Valarr Targaryen x femReader x ???
PLAYING WITH FIRE PART II
"Pervert," you muttered beneath your breath. Fortunately, no one heard. No one except Aerion. One violet eye twitched.
"What?" Kiera asked, bewildered.
Your attention snapped back to the present.
"Oh. Nothing." You laughed awkwardly.
"There was a bug on your shirt, darling. You know how I am around insects." The lie caused you physical pain. Reaching up, you brushed an entirely imaginary insect from Aerion's shoulder.
He had doned a long black overcoat that draped effortlessly across his broad frame, layered over a fitted black turtleneck that lent him an air of sleek sophistication. Wide-legged tailored trousers fell elegantly to his feet, their crisp pleats enhancing the ensemble's understated refinement. A silver watch gleamed discreetly at one of his wrist, the sole contrast against the monochrome palette.
And that same arm tightened around your waist, drawing you close enough to feel the warmth radiating through his shirt and the metal itself digging into your skin. His gaze lowered to yours, and a devastatingly charming smile curved across his face.
"Thank you, my love. You are always so attentive." The endearment nearly inflicted spiritual damage.
"You must forgive me for arriving late." His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was executed with such effortless grace that any reasonable woman would have swooned.
For you, however, every instinct screamed for retreat. How was this insufferable man capable of behaving like the very embodiment of a perfectly mannered gentleman?
"It is rather impolite to keep a lady waiting and embarrass her merely for exercise." Valarr's voice remained calm.
Aerion's attention drifted toward him. A thoughtful expression danced on his features as his lips pursed and his brows drew together.
"I'm certain it is still preferable to abandoning her for duty." He lifted his gaze to meet Valarr's. The corner of his mouth curved upward in quiet provocation.
Valarr said nothing. The silence revealed far more than words ever could. Even years of discipline failed to conceal the fury simmering beneath the surface.
This was the accomplished, handsome man who had treated you with nothing but kindness? This was the man for whom you had once been willing to step beyond the boundaries of your comfort?
When Rowan had suggested a double date, you had refused almost immediately. The idea had made you uncomfortable, and Valarr had never pressed the matter. Yet somehow, you had agreed to do exactly that for Aerion.
His cousin. The most reckless, infuriating, and thoroughly unsuitable member of the entire family. The realization stung far more than it should have.
"Perhaps we should continue," Kiera suggested brightly. "Everyone must be famished, and the sun grows warmer by the minute."
Her intervention severed the mounting tension before it could tighten any further. Rowan and Raymund blinked as though suddenly remembering they had been standing there the entire time.
"I do not mean to delay everyone," you said quickly, "but I would appreciate a private word with Aerion. Please go ahead and board without us."
Everyone nodded. Valarr was the last to leave, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. Only when they had put a sufficient distance between themselves and the two of you did you turn sharply toward Aerion.
"What are you doing here?"
He released your waist, and the polished gentleman vanished instantly.
"What does it look like, Princess?"
"Daeron is supposed to be here."
"Didn't Aemon inform you? My brother failed spectacularly. As usual."
"Do not be absurd. That little rat lacks the authority to compel me into anything."
A powerful urge to wrap your hands around his throat briefly presented itself.
"I volunteered entirely out of the boundless generosity of my heart." He placed a hand over his chest with such magnificent insincerity that even he appeared amused by the performance.
You stared. Then let out a breathless laugh. The sound contained absolutely no amusement.
"Your generosity is unnecessary. We are going to tell them you have somewhere important to be and end this charade immediately."
"No." The answer came without the slightest hesitation.
A grin spread languidly across his face.
"Abandon such a singular opportunity? I think not." He stepped closer. "Do you have any idea how many years I have spent attempting to crack that infuriatingly flawless façade?" His attention drifted briefly toward Valarr.
"I have watched him maintain that image at every gathering, every banquet, every conversation." His gaze returned to yours.
"For reasons known only to the Seven, something about you unsettles the remarkable equilibrium he has spent years cultivating."
The way he looked at you made your skin prickle, like a predator observing the slightest movement before deciding whether to give chase. Instinctively, you stepped back. Aerion followed.
"And if the Seven have graciously placed this opportunity in my hands, who am I to refuse?" His arm found your waist once more.
You turned. Your eyes sought Valarr. And there it was. The composure remained along with dignity. Yet something deeper had fractured.
His attention lingered on Aerion's hand where it rested against your waist. The sight seemed to strike somewhere beneath the armor of restraint he wore so effortlessly. For the briefest instant, hurt flickered behind his eyes, swift and unmistakable, before it was swallowed by something darker. Something possessive. Something raw. It smoldered beneath the surface like embers buried beneath ash, threatening to ignite at the slightest provocation.
For a fleeting moment, pity stirred within you. Then you remembered. How he had chosen. He had chosen Kiera. He had chosen to walk away from everything the two of you had built together. Most importantly, he had decided your love was not enough.
The pity vanished almost instantly. You turned back toward Aerion.
He responded with an amused hum.
A wicked glimmer entered his eyes.
"What a tragedy." He pouted as he pulled you impossibly closer, his mint-scented breath brushing your lashes. The mock sorrow in his voice was infuriating.
"Should remorse overtake you, Princess, you need only say the word. I am nothing if not accommodating."
You nearly slapped him, but that would ruin the entire plan, and neither of you had a viable alternative.
Instead, you closed your eyes and drew a measured breath. Gathering what remained of your patience, you smiled. It was brilliant. Entirely false. But brilliant nonetheless.
Removing his arm from your waist, you threaded your own through his instead. His arm was warm and firm.
Disturbingly reassuring, you hated to admit. Aerion on the other hand brightened with unmistakable satisfaction. Together, you boarded the yacht.
He offered his hand as you stepped aboard, and the moment you settled beside him, his palm returned to your waist, subtly encouraging you closer. You complied with visible reluctance.
Across the deck, Valarr observed everything. Every touch that lingered. Every glance. And every smile.
The breeze drifting across the marina remained cool and fragrant with saltwater, yet it seemed to lose all of its refreshing qualities the longer he watched. A faint sheen of perspiration had begun gathering beneath his collar.
