«Game recognises the game. Player sees a one from afar. But the winner? Oh, he just knows how to hide from the very beginning.»

— From Drusilla Tyrell's memoirs.

•

'No!'

Drusilla is quick to jump between Aemond and Jacaerys, putting hands on her husband's shoulders, watery eyes so pleading and scared, that it is hard to look at her in such state. And there is a visible redness on her face, where the hit landed, an unhealthy one.

'Aemond, please don't.'

This actions of her allows Rhaenyra to run to their side and gesture Daemon to hide the boys away, while Aemond really didn't do anything that they cannot fix.

'My poor girl,' Alicent runs to them too, though only for checking on Drusilla. 'Are you okay?'

But her words fade away as Aemond snaps:

'Why wouldn't I?' Aemond ignores his mother, looking directly at his wife. 'Name me one reason why I shouldn't take his eye for hitting my wife.'

Drusilla cups his cheek, a smile growing in a tender one.

'Because it was my choice to step in. Because I simply wanted to protect you, Aemond. And because, unwillingly, I must bring a bad fortune to this dinner by saying something wrong. So let's forget what happened today,' he slowly relaxes under her touch, breath evening. 'You will teach me about what I should say and what I shouldn't more. It will not repeat.'

But that is what Rhaenyra tried to warn about it, isn't it? That her half-brother is uncontrollable, a single emotion being able to send him out of control. She can calm him down now, but when the tables will turn and Drusilla would be the one to anger him, then what she will do? Who will save her?

'It is not your fault,' he grunts in the end.

Alicent steps closer to her son, whispering something in his ear, and Drusilla uses the opportunity to face Rhaenyra and Daemon. To this moment, Jacaerys and Lucerys are already left, the dinner hall though loud, but much emptier.

'Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon,' she smiles at them with hints of sadness. 'I... I truly didn't wish to ruin this day for all of you. I knew how important it was, and His Majesty spoke a lot about it... I... Do you mind explaining what did I say wrong?'

So, father speaks to her time to time? How curious.

'You know how they say, Lady Tyrell-Targaryen?' Daemon suddenly speaks up. 'Game recognises the game.'

Rhaenyra eyes him, with a slight hints of judgment.

What he is implying on?

Drusilla looks at him, absolutely confused as well.

'Excuse you? What game?' Daemon pierces her with careful gaze. 'Oh. You, Targaryens, has some special family game? Like tradition?'

Drusilla's face lit up with excitement as she is clapping in her hands. Slightly turning to Aemond, she asks:

'What games do your family usually plays?'

Aemond, who just finished talking with his mother, comes closer. Hugging her waist possessively, brining their bodies closer, he furrows:

'What games?'

'I don't know!' She exclaims. 'We should play some game!'

Her husband offers her a tired pat on the shoulder.

'Mhm. Sure.'

'Great!'

'Come on, we should treat your cheek. Aegon brought some ice.'

'Right. Good night, Princess Rhaenyra! Good night, Prince Daemon!'

Rhaenyra decides to discuss this matter with Daemon, only when both of them are alone, in their temporary chambers, not the safest place—she can't feel safe in there, at all; couldn't bring herself to after that night—but it is something. Though sometimes, it feels like eyes are everywhere, and ears are too. That her every movement or even thought is translated in Otto's mind. Or Alicent's.

The more time goes—a dreadful feeling of her father's death upcoming death, if you may—the worse she feels. Paranoid. Scared. Anxious. She asks herself will be ever easier, when she will sit on the throne? Or will she be no less insane than Maegor himself, in the end?

'You think that Drusilla chases some other goals than being here?'

Daemon sits down on his side of bed, face absent-minded.

'For a second I thought that...' His voice trails off, and Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow in silent question. '...No, don't mind me. I got it all wrong.'

'I don't see anything suspicious in her persona. Surely, she is less naive and dumb than she appears in the court. But in the end, she is a mere woman. And her love for Aemond... I thought, at first, that there is nothing between them. But... I was wrong. I can see that these feelings are truthful. She loves him, truly. But I know how girls like her are raised. With the though that they are keepers, the heart of family. Therefore, she believes that changing woman, taming him is possible. That it is her responsibility, to turn the beast in human. Like in that old fairytales Septa tell.'

Rhaenyra remembers them because Alicent liked to read these stories. When they were younger, she believed that this kind of love exists, and if the man loves truly, then he would change his entire self just for her. Because she felt that it is a right thing, to save someone.

