#reader is a Targtower

[beware-of-pity]

You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) II

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Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

Cross-posted on Ao3

Chapter II: Strangers

Jaehaera had run into your room, tears streaming down her eyes, full-on sobbing, as she crushed into you, her little hands gripping at your skirt.

In the panic of the situation, you tried to comfort her, tried to pry the cause of her distress before you heard it plain and clear. Screaming and screeches come from down the hall, where your mother’s room resided. You calmed Jaehaera enough for her to fall in the arms of your maid without refusal or complaints as you raised the front of your skirt to rush towards the commotion.

When you entered your mother’s room, everything was in disarray: the sheets of her bed had been pulled, now a mess on the floor, the table was flipped, and glass shards from a broken cup shimmered in the light of the fire of the hearth where she had thrown it at.

And there she was, your mother, ripping at her clothes again. A gown of deep green, almost black -  a gown she used to wear in simpler times, in easier times,…happier times.

“OUT!” She yelled “GET OUT! GET OUT!” She hadn’t noticed your presence yet so you were sure her words were directed to her maids and septa standing at the side of the room.

“Mother” you tried to get her attention. Once, twice, thrice, but nothing worked as she continued her parade.

“Mother!” the call, now more insistent, stopped her in her tracks, but perhaps it was because you were now holding onto her, your hands gripping her arms, into her skin, into her torn clothes.

She held low, letting her long hair hang over her face, hiding her from you, but you could see the tears streaming down it and rippling as they fell into the air.

You sighed “Let’s get you seated,” you said as you led her to one of the chairs still high. “Clean the room,” you said to the maids, who at your words moved in motion “and get her some sweet milk” The Septa nodded at your words, rushing out of the room to get what you had asked her

“Mother” you gently pried her hands from her face “What happened, Mother?”

“It’s not fair….” She whispered, “Not fair, it should be my boy…”

You noticed she was slightly red in the face but not because of her cries or tears. You raised your hand to her forehead to check her temperature, feeling the warmth of it.

She was sick, and so very warm.

“You need to lay down, mother. You’re sick,” you told her

You had come to understand later that when she was breaking her fast with Jaehaera, she broke into a fit, telling your niece to cut Aegon’s throat, Rhaenyra’s son with Daemon, and Jaehaera’s playmate. Jaehaera, frightened and scarred by the sight of her grandmother grabbing at her and telling her to cut her playmate’s throat, had made her run away in tears, seeking your comfort.

She had caused such a commotion that as you looked after her as she slept, more guards were stationed outside her door. Rhaenyra forgave you for being outside of your room without a companion, seeing the urgency of the situation. Not that you were seeking it when you were too worried over your mother going down with a fever to think about what you could have possibly done wrong for Rhaenyra to forgive you for.

Orwyle had been allowed to remain in your family’s services while Rhaenyra’s maester, Gerardys overtook the chains of office as Grandmaester, taking a seat at her council. You had called upon him to tell you what was wrong with your mother, to which he unfortunately couldn’t say.

“We’ll have to wait and see how the sickness progresses to see what she hails with” he had told you, to which you thanked him for his honest approach.

Your mother would trash, turn and pull her blankets off her body through the night, which you would pull over her once more. The winter was harsh, and with how much she was sweating, you worried she would catch a chill that would kill her in this state.

You slept in the chair beside her bed and did not do so willingly, but rather, your body would shut itself when you would run out of energy.

In her moments of lucidity, where she was not blinded by the haze of the sickness or the milk of the poppy given to her, she would seek your comfort, whisper words of wanting to see Aegon, Aemond Helaena and Daeron. To have the whole of the family together once more, like in days of old.

She wept and would talk to herself, especially when she slept, the sight churned at your insides in all kinds of ways, both good and bad.

Alicent Hightower, the once great Green Queen, was now nothing more than a being lacking sanity and forgotten by the gods in her small corner of the world, where she spent her days between hallucinations and murmurs. Now sick with a winter fever, she could barely make out her own daughter.

You had made Jaehaera visit her, but those times were few and short, for the girl could not bear to look upon her grandmother in such state, as well as for what had happened the last time they had interacted. You did not blame her, especially in Jaehaera’s own state of mind. You cursed and berated yourself for even thinking it was a good idea for her to come visit but you did so because you knew the truth.

Your mother was dying.

You were able to ignore it as much as you could if you did not think of it, but with you constantly at her side as her sole caretaker, it was difficult to think of anything but the way she was slowly losing herself in her madness and illness.

You worried you would fall asleep in the night and wake to her still form, sleeping forever in the many blankets of her bed, and if you didn’t sleep before, you almost never did now.

Rhaenyra had been informed of the situation and she made sure you knew that if you ever needed anything she would heed your every request. To her words, you responded only by asking her to prepare a coffin for your mother.

The bodies of Hightowers were buried in the Hightower. Were she to die any day now, you would have to send her away, which you did not want.

You loved your mother, despite all her flaws, despite everything she had done, you couldn’t hate her. You couldn’t.

Gods, you wish you did. Perhaps the pain would lessen then. But in the state, she was in, on the verge and swaying on the fine line between death and life, you could not but take care of her like she used to take care of you when you were young and sick.

So vulnerable and fragile she was, so out of her mind and senses, that you hoped she would recover, for you, for Jaehaera, for herself. You wanted her to live, you didn’t want her to leave you behind and join your siblings. She was the last thing you had, the only constant beside Jaehaera that had not been taken from you and now the gods pleased themselves, as they laughed at your distress, while they made her thread even closer to her end.

You worried about your future without her. She had always been the master planner, the one pulling the strings, the one telling you what to do, giving you security in the path she laid before you, which you trusted because it was your mother sending you on it. Surely, she would never set you up for failure or danger. And yet, her magnum opus had led to only you three being the last of her line.

You thought you knew grief, when the stank of it followed you around, hunting the path you walked on. And yet, the morning you woke and you saw your mother’s unmoving form, you realized, you knew nothing about grief.People often talk about how hard it is for mothers to have to bury their children, but no one ever talks about how hard it is for children to bury their mothers. It’s just expected of them, something they should know how to deal with. Protocol dictated that the servants be called to move the body, for it to be given to the Silent Sisters to prepare it for its final departure. Instead, you spend that morning looking at her, the most peaceful she had ever looked in months, years even.

Only around midday did you rise from your chair, moving to give her a final kiss on her forehead, crossing her arms and moving to the door of the room. By that very night, her room had been cleaned and emptied, and she was no longer on her bed, her belongings moved to your room since you were now their owner. You had overseen her body being prepared for her funeral, even when you were advised it was bad luck to look at the face of death. But you weren’t looking at death; you were looking at your mother.

The woman that had birthed you, raised you as best as she could, the mother you loved despite everything. She was dressed in a pastel green gown, and with her jewels and hair done she looked almost alive, as if she was merely sleeping and yet the hue of death on her skin told you otherwise, it reminded you of the truth.

You had placed her emerald crown on her, the thing you would send her off to the afterlife with, a statement to the woman she had been, a Queen worthy of the name she carried. As flowers framed her face, you bid her your last farewell.

The Mother is merciful, you had always believed, and��the Father Above judges each man justly... but there was no mercy and no justice in what befell your life. How could the gods be so blind or so uncaring as to permit such horrors? Why would they wish for you to suffer so greatly? What had you ever done to deserve such fate?

The body of your mother was placed beneath the Iron Throne, where it remained for seven days. Rhaenyra had allowed for her parting to be shown such dignitaries as a previous Queen Consort, despite the name of a traitor she carried to her very end. For seven days, you stood vigil in front of her unmoving body as strangers, foes, and friends alike came to give you their condolences. Prayers were held on three occasions. While the morning services were open only to nobility, the afternoon prayers were open to the smallfolk, and the evening prayers were available for all. Many showed up at the services you lead in her memory, the smallfolks out of love for her benevolence to them in her youth and early years of Queenship.

On the eighth day, the casket was closed and sent off on a litter attacked to a wagon, befitting a Dowager Queen, elaborate and engraved, with the Hightower sigil on a green field, you had embroidered, laid over the casket as a shroud. The evening before, you had cried for the first time in months as you had watched her disappear under the wood of the coffin laid upon her. When you returned to your room that night, you found Jacaerys there, waiting for you. It was then you had allowed the tears to come free. You fell in his arms, and you both sank to the floor as he comforted you. The dark veil covering your head hid from others your despair and how red and tear-stricken your face was as you watched your mother be carried away from you and from your life forever. Jaehaera beside you was dressed in black, holding your hand and hiding behind your skirt as she often did, which you allowed this time. Jacaerys stood beside you, attending the ceremony when he did not have to, especially when the ceremony in question was for one of his old enemies. His presence had proven a comfort, a constant that eased your pain, especially when his hand rested on the small of your back.

Among the belongings now relegated to your room, there were her old gowns, her jewels, her books and her needlework, some old and well-sawn while some more recent and all over the place in their work, a clear sign of her state of mind before her death.

You had taken to wearing her jewels, never her gowns, the sight of you in them too gory for your eyes.Almost macabre. The Hightower ring on your ring finger, on your left hand, was a silent vow to her, one you often fiddled with when you thought of her or were nervous.

Your situation at court did not improve upon the death of your mother, and neither did Jaehaera’s.

If before you were ignored, now you were pitied, which you thought was worse than the latter.

You didn’t want pity, you had no need for it, no use to improve your life.

Jacaerys took you out in the open more often; you didn’t oppose because you didn’t want to be difficult, which you had every right to be. He took you on more rides on Vermax but stopped when he realised you took no joy in them, understanding that what you were craving was not the liberty of the skies but the companionship of your dragon while you did so.

Your cousins made for ample companions, but you and Baela and Rhaena were to different in taste and pursuits to truly call each other friends, nonetheless, you appreciated their efforts in keeping you company. These days, you were up for anything, anything that could change your life, make it better.

Rhaenyra thought that without your mother’s influence, you would finally try and approach her, but it didn’t surprise her when you didn’t. She understood you needed time and space, and she was more than willing to give you both, understanding better than anyone what it was like to lose one’s own mother, especially at a young age.

You were at times approached by secret supporters of your mother’s long-dead cause, trying to sweet talk you on their secret plans, but your ears were closed, you wished to hear no more of plans and plots and schemes.

You needed peace and quiet. You wanted to be everywhere but in the Red Keep. This place was killing you and you needed an out.

How long would it be before you took it?

[thekinslayed]

Thou Shalt Not Covet

summary | Aemond is displeased to find his wife alone with his drunken brother.

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader, unrequited aegon ii targaryen x reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! oral sex (f), p in v sex, voyeurism, masturbation (m), angst, possessive aemond, aegon is kinda pathetic, Everyone Needs To Chill

wordcount | 5.8k

note | i owe aeg a written apology for this one, im sorry pooks </3 the idea for this came in a peach bellini-induced dream

likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated! <3

(dividers by @targaryen-dynasty)

It was nearing the hour of the bat, you had been sitting on your vanity chair, brushing your long locks when you heard the door to yours and Aemond’s marital chambers open. You perked up at the sound, turning with a smile on your face to greet your lord husband. He had been called away to the Tower of the Hand as soon as supper had ended, dealing with urgent matters of the realm while the king was nowhere to be seen. You jumped when the man standing in your room was not Aemond, but your good brother-in-law, Aegon. His cheeks were flushed, his stance wobbly, no doubt from the amount of wine he had consumed tonight. 

“Aegon!” you exclaimed. You quickly reached for your robe, covering your nightgown-clad figure to save yourself some modesty. “What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?”

The inebriated king jumped at the sight of you and the sound of his name. “Gods be good,” he said while steadying himself. He didn’t feel great, and the sight of you in your nightgown did nothing to ease his disorientation. He leaned a hand against the doorframe, rubbing a hand across his warm face, greeting you, “Sister.”

“Is something wrong, my king?” you asked, concerned with the faraway look in his eyes. You kept your distance still, wary of his grace’s well-known habits when deep in his cups. “If you are looking for Aemond, I am afraid he is still caught up in that meeting with your grandsire.”

“I just needed to get out, staying in these walls has given my mind no reprieve,” Aegon said with what you felt was an honest answer. He let out a heavy sigh, the corner of his lips dipping into a small frown.  “I didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to ask Aemond about his opinion on something important.”

Aegon could scarcely remember the steps he had taken that lead him to your chambers, the small details of what he needed to say held in the slippery grip of his drunken stupor. The sting from his mother's hand on his cheek and the stabbing tone of her voice led him away from his seat in the council table, where he was needed, and into the tunnels that lead to the familiar path of his refuge. With a cup of ale in his hand and the boisterous ruckus of the alehouse, the king had forged himself a plan.

A ship to depart from the Bay by dawn. Essos. A crown for Aemond.

You were aware of Aegon being at the receiving end of his mother’s ire once more, no doubt escaping to his cups after their fight that had echoed through the halls of the Keep. You approached his leaning figure, coming to stand by the settee, patting down the cushions to invite him in. 

“Why don’t you sit? Aemond might be back in a few, and you look like the slightest poke would send your face to the mud, brother,” you offered. Though your brother-in-law was far from being as proper and honorable as your lord husband, you worried for him. Aegon wasn’t perfect, yet it would be hard to deny that he has struggled to find his place in the family. You have seen the gloom that always clouded his purple orbs, one he had tried to hide when he had sat the Iron Throne and the Conqueror’s crown was placed upon his head.

Aegon did as he was told, sinking into the seat with a heavy thud and a groan. Silence encompassed the room for a moment, the crackling of the hearth filling in the gaps between you and the king. He could feel himself sobering up fast, the fact that he was sitting with his brother’s wife, his beautiful wife, while Aemond was away had him flustered, his senses fighting through the cloudy haze of the liquor in his system.

“Your husband,” he managed, “is he really as praiseworthy as mother makes him out to be?” Aegon queried, his tone casual and light. You approached the seat across from him, pulling your robe tighter around your figure as you sat down.

“What do you think? He’s your brother. You have known what he is like much longer than I,” you responded, smiling at him softly. Your head tilted ever so slightly when you studied the elder Targaryen before you, how his plump cheeks were flushed and the skin under his eyes held perpetual lines of exhaustion. Aegon let out a low hum, twisting his lips while he stared into the fire. 

“Aemond has always been a good man. A bit of a brute, but a good man,” Aegon said, nodding, but then paused to consider his words. “I suppose I want to know…is he kind to you?”

“The most kind,” you smiled bashfully. The thoughts of your lord husband always brought about a warmth that painted your cheeks, especially the ones when his icy cold demeanor always melted around you, an occurrence he said was only possible with your power. A dreamy sigh left your lips as you longed to have him by your side at that moment, still eagerly awaiting his return from his duties. You turned to meet Aegon’s gaze, “I know it is hard to believe, but he is so good to me, your brother. I never expected our marriage to turn out this way. So… wonderful.”

A smile, slight at first, appeared on Aegon’s lips at the sight of your blissful face, whispering a small ‘good’, before returning his gaze to the hearth. Another beat of silence passed you before you spoke up once more. 

“And you and Helaena? Is everything alright?” You asked, inquiring about the state of Aegon and his sister-wife, to which Aegon only gave a small shrug.

 “You know Helaena, I never know how she feels about anything,” he said with a rueful smile on his lips. You frowned at his words, feeling bad with how quickly his smile dropped once he finished speaking.

“Helaena, she…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words to approach the subject. “She is so special. She’s not like the rest of us. She is bestowed with gifts that I don’t think any of us truly understand, nor can she fully carry the weight of. She needs someone to carry that weight with her, Aegon. I know you try for her, but it all just requires time. Give her time to open up to you, brother. Don’t force it out of her,” you advised. The king’s eyes sparkled when they stared at you while you spoke, attentive and awake. The corner of his plump lips quirked up at your words, breathing out a huff.

​​“She does seem fragile, doesn’t she?” Aegon said. You watched as he fiddled with his thumbs, a twinge in your heart at the sight of him. It was no secret the king and queen had an unconventional relationship, with them being brother and sister, coupled with their utterly contrasting personalities. Even with children, Aegon and Helaena had never found their rhythm with each other, and the gaps in their marriage were only intensified whenever it was held in contrast to yours and Aemond’s marriage.

“How do you put up with his moods? Aemond, I mean,” Aegon suddenly asked with a small grin, eager to change the subject. “He’s not a pleasant man when he’s in a temper, to put it mildly.”

The surprise on your face was evident as the conversation shifted back to you, a small chuckle leaving your lips at his words. 

“Oh, believe me, I have tried many ways to deal with that fiery temper of his,” you laughed along with Aegon. “I am no dragon, I find no use in fighting fire with fire, though it has taken a bit of creativity to tame that temper of his.” 

A suggestive glint in your eyes twinkled as you spoke, giggling when Aegon let out a boisterous laugh in understanding. He was visibly surprised by his good sister’s candor, one he had not something he had expected out of you.

“And I bet you’ve been successful at it too, haven’t you?” he asked, cackling when you clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

“Quite a bit, yes!” you agreed, a proud smile on your lips. Aegon shook his head at you, his shoulders bouncing with the laughter that bubbled from his chest.

The ease that flowed between both of you took Aegon by surprise. If only he could have more moments with you like this, perhaps he’d be a better man, a better king, even. No wonder Aemond had been so taken with you. His brooding brother had taken on a lightness to him since you had entered his life, one Aegon had first thought was quite bizarre to see in the one-eyed prince at first, but now he understood. You held the power to make any man change his ways with a single smile.

“Gods be good. That man is lucky to have you.”

Your mischievous smile turned into one of fondness at the king’s words, your longing for your lord husband growing all the more the longer he was missing from your side. 

“No luckier than I to have him as my husband,” you responded, earning a low hum from the king. Large round eyes, ones he bore from his mother, turned to look at you, glimmering against the warm glow from the fireplace. You fiddled with your fingers with uncertainty when you caught the change in his gaze, the warmth of his amethyst orbs turning to that of hidden longing. You knew this wasn’t because of love for you, it couldn’t be. You assumed the king merely craved the stability and trust that yours and Aemond’s marriage had, but you couldn’t deny the way he looked at you at times, a look almost too similar to that your husband held for you. 

It was best to probably dismiss your brother-in-law for the sake of being proper, but you just didn’t have it in you to leave him on his own for the night, not when the murky sorrow returned to his eyes, replacing the light your presence had stoked. You cleared your throat, the air in the room suddenly turning prickly. 

“I’m sorry that Aemond is taking so long. Why don’t you lay for a bit while you wait, brother? The daybed is quite comfortable,” you offered. Aegon instantly refused, not wanting to impose in your own chambers.

“No, no, I should go. I will be alright, princess,” he reassured, though the way your face held uncertainty made him falter. There was no doubt anyone who would come upon him in the halls would immediately know of his whereabouts, with his messy silver tresses, half-open doublet, and the smell of cheap mead that he exuded. Hells, when did he lose one of his rings?

You managed to convince him to settle by the daybed, promising to wake him upon Aemond’s return. It took little effort for him to fall asleep, the liquor in his system quickly submitting him to the depths of slumber. You fetched some furs to drape over his sleeping figure, soft snores resonating from the daybed. A sigh left your lips at the state of the elder Targaryen, worried about how he had been coping with the weight of the crown upon his shoulders.

 You were on your side of the bed, engrossed in your reading when your husband finally returned from his duties. You looked at Aemond in worry when he eyed his brother’s sleeping figure, his features immediately merging into one of anger and confusion after finding his wife and his brother all alone at night. 

“What the hell is he doing in our chamber?” He asked, his tone harsh. 

“Aemond..” you said softly, putting away your book before rising to approach him. Your arms came up to caress his biceps, soothing him. “He came looking for you, husband. Your brother is troubled, he waited for your return to talk to you about it,” you explained, hoping your husband would see reason and put away his anger, though his furrowed brows let you know that you shouldn’t get too hopeful. 

“I don’t care what he was looking for. King or not, he should know better than to intrude on my wife,” Aemond spat, his anger still not waning while his voice rose. He was about to say more when you squeezed his biceps, a frown on your features. His own immediately softened, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “You shouldn’t be around him when he’s like this.” 

“I know, I know. But I was worried for him. I couldn’t just turn him away, my love,” you explained. Your hands drifted down to take hold of his fisted palms, making him unclench to let you take his hands in yours. “I should have made you aware of his being here. He needed someone to talk to, husband. I told him to lie down while he waited for you, but I fear the wine has gotten the best of him,” you pressed kisses to your husband’s wrists, placing his calloused palms to cup your face. Your eyes met his good one as it studied you, your feet taking a small step closer to his warmth.

“Was there anything he told you?” Aemond asked. You both looked at his sleeping figure. Aegon's snores had stopped, but he still lay peacefully asleep on your daybed. 

“He asked about our wellbeing but that was about it.” You half-lied. You thought it best to keep your conversation with the elder Targaryen between yourselves, something only you understood. 

Aemond’s apprehension of having his brother around his wife was something he did not hide, well aware of his hidden desire and admiration for his lady. The thought of you and Aegon spending time alone in your marital chambers while he was away took all of him not to strangle his sleeping brother if it weren’t for your soft presence. He could laugh at the incredulity of the circumstances, his brother having clearly wasted no time to seize the opportunity in his absence. 

The one-eyed prince stepped away from your grasp, turning away to rid himself of his day clothes. You bit your lip anxiously as he continued to spare glares at his slumbering brother. You approached him once more, standing in front of him. Your hands caressed his chest while he pulled you in by your waist, craving your touch after hours of being away. You planted a small kiss on his cheek for comfort, and another one on his lips. 

“I think it best for you to talk to him, my love. You both understand each other the best, after all,” you said softly. Your husband let out another angry sigh despite your kisses. How sweet you were, nothing but goodness in the fibers of your being. In his heart of hearts, he wished it weren’t so, that this kindness was only reserved for him, your lord husband, that way he would be saved from the many who feel smitten by your charms, his own brother for one. 

“I have no wish to even look at him,” Aemond snapped, looking away from you. He shook his head, knowing what he wanted to say, but being unable to bring himself to do it. “I just don’t like it. He looks at you, covets you.”

“Aemond..” you started, but you sighed as your husband gave you a warning look. “I swear to you, husband. He merely came with the intent to talk to you tonight. He was proper with me,” you promised, cupping his face in trying to reassure him, but his sharp jaw had stayed clenched. Your face dropped, frowning when he still refused to look at you.

“Darling,” you beckoned. You dipped your head to meet his gaze, a silent plea of understanding in your countenance when you stared at each other. You watched Aemond study your face with a cold glint. Seeing your husband still aggravated by your current situation, you knew you had to do something to calm him, lest he did something irrational to the sleeping king in your midst.

Tentatively, you pressed your lips against his in a kiss. You felt him soften ever so slightly, deepening the kiss when his hand caressed your cheek, his thumb tracing over your cheekbone. When you pulled away, you pressed your forehead against your husband’s, his hot breath fanning over your face.

“What was that for?” Aemond asked, his tone still hardened.

“Missed you,” you mumbled against his lips, kissing him once more. It was quick to escalate, with Aemond taking the lead. His tongue prodded its way into your mouth, exploring your warm cavern while a whine emitted deep from your throat at your husband’s ministrations. You felt his hands wander down to your waist to settle on her arse with a firm squeeze. Breathless you pulled away, though your husband’s firm grip bid you to stay pressed against his chest. 

“I do not want this happening again,” he said quietly, a hint of anger still in his voice. His jealousy flared, a heat rising in his head that inhibited him to think clearly. It was irrational, and he hated that it was so, but he did not know how to let it go. “You are my wife,” Aemond practically growled.

You nodded at him obediently, whispering, “I am all yours, Aemond. Always,” before surging forward to kiss him again.

“I love you,” the prince said as the kiss broke. “I am yours, and you are mine.”

You had barely reciprocated the words before Aemond was kissing you again, this time more urgent and passionate as you grew more heated. His lips traveled to your neck, sucking and kissing while his hands gripped your behind. You had almost let your eyes roll back into your skull in pleasure when you barely remembered that Aegon still lay asleep in your chambers. 

“Darling… Your brother….” you trailed off, barely getting the words out while your husband pressed his growing stiffness into your center. “He is still sleeping there, my love.”

“Let him watch if he wants. It’s what he does anyway,” your husband said, his voice coming out with barely any volume to it with his face still pressed into your neck. He had enough for the moment, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on forever.

“Aemond,” you warned, an unsure glint in your eye. You weren’t sure if this was some sort of sick power play your husband was doing to assert his possession over his wife to his brother, but you were still apprehensive about the whole ordeal. And yet, the heat that pooled in your center coupled with the look the silver-haired man held before you was making your rationality jump out the window. 

The longer you made your husband wait, the more you saw his temper rise again. You quickly kissed him once more, letting your lord husband do whatever he wanted for the night.  You pushed the idea of being intimate while Aegon lay asleep and risked being watched when he woke into the back of your mind, focusing on her and Aemond alone. It would be a lie to say the idea of getting caught and watched didn’t excite you at all. The idea of your prince asserting his possession over you in front of another man made you feel heated, wanted, and highly desirable. After all, Aegon was fully asleep anyway. 

Time to get creative.

Aegon was in fact, not asleep. He had woken up the moment Aemond returned, but continued to lay with his eyes closed upon hearing his brother’s anger at his intrusion. He knew if he were to awaken there was a good chance of a big fight breaking out between them, perhaps of Aemond even killing him right then and there. 

And so, he continued to pretend to be asleep while he listened to Aemond’s rage and his wife’s attempts to soothe him. Even with just listening, the elder could tell how easily the lady’s soft demeanor warmed his brother’s cold one. His heart thumped wildly against his chest, forcing his eyes to remain shut.

Amidst hushed whispers, his ears perked up in curiosity when he heard a wet smacking, then another, and then more. Hushed whispers again, and then the sound of kissing continued once more. From where the daybed was situated in their chambers, He only needed to crane his neck slightly to the side and crack his eyes open just a hair to see you and Aemond in a passionate embrace. Despite the darkness brought about by the dying embers of the hearth, he could still see how his brother’s hand wandered, squeezing and caressing his wife. He saw how you kissed him with such passion, one he was unsure any lady had ever done with him. Jealousy burned within him, while heat pooled in his chest at the sight of the two lovers. He was a fool to continue to listen, to witness what was before him, but Aegon couldn’t find the strength to look away. What the king wouldn’t give for her to be doing that to him, to hold her in his arms. He was sickened with desire.

The younger prince led you to bed, where he bunched up your nightgown to your hips before descending his lips upon your core. Aemond had an inkling that his brother would awaken, a sick desire to show the king what was his overwhelmed him. Lost in the depths of the mindnumbing pleasure that devoured your wit, you were none the wiser with your husband’s little game. He was wary enough to cover your bareness with his body, though the sweet sounds emanating from your lips were hard to stifle. Still, your husband had no complaints. 

Your husband was like a man starved, devouring your sweet ambrosia like it was the water that gave him life. You bit back the mewls that threatened to escape your mouth, though your efforts were futile as they only grew in volume with your impending release.

“Aemond, the curtain,” you mumbled before a moan cut off your words. You reached out to the curtain hanging from your bedpost, urging your husband to cover you for the sake of decency. If he even heard your word, he paid them no mind while he continued to fuck you with his tongue. His nose nuzzled against your pearl, the sparks of pleasure shooting from your nub sending you into a dizzying haze. Your release washed over you like the tide, and you had barely been granted a moment of reprieve to see if Aegon had been disturbed before your husband had freed his cock, sparing no second and breaching your walls. 

You threw your head back into the feather mattress, a breathless whine escaping your lips as he rutted into you at an unforgiving pace. Your hands clung onto your husband’s shoulders while you willed yourself to stay mindful of the noise, yet you couldn’t help the soft whines of your husband’s name that left your lips, much to the one-eyed prince’s delight. 

Aegon’s cock strained painfully in his breeches at the sweet sounds you were making for his brother. His hand twitched to rub at his bulge, and he subtly covered his lap with a cushion to pleasure himself. From his view, he was only granted the sight of his brother’s back while your legs wrapped around his trim waist, but the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin made Aegon’s skin tingle and his cock jump against his palm. He rubbed himself in tandem with the rhythm of the bedframe’s creaking, praying that the darkness of the room made it so that neither of you would catch him in the act. 

Aemond surged forward to meet your lips in a kiss that was a mess of teeth, tongue, and spit. His pace remained relentless, determined to make you fall apart on his cock while his brother helplessly watched. One quick look behind him and he had seen Aegon, crowned king of the Seven Kingdoms, pathetically jerking himself off to the sight of him fucking his wife. Aemond may have once coveted the crown placed upon his brother’s head and the glory that came along with it, but for once he had something his brother wanted. Nothing else would ever come above the warmth of your embrace and the sweet nectar from between your thighs. As a second son he would be bestowed no lands, no legacy, and no other glory, but what more would a man need than a wife who sang the loveliest melody while he split her open with his cock?

Your nails dug into the hard planes of Aemond’s back as he drove you further into your second peak. It was all overwhelming, the caution of keeping quiet, the mind-numbing pleasure of your prince’s cock driving into your cunt, and his grunts of pleasure in your ear, coupled with the electrifying sparks of his thumb playing with your pearl. 

“Do you like this, dear wife? Making me fuck you while your king lay asleep in our chambers? Is this what you wanted, hm? Is this what you wanted me to do?” Aemond growled in your ear, punctuating each query with a harsh thrust. You could only whine and whimper in response, while the warmth in your belly only grew higher, and higher, until it spread all over like cold water, making you spill around Aemond’s cock while you moaned in ecstasy. 

Behind you, Aegon bit his lip harshly as he spilled into his breeches, the sounds of your release driving him towards his. He pressed his face into the cushion to hide his panting, his skin growing heated with the humid air of sex that filled the room. 

Aemond soon spurted his own seed into your core, the pulsing of your walls milking him dry while his thrusts slowed. He collapsed on top of you for a moment, breathing in the scent of your damp skin while he caught his breath. 

“I love you,” he said against your skin, this time without the anger behind his words.

You caressed your husband’s hair while he continued to lay on top of you, equally feeling as boneless with his weight engulfing you comfortingly like a blanket. 

“I love you,” you whispered in response. “There is nothing else I desire for in this world other than you, my love.”

Aegon felt an odd twinge in his chest at your words. For a moment, just a few seconds, he fantasized you had uttered those words to him, and you were his.

After regaining your senses, you lifted your head slightly to take a peek at Aegon. From the view where you lay, it looked to you that the king remained peacefully asleep despite you and your husband’s activities. Though the darkness in the room betrayed you, making it hard for you to actually see the tear that had streaked down his cheek.

“I guess that didn’t wake him up,” you mused. The prince merely hummed in response, his face still buried in the crook of your neck.

“No, he can sleep through anything. Must be nice,” Aemond said quietly. He bit back the smirk at your blissful unawareness, moving to lay on his back before pulling you to his chest.

“Will you promise me that you will talk to him? On the morrow?” you asked, looking up at him with hope. Your husband nodded, sealing his promise with a kiss on your forehead. He pulled the covers over the both of you, rubbing your back while you drifted off into slumber. Your husband held you tight through the night, pleasantly satisfied. 

You remained asleep when Aemond had gotten up just as the sun broke through the horizon, pulling away from you to prepare for his morning training. After getting dressed in his training clothes, Aemond approached his brother’s sleeping figure on the daybed, nudging him awake. He threw a spare training jacket to Aegon, which covered his confused face, dazed with exhaustion. 

“Get up,” Aemond said coldly, eyeing his brother with indifference. “You’re going to train with me.” 

The kind did not appreciate his brother's prodding. He would have preferred to sleep for another hour if Aemond would allow it, but he also knew his brother rarely allowed things that he, himself did not have a preference for, and so Aegon rose from the daybed with great annoyance, and a deep sense of contempt. He let out a groan when he stretched his aching limbs, the exhaustion from the previous night still coursing through his muscles. Aegon had been talking a little too loud for Aemond’s liking, who turned to his brother to quiet him. 

“Shut it. Do not disturb my wife,” he hissed, eyeing your sleeping figure when you slightly stirred. Aegon rolled his eyes at his brother’s order, though obediently changing his dirty doublet for his brother’s gambeson. 

“You’re one to talk about disturbing others in their sleep,” the king grumbled under his breath. Aemond merely let out a breathy chuckle at his brother’s words. 

This idiot. Subtlety was never his strong suit.

While Aegon finished up the last buckle of his garment, Aemond kneeled one knee on the bed to lean over your sleeping figure, planting a small kiss on your forehead. You let out a small dreamy hum in response, still deep into the throes of your slumber. Aemond pulled up the furs to cover you better, before turning to Aegon and leading him outside.

The morning air was crisp when the brothers descended the steps to the training yard. Few littered about, mostly servants running around in preparation for the day. The surprise in their gaze was undeniable at witnessing their king awake so early, the sight of him in the training yard with his brother clearly not a usual occurrence. 

The brothers sparred together, or rather, Aegon was pathetically dodging his brother’s attacks while Aemond swung at him with a skilled ease. It was clear there was a tension between the two, one they were both well aware of the reason why. With only a few hits in, Aegon had already begun to pant, the years of his negligence in his sword training catching up to him quickly.

“I hope the satisfaction you get from this helps to quench the fire in your cock, brother,” the king taunted, heaving.

“There’s only one person who can quench the fire in my cock, and it certainly isn’t you,” Aemond retorted, indifference coating his tone but a smirk decorated his lips.  “My wife tells me you had something to say to me. What was so important you chose to intrude on my wife in the middle of the night?”

Aegon held up a hand in defeat, dropping his sword carelessly into the dirt before bending over to lean his hands on his knees. He took deep breaths while he willed himself not to vomit, the wine in his stomach not settling well with the strenuous ordeal he found himself in so early in the morning.

Essos. His crown for freedom. All of those now seemed like a faraway dream, with the way his brother looked down on him with an unhidden contempt, the effort would be completely futile.