Meanwhile, Rowan and Raymund followed the unfolding spectacle with unconcealed fascination, their widened eyes darting between you, Aerion, and Valarr as though they had somehow secured front-row seats to a catastrophe of legendary proportions. And judging by the direction this day was taking, they probably had.
Lunch proved surprisingly ordinary. The yacht drifted across tranquil waters beneath a cloudless sky, its polished deck gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. Gentle waves lapped against the hull in a soothing rhythm while a salt-kissed breeze carried away the lingering warmth of the day. Around the table, conversation flowed easily from one topic to the next, touching upon classes, work, mutual acquaintances, and the countless mundane details that occupied ordinary lives.
To anyone observing from afar, the gathering would have appeared perfectly pleasant. You, however, remained painfully aware of the hand resting upon your thigh beneath the table. Aerion seemed determined to ensure you never forgot its presence.
Kiera, fortunately oblivious to your internal suffering, smiled as she set down her glass.
"So," she began, curiosity brightening her features, "how did the two of you meet?" The question struck like a cannonball.
Across the table, Rowan's eyes widened so dramatically that you feared they might abandon their sockets altogether. Without hesitation, she seized her teacup and began drinking opting not too drink wine.
You immediately scrambled for an answer. Unfortunately, every possible explanation sounded more ridiculous than the last. Before you could fabricate an elaborate lie, Aerion spoke.
"We met through my brother Aemon." The answer arrived effortlessly.
"They are collgues. We exchanged numbers, continued speaking, and the rest is history."
Well. At least that part was true.
A small measure of relief settled over you. Thankfully, he had omitted the rather significant detail where you assaulted him.
"How fortunate." Valarr's voice carried its customary composure. His attention shifted toward Aerion.
"I must admit I am pleased you've finally found someone. Such developments are rather rare where you are concerned." The smile on his face remained perfectly courteous. Unfortunately, the faint edge beneath his words was impossible to miss.
"You have always seemed somewhat... indecisive." The implication lingered delicately in the air.
Aerion heard it. Of course he did. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. His gaze lowered briefly toward the table while his thumb traced an absent pattern against your leg. The corner of his mouth curved upward ever so slightly, as though he had discovered a particularly entertaining opportunity.
"She's different." The words emerged softer than expected. A brief silence followed. Just long enough to command everyone's attention.
"Though she does have a habit of becoming rather..." His fingers tapped lightly against the fading bruise along his jaw. The gesture was subtle.
"Passionate when we-" Beneath the table, his hand slid marginally higher.
Everything happened at once. Rowan choked on her tea. Violently. Raymund nearly launched himself from his chair to make certain she was still breathing. Even Kiera's cheeks acquired a delicate flush. You stared at Aerion in disbelief. The sheer audacity of the man was breathtaking.
You opened your mouth, fully prepared to correct whatever absurd conclusions everyone was drawing, when the sharp scrape of a chair interrupted the moment.
Every head turned. Valarr had risen abruptly from his seat. Silence descended across the table. Kiera blinked.
"My love?" Concern immediately softened her expression.
Valarr stood motionless. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. The tendons along his forearms stood out in stark relief beneath his pale skin, while tension carved itself into every line of his posture. His jaw appeared so rigid that one careless movement might shatter whatever restraint remained holding it together.
For a moment, he said nothing. The sea breeze swept across the deck. Silver sunlight danced across the surrounding water. Somewhere overhead, birds cried against the endless blue sky. Yet an oppressive weight had settled over the gathering, transforming the beautiful afternoon into something distinctly uncomfortable.
Kiera rose halfway from her seat.
"You look pale." Concern deepened in her voice.
"Are you certain you're well?" The question seemed to reach him at last.
Valarr blinked. Awareness returned to his expression as he realized every eye at the table was fixed upon him. Every eye except Aerion's.
Aerion appeared thoroughly occupied helping himself to a handful of chocolate-coated nuts from a nearby glass bowl. He leaned back comfortably in his chair, chewing with infuriating leisure. A glimmer of satisfaction lingered in his violet eyes. Meanwhile, his other hand remained precisely where it had been all afternoon. Resting possessively upon your thigh. Valarr noticed. Aerion knew he noticed. The tightening of his jaw confirmed it. A muscle feathered dangerously beneath his cheek.
Then, with visible effort, he cleared his throat. The sound sliced through the silence. His gaze shifted toward the glittering horizon stretching endlessly beyond the yacht.
"The view," he said after a pause, his voice carefully measured, "is exceptionally beautiful." For one suspended moment, nobody spoke. Then Aerion's fingers delivered the faintest tap against your thigh. You did not need to look at him to know he was enjoying every second of this. Far more than any reasonable person should.
"Shall we, my love?" Valarr extended a hand toward Kiera. The gesture was elegant, natural, and practiced, yet those two simple words struck somewhere deep within your chest, unfurling a dull ache beneath your ribs.
My love. For months, you had imagined hearing those words from him. You had dreamed of a future in which they belonged to you, spoken with the same quiet affection he now bestowed upon another woman.
Instead, you watched Kiera place her hand in his, watched him smile at her, and watched him guide her away. The sight left an unpleasant hollowness in its wake.
Before leading her toward the railings, where the river stretched endlessly beneath the afternoon sun, Valarr paused and turned his attention toward Aerion.
"I would advise you to keep private matters between yourself and your lady private," he said, every word measured with meticulous care. "Such subjects are highly inappropriate for public discussion."
"Of course, Cousin." Aerion lifted his wineglass in a casual salute.
"My apologies." The apology possessed no sincerity. A dangerous gleam lingered in his violet eyes, and you could have sworn he was only moments away from laughing outright.
Across the table, Raymund was still ensuring Rowan had survived her near-fatal encounter with tea.
"Are you certain you're alright?"
Despite everything, a reluctant smile touched your lips. Rowan caught your gaze and offered a reassuring expression while Raymund continued patting her back in fear any remnants of the liquid remained in her system.
You were just about to reprimand Aerion for his outrageous behavior when movement at the edge of your vision stole your attention. Kiera had risen onto her toes, and a soft kiss brushed Valarr's lips.
The world seemed to tilt.
