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"𝐼 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒟𝒶𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻."
The roses in the garden were in full bloom, creating a riot of color against the cold backdrop of The Keep.
I had been eagerly anticipating a stroll through the garden with Ser Criston, hoping for a moment of respite and perhaps even a few words of comfort. However, I could not find him anywhere. I found it strange that he had been hard to find not just in this instance, but several times in those weeks.
Frustration gnawed at me as I wandered through the maze of rose bushes and manicured pathways. I was truly alone with my thoughts, away from the oppressive weight of the palace walls. I had always found solace in those gardens, and that day I needed that tranquility more than ever.
As I made my way deeper into the garden, the world seemed to shrink to the vivid hues of flowers and the soft rustle of leaves. I was so absorbed in the peacefulness of the moment, that I didn't notice the man until he was upon me.
A sudden, rough hand clamped over my mouth, and a cold, sharp knife pressed against my throat.
"Don't make a sound," the man growled into my ear, his breath hot and rancid. "Or I'll slit your throat."
He was a rough looking man, his clothes tattered and his eyes wild with desperation.
Panic surged through me as my heart pounded violently. I struggled against him, but his grip was unyielding. My vision blurred as my eyes filled with tears.
"Please," I begged, my voice muffled against his hand. "Let me go. I will not tell anyone, just do not hurt me."
The man's only response was a harsh chuckle. "Too late for begging, Princess. You're coming with me."
My mind raced as I tried to think of a way out. The man started to pull me back towards the gate surrounding the garden. I thrashed around, trying everything I could to escape his grasp.
I could sense that the man was becoming more agitated, his hand trembling slightly as he tightened his grip.
Just when I thought I might be overwhelmed with the sheer terror of the situation, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was Aemond, his expression steely and focused.
Without a word, my brother charged forward, his movements swift and precise. He drew his blade with a practiced ease, the metal flashing in the hot sunlight as he struck the kidnappers hand, causing him to drop the knife. The man let out a pained scream as he fell to the ground, clutching his injured hand.
Aemond didn't pause to let the man recover. He moved with lethal efficiency, delivering a series of blows that incapacitated the attacker. I heard the clang of armor get louder as several knights of the King's Guard approached after hearing the commotion.