“I thought we could talk, as brothers. Yet standing here in front of you know, I see that is far likely to happen, Aemond,” Aegon said, resignation in his tone. His brother scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

​​“Talk,” Aemond said, his voice filled with sarcasm. He let out a small chuckle, grabbing a rag to wipe his sword. “We can talk,” he expressed, his tone carrying a feigned lightness that perturbed Aegon. “Just not about your little obsession with my wife, brother.”

“My obsession?” Aegon responded, incredulous. He looked at Aemond in utter disbelief, who continued to clean his sword calmly. “If anyone is obsessing about someone here, Aemond, it is not me. You are too quick to anger, too riddled with jealousy of me that you cannot stand for me to be in a room with her. I would almost think you were afraid of being bested by me,” the elder said, his lips curling into a sneer. His brother halted in the middle of his wiping, the hand holding the hilt of his sword gripping the handle tight. Aegon gulped at the sight, wary of the younger’s growing temper. Aemond turned to the king, narrowing his good eye at him.

“I do not fear you, Aegon. Do not pretend,” he said, an eerie calmness in his tone. Aegon took a careful step back as his brother stepped forward, crossing his arms behind his back. “I wouldn’t give a shit about you being around her if I didn’t know your damned thoughts about her. She is mine.”

Aegon’s clenched jaw mirrored Aemond’s. His brother’s words left him with no reasonable defense. His affection for his brother’s wife was now out in the open, and he feared the repercussions. 

“How do you know what I think of her? What makes you think I even want her?” Aegon responded, anger in his voice. 

“It is because I know you, Aegon. You are predictable, you grow wide-eyed at the first thing that you believe would grant you the smallest ounce of affection. It is pitiful, really, especially for a king,” Aemond sneered. Any snark rebuttal Aegon had died on his lips as he shrunk in the weight of his brother’s gaze. The younger prince’s stare was piercing, jabbing through Aegon’s skin, prodding at his bare bones. “If I see you making eyes at her again, I swear to it, there won’t be enough blood left in your body to even cry to the gods that they might spare you.”

Aegon could only stare at his brother, his response sending a chill down his spine. He had never feared the younger prince before, in all his physical prowess and ruthlessness, but as they stood in the quiet yard, he had begun to falter.

“All this for a woman, brother?” Aegon asked, voice low as he could only stare at his younger brother. Aemond huffed, standing tall over his king. 

“Yes,” Aemond said. “Over this woman.”

But I am your blood, Aegon wanted to say, but he could only stare.

“Don’t take it personally, brother. If any other man were standing in front of me, I would have said the same thing,” Aemond said, tilting his head mockingly. The one-eyed prince ignored the nagging in his consciousness, one that resembled his mother’s stern voice.

‘We must protect our own,’ she would always say, though as her sons now stood face to face, they couldn’t be more of a threat to each other. Perhaps he had gone too far, but he couldn’t let the fucker have more than he deserved. He already had the crown, the Conqueror’s name. He loved his brother, the gods know he did, but he would breathe fire onto the seven kingdoms if it meant it kept you by his side. 

Aegon could only sigh in defeat, kicking a small pebble by his feet as he sniffled.

“She is all yours, Aemond, do not fret. You have made that very clear. I shall take my leave, this conversation has certainly been the most… fruitful,” Aegon said, smiling sarcastically. The elder turned before Aemond could respond, walking back into the Keep.

Watching Aegon walk away, Aemond pondered on the weight of his words, what this would mean for you and for Aegon, realizing too late what he had failed to do. 

“Fuck,” he said beneath his breath. He closed his eye exasperatedly, stretching his neck backwards to face the sky. “My wife is going to kill me.”

[riddlesbunny]

thawed out

summary: Frustrated after losing a game to your brothers’ team, you let Cregan take his frustration out on you.

pairing: Modern!Cregan x Targtower!Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: Explicit smut, semi-public/rough sex, spit, p in v, creampie, 18+ MDNI

note: Sorry it’s been a month since I’ve posted!! Watch this flop asdfghkl

Your eyelids flutter as Sara lightly dabs glittery eyeshadow onto them with her ring finger.

“Try to hold still,” she tells you, just as your reflection catches her eye in the mirror that hangs on the back of her closet door.

“Oh no,” she frowns, making note of the jersey you’re wearing, “Cregan is not going to like that.”

The jersey — all black, has no distinctive feature of any team, but it does have the name “Targaryen” etched onto the back, and 01 on the front, which is your brother Aemond’s hockey number.

Cregan is number 13.

“Targaryen is my last name,” you remind her, “and besides, Cregan is the one who wants to hide me. If he wants me to wear his jersey to games, he will have to make me more than just a fuck buddy,” you shrug.

Her lips turn downward into a frown, but she nods her head in agreement with you.

Very few people are aware of your relationship with Cregan. He’s a good guy with a big heart, the complete opposite of a fuckboy or a player. The main, if not only, reason why the two of you decided to keep things a secret was so you wouldn’t have to deal with the backlash from your brothers.

Cool air whips against your face, and tensions are high with only a few minutes left remaining of the game.

You watch on eagerly as Aegon pulls a move that is supposedly illegal, but the ref’s don’t seem to count it. Resulting in your brothers’ team winning the game.

You can’t help but wince as you watch Cregan rip his helmet off and make a beeline toward Aegon on the ice.

“What the fuck was that?!”

“Aww,” your eldest brother frowns in response, “Run home with your tail between your legs!” he calls. Cregan grunts in response while the rest of Aegon’s teammates, Aemond included, howl maniacally like wolves. Making a mockery of Cregan and the rest of his team.

You roll your eyes at the scene and push your way out of the stands and through the crowd.

You pick at your fingernails nervously as you wait outside the locker room, refusing to enter until the remainder of Cregan’s teammates pass you by.

The smell of sweat fills your senses as you enter the abandoned locker room.

“Cregan,” you call, “baby?”

The locker room is quiet and dim. The only audible sound in the room is the faint buzzing of one of the poorly lit fluorescent lights.

Cregan is sat on one of the benches, his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. You reach your arms around him.

“Hey,” you offer, “for what it’s worth, you did great.”

“I’m just so fucking pissed off!”

Cregan’s deep voice echoes through the locker room as he throws his stick to the floor. As mentioned earlier, Cregan’s a stand up guy, but his temper is a force to be reckoned with; and nothing sets it off quite like losing a hockey game.

“I know you’re upset baby,” you state empathetically as you dig the pads of your fingers into his shoulders. An attempt to massage the tense tissue, he all but grunts in response.

“You wanna take it out on me?”

“What?” He asks in a deadpan.

“Your frustration … you should just take it out on me.”

Cregan raises his eyebrows at this but he takes no time to react. He stands up quickly, his thick frame hovering over yours before he shoves you against the lockers abruptly. Gripping at your chin with force, he demands you to open your mouth. You oblige and he spits directly down your throat, you swallow obediently with a content mewl as wetness pools at your center.

A pathetic “please” is all you’re able to muster out to him as he stares at you hungrily.

He takes a seat on the bench, tugging his uniform pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles in one swift motion, exposing his cock.

His calloused hands lift you onto his lap with haste. A shiver runs through your body as he yanks down your leggings and underwear in a quick swoop, causing you to hiss as cool air fans your cunt. It isn’t long before Cregan’s warm hand is cupping you, his fingers playing in your slick.

You want to cry out when he removes his hand from you but once his hands are at your thighs again, spreading you open, you feel the throbbing head of his cock prodding against you.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, egging him on, “come on, I said, take it out on me.”

A growl erupts from his chest as he forcefully spears you down onto his cock, filling you to the hilt. Your eyes flutter shut and you try your best to suppress a moan as he begins to split you open.

He continues with unrelenting thrusts while his grip on your hips only tightens, taking full control.

“Fuckin. Targaryen’s,” he says through gritted teeth, harshly slapping the swell of your ass. Your head snaps up as you glare at him disapprovingly.

“Obviously not you baby,” he coo’s reassuringly, running his fingers along the red handprint that’s forming, soothing the pain before kneading at the tender flesh.

“It’s just— Gods, do they fuckin’ rile me up,” he mumbles as both his hands make their way to your waist again, helping him thrust into you even harder.

“I know, baby, I know” you whimper, pressing your forehead to his as he continues to fuck into you at an unrelenting pace.

“But you know just how to make me feel better, don’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out as he perfectly angles his cock against your cervix.

“Yeah you do, this sweet little pussy is all I need.”

You can feel the tension building in your body at his words, your breath coming out in short gasps as he expertly moves inside of you.

His fingers trail down from your hips to your cunt again, sending hot waves of electricity through you.

His intense, grey, gaze never leaves yours. With each thrust, you feel yourself on the brink of insanity. Each drag of his length has you closer and closer to the edge.

Cregan moves with determination, his body pressed hard against yours as he takes you to new heights of pleasure. His digits finally find the apex of your thighs and pinch at your throbbing bud, causing you to gasp and arch your back.

Urging him on as he expertly works his fingers over your most sensitive spot. Each touch sends waves of pleasure through you. With one final pinch and a flick of his thumb, you’re cumming around him — gasping and trembling as the walls of your cunt tighten around his length.

His breathing comes labored and heavy, his eyes squeezed shut as he chases his own release. His own hips stuttered as he felt you continue to pulse around him. Unable to keep his composure any longer, he lets out a loud groan and spills himself inside of you, painting your walls with his seed.

“Fuckin’ Targaryen’s,” he drawls, this time his tone is filled with appreciation.

[therogueflame]

Raised to Obey

omg hi guys!!

happy easter! this piece is based off this request from my dear friend, @uncoveredsun. she's an aemond girly through and through so ofc i had to make this one extra nasty. love you bye.

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Summary: You return to the court that shaped you, only to find the boy you once commanded grown into something dangerous. He follows you still, but not like he used to.

WC: 7.9k

Warnings: 18+, targcest, power imbalance, dubcon, (light) violcence, degradation, smut, oral (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, a little bit of brat!Aemond

Aemond Targaryen x OlderSister!Reader

MDNI!!!

They say nothing in the letter, but you know what it means.

The seal is plain. The wording neutral. Your presence is requested at the Red Keep, and your escort will arrive within the fortnight. There is no mention of the annulment. No word of House Tyrell or Ser Lyonel’s failure to bed his bride after seven long, silent years of marriage. No accusations. No apologies. Only a summons. Clean and simple and final.

The carriage ride feels longer than the voyage that first took you to Highgarden, but this time there is no veil, no lavender perfume, no bridal nerves tucked into your gloves. You wear your riding leathers beneath a heavy velvet cloak, the color too rich for a woman with no husband and no name. Your hands are bare. Your hair unadorned. Your mouth still set in that same quiet line, the one you learned to hold when the Reach looked at you like a storm they couldn’t contain.

The Red Keep has not changed since you left it. It rises above the city like a red god, towering and unyielding, its shadow spreading from the spiked towers to the streets below. The stones still glisten like blood when the sun hits them, casting an amber glow before dusk. The air still smells of oil and fire, a familiar tang of smoke and iron and promises burnt to ash. The guards still stiffen when you pass, their eyes bright with curiosity, unsure whether they should bow or look away and pretend they’ve not seen you. You catch your reflection in a shield as you walk through the gate, beneath the portcullis where you last saw the glint of sunlight on Aemond’s hair. You look like someone they thought was gone. A hush spreads in your wake, rippling through the corridors, a sweet echo of scandal that follows you like a shadow. Maids pause with linens half-folded. Courtiers shift and whisper as you pass, their conversations frozen. Your mother’s ladies offer faint, artificial smiles, the tilt of their heads betraying their impatience to be the first to tell her. You can hear the murmur before it reaches your ears. She’s back. She’s failed. She’s still childless. She was too proud, they say. Too cold. They say it in whispers, in glances, in silence that is more damning than words. They say the same things in King’s Landing that they said in Highgarden. Like a song passed from one musician to the next, they keep playing the same refrain. You recognize it all.

They know the match was political, a symbol more than a promise, a show of good faith as useless as a gilded parchment. That your wedding was a masterpiece of civility and nothing more. That Ser Lyonel Tyrell—gentle, golden, delicate—never once reached for you in the dark. That the garden never bloomed. That the Tyrells petitioned for annulment with grace and urgency, their letters riddled with concern for your soul. No heir. No bedding. No shame, only regret, tendered with the precision of an accountant’s ledger or a merchant’s bill of sale. And underneath it all, the unspoken truth: you were never meant to be someone’s wife. You were meant to be their burden. Their lesson. Their problem to solve.

When you left King’s Landing, you were Alicent’s daughter. Now you are something less and something more. The one who failed. The one who came back. The one who belongs nowhere except where others don’t want her.

You enter the throne room alone. No handmaid, no brother at your side, no welcoming line of lords eager to claim your favor. You walk with your spine straight, your chin lifted, each step purposeful. You expect to be ignored. Perhaps tolerated. Perhaps pitied.

You are not prepared for Aemond. Not for the way he commands the room like a lord, like a dragon, like something both regal and dangerous. The years have sculpted him into a stranger, one who stands just below the dais and a little apart from the others, his body angled toward the Iron Throne as if it belongs to him. His eye catches yours the moment you appear. You feel it—a burning and intrusive stare, hot and direct and deeply unfamiliar, as if he’s picking you apart, inspecting each piece polished or flawed. He is taller, much taller, than you remember. His shoulders broader, his stance lethal and still. The sapphire gleams cold and pitiless where his eye once was, a bright gem that seems to see everything, to miss nothing. His jaw is sharp now. His mouth cruel and knowing.

He wears the black of the court like armor, as if the velvet and silk could shield him from insurgents and assassins, and the longsword at his hip is heavy, solid, not for show. He watches you like a man appraising a threat, ready to draw blood, and when his lips curl, it is not in welcome.

You pause at the edge of the hall, and the years pause with you. Your gloves remain on. Your expression does not falter. But something inside you stills, freezes, like a river in winter.

Aemond doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t acknowledge you before others can see. He lets the others gather near, shields himself with their presence. Lord Beesbury greets you with a thin, perfunctory smile, obscured by his drooping white mustache. Ser Harrold offers a nod, polite and stiff as his back. The queen smiles and, with effort, makes it convincing. No one mentions the annulment. Not yet. Not in front of Aemond, who watches it all with quiet, simmering amusement.

Then, slowly, with intention and certainty, Aemond steps forward.

He does not bow. He does not smile. “Lady Maidenflower,” he says, just soft enough that only you hear it, enough that it stings.

You turn your head just slightly, exactly enough to make him feel the weight of your reply. “Still clever, I see.”

His eye sweeps over you like a blade. He is not hiding the weight of it, the roughness of the cut. “You returned untouched, then. I’d wondered.”

“Lyonel Tyrell was a poet,” you reply, because you have sharpened your own edges. “Not a fool.”

“Poets rarely have the stomach for conquest.”

You meet his gaze without blinking, without flinching, though your heart still remembers how to race. “And you’ve always had too much of it.”

“I was twelve when you left.”

You tilt your head, and the movement is easy, graceful, scornful. “You still are, most days.”

That earns you a smirk, slow and deliberate, a lord’s smirk. A dragon’s. “Not anymore.”

He takes a single step closer. You don’t move. You let him come.

The pause between you stretches, heavy and hot and alive with unspoken challenges and renegotiated terms. His eye dips to your mouth, and it is not quickly, not politely, not as a brother should. When it rises again, it lingers.

You turn before he can speak again, before he can make you doubt or remember. You offer him no parting glance, no farewell. But you feel it as you walk away—his stare on your back, weighty and hungry. Not a boy’s gaze. Not a brother’s.

Let him look. Let them all.

You did not come back for their sympathy or to stand around, shrinking, while they trample your pride. The thought of wilted and drooping pity is almost amusing, withered and limp like Highgarden’s banner when the wind dies, and you refuse to let it gather at your feet like a folder of discarded marriage contracts. You returned because the summons meant something. Because they wanted you here. Because the annulment meant nothing. Because they are beginning to remember who you are and what you are worth. The realm has no place for a woman like you—a woman with no husband and no duty and no shame to parade—except when it needs one. You are still a dragon’s daughter, flames running molten where other women leave room for fear, and it seems they’re starting to recall the heat of their own blood. They thought a marriage would change you. That the Reach would wear you smooth and pliable. That seven years of silence would make you weak, complacent, eager to return with their leash around your neck. They were fools. You have not softened. You have stripped away everything unnecessary. You have become what you always should have been: scaled, certain, and dangerous. Aemond would be a fool, too, if he still believes he knows the girl who left. If he thinks the same breathless, reckless fool of a girl stands before him, he is welcome to try and find her, to search and search and find nothing at all. He will not.

It’s a few days before you see him again. Long enough that the ache dulls, the whispers shift, the court forgets to look twice. You don’t. You feel him in every corridor. His stare in the back of your skull. The words he didn’t say sitting heavier than the ones he did. You don’t seek him out. Not really. But when the sound of clashing steel drifts through the windows one morning, sharp and furious, your feet carry you there before you can stop them.

The yard is already thick with the sound of clashing steel and barked commands by the time you arrive, drawn not by curiosity but by the unmistakable pitch of Aemond’s voice, rising above the rest. You round the corner and find him standing over a boy barely older than twelve, sword in hand, patience worn thin. The boy is sweating and panting, bleeding lightly from the lip. Aemond says something low enough you can’t catch, but the tone carries and your stomach knots.

"Enough."

Aemond doesn't turn right away. The boy does, blinking at you like he's been thrown a lifeline, desperate and unsure. You step down into the yard without pausing, hands still gloved, shoulders squared, a defiance in each step. You know Aemond sees you, but he remains fixed over the boy, as if your presence is a small interruption. As if you are the one who should wait. As if waiting for the exact moment when his controlled apathy strikes deepest. He finally shifts, looking over his shoulder with slow, deliberate disinterest.

"You are not his commander," you say, your voice sharp and unyielding.

"I am his prince."

You take another step. "And you're still picking fights with boys too small to fight back."

That gets his attention. His eye catches yours and holds. The cut is deep, unrelenting, meant to wound. A quiet breath passes through the onlookers. No one moves. The boy backs away quickly, too smart to stay where the lightning is about to strike. Aemond sheathes his sword, but only halfway. His smirk is faint but not amused, a taunt that is both familiar and new.

"Would you like to teach him, then?"

You tilt your head. "I'd rather teach you."

His smile sharpens. "Then show me."

The court knows you well enough not to question it when you shrug off your cloak and take the spare sword from the rack. Your tunic is laced tight, boots steady, sleeves rolled. You are ready before they realize it, before you realize it yourself. You know the forms, the weight of the steel, the cadence of Aemond's skill. But you don't know the way the court watches now, not with surprise but with certainty, as if expecting exactly this. As if you haven't been gone seven years. Aemond stretches his neck as you step to the center. He doesn't offer the usual salutation. You don't bow.

When you strike, it's without warning. It feels right. Quick. Merciless. He parries fast, steel hissing, and the first clash draws a ripple from the men watching. You dance around him, light on your feet, quicker than he expects. It is a dance you thought you'd forgotten. The rhythm is familiar but off. He's faster now. Stronger. You are sharper. Angry. His blade grazes your shoulder. Yours slices along his side. He doesn't flinch. You don't, either. The heat builds quickly, sweat blooming beneath your collar. He presses harder, with more force, more insistence, more precision than the boy you thought you remembered. You give ground only to take it again. You used to beat him with speed, with patience, with quick, calculated precision. Now he meets you at every turn, matching blow for blow, circling like a predator who knows exactly where to bite.

How much he’s changed. How much he hasn’t.

How much you have.

When he finally gets you on your back, it's not clean. You stumble on loose gravel. He takes advantage, a fierce flicker of triumph in his eye. Your sword hits the dirt. Everything that’s happened since you left King’s Landing—the whispers, the annulment, the letters filled with false concern, the look on his face when you returned—everything that should have made this easy pinches sharp inside your lungs, more painful than his grip. His boot lands between your legs, arm braced against your throat. Not choking. Just holding.

Too close. An echo you can’t outrun.

You expect him to move. He doesn't.

His breathing is rough. So is yours. You can feel the sweat on his wrist, the heat of his body over yours. You look up. His hair is wild. His eye is burning.

"Still think I'm just a boy?"

You don't answer. His grip tightens just slightly. His fingers brush your jaw. He leans in, slow and sure, gaze locked to your mouth like it means something.

You shove him. Hard. He stumbles back, laughter spilling from his chest, not loud but knowing, as if you just gave him the answer he wanted. You roll to your feet before anyone can help you. Your chest is heaving, cheeks flushed, skin hot. You don't look at anyone else as you retrieve your sword and your pride.

"Lesson over?" he calls.

The pause stretches between you. You don’t let it hold. You shrug on your cloak with deliberate ease, the same ease you’ve cultivated since you returned. The hush follows you back into the keep. You feel his eyes like fingers pressing into your skin, a touch that lingers and burns and doesn’t fade when you reach the corridor.

It’s still there at supper. Fresh, insistent. No one else notices the bread you don’t eat, the soup that cools in your bowl, the wine you drink without tasting. You’re the only one who hears the hollow ring of his boot against your sword, echoing through the hall with every half-heard whisper. It doesn’t soften when your mother asks if you’re well, when the maids bring the third course, when the candles burn low. When your mother tells you it was wise to come home, you nod, polite and unconvincing. You take your leave, and the walls feel closer, the halls longer, the air colder.

You don’t think of him. You don’t think of the weight of his body, the feel of his fingers on your jaw. You’re only thinking of the cold when you tighten your laces, only thinking of the chill when you pace the length of your room. The scratch of the quill in the chamber next to yours is louder than you’d like, and the letters on your desk are too frantic and familiar to answer. You are not restless. You are thoughtful.

You think so hard you don’t realize you’ve left your chambers until you find yourself walking without thinking, past the solar, up the stairs, down the hall to the wing where he sleeps. You don't plan it. You don't knock.

You push the door open without a plan, breath quick and shallow from the unguarded walk. He’s there, not surprised, not even questioning your intrusion. Shirtless, lounging in a chair by the hearth, legs spread, as comfortable and confident as if he owned the place. He might as well. The heat of the fire licks the dampness from his hair. A goblet of wine sits comfortably in his hand; his sword rests close by, in easy reach. He looks up at you with an expression that feels both new and old, the same practiced disregard you once swore would never cut you again. Like he expected this. Like he’s been waiting. 

"Come to finish what we started?" 

Your throat tightens. Something in your chest does, too. The echo of it ricochets in your bones, and you shut the door with more force than you mean to. The sound is too loud, too final, but not enough to break the smile on his face. 

"You embarrassed me in the yard," you say. There's a catch in your voice you hope he doesn't hear. You step closer. He hums, not quite a laugh. Almost. 

"You embarrassed yourself." 

You bite back a retort. He watches you try, waiting for the hollow bite of it, waiting for something deeper. 

"You put your hand on me." The words taste more bitter than you expect, and he hears it. You know he does. He shrugs, the carelessness deliberate, and finishes the rest of the wine in a single, slow swallow. 

"You didn't tell me to stop."

Anger and something else lances through you, sharp and unmistakable. A flower blooming violent beneath your skin. "You're not a child anymore," you say. "Fine. But you are still beneath me." There's satisfaction in that. A small thrill. He sets the goblet down with a thin click, the faint trace of red staining the rim. His smile returns, slow and sharp, more a weapon than a jest. 

"Not where it counts."

You don't think, just move, a breathless reckless fool, too sure and too hurt to stop yourself. Your palm cracks across his face and his head turns with the force of it. The wine sloshes in his goblet when you strike him, but he does not drop it. He sets it down on the table carefully, eyes glittering with something you don’t recognize. He looks back at you with a hunger you've never seen before. A hunger that burns like dragon’s blood, searing and inscrutable. Not in him. Not from anyone. 

"Again," he says.

Your breath catches. There's no air in this room, this keep, this entire place. You stare at him. His smile flickers wider when you don't answer. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows. You step closer, and he rises from the chair as you do, caught on the same pull. The distance vanishes faster than you mean it to. Faster than you can stop. Fury frays and threads you together. The space between you disappears quick and final and damning.

"You think you've won something?"

He shrugs, every inch of his body unwound and lithe. "You came here."

"To remind you of your place."

"Remind me, then."

He moves too quickly. Or maybe you move too slow. His hands catch your waist and your spine hits the door hard enough to steal your breath. The night explodes in stars behind your eyes. He doesn't press. Doesn't hurt. Just holds you there with his body, chest against yours, breath hot on your cheek, the heat of him impossible to escape. You grab his wrist, digging in, nails biting soft skin. He holds the wince behind his teeth, gaze fixed on you like he'd die before looking away. 

"Let go of me."

The words are hard. 

"Lyonel never touched you, did he?"

Your hand tightens on his wrist, so hard it shakes. You slap him again, harder this time, and the crack of it splits in the air between you, a current setting stone to fracture. 

He laughs.

"Again," he says. 

You don't. But gods, you want to. You want to and you hate it and you hate him and you turn and leave before you remember how to breathe.

You leave him there with the taste of your own fury still on your tongue. Your hand aches. So does your chest. You don’t look back. You don’t sleep. Not really. You lie awake and stare at the ceiling, the canopy of your bed a cage you can’t escape, can’t untangle. His voice plays over and over in your mind. Lyonel never touched you, did he. The worst part is how softly he said it. Like a secret. Like a truth. Like he knew exactly where to cut, exactly where to let the worst of it bleed.

The candles burn low in your chambers. The chill nips at your windowpanes. You don’t feel it. You feel the ghost of Aemond’s fingers on your hips, his breath on your cheek, the tremor beneath his skin. Everything you thought you buried comes rushing back, rushing through you, rushing until it cleaves the air from your lungs. Why did you return? Why did you think you could stay away? You are not restless. You are not impatient. You are thoughtful, but that thought is wrapped around him like a noose. Like a bruise. Like a bright, sharp hope.

You came to win. You’ve already lost.

By morning, the bruises are already forming beneath the surface of your skin. The memory of Aemond's touch blooms purple and dark, echoes of his fingertips wrought in flesh. You wish the sensation of him would fade as fast. It doesn't. The court is louder now. You feel it in every corridor, every room, every shift in posture when you enter. It clings to you, an invisible murmur that grows teeth. No one says your name, but they don’t need to. You returned without a husband. Without a child. Without a claim worth anything except shame. You were sent to the Reach to secure the realm and came back with nothing but silence. So now they whisper.

She must have refused him.

She must have failed.

She must have been too difficult to want.

The echoes are just as loud as the words. Each clever jab works its way beneath your skin, seeds of doubt taking root and sprouting vines you can't cut through. Even your mother looks at you differently. Her voice is soft, but her eyes are measuring. The warmth she once kept for you has cooled into caution, as if your return might stain her skirts if you stand too close. Her questions come dressed as concern, but you know the shape of judgment. And the ladies at court, the ones who used to play cyvasse and braid your hair, now look through you like you’re made of smoke. They weave tales you can’t quite hear, tales that bleed from one mouth to another, tales whose edges are sharp and cutting.

They don’t ask, but their silence does. What did she do wrong? Was he kind? Did she cry? Did he ever touch her at all? Or did she come back just as she left, proud and unspoiled and completely alone?

You do not answer them. You do not give them the truth they seek, the truth that tugs too close to the center of you. You walk through the halls like nothing has changed, like you are still the same creature you were before. You are not. Aemond says nothing to you in court. He does not look your way unless others are watching, and even then, it is brief. Quick enough to pass as something else. But you can feel it. He lets the rumors curl around you like smoke, never once bothering to stop them. He could silence it. One word from him and the court would fall quiet. But he doesn't. He listens. He watches. He waits.

You find him in the yard again, a few days after the incident in his chambers. He's alone this time. No one dares train with him lately, not since the last sparring match left a knight concussed. He moves with that same quiet precision, that same lethal grace. The sun catches the sweat at his temple, his shirt already discarded and thrown to the side. Your skin prickles at the sight, at the memory of him even more unguarded, even more certain. You should leave. You don't.

You don’t know what you mean to say when you see him there, when you watch him move and remember the way he looked at you, the way he still looks at you. You don’t know what you mean to do when you feel the full weight of his indifference, of the stories he lets the court tell. But you are moving before you can talk yourself out of it. Before the bruises fade, before this second return becomes as hollow as the first. You are moving and it feels like a mistake, but you’ve already made that mistake before, already seen what comes of it. There's no going back. This time, you mean to win.

He sees you before you speak. Of course he does. He always does.

“You following me now?” he says without looking up.

“I could say the same.”

His blade drops slightly. “You never used to lurk.”

“You never used to be worth watching.”

He turns at that, slow and smooth. “Didn’t stop you before.”

You ignore the heat crawling up your neck. “I gave the orders. You followed them.”

“You think that’s still true?”

“You think it’s not?”

“You dragged me through the mud. Screamed at me in front of knights twice my size.”

“And you listened.”

He steps in close. “Try it now. See if I still do.”

Your breath catches. His voice drops, soft and deliberate.

“They say no man ever wanted you. That Tyrell barely looked at you. That you came back untouched because no one could stand the thought.”

You don’t answer. You don’t move.

He tilts his head, close enough to touch. “Is that why you hate me looking?”

“Because you’re not supposed to.”

He smiles, slow and awful. “I can’t stop.”

He steps closer, closing the gap with a slow, sure determination. You don’t move. You don’t even flinch. His face is inches from yours now, and everything about him pulls you in and splits you apart. You can smell the leather of his gloves, the salt on his skin, the faint scent of iron and heat. His hand lifts slowly. You feel the brush of his fingers at your jaw, soft, testing, like he’s taking measure of the space between breath and need and wanting. You could slap him again. You could turn and walk away. You don’t. Your breath is shallow. He watches your mouth. 

You step back. You leave. You don’t speak. You don’t run. You walk away with your back straight and your heart hammering in your ribs like it’s trying to claw out. 

That night, you dream of him. Of course you do. You dream of his mouth, the cut of his lips, the press of his body hot and unrelenting against yours. You dream of his hands, the rough drag of his fingers on your cheek, your skin, your throat. The way his voice dropped low, soft and deliberate. The way his voice dragged low when he said your name. You wake tangled in your sheets, flushed and furious and aching, and you cannot tell whether you want to kill him or keep him. 

It starts with silence. It starts with rooms you pretend not to linger in, corridors you just happen to walk through, doors you pass more slowly than you should. It starts with you lying to yourself—small, careful lies you don’t quite believe. You don’t mean to look for him. That’s what you tell yourself. You don’t mean to, not at first. Not at first, but you find him anyway. 

He’s in the yard. He’s in the hall. He’s at the table, two seats down, eating grapes one by one like they mean something. Every time you look up, he’s already watching. 

You tell yourself it’s nothing. That you are only keeping an eye on him. That someone has to. That it might as well be you. But the lie doesn’t last. Not when the heat flares again behind your ribs every time he speaks. Not when you walk past the training yard and stop to watch. Not when your name comes from his mouth and you have to swallow hard before answering.

You avoid him. Until you don’t.

You find him at the edge of the godswood, on a day when the sun beats down like a curse and the wind is too warm, your thoughts too loud and insistent. He’s leaning against the old heart tree like it belongs to him, as if it's only there to hold him, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His head is tilted up to the canopy, eyes closed, jaw sharp. He hears you long before you mean to speak. Even from a distance, you feel the weight of his awareness. As you move closer, he turns slowly, the light catching on the scar beneath his eye, the gleam of the sapphire where it settles. He watches you like he’s been waiting.

"You’ve been restless," he says. "I can tell."

"You don’t know anything about me."

He pushes off the tree and takes a step forward. "I know you come looking for me and pretend you don’t."

You set your jaw. "You think too highly of yourself."

"No," he says, a crooked grin on his lips, closer now. "I think exactly enough."

You take a step back. He follows.

"What do you want?" he asks, voice low.

You hate the question. You hate that he asks it like he knows you don’t have the answer.

"Nothing from you."

He circles you now, slow and deliberate. "You used to look at me like I was a boy. Now you look at me like I might bite."

"Maybe I think you should be put down."

He laughs, a soft huff that barely leaves his throat.

"Do you know what it did to me?" he says. "You left. Married some wilted flower. Let him look at you like a prize he’d never unwrap."

You flinch. He sees it.

"He didn’t even try, did he?"

You snap before you can stop yourself. "No. He didn’t. He was afraid. They all are."

The words hang between you like smoke, pulled from the center of you, unplanned and brutal. You breathe them in and try not to choke. Aemond steps closer. His voice goes quiet.

"I’m not."

You shake your head. You want to run. You don’t. He lifts his hand, not touching you yet, just hovering near your cheek.

"Say the word," he says, "and I’ll make you forget every man who ever disappointed you."

You slap him. His head snaps to the side, but he doesn’t recoil. He lets out a sound that freezes you in place. A moan. A real one. Low and ragged like it was dragged from his chest. When he turns back to you, there’s a flush high on his cheekbone. His lips are parted. His eye burns.

"I knew you liked it rough," he murmurs. "I remember how you used to throw me down."

You stare at him, breath caught halfway between a curse and a gasp. He leans in closer, slow, measured. You don’t move.

"You used to knock the wind out of me. You’d say I was too soft. That I’d never survive the yard unless I learned to take a hit."

"You never did learn."

"That’s not true," he says. "I learned to like it."

You shake your head again, but your fists stay at your sides. Your feet don’t move.

"You think this is a game."

"No," he says. "I think this is exactly what we’ve both been waiting for."

Your pulse roars in your ears. The godswood is quiet, but everything feels too loud. Too close. His breath brushes your cheek.

"Tell me to stop."

You leave him standing in the godswood, breath shallow, palms hot, the trees watching like they know what you almost said. You don’t speak. You don’t run. But you can’t quite breathe either. You walk back through the Keep like you’re sleepwalking, like you might burn through the floor if you stay still.

Night sinks in around you. The walls feel tighter. The fire in your chamber roars too hot. You pace. You pour wine you don’t drink. You open the window and shut it again. You think about sleeping. You think about forgetting. You think about how he looked at you when he said I’m not.

You tell yourself not to go. And then you do.

The hall outside his door is empty. The candlelight flickers low. The door isn’t fully shut. As if he left it waiting.