Suddenly, the sunlight felt too bright and the laughter around you unbearably distant. Every sound dissolved beneath the crushing weight of memory as months of healing unraveled in an instant. You remembered stolen evenings beneath lantern light, quiet conversations, and promises whispered in confidence. You remembered believing that love alone could overcome anything. Most vividly of all, you remembered the night everything fell apart—the night he chose duty, the night he chose her, and the night he left you standing alone when you had needed him most.
You had spent months convincing yourself you had moved beyond it, burying the pain beneath textbooks, assignments, new friendships, and endless distractions. Yet the wound had never truly healed. It had merely lain dormant, waiting patiently beneath the surface until a single moment awakened it with vicious clarity.
A terrible reminder surfaced, one you had fought relentlessly to suppress.
Your love had not been enough. You had not been enough.
The realization struck with the force of a wave crashing against stone. Your chest tightened, making each breath increasingly difficult, and suddenly the yacht felt impossibly small. You needed distance, needed air, needed some means of escape before the suffocating weight of memory consumed you entirely.
If someone had offered to drop you in the middle of the Honeywine and leave you to swim ashore, you might have accepted without hesitation.
Before you could embarrass yourself by demanding the captain disembark you at the nearest patch of riverbank, a hand closed firmly around yours. The grip was warm, steady, and grounding, anchoring you before your thoughts could spiral any further.
You looked up. Aerion was already standing.
The declaration was so absurd that your spiraling thoughts came to a screeching halt.
"I—I don't know how to fish."
"That is precisely why you have me."
Before you could protest, he released your hand and crossed the deck. A fishing rod rested near one corner of the yacht, and he retrieved it with complete confidence before glancing toward Kiera.
"Of course." Kiera smiled warmly. "My father occasionally fishes during his trips."
Aerion appeared entirely uninterested in the explanation. The moment permission was granted, he returned, wrapped his fingers around yours once more, and guided you toward the bow. Away from the table. Away from Valarr. Away from the memories threatening to consume you.
The wind was stronger at the front of the yacht, sweeping across the water in cool currents scented with salt and river reeds. Sunlight scattered across the Honeywine like shattered crystal, glittering brilliantly upon the rippling surface.
Aerion positioned himself behind you.
"Hold it here." His hands adjusted your grip.
"No. Like this." His voice had changed.
The familiar arrogance remained, yet something quieter lingered beneath it—a surprising degree of focus and concentration, accompanied by a patience you had never expected from him.
You found yourself glancing upward. Given the difference in height, the movement caused the back of your head to rest lightly against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, and his expression was unexpectedly serious.
The discovery caught you so off guard that a laugh escaped before you could stop it. Aerion looked down. One brow arched.
"Nothing." The corners of your mouth twitched.
Aerion leaned slightly closer, far closer than necessary.
"Enjoying the view, Princess?"
There it was. The familiar arrogance. Any appreciation you had begun developing evaporated immediately.
"I swear, if you kiss me—"
The fishing line jerked violently. A startled shriek escaped you as the rod nearly slipped from your hands. Aerion's hands immediately closed over yours.
"Careful." His voice sharpened with sudden focus.
"Something's on the line."
Your eyes widened. The ache that had haunted you only moments earlier vanished beneath a surge of excitement.
"There is!" Your entire face brightened. "We caught something?" Another sharp tug answered your question. "We caught something!"
The excitement ringing through your voice carried across the deck, drawing everyone's attention.
Kiera looked over first. Then Raymund. Then Rowan. And finally Valarr.
From where he stood beside Kiera, he watched as genuine delight transformed your features, sweeping away the sorrow that had shadowed your eyes only moments before. He watched Aerion standing behind you, one hand covering yours as he guided the rod, and for reasons he refused to examine too closely, the sight lodged itself somewhere deep beneath his carefully maintained composure.
The smile illuminating your face struck him with far greater force than it should have.
It was genuine and entirely unrestrained, the sort of smile that reached your eyes and transformed your entire expression. For months, he had convinced himself he remembered it perfectly. Now, seeing it again, he realized memory had failed him. Memory had not preserved its warmth. Memory had not captured the way your laughter softened the world around you. Memory had not captured how effortlessly it drew the attention of everyone fortunate enough to witness it.
An ache settled heavily within his chest. How many burdens had that smile carried without either of you realizing it? How many exhausting days had been rendered bearable simply because you had been there?
Countless memories surfaced unbidden. Long nights spent studying until exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. Difficult decisions that had seemed impossible to make. Moments when duty had felt less like an honor and more like a prison. Through all of it, there had been you. There had always been you. Your laughter. Your stubborn optimism. Your unwavering belief in him.
There had been times when he had wanted to surrender beneath the crushing weight of expectation, and times when your smile alone had given him the strength to continue.
The realization left a bitter taste behind. Because that smile no longer belonged to him. It was directed elsewhere. Toward Aerion. Toward the cousin standing beside you now. The man responsible for the joy currently brightening your face.
Something unpleasant twisted within him, something he refused to examine too closely. His fingers tightened around the railing until his knuckles paled. Across the yacht, Kiera continued speaking about something. Valarr did not hear a single word.
Aerion found himself equally distracted. The excitement radiating from you had caught him completely off guard.
Women rarely reacted this way to anything he enjoyed. Most of the women he associated with preferred lavish dinners, expensive gifts, and extravagant entertainment. Fishing had never impressed any of them.
Years ago, he had casually mentioned wanting to spend an afternoon beside the water with a fishing rod. The woman he had been seeing at the time had laughed directly in his face. He could not even remember her name now.
Your reaction, however, lingered. You had not laughed at him. You had laughed because you were genuinely delighted. The distinction was small, yet somehow it felt significant. And something unfamiliar stirred within him. Dangerous and disgusting. The sensation vanished the moment the line jerked again.
"There." His attention snapped back to the rod.
"Reel it in." His larger hand settled over yours as he guided the motion, though after several moments he noticed something peculiar. The line offered almost no resistance. His brows furrowed. That could not be promising. Sure enough, the moment the catch broke the water's surface, disappointment arrived in spectacular fashion.
The fish was tiny. Embarrassingly so. A creature so small it appeared more offended than captured.
