Rosemary was a gentle soul— she knew that much about herself. She oftentimes found it hard to control her emotions, feeling everything in overabundance. Her mother and Jeyne said it was because her heart was too big, that she cared too much, and that it wasn't a bad thing.

She vehemently disagreed. It was an entirely horrible thing to be beholden to your own mind, unable to stop yourself from crying at tiny things. She felt too much, all of the time— she sorrowed too much, she angered too much, she loved too much.

Despite their short time together, she found comfort in Aemond. His moods were tumultuous like her own— she could not fault him for it entirely. The incident with the fish, and snapping at her after questioning him about his betrothed. Her heart strangely ached when he dismissed her so callously, all but telling her to get lost.

Mayhaps she deserved it in some way, what was her place to question him? She can't understand nor explain entirely how she felt about the prince, besides the fact that he simultaneously frightened her and also gave her a semblance of solace.

Staring into his eye as he cornered her in the Godswood, she felt like a sheep befallen by a dragon— she didn't wholly mind. A spark of unease mingling with elation bubbled in her as he focused on her, the look in his eye feral, his pupil blown out that she could hardly see the beautiful violet hue.

The desperation in his words, his pleading to understand what he was feeling— he was beholden to his emotions, just as she. He looked angry on the outside, but peering into his sole eye, she could see the edges of fear and confusion within him. He was at war with himself, at war with what he knows and what he feels.

I understand you, I do— it's unexplainable but I do. I know you are frightened, she thought to herself, her gaze softening for a moment while he looked away.

But she did not say it. To say it would be to breathe life into it, to stoke his molten blood while her own was exposed. It would feel like she was offering her soft underbelly to him, to rip into and consume as he liked, until she was nothing but bones and a memory.

Instead, she went into defense, calling him obsessive— mayhaps to thwart him off or scare him away with her harshness. Mayhaps he would feel a similar ache in his chest like she did when he snapped at her earlier that day.

The whole altercation was over so quickly that she wondered if it even happened— until he spoke his farewell, "Stay safe, little lamb."

She blinked, standing against that tree for forty minutes after he left, sliding down and sitting on her bottom. Her legs came up to her chest, arms wrapping around them. Her mind felt like sheep fleece and fog, the noises of the Godswood merely just echoes in her brain.

The logical part of her was frightened that she piqued the interest of a prince— one so scary and hard to read— it felt like being chased. Then, the illogical, uncontrollable part of her brain reveled in it, she wanted him to chase her. She wanted to be wanted. Life is so terribly short and unfair, she reasoned, what would be the harm in being coveted by someone? Especially a handsome prince.

The next morning, she reported to Aemond's chambers with a new view, and an open heart. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to indulge his obsession— maybe it would feel nice. She was particularly sprightly this morn, slipping into his chamber silently.

He was already awake, looking like he had been for hours. His eyepatch was placed haphazardly on his face, his hair a mess, draped over his bare shoulders. He glanced at her ever so slightly, the white of his eye bloodshot.

"Your grace," she murmured softly, walking towards him. She didn't feel any sense of fear or inhibition holding her back, "Are you alright?"

He cracked his knuckles, each bone in his hand and fingers audibly popping— it was a sickening sound. "No. I am not alright."

Rosemary's brow furrowed, her heart thumping errantly in her chest. She forgot herself for a moment, absentmindedly reaching for his hand. "May I?" she asked, ever so quietly.

"You may." he cracked, clenching his free hand until his knuckles were white.

Gently, she took his hand in her own—both of her own. Her thumb rasped over his scarred and calloused skin, trying to replicate the soothing motions that Jeyne always used to do when she was upset. Without letting go of his hand, she slipped into the seat next to him.

They were silent for a while, only the sound of their mingled breathing was heard. He was warm, she expected him to be, but not a stifling warmth like before. It was pleasant, like being bathed in the sun's rays like a lazy cat, or wrapped in a woolen blanket. She watched the micro expressions on his face— he was thinking deeply, a myriad of emotions coming over him within seconds before being masked by his usual indifference.

Finally, she spoke, "Do you wish to speak about it?"

He looked at her fully now, his expression stone faced. "You're being reassigned."

"Reassigned?" she murmured, the ministrations of her thumb on his skin speeding up with her rising emotion, "Did I do something wrong?"

