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Prince Lucerys has not exchanged words with the King in over a fortnight, or so the maids say. And if the maids say it then the guards must have witnessed it too. 

The rumors have been whispered around the keep from servant to servant, until they have somehow reached Daeron's ears. Being the hand one would think Daeron would know the King’s every move and while that is true most times, his relationship with Lucerys is one aspect of Aemond his brother has always failed to crack.

The Lord who tells Daeron this gossip claims he heard it from a banner man, who heard it from a knight, who heard it from a ladies' maid or a washer. The details are muddy and the identity of the true messengers barely matter because it is the message itself that is most worrying. 

She, or he, says it began that night two weeks ago. The envoy from the vale had just departed and the twins were just starting to recover from their new bout of sickness. This sickness like many before them kept the Queen away from the royal council for days. In favor of instead dutifully sitting at the babes bedside.

Discussions occurred in Luke’s absence from the royal council that would’ve never taken place if it were not for his empty chair by the King’s right side. So Daeron can’t help but feel as though he along with the other men of the council hold some blame for whatever occurred in the aftermath of that night. 

The Lord at his ear tells it as so. 

At first it was as if the husband and wife, even in their state of complete outrage, could not keep away from each other. Typical of them? Yes. But the harsh words being spit could be heard by the servants from every corner of the wing. The Queen's crying and the King's screaming was so unlike their usual whispered conversations or loud coital pleasure. 

It carried on like that, keeping the kingguard stationed at the door on edge, their attentiveness similar to the type that only a man at war could recall. Then as if the moon fell from the sky and the waves lost their force on the rocks below, it was quiet. The only sound that followed was a slamming door, the Queen retreating to the nursery. 

Then it seemed as if overnight all the space in the red keep was not enough. The king's rooms that had remained untouched since the first month of their wedding suddenly well lived in.

"His Grace has not sought out his wife's bed in half a moon." the whispers say.

‘King Aemond is hanging on by a thread.’ Is what Daeron hears. And this is all his fault.

The council has finally decided on a solution to the grain surplus in the Reach when a lady’s maid is granted entry. Aemond recognizes her as Hilda, a previous nursemaid for his older children who was promoted to a higher station when they became too old for the nursery. When she worked as a nursemaid the family had counted her as fairly insignificant and timid. However while she remains timid in looks, she never hesitates to whisper venom to the consort when they both think no one is watching. Aemond, however, is always watching.

The unsteady rise and fall of her chest indicates that Hilda must have run from the royal wing forgoing all the known shortcuts perhaps out of habit. Despite the difficulty it must take to produce a full sentence after her sprint, she somehow does.

“Your Grace, both girls, they are well,” Hilda breathes, “their fevers have finally broken.”

The men surrounding him all release grateful sighs, some stronger than the rest. Aemond decides against premature celebration and instead inquires, “And how does the Queen Consort fair?”

“He is most well, your Grace.” The beta quickly answers, “He has left the nursery and the servants are drawing him a bath now.” As soon as the words leave her mouth she bows low and asks, no tells, “I must return to his side now and make sure he goes to rest.” 

Aemond allows Hilda her disrespect, because despite all her plotting and grasp for power it has always been clear where her loyalty lies and if not with her King it may as well be to the only person her King loves more than all else. 

He nods granting her leave, but she is already gone. 

The council lets out a round of congratulations directed at the King and his son who is now fidgeting in his spot, obviously anxious to leave his duties behind to take up residence at his Muna’s side. The twins falling ill is not new to any in the room but it is still unnerving.  Those two have always been sickly and when one falls ill the other is soon to follow. 

The maesters have implored them that it may be best to separate the girls. At least until they are out of the dangerous years but Luke who has always dutifully sat at their sides helping them through their many bouts of sickness has never been open to that. Treated even the idea of it as blasphemous.

Aemond knows he feels at fault for their circumstances, as he feels at fault for every other time one of their children falls ill. Though the twins are different. The girls came early. So early that when he received news that Lucerys was laboring Aemond thought he would need to build a pyre that evening. 

Over a decade and a half of marriage has made them both very aware of how quickly a babe may vanish from Luke’s womb, and that would not have been the first time they have lost one that seemed perfectly healthy to all observing. Only the first time they would’ve lost multiples in one go. 

After their third child, Aerys’, difficult birth, they had both decided it best to cease having children. Nevertheless, Lucery’s body seemed to have other plans. Four years later, the girls came almost two moons early, screaming at the top of their lungs, but so small they both fit in one tiny bassinet.   

Aemond turns to his eldest son, holding out his chalice for the boy to refill. He can only imagine how exhausted Lucerys must be. His youngest son and their only other daughter, Viserra, had both been praying to the old Gods and the new for the health of the children for the past week and they have been blessed twice over. 

“Your siblings will be happy to hear this Rhaenor.” Aemond says after a slow sip.

“As am I.” The response is dripping with sincerity. 

Every time Lucerys has braced the birthing bed, apart from the day Rhaenor himself was born, Rhaenor and Aemond have spent the hours together anxiously awaiting news. The night the twins were born Aemond saw his son come undone, crying at the news that his muna and siblings were all safe. Ever since he has taken to standing over their cribs watching diligently to make sure their chests still rise and fall. 

Lucerys, whilst reminiscing, has compared the image to that of Aemond, those fifteen summers ago. Abandoning his duties so he could check and be sure Rhaenor who lay in his own crib still breathed. 

“Go be with your siblings, and tell them I will join you all shortly.” The young man smiles, throwing Aemond a quick bow, “Yes my King.”

The dust of Rhaenor’s exit has barely settled before Daeron speaks. “Now that he is gone, would it be a good time to discuss the finer details of the betrothal agreement with you your Grace?”

Aemond turns to glare at him. The good thing about always glaring at people is that they can never accuse you of appraising them with looks that are permanently etched into your face. 

The King’s hand knows this one to be a truly venomous glare however. He attempts to broach this line of conversation whenever Luke or Rhaenor are absent from council. His pestering is for the good of the realm Daeron claims. How fortunate for Aemond that so many people care for the good of his realm. 

Aemond allows his hand to speak, the sooner they are done with this the better. 

Lucerys is just emerging from the bath when Aemond enters. Dropping his sword by their writing desk and loosening the ties on his jerkin. 

“Your acolyte told me the girls are well.” The smile Luke greets him with is blinding. He walks to Aemond still damp and naked, brown curls glistening, and rises to the balls of his feet to greet him with a tender kiss on the cheek. 

“Hilda” he scolds, Aemond often pretends to not know her name, his idea of a tease, “Hilda, tells you the truth.” Luke turns, dragging Aemond along with him to his vanity. He sits holding out a palm in which Aemond pours each of his oils one by one. The man has his wife’s routine memorized, well trained this one. 

First the rosemary for his brown locks. Long and curled almost past his shoulders due to Luke neglecting to trim it in months. 

