#Crown Prince Bridge

[sigalrm]

Crown Prince Bridge by Pascal Volk

[crimsonmonsoon]

If you can’t tell I am entirely obsessed with this guy

[starlightbooklove]

A short summary of the blog content:

A little bit of everything, but mostly, my opinion about the books I'm reading, which range from fantasy to mystery. Maybe I'll pass a review here from time to time.

I also like to talk about series and movies and I love acting and writing. Also love art, fanarts and drawings

Regarding the sagas of which I am a fan, I want to make clear:

Love SJM books, i'm pro feysand, i also like Nesta and Chaol, and i'm pro gwyriel, Above everything else in general I love everything 😂, and I love talking about details and things about the series and I accept that they are not perfect yet still love them with all my heart.

I have read The Cruel Prince trilogy, i have the stolen herir but still haven't read it, i need to refresh my mind in everything that happen in the last book before reading it because i finish the trilogy last year. Nothing very remarkable to say, I'm a fan 😅.

I love love loveee Agggtm, can't wait for the series, love the casting, argue with the wall, huge fan of the trilogy, My favorite is the third one.

I have a thing, that if the book makes me cry, i love that book, so i'm open to recommendations.

And of course, a fan of Fourth Wing.

Among other books that I love are:

Three dark crowns (i'm reading the third book), a savage song bilogy, i love it, vicius bilogy, the Kingdom bridge, and i don't remember any other right now 😅.

Hope You enjoy the content ✨

[royalchildreneurope]

Crown Princess Mary of Denmark, Prince Vincent of Denmark and Princess Josephine of Denmark climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge during their holidays in Australia, in Sydney, Australia -December 16th 2023.

📷 : Bridge Climb Sydney.

[thebleedingeffect]

@trangender-herooftime I wanted to tag you cause you expressed interest in my oot Link, or Time, being the prince of hyrule and being long-lost siblings with Sheik!! But if you want me to remove the tag or anything else it's all chill <33

anyway this is the first, mini part to Time's coronation! If I do end up writing out even more of Time I'll probably rewrite this a bit just to make it prettier! But this is the first sketch of Sheik and Time and I really like how the scene turned out :]] (also ps for anyone who has played oot and is wondering why Impa is here- in my headcanon the sages didn't die. think totk or ww vibes, they're here because I think they're all really cool <3 )

-

The morning comes much too early, hardly a blink goes by and the dawn stretches over the pristine grasses of hyrule field and through the thin slit of darkness that envelops Time’s room. Anticipation crackles noisily in the air as Time sleepily awakens to the feeling, the odd energy buzzing to life underneath his skin and throughout the kingdom. The land is hardly awake, only the passing gleam of oranges and pinks colors the horizon, but Time knows more than well that the kingdom below him has hardly slept the entire night. 

Exhaustion tinges the back of Time’s eyes for just a moment, enough for the half-hearted attempt to roll away from the light and bury deeper into the covers to push him back under the thin veil of sleep. The light crosses more vehemently across the spotless floor, but Time only buries himself deeper into the sheets, the urge to sleep more near overwhelming.

Hyrule seems to awake all at once as Time moves in bed, as if the world itself noticed him blurrily waking to the dawn and grabbed the sun by its hilt and pulled it over the horizon. The gentle murmur of hyrule, of the castle, and the chorus of hyrule's people waking up all up at once stirs Time from the retreating embrace of sleep, the once thin sliver of light now a dim, orange glow as he blinks tiredly at the sight.

The world blinks back at him and all at once, Time remembers.

It’s the day of the ceremony, the coronation.

The arrival of Hyrule's long lost prince.

The very air itself seems to suck itself out of Time’s chest and leaves an uncomfortable, near nauseous feeling in its place that banishes the very thought of even closing his eyes. Every blink makes the feeling even more overwhelming until Time feels his hands against the pristine sheets shake, the prickling sensation of anxiety coming with the bitter arrival of the unknown. Time pushes himself slowly off the bed, letting the seconds drag past him as he takes a step towards the window, pushing back the heavy curtain as the orange glow illuminates the lines of nervousness strung tightly across his whitened knuckles. 

The town breathes to life before his eyes, the momentary quiet of the night quickly giving way and succumbing to the almost feverish energy as the houses and world below seems to almost pulse with excitement. Gone is the night, instead the morning arrives with a fury that is only rivaled by the biting fear chewing at his insides. 

The quiet creak of wood isn’t a surprise, neither is the soft footsteps that accompany it, near soundless even in the silence and against Time’s frayed nerves. The soft click of the door echoes for a paralyzing moment, enough for Time to breathe a shaky gasp until that warmth pushes against his side and joins him under the orange glow.

Time doesn’t need to look to know exactly who it is, instead he surrenders to the crushing need to feel that warmth and leans onto Sheik’s side. 

“Did you sleep?” Time falls further into his side, the quiet comfort quieting a small piece of the fear that threatened to choke whatever stroke of bravery that had carried him through the countless years. 

“...Just a bit, didn’t want to wake up.” The soft rumbling laughter that shakes Sheik’s shoulders brings a smile to Time’s face, small and fragile, but Time covets the feeling all the same. 

“I convinced Impa to let you sleep a bit longer, we don’t need an exhausted prince falling asleep in front of all of hyrule, don’t we?” The teasing smile drags Time’s eyes up to meet Sheik’s, the oddly soft expression near eclipsed by the shades of the dawn now blanketed over the two of them. Time gives a small smile of his own, but it feels brittle even against his own skin, and the silent understanding passes soundlessly between them as Sheik’s eyes soften even further.

“But I won’t let that happen, I did promise you after all that I would be by your side the entire time. From beginning to end, until the day over, and not a moment before that.” The words feel heavy with several meanings, with ghosts and old scars, but are wrapped against so much affection that Time can’t help the slight tug at his lips.

“I remember, you’ve only told me countless times this whole week. And the month before that, can’t forget the couple of months that-”

“Oh shush, I had to make sure that it got through that thick head of yours. You wouldn’t have listened otherwise.” The small flush of embarrassment at the words drags a huff from Time’s chest, enough for Sheik to chuckle again before lapsing back into comfortable silence. Distantly, Time drinks in the warmth by his side and knows without a beat of hesitation.

If anyone was ever going to be his family, he’s happy that it was Sheik.

Was it simply a stroke of luck or at the hand of the goddesses? He’ll likely never know, but the thought washes away as the soft rumbling of the town below begins to bleed even through the stone of the castle. 

“...You promise?”

“I’ve meant it every time, and I mean it now.” 

All at once, a shuffling exhale punches itself through Time’s chest, bringing with it all of the anxiety that had coiled so tightly, so fiercely, around his lungs until he could barely breathe. The air is just the slightest bit lighter and the glow of dawn not so blinding as Time drags a final glance at the world before meeting Sheik’s eyes with a mischievous glimmer.

“Good, that means we’ll both suffer through Impa today.”

“Someone needs to keep you both in check, Hylia knows neither of you will do it.” 

Time will always vehemently refuse that he yelped in surprise and then in pain as Sheik spun around fast enough that he nearly fell onto said pristine glass instead of tripping onto the floor. He simply didn’t, never, even if the slight knowing look in Impa’s eyes said otherwise as she soundlessly passed through the door and strolled before them, glancing out the window before looking back.

“Hm, it seems like Hyrule is excited to meet their prince. But we have much to do before that.” Impa’s shoulders stay steady at the intimidating sight, the chorus of voices and sound itself clawing its way onto the unmovable set of her frame.

 “Are you ready?” The heavy weight of Impa’s gaze settles over him, but it’s a familiar weight, a welcomed one, and the brief glimpse of concern creasing the edges of her eyes is enough for Time to give a hesitant smile of his own. Sheik stands straighter at the question, his eyes losing the few thin shreds of exhaustion that lingered before giving a sharp nod of his own. 

Scars line Time’s hands as he takes a final look down at Hyrule below, free of gold, lavious clothes, or the eyes of a kingdom dragging themselves across the very sight of him. No sword etches itself into the palm of his hand, instead his knuckles tighten over the edge of stone and for a horrifying moment- Time almost misses the familiar weight.

Somehow, facing down countless monsters, lonely nights, and the demon king himself were all easier than the very thought of today. Fate breathes itself down Time’s neck, the feeling snapping over his nerves and crackling into sparks before he turns away with a final drag of air. 

Today, he won’t wield a sword, but an equally terrifying weapon of its own caliber. 

The crown of Hyrule itself will reside in his palms and he can already imagine the sensation of it burning itself into his temples.

“Yes, yes I am.” 

Time doesn’t have the opportunity to regret the words, not anymore, but part of him doesn’t if only to see the proud glimmer in Impa’s smirk and the way Sheik’s eyes brighten. With that, the world snaps back into place under their feet and the castle hums in anticipation, in excitement, and Time spares one last mournful glance at his empty bed.

But the world doesn’t wait, doesn’t hesitate, and Time feels how the orange glow of the dawn scorches along his back as the cool rush of the door closes behind him. 

[bluerosefox]

Always Favors You

Another Sibling Danny and Jason idea!!

"Are you Jason Peter Todd?!" demanded a deep and commanding tone from the strange glowing being in front of them.

All the Bats stiffened and tensed, no doubt gearing up for a fight against the being that somehow knew Red Hood's full name.

Jason, Red Hood, decided to put on a brave front despite no doubt cursing in his head and wondering how the heck did this thing know his full freaking name.

"Whose asking." he snarled out, his hands twitching for his gun when the huge glowing knight with purple flames coming out of his helmet and cape, who was riding on a nightmare looking horse while they all had been in the cave going over tonight's patrol.

The Knight didn't seemed bothered by his response nor did he even seem to care or flinch when Batman made his own demand on 'Why was he there and who was he' or when Damian unsheathed his sword and pointed it towards him. Instead the strange glowing Knight reached to it side and pulled out... A glowing scroll? Huh. (Also he completely unnerved everyone in the room when the Knight didn't even react when Batman had tossed a Baterang when he reached for his side)

The Knight opened the scroll and spoke clearly with purpose.

"Jason Peter Todd,

You are hereby invited as a special guest of honor to the crowning of our future King of the Infinite Realms.

Daniel Phantom, once Daniel Jackson Fenton, and once Daniel Austen Todd.

Prince of the Infinite Realms, the Keeper of Balance, The Peacekeeping Halfa, the Defeater of the Tyrant King Pariah Dark, The Great One, Youngest of the Ancients, Ancient of Space, The Bridge between Life and Death.

You, the half-brother of our King, have been given the highest of honors for your past actions and will be given housing and food in the Realms and Phantom's Keep, for the week long event. Personal servants and attendants will be at your disposable and a seamstress will be on hand to tailor make your attire for the Coronation.

Signed: Clockwork. Ancient of Time. Watcher of the Infinite Timeline. Kronos. Mentor and Adviser.

PS: I shall have Fright Knight ("Me" the Knight bluntly said for a second) leave this scroll along with a personal one for you from Daniel to read over and once you make up your mind sign the bottom of the scroll.

I do hope in time you will pick the right choice Jason Todd, we of the Infinite Realms would like to reward you for your actions. After all, if you hadn't gotten young Daniel away from your father that night all those years ago, we would never had gained our Prince nor be free from our once Tyrant King.

Ah, one more thing.

The Infinite Realms will always favor you Jason."

Jason felt like he couldn't breath as Fright Knight? Rolled up the scroll, pulled a letter from his side, and held out the two items for him to take.

[northpointdentalcentres]

Toowoomba’s Top Emergency Dentists: How to Choose the Right One for You

When facing a dental emergency, finding a reliable and skilled emergency dentist becomes crucial. In the city of Toowoomba, there are several outstanding emergency dentists who provide prompt and effective care. However, choosing the right dentist for your specific needs can be a daunting task. This article aims to guide you through the process of selecting the best emergency dentist in Toowoomba by highlighting important factors to consider.

Qualifications and Expertise:

The first and foremost factor to consider when choosing an emergency dentist is their qualifications and expertise. Ensure that the dentist has the necessary education and training in emergency dental care. Look for dentists who have completed advanced courses or have specific certifications in emergency dentistry. Their experience in handling dental emergencies will give you confidence in their ability to provide the appropriate treatment.

Accessibility and Availability:

During a dental emergency, timely treatment is crucial for pain relief and to prevent further complications. Consider the accessibility and availability of the emergency dentist. Find out their office hours, including evenings, weekends, and holidays, to ensure they can accommodate your emergency needs. Additionally, check their location and proximity to your home or workplace to minimize travel time during emergencies.

Range of Services:

Evaluate the range of emergency dental services offered by the dentist. Dental emergencies can vary from toothaches and broken teeth to severe infections or injuries. Choose a dentist who can handle a wide range of emergencies and provide comprehensive care. This ensures that you can receive the necessary treatment without being referred to multiple specialists.

Advanced Technology and Equipment:

A reputable emergency dentist should have access to advanced technology and modern dental equipment. This includes digital X-rays, intraoral cameras, and state-of-the-art diagnostic tools. Advanced equipment aids in accurate diagnosis and ensures efficient and effective treatment. It also reflects the dentist’s commitment to staying up-to-date with the latest advancements in emergency dentistry.

Patient Comfort and Care:

Dental emergencies can be stressful and anxiety-inducing. Look for an emergency dentist who prioritizes patient comfort and provides a caring and supportive environment. Pay attention to aspects such as the dentist’s communication style, their ability to explain treatment options, and their willingness to address any concerns or questions you may have. A compassionate dentist can help alleviate anxiety and make your emergency dental visit more comfortable.

Emergency Protocols and Procedures:

Inquire about the emergency protocols and procedures followed by the dental practice. Ask about their response time, triage system, and how they handle urgent cases. A well-organized emergency dental practice will have established procedures to ensure efficient and prompt care. It is important to choose a dentist who is well-prepared to handle emergencies and can provide immediate attention when needed.

Patient Reviews and Testimonials:

Consider the experiences of other patients by reading online reviews and testimonials. Look for feedback on the emergency dentist’s expertise, professionalism, and quality of care. Positive reviews and recommendations can provide valuable insights and help you gauge the dentist’s reputation in the community. However, it’s essential to consider a range of reviews to form a balanced opinion.

Insurance and Payment Options:

Check if the emergency dentist accepts your dental insurance or offers flexible payment options. Dental emergencies can be unexpected and often come with associated costs. Having clarity about insurance coverage and payment options beforehand can alleviate financial concerns. Contact the dental office or review their website to understand their policies regarding insurance claims and payment plans.

Conclusion:

Selecting the right emergency dentist Toowoomba is a decision that can significantly impact your dental health and overall well-being during an emergency situation. By considering factors such as qualifications, accessibility, range of services, technology, patient care, emergency protocols, patient reviews, and insurance/payment options, you can make informed.

FAQ

Q: What should I consider when choosing an emergency dentist in Toowoomba?

A: When choosing an emergency dentist in Toowoomba, consider factors such as their qualifications and expertise, accessibility and availability, range of services offered, advanced technology and equipment, patient comfort and care, emergency protocols and procedures, patient reviews and testimonials, and insurance and payment options.

Q 2: How do I know if an emergency dentist is qualified and experienced?

A  : To determine if an emergency dentist is qualified and experienced, research their educational background, certifications, and any specialized training in emergency dentistry. Additionally, look for reviews and testimonials from other patients to gauge their expertise and the quality of care they provide.

Q 3: Is the emergency dentist available outside of regular office hours?

A  : When faced with a dental emergency, it’s crucial to know if the emergency dentist is available outside of regular office hours. Inquire about their after-hours availability, including evenings, weekends, and holidays. Having access to an emergency dentist who can provide timely care is essential for prompt relief and treatment.