He took a deep breath, "Yes. I simply cannot be around you any longer," he said, his voice unwavering in its resolve, although a flicker of regret passed through his gaze for the smallest of moments, "You are... a poison upon my mind. I shan't stray from my betrothed— you simply are... too much."

The ever familiar fever pitch of her feelings began to swell, starting at the pit of her stomach and making its way to her fingertips. They began to feel numb, her movements on his hand ceasing completely. She blinked profusely, "I don't... understand." she whispered.

"I don't expect you to," he replied, tearing his hand away from hers as if she burned him, as if her touch was a sickness, "Your lowborn mind cannot comprehend the machinations and delicacies of politics and the duties of a prince. You were an interesting distraction for a few moments."

The numbness in her fingertips radiated through her body in a nauseating sensation, prickling through her like slow-growing vines. The dam within her threatened to break, tears swelling in her eyes.

"If you are going to cry like a child, you should take your leave," he quipped, his voice like a lashing whip, "I don't have time for your sensitivities."

He seemed so cold now, where he was previously warm. Cold like a slab of marble, unyielding and untarnished, as thick as the walls that contained them. She thought he understood, that he was like her— lonely.

That was the word for it all, wasn't it? Loneliness.

"What are you waiting for?" the prince growled, "Get out."

She didn't even say anything further, her stomach churning like the sea, threatening to swallow her whole. She put her hand on her mouth and all but fled the room, her skirts swishing at her feet.

She didn't even close the door behind her— she just needed to find somewhere, anywhere. Pulling herself into a storage chamber, she slid down against the wall. Her chest heaved and fell, her breathing uneven and choppy. She couldn't catch her breath, stifling her choking sobs.

Damn you, damn you— she cursed. Not cursing Aemond, no, but herself. She cursed herself for her overt emotion, the inability to regulate her feelings until they all but consumed her. She cursed herself for being stupid enough to believe that she had made an impression on the prince for something more than a cursory fascination.

It was nice for a moment— to be coveted. But to covet is a sin.

Rosemary soon learned her new assignment was in Princess Helaena's chambers. She had heard many rumors of the dreamy-eyed princess, but she didn't wish to pay them mind.

She entered the princess' solar during mid-morning, about a week after her dismissal from Aemond. Pushing the thoughts down and trapping them behind a wall deep within her, she approached Helaena.

"Your grace," she murmured, "It is an honor to meet you."

Helaena looked towards Rosemary, her eyes half-lidded. Her irises were a similar shade to Aemond's violet, but were more cool-toned, an underlying hue of blue mingling with the purple. Rosemary thought them quite entrancing.

"Ah," Helaena mused, her voice soft and somewhat comforting, "Rosemary. Welcome."

Rosemary blinked a few times, passing off Helaena's knowledge of her name as a coincidence. Mustering a small smile, she leaned in a bit closer, "Is there... any particular task you wish for me?"

The princess looked away, walking to the window and opening it, "You would be good for the twins, I think," she hummed, "You are a gentle soul, I can tell. Like fuzzy fleece." her hand wrapped to the stone just outside the window, then came back. It was cupped, and she beckoned Rosemary closer.

Tentatively, the maid approached.

Uncupping her hands, Helaena was cradling a spider. It was large, with long black legs and yellow markings on its abdomen, "A golden orbweaver," she informed, "their webs are markedly stronger than castle steel and can withstand even the strongest of storms."

Rosemary was a bit unfamiliar with bugs— they didn't have many up in the Eyrie, as the air was usually too cold and thin. Besides the occasional fly, she hadn't encountered them before. Glancing curiously at the spider, and the way Helaena held it so gently, she tilted her head, "Do they bite?"

"Only if threatened will they defend themselves," Helaena offered her hands, "You aren't a threat, are you?"

Shaking her head, she mimicked Helaena's hand positioning, cupping them together and holding them close to hers. Nudging the thorax of the arachnid softly, the princess coaxed the spider into Rosemary's hands. She looked delighted at the fact that the maid was holding the spider.

"Oh, you're a natural," she whispered excitedly, "We will become fast friends, you and I. Everyone else whom I try to share my creatures with shrieks or threatens to squash them. Except for my brother, but he isn't too enthused about having them crawl on him."

Rosemary gave a tiny smile, only guessing which brother she was speaking about. "We don't have many bugs where I'm from, your grace," she raised her arms to look closer at the orbweaver. It crawled lazily on her palm, then up her wrist. It tickled a bit, but she didn't mind. "I think they're quite interesting. Their webs are strong enough to weather storms?" she inquired, tilting her head.

