a satisfied smirk as he tightened his arms around her, cradling her against him. His fingers traced lazy patterns along her spine, each touch sending pleasant shivers across her skin.

"You know Floris arrives today," he said, breaking the peaceful silence between them.

Vera tensed slightly, her fingers curling against his chest. "I know," she whispered, the momentary contentment fading as reality intruded once more.

"It changes nothing," Aemond stated with characteristic bluntness, his hand continuing its soothing path along her back. "You are mine, and I am yours. A Baratheon girl doesn't change that."

Vera pushed herself up on one elbow, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at her healing wound. She studied his face in the soft morning light—the sharp angle of his jaw, the silver-gold hair spread across her pillow, the intensity in his single violet eye.

"And when she tries to claim your attention? When she reminds everyone of your betrothal?" Vera couldn't keep the edge of bitterness from her voice. "What then?"

Aemond's expression hardened, his jaw tightening visibly. "Let her try," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I've never given her reason to believe I desired her company."

"That hasn't stopped her before," Vera muttered, remembering the girl's persistent attempts to engage Aemond during her last visit to King's Landing. "She's quite determined."

"Let her try all she wants," Aemond said with dismissive coldness. "I hardly care what she thinks. The only woman I will ever marry is you, Vera Cole."

His declaration hung in the air between them, bold and unwavering. Vera's heart quickened at his words, at the absolute certainty in his voice. She studied his face, tracing the lines of determination etched into his features.

Vera moved her hand to his face as always, and gently pulled the eye patch off, revealing the sapphire stone beneath.

"I'm angry with you," she said softly, "keeping this eye patch on all night."

Aemond's lips curled into a light smirk, the expression softening his usually severe features.

Vera tossed the eye patch aside, the black leather landing with a soft thud on the floor. She returned to her position against him, laying her head on his chest and breathing in his familiar scent. Aemond wrapped his arms around her again, his warmth enveloping her like a protective shield.

"I don't wish to talk about it now," she murmured against his skin. "Not about Lady Floris, not about Aegon. I just want to spend this moment with you."

"As my lady commands," Aemond replied, the smirk evident in his voice even as his fingers resumed their gentle path along her spine.

They lay in peaceful silence, the world beyond her chamber doors momentarily forgotten. Vera listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, felt the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.

After a few minutes, a thought occurred to her. "Is Ser Arryk still guarding outside?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I told him to rest," Aemond replied, his voice a low rumble beneath her ear. "The door is locked."

Vera smiled softly as she closed her eyes, savoring the knowledge that they were truly alone. Then she opened her eyes again, a different kind of warmth blooming within her. She moved from his side, ignoring the slight twinge in her healing wound as she leaned up to press her lips against his.

Aemond returned the kiss immediately, one hand sliding into her hair to cradle the back of her head. The gentle pressure of his mouth against hers quickly deepened, kindling a familiar heat that spread through her limbs.

Her hands slid from his chest downward, fingers tracing the defined muscles of his abdomen before reaching the laces of his breeches. Aemond's breath hitched slightly, but his hand gently caught her wrists, pulling back just enough to break their kiss.

"Your wound," he reminded her, his voice husky with desire despite his restraint.

Vera leaned forward again, pressing another kiss to his lips before speaking against them. "I want you to take me," she whispered, her dark eyes meeting his violet one with unmistakable intent.

Aemond's gaze darkened at her words, his grip on her wrists loosening. "Are you certain?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she assured him, her hands returning to the laces of his breeches. "Just be gentle."

His resistance crumbled at her words. Aemond slid his breeches down his legs with fluid grace, kicking them aside as Vera moved to straddle him. His hands settled on her hips, steadying her as she positioned herself above him. Their lips met with renewed hunger, weeks of restraint dissolving in the heat between them.

He broke away, his breathing ragged as he reached for the hem of her nightgown. The thin fabric whispered against her skin as he lifted it over her head, tossing it carelessly to join his discarded clothes on the floor. Morning light spilled across her olive skin, illuminating the angry red line where the assassin's blade had pierced her.

