⋆.𐙚 ̊Anastasia 𐙚 ̊.⋆

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Harry Potter

𑣲 Draco Malfoy ° Shadows of our Past (Childhood friends to lovers) ~ (1) • (2) • (3) ° The Yule Ball ~ (1) • (2) • (3) ° In Between Pride and Penitence (Enemies to lovers) ~ (1) • (2) • (3)

𑣲 Fred Weasley ° Worth it (in which a prank backfires in a surprisingly good way) ° Who's your boyfriend? (based on the lyrics of the song) ° I thought you knew (miscommunication)

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Bridgerton

𑣲 Benedict Bridgerton ° The Masquerade Ball ~ (1) • (2) • (3)

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

⋆˙⟡ Percy Jackson and the Olympians/ Heroes of Olympus

𑣲 Percy Jackson ° Reunited ° Percy Jackson Headcanons (random hcs + dating)

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Supernatural

𑣲 Sam Winchester ° Late nights ft. Sam Winchester

________________________________________________________________

(A/N: this is all I got so far, but I write for a lot more fandoms, so feel free to request some fics if you'd like! Here are some fandoms I write for:

Akotsk/ GOT

Harry Potter

Supernatural

Jujutsu Kaisen

Gangsta

House MD

The thought alone was enough to make your head ache.

Your sister walked beside you as you ascended the wooden steps leading toward the covered gallery, her cheerful voice barely audible as she pointed out familiar banners among the crowd. You offered the occasional nod, just enough to appear as though you heard her, though your attention remained elsewhere.

Upon reaching the platform, you settled into the carved oak seat beside your father. Below stretched the tournament grounds in all their glory. Knights rode between rows of brightly coloured pavilions, armours flashing beneath the sunlight.

Somewhere in the distance, a trumpet sounded.

The crowd gradually quieted as the herald stepped forward, a long scroll resting in his hands. One by one, he began announcing the names of those who had entered the lists.

You paid little attention. Most of the names belonged to sons of neighbouring houses your father had already attempted to introduce to you over the years. Some names you didn't recognize, though they raised no interest anyway. Your gaze drifted instead across the sea of faces below, studying the gathered crowd whilst the herald's voice faded into background noise.

Until it didn't.

"Prince Aerion Targaryen, son of His Grace Prince Maekar Targaryen!"

The world seemed to stop.

The name cut through the noise of the crowd with terrifying ease. For a moment, you thought you must have imagined it. Beside you, your father's jaw visibly tightened, a curse slipping beneath his breath.

You scarcely heard it, your eyes remaining fixed on the lists below while a familiar sensation settled heavily in your chest.

Aerion.

After all these years, he had returned.

---

The crowd had sounded much the same that day. Louder, perhaps.

Your sister's nameday tournament had drawn half the Reach to Ashford, and amongst them, the royal family as well. Prince Baelor Breakspear sat amongst the honoured guests, alongside his brother, Prince Maekar. Lords travelled for days merely to catch a glimpse Targaryens, and every inn within a day's ride had been filled to the brim.

You remembered sitting beside your sister, only half interested in the events unfolding below.

The herald stepped forward and raised his voice.

"Son of Meakar, grandson to King Daeron the Good and Prince of House Targaryen, Prince Aerion Brightflame!"

The crowd erupted, and curiosity drew your gaze toward the field below. The prince sat astride a black horse near the edge of the lists, one gauntleted hand resting loosely upon the reins. Even surrounded by knights and noble sons, he stood apart with infuriating ease. His armour was unlike any you had seen before, dark steel with red patterns that gleamed beneath the sunlight.

Pale hair spilled from beneath his helm, bright enough to mark him unmistakably as a Targaryen.

He looked exactly as a prince ought to look. Unfairly handsome, and dangerously self-assured.

The sort of man mothers warned their daughters about whilst secretly hoping they would receive his attention anyway.

As though sensing your stare, his gaze lifted toward the galleries above. It swept across the crowd before finding you. For a moment, neither of you looked away.

Something appeared to shift in his expression, and the faintest curve touched the corner of his mouth.

Then he lowered his visor and turned his horse toward the lists.

You spent far longer thinking about that smile than you ever cared to admit.

---

The roar of the crowd dragged you abruptly back to the present. Below, the harland continued to call out the names.

Yet you scarcely noticed. Because somewhere among the gathered competitors stood a man you had not seen in years.

And suddenly, against all reason, it felt as though no time had passed at all.

---

Long after the herald had finished calling names and the sounds of the tournament had faded into the distance, you found yourself seated alone within your chambers, staring at the garden beyond the open window. The afternoon sun painted long strips of gold across the floor, whilst somewhere below, the celebrations continued uninterrupted. Laughter drifted upward from the courtyard, accompanied by the occasional burst of music, yet nothing succeeded in distracting you from the thoughts that had plagued you since morning.

Aerion.

The very name was enough to make your blood boil, even after all the years that had passed since you last saw him.

You couldn't believe that after all these years, after everything that had happened, he had the audacity to return as though nothing had passed between you. As though he had not vanished from your life without a word. As though the sight of him would not drag forth memories you had spent years attempting to bury.

You closed your eyes briefly, only to regret it at once.

The image came immediately - pale hair gleaming silver beneath torchlight. Violet eyes watching you from across crowded halls. The faint curve of his mouth whenever he said something he knew would irritate you.

Once, those memories had been precious. Now, they felt like old wounds reopening.

There had been a time when you believed Aerion Targaryen held your heart entirely in his hands. Countless evenings had disappeared in his company, hidden away from curious eyes in quiet corners or amongst the pavilions scattered across the tournament grounds. You remembered conversations that stretched deep into the night, neither of you willing to be the first to leave. You remembered his fingers brushing against your jaw as though the gesture belonged to him by right, and the way your pulse had quickened whenever he looked at you with that infuriating certainty of his.

He had stolen your first kiss with all the arrogance one might expect from a prince, and somehow managed to steal the second just as easily. By the time the tournament drew to its final days, you had already begun overlooking things that should have concerned you. His pride. His recklessness. The casual cruelty that surfaced whenever he felt slighted. You had excused all of it simply because being near him made such excuses feel worthwhile.

Gods, you had been foolish.

Your gaze drifted toward the window as another memory surfaced unbidden.

The night before the Trial of Seven.

You had argued with him for nearly an hour beneath the privacy of his pavilion, begging him to abandon the accusations that had led to the confrontation. The thought of him riding into such a battle had filled you with dread you could barely conceal.

Aerion, naturally, had found your concern amusing.

"Do you not have faith in my jousting, then?"

You could recall the look in his eyes as clearly as if he stood before you now, all confidence and youthful arrogance, forcing you to scramble for an answer whilst he watched in obvious satisfaction. In the end, you had assured him that you did indeed have faith in him, though the truth was that your fears had never been about his skill.

They had concerned the possibility of losing him.

How cruel it seemed now that the last words exchanged between you had been spoken that night. The following day, Aerion had ridden into the Trial of Seven.

And afterward, everything had changed.

The injuries he sustained were grave enough that the castle fell into a state of unease. Servants whispered in corridors. Lords gathered in tense clusters throughout the halls. Rumours spread fast, each more alarming than the last. You remembered desperately seeking news of him wherever you could find it, only to be turned away time and time again.

You were never permitted to see him. Not once.

The morning you learned that Prince Maekar intended to send Aerion to Lys as soon as his condition allowed it, you had rushed to your father's quarters, breathless and dishevelled, pleading your case before he could utter a single word.

You wished to accompany them.

At the time, it had seemed the simplest thing in the world. Aerion was leaving, and you wanted to be with him.

Your father had listened in silence whilst you spoke, his expression unreadable. You remembered expecting anger, or perhaps outright refusal. Instead, he had regarded you for a long moment before promising that he would write to Prince Maekar and inquire on your behalf.

The relief had been immediate. You had thanked him profusely, hope blooming within your chest so fiercely it almost hurt. For the remainder of the day, you found yourself unable to sit still. Soon, you told yourself. Soon you would see Aerion again. Soon you would finally speak to him.

The reply arrived before nightfall.

You remembered your father carrying the scroll into your chambers. You remembered the anticipation as you broke the seal. That anticipation, unfortunately, had lasted only a few seconds.

Those words remained etched into your memory even now.

Prince Aerion appreciates Lady Ashford's concern, but does not believe her presence in Lys would be appropriate.

You had read the sentence once.

Then again.

And again, certain you must have misunderstood. Yet the words never changed.

'Prince Aerion appreciates Lady Ashford's concern.'

The rejection was so blunt, as though whatever had existed between the two of you had been insignificant enough to dismiss with a single sentence.

You remembered your father's hand settling upon your shoulder. A gesture intended to comfort. Instead, it had only made the tears gathering in your eyes spill over.

Even now, years later, you could recall the humiliation of that moment with perfect clarity. The disbelief. The ache in your chest. The desperate inability to understand how everything could have changed so quickly.

How could he not wish to see you?

How could he leave without so much as a farewell?

How could those nights spent together have meant so little to him?

You cried bitterly that evening. For him, for yourself, and for the foolish hopes you had allowed to take root.

Yet grief, like all things, eventually changed shape. The tears dried. The heartbreak faded, and what remained behind was something far less pleasant.

Bitterness.

Every memory of Aerion became tainted by it. Whenever his face surfaced in your thoughts, so too did the memory of that letter. Of the rejection. Of being left behind without explanation whilst he sailed across the Narrow Sea.

In time, sorrow gave way to anger. And anger, at least, was easier to live with.

-

By the time you realised how far your thoughts had wandered, the golden light spilling through the window had long since vanished. Darkness had begun creeping across the grounds, whilst the sounds of feasting drifted even louder than before through the evening air.

With a weary sigh, you rose from your chair.

You had no intention of spending the entire night trapped within your chambers, sulking over memories better left in the past. Gathering a shawl around your shoulders, you stepped into the corridor in search of distraction.

The gods, it seemed, had other plans.

The moment you stepped into the courtyard, the sight made you stop so abruptly you nearly stumbled.

Aerion stood several paces away, one shoulder resting against the wall beside a narrow arched window. His arms were folded across his chest, his posture relaxed enough that snyone might have mistaken him for someone who was simply resting.

You knew better.

The moment your eyes met, you understood he had been waiting. For you.

For several long seconds, neither of you moved.

His gaze remained fixed upon your face with an intensity that immediately set your heart hammering inside your chest. It seemed as though he was searching for something. Perhaps he found it, for a faint shift crossed his expression before he pushed himself away from the wall.

For you, that was enough. Without a word, you turned sharply on your heel and began walking in the opposite direction.

You had no desire to speak with him. Not now, not ever.

Unfortunately, Aerion had never been particularly respectful of other people's wishes.

You had barely taken three steps before he moved into your path. The action was smooth enough that it appeared almost effortless, forcing you to either stop or risk walking directly into him.

Your jaw tightened.

"Is this how you greet your prince?" he asked.

The question might have sounded teasing to anyone else. To you, it felt infuriating.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze to his. The years had changed him. He was older now, broader through the shoulders, the sharp arrogance of youth replaced by something more dangerous.

Yet no matter how much he might have changed, standing before him now, you found it impossible not to see the same prince who had left you behind.

With visible reluctance, you dipped your head the barest fraction.

"Your Grace."

The words emerged colder than you intended. Aerion's brow furrowed.

You immediately stepped to the side, intending to continue on your way. A hand closed around your wrist before you could pass. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop you.

The contact sent a surge of irritation through your chest. You looked down at his hand before slowly raising your eyes to his face. A scowl had appeared there.

"What has gotten into you?" He asked.

For a moment, you simply stared, as the audacity of the question left you speechless.

Aerion seemed genuinely perplexed by your behaviour, as though your hostility had arrived entirely without cause.

"I thought you'd be glad I'm back."

Glad.

The word echoed unpleasantly in your mind. You lifted your gaze fully to his then, eyes boring into his.

"Glad?"

The single word dripped with venom. Aerion's grip loosened slightly, not enough to release you, but enough to betray uncertainty.

"I share no such sentiment." You continued, taking in the confusion lingering on his features. ''In fact, I would have preferred it if you had remained gone."

You felt a vicious sort of satisfaction at the sight. Instead of looking away, you held his gaze.

Silence followed after your words. Aerion's jaw tightened as the disbelief drained from his features, replaced by something far less pleasant. His hand, which had begun to loosen around your wrist, tightened once more.

Before you could react, he tugged you closer. The sudden movement stole the breath from your lungs.

"That is a dangerous thing to say to a prince." the words emerged low and sharp, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine.

You lifted your chin defiantly despite the way your heart had begun hammering against your ribs.

"Then perhaps you ought not ask questions if you fear the answers."

Something flashed behind his eyes. Anger, pure and immediate. After all, Aerion had never responded well to being challenged.

"You always did enjoy provoking me."

"Funny. I always thought it was the other way around."

His nostrils flared. For a moment, you thought he might actually laugh. Instead, his expression darkened further.

"You are angry."

The observation sounded less like a question and more like an accusation.

"How very perceptive of you."

"And yet I have no idea why" he said slowly. "If I have offended you, I would very much like to know how."

For a moment, you genuinely wondered whether he was mocking you. Though the look on his face indicated he was serious. That only made your temper worse.

"I owe you no explanation. You should consider yourself fortunate that I am speaking to you at all."

Silence stretched uncomfortably, his gaze moving across your face with an intensity that made you want to look away. Yet you refused to give him the satisfaction.

At last, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You've changed."

The observation sounded almost accusatory.

You rolled your eyes. "Four years have passed. What exactly did you expect?"

"Civility, at the very least."

A sharp laugh escaped before you could stop it.

His eyes narrowed immediately. "You find something amusing?"

"I find your expectations amusing."

Something flashed across his face. Brief. Dangerous.

His jaw flexed. "Careful."

The warning emerged low enough that it sent an unwanted shiver crawling down your spine.

You hated that he still had that effect on you.

Straightening your shoulders, you lifted your chin and met his gaze head-on.

"It's been four years, Aerion," you said, forcing your tone to remain steady. "You left. What precisely did you imagine would happen? That I would spend all that time waiting at Ashford's gates for your return?"