Helaena went on a long winded lecture about orbweavers— their strong webs and benefits to living around humans were the main highlights. "I think we should put this girl in the solar," she began to look around, "the rats are rampant as of late. This large lady could trap and feed on rats if she so liked to."

Rosemary tried to imagine a spider feeding upon a rat, but couldn't quite do so. "Mayhaps out of the reach of the children? Lady Orbweaver doesn't strike me as having as much patience for children as she does for us," she got up slowly, pointing to a high spot on the shelf, near a crack in the wall, "How about here?"

Helaena was profusely amused by Rosemary's words, "Oh, yes— this is a good spot for Lady Orbweaver's nest, indeed. Let me get the stepstool."

The stool was procured and Rosemary tottered up upon it, reaching up to nudge the spider from her arm onto the shelf. Helaena held it steady, one hand on Rosemary's hip. With the spider in her new home, she descended back to the ground.

"You must weather the storm, weave your web, dear lamb," Helaena murmured, a far-away look in her eye, "Feast upon the rats stuck in your threads."

"Pardon?" Rosemary blinked.

"The children will be up soon from their naps, come, you must meet them!" Helaena snapped back to her usual demeanor, a smile crinkling at her lips.

Meeting the children was a feat in itself— Jaehaerys was sprightly, practically bouncing off the walls. Little Maelor, who was just two name days old, tried to follow his older brother, but usually came up short.

Jaehaera was quiet, meticulous. She reminded Rosemary of a flower who hadn't yet bloomed, a bit shut off and melancholy. She hid behind her mother's skirts, peering at the maid with violet eyes.

"Jaehaera is just cautious," Helaena said, "She suffers from night terrors, and the... effect from those usually bleeds into her day."

Rosemary frowned, it was saddening to see a girl so young already fall into the pit of her doldrums. She should be running around and playing silly games, alight with the flame of youth. The maid sank down onto her knees to Jaehaera's height, "Hello, your highness," she hummed in a quiet voice, "I very much like your dress, it's very pretty."

Jaehaera stared at Rosemary as if she had two heads, then tugged on her mother's skirts, "Mama, want Morghul," she whimpered, "Morghul, mama."

Rosemary blinked, "Morghul?" she looked to Helaena to fill in the blanks.

"Morghul is Haera's dragon. His name means death in High Valyrian," she threaded her fingers through Jaehaera's silky white-blonde hair, "We will have to see Morghul another time, sweetling. Maelor isn't old enough to go, yet."

Rosemary suppressed the urge to screw up her face. A girl of five name days had named her dragon Death, no wonder the little thing was so gloomy. "I can watch Maelor, your grace," she offered, "The princess might be roused if she sees her dragon— I've only heard stories of your family's bond with them, but I can imagine it may be like wanting to reunite with a fragment of your soul."

Jaehaera visibly lit up– not by much, but a light came to her eyes momentarily, "Please mama." she murmured.

Helaena was not a stern mother by any means, and Rosemary thought that a good thing. The children would be constrained in life in one form or another, so having a parent who wasn't restrictive was a blessing. "Ah– well, of course. As long as it's truly alright with Rosemary." she glanced up at the maid.

"Of course," Rosemary smiled, "It is my job– and besides that, I want to."

Rosemary wrangled Jaehaerys in his clothes, while Helaena helped Jaehaera lace up her coat. Maelor sniffled, watching from outside the nursery. He had huge eyes, like two jeweled orbs, lined with tears.

"I wan' go, muña." he whimpered, his little voice watery.

Rosemary, who just finished dressing Jaehaerys, walked over to Maelor, "I know you wish to go with your mother and siblings, sweet boy," she hummed, "But, we can do something much more fun, hmm? Do you like to play games?"

"... like playing... dwagons n' castle," he mumbled, looking bashful suddenly at the attention he was receiving by Rosemary.

"That is a good one– my mama used to play wildlings and giants with me," she led him back to the playroom while Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and Helaena departed. Maelor was none the wiser to it, as he was enraptured by Rosemary's theatrics, "Do you know what wildlings are, little prince?"

He shook his head, sitting down on the rug and beginning to stack his wooden blocks.

"Way up in the North, past the giant wall of ice, it's always winter. The people who live there are called 'Wildlings', they live in big tribes and have huge families. Giants and ice dragons live beyond the wall, too."

"Giants... tall like uncle?" Maelor scrunched his nose.

