"No." Came Aemond's reply and W'yonna thought that was enough to deter her sister.
Y'olanda blinked before a slow smile appeared on her face. Aemond finally looked at her. The way she smiled at him was different. People never smiled at him because they knew what he was, a monster.
Right now, he was covered in the blood of 'innocent' people but this girl stood in front of him, unbothered and smiling at him like he was the only person she would want to dance with. What did she want?
"My dear prince, you wound me. When a beautiful lady asks you to dance, you don't say 'no' or is that how the Westerosi treat their guests?" Her head inclined to the side as she spoke, amused.
"Take no offense, Lady Y'olanda but Prince Aemond just returned from battle so he might not be able to dance with you." Alicent mediated, reasonably.
First, her sister married Larys now she wants to climb up to her son's thighs. She was more cunning than Alicent thought.
The air stifled as both women locked eyes, neither wanting to back down.
Y'olanda took Aemond's silence as a 'yes' and stretched out her hand, "My Prince,"
Aemond glared coldly at the small hand before him. "It's just a dance or is the mighty dragon rider afraid of a foreign girl?"
His eye flashed with an inscrutable emotion. She was baiting him. Luring him but he senses no danger. She wanted something just like everyone else but what she stood to gain, eluded Aemond.
"Makai, the prince must be tired, maybe you should-"
"Yes." Aemond took her hand, rising to his feet. The feeling of her soft palm in his stirred something in his heart. Subconsciously he glanced down at their almost intertwined hands and it fit, perfectly. However, blood still stained her palm.
When the two left the High Table, Larys harshly grabbed W'yonna's thighs. "What does your sister want to achieve? Is this another plot?"
"No, my Lord. I... I don't know why she asked the prince to dance." W'yonna was sure that she didn't speak because she couldn't hear her voice. Larys's nails dug into her flesh. The girl winced but perfectly masked it with a smile.
"You must think yourself clever, you and your uncouth sister. I am not a fool, you whore."
"Yes, my Lord." W'yonna lowered her head and her expression was unseen. She gritted her teeth. One day. It would take one day for Y'olanda'd plan to succeed so till that day, she would endure.
Raising her head, she greeted the next Lord who came to offer their congratulations and gifts, toasting to them.
"My palm is very sticky because of all the blood. I must say, the blood does suit you. Adds to your appeal." Y'olanda said as Aemond led her to the dance floor.
"What do you want from me? Who sent you?" He roughly grabbed her waist, pulling her to him as the music started playing.
"Settle down, little dragon. Do you think I'm the right person to kill you? And the most important thing is that I do not know how to dance." She confessed and Aemond's nostrils flared. She had to be playing some game.
"What do you mean you don't know how to dance? You asked me to dance with you." His accusatory gaze caused her to swallow a lump in her throat.
"Seeing that I am not from here, the culture cannot magically be bestowed on me." Y'olanda scoffed, averting her eyes.
The feeling of her being so close to him unsettled him yet she was warm against him. The blood not repelling her nor his disability. Today had been a long day. He had burned five villages and killed a hundred soldiers before battling one of Rhaenyra's dragons, that a bastard rode.
She had allowed illegitimate children to bond with dragons. Their dragons. A disgrace to the Targaryen name but the tides did change because of this action. The war would not be as easy to win as he thought.
"Just follow my lead," he ordered, quietly and her eyes sparkled doing as he said. "Don't be stiff." The student nodded seriously.
"How was the battle?" She asked after he spun her around.
"Oh, you know, just a peaceful stroll through a field of flying swords and fire-breathing dragons in the air burning down people as their screams pierce the skies.... Absolutely relaxing."
Y'olanda snickered holding back her laugh, replying with a regretful sigh, "Then I'll have to take your word for it. I'm afraid I've been cursed to evade such calming acts."
"I must tell you that you are missing out on great respite. Blood does wonders for the skin," She thought she was seeing things because it appeared that Aemond was playing with her, matching her sarcasm.
"No wonder yours shines so brightly and people are envious of such a miracle. Won't you share with them this secret?" Her eyes twinkled.
The tension between them grew with each step, an unspoken pulse neither dared acknowledge. They danced gracefully, with Aemond leading her. People were amazed by how Aemond danced.
"If you weren't a swordsman, dancing would be one of your many acts. Even all the ladies seem to think so too," Y'olanda commented, her eyes scanning the crowd.
"I have many acts." He said and Aemond's hand slid down to her thigh, grazing the bare skin above her gown's slit.
She sucked in a breath, her eyes widening as a tremor passed through her. His touch was deliberate and possessive, his fingertips pressing against her thigh with enough pressure to make her heartbeat quicken.
He liked the way his hand on her skin felt. So natural. So soft. So perfect.
"Careful now, little dragon," she warned, her voice a mere whisper, the words catching as his hand lingered on her thigh.
"Stop calling me that."
"Otherwise?"
"Don't play with fire or you'll get burned and fire flows through my veins," he whispered into her neck, his hot breath fanning her.
"So if I slit your throat, you'll burn this place to the ground with your magical flames, my prince? Interesting."
Aemond's face hardened, speaking menacingly that her skin crawled and tingled. "Are you threatening the Prince Regent? I can cut off your head this very moment and no one will go against me when I put it up on spikes. A waste of such a beautiful face."
Her breath hitched. No one imperiled her. Not even the King of the fucking Kingdom. She glowered at him.
"Now, that wouldn't be the wisest move, would it? Is this how you welcome your guests? No wonder it appears that the throne feels out of reach every passing second."
Aemond let her go abruptly, giving a mock bow, "My Lady," before maundering out of the hall. Y'olanda released the breath she didn't know she held.
Y'olanda let her shoulders drop as she watched Aemond disappear into the shadows, the tension of their exchange lingering like smoke in the air. The music resumed, though her pulse still raced, quickened by the memory of his hand, the heat of his whispered threat.
With each beat of the drum, she felt the weight of their encounter settle in her bones—a dangerous dance indeed, one she hadn't fully anticipated.
As she turned back toward her sister, she caught W'yonna's eye, the silent question evident. Y'olanda nodded just enough to signal assurance, though something in her gaze betrayed her unease.
But then, in the corner of her eye, she saw him again, his silhouette at the edge of the doorway, watching her. She held her breath as Aemond tilted his head ever so slightly, his single eye gleaming under the dim lights. A slight, almost taunting smile curled at his lips.
Then he mouthed two words—ones she couldn't quite catch—but his meaning was clear: This isn't over.
And with that, he turned and vanished into the night.
Y'olanda's pulse pounded with equal parts dread and thrill. She'd played her hand well—but perhaps too well.
As the last notes of the song faded, she knew that whatever happened next would not be left to chance.
A lot of people got under his skin but she was different. More like a thorn in his flank. The way her eyes flashed with fury when he threatened her and how she stared at him with curiosity and wasn't disgusted by him or the 'rumors' put in him a relatively fairer mood.
Most importantly, no one had ever looked at him the way she did. Like a normal human being. Not even his mother.