Chapter Text
Like most things when it comes to their relationship, Helaena starts it.
It starts innocently enough: with demands that he fuck her harder, faster. Demands that he’s only too happy to oblige. Normally, they go slow and stay quiet, muffling their gasps against each other’s skin so the sound doesn’t carry through the thin walls, so their moans and pants and whimpers can’t slip out under the door and reveal their secret to the rest of the sleeping house.
But Helaena wants more. She wants loud and uninhibited sex, and Aemond wants to please her, so he finds ways to make time for it. They begin to indulge whenever the house is truly empty—when Mother takes Father to the doctor’s and Daeron is busy with school and Aegon actually has somewhere he’s supposed to be. And it’s in those moments, the ones where they have enough privacy to truly fuck that he feels most alive.
It’s not that Aemond doesn’t love fucking his sister under normal circumstances: sweet and silent and in her childhood bed. He adores it. Can’t get enough of it. Can barely believe his luck. No matter how many times he fucks her, no matter how many times she rolls onto her belly and lifts her hips into the air, presenting herself for the taking, he can’t shake his feeling of disbelief, of incomprehensible gratitude that his wonderful sister lets him do this to her in the first place.
But when she pleads for him to go harder, to push deeper, to pin her wrists above her head and pull her hair until her back arches, he can’t imagine saying no, even if he sometimes worries about hurting her. Anything she wants he’ll happily do, and although it feels wrong at times, it also feels too good to stop.
Because in truth, he loves the sharp slap of their bodies joining, loves watching her breasts bounce and hearing her whimper and cry and beg for more. Loves to fuck her until they’re both a quivering mess—a pile of limp, boneless body parts, twisted together and overwhelmed by their pleasure.
***
He still remembers the first time she moved his hand to her throat. She covered his hand with hers and gave it a little squeeze, her cunt clenching around him when he took the hint and tightened his grip. He’d been so scared, so worried about hurting her, that he stopped after just a few seconds. But she just smiled up at him and promised that he wouldn’t hurt her, that she would be okay. That she trusted him, but that she needed...
More.
Aemond followed her lead, squeezing a little, and then a little more. Harder and harder until she was gasping for breath, clawing at his hand until she came with a desperate wail.
He followed her over the edge that night so hard that stars burst behind his eye.
And yet afterwards, he felt unsettled; unmoored by what they had just done. It looked like he was hurting her, it felt like he was hurting her, and yet he hadn’t stopped. Not even when she’d begged.
Helaena, just as attuned to his needs as he is to hers, had sensed the worry building inside him. She’d kissed away his tears and assured him that it was fine; it was all just for fun. “Don’t worry,” she’d whispered, settling against his chest. “I know that you love me.”
But once she fell asleep, snoring gently by his side, Aemond laid awake thinking. His actions terrified him. He’d known she didn’t want him to stop; everytime he relaxed his grip, she tightened hers even as she continued to cry and beg—but shouldn’t he have wanted to?
It felt wrong. Degrading and dangerous. Nothing like how he was supposed to treat the woman he loved, nothing like how she deserved to be treated. He shouldn’t want to hurt her; it shouldn’t make him feel so good. But he had liked it when she begged; he had liked how it felt to have her below him, to feel her delicate throat beneath the palm of his hand, as if he controlled the very air pushing through her lungs.
As if he could control everything about her.
And so despite Helaena’s assurances and his own best efforts, the doubts lingered.
They pop up from time to time, a little nagging sensation that invades his mind in the stillness that comes afterwards. They’ll be lying in bed, limbs entwined, and he’ll begin to count the bruises that litter her body, his guilt compounding with each one.
He doesn’t feel guilt about the fact they’re fucking each other, about the fact they’re in love. Sure, they’re brother and sister, lovers born of the same womb, but he can point to the looping branches of their ancient family tree as precedent. It’s only natural for them. They can’t help themselves: the desire for their own blood is quite literally in their blood.
No, his guilt is reserved for the way his cock aches when she tells him ‘no.’ The way his blood thrums with desire when he grabs her by the hair and drags her across the bed, even as she claws at the sheets, trying desperately to scramble away. The way her tears urge him on, how he goes dizzy with the need to claim her whenever she cries, when she begs him to stop, to leave her alone, to pull out.
No, Aemond, you can’t! I’m not on birth control. Please—please don’t! I’ll get pregnant!