Rhaenyra disliked this kind of stories for so long she knows them. Because in this perfect tales, instead of relating to the princesses, she found herself understanding beasts. And if she was them, she would hate even the idea of changing just to fit someone. And so, she found a beast that matches her own one. It works better this way.

'But he listens to her. I'll give her that,' Daemon chuckles.

'Well, for now,' she agrees, shivering slightly. 'But how long stories like this are usually last?'

What will happen to Drusilla Tyrell when she will stay here all alone, the charm of first days long gone?

Rhaenyra hopes they will never find out.

•

They return to their chambers in proud silence.

Of course, it happens after they visit Maester—because Alicent had been nervous about Drusilla's injure—and after Aegon stops fussing over her, reminding so much of his mother. Drusilla also takes some time to comfort Kasia, who apparently, somehow, already heard about what happened—she taught her a little bit too well—and only then, the doors close behind them.

Aemond stares at her.

Drusilla can't help but laugh aloud.

'Had you seen their faces?' She asks him, a wide and proud smirk across her face. 'Admit it, admit it, because I am right. God, I love being Tyrell!'

Aemond sighs.

'He hit you,' he grits his teeth. 'So, yes, I agree that it was an amazing performance, but he hit you instead of me.'

...She constantly forgets that it is only she and her brother, who can triumph over things like that, despite how harmful for them their victories might be.

Drusilla repeats his sigh.

'And? Physical pain means nothing to me,' she answers with all honesty. 'And you call that a hit? Gods, more like cat pawing. I've been hurt by men before. Jacaerys is not even close to what I had experienced,' noticing Aemond's darkening glance, she amends. 'All of them are dead already. No need to be mad.'

Truly, little Velaryon is just a young, average boy. And it is okay to be mediocre—though, slightly astonishing, considering from where he comes—but in the game they all are playing, it is almost a direct way to the death. Good boys will never win the game for the throne.

'I can't allow you to be hurt,' Aemond continues, catching her by the wrist. 'I owed to protect you.'

Ah, he loves Aemond. Really does. But he should realise already, that Drusilla doesn't need to be protected. From all people in this castle, she might be the one of three people, who perfectly manages herself. Something she can't say about the most of his family.

'I did the same, Aemond, remember?' She answers him calmly. 'I protect you, and tomorrow you will answer with the same. Because that is what unconditional love means.'

'But–'

She turns her wrist, so instead of holding her, Aemond is the one to be held. She tugs him to the bed, plopping on it tiredly. Instead of seating beside her, Aemond chooses to kneel, cheek rested on her lap. Like a cat, searching for a source of warm in winter, though finding only fire.

Her dear Aemond.

'Aemond, we are equals. I am standing up for you, and you do the same for me,' she whispers soothingly, patting his hair. 'You trust me, don't you?'

'...More than I trust myself.'

Good.

Drusilla trusts herself, too.

'Did you like it? Their faces, when they heard my speech?'

Augustus has this strange assumption, that her reunion with Aemond eventually will make her weaker. That a loving heart will become softer, and she more and more will rely on him, trusting. He thinks, because it is how he loves. He loves like a dog: loyally, allowing to do with him everything his lover wants. The love of a true poet. So beautifully heartbreaking.

But it is not same with Drusilla.

Her love for Aemond is unquestionably honest and pure—the last pure thing that she has in herself, the only remnants that even were in her—but she doesn't lose her cool. She loves like an ivy: overbearing and suffocating, madly, to the point of sacrifices. She loves like a king that lives to protect his folk. And the rulers don't take off their crowns no matter how sincere they are with their loved one.

'Mhm,' Drusilla feels how Aemond relaxes, smiling in the fabric of her skirts. 'Grow strong. Such a smart and delicate move. I would never think of it'

Liar.

'They should know better than laugh at you,' she hisses. Her voice grows uncontrollably harsh. 'Little bastard, who he thinks he is? So many honour for a spoiled kid, who doesn't know anything about this life.'

...Though, this statement can be related to most of the Targaryens ever exist. How she wished them to once be tossed down, in the depth of the bottom, where their names mean nothing, and they have no money on themselves.

'I like it when you are like this, my fierce one,' Aemond muses, putting the chin on her thigh. 'Would you kill Lucerys for me?'

What a greedy sweetheart Aemond is.