His expression darkened.

"I did not expect to find you speaking to me as though I were a stranger."

Something bitter rose in your throat.

"A stranger would imply we never knew one another."

For the first time since the conversation began, uncertainty flickered across his face.

Only for a moment, then it vanished.

"Then why are you behaving this way?"

"Why?" you repeated. "You vanished without a word."

His brow furrowed.

"I was recovering from wounds that nearly killed me."

"And then you left."

The words came out sharper than intended.

Aerion opened his mouth. You didn't allow him to speak. The anger you had spent years nursing finally forced its way to the surface.

"You simply disappeared. No farewell. No explanation. Nothing."

His jaw tightened "You are angry over that?"

The disbelief in his voice was almost enough to make your blood boil.

"You sound surprised."

"Because I am."

Silence settled once again. Aerion studied you for a moment, as though he was deciding something, before he took a step forward.

Then another.

Up close, you could see that the years spent apart had sharpened him rather than softened him. The boy you remembered had become a man, yet the confidence remained exactly the same. The certainty. The arrogance.

"What happened to you?" he asked, his eyes searching yours "You were never this cold."

The question caught you off guard. Yet you felt something bitter rise in your throat.

Cold.

As though he had not given you every reason to become so.

"A great deal can change in four years.” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Aerion stepped closer still. Close enough that you could see the faint scar disappearing beneath the collar of his tunic. The one left behind by Ashford.

The one that had nearly killed him.

His gaze travelled over your face. Slowly. Lingering.

As though reassuring himself that you were truly standing before him.

"Four years." He repeated, almost thoughtfully.

His grip on your wrist remained firm as his other hand rose without warning. His knuckles brushed beneath your jaw—lightly, as though testing a memory rather than simply touching you.

"Do you know how many times I thought of you?"

For a moment, you did not answer. You could not.

His words seemed to have stolen the air from your lungs before, leaving you breathless. Your fingers tightened faintly where his grip still held your wrist—

a useless attempt at grounding yourself.

Aerion noticed the change immediately. Of course he did.

The corner of his mouth curved, and he stepped closer before you could recover your voice. The heat of him reached you before his touch did, and his scent hit you unexpectedly. It all felt familiar, horribly familiar—something you had no right still remembering.

Then he leaned down. His lips brushed the edge of your ear, and your entire body betrayed you before your thoughts could catch up.

"Has another man touched you while I was gone?"

For a second, you simply froze. The audacity of the question had left you speechless. When your voice finally returned, it emerged as sharp as a blade.

"What concern could that possibly be of yours?"

Your pulse had begun hammering against your ribs. A faint crease appeared between his brows, as though the answer should have been obvious.

"You ask that as though I should be indifferent."

You stared at him in disbelief.

"You cannot possibly expect me to believe that you spent four years in Lys living like a septon."

His jaw tightened. The reaction was small, but it was there. You seized upon it instantly.

A humorless smile touched your lips. "That is what I thought."

For the first time since the conversation began, Aerion appeared unable to find an immediate response.

You took advantage of it, stepping around him before he could stop you. His hand twitched slightly, as though considering reaching for you again.

This time, he didn't.

You walked away without looking back. And though you refused to turn around, you could feel his eyes following you the entire time.

****

You had awoken with a sharp gasp, one hand pressed against your chest as you struggled to steady your breathing. After that, sleep never returned.

By the time the sun had barely peeked over the horizon, the door of your chamber burst open and what felt like an entire army of maids descended upon the room.

Curtains were thrown wide. Windows opened. Someone began carrying buckets of steaming water toward the bath. Before you could properly gather your senses, three women had already reached the bed and were insisting you rise.

The hours that followed passed in a blur of preparations.

You were bathed once, then informed it had not been sufficient and bathed again. By the end of it, you were fairly certain there could not possibly be a single remaining layer of skin left to scrub.

Oils were worked into your skin. Your hair was washed, brushed, braided, unbraided, and brushed once more. Wrapped in a thin robe, you were seated before a mirror while servants hurried around you carrying dresses, ribbons, jewelry, and enough pins to arm a small battalion.

The room buzzed with excitement, but you felt none of it.

Your stomach had been tight all morning, though whether the cause of it were the nerves surrounding the wedding or anticipation of the night's escape, you could not have said.

Perhaps both. Though, the plan occupied your thoughts constantly now. Every detail repeated itself over and over in your mind, as though rehearsing it enough times might somehow prevent disaster.

A soft knock sounded against the open door.

Your mother entered a moment later, and the chatter among the servants immediately quieted.

The woman's gaze swept over the room before settling upon you. For a brief moment, something unreadable flickered across her face.

"It seems the day has arrived after all," she said softly.

You managed a small smile. "So it would appear."

She stepped closer, dismissing servants with a wave of her hand before reaching out to adjust a loose strand of hair near your temple. The gesture was surprisingly gentle.

"You look beautiful."

The words should have comforted you. Instead, they only made something twist painfully in your chest. After all, your mother had scarcely spoken to you since she offered you up to Maekar. Every brief conversation since than has been nothing but talk of the wedding, or appearances, or obligations.

"There will be many eyes upon you today," she said, voice calm. "Remember that. Carry yourself with dignity. Whatever happens, you are representing our house."

You lowered your gaze. "Yes, Mother."

A faint nod followed. She seemed as though she might say something more.

Instead, she set a small bundle down before the mirror, its contents catching the morning light, and simply gave your shoulder a brief squeeze.

Then she was gone.

Curious, you reached for the bundle and carefully unfolded the cloth.

The dragon pin lay nestled within.

For a long moment, you simply stared at it. The goldsmith had done remarkable work. Every scale had been carved with great detail, and tiny rubies had been set into the dragon's eyes, catching flashes of crimson whenever the light touched them.

You traced your thumb over the metal, following the outline of the creature's wings, before wrapping the pin once more and slipping it carefully into the hidden pocket sewn inside your skirts.

You had yet to decide when to give it to him. Perhaps the opportunity would present itself.

---

The journey to the Sept passed in a blur or rattling wheels and sickening nerves. Though every mile carried you closer to the ceremony, you tried to see matters in a better light - as each step closer to the wedding ceremony also meant one step closer to your eventual freedom.

By this time tomorrow, if everything went smoothly, you'd be far away from this place. The realization should have conforted you. Instead, it only seemed to make your stomach twist harder.

The second the wheelhouse finally slowed, your heart immediately began hammering against your ribs.

A servant opened the door, and sunlight flooded inside. Your mother got down first before extending a hand toward you.

The great doors of the Sept stood ahead, tall and white beneath the midday sun. Nobles and common folk alike crowded the steps that lead to the entrance, barely being held back by the guards.

Your throat suddenly felt dry. The dress seemed heavier than it had been moments ago. You became painfully aware of every breath that left you.

Your mother must have notice your struggle, as she slipped her hand through your arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Steady yourself, dear." She murmured. "They're only people."

You wanted to laugh. 'Only people'. Yeah, only several hundred of them, and even more awaited behind those doors.

Once the two of you reached the last step, with cheers erupting from behind you, the doors began to open slowly. The sound that greeted you beyong the doors felt worse than any cheering would.

The hush that swept through the Sept felt deafening, as a thousand souls held their breath at once. Rows and rows of nobles stretched before you, and every face turned toward you.

If it was up to you, you never would have moved forward. Your mother, on the other hand, began gently guiding you forward, and so the walk began. The long aisle stretched between the gathered guests, leading toward the raised altar at the far end of the Sept.

Toward the High Septon.

Toward Aerion.

You fixed your gaze onto him as you moved forward.

At first, he seemed almost disinterested. Standing beside the High Septon in black and red, Aerion looked every bit the prince he was born to be. The dark colors suited him far too well, drawing attention to the pale gold of his hair and the sharp lines of his face. He was, without any shadow of doubt, undeniably handome.

His hands were clasped behind his back. His posture, however, lacked the rigid formality one might expect. If anything, he looked faintly bored.

Then his eyes lifted and immediately found yours.

The change was immediate. Even from the opposite end of the Sept, you felt it.

The rest of the room seemed to fade into the background, and the sunlight seemed to vanish as well.

There was only him, his gaze. Cold. Unwavering. Intent.

For several long steps, you found yourself trapped beneath his attention, feeling oddly exposed despite the hundreds of people surrounding you.

Your pulse stumbled, but neither of you looked away. His eyes remained every bit as focused on you, as though he was measuring your every movement, or judging every flicker of uncertainty.

The memory of the previous day surfaced uninvited.

'Tomorrow, half the realm will be watching us. I thought it worth seeing how you handle yourself under scrutiny.'

You knew him well enough by now to recognize exactly what he was doing.

He wanted you uncomfortable. Wanted to see if you would falter. Wanted to watch you squirm beneath the weight of every eye in the kingdom.

A slow, unpleasant curve appeared at the corner of his mouth. The sight irritated you enough to finally break the spell.

You dragged your gaze away. Anything was preferable to giving him satisfaction.

Your attention shifted toward the royal family gathered near the front rows of the Sept. Prince Maekar stood nearest the altar, looking tall, rigid, and imposing as ever.

Beside him stood Daeron—and the sight of him sent a wave of unease surging through you. The prince looked somewhat rough around the edges, his posture staggered, his expression carrying the remains of a night spent drinking.

When his eyes met yours, he offered the faintest nod. The gesture was meant to reassured you, but intead it left you wondering exactly how much wine he had consumed. A very inconvenient amount, if his appearance was anything to judge by.

You sincerely hoped he intended to remain conscious long enough to flee the castle.

Aegon stood beside him, looking entirely miserable. The younger prince's face was tense, his hands clasped tightly before him. You suspected his thoughts were occupied by the same troubles as yours, judging by the displeased looks he kept throwing at Daeron.

Beyond them stood Prince Baelor, composed and solemn as ever. And beside him—a face you did not recognize. The resemblance, though, made the answer obvious. Brown hair and mismatched eyes, one violet and one brown. Baelor's son.

The young man stood quietly among the royal family, watching the ceremony unfold with a seriousness that seemed unusual for someone so young. For a brief moment, his gaze met yours, and the softness behind his eyes caught you off guard.

There was no calculation in it. No judgment. Only something that felt oddly sympathetic. Your gaze lingered on him only briefly before shifting away once more.

To the left of the altar stood your own family. Valeriane and Ysoria looked as though they had stepped from a painting. Both stood tall and composed, their gowns immaculate, their expressions carefully arranged for the watching court. Neither betrayed much emotion, though you thought you caught the slightest furrow of Valeriane's brows as she watched you approach.

Lyessa, meanwhile, seemed entirely distracted by the sea of nobles surrounding her. Her head turned in every direction, wide-eyed as she took in the crowd, as though forgetting the gravity of the occasion entirely.

The sight of them sent a strange ache through your chest.

Then the altar was suddenly before you. There was no longer anywhere else to look, so you lifted your eyes. Aerion's gaze met yours immediately, as though it had never left.

Your mother's arm slipped from yours. She gave your hand one final squeeze before finally stepping away—a silent encouragement, or perhaps a farewell. Carefully, you climbed the remaining steps and took your place beside the prince.

Aerion looked down at you, both literally and otherwise. You lifted your chin and clasped your hands neatly before you, refusing to give him even a hint of the nervousness threatening to betray you.

The black and red of House Targaryen settled sharply against his broad shoulders, the dragon embroidered across his cloak gleaming faintly beneath the colored sunlight filtering through the stained glass overhead.

His expression was one of practiced ease. Calm. Superior. Entirely in control. Yet standing this close, you found the illusion less convincing than before. There was a stiffness to his shoulders that you hadn't seen before. A faint tension lingered around his mouth. Even the line between his brows seemed a touch sharper than usual. At that moment, it occurred to you that Aerion was not entirely untouched by the weight of hundreds of eyes fixed upon him.

He simply hid it better than most.

The High Septon's voice echoed through the vast hall as he spoke of duty, faith, and the bonds forged before gods and men. You listened only in fragments. The words seemed distant, washed away beneath the pounding of your own heartbeat.

Soon enough, attendants stepped forward. The cloak bearing your family's sigil was carefully unfastened from your shoulders. The moment the weight left you, an unexpected ache settled in your chest. It was only cloth, yet as the attendants carried it away, it felt weirdly final.

For the first time since you had stepped into the Sept, Aerion moved.

Without a word, he reached for the black-and-red cloak draped across his own shoulders, the fabric bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen stitched in crimson thread.

You stood very still as Aerion moved behind you.

The weight of hundreds of eyes upon your back was nothing compared to the awareness of his presence only inches away. You felt restless, slightly shifting you weight from one leg to the other. Then, as he settled the cloak carefully over your shoulders, he leaned forward ever so slightly.

"Stay still."

Only two words, spoken so close to your ear that the warmth of his breath brushed against your skin. A shiver ran down your spine before you could stop it.

The cloak settled around your shoulders, replacing the colors of your birth house with those of his own. A visible symbol that, before the eyes of gods and men, you now belonged to House Targaryen.

Aerion's hands came around your shoulders to secure the fastening at the front.

Your breath caught. His fingers brushed the bare skin near your collarbone as he worked the clasp into place. It was the briefest touch imaginable, almost certainly accidental.

Yet another shiver betrayed you.

This time, when you lifted your eyes, you found him already watching. The corner of his mouth had shifted ever so slightly, suggesting that he had noticed, and he enjoyed it.

The High Septon's voice rang out once more.

"She leaves her father's protection and enters her husband's house. Let all gathered here bear witness to their vows."

A murmur swept softly through the Sept before fading once more into silence.

The High Septon spoke first, reciting the ancient words before motioning to Aerion.

You expected stiffness. Perhaps even mockery. Instead, Aerion lifted his head and spoke without any trace of hesitation.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger."

His voice carried effortlessly through the Sept.

Strong. Steady. Certain.

"I am hers and she is mine." The words settled heavily between you. "From this day until the end of my days."

For one unsettling moment, you found yourself staring back at him. There was no trace of amusement on his face. Nothing to suggest he viewed the ceremony as some elaborate joke. And because of that, of the certainty in his voice and the steadiness of his gaze, part of you almost believed him.