Aemond's fingers traced the healing wound with reverent gentleness, his touch feather-light against the puckered skin. His expression darkened momentarily, rage flickering across his features at the reminder of how close he had come to losing her.

Vera placed her hands on his cheeks, guiding his face up until their eyes met. She wouldn't allow this moment to be tainted by memories of violence or thoughts of what might have been. Her thumbs stroked his cheekbones, silently commanding his full attention.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that spoke of life and hope rather than fear and vengeance. Aemond responded immediately, his arms encircling her waist to draw her closer. The heat of his bare chest against her breasts pulled a soft moan from her throat, the sound swallowed by his eager mouth.

With deliberate slowness, Vera sank down onto him. They moaned in unison, the sound quiet but intense in the stillness of her chamber. Her fingers curled against his shoulders, nails digging lightly into his skin as pleasure rippled through her.

"I've missed this," she whispered against his lips, her body adjusting to the familiar fullness of him. "Missed you."

Aemond's hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements with careful restraint. Despite the desire evident in his flushed skin and quickened breath, he maintained control, mindful of her still-healing wound. 

"Are you in pain?" he murmured, his violet eye searching her face for any sign of discomfort.

Vera shook her head, dark hair cascading around her shoulders with the movement. "No," she assured him, rolling her hips in a way that made his breath catch. "I feel perfect."

The world beyond her chamber ceased to exist as they moved together in the gentle morning light. No royal duties, no political machinations, no impending arrivals—only the two of them, finding solace and strength in each other's embrace.

Aemond's lips traced a path along her jaw to the sensitive spot below her ear, drawing a shiver from her despite the warmth of their bodies. His hands roamed her back, supporting her weight as she arched against him.

Vera breathed Aemond's name near his ear. She moaned in pleasure as he hit a deep spot within her, sending waves of sensation coursing through her body. Her fingers tightened in his silver-gold hair, holding him close as they moved together in the soft morning light.

"There," she whispered, her voice breaking as he repeated the motion. Her body trembled around him, the pleasure momentarily eclipsing the dull ache of her healing wound.

Aemond's hand slid to the small of her back, supporting her weight as he guided her movements. His breathing grew ragged against her neck, hot and urgent as he fought to maintain control.

Vera's body tensed as pleasure built within her, each movement bringing her closer to the edge. Her breathing quickened, shallow gasps escaping her parted lips as she rocked against him. Through the haze of mounting pleasure, she felt Aemond's lips brush against her neck, his breath hot against her skin.

"I love you," he whispered, the words vibrating against her throat.

Something broke open inside her at those words. Vera pulled back just enough to cradle his face between her palms, her thumbs tracing the sharp line of his cheekbones as their eyes met. The intensity of his gaze made her heart stutter in her chest.

"I love you too," she whispered back.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, hungry and desperate as their bodies continued to move together. Aemond groaned low against her mouth as he felt her body tighten around him. The sound vibrated through her, pushing her over the edge. Vera moaned against his lips, pleasure washing over her in waves as her release claimed her.

Moments later, Aemond followed, his arms tightening around her waist as he shuddered beneath her. She felt the warmth of his release inside her, his body tensing then gradually relaxing as they held each other close.

For several heartbeats, they remained joined, foreheads pressed together as their breathing slowly returned to normal. Vera's fingers traced idle patterns across his shoulders, savoring the solid warmth of him beneath her touch.

Vera let out a breath, leaning her forehead against his. She pulled back slightly, her dark eyes narrowing as reality intruded on their moment.

"I need to take moon tea again," she whispered, the words falling between them like stones in still water.

Aemond's lips curved into that infuriating smirk that both irritated and thrilled her. Without a word, he pulled her back to him, claiming her mouth in another kiss that made her forget her concerns, if only for a moment. She surrendered to it, her body still humming from their lovemaking.

When she finally managed to pull away, Vera pressed her palms against his chest. "I need to get up," she murmured against his lips, though her body betrayed her as she shifted and felt him still inside her. A soft moan escaped her at the sensation, her wound forgotten in the wake of renewed desire.