Q 4: What types of dental emergencies can an emergency dentist in Toowoomba handle?

A : An emergency dentist in Toowoomba should be equipped to handle a wide range of dental emergencies. This may include toothaches, broken or chipped teeth, dental abscesses or infections, lost fillings or crowns, severe gum pain or swelling, and dental trauma resulting from accidents or injuries. Ensure that the emergency dentist you choose can address your specific emergency needs.

Q 5: How can I determine if an emergency dentist is covered by my dental insurance?

A: To determine if an emergency dentist is covered by your dental insurance, contact your insurance provider or check their website for a list of in-network dentists. You can also directly contact the dental office and inquire about their acceptance of your insurance plan. Additionally, ask about any flexible payment options they may offer for emergency treatments.

Remember, these FAQs provide general guidance, and it’s always advisable to contact the specific dental office directly for more detailed and up-to-date information regarding their services and policies.

[softspiderling]

and there you are on your knees | j.v

summary:

For a split second, your eyes met and it felt like he could see right through you. You tried not to flinch, keeping your head straight on and your gaze locked on him, hoping he would would avert his gaze. But he didn’t.

“Bent. Knees.”

Oh.

OR; Prince Jacaerys Velaryon arrives at the Twins to secure passing for the troops marching for his cause. He is successful in more ways than one.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: SMUT! 18+, MDNI, oral sex (male receiving), p in v, as usual, Jace has been aged up to 20!

word count: 1,8k

author’s note: remember when i posted that pic of jace like three weeks ago? i looked at it last week and went "what if...?👀" and this was born. idk😭😭 also am i crazy or hasnt anyone written anything about this scene before?? that’s illegal🙅🏻‍♀️ anyways tagging my hotd bestie @eldrith ily thanks for letting me yap your ear off, happy reading y’all🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You had heard rumours about the first son of Queen Rhaenyra; every lady that had met him sighed over his luscious dark brown locks or the handsomeness of his face that seemed to be carved out of the most expensive stone in the whole realm. Still, you were quite taken aback by how beautiful he really was when he crossed the bridge of the Twins, his dragon waiting for him in the greens just by the tower.

He truly knew how to make a first impression last.

“Lady Frey, Lord Frey,” Prince Jacaerys said, nodding to the sitting pair, hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes flickered to you for a second.

“Lady…?”

“Frey, my Prince.”

Prince Jacaerys raised a surprise eyebrow but let it go uncommented, only eyeing you up and down very briefly before taking his sword off as he sat down.

Lady Frey poured him wine and without much preamble, they begun their talks of trades. You kept yourself mostly to the back, fulfilling your role as a ward, ever present but never putting your nose in affairs you had no business in. You tried to listen, the Prince seemingly asking for passing for troops coming in from the North, which Lady and Lord Frey agreed to after some negotiations; but you tried to use the advantage of being ignored to take in the Prince. He was young still, but he carried himself with a certain aura of power and confidence, which was a given; he was the Crown Prince of the Seven Realms after all.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted and you quickly put your very inappropriate thoughts about the Crown Prince away, trying to pay atention once more.

“You want Harrenhal.”

Lord and Lady Frey glanced at each other in silent conversation, while the Prince finished his drink, standing to hold his cup out for Lady Frey to refill.

“For that, my mother will want more than your crossing,” Prince Jacaerys said easily, his chin held high.

“What does her Grace desire?”

Prince Jacaerys discarded his cup on the table, leaning both his hands on it, towering over Lord and Lady Frey. For a split second, your eyes met and it felt like he could see right through you. You tried not to flinch, keeping your head straight on and your gaze locked on him, hoping he would avert his gaze. But he didn’t.

“Bent. Knees.”

Oh.

The sounds coming out of your mouth were scandalous and really downright filthy as the prince kept thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth, one hand fisted around your hair, the other holding onto his tunic, so he had an unobstructed view of you.

When Prince Jacaerys had asked you to show him the privy before he left, you had not expected him to back you into a secluded corner of the hallway, his lips upon yours and you felt like you were in a dream.

You were on your knees, your pretty dress flared out on the dirty floor, the hard stones digging into your shins, likely leaving bruises, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

“If I had known the Freys had such a pretty little thing for a ward, I would have come sooner,” Prince Jacaerys grunted, making you whine softly. He tightened his hold on your hair a little, snapping his hips up and tears sprang into your eyes as you nearly choked at the sheer size of him. Your hands grabbed at his waist to steady yourself, as he fucked his cock into your mouth, before he pulled out with a groan.

“Fuck, you nearly made me release,” Prince Jacaerys muttered, swiping his thumb over your lower lip. “But I am not quite done with you yet.”

He grabbed you by the arm, helping you stand, pressing his lips against yours, inarguably tasting himself on you, but Prince Jacaerys didn’t seem to mind. You pulled away from the kiss, your chest still heaving and your cheeks red. All of this was new to you, and you were embarrassed that you had to catch your breath.

Prince Jacaerys looked down on you with a smirk, brushing the sweaty hair off of your forehead.

“Turn around,” he said, turning you by the shoulder to press you up against the cold stone of the wall. “Have you ever laid with another man?”

“No,” you answered with a shake of your head, your cheeks turning a deeper red, nervous and excited at the same time, at the prospect of a man taking your maidenhood, the crown prince of the Iron Throne nonetheless.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you repeated, voice breathless. "Please, I want this."

“I’ll try to be gentle,” he whispered into your ear, his teeth nipping at your earlobe, making you shiver.

Slotting himself against your back, Prince Jacaerys lifted the skirt of your dress to reach between your legs, his fingers rubbing over your pearl, your hips bucking in surprise as you moaned out.

“Patience, my sweets,” Prince Jacaerys rumbled, trapping your skirt under his arm, which he snuck around your waist. His fingers circled into your folds, gathering your wetness before he dipped one finger into your cunt.

“Oh Gods help me,” you moaned, writhing in his arm and Prince Jacaerys only chuckled.

“No Gods here, only me.”

He pumped his finger in and out of your cunt, until your walls acclimated to the intrusion and he added another finger, making you roll your eyes to the back. Never before have you felt such pleasure down there, you weren’t sure if you could go back to not knowing how it felt.

“Just… One more,” Prince Jacaerys mumbled, adding a third finger and you felt incredibly full, like you were split open, but in a good way? The pads of his fingers kept brushing against the spongy part inside of you, which made you curl your toes in your shoes. You leaned your forehead against the cold stone, feeling a growing sensation in your lower stomach.

“I think… I think I might..” you groaned, your lips parted.

“What?” Prince Jacaerys said, his breath hot on your ear as he kept fucking you with his fingers. “Are you going to come, Lady Frey?”

“Y-yes, my Prince.”

“Call me by my given name and I’ll let you.”

He pressed onto your pearl with his thumb and you swore you saw black for second before you came, a moan of his name on your tongue.

“Incredible,” he whispered, pulling his hand away to tug on his cock that had been rutting against your backside, leaving a smear of his precum on your skin.

“This might be uncomfortable at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

You weren’t quite sure what Prince Jacaerys was talking about when you felt the head of his cock breaching your cunt and you let out a small gasp.

It hurt at first, and you let out a small breath as he kept pushing his cock in - Gods, did it ever end?

“Gods you’re tight,” Prince Jacaerys groaned, his hands gripping your waist when he was fully sheathed inside of you. You only whimpered in reply - how would you previously think you were full when he had three fingers inside of you? This was no comparison.

You let out a laboured breath, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down your temple and you shifted on your feet, letting out a surprised moan when it caused delicious friction of the Prince’s cock inside your cunt.

“Ah, you’re feeling it, don’t you,” Prince Jacaerys whispered lowly in your ear, bringing your hair to the side, so he could place wet kisses upon your back. “The pleasure coursing through you, like you have never felt before?”

Just as the words left his mouth, he started to thrust his cock into you with no abandon. The sounds of skin slapping skin filled the hallway, coupled with his grunts and your moans, it was a miracle no one stumbled upon you, but even if they did, you didn’t know if you’d care enough to stop.

Your blunt nails scraped against the walls, as the Prince’s cock kept going in and out, you were starting to see walls. It wasn’t long before you could feel the warm sensation in your lower stomach forming again, this time so much more intense.

“P-please,” you whimpered, your whole body feeling like it was burning.

“Lo ao’re beri nyke jāhor mazverdagon ao ñuhon,” Prince Jacaerys whispered into your hair as his cock drove into you.

You were too fucked out to realize you didn’t understand him, and definitely too fucked out to ask what he had just said to you, clinging to the wall for any semblance of support as your body shook with every thrust.

“I’m almost there,” Prince Jacaerys grunted, his hand finding your pearl again as he slowed his thrusts, instead thrusting harder, finger pressing down on your pearl. “Will you finish for me, my sweets?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “Don’t stop.”

The Prince only chuckled, not once pausing his movement but accelerating the circles he was drawing on your pearl, until you finally broke, a wave of pleasure washing over you so powerful it knocked you over.

“Gods, Jacaerys!” you moaned, your cunt pulsating in its wake, your eyes fluttering shut, leaning against the wall.

You were only standing because the Prince kept a steady grip on you, his cock still fucking into your wet, soppy cunt. His thrust stuttered before he gave one last, thrust, shooting his warm seed right into your hole, your cunt milking him for everything he was worth, the seed escaping from the sides, dripping down your legs as he pulled out.

With one hand, Prince Jacaerys tucked his cock back into his pants and letting your dress fall back down, his other hand holding you upright, your knees still weak.

“Can you stand?”

“I think?”

His hand was firm but gentle as he turned you around, a smirk on his lips as you looked up at him through your lashes, completely ruined. Again, he pushed the hair out of your face, almost lovingly, as if he didn’t just shoot his seed into your cunt, his seed that you could still feel trickling down your leg, beneath your dress.

“Maybe I will be back,” Prince Jacaerys said, wiping his thumb over you mouth. “Make sure you really are staying loyal to the rightful heir of the Iron Throne.”

You chuckled breathlessly, looking up at him. “House Frey would welcome you with open arms.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up, slowly released your waist, before he leaned down to kiss you deeply. You sighed softly against his lips, but the kiss was over sooner than you had wished, your mouth chasing his.

“Be good, make sure your guardians keep their words or I will come for their heads.”

With those words, Prince Jacaerys left you in the dark hallway, still catching your breath. This was not how you had envisioned the Crown Prince’s visit to go.

But who were you to complain if he was so generous?

────────────

Lo ao’re beri nyke jāhor mazverdagon ao ñuhon = if you’re lucky i might make you mine

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author’s note: thoughts?👀

[controld3vil]

here we stand

pairing: jacerys velaryon x mormont!reader

synopsis: news had broken out that the throne has been usurped. jacerys rides his way to winterfell, the end to the north where he meets cregan stark. and in evidently, you, lady mormont of bear island.

notes: first of all, HE LOOKS SO GOOD w/ long hair !! also this mentions the first scene in s2 ep 1, i just tweeked a few things where now jacerys receives the terrible news days after getting acquitted in at winterfell. and bc i wished for more jace & cregan interaction >:( no beta reading btw !!

Duty is sacrifice.

All know of it. It bypasses any blood or foe. To honor one's duty is to sacrifice one's possessions. And oaths can last long over through generations. It is bypassing children and their children. It is the utmost fidelity any honorable man should know. If for the Seven Kingdoms and everyone at stake at what's beyond the Wall. A barrier that towers over seven hundred feet from what lies more gruesome than death.

Your cousin, Cregan Stark took up the responsibility as Lord of Winterfell, sometime after the passing of his father, Rickon Stark. He's a noble lad, he took upon the role at the age of six and ten. He was young but quickly learned how to command and serve the people. Much like his House's words, he understood what was coming. Though unexpected news of an envoy from Dragonstone had landed him in monetary consideration. Of what's to come with his men and the upcoming raging war.

"This is only late summer snow, my prince. In winter it will cover all you see and all memories of warmth will be forgotten." The metal chamber that brings them to the top of the Wall stops and both men walk out into the cold winter bridge. It's desolate and high in altitude.

Jacaerys could only imagine what it would feel like in wintertime, where there is nothing else but ice. "It pleases me that over a century ago our ancestors were treated in this very place. The Conqueror and the King in the North." His brown hair, inches longer, flutters past the cold air. Even with his blood, the descendant of the ferocious fire-breathing creatures, his heart still churns with a chill.

"You at least had the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon." The Lord of Winterfell smiles, eyeing the prince's reaction to the weather. No Southerner would know the true cold past summer.

The crowned prince returns his grin, looking out into the view beyond the Wall. From seven hundred feet above, everything, even the trees and people looked small. A wall that has been built this tall must offer security for what's beyond more terrifying than wildings and foes.

"While your men stand to protect against wildings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp my mother's throne. It is the duty of the Seven Kingdoms, and you, as Lord of Winterfell, to uphold your oaths sworn to the heir to the Iron Throne," Jacaerys gaze moves across where his eyes can take him off the Wall. It stretches out ridiculously long with men at every post. He has passed by a few to know whether or not, it was their obligation to join the Night's Watch, it was now their vow to protect this sacred place. However, he needed to remind Lord Stark of his reason for visiting. If the realm remained unbalanced, even Winterfell would not prosper.

"Starks do not forget our oaths, my prince," Cregan restates, with a look of sympathy and seriousness. "But you must know that my gaze will forever fall between the north and south. Here, in the winter, my duty to the Wall is more dire than what I ought in King's Landing. I need my men."

The prince of Dragonstone's look flickers, questionably. Until a holler from one of the watchmen signals Cregan of a visitor. He nods before glancing back at Jacaerys to dismiss him. A soft courtesy of his name before stepping down the post to greet the newcomer.

The cranks of the elevator come to a final stop. Before a pair of boots shuffle out of the old compartment to be met with the face of your cousin. Cregan's eyes meet yours in surprise and you subconsciously feel your shoulders untensed.

"Cousin,"

"Lady Mormont," He says with utmost respect as he can decipher the faint footsteps from behind Dragonstone's envoy. "What reason may you come to visit the Wall?"

"I received word that a messenger from Dragonstone came," Your bear fur coat holds you snug to protect you from the harsh winds. And your embroidered gloves, made from leather and deer fur have kept your fingers from freezing off during the trip to the edge of Winterfell. Your hands clasp together in an assertion. "Though I can already see he has arrived." Your soft stare transfigures onto Jacaerys and the sudden attention makes him slightly step aback.

Your lord gives you a playful look before turning back. "My prince, this is Lady Mormont of Bear Island. She is a close friend of mine and cousin." As embarrassed as the prince was, he could feel heat run up his spine as Jacaerys struggled to say anything welcoming.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Mormont,"

"The pleasure is mine," You blink innocently before addressing yet again your reason for presence. “Come, discuss matters over the fire,” 

Eventually, a week has gone by with Jacaerys Velayron’s stay. His extended stay has left questions and concerns for the townsfolk. However, Cregan reassures them, replying to them in short curt responses. In all, he explains the prince should rest before riding back to Dragonstone as it was a few days' journey from the North. This brought no rejection from either party and allowed the two boys to catch up and take into consideration the risks. 

You were always welcome at Winterfell. When you were little, your father, Lord Mormont, visited the black castle occasionally to meet with Lord Stark. The maids and servants knew you well as well as the Starks. They treated you like their own blood despite you being a distinct relative from a faraway island. Rare at times would they come to visit your home. Your homeland was not as welcoming as Winterfell some may say. Your House resided over lone shores, topped with horrific rock structures and charcoal reefs. A ruthless and barbaric landmark for the House of the Bear. 

“I appreciate your hospitality, Lord Stark,” Jacaerys starts, holding his ale cup to drink as all of the other guests gather to feast for the night. The three of you alongside Cregan’s son, Rickon, were seated at the high table, enjoying the luxurious scene before you all.