“They are already chatting away,” he shares, “The maesters believe they will be fully recovered by morning.”

“Good,” Aemond says, reaching for Luke’s sleeping robes that have been laid out for him on their bed. Luke stands turning away from the vanity and allowing Aemond can help him into them. 

When he turns so Aemond can tie the knot at the front Aemond slips calloused palms around the omega, drawing him into a kiss more prolonged than the chaste kiss on the cheek Luke gifted him earlier. 

Luke moans as he is lifted off his feet and brought slowly to their bed. Almost like he weighs nothing at all. His legs wrap around Aemond’s waist in a vice grip and as he pulls his mouth away Aemond lets out a long breath. 

“I can’t tonight,” Luke whispers, drawing a palm through the long white blonde hair now spilling from his husband's loose braids, “I’m tired.” he says.

“I know,” Aemond says, pushing his face into the gland at Luke's neck. The omega’s rosemary oils have mixed with his natural lemon notes to create the most calming scent, “I have missed you valzȳrys.”

“It has only been a few hours since we were last together,” Luke laughs, “and I was only a few doors away.”

Aemond hums lifting Luke and switching their positions so Luke is instead straddling him. From here he can look up at his wife, at the soft smile in his face that spreads up to his tired eyes. He wraps his arms around the omega’s waist pulling him tighter. His robe which Aemond realizes he never finished tying has begun to slip off his shoulders. All the better Aemond thinks and goes to lay soft kisses on freckled skin. 

Luke almost purrs his lemony scent envelopes them drowning out the rosemary oils spreading around their chambers. Aemond can almost taste the boy on his tongue. 

Luke begins to sleepily grind on his lap, little pants of pleasure, hot breath at Aemond’s ear. His delicate hands reach for the alpha’s braid pulling whatever hair still in it loose and gripping a handful, the movement of his hips begin to pick up. 

“Gods Aemond,” Luke breathes, he’s reached into the man’s breeches, any notion of exhaustion gone. The alpha’s cock hard and pulsing softly as he pulls him free, dripping like it does hours into a bad rut. 

Luke lets out a whine as Aemond begins to bite at his neck right below the mating mark years healed. “You’re always so insatiable after a long council,” Luke taunts.

Aemond goes tense with guilt, stiff as a board below Luke. He tries to correct, to relax back into it but Luke is already pulling away. 

Struggling to catch his own breath he looks at Aemond with slightly alarmed brown eyes, what he sees must only alarm him further because he pushes off his lap to stand before him righting his robe and tying the knot taut. 

“What has happened?” he asks, holding Aemond’s eye. The tone of his voice reminds Aemond of the voice he has heard the man employ to scold their alpha children for teasing their omega brother. No nonsense, laced with annoyance and disappointment. 

Disappointment because Aemond has kept something from him, annoyance because Aemond’s secrets have interrupted their fun.

“I was planning to tell you when the girls were better,” Aemond mumbles, breaking eye contact. He was, truly he was. This news would’ve been bad enough on its own without the added sleep deprived and distraught Lucerys. 

“Well they are better now,” Luke says, voice slightly raised sounding impatient.  

“The envoy from the Westerlands,” Aemond starts. Luke, who has walked to the other side of their bedroom to pour himself a drink (more sugar than wine) cuts him off, growing impatient. 

“What about him?” he asks, fixing Aemond with a glare.   

“He has proposed a marriage,” Aemond begins choosing his words most carefully, when Luke does not interrupt he continues, “Between Aerys and the future Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Luke laughs though he sounds anything but amused. To think that not only would they arrange a marriage for their only omega child who is just a meager seven summers, but to send him so far away. From his brother and sisters, from the only home he has ever known is preposterous. He is shocked Aemond does not laugh at this too. He is shocked Aemond has not even cracked a smile at the implication. 

Then Luke is shocked, because Aemond will not look at him. He feels as if all the life in him has been dragged through his chest. This cannot be real, Aemond cannot be considering this. He says as much. 

“I have not only considered it,” Aemond says, voice tense. He finally meets Luke’s eyes as he delivers the blow, “I have agreed, they will wed when Aerys comes of age.” 

The cup slips from Luke’s hands, or better yet he flings it just missing the man who sits unmoved on their bed. As if he has not just thrown their entire world off axis. Luke marches to him seeing red.  

“Is this some jest?” He screams, “I am not amused.”

Aemond does not answer but he hold Luke’s gaze, the fucking traitor. 

“If you have any good feelings towards me you will tell me you jest Qybor,” Luke sounds like a man on the chopping block begging his executioner for mercy. Having his children taken from him in such a way feels like death to him. 

Aemond stands, reaching for him, “You know I do, but this is no joke” he says, upset. 

Upset at what? Luke thinks. Aemond is the one that has sold their son for whatever price the Lannisters offered. No price is enough. When Aemond tries to rub at his scent gland Luke slaps the offending hand away from his neck.

“He has to marry someday Lucerys and this match is a fine one! ” Aemond yells. Both their scents have turned the room sour. 

Luke scoffs, fixing him with a glare. 

Aemond takes a deep breath. Trying to calm him he tries, “Everything I do for our family, I do out of love.” The worst thing to say in the moment. 

“Love?” Luke shouts in disbelief, “This is your love?”

Aemond tries but cannot get a word in as Lucerys continues on, eyes wide and brimming with unshed angry tears. 

“Love is plotting against my wishes while I sit at our daughters’ bedside, trying to nurse them back to health? Love is waiting until the one day in moons that I am away from the royal council to sell my son to the highest bidder? Love is using my care for our children against me?” 

Tears have begun to shed from his brown eyes as he asks, “Love is going back on your promises to me?” 

“When it is for the good of you, yes it is.” Aemond shouts.

For a moment Lucerys looks taken aback by this statement, just for a moment but then they continue. Their arguing must go on for hours because by the time they are delivering their final blows Luke sounds hoarse from his screaming and Aemond’s legs are tired from his pacing around the solar.

“It is done, I have made promises to the Lannisters.”

“Go back on your promises to them, if you can do that to me, your husband, the mother of your children, you can do that to some lesser Lord.”

“You know I cannot.”

That sets them off again and they go on for a few minutes before the conversation is brought around to the topic of stolen eyes and bastards. The conversation is always brought back to the topic of stolen eyes and bastards. 

“Is this because I took your eye? Is this some long seeded plan for revenge you are trying to enact upon me? Taking one of the only things in the world I love? Is this your final retribution?” 

“You know it has nothing to do with that. Do not be dense!”

“Then is it because I am a bastard? Selling my bastard spawn away, has my blood tainted them too, can you not bear to look at them.” 

“I will not have that talk in my keep, Lucerys.” Aemond says, voice calm but almost deadly. 

Luke laughs, “Why not? I am a bastard. Am I not?” he laughs again adding with a whisper, “Does that not make my children the spawn of a bastard?”

“You are the son of a princess, grandson to a King, husband to another King.”