"No, you don't," Aemond countered, his voice a low rumble that she felt more than heard.

Before she could protest further, he rolled them with surprising gentleness. Vera's head sank into the pillows as he settled above her, his weight supported on his forearms to avoid pressing against her wound.

A sigh of pleasure escaped her as his lips found her throat, trailing kisses down the sensitive skin. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation of him still joined with her, his mouth marking a path that sent shivers cascading through her body.

"Aemond," she breathed, her fingers tangling in his silver-gold hair. "We can't... again..."

Aemond's lips vibrated against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending new waves of pleasure through her body. He shifted his hips slightly, still buried deep within her, and the movement pulled a quiet moan from Vera's throat.

His lips found hers again, hovering just a breath away as he spoke. "If we can't again, then why is your body responding so well?" His voice was low, teasing, as he moved his hips in a slow, deliberate motion that made her gasp.

Vera's eyes fluttered closed as pleasure coursed through her veins. "That's not fair," she whispered, even as her body arched into his, betraying her words.

"Nothing about us has ever been fair," Aemond replied, his movements still achingly gentle as he mindful of her healing wound. His hand slid to her thigh, lifting it slightly to change the angle between them.

The new position sent sparks of sensation through Vera's body. She bit her lip to stifle another moan, aware of how sound carried in the quiet morning hours of the Red Keep. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, holding him close as he established a rhythm that was torturously slow yet devastatingly effective.

"Someone will come looking for us soon," she managed between shallow breaths, her body contradicting her words as it moved in perfect harmony with his.

"Let them," Aemond growled, his pace increasing slightly as his control began to slip. His lips found her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that made her shiver.

Vera's protest died on her lips as pleasure built within her once more, faster this time, a wildfire spreading through her limbs. She turned her head, capturing his mouth with hers to muffle the sounds that threatened to escape her throat.

A knock at the door froze them both mid-motion.

"My lady?" Dyana's voice called from the corridor. "Are you awake? The King has requested your presence this morning outside in the courtyard."

Vera's eyes widened in panic as she stared up at Aemond. He remained perfectly still above her, his expression darkening at the mention of his brother.

"One moment, Dyana," Vera called, impressed by how steady she kept her voice despite the circumstances. "I've just woken. I'll need time."

"Of course, my lady," came the reply. "Shall I prepare your bath?"

Aemond's lips curved into that infuriating smirk as his hips moved again, so subtly she might have imagined it if not for the jolt of pleasure that shot through her core. Vera glared up at him, slapping his shoulder in silent reprimand even as her body clenched around him.

"No need," she managed, her voice only slightly strained as Aemond continued his subtle torment. "I'll call for you soon."

"Very well, my lady."

Footsteps retreated from the door, and Vera released the breath she'd been holding. "You're terrible," she whispered to Aemond, though there was no real anger in her tone.

His smirk widened as he leaned down to capture her lips once more. "And yet you love me," he murmured against her mouth.

"The gods help me, I do," she sighed, surrendering to the inevitable as his movements became more purposeful.

Vera buried her face against Aemond's shoulder to muffle her cries as pleasure claimed her once more, her body tightening around him as she peaked. Aemond followed moments later, his release accompanied by a low groan that he stifled against her neck.

For several heartbeats, they remained entwined, reluctant to break the connection between them. Reality hovered at the edges of their sanctuary, demanding attention that neither wished to give.

Vera gave Aemond an amused look, placing her hands on his chest.

"Get off me, you great lummox," she said, though her tone held no real annoyance. "You're crushing me."

Aemond smirked, hovering just above her lips. "Am I?" he murmured, his breath warm against her mouth.

With deliberate slowness, he withdrew from her body before rolling to his side. The sudden emptiness left Vera feeling strangely bereft despite their recent intimacy.

She glanced over at him, taking in his satisfied expression and tousled silver-gold hair. "We need to get dressed," she said softly. "Aegon is expecting me, and Lady Floris will arrive soon."

The reminder of reality dampened the warm glow between them, though Aemond's expression remained untroubled. Vera sighed and carefully maneuvered herself off the bed, mindful of her healing wound. The movement sent a dull twinge through her side, but nothing she couldn't manage.