Aerion stared at it. The fish stared back. Frankly, an assault on his dignity would have been less insulting.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Valarr suddenly becoming very interested in the horizon. The subtle movement of his shoulders suggested he was suppressing laughter.
Raymund fared considerably worse when a snort escaped him before he immediately covered his mouth. Rowan jabbed him sharply with her elbow.
Aerion's expression darkened. Wonderful. An audience. Turning toward you, he fully expected mockery. Instead, he froze. Your eyes were shining. Beaming so brightly he swore you outshone the midday sun.
You stared at the tiny fish as though it were some magnificent sea beast hauled from the depths. Then you looked up at him. The sunlight caught in your eyes. Your brows had drawn together slightly. Plump, glossy lips were pursed in concentration.
For reasons he could not immediately comprehend, the sight caused something inside his chest to shift.
Your gaze immediately returned to the fish.
"It's so cute." You sounded gently aggressive, if that made any sense.
"I want it." Then you looked at him again.
"Please?" The single word struck with startling precision. Aerion found himself staring. For perhaps the first time in years, he was completely speechless. The realization irritated him immensely.
Unfortunately, his heart chose that exact moment to betray him yet again. An uncomfortable warmth crept steadily up his neck.
Absolutely unacceptable. With only a distressed grunt, he rolled up his sleeves, turned sharply and strode toward the dining table. You watched him go, thoroughly confused.
Aerion ignored everyone. He ignored the curious looks directed his way, ignored Valarr's increasingly suspicious expression, and ignored the faint amusement lingering on Rowan's face. Reaching the table, he seized the floral arrangement decorating its center, removed the flowers with little care, and set them aside before marching toward the edge of the yacht.
Several moments later, he crouched and dipped the glass container into the river. Water splashed over the sleeves of his coat while a few droplets darkened the front of his shirt. He did not care. When he returned, he thrust the vase toward you.
You obeyed, still bewildered.
With surprising care, Aerion removed the tiny fish from the hook before lowering it into its new home. The dark little creature immediately began darting around the glass vessel in frantic circles.
"There." The word emerged far more gruffly than he had intended.
"Thank you." The response came absentmindedly, your attention fixed entirely upon your newest companion. Several moments passed before you finally looked up.
"You're really good at this."
Aerion recognized it at once.
Meeting your gaze seemed profoundly unwise. His heart had already demonstrated an alarming lack of loyalty, and looking directly at you would only encourage further stupidity. Consequently, he looked elsewhere. The river.
"I am good at everything." The answer emerged automatically, a familiar defense mechanism and a well-worn shield he had relied upon for years. A soft click of your tongue followed. Yet there was no irritation behind it.
When he finally allowed himself to properly look at you, he found it unexpectedly difficult to look away.
You stood at the bow of the yacht with your makeshift aquarium cradled carefully against your chest, entirely unconcerned by the water that had splashed across your dress and darkened portions of the fabric. Your attention drifted beyond the tiny fish swimming within the glass vessel and toward the landscape unfolding around you.
The Honeywine wound through the Reach like a ribbon of liquid sapphire, its waters catching the afternoon sunlight and scattering it into a thousand fractured diamonds. Vast emerald fields stretched across the valley in gentle waves, interrupted by clusters of wildflowers that painted the countryside in vibrant strokes of gold, lavender, and crimson. Ancient oaks dotted the rolling landscape, their shadows drifting lazily across the grass while clouds sailed overhead. The breeze carried the scent of river water and flowering meadows, and in the distance, the silhouette of Oldtown rose gracefully upon the horizon like something lifted from an old painting.
You understood immediately why the Honeywine Valley was considered the agricultural heart of the Reach. The land seemed impossibly alive. Rich and abundant. Beautiful in a way that words could not fathom.
A contented sigh escaped you. The tension that had haunted you throughout the afternoon gradually loosened its grip, carried away by the river breeze and the gentle rocking of the yacht. Before you even realized what you were doing, your head tipped backward until it rested lightly against Aerion's chest.
You simply stood there, holding your ridiculous little fish while gazing upon the countryside.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The words emerged softly, almost reverently. Aerion's eyes drifted across the landscape. For once, he found himself without a clever response.
"Hm." The sound was unusually calm. His arms settled around you, keeping you steady against him as the yacht continued its journey downriver. The gesture felt surprisingly natural.
More surprisingly still, something inside him eased. A restlessness he had carried for so long that he scarcely noticed its presence seemed to quiet beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun, the peaceful rhythm of the water, and your comfortable silence.
Across the deck, Valarr quickly looked away. The sight before him had become unbearable. As he attempted to redirect his attention toward Kiera, a sudden splash shattered the tranquility. The sharp clink of glass followed immediately afterward with several startled voices rising at once.
Valarr turned instinctively. Judging by the horror spreading across Rowan's face, something had gone terribly wrong. His gaze followed hers. You were swaying. Aerion had both hands firmly wrapped around your arms, holding you upright before you could collapse entirely. The vase remained clutched securely against your chest despite your obvious distress. Every trace of amusement had vanished from Aerion's expression. Concern had replaced it.
"Are you alright?" The question had barely left his lips when Valarr moved. Instinct propelled him forward before reason had any opportunity to intervene. Kiera's hand slipped from his grasp as he crossed the deck in seconds.
He shoved Aerion aside. The movement was swift enough to surprise everyone including Aerion. Your grip loosened on the vase. Fortunately, Aerion managed to catch it before it shattered against the deck.
Meanwhile, your knees buckled. Valarr reached you in time. Strong arms wrapped around you as he lowered you gently onto the deck rather than allowing you to fall. His coat was already being removed, and within moments it had been draped around your shoulders as he noticed the portions of your dress still damp from the river water.
"What happened?" His voice was sharp. The glare he directed toward Aerion carried enough venom to poison a kingdom.
"What did you do to her?" The accusation hung heavily in the air.
Aerion stared at him. Equally stunned. Yet before either man could continue, a familiar agony erupted within your chest.
Your breath hitched. Ashblood had chosen an exceptionally unfortunate moment to remind you of its existence. Pain radiated through the left side of your chest with brutal intensity, causing your fingers to immediately press against the source of the ache while your other hand instinctively latched onto Valarr's forearm. The grip was stronger than you intended. Desperate and Valarr noticed immediately. His expression tightened. The fear in his eyes surfaced before he could conceal it.
