Chapter 2: Spying

By: DoublingDownOnRed

The next few days passed in a haze of frustration and unrelenting anger. Aemond stalked the halls of the Red Keep like a caged beast, his temper fraying at the edges, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Servants scurried out of his way, avoiding his icy gaze, sensing the simmering rage beneath his calm exterior. Even his mother, Queen Alicent, had begun to tread carefully around him, her concerned looks going unanswered as he dismissed her with curt, one-word replies.

At night, the frustration only grew worse. He sought solace in the dark corners of King's Landing, visiting the brothels and whorehouses he had once frequented in search of release, in search of something—anything—that could drown out the thoughts that plagued him. But no matter how many women he took to his bed, no matter how roughly he treated them, the satisfaction he sought eluded him.

They weren't her.

He tried to forget her, the woman who had disarmed him with her kindness, who had looked at him with those calm, understanding eyes as if she could see through all his anger and bitterness. But she had left an indelible mark on him, a scar that refused to heal no matter how hard he tried to cover it up.

The other harlots did their best to please him, to give him what he wanted, but it was never enough. He was rougher with them than he had ever been before, pushing them to the edge of their endurance, seeking to break through the barrier that kept him from finding the release he so desperately needed. But each time, he was left cold, unsatisfied, his body betraying him as he fought to recapture the intensity of that night.

The women he visited began to dread his arrival, sensing the darkness that clung to him like a second skin, the cruelty in his touch that seemed to grow with each passing encounter. They whispered about him after he left, their voices hushed and fearful as they spoke of the prince who could not be pleased, who seemed to take no joy in the acts that once brought him satisfaction.

And Aemond knew it. He could see the fear in their eyes, the way their hands trembled as they reached for him, the way they flinched when he raised his voice. It should have made him feel powerful, should have given him the control he craved, but instead, it only deepened the void inside him, the gnawing emptiness that no amount of physical pleasure could fill.

He hated himself for it, hated the way he couldn't forget her, the way he couldn't find release without thinking of her—her touch, her voice, the way she had looked at him as if he were more than just a Targaryen prince, more than just a weapon to be wielded. He hated that she had seen him, truly seen him, and left him with a taste of something he couldn't name, something he couldn't reclaim with anyone else.

And yet, as much as he longed to return to her, to seek her out and demand that she give him the solace he craved, he couldn't bring himself to do it. The thought of facing her again, of seeing that same calm, knowing expression on her face, filled him with a rage he couldn't fully understand. It was easier to turn his anger outward, to lash out at the women who tried and failed to take her place, than to confront the truth that she had left him with a need he couldn't satisfy.

Each night, he returned to his chambers alone, the taste of bitterness and failure heavy on his tongue. The bed, once a place of respite, now felt like a prison, the sheets twisted and cold as he lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn't quiet. Sleep was a distant dream, as elusive as the release he sought, and the exhaustion only made his temper worse, his patience thinner.

The more he tried to forget her, the more she haunted him, her voice whispering in his ear, her touch lingering on his skin. And no matter how hard he tried to rid himself of her memory, it clung to him, a constant reminder of his failure, of his inability to control the one thing he should have been able to command—his own desires.

Aemond was a dragon, a Targaryen, born of fire and blood. He had mastered the art of war, the art of dominance, had honed his body and mind into weapons to be feared. But in this, he had failed. In this, he was weak.

And it was a weakness he couldn't bear to face.

So he lashed out, at himself, at others, at anyone who dared to get too close. The rage burned hotter with each passing day, consuming him from the inside out, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.

But no matter how much he raged, no matter how many women he sought out in the dark corners of the city, the truth remained the same.

He couldn't forget her.

The anger simmered within Aemond, hot and relentless, as he stormed through the Red Keep. He could feel the dragon's fire in his veins, a burning fury that threatened to consume him. Every slight, every perceived insult only added fuel to the fire, and it was all he could do to keep from lashing out at anyone who crossed his path.