Large condiments of meats, pastries, and wine for the people, nobles of the Northmen. Feasts were something that brought together everyone during harsh times. In times of violence or sorrow, it is the shared appreciation you all must endure to move forward. That is true of what the people of the North had that no other House had. The Velaryron prince gives you an appreciative smile. “And to you, Lady Mormont, I thank you for your sincere support of my mother’s claim.”

“Here we stand,” You raise your goblet, reciting your very House words. True to what it meant, your family stood prepared for what days would come to an end. You understood one day you have a place in something greater when the moment was right and here it was now, lying right in front of you. Mormonts are known to be willing to fight even when the odds are against them. So were you when you declared fealty to Cregan Stark, your dear cousin. Your loyalty towards him would only mean you would go to the ends of the Earth to fulfill your promise. “And here we fight for the queen.” 

Despite not having Rhaenyra, her son knew she would be fond of you. Your attitude and strong integrity were something few held at King’s Landing. He acknowledged that people may not agree with his mother’s claim. However, there will always be those who still believe and support her. You are one of those people. Despite being hundreds of miles away from King’s Landing, Cregan and you showed fealty and loyalty to the oaths sworn nearly a decade ago. Some day, he wishes his mother would meet you. 

“Of course,” Cregan begins, settling his cup down, before patting for his son to come towards him. “With the men we have, it is guaranteed they’d be ready to march the earliest as of the morrow” Rickon starts off his wooden seat and shuffles to his father’s lap. A clumsy stumble and the Lord of Winterfell picks up the child with ease with a soft smile. “From there, the men will march to King’s Landing.”

“Then I should leave by the morrow,” Rhaenyra’s son places his arms on the table.

Your heart skips a half second, knowing that the time you spent together would be short-lived eventually. The prince was sent as a messenger, nothing more. His stay was long overdue, though no word from Dragonstone has the eyes of the ravens yet. It sinks to you momentarily when you place the last piece of meat into your mouth and down the last drops of your ale. 

“Yes, your visit has been short-lived,” Your cousin sighs, too aware of how the brief meeting would be over. Jacaerys was a good friend, being the same age as him, Cregan felt well acquainted with him. He had only wished that they had met under different circumstances and times. Perhaps when war wages on, they would meet again on the battlefield or after they have won against the Greens. Speculation of what was next was unknown. “But you have our support, my prince. Do not fret, we will prepare for what the Hightowers plan.” 

Jacaerys nods, understandably. He turns to you who sweetly bobs your head in agreement. How delicate your features looked in the dim ambers of the Winter halls. He’s enamored by your presence with how often he gravitates towards your direction.

He had always assumed Northern women would be different from Southerners. They were different. Northerners were divine in their way. You excluded such poise and delicacy, Jacaerys sometimes couldn’t help but become curious of you. Your hobbies, what you liked to do, what was your favorite food, and your most desired ambitions. Southerners in King’s Landing were graceful and fragile like the summer breeze. However, you were like a chilly snow cast. The cold, it’s welcoming and he constantly feels chills running down his spine whenever your eyes meet. 

“Now what do you think of the North?” Your lord light-heartedly brings up to lighten the mood. You and Cregan enjoyed the short mornings with the prince. The limited time you shared allowed for intimate discussions and a way to become acquainted with one another. The people, how things functioned, and how you adapted to the cold. It’s far much different than what he’s accustomed to in Dragonstone, where his home echoed through miles.  Compared to the North, Winterfell was exceptionally enormous but had a sense of home and warmth. 

“It’s different from Dragonstone,” The brown-haired envoy laughs, showing quite fond forever his home. “My home resides by the sea, surrounded by the high tides and rough shores. The castle is covered in obsidian stone and is known to be indestructible. My family has lived there for centuries now.” 

“How fascinating,” Your cousin breathes, showing his teeth. “I’ve heard stories about Dragonstone. Some say you can find dragon eggs deep in the mountains.”

“That is true, our dragons reside in caves. They lay their eggs in crystallized magma. Our dragon masters look after the eggs and know when the time is right to harvest them.” 

“What happens when a dragon egg doesn't hatch?” You lean your head forward, hands clasped together again. Learning about his family and their customs kept your interest for a long time. Not many Southern Houses come to visit from King’s Landing. They rather stay where it is warm and avoid the uncomfortable weather and travel to the North. Your eagerness was appreciated when Jacearys considered your question. 

“We wouldn’t know for sure when they would or would not hatch. We simply wait it out.” He quirks a gentle smile when your gaze is sort of magnetic. It’s like you were in a trance every time he spoke of anything he was interested in. 

“How long have you waited for one to hatch?” Cregan picks up his cup again to refill while his son pivots to run to the other side of the table, only to be greeted by you. With big smiles, you gladly carried the child to your side. 

“A few years,” Jacearys remembers the day well. He remembers his brother Joffrey, struggling and whining to his mother about his egg. He was as young as four, however in the first three years of his life, his dragon had not hatched. It’s a mystery when the dragon decides to break out of its shell. He was fortunate with Vermax after months of being born, his companion was right beside him from the start. Lucerys had a similar reaction. Rhaenyra often told stories of many instances of good and bad hatchlings alongside their rider. Some may not have been awakened by its rider, for they might have been dead already. The unknown enigma of those ferocious beasts pales in the prince’s head.

“It must’ve been unpleasant,” You joked, hugging Rickon tightly, having his cheek meet with yours. The young boy giggles loudly, taking hold of both of your cheeks in excitement. 

The atmosphere felt sublime and almost too perfect. Here in the warmth and formality of the Stark Household, everyone was lively and heeded no sorrows. How the prince wished upon the same for Dragonstone. If only the realm was brought together and the Hightowers had not usurped his mother’s throne despite her rightful claim. Would his family be united and happy finally?

He wasn’t sure as Jacaerys had never known familial love on his mother’s side. Both of his uncles vexed him, Luke and Joffrey. Helaena was kind, however, never showing malice towards him and his brothers. But the Hand of the King, and Queen Regent. Quiet in their schemes and distaste for bastards. 

Affection is what fills the prince’s chest with glee. As he scans the dining room of men, women, and children, they all feast and brawl over pointless endeavors. The scent of mead and hot fresh meat fills the room with chaotic laughter and nonsensical bubbling. In another time and place, Jacaerys would have been thrilled to visit Winterfell during this time of year. 

And his gaze slowly follows the wisp of your faint figure by the fireplace. With the heir of House Stark, you blow raspberry kisses against Rickon’s hot cheeks. As the boy squeals in delight, grabbing at the ends of your hair like ropes on the ship, bouncing them back and forth. You were good to Rickon, Jacaerys knows you care for the boy like it were your son. He thinks Cregan is grateful to have someone's endearment and protection toward his son. For the lack of a maternal figure had been long gone. You would be a great mother one day, he deciphers. You constantly fiddle Rickon’s hair which reminds him of his mother when he was little. 

It was such a faint memory that stuck in his mind whenever he saw you with the children. Rhaenyra would question him if she were here. Mothers had a knack for spotting things such as things. The prince knew of his interest in you. However, would you do the same if he made them clear as day?

You never said anything to him. It makes him question if you were truly interested or not. You’ve shown fondness over meals and spoke of jokes whenever he came out to the stables, where his poor dragon, Vermax, gruntled in the snow. 

“I’m sorry the farmers could not do much to help your dragon!” You shouted out one day in the early sunrise. He takes a few steps from his companion to find you in white fur coats and boots. You looked beautiful, the color suits you. As elegant and dainty as the pigment of his mother’s hair. Your locks were braided halfway with the rest, flowing down from your ears to your shoulders. “We don’t often have dragons visit us in the North!”

The prince laughs with small puffs of his breath becoming visible. “The stable boys did a fine job in accompanying Vermax.” At the call of his dragon’s name, it slowly hovers over his dragon rider. It purrs warmly in the frost as your eyes glower in fascination.

“He’s beautiful,” Your voice is nearly breathless at the size difference Vermax has over the buildings and people. It is a creature that comes far beyond your imagination and fairy tales. It's olive green scale prickle in delight as your eyes began to wonder back and forth. Dragons were rare in the North and it must’ve been a relentless recurrence for the people in King’s Landing. 

The prince hums before kicking a chunk of frozen dirt. He makes an effort to be bold for once. “Would you like to pet him?” 

You looked shook and it made him struggle to keep a composed posture. You stumble to make any words come out of your mouth. “I- May I?” 

“Of course,” The dragon rider comes forward and grabs your hand, dragging himself closer to the beast. The sudden contact and closure make your heart beat faster than anticipated. As you find yourself glancing up at its reptilian eyes. In horror, you hold your ground, wanting nothing more than to back away. “It’s alright, he won’t hurt you.” 

Jacery’s reassurance doesn't comfort you as you resist his grip on your wrist. Vermax merely stands, grumbling in curiosity as to your stricken presence. It’s trying to inquire about your anxiety when it was the reason for it in the first place.

Taking a short take of air, you stand in place. You did your best to calm your breathing, feeling a hand on your lower back to support you. Your dainty eyes meet the prince. And within contact, it felt as though you felt everything would be alright. His touch soothed your racing heart as you excelled forward, step by step closer to the beast. For you, it must’ve felt like the clock had slowed down when you were merely inches away from Vermax. Its enormous size was breathtaking and you could make your lungs free of oxygen again. 

Yet your state of mind returns when the queen’s heir comes into view. The air felt a tension between fear and anxiety. It was both exhilarating and terrifying for someone who has never seen a dragon up close before. You took the last big step when you lifted your fingers above its nose. 

Vermax shivered and at the last minute, you wanted to back out. Until Jacaerys hand envelopes over your hand to pet his companion. With such care and attentiveness, you should have realized the prince’s advances towards you by now.

The Godswood was a welcoming pastime you’ve grown to respect. With the decline in visits, you’ve come to value the historic tree for what it stood for and the ancestral value it had over your people. Cregan did not mind whenever you went away to pay your respects. He knew how important it was to you to respect the old gods and the new. War was coming. If you were going to support Rhaenyra, you only wish for your men to come out victorious. 

You were no war-picking woman. But death was something you’ve come to accept recently. The passing of Rickon Stark brought a hole in your heart. You mourned in your ways, and so did Cregan when you had heard he had taken the mantle as Lord of Winterfell. He still is a young man, barely over six and ten. The best you could do was offer your presence and time. To him, being present with the people and acting lively was enough for him to regain his mind. Everyone looked up to Rickon for what he stood for and the House. There is no doubt Cregan would do the same in the coming time to King’s Landing. 

“It’s saddening, isn’t it?” You breathe into the crisp air, only to feel your throat grow dry. But the person behind you knows you were referring to them. “How war affects us all.” 

The prince of Dragonstone steps out from the shadows. His steps were slow and gruff, still worn out from the feast and the massive amount of ale that was offered to him. But you were the only thing that had piqued his interest. You were quiet, not expecting an answer from him. Until he stepped and stopped right beside you, shoulders nearly touching but inches apart. Your bear coat was held loosely on you as he recalled you too struggled to leave the dining table. You all drank too much tonight. 

“The Godswood know of it all. They see everything,” The bear bronze sigil shines past his peripherals when he cannot meet your gaze. You were not drunk enough to do something reckless but not too sober to do anything either. 

In return, all you could ever see was Jacaerys furrowed expression. He’s contemplating something. But you choose to stare and take in his features with such interest and curiosity. His soft and tranquil pout resembles much of a wolf you’ve seen. As though his curly strands, which you would imagine, are dim to the touch. The prince holds assertiveness in his duty, falling into the role of heir as for his queen. Perhaps he’s everything that his mother stood for. You admired it. 

“Know you and your men's contributions would be known,” He whispers, it’s clear you could feel his breath close to your neck. The dark clouds could not even hide the indisputable truth. The crescent moon gleams somewhere in the far distance you can’t seem to find. But you know what’s true. Because moments ago, you could discern his distance inches away. Now it seems that he wants to close the gap by the second. “And that…”

“That we did our duties, nothing more.” You pant, unable to keep your eyes from moving from his gaze and lips. Strands of his dark brown hair trickle against your cheeks as you take one last glimpse at your prince. If any of this was acceptable. You wouldn’t exceed further to know he’d reject your proclaimed assumptions. 

But nothing happens. It was as though the chill in the air had changed. When another figure reappears out of the shadows and into the light. Jacaerys distances himself from you. While you did your best to compose yourself for being caught red-handed by a servant boy.

“My Lady,” The innocent boy chants, as he holds up a scroll. “A message from Dragonstone.” Jacearys’s eyes shot up as you were given the letter. The moment you give the signal of approval, the servant boy leaves into the abyss and back into the cabin. 

You unlatched the curly paper and patiently read its contents. The prince carefully awaits, every so longing to catch any misdemeanor you would have upon what letter had. He hopes and wishes it is good news more than anything. But you held a stone-cold expression and when you looked up at him, he could only discern sorrow with the words that come out of your mouth.

“I’m sorry, my prince.”

[entitled-fangirl]

The crown.

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!wife!reader

Summary: the reader must attend the coronation of her mother's usurper. At least Aemond eases the blow.

A/n: this is so short but too long to be a drabble so 🤷‍♀️

Masterlist

........................................

She stood next to Aemond. Not confident, as he was. Not nervous, as Helaena was. Not arrogant as Otto. 

She wasn't like any of them, really.

How could she be, she was a Velaryon. 

She was married to Aemond when they were both five and ten. It was Rhaenyra's idea. She wished to bridge the gap between the families. 

And the two grew to love each other well. 

But like all marriages, there came strife.

Like Aegon usurping the throne. 

So there they stood, watching as Aegon walked through the crowd to be coronated.

Aemond looked to his wife, his fingers reaching to brush hers. His voice was soft in her ear, "Please pretend to be joyful. At least give me that."

She turned her face to him, their breaths mixing. "You'd have me lie?"

He hummed. "I'll not see what happens to you if you do not. I will not allow it."

…

She opened her eyes, cringing when the light from the window blinded her. 

Giving a light yawn, she stretched and sat up in the bed. 

Aemond had already left. 

It was not uncommon. His favorite time to spar was the morning. 

She waited a while, frowning when her handmaiden never came in to help her dress. 

She stood on shaky legs and moved to the door. 

Locked. 

She shook in vigorously. "Ser Erryk?!"

No response. 

She banged her fist on the door. "Please."

She stepped back, growing frustrated. "I am locked inside!"

"Ser Erryk?"

"Aemond?"

"Please! Take me to my husband!"

She finally sighed and tried one last effort, placing her hand gently on the door, "I do not know what I have done. Please."

When nothing came, she huffed and moved to dress herself.

…

"What?" Aemond asked lowly.

"The Princess, your grace. She has been calling for you."

He shrugged. "Why? She can come to me. She knows that."

"Her door has been locked, my prince."

His gaze hardened. "You've locked her inside our chambers?"

"By the Hand's command, my prince," Ser Erryk said. His eyes held remorse. 

"Why was I not made aware of this?" Aemond growled. "She is my wife. If she is of any consequence, it should be mine! If she wishes out of her room, bring her to me."

"Yes, Prince Aemond."

…

Aemond spent the next hour holding her as she wept. 

Her grandsire gone. Her mother's right taken from her. 

And this poor girl was stuck in the midst of it all.

"You and I both know… V…Viserys did not… want this," she cried into his chest. 

He hummed in thought. "No. But it does not change its coming."

"Your family sees no reason," she sniffled.

"Hey," he warned lowly as he cupped her cheeks to force her to look at him. "Our family. You must be more Hightower than Velaryon now."

"I hold none of your mother's blood in me, Aemond."