"I like it more when you aren't dressed," Aemond remarked, making no move to rise as he watched her naked form move across the chamber.

Vera let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head at his brazenness as she approached her wardrobe. The cool morning air raised goosebumps on her bare skin, though the heat of Aemond's gaze seemed to warm her from within.

She could feel his eyes following her every movement as she sorted through her gowns, considering which would be appropriate for the day's events. Behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric as Aemond finally stirred from the bed.

"You look thoroughly bedded," he commented, his voice rich with smug satisfaction.

Vera turned to find him standing beside the bed, his breeches now covering his lower half while his chest remained bare. His violet eye gleamed with masculine pride as he took in her disheveled appearance.

"And whose fault is that?" she retorted, though she couldn't keep the smile from her lips.

Aemond crossed the chamber to her, his movements fluid and predatory. His fingers caught a strand of her dark hair, tucking it behind her ear with tenderness only meant for her.

"Mine," he said simply, the single word carrying unmistakable possession.

Vera allowed herself one more moment of closeness, leaning into his touch before reality reasserted itself. "I need to bathe in the end," she said, stepping back reluctantly. "I can't go meet Aegon smelling of our activities."

Aemond smirked, his violet eye gleaming with mischief. "Yes, wouldn't want him thinking I've been inside you all morning."

Vera gave him a look, her dark eyes narrowing even as her lips twitched upward. She rolled her eyes in amusement, pushing against his chest with gentle pressure.

"Get dressed," she told him, glancing meaningfully at the door. "And fetch Dyana for me. I need her help with my hair and gown if I'm to face Aegon and Lady Floris today."

Aemond raised an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful as he regarded her. "Very well," he conceded, his voice carrying that note of command that never quite left it, even in their most intimate moments.

Vera smirked as she watched him gather the rest of his clothes, admiring the fluid grace with which he moved despite his considerable height. His muscles rippled beneath pale skin as he slipped his arms through his shirt sleeves. The transformation fascinated her—how quickly he changed from her lover back into the fearsome prince the rest of the world saw.

He reached for his eye patch last, securing it. The black leather against his skin completed his transformation, lending him that dangerous edge that made lesser men step aside when he walked the corridors of the Red Keep.

Aemond moved toward the secret passage hidden behind the tapestry, pausing before he disappeared into the darkness beyond. In two long strides, he returned to her, one hand snaking around her waist to pull her against him. His mouth claimed hers in a heated kiss that left her breathless, her fingers clutching at his doublet for support.

When he finally released her, his trademark smirk had returned, more pronounced than before. "Don't try to look too pleased with yourself," he warned, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "People might wonder what's put that glow in your cheeks."

"I suppose I should tell you the same," Vera replied, amusement coloring her tone as she straightened his collar. "Your smug expression will have the entire court gossiping before midday."

Aemond's smirk widened as he stepped back, his eye lingering on her face as if committing it to memory. With a final nod, he slipped behind the tapestry, the hidden door closing silently behind him.

Vera smiled and shook her head, biting her lower lip as she stared at the place where he had disappeared.

*******

Dyana had outdone herself with Vera's appearance that morning. The beautiful blue gown hugged Vera's figure perfectly while still accommodating her healing wound, the color deepening her olive-brown complexion and making her dark eyes appear even more luminous. Her hair had been artfully arranged, falling in loose waves over one shoulder.

"You look beautiful," Dyana said, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

Vera smiled at her friend, warmth spreading through her chest at the genuine admiration in Dyana's eyes. "Thank you for your help," she said, smoothing her hands over the blue silk. "I couldn't have managed this on my own."

Ser Arryk waited outside her chambers, his white armor gleaming in the morning light. He offered her a small bow as she emerged, his weathered face creasing with a paternal smile.

"My lady," he said, offering his arm. "You look radiant today."

Vera accepted his support gratefully, her side still tender despite her earlier activities with Aemond. As they walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, she mentally prepared herself for what awaited—Lady Floris's arrival and the inevitable tension it would bring.

