The Atrium of the Red Keep
The atrium of the Red Keep shone with a solemn brilliance beneath the midday sun.
It was meant for the strolls of nobles and for the training of squires, yet now it lay quiet. Guards stood at attention, halberds in hand, their faces unreadable.
In the center knelt a man named Cling Rogare, a distant relative of Princess Aeryn, appointed three days prior as commander of a squad in the Red Keep Guard. He trembled. His fine silk shirt was soiled with dirt, his face bruised. Two guards pressed him to his knees, holding him firmly.
Aemond Targaryen stood upon the steps, violet eyes fixed on him.
"Stealing a prince's private possessions," said Captain Gwayne Hightower first.
"In the Red Keep, that is a crime punishable by death."
Cling suddenly lifted his head, tears mingling with snot.
"Your Grace! I didn't! I swear! I just… I just entered the wrong room! I—"
"Your hand was in my desk drawer?" Aemond interrupted.
"My eyes saw it myself."
"Tell me, Cling Rogare, what were you after?"
"I… I'm new. I don't know the routes…"
"Don't know?" Aemond's voice sharpened. "You can open a locked drawer yourself?"
Aemond descended the steps, stopping before Cling. The man's face was pale, lips trembling, words failing him.
From the archway, hurried footsteps sounded. All turned their heads—Aeryn Rogare arrived.
The heir princess's belly was unmistakably rounded beneath her dark violet gown, which swirled with each brisk step. Her face was tense, and two maids ran after her, trying to slow her, but dared not make a sound.
"Prince Aemond!" she called.
"What do you mean?"
Aemond did not turn; his gaze remained on Cling.
"Deal with the thief." He whispered quietly to her, back still turned.
"Thief?" Aeryn hurried forward, breath quick.
"Cling—he is my kin, a Rogare! How could he steal anything? Surely a mistake…"
"No mistake." Aemond finally turned to meet her eyes.
"The evidence is clear: caught in the act, the stolen letters in his possession."
"By law, theft of royal property is punished by decapitation."
Aeryn gasped. She looked around. Guards remained impassive; onlookers and officials bowed their heads.
Finally, her eyes fell on Gwayne Hightower.
The Red Keep's new captain of the guard stood behind Aemond.
"Sir Gwayne," Aeryn pleaded, voice trembling, "this must be some error—he's been here only three days! How could he—"
"Princess," Gwayne said, "the evidence… it is enough."
"This is but a minor punishment," Aemond said lightly.
"For the safety of the Red Keep, for the dignity of the royal family."
"As princess, you should not interfere in disciplining a thief."
"He is not a thief!" Aeryn protested.
"He is a Rogare, Aeryn. Rogares can steal."
Aemond's voice grew cold.
"Some think that once the heir is officially recognized, he may do as he pleases in the Red Keep? Enter rooms at will? Spy on those he should not?"
Step by step he advanced. Aeryn retreated until her back pressed against a stone column.
He stopped before her.
"You carry such a heavy belly," he said, eyes on her rounded stomach.
"Rest, tend to the child, and give birth to a healthy heir for Aegon. Instead of… worrying over things not worth your worry."
In the atrium's center, Cling let out a pitiful cry.
"Princess! Help me! I did not steal! I was wronged!"
Aeryn's chest heaved as she looked at Aemond.
"Like this mouse," Aemond said, "it must be disciplined. You allowed such a man into the Red Keep… are you blind?"
"I cut off his hand today," he said, "and already it mars your face, Aeryn Rogare. If you think me unfair…"
He paused.
"Then cut off my head. I will not resist."
Aeryn opened her mouth but could not speak. Fear, humiliation, and ignorance boiled within her, finally surfacing in a trembling, furious roar:
"I am a princess! Future queen!"
"You… cannot act like this!"
"Aemond!"
"You are arrogant!"
Aemond's expression shifted. The calm he maintained fractured, revealing a darker, crueler reality. His eyes narrowed; the pupils flared with fiery light.
"Arrogance?"
"Am I not allowed?"
He smirked.
"Do you truly wish to defy me? A woman?"
Aeryn had never seen him like this. In his gaze burned something primeval, terrifying. The boiling blood of a dragon.
She shook her head, already frightened, when a finger pressed against her lips, silencing her.
"Then hush… Listen well, and remember this. I am Aemond Targaryen. In this city, in this kingdom, I may do whatever I wish if I so desire…"
Her body trembled. She gazed at him, struck by boundless fear.
"To be your future queen," Aemond said, stepping back, expression regaining composure, as though nothing had happened.
"Do not test my patience…"
He turned to leave, then paused, tilting his head.
"And what if someone else decides to play games with me?"
"I am always with you," she said.
With that, he left.
The officers' boots clicked sharply against stone as they followed. Gwayne Hightower hesitated, saluted Aeryn briefly, and fell in line behind him.
Aeryn remained, back against the column, trembling from head to toe. Tears streamed down her face onto her dark violet gown.
"Carry out the sentence," came the officer's command.
One guard grabbed Cling's arm, the other swung his sword.
"No!" Cling screamed, cutting through the air. Then came a dull thud, a cry.
Aeryn closed her eyes. She did not need to watch to know what had happened.
When she opened them again, only a pool of dark red blood remained at the atrium's center. Two severed hands, deliberately cast forward, twitched faintly. Cling was dragged away, leaving a stain upon the stone floor. Several trembling servants rushed to clean the ground.
Aeryn felt her legs weaken. She clutched the stone column and sank slowly to the ground. The maids rushed forward, but she waved them away. She needed to be alone. She needed to digest what had just occurred.
Cling had been set. Correctly. Yet in only three days, Aemond had found a reason. A warning, a demonstration, raw power… or the sheer manifestation of violence.