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    In the hall of Storm's End, Aemond turns towards Luke, his eye lighting up with something terribly dark and pleased.

    Foreboding turns Luke’s stomach to lead. That is not a look he has ever wanted directed at himself. That is not a look of someone who means to honor that Luke is here as messenger only.

    Aemond considers him for a moment longer, gaze flicking up and down with the pleased glint of a smug cat. Then he turns toward their host. “Lord Borros, be my witness: by the ancient customs of our House, by the ancient rite to wed fire and blood, I declare a marriage hunt on Lucerys Velaryon.”

    The entire hall falls silent.

    Oh no. Luke gapes; his uncle cannot mean this seriously—

    The only smile on Aemond’s face is one of dark triumph.

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    18 Jun 2023