You don’t knock. You don’t speak. You step inside, and he’s already there. Shirtless, again. Hair damp. Leaning against the table like he hadn’t moved since the godswood. His eye finds yours and doesn’t flinch. You close the door behind you. You don’t lock it. He watches you cross the room without saying a word. He doesn’t ask why you’re here. He knows.

“I didn’t come for this,” you say.

He nods, slow. “Then say no.”

You don’t. He pushes off the table and walks toward you like he already knows how this ends. Like he’s dreamed it a hundred times and every version ends the same. He doesn’t reach for you. Not yet. He waits.

You’re the one who moves. Your hand fists in the collar of his shirt and drags him closer. Your mouth hovers near his, your breath unsteady, your body already too warm. You don’t kiss him. Not yet.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

“I know.”

And then you break. You kiss him like you’re furious. Like he’s the only thing that’s ever made you feel anything and you’d rather drown in it than say it out loud. His hands are everywhere. Yours are worse. There’s nothing careful about it. Nothing sweet. You don’t want sweet. You want to be ruined.

You want to ruin him back. The table knocks over. His back hits the wall. Your boots scatter across the floor. You don’t stop. You don’t think. You don’t ask. When he lifts you up and carries you to the bed, you let him. When he lays you down and looks at you like you’re the first real thing he’s ever wanted, you don’t speak.

He peels back your clothes with a precision that makes you ache, each layer a secret he's uncovering. Your shift falls away, and he stares at you like you're sacred. Like you're something he shouldn't touch but will anyway. His hands are rough, calloused from years of swordplay, but they move across your skin with a reverence that makes your breath catch. You don't want reverence. You want him to hurt. You want to hurt him back.

You flip him beneath you, straddling his hips, hands pinning his wrists above his head. His eye widens, pupils blown, a smile curling at the edge of his mouth. You lean down, hair falling around your face like a curtain, and bite his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The taste of copper fills your mouth. He moans, hips bucking up against yours.

"Is this what you wanted?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper. "To ruin me?"

His fingers dig into your hips, bruising and possessive. "I wanted to be the one who touched you first."

You laugh, bitter and sharp. "Not everything is yours to claim."

"No," he says, flipping you beneath him with a strength that makes your breath catch. His weight settles between your thighs, delicious and heavy. "But you are."

You should fight. You should push him away. But your body arches into his touch, craving the heat of him, the burn of his skin against yours. His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping over your pulse, and you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. He hisses against your skin, the sound vibrating through your bones.

"Tell me to stop," he says again, but this time it's different. It's not a challenge. It's a plea. You can hear the need beneath it, raw and desperate. It would be so easy to tell him no. To walk away. To leave him as broken as you've been. Instead, you pull him closer.

"Don't stop," you whisper against his mouth. "Don't you dare stop."

He trails kisses of fire down your body, spreading your thighs open and bringing his face close to your core. His breath is hot, his mouth everything you expected and nothing like you imagined. You choke on a sound that might be a sob, that might be his name, that might be something you’ve never said to anyone. There is a feeling of novelty between your legs. You don’t know what to do with it, what to call it. You don’t know how to stop it. His tongue traces a path that makes you gasp, your body shuddering beneath him, and every scrape of his teeth sends a shock to places you forgot you had. He pins your hips with his hands. Holds you there until you think you might scream, might call him something you’ll regret. You writhe, helpless and hungry, his mouth pushing you toward something you can't recognize but can't resist. It's new and wild and terrifying. It's more than you were ready for. You feel it building beyond your control, burning through you, breaking you down, and he's relentless. You’ve never been this close to shattering. You’ve never wanted to.

When it crests, it's like wildfire—unstoppable, consuming, spreading through your limbs until you're arching off the bed, his name torn from your throat. He holds you through it, mouth still working, drinking in every tremor until you push him away, too sensitive to bear it.

He moves up your body like he's been waiting his entire life for this moment. He's like a predator, but one who is starving, respectful, already intoxicated by your essence. His mouth is slick, his eyes are wild, and his hair is tousled from your touch. When he kisses you, you taste yourself on his lips, and it sends a wave of heat through you. It makes you want to hide. It makes you want to be consumed.

He pulls back just enough to truly see you, and something raw and broken flickers across his face. You watch it shatter within him. You feel it cracking beneath your ribs.

His hands tremble as they explore your body. They're not hurried now, not greedy. Just desperately seeking. He wants to discover what makes you gasp, what makes you tremble, what makes you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your nails into his shoulders, calling his name like a curse.

Both of you are frantic, lost in something that has been building since the moment you returned. Since before that. Since before you left. Since forever.

When he finally sinks into you, the sound that tears from your throat is something between a sob and a moan. It hurts. Of course it hurts. But it's the kind of pain that feels like salvation, like something breaking open inside you that's been locked too long. He watches your face as he moves, drinking in every reaction, every gasp, every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His pace is relentless, punishing, exactly what you need and nothing like you imagined.

"Look at me," he growls, and you do. You meet his gaze and don't look away, even when it feels too intimate, too raw. His eye burns into yours, the sapphire gleaming in the firelight like a second witness to your surrender. "Say my name."

You bite your lip, refusing at first. His hand slides between your bodies, finding the place where you're most sensitive, and your resolve crumbles.

"Aemond," you gasp, the syllables breaking on your tongue like a prayer. "Aemond," you breathe again, and again, like a confession you can't keep hidden anymore.

His rhythm stutters at the sound of it, his name on your lips like a spell he never thought you’d cast. It tears through him, wild and fierce and reckless, like it can’t be contained. His pulse surges with the rush of possession, with a pride that borders on madness. The moment is electric, charged, impossibly taut. He crushes his mouth to yours, swallowing every moan, every gasp, as if your voice alone could undo him, as if all your protests only fuel him further. The pace is dizzying, the edge razor-sharp, and you’re close, so close to something you've never let yourself feel before. Not like this. Not this blinding. Your body arches into him, desperate and unguarded, and you cry out, nails scoring down his back, leaving trails that scream of violence, of passion, of the pain you both need and the pleasure you can’t tell apart. He hisses at the sting, but the sound is nothing like surrender.

"You're mine," he growls, branding you with his words, his teeth grazing your throat, the promise lethal and soft and everything you’ve ever wanted to deny. "Say it."

You choke out the word, shaking your head as you do, still defiant even as your body says otherwise. Even as it betrays you, traitorous and unrelenting, your resistance splintering like ash before a torch. "No." It's barely a whisper, a last stand against the fire, but even you don’t believe it. You clench around him, pulling him deeper, binding him to you with every shuddering breath. He tightens his grip in your hair, and the pull arches your back, exposing your neck, your pulse, the truth you're trying to hide.

"Lie to me again," he says, his voice fractured with desire, the edges rough, unsteady. "And see what happens."

His eye is locked on yours, shining full of hunger and something else. Something that makes you want to give in just to see what it would do to him. You meet his gaze with a challenge, despite the tremor in your voice, despite the pleasure that is slowly unraveling you. "I am not yours."

His lips curl into a smile that is nothing but teeth and intent. He slows his movements with devastating precision, pulling out so slowly it feels like a loss, thrusting back in to make you pay for every lie, for every second you didn’t admit you were his. The impact shatters your defenses, touching something deep inside that makes you want to come apart. Makes you want to break just so he can put you back together.

"Liar," he breathes, but the word is tangled with awe, with worship, with disbelief that he ever let you go. His hands are brands on your skin, holding you in place as he moves, marking you with fingers as determined as his heart, as his claim, as his promise.

You’re losing. You’re lost. Your resolve crumbles, rushing out of you so quickly you feel dizzy with it. The pleasure winds tight, impossibly tight, spreading through your body faster than you can stop it, faster than you can pretend you don’t want it. You’re on the brink, teetering at the edge, and you can’t pull back. Can’t stop it. Can’t stop any of it.

"Say it," he demands, pushing you to the point of no return, his rhythm pushed to the breaking point as his control slips. As he starts to fall apart with you. "Tell me who you belong to."

You want to fight him. You want him to bleed the way you did. You want to be empty of him. You want him to lose the same way you did. You want to give him nothing. You want to watch him break. You want him to hurt the way you did. You want to give him everything. You want him to know it. You want to ruin him as he's ruined you. And suddenly, you are. The word leaves your throat like it’s tearing you apart, like it’s putting you back together. The admission is pain and salvation. The confession is agony and release. "You." The silence shatters. Your resolve shatters. Something wild and desperate between you shatters. You come undone with it, unable to hold anything back. Your voice, your control, the last of your resistance. "You," you whisper, the sound already gone. "You, Aemond."

It breaks something in both of you. He kisses you then, deep and consuming, and you fall apart beneath him, waves of pleasure wracking through you, your release a storm breaking against the shore. He follows you over the edge, his own release a fierce, primal claim, his body tensing above you, inside you, around you. The sound he makes is raw, unguarded, nothing like the prince who holds his emotions in check. His forehead presses against yours as he shudders, as he spills himself inside you, marking you in the most primitive way. You think he might have forgotten how to breathe, how to hold back, how to be a dragon and not a man. You think you might have forgotten the same.

It leaves you both unmoored, wild and vulnerable, unable to hold anything back. Every moment is a fracture, a split-second proof of his soul laid bare. Every tremor a piece of you given in ways you never thought you could. Never thought you would. The heat of him, the weight of him, it should feel like too much. It should feel like surrender. You should feel conquered, defeated. But for the first time, it feels like exactly what you’ve been wanting. Exactly what you’ve been waiting for.

It takes an eternity for the storm to pass, for the world to settle around you, but you hold fast through it, to him, to each other. You feel it long after the shakes subside, after your bodies run out of breath and fury and will. The truth of it so potent you can’t suppress it. Can’t deny it. Not even to save yourself. For a moment, neither of you move. His breath mingles with yours, ragged and spent. His weight is heavy, but you don't push him away. You can't. Your fingers trace the scars on his back, mapping the history of a boy who became a man you didn't recognize. Who became a man you couldn't resist.

When he finally rolls to the side, you feel the chill of the room rush back, reminding you of where you are. Who you are. What you've done. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, your body humming with remnants of pleasure and something heavier. You should leave. You should get up, gather your clothes, and slip away before the castle wakes. Before reality returns. Before the weight of this settles fully on your shoulders. Instead, you stay.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, following the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, like he's memorizing the map of you. Neither of you speak. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but it's heavy with things unsaid. With questions neither of you are ready to answer.

"They’ll know," you whisper, voice ragged from crying out his name.

He doesn’t flinch. Just looks at you—calm, unreadable—as if the words mean nothing at all.

"And?"

You swallow. "You don’t understand what they’ll say."

"I do." His voice is flat, unbothered. "They’ll say what they always do. It changes nothing."

You push his hand away, sitting up fast. "I’m not yours to claim."

His eye flicks to you, sharp and steady. "I never said you were."

That catches you off guard—but before you can speak, he adds, quieter this time:

"You chose this. Just like I did."

[controld3vil]

𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣, 𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨

pairing(s): aemond targaryen x twin!reader

synopsis: “My son, Daeron, what’s he like?” Alicent wondered as she couldn’t recall ever waiting so eagerly for news from her youngest. Oldtown felt distant now; her home was here. “And his sister?”

notes ➜ i got major writers block from writing for rhaenyra :( content warnings: targcest, twincest, happy & bittersweet reunions 😋, features only ONE scene with aemond (at the very end :/), slowburnn

Despite the turmoil of her life – the crowning of her son, the tragic murder of her grandson, Jaehaerys, and the loss of her father as Hand – Alicent never felt as anxious as she did now waiting to meet her son and daughter after more than five years apart. Love for them lingered in her heart, even amidst the estrangement that marked their relationship. Oldtown seemed like a distant memory, a place she sometimes revisited in dreams. It was a compact city of scholars and believers, a center of Faith that once filled her with strength, a quality she now desperately craved. The Queen Dowager sat with her hands folded in her lap, her fingers nervously plucking at the debris on her cuticles, an irritating habit she found impossible to suppress. Each tug felt like a reflection of her own fraying nerves as she prepared to face the children she loved yet scarcely knew.

A hint of red bourbon hair catches Alicent’s eye. “Gwayne.” Her brother turns toward her, momentarily distracted by the horse at his side.

“Sister.”

“I wish to give you my blessing,” she says, her hands folded solemnly. Gwayne steps forward, with a casual ease. 

“Wow,” he replies, a light-hearted tone in his voice. “My thanks to the Dowager Queen.” He bobs before glancing back to his tasks, preparing to march south the new Hand, Ser Criston. His men and the forces of King's Landing would soon form a formidable army. 

“Have you heard from father?” Alicent asks, her voice laced with anxiety. “I sent word to Highgarden and Oldtown but, there has been no word.” She twiddles her fingers, a restless gesture as she fights to quell her unease. 

Her brother picks up her distress. “Otto Hightower is ever resourceful. He will send news when there is news.” His tone suggests a reassuring nonchalance, yet it also reveals his own certainty. Gwayne knew their father well – he rarely wrote unless there was something significant to report. It was not unusual for Otto Hightower to remain silent; he preferred to communicate only when necessary. 

Though their conversation comes to a halt, the Queen is left unsatisfied with Gwayne’s dismissal. Her heart is heavy with concern, and she longs for more than just the absence of news.

She peeks into the distance before turning back to him. “I often wonder what life could have been if he had brought you to court instead.” Earnestly, she offers a tentative smile, her expression drawing a warm grin from her older brother, who is charmed by her speculation.

“I’m the oldest son,” he replies, focusing on the object in his hand. “It was right that I was raised in Oldtown.”

“You were eight years of age and motherless. It must have been difficult.” Alicent’s tone carries a mixture of sympathy and concern, her desire to delve deeper into the topic. The knight senses her intention; their conversation is more than just light banter.

He shakes his head again, his demeanor shifting. “You get on with it, don't you? When there isn’t any choice.” His eyes are expectant, as if urging her to reveal what’s truly on her mind.

“My son, Daeron,” the Queen begins, her lips tightening with a mix of pride and longing. “What’s he like?” A small glimmer of affection leaves her eyes when she mentions her youngest, though it stings to know how long it has been since she received from him or even heard his name mentioned. She regrets not having time to raise him, to know the man he might become. Daeron feels like a stranger to her, and despite her disappointment, all she longs for is to seek insight from someone who knows him well. 

“Does he not write to you?”

“Less and less, these days.” A subtle curve of her lips transforms into a sad frown. 

“Ten and six now,” Gwayne says with a gentle chuckle, warmth flooding his expression at the thought of his beloved nephew. “Let us perhaps hold less of his interest. He's stalwart, clever – adept with both his lute and his sword. And a feature in the fancies of many young ladies, I'll wager.” He pauses, catching the concern on her face. “He's kind."

Relief washes over Alicent, her shoulders relaxing as if a heavy weight has been lifted. A kind son – at least he embodies the benevolence she always had hoped for her children. 

“Kindness is a quality I find lacking in his brothers,” she admits, her tone reflecting candid honesty that earns a thoughtful hum from Gwayne. Her thoughts drift back to the one person she has longed to meet. “And his sister?”

The Hightower knight fixes his gaze fondly on his sister. The mention of another niece, one he has watched over, brings forth a rare tenderness in her older brother – a warmth his sister rarely sees. “Well she’s certainly well-regarded,” Gwayne replies, placing both hands on his hips and shifting his weight to one foot. A playful pride lights up his face as he reminisces about the recent achievements of her youngest children. “She’s adapted remarkably well among the scholars. She carries herself with grace and resolve, and they speak highly of her intellect. I’m sure her letters, though few, speak of contentment and growth.” 

“Yes, she has,” The Dowager Queen giggles, recalling your recent letter. With every message came, your handwriting and style has evolved. A smile brightens her face at the memory of her earlier struggles with grammar; the first few letters had been messy and disorganized. Though she may have had her doubts as your mother, she is undeniably proud of your respected place among the scholars. “She thrives, or so she assures me. But I yearn to see for myself the woman she is becoming."

Gwayne offers her subtle comfort, placing a hand gently over hers. His reassuring grin promises that when you and Daeron finally come to King’s Landing, a part of her guilt-driven heart will be lifted. “I understand your worries, sister. You’ll have the chance to see them both soon enough.”

Days later, the army returns to King’s Landing, exhausted from a ruthless battle that claimed both casualties and deaths. Ser Gwayne and the Hand, Ser Criston led the march back, to focus on reinforcing their troops and resupplying. The journey was grueling, marked with constant vigilance against Rhaenyra's forces. However, the tension eased momentarily when a dark purple dragon appeared overhead without warning. While the sight terrified the hearts of men, it ignited a spark of relief and joy to Ser Gwayne’s face, leaving Ser Criston bewildered. 

The Hand had never seen a dragon with white claws and plum scales. 

As you made your unannounced arrival at King’s Landing, chaos erupted. Townsfolk scrambled and fled as your dragon, Blood Moon, circled the castle grounds. Many had not seen your dragon in a long time, and some had never laid their eyes on it before your departure. Blood Moon screeches menacingly, soaring above, casting a shadow over the weary army under Cole’s command. Dragon! The townsfolk gasped in horror, frantically jumping from house to house to hide from the inevitable. 

Meanwhile, the Queen Mother rushed to the courtyard, her heart racing at the familiar, nihilistic roar of your dragon. When she caught sight of Blood Moon passing her window, Alicent felt a rush of adrenaline – she knew you had arrived. You were home. 

She clutches her dress, tightly, a sharp pain in her chest as the sight of you approaching makes her eyes water instantly. You follow behind her brother and Ser Criston on horseback, conspicuously absent from her dragon. Yet, somehow she knows Blood Moon is close. “My sweet girl!” Alicent rushes forward the moment you dismount, locking eyes with you. Gods, you looked so beautiful. It feels like an eternity since you last met. 

“Mother!” In an instant, you were a child again, clamping your arms around her as if to anchor yourself in her presence. You sink into her embrace, basking in the familiar scent of her hair, the warmth of her touch as you nestled your head against her neck, filled with affection.

Alicent pulls back, cradling your face into her hands. “It’s been so long. You’ve grown so much. I can see the change in your eyes…” Her dark, chestnut-colored eyes brim with tears. Her lips quiver as she fights back a sob. 

You hold her hands, and offer a soft smile. “I missed you, Mother.” She beams at you, fondly with nostalgia, pecking a gentle kiss on your forehead before gliding her thumbs softly across your cheeks. Gods, you’ve changed. You’re no longer the frightened little girl who resisted staying in King’s Landing. Though Alicent regretted seeing you so sad, she knew it was best for you to learn and grow alongside your brother, Daeron.

There was a time in your early childhood when you dreamed of becoming a lady in waiting for Highgarden, yet when the day arrived, you unexpectedly became homesick, clinging to Alicent like a newborn.

But now, you stand before her, a grown woman. Gone are the days of silly hair ribbons and flowing dresses; you’ve matured into a striking figure, like a blooming rose. Alicent notices how you’ve preferred to braid your hair, gathered in a high ponytail with intricate braids extending from your forehead to the base of your tail. This style frames your face perfectly, allowing her to see your expression fully—happy and radiant. You even complement your look with a striking outfit, featuring long leather garments reminiscent of dragon scales and breastplates adorned with chromatic metal accents. 

“I trust the journey to King’s Landing wasn’t too taxing, niece?” Gwayne quips with a playful grin. You let out a short giggle sensing your uncle’s presence behind you. 

“It was fine, thank you, Uncle.” You chuckled, turning to see Gwayne with his hands clasped behind his back. Stray hairs fell across his forehead from the skirmish days prior. Though he appeared weary, he maintained a façade of composure as he greeted you.

“You must be exhausted from the journey,” Alicent perks up, as she brushes her fingers over your bare knuckles, sheeply. “Come let us find a place for you to rest and share what I have missed.”  

A warm fuzziness flutters in your chest as you savor your mother’s tender urgency. Few understand the depth of her protective love for her children, most only notice her as the former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Even though you haven’t stepped foot in King’s Landing for so long, you appreciate her efforts to ensure your childhood was a happy one. Many dismiss her as a princess bound to duty to bear heirs, but all forget the countless moments that defined her as a mother. They do not recall her swaddling young Aegon when she was only ten and nine, or rushing to the Godswood to catch Helaena from her wandering. Even that time you attempted to make a flower crown, too small for her head, which Alicent wore to appease your pleas.

The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up with your mother who was determined to stay close to you at all times. You were not sure if she took note of your hesitance, but stepping back into King’s Landing stirred distant memories you had long buried. You couldn’t help but gaze around the different sections of the castle, wondering if any of the tapestries had changed or if new furniture had been added. This familiar yet strange home felt like an enigma as you tried to thread together the small moments of your past. 

You had changed out of your dragon gear, and now wore a stunning silver dress, laced with an embroidered corset featured with blossoming gold florals. The transparent cuffs by your wrist added an ethereal touch as well as the sleeves. The Red Keep was a serene and quiet place to study and chat with your mother. You sat beside her by a small table, discussing the latest news from the city. Rumors spread quickly as if they were smoke and you both indulged in whatever topic came to mind, relishing in the intimacy in the moment. Sometimes you would bring up about your time in Oldtown while your mother spoke vaguely about the Council's plans. In all, you were spouting words to fill in the inevitable space of silence, cherishing the connection that always bound you as mother and daughter. 

“How is Aegon?” Your eyes flashed with concern when your mother placed down her drink. There was a glint of sadness you saw from her. For a quick flicker, it disappears when the widowed Queen plucks one of the pastries from the plate in the center. 

Her voice, though tender, betrays her hesitation. “He is healing. But he will never be the same.” The words hang heavily in the air, a quiet acceptance of the grim truth. Aegon’s body had been ravaged, rotted with infection, covered in sores and pus. Alicent couldn’t say it outright but she knew the cruel reality; he might never walk again. The thought of it was too heavy to bear to tell her daughter. She couldn’t tell you the full extent of his suffering; the memory was still fresh in her mind as if it was only yesterday. 

Your breath hinders as you process her words, and a deep frown pulls at your face. “He is alive. That is something I am thankful to the Gods for.” Though your relationship with your eldest brother had always been distant, it was never cold. You made sure to write to all of your siblings whenever you could, each filled with personal messages. Aegon, in particular, was never fond of books or history. He was the one who’d light up any room, the first one to suggest a drink when things had dulled. You would not deny how much you missed his infectious laughter, his wide  grin that could cast away your sorrows. 

Now it seemed, that smile might never return. The war had stolen it from him as it had stolen so much. A lump forms in your throat, and suddenly you feel tears stinging your eyes. You wiped them away with the back of your palm. 

Alicent’s gaze falls, lost in thought as she considers the words she wanted to say but can never bring herself to. She felt, even now, like a failure as a mother. Her mistakes, her foolishness, lingered unspoken between you both. The few letters she sent, the distant exchanges, were all reminders of the distance that had grown between you over the years. She could feel the weight of her own neglect – the little attention she’d given you in letters should have been enough to make you stop writing altogether. But despite it all, you never once turned away from her. Alicent had never felt worthy of your love, and though you had every reason to harbor anger or resentment, her heart ached for failing her children. 

It was then she felt your hand creep over hers, the simple touch sending a jolt of surprise through her. Your mother lifts her solemn visage, her heart breaking as she meets your eyes. For all the pain and disappointment she imagined you had, there was no trace anywhere in your expression. You looked at her with stoic calmness, your deep indigo eyes pierced with consideration – and a hint of fondness that made her heart ache even more. 

Your demeanor shifts, softening into a sympathetic grin, and with a tear-stricken pout still clinging to your lips, you squeeze her hand gently. “None of this is your fault, Mother.”

“It is,” She weakly admits, her voice faltering as she fights the urge to break down in front of her sweet daughter. “It is my fault, for your brother’s cruelty. Don’t you see?” 

You pause, the weight of her words sinking in, but you reply with unwavering certainty. “Aemond may be cruel but he would never kill his brother.” The words come out steady but something shifts when you fully acknowledge your twin since your arrival. His absence feels oddly conspicuous, like a shadow that haunts the hall. The Red Keep, so familiar, now seems strangely hollow with its newly reassigned staff and the ever watchful eyes of the City Watch. Yet, even as the quiet settles in, a desire stirs in you to seek him out. Aemond was never far, even when distance separates you. Now, back in King’s Landing, you find that something in your restless heart settles, as though the mere proximity of the Red Keep could ease your disturbed thoughts. 

“You have not laid eyes on him in years, my love,” Alicent pleads, a tremor in her voice as she lowers her gaze, avoiding your eyes. “You don’t know what he has become. Aemond is angry.” The visible fear in her earth-toned eyes is raw and unsettling, like a shadow that lingers in the room, one that threatens to swallow the very air between you.

The incident at Rook’s Rest was ambiguous. You were not there to witness it firsthand, and while you had your suspicions, you could never know for certain who struck first. But you were sure – it had not been intentional. Aegon and Aemond didn’t see eye to eye, but they had always shared the same blood, the same bond. Now, from what your mother described, a flicker of doubt stirs within you, uneasy and unfamiliar, making your heart sink. What had Aemond become in these years of absence? 

After your chat, a Kingsguard arrived to summon your mother on urgent matters. The former Queen’s gazes lingered on you for a moment, her expression filled with guilt for interrupting your time on short notice. She catches your comforting smile as she gives a curt nod and exits the Red Keep. 

For a while, you were left to your residence with the comforts of nature. You sat by the window, absentmindedly nibbling on forgotten baked goods, their sweetness grounding you as your eyes drift toward the sky. The clouds moved at a glacial pace, their slow drift contrasted to your storm of thoughts brewing in your mind. Momentarily, you are allowed to forget your purpose for coming back to King’s Landing. The afternoon sunshine bathed the room in a golden light, casting a calm, almost serene glow on everything. 

You didn’t need much more than that – the gentle warmth, the quiet, and familiar taste of tart delicacies your mother knew you loved. It was enough to quiet your mind, if only for a while. The taste of pastries, sweet and tangy, reminded you of simpler times, of moments before the weight of duty and family obligations tangled your soul. You found yourself yearning for that comfort, anything to keep your mind off the growing unease with the inevitable encounter with Aemond.

It was the early evening when the bells of Baelor rang out. The Great Sept, just a few houses down from King’s Landing, held its call long enough for it to be heard in the very heart of the Red Keep. You had arrived hours earlier, slipping through the castle halls with grace of a predator – quiet, deliberate, waiting for the surge of adrenaline that always accompanied your return to this place. 

The Council had met moments prior to your arrival, so you knew you’d have to wait until the morning to join them. The politics of the realm could wait. In the meantime, you roamed the ancient, empty corridors of the Keep, your footsteps the only sound in the silence. The air was thick with history, heavy with memories of a time when the halls had been full of life, of laughter and conversation – before everything had changed. 

Your thoughts drifted to your siblings. It’s been far too long since you had been together in one place. The Red Keep, usually so bustling with court, now seemed like a ghost town – empty and hollowed out, a shadow of its former self. The events of the past loomed over you, pressing down with the weight of what had been lost, what had been broken. 

Perhaps this is why you found yourself at Aegon’s chambers. Your heart pounded with anticipation when the doors swung open, revealing the King’s quarters. The air within was thick and quiet murmurs of the maesters attending to him, their words halting when they saw you – your unexpected presence casting a brief shadow over the room. It was strange. To see your brother like this – unconscious, barely clinging to life was a sharp bitter thing. 

Sorrow gripped you tightly and unrelenting, as you gazed upon Aegon’s tarred state. His skin, once vibrant and strong, was now tarred and burnt, the pale sheen of his injuries almost too much to bear. His legs, now broken, twists, spoke of the pain you could never truly know. For a time you spoke as thought he could hear you, as though he might awaken any moment. You told of your travels through Oldtown, of Daeron’s small but proud achievements. The familiar weight of his absence made your words tumble out like a lifeline, a way to fill the space between the present and the years that had passed.

It was comforting, in a way, to be near him again. Though this was not the reunion you had hoped. Years ago, Aegon struggled with the position of being the firstborn son to King Viserys. The expectations that pressed upon him, the constant weight of responsibility, were more than any young should bear. Your mother, with her quiet but unyielding voice, had often spoken of it – how the throne was his to inherit, and how Rhaenyra’s claim, a constant reminder of a fractured family, only deepened the divide. The more Alicent and Otto insisted on Aegon’s future, the more you saw him under pressure. He never wanted to defy his sister, yet torn between duty and blood. You had watched him from the shadows, seen his faults, his mistakes, but only made you love him more. In his moments of playfulness, you had found a fleeting sensation of freedom, a reminder that even in the midst of terrible situations, he was your brother. 

You watched his chest rise and fall, with each breath fragile of life. The weight on your heart lifted, if only slightly, as held onto that small reassurance: Aegon was still alive. He was still strong. He was the Blood of the Dragon, the rider of Sunfrye, and he was your King. No matter what came next, you would stand beside him, sworn to protect him, willing to give your last breath if it meant keeping him safe.

You left your brother to rest, and set off in search of your next destination. Deep down, you knew where you’d go first, where you always went for comfort, to Helaena. She is the balm to your restless soul, the voice that could untangle your anxieties with a few soft words. When the world seemed too large, too overwhelming, her presence was a silent sanctuary. 

Helaena, the second daughter of King Viserys, had been both a mentor and maternal figure to you in your younger years. Her kindness had been a steady anchor in your life, her wisdom a guiding light when the weight of your responsibilities felt too much to bear. As a child, you sought her out whenever you felt lost or afraid and her gentle guidance had given you the courage to venture into new worlds. Her advice forever shaped you in ways you hadn’t fully realized until you left for Oldtown. In that city, with its strange customs and faces, you leaned onto her worlds to adapt quickly, to carve out your own place. 

When you found your sister in your old playroom, sewing quietly with her daughter, it felt as if no time had passed. The familiar sight and sounds of the room washed over you – its warmth, its history, the memories that had once made it a sanctuary for both of you. Helaena’s moved with the same careful precision you remembered, her fingers threading the needle with quiet grace.  Her daughter, Jaehaera, sat beside her, her wide eyes fixated on her mother’s work. You stood for a moment, watching them and a smile tugging at your lips. The sight of them – mother and daughter, together in their own world, stirred something deep inside you. The years between you seemed to melt away in an instant. 

Quietly, you crept closer, your footsteps soft on the floor as you approached the pair. A mischievous grin spread across your face, without earning you shouted, using your niece’s shrill cry to startle your sister. Helaena 's hands faltered, the needle slipping from her grasp as her face registered in shock, her expression frozen for just a heartbeat before it shifted into relief and then pure joy. 

She stood quickly, her eyes wide with excitement, as she took you in from head to toe. And then, without a moment, a silent sob escaped her lips, her hand pressing to her chest as she whispered your name.

“Sister…” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. 

Unexpected and sharp, there was a lump in your throat. You swallowed it down, trying to steady yourself but the emotions surged in a way you had not anticipated. “It’s good to see you, Helaena.” you whispered, the words catching as they left your lips.

For what felt like an eternity, you indulge yourself in the soothing warmth of rosemary oils and the sweet aroma of fragrant tea. The tapestry above the balcony swayed gently in the rhythm with the tides, the fabric rippling like satin kissed by the breeze, catching the light in delicate waves. The sunshine poured in the small opening between the outside world and your private space, casting a soft, translucent pink hue across the horizon. The late summer warmth wrapped around you like a blanket, filling the room with a quiet comfort that you never find elsewhere. 

A porcelain tea cup sat at the edge of the table, its base a soft coral pink, the edges trimmed in lustrous gold. Besides it, the matching coaster resonated with the same elegance. The teapot shared the same intricate design, its spout crafted to imitate the graceful curves of vineyard vines. Tiny matcha leaves curled around the handle, their delicate shapes glinting with golden highlights. It was a beautiful set – one that made the room feel like a pristine sanctuary, but something was missing. The topper.  

Sometimes, in the stillness of these moments, you would let your imagination roam. You would pretend you were some from a faraway land. It seemed childish, almost absurd, but it lingered with you. You often wondered what the world was like beyond Westeros, the vast deserts of Dorne, the mysterious lands of Essos, or the distant, shadowed shores of Asshai. Asshai especially. The thought of it, so remote, so mysterious, had always called to you. You used to daydream that you were a girl from Asshai, someone who knew nothing of wealth, beauty, or the court of King’s Landing. 

You imagined yourself seeing the teapot for the first time. You would change your character, each time with a different persona – some curious wanderer, a child of the unknown, discovering the simple elegance of a teapot that seemed to carry more meaning than it should. You’d pretend to be in awe, a stranger to luxury and react differently each time, letting your curiosity guide your every movement. 

It was strange, but comforting. In those moments, you could be anyone – but the child of a royal bloodline.

Alicent, however, found you peculiar. In many ways, you were nothing like Aemond, despite being his twin. While she hoped you would be as easy to mold as Helaena or as compliant as Aemond, you were neither. You had a quiet way of drawing attention, of showing interest in things that made others uneasy. Aemond, with his fiery intensity, demanded things, but you – your power laid in silence. 

From a young age, you have learned how to meet people with nothing more than a glance, a tilt of your head, or the quiet intensity in your eyes. Alicent never could figure out how you did it – how you could command attention with such subtlety. She often watched, perplexed, as your eyes would light up at the slightest opportunity or how your lips would press into a small pout when the Kingsguard denied you entry into her office. And then, with practiced ease, you would cry – small, silent tears that glistened like pearls on your cheeks. The effect was always the same. Suddenly, the men who had once denied you would be at your feet, ready to do whatever you asked. 

Alicent didn’t know the secret. You did. 

It was almost too easy for you, the way the ceramic topper fits perfectly into your hand, as if it had always been meant for you. The weight, barely there, seemed to vanish the moment you cradled it, leaving only the sensation of smooth china beneath your fingers. Your gaze traced the delicate rims, following the curve with the tip of your thumb as you glide over the shiny finish. 

For an old teapot, it remained unchanged, an artifact from the past that, like the porcelain, had been carefully preserved. It reminded you of childhood, of simpler days that felt like they belonged to someone else. A smile, slow and wistful, tugged at your lips as memories drifted to the surface – tea parties held in this room, alone with the teapot, lost in your imagination.