Except she never really sounds bothered by the idea; her pleas come in breathy little moans whispered straight into his ear, her cunt tight and gushing all around him—and whenever he pulls back, the true sorrow bleeds through, as if having to ask him again to use a rougher touch is the worst sin of all.
“It’s just for fun,” she says whenever his doubts resurface, whenever the guilt creeps back in. “It’s all pretend, Aemond. Just a little game.”
That thought makes Aemond feel better. He likes games. He can understand games.
The best ones are games of strategy: opportunities to show his wit, his strength. Helaena prefers the opportunity for the chaos they provide, the break they offer from the monotony of daily life. Rules are different when you play a game. Things you know you shouldn’t do become okay, as long as it’s all pretend. As long as everyone agrees it’s not real.
As long as they both like it.
It’s easier when he knows that she’s only pretending not to want it and he’s only pretending not to care.
*
There are other games Helaena likes to play, too. Like when she slips her hand under the blanket while they’re watching a movie on the couch next to Daeron. Or when she stands just a little too close in the kitchen, her breasts pressing against his arm as she reaches across him to grab a plate. Or when she danced with Jace at their father’s party, watching Aemond watch them over their nephew’s shoulder as his hands slid over her body, doing nothing to stop them as they wrapped tight around his waist and moved down her body, finding fistfuls of fleshy ass to squeeze.
That night, Aemond hadn’t been able to wait until the party was over. He’d fucked her on the floor of the coat check closet, her cheek pressed into the scratchy carpet, hair tumbling out of its elaborate braids. She hadn’t begged him to stop that night, only whimpered as he bent over her back and told her how ashamed she should feel; that she had acted like a whore. That he ought to go find Jace and let him take a turn with her since she wanted it so badly, since she’d practically been humping his leg on the dance floor, right where everyone could see.
Not that he’d really do that.
They both know he’d sooner snap Jace’s neck than let their nephew go any further than he’d already gone. But it’s all just a game, so it was okay to say the things that he said, okay to pretend to be someone who would do something like that.
Helaena loves to play her game whenever their family is around, whenever there’s occasion to make him question if he’s still her favorite. He knows that he is, that he always will be. But it’s hard to remember that when she’s lacing her arms behind her back and thrusting her tits in someone else’s face, coyly searching for Aemond’s gaze over the shoulder of a different white-haired relative to make sure he’s watching.
The worst is when she does it with Aegon, who doesn’t even pretend not to stare. Who follows her gaze back to Aemond, a sharp grin growing every time. Aemond doesn’t know when Aegon figured it out, but he plays his own game alongside theirs. He bends his head and whispers filthy words into Helaena’s ear at every opportunity, things that make her blush and shove softly at his chest, that make her lips quirk coyly and which she refuses to repeat.
Almost as bad is when she tries to do it with Uncle Daemon. Thankfully, she’s not bold enough to press herself against him like she does with Aegon. She’s always been too shy to flirt with him directly. For Daemon, the game is different. She sticks by Aemond’s side at parties and whispers into his ear.
Do you think what they say about him and Rhaenyra is true? It’s exciting, don’t you think? A girl and her own uncle. I bet he taught her loads of things, things she could have never have dreamt of on her own. That’s the good thing about older men—they’re so experienced. So much better than little boys our age. Don’t you agree, Aemond?
Aemond knows she does it to rile him up, knows she likes to watch his expressions change as he swallows back the acrid bile that rises in his throat. He bottles the jealous burn in his stomach and tucks it away for later, for when it’s just him and her and the heat in his belly, the mascara running down her cheeks.
And yet no matter what he does with all of that anger, with all of the jealousy that she teases out of him, she always rolls onto her back when they’re finished with a dreamy smile on her face, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. “Thank you,” she’ll say as the bruises start to bloom on her skin, as she traces the little divots her teeth left on his shoulder with the tip of her fingers, not even looking, just simply feeling him by her side. “Thank you, Aemond.”
*
Of all the games his sister likes to play, her favorite is hide and seek. They used to play it all the time as children, spending hours getting lost in the palatial maze of their ancestral home.
Aemond’s hunt would take him all over the grounds; through the abandoned wings of the house, down into disused cellars, and up into dusty attics. He would hunt until he found her, no matter how long it took, and usually found her tucked away in some dusty cupboard or pressed flat beneath a disused bed, a little friend she found to hide away with cupped in her hands.
The best part of finding her was always her face—the way her eyes would go wide and her cheeks would pull tight, her smile brighter than the sun at nothing but the sight of him, so happy to be caught.