Almost.

The High Septon then turned toward you. You repeated the vows as instructed, though your own voice sounded strangely distant to your ears. The vial in your right pocket hung heavier than ever.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger." your hands tightened slightly beneath the folds of the cloak.

"I am his and he is mine."

You wondered if the Seven frowned upon lies. "From this day until the end of my days."

The High Septon smiled. Then came the final declaration.

"With the blessing of the Seven, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal your vows with a kiss."

Your eyes widened slightly at the High Septon's words. Before you had time to prepare yourself, Aerion stepped forward.

One hand rose to the back of your head, his fingers slipping into your hair at the back of your head. To anyone watching, it likely appeared almost gentle. Only you felt the slight tug he gave, subtle enough to go unnoticed by the crowd and yet impossible to mistake.

Your held your breath. Aerion leaned down.

The Sept, the nobles, the hundreds of eyes fixed upon the two of you—all of it seemed to blur at the edges as his mouth finally met yours.

You had expected coldness, braced for it even. Expected something distant and unpleasant, fitting of the man standing before you.

Instead, the warmth of his lips startled you so completely that your thoughts scattered for a moment. The sensation was unfamiliar enough to leave you momentarily stunned, caught off guard by the simple fact that he felt nothing like you had imagined.

Then his hand tightened slightly in your hair, and his lips closed around your lower lip. The realization barely had time to settle before a sharp sting followed.

You inhaled sharply as Aerion bit down.

Not hard enough to truly hurt, but hard enough to make your eyes widen. You could feel his mouth twist into a grin. As he pulled away, he dragged your lower lip with him for the briefest moment before finally releasing it.

The movement was so quick, so subtle, that no one watching from below could possibly have noticed. But you felt it. You tasted the blood in your mouth, the faintest trace of it.

Your eyes snapped at his face as he took a step back. Aerion was already looking down at you, the corner of his mouth curved upwards.

Almost lazily, the tip of his tongue swept across his lower lip, catching the tiny droplet of blood left there before it disappeared.

Your brows furrowed in frustration, and the smirk that answered you only deepened.

---

The ride back to the Red Keep passed beneath a constant roar of voices.

The carriage windows had been left open, and every so often you found yourself lifting a hand toward the crowds gathered along the streets. People cheered as you passed, waving banners and scraps of cloth in Targaryen colors.

Across from you, Aerion appeared far less interested in the spectacle. He sat stretched comfortably against the cushions, one arm draped across the back of the seat, watching the city drift by with an expression that bordered on boredom.

At one point, a particularly enthusiastic group began shouting blessings after the carriage. You offered them a hesitant smile and a wave.

Aerion let out a quiet scoff. You ignored him.

Eventually, the effort of smiling at strangers became exhausting. You settled back into your own seat, grateful for the distance separating the two of you.

Silence lingered between you.

Without realizing it, your tongue brushed once more against the small cut inside your lower lip. The sting remained.

"Enjoying the attention?" Aerion asked suddenly.

You glanced toward him. "I am enduring it."

Aerion's gaze remained fixed on the passing crowds outside. "You hide it well."

Your brows furrowed. "Hide what?"

"Your misery." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Half the city would swear you're having the finest day of your life."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. Only then did you realize your teeth had caught your injured lip again.

His eyes dropped briefly to the movement, and something unreadable flickered across his face. Then he shifted against the cushions, looked away toward the window, and leaned his head back.

"Gods," he muttered, closing his eyes. "This day isn't even halfway finished."

---

By the time you had returned to the Red Keep, your nerves had become almost unbearable.

Thankfully, you were granted a brief respite before the feast, just enough time to retire to your chambers and compose yourself before joining the feast in the Great Hall.

You paced the length of your room, skirts gathered carefully in one hand while the other toyed endlessly with the small vial hidden within your sleeve. Again and again, you walked through the plan in your head.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when the door suddenly opened. Startled, you nearly hurled the vial across the room, heart lurching painfully before your eyes settled upon the familiar figure stepping inside.

Daeron.

Relief flooded through you so quickly that your shoulders visibly dropped. Daeron glanced once over his shoulder, eyeing the guard posted at your chambers, before finally closing it.

Once his eyes landed on you, a grin immediately spread across his face.

"You look...." His gaze travelled over the elaborate and overzealous gown you wore "...exquisite."

His tone carried enough amusement to make his statement an outright insult.

You frowned "Are you already drunk?"

Daeron rolled his eyes dramatically, then waved a dismissive hand.

"It was one cup." He clarified before he crossed the room, making his way towards the balcony doors.

His eyes dropped suddenly to your hand, and the grin disappeared.

"You may wish to stop waving that thing around."

You quickly obeyed, shoving the small vial back into the folds of your dress. Daeron seemed to relax once again. You crossed your arms.

"If you've come here solely to criticize my gown, you could have very well waited for me to reach the feast."

His expression shifted, and he shifted slightly "No, that's not it."

Immediately, your stomach tightened. "What happened?"

Daeron sighed. "It appears there are certain... complications."

You stared at him, waiting for him to fill you in.

"Egg is worried."

You blinked. "Only now?"

That earned the faintest snort from him. "Believe it or not, he only started questioning the outcome after agreeing to commit treason. He thinks we're going to get caught."

Silence settled briefly. Then his expression hardened.

"That is not the real problem."

Immediately, your attention sharpened. "What is it, then?"

Daeron leaned against the balcony railing. "Aerion."

The name alone made your stomach sink. "What about him?"

"He hasn't had nearly enough wine."

You frowned. "What?"

"Since this morning. I've been watching him. Between the ceremony, the carriage ride, and the meal afterward, he has barely touched a cup."

Your grip tightened unconsciously around your skirts. "Perhaps he'll drink more at the feast."

"Perhaps." The way he said it suggested he did not share your confidence. "Aerion drinks when Aerion feels like drinking."

You let out a slow breath.

Daeron shrugged. "So."

You looked up. His expression had returned to something closer to its usual confidence.

"We simply ensure he drinks."

You stared at him, unconvinced. "Simply?"

"Yes."

"There is nothing simple about convincing Aerion Targaryen to do anything." You argued.

"Then I suggest you become very persuasive."

You shook your head in disbelief, as the task at hand seemed nearly impossible to overcome. 'Gods help us all'

---

The wedding feast stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

You sat beside Aerion at the center of the high table, painfully aware that every eye in the hall drifted toward the two of you sooner or later. Lords raised cups in your honor. Ladies offered smiles and congratulations. Musicians played without pause.

You made an effort to appear engaged in the celebration. Aerion did not.

One hand rested against the arm of his chair while the other toyed idly with the stem of his goblet. The cup before him remained filled nearly to the brim, yet he scarcely touched it. His posture had gradually deteriorated throughout the evening until he looked less like a prince celebrating his wedding and more like a man enduring a particularly tedious council meeting.

At one point your eyes found Daeron across the hall. He caught your look immediately. You glanced pointedly toward Aerion's untouched wine. Daeron followed your gaze before offering a helpless shrug.

You nearly groaned. By the time another hour crawled past, even you had begun to fear the plan was doomed.

Then, just as you felt ready to succumb to desperation, Daeron appeared, cup in hand and wearing an exaggerated grin. "There they are," he announced. "The fortunate couple."

Aerion's eyes narrowed immediately. "Go away."

Daeron ignored him. "I merely wish to offer my heartfelt congratulations." He lifted his cup dramatically. "Surely we can have a drink together in order to celebrate."

You were already reaching for your goblet. Before Aerion could refuse, you lifted yours expectantly.

For a brief moment, he looked between the two of you with open suspicion. Then, with obvious reluctance, Aerion picked up his own cup.

"To surviving the evening," Daeron declared.

"An inspiring sentiment," Aerion muttered.

"Bottoms up."

The three of you drank. Not much changed at first. The feast continued, more food appeared, and, most importantly, wine flowed freely.

Guests grew louder as the evening wore on. Laughter echoed through the hall. Somewhere near the lower tables, two minor lords nearly began fighting eachother before being separated by their wives. The sky beyond the windows had long since turned black.

At some point, Daeron settled himself beside Aerion and began talking.

And talking.

And talking.

Whatever topic he had chosen seemed specifically designed to test the limits of human endurance. You watched Aerion's patience deteriorate by the minute. Eventually, he began drinking simply to survive the conversation.

Each time his goblet emptied, Daeron eagerly refilled it.

When Aerion rose briefly from his seat to reluctantly acknowledge some visiting lord, Daeron seized the opportunity. The small vial passed from your hand to his beneath the shelter of the tablecloth. Three drops. Exactly as planned. The liquid vanished into the dark wine without a trace.

When Aerion returned, Daeron resumed speaking before the prince could suspect a thing. By now, there was a slight lack of sharpness to Aerion's replies. Not enough for anyone else to notice, perhaps, but enough for you. Hope flickered inside your chest as you watched them both.

At last, Daeron pushed the prepared cup toward him. "There."

Aerion eyed him suspiciously. "If this is another toast—"

It was as far as he got, as a shadow fell across the table, and every trace of amusement vanished from Daeron's face.

You looked up.

Maekar stood over the three of you. The prince's expression suggested he was beyond distressed. His gaze settled onto Daeron first.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Daeron straightened. "Celebrating?"

"You're getting your brother drunk." The words were spoken quietly enough not to carry beyond the high table, but the displeasure behind them was unmistakable.

Aerion snorted. "I'm perfectly capable of getting drunk without assistance."

Maekar ignored him entirely. "Have you forgotten what night this is?"

"Hard to forget, Father." came Daeron's simple reply.

The king's eyes narrowed. Then, before anyone could react, he caught Aerion by the sleeve and hauled him upright. Aerion looked thoroughly unimpressed by this treatment. Thankfully, the goblet remained in his hand.

'One sip' you thought . One sip was all you needed.

But Maekar was already speaking again. "You've indulged him enough."

His gaze shifted toward Daeron. "You will see both of them safely to their chambers." The order left little room for argument. Then his eyes hardened further.

"And afterward, you will retire to your own rooms before you manage to embarrass yourself and this family any further."

Daeron opened his mouth, thought better of it, then closed it again. With no other choice, he obeyed.

---

The cheers that followed you out of the Great Hall echoed through the corridors long after the doors had closed behind you. Your face had grown uncomfortably warm. It did not help that you knew precisely what many of those prople expected to happen next.

Beside you, Aerion walked in unusual silence. The prince was not stumbling, but the wine had undoubtedly softened some of his sharper edges. His replies had become slower throughout the evening, his gaze heavier. Even now, he carried his goblet loosely in one hand, though he had yet to finish it.

Daeron accompanied the two of you as instructed, hands tucked casually behind his back. As your destination drew nearer, your anxiety only worsened. Aerion still had not taken a sip.

When at last the three of you stopped before the doors to the newly shared chambers, you shot Daeron a brief look. A desperate one.

He merely offered an almost imperceptible nod.

"Well," he said brightly, lifting his own cup, "do enjoy yourselves."

The grin that accompanied the words was entirely too pleased with itself. You pressed your lips together. Aerion responded with nothing more than a dismissive hum before stepping through the doorway. With no other choice, you followed.

The heavy doors swung shut behind you, sealing the room in immediate silence.

When you turned, Aerion had already crossed part of the chamber. Rather than approaching the bed, he settled himself against the edge of a nearby desk, resting lazily against the carved wood. The goblet remained in his hand.

His eyes settled on you. Even dulled by wine, there was something deeply unsettling about being the sole focus of Aerion's attention. You found yourself rooted near the door, suddenly uncertain of what was expected of you now that the performance of the feast was over.

Aerion's gaze lingered, and one pale brow lifted. "You're planning on standing there all night?"

His voice carried the slight heaviness of drink, slower than usual, though no less sharp.

You shook your head. "No."

"Hm." His eyes travelled over you in an unhurried sweep. "Then come closer."

You hesitated. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"I don't bite."

The look you gave him was immediate. A slow grin appeared. Apparently, he remembered the Sept just as clearly as you did.

With considerable reluctance, you crossed the room. The distance between you closed until you stopped several paces away from him. Close enough to satisfy his demand. Far enough to preserve some small measure of dignity. Aerion regarded you for a long moment without speaking.

The silence stretched. You found yourself shifting beneath it. Finally, unable to endure it any longer, you spoke.

"Well?"

One silver brow rose slightly higher.

"Well, what?"

Your patience immediately began to fray. "You were the one who told me to come closer."

"And you did." His gaze drifted lazily over you before returning to your face. "Now I'm deciding what to do with you."

His gaze then dropped briefly to your hands, noting the way your fingers kept twisting into the fabric of your skirts, before returning to your face once more.

"You're fidgeting."

Your hand instantly stilled against your skirts. "I am not."

"You are." His eyes remained fixed on you. "Have I made you nervous, wife?"

The title sounded strange coming from him. Even stranger was the faint satisfaction you thought you detected in his voice.

"Not particularly."

"Hm." It was clear he did not believe you.

Across from you, Aerion looked entirely too satisfied with himself.

You stared at him, but your attention drifted despite yourself. To the goblet still in his hand, still nearly full. The sight of it made your stomach tighten. At this rate, the entire plan would collapse before it ever began.

Your eyes lingered a fraction too long. Aerion noticed immediately. Of course he did.

Perhaps sensing your growing frustration, Aerion released a slow breath through his nose. The goblet shifted slightly in his hand. "If you're waiting for me to disappear into a drunken stupor," he said suddenly, "you'll be disappointed."

Your stomach dropped. For one terrible second, panic took over.

Then his mouth curved. Not knowingly, not suspiciously. "I've had far less wine than everyone seems determined to believe."

Relief rushed through you so quickly it nearly left you lightheaded. He was guessing. Nothing more.

You forced your expression to remain neutral. "I shall keep that in mind."

Aerion answered with a quiet hum. Then, at last, as though the matter held no importance whatsoever, he lifted the goblet to his lips. Your breath caught as the rim touched his mouth.

One swallow. Then another. Not much, but enough.

The relief that followed was almost overwhelming. You lowered your eyes immediately, afraid he might somehow read it on your face. And for the first time all evening, you felt as though the plan might actually succeed.