“Do you miss this?” Helaena’s meek words cut through the quiet, grounding you back into reality. Her words were simple, yet they carried weight. She stood before you, her eyes intent but tender, watching you with a knowing gaze that seemed to see straight through your soul. Never one for many words, Helaena was always able to strike the right chords when it mattered. Conversations between you two never cluttered, there was no need for endless explanation. It was as if, without saying much, you both understood each other completely. She knew the thoughts you carried without needing to ask. And somehow, you always knew hers.

Your grin fades, the playfulness slipping away as you grow contemplative, searching her face for any trace of misunderstanding or unspoken hurt. 

“I do,” Your tone coming out slightly more strained than usual. “They don’t have tea parties or play dates in Oldtown. They don’t have anything, really,” The final words felt heavier, laid with sorrow that you hadn’t quite realized was there until now.

A somber silence hangs, the weight of your absence pressing down onto the room. Oldtown had been another world entirely – foreign, starkly different from the warmth of King’s Landing. As much as you had once embraced the city’s beauty, part of your childhood still lived here, among these walls, among the memories shared in this very room. Your eyes drift over the old ornaments and forgotten toys, each one sparking a fleeting moment of nostalgia. It was as though you were caught between two places, two worlds, each different from the other at the ends of the map. 

Helaena, ever so quiet, glances down at her sewn collage, her fingers pausing mid-motion. She was lost in thought, the needle still in her hand as she set it aside carefully. Without a word, she scoots closer, settling beside you on a plush cushion. The cushion is periwinkle, a soft reminder of your childhood obsession with the color pink. You smile faintly, remembering how everything had once been pink to you – the teapot set, the floors, even the smallest trinkets. If you had ruled the Seven Kingdoms, Helaena was certain the banners would have been changed to a soft shade of pink, just because you would have insisted on it.

Of course you would. The thought of it, so hysterical, almost makes you laugh. But for now, there’s only the quiet companionship of the moment, and the comfort of your sister’s presence beside you like a silent reassurance that despite the years and distance, this place, this feeling, would always be home. 

When the Queen’s knees made contact with yours, you felt the quiet look, filled with anticipation, but not fear, only certainty and love. “I hope you mean to stay this time.” 

Her words settled in the space between you, gentle but insistent, like a tender plea. For a second, you simply stared at her, her warmth radiating outward, but your response came without thinking. 

 “Stay?” you asked, almost as if the very concept of it was foreign to you. 

“Stay here,” She planted her palm onto the soft woolen rug, her fingers splayed wide, almost spider-like. “Here.”

There were a few things about Helaena that could catch you off guard, but her sweetness had always been one of them – an undeniable force that softened even the hardest edges of your heart. Still you hesitated.

“Helaena—” You faltered, unsure how to voice the conflict swirling inside you. “I don’t know—” 

“Mother would want you to stay.” Your elder sister leans forward, as you witness the beauty of her ribbon silver hair up close. “I want you to stay. It’s been too long, I’ve missed you. Aemond misses you—“

“Aemond.” You repeat, sharply, each syllable weighted with spite. Your expression darkened, the emotions inside you shifting to a cold, quiet rage. “After all these years, he does not come to see me come home. Not even a word from our mother or Cole.” The words tasted like ash on your tongue, heavy with the silence that built between your twin.

Helaena, unfazed by your tone, leans in even closer, her voice faint. “That is what he does.” she said simply, her lilac orbs meeting yours with understanding. “Aemond is… who he is.”

“And you say he misses me…?” The words left your mouth with sharpness that even surprised you, your voice laced with disbelief and frustration.

“I know you are upset, sister,” The Queen reached out to grab your wrist, the one holding the teapot topper as if to calm the storm brewing in your head. Her touch was gentle, yet firm, the kind of protective care only a mother could offer. It was the same tenderness she had to her own children, an unwavering love. “But believe me, Aemond would’ve been there for you… It’s just… He’s not himself lately.” 

“Rook’s Rest,” The name falling from your lips with weight of its own. The rumors had reached you, whispered among the soldiers and your uncle’s counsel. They spoke of things that had been kept hidden, too raw and dangerous to put into words. “He was there,” The realization creeping up your spine like an icy chill. You had tried to be discreet, seen enough in the faces of the men who had returned from that place, the devastation in their eyes, the scars that would never heal. “Did he… Was he there?” 

Helaena’s silence spoke volume. The Queen hesitated, her expression flickering between you and her thoughts. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she nodded, the tension in her jaw was apparent as she unclenched her teeth, the words coming out strained. “He almost killed Aegon.” 

The silent recollection of your brother’s condition, his broken legs and half burnt face. The weight of it crushed you in a way words couldn’t describe. You had sworn to avenge, promised yourself that you would hunt down whoever was responsible. It was Aemond. Him. Your other half. The brother you had once shared everything with, now the source of your deepest grief. 

For a while, you felt like a child again, small and helpless, standing in the shadow of things you could not control. The memories flooded back, the days your brother claimed Vhagar, the dragon that should have been Laena’s daughters, a move that had shaken your family to the core. You had been in Oldtown by then, unaware of the unfolding storm, but a raven arrived with the news that made your blood run cold. You knew, even from miles away, that Aemond had done something that could not be undone. 

As a result, he lost an eye. You could imagine it vividly, the moment when his world – your world changed forever. From a distance, you were devastated. But there was no room for grief, no time to mourn. All you could do was watch, helpless as everything you once knew spiraled further away. The cold empathy you felt in the pit of your stomach couldn’t be expressed, instead it festered, twisting inside you like a wound that never healed. 

You were never a part of the war your family had started, yet here you were, caught between duty and the chaos they created. And now, with Aegon, weak and broken, you couldn’t help but worry for Aemond, about his ambition, about the hunger in him that only grew since your separation. It had been long overdue. The moment you would have to face the One-Eyed Prince. But you wondered, would he still look at you with the same sentiments or stare at you coldly for how absent you’ve been?  

The fleeting hours of your restless dreams had long since faded. As the bright sunrise bathed the room in soft light, you shared breakfast with your uncle and your mother. Helaena, however, had chosen to eat in her room, not wanting to disrupt the delicate reunion between the Dowager Queen and her brother. You had insisted on staying with her, but she had quietly declined, offering a gentle pat to your shoulder. Her gaze lingered on you, full of unspoken concern, a clear hint of worry for your restless sleep. How did she know? You had asked once, but Helaena wouldn’t say a word. 

“You’re thinking about him,” she said, softly, noticing your hesitation. You didn’t flinch or give a nervous sigh. You simply said nothing, your body frozen for a moment before you hummed in response.

“I never realized how long it’s been… until I saw you. How different you look,” you murmured, distractedly tracing the lines of your palm. You shifted slightly in your stance, and Helaena mirrored you, her head leaning closer into your personal space.  

She smelt of lavender and poppy – Helaena always did. 

“Talk to him.” she urged, her voice quiet but insistent. 

You pondered as you walked, your mind racing with thoughts of how to approach Aemond, while your heart thudded in your chest, refusing to be ignored. As you made your way down to the Red Keep, you realized that your mother and uncle had long since finished breakfast. Gwayne was preparing for another march with Cole, and Alicent had slipped away, offering you a sympathetic smile as she excused herself from the table. For once, you found yourself leaving with your uncle to a grand feast set for twenty – but your appetite had long since vanished.

“I trust you are well acquainted with the place?” he teased, his voice light with a playful edge. With no one else in the room except for passing maids, you let out a soft chuckle.

“My early childhood was here,” you replied, your gaze drifting to the half-full glass of wine in your hand. “Everything feels the same.” 

“Good to know nothing has changed,” Gwayne muttered with a dramatic sigh, shoveling tart in his mouth. 

“But I’ve changed,” you said, lifting your glass to the light. The sun streamed through the window, casting a red hue over the liquid that shimmered like a blood moon. “I don’t belong here anymore.” You could feel the eyes of lords and ladies as you passed by strangers and familiar faces alike, each gaze heavy with contempt. They looked at you as if you no longer had the right to be here, as if this place, once your home, no longer welcomed you.

Gwayne’s voice cut through your thoughts. “That doesn’t change your place here,” he said, firmly, studying your face as you rubbed the tension from your brow. “The lords of Westeros are nothing but greedy old men. They should not concern you.” 

You know he was right. You were more than they thought, more than the whispers and the cold stares. You were still the daughter of the late king, and that commanded respect, no matter how they looked at you.

Your gaze lifted, a small smile curling on your lips as you beamed at your uncle. “You’re right.” 

“You have every right to be here, sweet niece.” he said, rising from his seat and stepping toward you. His hand gently brushed through your hair, and his auburn eyes, filled with empathetic warmth, offered you quiet comfort. “Your brother will be here in a few days.”

“Ah,” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, a fleeting moment of joy. Daeron, your beloved brother, would join the battle alongside you. You had missed his sharp wit and clever nature more than you cared to admit. The bond you shared was unbreakable, he was the one you had confided in, the one with whom you had bedtime stories in your childhood. You’d watched him grow, maturing into a young man with a fierce spirit. Together, you’d flown with Blood Moon, him with his passion for adventure, and you with your love for literature. You couldn’t help but smile wishfully. “I’m sure he terribly misses me.” 

This time, the knight laughs, a soft, knowing sound, as he gives the back of your chair a light, affectionate pat. “He’ll be challenging every lord and knight that would ever look down on you.” 

The moment it happened, a hollow emptiness settled within you. In that vulnerable space, you sought solace, mediating in silence as the clouds drifted lazily across the sky. Beneath the sacred boughs of the Godswood, you sat with a quiet sense of divinity and pride. The place was often sought by others, but you claimed it for yourself, a refuge where you could empty your mind. Your arrival was gentle, unhurried. You moved with patience, your steps slow as you approached the great roots of the tree, stepping into its cool shade. The tree itself was majestic – its crimson leaves a remainder of autumn’s embrace. One leaf detached from a high branch, falling gracefully through the air. Without thinking, your hands reached out, catching it as it floated toward the Earth, landing perfectly into your palm. 

And then, he appeared. 

“Sister,” came his voice, unmistakable, sending a chill down your spine. The sound of it stirred something deep within you, a hunger you had tried to quell. You felt a shiver ripple through  you, desperately resisting the urge to show any excitement at his sudden presence. It had long been so long, and after all the time you spent in King’s Landing, Aemond chose now, of all moments to seek you out? “It’s been ages since we’ve been given your presence.” he remarked, his tone sharp, almost teasing.

You turn to face him, noting the neutral timber of his voice. Your brother, he’s changed. His posture was poised, his features more refined. The years had shaped him, as you had expected. He was no longer the boy who cried for a dragon, but the man who had claimed Vhagar – the Queen of Dragons, the largest beast to ever soar across the Seven Kingdoms during Aegon’s Conquest. A small part of you wondered if he might look at you the same way. You, too, had changed. Gone was the mischievous girl who caused trouble for your mother to clean up. Now, you were a woman – grown, poised, and more refined than ever.

You give a curt nod. “Aemond.” 

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment, as if unsure how to read the shift in your demeanor. His arms crossed behind his back as he stepped closer. Dressed in obsidian leather from head to toe, a dagger sheath resting at his hip, he presented himself like a predator. His eye patch sat comfortably over his face, and his silvery hair flowed straight and silken, like the velvet fabrics of Highgarden.

“I thought you’d forgotten this place.” He closed the distance between you. Most people would have stepped back when he approached, but you stood firm. There was no fear in your gaze, only a subtle scowl – the one he would know all too well. “Do you remember the stories we used to tell here?” Aemond’s tone shifted, growing softer, almost nostalgic. “Before you drove us apart?” 

Oh. His tone is sharp, reflecting the past you both left behind, laced with a hint of nostalgia. He prowls closer, as if waiting for some retributive excuse, a justification that might ease the tension between you.  

Yet you respond with a mixture of skepticism and offense. “I haven’t forgotten this place.” you say, your voice steady, but your glance betrays a moment of vulnerability, tinged with grief. "It holds memories — both good and bad." The weight of those memories presses on you, the remnants of a shared past that broke the moment you stepped away from King’s Landing. You had left him behind, left him to dwindle with your mother and siblings, while you sought something else, something that still stirs beneath the surface, unresolved, as it had been the day you left. “Do you think I have forgotten you?” 

The question hangs in the air, heavy with the years and emotions that separate you now. The One-Eyed Prince halts as if he lays caught red-handed.  But he quickly recovers, regaining his rigid posture. “You left, sister. You chose Oldtown over your family.” he says, bitterness lacing his words.

“Only because I had to,” you retort, knowing it was a weak excuse with the way your frustration was bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t abandon you.”

You were pleading at this moment, the tone of your voice meek and growing softer. However his silence was deafening, thickening the tension like a storm cloud. “I was left here alone.” Aemond says, his voice strained. “While you were away, I had to earn my place. We were once one, yet it was you who separated us. You think I wanted to be alone?” 

The silence stretched between you, immeasurable and heavy with unspoken grievances. Memories flooded back into your mind — shared laughter, sibling quarrels, late night sneakouts to the Godswood, the bond you once had was failing. You wanted to berate his discretion, to defend your choice and consequences but the weight of his gaze pulls at you. The subtle yearning you both missed for years, miles apart from Oldtown to Kings Landing. Even as a child, you felt the odd coincidence, always finding Aemond’s stare back to yours. The Blood of the Dragon ran thick, weaving a bond neither of you could fully escape. 

“I need you, brother,” You spoke in High Valyrian for the first time in years, adopting a strange accent. It felt rushed and rigid against your tongue yet you persisted, with ease. “More than I care to admit. The tides are shifting in King's Landing. Alliances are fraying, and we cannot face this alone.” It’s a desperate plea that escapes your lips, a vulnerability that rarely shows anymore. You were never emotionally empathetic, exceptionally only with your mother and sister. But with Aemond, you had shown glimpses of the weight you carried, moments that spoke of the things you long buried. 

Your brother searches your face, his gaze searching for the truth in your eyes. His resolve falters, the harshness in his expression giving way to something softer. Your own softened expression features seem to shatter in his mind, like a broken ship in the middle of a nasty sea storm. 

“You expect me to forget?” His voice cracks, the words laced with pain. “To forgive the years of silence?” For a fleeting moment, something in him flickers – something raw, something real. You notice the brief exposure, a fleeting softness in his eye, before it vanishes, replaced by anger. But in that moment, your gaze doesn’t waver. You look at him lovingly, tracing every line and contour of his face, the old and the new. You remember the boy he once was – the faint blush of his childhood cheeks, the tousled hair that now Aegon wore as his own, the green emerald clothes that pleased your mother so.

But he was no longer that young boy. Aemond’s cheeks were more refined, the delicacy of youth replaced by a hardened appearance. His lean physique tells you he’s trained well with swords. His missing eye, his most defining feature, reminds you of the day he claimed Vhagar, while losing that very eye.  

“Don’t forget,” you said, your voice steady as you mirrored his every move, no longer concerned with the forgotten leaf on the ground. You stood just a few feet apart, your gaze fierce, unwavering. “Two heads are better than one, Aemond. Because the Blood of the Dragon flows through us.” 

The weight of your shared history hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Your palms were slick with sweat, the tension of your nerves palpable. Yet you remained still, your posture resolute, like a dragon poised to strike.

Aemond finally exhales, feeling the remnants of his anger slowly dissipate like mist. “I don’t trust you.”

You step closer, merely under his gaze, close enough to make out hesitation and contempt from his momentary silence. The possibility of rebuilding what was lost was upon you, hanging on the threads of your next words. It was like a fragile thread, binding you together that guarantees loyalty is a promise. 

“Let me earn it.” Sincerity in your voice cuts through the air yet the weight of the past lingers, like a shadow. Aemond walks closer, studying you for a moment. His intensity is sharp and brittle. The air you breathe under feels electric with the tension between you evolving into something that may appear on the brink of hope. 

This time, you see intrigue under his gaze, enjoying the short moment of nostalgia happening. “You think it’s that simple?” His voice is low, laced with doubt. “Years of silence can’t be erased with just a few words.”

There is a flicker of something that eases his gaze, but it quickly vanishes. 

“I know,” You say, settling on the weight of his words like the branches of the Godswood tree behind you. “I won’t abandon you again. I swear it.” 

And like the boy you had always known, his breath hitches, the storm of emotions swirling in his one good eye. For a moment, you stand within the vicinity of each other’s comfort, relishing in the warmth of his presence, the ghost of your shared youth – the unkempt promises spirling around you, binding you in ways that were painful and profound. 

Eventually, he exhales, easing the tension in his shoulders slightly. “I don’t trust you.” The edge of his voice mellowed, hinting at a reluctant approval. Aemond’s gaze holds yours for a moment longer, as he memorizes every bit part of you. You catch onto his discreet watch and that act alone stirs your heart, creeping a faint smile on your lips. As he walks away, the bittersweet ache settles into your heart. Your promise hangs in the air, intertwining with the silhouettes of your former younger selves. Though it feels uncertain, you know that the Blood of the Dragon runes through you both, that could potentially mend the distance between you.

[aeralux]

"Old Friend" - Aegon Targaryen

Summary: Out on the town on a summer evening, you run into your old friend. Old memories come crashing back, and you find yourself where you once were. In his arms. ModernAegon!au

Warnings: SMUT; slight breeding kink; Aegon is a sweetheart, actually?; oral (f! receiving); drinking and smoking; just intense sex (vulgar language is obviously used); they go for multiple rounds; Aegon is quite rough, but reader likes it; possible that I have some slight grammar mistakes

Words: 11.4k (they go for multiple rounds)

Notes: Aegon is the heir to the Targaryen family business empire. The reader is also from a powerful and rich house (old money ;D), but it isn't specified which one. No descriptive language of the reader is used.

-- aera xx

Aegon Targaryen, the heir of the Targaryen business empire, relaxes in the back of his sleek black Mercedes-Benz S-Class Coupe. The luxury interior features hand-stitched leather seats and shiny wood accents. Dressed in a tailored dark suit with a crisp white shirt, he exudes confidence. His silver-gold hair falls in loose waves around his shoulders as he leans against the rolled-down window, one arm on the doorframe. Holding a cigarette, he takes slow drags and exhales smoke into the warm evening air. At the same time, his captivating violet eyes scan the surroundings, reflecting a mix of interest and boredom.

Suddenly, Aegon's gaze is caught by a striking young woman strolling down the sidewalk. Instantly captivated, he sits up straighter and narrows his eyes to take her in. A slow, confident smile spreads across his face, highlighting his natural charm. "Hey there," he calls out, his voice smooth and inviting as he gestures to you without coming on too strong. His warm and rich tone reflects the charisma and allure he radiates effortlessly. "Yeah, you! Would you come over for a moment?"

Walking in the evening usually doesn't sound like a smart choice, but this was a good neighbourhood. Excellent even. And according to some, the best. So, walking around South Kensington in the evening hours didn't feel worrisome.

Until you heard a male voice call out to you. You flashed a look at the man. At least he wasn't a bum. He definitely had a nice car for your average cat-caller.

Usually, you wouldn't have considered him at all, but there was something familiar about him that caught your attention.Then it hit you. Aegon 'fucking' Targaryen. The young Targaryen heir. You shook your head as you looked at him, tongue poking in your cheek.

You knew Aegon and the Targaryen siblings since you were a babe. Your families did business together, and you often vacationed together during the summer. As a child, you had nothing against them, even including Aegon. They were all nice kids, and at one point, you were all really close friends. But as you all started to grow up, your encounters got less and less frequent, and you all drifted apart. The last time you talked to them was two and a half years ago at some boring gala.

In such an amount of time, a lot can change. Aegon had grown into a man, more or less, from what you could tell in the poor street lighting. You had become a woman, getting ready to start working full-time at your family's business, as was your older brother, who would eventually run the business.

"Aegon..." you started walking over to him, your heels making a sharp sound on the pavement. "Is that how you greet an old friend?" You couldn't stop the smirk from appearing on your face, teasing him.

Your sharp and teasing voice carries through the evening air, reaching Aegon's ears. He can't help but let out a low chuckle, the sound rich and amused. His dark eyes dance with mischief as he takes another drag from his cigarette, holding your gaze with a look that's both challenging and inviting.

"An old friend?" he says, his voice smooth and confident. "I don't recall ever being just friends." He pauses, letting the words sink in before continuing. "But I suppose time blurs the lines of memory and intent."

Aegon takes one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it out the window, the glowing ember arcing through the air before disappearing into the darkness. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the open window frame, his eyes never leaving your face.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" he says, his tone almost conversational, but with an underlying current of something else,something more intense and raw. "You look well." His gaze travels over your form, taking in the sight of you in a way that's both appreciative and calculating. "No, more than well. You look... breathtaking."

He lets the compliment hang in the air between you, his smile widening just a fraction. "What brings you to this part of London? Surely not just a stroll through the city on a summer's eve."

There's a challenge in his voice, a subtle encouragement for you to reveal more. He's always been drawn to you, even as children, and seeing you now, all grown up and even more captivating than he remembered, has only stoked that fire within him.

"Or perhaps," he continues, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone, "you were hoping to run into someone like me? Someone who knows how to show a lady a good time?"

He lets the words linger, his eyes locked with yours, waiting to see how you'll respond. There's a glint of excitement in his gaze, a hint of the wild, chaotic energy that lies just beneath his carefully composed exterior.

You hummed at his words, memories of your carefree days in the Hamptons flashing through your mind. The warmth of the sun, the coolness of the water, and the heat of your secret kisses. How you snuck out to skinny dip and make out in the cool clear waters. How long has it been since then?

"Thank you," you said with a genuine smile, accepting his compliment. And I actually live here, have for quite a while now." You pointed towards your penthouse, looking down at him sitting in his car.

"I should be the one to ask you this question," you continued, your tone playful as you returned his challenge. "Seeing as you lived in Notting Hill the last time we saw each other."

Your playful tone and the way your eyes sparkle in the dim light catch Aegon off guard for a moment. A flicker of genuine surprise crosses his features before his usual confident mask slides back into place. He leans back slightly, one hand moving to loosen his tie as if the mere mention of Notting Hill has suddenly made the air too close.

"Ah, yes," he says, his voice cool and nonchalant. "Notting Hill. A lifetime ago, it seems." His eyes narrow slightly, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his expression. "Things change. We all move on, don't we?"

But despite his words, there's a tension in his body, a coiled energy that belies his casual tone. He runs a hand through his hair, the silver strands catching the light and shimmering like liquid metal.

"You're living here now, you say?" he asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a sleek silver lighter shaped like a dragon, the symbol of his family crest. With a practised flick of his thumb, he ignites the flame, bringing it to the end of a fresh cigarette. He inhales deeply, the smoke curling around his face before he exhales it in a slow, measured stream.

"Tell me," he says, his voice low, "has it been as lonely for you as it has for me?"

The question hangs in the air between you, charged with meaning and implication. Aegon watches your face, searching for any sign of recognition, any hint that you feel the same pull, the same longing that he does.

His eyes lock onto yours, searching, yearning for something. Maybe it's a connection to the past or perhaps something new. Whatever it is, he can't seem to look away, his gaze intense and hungry.

You look at him with a sort of melancholy smile, sighing as you glance away for a moment. "I might need a cigarette if you want an answer to that," you tease, a smirk slowly spreading across your face.

He's still seated in his sleek car while you stand there, looking down at him. Your heels are slowly starting to kill you, but your pride won't let you ask him to let you into his car. No, you won't give him the satisfaction of seeing you struggle.

Instead, you shift your weight to one side, hoping to relieve some of the pressure on your aching feet. The action causes your skirt to ride up ever so slightly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of smooth, soft thigh. It's a move you know will catch his eye, a teasing reminder of what he's been missing out on.

A snort of laughter escapes Aegon's lips at your teasing comment, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. He takes another drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly, his gaze never leaving your face.

"You never used to smoke," he remarks, his voice a low drawl. "I seem to remember you had a thing about the smell." His lips quirk into a small, knowing smile. "But then again, a lot has changed, hasn't it?"

His eyes follow the movement as you shift your weight, the subtle lift of your skirt catching his attention. He inhales sharply, his gaze lingering on the exposed flesh of your thigh for a moment too long before he forces himself to look away.

"Get in," he says suddenly, his voice taking on a commanding tone. "Your feet look like they're killing you, and we both know standing here isn't going to resolve anything."

He gestures to the passenger door of his sleek car, his expression unreadable. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to continue this conversation on the sidewalk. I'm sure the neighbours would love the show."

There's a challenge in his voice, a subtle dare. He knows you won't ask him for help, knows that your pride won't allow it.But he also knows that your feet are hurting, that the concrete is unforgiving under the delicate soles of your heels.

The door unlocks with a soft click, the sound echoing in the quiet street. Aegon leans back in his seat, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel, waiting to see what you'll do.

His eyes never leave your face, watching for any sign of reluctance or hesitation. There's a tension in the air between you, a charged electricity that crackles like lightning on a summer's eve.

The ball, as they say, is in your court.

With a small sigh, you make your way around to the passenger side of the car, the soft leather seats beckoning you. You slide into the plush interior, the cool air conditioning kissing your heated skin.

Aegon holds out a cigarette, his long fingers brushing against yours as you take it from him. You bring it to your lips, waiting for him to light it, your eyes locking in the process.

"As you said," you murmur, repeating his words from moments ago. "Things change, we all move on."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning and unspoken history. A part of you wants to ask him what exactly he means by that, but another part, the part that's been hurt before, tells you to tread carefully.

You take a long drag from the cigarette, the nicotine hitting your bloodstream like a shot of liquid courage. "So," you say, turning to face him fully, "what have you been up to since we last saw each other? Still causing trouble for your father's company?"

You can't help but let a teasing smile play at the corners of your mouth. Aegon was always the outgoing one, the one who pushed boundaries and challenged the status quo. It's part of what drew you to him, even as a child and as a teenager.

Your eyes flicker down to his hands, noting how they rest on the steering wheel, strong and capable. You wonder, not for the first time, how those hands would feel on your skin, exploring, caressing, claiming...

But you push the thought away, focusing instead on the present moment. The car is cool, the engine purring softly, and beside you sits Aegon Targaryen, his dark eyes watching you with an intensity that makes your heart race.

A slow smile spreads across Aegon's face at your words, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something more intense. He takes another drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly, letting it curl and twist in the air between you.

"Move on?" he says, his voice a low, velvety purr. "Oh, we both have moved on alright. But some things, some people, tend to linger in the mind, no matter how far you go or how much time passes."

He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with a feather-light touch. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity of his gaze almost palpable. His hand retracts quickly, the touch leaving almost an imprint on your soft cheek.

"As for causing trouble..." he trails off, his lips curving into a mischievous grin. "Let's just say I've found new ways to keep myself entertained."

He shifts slightly in his seat, his body turning towards you.

"But enough about me," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I want to hear about you. Tell me about your life here in London. What do you do when you're not strutting around in those sinfully high heels?"

"Have you found someone yet, someone to share your bed and your life with?" he asks, his voice tight with a hint of jealousy. "Or are you still playing the field, breaking hearts left and right?"

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "Or maybe you're just waiting for the right person to come along, someone who knows how to make you feel things you've never felt before."

You scoff and shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips as you take a drag from the cigarette. The smoke spirals out of the open window, dissipating into the cool evening air. "No, not yet. I guess I was too focused on university, and now, well..." You turn to look at Aegon, your eyes locking in the dim light of the car. Suddenly, the air between you feels thick, heavy with a tension you can't quite name.

"No one has caught my eye so far," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. In the background, Chappell Roan's haunting melody fills the silence, and for a moment, you're transported back in time. You're that same sixteen-year-old girl, hopelessly in love with Aegon, dreaming of running away with him and leaving behind all the expectations and responsibilities.

But that was then, and this is now. You are not that naive little girl anymore, but as you sit there in the close confines of Aegon's car, you can't help but wonder what might have been. Would things have been different if you had followed your hearts all those years ago? Or were you simply too young, too unprepared for the kind of love you thought we had?

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over you, mingling with the scent of Aegon's cologne and the lingering traces of cigarette smoke. You take another drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs once more.

Aegon watches you closely, his eyes tracking every movement, every expression that flits across your face. The soft glow of the streetlights bathes the car's interior in a warm amber hue, casting shadows across his angular features. As you speak of no one having caught your eye, a flicker of something crosses his face—a mix of relief and disappointment that's gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Don't sell yourself short," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "You're a goddess among mortals. Anyone would be lucky to have you."

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. "But I have to admit," he says, his voice low and husky, "a part of me hopes that no one has caught your eye. A selfish part of me that wants you all to myself, even if only for a moment."

"Like before, when we were young..." he says, his voice barely audible over the music.

The music swells in the background, the haunting melody intertwining with the pounding of your heart.

Your heart races as you listen to Aegon's confession, your mind spinning with a whirlwind of emotions. You search his eyes, looking for any hint of deception or insincerity, but all you find is raw, unfiltered honesty.

"We were young," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not saying that I feel exactly like an adult right now either, but we were teenagers back then."

You take a drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke curl around your face as you contemplate his words.

Aegon nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft glow of the streetlights casts a warm amber hue over his angular features, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw and the sharpness of his nose. The air in the car is thick with tension, the silence stretching between you like an endless void.

"You're right," he says, his voice low and smooth, like velvet over steel. "We were just kids back then, too young to know what we really wanted, too afraid to reach out and take it."

He takes a drag from his own cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly, watching as it curls and twists in the air between you.

"But sometimes," he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper, "sometimes I can't help but wonder..."

The music swells in the background, the song intertwining with the pounding of your heart. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the closeness of his presence almost overwhelming in the confined space of the car.

"Do you think about it?" he asks, his voice barely audible over the music. "Do you ever think about what could have been?"

You let out a breathy laugh, the sound a mix of nerves and amusement. "What I think right now," you say, flicking the ash from your cigarette out the open window, "is that I need a drink." You turn to Aegon, giving your best doe-eyed look. "Where can I put this out?" you ask, gesturing to the offending cigarette.

The air between you is thick with tension, the charged atmosphere of the car making your skin prickle with awareness. You know you should probably just put out the cigarette and make a polite exit, but something keeps you rooted in my seat.

The rational part of you knows that getting involved with Aegon could be a disaster, that your families' tangled histories could make any romantic entanglement full of complications. But the other part of you, the part that remembers the thrill of your secret kisses, whispers that perhaps this is a good idea after all.

You take a final drag from my cigarette, holding Aegon's gaze as you exhale the smoke slowly. The moment stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged desires.

Aegon chuckles softly at your comment, his eyes sparkling with amusement in the dim light of the car. "A drink, huh?" he muses, his voice a low, velvety purr. "I suppose we could head to my place. I've got a fully stocked bar there, and we can continue this conversation in a more... comfortable setting."

"As for where you can put it out," he says, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper, "I think I can take care of that for you." He reaches out, taking the cigarette from your fingers, his fingers brushing against yours in a fleeting touch that sends a jolt of electricity through your body. He brings the cigarette to his lips, taking a deep drag before rolling down the window and flicking the cigarette out into the night.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "Let me take care of everything."

With that, he starts the car, the engine roaring to life with a loud purr. He pulls away from the curb, the city lights blurring past the windows as he navigates the streets with practised ease.

The air between you is thick with tension, the charged atmosphere of the car making your skin prickle with awareness. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the closeness of his presence almost overwhelming in the confined space.

As you drive, the music fades into the background, replaced by your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You can't help but steal glances at Aegon as he drives, admiring the strong lines of his profile, and the way his silver hair gleams in the moonlight.

Suddenly, he reaches out, his hand finding yours on the centre console. His fingers lace with yours, squeezing as he guides your connected hand to rest on your bare thigh. The touch is electrifying, sending a shiver down your spine.

The car speeds through the night, carrying you closer and closer to Aegon's penthouse, and whatever awaits you there. The anticipation builds in your stomach, a heady mix of nerves and excitement.

Goosebumps prickle across your skin as Aegon's touch sears into your thigh, his fingers grazing your sensitive flesh through the thin fabric of your skirt. Your breath catches in your throat, and you pray he doesn't notice how his proximity affects you.

"Have you got wine?" You manage to ask, your usually confident voice wavering slightly. Get it together. You chastise yourself silently. Don't revert to that lovestruck teenager now.

Aegon's eyes flick to you, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he catches the slight tremor in your voice. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin.

"Of course," he purrs, his voice low and smooth. "I've got a lovely bottle of Bordeaux."

He guides the car into an underground parking garage, the concrete walls closing in around you like a cocoon. As the carcomes to a stop, he turns to you, his dark eyes intense in the dim light.

His breath is hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You can smell the heady mix of his cologne and cigarettes, the scent intoxicating in its proximity.

Slowly, he releases your hand, reaching for the door handle with a fluid grace. He steps out of the car, his tall frame filling the space as he rounds to your side. He opens your door for you, offering his hand to help you out.

"Shall we, m'lady?" he says, his voice a mixture of charm and challenge.

You take his hand, the warmth of his skin seeping into your own as you step out of the car. The cool air of the garage hits you, a stark contrast to the heated atmosphere of the vehicle.

He leads you through the maze of the garage, his footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. As you walk, you can't help but steal glances at him, admiring the way his suit clings to his athletic build, and the way his hair falls in tousled waves over his forehead.

Suddenly, you find yourself in front of an elevator, the doors sliding open silently. Aegon gestures for you to enter, his eyes never leaving yours. As you step inside, he follows, his body pressing against yours as he reaches past you to press the button for his floor.

Your heart races as Aegon presses flush against you in the confines of the elevator, his body warm and solid against yours. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, your gaze transfixed his fingers as he presses the button for his floor. A sudden flush of heat pools between your thighs, your body acutely aware of his closeness.

"How long have you lived here?" You ask, desperation colouring your attempt at casual conversation. Focus. Stop thinking about how much you want him. "I think I have a friend who lives here, Jace. Do you know him?"