Vera caught her breath as they stepped into the courtyard, the morning sun momentarily blinding her. She squinted against the light, her hand tightening on Ser Arryk's arm as her eyes adjusted. The royal family had already assembled in a semi-circle around a woman.

Lady Floris Baratheon had arrived.

The Baratheon girl stood tall and proud, her chestnut hair gleaming in the sunlight as she smiled up at Aegon. Two maids hovered behind her, clutching small parcels and looking around the courtyard with wide eyes.

Ser Criston stood a short distance from the royal family, his white cloak rippling gently in the morning breeze. When he caught sight of Vera, his stern expression softened into a warm smile. Vera returned it, drawing strength from her father's presence as she approached the gathering.

Ser Arryk squeezed her arm lightly before releasing her, moving to take his place beside Ser Criston and the other knights. Vera straightened her shoulders, ignoring the dull ache in her side as she stepped forward.

Alicent turned at her approach, her polite mask dissolving into genuine warmth. She stepped away from the group, meeting Vera halfway and taking both her hands.

"You look beautiful, my dear," Alicent said, leaning forward to place a kiss on Vera's cheek.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Vera replied, acutely aware of both Aegon and Aemond's gazes shifting to her. She could feel their eyes on her like physical touches—Aegon's hungry and possessive, Aemond's heated and knowing. Heat crept up her neck at the memory of their morning activities, and she silently prayed her blush wouldn't betray her.

She moved past Alicent toward Otto, whose stern countenance dominated the small gathering. Rising on her tiptoes, Vera placed a gentle kiss on his weathered cheek, a gesture she'd performed countless times since childhood. The Hand's features softened momentarily, the lines around his eyes crinkling in rare display of affection.

"How are you feeling after last evening's dinner?" Otto asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"I'm alright," Vera assured him, meeting his shrewd gaze with a small smile. She lowered her voice further. "Thank you for trying."

Otto nodded almost imperceptibly before turning back to the gathering, his hand briefly squeezing her shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, Vera turned toward Lady Floris. "Lady Floris, welcome to King's Landing. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

The Baratheon girl's smile tightened at the edges as she dipped into a shallow curtsy. "Lady Vera," she replied, her voice honeyed but her eyes sharp as they swept over Vera's blue gown. "How kind of you to greet me. Yes, the journey was... adequate."

Behind that forced smile, Vera could see the jealousy simmering. Lady Floris's gaze lingered on Alicent's hand, still resting on Vera's arm, then flicked to Otto's softened expression. The contrast between her cool reception and Vera's warm welcome clearly rankled.

Vera maintained her polite smile, though her chest tightened at the undisguised animosity in the other girl's eyes. Lady Floris was pretty in a conventional way—fair-skinned with rosy cheeks and a generous figure showcased by her black and gold traveling dress. But there was a hardness to her features that beauty couldn't quite disguise.

"Perhaps Lady Floris would like to rest before the hearing and tonight's feast," Aegon suggested, his violet eyes sliding from Floris to Vera with unconcealed interest. "The journey from Storm's End is taxing."

"A wise suggestion, Your Grace," Lady Floris replied, dipping into a perfect curtsy. When she straightened, her gaze lingered on Aemond, who stood slightly apart from the group, his expression carefully neutral. "Though I had hoped to spend some time with my betrothed."

The word hung in the air between them, a deliberate reminder of her claim. Vera kept her expression carefully pleasant despite the twist of discomfort in her stomach.

"There will be time enough for that later," Alicent said smoothly, stepping forward to take charge of the situation. "Come, I'll escort you to your chambers myself. Your maids can follow with your things."

Lady Floris had no choice but to accept the Queen Dowager's guidance, though her eyes darted once more to Aemond before she allowed herself to be led away. Her two maids hurried after them, carrying small chests and parcels.

As Lady Floris disappeared into the Keep with Alicent, Vera felt a presence at her side. Helaena had moved beside her, her dreamy violet eyes watching the retreating figures with unusual focus.

"The storm arrives on crimson wings," Helaena murmured, her voice soft enough that only Vera could hear. "She seeks what isn't hers to claim."

