Beyond the Veil

The soft chirping of birds echoed through the lush, sunlit garden of the Red Keep. The recent storm had left the air crisp and fresh, the faint scent of rain lingering on the breeze. Drops of water still clung to the leaves, catching the sunlight like tiny gemstones.

Aemond stood in the shadows beneath the stone archway, his single eye fixed on the scene before him. He made no move to step forward, no sound to announce his presence. He simply watched.

Celeste.

She was sitting cross-legged on the soft grass, her dark hair catching the sunlight like strands of moonlight woven into her braid. Her dress was simple but elegant, the pale green fabric fluttering softly in the morning breeze.

Beside her, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera sat, their tiny hands clutching wooden toys that Celeste had somehow convinced them to play with instead of each other’s hair. Jaehaerys was quiet, his face serious as he concentrated on stacking blocks, while Jaehaera giggled softly at something Celeste had said.

Aemond’s gaze lingered on the small smile that curved Celeste’s lips, the way her silver eyes sparkled with warmth as she laughed softly at Jaehaera’s antics.

She was too comfortable here. Too natural, too at ease, for someone who claimed to be a stranger to their world.

Who are you, Celeste? he thought, his jaw tightening. His gaze drifted lower, to her left arm, hidden beneath the long sleeves of her dress. What are you hiding?

She had secrets. He knew it as surely as he knew the weight of his sword in his hand. She was clever. Careful. Guarded. Yet she had moments like this — soft, vulnerable moments where she let her walls slip, if only for a breath.

He wanted to tear those walls down. He wanted to know what lay behind them.

His eye narrowed as he watched her lean forward, her hands moving deftly to help Jaehaera balance the tiny wooden dragon atop the stack of blocks. The girl giggled again, her soft silver curls bouncing as she clapped her hands in delight.

“See, Jaehaerys?” Celeste said gently, her voice warm and melodic. “It’s not so hard, is it?”

Jaehaerys glanced at her, his small face still serious, but he nodded once, his tiny hands adjusting the block carefully. Celeste smiled at him, a smile so genuine that it made something twist sharply in Aemond’s chest.

Mine.

The thought struck him like a blade to the gut, unbidden and undeniable. His fingers twitched at his sides.

He didn’t understand her. He didn’t trust her. But he wanted her.

Not just her presence. Not just her company. He wanted her. All of her. Her truths, her lies, her fears, her thoughts. Every piece of her.

His gaze sharpened as he studied her, the way her hands moved gracefully, the way her voice softened when she spoke to the twins. She was good with them — better than most people in the Red Keep.

That thought made his lips curl into a faint smirk, but it faded quickly as his eye returned to her. She was different. Not just in the way she carried herself, but in the way she spoke, the way she looked at the world as if she didn’t quite belong to it.

He needed to know why.

The tattoo on her arm, the one she’d hidden so carefully before the collapse in the sept — what did it mean? What had it cost her? Why had Lord Sirius reacted the way he did?

She was a puzzle. A riddle wrapped in silk and shadows. And Aemond Targaryen did not like puzzles he couldn’t solve.

His fingers flexed at his sides as he stepped closer, the sound of his boots on the stone pathway muffled by the soft grass. Her head tilted slightly, her silver eyes flicking toward him before she even turned.

“Prince Aemond,” she greeted him, her voice light and calm, though her eyes held a hint of caution. “You’re up early.”

He stepped into the sunlight, his tall frame casting a long shadow over her and the twins. His violet eye met hers, steady and unyielding.

“As are you,” he replied smoothly, his voice low and deliberate. His gaze flicked briefly to Jaehaerys and Jaehaera before returning to her. “You seem to have made yourself quite comfortable here.”

Celeste’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Someone has to keep these two entertained,” she said lightly, gesturing toward the twins, who had resumed their play. “They deserve some joy, don’t you think? And your sister deserves some alone time.”

His gaze lingered on her for a moment, sharp and searching. He wanted to press her, to force her to reveal something — anything — that would unravel the mystery she was.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. “You’re good with them.”