"Taller," Rosemary said, lifting up to her full height, scooping up Maelor and sitting him on her shoulders, "They're the size of three uncles stacked atop one another!"

Maelor squealed with delight as she pulled him down from her shoulders and propped him on her hip, holding him with one arm. He was tiny for his age, and Rosemary suspected that the pregnancy hadn't been easy on Helaena. She continued on with her stories for the better of half an hour.

"The dragons beyond the wall breath ice instead of fire, you know," she hummed, "Their scales are made of frost and icicles."

"And how do you know such a thing?" another voice, a familiar one, spoke. Prince Aemond was standing at the doorway to the playroom, his arms behind his back, "You're from the Vale, not the North, if I recall correctly."

Rosemary blinked. How did he get in here so silently without her noticing?

Nevertheless, she puffed out her chest, "My mother told me," she answered with a hint of defiance, still cross with him over their whole mess of a situation.

"Uncle, uncle," Maelor squirmed in Rosemary's grasp, "Me n' Rose are gonna live in the North n' get married n' have giant ice dwagon babies."

"Is that so?" Aemond pursed his lips in an amused expression, walking closer to them, "Hrm, I haven't received my invitation to the wedding."

Rosemary put Maelor down, "I believe it's time for your nap, little prince," she hummed. She tucked him into bed. Walking back out into the now silent play room, she glanced at Aemond, "You're still here, your grace?"

"Hm," he grunted, looking over some miscellaneous pages on one of the writing desks. Rosemary thought he was trying to make himself look busy, "I was looking for my sister."

"She's gone to the dragonpit with the twins," Rosemary answered evenly, not quite meeting his gaze, "I don't think she will be back for a few hours– may I relay a message?"

It was all a whirlwind of motion, a flurry of papers– then he was upon her, his hand ghosting over her hip, his head craned down, staring at her. This position felt oddly familiar– he was always cornering her.

She sniffed, feeling a moment of bravery and pushed back against him, his head knocking against the sconce softly. Her hand gripped at the collar of his doublet, pulling him down to her level. He seemed flustered by the sudden change. The tips of his ears burned red.

"How does it feel, my prince?" she asked then, her voice so soft and almost sweet, but there was a distinct edge to it, like the sharpened blade holstered to Aemond's hip, "I wouldn't imagine you feel so mighty being cornered by the lamb, hm?"

His nostrils flared, his mouth opening to say something, to protest– but nothing came out except for a frustrated growl. The tinge of red on his ears migrated down towards the height of his cheeks, "I could have your tongue cut out for speaking to me in such a manner– for handling me, for touching me," he huffed, "You think yourself clever?"

"Clever? Not really. Crafty, mayhaps. I was able to catch you off-guard momentarily, hm?" she smiled then, giggling, "I am still cross with you– but this made me feel a little better." she let go of his collar, smoothing it down before backing up.

"Cross with me?"

"Yes, cross with you– you spoke so callously to me just a few days ago."

"Hm."

Rosemary glared at him, "This is usually where someone would apologize."

"I don't apologize, especially not to little lambs who think themselves crafty and clever and whatever else is inside of your head. I let you get even, to get one over on me. Consider the matter put to bed, then." he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall.

"Hmmm," she mused, looking as if she was deep in thought, "No. I am still cross with you and I shall be until you apologize."

"Then you shall be cross forever– I do not apologize."

Rosemary turned away from him then, absentmindedly cleaning up the children's toys. She acted as if he wasn't there.

"You're acting like a brat, Rosemary." he cautioned, pronouncing her name in a drawled out, meticulous warning.

"And you're a brute, Aemond." she snapped back, using his name informally for the first time to address him.

He snorted again– Rosemary imagined smoke curling from his nostrils like the grumpy dragon he was. He gave her a seething look, but with a hint of a smile on his face as he left.

–

"How... sure are you of their relations, Lord Larys?" Floris asked softly, clenching her hands together before she poured them both more tea.

"My sources informed me of a very close encounter in the Godswood just a mere week ago," he blew on his tea before taking a sip, "And my sources are never skewed in their reports."

"I thought that the second-son was the more respectable of the princes," she murmured, tapping her finger on the cup errantly, "What am I to do? We're not even married yet and he is already insistent on dragging my name through the mud."

Larys put down his tea cup, both hands atop his cane, "Let me take care of it, my lady. The maid won't be a problem anymore within a moon's time."