Vera turned to her foster sister, recognizing the prophetic cadence in Helaena's words. "That was fun," she muttered sarcastically, keeping her voice low.

Helaena smiled gently and placed her hand on Vera's arm, her touch light as a butterfly's landing. "The twins have been asking for you all morning," she said, deftly changing the subject. "Jaehaera wants to show you her new doll."

Vera felt her tension ease slightly at the mention of the children.

Helaena took her hand and led her inside, away from the lingering stares of the courtiers. "Come. They'll be delighted to see you."

Ser Arryk and Ser Cedric fell into step behind them, their white armor gleaming in the corridor's torchlight. The knights maintained a respectful distance, close enough to protect but far enough to allow private conversation.

As they walked through the cool corridors of the Red Keep, Vera caught Helaena watching her with that peculiar, knowing gaze.

"You're different today," Helaena observed, her voice dreamy yet perceptive. "There's a glow about you."

Heat rushed to Vera's cheeks. She looked away, suddenly fascinated by a tapestry they passed. "I'm feeling better, that's all. The wound is healing well."

Helaena's lips curved into a soft smile that suggested she understood far more than Vera was saying. "Of course," she agreed, her tone making it clear she didn't believe that explanation for a moment.

The twins' delighted squeals when they entered Helaena's chambers pushed all thoughts of Lady Floris from Vera's mind. For the next hour, she lost herself in their innocent world of dolls and wooden dragons, savoring their uncomplicated love.

*******

By midday, Vera found herself walking beside Aegon through the corridors of the Red Keep, her arm linked with his despite the lingering anger she felt. The golden crown sat heavy on his silver-gold hair, catching the light as they moved.

Ser Arryk followed a few paces behind, accompanied by two of Aegon's favorite knights—Ser Eddard Waters and Ser Leon, both young men who had risen quickly through the ranks since Aegon's coronation.

"The members of the council suggested you attend today's hearing in the Throne Hall," Aegon told her, his voice carrying that mix of command and persuasion he often used when he wanted something. "I agreed, of course."

Vera sighed, feeling trapped between courtesy and resentment. "Very well," she conceded, knowing refusal would only create more tension.

She attempted to lighten the heavy mood between them, tilting her head to look up at him. "If it's going to be a long hearing, I'll need to sit. Are you offering me the Iron Throne for the occasion?"

Aegon smirked, letting out a soft scoff that was half-laugh, half-dismissal. "The seat isn't comfortable, I assure you."

"I figured as much," Vera replied with a hint of amusement, grateful for the momentary ease in their interaction.

They approached the massive doors of the Throne Hall, where two guards stood at attention. At Aegon's nod, they pulled the heavy doors open, revealing the cavernous space beyond. Lords and ladies from court filled the hall, their colorful garments creating a sea of moving fabric beneath the high ceiling. Near the back, a small group of commoners waited nervously, clutching hats and papers—petitioners seeking the king's judgment.

Aegon led Vera down the central aisle, the crowd parting before them like water before a ship's prow. Whispers followed in their wake, but Vera kept her gaze forward, her expression carefully composed.

When they reached the steps leading to the Iron Throne, Vera gently removed her hand from Aegon's arm. With a small, proper curtsy, she moved to take her place between Otto Hightower and Aemond.

As Aegon ascended the steps to the imposing throne, Vera glanced at Aemond beside her. His expression remained carefully neutral, though she felt the brief pressure of his fingers against hers, hidden from view by the folds of her dress—a silent acknowledgment of their earlier intimacy.

"The King will hear petitions," the Hand announced, his voice echoing through the hall.

As the first petitioner approached—a farmer whose land dispute required royal judgment—Vera scanned the assembled crowd. Her breath caught when she spotted Lady Floris standing among a group of nobles. The Baratheon girl had changed from her traveling clothes.

Lady Floris's gaze was fixed on Vera, her eyes narrowed in undisguised animosity. The reason was clear—Vera's position next to Aemond spoke of an intimacy that Lady Floris coveted for herself.