Celeste blinked, her expression softening just slightly as she glanced down at the twins. “Children are easier than adults,” she said simply, her voice quieter now. “They don’t lie. They don’t play games.”

Don’t they? Aemond thought, his smirk widening just slightly. He had been lying and playing games since he was old enough to walk.

“Is that why you like them?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with curiosity. “Because they don’t remind you of the world you left behind?”

Her head snapped up, her silver eyes locking onto his. For a brief moment, he saw something flicker across her face — surprise, pain, regret.

But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by that same calm, guarded expression she always wore.

“I like them because they remind me of what’s good,” she said evenly, her voice steady but quiet. “And because they remind me of the people I’ve lost.”

Aemond’s chest tightened, his gaze narrowing as he studied her. She was too practiced. Too careful. She was hiding something.

But he would find it.

For now, though, he stepped closer, his gaze drifting down to the twins. “Jaehaerys,” he said softly, his tone surprisingly gentle. “You’ve done well.”

The boy looked up at him, his wide blue eyes blinking slowly before he nodded. Jaehaerys didn’t speak, but the faint hint of pride in his expression was unmistakable.

Aemond’s lips twitched into a faint smile before he glanced back at Celeste. “You’ve earned their trust,” he said quietly, his voice low and deliberate. “That’s no small feat.”

Celeste met his gaze, her silver-grey eyes steady. “Trust isn’t earned with words, Prince Aemond. It’s earned with actions.”

His smirk widened slightly, his violet eye glinting with something dark and unreadable. “Then I suppose I’ll have to keep watching.”

Her brow furrowed just slightly, but she didn’t look away. She didn’t flinch.

“Do what you must,” she said softly, her voice calm but firm.

Aemond’s gaze was locked on Celeste.

He stood just a step too close, his sharp eye fixed on her face with the same intensity he used when tracking an opponent in the training yard. Not predatory, but calculating. Focused. Possessive.

She knew it. Celeste always knew when she was being hunted.

Her eyes didn’t falter. She met his stare head-on, her posture straight as she sat, her shoulders square. Calm. Unyielding.

“You’re quiet, Prince Aemond,” she remarked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was soft, but there was steel behind it. “That usually means you’re thinking too hard.”

He raised a brow at that, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. “Does it?”

Celeste’s eyes flickered with quiet amusement. “Yes. And it rarely means anything good.”

His smirk widened just a fraction, but it didn’t stay long. His eye shifted to the twins briefly, ensuring they were still focused on their play. When he spoke again, his voice was low. Deliberate. Just for her.

“About last night,” he said softly, his gaze flicking back to her. All amusement vanished from his face. His eye sharpened, his voice more careful now. “It would be… unwise for anyone to know I was in your chambers at that hour.”

Her brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t respond right away. Instead, she tilted her head, studying him. Quiet. Patient. Unreadable.

“Inappropriate, you mean,” Celeste said slowly, her voice calm but pointed. “Scandalous. Dishonorable. A whisper away from a rumor that could spread like wildfire.”

His jaw tightened at her words. His gaze didn’t waver.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Exactly that.”

Celeste exhaled slowly through her nose, her eyes flicking to the side for just a moment. She glanced at Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, who were still deeply focused on balancing their wooden blocks. Blissfully unaware. Untouched by the burdens of men and women who played in shadows.

Her gaze slid back to Aemond, her eyes steady. “Why are you telling me this, Prince?” Her voice was softer now, less sharp but no less firm. “Do you think I would speak of it?”

His lips twitched into something that might have been a smile, but it wasn’t kind. “No,” he said simply, his voice cool as frost. “But I’ve learned that even the most loyal can be careless.”

Her lips parted just slightly, her silver eyes narrowing. “Careless?” Her tone shifted, the faintest trace of mockery creeping in. “Do I strike you as careless, my prince?”

His eye scanned her face, taking in the steady fire in her gaze, the sharpness of her features. His gaze dipped briefly to her arm — the arm that bore the mark she’d hidden so carefully.

Her sleeves were long today. Too long. She was hiding something. She always was.

“No,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “But you’re not infallible either, Celeste.” His gaze snapped back to hers, his eye sharper now, more dangerous. “And neither am I.”