"I'm taking her to the hospital." The decision came without hesitation. His hands moved toward your knees, prepared to lift you into his arms exactly as he had countless times before.
That is until your hand stopped him.
"I'm fine." The words emerged weakly and breathless. The pain had already begun to recede, though traces of it still lingered. Valarr looked unconvinced.
Both men froze. You released your grip on Valarr, trembling hand extended toward Aerion.
"Can you take me home, please?"
Silence followed. Aerion stood motionless for half a second before carefully setting the vase aside.
You turned back toward Valarr. The concern etched across his face threatened to undo every ounce of progress you had made over the past several months.
"I'm fine, Valarr." Your voice softened to a whisper only Valarr could hear. "You should not concern yourself with me while your Lady is present. It is most disrespectful to her." The words landed precisely where intended. Something flickered across his features. Pain. Regret.
Before he could respond, Aerion stepped forward. His shoulder nudged Valarr aside just enough to create space between the two of you. The movement appeared casual on the surface, but there was nothing casual about it. Without a word, he removed Valarr's coat from your shoulders and returned it to its owner. Then he shrugged off his own jacket and draped it around you instead.
Before you could protest, Aerion bent down and lifted you into his arms. The yacht was already approaching the docks.
Fortunately, the journey had not carried you far from shore. By the time Rowan had gathered the belongings, the yacht had docked completely.
Aerion carried you the entire way to his car. His movement was surprisingly careful. And once he reached the passenger side, he lowered you gently into the seat before closing the door.
You nodded. Through the window, you watched him return toward the docks. Several minutes later, he reappeared carrying your purse.
A smile immediately touched your lips. Aerion took note. The sight of you looking so absurdly pleased over a tiny river fish despite your obvious exhaustion only reinforced his growing suspicion that you were ridiculous. Yet somehow that smile tugged at something inside him all the same.
He slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.
Aerion said nothing at first. His attention remained fixed upon the rearview mirror as he carefully reversed out of the parking space. Then, without looking at you, he spoke.
"Are you always like this?"
"No." His expression remained serious.
A brief silence followed.
"Don't." The answer sounded blunt enough to be mistaken for irritation but something in his voice suggested otherwise. Something that made you suspect he was telling you that illness required no apology.
"Sorry." The word escaped automatically.
"I mean—" You immediately looked down at the fish. "Force of habit."
The remainder of the drive passed quietly. Exhaustion had begun settling heavily over you, and Aerion could see it. Every so often his gaze drifted toward the passenger seat. And every single time, you were still staring at the fish. Finally, you broke the silence.
"I'm naming him Balerion."
His gaze shifted toward the tiny fish swimming around the vase then back to the road. A scoff escaped him.
"Well, I don't care." You pulled the vase closer protectively.
"He's my son. I can name him whatever I want."
"Our son." The correction arrived immediately. Entirely serious.
"We caught him together." Aerion cast a brief glance in your direction.
"If memory serves, you said we caught something."
You continued staring before shaking your head.
"Fine. But I want custody."
Aerion considered this carefully.
"I shall pay child support and alimony."
The ridiculousness of the statement nearly broke you. Your lips pressed together when a laugh threatened. You turned toward the window in a desperate attempt to preserve your dignity. Aerion caught it anyway. A faint smile appeared before he redirected his attention toward the road.
Silence settled once more. Comfortable between the two of you. He had intended to ask about the incident aboard the yacht but te question never came. Because at some point during the drive, exhaustion claimed victory.
Your head had fallen against the window with one arm wrapped protectively around the vase. The fish, apparently, continued ranking higher than personal comfort. The sight was simultaneously absurd and strangely endearing. Thus Aerion decided against waking you.
When the car finally came to a stop outside your apartment building, he was already preparing to carry you inside. The sudden absence of motion woke you first.
"Oh." You blinked sleepily. "I fell asleep." A nervous laugh followed. Then immediate panic. Your attention dropped toward the vase.
Aerion almost laughed, but chose to maintain a perfectly straight face.
Relief visibly washed over you.
Several minutes later, you gathered your belongings while Aerion held the vase so you could step out of the vehicle properly.
Once outside, you reached for it.
"I don't need help getting upstairs."
Aerion handed it over. Your attention shifted toward the jacket still resting around your shoulders.
"Your coat." Since your hands were occupied, he removed it himself. The lingering warmth disappeared immediately.
"Thank you for today." The words emerged awkwardly, yet sincere.
Aerion merely nodded. Then his phone vibrated from the pocket of his trousers. Retrieving it from his pocket, he answered, followed by a faint frown.
A woman's voice, low and sultry, drifted through the speaker. She was asking whether he was still available that evening. Aerion immediately began walking back toward the driver's side of the car, creating distance.
You politely nodded farewell before turning toward your building. Moments later, he pulled away from the curb. And as the car merged onto the road, his gaze drifted toward the rearview mirror one final time.
You were still standing there. Still holding the makeshift aquarium. Still watching the tiny fish Balerion with the same wonder you had displayed all afternoon. The sight drew a small smile from him before he could stop it.
On the other end of the call, the woman was still speaking barely audible to him. Aerion interrupted her.
"I'm busy." Before she could respond, he ended the call. Then blocked the number.
For several blissful hours you were wrapped comfortably beneath your blankets, surrounded by the familiar darkness of your apartment, you slept deeply enough that even your alarm would have struggled to wake you.
With classes resuming the following morning, and after the emotional catastrophe that had been the weekend, you had every intention of spending the night unconscious and undisturbed.
That is until your phone vibrated. Insistently. The sound was faint.
A low groan escaped you as you blindly groped across the mattress in search of the offending device. After several failed attempts and one near-fatal encounter with the edge of your bedside table, your fingers finally closed around it.
You squinted at the screen. The brightness assaulted your retinas with the force of a divine punishment. For several moments, all you could see was pain. Eventually, your vision adjusted enough to read the message.
I have a fencing match today at 2 p.m. Don't be late.
You stared. The sender was immediately obvious. Every word radiated the same insufferable confidence. The same assumption that the world would naturally rearrange itself around his schedule. That same complete disregard for basic human decency.