"If you stay a Velaryon, you will not last. You are married to me. You have my name. You have my titles. You have everything."

"I have you. I shall make that enough, dear husband."

…

She felt tears form in her eyes as the crown was placed on Aegon's head. 

The crowd cheered, but she saw nothing. 

A rubble stirred through the ground and the silver hair siblings all gazed at one another in confusion.

Rhaenys and Meleys emerged from below the boards, causing a shake to move though the building. 

Gasps and screams were heard.

Aemond's eye widened, and he immediately was on guard. 

Alicent moved to Aegon, shielding him from the dragon's jaws. 

In turn, Ser Criston shifted himself between the dowager queen and Helaena, ready to interfere anywhere he needed to.

But only when Meleys turned her head did Aemond move. 

He grabbed his wife's wrist in a desperate grip, pulling her behind him as his other hand was held near his sword.

They watched as Rhaenys and Alicent stared at one another, waiting for the other to make a move first. 

Meleys reared back, preparing herself to attack.

When her great jaws opened and they believed fire would escape from it, Aemond turned completely to his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist and the other holding her head against him. He was intent on shielding her from the horrors that laid on the other side of his body.

But when a mighty roar came from the dragon instead, Aemond relaxed slightly. His hands remained, but his body was eased. 

He turned when Meleys finished. His eye met Rhaenys'. It was clear she was thinking about something. Not something, someone. 

His wife stood behind him still, her eyes peeking over his sturdy shoulders. 

Rhaenys tilted her head at the sight of the two of them, mourning the loss of Rhaeynra's daughter to the Hightowers.

And Meleys flew away.

Aemond let out a breath, pulling her head to him to kiss the crown of it. 

...........................................

[ceruark]

ensnared. (yandere! prince! sunday x gn! royalty! reader)

synopsis: prince sunday invites you to dance the entwine with him. if you evade capture, he’ll finally leave you alone. but if you get caught, you’re his forever. cw: general yandere themes - obsessive & possessive behavior, implied stalking words: 3,991 disclaimer/inspiration: the dance “The Entwine” is not my idea! it's from the novel Entwined by Heather Dixon, an all-time favorite of mine :)

“The Entwine, also known as the Gentleman’s Catch, is an amusing and challenging redowa suitable for accomplished partners. [...] Similar to a trois-temps waltz, it is danced in open position with a long sash. The lady and gentleman each take ends of the sash, which their hands must not leave. In a series of quick steps (see below) the gentleman either twists the sash around the lady’s wrists, pinning them (also known as the Catch), or the lady eludes capture within three minutes’ time. STEPS. Twist (35), Needle’s Eye (35), Dip and Turn (36), Lady’s Feint (36), Bridge Arc (36), Under-Arm Swoop (37), Thread (37), Beading the Sash (38), the Catch (38).”

Excerpt from Entwined by Heather Dixon

It has been a year since the queen died.

You stand in the grand ballroom of your palace for the first time since your mother's death. It seems dimmer without her, lacking the light her laughter brought to it. Every shift of skirts has you looking for her, only to be disappointed when you catch yourself seeking out a ghost.

She ruled alone for nearly fifteen years. After your father died in battle when you were young, many other kingdoms tried to swoop in after she became widowed. They vied for her hand in marriage so they could expand their territory and get their hands on the lucrative gemstones that are excavated from your land's caverns. But the queen was unshakable, and she refused to remarry, continuing to keep her kingdom safe and opulent all on her own.

And she died last winter, an incurable sickness settling in her lungs seemingly overnight and stealing her final breath within the week.

You hardly had time to mourn her. With no one sitting on the throne, your mother's advisory court scrambled to find you a suitor so that you could marry and be crowned as soon as possible. There hadn't been a rush to find you one, but with the queen's sudden death, they need to get you on the throne before someone else came along to seize it.

Tonight, Welt— formerly your mother's personal advisor— had declared while you prepared for the ball. Tonight, we will find you a suitor. You will be coronated by summer.

You sigh as your gaze sweeps over the ballroom. Truthfully, you have no interest in any of the attendants. Most of them don't have anything noteworthy about their personalities, and those that do are individuals you've mentally decided are best kept at arm's length. You’re certain that more than half your selection pool were invited out of courtesy; none of them possess enough influence or value for your mother's advisory court to approve of a marriage between the two of you.

Except for one.

Penacony's beloved prince has been pursuing you for as long as you could remember. It started off innocent, a mere childhood crush. Long before you were adolescents, he would pluck flowers from the centerpiece vases on ballroom tables and hand them to you, ever the gentleman. You can still remember the sound of whichever court member was assigned to look after you cooing at the sight, endeared as you accepted the flower from his hands and spent the rest of the night at his side, discussing all the important matters that plagued the minds of young royalty.

And then, things changed.

As you two grew older, something about him shifted— you couldn't quite explain it. It made your skin crawl, the way his gaze trailed you throughout the ballroom, the way his fingers lingered just a little too long when he kissed your hand in greeting, the way anyone you shared mutual romantic interest with started avoiding you like the plague the second he heard of your budding relationship. There was something off about him— about his infatuation with you— and you distanced yourself from him as much as possible over the years.

Your mother's advisory court had been furious; they believed your eventual marriage to Sunday was set in stone given how taken you were with each other as children, and they planned for a prosperous future backed by Penacony's enormous and infinite wealth. They took your refusal to interact with him as rebellion and scoffed at your explanations, but luckily, you weren't alone in your suspicions. Your mother and Welt were also unsettled by the way he looked at you at formal gatherings, and your mother swiftly shut down her court's insistences on you trying to make amends with Penacony's prince.

We have no need for marriages of convenience. My child's happiness and safety will be valued above all else, she told them, and it was the end of the discussion.

Welt has upheld her and your wishes following her death, but the rest of the court are more willing to challenge him than they'd been to challenge the queen. Multiple court members have pestered you about marrying Sunday, stating that he would readily agree; you would get on the throne quickly, and the kingdom would prosper with his empire’s assets. Though they drop the topic the second you snap at them, you can tell they're still scheming, pulling at whatever strings they can to bring the prince back into your favor and push you into his arms.

And the undeniable proof of that stands across the room, piercing you with his golden eyes. Of course he's among the guests the court selected for you to choose your partner from. What else could you expect from them?

You sigh and swipe a glass of wine off a nearby table. It's going to be an incredibly long night.

As you sip at the bitter liquid and eye the blonde prince from Belobog, a familiar voice sounds behind you. "Something troubles you, Your Highness."

You turn around, relaxing at the sight of your faithful personal advisor. Veritas gazes down at you, face as neutral as ever.

"Someone," you respond, a frown tugging at your lips. "It appears the court is still refusing to let go of their little delusion."

He glances over your shoulder and hums noncommittally. "It appears so."

You swirl the red wine around in your glass, continuing your sweep of the guests. Certainly, Belobog's prince seemed like your best option right now. Albeit easily flustered, he was sweet and courageous— you would be able to fall for him given the time.

"Gepard Landau?" Veritas asks, his gaze having followed yours to the man standing beside his sister and her wife.

You look up, meeting his doubtful gaze. "Do you see any better options?"

He takes another glance around the room, then grimaces. You bring your hand to your mouth, covering your sudden laugh.

"Though he may be the most respectable of your options, there is not much Belobog can offer you." He tilts his head, still staring out at the crowd. "I suggest you reconsider."

You flash him a tight, sarcastic smile. "If that is the standard you suggest I go by, then my options are narrowed down to Aventurine and Sunday."

You get along fine with the blonde lord hailing from IPC territory, and he possesses charm like no other. He's gotten you more flustered than any other suitor has, but you know it's all fake. Something lurks beneath his picture-perfect exterior, and he keeps his cards too close to his chest for you to guess what his true intentions are. Someone like that can't be good news for you.

Veritas sighs. "I suppose Landau will have to do, then."

A flurry of movement and fabric draws your gaze to the dance floor. You light up as you watch two figures dance in the center of the crowd, one ducking and dodging out of reach while the other tries with fervor to capture them in their arms.

They've finally brought out the silk sashes used to dance the Entwine.

Your Entwine record is exemplary. When dancing as the gentleman, there were only a handful of people you hadn't been able to catch— Aventurine being one of them. Though your record dancing as gentleman is flawed, your skill when dancing as lady is unmatched and known far and wide.

In all your years, you have never been caught during a dance.

"Wonderful," you say, adrenaline rushing through your veins. You could already feel the exhilaration that came with successful capture and evasion. You turn to your advisor, eyes glistening beneath the lights. "Veritas, would you be so kind as to humor me with a dance?"

You think it's the light playing tricks on your eyes when he flushes red. Before he can respond, though, Welt strides up to the two of you and places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Perhaps you could get to know your potential suitors better through the Entwine, no?" The man you've come to think of as a father figure smiles down at you, the corners of his eyes creasing as he does. "You enjoy it so much, hopefully it can be used to bring you closer to someone— both literally and figuratively speaking."

Your smile matches his. "I think that's a great idea."

"Perfect." Welt turns toward the dance floor. "Allow me to announce—"

He stops dead in his tracks, freezing just in time to prevent himself from walking into someone. He backs up, and your blood runs cold at the sight left behind.

Sunday stands before you, pristine as ever, with a silver sash draped over his arm.

Welt finds his voice before you do. "Prince Oak," he greets, dipping his head into a bow. "A pleasure to see you again. We are very grateful for your attendance."

Sunday looks at him. The fond expression he had fixed on you smooths out into his perfect half-smile. He nods at Welt in acknowledgement. "Imperial Advisor Yang." He turns to your left, appearing less enthused to greet Veritas. "Imperial Advisor Ratio."

His eyes land on you again, and a chill runs down your spine. You force a polite smile onto your face, bowing your head slightly. "Prince Oak. An honor to see you again."

He sounds breathless when he responds. "The honor is all mine."

When his gaze starts to grow heavy on your shoulders, Welt clears his throat. He eyes the fabric hanging off of Sunday's arm. "I suppose you are here with... intent, yes?"

"Correct," Sunday says. He glances down at the silk, reaching up to pinch a part of it between his fingers.

He meets your eyes again, his face imperceptible. It's more terrifying than his openly longing and lingering gaze.

"I wish to dance the Entwine with you," he says, voice diplomatic and devoid of emotion. "If you are willing."

You clench your hands behind your back. "Will you be dancing gentleman or lady?"

"Gentleman." He pauses, voice lowering a bit. "I wish to try and catch you."

You smother a scowl before it can crawl its way onto your face. Of course he would want to dance as gentleman. How typical.

But there's something to his demeanor that tells you there's more to it than he's letting on. It's sitting on the tip of his tongue: his real intent behind asking you to dance with him.

"For what reason do you wish to dance with me?" In a quieter, harsher tone, you add, "Be honest with me, or I will refuse outright."

His fingers run over the fabric, smoothing out any wrinkles that snag them. He tilts his head to the side, and the desire that swims in his eyes leaves you shaking.

"If I catch you," he says slowly, "you will give me your hand in marriage."

Bile burns at the back of your throat, your anxiety clawing its way up and trying to escape. It's a bold declaration, especially when directed at someone who has never been caught before. Your faith in your skill is resolute, but the sheer desperation on his face is enough to make you hesitate.

Your voice trembles slightly when you speak. "And if you fail?"

He hums, flicking his gaze off to the side. "If I fail, I will never ask for it again."

You latch onto the statement like a moth to a flame. All you have to do is avoid capture— something you've done time and again— to get him to leave you alone. You've never seen him dance the Entwine, or show any interest in it; undoubtedly, your skill will lead you to successful evasion.

This is your chance to get him off your back, for good.

Before you can respond, a firm hand comes down on your shoulder, pulling you backward.

"Your Highness," Veritas whispers into your ear, barely contained urgency lacing his words. "Please consider this carefully. Is this a risk you are willing to take?"

You look up at him, eyebrows raised. "I have never been caught," you mutter back.

His brows pinch together. "There is a first time for everything, and you cannot afford to let this one be that time."

You clench your jaw and cast Sunday a sidelong glance. He stares back at you, his posture perfect and features serene despite the way his eyes drink you in, ravenous. There is, as always, truth to what Veritas is saying; you've never seen Sunday dance the Entwine, but that doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't know how, or that he isn't good at it. There's still a high chance you'll be able to evade him given your record, but the chance of him being able to successfully pull off the Catch, though small, is still a potential outcome that shouldn’t be overlooked.

After all, he wouldn't be asking you if the possibility was as slim as you believe it to be.

You bite your lip, hesitating. You look to Welt, pleading for direction. He locks eyes with you briefly, looking just as concerned as Veritas, before he steps forward and partially shields you from Sunday's view.

"Perhaps another time," he says, a polite grin finding its way onto his face. "We are just coming out of mourning, and though it is nice to be part of festivities again, perhaps dancing is still a bit too much for Our Highness right now— the late queen was very fond of the Entwine. Please understand."

Sunday's mask wavers, irritation seeping through the cracks at Welt's excuse. His sharp gaze cuts back to you, but you let your eyes drift back to the dance floor, refusing to meet it.

The tension is broken by the sound of clapping. You turn your head, frowning at the sight of a member of the advisory court approaching.

"Oh, how lovely!" She swoons, pressing a hand to her chest. Her face is flushed from the wine and she speaks loudly, drawing the ballroom's attention to the cluster of people around you. "Our Highness is going to dance the Entwine with Prince Oak!"

All eyes are on you. Your guests whisper to each other, their excitement tangible and filling the air with charged energy. A long time coming, they think to themselves, oblivious to the unfortunate predicament you've found yourself in. Sunday's affinity for you isn't a secret, especially not to the royal families who watched you two grow up at each other's side. To them, this dance is simply an age-old rumor finally coming into fruition, the first step toward solidifying your relationship with Sunday. And to the advisors scattered around the ballroom, watching you like hawks, it is their efforts finally paying off— the final nail in your coffin that will secure the future they envision for your kingdom.

Refusing him now, under countless pairs of hopeful eyes, would undoubtedly leave an ugly smear on your reputation and the integrity of your kingdom.

Your tongue sits dry and heavy in your mouth. You almost choke on it when Sunday's hand finds the small of your back, gently guiding you toward the dance floor. He practically preens under the attention and pressure. It makes you sick.

Another hand catches your elbow in a bruising grip, and you jolt back, only barely catching yourself to make it seem as though you tripped. You angle your body in a way that prevents the crowd from seeing Veritas's vice grip on your arm.

"My Highness has not agreed to anything yet," he bites out in a low whisper, venom dripping off his tongue.

Sunday's eyes snap to him. His scathing glare does nothing to deter your advisor, who glares back at him in response.

When he looks back to you, the deceptively serene look has returned. With the arm not holding the sash, he extends a hand out to you, tilting his head to the side in question. The guests closest to you all coo fondly.

There's a hint of a smirk on his face. "May I have this dance?"

You place a hand over Veritas's, gently prying his fingers from your arm. You can't bear to look at him right now. "It will be fine," you murmur. "I promise."

You run your hands along your sleeves, wiping off as much of the sweat as you can. You inhale shakily, trying to keep the ballroom tile beneath your feet from swimming.

You look up, a practiced, graceful smile tilting your lips upward. You delicately place your hand in his, suppressing a shudder when he brings it to his lips and presses it to them. The steadiness and strength in your voice surprises you when you say, "Of course, Prince Oak."

The ballroom erupts into a mixture of chatter and cheers. Court advisors pester the crowd surrounding the dance floor, ushering them back and trying to clear a pathway for the two of you. You swallow thickly as Sunday closes his hand around your trembling one.

You turn to Welt and gesture at his pocket with your free hand. "If you would be so kind, Advisor Welt."

He nods stiffly, reaching into his coat and producing a golden pocket watch. "Of course, Your Highness."