Luke is distraught; he takes his turn at pacing around their room. “I am a bastard. I am not my fathers son and all my life I have known this. All my life everyone has known this and they have loved me in spite of it so I have been glad, I have learned to live with it.” He begins.

“My father loved me in spite of the fact that I was not his blood. My grandfather loved me in spite of the fact that I was not his blood. My cousins, my brothers, my sisters, my aunts, my uncles, my friends, the men who have courted me have all done so despite their knowledge of this truth.” 

He stops and turns to Aemond chest heaving, hair sticking to his neck from sweat.

“But you? The man I have loved entirely completely, with no limit still loves me in spite of my tainted blood. You think your love for a bastard makes you noble and kind and good but I see you now as you are.” He whispers, his skin is flushed and his eyes are glistening from shed and unshed tears. If Aemond had a death wish he would call him beautiful in the moment.

“Only a man who does not see me as his equal in moral weight or maybe at all, could make an oath to me and go back on it like it was nothing.”

Aemond remembers this oath, “We were children, we were naive to think this could be avoided.” 

“You promised me.”

“The circumstances were differ–” 

“You promised me!” Lucerys screams. 

And he had when Luke sat there before him with the imprints of another’s hands bruising his arms and neck. With tears streaking his face, Aemond had made an oath to him. He had murdered the man responsible in cold blood minutes earlier and came before Luke in his chambers with the blood still fresh on his shirt, dripping from his blade. Had said he would mate Luke and protect him, force their family’s hand, and Luke had agreed.

And asked for very few concessions, but one stands out now, If we have children we must allow them to marry of their own volition, he had begged, and Aemond had promised that to him. 

“This makes no sense, Aemond.” Luke says drawing the man back from their shared past. 

“If you care for me, why would you do this?”

“You are right,” Aemond concedes, “You are a bastard, you are not your father’s son and that is why I, no we must do this.” 

Luke scoffs gearing to go but it is Aemond’s turn to speak and he will get this out once and for all.

“If one was to make that barely kept secret law. You would hang and our children would follow! This marriage assures alliances with powerful people. People who can protect them.”

“You are king, only you can make that law. Do you plan to do that?”

Aemond growls, disgusted by the thought of it. “Of course I won’t ! Do not insinuate such monstrosity.” 

“Then why?” Luke shouts. 

“Because there have been threats Lucerys!” Aemond screams, “Men vying to put Daeron or his kin on the throne when I pass.” 

“But Daeron would not do that, he wouldn’t betray us!” 

“He would not need to if they kill us first.” Aemond walks to the omega whose tan skin has gone white. He resembles the twins when they are sickly.  

“These threats are not empty, they will do it, to stop your blood from ascending, if you do not die first, they will hang you when I die and our children will follow.” 

“Are you not the King? Do you not hold all the power in the world to stop this?” 

“By doing what? Murdering my brother? Or shall I just murder his children in their cradle? Alyric is a bit too old for that now. And I think Rhaenor would quite miss him, those two are attached at the hip.” Aemond has the nerve to crack a joke.

“Hang the plotters for treason!”

“There will always be treason and plots and traitors. There is not enough rope in Westeros to prevent its spread.”

“You sound like my mother. She thought it best to arrange a marriage for me. She thought a powerful man could protect me too but we both know how that turned out.” 

And Aemond does know. 

After all, it was the very Lord that Luke had been arranged to marry. That very Lord who had tried to force himself between the then young boy's legs. Claiming what lay between was already his. No need to wait, it's already mine. I'll take it when I please, he had said. 

Aemond had come across this exchange in a dark corridor just steps away from Luke’s then rooms. He had heard the words as the man reached to free his member from his breeches forcing his way into his screaming nephews' breeches. Something had come over him, a power he has yet to feel again, and before he knew it he had shoved the man away from the crying boy and taken his valyrian steel dagger to his jugular. That very same dagger he once taunted Luke with. He slit the idiot's throat, left him right there in that unlit corridor, and carried Luke the entire way to his rooms. 

Looking upon Luke now it is hard to imagine this man ever begged Aemond for anything.

Aemond has little else to say the past and present have both exhausted him. Luke, it seems, feels the same as he turns away and without even a glance back he heads into the nursery, the slam of the door echoing the scent of anger he leaves in his wake. 

Luke is not stupid. 

Sometimes he can see the shift in Aemond’s demeanor whenever anybody innocently or snidely makes comments about his hair or general appearance. 

One memory that haunts him is of a maid, kind and gentle, but not the smartest. He was pregnant with Rhaenor back then just beginning to show, but feeling it everywhere. Every joint in his body was sore and he was so tired all the time. 

His hair was longer then, almost touching his waist. Combing through his curls was always such a hassle and even more was it now that there was a small babe within him draining the little energy he had from his lithe body. Such a hassle and so he delegated the task to whoever he could find. 

The gentle maid, innocently but stupidly, had asked a question as he stood above him tying back a braid. The King was sitting feet away from him at the very desk Luke sits at to read his letters now. Back then Aemond loathed leaving a pregnant Luke alone for a second probably fearing he would fall down some step or disappear into thin air. He had heard the maid ask Lucerys with a smile on his face, “Do you think the baby shall have your coloring too or do you hope they may look like a Targaryen?” 

Aemond had been livid, had reprimanded the man reminding him that Luke was in fact a Targaryen, and dismissed him from their presence at once. When Luke tried to placate him, Aemond had not wanted to hear it. And so Luke, already annoyed by the impending argument, had scoffed and let it go, finishing his braids on his own. 

The next morning when the Queen had sent for the boy, another maid came in his place. Aemond had not let go of it at all and Lucerys would soon come to learn this. 

Within a week he had gotten Hilda, the new maid, to cut his hair short. Short enough that he could manage it on his own. He’s never worn it long since. 

The first of the letters are from Jacaerys, complaints about some business at Driftmark that Luke is too distracted to laugh about. Another from Rhaena, news of her daughters in the Vale, that fail to lift his spirits. The last one is from his mother, an inquiry. It seems the news has reached her that her grandson is to be wed to a Lannister. One of Daemon’s many spies must have let the news slip, and from the tone of her letter it seems the way Luke feels about this turn of events have also reached her. 

If you would like for me to come to you, you need only send word…. I have written to my brother and implored him to see reason... My sweet boy, you are welcome here, always, and so are your children… Avy jorrāelan. 

Luke could claim that he is a man grown. That he could not even imagine himself running to his mother like a babe for shelter. But that would be a lie. He hides now, sitting in his solar pretending to be engrossed in words on parchment. 

Hides so he is as far away from the courtyard in which his husband is probably mounting his horse. The horse that will take him to Vhagar, wherever the she-dragon rests these days, and from there he will set off on his journey to the Riverlands. Aemond had told him of this journey long ago when it was just an idea and it had slipped from Luke’s mind in the wake of his girls falling ill and then with him and Aemond avoiding each other and Luke in turn needing to then avoid the royal council he had not been reminded of it. 

