Chapter Text

Chapter One

The carriage rustled under the movement of the horses dragging it, and from inside, Aerion’s annoyed grumbles could be heard as he complained to no one in particular about his sworn knights.

"You are both insufferable! How dare you be bought off by a girl of twelve years old!" Aerion’s voice filled the somewhat cramped space, his words directed at his two cousins and, coincidentally, his sworn knights as well.

Their stifled laughter was barely audible as the oldest of the three, Ser Arron Dayne, rolled his eyes with barely concealed amusement.

"She’s quite persuasive. It’s not our fault you enjoy wearing such intricate gowns. Seriously, you have twelve layers and barely any sleeve covering."

Aerion scoffed at Arron’s words and delivered a swift kick to his armored leg, rolling his eyes when Arron yelped.

"Elyan said it would be warm! You approved this dress, you ugly toad!" Aerion snapped, clutching his arms as a stray draft whistled through the carriage window.

"I said it would probably be warm," Elyan corrected, his smirk widening. "Besides, little Lyra looked so heartbroken after the 'Salt Incident.' A few lemon tarts and a promise to let her pick your travel wardrobe seemed like a fair trade for her forgiveness."

"A fair trade?" Aerion hissed, the iridescent crystals on his bodice clashing together as he shook. "I am an Omega of royal blood, and I am being bullied by a child and two over-armored hens. I run cold, Elyan! You know I'd freeze in a desert at high noon!"

Aerion’s gown was a masterpiece of molten gold and ethereal lavender. Its square-cut bodice of heavy satin was bordered with metallic embroidery, anchored at the center by a filigree brooch studded with iridescent crystals. The sleeves were sheer, violet-tinted puffs that floated over fitted gold undersleeves, tapering into ruffled cuffs. The sweeping, pleated skirt shimmered with a lilac undertone, catching the light alongside gold-filigree charms pinned along his arms.

His jewelry matched the opulence, layered gold chains, delicate stonework resting against his collarbone, a rigid golden choker paired with lavender crystals and pale amethysts, all leading to a star-shaped pendant holding a translucent stone that gleamed with every breath. Heavy gold rings, branch-like in texture, mirrored the bodice’s embroidery.

Aerion looked ethereal—beautiful—but his cousins wouldn’t admit it, not while teasing him.

“You should’ve known better than to wear gowns that don’t keep you warm,” Arron said. “Especially you, youre always cold.”

“Forgive me for trusting my sworn knights and their word on the weather,” Aerion shot back, hurling a decorative pillow at Elyan’s laughing face.

“Come on, loosen up, starling,” Elyan said, smirking as he caught the pillow and threw it back. “It’s not that cold—you’ll survive.”

Before Aerion could respond to Elyan’s words, the carriage came to a halt.

“This is far from over, you two,” Aerion threatened, huffing in annoyance when both Arron and Elyan laughed as they stepped out of the carriage first.

“Next time, I’ll ask for Sylas,” Aerion hissed under his breath as he rose from his seat to follow after his cousins. He rolled his eyes when Arron gave him an amused smirk and grabbed his waist to help him down.

“Yeah, well, Sylas has better things to do than look after a bratty, spoiled omega prince,” Arron teased.

Aerion let out a haughty huff as he allowed himself to be led toward the plain castle before them, a small frown settling on his face as he hesitated.

“We’re a long way from home…” he whispered softly.

Arron gently squeezed his arm in quiet comfort. It wasn’t hard to understand what was going through Aerion’s mind—he was far from home. They all were. And as of now, it was uncertain if Aerion would ever return to the place he had been raised.

Walking through those doors would cement it. He was returning to his Targaryen side. He would no longer have the familiarity of his Dayne family. It might be years before he was allowed to return—if he was allowed at all.

And that was a truth Aerion was not quite ready to accept.

“Come, Starlight. You’ve made it this far—we can’t have you getting cold feet now.”

Arron’s words did little to ease Aerion’s worry, but they gave him just enough courage to keep walking. They follow the servants who had been graciously assigned to them towards their hosts meeting hall.

"Fuck me, delayed They’re not delayed”

Maekar’s gruff words made Aerion stop in his tracks and look up at Arron questioningly.

“Do not curse our gracious host,” the man Aerion could only assume was his uncle, Baelor, replied.