This Targaryen child had sent a message at four in the bloody morning. Whatever fondness had survived yesterday's fishing expedition immediately packed its belongings and departed.
With the composure of a saint rapidly approaching martyrdom, you dropped the phone onto the mattress and buried your face into your pillow. A muffled sound emerged. Somewhere between a groan and a death threat.
The insult disappeared into the fabric. With a final grunt of irritation, you dragged the blanket over your head and attempted to reclaim what remained of your sleep.
Monday arrived with all the enthusiasm of a looming storm cloud. The lingering weakness in your body clung stubbornly to your muscles, making even the simple act of leaving your bed feel like a small victory. After staring at the ceiling for a moment longer than necessary, you finally dragged yourself upright and prepared for the day. A black long-sleeved shirt offered both comfort and concealment, paired with your favorite worn jeans and a pair of faded sneakers abandoned somewhere in the apartment and rediscovered only through necessity.
By the time you arrived at school, the familiar rhythm of classes had already resumed. You greeted Aemon in passing before settling into the mundane procession of lectures, assignments, and professors who seemed determined to stretch every minute into an hour.
When lunchtime arrived, you, Rowan, and Aemon unanimously abandoned the crowded classroom in favor of the open courtyard. The winter air carried a pleasant chill, and scattered leaves drifted lazily across the stone pathways while students occupied every available bench and patch of grass.
Aemon unwrapped his sandwich and glanced toward you with unmistakable curiosity.
"I take it the date was not an utter disaster," he remarked, taking a bite. "Aerion did not appear particularly displeased when he returned home."
The moment the words left his mouth, a groan escaped you. You folded your arms atop the table and buried your face in them, as though hiding from the conversation might somehow erase it from existence. Rowan wasted no time seizing the opportunity.
"They have a child now," she announced between fits of laughter.
Your head snapped upward. The glare you directed at her could have withered entire gardens.
"This is entirely your fault."
"Oh, please," Rowan replied, waving a dismissive hand. "You must admit Valarr's expression alone made the entire evening worthwhile. Besides, Aerion graciously informed you that he intends to pay child support." Her laughter only grew louder.
Without hesitation, you grabbed the orange resting beside your lunch and hurled it across the table. Rowan let out a startled shriek and ducked just in time as the fruit sailed past her shoulder.
"Y/N!" she exclaimed, placing a hand dramatically against her chest. "Did your mother never teach you that food is not to be played with?" The shock in her voice was thoroughly undermined by the grin threatening to break across her face.
"To be fair," Aemon interjected, "you deserved it."
A victorious smile appeared on your face.
You reached over and patted his head affectionately.
"Oooo taking sides are we now?" Rowan mocked offense eyes scanning aemon. For a brief moment, he seemed pleased with himself.
Then he turned toward you.
"So, does that make me an uncle now?" The innocence in his expression was genuine. Unfortunately for him, so was the murderous glare you immediately fixed upon him.
"Do not." The warning carried enough force that Aemon visibly reconsidered every life choice that had led him to that question. His gaze swiftly drifted elsewhere.
Curiosity still lingered, naturally. Any reasonable person would wonder whether the child was a niece or nephew. However, the only object within your immediate reach happened to be a rather substantial textbook on pharmacology, and Aemon possessed enough self-preservation instincts to recognize a threat when he saw one.
Combat had never been among his strengths. Survival, however, was. He wisely abandoned the subject.
"Where is Raymund, anyway?" he asked instead. "Do you not usually spend Monday afternoons with him, Rowan?"
"He is preparing for his fencing match," Rowan replied, adjusting her position before settling more comfortably onto the bench. "There is a practice event scheduled before the tournament in a few months."
The mention of schedules triggered a memory. Your expression darkened instantly. At four o'clock that morning, a particular text message had shattered any hope of a peaceful week.
An exasperated sigh escaped you. Both of them looked your way.
"Do we happen to have any lectures at two today?"
Aemon tilted his head, eyes drifting upward as he searched his memory.
"A short one with Professor Hightower."
"Perfect." The word left your mouth far too quickly. "Would you be willing to take notes for me?"
The two exchanged a glance.
"Where are you going?" Aemon asked, concern creeping into his voice. "Are you feeling alright?"
Meanwhile, a mischievous smile spread across Rowan's face, signaling imminent disaster.
"Or perhaps," she mused sweetly, "you have another rendezvous planned with your son's fathe—" The textbook struck her before she could finish. A sharp yelp echoed across the courtyard.
The remainder of lunch unfolded in predictable fashion. You sat fuming while aggressively devouring your sandwich, Rowan rubbed the various places where the textbook had connected with her person, and Aemon happily enjoyed both his meal and the unfolding spectacle.
As far as he was concerned, lunch had never been more entertaining.
Two o'clock arrived far sooner than you would have preferred.
After gathering your belongings, you cast one final glance, frown on your lips, toward Aemon before the two of you separated, each disappearing toward opposite ends of the academy.
The route to the fencing hall was one your feet remembered long before your mind consciously registered it.
The building stood apart from the rest of the campus, its architecture grander and more deliberate than the surrounding lecture halls. Tall windows allowed pale afternoon light to spill across polished wooden floors, while the vaulted ceiling stretched high overhead, supported by dark beams that lent the room an almost cathedral-like dignity. The scent of varnished oak lingered heavily in the air, mingling with traces of leather, steel, and exertion.
The hall buzzed with activity.
Several students stood in small groups fastening protective jackets and gloves while others carefully inspected the edges of their sabers. The occasional metallic ring echoed through the chamber as practice blades struck one another in brief demonstrations. Along the walls, rows of wooden benches held competitors waiting for their turn, some chatting idly while others sat in focused silence.
The sight was achingly familiar. Years ago, you had spent countless afternoons here.
Back then, missing a lecture for the sake of watching Valarr fence had seemed a reasonable sacrifice. You had always justified it by promising yourself you would catch up later.
Valarr had never approved of it. At least, that was what he claimed. Yet every time he spotted you waiting near the entrance, his eyes would brighten in a way he could never quite conceal. He often insisted that his victories belonged to you because knowing you had come to watch him made him fence better. Knowing how seriously you took your studies only deepened his appreciation. Every missed lecture felt like proof that, for a few hours, he had mattered more.
