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Summary
"You will not find him along here, Your Grace," the madame remarked. "Though we house some of the most refined and lovely boys and girls for our guests, our finest jewels are not so openly displayed." She leaned in closer to him. "He is being prepared for you as we speak," she added softly.
Aemond felt an unsettling, faint thrill at those words. He kept his face impassive, gripping his hands behind his back as they continued to walk.
He was certain his nephew would rather have drowned in the Gullet than submit to this life. If it truly was him, and not some impostor, then Aemond would show him a kindness, a quick slice to the neck to put the dog out of its misery, a clean end for him, and a tying up of one of the last loose threads of a war that had taken so much.