You hold my breath, praying the change in the subject matter will calm the frantic pulsing of your heart. The last thing you need is for him to realize how easily he can still unravel you with a brush of his skin against yours.

Aegon's eyes darken with something unreadable as you mention Jace, a flicker of irritation crossing his handsome features before it's quickly masked. He straightens, putting a bit of distance between your bodies, though the small space of the elevator does little to ease the electric tension crackling in the air.

"Jace, yes, I know him," Aegon says curtly, his gaze sliding away from yours to stare at the slowly climbing numbers above the elevator doors. "Can't say I know him personally, but this place is full of young, wealthy types. Probably knows more people than I do."

His hand rests on the small of your back, the heat of his palm searing through the thin fabric of your dress.

The elevator dings, signalling your arrival at Aegon's floor. The doors slide open, revealing a sprawling penthouse suite that takes your breath away. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a stunning view of the city skyline. The space is sleek and modern, with clean lines and minimalist decor.

Aegon's hand remains on your back as he guides you out of the elevator, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. "Make yourself at home," he says, his voice a low purr. "I'll go grab that wine."

He saunters towards a sleek, modern kitchen, leaving you alone in the living room. You wander over to the windows, your fingers trailing along the cool glass as you take in the view. The city spreads out before you like a glittering jewel, the lights twinkling like stars in the night sky.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of a cork popping, followed by the gentle clink of glasses. You turn to see Aegon standing in the doorway, two glasses of wine in his hand. He removed his suit jacket, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle.

He hands you a glass, his fingers brushing against yours once more as he does. "To old times," he says, raising his glass in a toast. "And to new beginnings."

As you clink glasses, you can't help but watch the play of the city lights across his handsome face, the way his eyes sparkle.

"Cheers," you take a deep breath, savouring the rich flavours of the wine as they coat your tongue. "Mmm, this is delicious," you murmur, your eyes sparkling with genuine appreciation. "You really do have good taste. Even though I hate to admit it."

A soft giggle escapes your lips as you take another sip, the cool liquid a welcome relief against the heat building within you. You can feel Aegon's eyes on you, his gaze intense and all-consuming. It sends a shiver down your spine, a delicious thrill that settles low in your belly.

"How about you?" he asks, his voice low and smooth. "How long have you been in the city? I seem to remember you mentioning university earlier."

You meet his gaze, your own eyes wide and honest. "Yeah, I just finished my Bachelor's in Oxford, so now I'm back in London," you say in a low voice. "It's good to be back in the big city, but Oxford will always have a big piece of my heart."

Your eyes can't help but wander over his toned physique, the fabric of his shirt straining against his well-defined muscles. You bite your lip, suddenly feeling flustered under his scrutiny.

Aegon's eyes rake over your form, a predatory gleam shining in their depths. He steps towards you, his movements slow and deliberate, like a big cat stalking its prey. The air between you crackles with tension, the charge palpable.

"Oxford, huh?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I bet you were quite the hit there. A gorgeous girl like you, all on her own..."

He takes another step, closing the distance between you. His presence envelops you, his scent filling your nostrils. It's a heady mixture of expensive cologne and something unique that makes your heart race and your skin shiver.

His hand reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your jawline. Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse pounding in your ears. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You know," he whispers, his lips a hairsbreadth from yours, "I always regretted letting you go. Letting you walk away from me."

His hand trails down to your waist, his grip firm as he holds you against him. You can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of your dress, the hard planes of his chest pressed against your soft curves.

"Not tonight," he breathes, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. "Tonight, I'm not letting you get away. Not until I've had my fill."

His mouth claims yours in a searing kiss, his tongue delving past your lips to tangle with your own. He tastes like wine and desire, the flavour intoxicating. You moan into the kiss, your free hand fisting in his shirt as you pull him closer.

He breaks the kiss, leaving you panting and desperate. A smirk plays at the corners of his lips, his eyes dark with hunger.

You smirk in return, shivers going down your spine as you feel the cool glass pressed against your back. You carefully hold your wine glass and take another sip, the cold liquid helping you cool your body.

"So you've always regretted it, huh?" You hum, your eyes looking him up and down in a worked-up state. The hunger in his eyes sends a thrill through you, your heart pounding.

You arch an eyebrow, your voice low and teasing. "Too bad for you then, isn't it? Because I'm not the same naive girl I was back then."

He sets his wine glass down on a nearby table, his movements slow and deliberate.

A smile plays at Aegon's lips, equal parts charming and dangerous. He takes a step closer, his body pressing against yours, pinning you to the window. The cold glass against your back contrasts deliciously with the heat of his skin.

"Oh, I know you're not the same girl," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "That's what makes this so damn exciting." 

His hand slides up your side, his fingertips trailing fire in their wake. He cups your breast, squeezing gently, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple through the thin fabric of your dress.

"I want to explore every inch of this new you," he growls, his hot breath fanning over your neck. "I want to taste you, touch you, make you scream my name until you forget about any other man who's ever touched you."

His other hand tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat. He nips at your pulse point, his teeth grazing your skin.

"Tell me you want this," he demands, his voice rough with need. "Tell me you need me as much as I need you."

His hips press against yours, the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your core. You gasp at the contact, your head falling back against the window. The wine glass slips from your fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor below. The sound seems to spur him on, his kisses becoming more desperate, more urgent.

You yelp in surprise as Aegon rips your dress open, exposing your breasts to the cool night air. Your nipples immediately harden, pebbling under his intense gaze. The sound of shattering glass below only heightens your senses, the wine pooling around your bare feet.

He tears at your dress, the fabric ripping under his hands as he exposes your breasts to the cool air. He takes one in his mouth, his tongue swirling around your nipple as his hand palms your other breast.

"Fuck," he groans, the sound muffled against your skin. "You feel even better than I remembered."

His hand trails down your stomach, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt. He cups your sex, his fingers pressing against your clothed slit.

"Fuck," you mewl, arching your back as he sucks on your sensitive nipples. Pleasure shoots straight to your core, making your toes curl against the hardwood floor. Your hands, now free from holding your glass, tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on.

Desperation consumes you, your body aching for more of his touch. You grind against him, the evidence of your arousal soaking through your thin panties.

Aegon groans against your breast, the sound primal and needy. His fingers dip beneath your panties, stroking through your slick folds. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already," he growls, his fingers circling your clit. "I've barely touched you, and you're ready to come undone."

He sinks to his knees, his hands gripping your thighs as he pushes your skirt up around your waist. His hot breath fans over your exposed sex, making you shiver with anticipation. "I'm going to taste every inch of you," he promises, his voice low and husky.

His tongue laps at your slit, the first brush of his mouth against your sensitive flesh drawing a sharp gasp from your lungs. He explores you with a thoroughness that borders on reverence, his tongue delving deep, tasting your essence.

"Gods, you taste divine," he moans, his words vibrating against your most intimate parts. "I could spend hours worshipping this pussy."

His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he feasts on you. He licks and sucks and nibbles until you're a writhing, desperate mess, your fingers tangled in his hair as you grind against his face.

"Gods," you whimper, your thighs trembling with the effort to hold yourself up. "You're doing so good," you praise him in a breathy tone, trembling.

Your head thrashes against the window, the cool glass a sharp contrast to the heat of his mouth. 

He chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. He teases you, his tongue flicking over your clit.

"Mmh, yeah?" You continue, letting out a pornographic moan as you grind your hips, dragging your wet heat against Aegon's eager tongue. You're thankful no one can see you through these floor-to-ceiling windows, high up in the sky as you are. The wet sounds of his licking fill the room, mingling with your pleasure-filled cries. "You're so good," you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. You're lost in the sensations, your mind hazing over with lust. You never want this moment to end.

Aegon growls against your sex, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. He doubles his efforts, his tongue delving deeper, exploring every fold and crevice.

"You taste even sweeter than I remembered," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I could feast on this pretty pussy for hours."

He teases your entrance with the tip of his tongue before plunging inside, fucking you with deep, deliberate strokes. Your walls clench around him, desperate for more friction.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Let go for me. Come on my tongue."

His fingers join in, two digits pumping in and out of your dripping channel. The dual stimulation is almost too much, pushing you to the brink of ecstasy.

Aegon moans against your heated flesh, the sound muffled but no less affecting. He laps at your slit like a man starved, his tongue delving deep, stroking along your inner walls. His nose nudges your clit, the sensation making you see stars.

Your thighs begin to shake, your body tensing as your climax approaches. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you chant, your voice rising in pitch. "Don't stop, don't stop, I'm gonna... I'm gonna...!"

Aegon redoubles his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot. Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, your vision whiting out as pleasure consumes you.

You come hard against his mouth, your juices flooding his tongue and chin. He laps it up greedily, prolonging your pleasure until you're boneless and spent against the window.

He releases your thighs, letting you slide down the window to the floor.

You whimper as your body slumps against the floor, your thighs spread wide, juices trickling down your trembling legs. Chest heaving, you struggle to catch your breath, the cold wood a sharp contrast to the heat still simmering under your skin. You can feel Aegon's heated gaze on your exposed body, his dark eyes roaming over your flushed flesh.

You lift your head, meeting his intense stare. Your lips curve into a sultry smile, even as your heart races. "I'd almost forgotten just how good you were with your tongue." You purr, your voice husky with satisfaction.

You spread your legs wider, giving him an unobstructed view of your glistening sex.

Aegon's eyes darken with lust as he takes in the sight of your splayed form. His gaze is hungry, raking over every inch of your exposed flesh like he wants to devour you whole.

"Oh, I'm just getting started, baby," he promises, his voice low and rough. "That was just the appetizer."

He stands, towering over you. His pants tent obscenely, the outline of his thick cock clearly visible. Your eyes widen as you take in the sheer size of him.

"Like what you see?" he asks, a smirk on his lips. He palms himself through his pants.

"Bedroom. Now," he commands, voice rough with need.

He scoops you up into his arms, carrying you towards the bedroom. You wrap your legs around his waist, your dress hanging off your shoulders, your breasts bared to the cool air.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget your own name," he promises, his hand reaching for his belt. "I'm going to claim this sweet cunt, make it mine."

Your heart races at his words, your body already eager for more. Anticipation coils tight in your belly, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching to be filled.

You gasp as Aegon kicks open the bedroom door, throwing you onto the plush mattress. Your heart races, your pulse pounding in your ears as he looms over you, his eyes dark with hunger. His shirt is rumpled, his hair a tousled mess from my eager hands.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, your breasts heaving with each ragged breath. Anticipation courses through your veins, your thighs rubbing together in a desperate bid for friction.

Your eyes lock onto his tall, muscular form as he stalks towards the bed, each step deliberate and full of promise. "Gods," you whimper, your pussy clenching in anticipation. "Please, Aegon... I need you."

Your plea falls on eager ears. Aegon practically rips his shirt off over his head, his lean muscles flexing with the movement. His pants quickly follow, joining the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor.

He stands before you, gloriously naked. His cock juts proudly from his body, thick and hard and ready. The bulbous head is already glistening with precum, pulsing with each heartbeat. He strokes himself slowly, his thumb swirling around the head, smearing the bead of precum that's gathered there.

"Fuck," you breathe, your tongue darting out to wet your suddenly dry lips. "You're huge."

Aegon smirks, clearly pleased by your reaction. He crawls onto the bed, his large frame blanketing your smaller one. You can feel the heat of his skin, the hard planes of his muscles pressing against you deliciously.

He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering the warm cavern of your mouth. His hands roam your body, tweaking your nipples, stroking your sides, gripping your hips. He sets your nerve endings alight everywhere he touches.

"Fuck, you're so damn perfect," he growls, his voice rough with need. "I can't wait to be inside you again."

He notches the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts. You whimper at the contact, your hips bucking up to meet him.

"Please," you beg, your hips rocking shamelessly against his thick shaft. "I need you inside me. Now."

Aegon obliges, notching the thick head of his cock at your entrance. He teases you, rubbing your clit with the tip of his cock, making you delirious with need. He notches the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts. You whimper at the contact, your hips bucking up to meet him.

He pushes forward, the thick head of his cock popping past your entrance. You moan at the stretch, your pussy struggling to accommodate his girth. It's intense, bordering on uncomfortable, but the ache is quickly swallowed up by pleasure.

He sinks deeper, inch by inch until he's fully sheathed inside you. You feel impossibly full, stuffed to the brim with his hard cock. Your inner walls flutter around him, trying to adjust to the intrusion.

"Gods," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "You're so deep in me."

Aegon grins down at you, looking immensely pleased with himself. He rolls his hips, grinding against your cervix. Sparks of pleasure shoot up your spine, making your toes curl against the sheets.

"Gods," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "You feel like heaven around my cock."

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with abandon. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust.

Screams of pleasure keep falling from your lips, your eyes rolled back and your back arching. You've never felt so stretched out and filled before. The pleasure clouds your mind as you mumble incoherent pleas and praises.

"Oh gods, Aegon, yes! Fuck, you're so deep! Harder, please!"

Your nails scratch his back, leaving red marks as evidence of your passionate encounter.

"Ungh, you're fucking wrecking me," you whimper, your pussy clenching around his pistoning cock.

Your thighs quiver, your toes curling as you lose yourself to the relentless pleasure. At that moment you knew, you weren't going to be able to walk tomorrow.

Aegon pounds into you relentlessly, the bed creaking beneath your joined bodies. His cock hits your cervix with each powerful thrust, sending lightning bolts of pleasure shooting up your spine.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunts, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

"Gods," you moan, your back arching off the bed. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Aegon complies, fucking into you with renewed vigour. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your cries of pleasure.

"Fuck, you take my cock so well," he praises, his voice strained with pleasure. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

Sweat beads on his brow, his muscles rippling with exertion. He leans down, capturing one of your bouncing nipples in his mouth. He suckles hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud, sending sparks of pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core.

Aegon's thick cock stretches you so deliciously, filling you in ways you've never experienced before. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as pleasure overwhelms you.

"Aegon, oh fuck!" You whimper, your voice is high and needy. "You feel so good, so deep inside me."

Your words tumble out in a desperate stream, barely coherent. Your mind is foggy, consumed by the relentless pleasure of his cock pounding into your wet heat.

You cling to him, your nails scoring red lines down his back as you hold on for dear life. "Harder," you beg, your voice strained. "Ruin me for any other man."

Aegon obliges with a smirk, fucking into you with a ferocity that steals your breath. The bed creaks in protest, the headboard slamming against the wall with each punishing thrust. But you don't care, lost in the haze of pleasure, your body a willing vessel for his desire.

Your legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back, urging him deeper. You can feel every thick inch of him stretching you, filling you, owning you. It's intense and overwhelming, but you never want it to stop.

"Yes, yes, yes," you chant, your head thrashing against the pillows. "Don't stop, please Aegon, don't ever stop fucking me like this." Your pussy clenches around him, greedy for more, desperate to milk his cock.

Your body writhes beneath Aegon's as he continues his relentless assault on your senses. His thick cock stretches you, fills you, reaches depths you didn't know existed.

"Gods, you're so fucking tight," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips. "I'm going to ruin this sweet cunt."

You're beyond words, lost to the sensation of him moving inside you. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, your toes curling.

"Ungh, so big," you mewl, your nails raking down his back.

Aegon smiles wickedly down at you, his eyes glazed with lust. He leans down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. His tongue plunders your mouth, mimicking the motions of his cock in your pussy.

He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down your jaw, your neck. He sucks hard at your pulse point, leaving a dark bruise in his wake. His teeth graze your skin, adding a delicious sting to the pleasure.

Aegon continues to pound into you, relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure. His cock is like a battering ram, each thrust driving you further into the mattress. The wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, a lewd background noise to accompany your loud moans.

"That's it, take it," he growls, his hips snapping against yours. "Take my fucking cock."

His hands roam your body, squeezing, kneading, leaving red marks on your skin. He pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core."Fuck, you're so responsive," he praises, his voice rough with desire. "Love how you moan for me, how you beg for my cock."

"Gods, I could fuck this pussy forever," he groans, his hips never ceasing their relentless motion. "So tight, so wet, so fucking perfect."

His words wash over you, stoking the fire burning in your belly. Your pussy clenches around him, trying to draw him deeper, desperate for more of him.

Your eyes must be permanently rolled into the back of your head, absolutely lost in the waves of pleasure crashing over you. No coherent words escape your lips, only loud screams of ecstasy and desperate whimpers.

Aegon's thick cock stretches you and fills you utterly as he pounds into you with abandon. Your pussy clenches around him like a vice, making it impossibly difficult for him to move. But he doesn't stop, grinding his pelvis against your clit with each relentless thrust.

The familiar heat builds in your core, the telltale tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. You bring two fingers to your mouth, sucking them hard, drenching them in your saliva. You imagine it's his fat cock between your lips, the taste of him on your tongue.

Pulling your fingers from your mouth, you reach between your legs, finding my swollen clit. You rub the sensitive nub in fast, tight circles, your legs already starting to tremble.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You cry out, your back arching off the bed. "I'm so close, I'm gonna cum!"

Your fingers work furiously at your clit as Aegon continues pounding into you from above. His cock is relentless, each powerful thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

"That's it, touch yourself," he encourages you, his voice rough with lust. "Make yourself cum on my cock."

You're so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion. Your thighs begin to tremble as your climax builds, your pussy clenching tightly around Aegon's thick shaft.

"I'm gonna..." you barely manage to gasp out, your words dissolving into a high-pitched keen as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your entire body seizes up, back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure pulses through you.

"Fuck!" you wail, your voice echoing off the walls. Your pussy spasms almost violently around Aegon's cock, desperately milking him. You're lost to the sensation, drowning in pleasure.

Aegon fucks you through it, not letting up for a second. His own climax builds rapidly, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

"Fuck, gonna cum," he growls, his voice strained. 

"Gods, you're squeezing me so fucking tight," he groans, his rhythm starting to stutter. "Gonna fill this pussy up with my cum. Breed this tight cunt, make you mine."

His dirty words send another shock of pleasure through you, your pussy clamping down hard on his cock.

"Please," you beg, your voice ragged. "Cum in me, Aegon. Fill me up, make me yours."

With a guttural groan, Aegon buries himself to the hilt, his cock throbbing as he empties himself inside you. You feel the hot splash of his cum painting your inner walls, marking you as his.

Aegon rolls off of you, his cock slipping out of your sore, abused pussy. You whimper at the loss, feeling empty without him inside you.

Your body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your hair a wild tangle around your face. Your cunt throbs, sensitive and abused from the intense fucking.

Aegon pulls you into his arms, nuzzling your neck. "You're mine," he murmurs, his voice low and possessive. "My little dove."

You snuggle into his embrace, trying to catch your breath. Your thighs already ache from the rough treatment, a delicious soreness that you know will linger for days.

As you shift slightly, you feel Aegon's hot seed dripping out of you, staining the white sheets below. Without thinking, you reach down, scooping up some of the mixture of your releases. You bring your fingers to your mouth, licking them clean.

Aegon watches with hooded eyes as you lick your fingers clean, savouring the taste of his release mixed with yours. His cock already twitching back to life at the erotic sight. He chuckles lowly, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"Fuck, that's hot," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. He tilts your face towards him, claiming your mouth in a filthy kiss.

Aegon rolls, flipping you onto his chest. Your legs straddling his hips, your slick folds against his semi-hard cock. Even spent, he's massive, the thick length pressing insistently against your sensitive flesh.

"I'm nowhere near done with you," he promises darkly, his hands roaming your back, your sides, your ass. He squeezes the globes, his fingers digging into the flesh.

"Gonna mark up this sweet body," he vows, his voice a low rumble. "Leave hickeys on these pretty tits, bite marks on this tight pussy, bruises on these lush thighs."

He punctuates each word with a squeeze, a grope, a pinch. His touch is possessive, and greedy, like he can't get enough of you. Like he wants to stake his claim, show the world that you belong to him.

"Everyone will know you're mine," he growls, his grip tightening. "My pretty little plaything. Mine."

The filthy words make you clench, your abused cunt throbbing with need.

You grind your aching, messy cunt along Aegon's thick shaft, shivering from the overstimulation. You tease him, dragging your slick folds along his length without letting him slip inside.

"Mmm, yeah?" You moan, your voice breathy with desire. "You don't want anyone else to fuck this sweet pussy anymore, huh? Want me all to yourself?"

You lean down, your lips brushing his ear. "Well, if that's the case, then you're also mine. No other woman is ever going to even come close to making you feel the way I do."

You punctuate your words with a slow grind, your slick folds gliding along his hardness. "And if they even dare come near you," you purr, your finger trailing along his sharp jawline, "well, I have the money and the power to make that tramp disappear."

You smirk down at him, your eyes glinting with mischief and dark promise. "You're mine, Aegon."

Aegon's eyes darken with lust at your words, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He reaches up, fisting a hand in your hair and yanking your head back. His other hand lands a sharp smack on your ass, the sting radiating through your sensitive flesh.

"Fuck," he growls, his hips bucking up, trying to bury himself inside you. "Love it when you talk like that." The notion of you ridding him of any competition, of you fighting for him, for your claim on him... it's almost too much. His cock twitches, leaking precum, smearing your folds with the slick fluid.

"I'll burn this world down to keep you," Aegon vows, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Tear apart anyone who tries to come between us."

"Good," you purr, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "Because I don't share what's mine."

Your words are punctuated by another slow grind, your slick folds gliding along his hardness. He shudders beneath you, his hands tightening on your hips.

"Fuck, the things you do to me," he groans, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "You're going to ruin me for anyone else."

He yanks you down, crushing your lips in a bruising kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming, conquering. He bites at your lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue.

"I'll fuck this sweet cunt raw. Ruin you for anyone else."

Another sharp smack to your ass, his fingers digging into the tender flesh. He's marking you, claiming you, staking his possession over you.

"No one else will ever make you feel as good as I do," he promises, his hips rolling, grinding his hard cock against your slick folds. "No one else will ever satisfy you like I can."

He buries his face between your breasts. He licks and sucks at the soft skin, leaving dark hickeys blooming on your flesh. He bites down on one pert nipple, soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Mine," he growls against your breast, punctuating the word with a sharp nip. "This body, this pussy, these tits, all fucking mine. Gonna fuck this pussy raw, make it remember the shape of my cock. You won't be able to sit for a week after I'm done with you."

His hands roam over your curves, squeezing, kneading, leaving red marks on your skin. He's possessive, insatiable like he can't get enough of you.

"Gonna fuck you in every room of this house," he vows, his voice rough with desire. "Gonna claim you in front of everyone, show the world who you belong to."

You couldn't take it anymore, your aching cunt clenching around nothing, your juices leaking down his thick cock and onto his thighs. You needed him inside you, stretching you, filling you. Guiding your hips, you sank down onto his thick cock, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion. A guttural moan tore from your throat, your eyes rolling back at the sensation of being so full. As soon as you felt his thickness back inside you, your mind went blank.

Aegon groans as you sink down onto his cock, your tight heat engulfing him. His hands fly to your hips, gripping tightly, guiding you as you ride him.

"Fuck, so good," he pants, his head falling back onto the pillow. "Love feeling this pussy squeezing my cock."

You begin to move, rising up until just the tip remains inside, before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt. The obscene sound of your skin slapping against his fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts.

"That's it, baby," Aegon encourages, his hands sliding up your sides, squeezing your breasts. "Ride my cock. Show me how much you love it."

You lose yourself in the pleasure, your hips undulating, your pace growing faster and harder. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust.

Aegon's hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, your waist, your tits. He pinches your nipples, and rolls them between his fingers, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

"Fuck, I love watching you bounce on my cock," he growls, his hips snapping up to meet yours. "So fucking hot."

The sight of you lost in pleasure, your tits bouncing, your head thrown back in ecstasy... it's enough to drive him wild. He'd never get enough of you, never get tired of seeing you unravel on his cock.

You switch between bouncing on his thick cock and grinding yourself down, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping filling the room. If the walls weren’t soundproof, the entire tower would hear your moans. You throw your head back as you lose yourself in the overwhelming pleasure.

By now your moans resemble those of a cam-girl, your eyes squeezed shut and brows furrowed in pleasure.

"Fuck! Yesss!" You whine in pleasure, your thighs shaking from exhaustion already.

Aegon watches you intently as you bounce on his cock, your pleasure-filled moans driving him wild. The sight of you losing control, your eyes squeezing shut, your face contorted in ecstasy... it's the most erotic thing he's ever seen.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his hands gripping your hips, helping guide your movements. "Ride my cock just like that. Fuck, you look so hot."

You're a vision of debauchery, your hair a wild mess, your skin flushed and glistening with sweat. The lewd sounds of your bodies coming together fill the room, the wet slap of skin on skin mingling with your wanton moans.

Aegon can feel his own release building, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside you. He wants to make this last, to draw out your pleasure, but he's only human. The feel of your tight heat gripping him, the sight of you unravelling on top of him... it's too much.

"Fuck, I'm getting close," he grunts, his hips snapping up to meet yours. "Gonna fill this pussy up again."

Aegon sits up, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. The new angle allows him to go even deeper, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you.

"Wanna feel me cum inside you," he growls, his teeth latching onto your neck. "Wanna breed this pussy, make you mine."

"Oh gods, Aegon!" You cry out, your voice breaking on a scream of pleasure as he starts slamming into you from a new angle. Your words dissolve into incoherent babbles of ecstasy as your body goes pliant in his arms, surrendering completely to his possession. "Too much, it's too much!"

But even as you utter the words, you know they're a lie. There's no such thing as too much with Aegon. His powerful thrusts drive you to the edge of madness, each stroke igniting sparks of pure bliss.

You let your head fall against his shoulder, giving yourself over to the pleasure. Your body goes limp in his embrace, letting him fuck you as he wants

Your eyes flutter shut, your lashes casting shadows on your flushed cheeks. You're lost to the sensation. Your body is no longer your own, it belongs to Aegon, to be used for his pleasure.

And gods help me, you've never been happier.

Aegon can feel your body go pliant in his arms, your surrender absolute. The knowledge that you've given yourself over to him, that your pleasure is in his hands... it's heady, intoxicating.

"That's it," he murmurs against your ear, his hips never ceasing their relentless pace. "Let go. Surrender to me, to this pleasure."

You're a vision of debauchery in his arms, your head lolling against his shoulder, your face contorted in ecstasy. He drinks in the sight of you and memorizes every inch of your pleasure-drunk expression.

Aegon's hands roam your body, possessive, greedy. He wants to touch every inch of you and mark you as his. His fingers dip between your thighs, finding your clit. He rubs tight circles around the sensitive nub, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Gonna cum for me, baby," he growls, his hips pistoning faster, harder. "Gonna make this pussy mine."

Aegon can feel his own release building, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside you. He wants to make this last, to draw out your pleasure, but he's only human. The feel of your tight heat gripping him, the sight of you unravelling in his arms... it's too much.

"Fuck," he grunts, his hips snapping up one final time. "Take it, take my cum."

Aegon buries his face in your neck, muffling his groans against your skin. His cock pulses inside you, flooding your womb with his hot seed. He fills you up again and again, marking you, claiming you, making you his.

Aftershocks of pleasure ripple through Aegon's body, his hips still rocking gently, drawing out his release. He stays buried inside you, his softening cock plugging up his cum. He never wants this moment to end, wants to stay joined with you forever.

A high-pitched moan tears from your throat as you cum, your hips bucking wildly against Aegon's. Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your body shuddering and convulsing in his arms. You are lost to the sensation, drowning in ecstasy.

Your walls clench and flutter around his cock, milking him for all he's worth. You feel him twitch and throb inside you, his own release triggered by mine. He groans lowly, his hips grinding into yours as he fills you up with his hot seed.

It's so much, more than you can handle. You can feel it painting your gummy walls, marking you as his. Some of it spills out around his shaft, trickling down my thighs. The obscene sensation makes you mewl, your hips still weakly rocking against his.

You are spent, boneless, your body going limp in his embrace. Your heart races and your breath comes in short, sharp gasps. You have never felt pleasure like this before, never been so thoroughly claimed and used.

Aegon groans lowly at the feel of your walls clenching around him, milking his cock for all it's worth. Your release triggers his own, his hips grinding into yours as he fills you up with his hot seed.

He buries his face in your neck, muffling his groans against your skin. Each pulsing spurt of his cum seems to last forever, painting your insides, marking you as his. He grinds into you, making sure every last drop finds its home deep inside your womb.

When he finally pulls back, he's left breathless, his chest heaving. He looks down at you, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his fingers trailing lazy patterns on your sweat-slick skin. "You took my cock so well, baby. Such a good girl, so eager to be filled."

He reaches down, scooping some of his cum that's leaked out onto your thighs. He brings his fingers to your lips, slick with his essence.

"Clean up my mess, baby," he commands, his voice low and husky. "Lick up every last drop."

But even as he gives the order, Aegon's touching you gently, tenderly. He cups your face, brushing away the damp strands of hair from your forehead. He peppers soft kisses across your face, coaxing a smile from your lips.

"You're mine now," he whispers, his eyes boring into yours. "I'm never letting you go."

You gaze down at Aegon through your lashes as you take his cum-coated fingers into your mouth. You bob your head, your tongue swirling around the digits, cleaning them of his thick seed. 

Aegon's eyes darken as he watches you service him. "Stay with me," he pleads, his voice raw with emotion. "Be mine, only mine. I'll give you anything you want, everything you want. Just don't leave me."

Your heart races at his words. You smile around his fingers, reassuring him of your devotion.

"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur once you've cleaned his fingers. You press a soft kiss on his palm. "I'm yours, Aegon. Forever."

Aegon gazes up at you with a mixture of relief and gratitude. Your words wash over him like a soothing balm.

He cups your face in his hands, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. "You promise?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "You'll stay by my side, no matter what?"

You nod, your eyes shining with sincerity. "I promise," you vow, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. "I'm yours, Aegon. For better or worse, for richer or poorer..."

Aegon's heart swells at your words, a warmth spreading through his chest. He knows he doesn't deserve your devotion, knows he hasn't earned it. But gods, does he want to.

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. It's not gentle, not tender. It's a claiming, a branding, a marking of what's his. When he finally pulls back, you're both breathless, your lips swollen and glistening.

"I love you," Aegon murmurs against your mouth, the words slipping out unbidden. "I love you so fucking much it hurts."

He's never said those words to anyone before, never even come close. But with you, it feels right, feels true. Like it was always meant to be this way.

"You're my everything," he continues, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close. "My heart, my soul, my reason for living. I can't imagine my life without you in it."

Aegon buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. You smell like home, like belonging. Like everything he's ever wanted but never dared to dream of.

"Stay with me," he pleads, his voice cracking with emotion. "Have my babies, grow old with me. Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved."

Aegon knows he's asking for a lot.

Aegon's words hit you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs. I love you. Three simple words that carry the weight of the world. 

For a moment, you're transported back in time. To when you were just a couple of lovesick teenagers, sneaking out under the cover of darkness. You can almost hear the crash of the waves, and feel the sand beneath your bare feet. 

You look at Aegon now, your heart swelling with emotion. He's the same boy you fell for all those years ago. The same boy who confessed his feelings to you, his eyes wide with vulnerability.

And now, he's yours. Completely and utterly yours. You're not going to walk away again, not this time.

You cup his face in your hands, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I love you too," you murmur, your voice trembling with the depth of your emotions. "I never stopped loving you."

You lean in, closing the distance between you. Your lips meet in a soft, tender kiss. It's a promise, a vow, a declaration of forever.

When you finally pull apart, you rest my forehead against his. "Let me have your babies, grow old with me, live on a farm for the rest of our days. Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved."

You've waited your whole life for this moment. For Aegon to be yours, body and soul. And now that you have him, you're never letting go.

Aegon's heart soars at your words, your promise of forever. He feels like he's floating like he's on top of the world. You're his, completely and utterly his. And he's yours, now and always.

He kisses you back, pouring all his love, his devotion, his gratitude into the embrace. It's a kiss that says I'm here, I'm yours, I'll never leave you. Not now, not ever.

When you pull back, Aegon rests his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours. They're shining with unshed tears, with a joy he's never known before.

"You're my whole world," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "My beginning and my end. I can't imagine my life without you in it."

Aegon's hands roam your body, mapping out the curves and dips he's come to know so well. He traces the line of your spine, the swell of your breasts, the flare of your hips. Each touch is reverent and worshipful.

"I'm going to make you the happiest woman in the world," he promises, his lips brushing against your cheek. "I'm going to love you, cherish you, worship you. Every. Single. Day."

[madame-fear]

Hey, hope you're doing well :) Wanted to request a Jacaerys x Alicent's daughter reader. Just a Drabble of like they're married life. Idk how to explain it, not entirely romantic yet, more like a newly wedded couple adjusting to marriage. Kinda like a daily life, something simple and sweet like that. Hope you get my drift. Have a wonderful day :) Can't wait to read what you have, and take your time

𐙚 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏.

ೀ amira speaks.ᐟ : okay so I was originally going to write different scenarios in a single drabble of how they would get used to being married,, but I preferred to leave that for another request you made! So I opted to write this and make it as fluffy as possible between them <3 hope you enjoy it and it was what you expected !! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) also, since I assumed you wanted reader to be a Targtower, I mentioned as well that she has a dragon, but that’s it. ♡ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : ∿ request above! ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 1.4k (not really a drabble SORRY AHSJS)

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : fluff, this is was supposed to be a drabble THOUGH I COULDN’T HELP BUT EXTEND IT A LITTLE BIT. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!Wife!Reader.

You had known from a rather young age that you would eventually be married to the eldest son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon. A betrothal for the two of you had been arranged between Rhaenyra and your mother, Queen Alicent, to maintain their relationship — and everything in general — as peaceful as possible.

Unlike your siblings — except for Helaena, whom was the most tranquil one —, the relationship you had with the firstborn Velaryon had always been quite neutral. You even dared to say, both of you kept mutual respect for one another— and neither you could deny that his mother was raising a proper man, admiring silently to yourself how gentle and loving Jace often behaved around you.