Her breath came slower, her eyes locked on him with quiet defiance. “I’m not afraid of you, Aemond.”

A flicker of something crossed his face — surprise, perhaps. Or interest. It was gone too quickly to be sure.

“No,” he murmured, stepping in just half a step closer. “You’re not. That’s what makes you dangerous.”

Her heart gave a small, sharp twist in her chest, but she didn’t move, didn’t look away. She would not give him the satisfaction of flinching. She’d stood before greater monsters than Aemond Targaryen.

She could stand before this one, too.

Her gaze dropped briefly to his hands, still clasped behind his back, his fingers curled in tight control. She wondered if he was as calm as he appeared. She doubted it.

“You think I’m dangerous,” she repeated, her voice slow and measured. She lifted her gaze back to him, her eyes sharp as the edge of a whetstone. “Good.”

His lips twitched again, the faintest flash of teeth, but it wasn’t a grin. It was something colder. Something darker.

“Keep the night between us,” he said, his tone harder now. “No one needs to know.”

Her eyes flicked over his face, searching for cracks in his calm. She found none. But she did see something she recognized all too well — a man hiding his own fear behind control.

“I have no desire to be the subject of court gossip, Prince,” she said quietly, her eyes narrowing. “But I wonder...” She tilted her head just slightly, her gaze sharp as broken glass. “Are you afraid they’ll think less of me, or less of you?”

Her words struck him hard. He knew it. She knew it.

His jaw tensed, his lips pressing into a firm line. His gaze dropped for half a second — just half a second — before snapping back to hers. This time, his eye was colder. Harder.

“Both,” he admitted, his voice sharp and dangerous as the edge of a Valyrian steel blade. “But it’s you they’ll tear down first. Not me.”

Her heart twisted sharply in her chest, but her face didn’t shift. She’d heard worse. She’d lived through worse.

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t care what they think,” she said softly, her silver-grey eyes unwavering. “Do you?”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. The soft hum of the garden, the distant chirp of birds, and the faint sound of Jaehaera giggling as her brother toppled the stack of blocks.

Aemond’s eye narrowed.

“I care when it affects me,” he said finally, his voice low and cold. “And you affect me, Celeste.”

Her breath caught for just a second, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. She masked it well, tilting her head slightly as she raised a single brow.

“Do I?” she asked softly, her voice light as silk but sharper than any blade. “That sounds like your problem, Prince, not mine.”

His eye flared with something fierce — not anger. Not yet. But something close.

Possession.

He stepped forward, just a breath away from her now, his gaze locked onto hers like a hunter tracking prey. His voice was quiet but laced with threat.

“Be careful, Celeste,” he warned, his voice like the slow drag of a dagger along stone. “You don’t want me as an enemy.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. Her breath didn’t falter.

She leaned in just a fraction, her eyes bright like steel caught in the sun. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t try to make me one, Prince Aemond.”

They stayed like that for a moment — two flames pressed too close, neither willing to burn first. The space between them was charged, sharp and dangerous as the edge of a blade. Neither moved.

But the silence was broken by Jaehaera’s laughter, soft and bright like a bell. She clapped her tiny hands together, her silver curls bouncing as she pointed at Jaehaerys, who had stacked his blocks into a wobbly tower.

The sound broke the tension like a sword through silk.

Aemond stepped back, his posture cool and deliberate. His mask was firmly in place once more.

He glanced down at Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, his gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he turned his attention back to Celeste.

“Keep it between us,” he said once more, his voice like frost on stone. “For both our sakes.”

Celeste tilted her head, watching him closely, her silver-grey eyes unwavering. “Of course, my prince,” she said softly, her voice calm and cool as ever. “After all, I’m not careless.”

Aemond’s lips quirked into a faint, humorless smile. He said nothing more.

He turned on his heel, his long black cloak sweeping behind him as he strode away.

She didn’t look away. Not until he was gone.

Her fingers twitched in her lap, and she glanced at Jaehaera and Jaehaerys.

“Don’t trust men who warn you about themselves,” she muttered softly.

Jaehaera giggled, as if she understood.