That is until two days ago when servants came to his rooms to gather whatever stuff Aemond left behind there and had not retrieved since their row. He had not asked, only stood watching them carry stuff away, but Hilda had told him the reason regardless. She had delivered the news gently, as if afraid it would send him back into the very state she had just started to calm him from. 

Lucky for Hilda, Luke has lost all the fight he would need to be mad at King for leaving without trying to mend things between them. Now he is just sad at the idea that Aemond would leave for almost a fortnight without even telling him so himself. The idea of running away with his children to Pentos is most appealing right now. To be with his mother again, safe and cared for, like he was before he flowered and his life changed forever. 

His love for Aemond, though it feels a bit like a numbness over his body these days, is the only reason he stays. His love for Aemond has always been his only freedom but yet his strongest chain. 

He does not realize that he is crying until Hilda is before him handing him a silk handkerchief to wipe his eyes. 

Aemond does not like leaving after a quarrel but it seems that today he has no choice.

Luke has not come down to bid him goodbye. From his perch on his mare he can see little candlelight through the window of the Queen’s solar so the omega has undoubtedly risen this morning at the crack of dawn before the sun has even broken through the clouds, but still he will not come down to the courtyard to bid his husband goodbye. 

His children all obediently stood before him, track their father’s gaze to their muna’s balcony, before sharing telling looks amongst themselves. Though still young, they are not as young as the twins, who still clumsily run around the keep and through the godswood chasing bugs and mumbling words barely distinguishable from babble. They are old enough to have noticed the change in the air between their parents. It is not unusual for them to fight Rhaenor the eldest of them has been witness to more quarrels than he can count but this one is unlike the rest. Especially because the reason behind this fight remains unknown to them still, after almost two moons.

It is not for a lack of trying between them they have asked when brave enough and been met with vagueness or placation or worse claims that all is well. All is not well. Rhaenor winces at the scowl that spreads across his King’s face. Even Viserra, who usually finds their parents' antics amusing, is pouting now.  

They school their expressions when the King turns his horse to face his progeny. 

“I will be back in time for your nameday feast Aerys,” he says to his omega son and to all three of his children he delivers "There shall be no incidents while I am gone." 

A chorus of 'Yes your Grace’ and ‘Yes Kepa’ rings out. Aemond hums, appraising them but knowing like their mother, they will probably find some way to disobey him anyways. 

"Watch over your muna." Aemond directs this request to his eldest son. 

Rhaenor nods, but before he can swear it, the King has trotted off to meet Daeron and the rest of the kingsguard at the Red Keep’s gates. 

“No Luke?” Daeron asks in lieu of a proper greeting. 

“The Queen,” Aemond corrects him, “Is still abed.” 

Daeron hums, sounding so much like his older brother at that moment. He takes a deep breath before saying, asking, no saying. “I’ve heard rumors you two aren’t speaking.” 

“You know better than to listen to rumors brother.”

“Aemond.”

Aemond sighs, running the free hand not gripping the stallion's reins through his hair. He turns to Daeron and his face holds no anger, only a kind of weariness. 

“We have not spoken since I broke the news to him.” He whispers. Hard to know why, the only men that surround them are the kingsguard and they probably heard that fight through the door those many nights ago.  

"He is not a fan of the match, I suppose?”

“To put it lightly.” 

“I have met the boy and he is most agreeable. I would not push for my favorite nephew to marry a beast,” Daeron pauses, “Perhaps Luke will be more open to it, if I vouch for him.” 

Aemond chuckles lightly, steering the horse towards Vhagar’s favorite cave side, he can see the dragon stirring from her slumber in the distance. “It is not as simple as that, I fear.” 

“I have never seen you two this way,” No, he has. “Well not since we were children I suppose.” 

They come to a stop and Aemond descends from his horse and hands the reins to Daeron. “First time for everything.” 

“I will talk with him when we return.” Daeron announces more definitively this time. 

“I wish you luck with that.” Aemond says, beginning to walk in Vhagar’s direction. She is fully awake now and looks to him with eyes that see into his soul. He wonders if she too knows that he is at odds with his other half. Greedy as she can be, she might be glad at the news. To finally having Aemond all to herself again.

Over his shoulder to Daeron he yells, “I shall see you at our first camp, brother.” 

And with that and his husband's face on his mind Aemond departs. 

Rhaenor wishes father, the King, were here to see this. Only he can scold Viserra to some degree. 

“Father, will not like this.” He says to her.

But she is not listening to him still riffling through his clothes for something she can disguise herself in. She will have barely any luck with that seeing as though only a princess can behave as spoiled, stubborn, pompous, and arrogant, as she does.

"Is whoring a privilege only granted to first borns?" She asks snidely, walking to the mirror to try on one of his cloaks. 

“Will you keep your voice down?” Alyric whisper yells from his position pacing in front of them. 

Viserra rolls her eyes, turning to them to show off how she has fashioned herself into a common boy. The curly white-blonde hair spilling from her hood sadly gives her away. 

“The entire keep is basically asleep, no one can hear us.” She says. Then turns to her brother buzzing with excitement. “C’mon Rhaenor take me with you two, just this once I wont tell I promise.” 

Alyric groans, pulling on his red hair and shaking his head. Rhaenor sighs, she has already won. Ever since she was little following behind him like his shadow he has given her whatever she has asked. When he said she was a spoiled princess he never claimed to not hold some blame for it. 

“Fine,” He sighs, “But muna must never find out, ever.”

His little alpha sister beams, probably believing she’ll be made a woman tonight. 

Muna finds out. He meets them as they fail to sneak back into the keep. Hilda at his side looks at them with obvious disappointment, the nosey witch is probably behind this. This being Muna finding out. 

The Queen, unlike father, has always openly expressed his emotions with his children and he is absolutely fuming. 

“Taking your sister to brothels?” He asks Rhaenor. “Stealing out of bed and skirting your guards to go whoring?” He asks Viserra. 

To Alyric he says, “When the hand hears of this!” 

To Rhaenor he scolds, “Do you think there is a thing that happens in these walls that the King does not hear of, that I do not hear of?” 

Rhaenor fidgets with his hands, there is nothing more embarrassing than this very moment. Also he is a bit tipsy so he is struggling to stay still. 

“We have allowed you and Alyric to carry on with your galavanting, but this.” Luke says holding his son’s face in his palms, this close to him he can see every freckle that marks his skin and his son’s purple eyes, twin to Aemond’s, are red from ale. Or maybe tiredness seeing as it is after all well past the hour of the wolf. 

“Aemond will not be pleased.” Lucerys says, voice dripping with disappointment. He has such a talent for making Rhaenor feel deeply remorseful.

Alyric breaks first, “I’m sorry Queen Lucerys, I will confess to my father and accept his punishment.” 

“The hand is the least of your worries, cousin.” Luke sighs, “Aemond will not be pleased.” He says again. 