But how couldn’t he be kind around you? If you were to be his wife, and you were terribly endearing. You were often willing to engage more with the Velaryon Prince, and you had grown to develop a close bond together. Having slight knowledge regarding on how betrothals and marriages between noble Houses worked, you had to thank the Seven for providing you with a genuinely caring betrothed, who would never dare to lay a single hand on you.

Years had passed, and the lighthearted nature you kept in your relationship at an early age only intensified— being close to one another, often seen together through the large halls, on the gardens, on the training yard rooting for him, or simply sitting next to one another during dinner, chatting and giggling together. A certain timidness did lurk around both of you, as you were betrothed to one another; but you constantly attempted to grow out of these feelings.

Though, how could you both not feel shy around each other? It was only a natural feeling— one that increased when the wedding ceremony had been hosted, officially becoming husband and wife. You had known almost all your life that the moment would, sooner or later, arrive; but you couldn’t help but slightly feel awkwardly shy about being married.

Your officialised matrimony was something that had taken it’s time to bloom in the relationship itself, adjusting yourselves to your new lifestyle. Slowly but surely, taking things step by step.

Walks together through the gardens, silent reading while sitting next to one another, and always be seen together, laughing and talking to one another— those were all the small, little things you did together as a newly-wed couple. It wasn’t as if you weren’t used to being close to each other, but you both equally tried your best to leisurely get used to your marriage.

In the stillness of the night, sitting on a large lounge sofa placed in the chambers you shared with your husband, the tip of your fingers delicately passed the pages of the book you had been reading. Jacaerys had his own responsabilities as the eldest son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, to which, you preferred to patiently await for him to sleep, despite a faint drowsiness being spread all over your features.

With the sound of the wooden door gently opening, your gaze attentively shot itself towards the person entering the chambers— being none other than your husband. A grin had imemdiatly curved in the corner of you lips, swiftly placing the book aside, and standing up from the lounge sofa to greet him. “Busy day, I pressume?” you teased, having noticed his absence throughout the day, as you placed a soft kiss on the corner of his lips. You weren’t bold enough to properly kiss him on the lips just yet, but your small, sweet gesture had been enough to provoke a rosy tint to grow on his cheeks.

“You pressume correctly. I apologise for not having been able to see you during the entire day,” one of his arms was hidden behind his back, as his free hand was placed on your shoulder, caressing it with tenderness. As you were both growing used to being married, Jace constantly attempted to have a slight free moment to dedicate it to you, and to offer you his genuine affection. “But I supposed, I could make up for my abscence somehow.”

Revealing the arm that was hidden behind of him, his hand held a ravishing, brightly crimson coloured rose— one of the many flowers that commonly grew in the gardens you often walked around. It might have been a small gift for now, but the brunette-haired Prince thought it would be better than greeting you empty-handed after being all day long focused on his duties.

A heated fluster occupied your cheeks almost instantly in surprise at the sight of the flower, your lips quivering into a timid, flattered smile. In a delicate movement, you took the rose into your own hand, raising it to your nostrils to take in its fruity, slightly spicy scent. “Aren’t you a sweet one?” you remarked, allowing a gentle chuckle to spur from your lips, playfully fidgeting with the flower in between your digits. “You shouldn’t have even bothered. I’m terribly flattered, Jace, thank you.”

The previous rosy tint growing on his cheek had increased to become a crimson hue, helplessly admiring the way you so delicately thanked him for the small gesture he had towards you. The time that had passed ever since you had officially become a wedded couple was relatively short, with only a few moons having passed since the ceremony, and yet, it was undeniable how perfect you were molded for one another— with small gestures and moments spent together, the connection you had increased.

Jacaerys made sure to take things slowly for you, as you were both trying to get used to your marriage. It was all very new for the two of you, still young and now married— but his main priority was the comfort you could feel around him, with him as your husband. The thought of accidentally causing you to feel uncomfortable in any way made him recoil on the inside, causing him to leisurely pick on the things you fancing, and the things you didn’t.

One of the things had immediatly noticed, was how fascinated you were about dragons— gleefully riding your own whenever you had the opportunity, and studying everything that there was to them. While you had your own dragon, you had rarely interacted with Vermax, much less ride him with Jace.

And, the perfect idea to continue bonding together popped up.

“It’s the least I could do for you. I do not expect you to thank me for it.” he replied briefly, now maintaining both his arms right behind his back, and with a grin lingering on his rosy lips. The perfect opportunity was presented right there, for him to invite you to have some fun together— it took him some stength to ask you if you fancied going on a dragonride together, but he couldn’t waste the chance. Surely, no one would notice if you both were resting in your chambers or not.

“I couldn’t help but wonder as well, now that no one will be able to disturb us...” his words trailed off, allowing him to have your entire attention on him, feeling your own stare fixed on his coffee eyes. His words left some tension hanging in the air, only causing his grin to become wider at the mere thought of his proposal. A small, mischevious little moment between the two of you— but he would do anything to help you adjust on your marriage, and feel more comfortable.

“... If you fancied riding Vermax with me? We could fly all over the castle, and perhaps, get a better sighting of the stars together.” discreetly, the Prince nibbled on his lower lip nervously, awaiting for your reaction. “After all, it will be just the two of us, and no one else to bother us.”

The idea sounded tempting enough to cause your heart to strongly flutter against your chest. His nerves eased noticing the change in your features, going from being briefly surprised, to carrying a thrilled look— it would be just the two of you. How could you ever say no to anything he proposed? You appreciated each opportunity you had of spending your seconds, minutes, and hours with him.

But what you appreciated the most, was Jace himself. The day to day you experienced with him involved taking things slowly together, and yet, it was all so very sweetly. And you couldn’t be any more grateful of his presence— knowing that, the moment you would fully adjust to your life as a wedded couple, would being you nothing but rapture.

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[aestheticpebbles]

Servus Dei

Pairing: Priest!AU Aegon II Targaryen x reader

Warnings: NSFW/18+ ONLY! MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED, MDNI!, swearing, violence, murder, smut, religious/catholicism imagery/mentions/themes, priest+nun power dynamic abuse, dirty talking, light dubcon if you squint, fluff if you squint harder, use of alcohol, porn with plot, fingering, overstimulation, choking, oral (f receiving), p in v intercourse.

Summary: Father Aegon arrived at your convent, but things become alarming once you realize he isn’t the priest he appears to be.

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: fic below the cut! not religious at all so please correct me if I messed anything up! also, not proofread… but enjoy! inspo from his cunty hair serving from s1.ep.8.

1548. Somewhere outside of Florence, Italy.

“Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.“

The rosary beads clenched tightly laced around your slender fingers nearly gave way to a pinching sensation between your knuckles as you prayed under your breath, reciting ‘Our Father’ as you do every morning upon dressing into your white habits and joining the nuns and sisters at the first morning service of your convent.

However, you weren’t sent here upon your own bidding, rather than fulfilling the wish of your parents after they sought to nip your rebellious streak of your late teenage years in the bud after you expressed during a drunken fit that you instead wished to dance and drink until you dropped before marrying off to some Lord.

You knew your parents did this to reduce any scandalous likelihood of you, an unwed daughter of a newer-money noble family, boring a bastard, but you still did not forgive them for your new life of chastity and divine mercy worship. Yawn.

You were still considered to be relatively new to the convent as you were just beginning your second year of working towards your devotion to God and being tested on your postulancy, so you still wore white robes and veils rather than black. You felt as though you had done well in your studies of the faith thus far considering the circumstances in which you were brought here upon.

“Good morning sister,” Sister Hilda, another white-robed sister about a year older than you, smiled once the first service ended and you found a place next to her side while making your way to the dining hall for breakfast.

The sun’s morning rays that began to peek over the horizon illuminated the dining hall with a dim, blue hue as the world awakened. You both made yourselves plates of bread and cheeses before sitting down together. Talk was kept small and hushed between the two of you while discussing various scriptures and chores needed to be done.

“I heard the new priest is arriving this morning,” Sister Hilda suddenly whispered under her breath, my eyes flickering up to meet her gaze upon the sudden topic of a conversation that could be considered borderline gossip and would serve much to the dismay of any superiors if anyone would overhear the two white-robed and veiled young women conversing over such a topic.

Instead of scolding Sister Hilda once your gazes met, you proved your nature of still wearing the white fabrics rather than blacks by leaning in as well about an inch or so, quickly looking around to see if anyone was lingering nearby to eavesdrop before responding to her.

“Is that so?” Your eyebrow cocked up in surprise. There had been talks of a new priest that had recently left from an abbey outside of London, and was continuing his preach of faith now here with us at our nunnery as our current priest was, well, he was old, “have you…?”

“Within the hour, I heard,” Sister Hilda’s eyes lit up with excitement, proving her own nature as she still struggled with her own inner turmoil with such activities. You found the vow of celibacy at first to be something that you wouldn’t have to think twice about while you devoted yourself, but as time went on, you found yourself seeking repentance and trying to pray away the gnawing feeling you felt bubbling within sometimes that made you doubt your own worth in the eyes of the faith.

You nodded once, acknowledging her words carefully with a playful side smirk. Though gossip was highly discouraged, word still had many opportunities to be carried by the wind throughout the dormitories of your convent.

“Il suo nome?” Your voice dropped down low once more after a few moments, switching from English to Italian just to be safe when you asked Hilda ‘his name?’, but she only shrugged in response, unsure of the answer either.

After breakfast, like usual, you found yourself in the library as you were one of the few sisters who, thanks to your upbringing in a decently noble family, had been taught Latin. You often found means of completing your daily chores by aiding in the translation of Holy passages and texts.

Today, you had been handed a scripture to be translated by an older nun who always wore a signature grouch, so there wasn’t much to be said when you were given the dusty book made of animal skin and thick, waxy lacing that secured the spine.

A relic of the sort lost to at least 300 years, resurfaced once more only to become your problem to deal with when you immediately find yourself scowling under your veil at the faded ink on the ancient pages. You stood up and found yourself a dictionary in Latin just in case whoever wrote that damn pitiful book didn’t know what they were saying, much to the older nun’s dismay but you didn’t care as you sat back down with a murmured ‘God help me’ under your breath.

Dipping your feather quill into a small jar of black ink, you began your day’s work of translating the pages that were practically threatening to fall apart as you delicately turned over each one.

It possibly would have felt odd for another white-veiled sister like yourself to have been tasked with translating such an eerie text of those who wore multiple, yet all beautiful faces and how to ward them off, but like it was just another day, it was just another book of Latin words that you were tasked to translate into fresh ink of English literature between your obligatory meetings for daily prayers and masses with the others, and you’ve read worse.

Your legs were itching to stand after sitting down for an extended period of time, nearly a static-like burn radiating deep as you leaned back in your chair from your upright posture, slouching your shoulder forward for a grace moment with an exhale before standing upright once more properly in case the Abbess, Mother Esther, walked by.

Afternoon sunlight beams shone through a nearby window that you now stood in front of trying to warm yourself up from the cooler temperature of the library, your muscles easing against the windowsill as your wrists and fingers had ached for a little while as well.

Being on the 2nd floor of the building meant having a lovely view of the convent’s architectural layout and the courtyard within the open holdfast of about an acre or so. A few young black locust trees littered the acre, creating enjoyable spots for shaded rest you occasionally found yourself under, almost smiling to yourself when thinking about better times than translating 300+ year old scriptures from Latin to English about an ill-satiable apparition—it’s biblical name, Agneo, one who shapeshifts and requires to feeds from the sins of its prey. A book of complete lunacy that was a blessing in disguise as it gave you something to do.

However, the momentary bliss of recounting suddenly soured once you realized you were about to miss the 4th prayer service mass of the day when you looked down from the window and saw a huddle of those remaining outside waiting to file along inside in orderly fashion across the courtyard of your convent.

It was no use to try to rush out and attempt to make it, so you hesitantly let out a tense sigh and leaned against the window still, your eyes moving to ground below until you saw mainly atop skulls of Mother Esther dressed in her finest– and in tow, a man that nearly made your lips part upon the sight of his features after the involuntary oath of celibacy you took on.

Broad shouldered, his face even from above was sharp-featured, straight nosed, and platinum blond hair as could be neatly combed and parted down the middle. He is, undeniably, the most beautiful man you have ever laid your wretched eyes on, and the sight made your legs press together as you watched the two of them below you.

Once seeing him, you were desperate to see Sister Hilda to willingly break your vows of what your new lifestyle meant to share the gossip of sin, to gossip silly words that meant plenty well beneath the surface that meant for yourself at least to have plenty of reason to seek confession and repentance from His mercy in the foreseeable future.

During your brief moment of pure sin, or what sin at least means to you at the time, you let out a small gasp and moved away from the glass realizing the neat head of hair was slowly tilting upwards in an almost premeditated manner, and from the 2nd floor, his ice blue eyes burned scorching hot daggers like the gates of hell straight into your soul for the mere seconds that you held his sudden eye contact.

As if he knew you were standing there above him and Mother Esther, as if he knew you had been leaning against the edge of the windowsill with your legs crossed and your thighs pressed together at the perfect angle while you watched them when you were supposed to be in the 4th prayer service.

Your heart was pounding in a mixture of adrenaline, anticipation, and … excitement. A certain feeling you haven’t felt since before being sent here. Desire.

Despite shifting away from your original stance next to the window, your vision couldn’t move away any further out of sight from him as the two of you kept your eyes locked.

Within that brief moment that felt like eternity and despite the temptation that threatened to fester within your neglected core now reigniting, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as your instincts inside your mind began screaming ‘flight’ but your feet were cemented in place while looking down into his cold, dead eyes.

Behind the decrepit Mother Esther’s back, the new priest held his eye contact with you with a stone-like expression of almost disgust until the corners of his lips tugged and curled upright into a smirk. One side of his lips tugged higher than the other side and it made your blood run cold despite the heat pooling between your legs.

You exhaled once his head turned to meet Mother Esther’s as she turned back around to him to point out the library, and the two of them continued on and you were finally able to move from the frozen stance you held.

You had managed to avoid the new priest, his name quickly learned by you through Sister Hilda to be Father Aegon—until you found yourself kneeling before him at the altar rails while he wore the same disgustedly amused expression while placing the communion bread into your cupped palms sitting upright.

“Amen,” you murmured softly, placing the wafer into your mouth as he extended his other hand and brought the cup of wine in front of you as you swallowed thickly.

“The blood of Christ, shed for you,” Father Aegon nearly purred, the sound of his voice speaking directly to you for the first time was intimidating enough, let alone the manner in which it rolled off of his tongue was enough to catch you off guard and leave you stunned at such a vocal display during a Holy service.

Your lips had parted a few centimeters due to your shock and your bottom lip quivered as you barely choked out another ‘amen’ in response while he pressed the rim of the chalice against the pillowed flesh.

Maybe it was the way he spoke, or the way he wears devilish tight-lipped smiles like he knows he's fluffing up another chicken house with unpreened, unruffled hens who live among cobwebs, or maybe it’s the way you can feel him staring straight down into your soul as you took a sip of the wine while holding eye contact with him up through your eyelashes.

After drinking the same wine since the day you first arrived and you had returned to your seat, you realized on your tongue that the aftertaste of the once bitter representation of the Blood of Christ was now sweet. Too sweet.

The type of sweet that makes the feeling of temptation to yearn for more not sound half bad even though you still found shame while you prayed in your seat until the end of the communion, even more so in the hours that followed when nobody else seemed to comment on the wine. As if the taste was unchanged to the rest.

You actually managed well to avoid Father Aegon as he settled in and slowly took over hosting more and more masses and prayers over the next fortnight, though it was absolute agony that was slowly chipping away at your sanity.

No matter the distance between the two of you, an unnerving fear always found you when in his presence and even more so if it was without your knowledge on a passing occasion or he could see you but you couldn’t see him. Since the day he arrived, you felt like you were no longer alone at any moment, always holding your breath to turn a corner like an accidental dance of cat and mouse for no real reason.

You’d be shunned if you dared speak the reason of your maintained distance being temptation, even if you were going such lengths avoiding him to resist such.

Father Aegon’s piercing gaze alone sent chills down your spine, enough to rattle the assembled vertebrae within the confines of your habits just like the one that coursed through you while you browsed the shelves of the library looking for works regarding astronomy to keep you company in the late hours after the Midnight Mass.

You didn’t need to see him to know he was likely stalking nearby, whispering with that strangely enticing demeanor he holds himself up with, and the way his perfectly plump lips were always cocked in some purse of amusement to offset the dark purple, sunken look to his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days, weeks.

Your own eyes had begun to mirror Father Aegon’s sullen look as well during your descent into the madness occurring within your mind when you started to lose sleep because of him sinking his claws into you even in your dreams filled with imagery of sin beyond your comprehension. The more time you spent trying to avoid him, the more he encroached upon every aspect of your life and you hadn’t so much but exchange momentary glances and proper greetings spoken hushed on your part.

After all, anyone would find holding eye contact difficult with one whom they have carnal, perverse dreams about, waking up panting in the middle of the night covered in sweat and an agonizing pool between your legs. Even after waking up you could still feel his touch on your skin.

Though what terrified you the most was the eventual visible appearance that left residual memory fragments from the vivid dreams, as if they themselves were distant memories, real memories, from the past. Gripping bruises protected by layers were littered around your wrists, arms, thighs, breasts, small bite marks and scratches even as well. Some even would remain red, or pink as if they had just occurred moments or hours prior, but that couldn’t be possible.

You’ve been alone all these nights… right?

“What could possibly interest you at such an hour, sister?” The voice of the dreaded priest you desperately sought to avoid drew out from behind you, causing your shoulders to roll back into a stiffened posture to play off the chill that threatened to visibly shake you. You closed your eyes for a moment while goosebumps broke out across your skin hidden beneath the white fabrics before quickly reaching up to grasp the book you intended to grab and pulled it close to your chest before turning around to face him.

“Astronomy, Father,” you answered without nearly half a spine, mentally cursing yourself at your inability to hold yourself with dignity when subject to his commanding gaze.

Father Aegon never failed to not wear his smug grin that seemed to compliment the sullen orbs that were half-lidded in what could only be described by a blind person as being a seductive manner. When you finished answering him and his smirk grew, you didn’t miss his tongue swiping across his pillowy bottom lip— both stained red… and the smell that belonged to that of alcohol.

You swallowed thickly once putting the puzzle pieces in place and your fingers gripped the corners of the book tighter and the edges dug into the creases of your fingers creating a pleasant stinging sensation to help stay grounded. The priest, he who is supposed to live and serve to proclaim the word of God, stood here before you with sweet wine coating his wicked tongue with practiced precision.

Father Aegon had sin written all over his cruelly beautiful face. Certainly not to be trusted at any given second.

Father Aegon’s smug half-smirk was still etched on his mouth that sent another chill down your spine when his irises unmistakably fell from holding your gaze down to your own lips with those lazily-hooded blue eyes swirling with emotions beyond your somewhat innocent comprehension.

Father Aegon was absolutely terrifying to be around, but although your fear didn’t directly come from him, your own body produces enough cortisol and epinephrine for an entire herd of corralled sheep waiting to be slaughtered by just being around him. Afraid of the fact that if he touched you right now, you know you wouldn’t be able to stop. Afraid of the fact that you know he may know how you truly feel deep down by just looking at you with those eyes that appear to be hiding an inferno from within himself.

“Copernicus…” Father Aegon suddenly murmured with a cock of his eyebrow as if he had posed the single word as a question rather than the affirmative tone he used when referencing the Polish astronomer whose works had caught your interest when accessible, “you like him, Sister?”

“He’s an accomplished astronomer and a fine mathematician,” you responded carefully, unsure of the waters of the moment and feeling the bile threatening to rise and expel which prompted you to kindly dismiss yourself wishing to depart to rest for the evening until he suddenly reached out as you turned to walk. His taut grip around your dainty wrist in comparison to his large hand was daunting and was an unexpected rush of surprise-horror when you were practically yanked back where you stood before him.

“Hm,” Father Aegon hummed in amusement, a flash of something eerie glazing over his lazily hooded eyes while his strong grip on your wrist loosened slightly, but not without his calloused thumbpad grazing gently across the delicate skin of the underside of your wrist, “why don’t you come by my office tomorrow evening? I have a piece that would interest you… brought it with me from when I met him briefly at Oxford.”

Your own eyebrow cocked at his words, nearly-half bewildered that a man like him went from such a prestigious place like the Oxford society to… priesthood in Florence where he, in the middle of the night, now was intoxicated and having you cornered like a rat subject to his mercy while his thumb caressed your wrist like a coveted lover.

Your eyes flickered down to the tight grip he held on your arm and you dared to pull once more, and much to your surprise he let go. Looking back up at him, he was amused with a strange sense of triumph like he could already foresee the internal turmoil you would be rolling in all day tomorrow until you would eventually cave in within yourself to give in and seek him out for the sake of knowledge.

Wasn’t that the sin of Eve? Coaxed by the snake, the devil, to taste the forbidden apple of knowledge?

Father Aegon wouldn’t taste half as sweet as an apple, but a part of you knew deep down that with dealing with a man like him and his caliber comes with knowing the venom from his fanged canines would likely sting twice as bad in the days to come if you did not seek him out.

So like the loyal hound you were, there weren’t many inhibitions that stopped your fingers from clasping the golden ring hanging from a matching golden lion’s head mounted on the wooden door and knocking twice. You knew you had no business being here at this hour. You had stopped by this very office twice today, once before dinner, and again afterwards but left both times with only pursed lips and heightened anxiety. Evening. Evening. Evening.

“Sister…” Father Aegon grinned upon seeing the sweet lamb standing there outside of his door waiting so patiently for him like the good girl that he knew she is even if she couldn’t muster any words to properly greet him. He stepped out of your way with an outstretched palm directed towards an empty chair sitting on the other side of his desk, the open hand gesturing to you to sit, “please, come in.”

Shame and humility fueled the pace that drove your footsteps from the corridor and into his working office in a scurry, the fuel most delectable for sin to fester within and grow necrotic while Father Aegon shut the door behind you. You couldn’t miss the sound of the lock turning over as you focused on your breathing pattern and your fumbling fingertips toying with one another as you sat down and silently pulled your chair in under yourself.

It wasn’t the locking of the door that made your eyes widen, but watching him pick up a golden, jeweled chalice that sat on the edge of his desk with matching rings adorning his thick digits, taking a hearty swig while sauntering behind you and over to a large bookshelf on the left wall that likely carried prized works both owned by the convent and his finest pieces.

You kept your head straight for the most part, only tilting it slightly to be able to keep an eye on him in the corner of your peripheral and through the thin white veil head covering, watching his ringed finger reach up to one of the shelves while the other hand held the chalice. The way he moved so freely was almost sensual in a way, his fingertip grazing the spines of the prized collection of knowledge as he searched using the dim orange glow emanating from the roaring hearth that danced as the flames waved.

“Tell me, sweet girl, what is it about the stars that calls to you… draws your attention so?” Father Aegon suddenly broke the silence that only hosted the soft crackling of the embers causing your head to angle slightly more in his direction. You swallowed thickly again, inhaling through your nose while watching his index finger curl around a medium-sized book and gently tug it free from the confines of the neat shelf.

“One can’t help but wonder who they are,” you answered shakily, referring to the stars themselves, the subconscious anxious habit of your fingertips toying with one another going full blast in your lap that had sparked back to life hearing the previous words of endearment he must addressed you with as if he was toying with you too, “what are they… what are they made of?”

Father Aegon nodded slowly with another hum of acknowledgment as he turned on his heel with his chin cockily angled, walking back over to where you sat on the other side of his desk and stepped next to your chair. He held out the book for you to take and you did after a moment of hesitation, taking the book delicately from him as your eyes danced over the intricate stitching and adhesives carefully applied that held the valuable text together.

He stood over you for a moment with one hand on the back of your chair, the other bringing the rim to his lips for another swig before he let go, much to your approval as you let out an exhale you didn’t realize you were holding, and stepped away to sit down in his own chair on the other side of the desk while you admired and he purred out, “the book… Copernicus’ heliocentric theories. One of the first copies given to me from Nicolaus himself. I’ll let you borrow it for the evening...”

You couldn’t hide the spark of interest that illuminated behind your eyes at the topic that you had been wishing to learn more about as the theories were still considered recent developments. A small smile crept onto your face but you quickly pursed your lips together to swallow your pride and triumph– something that didn’t pass by Aegon, but the suggestive tone towards the end of his final words didn’t pass by you either.

“Thank you Father,” you murmured softly, your thumbs grazing over the pressed letters of the title embossed and sealed by gold leaflets, “you are very gracious.”

Father Aegon only chuckled darkly, something you hadn’t heard yet until now and it was scarier to experience first hand than his empty, soul-piercing glare.

He took another sip of his wine before setting the chalice down on the desktop and leaning forward on his forearms with intertwined fingers and an unmistakable gleam in his wicked eyes, “I’ll tell you what Sister. I have heard nothing but good remarks regarding your performance… I’ll let you have it if you promise to take good care of it.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and your forehead scrunched in confusion, lips parting in shock but quickly stammering out a response to his words while gently placing the book down on the desk with a forced smile. A part of joining sisterhood was an oath of poverty despite your aversion to the lifestyle but your conditioning was taking over your frazzled mindset, and a book of that value had no business being in your possession good marks or not.

“Father I-I apologize, I can’t accept such a gift, you honor me but-I,” your tongue and lips failed to coordinate without an exasperated stutter while your brain misfired, only making Father Aegon’s lips curl further upwards in a devious smile.

“Call it a favor then,” Father Aegon replied with a low purr, his half-lidded eyes missing any trace of the blue pigment against the orange hue of the fire and the darkness of the world as he stood up, slowly stalking back around to where he stood behind your chair again.

“A…favor?” Your eyebrows dropped from the cocked expression of shock into one of weary alert as you tried to read him as best as you could, holding eye contact with him until he eventually always won with the inferno that reflected in his black holes for dilated irises while he walked to your most vulnerable side.

“A favor,” Father Aegon sluggishly murmured in response, his teeth baring in his amused grin when you flinched feeling the topside of the joints of his fingers reach up from behind you and brush against your cheek.

Your eyelids fluttered under his delicate brushing touch against your cheek, unable to comprehend a single thought in regard to how to react to such inappropriate behavior and gestures being exchanged, but after involuntary celibacy and conditioned shame, it only drove you further mad yearning for the touch of a skilled lover after being denied such pleasures for so long.

It wasn’t until his index finger pressed against the underside of your chin to lift your head up and his thumb curling up to press against your bottom lip that you were violently dragged back to reality. Looking up at him while fidgeting with your fingers absentmindedly in your lap, he smiled deviously as if he was a child with free reign in a candy shop.

He stepped in front of you to enter the small space available between you sitting in the chair and his desk, leaning against the edge as he twisted and reached back to grab the chalice he’d left behind, turning back to you. Your heart pounded in your chest watching him extend his hand, guiding the rim to your lips and raising the cup for gravity to let the rich, deep red juice funnel into your mouth as if you were kneeling at the altar and had already received your tasteless communion wafer.

Eyes widening, you realized he wasn’t relenting until you finished off the remnants of the chalice when he kept tilting the cup’s stem and you having to swallow in faster lapses than expected to keep up with his antics causing you to choke softly.

You pursed your lips shut tightly with a bemused expression on your face between his actions and the sweet red wine, unable to save the small bead that gathered and trickled down from your lip to your chin, but Aegon was there to spare your white habits from any stains with a brush of his thumb collecting the alcoholic nectar and bringing it to his own lips to suck clean off.

“Tell me… why are you really here?” Father Aegon slurred out between tipsy snickers after releasing his thumb with a sickly sweet suckle like he knew exactly the effect he had on you and the reactions you were willing to give back with a little shove.

“My parents wished not for scandal,” you blurted out, almost like not caring how sloppy you spoke for the sake of your own honorable presentation.

“So, you liked to get around. You liked to have fun… you were a whore?” Father Aegon’s grin was wicked and curled up with a sense of malice as he gently caressed your cheek while you shared details about yourself to him. You knew he found some sort of satisfaction with your words by the way his teeth clenched like he was thinking hard through the intoxicated haze of his own mind.

“Um-,” your eyebrows furrowed again, a streak of anger shooting through you causing you to flinch again away from his hand, pulling out of his grasp on your chin as you stood up, not willing to explain to him that laying with two men that you had possibly seen as prospective husbands doesn’t make a young lady… a whore, “I apologize Father this is highly inappropriate. I should go.”

Your abrupt reaction to his words seemed to replace the playful gleam in his eyes with one that teetered on the edge of malice and danger, one that made your blood run cold. Panic flared through you when he dropped the golden chalice without care, and grabbing your wrist with one hand, yanking you back down to sit again.

“We are not done talking, Sister,” Father Aegon snarled out, a sinister gleam in his eyes while he stood up straight, letting go of your wrist only to take a hold of your chin once more, your lips slightly smushed between his fingers, “I haven’t given you permission to dismiss yourself.”

“I-I am sorry, Father,” you sputtered out, unsure of how to respond to him and his firm, calculated grip that always reminded you he was one step ahead at any given point. Aegon only hummed in amusement, his moist tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip as he turned your head in his grip from side to side, studying the details of your face against the orange glow from the inferno of the fireplace.

“Let me see you show it…Prove it,” Father Aegon’s eyes lit up in deranged excitement while yours glossed over in confused horror, sitting frozen in shock while he kept his grip on your chin with one hand, the other reaching up seemly to lovingly caress your cheek only to fist a palm full of your white veil, forcefully undressing your dreadful headdress and revealing one of your secrets you hid from your other Sisters. Instead of cutting your hair short like the rest, you kept yours braided and secured beneath your headdress, the same one Aegon pulled off without hesitation that made your jaw drop in disbelief.

“I don’t understa-,” you cried out in a sudden frustration, angered that he was abusing the power dynamic he knew he held, then still having enough fuel inside him when daring to lay a hand on you in such an inappropriate manner and revealing your hair.

If your Sisters found out you hid your hair, you could suffer greatly socially, and Aegon just paved his way straight over without any second thoughts. Your words though were cut off when his fingers clutched your braids and yanked you back to your feet.

“Understand this, doll. I see the way you look at me, how you scurry away from me like a mouse, there’s nowhere you can hide from me,” Father Aegon taunted, his dilated pupils laced with delirium and sin as he maniacally giggled, “I know everything.”

Any protests or shrill shrieks that could have escaped your mouth would be forced to be made straight into Father Aegon’s mouth that nearly swallowed your face whole when his lips came colliding down on yours in a pre-established sloppy, yet demanding kiss.

You wished to want the will to release a frightful scream against his lips, to cry out in disgust, to thrash around violently in his concrete hold on you while he forced his tongue into your mouth after letting go of your chin and dropping down to your hip.

His grip quickly moved from squeezing your hip around to your backside, grabbing a fistful of your buttock and his other hand still holding and tugging on your hair to elicit a gasp while your palms were outstretched when pressing back against his firm chest, but you did none of those things as your mind began buzzing softly, signaling the beginning the swirling descent into a tipsy haze from the amount of alcohol he had you consume in one sitting.

In fact, you did the opposite once the taste of him resonated with you when you found yourself sucking back on his tongue instead of screaming and crying about your dignity, your outstretched palms bundling up the fabric of his neat, black collar between your fingers like a deserted whore needy for more. Because that’s exactly what you felt like, and the realization made you sick when you suddenly were spun around in his groping embrace to be lifted onto the desktop.

Father Aegon wasted no time shoving his knee between your legs and parting them to situate himself between your legs without breaking the heated exchange between your lips that caused soft groans to escape from the both of you.

His hand that held your buttock again wasted no time reaching under your skirts, hiking the fabric up while he held your whimpering skull in place by your hair as he kissed down your jawline, panting heavily in your ear when he traced up your inner thigh.

He smiled wickedly against the shell of your ear while you managed to let out a stifled moan feeling his fingertips slither their way past your small clothes dampened by your arousal, massaging agonizingly slow circles against your clothed clit, sending ripples of electricity through your body. a soft, humiliating ‘there she is’ was murmured into the cartilage that echoed down to your eardrum once your lips parted with your surrender and giving into his touch, your cheeks shamefully burning red hot.

“For someone who took a vow of chastity, your cunt weeps like a virgin,” Father Aegon nibbled softly on your earlobe while your face contorted in pent-up pleasure and your mind swirled. In truth, you hadn’t truly consumed that much alcohol, but the effect he had on your mind caused the effect to feel 10-fold from the scent of his musk and the wine on his lips, his wretched tongue and damned touch assaulting all of your senses out of nowhere.

Your fingers clutching onto his black button up gripped on for dear life feeling his fingers begin to variate their course from rubbing circles to teasing your slit before dropping down, his middle finger breaching fully past your entrance coaxing a shrill gasp from your throat that his lips were licking and placing open-mouthed kissing down. One of your hands jumped from his shirt to his bicep, wincing from the sudden scissoring penetration as he got to work establishing a pace.

“Fuck, your pussy is so tight,” Aegon murmured quietly through a groan against your skin, your entrance clamping down almost painfully around the 2nd digit he teased your tight hole with for a moment before adding it in, his middle and ring finger moving in and out of you in overwhelming patterns that made you look at the back of your skull doubled with the feeling of his free hand suddenly groping your breast through your robes, pinching and rolling your clothed nipple between his fingertips, “this pussy ever been fucked?”

Your eyes rolled back straight and snapped wide open at the vulgarity of his words, your lips parted further in sheer shock that those words could at all even be used together in a sentence, but your body was still betraying you as you ground your hips against his hand that was fucking you mercilessly. How this man became a priest was beyond you at this point, barely choking out a ‘yes’, his gaze darkening as if that wasn’t what he wanted to hear and he let go of your breast, reaching up behind the nape of your neck again.

Aegon’s hand found a hold your braided hair and twisted once more, a pained cry leaving your lips and your eyes screwing shut in another wince while his own lips were curled upwards. His eyes bright with a sinister intent, his other hand still pumping his two fingers in and out and you panted with a heaving chest.