Aerion set the goblet aside with a quiet clink of metal against wood. For a few moments, nothing happened.

You found yourself watching him despite every effort not to. The silence in the chamber seemed to stretch, filled only by the distant sounds of celebration drifting through the castle walls. Somewhere below, music was still playing. Laughter echoed faintly through the corridors. Yet here, in the privacy of the bedchamber, the atmosphere felt strangely still.

Then Aerion's brow furrowed slightly. His fingers drifted to the collar of his doublet, loosening it with visible irritation before dragging a hand across his face. A curse slipped under his breath.

You remained where you stood. "Are you feeling well, Your Grace?"

Aerion dismissed the question immediately. "I've had stronger wine than this."

The answer sounded less convincing than he probably intended. A few moments later, he pushed himself away from the desk and crossed the room, dropping onto the edge of the bed with considerably less grace than usual. The mattress shifted beneath his weight.

You approached carefully and sat down beside him, leaving what you hoped was a respectable distance between you. Aerion sat with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor as though willing whatever plagued him to simply disappear. The effort seemed to irritate him more with each passing second.

Finally, he exhaled sharply. "Gods."

His voice carried genuine frustration now. You glanced toward him. The prince rubbed at his eyes once more before lifting his head.

"You look concerned." The faint mockery remained, but it felt weaker somehow.

"I wonder why." You retorted.

One corner of his mouth twitched.

Then he stood. Or at least attempted to. The movement was abrupt enough that it caught your attention immediately. For a moment, he made it upright.

Then his balance shifted. You saw it happen almost instantly. His shoulders tensed, and one hand shot out. You reached for him at the exact moment he reached for you. Your fingers closed around his forearm while his hand settled against your shoulder.

Suddenly, the distance between you vanished. The breath caught somewhere in your throat.

Aerion was close enough now that you could make out every detail of his face. The faint crease between his brows. The sharp line of his jaw. The slight flush the wine had left beneath his pale skin. For a moment, neither of you moved.

His eyes found yours. Held. Something shifted behind them before his gaze drifted lower.

You felt your pulse stumble. His eyes moved lower still—to your lips.

The realization sent a strange warmth rushing through your chest. The room seemed to narrow around the two of you. You became acutely aware of everything at once—the hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his body, the way his breath brushed faintly across your skin.

For one suspended heartbeat, you genuinely thought—

Then his expression changed. The focus vanished from his eyes as quickly as it had appeared. His grip loosened, and a flicker of confusion crossed his face.

"Aerion?"

He didn't answer. The prince swayed once, twice.

And then the fight simply left him. His weight sagged forward before you could prepare for it. You barely managed a startled gasp as he collapsed against you, his forehead striking your shoulder before the rest of him followed. The force of it sent you tumbling backwards onto the bed.

For a moment, you sat perfectly still, frozen beneath the unexpected weight. Then, cautiously, you looked down. Aerion's eyes were closed, and his breathing had already begun to settle into the steady rhythm of deep sleep.

The nightshade had finally done its work.

---

You waited a moment longer, watching Aerion carefully as though he might still stir if you moved too soon. Only when his breathing remained steady did you finally shift, carefully working yourself out from beneath him. It was far less graceful than you would have liked. It took a few awkward, silent efforts before you managed to free yourself entirely.

For a moment, you simply stood there, catching your breath. Then, smoothing your skirts as best you could, you crossed the room and reached the door.

Daeron was just down the corridor, waiting. His expression shifted the instant he saw you, a flicker of surprise crossing his face at how quickly everything had gone.

“That was… fast,” he muttered, already stepping inside before you could answer.

His gaze went past you at once, and settled to where Aerion lay unmoving on the bed.

Daeron gave a short, satisfied nod, though the tension in his shoulders did not ease. For a moment, he said nothing at all. Then his attention shifted to the room itself, scanning it quickly.

“It needs to look wrong,” he said quietly.

Daeron then began shifting a few objects just slightly out of place—enough to imply haste, to make the scene feel unsettled. Nothing obvious had been staged. It was the kind of disorder that would force questions to rise. The cup had also been washed, just in case.

“It’s done,” he said quietly, though his eyes were already moving across the room again, as if searching for anything they might have missed. “Now we change.”

You blinked at him, suddenly aware you were still in your wedding gown. "Ah, right."

He glanced at you then, then tossed a small bundle towards you. "For you."

You caught it swiftly, eyeing the clothes suspiciously. You hesitated. “Where did you get this?”

“From someone who no longer needs it,” he replied simply, already turning away. “Hurry.”

Daeron had already begun loosening his own outer layers, stripping away anything that would mark him as royal. What replaced it was simple, washed out clothing that made him look strangely...ordinary.

“I’ll wait outside,” he added, not looking at you. “Knock when you’re done.”

He paused at the door. Then, quieter: “And be quick. Servants will start searching soon, and I would prefer not to explain why the newly married prince is unconscious in his bedchamber.”

With that, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Left alone, you changed quickly, packing the gown as tightly as you could beneath your arm.

Just before you left the chamber for good, your gaze drifted back to Aerion.

He had not moved at all—still where he had fallen on the bed.

The sight made something in your chest pull tight, sharp and unfamiliar.

You moved closer before you fully decided to.

You reached into your pocket and drew out the small pin your mother had given you that morning. The dragon caught faint torchlight as you held it for a brief moment longer than necessary. Then, slowly, you leaned down and slid it into the fold of Aerion’s clothing—tucked safely where it would not fall.

A quiet, final gesture.

--

You and Daeron left the room in a haste afterwards, making sure the door latch hung ajar in a way that suggested someone had left in a hurry.

It was not long before you turned a corner and found Aegon waiting in the corridor, pale-faced and restless, as if he had been holding his breath this entire time.

“We don’t have much time,” Daeron murmured, not slowing as he passed his brother "Servants will come soon."

You followed as he led you through a series of turns that grew less familiar with every corridor. The torchlight began to thin as you went, shadows stretching longer along the stone walls.

Eventually, the three of you stopped in front of a narrow section of a wall.

The stone looked no different from any other, yet when Daeron pressed his palm against a pattern only he seemed to recognize, something shifted. With a low, reluctant groan, a seam opened in the wall, just wide enough for a person to slip through.

Daeron glanced back at the two of you once.

“Stay close,” he said simply. Then he disappeared inside.

The passage beyond was narrow and damp, the air within was heavy. You could hear the faint drip of water coming from somewhere deeper within, barely audible over the shuffle of your hurried footsteps. No one spoke for a long while.

Eventually, the tunnel began to slope. A faint gush of air swept over you as you neared the exit. Daeron reached the end first, pushing against a heavy wooden door until it creaked open.

One by one, you slipped through the opening, only to find yourselves standing right outside the thick walls of the Red Keep. The massive silhouette of the castle hovered behind you.

The air was colder than you expected. It did not feel welcoming.

Behind you stood the Red Keep, along with every obligation, every expectation, every responsibility you had just stepped out of.

Ahead of you, the night awaited.

**************************************

The store sat on the edge of town, isolated and quiet, with rows of furniture stretching beneath fluorescent lights and entire afternoons passing without a single customer. Most days, it was just you, Bobby, and eventually Kat.

At first, you didn't think much of her.

She was friendly enough, easy to talk to, and she fit into the store surprisingly quickly. You never saw her as competition because competition implied there had been something to compete for in the first place.

Until one evening after work.

The parking lot was nearly empty, glowing under the orange glow of streetlights. The parking lot was nearly empty except for a handful of employee vehicles scattered beneath flickering streetlights. You were halfway to your car when movement caught your attention from the cars next to yours.

That's when you saw them.

Bobby's back was pressed against the side of Kat's car.

Kat was standing on her toes, and their mouths were pressed together.

For a moment, your brain simply refused to process what you were seeing. As if sensing another presence, they quickly pulled away from eachother.

Bobby pulled away first, and his eyes found yours immediately. The look on his face made it worse—not surprise, not embarrassment. It was something almost like....guilt.

Kat followed his gaze and immediately spotted you standing there.

Her face lit up.

"We're sorry," she said before either of you could speak. "We just made it official! I was gonna tell you tomorrow."

The smile she wore was bright and genuine. You looked at her, then at Bobby standing beside her, and forced a smile onto your own face.

"That's great," you heard yourself say.

You weren't sure how convincing it sounded.

You mumbled something else before turning and heading for your car as quickly as you could without outright running. Your vision blurred for a second once you got inside, but you blinked hard until the feeling passed. You felt stupid for even crying in the first place, but you couldn't help it. All those years in which you convinced yourself that your feelings were being reciprocated sat heavy on your chest.

--

After that, everything changed.

Not visibly. Not in any way that anybody else would notice. But the familiarity that had existed between you and Bobby for years suddenly felt gone.

You found yourself hyperaware of everything. The way Kat smiled whenever he walked into a room, how their shoulders brushed together when they talked and laughed with eachother.

Neither of them ever overdid it. If anything, they seemed careful around you, and that somehow made it worse. Every small act of consideration strangely felt like a confirmation that they knew, and maybe they did. Maybe Bobby had always known. That thought made you feel even more miserable.

Weeks turned into months. The conversations between you and Bobby gradually dulled into professional necessities.

"Could you check if we still have that dining set in stock?"

"Clark wants those boxes moved."

"Can you cover the register for a minute?"

Nothing more.

Every now and then, you would catch him looking at you. It was never for long, and you always looked away first.

-

When you heard they had moved in together, it felt like a breaking point.

One afternoon, you finally filled out your two weeks notice and headed toward Clark's office before either of them could find out.

Unfortunately, Bobby rounded a corner before you got there. His eyes immediately dropped to the paper in your hands, and his expression hardened.

"You're quitting?" the question came out sharper than you expected.

You shrugged.

"Dunno. It just seems crowded here. Barely any customers come in these days, and Clark can hardly afford to pay all three of us as it is."

The excuse sounded ridiculous the second it left your mouth. Judging by Bobby's face, he knew it too.

Something flickered behind his eyes. "You've been here for years."

"Yeah."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

He looked like he wanted to say something else.

Instead, he stepped aside and let you pass.

-

You missed the next two shifts after that, and when you finally returned, Clark seemed like an entirely different person.

Excited. Restless. Obsessed, even.

The moment you walked through the doors, he started rambling about something he'd discovered beneath the store.

"You guys need to see this," he kept saying. "Seriously, all three of you."

When the four of you eventually made your way downstairs, you immediately noticed the tension between Bobby and Kat.

They weren't standing together, and they weren't speaking much either. At one point, your gaze dropped to their wrists. The matching string bracelets they'd worn for months were gone.

You frowned. Before you could think too hard about what that meant, Clark, who noticed the two of them acting so stiff, suddenly turned towards them.

"Look, guys, whatever you're going through can wait a couple more hours, okay?" he said. "I really need your heads in this."

The two exchanged a look but said nothing.

Then Clark pointed toward the nearest wall, where a rectangle made out of tape caught your eye. The size of it carried resemblance to one of a door's.

"Watch this," Clark said.

Before any of you could stop him, he stepped forward and walked straight through the wall.

The basement fell silent. You, Bobby, and Kat stood frozen.

"What the hell?" Kat whispered.

A second later, Clark's muffled voice echoed from somewhere beyond the wall.

"Guys! Guys, come on, you have to see this!"

Bobby let out an incredulous laugh. "No way."

He immediately approached the wall, excitement overtaking whatever sour mood he had been in earlier.

"Clark?" he called.

"Yeah! I'm serious, get in here!"

"You're messing with us." you said, finally gaining your senses back. You stared suspiciously at the shape on the wall.

"I'm not! Come on!" came Clark's response.

Bobby looked over his shoulder at the two of you girls, grinning widely "There's gotta be a hidden room or something."

"You don't know that," Kat said nervously.

"Well, I'm gonna find out."

Before either of you could stop him, Bobby reached out and pressed his hand against the taped rectangle. His arm disappeared through it.

His grin widened. "Holy shit."

Then he stepped through, leaving you and Kat alone together in the basement. You looked over at her, noticing the worried expression on her face. When you locked eyes, a mutual agreement settled between you, and you both stepped through the wall after the boys.

-

Clark's excited rambling followed the three of you through the impossible hallways beyond the wall, his voice bouncing across yellowed wallpaper and stained carpeting as he hurried ahead. Every few steps he would glance over his shoulder with the same manic grin, asking if any of you understood what this place meant, only to continue talking before anyone could answer.

You stayed near the back of the group. Kat walked a little ahead of you.

Bobby remained closest to Clark, his curiosity getting the best of him as he recorded every step of the way with the camera he had in his hands.

The deeper you ventured, the more disturbed you felt. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever. Every turn revealed another identical corridor ahead, and yet Clark moved through this yellow maze with confidence, as though he knew exactly where he was going.

Eventually, the four of you entered yet another yellow room, which seemed no different that any other room—well, except for the square-shaped hole in the wall and a bed in the corner.

Clark pulled out a length of rope, which made your stomach tighten.

"No" you said, but Clark ignored you completely.

"We need to see what's down there"

"We absolutely do not need to see what's down there." you insisted.

Clark turned towards Kat and Bobby "We came all this way."

Kat shook her head "Clark."

"Relax" he said, then tossed one end of the rope towards Bobby.

Bobby caught it automatically, and Clark's grin widened.

"Oh, absolutely not." Kat said.

Bobby laughed "What?"

"You're not going down there." you insisted, almost like a plead.

"Why not?"

"Because it's insane!" you said, exasperated.

Bobby looked between all three of you. Then he shrugged.

"Honestly, she's got a point."

Relief immediately flooded through you.

Only for Bobby to continue. "But now I kind of want to know what's down there."

"Oh my God." you dragged a hand across your face.

Bobby's laugh echoed through the room. For a moment, everything almost felt normal again.

Then the rope was around his waist, and he was standing at the edge. Slowly, the three of you lowered him into the darkness.

"How's it look?" Clark shouted.

A few seconds later Bobby's answer drifted upward. "Still creepy!"

Your hands tightened around the rope. The knot in your stomach had only gotten worse.

"Can you see anything?" Clark shouted. Bobby began describing the room, with the clothes laying around and the smell.