Your heart hammers against your ribcage as Sunday guides you to the dance floor. A numbness settles over you, and you robotically nod and smile at the guests that you pass. Their eyes shine with an adoration that you could never possess for this supposed relationship— for him.

Sunday releases your hand when you two reach the center of the dance floor. His eyes are dark as he holds one end of the sash out to you. You take it into your hands and back away from him, toward the other end of the floor. Sunday does the same, and you both stop when the sash is pulled so taught that it tugs you a few steps forward.

The familiar fabric and set-up do little to comfort you.

The crowd shifts again, and Welt emerges from it, standing front and center before the dance floor. He holds the pocket watch up to his face, and your breath hitches with anticipation.

"Your three minutes begins..." His voice reverberates off the ballroom walls, resounding clearly over the jubilant tune the orchestra plays.

"Now."

Adrenaline shoots through you like lightning, and you fly into motion. Your vision sharpens, focused in on every movement Sunday makes as you analyze the arc of his arms and the force behind his tugs on the sash. With each under-arm swoop, you dip beneath his arms and twirl away from him with ease, the steps of the dance coming to you the way breathing does.

He's an adept dancer, you'll give him that. Perhaps if his partner was anyone else, he would have already caught them already, within the first minute of the dance. But you are untouchable on an average night, and on this one in particular, you push yourself past your limits, propelled forward by a fervor and desperation to evade his every attempt of entangling you in his arms.

Twist. Needle's Eye.

"Two minutes," Welt calls out.

Approaching another under-arm swoop, you glance at Sunday's face just in time to see displeasure flicker across it at Welt's announcement. As you glide away from him once more, unfurling the sash between you two, he gives it a sharp tug, causing you to stumble a bit and lose your footing. Your heart skips a beat, but you quickly recover, forcing your limbs to move faster and smoother and match the rapid tempo he has now set for the dance.

Sweat beads along your upper lip as you duck under Sunday's arms repeatedly. You're managing just fine, but you've never had to push yourself this hard before; keeping a close eye on his movements while making sure the sash doesn't get tangled around your wrists is a delicate balancing act, and you can feel yourself teetering back and forth, dangerously close to falling off.

He's a far more formidable partner than you could have ever imagined.

Dip and Turn. Lady's Feint.

"One minute."

Sunday furiously yanks on the sash mid-twirl, and you stagger forward. The sash wraps around your wrists once, twice— three times before you regain your footing and lean back, narrowly avoiding Sunday's sweeping arm that almost hooks around your own.

A chorus of gasps ripples through the crowd at your near capture. It worsens your fraying nerves.

You exhale with exertion, trembling on unsteady legs as Sunday raises the stakes yet again. The tempo he sets is merciless, and your body is jostled between the last of your will and the harsh tugs from the other end of the sash. You grit your teeth. The silk digs tighter into your flesh and sends pinpricks of pain up your arms with each snap of his wrists.

Bridge Arc. Under-Arm Swoop.

"Thirty seconds."

The speed at which you weave in and out of spins leaves you dizzy, nauseous. The ballroom melts into incomprehensible shapes and colors around you. You bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, a pitiful attempt to ground yourself so you won't trip up. 

You do anyway; Sunday's movements are too fluid and swift to keep up with.

The sash binds around your wrists five more times, bringing you even closer to him— too close. You're not sure if it's skill, luck, or sheer force of will that allows you to continue to dodge his attempts at ensnaring you, but you know that you shouldn't be able to do it at this distance.

Frustration peeks through his graceful disposition. His golden eyes trail you, chasing after you as you elude his grasp once more.

Thread. Beading the Sash.

"Fifteen seconds."

You throw yourself into another dip, eyes locked onto the floor just beyond the arm obscuring your line of vision.

If you dodge this one, you'll be free.

Sunday lifts his arms suddenly and pulls, bringing the sash as far back as he can without letting go. Your arms twist in the air behind your back. A strangled gasp leaves you as you lose your footing. In a whirl of fabric, you stagger backward, away from the other side of his outstretched arm.

The Catch.

Your back slams into something solid, and before you can process what has happened, a firm arm snakes itself around your waist, pulling you flush against the body behind you. Your hands, still bound together, dig into your collarbone, suspended at an awkward angle from the sash held above you.

The crowd erupts into noise.

In front of you, a little girl pulls on her mother's sleeve and points in your direction. "Mommy, he caught Our Highness!"

Behind them, Veritas stares at you, petrified and speechless.

Snapping out of your stunned stupor feels like coming up for air after almost drowning. You suck in a shuddering breath and writhe, yanking your arms against the sash and leaning forward, futilely trying to escape. Sunday gathers the last of the fabric in his hands and gives it another sharp tug, keeping you in place against him.

He lowers his head, and his lips brush over your ear as he speaks. "Magnificent," he whispers. His voice rumbles with pleasure, almost to the point of purring. "You are truly a talented dancer."

"Let me go," you rasp out. You're physically exhausted, and your racing, panicked heart prevents you from catching your breath.

Sunday hums again, bringing the hand holding the sash to brush your cheek gently. "Why would I do that?" He chuckles softly, and it's so genuine— not the slightest bit mocking— that it leaves you all the more unsettled. "I caught you."

He brings his arm down, settling it around your waist. His fingers brush over your bound hands, and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek.

"You're finally mine."

[sigalrm]

Kronprinzenbrücke by Pascal Volk Via Flickr: Von unten wirkst sie auf mich interessanter als von oben.

[amongemeraldclouds]

The Slytherin Boys as Disney Princes

Ft. Theodore Nott, Mattheo Riddle, Blaise Zabini, Tom Riddle, Draco Malfoy, and Lorenzo Berkshire. Also features x f!Reader as their equivalent Disney princesses.

© amongemeraldclouds I do not consent to having my work shared or reproduced elsewhere. Please do not claim as your own, tumblr is the only place I share my written work.

✿ Masterlist | 1.8k words

From the Wizarding World to magical fairytales, let’s crown our beloved Slytherin boys as the following Disney princes:

Theodore Nott as Prince Charming (Cinderella)

Note: Prince Charming doesn’t have much personality in the original 1950s film, but we learn more about him in later films, where I drew information from.

✭ Raised in privilege as a prince, Theodore Nott lived a very charmed life just as the name Prince Charming suggests.

✭ With only royals and commoners to distinguish class, he is less prejudiced and more accepting of others. His father taught him at an early age that they have a responsibility to their people just as their people serve them.

✭ Because of this, he is open and friendly to everyone, including animals. He was once hunting down a deer only for it to be a game in the end, him and the deer are actually friends. (Note: Yes this is canon Prince Charming and is very Theo as well.)

✭ If Disney were less wholesome, Theo as Prince Charming would have regular lovers, but it will only always be physical. He has not yet found a connection with anyone, but it doesn’t matter because he enjoys sex. He certainly never runs out of women to sleep with.

✭ Beneath all the charm, he secretly hopes to find a love match. The kind of relationship that transcends strategy and status. He longs for passion and romance, much like in the books he reads in the castle’s library, though he’ll never let anyone know.

✭ His father in the meantime is keen to see him married to an eligible maiden so he threw a ball. He rolled his eyes and yawned when no one was looking, initially bored because he still couldn’t find the connection he longed for. At this point, he doubted he’d ever find it. 

✭ Then he met you. You in your light blue dress and glass slippers. Everything about you sparkled and it ignited something in his heart. He never knew romantic love before you, but he recognized it right away.

✭ He wouldn’t care that you were a commoner, he’d admire your courage and kindness once he got to know you. Besides, true love was far more valuable than any precious metals and gems.

✭ After you ran off, your glass slipper gave him hope. He was going to stop at nothing to find you, his true love.

Mattheo Riddle as Flynn Rider (Tangled)

⋆☀︎. Left to his own devices, Mattheo Riddle would go on countless adventures across different kingdoms and forests, thieving only as a means to an end so he could survive. 

⋆☀︎. He enjoys the rush, being chased by the authorities and not being held down by rules or responsibilities. (Except they can never get his damn nose right on Wanted signs despite the distinct cut he has on the bridge of his nose iykyk.)

⋆☀︎. With his charming personality and irresistible smolder, he’s an expert in banding together with fellow criminals and often smooth talks his way into ladies’ beds. All temporary partnerships for his on-the-go lifestyle.

⋆☀︎. Until one day he comes across you, the girl with golden hair and big eyes — not to be underestimated with your ferocious pan wielding tendencies. He learns the last part a little too late, the hard way.

⋆☀︎. As he promised to take you to see the floating lights in exchange for the crown, he finds himself having fun swinging his fists and learning about your power to bring out the good in people.

⋆☀︎. You managed to charm tough guys in a bar, getting them to talk about their dreams—of being a florist, of performing on stage, and of falling in love. He realizes it may not be so bad to go on adventures with someone else.

⋆☀︎. He was already mesmerized before he learned about your magical hair. He saw the light within you long before that enchanted night when lanterns floated through the air like stars hung low just for you. And of course, they were always meant for you.

⋆☀︎. Before Mother Gothel could plunge the weapon in him, he already knew he was a goner. He knew he could never go back to who he was. He was now and forever going to be a moth to your flame, your soul as radiant as the sun even long after your golden hair turned brown.

Blaise Zabini as Kristoff (Frozen)

•❅*ִ Much like Kristoff, Blaise Zabini exudes a quiet confidence that does not need to declare itself.

•❅*ִ As an ice harvester who works with ice picks, hooks and ropes, he has an athletic build and a tough exterior, but do not be fooled for he has a soft heart within.

•❅*ִ Having grown among trolls and reindeers, he sometimes gets frustrated when interacting with people. He believes reindeers are better than people, but all that changes when he meets you.

•❅*ִ He is very practical and honest, but when he is blunt he often means well. He is quick to call you out on the fact that you’re about to marry a man you hardly know.

•❅*ִ He initially agrees to help you end winter to save his ice business and get a new sled. However, the more challenges you face together, he grows to admire your fearlessness and determination.

•❅*ִ While you initially find him to be annoying, you soon discover his charming and funny side.

•❅*ִ He will however suppress his feelings for you, thinking it’s better to let it go because you’re already engaged anyway. But when truths are revealed and no one is who they appear to be, you’ll melt his frozen heart with a kiss on the cheek.

Draco Malfoy as Li Shang (Mulan)

✿ To Draco Malfoy, loyalty and family legacy is important, just like Li Shang who aims to be just as great as his father, the head of the Imperial Chinese Army.

✿ He is disciplined and has mastered both physical and strategic ways of waging war. He has a lot of traditional beliefs, including making a man out of his troops using elaborate physical training.

✿ He starts questioning those beliefs when he sees your determination as Ping, using both weights to climb up the pole even though it took you countless failures throughout the night. What were these confusing feelings in his chest?

✿ Yet he couldn’t deny it, nor would he try. He was ready to lay his life down for you even before you saved him. It didn’t take him long to return the favor when he found out you were a woman and so he spared your life.

✿ Despite his firm upbringing, he was always loyal to his heart. Even though you betrayed the army, he knew your intentions had been good and that your hard work made you a skilled soldier.

✿ He listened and trusted your last ditch efforts to save the Emperor, even resorting to cross dressing as part of the plan. It all paid off as you saved the Emperor and all of China. 

✿ In the end, you were absolved of your deceit and honored for your heroism, finally letting your reflection show who you are and what you’re made of. Your final crime was stealing his heart.

Tom Riddle as Aladdin (Aladdin)

✶ Tom Riddle grew up as an orphan and resorted to a life of crime to survive in Agrabah. Secretly, he enjoyed it too.

✶ Smitten by your beauty, he saved you from a merchant at the market and he was impressed with your agility when it came to dodging the authorities.

✶ When you reached Aladdin’s home, you revealed you were from the palace and left thinking you’d never see him again. He longed to visit the palace to get another glimpse of your beauty.

✶ Named as a diamond in the rough, Jafar recognized Tom’s talent and recruited him to steal the magic lamp from the Cave of Wonders. Encouraged by the promise of riches (therefore power) and a subconscious need to please Jafar, he takes on the task, saving a magic carpet in the process.

✶ Back at the palace, your father sought to marry you off to find a successor to his throne. You met suitors, including a flashy prince called Ali from Ababwa.

✶ On a magic carpet ride, you trick Ali into admitting he’s the thief you previously met at the market. He manipulates you into thinking he’s the prince and the thief persona was just an act for him to get to know the city better.

✶ When Jafar uncovers Tom’s identity, he steals the magic lamp and wreaks havoc using the genie’s wishes. Understanding Jafar’s ego, he tricks him into wishing to be the most powerful being in the universe, which imprisons Jafar in his own lamp as a genie.

✶ Instead of using his last wish to continue being the rightful prince who can marry you, he used it to free the genie, as he has now learned how power corrupts others. It wasn’t worth it.

✶ Crowned as the next sultana, you recognized how our actions and choices defined us. Despite Tom’s manipulations, he showed up and was willing to learn. He was not afraid to look into the dark and make the right decisions when it mattered, a husband fit for a ruler.

Lorenzo Berkshire as Jack Frost (Rise of The Guardians)

Before you come at me, I know Jack Frost is not a Disney prince, but I’m a Jelsa truther so here we are.

❅ Lorenzo Berkshire mirrors Jack Frost’s love for mischief and games. As the guardian of fun, he enjoys playing harmless tricks on children and hearing them laugh as a result.

❅ Beneath the playful exterior, he deeply cares for those around him, having saved his sister from a frozen lake. His ultimate sacrifice led to his untimely demise, which the Man in The Moon rewarded him by making him immortal and granting him powers. 

❅ He never found much need for romance, opting to spend his days playing with children and visiting his fellow guardians instead. Until one day, he visits the Enchanted Forest and comes across you, its mighty protector.

❅ Despite the initial distrust, he wins you over with his easy smile and sincerity. You never realized it until then, how lonely it was to be an ice queen without her king.

❅ Jack was also amazed to find someone else who could play with the magic of snow. He felt seen and understood like never before. For once, the loneliness in his heart melted away.

❅ So you spent your days together, laughing over silly jokes and exchanging stories. The cold never bothered you, but being with him made you understand why people enjoyed the sweetness of hot cocoa and why they cuddled close to a fire.

❅ Both your friends and family were happy for you. One day, Jack asked you to invite everyone so you can have a contest on who built the best sculptures. Your audience and judges comprised of Jack’s fellow Guardians, Queen Anna and King Kristoff, Olaf, and Sven.

❅ You showed off with iced gardens, towers, and even the shape of Sven, but none was more impressive as when you turned around to find Jack on one knee, a gleaming diamond in his hand. It was a picture perfect moment with ice sculptures in the background, celebrated with loved ones. 

❅ And soon, the ice queen would never be without her king.  

✿ Masterlist <- read more!

[wrath-of-the-sea]

An analysis of Wille arriving at Hillerska with Erik‘s car vs. leaving in Sara‘s car

Lisa Ambjörn herself asked for this, and she shall receive.

The first time we see Wilhelm arrive at Hillerska it is with Erik. They arrive in an expensive sports car. Wille doesn‘t know what the future has to offer for him, but he knows he doesn‘t want to be at the school. The last time we see Wilhelm in a car, he is leaving Hillerska behind. He has just renounced the throne. He sits in an old Volvo with his chosen family. He has finally grown up.

Wilhelm started a revolution at Hillerska which led to the school shutting down. Erik‘s car is a symbol for the old system and they‘re leaving everything behind in Sara’s car. It‘s a fresh start.

The sports car represents not only Erik, but Wilhelm‘s position as a prince. It symbolises his privileges, his position in the upper class. His family has money and he benefits from it. And yet, while Erik seems to be enjoying himself in the wind, he isn‘t happy. This is one of our first glimpses at the fact that Wille feels trapped in the postion he is in.