But he loved the prize, too. It was always a kiss: warm and dry and pressed right against his lips. It always came with a strange pulling sensation when she leaned in, when she stepped forward and closed her eyes to brush their lips together.
In some ways his prize for finding her is still a kiss. But now he is the one who kisses her. A special kiss, hot and wet and right over her slit, a kiss meant to open her up so he can claim his real prize: the sweet place between her legs that belongs only to him.
A prize he’ll never tire of winning.
***
They spend a few weeks at the beach each summer. Their entire family comes: Rhaenyra and her brood; Uncle Daemon and his daughters. Even Mother’s brother Gwayne drops in for a few days. They stand together just off to the side, with their dark heads bent together and matching frowns.
Aemond always finds the beach trips miserable. The beach house is large but their family is larger. He has to share a room with Aegon while little Daeron sleeps on an air mattress on the floor of Helaena’s room. There’s never time for the two of them to slink away; they can’t even exchange the sweet, silent sort of kisses they sneak back home.
Well, almost never.
Helaena hovers in the kitchen doorway one morning, her soft lips pulled into a deep frown, arms clutched around her stomach. The entire family is due at the marina in forty-five minutes and the house is chaos; everyone running around looking for lost bottles of sunscreen and last minute snacks.
Alicent sees her first and scurries over, a hand to Helaena’s forehead and a concerned click of her tongue.
“I don’t think I can come today,” Helaena whines, nearly doubled over with pain. “I’ve got terrible cramps. My per—”
“Of course,” Alicent interrupts before Helaena can do something awful like acknowledge menstruation in mixed company. “You poor dear, of course you should stay home and get some rest. Do I need to find the heating pad?”
Aemond hides his smile in his cereal. Helaena isn’t due for another two weeks, not that their mother would know that.
“Want me to stay and keep you company?” he asks between bites of his sugary breakfast, not even bothering to turn around. He’s half hard at the thought, but he can’t seem too eager, has to pretend at nonchalance. “We could watch a movie or something. Maybe play a game—whatever you’re up for.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” Alicent says, abandoning Helaena’s side to stroke the back of Aemond’s head. “But I’m sure your sister would prefer to—”
“It’s fine,” Helaena says quickly. “It’ll be nice to have someone else around. It’s so boring here alone.”
The wait is tortuous. Every second his family dawdles feels like an eternity. Helaena insists on teasing him the entire time, letting her sleep shirt slip off her shoulder while she eats, her thigh pressing against his beneath the table. While the rest of the family finishes getting ready, she lounges artfully beside him, and then in the living room, pretending to read a magazine. Somehow her shirt keeps creeping higher and higher, revealing more and more pale skin, more and more soft flesh. By the time the entire family shuffles out of the door, it’s fifteen minutes past their scheduled launch time and Aemond feels like he’s about to explode.
The cars are barely out of the driveway before Aemond is on her, still half-hard and increasingly desperate. It’s been nine days, fourteen hours, and twenty three minutes since he’s been inside her last, and he thinks that even one more minute without the feel of her sweet cunt wrapped around him will drive him mad.
But Helaena never likes to make anything too easy. Says there’s no fun in it. She squirrels out of his grasp and steps back, a broad grin on her face.
He knows what she’s about to do, but he’s still caught off guard when she pivots, when she sprints out of the room with a giggle.
Aemond’s legs are long and agile. He could catch her easily, overtake her before she’s even out of the room. Throw her onto the ground and fuck her right there on the floor, no time wasted. But he lets her go, giving her a second to speed off, to think she’s done something.
He’s never minded chasing her, always willing to follow her where she leads.
He lets her lead him back into the kitchen and out onto the patio, their bare feet slapping against the smooth wood of the deck as she makes her way toward the pool. She stops on the far side and stares at him across the water, a broad grin pulling at her cheeks.
She feints to one direction and Aemond takes off before he realizes what she’s done. He wants to catch her now, wants to toss her into the pool. He can imagine the way she’d laugh and splutter when she got out, wet and dripping and ready for payback. She’d pound her fists against his chest and call him an asshole, all while smiling and laughing and thrusting her wet breasts against his chest, her baggy shirt clinging to her body until he tore it off.
It seems like he won’t get the opportunity, because she’s halfway around the pool before he is able to correct himself. But she doesn’t disappear down the steps like he expects. She’s not headed to the beach but towards the pool house: a nice little trap to set herself in.