Then, a pause followed.

"Wait." The tension in his voice immediately caught your attention.

"What?" Kat called.

Another pause. The rope shifted.

"Bobby?" you called. Nobody answered.

You looked toward Clark. "We have to pull him up." you demanded, already tugging at the rope.

"What do you see?" Clark yelled.

The response came back immediately. "Pull me up."

Your stomach dropped.

"Pull me up!" The fear in Bobby's voice hit all of you at once."NOW! "

Without another word, all three of you started hauling the rope upward. Your hands burned against the rope. Kat stumbled beside you.

Then Bobby's hands appeared over the edge. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, his grip tight enough it hurt, but you didn't even mind.

His terrified eyes found yours "Get me out!" He shouted

"We got you!" Clark yelled as he grabbed hold of his shirt.

Together, the three of you dragged him almost completely out. His body was over the edge when the rope suddenly snapped tight again. The force of it nearly yanked you off your feet.

"What the hell—" Bobby began saying, but he never got to finish the sentence.

Something on the other end pulled hard, the rope whipped violently through the room and Bobby's entire body jerked backward, towards the hole.

His fingers nearly slipped from your wrist.

"No!" Kat screamed.

You immediately dropped to your knees and grabbed his forearm with both hands. Clark lunged forward as well, seizing Bobby's other arm while Kat grabbed onto the back of his shirt.

His hand tightened painfully around yours. The terror on his face was unlike anything you'd ever seen.

"Pull me up!"

"We're trying!" you screamed back.

You could feel him trembling. "Don't let go!" he shouted.

Another violent jerk ran through the rope. Clark lost his footing, and the sudden shift nearly ripped Bobby completely from your grasp.

For one horrible second, your eyes locked. You watched pure fear spread across his face.

The next pull was stronger than all the others combined. Your grip finally broke, and his hand slipped from yours.

Then he was gone.

A scream tore from your throat as Bobby disappeared back into the darkness. His own scream echoed through the tunnel, growing fainter as he was dragged deeper below.

You knew that sound would haunt you for the rest of your life.

Before any of you had the time to register what had just unfolded, a loud crack echoed through the room. You looked back just in time to see the heavy bed Clark had anchored the rope to begin sliding across the floor.

"Oh my God," Kat whispered.

"Run!" Clark shouted, but it was already too late.

The bed slammed into all three of you, pushing you through the hole. The world flipped upside down as the tunnel swallowed you. After what felt like an eternity of tumbling, you finally hit the ground. The impact was so hard the air got knocked out of your lungs.

For several seconds, you could do nothing except lie there gasping. Then Bobby screamed again, and the sound made you immediately push yourself upright.

"Bobby!"

No answer. Just another scream, only further away now.

You stumbled toward the sound, ignoring the pain shooting through your legs. That's when you saw it, the streak of blood on the carpet, and a torn piece of clothing—Bobby's—laying there.

Your hands shook as you snatched it up. Then, you heard the sound of something moving. Something large, and fast. Kat screamed, and you whipped your head to see her scrambling to her feet.

"Run!" somebody shouted.

You didn't argue. The three of you bolted through the darkness—and that was the last time you saw them.

---

At first, every day felt impossible.

You wandered the endless yellow halls with shaking hands and aching legs, jumping at every distant sound and every shadow that seemed to move. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed endlessly, creating a constant hum that slowly began driving you insane.

Sleep came rarely, and when it did, it was never for long.

You learned to wedge yourself into cramped rooms and hidden corners where you could see every possible entrance. Even then, every creak or distant noise was enough to jolt you awake with your heart hammering against your ribs.

For the first few days, you searched constantly for someone, anyone.

You followed every distant voice and every set of footprints you could find, convincing yourself over and over that he had to be alive. Then you would remember the look on his face as his fingers slipped from yours, or the sound of him screaming as something dragged him into the darkness.

You would remember the blood, and hope would become a little harder to hold onto.

The piece of Bobby's shirt never left your possession. You kept it folded carefully inside your pocket during the day and clutched it in your hands whenever you stopped moving. The fabric had become one of the only reminders that your life before this place had actually existed.

The first time you truly allowed yourself to grieve was after nearly a week.

You had found an empty office hidden behind a maze of corridors and locked yourself inside for the night. The room was small and dusty, but it had a door that closed and that was enough.

You sat on the floor with your knees pulled against your chest. The torn piece of fabric rested in your lap. For a long time, you simply stared at it.

Then the tears came. The kind that left your chest aching and your breathing uneven. You cried for Bobby. For the years spent dancing around feelings neither of you had been brave enough to acknowledge. You cried because there had always been this stubborn part of you that believed there would be more time. More opportunities to tell him. Now all you had left was a torn piece of fabric and a memory of his hand slipping from yours.

After that night, you stopped looking for him—at least that's what you told yourself.

In reality, your eyes still searched every hallway you entered. Your ears still perked up at every distant voice, hoping you'd recognize his own. Some foolish part of you never fully gave up.

Weeks passed, or maybe only days. Time had become meaningless here.

You had started learning the rhythm of the place. Certain hallways appeared safer than others. Certain sounds meant danger. Certain rooms were worth remembering.

-

You were moving through one such hallway when you heard footsteps. Immediate panic surged through you. They were too heavy, too deliberate.

Then suddenly someone grabbed you from behind. A startled cry escaped you as your body was slammed violently into the nearest wall. Pain exploded through your back.

Before you could recover, an arm pressed firmly against your throat, pinning you in place. Pure instinct took over, and you kicked and struggled, trying desperately to free yourself.

Your vision blurred from panic, then finally focused.

The person holding you froze, and you froze too. For a moment, neither of you moved. Because the person staring back at you was Bobby.

His hair was longer now, messier. There were fresh cuts scattered across his face and neck, and dark circles lingered beneath his eyes.

He looked terrible. He looked alive.

The realization hit you so hard it almost hurt.

"Bobby." The name escaped you as little more than a breath.

His eyes widened. The arm against your throat immediately disappeared. You stumbled forward, coughing slightly.

For a second, he simply stared. Then his gaze darted over your face, searching desperately for something. His hand lifted hesitantly, cautiously, like he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too fast. His fingers brushed against your hair, pushing a few tangled strands away from your face.

The touch was so familiar it made your chest ache.

Then suddenly you were moving. The distance between you disappeared in an instant as you practically threw yourself at him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you buried your face against his shoulder.

For a brief moment, he froze. Then his arms slowly locked around you, so tight it nearly hurt. A shaky breath escaped him as his chin came to rest on top of your head. For the first time in a long time, you felt safe. At ease.

Then Bobby suddenly stiffened. The change was immediate, and you felt it before you saw it. His arms loosened, then he pulled away slightly.

Confusion creased his brow.

"No."

You looked up.

"What's wrong?"

His expression changed, relief giving way to uncertainty. Doubt. Bobby took a step back, enough to create space between you.

"Hold on."

Your stomach dropped. "Bobby?"

"How do I know it's really you?"

The question hit like a slap, and you stared. His eyes searched your face frantically.

"This place has done this before. I've seen someone who looked exactly like you."

You were beyond confused. Bobby shook his head.

"I thought it was you. I was completely sure it was you." He let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Followed it for half a day."

His jaw tightened. "Then it tried to bite me."

You stared at him, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you slowly shook your head.

"No, Bobby, you have to believe me." Your voice almost cracked. You stepped closer. "It's really me."

His gaze flickered. You could see him desperately wanting to believe you.

"I thought... I thought you were dead." you whispered.

Something painful flashed across his face, and he looked away.

"I almost was. I barely got away. Don't even know how I did it, really."

His gaze returned to yours, and he let out a sigh, dragging his hand over his face. "I wish I never went through that fucking wall." he admitted quietly.

You found yourself nodding. "Yeah. Me too."

The two of you fell silent for a moment, listening to the distant hum of fluorescent lights somewhere beyond the hall.

Eventually, you glanced back at him.

"Why did you,then?" you asked.

Bobby frowned slightly. "What?"

"Go through the wall. You were the first one to volunteer. You practically jumped at the chance."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it disappeared immediately.

"I didn't think..." He paused, searching for the right words. "I didn't think it'd be this."

His gaze drifted down the hallway.

"I thought maybe we'd find another room. Some weird hidden basement. Something Clark could show off and obsess over for the next ten years."

A quiet laugh escaped you. That sounded exactly like Clark.

Bobby shook his head. "If I'd known what was actually waiting for us in here, I would've stayed home."

Then he paused for a moment, and looked back at you.

"Honestly, I only agreed to come because I heard you were coming too."

The statement caught you completely off guard.

"What?"

Bobby shrugged awkwardly. For some reason, he suddenly seemed interested in studying the floor.

"And, Clark was acting like a lunatic. Figured somebody should make sure neither of you got yourselves killed."

Despite everything, a small smile threatened to appear. It vanished the second another thought occurred to you.

"And Kat." You raised an eyebrow. "You came because Kat was coming too, right?"

The moment the words left your mouth, something shifted in his expression. His gaze flickered away. Then he slowly shook his head.

"No."

You stared at him. "No?"

"We broke up the day before."

The hallway suddenly felt much quieter. "What?"

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck."We'd been arguing for weeks." He continued "We broke up the day before Clark showed us the wall, and honestly, I still don't know why she came back to the store after that."

A strange feeling began twisting in your stomach. Weeks. They'd been arguing for weeks. Before you'd handed in your notice. Before you'd spent days convincing yourself that leaving was the only way to stop watching them build a life together.

Something hot and ugly flared inside your chest. For a moment, you couldn't even speak. You just looked at him.

Bobby noticed immediately, and his brow furrowed. "What?"

"Weeks?" The word slipped out before you could stop it.

"Yeah." his confusion only made the feeling worse.

"Weeks." you repeated.

Bobby stared at you, confused "You okay?"

"I quit my job because of you two." you shook your head. "You remember that, right?"

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with—"

"Everything. It has everything to do with it"

The response came out harsher than you'd intended. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Bobby looked completely lost.

"I don't understand."

You stared at the carpet and stayed quiet for a few moments.

"It's just..." you started speaking before you'd fully figured out what you wanted to say. The words felt tangled somewhere in your chest. "I couldn't bring myself to be around you two anymore."

Bobby remained quiet. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly somewhere above you.

"Every day was just a constant reminder."

Bobby's gaze dropped to the floor "Oh."

The response was so small it almost hurt. You weren't sure what you expected, but right now everything seemed better than silence.

"It wasn't just that" you continued, desperate to break the silence "I hated that we stopped talking. I mean, really talking."

Bobby gave a small nod "I wanted to talk to you." He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck "There were a bunch of times I almost came over."

He then shook his head slightly, eyes drifting down the corridor "Usually I'd make it about halfway before realizing I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to say."

It was your turn to stay silent now.

"And you stopped talking to me first." He continued, a little more quiet now. "Hell, after a while I started wondering if you hated me."

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh "Hate you?" You asked, the idea sounding absurd in you mind.

You shook your head, avoiding his eyes "If I hated you, quitting would've been easy."

The words slipped before you could stop them, and you regretted them immediately. Silence settled once again. You stared stubbornly at a stain on the carpet, suddenly finding it very difficult to look at him. The longer the quiet stretched, the more aware you became of what you'd actually admitted.

Eventually, you forced yourself to glance up.

Bobby was looking at you differently. There was something almost pleased in his expression—the corner of his mouth had lifted into the faintest smile, and his eyes were fixed on yours with an intensity that instantly sent heat rushing into your face.

His gaze kept searching your expression as though he expected to find some sign that you hadn't meant what you'd said. Whatever he was looking for, he clearly wasn't finding it.

The realization seemed to settle over him slowly, and he took a small step closer. His mouth opened slightly, like he'd finally decided what he wanted to say. Whatever it was, he never got the change to say it.

A horrible screech echoed through the hallway. The sound revertebrated through the corridors, bouncing off the stained yellow walls until it seemed to come from everywhere at once. The sound was so unnatural that every hair on your body immediately stood on end. Every muscle in Bobby's body immediately tensed, and he muttered a curse under his breath.

Before you could even open your mouth, Bobby's hand closed around your wrist.

"Run."

"What?"

"Run!"

He didn't wait for an answer. One second he was standing in front of you, and the next he was dragging you down the corridor at a full sprint. You nearly stumbled trying to keep up. The fluorescent lights blurred overhead as the two of you tore through hallway after hallway.

Behind you, something crashed around a corner.

"What the fuck is that ?" you shouted between breaths.

Bobby didn't slow down even for a second "It's the thing that grabbed me." He shouted over his shoulder as the two of you turned yet another corner.

Your lungs burned, and every breath felt sharper than the last. Whatever was chasing you wasn't slowing down. If anything, it sounded closer.

Curiosity took over you, and you risked a glance backward. You immediately regretted your decision, as the creature you saw looked like something straight out of a nightmare.

"Bobby—"

"I know! Keep up!"

He tightened his grip on your hand and pulled you forward. The two of you practically threw yourselves around the next corner—only to slam directly into another person.

All three of you staggered violently, nearly getting knocked off your feet. The stranger let out a startled yell, then familiar eyes widened in recognition.

Kat.

For a split second, relief flooded her face. Then she heard the sounds behind you, and that relief vanished instantly.

"What is—"

"Run!" you shouted.

You grabbed her arm before she could finish the question and practically launched her forward.

To her credit, she didn't argue. The three of you immediately broke into another sprint.

Every turn revealed another endless stretch of yellow hallway, every glance over your shoulder revealed movement somewhere in the darkness behind you. The creature's screams echoed through the corridors, growing louder and more frustrated the longer it chased you.

Your hand remained locked in Bobby's the entire time.

Suddenly, Kat pointed ahead.

"There!"

You followed her gaze and spotted a narrow opening in the wall, barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through. Relief flooded your chest. Without slowing down, Kat threw herself through the gap first. You followed immediately after, twisting sideways to fit through before stumbling into a dark room on the other side. Bobby came through last.

The second he got through, a deafening impact shook the wall, indicating that the creature had reached the gap. A horrible screech echoed through the room as it slammed repeatedly against the concrete on the other side. Dust fell from the ceiling.