The old Volvo can also be seen as a representation of Wilhelm‘s feelings. It being an old and not super expensive car is obviously a literal cosquence of it coming from Micke. But it can also mean more: Wilhelm has decided to leave the title of Crown Prince behind. It’s a common car - all Wille wants is to live a normal and common life. He has also decided to bridge over the class differences between Simon and himself. Wilhelm is now in a place where he‘s willing to unlearn his own classist views and privileges. They‘re willing to compromise, they‘ll make it work.

Apart from the cars‘ price classes it‘s also important to mention the type of car they‘re driving. Erik drives an open-roof Cabrio while Sara drives a car with a closed roof. The roof represents the public eye. Wille was uncomfortable at the beginning. He didn‘t want to be perceived by the public, but he had no choice and nowhere to hide or escape to.

Now, in the end, he has renounced his title and he chooses not to be in the public eye any longer. The car roof is closed, and he finally has a way to hide. But Wilhelm chooses to do the opposite. He leans out the window. He is ready to face the world and to finally be his true self. And he has not only Simon in his arms to help him, but Felice and Sara are with him as well. They have become family. Wille is finally free.

[flowerandblood]

Object of Desire (Epilogue)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: sex content, breastfeeding kink, smut, angst, domination, swearing, mention of postpartum depression ]

[ description: After a difficult childbirth and finding out what kind of man her late husband was, Aemond finally finds the strength to truly understand his wife. Their life becomes peaceful and successful until Aegon is seriously injured in battle and he is proclaimed Prince Regent. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. ]

Part 1 − Object of Desire Part 2 − Object of Despair Part 3 − Object of Delight

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

For as long as he could remember, the image of himself with Aegon the Conqueror's crown placed on his head had flashed through his mind. He had never thought of depriving his elder brother of the throne, but they both knew that he was better suited to the role.

However, now, as his King lay in his chamber, with burns that caused him so much pain that they made it impossible for him to move, let alone rule the kingdom, when he was proclaimed Prince Regent, the weight of the steel pressing down on his forehead and temples seemed to overwhelm him.

His wife stood beside him, seated on the Iron Throne − she was showing her allegiance to him by wearing on her neck and fingers the sapphire jewels, necklaces and rings he had given her, her gown as usual in the colours of her lineage, blue.

He knew that she did not desire rich, shiny gifts, and his presents were not intended to satisfy her vanity − never able to express his feelings and thoughts aloud, he preferred to show his respect and affection towards her in this way, and she accepted it with calmness and gratitude.

She paid tribute to him as the last person to stand in front of his throne − she bowed and wanted to kneel, but he stopped her with a gesture of his hand, ordering her to stand up.

He did not stop her when she approached him, when her hand grasped his, when she lifted it to her lips and kissed it reverently, closing her eyes.

He swallowed loudly, stroking her smooth skin with his thumb, feeling like just grabbing her around the waist and placing her on his lap, the way he would if they were alone in his chamber.

She moved away from him, looking at him with peace − a certainty, a pride that made him feel a warm contentment, something in her violet eyes that always reassured him.

She was his ally.

Not his grandfather's, his mother's, or his brother's.

His.

The mother of his heir.

His wife.

After the ceremony, a council was gathered, led by him, to determine what to do about the situation in Harrenhal, besieged for some time by Daemon. He did not allow his wife to leave the chamber, pointing with his hand to the seat on his right hand that would normally be occupied by his mother. His sire accepted this with humility, allowing his wife to take the seat next to him, herself sitting down next to Ser Criston.

Silence fell.

"How long do we have to tolerate Daemon flying around the kingdom threatening to take the crown from my brother? He laughs in our faces, occupying a stronghold so close to the Eyrie." He said coolly, his voice deep and defiant, certain. He heard his wife draw in a deep breath upon hearing the name of her ancestral fortress, lowering her gaze to her fingers.

His grandfather grunted loudly, twisting in his seat with a quiet creak of wood, looking at the faces of those gathered with a raised eyebrow.

"In my opinion, Prince Daemon wants to provoke you, Your Grace. It is obvious that his target is King's Landing. In my opinion, Harrenhal is a small price to pay to keep the capital, let him hold this fortress if he so desires."

"Harrenhal is the bridge between the North and the South. Daemon will burn Lord Arryn's army if he chooses to come to our call." He replied impatiently, Criston Cole grunted loudly, eager to make his point.

"There is only one King. Prince Daemon must be reminded of that." He said coldly, looking at him intensely, ready to rally their entire army at one sign of his. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his wife, who was looking at him with a gaze he knew well.

As always, she was letting him decide if he wanted to hear what she had to say.

He nodded at her, allowing her to speak.

"You are the rider of the greatest dragon in the kingdom, my king. You must remain in King's Landing. The Red Keep, unlike the Eyrie, can be conquered. Prince Daemon is just waiting for this. I'm certain that when he hears that you are heading in his direction with his army he will join his wife and they will march here together. Blockade of my uncle's army will still be a lesser loss." She said calmly, looking at her hands, his grandfather nodded, his face expressing surprise and some kind of admiration.

"Your wife speaks with great wisdom, Your Grace, and I agree with her completely." He said, and he looked away, hitting the side of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, thinking intensely about what she had said.

What if he does indeed move on Harrenhal, and finds only an empty fortress with children, old men and women?

What if Daemon humiliates him, tricks him like a little child hoping he'll swallow his bait, and attacks the Red Keep along with his half-sister knowing he won't make it back in time?

"Forgive me, my Lady, however, idleness is the domain of women, not men." Criston Cole hissed, but fell silent, swallowing hard, his lips pressed together as he met his warning gaze.

"You mistake idleness for wisdom and caution, my Lord. Like many men before you." His wife replied, and he clenched his fingers on the base of his nose and closed his eyes, sighing impatiently.

"Enough." He ordered, a tense silence fell around him, his wife looked away − he could see the vein pulsing fast on her slender, long neck, her cheeks red, betraying her annoyance.

"Mother." He turned to her, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, as he always did, reckoning with her opinion. He saw her swallow hard, picking at the cuticles around her fingernails in a nervous gesture, her big brown eyes filled with fear, uncertainty and dread.

"I think it's a trap, Aemond. Daemon is clever, he lives to mock others. He's always been this way."

He sighed quietly, feeling that despite his deep desire to lead his army to victory, there was much right in the doubts of his wife, grandfather and mother − when his anger and desire to prove himself began to give way to common sense he recognised that indeed if he left the Red Keep, his half-sister would take the opportunity.

"Let our spies continue to watch him and report his doings to us. We should think about luring him out of there somehow. Is there any news from the Iron Islands?" He asked, Lord Lannister nodded and grunted loudly.

"Yes. They agree to a set sum. They will stand against the Velaryon fleet at our call. However, they demand that their independence from the crown be upheld." He said quickly, nervously, adding the last sentence as if on the fly, clearly afraid of his reaction. He sighed heavily and merely nodded.

Their discussion continued for a few more hours, touching on the army, its supplies and the state of the soldiers' morale, their attitudes, whether an agreement could be reached with Lord Baratheon to remain neutral in exchange for the seat on the Small Council that his grandfather had offered in place of his own, knowing that it was his decision that had caused the betrothal to his daughters to be broken off.

When he had heard all he wished he closed the council by dismissing everyone but his wife.

She looked at him with her characteristic composure, watching as he removed Aegon the Conqueror's crown from his head and placed it with reverence on the top of the stone table in front of him. He gazed at its steel surface thoughtfully, tapping the tip of his finger against it, each time causing it to make a quiet clink.

"All my life I have thought about this moment. But it's not how I imagined it." He said finally, his voice impassive and tired. He heard her sigh quietly with understanding, looking down at his hands.

"I know."

They were silent for a moment, hearing only the sounds coming from outside the windows, the loud conversations of guards and servants shouting in the courtyard.

"They'll think I'm a craven." He hissed through clenched teeth, feeling uncertainty and frustration rising in his chest − he sensed that she looked at him, her hand tightening on his, as if she wanted to give him the courage to do the right thing.

"He knows this is what you fear most. He'll laugh and mock that you're afraid to face him, but we both know he'll do it because he hopes it will break you. Don't let him dictate to you the terms of when and where you will face each other. It's humiliating." She said with a certainty from which he felt a squeeze in his throat and closed his eyes for a moment, his thumb running over her soft skin.

"I'm expecting your child."

He shuddered, looking at her with his lips parted in disbelief, his heart began to pound hard at the thought that just a month after she'd given birth to his son, despite their shared promises, he'd come deep inside her when he'd made love to her, unable to stop himself, her hands clenched tightly on his bare buttocks, her sweet moans begging for his seed.

How could he deny her?

"Forgive me." He whispered in a trembling voice, thinking of the nightmare she'd endured, of how long she'd been unable to recover from it, how close she'd come to leaving this world. He heard her hum under her breath as she smiled softly, shaking her head.

"No. It is a good omen. A sign from the gods that they favour you." She replied, looking at him as if she was the one who wanted to comfort him, his fingers intertwined with hers. "I think this time will be different. I already know what to expect and that I can count on your support, my King."

He nodded, lifting her hand to his lips, placing a loud, lingering kiss on her smooth skin.

"They have taken pity on me, sending me you as my wife. My Queen." He muttered, drawing her close to him, gripping her waist, seating her comfortably on his lap, leaning against the back of his chair with a quiet sigh, gazing at her familiar, pleasant figure with tenderness.

She smiled warmly at his words, taking his face in her hands, stroking it with her thumbs. He closed his eyes, letting his body loosen, feeling sleepy and tired even though his manhood clearly expressed its pleasure at her closeness, swelling in his breeches.

"I will order a meal to be prepared for you and brought to your chamber. You have hardly eaten or slept for days."

"Mmm." He hummed, satisfied, as always, that she was watching him, that she knew what he needed without asking him unnecessary questions.

While this would surely have caused his frustration with another woman, her initiative didn't bother him; on the contrary, it made his daily life a lot easier, giving him the feeling that he didn't have to think of everything himself.

She was the one who decided what attire he should wear for what occasion, what they would eat for their morning meal, knowing what he liked most. To his satisfaction, she also found herself in the role of mother, establishing a close bond with their son, Jace's attachment to her and how joyfully he reacted to the sight of her made her eager to hold him in her embrace, letting him watch her feed him in the evenings.

His greatest weakness, as he found out, proved to be not the lack of his eye or control over his fiery temper, but the taste of her milk melting across his palate as his son slept peacefully at night with his belly filled with her food.

He clamped his mouth over her swollen, puffy nipples, sucking on them greedily as his fat cock thrust impatiently into her slick interior, teasing with its tip the spot inside her that made her moan shamelessly with pleasure.

"− my King −" She sobbed sweetly with her thighs spread wide, letting him pound into her with deep, fast pushes, purring with pleasure into the skin of her breasts, swallowing loudly her wonderful nectar. His sound vibrated through her entire body making her walls clench against him greedily, squeezing him, his thumb teasing and trailing around her pearl, making her fingers dig helplessly into his naked, sweaty back.

"− this is a meal worthy of the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, don't you think? − my wife's sweet, warm milk −" He murmured, running the tip of his nose over her nipple only to move his face to her other breast, repeating the same process, justifying his behaviour by the fact that he knew the excess milk was causing her pain and discomfort, and he couldn't imagine it going to waste.

"− yes − it's all yours − f-fuck −" She muttered, tilting her head back, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders with his low groan as he felt her core begin to pulse around his manhood in orgasm, squeezing his seed out of him.

He didn't have the strength to resist and just filled her with himself, sighing in relief, licking her nipple with the tip of his tongue, as oversensitive as the rest of her body − she whimpered, trying to push him away but he wouldn't let her, busy with sucking her milk until she calmed down.

"− Aemond, please − oh gods −" She mumbled softly, completely absorbed in her fulfilment, panting heavily. He remained deep inside her, leaning on his elbow, not wanting to crush her with his body, remembering in the back of his mind about the baby in her womb.

"− what is it? − my wife is overwhelmed? − impossible −" He sneered with a grin of satisfaction − since it appeared that his attention to her breasts aroused not only him, she was soaking wet for him, her fulfilment approaching quickly and violently, making her body completely vulnerable and limp, as if she herself was shocked by how intense the sensation was.

"− I didn't even notice when you filled me again, my King − I'm inclined to think you're drawing satisfaction from my pleasure −" She cooed with a sweet smile, from which he chuckled under his breath, leaning towards her − her hand pulled him closer as their lips joined in a hot, sticky, soft kiss, her swollen breasts pressed against his chest.

He ran the tip of his nose over hers, looking into her eyes, a violet he adored − the shade of her irises slightly darker than his, warmer, shimmering wonderfully in the moonlight illuminating their bed.

He wanted to confess to her the many things that did not slip through his throat, the affection that filled his heart with heat, yet he remained silent, looking at her with a gaze she knew well. She always reacted the same way, her soft hand stroking his jaw as only two words came out of her mouth, spoken in a whisper.

"I know."

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (3)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For all chapters, and more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 7 000+

- Previous part: 2

- Next part: 4

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The high table, where King Viserys sat with his family, was a place of warmth and camaraderie, a rare moment where the burdens of the crown seemed distant, and only the joys of family remained.

Viserys looked around the table, his heart swelling with contentment. To his right sat his son, Y/N, the prince who had returned to him after years away, now a man grown, strong and capable. To his left, Rhaenyra, his beloved daughter, her eyes bright with happiness as she conversed with her brother. The sight of his children together, both healthy and whole, filled him with a deep, abiding joy.

"It does my heart good to see you both here," Viserys said, his voice warm and filled with affection. He raised his goblet, smiling at the two of you. "After all these years, to have my family together again… it’s a sight I’ve longed to see."

Rhaenyra turned to her father, her expression softening as she took in the emotion behind his words. "We’ve missed this too, Father," she said sincerely, glancing at you with a smile. "But I’m glad we’re together now. It feels… right."

You nodded in agreement, raising your own goblet in a toast. "To family," you said simply, the words carrying a weight that spoke of all the time spent apart, and the bonds that held strong despite it.

As the feast continued, Rhaenyra leaned closer to you, her voice lowering slightly as she sought to bridge the years that had passed. "It’s been too long since we’ve had a chance to talk like this, brother," she said, her tone laced with a hint of nostalgia. "So much has happened while you were away. I want to hear everything."

You smiled at her eagerness, glad to see that the bond between you had not faded despite the time apart. "I’ll tell you everything you wish to know, Rhaenyra," you replied, your voice filled with warmth. "But first, I’d like to know what you’ve been up to. The last time we flew together, you were still learning to control Syrax. How has she been?"

Rhaenyra’s eyes brightened at the mention of her dragon. "Syrax has grown stronger and more confident with every flight. She’s magnificent, Y/N. You should see her—she’s faster than ever, and she’s developed this incredible grace in the air." She paused, her smile widening as an idea took hold. "In fact, why don’t we go flying tomorrow? It’s been too long since Syrax and Silverwing soared together side by side."

The suggestion made your heart lift with excitement. "I’d love that," you said, the prospect of flying with Rhaenyra again bringing back memories of your youth. "It’s been far too long since I’ve seen Silverwing and Syrax together in the sky."

Rhaenyra beamed at your response, the thought of spending time with you once more clearly bringing her joy. But as she looked at you, her smile faltered slightly, her eyes lingering on your face as if seeing you in a new light. There was something different about you—something she hadn’t noticed until now. The years had changed you, matured you, in ways she hadn’t fully grasped until this moment.

You noticed her gaze, her expression more serious than before, and tilted your head slightly, curious. "Rhaenyra, what is it? You seem… distant all of a sudden."

