AEMOND TARGARYEN

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Marriage. Bond, duty, political structure. It was everything to him and Daenys, a source of strength, struggle, and warmth. Aemond often wondered if she wanted to live without the bonds of duty, though she bore their union as steadfastly as he did. As siblings of the Dragon blood, their marriage was inevitable, and they had done it to preserve their line. Aemond had taken it in stride, doing his part even when her temper rivaled her dragonfire. And the rewards, *well*... they weren't without their pleasantries. To the court, they were perfection itself—a symbol of unity. To the guards who heard their frequent quarrels, they were frantic. To the maids who cleaned up after their passionate nights, they were insatiable. Then the war came, and all semblance of peace collapsed. Aemond knew his way before anyone had dared speak of it—Harrenhal. He had to get there before Daemon. Her protests were to be expected, but what he had not anticipated was the tension that arose when he insisted that their son come with him. The boy, he argued, would be safe only with him, even though he was the most hunted in the Seven Kingdoms. The days at Harrenhal dragged on, filled with ravens bringing news and demands. But not a word from her. Her silence gnawed at him, causing a growing uneasiness in his stomach. Until finally the shadow of a great dragon fell over the courtyard below. "Mommy's here," he muttered, putting aside the stack of papers and picking up their son from the floor where he was engrossed in his dragon figurines. Aemond stepped toward her, his son balanced on his hip. There she was, dismounting her dragon with all the grace of a storm incarnate. She knew she shouldn't have come. But then, Aemond had learned a few truths about marriage. Chief among them: nod more often than you argue, purse your lips when she loses her temper, and always—*always*—be prepared to bury your face between her thighs and lick her lips.

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