“Ughh!” Luke groans walking in the direction of his rooms, back to his empty bed. “You are all dismissed, please try to wash that stench off yourselves.”

“Sorry Muna.” Viserra yells at his retreating back. Rhaenor can hear the amusement in her voice. Spoilt, stubborn, and arrogant, his sister.

The next day Muna is in better spirits and there is no talk of their nighttime escapades at the breakfast table. Probably because they all know better than to discuss such things before innocent ears. 

Aerys is none the wiser chatting away about some new pattern he is learning to sew with his septa. Muna asks him questions about his lessons and laughs at his tales, reaching over to brush jam from the young boy's cheeks. 

“Maester Geradys says I am getting better at my numbers, Muna, better than Viserra was at my age.” 

Viserra groans, squinting her eyes. So obviously hungover from barely a night of fun. “That’s hardly true, I was great at my numbers,” she mumbles.

Aerys continues, ignoring her, “Oh and Septa Moren said I can wear my hair in braids to my nameday feast. She said that once they aren’t pinned up it will still be proper.” 

The Queen smiles at his son, “I’m sure you’ll look most beautiful, my sweet boy.” 

Rhaenor calls the servant over to refill his cup as Aerys continues on and on. He is so lucky they all find him so cute. 

“Ser Arryk said that I can start practicing with either a bow or a real sword soon.” He shares, mouth full of some pastry. Hopefully a tart one because Rhaenor called dibs on the sweet buns and he is not in the mood for another fight with his little brother at the breakfast table. The last one they had did not paint him in the best of lights.  

“But he said that his brother would have to teach me the bow when he gets back from the Riverlands with Kepa.” Aerys adds.

At the mention of their father, his husband, Luke slightly frowns; it would be easily missed by those who do not know him. But his children know him.

Aerys pouts and whispers in his little voice, “Will you two still be upset with each other at my feast?” Priorities priorities. “I don’t want you to fight in front of everybody, it will be embarrassing, Muna!” 

Luke laughs, a genuine one, “Do not worry my love. The King and I will be on our very best behavior I promise.” 

Aerys nods, turning his attention back to his breakfast as undisturbed as ever. And wait, that is in fact a sweet bun on his plate. Rhaenor will have words with him.

The night Aemond returns from the Riverlands, it is no one but Lucerys that welcomes him in the courtyard. He looks well standing there with his face pinched and his hands clenched tight before him.

“My King,” he greets with a small, barely there curtesy, “How were your travels?”

Aemond is so shocked to see him that he almost forgets to speak, disembarking from his mare to stand before the omega. “They were swift,” he says, offering Luke his elbow hoping the omega places his palm within the crook.

When the omega does Aemond’s body releases a weight he had no clue he was carrying, he has not touched his omega in moons. To take in his scent from so close is invigorating. 

“How were things here?” he tries. 

Luke answers most proper and so unlike himself, “There was a small mishap, but that can wait until morning.” 

Aemond hums, guiding Luke up the steps and towards their wing of the keep. 

“I have asked the maids to draw you a bath. I hope it is to your liking.” Unlacing his hands from the Aemond’s elbow Luke curtly says, “I will see you in the morn.” With that he turns and walks away.

Aemond should’ve known it was too good to be true. Luke is not one to forgive nor forget, he would not allow Aemond back into his bed after that betrayal. That farce in the courtyard was probably just for show. To quiet the rumors that are no doubt swirling especially after their last goodbye, or the lack of one.

Aemond retreats to his bath to wallow, but first he stops by the nursery to look in on the twins then by the elder children’s rooms to look in on them too, though they have grown he cannot seem to shake the habit. 

He finds himself looking forward to the morning because hadn’t Luke just said he would see him then, he hopes that at least is true. 

Breakfast for the most part is normal; the twins throw fruit at each other and Aerys bickers back and forth with Rhaenor about whatever they have found to argue about, while Viserra eggs them on. A proper instigator. 

He does not know how but the girls look so much older since last he laid eyes on them, he swears they have at least grown an inch. Conversely Aerys looks younger than ever before, but that may be his guilt talking. 

He cannot stop looking at his omega son. Luke claims to not see it but he swears their children despite their typical valyrian colourings all resemble Lucerys entirely. His curls obviously, but also his nose and the shape of their little pouts. Aerys most of all, maybe because he is also their only omega child, but he could be his muna’s twin. Looking upon him Aemond can’t help feeling anything other than guilt. 

His betrothed is a fine lad, or so Aemond has heard many say, many he trusts deeply. So there is nothing to fear and besides they will meet at the upcoming feast and if Aerys is totally put off by him Aemond will not hesitate to end it all. The whole thing has been worth more trouble than it’s worth. 

Right now a letter from his sister burns a hole in his pocket. It was waiting for him when he arrived in the Riverlands. A plea, no a demand, his elder sister would never stoop so low as to ask him for anything. The demand was for him to see reason to not repeat past mistakes accompanied by a thinly veiled threat of treason. As if Aemond would allow Lucerys to travel so far out of his grasp, absurd. 

He clears his throat, drawing all eyes to him but Luke, and the twins who are stuck in their own world. 

“At Aerys’ feast, I shall make an announcement.” 

Luke’s eyes snap up to look at him. Their eyes meet and Aemond does not look away when he says, “Aerys has been betrothed to the heir to Casterly Rock.”

Lucerys stands, dropping his fork with no care and exiting the room, leaving his guards to chase after him. Aemond sighs, stroking his brow with a closed fist and goes on, “They will not be wed until Aerys is in his majority.” He finishes. 

He looks at them. Rhaenor and Viserra have the most perplexed looks stamped upon their faces, but it is Aerys who speaks first, “Is this why Muna is upset? Does he not want me to be a Lannister?” he questions innocently. 

Aemond hums, “Something of the sort.” His gaze travels to Rhaenor who has begun to glare at his plate one fist clenching his fork the other out of sight probably equally white gripping some dagger or sword. 

“If you have something to say, be out with it boy.” 

Rhaenor raises his head to fix his father with the glare instead, “I have nothing to say your Grace,” he mutters standing, “May I be excused?”

Aemond scoffs at his heir, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. When he has gone Aemond makes to leave too when Viserra stops him with a question of her own, “You’ll do this even after what happened to Muna?” She asks. Her voice is so soft and calm, she sounds as if she is merely discussing the weather. 

Aemond on the other hand goes stock still, and turns back to the room, “Everybody out, leave us at once.” 

Aerys groans and makes to leave behind the nursemaids carrying the twins, but not before grabbing his plate. When the door closes and they are truly alone Aemond turns to the girl, her face is entirely unchanged. 

“What do you think you know?” He asks in a steady voice. 

Viserra scoffs, seeing through whatever mask he has tried and failed to put on. She is too much like him, he has always found this quality about her unnerving. 

“I do not think to know,” she says, “ I know the truth Kepa.” But how? The only people who do know would never share it. Well all but one person that is. 

