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Both your parents whisked you away to Dragonstone when you were still a child, soft-faced and in the mid of girlhood. He has not laid eyes on you in almost a full decade, ten years too long for him. The walls were hung with different tapestries, all of horses and dragons, and the doors were flanked by Valyrian sphinxes.Īnd to the corner was your bed, where you, his niece, lay atop, fast asleep.Īemond wills his heart to continue beating, and for his cock to behave.

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Thick wool carpets covered the floor instead of harsh black stone, and your windows were cracked open just a little, with pretty drapes swaying from the light ocean breeze. Your personal chamber was nicely furnished, in the colors and style of your shared noble house, and had an aura belonging only to a Targaryen princess. It would be much easier for him to find you, tucked away in your own chamber.

The castle hallways were without light, and no houseguards stood afoot. “Now, where will you be,” he mumbles to himself as he rips off his riding gloves and tucks them into his belt.

He did not care for the damned island, nor did he hold any love for its people, but his twentieth nameday was fast approaching, and his mother was insisting more and more that he take a wife soon. Dragonstone was quiet when arrived, the sea tide calm and peaceful.Īemond Targaryen could not remember the last time he stepped foot in the castle, if he ever did at all, having spent the entirety of his life behind the bronze doors of the Red Keep.