“My name, sweet girl, say it right,” Aegon purred with an underlying, dangerous tone of voice that hid the true intentions that he was only giving you one chance to say it right despite multiple answers being applicable to stroke his ego while his fingers repetitively curling a ‘come hither’ motion within you.

“Yes sir,” you finally cried out, his chest emanating a grunt of acceptance meanwhile your spine arching as the coil deep within you threatened to build up. As if Aegon could read you like the back of his hand, he let go of your hair and reached around you as he swiped everything, including the prized book, clear from off of his desk.

He withdrew his fingers from your weeping cunt much to your dismay, only to be rendered speechless when he used both of his hands to grab and move you by your hips to the side of the desk, using one to shove your back down to lay on the surface and the other to hastily hiked up the skirt of your habits as his head dipped down, his lips kissing and his teeth nipping up your inner thighs.

You prayed that nobody was walking by Father Aegon’s office as they’d receive earfuls of lewd cries that fumbled from your throat in wails after he practically dove headfirst, your legs on his shoulders and his hands holding you in place by your thighs as his lips and tongue got to work swirling and sucking on your clit.

His platinum silver curls that were neatly parted down the middle, combed and slicked back behind his ears was disheveled within seconds as you reached down and carded through his hair, crying out in pleasure and awe at his ability to seem like he already knew every inch of you by heart.

“O-Oh my,” you squeaked out, your jaw agape as you tried to grind your hips against his face as he groaned delicious vibrations against your core, his tongue in place of his fingers greedily drawing your essence from your walls in filthy slurps that had you sobbing praises in a pleading mantra as you writhed in place.

“That’s it, good girl,” Aegon praised between quiet growls, kitten-licking your tented and overstimulated bud leaving you whining and yearning for more. The coil had begun to wind up tightly in your lower belly creating a burning sensation that threatened to snap like a taut rubber band.

“I’m gonna’ come,” you cried out softly and he chuckled darkly, nipping your sensitive flesh before suckling harshly that elicited a sharp yelp from your throat that quickly morphed into a wail of surprise as you flew headfirst into your first orgasm in almost two years. Aegon feasted and slurped every drop that expelled from your contracting cunt like a starved man, groaning in delight when your evidence of ecstasy from his touch spilled from your aching core and into his greedy mouth that caused your toes to curl painfully.

Father Aegon quickly stood up, not bothering to wipe his fingers and chin that were still glistening with the residue of your orgasm causing a deep blush to form on your flushed cheeks as you slowly came back to reality from the sound of his belt unbuckling.

Aegon hastily reached into his pants and pulled his throbbing cock free from the confines of his black dress trousers, watching his beautifully plump lips parting when he slapped the angrily flushed head against your weeping cunt a few times. His vile actions were so bewildering you were rendered speechless once more, unable to formulate words when looking up at him with bleary eyes as he fondled your folds for a few seconds, gathering your slick and smearing it across his tip and down his thick shaft waiting impatiently to fuck you in half.

“This is wrong. I-We shouldn’t do this. I don’t want this. God for-,” you managed to blurt out in soft whimpers, lying to yourself to try to hold onto the last shred of dignity you had while shaking your head only earning a sadistic smile in response from Father Aegon as he cut you off.

“You don’t want this? You weren’t the same girl watching me, pressing her thighs together as she hid in the library? Stupid girl, you’re so desperate and touch-starved, I could smell your cunt from outside. Your False God isn’t here. He can’t save you,” Aegon cooed softly, shutting you up immediately as you were left staring at him like he sprouted three-heads. You wouldn’t be surprised at this lint though. A priest using the words ‘False God’— how ironic.

Despite his cruel words, his tone of voice was almost sickly sweet if his hand wasn’t guiding the head of his cock back to your entrance and you braced yourself with a shrill gasp while he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours while he giggled maniacally under his breath sending chills of fear down your spine.

Father Aegon whispered in a taunting sneer as he continued to threaten you in a gravelly voice under his breath, the stench of wine still lingering on his tongue mixed with your release, “oh, pretty girl, the only God here is me,” and with that, he pistoned his hips forward.

A sharp hissing cry fell from your lips feeling the tip of his cock parting your neglected walls, splitting you from the inside out as your jaw hung agape and his eyes were wide– almost deliriously so as his own jaw hung agape too as if he was breathing out the energy of the cries carried out by your exhales while it seemed as though your body was losing energy as the seconds passed on. Like his hand, his hips made work establishing a steady pace as he fucked you open for him, drawing raw shrieks from your diaphram that forced him to clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon snarled against the back of his hand as your eyes rolled back, his lips kissing the corner of your parted lips when he finally let go of your mouth after the initial burn within your core dissolved and your sobs died down. His plump lips continued to kiss down your jaw, suckling and nibbling up and down your neck as you moaned and cried out shamelessly.

His words were absolutely vile and defiling and he knew it only spurred your innocent heart further, his hand that was pressed against your mouth dropping back down to grope your breast as he fucked you deeply, “God your cunt was made for my cock. Fuck it’s so fuckin’ tight– you like it when I talk to you like that? You like being fucked like some needy slut? ‘Course you do. What would your Sisters think if they found out what their whore pupil was doing in here?”

“I can’t, I can’t,” you suddenly started blabbering out in response despite your own legs hiking up around his hips to draw him in closer, your hands reaching up and gripping onto whatever you could while you rocked back and forth to his merciless motions.

“Yes you can,” Aegon panted breathlessly against your skin, his tongue swiping across your collarbone as he grunted over and over in his own world of desire, the lewd sound of skin slapping and your cunt squelching was foul in harmony with the considerably romantic blazing of the fireplace while he kissed his way back up your neck and caught your lips in another fiery, sloppy kiss between grunts and moans and cries of pleasure.

He murmured against your lips and his free hand not holding you down against the desktop in place by your breast being kneaded between his fingers, reaching between the two of you with his other hand and rubbing furious circles on your overstimulated clit, “say my fuckin’ name. give it all to me.”

“Aeg- I’m,” you cried out against his lips trying to obey his command to use his name while feeling the coil quickly wind tight once more as he effortlessly fucked you apart. As you came, stars littered your blacked out vision as you trembled and writhed, your spine arching pathetically trying to gather as much friction as possible while you shook in pleasure. Aegon moaned lowly feeling your walls contract and squeeze his cock as he continued without stopping, fucking you straight through the waves of ecstasy that left you feeling as though you had to piss everywhere, but that wasn’t what it was.

You could not have cared any less about any repercussions of your undoing with this man tonight— until he pulled out, flipped you around and bent you over the desk, plunging back inside of your cunt from a new angle causing a mewl to rip through you, and even more so when your walls fluttered down and you practically squirted back, coating both his legs and yours from your newfound experience of being overstimulated.

But as Aegon was turning you around, you suddenly had the perfect view of Father Aegon in the reflection of a mirror that had been hanging on the wall behind you, now seeing him in a full display in a reflection for the first time and took in the image that could have fueled your nightmares for the rest of eternity.

His shadow was cast up against the ceiling from the flames of the hearth illuminated, except two massive wings stood above Aegon and joined his body’s shadow as you mewled out incomprehensible words of confusion through the haze of pleasure that wracked your mind.

“Aegon,” your voice cracked, your eyes flickering to the mirror hanging on the wall dead ahead of the two of you, finally seeing Father Aegon for who he was finally through another lense and the sight alone made a scream of fear tear through you, but once more his hand came clasping down on your mouth and another sharp cursed reprimand dripping in poison was hurled at you from behind. The reflection of the man that had you bent over like a plaything, pistoning his thick cock roughly in and out of your aching cunt in the reflection of the mirror was unlike any creature you’d ever laid eyes on before.

In the reflection, while your face was streaked with tears and flushed in terror, his face looked nothing like what you saw with your own eyes, his reflection having beady black eyes, almost paper white skin, teeth long and sharp like fanged razors and his hands with long, clawed digits. You couldn’t miss the tall, pointed and curly black horns and the almost impressive black feathered wings that slowly rose and outstretched in the air after you said his name.

You couldn’t pull your eyes from the mirror even after he said your name, his hand eventually let go of your mouth and roughly grabbed your jaw, holding your head steady. Tears flowed hot from your eyes as you tried to thrash in his hold but it was no use as he chuckled wickedly above you, his pupils blown wide but it was no comparison to the dark, gaping holes you saw in the reflection of the mirror.

Father Aegon was no Father, no priest at all, learning within seconds that life was in fact cruel like that. Was there truly a God now realizing you had the entire situation practically spelt out for you when you translated that ancient scripture in the library, but you were too naive to realize the foreshadowing. The name of the shapeshifting apparatus isnt Agneo. It’s fucking Aegon.

This revelation truly meant only one thing: Aegon was a demon, and you, by saying his name, sealed off the deal and selling him your soul, his hand angling your chin up and to the side to press his lips down on yours, his tongue working your mouth apart once more, grunting against your lips when his pace faltered.

You felt your womb grow heavy while he panted and mewled, his wretched seed spurting from the head of his cock as his hips twitched between stilled moments, painting your walls as he moaned into the crook of your neck. You thought it’d be the end of the night, your mind too frazzled to even comprehend what to do next as your blurry eyes cracked open from being scrunched shut.

But Aegon’s nightmarish reflection remained the same, his smile sinister and evil as his snakelike tongue sharp and black as could be trailed up the side of your cheek as his hand kept its tight grip on your chin to hold you steady while he collected your salty tears on his tastebuds.

“Aegon…Please don’t hurt me,” you whispered pathetically, trying to claw at his taloned grip on your face and it almost struck a chord within his despicable body as he chuckled darkly, placing a soft kiss on your trembling cheekbone.

“I think it’s too late for that, sweet girl, you taste too divine,” Aegon purred softly, your doe eyes wide with horror watching in the reflection of his other hand reaching up, his clawed talon delicately moving a stray lock of hair from your face. He actually admired you, pleading through tears and drool and all, but the moment had to end at some point as his clawed hand caressed your temple and he murmured softly against the apple of your cheek.

“Just know this though, so far, I think you were my favorite. I might actually miss you,” Aegon kissed your pillowed flesh for the last time after vocalizing his odd apology that almost felt genuinely sentimental before his talons dug into your chin and your temple to hold you steady as you cried out in protest, then silenced for eternity after his wrists rolled and snapped your neck.

His deflating cock was still buried to the hilt within you as you dropped lifelessly against the desk, and the demon removed himself from his latest victim with a triumphant smile. He hastily readjusted himself and your skirt to cover your modesty, not that you were alive anyway to care, as he sat back down in his seat.

Father Aegon kicked up and crossed his legs on the desk while pouring himself another chalice of wine, continuing to admire your lifeless expression of shock while your pupils slowly dilated, and the blood that slowly dribbled out of your nostrils and out from your lips onto the desk. The blood dripped down onto the floor while your lost soul descended to the pits of Hell with that same sinister smirk he wore the first time he laid his eyes on you.

[hisfavegirl]

The Price of Desire - Reader!Targtower

Summary : The weight of duty, of expectations, of being torn between love and obligation—had slowly crushed you beneath it. Your brothers had fought over you, your fate decided not by your own heart but by the desires of men who would never understand you. And when their words turned cruel, when the halls of your home became a battlefield of whispers and accusations, you had done the only thing you could.

Warning : Angst, Self-Neglect and Starvation, Emotional and Psychological Distress, Family Conflict and Betrayal, Forced Expectations and Loss of Autonomy, Death and Loss, Verbal and Emotional Abuse.

a/n: Dividers is from @zaldritzosrose , check her blog to see more.

The gardens of the Red Keep were bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun, the scent of blooming roses and fresh-cut grass weaving through the warm air. You walked along the stone path, the skirts of your gown trailing behind you as your ladies-in-waiting flanked you on either side. Their laughter mingled with yours, the high, melodic sound echoing against the castle walls as one of them whispered something scandalous about a lord’s wandering hands at last night’s feast. You clutched your chest in feigned shock, eyes sparkling with mischief, before giggling behind your hand.

But then, like a gust of cold wind cutting through the summer warmth, the laughter died. The shift in the atmosphere was palpable. You felt it before you saw them.

Your brothers.

Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron moved toward you, each with a different intensity in their gaze. The three of them, varying in temperament yet bound by blood, were like shadows cast upon the garden’s beauty—too alluring, too dangerous.

Aegon was at the forefront, his golden hair catching the sunlight, a lazy smirk curling his lips. His violet eyes, often clouded with indulgence, now held a sharper edge, a possessive gleam that made your stomach tighten. Behind him, Aemond walked with measured grace, his sapphire eye gleaming as his remaining violet one locked onto you. There was always something unreadable in Aemond’s gaze, something both terrifying and intoxicating. And then there was Daeron—your sweet, charming younger brother, his boyish handsomeness a deceptive mask for the sharp cunning that lurked beneath.

“My sweet sister,” Aegon purred, reaching for your hand. His fingers, warm and calloused, enclosed around yours, his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckles. “You look radiant today. Doesn’t she, brothers?”

Aemond hummed, his eye raking over you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. “She does. Though I imagine Father would prefer her dressed in something less… distracting.”

You scoffed, playfully pulling your hand from Aegon’s grasp. “Must you always tease me, Aemond?”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk. “Must you always give me reason to?”

Daeron chuckled, stepping closer. “Ignore them, sweet sister. You are a vision, as always.” His fingers brushed against your wrist—so light, so fleeting, yet enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Aegon’s smirk deepened as he leaned in, his breath fanning over your ear. “Tell me, little sister… who are you trying to tempt with that dress?”

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, though you refused to let them see your flustered state. “It is merely a dress, Aegon.”

“A dress meant to lure men into madness,” Aemond muttered, his voice edged with something dangerous.

You rolled your eyes but grinned nonetheless. “If you three are done tormenting me, I am going to our father’s chambers to read to him. You may join me if you wish.”

Aegon tilted his head, his smirk never faltering. “Shall we, brothers?”

Aemond and Daeron exchanged glances before nodding.

And so, the four of you walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, each step heavy with something unspoken, something electric. The air was thick with tension—an intoxicating, forbidden tension that neither of them dared voice but all of them felt.

The heavy wooden doors of your father’s chambers creaked as they swung open, the familiar scent of burning incense and old parchment wafting toward you. The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of candlelight flickering against the stone walls, casting elongated shadows across the space. You stepped forward with a soft smile, the warmth of anticipation bubbling in your chest—only for your breath to catch at the sight before you.

Rhaenyra and her husband, Daemon, stood near your father’s bedside.

The air in the chamber shifted, the once welcoming warmth turning thick and charged, almost suffocating. Behind you, your brothers stilled, their presence shifting into something tense—something dangerous. You could feel it in the way Aemond’s body went rigid beside you, the way Aegon’s usually easy smirk tightened into something unreadable, and the way Daeron hesitated just slightly, his hand hovering near the hilt of his belt as if uncertain whether he would need to defend you.

Rhaenyra was as radiant as ever, her silver-blonde hair cascading down her back in intricate braids, her violet eyes sharp and calculating as they flickered toward you. She smiled—soft, practiced, but not without caution. Beside her, Daemon stood like a shadow, dark and unreadable, his sharp lilac gaze dragging over you with something more intense, something far more dangerous than what lay beneath your half-sister’s careful demeanor.

“Sweet sister,” Rhaenyra greeted, her voice warm, though there was something else laced within it—curiosity, perhaps? Or suspicion? “It has been far too long.”

You returned her smile, stepping forward with grace, the fabric of your gown clinging to your form in all the right places, accentuating the curves that had long since drawn the attention of men throughout court. You knew you were a temptation—an irresistible, forbidden fruit. And you knew the way the men in this room fought to resist you, to mask the hunger in their eyes.

“Rhaenyra,” you said sweetly, reaching out to clasp her hands. “I am glad you are here. I had not expected you so soon.”

Daemon chuckled, low and smooth, and you did not miss the way his gaze dragged over the delicate curve of your throat, the exposed skin of your collarbone. “Your nameday is a special occasion,” he drawled, stepping forward, his voice like silk and steel entwined. “And we would not dare miss the opportunity to celebrate you.”

Behind you, Aegon scoffed, the sound filled with a mix of amusement and irritation. “Celebrate?” he echoed, voice dripping with mockery. “That is rich, coming from you, uncle.”

Daemon only smirked, unfazed by the tension crackling in the air. He turned his gaze to you again, slow and deliberate. “I must say, little niece,” he murmured, “you have grown into quite the vision.”

The compliment was bold—too bold. Aemond tensed beside you, and you could feel the restrained fury rolling off him in waves. His fingers twitched, curling into fists at his sides. Daeron, ever the golden boy, kept his expression schooled, but you did not miss the way his jaw clenched. And Aegon… Aegon laughed, a sound devoid of humor.

“She has always been a vision,” Aegon said, stepping forward, positioning himself closer to you, as if laying claim. “But you would know that, wouldn’t you, uncle?”

Daemon’s smirk never wavered, his violet eyes gleaming with something unreadable—something dangerous. “Indeed,” he mused, tilting his head as if contemplating a move on a cyvasse board. “Though I wonder… does she know just how tempting she is?”

You felt your pulse quicken, heat creeping up your spine. The weight of their gazes—Daemon’s, your brothers’—burned against your skin, sending shivers dancing across your arms. There was something intoxicating about it, something wickedly thrilling.

Rhaenyra, sensing the unspoken tension, cleared her throat, breaking the spell. “Enough, Daemon,” she warned, though there was a knowing amusement in her gaze as she looked between you and your brothers. “We are here for my sister’s nameday, not to provoke a fight.”

Aemond exhaled sharply through his nose, stepping beside you, his presence grounding yet possessive. “Then perhaps our uncle should remember his place,” he muttered, his voice edged with venom.

Daemon only laughed—low, dark, and knowing. He turned back to you, offering his hand. “Come, niece. Will you not sit with me? Indulge an old man with your company before you begin your readings?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding against your ribs. You could feel the weight of your brothers’ stares, the silent warning in their stiffened postures.

You smiled, soft and demure, though the weight of Daemon’s lingering gaze sent a shiver rolling down your spine. He was temptation itself, a man born of fire and chaos, but you were no fool. To accept his invitation would be to step too close to the flame—and you knew, without a doubt, that the men behind you would not allow it.

So, with all the grace and poise of a daughter of kings, you tilted your head, auburn curls cascading over your shoulder as you replied sweetly, “Perhaps another time, uncle. My father awaits me.”

Daemon’s smirk did not falter, but there was something dark in his eyes—something intrigued, something almost amused—as he inclined his head in mock acceptance. “Of course, little niece. Another time.”

With that, you turned away from him, your silk skirts whispering against the stone floor as you walked toward your father’s bedside. The flickering candlelight cast warm shadows across Viserys’ frail form, his skin pallid, the weight of his years pressing upon him like an unbearable burden. And yet, when he looked at you, his expression softened, his tired eyes crinkling at the corners as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his sunken cheek.

“Father,” you murmured, your voice as tender as the touch of your lips. “I found a new book in the library today. I think you will like it.”

Viserys let out a slow, rattling breath, his smile faint but genuine as he nodded. “You always… find the best stories, sweet girl.”

Your heart ached at the sound of his voice—so weak, so fragile. Once, your father had been strong, a king whose presence filled a room. Now, he was but a shadow of himself, and it pained you more than you dared admit.

Behind you, your brothers hovered like sentinels, their looming presence a silent promise of protection. Aegon leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, but his usually lazy demeanor was absent; his sharp violet gaze was locked onto Daemon, watching, waiting. Aemond stood just behind you, close enough that you could feel his heat, his fingers twitching ever so slightly as if resisting the urge to reach for you. And Daeron, ever the quiet observer, remained near the doorway, his expression unreadable.

It was a silent warning.

Daemon would not come near you again. Not tonight.

And yet, the gods were not done testing your resolve.

Before you could even open the book in your hands, the chamber doors swung open once more, the sound of hurried footsteps filling the room. You turned in surprise, only for your breath to hitch at the sight before you.

Jacaerys and Lucerys.

Your half-sister’s sons.

They strode into the room with the easy confidence of princes, though their eyes immediately sought out their mother. Rhaenyra smiled at them warmly, but the tension in the room had already shifted, thickened, crackling like embers waiting to ignite.

Because as soon as Jacaerys’ gaze landed on you, his steps faltered.

For the briefest moment, he hesitated, his dark eyes widening ever so slightly as they raked over you—not in the way one looks upon a sibling, but in the way a man looks upon something he desires.

And Lucerys, younger though he was, was no better. His gaze flickered downward, tracing the delicate curve of your figure beneath the fine silk of your gown, before he quickly averted his eyes, his jaw tightening.

Your brothers noticed.

Aegon scoffed, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “Oh, this is rich.”

Aemond’s fingers curled into fists at his sides, his sapphire eye gleaming dangerously. “It seems our dear nephews have forgotten themselves.”

Daeron said nothing, but the shift in his posture was unmistakable—a silent readiness, a quiet threat.

Rhaenyra, ever the queen in waiting, arched a brow at the sudden tension. “Surely you all can behave for one evening?” she chided, her tone light but firm.

But Daemon? Daemon only smirked.

He had noticed it too.

And he was enjoying every moment of it.

Jacaerys cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from you as he turned back to his mother. “We came to see you before the feast,” he said, though his voice was tighter than before. “We only just arrived.”

Lucerys, ever the quieter of the two, simply nodded, though his hands were clenched at his sides.

You tilted your head, amusement dancing in your eyes. “You must be tired from your journey.”

Jacaerys met your gaze then, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes. “Not at all,” he said smoothly. “In truth, I rather enjoy being here.”

Aegon laughed, low and knowing. “Do you, now?”

The room was a battlefield without swords.

Your brothers. Your half-sister’s sons.

Daemon watching from the sidelines, amusement gleaming in his eyes like a man who enjoyed watching the world burn.

The chamber had grown quieter as the evening stretched on, the only sounds filling the space being your own voice, soft and steady, weaving tales from the book in your lap. Viserys had drifted into slumber somewhere in the midst of your reading, his breath slow and shallow, the weight of his age pressing heavy upon him. You watched him for a moment, your heart aching at the sight of how fragile he had become.

Carefully, you leaned down and pressed a delicate kiss to his sunken cheek, your lips brushing over his skin like the whisper of a promise. “Rest well, Father,” you murmured.

With gentle hands, you closed the book in your lap, its worn leather cover cool beneath your fingertips. But just as you prepared to rise, the chamber doors groaned open once more, breaking the quiet.

You turned your head just in time to see your mother step inside.

Alicent Hightower carried herself with the poise of a queen, her deep green gown clinging to her form with all the elegance of a woman who knew the power she wielded. Her auburn hair, the very same shade as your own, cascaded over her shoulders in thick waves, her eyes sharp as they swept over the room—taking in the presence of your brothers, your nephews, Rhaenyra, and Daemon all lingering within the king’s chambers.

For a brief moment, her gaze softened when it landed upon you.

“You should begin preparing for the feast,” she said, her voice calm but firm.

You nodded, knowing better than to protest. “Of course, Mother.”

Slowly, you rose from your seat, smoothing out the delicate fabric of your gown as you turned toward the rest of the room. Your brothers remained where they were, watching you with unreadable expressions. Aegon, still leaning lazily against the pillar, smirked as if he knew something you didn’t. Aemond stood tall and rigid, his sharp gaze never straying from you, while Daeron remained quiet, observing, always waiting.

And your nephews

Jacaerys’ jaw had tensed when he heard your mother’s words, as if the thought of you leaving unsettled him. His dark eyes followed your every movement, something flickering behind them—something intense. Lucerys, younger though he was, shifted his weight as if debating whether to say something, but ultimately kept his silence.

You turned to Rhaenyra last, offering a polite nod. “It was good to see you again, sister.”

She smiled, though there was a knowing look in her gaze. “And you, sweet sister.”

But it was Daemon who spoke next.

“Leaving so soon?” he mused, his voice slow, deliberate. “Such a shame. I was quite enjoying your company.”

Your heart gave a traitorous flutter at the low timbre of his voice, at the way his violet gaze dragged over you with a heat that should not have been there—not from your uncle. Not from a man who had already claimed a wife. And yet, there it was, burning between you like the fire that coursed through your family’s veins.

Aemond stiffened at your side. “She has preparations to make,” he said coolly, his voice edged with something dangerous. “You will have to find entertainment elsewhere, uncle.”

Daemon only smirked, as if he relished the way your brothers bristled at his presence, as if he enjoyed pushing them to their limits just to see how far they would go.

Aegon, never one to miss a chance to stir chaos, let out a low chuckle. “Gods, it’s almost amusing how you all circle her like wolves.” He tilted his head, his violet eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Tell me, little sister, does it not exhaust you—being the object of so many affections?”

His words were playful, teasing. But there was something else beneath them—something possessive, something dark.

You met his gaze, unflinching. “Affection is not a burden, dear brother,” you mused, tilting your head ever so slightly. “But I suppose you would not know much of it.”

Laughter rippled through the room, but Aegon only smirked, as if your sharp tongue amused him rather than wounded him.

Jacaerys stepped forward then, his expression unreadable. “May I escort you?”

The question was innocent enough, but the way he said it—the way his eyes locked onto yours with something that felt like longing—was anything but.

Before you could even part your lips to answer, Aemond stepped closer, his presence a silent threat. “That will not be necessary.”

Jacaerys’ gaze snapped to his, the tension between them palpable.

For a moment, the chamber was silent.

And then Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head. “Come, Jace, Luke. We will see her at the feast.”

Jacaerys hesitated, his jaw tight, but eventually, he relented. With a final glance in your direction, he turned on his heel and followed his mother and brother out of the room.

That left you with your brothers. And Daemon.

You let out a soft breath before nodding once. “I shall take my leave.”

Daemon was still watching you, still smirking, as if he knew something the others did not. But he said nothing.

Instead, it was Aegon who moved first, pushing off the pillar as he reached out and traced a single finger along your wrist before murmuring, “Don’t keep us waiting too long, little sister.”

Aemond said nothing, but when you turned to leave, you could feel the heat of his gaze burning into your back and Daeron, Daeron simply watched. Silent. Calculating. As if he, too, was waiting for his turn.

Your chambers were alight with the glow of countless candles, their soft flames flickering against the polished mirrors as the maids worked around you with quiet efficiency. The scent of roses and myrrh clung to the air, a delicate perfume that only added to the anticipation humming in your veins. Tonight, the Red Keep would be alive with music, laughter, and the undeniable tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

You sat poised before the vanity, your auburn hair being woven into intricate braids, cascading down your back like strands of molten copper. The maids worked carefully, twisting and pinning each lock into place, adorning your hair with pearls and golden pins shaped like the seven-pointed star—a silent homage to your mother’s faith.

And then there was the dress.

Deep emerald, rich as the forests beyond the Reach, clinging to every sinful curve of your body. The corset cinched your waist to perfection, accentuating the swell of your hips, the fullness of your chest. The neckline plunged low, revealing the soft, tempting swell of your breasts, a display meant to command attention—to tempt, to ensnare. The fabric shimmered in the candlelight, each movement sending ripples through the delicate embroidery, as if the very dress was alive with seduction.

From the reflection in the mirror, you caught sight of your mother standing behind you.

Alicent Hightower’s expression was unreadable at first, her sharp green eyes sweeping over you with careful calculation. Then, slowly, a smile curled her lips, and she reached forward, her touch surprisingly gentle as she brushed her fingers over your cheek.

“You are my daughter,” she murmured, the warmth in her voice sending a shiver down your spine. “More Hightower than Targaryen.”

The words settled deep within you, filling you with something heady, something powerful. You had always known your blood was a battle of two legacies—one of fire, one of faith. But tonight, clad in emerald, you were no dragon’s daughter. You were a queen in the making.

Your lips curved into a smile, tilting your head into her touch. “That pleases you, doesn’t it, Mother?”

Alicent hummed softly, tilting her chin as she studied you, her fingers tracing a slow path down your arm. “It does,” she admitted, voice as smooth as silk. “The court will see you tonight and know that you are not like her.”

Her.

Rhaenyra.

The unspoken name hung heavy in the air, a shadow neither of you acknowledged.

A knowing look passed between you, the understanding silent but absolute. You were not like your half-sister—the wild heir who ruled over Dragonstone, the reckless Targaryen who let fire consume all in her path. No, you were something else entirely.

You were fire carefully contained within glass, dangerous in its restraint.

You reached for your mother’s hand then, pressing it gently between your own. “I will not disappoint you.”

Alicent’s lips curled ever so slightly. “You never have.”

The moment stretched between you before she finally stepped back, casting one last approving glance over you. “Come,” she said. “The feast awaits.”

And as you rose to your feet, the emerald silk flowing around you like liquid temptation, you knew that tonight—tonight, the Red Keep would burn, not with dragonfire, but with the fire of desire.

The grand doors of the throne room swung open, the polished gold and iron catching the glow of the torches. Your mother walked beside you, her posture as regal as the crown that adorned her auburn hair, guiding you forward with a hand light on your wrist. But it was you the court watched.

The moment you stepped inside, the room fell into silence.

Noble lords and ladies, knights and bannermen, even servants lingering at the edges of the hall—all had turned to look at you. It was not mere curiosity that held them breathless, nor was it simple admiration. No, what filled the air was something heavier, something darker. A hunger unspoken yet understood.

You could feel their eyes—tracing the shape of you, the curves the emerald silk accentuated, the delicate rise and fall of your chest beneath the low neckline. The corset cinched your waist to perfection, making you look like something carved by the gods themselves. Your auburn hair shimmered in the candlelight, twisted into elegant braids that revealed the graceful column of your neck, a sight meant to be admired, perhaps even worshipped.

Your mother kept walking, unbothered, her grip on you steady as she led you toward the high table where your family awaited.

Your brothers were the first you noticed.

Aegon lounged back in his seat, a goblet of wine in hand, but his violet eyes had darkened with something unreadable as he watched you approach. Aemond sat straighter, his sharp, calculating gaze never once wavering from you, his lips parted ever so slightly as if you had stolen his very breath. And Daeron, usually quiet, stared as if he was seeing something forbidden, something untouchable.

Your nephews were no better.

Jacaerys tensed when he saw you, his grip tightening on the armrest of his chair, his chest rising and falling just a little too quickly. Lucerys, younger but no less captivated, had his brows slightly furrowed, as if he could not decide whether he wanted to look or look away.

And then there was Daemon.

Your uncle. Your father’s brother. A rogue prince who should not have looked at you the way he did.

His lips curled into something amused, but his eyes… his eyes were devouring. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his goblet to his lips and took a sip, his smirk deepening as if he had all the patience in the world to play whatever wicked game he was entertaining in his mind.

You inhaled softly and took your seat, your mother standing beside you as she turned to address the court.

“As Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, it is my honor to welcome you all on this joyous occasion,” Alicent’s voice rang through the hall, smooth and powerful. “Tonight, we celebrate my daughter, a beacon of grace and virtue.” Her gaze flickered down to you then, pride gleaming in her green eyes. “May this night mark the beginning of a prosperous future for her.”

She raised her goblet, and the court echoed her gesture, lifting their cups in unison.

“To the princess,” she toasted.

“To the princess,” the hall repeated.

You lifted your own goblet, your lips curving as you took a sip. But even as the feast began, even as the music filled the air and laughter broke the tension, you could still feel them watching you. Your brothers. Your nephews. Your uncle.

A shiver danced down your spine when you laughed at something Helaena murmured beside you, a soft, genuine sound that made her smile in return.

And then the mood shifted.

A shadow fell over your table as a tall figure stepped forward, his presence commanding, his movements purposeful.

Lord Cregan Stark.

He was unlike the men of court, unlike the lords who whispered behind their goblets and played games with empty words. He was a wolf, broad-shouldered and solid, his dark hair falling past his shoulders, his storm-gray eyes piercing as they locked onto yours.

“My lady,” Cregan said, his voice deep, steady. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Aegon shifted in his seat, fingers drumming against the table. Aemond’s jaw clenched ever so slightly, while Daeron, though polite, was watching intently. Jacaerys’ lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers tightening against his goblet, and Lucerys shifted uncomfortably.

Daemon merely smirked, waiting.

You tilted your head, meeting Cregan’s gaze with a slow, knowing smile. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

You placed your hand in his, his warmth enveloping you as he guided you away from the table, away from the stifling heat of the gazes that followed your every step. And as he led you to the dance floor, as his hands settled on your waist, firm yet respectful.

The hall was alive with music, the soft melody of strings and flutes weaving through the air like a spell. The flickering glow of a thousand candles cast golden light across the polished marble floors, where lords and ladies twirled in elegant unison. Yet, for all the splendor of the feast, the attention of the court was not on the revelry.

It was on you.

Cregan Stark’s hand rested at your waist, steady and firm, his grip possessive yet respectful. His other hand held yours, his calloused fingers brushing over your knuckles with each step. He led the dance effortlessly, his strength guiding you through the turns, the folds of your emerald gown swirling around you like a whisper of temptation.

“You look breathtaking tonight,” he murmured, his deep Northern accent laced with something softer, something only for you.

The warmth of his breath against your ear sent a delicious shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing despite yourself. You let out a light giggle, tilting your chin up to meet his storm-gray eyes, finding them filled with a quiet intensity.

“You flatter me, my lord,” you teased, your voice honeyed, the smile on your lips both coy and knowing.

Cregan chuckled, his thumb brushing idly against the back of your hand. “I only speak the truth.”

You felt their eyes on you.

The weight of their stares burned into your back—your brothers, your nephews, your uncle. They watched, silent, their expressions unreadable, but you could feel the tension thrumming beneath the surface like a beast ready to bare its fangs.

Yet, for this moment, you let them simmer in their jealousy.

As the dance slowed, Cregan’s hand at your waist lingered, his touch warm even through the layers of fabric. He studied you, his expression unreadable, but there was something contemplative in the way his eyes roamed your face, something deeper than mere attraction.

“Tell me, princess,” he began, his voice lower now, meant only for you. “What future do you see for yourself?”

The question was innocent on the surface, yet there was weight behind it, a meaning that stretched beyond mere pleasantries. He was not just asking about idle dreams—he was asking about your fate, your marriage.