Rhaenyra blinked, suddenly aware that she had been staring. Her cheeks flushed with warmth, and she quickly averted her gaze, trying to compose herself. "It’s nothing," she said, her voice a little too quick, too light. "I just… I was just thinking about how much you’ve changed. You’re not the boy who left for Dorne all those years ago."

Your brow furrowed slightly, not entirely convinced, but you decided not to press her. There was something in her voice that suggested she wasn’t ready to share what was truly on her mind. Instead, you offered her a reassuring smile. "We’ve all changed, Rhaenyra. But some things remain the same—like our bond. And no matter how much time passes, that will never change."

Rhaenyra looked at you again, her eyes softening at your words. She nodded, her smile returning, though it was tinged with something unspoken. "You’re right," she said softly, her gaze holding yours for a moment longer before she looked away, focusing on her goblet.

Before the conversation could continue, the arrival of another figure drew your attention. Daemon Targaryen, your uncle, made his way to the high table, his presence commanding as always. He wore a satisfied grin, still basking in the glory of the day’s events. He took his seat beside you, his movements fluid and confident, the very image of a warrior-prince.

"Quite the day, wouldn’t you say?" Daemon remarked as he settled into his seat, reaching for a goblet of wine. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked at you. "I must say, nephew, you gave me a good run. It’s not every day I find myself facing an opponent with as much skill as you."

You chuckled, the tension from earlier easing as you turned to your uncle. "You fought well, Uncle. I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting that last strike. It caught me off guard."

Daemon’s grin widened, a flash of pride in his eyes. "That’s the trick, isn’t it? Always keep your opponent guessing. But don’t let it trouble you, Y/N. You held your own, and that’s more than most can say."

Viserys, who had been listening to the exchange with a fond smile, leaned in. "It was a fine match, truly. Both of you showed the realm what it means to be a Targaryen. Strength, skill, and honor—those are the qualities that will keep our house strong."

Daemon raised his goblet in a toast, his gaze locking with yours. "To the blood of the dragon," he said, his voice carrying a weight that transcended the casual nature of the feast. "May it continue to burn bright in all of us."

You and Viserys both raised your goblets in response, echoing the toast. "To the blood of the dragon."

As you drank, the warmth of the wine spread through you, mixing with the pride and contentment that filled the evening. 

Rhaenyra, still seated beside you, watched the exchange between you and Daemon with a thoughtful expression.

The feast was in full swing, and the air was filled with the sound of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets. As the evening progressed, the minstrels struck up a lively tune, signaling the start of the dances. 

You rose from your seat at the high table, casting a glance at your father, King Viserys, who beamed with pride. The weight of the crown seemed lighter on his brow tonight, surrounded as he was by his family and the lords and ladies of the realm. The King nodded at you, his expression encouraging as you prepared to lead the festivities.

Turning to your sister, Rhaenyra, you extended your hand with a warm smile. "Sister, may I have the honor of this first dance?"

Rhaenyra’s face lit up, her eyes sparkling with delight as she placed her hand in yours. "I would be honored, brother."

The two of you moved to the center of the hall, the eyes of the court upon you. The musicians began to play a lilting melody, and you led Rhaenyra into the dance with practiced ease. The two of you moved gracefully across the floor, your steps perfectly in sync, a testament to the connection that had always united you.

As you danced, Rhaenyra looked up at you, her smile softening. "It’s like old times, isn’t it? Before all the responsibilities and distance."

You nodded, guiding her through a turn. "It is. I’ve missed this—missed being with you, Rhaenyra. But I’m glad we have this moment now."

Rhaenyra’s smile widened, a flush of happiness coloring her cheeks. "So am I, brother. So am I."

The dance continued, the two of you drawing the admiration of those watching. There was a natural grace in the way you moved together, a reminder to all present of the strength and unity of House Targaryen. When the dance finally came to an end, the hall erupted in applause, the court celebrating the display of sibling affection.

You bowed to Rhaenyra, and she curtsied in return, both of you sharing a smile that spoke of a thousand unspoken words. Then, as the custom dictated, you began to move through the ranks of ladies awaiting their turn to dance with the prince.

The next lady to take your hand was Lady Elinor, the daughter of Lord Borros Baratheon, followed by Lady Alisanne of House Redwyne. Each dance was executed with the same charm and politeness, your demeanor impeccable as you honored each lady with your attention. You complimented their grace, listened attentively to their polite conversation, and thanked them graciously for the dance before moving on to the next.

Across the hall, Otto Hightower watched the proceedings with sharp eyes. The King was surrounded by a number of lords, each presenting their daughters as potential brides for you or Rhaenyra. Otto’s mind was calculating as he observed the scene, aware that this was a critical moment—one that could shape the future of the realm.

He leaned toward his daughter, Alicent, who sat beside him, her hands folded nervously in her lap. "Alicent," he began, his voice firm but not unkind, "you cannot afford to be passive in this. You see how the other ladies vie for his attention. If you wish to secure his favor, you must act. Do not be timid—assert yourself."

Alicent looked up at her father, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "But, Father…"

Otto’s gaze softened, though the urgency in his tone remained. "Alicent, this is your opportunity. You’ve spent time with the prince; you’re his sister’s confidante. Use that to your advantage. This is not just about you—it’s about our family’s future."

Alicent bit her lip, glancing at you as you moved from one dance partner to the next. She knew her father was right—this was a rare chance, and if she didn’t take it, she might regret it. Gathering her courage, she nodded. "Very well, Father. I’ll do as you say."

Otto gave her an encouraging nod, watching as she rose from her seat. "Good. Remember, Alicent, you are as worthy as any lady here—more so. Make him see that."

Alicent took a deep breath, smoothing her dress as she approached the line of ladies waiting to dance with you. As she neared the front, she gently but firmly edged her way past a few of the ladies, earning a few disapproving glances but no open objections. The music was still playing, and the court’s eyes were focused on you as you finished a dance with Lady Selyse Florent.

As you turned to offer your hand to the next lady, your gaze fell upon Alicent, who had just reached the front of the line. You smiled warmly, recognizing her as Rhaenyra’s closest friend. "Lady Alicent," you said, extending your hand, "would you honor me with this dance?"

Alicent’s heart fluttered as she placed her hand in yours, the warmth of your touch sending a thrill through her. "It would be my pleasure, my prince," she replied, her voice steady despite the nervous excitement she felt.

The two of you moved onto the floor, and as the music played, you led her into the dance with the same grace and charm you had shown the other ladies. Alicent moved with you, her steps light, her movements elegant. She was aware of the eyes on her, the expectations of her father, but in this moment, she tried to focus only on you.

"You dance beautifully, Lady Alicent," you complimented her as you guided her through a turn. "I hope you’ve been enjoying the festivities."

Alicent looked up at you, her eyes meeting yours as she replied. "Thank you, my prince. The feast has been wonderful, and it’s been a joy to see the realm celebrate your return."

You nodded, appreciative of her words. "It’s good to be home. And I’m glad to see Rhaenyra has had you by her side during my absence. She speaks very highly of you."

Alicent’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment, though she maintained her composure. "Rhaenyra is a dear friend. It’s been an honor to be her companion, and I’m grateful for the trust she places in me."

You smiled at her, your tone warm but without any deeper inflection. "She’s fortunate to have a friend like you. I’m glad she’s had someone she can rely on."

Alicent’s heart sank slightly, realizing that while you were charming and polite, there was nothing in your words or demeanor that suggested you viewed her differently from any of the other ladies you had danced with tonight. You treated her with the same respect and kindness, but no more than that. It was clear you saw her as Rhaenyra’s friend—nothing more, nothing less.

As the dance came to an end, you bowed to her, just as you had with the other ladies, and she curtsied in return. "Thank you for the dance, Lady Alicent," you said with a smile. "It was a pleasure."

Alicent returned your smile, though it was tinged with a hint of disappointment. "The pleasure was mine, my prince."

As you turned to seek out your next dance partner, Alicent stepped back, returning to her father’s side. Otto’s expression was unreadable as he watched her approach, though there was a slight tightening of his jaw that she didn’t miss.

"You did well, Alicent," he said quietly, though there was no mistaking the hint of urgency in his voice. "But you must be persistent. The ladies are vying for his attention, and you cannot afford to be outdone."

Alicent nodded, though her heart felt heavy. She knew what was at stake, but the interaction had left her feeling uncertain. Still, she resolved to continue as her father instructed—this was too important to let doubt get in the way.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra had returned to her seat at the high table, watching as you danced with the other ladies. She couldn’t help but feel a small pang of possessiveness, though she knew it was part of your duty as the prince. Still, seeing you give your attention to so many others, even if it was only for a dance, made her all the more determined to hold on to the bond you shared.

As the night wore on, the music and dancing continued, the Great Hall filled with the joyous energy of the feast. 

And as you moved through the dances, your thoughts never strayed far from those you held dear—your father, your sister, and the duty that would one day fall upon your shoulders. But for now, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, the warmth of the evening, and the knowledge that you were home.

The halls of the Red Keep were quiet as the night deepened, the once lively echoes of the feast now replaced by a serene stillness. The grandeur of the evening had finally come to an end, and you found yourself at last retreating to your chambers, eager for a moment of solitude after the endless social engagements and responsibilities of the day.

As soon as the heavy wooden door to your chambers closed behind you, a sigh escaped your lips, the tension that had built up throughout the evening releasing in that single breath. The weight of the evening—the formalities, the expectations, the constant eyes upon you—felt heavy on your shoulders, and you rolled them back, trying to ease the stiffness that had settled there.

You loosened the collar of your doublet, the intricate embroidery and decorative fastenings that had seemed so necessary in the public eye now feeling suffocating. With deliberate movements, you began to remove the unnecessary pieces—brooches, chains, the heavy belt that had held Blackfyre at your side. Each item dropped onto the nearby table with a soft clink, the sound oddly satisfying as it signaled a return to yourself, to the man beneath the prince’s trappings.

You moved to the small table near the hearth and poured yourself a goblet of wine, the rich red liquid swirling as you filled the cup. Sitting down heavily in the chair beside it, you took a deep sip, savoring the warmth that spread through your chest. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its light casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The room was a refuge from the demands of the court, but even here, the thoughts of the day lingered in your mind.

Your gaze drifted to Blackfyre, the legendary sword of House Targaryen, which you had placed carefully on the table. The blade seemed to gleam in the firelight, a symbol of the legacy you bore, the expectations that came with being the heir to the Iron Throne. You had wielded it with pride and skill on the battlefield, but here, in the heart of King’s Landing, it served as a reminder of the heavy burden you carried—your father’s hopes and dreams, and the responsibility of living up to them.

The goblet in your hand felt heavier with each passing moment as you stared at the sword. Leading men into battle had been straightforward—challenging, yes, but with a clear purpose, a defined enemy. But here, in the court, the lines were blurred, the enemies often hidden behind smiles and silk. It was a different kind of battle, one that required a different set of skills, and one that left you feeling more drained than any clash of swords.

Just as you were lost in these thoughts, a soft knock sounded at the door, pulling you from your reverie. You straightened slightly, setting the goblet down as Ser Harrold Westerling’s voice called through the door.

"Your Grace, Princess Rhaenyra wishes to see you."

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it, and replied, "Let her in."

The door opened to reveal Rhaenyra, her expression soft and caring as she stepped into the room. She closed the door behind her, her eyes immediately taking in the sight of you. The tension in your posture, the messiness of your attire—things that would have been socially unacceptable in the public eye—were evident to her, but here, in the privacy of your chambers, they were merely signs of your humanity.

"Brother," she said softly, moving to the table where the wine was still waiting. She poured herself a goblet, mirroring your earlier actions, before sitting across from you. She studied you for a moment, her gaze gentle. "You look troubled… and tired."

You met her gaze, a small, weary smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I am tired, Rhaenyra," you admitted, your voice tinged with the exhaustion you felt. "It’s strange, isn’t it? I find it easier to lead men into battle than to sit at court again."

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened with understanding. She had always known the pressures you faced, even if she couldn’t fully share them. "You’ve always managed to do both with such ease, though," she said, her tone both admiring and slightly teasing. "I’ll admit, I envy you for it."

You chuckled, the sound more genuine than you’d felt all evening. "Envy me, do you? I suppose I should take that as a compliment." There was a lightness in your tone, a desire to shake off the weight of your earlier thoughts, at least for a moment.

Rhaenyra’s lips curved into a smile, her own mood lifting at your response. "You should," she replied playfully, raising her goblet in a mock toast. "But only a little."

The two of you shared a laugh, the sound filling the room and banishing some of the lingering shadows. It felt good to laugh, to let go of the tensions that had knotted themselves around you throughout the day. With Rhaenyra, there was no need for pretense, no need to be the perfect prince. She knew you—truly knew you—and that was a comfort you cherished.

Rhaenyra took a sip of her wine, her gaze drifting to the goblet in your hand. "You should ease up on that, you know," she remarked with a hint of amusement. "I don’t want you to be late tomorrow for our flight. Syrax will be most disappointed if Silverwing doesn’t show."

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at the thought of flying with Rhaenyra again. "I wouldn’t dream of it," you assured her, setting the goblet down on the table with a playful sigh of resignation. "Besides, I don’t think I could face Syrax’s disappointment—or yours."

Rhaenyra’s smile softened, her gaze holding yours for a moment longer than usual. There was something in her eyes, a mixture of affection and something else, something unspoken that lingered just beneath the surface. But before you could dwell on it, she looked away, taking another sip of her wine as if to mask the brief flicker of vulnerability.

The moment passed, and you leaned back in your chair, feeling more at ease than you had all evening. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the two of you as you continued to talk, the conversation shifting to lighter topics, memories of childhood, and shared dreams of the future.

For a time, the world outside the chamber doors faded away, leaving only the comfort of each other’s company. The burdens of the day, the expectations of the court, the weight of the crown—all of it seemed distant, insignificant compared to moments like this with Rhaenyra.

And as the night wore on, the wine in your goblet forgotten, you found yourself looking forward to the dawn, to the flight that awaited you and Rhaenyra, a reminder that even in the midst of duty and responsibility, there was still room for joy, for the freedom of the skies, and for the love of family.

The morning sun bathed King’s Landing in a warm, golden light as the city came to life with the sounds of merchants setting up their stalls, the chatter of citizens going about their daily routines, and the distant, excited murmurs of those who had caught sight of the royal procession making its way through the streets. From the windows of the small council chambers in the Red Keep, King Viserys I Targaryen stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching as his children were escorted from the courtyard toward the Dragonpit.

Below, you and Rhaenyra rode side by side, your silver-blond hair gleaming in the sunlight, both of you resplendent in your riding attire. The people of the city lined the streets, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of their prince and princess. The sight of the two of you together, united and strong, brought a sense of pride to those who looked upon you. Dragons were a rare sight in the skies above King’s Landing these days, and the promise of seeing two Targaryens take flight was enough to stir excitement in even the most jaded of onlookers.

Viserys smiled faintly, his heart swelling with pride as he watched you and Rhaenyra. The relationship between his children was clear, and it was a source of comfort to him, knowing that you had each other. The realm was a complex and often dangerous place, filled with intrigue and ambition, but seeing you together, strong and united, reassured him that House Targaryen was still a force to be reckoned with.

But even as he watched you ride toward the Dragonpit, his thoughts were troubled. He knew the responsibilities that lay before you, the expectations that came with being the heir to the Iron Throne. And though you had proven yourself time and again, both on the battlefield and in court, he worried about the weight of those expectations, and how they might shape your future.

A soft clearing of the throat behind him pulled Viserys from his thoughts. He turned to see the members of his small council seated around the table, their expressions varying from patient to expectant. Lord Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, was seated closest to Viserys’s chair, his sharp eyes never missing a detail. Next to him was Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Master of Ships, and across the table, Lord Lyonel Strong, the Master of Laws, along with other advisors and councilors.

