Shadows and Truths
The soft click of the lock echoed louder than it should have in the quiet corridor. Too loud. Too sharp.
Celeste pulled the door to Sirius’s chambers closed behind her, her eyes glancing briefly down the hall. The two guards still stood at their posts, just as rigid as they’d been when she arrived. But now, they were watching her. Their eyes flicked between her and the door, suspicion carved into their faces like stone.
They knew.
Her gaze shifted to the iron lock that had been firmly in place when she entered. It was still locked. She’d felt the familiar tug of resistance when she turned the handle. It shouldn't have opened.
But it had.
Because it always did when she had her way. Alohomora.
Her fingers brushed lightly against her sleeve, tucking her wand back to safety as she turned to face the guards fully. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tight. If they wanted to question her, she’d make them regret it.
The taller of the two guards shifted his weight, his eyes darting to his companion. Unspoken words passed between them. The look of two men who knew something was off but weren’t sure if they were brave enough to question it.
“Problem?” Celeste asked coldly, her tone sharp enough to cut stone. She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head just slightly. Her eyes burned like tempered steel.
The taller guard stiffened, his hand twitching at his side like he was considering reaching for his weapon. He didn’t. Smart.
“Did someone let you out?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
She didn’t answer right away. She let the silence stretch.
“Did you see anyone open the door?” she asked, her voice steady, her gaze unwavering. Her arms folded across her chest, and her weight shifted to one side, her stance solid as stone. “Or are you imagining things?”
The shorter guard’s face twitched, his eyes darting back to the lock as if to check it for himself. He was too slow.
“Go on,” she said, her voice growing colder. Her gaze didn’t leave them. “Say it. Tell me I’m lying. Tell me I shouldn’t be here.” She took a step forward, her eyes narrowing into sharp points of silver. Her voice was as cold as iron.
“Try it.”
The shorter guard took a small step back. Not much. Just a shift. But she saw it. His gaze flicked to his companion, and for the briefest moment, she saw it—hesitation.
Good. Hesitate. She’d make them regret it if they didn’t.
The taller guard’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes flicking up and down her figure. Sizing her up. Calculating. His fingers flexed once, twice, then he lifted his chin.
“Watch your tone, Lady,” he said, his voice hardening. “You're a guest, not a queen.”
Celeste tilted her head, her eyes narrowing to slits. She took one step forward. Just one. Her steps didn’t echo this time. They thudded. Deliberate. Heavy.
“Then maybe you should remember,” she said slowly, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “That a guest can leave just as easily as she arrives. But a queen stays forever.” Her eyes flicked between them both, sharp as broken glass. “And if I hear you so much as breathe about me again, you’ll wish I was the one who stayed.”
The shorter guard blinked, his eyes widening slightly, his lips parting like he’d just been struck.
The taller one didn’t move. Not this time.
But he didn’t argue either.
“Smart,” she muttered, flicking her gaze away as if they weren’t worth her attention. Not anymore.
Her heels hit the stone floor harder than before as she walked past them. Her posture was perfect. Back straight. Shoulders squared. Eyes forward.
She didn’t look back. Never look back. Not for them.
She turned the corner of the dim hallway, her mind still sharp with adrenaline, her breath quiet but deliberate. Her hands itched. The way they always did after using magic where it wasn’t supposed to exist, the thrill of getting caught weighing on her. Alohomora. A simple spell, yet it still tingled faintly at her fingertips, like static after touching lightning.
Her thoughts were a storm of noise, too loud to sort through properly. The king is dead. Viserys is dead. And Sirius—he’d looked so broken.
Her chest ached at the memory. Sirius didn’t break. Not easily. But today, she’d seen it happen in real time.
Her gaze flickered up.
He was watching her.
Aemond.
He was leaning against the wall just ahead, his frame barely visible in the flickering torchlight. His one eye caught the fire's glow, sharp and steady, fixed entirely on her. He stood in the shadows, his posture relaxed but his gaze unwavering. A predator at rest.
A cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, telling Celeste he planned to venture out of the Keep’s safety.
He wasn’t hiding. Not from her.
“Eavesdropping, Prince?” Celeste called, her voice smooth, her brows lifting as she slowed her pace. She tilted her head, her silver-grey eyes meeting his fully. Unwavering. Unflinching.
“Hard to miss,” Aemond replied smoothly, his voice quiet but sharp. He tilted his head just slightly, his gaze dragging from her face to the corridor she’d just come from. “You have quite the bite, Lady Black.”
“Careful,” she said softly, her eyes narrowing. “You might choke on it.”
He chuckled softly, the sound low and short, like a blade being unsheathed. His smirk was slow. Calculating.
She approached slowly, her steps quiet but deliberate. When she reached him, she stopped just a few feet away, her gaze scanning his face. His expression was composed. Too composed.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her tone softer this time. Her eyes didn’t waver. Her voice didn’t falter. “About your father.”
Aemond’s face didn’t shift. Not at first. His gaze stayed on her, sharp and cold, like tempered steel fresh from the forge. His lips curled into a faint, humorless smile.
“Don’t be,” he said, his voice calm. Too calm. Too perfect.
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me, Prince.”
His eye flicked to hers, his smile vanishing like smoke. His jaw tightened, his hands curling briefly at his sides before relaxing again.
“You think you see me,” he muttered, his gaze hardening. “You don’t.”
“I see you just fine,” she countered, her eyes sharp as glass. She tilted her head, her gaze scanning his face like she was reading a book only she could see. “You’re too proud to grieve. Too stubborn to cry. But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel it.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze sharp as ever. He didn’t deny it.
Her voice softened just slightly. “You loved him.”
Silence.
His jaw tensed. His eye flicked away briefly—not long, just a second. Then it was back on hers, sharper, colder.
“He was a fool,” Aemond muttered, his voice low and sharp like a blade dragged over stone. “Weak.”
“And yet, you loved him,” Celeste said softly, her eyes steady, calm. “That’s why it hurts, isn’t it?”
His eye burned with something too hot to name. Rage. Loss. Pride. All of it, tangled together like a snare. His lips curled into a sneer, but he didn’t speak.
“Grieve him, Aemond,” Celeste said softly, stepping forward, her eyes never leaving his. “Don’t let them make you forget he was your father.”
Her words hung between them like smoke from a dying fire. Not loud. Not sharp. Just heavy.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
Then, his lips parted, just barely. His eye flicked away again, his gaze distant now, locked on something she couldn’t see. His breathing was slower, deeper.
His gaze flicked back to her.
“And you?” he asked softly, his voice low, dangerous. His eyes scanned her face. “Who do you grieve for, Lady Black?”
Her breath hitched, her gaze sharpening as she lifted her chin. Her fingers twitched at her sides, but she didn’t look away. Not from him.
“Too many to count,” she whispered.
They stayed like that for a moment longer.
Two sharp edges, both too stubborn to dull.
But neither of them moved, for once, they felt that the other's presence was soothing. Maybe Aemond wasn’t as alone as he thought he was.