'I would kill anyone for you, my love. But killing him now means losing the war. And it is not what we want,' her thumb runs across his pale skin, wiping the little eyelash that fell on his cheek. 'I suggest do it in better way. To sit on the Iron Throne. And watch him bowing to you.'

Because that is what will happen.

Soon.

Drusilla just needs Viserys to die.

'How cruel you are,' Aemond laughs, and this laugh is a genuine one, warm and a little bit soft. 'I adore you, truly.'

'So this is it?' She teases him. 'The cruelty - is it through what lies a way to prince's heart?'

'No,' Aemond says, suddenly turning serious. 'Being you - that is the only way to have my heart.'

With these words, Aemond lifts her skirts, simultaneously parting her legs. Drusilla opens her mouth, speechless by sudden changes in the mood of her husband, but no sounds come out. Instead, her hands grip the sheets under her.

'Relax, wife. Your husband will reward you for having so much courage today. All night for you.'

And, oh, Aemond's best weapon is truly his tongue.

•

'Do you think lady Tyrell will be okay?' Lucerys whispers, hands playing with the tip of his blanket as his brother concentrated reads something in the book that mother borrowed him yesterday; a high valyrian, perhaps.

Jacaerys sighs.

They are both tired from this evening; not only it is hard to meet your whole family that hates you again, but also... But also chaos happened, just as usual. Not like someone expected another outcome.

'Bruise will stay, more likely,' Jacaerys's voice comes out muffled.

He knows his brother is blaming himself too much; they both promised mother to control their emotions, not to show them in front of court. But it is a hard task, isn't it? Daemon says they got it from their dad, but Lucerys is not sure from which one exactly. Him or Ser Strong?

'No, I mean... Staying here. Living here.'

Perhaps, it is strange to worry about her. Because, well, it is her own choice—her brother makes sure to hear her opinion before making a decision; that everyone know, because she refused to choose Jace—but also... It is easy to fall in the charm of this house.

And Drusilla Tyrell is a very kind-hearted woman.

'I don't know,' Jacaerys answers honestly, closing his book. 'Aemond seems to care for her. So, maybe, it will be okay.'

'Noble men always care for their accessories,' Lucerys says thoughtfully.

Jacaerys blink, a little bit amused:

'Who put this thought in your head, Luc?'

'She said it herself,' Lucerys rolls his eyes, sitting up in the bed. 'When she was at the Dragonstone. That is why I am worried!'

He knows that his relationship with Drusilla, despite the small talks and laughs, meant mostly nothing for her, but not for him. They spoke, and spoke a lot, he was finally feeling free to talk about what bothered him. And, yes, maybe Drusilla considered to be a little bit careless, but she understood him.

She knows how it is to be - the younger sibling, who wants to impress mother. She knows how hard it is to match your big, perfect brother. Drusilla knows the taste of the unwanted responsibility, the fear of failure.

'Hm... Well. She could refuse Aemond, right?' Jacaerys calms him down, standing from his place beside the window, moving to the bed. 'She didn't. So, maybe it is okay with them. It is not like we can do much about it.'

It is true, Aemond, in fact, looks like he is worried about Drusilla. And even uncle Aegon... But... He has a terrible feeling that something is off. And just like mom says: the first one to suffer when the war begins, it is women.

'You think, when mom will become the Queen, we can help Lady Tyrell?'

Jacaerys tosses around, finally settling in front of Lucerys, hand under his head.

'If she wishes so.'

'Who?' he asks, meaning either mom or Drusilla.

'Lady Tyrell, of course. You can't save someone, who doesn't want to be saved,' Jace yawns, lightly pinching his shoulder. 'Sleep, Luc. We are leaving early tomorrow, remember?'

'I know.'

But Lucerys can't fall asleep for almost the whole night, and when he finally does, he dreams of Drusilla. She walks down the garden, hands folded on the back, and when he calls for her, she only smiles.

"Do you want to take a walk, Luc?"

He also sees his father that night—the real one, he means—and he shakes his head silently as if asking not to go with her. But Lucerys does the opposite anyway, determined to find Drusilla. Because he feels a strange sense of danger, and it can be good.

When he wakes up in the early morning, he has a feeling that someone stares at his back.

But the room is empty.

King's Landings reminds more of the haunted house with each passing year.

Lucerys thinks that maybe it is good that they are not living here anymore.

A/N:  Short chapter, but from the next chapter we are starting the arc, so... Be ready. Sooner or later everything will reveal, he-he.