He doesn’t see her when he first enters, eye scanning the open space, the furniture strewn with Uncle Daemon’s stuff. The girls stay in the main house with everyone else, but Daemon always claims the pool house when he visits. He insists on his privacy, on having the ability to come and go as he pleases, not wanting to be subjected to the prying eyes of their sprawling, dysfunctional family.
Anticipation crawls up Aemond’s spine, even sharper than it felt the first time he fucked her on the kitchen table before the rest of the family woke, her cunt leaking onto the same wood that would hold their family’s breakfast plates in less than an hour. It’s almost as sharp as the time she led him to their mother’s room, when she slid between Alicent’s floral bedsheets and invited him to join her. Almost.
He finds her crouched behind Daemon’s kitchen island, a wicked grin on her face. He doesn’t fall for her feinting this time and catches her easily around the middle, hoisting her into the air. She squeals, her legs kicking empty air, but goes over his shoulder with ease. Despite her squirming, he doesn’t worry about dropping her—not with how many times they’ve done this before, how many times they’ve practiced.
He doesn’t worry about hurting her either; not when he kicks the door to the bedroom open and tosses her onto the bed. She lands with a bounce and tries to scramble to her knees, her grin wide and excited, but Aemond is faster.
Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he hauls her toward him. She yelps, trying to shove him away, and by the time he gets his shorts down and his cock out, she’s already shaking her head, pressing her lips together defiantly.
Aemond’s blood is hot as he drags her closer, close enough that he can wipe the sticky mess that’s leaked from his tip against her cheek. “You shouldn’t have run,” he says lowly, trying to sound threatening, trying to sound like the man he knows she wants him to be in times like this.
Helaena turns her face away, trying to refuse his incessant press, the demand that she open up and take him. But he knows just what to do. He knows to press her back against the mattress and pin her flailing arms beneath his knees; to press on her jaw so that she opens right up; to angle his hips just right so he can feed her his cock until it reaches all the way to the back of her throat.
“Good,” he says, his cock twitching on her tongue. “Hard to argue when you’re stuffed full like this, isn’t it?”
Helaena squirms, and Aemond lifts her head off the mattress for her, cradling it his hand as he fucks into the hole he’s made of her mouth, allowing himself to moan as loud as he wants because nobody else is home. Helaena thrashes below him, legs kicking out uselessly behind him as she gags, her protests angry but muffled by his cock—not important enough to try and make out, only for show.
Aemond knows he can’t last long like this. It’s been nearly a week and a half since he’s found his release in his sister’s body, he’s already teetering on the edge.
Not that it really matters. The family won’t be back until later tonight. They have hours yet to play. He could blow his load right now, all over her face, and keep her pinned while he recovers. Keep her desperate and on edge until he’s ready for another round in twenty. Tease her the way she teases him.
He manages to pull out just in time to splatter across her face, coating her pretty pout in pearlescent cum. It clings to her skin, sliding down and dripping off her cheeks as he sits back, letting her head drop back onto the mattress.
The sound shocks him at first; his entire body tenses when he hears it. The sound of a throat clearing, an indication that someone else is in the room with them. Helaena must hear it too, because she goes stiff, still pinned beneath his weight.
“Not bad.”
Aemond freezes at the sound of their uncle’s voice, cool and calm. Seemingly undisturbed by what he just saw happening. Aemond turns slowly, remaining in place, but needing to see for himself.
Uncle Daemon stands in the door frame, shoulder resting against the jamb. Now that Aemond thinks about it, he hadn’t seen Daemon in the house this morning, hadn’t seen him pile into one of the cars beside his daughters.
He must have been in the bathroom when they came crashing into the pool house; he could have been standing there this entire time and they would have never known.
They are so fucked.
“It’s not what you think!” Aemond says quickly, trying to scramble off of his sister and shove his softening cock out of sight. “It’s not—it’s not what it looks like!”
Uncle Daemon laughs. The sound is short, like a bark. There’s amusement to it, but it’s harsh. “I think it’s exactly what it looks like.”
Panic swells through Aemond and he turns a desperate, pleading eye to Helaena for help. She needs to explain, needs to get them out of this. But she is frozen with shock, her pale eyes locked on their uncle, mouth gaping and silent.
Face coated in his spend.
Aemond’s gut churns at realizing what Daemon is seeing.
“It looks like you were forcing yourself on your sister,” Daemon says, taking a slow step into the room.
