- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ CHAPTER FORTY SIX ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌
NOT
❛ it's not the hunger revealing
nor the ricochet in the cave
nor the hand that is healing
nor the nameless grave❜

౨ৎ disclaimer
unedited , blood, death, gore

EUDORA.

Aemond stood in the doorway, his tall figure illuminated by the dim light of the hall behind him. His eyepatch long gone, the sapphire glinting as his mouth curled into a faint, dangerous smile. "Interesting," he drawled, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him as Eudora froze in place, the broken glass trembling in her grip. Slowly, the girl turned her head at the man behind her. "I wasn't expecting you to clean up after my brother."

Eudora's pulse quickened, her fingers tightening around the shard. "Aemond," she said, her voice steady– trying to mask the panic that stirred inside her.

He took another step closer, his gaze drifting to the blood–soaked sheets, then to the broken vial in her hands. His smirk faded, replaced by his jaw tightening in disdain. "I suppose I should ask what you're doing here, but the answer seems... obvious."

"What do you think I'm doing?" she asked, slowly rising to her feet with the shard hidden in her palm. The prince's gaze snapped back to her almost immediately.

"You think yourself clever, don't you?" he said, shaking his head. "Poisoning a crippled king in the dead of night, hoping no one would notice?" He stepped closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out? With this bloody mess you've made?"

"Stay back," she warned, stumbling backwards at her words.

"Stay back?" Aemond asked mockingly. "You've just slit my brother's throat, and you think you could stop me?"

Eudora could only hold the shard to her throat, continuing to grip it tightly as she held it against her neck, blood seeping through the palm of her hand. "I'll do it."

Aemond's expression shifted. "You wouldn't," he taunted.

"Try me." Eudora then pressed the shard of glass against her skin, a thin line of maroon appearing where the edge bit into her flesh. She held his gaze, her hand steady. "I'd rather do it than live as your prisoner."

The Targaryen continued to take a slow step forward, his hand raised to her. "Put the blade down, Eudora," he demanded. "You're not thinking clearly–"

"I? I've never thought more clearly in my life," she bit back. "You think marrying me will bind me to you? No, I have to end this on my own terms."

For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Aemond lunged at her.

She moved instinctively, her body twisting as she dodged him. Throwing the shard away, she snatched the knife from the bedside table and held it out in front of her. Her breath was heavy, yet her eyes held a certain look– one that Aemond had yet to see. "I'm not afraid of you," she spat.

Aemond could only laugh darkly, pacing in front of her. "You should be."

She charged towards him, the blade aimed for his throat. Aemond avoided her attack, immediately grabbing her wrist and twisting it until the knife clattered to the floor. Eudora cried out in pain, beginning to swing her free hand at him, raking her nails across his cheek. The prince then hissed in pain, releasing her just long enough for the girl to dive for the knife again.

This time, Eudora managed to slash at his arm, the blade cutting through his tunic and drawing blood.

"You little–" Aemond yelled, his eye narrowing in anger. He swung his sword, the flat end of the blade catching Eudora's side, sending her crashing into the bedside table. Pain shot through her ribs, but she refused to stop. She scrambled to her feet, knife still in hand. "You won't win this," Aemond told her, advancing towards her once more. "You never could."

"I know– I'm just making sure you'll regret it."

She continued to swing at him with the knife, desperation running through her vains as she fought against him. She ducked under another swing of Aemond's sword, her knife slicing across his shoulder. Blood seeped hrough his tunic yet again, but his grip never faltered. Aemond shoved her hard, sending her stumbling towards the balcony and dropping the knife. He picked it up, stepping closer towards her as the cold air hit the girl's skin, and she realized how close she was to the edge. "Eudora, stop it!" Aemond yelled, gripping her by the shoulder with the knife raised high.

"No–"

"I said enough!"

She continued to fight against him, trying to swing at him at least. When Eudora hit his stomach, the impact sent the Targaryen pain throughout his body– enough to carry the knife down onto her shoulder. The girl cried out, pushing herself free from Aemond.

"Eudora!" Aemond shouted, panicking as he staggered back. He watched as she teetered on the edge, her arms flailing, reaching for something before she fell. The world seemed to slow as her body she tumbled down, the cold wind whipping through her hair. The knife she had on her shoulder buried itself deeper as she hit the rocks and stones, sending a fresh wave of blood cascading down her arm.

As gravity pulled her down, she heard the roaring waves crashing against the abundant bushes of thorns and rocks. The last thing she thought of was how the waves looked like back in Dragonstone, and almost instantly Eudora hit the bushes below with a sickening hud, the thorns beginning to tear into her skin.

Aemond stared down at her crumpled form, his chest heaving as blood dripped from his wounds. The bushes ripped most of her body, the pool of blood spreading beneath her was hard to miss. He continued to watch as the girl spat out blood, her chest heaving until it stopped– at least, he think it stopped. From where he stood, he couldn't tell, but he was sure she calmed down. His heart raced as he gripped the balcony railing, his mind scrambling to process what just happened.

She's dead, he thought, the words repeating over and over in his head. Aemond forced himself to straighten his posture, his expression hardening once more. He turned and walked back into his room, his sword covered in blood. When the guards arrived a mere moment later, summoned by the noise, Aemond met them with his calm demeanor. "The Lady Stark attempted to assasinate the king," he announced flatly. "In the struggle, she chose to jump from the balcony."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances but nodded, their loyalty to Aemond overriding their doubts. "Spread the word, Eudora Stark is dead."

(( 🫗 ))