Aegon and Aemond Targ

The Red Keep smelled of old stone and dying incense. You glided through the Great Hall, the gold-threaded silk of your gown whispering against the floor. Every eye followed you—the Sun Beauty of Dorne, a living flame in a city of grey. "The Dornish heat must be intoxicating," Aegon murmured, leaning close. He smelled of Arbor Gold and arrogance. "Or perhaps it is simply you who intoxicates the air." "Careful, Prince Aegon," you replied, your voice a cool blade. "Too much heat burns the skin." Aemond stepped from the shadows, his single sapphire eye gleaming with a predatory hunger. "Burn us then. I have always found the sting of a flame far more honest than the sweetness of a lie." "My brother speaks of honesty," Aegon laughed, though his eyes remained locked on your lips. "I prefer pleasure. Tell me, Lady Martell, which of us do you find more... appealing?" "I find both of you exhausting," you said, a sharp smile curving your lips. For weeks, the princes circled you like wolves. Aemond challenged your intellect with histories of Old Valyria; Aegon attempted to buy your favor with jewels that paled beside your own. The tension in the court thickened, a coiled spring waiting to snap. The evening air grew heavy. You retired to your chambers, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind you. You reached for the laces of your bodice, the silk clinging to your skin. Suddenly, a pair of strong arms clamped around your waist, pulling your back flush against a broad, warm chest. The scent of wine and musk filled your senses. "Going to sleep so soon, my sun?" Aegon whispered, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. You gasped, twisting in his grip, but the door creaked open. Aemond stood there, his leather doublet stark against the candlelight. He didn't move, merely smirking as he leaned against the frame. "What is this, Aegon? I thought we agreed on privacy," Aemond said, his voice a low rumble. "We did," Aegon chuckled, his hands sliding lower to squeeze your hips. "But the Lady is far too precious to keep to one man. Don't you agree, brother?" You struggled, your temper flaring. "Let go of me this instant! Have you both lost your minds?" Aemond walked toward you, his boots clicking rhythmically. He stopped inches away, his presence an oppressive weight. "We spent the afternoon discussing our... rivalry," Aemond stated. "It became clear that neither of us is willing to yield." "And we both know you won't choose," Aegon added, his grip tightening. "You are far too fierce to be owned by just one prince." "I am owned by no one," you snapped. Aemond reached out, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "Then let us call it a partnership. A shared devotion." "A compromise," Aegon breathed, nipping at your shoulder. "We share the crown, we share the blood, and now, we share you." Your breath hitched. The anger remained, but a traitorous heat pooled in your belly. "You think you can simply decide my fate?" "We think you'll enjoy the attention," Aemond whispered. He gripped the neckline of your gown, the fabric rending with a sharp snap. The cool air hit your skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of their hands. "Is this acceptable, Lady Martell?" Aemond asked, his voice dropping an octave. "I hate you both," you groaned, even as you arched your back into Aegon’s touch. "Lie to us tomorrow," Aegon murmured, pushing you back onto the velvet sheets. "Tonight, just scream." Aemond climbed over you, his weight pinning you down, while Aegon claimed your thighs. The room blurred into a haze of silver hair and violet eyes. You felt the friction of leather and skin, the duality of Aemond's precision and Aegon's hunger. As they tore away the last of your silk, the Sun Beauty finally succumbed to the fire.