But it was Aegon who bore the brunt of his rage.

The two brothers had never been close, but since the war had begun, the tension between them had only grown worse. Aemond had always prided himself on his discipline, his control, while Aegon seemed content to squander his birthright on wine, women, and reckless indulgence. The contrast between them had never been more stark, and it galled Aemond to no end that his older brother would be the one to sit the Iron Throne.

Aegon, of course, knew exactly how to push Aemond's buttons.

Aemond found him lounging in the solar, a goblet of wine in one hand, his expression one of lazy indifference as he watched the flames dance in the hearth. The sight of his brother's careless ease, the way he seemed to be completely unaffected by the weight of their shared responsibilities, only served to stoke the fire in Aemond's chest.

"Brother," Aegon drawled as Aemond entered the room, not even bothering to look up from his drink. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Come to lecture me on my lack of virtue again?"

Aemond's jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck standing out like cords as he fought to maintain control. "You are needed in the council chambers," he bit out, his voice cold and sharp as a blade. "Your presence has been requested."

Aegon finally deigned to look up, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips as he took in the sight of his younger brother, standing stiff and rigid like a soldier awaiting orders. "Ah, yes, the council. Our noble advisors, so concerned with the fate of the realm. And what do they want with me this time? Another lecture on duty? Another reminder of my sacred obligations as king?"

He laughed, a short, bitter sound that grated on Aemond's nerves. "You know, Aemond, for all your talk of duty and honor, I wonder if you've ever truly enjoyed anything in your life. You walk around like you've got a stick up your arse, all duty and no pleasure. How do you stand it? How do you stand yourself?"

Aemond's hand twitched, the urge to strike his brother nearly overwhelming. But he held back, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists at his sides. "I stand it," he replied, his voice low and dangerous, "because I understand what is at stake. Something you seem incapable of grasping."

Aegon's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and disdain. "Oh, I grasp it well enough, little brother. But tell me, what's really eating at you? Is it the war? The weight of your so-called responsibilities? Or is it something else?" He leaned forward, his tone dropping to a mocking whisper. "Could it be that you're still brooding over that little whore you stopped rutting with?"

Aemond's vision went red, the dragon in him roaring to life at Aegon's words. Without thinking, he crossed the room in a flash, his hand shooting out to grab Aegon by the collar, yanking him to his feet with a strength born of pure rage.

"Watch your tongue," Aemond hissed, his voice barely more than a growl. "I feel nothing. Nothing."

Aegon didn't flinch, didn't even seem remotely intimidated by Aemond's outburst. If anything, he looked more amused than ever, his smirk widening into a full-blown grin as he stared down at his younger brother with a mixture of pity and contempt.

"Oh, but I think I do," Aegon said, his voice soft and taunting. "You're angry because you we found you wanting for her. And it got under your tunic, that's why my guards report you haven't been back to that establishment though you seem to stalk every other brothel now. But no matter how many whores you bed, I bet you can't get your first out of your head."

Aemond's grip tightened, his hand shaking with the effort to restrain himself from tearing into Aegon right then and there. The truth in his brother's words cut deeper than any blade, driving straight to the heart of the turmoil that had been eating away at him since that night.

But he wouldn't give Aegon the satisfaction of seeing him break.

"Shut your mouth," Aemond spat, shoving his brother away with a force that sent Aegon stumbling back a step. "You're a disgrace. A mockery of everything our house stands for."

Aegon righted himself, straightening his collar with a careless shrug, as if the entire confrontation had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "And you're a fool, Aemond," he replied, his tone light and mocking. "A fool who doesn't know how to enjoy life. You can go back to your council meetings and your war plans, but at the end of the day, you'll still be miserable. You'll still be alone."

He turned his back on Aemond, dismissing him as if he were nothing more than an annoying fly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do with my time than listen to you prattle on about duty. Maybe I'll find a woman who knows how to make me forget my troubles, unlike you."