Oh. So that's how. Aegon, of course. 

Viserra confirms this, “Uncle told me about you killing Luke’s betrothed randomly, when I asked why, he started to tell me his theory, then he remembered he shouldn't have been telling me about it at all, and then he made me swear never to speak of it.” 

Aemond groans how he wishes he had the stomach for kinslaying too. 

“I didn’t believe it at first but it fits. Especially because Muna has always promised us that we could pick who we marry when the time comes.” Viserra says moving to stand beside her father. Aemond cannot meet the young girl’s eyes. 

“Marry me to the Lannister, I don’t mind it.” She says, truly believing every word, “I can take care of myself. Aerys is too naive, he’ll get eaten alive. Marry me to the lion instead. I won’t fight it, I swear.” She sounds so earnest in her every word. Where Rhaenor would draw blood to protect his younger siblings, Viserra plots and schemes.

Aemond sighs, he had already thought of this but Aerys is the better match. He and the boy are basically the same age. Viserra on the other hand is older than them both and besides she would hate it. And in time her husband would grow to resent her for hating it. That would just leave the twins who are too young. It has to be Aerys.  

“Do not speak of what Aegon told you again, especially not in front of your Muna.” Aemond demands, leaving his daughter alone in their dining room. 

His guilt is growing legs and he cannot contain it. It may eat him whole.

Two nights later when they all meet for dinner the air in the room is so sour Aemond could die. 

He’s decided to concede. This battle is unwinnable. 

His council was furious but he is King so they will have to accept it. He can handle being at odds with the men who advise him on taxes and the price of lumber, but without Luke he may truly die. 

Aemond said as much to Daeron after the rest of the council had been dismissed. His brother however, had only sighed and said, “I’ll do what I can to fix this.” 

So it is done and all this unpleasantness can finally come to an end.

“I have decided and the council has agreed,” he starts, drawing the attention of his family’s dour faces, Aerys and the girls excluded of course, “The betrothal agreement is to be withdrawn, instead when they are of age, the children may court and if they both wish to pursue it further then we shall address things then.”  

Lucerys is looking upon him with wide eyes, Aemond cannot read his face, no anger or happiness visible. He waits for Luke to say something, anything, and for a moment all is quiet before the Queen speaks sounding unsure, “So there shall be no announcement?”

“No,” Aemond says. When Luke still looks upon him brows furrowed and face still guarded he adds. “I have corrected my mistake.” 

It is his try at an apology. In his mind he has two choices either this or getting up and prostrating himself before his mate. But if this does not open Lucerys back up to him, he might have to do the latter and debase himself after all. 

Luke nods and his shoulders relax. Aemond watches as the man exhales slowly and raises a hand to the mating mark at his collar dragging light fingers against it, barely a touch before he is back to eating. Focus entirely fixed to the mutton on his plate. 

Aemond’s jaw clenches. If this isn’t enough then what is? He’s on the verge of snapping when Aerys interrupts his thoughts with a question. Just beginning to catch up to the conversation. 

“So, I am not getting married anymore?” He asks with a tilt of his head and an innocent look. 

Luke smiles at him, beams, when he answers, “No my sweet boy,” he says, "at least not until you’re ready.” 

Aerys hums and nods, “Can I still get your wedding cloak Muna?” Luke laughs softly and  nods before reaching over to brush imaginary crumbs from the boy’s cheeks. Holding nothing but love and adoration in his gaze.

On any other day Aemond would savor this. The look of his family, this domestic bliss. But today is not that day. He is impatient, he has given Luke what he asks and still not even a smile towards him, anything to show he has done well.    

“Shall I see you tonight, then?” he asks, sounding more demanding than he anticipated. 

Luke’s eyes snap to him, fixing him with a glare, “Must we speak of this now with our children eating across from us." 

Aemond scowls, this is infuriating, “When shall we speak of it then? I barely see you outside of meals, I cannot help that our children happen to haunt us here." Luke does not say a word. Viserra, as disrespectful as always, groans while mumbling something indecipherable under her breath. 

Aemond ignores her, charging on, “So tonight?” he presses.

Lucerys shifts uncomfortably and Aemond tracks it and so does Rhaenor, who then turns his eyes upon his father fixing him with a glare of his own. The boy is no doubt thinking the worst of the interaction. Once again imagining his father as some uncaring beast.

Aemond ignores this too. The anger ruminating from his son only ever seems to emerge in defense of his family, so he lets him have it. It is a noble trait. 

He switches his speech to High Valyrian, a habit he and Luke have always employed when arguing amongst unwanted company. If they speak fast enough even their children may struggle to keep up. 

“What is the matter? It has been almost three moons.”

“You know, your sins.”

“You won’t even sleep beside me? We need not do more than rest if you’re still upset about that business.”

“That business?” Luke yells in disbelief, “Selling my son to carry out your half-baked plans is not just some ‘business’, Qybor!”

“I have fixed it. I have apologized. Why won’t you let it rest!”

“I do not want to.” Luke says harshly and stands ready to leave. Aemond stands with him slamming his fist onto the table, “I have not dismissed you!"

Lucerys pauses, glares "I am sorry your Grace, I did not think that was something you needed to afford me." he switches back to the common tongue. Aemond is beginning to feel out of sorts, everything has somehow gotten worse and his brash choice of words will be no help. But before he can even attempt to amend them, Luke pokes at him, as is his nature.

“What next? Shall you command me to your chambers tonight Uncle?”

All movement of utensils in their children's hands have long since come to a halt, but now the silence is deadly.

Aemond's eldest son grips his mutton knife like he intends to commit both kinslaying and treason at dinner tonight. He thinks too highly of his own skills. 

“Do not speak of me like that around our children.” Aemond says voice steady, the way he sounds when he addresses the royal council, like a King.

Luke's face immediately softens, as if just remembering they have an audience, and his hand comes up to his neck clutching the mark now. Aemond cannot stay upset for he longs to go to him, to comfort him, to fix things.

Lucerys looks at his children, mainly the eldest of them and quickly revokes his words, “I am sorry. I was annoyed. I would never insinuate that. You would never and have never. I am sorry, my King." he sits again, gracefully with eyes downcast, but his hand still clutching his neck. Aemond feels a chill come over him. 

He is so fucking stupid. He never apologized. Well he did. He just never said the words ‘I am sorry.’ And he is, he is filled with more regret now than he has been in a long time.

“Leave us,” he says, “Your muna and I must speak.” 

Aerys obediently rises but with a pout mumbles, “I have not yet had dessert.” Oh the horror, the absolute horror.

Viserra laughs a soft sweet thing and follows behind him ruffling his hair, “No need to despair brother, I will have the kitchen send it to your rooms."

"Fine, but they always take forever and it's never warm by then." He replies only slightly less pouty, as they both exit through the doors held open by the kingsguard. 

Rhaenor is last to leave, mutton knife left behind at his seat, but hand in a death grip around the hilt of his broadsword. He sends his Muna a glance slowly relinquishing his grip when Lucerys smiles reassuringly.