The memory lingered as you stepped into the hall. Your gaze swept across the room. And just as it always had, someone noticed.
Valarr looked up from where he was adjusting his gear. For a fleeting second, something warm stirred within him. The sight was painfully familiar.
You standing at the entrance. Your expression curious as your eyes searched the room. The anticipation laced with quiet excitement. The innocent smile that always appeared whenever you finally found him.
Except this time, your eyes passed over him entirely. And settled upon Lyonel Baratheon.
Valarr's jaw tightened. A scoff escaped him before he could stop it.
Lyonel was already making his way toward you. Just as he always had.
"It has been far too long," Lyonel greeted smoothly, stopping before you. "I have scarcely seen you around here. I must confess, I have missed your company."
With theatrical elegance, he offered a courteous bow before lifting your hand and brushing a featherlight kiss across your knuckles.
You rolled your eyes immediately. A laugh escaping in process.
"You're love for theatrics —"
The words never reached completion. A firm arm suddenly wrapped around your waist and pulled you backward.
The voice was unmistakable. Three words: Arrogant. Confident. Possessive.
Aerion Targaryen stood beside you, one arm secured around your waist as though the matter were already settled.
"Do not entertain any ideas."
"Of course, my prince. Forgive my dreadful manners." The apology was entirely perfunctory, offered more out of amusement than remorse.
Before departing, he offered you a conspiratorial wink. Aerion clicked his tongue.
"Do not allow men to touch you so freely."
You stared at him, mouth agape. The hypocrisy was astounding.
"You always do that," you muttered beneath your breath.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—he did not hear you. Aerion had already moved toward a nearby bench where his fencing gear awaited him.
As he began fastening the protective straps around his arms, he pointed toward the spectator seating.
"Moral support." The grin spreading across his face immediately revealed the lie.
You almost laughed. Aerion Targaryen did not require moral support. Not from anyone. And certainly not from a commoner. And definitely not for a fencimg match.
The man had been trained by the finest maître in all of Westeros since childhood.
According to Aemon, Aerion rarely relied solely upon skill despite possessing enough talent to dominate fairly. Whether motivated by amusement, competitiveness, or simple pettiness, he enjoyed finding alternative ways to win.
Unbeknownst to you, Aerion had already chosen you as his most effective weapon against the one of the finest fencers in all of Westeros —his cousin, Valarr Targaryen.
Aerion could already see it. The stiffness in Valarr's shoulders. Tension settling into his stance. The subtle tightening of his jaw.
Every experienced fencer understood the danger of tension. A rigid body reacted slower. Dodging became more difficult and precision suffered. Excitement surged through him.
To make matters even better, Kiera had not come. She had chosen her law courses over the exhibition match.
You, however, had found time. For him. The realization was enough to make Aerion feel victorious before either man had drawn a blade. And judging from the glare Valarr kept sending his way, his cousin had felt the same.
Deciding to relish the occasion, Aerion sauntered toward Valarr, with the assurance of a man who had already secured his triumph.
"Do not worry, cousin," he drawled. "I have no intention of embarrassing you today. I am attempting to impress a beautiful la—"
A fist collided with his face. The impact sent him sprawling backward onto the polished floor.
Warm blood brushed his lip, and a heavy, suffocating silence descended. Slowly, he raised his fingers to his mouth, finding the tips stained in crimson.
Every trace of his amusement vanished, his pale lilac eyes sharpening with a violent, livid intensity. In their depths, a dangerous calm settled. He spat blood onto the floor, slowly running his tongue across his teeth.
Then he began rising, with every intention of returning the favor with considerably more force.
A sudden warmth enveloped his face as soft hands cupped his cheeks, causing the fire to evaporate in an instant.
"You're bleeding." Your voice was soft. "Stay still."
There was no judgment in your expression—no mockery, only genuine worry. He watched as you retrieved a white handkerchief from your pocket and carefully dabbed at the blood staining his mouth. Across the room, Valarr stared, the raw shock on his face impossible to miss. Aerion noticed it immediately, and in that instant, a terrible idea formed.
He hated acting injured; his pride bristled at appearing weak, and his ego despised looking defeated. Yet the sheer devastation on Valarr's face made every sacrifice worthwhile. Slowly, dramatically, Aerion allowed himself to lean back until his head settled directly onto your lap.
He lets out a low grunt, his brow furrowing as he muttered, "It hurts." You resume, tenderly tapping at his jaw.
Meanwhile, the fencing maître had already reached Valarr's side, grasping his arm and delivering a furious lecture regarding sportsmanship and conduct.
Valarr heard none of it. His gaze remained unalterably fixed on you—on Aerion—on the agonizing sight of your fingertips brushing the blood from another man’s skin. Something dark and violently fractured flickered behind his eyes. Without a word, he violently wrenched himself free from the tightening grip, spun on his heel, and strode away into the shadows of the hall, the frantic maître pursuing him in vain.
Watching his retreating figure, a dull, suffocating ache bloomed within your chest, a heavy convergence of confusion, longing, and betrayal. Valarr Targaryen had always been the very architect of honor, patiemce, and absolute discipline. You had never witnessed him succumb to such erratic fury, and neither had anyone else in the academy. The surrounding hall remained cloaked in an eerie, breathless stillness. Several students stood petrified; a girl nearby pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Even Lyonel Baratheon, a man who habitually extracted humor from the darkest corners of life, had fallen silent. Though an amused smile still lingered at the corners of his lips, he wisely chose not to comment.
A desperate impulse urged you to follow Valarr—to demand answers, to untangle the storm raging in his wake—but reality intervened with cold precision. He belonged to Kiera now. You no longer held a sanctuary in his life, and whatever ghost haunted him was now another woman's burden to bear. The realization cut with a cruelty that defied reason, because despite the months of forced distance, despite every conscious effort to heal, a stubborn fragment of your heart still belonged to him.
Aerion detected your sudden melancholy immediately. He cataloged the sorrow, the lingering yearning, and an unfamiliar tightness gripped his own chest. The sensation was foreign, deeply uncomfortable, and he resented it instantly. Seeking to shatter the suffocating gravity of the moment, he resorted to the only defense he knew: he let out a dramatic, strained groan and pressed a hand flat against his jaw.