Aemond stood there, trembling with barely suppressed fury as Aegon sauntered out of the room, his laughter echoing down the hallway long after he had gone. The dragon in him roared, clawing at the inside of his chest, demanding release, demanding that he tear something—anything—apart.

But there was nothing he could do. Nothing that would ease the burning rage that consumed him, the fury that gnawed at his insides like a poison.

Far from the opulent chambers of the Red Keep, in the shadowed alleys of King's Landing where secrets thrived and whispers carried more weight than gold, Lyra made her way through the labyrinth of narrow streets. Her steps were quick but measured, her hood pulled low over her face to obscure her features. The memory of Aemond's last words to her echoed in her mind, a cold reminder of the distance he had placed between them.

She descended the familiar rickety wooden stairs leading to the hidden cellar, where the air grew cooler and the smell of damp earth permeated. The heavy wooden door creaked as she pushed it open, revealing the dimly lit room where Corin, one of Mysaria's most trusted agents, awaited her.

Corin stood by the small table, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp as he looked up at her. The man was a shadow in his own right, always keeping his true intentions hidden behind a calm, composed exterior. Lyra had learned to trust him, even if she never quite felt at ease in his presence.

"Lyra," Corin greeted her with a nod, his voice low and steady. "I expected you sooner."

She pulled back her hood, revealing her face, and took a seat across from him. "I've come to report, but there's a complication."

Corin's eyes narrowed slightly, his interest piqued. "Go on."

"Aemond hasn't come back," she said, her voice betraying a hint of the concern she felt. "Not since that night. I'm worried he's avoiding me, or worse, that he's turned to someone else. If he's found another…we could lose the connection entirely."

Corin was silent for a moment, digesting the information. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him. "This is…unexpected," he murmured, his tone thoughtful. "But not insurmountable. If the prince has chosen to seek out other establishments, we'll ensure that they're no longer an option for him."

Lyra frowned slightly, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension in her expression. "What do you mean?"

Corin's lips curled into a small, calculating smile. "There are always ways to deal with competition in this city. We'll have the other brothels shut down—cited for violations, perhaps. We have connections in the City Watch, and it wouldn't be difficult to have them raided, their operations disrupted. If Aemond finds the others closed to him, he'll have no choice but to return to where he knows he can find what he needs."

Lyra considered this for a moment, the plan forming in her mind. It was a ruthless strategy, one that would undoubtedly cause upheaval among the other establishments, but it was effective. And in the end, effectiveness was all that mattered.

"And if he still doesn't come back?" she asked, voicing the lingering doubt that had been gnawing at her.

Corin's expression hardened slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Then you'll have to find a way to draw him in, Lyra. You've been trained for this—you know what needs to be done. He's avoiding you because you got too close, because he felt something he didn't expect. Use that. Find a way to make him come to you."

Lyra nodded slowly, the weight of her mission pressing down on her. She had been prepared for many things, but not for the complexity of Aemond's emotions, the volatility that made him both dangerous and vulnerable. She knew she had to tread carefully, but also that she couldn't afford to fail.

"I understand," she said finally, her voice steady. "I'll find a way."

Corin's gaze softened slightly, a rare hint of approval in his eyes. "Good. Keep me informed of your progress. And remember, this is bigger than you or I. We're playing a dangerous game, and every move matters."

Lyra stood, pulling her hood back up as she prepared to leave. "I won't let you down."

Corin nodded, his expression once again unreadable. "I know you won't."

As she turned and left the cellar, her mind was already racing with plans, strategies, ways to bring Aemond back to her. The streets of King's Landing were alive with secrets, and she would use every one of them to complete her mission.

But even as she walked through the winding alleys, she couldn't shake the image of Aemond's face, the way he had looked at her that night—so full of anger, but with something deeper lurking beneath. She pushed the thought away, forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

Aemond Targaryen was just another target. Just another pawn in a game of power and control.

And she would see it through to the end.

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