When it became clear that the creature couldn't reach you from there, you bent forward, struggling to catch your breath as your pulse thundered in your ears. Beside you, Kat had her hands propped against her knees, while Bobby stood near the gap, listening carefully to the creature's increasingly furious shrieks.

None of you had time to recover, as the room suddenly exploded with movement. Doors burst open around you. Flashlights swept across the darkness. Voices shouted over one another.

You barely had time to register the figures flooding the room before several of them were surrounding the three of you. They were dressed in yellow protective suits from head to toe, their faces hidden behind dark visors. Some carried weapons, others held strange equipment you didn't recognize. Their voices were muffled by masks as they shouted instructions you couldn't understand.

"What the hell—" your sentence never finished.

One of them raised a metal canister, and a thick cloud of vapor erupted into the air.

Immediately, your eyes began to sting. The room tilted as you staggered backward, since the dizziness hit so fast it was terrifying. Around you, the shouting seemed to become distant and distorted, as though you were hearing it from underwater.

Beside you, Kat stumbled into a wall. Bobby immediately moved toward you, his free hand catching your shoulder before you could collapse.

The last thing you clearly remembered was looking up at him. His face was blurry now, distorted by the fog clouding your vision. You could see his mouth moving, could hear him saying something, but the words didn't reach you.

Soon enough, darkness swallowed everything.

---

When you opened your eyes again, the first thing you noticed were the lights.

A dull ache pulsed behind your temples as you slowly became aware of your surroundings. The fluorescent lights overhead were brighter than anything you remembered, forcing you to squint if you wanted to keep your eyes open.

You were sitting in a chair. Not one of those half-sunken chairs scattered throughout the maze. A real chair—metal, cold.

For several seconds, you simply sat there trying to orient yourself. You were sitting in a long, brightly illuminated hallway that resembled a hospital waiting room.

Suddenly, movement caught your attention. A few feet away, Bobby and Kat were standing together. Neither of them had noticed you were awake.

At first, relief flooded your chest at the realization that all three of you were alive and safe.

Then you realized they were arguing. The conversation was hushed enough that you couldn't make out the words, but their expressions told you everything you needed to know. Kat looked angry. Not furious, but hurt. Bobby looked frustrated in return, running a hand through his hair as he spoke.

Whatever they were discussing, it clearly wasn't pleasant.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, Kat glanced in your direction. The argument stopped immediately as she nudged Bobby with her elbow and nodded toward you.

"She's awake." She said, louder now.

Bobby's head snapped around so fast it was almost comical. The moment he saw you sitting upright, something visibly relaxed in his expression. Without hesitation, he crossed the distance between you and dropped into the chair beside yours. For a second, he simply looked at you, as though reassuring himself that you were really okay.

"You alright?" His voice sounded rough, tired.

You considered the question. You remembered the endless nightmare you'd all just survived. The fact that you were apparently sitting in some unknown facility after being chased through nightmarish yellow maze.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "As alright as I can be."

The corners of Bobby's mouth lifted, just enough to soften some of the tension in his face. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but then again, none of you looked capable of genuine ease anymore. The weeks spent surviving had left their mark on all three of you.

Kat pushed herself away from the wall she'd been leaning against and crossed the room, stopping a few feet from your chair. She folded her arms across her chest, looking considerably better than she had when you'd first collided with her in the hallways.

"Where are we?" you asked, finally taking a better look around the room.

The place didn't resemble anything you'd seen in the maze. The walls were white and clean. The lights didn't buzz, and you could hear poeple moving through the hallways outside. It felt strange seeing a normal room again after so long.

Kat followed your gaze and shrugged. "Wherever those yellow jackets took us. I assume it's some sort of base."

"That's pretty much our best guess" Bobby added, dragging a hand through his hair. "They said they'd wait for you to wake up before asking us any questions."

You frowned. The thought made your stomach twist.

Before anyone could continue, movement in the hallway caught your attention. A man appeared around the corner, walking briskly towards you. He looked out of place compared to the people in yellow suits you saw earlier. While everyone else seemed dressed for hazardous work, he wore a white surgical coat over neat clothes, carrying a clipboard tucked beneath one arm.

The moment he reached the three of you, a bright smile appeared on his face. Something about it immediately put you on edge, as the smile didn't seem to reach his eyes.

"Good," he said as he approached. "You're awake." The man stopped a respectful distance away and adjusted the clipboard beneath his arm "My name is Stewart, and I'd like to have a chat with you, if that's all right with everyone."

The tone was polite, but there was nothing optional about what he said.

Bobby immediately sat up from his chair, shoulders straightening. "We're not going anywhere until you tell us what this place is."

Stewart's smile stood in place.

"And what the hell happened back there," Bobby continued, pointing vaguely toward one of the walls, as though the yellow maze might somehow still be lurking nearby.

"I assure you, sir, that all of your questions will be answered soon. But for that to happen, I need you to follow me so we can talk." Stewart replied smoothly.

Bobby looked entirely unconvinced. Fortunately, Stewart seemed accustomed to dealing with suspicious people. He simply waited, patiently, for Bobby to make up his mind.

A few moments later, Bobby's shoulders dropped slightly in defeat. After a few seconds, you pushed yourself out of the chair. Kat straightened up as well.

Stewart nodded once, then turned and began leading the way down the hallway. The facility was larger than you'd initially realized. The corridors stretched on forever as you passed endless doorways and passages.

The three of you stayed close together. Closer than necessary, perhaps, as your shoulder brushed Bobby's as you walked. Neither of you moved away. A sense of comfort settled in your chest simply from knowing he was there. After weeks spent believing he was dead, you found yourself stealing glances whenever you thought he wouldn't notice.

This time, he noticed. As though sensing your gaze, Bobby turned his head. For a second, your eyes met, and a lopsided smile appeared on his face. The expression was familiar enough to make your chest ache. It was the same smile he'd worn a hundred times back at Clark's. The same one he'd flashed whenever Clark said something ridiculous or whenever the two of you found yourselves stuck moving furniture around the store.

It was meant to reassure you, but you could see what sat underneath.

The exhaustion.

The uncertainty.

The lingering fear.

Bobby looked just as overwhelmed by all of this as you felt.

After a moment, both of you looked away. You looked forward just in time to notice that Stewart had stopped walking. He stood beside a plain metal door, one hand resting on the handle as he glanced back toward your group. Without a word, he pushed the door open.

The room beyond was surprisingly small. A single table sat in the center beneath a harsh overhead light, accompanied by two metal chairs. There were no decorations, no windows, just four plain concrete walls.

A knot formed in your stomach.Stewart stepped aside and gestured toward the doorway.

"If you would."

Bobby, who stood at the front of the group, hesitated briefly before stepping inside. You and Kat immediately moved to follow. Neither of you made it more than a step before Stewart lifted a hand.

The gesture wasn't aggressive. If anything, it was annoyingly polite as it stopped both of you in your tracks. You frowned immediately.

"What—"

"I'm sorry." Stewart's smile returned before you could finish speaking. "But I'll need to take you one at a time."

You stared at him."Why?"

"I need independent declarations from each of you." His tone remained calm "I'm afraid that becomes difficult if all three of you are sitting together influencing each other's recollections."

"We're not influencing anything," Kat said sharply.

Stewart's expression didn't change. "I'm sure you're not intending to."

You glanced toward Bobby, unsure. His jaw had tightened slightly, and although he wasn't arguing, you could tell he didn't like this any more than the rest of you did. Unfortunately, none of you were really in a position to refuse.

Stewart pointed toward a pair of chairs positioned against the hallway wall. "I won't keep him long. In the meantime, I suggest you make yourselves comfortable."

Comfortable. The word almost made you laugh. The heavy metal door closed behind Bobby a moment later, leaving you and Kat alone in the hallway. You lowered yourself into one of the chairs. Kat sat beside you. For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then Kat broke the silence. "It's a miracle we survived."

You glanced toward her and gave a small nod."Yeah."

Neither of you elaborated. Eventually, another thought occurred to you. One that had been sitting in the back of your mind ever since finding her again.

"What happened afterwards? After we got separated?" You asked quietly.

For a moment, Kat didn't answer. Instead, she leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

"I just ran as fast as I could." Her hands tightened together in her lap. "At first, I was convinced that something was following me. But eventually I realized I was alone."

Her eyes remained closed. "I mean. completely alone." She hesitated "And then I found Clark."

The words immediately made your stomach sink. Kat finally opened her eyes and looked toward you.

"He wasn't acting like himself. He was....calm. Like, really calm." She shook her head.

The memory clearly unsettled her — you could see it written across her face. Kat swallowed hard."He talked differently, moved differently. And before I knew it..."

She stopped. For a moment, it looked like she wasn't sure whether she wanted to continue.

"He knocked me out. The next thing I remember, I was tied to a chair, and he was talking about...about sacrifices. About survival, and how some people had to die in order for the strongest to survive."

The room suddenly felt colder. You couldn't imagine Clark saying those things. Couldn't imagine the awkward, slightly obsessive man you'd worked with becoming that heartless.

"Everything happened so fast. He tried to stab me." Kat paused as tears threatened to spill from her eyes "I don't even know how I got loose. I got one arm free somehow. Then I punched him as hard as I could and ran."

The tears finally spilled over. "I just ran. And I never saw him again after that." She sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. You stared at her for several seconds before finally reaching out and placing a hand gently on her shoulder. There wasn't really anything you could say to make things better. Still, you tried.

"Oh my God, Kat." your voice softened. "I'm so, so sorry."

Kat immediately shook her head. A few strands of hair fell across her face. "It doesn't matter now."

The words sounded unconvincing. She stared at the closed interrogation room door, then back towards you.

"I mean, I hope we're far away from that place."

You turned to look at the closed door as well, your gaze lingering there for a moment. Bobby was somewhere behind it, being questioned by people you didn't know in a place you didn't understand, yet for the first time in a very long time, you felt oddly hopeful.

"I think these people—whoever they are—are going to help us," you said quietly. "I mean, they got us out of there, didn't they? We might even get back home soon."

Kat let out a small scoff from beside you. "Sounds too good to be true."

The words were almost mocking, but there wasn't any real malice behind them. She sounded exhausted more than anything else.

Then she sighed. "I hope you're right, though."

The hallway fell quiet again for a few moments. Kat leaned further back into her chair and tilted her head toward the ceiling.

"God, I wish I never listened to Clark." She began " I knew this was a horrible idea from the start, but I just..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "It was stupid of me to come, just like Bobby said. I don't even know why I did it, really. I just..." Her expression tightened slightly. "I guess I wanted to see Bobby."

You looked at her. The bitterness in her voice caught you off guard.

Kat laughed softly, though there was no humor in it. "Do you know what he said to me while you were knocked out?" She asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but she didn't want for an answer. "He told me the reason he agreed to come. The real reason." She said, voice sounding strangely accusing.

Your stomach twisted immediately. The memory of that conversation in the hallway resurfaced before you could stop it.

'I only agreed because I heard you were coming too.'

You lowered your gaze to the floor. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Kat was the first to break the silence. "I'm not mad or anything."

You glanced back up. She was staring ahead now, her arms folded across her chest.

"I mean, I always kind of knew there was something between you two." She admitted "I just ...didn't think it mattered."

Heat immediately rushed into your face, and you quickly shook your head. "No, Kat, it's nothing like that."

Kat looked at you for a second before raising an eyebrow. Then she shook her head. "You must be truly blind to think of it that way, then."

You looked away again, your eyes settling on the floor ahead of you. A part of you wondered whether there was any chance she was right. The thought lingered for a moment before you immediately pushed it away.

Because if that was true, if there really had been something there all this time, then why would Bobby have gotten together with Kat in the first place? The question alone seemed enough to disprove the entire idea. Surely Kat was wrong.

You closed your eyes briefly and shook the thought away.

A fleeting look. A rare moment of restraint when he would have normally overreacted. The occasional glimpse of something beneath the arrogance and mockery that seemed far more complicated than you cared to admit.

You were reluctant to soften even in the slightest towards him. Perhaps because it felt safer that way.

---

One late afternoon, after yet another suffocating day of courtly obligations, you managed to escape to one of the quieter garden foyers. A pot of tea stood forgotten beside you, paired with a plate of biscuits you equally ignored.

You stared ahead, so lost in thought that the sound of someone coming up from behind you made you jump.

"My apologies" came a familiar drawl. "I didn't mean to startle you."

You turned your head to find Daeron standing beneath the archway, looking unusually sober.

"Why so glum?" He asked as he approached.

The question earned a quiet huff from you. "It is that obvious?"

The faintest smile curled on his lips as he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"Only to those with eyes."

Despite yourself, you smiled. Daeron seemed pleased by this small victory. He sat down o a chair across from you, stretching his legs comfortably before glancing your way.

"Trouble with your betrothed, I assume?"

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I often wonder how anyone manages to tolerate him for longer than a few minutes."

Daeron let out a snort. "That makes two of us."

His answer pulled a short laugh out of you. For a moment, a comfortable silence settled between the two of you.

Then, Daeron's expression shifted. His gaze drifted towards the gardens below, and for the first time, he seemed genuinely lost in thought.

"He wasn't always like this, you know."

You let out a doubtful scoff. The sound made him glance briefly in your direction

"Hard to believe, I know." He admitted. "But it's true. When we were little, Aerion was..." He paused, searching for the right word "...easier."

The word explained very little, which made you raise a questioning brow.

"He smiled more" He continued "Laughed, even. Back then, he used to follow Father everywhere like a shadow. Always so desperate for his approval."

Something in Daeron's expression softened as he spoke. "He adored our mother, too."

You found yourself strangely silent. You were trying - and failing - to picture a smiling little Aerion. Daeron stared ahead for another moment before he spoke again.

"But, Aerion learned young what the court rewards." He started. "Everything he does now.." he shrugged slightly "I think he believes it necessary. Better to be feared than overlooked - weakness has no place in court."

The words lingered between you long after they were spoken. Daeron rose not long after, offering you an easy salute before disappearing back towards the castle.

Long after he was gone, you remained seated there in silence. Despite knowing better, you found your thoughts returning again and again to what Daeron had said.