Viserys sighed inwardly, knowing what was to come. The council had been growing increasingly insistent on matters of marriage and alliances, and he knew today would be no different. Reluctantly, he moved away from the window and took his seat at the head of the table, steeling himself for the discussion ahead.

Otto Hightower was the first to speak, his tone respectful but firm. "Your Grace, while the realm celebrates the return of your son, and we all take joy in the sight of the prince and princess together, there are pressing matters that require your attention."

Viserys nodded, though his thoughts were still partly on the sight of you and Rhaenyra riding through the city. "I understand, Otto. What is it you wish to discuss?"

Otto exchanged a brief glance with the other councilors before continuing. "Your Grace, it has been five years since the passing of Queen Aemma, may she rest in peace. The realm mourned her loss, but as you know, the stability of the crown relies heavily on the strength of its alliances. There are those who believe it would be advantageous for you to consider a second marriage."

Viserys’s expression tightened, the thought of remarrying bringing an ache to his chest. Aemma had been the love of his life, and though he knew the arguments for a second marriage, the idea of taking another wife felt like a betrayal of her memory. "I have not given much thought to that, Otto," Viserys replied, his tone measured. "Aemma’s death is still fresh in my mind."

Lord Corlys leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but insistent. "Your Grace, the realm must be considered. A marriage alliance could strengthen our position, both here and across the Narrow Sea. There are many noble houses who would see a marriage to the crown as a great honor."

Viserys sighed softly, feeling the weight of their words. "And what of my children?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over the council. "Are they also to be offered up in marriage to secure alliances?"

Otto inclined his head, his expression thoughtful. "Your Grace, the prince and princess are of age, and it would be prudent to consider their futures as well. The realm expects it, and it could bring great stability. Have you given thought to any potential matches for Prince Y/N?"

Viserys’s thoughts drifted to you, the son who had just returned to him after years of service on the Dornish border. He knew that you had your own burdens, your own sense of duty, and the thought of placing yet another expectation on your shoulders was not one he relished. "He has only just returned," Viserys said, his voice tinged with reluctance. "I do not wish to burden him with talks of marriage so soon. He deserves some peace after all he has done for the realm."

Lord Lyonel Strong spoke up, his tone careful. "Of course, Your Grace, but the future of the realm is always in need of careful planning. If not now, then soon, these discussions must take place. The prince has proven himself, and there are many who would wish to see him secure the line of succession."

Viserys leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as he felt the pressure of the conversation bearing down on him. The future of the realm, the line of succession, the alliances needed to maintain stability—these were all necessary concerns, but at this moment, all he wanted was to enjoy having his children by his side, whole and safe.

Otto watched Viserys closely, sensing his hesitation. "Your Grace," he said gently, "I understand this is difficult, but the realm looks to you for guidance. A second marriage for yourself, and well-considered matches for your children, could bring great strength to the crown. We are here to support you in making the best decisions for the future of House Targaryen."

Viserys exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting back toward the window, though the view of you and Rhaenyra had long since passed. "I know you are right, Otto," he said finally, his voice quieter. "But these are not decisions to be made lightly. I will consider your counsel, but for now, I wish to think on it further."

Otto nodded, recognizing that this was as much as he would get from the king today. "Of course, Your Grace. We are at your service whenever you are ready to discuss these matters further."

Viserys nodded in acknowledgment, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere, his mind lingering on the sight of you and Rhaenyra, and the memories of the family he had lost. The burden of the crown was heavy, but in that moment, all he wanted was to hold on to the peace and joy of having his family together, if only for a little while longer.

The council continued to discuss other matters—trade routes, border disputes, the ever-present issue of the Stepstones—but Viserys’s mind remained partially distant, caught between the responsibilities of the king and the desires of a father who simply wanted to see his children happy.

As the meeting wore on, the weight of their expectations pressed down on him, but Viserys knew that soon enough, he would have to face the decisions that lay ahead—decisions that would shape not just the future of the realm, but the future of his family as well. For now, however, he would hold on to the image of you and Rhaenyra, united and strong, and take comfort in the knowledge that, at least for today, the Targaryen legacy was secure.

The great structure of the Dragonpit loomed before you and Rhaenyra as you arrived, the massive dome a testament to the power and majesty of House Targaryen. The air was filled with excitement, the distant sounds of the city fading away as your focus narrowed to the task at hand—the exhilarating, unmatched thrill of flying with your sister once more. 

The Dragonkeepers, their faces solemn and respectful, approached with measured steps, leading the two magnificent beasts that were the pride of your family. Silverwing, your bondmate and constant companion in battle, shimmered in the morning light, her silver scales catching the sun and gleaming like polished steel. She walked with a powerful grace, her tail sweeping the ground, her golden eyes fixed on you with a deep, knowing intelligence.

Beside her, Syrax moved with equal elegance, her golden scales reflecting the sunlight with a brilliance that was almost blinding. The dragon’s eyes, a molten amber, were locked on Rhaenyra, her bond with the princess evident in the way she seemed to respond to her presence, her great wings flexing with barely contained energy.

Rhaenyra turned to you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Without warning, she playfully shoved you, catching you off guard for a brief moment. "Let’s see if you’re still as fast as you were before you left," she challenged, her voice light with laughter. "First to mount their dragon wins!"

The challenge was made, and with a grin, you quickly regained your balance, your competitive spirit flaring to life. "You’re on," you replied, already moving toward Silverwing with purpose.

Rhaenyra dashed toward Syrax, her laughter ringing out in the open space of the Dragonpit. You matched her pace, the years of camaraderie and friendly rivalry between you fueling your determination. The Dragonkeepers stepped back respectfully, giving you both the space you needed as you raced to your dragons.

Despite Rhaenyra’s head start, you pushed yourself to catch up, your heart pounding with excitement. The familiar sight of Silverwing waiting for you, her eyes fixed on you with unwavering loyalty, spurred you on. With a final burst of speed, you reached her side, your hands gripping the warm, smooth scales of her neck as you hoisted yourself up onto her back.

You secured yourself in the saddle with practiced ease, your hands moving quickly but confidently as you tightened the straps and adjusted the reins. Silverwing rumbled beneath you, her excitement palpable as she sensed the impending flight. You glanced over at Rhaenyra, who was just finishing securing herself atop Syrax, her expression a mixture of concentration and exhilaration.

"Too slow, sister!" you called out teasingly, giving Silverwing an affectionate pat on her neck. "But you can still try to catch up."

Rhaenyra shot you a playful glare, her eyes sparkling with determination. "We’ll see who’s too slow once we’re in the air!" she retorted, giving Syrax a gentle nudge with her heels.

With a powerful beat of her wings, Syrax launched herself into the sky, the force of her takeoff sending a rush of wind through the Dragonpit. Not one to be outdone, you urged Silverwing forward with a command that was more thought than spoken, the bond between you and your dragon allowing for seamless communication.

Silverwing responded instantly, her massive wings unfurling with a whoosh of air as she lifted off the ground. The powerful muscles in her legs propelled her upward, and within moments, you were soaring high above the Dragonpit, the city of King’s Landing sprawling out beneath you like a tapestry of red roofs and winding streets.

The thrill of flight, the sensation of the wind rushing past your face, filled you with a sense of freedom that was unparalleled. The ground fell away beneath you as Silverwing climbed higher, her wings slicing through the air with a rhythmic, almost hypnotic motion. You glanced to your right and saw Rhaenyra flying alongside you, Syrax keeping pace with Silverwing as the two dragons cut through the sky with the ease of creatures born to it.

Rhaenyra turned to you, her expression one of pure joy, her laughter carried away by the wind. "To Dragonstone and back!" she shouted, her voice carrying above the roar of the wind. "Let’s see if you can keep up, brother!"

You grinned, the challenge igniting your competitive spirit once more. "You’re on!" you called back, leaning forward slightly in the saddle to give Silverwing her head.

The two of you streaked across the sky, your dragons racing side by side, their wings creating powerful gusts that rippled through the clouds. The familiar silhouette of Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen, loomed in the distance, its jagged peaks rising like the spine of a great beast from the churning waters of Blackwater Bay.

The race was on in earnest now, both of you pushing your dragons to their limits, urging them faster and faster as the landscape below became a blur of green and blue. Silverwing responded to your every command with a fierce determination, her powerful wings propelling you forward at a breathtaking speed.

You stole a glance at Rhaenyra, who was fully focused on the path ahead, her hair whipping wildly in the wind as she urged Syrax on. The bond between you and your sister was clear in these moments—both of you pushing each other, challenging each other, but always with a shared sense of joy and freedom.

As Dragonstone drew nearer, you could feel the anticipation building within you. The jagged cliffs of the island came into sharp relief as you approached, the ancient castle perched atop the volcanic rock like a sentinel watching over the narrow sea. You and Rhaenyra were neck and neck, neither of you willing to give an inch as your dragons roared through the skies.

At the last moment, just as you neared the cliffs of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra pulled ahead, Syrax diving toward the island with a speed that surprised even you. With a whoop of victory, she soared over the castle before banking hard to the left, turning back toward King’s Landing.

"Not bad, sister!" you shouted, laughing as you urged Silverwing to follow. "But it’s not over yet!"

The return journey was just as exhilarating, the two of you racing through the sky with the same fierce determination. The landscape blurred beneath you, the distance between Dragonstone and King’s Landing seeming to shrink as your dragons raced each other, the wind whistling past your ears and the roar of their wings filling the air.

As the Red Keep came into view, the spires of the castle rising above the city, you and Rhaenyra were still neck and neck. The final stretch was upon you, and neither of you were willing to let the other claim victory without a fight.

In the end, it was Rhaenyra who crossed the invisible finish line first, Syrax’s speed proving just enough to edge out Silverwing. You pulled back on the reins, slowing your dragon’s descent as you circled the Dragonpit, both of you breathing hard but grinning widely.

Rhaenyra was already dismounting as you brought Silverwing in to land. She was flushed with excitement, her eyes shining as she looked up at you, still seated on your dragon. "Well, brother," she said breathlessly, "it seems you haven’t lost your touch after all."

You laughed, swinging down from Silverwing’s back and landing lightly beside her. "Nor have you," you replied, giving her a mock bow. "I concede defeat—for today."

Rhaenyra beamed, clearly pleased with her victory. "It was a close race, though," she admitted, her voice full of warmth. "Flying with you again… it’s like nothing has changed."

You nodded, feeling the same sense of contentment. "Nothing ever really does, Rhaenyra. Not when it comes to us."

The two of you shared a smile, the connection between you stronger than ever after the exhilaration of the flight. As the Dragonkeepers approached to tend to Silverwing and Syrax, you both knew that this was more than just a race—it was a reminder of who you were.

The two of you lingered at the Dragonpit longer than necessary, the adrenaline from the race still coursing through your veins. The sun had climbed higher, casting a warm rays over the ancient structure, and the dragons, having been tended to by the Dragonkeepers, were content to rest in their cavernous lairs. You and Rhaenyra began to make your way back toward the exit, but Rhaenyra, her spirits high from the race and the sheer joy of the flight, wasn’t quite ready to let the moment go.

"So," she began, her voice light with teasing, "I won, fair and square. And now you owe me, brother."

You smirked, knowing where this was headed. "Owe you? Is that so? And what exactly do I owe you, Rhaenyra? A rematch, perhaps?"

She laughed, that bright, carefree sound that you hadn’t heard in far too long. "A rematch? I’m not sure you’d want to lose again so soon," she teased, giving you a playful shove as she walked beside you.

You staggered slightly, more for show than from the actual force of her shove, and then, not to be outdone, you gave her a gentle nudge back. "Careful, or you might find yourself the one in need of a rematch," you teased in return.

Rhaenyra grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Is that a challenge, brother?"

"It might be," you replied, leaning into the game. The two of you continued to exchange playful shoves as you made your way down the path, the camaraderie between you as natural as breathing. There was something freeing about it, this moment where you could be yourselves, without the weight of titles and expectations.

But as Rhaenyra moved to push you once more, she misjudged her step, her foot catching on an uneven stone. With a surprised yelp, she stumbled backward, instinctively reaching out to grab hold of you. The force of her pull, combined with the momentum of your playful shoving, sent you both tumbling to the ground, a tangle of limbs and laughter.

You landed heavily on top of her, your arms instinctively bracing yourself so you wouldn’t crush her beneath your weight. The two of you laughed at the absurdity of it all, the sound echoing off the ancient stone walls of the Dragonpit. But then, as the laughter began to die down, the reality of your position started to sink in.

You were close—closer than you had ever been before. The laughter faded into a charged silence, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you. Rhaenyra’s eyes, wide and suddenly serious, stared up at you, her chest rising and falling with quickened breaths. Your faces were mere inches apart, and you could feel the warmth of her body beneath yours, the softness of her skin where your hands had landed to catch yourself.

The playful energy that had filled the air only moments ago was gone, replaced by something heavier, more intense. You could feel your muscles tense, your heart pounding in your chest as you became acutely aware of every point of contact between you. There was a heat in the pit of your stomach, something unfamiliar yet undeniable, that made it difficult to think clearly.

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched slightly, her lips parting as if she were about to speak, but no words came. Her gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, the silent question hanging in the air between you. She could feel the warmth rising in her cheeks, in her chest, in places she would never admit out loud. The closeness, the intimacy of the moment, was overwhelming, and she could see in your eyes that you were feeling it too.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating. Slowly, almost instinctively, your faces began to draw closer, the distance between your lips narrowing as if pulled together by some unseen force. The world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the warmth of her breath against your skin, the rapid beat of your heart in your chest, and the undeniable pull that drew you closer.

But just as your lips were about to meet, the moment was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps and a voice calling out from a distance.

"Your Grace! Princess Rhaenyra!" The voice of Ser Harrold Westerling, the ever-dutiful Kingsguard, cut through the charged silence like a blade. He had seen the two of you fall from afar and had rushed over, concern etched on his face. "Are you hurt? What happened?"

The spell was broken. Reality crashed back in with a jarring force as you quickly pushed yourself up, your heart still racing, though now for an entirely different reason. You reached down to help Rhaenyra to her feet, your touch gentle but your movements hurried, as if to dispel any lingering trace of what had just passed between you.

"No, Ser Harrold," you said quickly, trying to steady your voice. "We’re fine. Just a bit of clumsiness, nothing more."

Rhaenyra, her cheeks still flushed and her gaze avoiding yours, nodded in agreement. "Yes, just a small mishap. Nothing to worry about."

Ser Harrold’s brow furrowed in concern, his eyes scanning the two of you for any sign of injury. "I’m glad to hear it, Your Graces. But perhaps it would be best if you returned to the Red Keep now. The court will be expecting you soon."

You nodded, grateful for the excuse to move on from the moment. "Of course, Ser Harrold. We’ll head back now."

With a final glance at you, Rhaenyra adjusted her clothing, trying to regain her composure as the two of you began to walk back toward the Red Keep, Ser Harrold following at a respectful distance. The playful ease that had filled the air earlier was gone, replaced by a charged silence, both of you acutely aware of how close you had come to crossing a line that neither of you fully understood.

As you walked side by side, the warmth of the sun on your backs, the tension between you lingered. The bond between you had always been strong, but now, there was something more—something neither of you had been prepared for, and something that neither of you knew how to address.

For now, you would leave it unspoken, burying the feelings that had surfaced in that brief moment of closeness. But the memory of it, the almost-kiss, would linger in both your minds, a question left unanswered, a path left unexplored.

And as the Red Keep came into view, you couldn’t help but wonder if that moment had changed things between you, in ways neither of you were ready to admit.