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    Summary

    “Can we leave?” he whimpers.

    Aegon laughs, breath blooming wine-warmth across Aemond’s face. “Whatever for? The night is young!”

    “You ought to join us, little princeling!” calls one of the men on the bed. He’s young – around Aegon’s age – dark-haired, and very good-looking. Smiling. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? I’ll bet you taste just as sweet as you look.”

    Oh, Aemond goes pink. He presses his eye shut, screwing his face up until his scar aches. He squeezes at his brother’s arms. “Aegon, please.”

    Aegon cranes his neck down, taking in the sight of his brother’s face. “Are you weeping?” he asks, far too loudly for Aemond’s comfort.

    “No.” A lie. He squirms. He ought not to be weeping – he’s the rider of the largest dragon in the world, which makes him a fierce and formidable warrior. But right now, he doesn’t feel very fierce at all. He’s frightened and overwhelmed and uncomfortable, because what’s happening now requires an entirely different sort of courage than dragon riding, and it’s a courage he knows he does not possess. “Please, Aeg, I want to go. I don’t feel very good.”

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