THE 7TH MOON [Aemond Targaryen]

Seven - Betrothals.

"Say it."

"Her children..."

Laenora Velaryon tasted blood in her mouth in more ways than one that day. From chewing at the inside of her cheek, forcing herself into withdrawal, to make herself refrain from her actions, and then to the urge of spilling another's blood by the cold bite of her sword. She couldn't stop herself.

She watched the terrified eyes of the lords and ladies in the great hall. She saw the downtrodden looks on her mother's and siblings faces, and she saw the gaze of venom radiating from Daemon. She'd never felt so aligned with the rogue prince than in that moment. There and then, he was her step-father and she was his daughter.

Vaemond Velaryon was going to die.

She craved her great uncle's head, urged to see his blood splattered across the stone floor. She'd never felt an emotion like it. And so as his mouth moved to utter his final words, she grasped the hilt of her sword. Readying herself for what she must do.

"Are bastards!"

In an instant she'd pulled the weapon from its confinements and weaved her way by her siblings, all to get to him.

"And she... is... a whore!"

Before the girl was even able to strike, her sword had been stolen from her grasp, and the next thing she knew, her great uncle's head rolled across her boot.

"Unarm him!" Otto called

But Daemon was already finished.

"No need." He smirked

With a proud look upon his face he stopped before his step daughter, taking in the sight of her for a brief moment, before he handed her sword back to her. Laenora gave him the first genuine smile she had since she were a child, and so once he had walked away, with that same smile on her lips, she wiped her bloodied sword clean upon her golden dresses, smearing them with true Velaryon blood.

It was only once she'd hidden her sword away that she saw Aemond, staring from the far side of the room the way he always did. But something in his stare had changed, respect? Admiration perhaps? Like, even?

The feeling in the pit of Laenora's stomach became unsettled at the sight of him.

And that same feeling turned to an almost sickness, all at the sight of Aegon.

Smirking at her as callously as the day she was born.

***

"Princess Laenora. I'm sorry to interrupt, the King Viserys has requested your presence. Supper shall be served shortly."

"There is no need for apologies. Thank you kindly." She spoke of the servant girl, "You may leave."

The false Velaryon stared upon herself in her cracked chamber mirror that eve. Questioning each feature as if they were solely hers to question. She took note of her freshly braided hair, seeing the way it did her no favours in trying to hide what house she truly belonged to, and so she set it all free. The princess became shrouded by her own locks, covering her tan skin and sharp features, and she tried her best to pose as the Velaryon she intended to be.

"The Princess Laenora. Heir to the iron throne and the seven kingdoms." Ser Criston announced her presence in the beat of a heart, and even held her seat out for her as she sat before her trueborn family. She gave him a gentle smile, the same smile he'd remembered for so long, and bid him a thank you before he returned to his post, wondering.

It was only then the princess noticed just exactly who she was seated next to. To her right, sat Jacaerys with her step sister and his betrothed Baela, and to the far side of them, her younger brother Luke and his betrothed Rhaena. But to her left, sat Aegon, of all, beside him her Aunt Helaena, and at the far end of the table, Aemond. Criston had sat her between the dragon's jaws of her family. The blacks and the greens.