Rhaenor is the only one of their children old enough to remember the true tension between his father and his father’s sister, Muna’s mother. She barely visits anymore but when she does he can still see remnants of that hate in her eyes. 

He has known no hate like it, and it has always made him struggle to reconcile with the version of his father he knows. The version that loves and cares for his Muna, and the version that he cannot fathom. The one that could make a mother look upon a man with such disdain. 

He trails behind his siblings who have decided to seek out the cake themselves walking in the direction of the kitchens. He understands his grandmother, somewhat, he thinks. He knows what she must see because though Rhaenor too, like Aemond, is loving and just, there is still that side of him. Just like there is a side of the King, where violence runs within them hot and deep.

The fight is gone from Aemond and it is evident. “He looks at me as if I am your tormentor and not your husband.” He says, glancing away from the doors as they close behind his heir. 

Lucerys has begun to cry, he looks little like a Queen of seven kingdoms at the moment. Small and fragile in his wooden dining chair.  “Sometimes it feels as if those are the same thing,” he offers softly.

Aemond sighs, moving to stand. He walks to where Lucerys sits and takes his face into his hands wiping tears from his soft flushed cheeks. 

“I have failed you,” Aemond whispers, “I am so sorry Luke.”

Those words open the flood gates and before he knows it Aemond has an arm full of a crying Luke. He welcomes him and breathes him, closest he’s been for the first time in weeks, he savours every moment. 

When they pull away it is Lucerys’ turn to hold Aemond’s face in his palms, looking up at him with deep brown eyes. “Never again,” he states with finality, “I will not be as forgiving.” 

“Never again,” Aemond answers. He would rather hang every man that stands against them, that would be easier and besides he’s done worse.

“The Consort looks to be in good spirits.” The Lord’s eyes track Lucerys as Aemond’s husband walks the room exchanging pleasantries with guests. His daughters follow closely behind him, one held by her eldest sister, their white locks blurring together where Aemma’s head rests on Viserra’s shoulder. The other dark haired and shy gripping her Muna’s hand. 

As the Lady before them bends to speak to Alyssa, the little princess buries her face further into her mother’s gowns. Aemond has not witnessed a child of his display this degree of shyness since Rhaenor was a babe, all his other children seeming to bask in the attention of others. 

Similarly Aemond has also not seen his husband in a gown of this style since his eldest son was born. It suits him as all things suit Lucerys, but this is of an entirely different caliber. 

The other men and women of the court seem to notice the way the Consort glows in his silks and ribbons as their eyes hungrily watch him tread lightly across the hall. It agitates Aemond, his knuckles white and his grip firm on the arms of his chair. He tells himself that these Lords only look, and that looking is not treason.

However the nasty side of him knows that their minds do not draw the boundary at looking. He knows what they imagine in their heads. Their fantasies and his similar in kind. Luke in more silks. Luke in less. Luke in nothing at all. On his knees. On his back. Plump lips and round eyes gazing up. 

He feels himself grow thick between his thighs, and that makes his anger grow worse. He must be about to enter a rut and if he is, then Luke’s heat is probably coming too. Their mating cycles are synched, have been since he put that mark on Luke’s neck. So if Aemond is sat here on his dais aching in his breeches at just the thought of Luke below him, Lucerys must smell ripe for the taking.  Across the room his mate catches his gaze and gives him an innocent smile, unaware of the thoughts plaguing his husband's mind. 

Aemond looks away from those soft brown eyes and reminds himself that if he was to deliver every man that looked at Luke to Vhagar, he would have no kingdom left to rule. 

“Why would he not look so?” Aemond turns to the man, some man of House Celtigar if the garish red crab brooch is anything to go by. The man sucks in a deep breath casting his eyes upon his King and away from the Queen. 

“Only because he seemed rather distraught in the past weeks,” Celtigar rushes out, “I do not mean to presume anything your Grace.” 

Aemond hums, brushing the man off with a flick of his wrist and turning back to the people before him. His daughters have finally left Luke’s side joining their boy siblings and cousin at a table below his. The eldest prince in high spirits and nursing a chalice of what Aemond can tell is untouched wine. Rhaenor at times is too disciplined for his own good.

He would never say this to Luke but he had known of the boys nightly escapades for a while now. He had allowed it because it seemed to be more so Alyric trying to get them both into trouble and Rhaenor steering them to the mildest of endeavors instead. The spies that followed him the night the boys snuck Viserra out of the castle, reported that the girl was so tipsy by her second cup that she hardly noticed the whores that surrounded her were up to no whoring at all. More like they were being paid a week's rent to keep the princess from wandering into a ditch.   

Looking upon Rhaenor now it seems he is once again being entertained by the antics of his cousin and younger sister who tease and torment each other and Aerys in turns.

Sparing the young omega from any bullying, Aemond signals for an attendant to deliver Aerys to him. It would be a shame to have him pouting for the entirety of his own nameday feast. When Aerys arrives before him Aemond gestures for him to take his Muna’s seat. 

“Your siblings are a terror at times,” Aemond whispers to him. 

Aerys giggles then faces his father with a beaming smile finding humor in this, him and Aemond’s secret conversation. Aemond raises a brow smiling back at the boy, as he grows he seems to shape shift into the image of his mother at this age, it makes Aemond’s chest tighten. Lucerys was this very age when his betrothal was announced, Aerys still looks so young. He wonders how Rhaenyra had found it in her heart to send her child away from her, with his innocent eyes and the same sweet trusting smile. He wonders how he will find it in himself to send his omega son to a similar faith some day, fortunately not any time soon. 

“Why do you laugh my love?” 

“Muna said the same of them,” Aerys pauses looking from his father to his sister and brother who are now ganging up on a red faced Alyric, “He said you were almost the same at his age.”

Aemond sputters, “Your muna lies then.”

“I lie? What do I lie about husband?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. And he will look even better up close, he will look so much better that you may forget to answer or not even hear the conversation being spoken before you.

“Ah, I see!” Luke laughs, “Well your father may have been more private when he sought to torment me but he was a terror just the same.”

Luke looks to Aemond eyes swimming in delight and drawing Aemond out of his head, “Do you not agree valzȳrys?”

Aemond hums, turning away from the omegas who seem to delight in ganging up on him. At least he knows how young Alyric feels. Aemond stands raising a glass. Now that Luke and Aerys are both beside him he can finally address the people before him.

“A toast to my son, a treasure most precious to his family.” He says with his eyes on the boy, now a year older but just the same. His cheeks are red from embarrassment, but that is soon replaced with a beaming smile when their audience begins to cheer for him.

“Let us drink and be merry in his name.” And with that signal, the music begins anew and the floor floods with couples who take their turns at dancing.   

Before he retakes his seat Aerys runs to him, almost toppling them both with the force of his hug. Aemond smiles, running a hand through his hair and leaning slightly down to place a kiss to his forehead. 