Vera turned her attention back to the petitioner, determined not to let Lady Floris's glares affect her. She felt Otto shift slightly beside her, his shrewd gaze taking in the tension radiating from the Baratheon girl.

"This will be a long afternoon," he murmured, his voice too low for anyone but Vera to hear.

"Indeed," she agreed, keeping her expression pleasant despite the knot of anxiety forming in her stomach.

The farmer finished presenting his case, and Aegon leaned forward on the throne, his crown gleaming in the light streaming through the high windows.

The next petitioner stepped forward, a thin woman clutching a small child to her chest. Her tale of hardship following her husband's death in service to the crown drew sympathetic murmurs from the crowd.

Aegon nodded sympathetically to the widow, ordering a small pension be arranged for her and her child. The woman's grateful tears seemed to please him as he settled back against the throne, his posture more relaxed than when the proceedings had begun.

As the afternoon wore on, petitioners came and went. Vera maintained her attentive expression despite the growing ache in her side. Standing for so long had aggravated her healing wound, but she refused to show any sign of weakness, especially with Lady Floris watching her like a hawk from the crowd.

Finally, a broad-shouldered man with soot-stained hands and forearms approached the throne. His clothes were of good quality but simple, marking him as a craftsman of some means. He bowed awkwardly, clearly unaccustomed to court protocol.

"Your Grace," he began, his voice deep and steady despite his obvious nervousness. "I am Hugh the blacksmith, master of the Street of Steel guild. I come on behalf of all the smiths of King's Landing."

Aegon leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. "Speak, Master Hugh. What brings the blacksmiths before their king?"

The man straightened, gaining confidence. "It's the price of iron, Your Grace. Since the troubles began, merchants have tripled their prices. We've orders for weapons and armor from the crown, but without payment in advance, our work has stalled. Many smiths can't afford to buy the raw materials needed."

Otto shifted beside Vera, his posture stiffening. "The royal treasury has already allocated funds for arms," he said, his voice measured but firm. "Payment upon delivery has always been the crown's policy."

Hugh nodded respectfully to the Hand but stood his ground. "In normal times, yes, my lord. But these aren't normal times. The Essosi traders know war is coming, and they're charging accordingly." He turned back to Aegon. "We want to serve the crown, Your Grace, but we need coin to buy iron before we can forge it into swords."

Vera watched Aegon consider the request, noting how his fingers drummed against the arm of the throne.

"How much would you require?" Aegon asked.

Hugh named a sum that made Otto's eyebrows rise. The Hand leaned toward Aegon, speaking in low tones that Vera couldn't quite catch, though his disapproval was evident in the tightness around his mouth.

Aegon listened to his grandfather for a moment before holding up a hand to silence him. "The crown will advance the payment," he declared, his voice carrying through the hall. "Master Hugh, see Ser Tyland Lannister tomorrow. He will arrange for the coin to be transferred to your guild."

Relief washed over the blacksmith's face as he bowed deeply. "Thank you, Your Grace. The smiths of King's Landing won't forget this generosity."

As Hugh backed away from the throne, Otto's expression remained troubled. Vera glanced at her grandfather-figure, noting the concerned furrow of his brow. She leaned closer to him, keeping her voice pitched low enough that only he could hear.

"Grandfather, if you're worried about the treasury, I could speak with Ser Tyland myself," she offered. "Perhaps we could verify the actual costs before releasing the full amount."

Otto turned to her, his stern features softening slightly at her suggestion. His eyes studied her face, recognizing the diplomatic solution she was offering—a way to honor Aegon's public commitment while protecting the crown's finances.

"That would be wise," he agreed quietly. "Ser Tyland respects your judgment. See what can be arranged."

Vera nodded, pleased that she could be of practical help. The hearing was finally concluded, and Aegon rose from the Iron Throne, signaling an end to the day's petitions. The assembled nobles began to disperse, conversations rising in volume as the formal atmosphere dissolved.

As Vera turned to speak with Aemond, Lady Floris approached with determined strides, her beautiful face set in a pleasant expression that didn't reach her eyes. Vera's stomach tightened, but she maintained her composure, lifting her chin slightly as the Baratheon girl drew near.

