The Maid - Aemond Targaryen

Fifty Three - Try

They would get better— together— they would heal, they would try. They would be fine. After weeks of feeling like she was bidding time before her inevitable fall from grace, her heart was finally at ease. She was fine, he loved her, he still loved her and only her. He stayed there, his head resting on her chest as her fingers lazily ran through his blonde locks of hair.

The realm was at odds, men fought and killed eachother outside of the Red Keep, but in Elyana's arms the Prince Regent felt at peace. It was all he had craved for, comfort and understanding— having it felt like the first time he had flown on Vhagar. He nuzzled his nose into the valley between her breasts, taking in a deep sigh of relief. "I love you so much," he mumbled into her body, the deep rumble of his voice turning her into putty.

"I love you much more, husband," she cooed, fingers gently brushing through his hair in a loving manner. She could stay there for the rest of her life. She needed nothing more than him.

Aemond took in another breath, as if her scent was the only thing he needed to live. "I'll murder every construction worker in this castle, each and every one... have their heads perched up on the gates for their inability to set a fucking sconce right," he snarled, raising his head to look at his wife. His brows her furrowed together in a deep frown, which made her insides flutter. He cared so much.

"Aemond," she laughed, "the man that built that sconce is probably long dead, you know."

"Then I'll kill his offspring, every person tied to the men that built this castle, for they have hurt you." His words would be cruel to anyone else, but to her they were the sweetest thing he could ever say.

She blushed. "You're so crazy," she chuckled, her fingers softly trailing over the outline of his jawline. He was a work of art, sculpted by the Seven Gods carefully— and he was hers.

"For you, indeed," he growled, "I will murder everyone who hurts you."

"Go and tussle with that wall sconce then, husband. I bet it's still at the scene of the crime." She jested, her eyes full of light and love for the man in front of her.

Aemond would give her Westeros, he would grab the moon and gift it to her, would buy Essos for her if it meant keeping that shine in her eyes. He could not quite understand how he had ever mistreated her, how he had let her feel unwanted.

"I will do that and more if it means keeping you happy," he said softly, his own eye shining just for her— only for her. "You still have some groveling to do, sweet husband... your treatment of me was..." Aemond did not let her finish.

"I will get on my knees and beg for repentance, wife," he said with much conviction. Elyana giggled. "I will kneel before the court and beg, beg for you to forget my transgressions..."

"As much as you kneeling before your subjects would be of much satisfaction, tis not what I desire. I just want your love..." Her words were laced with lust as she looked at the man she adored. Her eyes fell to his chest, to the way his white linen shirt was halfway unlaced, revealing his lean physique. She bit her lip, blinking owlishly as she basked in him.

Her gaze returned to his face, glazing over the smirk that now curved at the corner of his lips— taking in the way his hair framed his perfectly chiseled face. Fuck me.

She wanted him. Gods, she wanted him. Aemond could only smirk smugly. The way her eyes slid across his frame lustfully only made his cock harden beneath his breeches.

He wished to be a gentleman, but he couldn't. Not when her eyes were begging him to ravish her. He strided to the end of the bed, his hands moving to grasp her ankles, swiftly pulling her towards him.