---

The day before the wedding arrived far sooner than you would have liked.

As though the ceremony itself were not enough to occupy your every waking thought, you mother found yet another matter that required 'immediate attention'.

"A gift" she informed you over breakfast, her tone rather serious "It is customary."

You looked up from your plate. "A gift?"

"For your future husband." She clarified. "It need not be extravagant. Merely thoughtful."

Thoughtful. You nearly laughed - there was very little about your relationship with Prince Aerion that inspired thoughtful sentiments.

Still, you didn't bother to argue. Later that morning, after much thought and very little inspiration, you found yourself seated besides a goldsmith's sketches, staring at dozens of possible designs.

A sword was not even in question in your mind. A crown felt absurd. In the end, you settled for a pin - on which you requested that a dragon would be carved.

"A dragon?" Your mother repeated, as if weighing the idea.

You nodded your head "It seems fitting."

In truth, you simply could not think of anything else that suited him. The choice was appropriate. Impersonal. Safe.

The smith promised it would be completed before the wedding feast.

--

By late afternoon, you found yourself once again seated in Aerion's chambers. This arrangement became almost familiar, though neither of you seemed particularly pleased by the circumstances.

Aerion sat near the window, having returned from training. Usually, this meant you could finally return to your chambers as he rested—but not today.

The injury on the prince's arm was shallow, annoying rather than dangerous. Still, you were forced to wait while a servant fetched the Maester.

"It is nothing serious," he admitted at last "But I would rather not have it neglected the day before a royal wedding." The old man said, eyeing the thin line of blood that ran along Aerion's forearm.

Aerion seemed particularly offended by the inconvinience. "It's barely a scratch." He said for, perhaps, the third time.

The Maester barely spared him a glance. "Even scratches fester when ignored."

You remained quietly in your chair, not fully understanding why you were there in the first place. Still, you didn't dare interrupt their constant back and forth.

The argument might have stretched even more had hurried footsteps not suddenly approached the two men.

"Maester" the servant said urgently "you're needed at once. One of the stable boys has been trampled."

The old man's expression tightened. "Gods help us."

He rose at once, already gathering his things. Aerion looked almost glad.

"The cut is shallow" the Maester said quickly. "It requires cleaning and a fresh dressing, nothing more."

The man then reached into his satchel and withdrew a small ceramic jar. Without much thought, he pressed the jar into the nearest available hands.

Yours.

You blinked, taken aback.

"First you must clean up the wound with a damp cloth, then apply a thin layer of this salve and bind it. Shouldn't be too hard." The Maester didn't even spare you a look as he spoke, already moving towards the door. "I shall return later this evening."

"Maester-" Aerion began, voice rising slightly.

"Not to worry lad, you will survive" the old man spoke over his shoulder, and with that he was gone.

Silence settled over the chamber. You looked down at the jar once more before lifting your head to face the prince.

Aerion looked back at you and immediately shook his head.

"No." he said simply.

You stared at him, taken aback by such a childish behaviour.

"Your Grace " you insisted, already starting to grow irritated.

Seeing as he remained unconvinced, you crossed the room, retrieving a damp cloth from the wash basin before returning by his side.

Aerion raised a brow "Are you so eager to please that old fool?"

"I am only trying to avoid unnecessary complications, Your Grace" you said evenly, though a hint of impatience crept into your voice.

The prince stared at you for a few moments, as though searching your face for some sign that you might abandon the matter. Finding none, he pressed his lips into a thin line before crossing the chamber and lowering himself onto a nearby daybed.

Almost letting out a relieved breath, you followed him, careful to leave a respectable amount of space between the two of you before sitting beside him.

You reached for his forearm, fingers settling lightly around his wrist so you could get a better look. Immediately, one pale brow rose.

"If holding my hand was truly what you were after" he remarked, a smug note threading into his voice "you need only have asked. This seems like an unnecessarily complicated approach."

You lifted your eyes just long enough to throw him a look, your gript tightening slightly "It is for support"

"Naturally." Aerion's mouth curved with satisfaction.

Deciding not to indulge him further, you forced your attention back to the wound. Thankfully, he remained quiet for the rest of the ordeal, only occasionally tightening his jaw when the salve touched the cut. You suspected it stung him more than he cared to admit, but his pride would sooner have him bite off his tongue than acknowledge it out loud.

"There" you concluded once the bandage was secured.

You barely made it halfway to your feet when a hand closed around your wrist. Before you could react, his other hand caught your remaining arm - and your world lurched.

You landed back against the cushions with an undignified sound, skirts going everywhere as both your wrists were pinned above your head with insulting ease.

Aerion loomed over you, one knee braced against the mattress for balance, silver hair falling slightly forward as he stared down at you. Up close like this, his expression seemed sharper. More dangerous.

"What are you doing?"

His grin widened "Thought we might rehearse"

You stared at him in disbelief.

"Tomorrow, half the realm will be watching us." he said, voice low "I thought it worth seeing how you handle yourself under scrutiny."

Heat rushed to your face despite your best efforts. "You cannot be serious." you bit back, trying to wiggle your wrists out of his grip.

His eyes trailed over your face, studying every trace of outrage and embarrassment that crossed your features. Apparently pleased with the result, Aerion released without warning and sat back as though nothing had happened at all.

Everything was over just as abruptly as it started. You remained stunned for a moment longer before scrambling upright. Aware of your current disheveled state, your hands flew to your hair first, then your sleeves, then the folds of your skirts.

Aerion was leaning back against the cushions, eyes lazily trailing your shape as you attempted to gain back some dignity.

"Gods, relax" his mouth twitched upwards "You look ready to faint. I was merely amusing myself."

The words were careless, but his expression said something else. You forced your hands still at your sides, lifting your chin despite the lingering heat in your cheeks.

"A rather elaborate effort for a passing amusement." You replied evenly, though your tone carried an edge.

His eyes narrowed slightly at that.

"Do not flatter yourself." Aerion said, voice turning cutting again "You were a convenient target for boredom. Nothing more."

The room fell quiet, yet the air between you remained tight.

Aerion did not speak again.

He had already leaned back into the cushions, one arm resting along the length of the daybed as though the entire exchange had been no more than a brief interruption in an otherwise untroubled afternoon.

You inclined your head only slightly, a forced curtsy.

For a moment, his eyes flicked to your face again, as though noticing the formality. He gave no reply.

You took his silence as a dismissal, and were quick to make your way towards the door. Only when you reached the quiet of your chambers did you allow your body to relax.

---

Dinner had ended earlier than usual. Or rather, it had ended earlier for you.

You had scarcely finished the last of your meal before being informed — by both your mother and no fewer than three servants — that a bride ought to be well rested before her wedding day. The implication had been clear enough. You were to return to your chambers, sleep soundly, and wake prepared to become the future Princess of Dragonstone.

The prospect did little to encourage a good night's sleep.

Rather than taking the most direct route back, you found yourself wandering through a quieter stretch of the castle, following a corridor that curved along the outer wall. Tall windows overlooked the darkening grounds below.

You were so lost in thought that you nearly missed the voices. At first they were little more than a murmur, drifting from somewhere ahead. Then, as you passed a partially opened door, a clear sentence reached your ears.

"No, it has to be tomorrow night."

You slowed at once. The voice was familiar.

"No one will notice we're gone until morning," it continued. "Half the court will be drunk by midnight, and the other half will be too busy pretending not to be."

Your eyes widened. Daeron.

Curiosity quickly took hold, and you approached the door, leaning closer to the narrow gap.

Inside, another voice answered, quieter "...Father will notice eventually."

Aegon.

There was a brief silence before Daeron let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"Father notices everything eventually," he said. "That is not the point."

The younger prince muttered something too low to make out. Daeron's reply came sharper this time.

"If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. You're welcome to devise your own escape if you believe you've discovered a better plan."

Escape. The word settled heavily in your thoughts.

They were planning to leave. Not for a ride beyond the castle walls. Not for some midnight adventure. Truly leave.

A strange feeling twisted in your chest. For one fleeting moment, a ridiculous thought crossed your mind — If only there were some way you could go with them.

The idea was absurd enough to almost make you laugh.

Inside, movement sounded suddenly closer. Your stomach dropped.

"Egg," Daeron said, sounding exasperated, "I told you to close the door properly."

Footsteps approached. You barely had enough time to straighten before the door swung wider, and Daeron appeared.

For one brief second neither of you moved. His eyes widened. Yours probably did too.

Well.

You folded your arms across your chest and lifted a brow. "You're leaving tomorrow night, I gather?"

The color vanished from Daeron's face immediately, and his gaze flicked once down the corridor. Then back to you.

Without warning, he seized your arm.

You scarcely had time to protest before he hauled you through the doorway and shut the door firmly behind you. Gods, this was the second Targaryen to jerk you around today.

The room was small and plainly furnished, likely some forgotten sitting room tucked away from the main halls. Aegon was already on his feet.

The younger prince looked positively horrified. "My lady—"

Daeron released your arm only to grasp both your shoulders instead, frowning down at you.

"This is not what you think."

You stared at him, then slowly raised a brow. "Oh? So when you said, 'No one will notice we're gone until morning,' what exactly did you mean?"

Daeron closed his eyes.When he opened them again, he turned toward Aegon. A silent plea for assistance.

Aegon, unfortunately, appeared even more distressed than before.

"Please," the younger prince said quickly. "Please, My Lady, do not tell our father."

The sincerity in his voice was almost painful. You looked between them, then finally gave a small nod.

"I will not tell anyone."

The relief was immediate. Aegon visibly relaxed. Daeron released a breath through his nose and finally let go of your shoulders., muttering a 'thank the Seven'.

"Because I intend to come with you." you continued.

Silence.

The expressions on both princes' faces were almost identical. Shock.

Daeron recovered first. "No."

You crossed your arms. "You have not heard my argument."

"I do not need to."

You narrowed your eyes.

Daeron pointed at you. "You are the bride. People ought to notice you missing within a quarter of an hour."

You considered that for a moment, brows drawing together as you searched for some flaw in his argument.

“Then we leave after the feast is over,” you said at last, as though the solution were obvious.

Daeron stared at you.Then one corner of his mouth twitched.

“You seem to be forgetting something.”

You frowned. “What?”

“There are certain,. expectations attached to one's wedding night, are there not?”

Realizing he meant the bedding ceremony, heat rushed to your face so quickly it felt almost painful.

“I suppose,” you muttered through gritted teeth, “we leave after that, then.”

A snort escaped him.

“You say that as though it's a scheduled council meeting.”

Your glare sharpened. Daeron raised both hands in surrender before shaking his head.

“There is no way of knowing how long any of that will keep you occupied, and we'll have little time as it is.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he continued before you could.

“Besides,” he said, studying you more carefully now, “why do you even want to come?”

The room quieted. Aegon looked between the two of you.

“I understand Aerion can be...” He paused, searching for a charitable word and failing. “Difficult. But that cannot be the only reason.”

You pressed your lips together.

“Trust me,” you said dryly, “that is reason enough on its own.”

That earned the faintest huff from Aegon.

“But, if you must know ” you added after a moment, “I should like to see more of the realm.”

Your gaze shifted between them.

“Where exactly are you going, anyway?”

Another look passed between the brothers. Aegon answered first. “Ashford.”

Daeron groaned immediately.

“That was not the plan.”

“It was my plan.”

“The entire reason I'm leaving is because I have no desire to spend my days riding in circles while lords cheer from the stands.”

“You like tourneys.”

“I like watching tourneys.”

You rubbed at your temples. “Fine. Ashford. Somewhere else. It hardly matters. We can decide the destination later.”

Daeron's eyes narrowed.

“We?”

“Yes, we.”

“I thought I made it abundantly clear that there's no way you can come with us.” His tone remained surprisingly patient.

You folded your arms. “Then I suggest we find a way to make it work, because I'm not letting you leave without me”

Daeron stared at you. “I am beginning to understand why my brother finds you so irritating.” he muttered darkly.

--

After several more minutes of heated debate, the three of you finally managed to piece together something resembling a plan. It was far from perfect, and Daeron remained firmly convinced it was a terrible idea. If you were to leave with them, there was only one true obstacle: Aerion.

The solution that emerged was supposed to be simple enough - if, let's say, a few drops of essence of nightshade were to find their way into Aerion's cup at the right moment, mixed with the generous amount of wine he was all but guaranteed to consume throughout the night, it should be enough to leave him unconscious for the remainder of the night.

By morning, any confusion could easily be attributed to the celebrations . With a bit of luck, he would assume everything had proceeded exactly as expected.

It was not a perfect plan, but it would have to do.

--

Not long after, you slipped from the room and made your way through the quieter corridors of the castle in search of the maester. Fortunately, you found him still awake in his chambers, sorting through bundles of dried herbs by candlelight.

When you explained that your nerves had left you unable to sleep before the wedding, the old man seemed entirely unsurprised.

"Every bride believes herself the first to suffer such anxieties," he said kindly, walking towards a shelf. "And every bride discovers she is not."

He retrieved a small glass vial containing a dark liquid and pressed it into your hand.

"A single drop mixed with wine or water should suffice," he instructed. "No more than that. It will encourage sleep."

You accepted it with careful hands.

The vial felt surprisingly light tucked away within your sleeve as you thanked him and made your way back through the castle. Once you made it back to your chambers, you placed it carefully on your bedside table, staring at it intently for a long moment.

Sleep did not come easily.

But at least now, you had something worth losing sleep over — because tomorrow night, if fortune favored fools, you intended to disappear.

******************************

--

The summoning came well past midnight.

You had barely sunk into sleep when suddenly, the doors to your chambers were thrown open with such force that they struck the stone wall behind them. Lamplight flooded the room, and for one disoriented moment, you thought some disaster had struck upon the castle. Then you saw the guards - armored, grim-faced, standing in the doorway.

“Up. All of you, at once.”

There was no room for protest. Within minutes, you and your sisters were led into the corridor — still in your nightclothes, hair unbound and hastily wrapped in whatever robes you had managed to snatch. The chill of the stone floor bit through your thin slippers as you were hurried along the torchlit passageways. The late hour made everything feel unreal, like a fever dream from which you had not yet fully woken.

