Aemond Targaryen

"Are you finished?"
Aemond's soft voice interjects as he sits on the floor beside your bed.
He's letting you braid his silky silver hair. You two married a few years ago, as soon as you both reached the marriageable age, cementing your father's stance as a supporter of Prince Aegon's claim to the iron throne.

"We're just going to sleep. The braid doesn't have to be flawless, only you'll see it,"
he remarks, his gaze lifting to meet yours, a faint smirk playing on his lips.