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    Summary

    Aerion's always been a little possessive over his Uncle Baelor. His death forces all of that onto Valarr instead, one of that last living things left of Baelor himself that was worth anything as far as he was concerned; turning all of Aerion's sick obsessions into something much deeper for his cousin.

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    There was a draw in him to cause a scene. To send a panic through the guards; he had gone to Prince Valarr's room, and it was empty. Search the grounds at once, what if someone had hurt him? Satisfaction bloomed hot under his skin at the thought; he surely wouldn't be able to find his way to Baelor's room after that, but neither could Valarr.

    If he did that, how hard would he have to work to drag his uncle's guard down again?

    The satisfaction soured, a rancid taste at the back of his throat as he swallowed it all down and let his door shut instead.

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