“I said fuck me, not fuck him,” Maekar scoffed, clearly annoyed.

“Um… has something happened?” Aerion asked quietly, his brows furrowing in confusion as he stepped through the threshold.

The moment he entered, every eye turned to him. He shifted slightly under the attention, wishing he had waited just a bit longer before coming in.

“Aerion…”Maekar breathed the name out, almost awed—if not for the permanent scowl set on his face. He stared at his son, his little dragon, standing before him. Aerion looked exactly like Dyanna—his face, his eyes—so much so that the sight left Maekar momentarily speechless.

“Aerion, what a surprise. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

Baelor recovered first, offering a comforting smile. He knew Maekar was likely struggling, seeing the ghost of his wife reflected so clearly in the son he had lost twenty-five years ago to a marriage alliance none of them had ever truly expected to matter.

“Ah, yes—the winds favored our travel, and Dornish horses are quite fast, Uncle.”

Aerion inclined his head politely, though his eyes drifted back to his father, who was still staring.

Aerion began to wonder if something was wrong. He shifted again, making sure to keep a tighter leash on his scent when Arron discreetly nudged him.

“Lord Ashford, what a truly magnificent castle you have here. I’m sure your daughter’s birthday will be quite wonderful, with all these great houses in attendance. I do hope you do not mind me bringing my two sworn knights along for the celebrations.”

Aerion inclined his head toward their host, offering a soft, sweet smile fit for an omega prince of his station. Even if his words were not entirely truthful, they rang sweet and syrupy—just as any submissive omega ought to sound.

Too bad Aerion was already rolling his eyes internally, especially when Lord Ashford perked up like an overeager pup.

“Not at all, my prince. Thank you for your oh-so-gracious praise.”

Lord Ashford turned toward Maekar, his eyes gleaming as though he had found the perfect way to elevate himself in the presence of the princes.

“You must be very proud, Prince Maekar. To have such an exceptional omega son must be a source of great pride. He’ll make any alpha he marries a very lucky noble.”

Aerion’s eye twitched—barely noticeable—but both Arron and Elyan caught it, their smirks full of amusement. They noticed it even more in the way Aerion’s scent soured sharply for a brief moment at Lord Ashford’s words.

"“I didn’t know I had cattle for a son.”

Maekar’s words were sharp with sarcasm, his annoyance unmistakable at the idea of his only omega son being reduced to a pawn whose only value lay in marriage. His scent soured as well, but unlike Aerion’s, it was suffocating—heavy and oppressive.

“Now, now, brother, I’m sure that’s not what Lord Ashford was trying to say.”

Aerion shifted again, taking a discreet, steadying breath at Baelor’s words.

“Of course not, my lord. I would never demean Prince Aerion in such a way.”

Elyan scoffed from his place behind Aerion, clearly unimpressed with Lord Ashford’s attempt at recovery.

Aerion remained rooted to the spot, drawing in slow, subtle breaths to keep himself from snapping.He gave Arron a small nod of gratitude when he felt the alpha’s calm scent curl around his own, tempering the sharp edge of his irritation.

He doubted Lord Ashford even had the senses to notice, but Aerion knew—this was his cousin’s quiet way of offering comfort.

Aerion shook his head slightly, looking toward his father, desperate to change the subject before his temper snapped.

“Before I came in, you spoke of my brothers being delayed. If they’re lost, I’d be happy to offer Elyan to track them down—he’s quite good at that.”

“There’s no need for you to worry yourself with that, Aerion. The Kingsguard are already looking for them.”

At his father’s words, Aerion nodded politely, awkwardly clasping his hands in front of him, unsure of how to proceed.

“It would be unwise for you to give up one of your guards while you are in an unfamiliar place, nephew, but your concern is appreciated,” Baelor cut in, sensing that neither Maekar nor Aerion knew how to continue.

“It’s no bother at all, truly. The offer stands, should you need help finding my brothers.”

He inclined his head in a slight bow toward his uncle.

“Well, if there’s nothing I can be of use for, I would like to visit the festivities now.”

Aerion turned to his father, waiting for permission to leave. He received it quickly—a simple nod and a quiet, gruff, “Be careful. Wear a cloak.”

And with that, Aerion slipped away toward the castle entrance, Elyan and Arron following close behind.