“Go dance,” he says to him, “don’t let your siblings have all the fun.” 

And with that the little omega boy is off, and Aemond finally takes his place at Lucerys’ side.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Aemond says, eyes drawn to Luke's pearl adorned neck. Lucerys leans into him placing a delicate hand on the pendant. It is a ring of silver with tiny white and light blue stones embedded. He pulls on it with an exhale. 

“Mhmm,” he smirks, “This gown is old, Hilda found it when the servants were clearing out some of my old things.” He begins to twist his jewellery, playing with the ring between his delicate fingers. Gods. Even the tiniest of Lucerys’ habits seem to make Aemond mad with lust.

“I was trying to find an heirloom for Aerys,” he pouts cutely, “My grandsire gave it to me years ago, a tiara of sorts with seahorses.” 

Aemond was right Lucerys does smell ripe for the taking. “Did you find it?” he asks moving closer. Luke’s brown brows furrow above his shiny eyes, he has no clue what he does to Aemond.

“I did,” he answers with a sad smile, “But it was broken.” Aemond hears this and his mouth moves before he can think of what he’s saying, “I’ll have it fixed!” he rushes out, he sounds so earnest that if he was any other man he might even be embarrassed. 

“Someone’s eager to please.” Luke laughs, pulling slightly away from where he was leaned into Aemond to look out at their subjects dancing below them. “Do you want to dance?” He asks sweetly.

“Can we leave?” Aemond is eager. To please yes, but for something else, absolutely. He’s boring a hole in his breeches at just the smell of the omega beside. He was wrong before he’s not approaching a rut, he’s basically knocking at its door. Lucerys scent is wholly intoxicating and he’s feeling it all over now. If he does not have him by midnight, he’ll be insatiable. 

“What, is something wrong?” Luke asks genuinely puzzled.

In lieu of answering Aemond instead raises a hand to the omega’s scent gland, a single touch will be all he needs to answer and in turn be understood. 

And he does. Aemond watches as the omega’s pupils blow wide, catches the hitch of breath before he is pulling a plump lip between his teeth and moaning softly. Too soft to be heard over the sound of live music. Lucerys stands abruptly grabbing Aemonds wrist to pull him along behind him, through the doors and out into the halls. If they hurry they’ll make it to their rooms before he starts to slick.

Lucerys back arches when Aemond pushes him against the wall, his mouth beginning to bite a chain of marks at his neck. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going into rut?” Luke moans. He feels hot all over and there is a slowly growing wetness between his legs. 

Aemond does not answer, instead letting out a frustrated groan he starts to pull at the pearls adorning his omega’s neck, searching for better access to the mating glands the jewelry obscures. After one particularly clumsy pull Luke pushes his hands away and reaches for the clasp releasing it and allowing the delicate chain to fall to the floor. 

“Stop trying to break all my jewellery you beast.” 

Aemond chuckles pushing a well muscled thigh between Lucerys’ legs. “I’ll buy you more jewellery, nephew.” He whispers, leaving more bites this time at the younger man’s ear.

Luke whimpers, grinding down. Aemond has always had such control over his scent never giving anything about himself away, but right now when they're touching and feeling, he smells so exquisite. Luke tells the man as much. 

“Gods, you smell so good, Qybor.” 

“Mhmm,” Aemond hums, “Imagine how I felt, watching you traipse across my halls, smiling at all those alphas, those men, letting them smell you like this.” 

Luke's small clothes are sticking to his cunt. When he attempts to reach a hand under his gown to push them to the side, Aemond stops him. “No,” he growls, “Don’t touch.” 

Luke moans, trying to somehow grind down even harder begging for more friction. 

“They couldn’t keep their eyes off you,” Aemond whispers slowly, trailing kisses down the omega’s chest. When he gets to his belly button he is on his knees looking up at Luke. “All hoping, begging for a taste,” he says, pushing the ends of Lucerys’ gown up and up, “But all they can do is hope.” 

For a moment there is cool air on his cunt as Aemond drops his small clothes to the ground, but then he is forcing his head between Lucerys’ thighs. And Gods, Luke can barely breathe. 

His head slams back into the wall and his hands fist into the King’s hair. 

There is nothing Kingly about the way Aemond’s tongue feels, strong but without any kind of restraint. He’s being eaten alive but by the moans he lets out there is no denying Luke is mad with it. 

“Please Uncle,” Everything is so wet and the sounds, the sounds, “I can’t please!”

Aemond pulls away for a second, “Give it to me, it’s mine” he growls with a small bite to Luke’s right thigh and then he’s diving back in, pulling a moan from Lucerys that may well be heard from the feast three halls down. 

When Luke comes, it's like Aemond has been possessed, refusing to let go. Drinking him in every drop of slick on his tongue, until Luke is squirming above him. When they meet eyes they are both panting. Luke grabs Aemond by the collar pulling him up to his feet, for a moment they just breathe each other in eyes locked chests heaving. When Luke breaks eye contact and looks down he can see Aemond tenting in his pants. 

It is wild the way they both clamor to the bed, losing clothes as they go. Aemond rips through the laces on his breeches with a speed like no other and by the time he is reaching for the oil Luke is spread above their sheets fully naked with his soft legs spread and inviting. 

“You’ve made me wet enough, I don’t need it.” Luke smirks, reaching below to spread himself open, showing the alpha proof. Lucerys innocently smiles, as he pleasures himself before his King like a common whore. But Aemond cannot be fooled, he knows Luke is no innocent, he has the memory of Luke’s maidenhead dripping from his cock forever in his mind as proof. 

Aemond crawls above him and using one hand he grips both of the omega’s above their heads and with the other he gathers Luke’s slick in his palm and uses it to guide himself home. 

“Seven hells, so tight,” Aemond’s breath is hot on his cheek as he grunts, “always so fucking tight.” 

Luke connects their lips, teeth almost smashing into each other. 

The air around them is cloying, anyone outside their door, hell even someone at the end of the corridor may be able to scent what they are doing. To think Aemond went a moon without it, he was mad, to deprive himself of this. Luke breaks the kiss with a moan so sweet, the sweetest, and wraps one leg tight around Aemonds waist keeping him close. Keeping him inside. 

Aemond understands what he must do. He begins to deliver short but fast strokes staying as close to Luke as possible breathing him in hearing his every hum and praise. When Luke’s walls start to clench around his cock he can feel his peak approach.

“Give me another,” Aemond growls into Lucerys’ ear, "just one more.” 

Luke is whimpering below him, tears wet on his cheeks, but he nods and Aemond feels as he slowly starts to follow his strokes with the steady movement of his own hips below him.

When Luke comes again it is tight around a knot. His walls massaging the alpha as Aemond marks him deep inside. 

“I love you,” Aemond whispers, so low that if they were not connected Luke may doubt his ears. Just for him to hear, always just for him to hear.

Lucerys answers by pulling Aemond down into a kiss.