"The privileges of men are not afforded to women, equality in that regard is nothing but a dream. We're made to birth heirs, dress beautifully and indulge in discussions so voluble that I would rather go to war than entertain them." Unable to mask her displeasure on the topic she huffs and wrinkles up her nose. "I have the dedication and more. The hour of the day hardly matters if it liberates me. Are you to be my— "

She doesn't get to finish her sentence because this man with an overall intimidating air about him flees from her presence. What once was admiration quickly devolves into something bordering on disgust, especially when she turns around to find this so-called terrible threat and sees nothing of the sort. Is he running from her? She is the heir to the Iron Throne, and he is leaving her in a maze full of bloodthirsty creatures to do with her as they see fit.

"Skorkydoso raqagon nykeā vala naejot dakogon hen gaomilaksir," she sighs out without caring if he hears her, turning over the blade he's left behind between her hands. How typical that she be the last one standing. What use are Targaryen sons who are incapable of matching her fire? To think that Viserys himself once doubted his decision, he would surely turn away in shame at this farce.

As calculating as ever, she lets Aemond get several paces away before calling out to his back. Unlike his apprehensive rivals, should he turn back to face her, he will find his half-sister looking positively innocent with one arm folded beneath her chest and the other wiggling his forgotten treasure at him. She isn't even looking at him. The game she plays is a dangerous one, but she has never shied away from uneven odds before.

"What a reputation I must have to send a man so fluent in combat fleeing for his life. The one-eye coward is shall be, then!"