“No,” Aemond says quickly, all the air leaving his lungs in a single, helpless rush. “No, it’s not— She likes it, okay? It’s a game. Just a game we play.”
Daemon’s eyes travel to Helaena, her cum-stained face still frozen in horror. “Is that true, sweetheart? Do you like it when he does that to you?”
The direct address breaks whatever spell Helaena is under, but she has no answer to give. “I—” she stammers, her head shaking. “I don’t— This isn’t—”
“Shh,” Daemon soothes. And then he’s right there, sitting on the end of bed, reaching out to wipe the sticky seed from her face. “It’s okay, love. You’re not in trouble. It’s not your fault.”
“No,” she says quickly, tears welling in her eyes. “Please, Uncle Daemon. It’s not—if anyone finds out. If Mother knew about us—”
Daemon’s pale eyebrows creep up. His eyes slide back to Aemond, a strange look on his face, one Aemond can’t fully identify.
“So you do like it then?” he asks, thumb creeping closer to her open mouth, tracing her swollen bottom lip. It slips inside easily, pressing her tongue down without trouble. “You like it when your brother uses you like a whore?”
Her eyes dart to Aemond, silently begging him for help. He hesitates, not used to seeing her so nervous and uncertain. He means to say something, to step forward and make Daemon stop whatever it he thinks he’s doing, but their uncle speaks first.
“You’re just like your sister was at this age,” Daemon murmurs, sounding almost wistful as he studies her face. He trades his thumb for his fingers and presses further into her mouth, until Helaena’s jaw is open as wide as her eyes and Daemon’s cum-slicked fingers are stroking over her tongue.
There’s silence in the room as they stare each other down, until Helaena finally convulses, gagging around the fingers in mouth.
Daemon watches for a moment without removing his hand. “I need to speak with you,” he says to Aemond though his eyes remain fixed on Helaena. “Alone,” he adds. Then a slippery smile spreads across his face. “You wait for us right here, okay sweetheart? Don’t move.”
Helaena tries to catch Aemond’s gaze as Daemon leads him to the living room, but their uncle’s hand is warm on the back of his neck, guiding him through the door.
Aemond doesn’t know what to say. He’s sure he couldn’t speak even if he did come up with something. His heart is racing too fast; his stomach twisted too tight.
“Oh, calm down,” Daemon says when they‘re out of Helaena’s earshot. It’s not even ten in the morning, but he grabs a bottle from the bar cart and pours two glasses of whiskey, pushing one into Aemond’s hand. “I’m not going to tell your mother if that’s what you’re so worried about. There’d be no fun in that.”
The brown liquid sloshes against the sides of the glass as Aemond takes a sip. It’s something to focus his attention on, a sharp burn he can follow down his throat and into his stomach.
“How long has it been going on?” Daemon asks.
Aemond feels his cheeks heat. He doesn’t want to talk about this; doesn’t want to tell Uncle Daemon private things about his sister.
“Perhaps I’ve been too hasty,” Daemon says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Perhaps I should tell your mother after all.”
“For a while,” Aemond blurts out quickly, wishing he could throw up instead. “Since the summer we came to visit Dragonstone.”
Daemon hums as he considers this information, and though he sets his phone down, he leaves it in plain sight. “And it is always like what I just saw?”
There’s more than just warmth in Aemond’s cheeks now. His whole face is on fire, the heat spreading down to his chest, making him itch. “It’s not—I told you,” he stammers. “She likes it. You have to believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Daemon chuckles. “Trust me, I know the type. You don’t though. You’ve got no clue how to handle a girl like that, do you?”
Aemond stands a little straighter, grips his cup a little tighter. “Of course I do. She’s my sister.”
That earns him a smile, one that makes the corner of his uncle’s eyes crinkle. “She’s leaving for college soon, isn’t she?” he asks. “What happens then? Do you think she’s going to sit alone on Friday nights waiting for her little brother to call?”
Aemond isn’t stupid; he knows what Daemon is doing. Saying it like it’s a bad thing, like there’s nothing special about being a little brother. But it’s not like he could expect Daemon to understand; he never even had a sister.
No, Daemon is baiting him, the same way Helaena baits him when she wants to play, searching his tender underbelly, looking for just where to poke.
“I’ll go visit her,” he says defiantly, throwing his shoulders back. “She’ll come visit me.”
His uncle’s smile stretches. “And when she doesn’t? What are you going to do about it?”