Lyessa found your side in the corridor and clung to your dress with trembling fingers.

“… what is happening?” she whispered, her voice thin with fear.

“I don’t know,” you murmured back, wrapping a reassuring arm around her shoulders.

When the great doors of the throne room came into view — already standing wide open, light blazing within — your unease only sharpened.

The room felt transformed into something harsh and merciless under the glare of too many torches. The air itself seemed tight with tension, as though the entire room was holding its breath. At the center of it all stood Maekar Targaryen, rigid behind the long table before the throne, his expression harsh with barely contained fury.

To his right stood Aerion, pale hair gleaming in the torchlight, his posture deceptively relaxed, though his eyes were sharp and watchful. Not far from him lingered Baelor Targaryen, grave and silent, alongside several other high lords whose presence alone made your pulse stumble.

Before you could gather your thoughts, movement at the far end of the chamber drew every eye—

Valeriane was being dragged forward by two of the guards.

She looked nothing like the composed elder sister you knew so well. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, her nightgown was wrinkled from the rough handling, and her face was already blotched and wet with tears. Valeriane stumbled as the two men forced her to her knees before the table.

Your mother stepped forward first, her posture straight despite the hour and the indignity of the summon.

“My prince,” she said, voice tight with barely contained despair, “what is the meaning of this?!” the woman demanded.

The effect of her words was immediate, as Maekar practically jumped to his feet. His fist came down upon the table with a crack that rang through the chamber like thunder, making several people, as well as yourself, visibly flinch.

“You dare stand before me and feign ignorance?” he roared, his voice filling the vast hall. “You would have me believe you know nothing of your daughter’s treachery?”

Shock rippled visibly through the gathered sisters.

You felt Lyessa’s fingers tighten painfully at your sleeve.

Your mother’s composure wavered. “Treachery?” she repeated, both outrage and disbelief etched in her tone. “My prince, you speak in riddles. My daughter has done no such-”

“Enough.”

The word cracked like a whip.

Maekar leaned forward, eyes blazing.

“Your eldest daughter,” he said, each word precise and cutting, “has been in secret corespondence with Lord Rowan of House Rowan — one of the most persistent enemies of House Targaryen. And in those letters, she saw fit to recount the happenings of my court, under my own roof.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

No one moved.

No one even dared to breathe.

Valeriane broke first.

“I didn’t - I wasn’t conspiring!” she sobbed, the words tumbling over one another in desperate panic as tears streamed down her face. Her shoulders shook violently. “I swear it, I didn’t mean - I didn’t know - ”

“Silence, girl.” Maekar’s voice cut through her breathless ramble.

At the table, Prince Baelor shifted at last, one hand lifting in a quiet gesture toward his brother.

“Brother,” he said evenly, his voice low, “rage will not uncover the truth any faster. Let the matter be spoken plainly.”

But Maekar did not look away from the trembling girl before him.

“There must be some mistake,” your mother insisted at your side, her voice rising despite herself. “My daughter would never betray the Crown. Our house has been loyal to House Targaryen for generations—”

“Has it?”

With a sharp motion, Maekar snatched a bundle of parchment from the table and hurled it across the stone floor. The letters scattered at Valeriane’s knees like fallen leaves.

“My spies intercepted every one,” he said coldly.

Valeriane stared down at the parchment for a moment before she collapsed forward, weeping uncontrollably now, her earlier composure completely shattered.

"You wrote of matters discussed within these walls as though they were harmless court amusements." Maekar said, voice barely controlled "You spoke of private tensions within the royal household, of rumors surrounding succession, of which bannermen appear restless beneath the Crown. Tell me, girl - did you imagine Lord Rowan sought your corespondance for the pleasure of your handwriting?"

Valeriane lowered her head even further, shaking visibly now, but Maekar was not yet finished.

"House Rowan has spent years searching for weakness within this court." Maekar said sharply "And you, in your vanity, offered him precisely that - these things may seem trivial to a girl hungry for attention, but in the hands of our enemies, they are worth more than gold."

There was a moment of silence before Valeriane spoke again.

“I didn’t mean treason,” she gasped through tears. “Please - please, your Grace-”

“I would call it exactly that,” Maekar replied, his expression like iron. “And treason, as it is known, is paid for in blood.”

Lyessa made a small, strangled sound beside you, nearly loud enough to cover up your own gasp. You felt the room tilt — what you were hearing felt surreal. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Aerion's oddly pleased expression. He seemed visibly entertained by the scene that played out in front of him, and that realization only made your blood boil.

The room had gone so still that the crackle of the torches seemed deafening.

Your mother moved then, taking a couple of steps forward, nearing the high table. Though her face had gone pale beneath the torchlight, her voice remained surprisingly calm.

“Your Grace,” she said, and now there was no mistaking the urgency of her words “our loyalty is not in question, whatever foolish mistake my daughter may have made. We would do anything to prove the devotion of our house.”

Maekar’s gaze sharpened.

“Anything?” he repeated incredulously.

Their mother inclined her head.

“We came here ready to bind our families by blood,” she said clearly. “One of my other daughters will wed your son, as a visible and unbreakable pledge of our loyalty to House Targaryen.”

You felt your pulse stumble at your mother's words. She couldn't be serious — how could she agree to tie your family down to these unreasonable, cruel people?

Aross the room, Aerion straightened sharply.

“Father- ”

Maekar did not even look at him.

“Hold your tongue.”

Aerion’s jaw tightened, irritation flashing briefly across his face, but he did not speak again.

Maekar leaned back slowly, his earlier fury shifting into something more calculated. His eyes moved across the line of sisters, weighing, measuring.

Then, without notice, he rose from his seat. Without a word, he stepped away from the table and began approaching the place where you and your two sisters were standing.

Maekar didn't even spare a look to Lyessa, who was half-hidden behind you. His attention passed over her entirely, settling on the two elder sisters instead.

You felt Ysoria straighten beside you, as if bracing herself. Your gaze dropped at once, fixed somewhere on the ground at your feet, as if that might spare you from being noticed. Once you felt Maekar stop right in front of you, though, you knew you couldn't avoid meeting his gaze anymore. Slowly, you lifted eyes to meet his own.

The prince studied your face for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he turned his head slightly towards your mother.

"I believe she is the most suitable." He said simply, in a tone that could only be described as final.

The words sent your stomach plummeting down, and you felt your feet nearly give away under the weight of realization. You opened your mouth then, a protest forming before you could stop it — but you forced it back down, as always.

You looked past Maekar and towards your mother, a silent, urgent plea in your eyes. The woman did not meet your eyes.

"As you wish, Your Grace" she said, inclining her head with a quiet acceptance.

So, that was it — the decision was final. An unshakeable feeling of dread began spreading throughout your body, numbing your senses as it went. You lowered your eyes once again, hands tightening at your sides in an attempt to steady yourself. You didn't't even need to look at the table to know that Aerion was fuming — after all, you could practically feel his gaze burning holes into you.

“They shall be married within the week,” Maekar added, his tone just as firm. “I see no reason to delay the matter any further.”

No one argued.

No one questioned it.

Maekar stepped back at last, as if the matter required no further thought, and that was the end of it.

---

The walk back to their quarters passed in a strained, brittle silence. When the doors finally closed behind them, that same silence shattered. Your mother turned towards Valeriane in a flash and, without warning, struck her sharply across the cheek.

The sound crackled across the room. Valeriane staggered backwards with a small cry, her hand flying to her face as tears started spilling once again.

"You foolish, reckless girl!” your mother hissed “Do you have any notion what danger you have placed us all in? Coresponding with a known enemy of the Crown — under this roof of all places! Have you utterly lost your senses?”

“I didn’t mean—” Valeriane sobbed, her voice breaking helplessly. “Mother, I swear I didn’t—”

“ You nearly cost us everything,” the woman cut in sharply, though her voice trembled faintly.

Your sister lowered her head, shame written clearly all over her face. You took a step forward then, trying to catch the eye of your mother. You were desperate for something, something you couldn't quite name - reassurance, perhaps?

You finally opened your mouth. "Mother—”

“Not now.”

The words came sharp and immediate. For seemingly the first time that evening, the woman finally met your eyes. Her face was still pale from the events of the night, and she looked tired. Truly tired.

"We will say nothing further tonight." she said, turning to look at each sister one by one "Not one word."

And that was the end of it. No explanation. No comfort.

---

That night, sleep never truly came, and by the time morning finally rolled in, servants were already filling the room.

They moved through your chamber briskly, gathering gowns, books, jewelry, ribbons - every trace of you packed neatly into trunks and carried away while you watched from your bed.

Through all that agitation, a maid slipped next to your bed, head bowed "My lady" she said gently, though there was a certain urgency in her tone "I have been instructed to inform you that your belongings are to be moved to new chambers at once — closer to Prince Aerion's apartments, by order of His Grace, Prince Maekar."

Your fingers tightened faintly in the bedsheets, but you nodded your head in quiet acknowledgement.

Once everything was packed and sent away, your maids helped you get ready for the day to come. You were bathed, your hair washed and perfumed, your skin scrubbed until it practically glowed. Fine silks - far more elaborate than anything suitable for a simple breakfast - were laid out for you. You felt a bit overwhelmed by all this extra attention that was being put into you.

-

Soon enough, you were finally led out of your chamber.

Breakfast had been laid out onto one of the eastern balconies overlooking the sea, the long table shielded beneath a canopy of pale silk. The royal family was already gathered, though none of those present seemed to be interested in the food in front of them.

Prince Maekar sat at the head of the table, his presence intimidating as ever. To his side lounged Daeron, a goblet of wine already resting in his hand despite the hour. His pale eyes flicked towards you briefly as you approached the table, and something strained between amusement and pity crossed his face before he took another sip.

Aegon sat further down the table, absentmindedly pushing pieces of fruit around the plate with his fork. At the sight of you, however, his posture straightened slightly, a sort of relief brightening his expression.

Aerion did not look up at all.

He sat beside his father, one hand loosely wrapped around a cup, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the balcony as though the entire arrangement bored him beyond measure. There was something deliberate in the indifference of his actions, as though he wanted it to be clear that he had no desire whatsoever to be there.

Only when you finally reached the table did he lift his eyes, and the look he gave you was cold enough to still your steps.

There was no warmth, no civility behind his gaze. Only that sharp, unapologetic glare that made it painfully clear he did not want you there.

One servant pulled out a chair somewhere near the far end of the table - thankfully distant from where Aerion was sitting - and you quickly claimed your seat, smoothing out your skirts in an effort to appear less stiff.

"My lady" Maekar greeted, his tone significantly warmer than it had been in the throne room. "I trust you rested well."

"Well enough, Your Grace." you replied, nodding your head in the slightest.

Meekar gave a faint hum in response. The conversation that followed remained painfully formal, and you listened, politely, as Maekar eventually drifted the subject to the wedding preparations already in motion.

"As I've said before, the wedding will take place in one week's time" he said, leaning forward in his seat as he spoke "Until then, it would be wise for you and my son to become better acquainted. A harmonious match benefits both of our houses."

Across the table, you could've sworn you heard Aerion scoff. While you couldn't exactly blame him for his lack of willingness, the sound still stirred something inside you. Of course none of you were happy to have to spend even more time in eachothers presence, but he could at least be civil.

-

Soon enough, the subject shifted from wedding arrangements, and you allowed yourself to sink slightly into your chair, thankful for the change. You listened only in fragments as Aerion spoke to his father about an upcoming tourney which was set to take place in less than a fortnight.

As servants stepped forward to clear the table, Maekar rose smoothly from his chair and glanced between you and Aerion, before suggesting that you both take a stroll through the gardens. 'Gives you a chance to talk freely', he'd said.

So you found yourself at Aerion's side once again, moving through the castle's gardens beneath the pale morning sun that did little to warm the tight knot in your chest.

Servants and guards trailed behind you at a respectable distance, near enough to observe, far enough to give the illusion of privacy. Aerion said nothing while they remained within easy earshot, but his silence was not at all comforting. You kept your gaze forward, trying to at least enjoy the pretty view.

The two of you just turned down a narrower gravel path, with hedges rising thick and tall on either side, when his hand came out of nowhere. His fingers closed around your arm as he yanked you a step closer. Your breath caught, but you did not stumble.

"Do not", Aerion said under his breath, voice low and edged like steel "Mistake this farce for willingness. I did not want this match, and you would be wise never to expect husbandly devotion from me when doors are closed."

Up close, his expression was sharper than usual, violet eyes boring into yours as you lifted your gaze, staring back at him.

"I should be most surprised if it were otherwise, Your Grace" you replied, voice calm and even."You have been nothing if not consistent."

For a brief moment, something flickered across his face - not quite anger, not quite surprise. He studied your face, gaze moving slowly across your features as though he was searching for a crack in your composture.

"You will learn", he said at last "that my patience for insolence is not endless. Once we are wed, I will expect obedience. Nothing less."

You held his gaze for a while longer, but you did not answer him. Your silence seemed to satisfy him more than any protest might have. His hand dropped from your arm at last, and you resumed walking as through nothing had passed between you.

Several minutes passed in silence before Aerion spoke again.

"Tell me" he said, eyes fixed ahead "Were you truly ignorant of your sister's corespondace?"

"None of us had the slightest suspicion." You answered plainly.

From the corner of your eye, you saw his mouth tilt faintly - not quite a smile. A soft, thoughtful hum left him.

"My father showed uncharacteristic mercy." Aerion went on, voice cool. "Had the matter been mine to judge, your sister would be hanged for high treason."

The words were deliberate. Spoken carefully. Bait.

If he expected outrage, pleading, or even visible discomfort, he was up for disappointment.

"Well, then" you said evenly, turning to face him "my sister should thank the Gods it was His Grace who sat in judgement rather than you."

For the first time since they had left the castle, Aerion’s composure slipped—only slightly, but enough. His jaw tightened faintly, though the corner of his mouth threatened the shape of a smirk despite himself.

He held your gaze for a moment longer, eyes sharp with irritation and something more reluctant beneath it as he stared down at you - a dangerous sort of amusement he would never willingly admit to taking from your defiance.

The rest of the walk was spent in silence.

___