Aegon descended from the Iron Throne with fluid grace, adjusting his crown as he approached. He moved to Vera's side, leaning close enough that his breath tickled her ear.

"How did I do?" he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of boyish uncertainty that reminded her of their childhood.

Vera smiled despite herself. For all his faults, there were moments when glimpses of the brother she'd grown up with shone through the kingly facade.

"Not bad," she admitted softly, pleased to see him actually caring about ruling well.

Aegon smirked, satisfaction evident in his violet eyes. The expression faded as he caught sight of Lady Floris approaching, her skirts swishing against the stone floor as she cut through the dispersing crowd.

"Your Grace," Lady Floris said, dipping into a perfect curtsy before Aegon. "That was most impressive. You have such wisdom in your judgments." Her voice dripped with honeyed admiration as she straightened, though her eyes quickly sought Aemond. "Prince Aemond, I was hoping you might show me around the Red Keep? As your betrothed, I should like to become familiar with what will be my second home."

Vera felt Aemond stiffen beside her, though his face remained impassive. To anyone else, he appeared merely thoughtful, but Vera recognized the subtle tightening around his mouth, the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eye. He was annoyed—deeply so.

Before Aemond could respond, Otto stepped forward smoothly. "I'm afraid I require my grandson's assistance this time with some pressing matters this afternoon, Lady Floris," he said, his tone regretful yet firm. "Perhaps later, if time permits?"

Relief washed through Vera, though she kept her expression neutral. She caught Otto's eye briefly, silently thanking him for the intervention.

Lady Floris's smile faltered for just a moment before she recovered, nodding graciously to the Hand. "Of course, Lord Hand. The realm's business must come first."

Otto nodded and placed a gentle hand on Vera's shoulder, his eyes holding a spark of approval. "Go ahead, child. See what can be arranged with Ser Tyland as we discussed."

"Thank you, Grandfather," Vera replied, grateful for the excuse to escape Lady Floris's piercing stare. She turned to Aegon and dipped into a curtsy. "Your Grace, with your permission."

Aegon waved his hand in dismissal, though his violet eyes lingered on her face longer than necessary. "Of course. You have matters to attend to."

Vera moved toward Alicent. The Queen Dowager's embrace was gentle, mindful of Vera's healing wound.

"Rest when you're finished," Alicent murmured against her ear. "Don't overtax yourself." She pressed a soft kiss to Vera's cheek, the scent of roses and spice enveloping her for a moment.

From the corner of her eye, Vera caught Lady Floris watching the exchange, her pretty face tight with jealousy. The Baratheon girl's fingers curled into the fabric of her crimson skirts, knuckles whitening with the force of her grip.

Vera offered a final polite nod to Lady Floris before turning away, feeling the weight of the girl's gaze burning into her back as she walked down the hall. Ser Arryk fell into step beside her, his white armor gleaming in the afternoon light filtering through the high windows.

Behind her, Otto's voice drifted through the hall as he engaged in quiet conversation with his daughter. Vera resisted the urge to look back, though she desperately wanted one last glimpse of Aemond before she left.

As she reached the massive doors of the throne room, a strange feeling prickled along her spine. She turned, unable to help herself, and caught Aemond's violet eye fixed on her retreating form. His gaze held hers across the crowded hall, intense and unwavering despite Lady Floris hovering at his elbow, clearly attempting to engage his attention.

The connection broke as Aemond turned to Otto. "Shall we go, Grandfather? Those pressing matters won't resolve themselves."

Otto nodded, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the hall. "Indeed."

Aemond stepped toward his mother, bending to press a kiss to Alicent's cheek in his customary farewell. The gesture was swift but affectionate, a glimpse of the dutiful son beneath the hardened exterior.

Without sparing even a glance toward Lady Floris, Aemond followed Otto from the hall through a different exit, his black cloak billowing behind him like a shadow.

Vera felt a small, secret satisfaction as she turned away, letting the heavy doors close behind her. The corridor stretched before her, cool and quiet after the crowded throne room.

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