Aemond hides his frown in his drink. It feels like a trick question somehow. What is he expected to say? That he’d drive to campus and make her come home? That he wouldn’t let her leave in the first place?
“Yes,” Daemon says as if he’s reading Aemond’s mind. “That’s exactly what you’ll have to do. Or else she won’t come back to you at all. She’ll move on. Find someone bigger and better to take care of her. Find someone who doesn’t need to be taught how to fuck her the way she needs to be fucked.”
It hits too close to home, and so Aemond doesn’t respond, only glares back. How could their uncle know anything of their relationship? He’s only guessing, he has to be.
Daemon rolls his eyes. “Don’t be a fool,” he continues. “Just because she lets you slap her around a little doesn’t mean you’re actually in charge. It doesn’t mean she respects you.”
Aemond does his best to smother his reaction, resisting the urge to take Daemon’s bait. He must not succeed, because Daemon’s smile grows so wide it splits his face.
“You really don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, do you?”
Aemond bristles. “I do,” he tries, but Daemon isn’t listening, only laughing to himself.
Laughing at Aemond.
“So when you do something she doesn’t like, how do you know? What’s your safeword?”
“I—” Aemond frowns, unsure what he means. “I mean, it’s never happened. She always likes what I do.”
Daemon seems to consider this, head cocked to the side. “So she’s got you well-trained? You do everything you know she likes and nothing for yourself.”
“No, I—” Aemond stops. He’s smart enough to know he’s walked into a trap, but not smart enough to see its shape. “I like it too. We like the same things.”
Daemon hums, unconvinced. “Do you want to know what I think, Aemond? Man to man?”
Aemond knows he shouldn’t care what anyone else thinks about him and Helaena. But Uncle Daemon isn’t just anyone.
“I think she’s using you to test the waters,” Daemon continues. “She wants to try a few things out, experiment a bit, and she sees you as someone safe to do it with. Just her sweet little brother, the one who’d never really hurt her.” He pauses, waiting until Aemond meets his eyes before continuing. “But girls like that don’t really want safe, do they? They don’t stick with safe. They always want more.”
In that moment, Aemond hates his uncle. Hates the words that he’s saying; the way they make him feel. Hates how familiar they sound, how similar thoughts have rattled around his own head in the dead of the night.
He wants to tell Daemon that he’s wrong, that he and Helaena are different, that she loves him. But the protests sound pitiful even to his own ear—childish and naive.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” Daemon says, slipping into a frown that borders on mocking. “I can help.”
Aemond’s lip curls. Daemon is the last person on Earth he wants to be indebted to, but the thought of losing Helaena is even worse. So although the question tastes bitter on his tongue, he forces himself to ask it.
“How?”
Daemon grins. “You just have to give her what she really wants.”
“And what’s that?”
“What do you think?” Daemon asks, and there is something strange in his smile this time. Something fond and almost teasing. “Smart kid like you?” He takes a drink of his whiskey and sets it down. “I bet you can figure it out; bet you already know.” He leans forward, eyes sparkling as he drops his voice. “Bet you’ve even thought about it before.”
Aemond looks down at his hands and considers his uncle’s words. He thinks of Helaena; how sweetly she begs, how pretty she is when she cries, how beautiful her skin bruises. He can’t lose that. He would die if he did.
And so he takes a deep breath and forces himself to look up, to hold his uncle’s gaze. “I won’t hurt her.”
“Of course not,” Daemon balks, hand to his chest like he’s offended by the idea. “Though it’s not really hurting if it’s good for her in the long run, is it?”
Aemond thinks about Helaena off at college next year. He thinks about all of the older boys she will meet, about the things they will want from her, that they’ll want to do with her. He thinks of what his mother always says about girls who are fast. Girls who like to run around.
“Trust me, Aemond. It is for her own good. Girls like that need someone to look out for them, to keep them safe. Even if they don’t know it. Even if they don’t want it. If you let her get away…” He trails off, letting Aemond’s imagination fill in the rest.
Aemond wants to believe his uncle so badly, but in the end, it’s not even belief that makes up his mind. It’s the fear of what would happen to her without him. If Daemon can teach him how to keep Helaena the way she keeps her precious bugs, he’ll never have to worry about her again.
“All right,” Aemond finally says. “What should I do?”
There’s something oily in Daemon’s smile as it stretches across his face. Something that makes Aemond’s stomach drop at the same time a tingle creeps up from the base of his spine.
“I think you mean, what should we do?”