Your attention instantly returned to him. Exactly where he wanted it.
After carefully wiping away the last trace of blood from Aerion's face, you folded the stained handkerchief and handed it to a nearby colleague to dispose in a bin. The injury had never been particularly serious, a split lip and what would likely become an ugly bruise by morning, yet you still found yourself guiding him away from the fencing hall and toward the infirmary, your hand resting lightly against his arm as you navigated the crowded pathways of the academy.
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, bathing the grounds in warm gold and amber tones, though the beauty of it barely registered. Your thoughts remained trapped inside the fencing hall, replaying the scene over and over until it became impossible to separate memory from imagination. Every time you blinked, you saw Valarr's expression again. The tension in his jaw. The anger in his eyes. The way he had torn himself free from the fencing maître's grasp and walked away without a single explanation.
Something inside your chest ached with a persistence that bordered on cruelty.
You had spent months trying to convince yourself that what happened between the two of you no longer mattered. You had repeated the same painful truths until they became a mantra: he had chosen someone else, he had left, and whatever existed between you belonged firmly in the past. Yet the man you had witnessed today had not looked indifferent. He had not looked content. Most frustrating of all, he had not looked like a man who had forgotten.
The realization made moving forward feel infinitely more difficult.
When the infirmary finally came into view through the trees, you stopped walking and gently withdrew your hand from Aerion's arm.
"It is just ahead," you said, gesturing toward the stone building. "Rowan should be working there today." You forced a small smile.
"You will be fine from here."
Turning to leave seemed like the simplest solution. Unfortunately, Aerion had never been a man who appreciated simplicity. Before you could take more than a single step, his hand closed around your wrist. The gesture was not rough, but it was firm enough to halt you in your path.
You looked down at his hand before slowly lifting your gaze to meet his.
"I cannot do this, Aerion." A faint crease appeared between his brows.
"What are you talking about?"
You released a tired breath.
"I will find a way to get the money."
His expression only grew more perplexed.
"The money for your bruise." You glanced away briefly.
For a moment, he merely stared at you.
"I cannot promise I will have it by tomorrow," you continued, determined to finish before you lost your nerve entirely, "but I will find a way to repay. Just not like this."
His grip tightened ever so slightly. You finally looked directly at him, and whatever he saw in your expression caused the irritation to vanish.
"I know why you are doing all of this."
The silence that followed was immediate.
"You're trying to provoke him. And I'm sorry, but I can't help you."
Aerion did not deny it. That alone felt like confirmation.
"I hate what he did to me," you admitted quietly, the words scraping painfully against your throat. Your gaze drifted toward the path ahead.
"But this..." You gestured helplessly between the two of you, encompassing the entire exhausting situation. "Whatever happened yesterday, today, whatever this arrangement has become, it isn't me." The confession left you feeling strangely exposed.
"I cannot do that to him."
"You owe him nothing." Perhaps that was true. And it should have been enough reason, y et your heart had always possessed a remarkable talent for ignoring such things.
"Maybe I don't," you said softly, "but I still cannot do it." You attempted to pull your hand free. He did not immediately release you.
Instead, he simply stood there, watching you with an intensity that felt unusual even for him. Gone was the amused arrogance he wore like a second skin, replaced by something quieter and far more difficult to understand. For the very first time since you had met him, the habitual arrogance vanished from his features, replaced by a gravity so absolute it made him look like an entirely different man. The weight of that expression made your chest tighten.
"Kostilus." The High Valyrian word slipped from your lips almost unconsciously.
Something flickered across his face.
The change was subtle enough that you might have imagined it, yet the effect was immediate. His fingers loosened around your wrist, and a moment later his hand fell away entirely.
You offered him a grateful look before turning and walking away. This time he made no attempt to stop you.
You never saw the way he continued standing there long after you had disappeared from view, nor did you witness the slow tightening of his jaw as he stared at the empty path where you had vanished.
By the time night settled over the city, exhaustion had seeped into your bones, though sleep remained stubbornly out of reach.
Your apartment sat shrouded in darkness save for the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting silver patterns across the floorboards and walls. The stillness should have been comforting, yet it only amplified every thought you had spent the day attempting to suppress.
Curled beneath your blankets, you finally surrendered to the tears. The sobs came quietly at first before building into something far more difficult to contain. You pressed your face into your pillow in a futile effort to muffle the sound, but grief cared little for dignity.
Everything would have been easier if Valarr had simply forgotten you. If he had moved on completely. If he had looked at Kiera with unwavering devotion and never once glanced in your direction again.
At least then there would have been certainty. At least then you could have hated him. Instead, he continued looking at you as though some invisible thread still connected the two of you despite every effort to sever it. His jealousy, his anger, and the pain that occasionally surfaced behind his composure transformed every encounter into a fresh wound because they suggested a possibility you desperately wished did not exist.
The cruelest part was that such a revelation changed nothing.
He had still left. He had still chosen another path. Though knowing that did little to quiet the aching hope your heart stubbornly nurtured.
A fresh wave of tears threatened to overwhelm you when a knock sounded at the door. The sound immediately captured your attention.
Three gentle taps. Measured. Familiar.
Your breath hitched sharply. The distinctive rhythm of the rap against the wood sent a jolt through you; there was only one person who knocked like that. Hope surged through you before caution could intervene.
You practically stumbled from bed as you hurried across the room, your pulse hammering wildly against your ribs. Questions flooded your mind faster than you could process them. You wanted answers. You wanted explanations. You wanted to understand why Valarr had behaved so unlike himself today and why, despite everything that had happened between you, he still possessed the power to unravel you so completely.
Without hesitation, you pulled the door open.
Every thought, every desperate hope, dissolved alongside your expectations. For you were not met by the familiar comfort of mismatched eyes. Instead, a pair of brilliant, vivid lilac stared back at you from beneath a fringe of long lashes, and as stark recognition settled over you, a cold sensation remarkably like dread began to creep through your chest.
Aerion stood framed in the doorway, and your gaze instinctively dropped to the object held in his hands.
Notes: sorry... it was a bit long.