You smiled, tilting your head, your fingers curling ever so slightly against his shoulder as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Why, my lord? Are you asking for yourself?”

The tease was meant to fluster him, to make him chuckle and shake his head.

But instead, he smiled. Slow. Certain.

“Yes,” Cregan said, his voice unwavering.

Your breath hitched. The answer was unexpected, yet the certainty in his tone sent something thrilling through you, something unfamiliar and dangerous.

He did not laugh it off, did not turn it into jest. He meant it.

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could respond, the music ended. The spell broke, and applause filled the hall.

Cregan stepped back, still holding your hand, his fingers brushing against yours before he finally released you. His gaze lingered, as if he was memorizing every inch of you, as if he was already claiming you in his mind.

And when he turned to leave the floor, you stood there, breathless, as the weight of his words settled over you. Behind you, at the high table, the men who had watched you so closely all night were seething.

As you made your way back to the high table, you could feel the weight of their stares pressing into your back. Your brothers, your nephews, your uncle—each one had watched your dance with Cregan Stark with something unreadable in their eyes. Aegon swirled the wine in his goblet with slow, lazy movements, though the grip he held on it was far from relaxed. Aemond sat rigid in his chair, his jaw tight, while Daeron kept a carefully neutral expression, though his fingers tapped restlessly against the table. Jacaerys and Lucerys were no better, the tension rolling off them in waves.

And then there was Daemon.

The Rogue Prince leaned back in his chair, his smirk faint but ever-present, watching you with an amusement that did not quite reach his eyes. There was something else there—something more dangerous, more possessive.

You ignored the storm brewing behind you and settled back into your seat beside your mother, who turned to you with a small, knowing smile.

“You danced beautifully, my love,” Alicent murmured, her voice warm yet sharp enough to cut through the tension at the table.

“Thank you, mother,” you replied sweetly, though you could still feel the ghost of Cregan’s hand on your waist, his words lingering in your mind.

Alicent exhaled softly, setting her goblet down with a quiet clink before turning to face you fully. “I received no less than ten marriage proposals for you this evening,” she remarked, her voice laced with amusement.

You blinked before laughter bubbled up from your lips, light and airy. “ten? My, I must be quite the temptation.”

The table was silent.

Aegon let out a short scoff, but he said nothing, merely tipping his goblet back as he took a long drink. Aemond’s fingers curled into a fist against his lap, while Jacaerys glanced away, his jaw tightening. Daemon smirked, swirling his wine, but his eyes never left you.

Alicent, ever the picture of grace, simply smiled at your reaction. “You are, my love. The most sought-after bride in the realm.”

You hummed in response, tilting your head in mock contemplation. “And yet, I have no intention of marrying so soon after my nameday,” you mused, your lips curving into something teasing. “Surely, I deserve more time to enjoy my youth before I am given to a lord?”

Your mother nodded in agreement, reaching to brush her fingers over your cheek in a rare display of affection. “I believe that is wise. There is no need to rush such decisions.”

A sigh of relief rippled through the table.

Aegon visibly relaxed, though his expression was unreadable. Aemond exhaled slowly, his tense shoulders loosening ever so slightly. Daeron nodded in silent approval, while Jacaerys and Lucerys both seemed to ease, though they still looked wary.

Daemon simply chuckled under his breath.

You took a sip of your wine, allowing the tension to settle. You had no doubt that they would fight for you, that this battle for your hand was only just beginning.

And as the feast continued, you smiled to yourself, knowing that tonight, you had won.

Laughter and music still filled the hall, the rich scent of spiced wine and roasted meats lingering in the air, but you barely noticed any of it when you heard your name being called.

“Sweet niece,” came the familiar voice, deep and warm, laced with affection and something else—something darker, something possessive.

Your head snapped up, and your eyes widened before a delighted giggle escaped your lips. “Uncle Gwayne!”

Without thinking, you rose from your seat, your emerald skirts swishing around you as you rushed toward him. Gwayne Hightower stood tall and proud, his fine tunic of deep green embroidered with golden thread, his auburn hair combed neatly, his sharp features softened only by the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

He opened his arms just as you threw yourself into them, wrapping you in a strong embrace. The scent of leather and polished steel clung to him, mingling with the faint hint of the oils he used in his hair.

“I have missed you,” you murmured against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your hands.

“And I, you,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he tightened his hold on you just a fraction longer than necessary.

From the high table, your mother’s body went rigid, her goblet still in her grasp, though she did not drink. Alicent’s sharp eyes watched the way her brother held you, the way his large hand rested on the small of your back, the way his thumb brushed—so subtly it could have been imagined—against the fabric of your gown.

She was not the only one who noticed.

Your brothers had gone completely still. Aegon’s once-lazy posture stiffened, his fingers tightening around his goblet until his knuckles turned white. Aemond, who had been methodically cutting into his food, now simply held the dagger, his single eye locked onto you with an unreadable expression. Daeron’s polite demeanor had slipped, his lips pressed into a thin line.

And Daemon—Daemon was smirking. Amused. But not pleased.

Your nephews were no better. Jacaerys and Lucerys exchanged glances, their hands curled into fists against their laps, the easygoing air they carried all but gone.

Oblivious to the tension your embrace had sparked, you pulled back just enough to look up at Gwayne.

“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into the pouch at his belt.

Curious, you watched as he pulled out a velvet box, flipping it open to reveal an exquisite necklace. A delicate golden chain with a striking emerald pendant—a stone so deep in color it seemed to burn with an inner fire. The craftsmanship was impeccable, the edges of the gem catching the candlelight in a dazzling display.

A soft gasp escaped your lips. “It’s beautiful, uncle.”

“Not as beautiful as the one who wears it.” His voice was quiet, meant only for you, but the words sent a shiver down your spine.

Slowly, he reached up, his fingers brushing against your collarbone as he clasped the necklace around your throat. The touch was fleeting, yet deliberate, his fingertips lingering just a second too long against your bare skin.

You smiled, completely unaware of how your mother’s grip on her goblet had turned to iron.

“You spoil me,” you teased, touching the pendant with a soft laugh.

Gwayne merely smirked, his gaze flickering down to the way the emerald nestled perfectly above the swell of your displayed cleavage.

“I only give what is deserved.”

The silence behind you was deafening.

Aegon set his goblet down with a loud clink, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the necklace now resting against your chest. Aemond’s jaw ticked, his fingers curling into his palm. Daeron’s eyes darkened, though he said nothing.

Jacaerys let out a slow breath, as if steadying himself, while Lucerys glanced at his brother, sharing an unspoken thought.

Daemon, watching it all unfold, merely swirled the wine in his goblet, smirking to himself.

Alicent, however, had had enough.

“My love,” she said, her voice cool, yet sharp enough to cut through the thick tension, “it is time to return to the table.”

You turned to her, tilting your head slightly, but nodded. “Of course, mother.”

With one last glance at Gwayne, you offered him a smile before returning to your seat.

And as you settled back beside your mother, completely unaware of the storm brewing around you, you could not help but touch the emerald at your throat—completely oblivious to the way every man at the table watched, their gazes dark with something far more dangerous than mere admiration.

The warmth of the wine lingered on your tongue as you watched your mother rise from her seat. There was something in the way she moved, something deliberate and sharp. You tilted your head slightly, curiosity sparking in your chest as she turned away from the table, her emerald skirts swaying as she stepped down from the dais.

You followed her with your gaze, brows furrowing when you saw where she was heading.

Straight toward her brother.

Gwayne barely had a moment to react before Alicent reached him, her slender fingers curling around his wrist in a grip that was deceptively strong. Without a word, she pulled him away from the crowd, leading him toward the farthest, quietest corner of the throne room.

The torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting long shadows over their tense figures.

Alicent did not release him, even when she finally came to a stop. Instead, she tightened her grip. “What do you think you are doing?”

Gwayne merely raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific, dear sister.”

Alicent’s nostrils flared, her auburn brows knitting together. “Don’t play coy with me,” she hissed, voice low, sharp. “The way you looked at her, the way you touched her—”

Gwayne chuckled, a sound so rich and unbothered it only made Alicent’s anger burn brighter.

“She is a beautiful young woman, Alicent,” he said simply, tilting his head. “Surely you cannot blame me for noticing.”

Alicent let go of his wrist as if burned, stepping back, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “She is my daughter, your niece.”

“She is not a child,” Gwayne countered, his voice smoother than silk. “She has come of age. And not just I have noticed.”

Alicent froze.

Gwayne took a slow step forward, watching as his sister’s body stiffened. His voice dropped lower, dangerously knowing. “Have you not seen the way they look at her?”

Alicent’s throat bobbed.

“She is… exquisite,” Gwayne murmured, and his eyes flickered over to where you sat at the high table, laughing softly at something Helaena had whispered to you. The emerald at your throat gleamed in the candlelight. “They are all drawn to her. Aegon. Aemond. Daeron.” His lips curled slightly. “Even Daemon.”

Alicent’s fingers dug into the fabric of her skirts.

Gwayne smirked. “And let us not forget Rhaenyra’s sons.”

Alicent’s breath caught. She had noticed it, of course she had. The way Aegon’s usual nonchalance melted into something far darker when his eyes lingered on you. The way Aemond watched you with quiet, possessive intent. Daeron, once easygoing and playful, had begun to stiffen when other men approached you.

And Daemon—Daemon had always been a tempestuous storm, but when it came to you, his interest was undeniable.

Even Jacaerys and Lucerys, who had once looked at you with the affection of kin, now watched you differently.

Alicent inhaled sharply.

“You know it to be true.” Gwayne’s voice was quiet now, almost teasing.

Alicent forced herself to regain composure. “She is my daughter,” she repeated, steel laced in her tone. “She is of Hightower blood.”

Gwayne’s smirk deepened. “Then you should know better than anyone, dear sister—fires are not so easily tamed.”

Alicent did not reply, her jaw tight as she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Gwayne standing there, chuckling softly to himself.

And across the room, unaware of the storm you had ignited, you smiled as you toyed with the emerald at your throat, feeling the weight of more than just jewels resting against your skin.

The moment your mother returned to her seat beside you, you noticed the slight tension in her frame. Her expression was schooled into one of quiet composure, but the way her fingers curled slightly against her lap told you something had unsettled her.

Before you could ask, a servant stepped forward, bowing deeply before presenting a small, intricately carved wooden box. “A gift from His Grace,” the servant announced, his voice respectful.

You blinked in surprise, curiosity sparking in your chest as you reached for the box. Your fingers traced over the delicate carvings of dragons entwined with flames before you carefully lifted the lid.

The candlelight caught on the glint of metal, and your breath hitched.

Nestled inside was a necklace of the deepest, richest gold, the links delicate yet strong, polished to a gleaming perfection. At the center, a striking pendant—a dragon wrought in rubies and black diamonds, its wings fanned out as if mid-flight. It was regal, ancient, breathtaking.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as you lifted the necklace, letting it dangle from your fingers. The gemstones caught the light, casting small reflections across your skin like scattered embers.

“It is stunning,” you murmured, completely enthralled.

Beside you, Rhaenyra leaned in, her gaze sharp yet amused. Then, recognition flickered in her eyes, and her lips parted slightly before curving into a knowing smile.

“That,” she said, voice laced with intrigue, “is Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror’s necklace.”

Your head snapped toward her, eyes wide. “Truly?”

She nodded. “It was gifted to her by Aegon himself, a token of his devotion.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “For years, it has been kept among the royal treasures, untouched… until now.”

A squeal of delight bubbled up from your throat before you could stop it. “Father gave this to me?” you breathed, tracing a reverent finger over the rubies.

“You should be honored,” Rhaenyra said, though there was something unreadable in her gaze as she studied you. “It is a symbol of both power… and temptation.”

A rich chuckle came from across the table.

Daemon.

You looked up to find his violet eyes watching you with something darkly amused, his lips curved in that ever-present smirk. He swirled the wine in his cup lazily before tilting his head.

“I daresay it suits you,” he drawled.

Something in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. “Does it?”

Daemon’s smirk deepened. “Rhaenys herself was the very image of beauty and temptation,” he mused, gaze sweeping over you in a way that made your skin prickle with heat. “A woman whose presence could turn the heads of lords and warriors alike. She was both admired… and feared.” He lifted his cup to his lips, taking a slow sip before adding, “Just like you.”

The words wrapped around you like a velvet caress, thick with meaning. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you kept your composure, offering Daemon a coy smile.

“Then I shall wear it proudly,” you murmured, tilting your chin slightly, “as a true daughter of House Targaryen.”

Daemon’s smirk didn’t falter, but something flickered in his gaze, something unreadable.

A servant stepped forward to help fasten the necklace around your throat, and as the cool metal met your skin, a hushed silence fell over the table.

You could feel the weight of their stares.

Aegon’s gaze was unreadable, but his fingers clenched around his goblet. Aemond’s single eye gleamed with something dark, dangerous. Daeron, normally composed, had an edge of tension in his shoulders. Even Jacaerys and Lucerys, who had once looked at you as kin, now studied you with something else entirely.

The weight of the necklace was nothing compared to the weight of their eyes.

And in that moment, you realized—Rhaenys the Conqueror had been a legend, a queen whose beauty and power ensnared the most formidable men of her time.

And now, you bore her gift.

A gift… and a warning.

The necklace rested against your skin, a stark contrast to the deep emerald of your gown. The gold gleamed under the candlelight, the rubies catching every flicker of fire, glowing like embers against the lush green fabric. Your mother had planned tonight meticulously—your coming of age would be marked by the embrace of your Hightower roots. The rich green, the corset that accentuated your curves, the low neckline designed to tempt and yet uphold your grace—all of it was meant to solidify your place as a daughter of Oldtown, a woman of noble refinement.

But Viserys had other plans.

By bestowing upon you the necklace of Queen Rhaenys, he had made his declaration. You were not merely the daughter of Alicent Hightower. You were the blood of the dragon, the daughter of a Targaryen king. The weight of the gift settled upon you, not just in metal but in meaning. You belonged to the fire, not to the tower.

A delicate whisper from beside you caught your attention. Helaena, lost in her own world as always, murmured something beneath her breath, her pale eyes unfocused as she stared at the flickering flames of the chandeliers.

“The dragon wears the crown of another… flames dance, waiting to consume… the pillars crumble, but the serpent coils tighter…”

You frowned, tilting your head toward her. “What did you say, dear sister?”

Helaena blinked, her trance breaking as she turned toward you with a dreamy smile. “Nothing,” she murmured, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your shoulder. “You look beautiful tonight, sister.”

Before you could press her further, movement in front of you pulled your attention away.

Your brothers.

All three of them—Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron—stood before you, their towering figures casting shadows against the table. Each wore a different expression, yet their intentions were the same.

“Dance with me,” Aegon grinned, offering his hand first. His violet eyes held a glint of mischief, his smirk lazy yet expectant.

“Dance with me,” Aemond echoed, his tone softer yet no less firm, his single eye burning with an intensity that sent a shiver through you.

Daeron, the youngest yet no less commanding, simply tilted his head with a small smirk. “You cannot deny your favorite brother, can you?”

Three brothers

Three sets of expectant gazes.

You laughed, the sound light, teasing. “Must I choose?”

Aegon’s grin widened. “Would you prefer all of us at once, sweet sister?” His voice was low, suggestive, meant to elicit a reaction.

Aemond scoffed, shooting him a sharp glare before turning his focus back to you. “A proper dance, not one of your drunken antics,” he murmured, as if he were the only one capable of offering you something respectable.

Daeron simply chuckled, shaking his head. “Perhaps we should let her choose instead of fighting like fools.”

You tapped your chin playfully, your gaze flickering between them. The attention was intoxicating, the possessiveness in their stares making your skin prickle.

“You are all so eager,” you mused, tilting your head. “It’s quite endearing.”

Aegon arched a brow. “Endearing?”

Aemond’s lips twitched slightly, a ghost of amusement hidden beneath his usually stoic expression.

Daeron merely extended his hand further, his blue eyes gleaming. “Come now, sister. The night is young, and you deserve to be celebrated.”

Smiling, you placed your hand in his, allowing him to guide you toward the dance floor. The moment your fingers touched, you heard a low exhale from one of your other brothers—Aemond, perhaps. Or Aegon.

Possessiveness was a trait none of them lacked.

As Daeron led you into the first steps of the dance, you could feel their eyes lingering, burning into your back. The weight of their gazes was heavy, intense. You had been theirs before—beloved sister, treasured princess. But tonight, something had shifted.

Tonight, they did not just see their sister.

Tonight, they saw something more.

Something untouchable.

Something they all wished to claim.

The music swelled around you as Daeron twirled you effortlessly across the dance floor. Laughter bubbled past your lips, his touch light yet firm against your waist as he led you through the steps with ease. Unlike Aegon’s wild revelry or Aemond’s measured control, Daeron danced with a natural charm, playful yet undeniably graceful. His eyes sparkled as he leaned in, murmuring, “You truly are the most beautiful creature in the room tonight.”

Your cheeks warmed, though whether from the dance or his words, you weren’t sure. “Flatterer,” you teased, your fingers tightening briefly in his grasp.

But the moment of lightness was met with a heavy contrast.

At the edge of the dance floor, Aegon and Aemond stood, watching.

Their gazes were unwavering, dark and unreadable, their postures stiff with barely concealed tension. Aegon had a goblet in hand, swirling the wine absentmindedly, though he had not taken a sip in some time. Aemond, meanwhile, stood still as stone, his eye trained on the way Daeron’s hand rested against your waist, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

And then came the voice that cut through the tension like a blade.

“Enough.”

Alicent’s tone was sharp, quiet yet firm, meant only for her sons to hear. She did not move toward them, but her presence was enough to demand their attention.

Aegon chuckled first, his lips twisting into a knowing smirk. “Something wrong, Mother?”

Alicent’s eyes were unreadable, flickering between her eldest and second-born before settling on Aemond, whose expression remained carefully blank. She took a slow breath, steadying herself before speaking again.

“She is your sister.”

Aemond turned his head then, his eye glinting in the low candlelight. “Yes,” he murmured, tilting his goblet slightly, letting the wine coat the edges, “she is.”

Alicent’s frown deepened. “You will not entertain thoughts beyond what is proper.”

Aegon let out a low, amused hum. “Proper? Mother, you forget—our blood is not solely Hightower.” He took a slow sip of his wine, pausing for effect before adding, “We are Targaryens, too.”

Alicent stiffened. “That does not mean—”

Aemond interrupted her, his voice softer but no less pointed. “And Targaryens,” he mused, swirling his goblet lazily, “have peculiar customs when it comes to marriage, do they not?”

Alicent’s breath hitched.

It was a subtle reaction, but one her sons did not miss.

Aegon’s smirk widened. “Oh, Mother,” he crooned, feigning innocence, “you knew this day would come, didn’t you?”

Alicent said nothing, her fingers tightening into her palms.

Aemond set his goblet down, straightening. “Viserys has already claimed her as his daughter before the court,” he stated, his tone carrying the weight of undeniable truth. “She is as much a Targaryen as we are. And our ancestors—” He stepped closer, his voice lowering just enough to make his mother hold her breath. “—would not find such things unnatural.”

Alicent turned sharply to Aegon then, as if expecting him to dismiss his brother’s words, to make light of the situation as he always did. But for once, Aegon’s smirk did not reach his eyes.

“She’s no little girl anymore, Mother,” Aegon said, his voice devoid of its usual playfulness. “Everyone in this hall sees it.” His gaze flickered back to the dance floor, where you were still lost in laughter with Daeron, oblivious to the quiet war waging behind you.

Alicent followed his gaze, and for the first time that night, true fear laced her expression.

Because Aegon was right.

Everyone had seen it.

The way lords whispered about your beauty, the way men looked at you with admiration too impure for a princess. Even Gwayne, her own brother, had held you in a way that had sent unease twisting through her chest.

But worse than that—her own sons saw it, too and they did not just see their sister. They saw something much, much more dangerous.

Alicent let out a slow, measured sigh, pressing her fingers to her temple as if warding off an oncoming headache. The candlelight flickered against her features, the strain in her eyes unmistakable as she regarded her eldest sons.

Aegon smirked, tipping his goblet back before speaking. “It’s not just us, Mother.”

Alicent’s fingers curled against her palm. She did not want to hear this. She did not want to acknowledge it.

Aemond tilted his head, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “You’ve seen the way they look at her.”

Alicent exhaled sharply, but Aegon continued, undeterred.

“Our uncles,” he mused, swirling his wine lazily. “Our nephews. It seems,” he cast a glance across the room, his gaze dark with knowing, “our dear sister has bewitched them all.”

Alicent’s lips parted as if to argue, but no words came.

Because she knew.

She had seen Daemon’s watchful eyes when you had entered the hall, the way his lips had curved ever so slightly when Rhaenyra had remarked on your beauty. She had seen Jacaerys tense when you had smiled at Cregan Stark, his jaw clenching with something too close to envy. Even Lucerys, sweet and young as he was, had looked at you with a boyish admiration that was almost painful to witness.

And Gwayne.

Her own brother.

Alicent closed her eyes for a brief moment, composing herself before she spoke. “You will not speak of this again.”

Aegon chuckled, amused by her feigned authority. “Oh, Mother,” he sighed, “denial does not suit you.”

Aemond leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down his mother’s spine. “She is no longer a child, Mother. And the men in this room?” His eye flickered to the high table where you had just finished your dance. “They all know it.”

Alicent wanted to argue. To scold them. To command them to stop.

But before she could speak, the sound of your laughter rang through the hall once more.

She turned in time to see you stepping away from Daeron, your cheeks flushed from the dance, your gown clinging to your curves in a way that left nothing to the imagination. The candlelight caught on the necklace around your throat—the necklace gifted by Viserys, by Rhaenys before him. A claim in its own right.

And then, before you could retreat back to the high table, Aegon was there.

He caught your wrist, his fingers curling around your delicate skin, and with an effortless tug, he pulled you back toward him.

A surprised laugh escaped your lips. “Aegon!”

His smirk was wicked as he spun you effortlessly into another dance. “What?” he teased, his voice warm against your ear. “You’ll dance with our little brother but not me?”

You let out a breathless giggle, letting him lead you into the next steps. “You didn’t ask.”

Aegon hummed, his grip tightening slightly at your waist as he twirled you in time with the music. “Must I ask, little sister?” His voice dipped lower, almost lazy in its amusement. “When you belong to us already?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, though you weren’t sure if it was the way he had said it or the way his touch lingered just a little too long.

At the edge of the hall, Aemond watched.

His hands curled into fists at his side, his expression unreadable, though something dark lurked beneath the surface.

And beside him, Alicent turned away.

Because for all her warnings, for all her prayers, she knew one undeniable truth. No matter how much she fought against it, you were a temptation none of them could resist.

Alicent’s fingers tightened around Daeron’s wrist, her grip firm yet desperate, nails pressing into his skin as if she could anchor him back to reason. Her voice was hushed but sharp, laced with a mother’s warning.

“This is wrong, Daeron,” she whispered, her words edged with quiet fury. “You have lived in Oldtown long enough to understand that.”

She searched his face, expecting guilt, shame—anything that might reassure her that one of her sons had not fallen victim to the same temptation that plagued his brothers.

But Daeron only chuckled.

His violet eyes, gleamed with something unreadable as he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so that only she could hear.

“I am a Targaryen, Mother,” he murmured.

A shiver ran down Alicent’s spine.

Aemond’s laughter cut through the moment, low and knowing. He stepped closer, resting a firm hand on Daeron’s shoulder, squeezing it with something between amusement and approval.

“Well said, little brother,” Aemond murmured, his lips curving into a smirk.

Alicent’s breath hitched.

Her grip loosened on Daeron’s wrist as realization struck her like a cruel tide, pulling her under without mercy.

Daeron had been raised in Oldtown, surrounded by piety, by the faith, by the teachings of decency and morality. And yet, here he stood before her, unrepentant, unashamed, speaking with the same ease as Aegon, as Aemond.

The corruption had spread further than she had feared.

She turned her gaze toward you, standing in the center of the great hall, still dancing with Aegon, your laughter like a melody sweeter than the music itself.

You were a vision of temptation, the candlelight kissing the emerald silk of your gown, the bodice sculpted to perfection, your beauty effortless, intoxicating. The necklace from Viserys—the symbol of his claim, of your Targaryen blood—rested against your skin, stark against the deep green of your dress.

She had raised you to be a Hightower.

She had dressed you in the colors of her house, had spoken of duty and virtue, had ensured you were set apart from the fire that ran rampant through the veins of the Targaryens.

And yet—

She saw it now.

In the way Aegon’s hand lingered at your waist, fingers flexing ever so slightly as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

In the way Aemond’s eye never left you, dark and calculating, as if he were already plotting his next move.

In the way Daeron stood beside her, unconcerned, unbothered, as if he had already accepted what she could not.

And worst of all, in the way the rest of the hall had taken notice, silent witnesses to the unspoken battle unfolding before them.

Daemon watched from the high table, sipping his wine lazily, amusement flickering in his eyes. Jacaerys and Lucerys sat stiffly beside their mother, jaws tight, eyes dark with something unspoken. Even Cregan Stark, noble and honorable as he was, had not torn his gaze away from you all evening.

Alicent’s lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Because for all her prayers, for all her efforts to shield you, she knew— You were not merely a Hightower. You were a Targaryen. And the men in this room would burn the world for you.

As the music swelled to its final notes, Aegon dipped you low, his grip firm yet effortless, his golden hair falling forward slightly as he held you there for a breath too long. Your heart pounded against your ribs as his face hovered close to yours, the scent of wine and something distinctly Aegon filling your senses. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned in—not to claim your lips, but to press a lingering kiss against your cheek, just at the corner of your mouth.

Your breath hitched.

Aegon chuckled, the sound deep and sinful, before pulling you upright once more, his hands lingering at your waist. He steadied you as if you had truly lost your balance, though you knew it was merely his way of keeping you close for a few moments longer.

“You should enjoy your feast, little sister,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, a promise wrapped in a command.

Before you could respond—before you could even fully register the heat simmering beneath his words—another figure stepped into your path.

Aemond.

His presence was like ice after fire, a stark contrast to Aegon’s reckless heat. Where Aegon was playful indulgence, Aemond was sharp control, deliberate, focused. His single violet eye burned into yours, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he extended his hand.

“May I have this dance?” His voice was smooth, laced with something unreadable, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You giggled softly, the sound breaking the tension, though your stomach fluttered at the intensity of his gaze. “Of course, brother.”

Aemond’s fingers curled around yours, his grip cool yet firm as he guided you back to the floor. The moment Aegon released you, you felt the shift—where Aegon had been lighthearted and teasing, Aemond was something else entirely.

Possessive. Calculated.

The music resumed, slower this time, the kind of melody meant for whispered secrets and stolen glances. Aemond’s hand found the small of your back, guiding you effortlessly, his touch a stark contrast to Aegon’s playful teasing.

“Was his dance satisfactory?” Aemond murmured, his tone neutral, yet the way his fingers pressed against your waist told another story.

You tilted your head at him, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Aegon is always entertaining.”

“Hmm.” Aemond’s eye darkened slightly, his jaw tightening for the briefest of moments. “And yet, he lacks restraint.”

You giggled again, twirling as he led you into a graceful spin before pulling you back against him, closer than before. “And you, dear brother? Do you have restraint?”

Aemond’s lips curved into something that was not quite a smile but rather a promise—dark, unreadable, tempting.

“For you?” he murmured, voice dipping lower as his thumb traced the line of your spine through the silk of your gown. “I would find it… difficult.”

Your breath caught, your fingers tightening slightly against his shoulder as his words settled between you, heavy with meaning. You could feel eyes on you—your mother’s sharp gaze, Daeron’s silent amusement, Aegon’s knowing smirk. And further still, others watched too—Daemon, Jacaerys, even Cregan, each man attuned to the unspoken war brewing over you.

And yet, in this moment, none of them existed.

There was only Aemond, the slow, deliberate movement of your bodies, the heat simmering beneath the surface, waiting—aching—to ignite and the knowledge that this dance was only the beginning.

Aemond spun you in his arms, his grip firm yet fluid, guiding you with the kind of precision that came so naturally to him. You giggled, breathless, your laughter ringing through the hall like a melody of its own. For once, something shifted in Aemond. His usual stoicism cracked, and to your delight, a rare, genuine laugh escaped his lips.

The sound was deep, unfamiliar yet mesmerizing, a contrast to the sharp edges that usually defined him. Your eyes widened, and you couldn’t resist teasing him, your fingers grazing his shoulder as he pulled you back into his embrace.

“You laugh?” you gasped, feigning shock. “Seven hells must have frozen over.”

Aemond smirked, his grip tightening at your waist for the briefest of moments, his eye burning into yours with something unreadable. “It seems you’re a rare cause for such things, sweet sister,” he murmured, voice low enough for only you to hear.

Your stomach fluttered at the weight of his words, but before the moment could linger, the music swelled to a close. Aemond reluctantly released you, his fingers trailing down your arm as you stepped away. You turned to see Aegon watching you both with a knowing smirk, Daeron shaking his head slightly, as if amused by the silent war between them.

With a playful grin, you turned to your brothers. “As much as I enjoy being fought over,” you teased, eyes twinkling, “I wish to dance with my dear sister now.”

Before anyone could protest, you stepped away from Aemond’s hold, your hands reaching for Helaena at the high table. She blinked up at you in surprise, but when you tugged at her wrist, she giggled, allowing you to pull her onto the dance floor.

The moment you twirled her into your arms, she let out a soft, delighted laugh, her usual quiet demeanor momentarily forgotten. You beamed at her, holding her hands as you both swayed to the rhythm of the music.

“You look beautiful tonight, sweet sister,” Helaena murmured, her lilac eyes soft as they took you in.

“As do you,” you whispered back, twirling her once more, watching as the candlelight caught the silken embroidery of her gown.

For a brief moment, there were no heavy gazes watching your every move, no silent battles waged between men staking their unspoken claim. It was just you and Helaena, two sisters lost in laughter and movement, the weight of the world lifting—if only for a dance.

But even then, in the periphery, you could feel them.

Aemond’s eye never left you. Aegon’s smirk never wavered. Daeron watched with a contemplative expression. And beyond them, your uncle, your nephews, even Cregan Stark—each man drawn to you, their gazes hungry, possessive, waiting.

And somewhere, in the shadows of the grand hall, your mother watched too, her lips pressed together, her heart warring between pride and unease.

Because tonight, you were not just a daughter of House Hightower. You were a Targaryen. A dream in flesh. A dangerous temptation and every man in this room knew it.

Helaena twirled you with a delighted giggle, her soft hands slipping from yours as you spun. But the moment your feet found the ground again, you stumbled—straight into the warmth of a firm chest. Large hands caught you, steadying you with ease, fingers splaying against your waist like they had every right to be there.

Surprised, you blinked up, your breath hitching as you met the sharp, knowing gaze of your uncle.

Daemon Targaryen smirked down at you, his violet eyes glinting with something wicked, something amused. His grip did not falter, his hands firm on your waist, holding you close.

“Apologies, dear uncle,” you giggled, tilting your head up at him, your voice laced with playful innocence.

Daemon hummed, tilting his head as if considering your words. “If you truly wish for my forgiveness,” he drawled, his thumb grazing ever so slightly along the curve of your waist, “then you must grant me a dance.”

A laugh bubbled from your lips at his audacity, at the ease in which he spun his mischief. You knew what a dance with Daemon meant—it was not just steps upon the floor, not just a mere twirl in the candlelight. A dance with Daemon was a declaration, a game played in full view of those who would rather see you untouched, unclaimed and yet, the challenge in his gaze, the amusement that danced across his lips—it was irresistible.

“Then I suppose I have no choice,” you teased, placing your hand in his.

Daemon chuckled, his grip tightening around yours before he pulled you effortlessly into the dance. He led with confidence, his steps assured, his movements fluid. Unlike your brothers or Cregan, who danced with the stiffness of men too aware of the eyes upon them, Daemon moved like he had nothing to prove—only to enjoy.

His hold on your waist remained firm, guiding you through the dance as if you had always belonged there. His smirk never faded, his gaze never strayed from yours, and the longer you danced, the more you could feel the weight of the room shift.

You knew they were watching.

Rhaenyra’s lips had parted slightly, her brows furrowed as she observed you in the arms of her husband. There was something unreadable in her expression—curiosity? Worry? Perhaps even amusement.

Your brothers, however—Aegon, Aemond, Daeron—they looked ready to set the hall aflame.

Aegon swirled his wine in his cup, but his grip was too tight, his knuckles white. Aemond’s jaw was clenched, his eye burning into Daemon’s every move. Daeron, who had only just danced with you moments ago, looked less amused now, his lips pressing into a thin line.

And yet, you did not stop.

Daemon spun you effortlessly, his hand grazing the bare skin of your back as he pulled you close once more.

“You are quite the temptation, little niece,” he murmured, his lips barely a breath away from your ear. A shiver ran down your spine, though whether from his words or the heat of his touch, you could not say.

“Careful, uncle,” you teased, voice soft but laced with warning. “Some might think you wish to steal me away.”

Daemon only smirked. “Steal you? No, sweet girl.” His hand tightened on your waist, his fingers splaying possessively. “But if I did wish it, tell me—who would dare stop me?”

Your breath caught. The music swelled, the room held its breath, and as Daemon twirled you one final time, you wondered if perhaps he was right.

Just as Daemon’s final twirl sent you back into his arms, your mother’s voice cut through the haze of music and candlelight.

“Sweetling,” Alicent’s tone was firm, though not unkind, a command wrapped in maternal concern. “You should rest. You have danced more than four times tonight.”

For a brief moment, you hesitated, still feeling the lingering warmth of Daemon’s hands at your waist. But you were nothing if not your mother’s obedient daughter. So, with a graceful curtsy, you excused yourself from the dance floor, ignoring the smirk Daemon sent you as he let go of your hand.

Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron all watched you closely as you returned to the high table. Their gazes were unwavering, following your every step, but it was your grandfather’s eyes you met when you finally took your seat.

Otto Hightower sat with his usual composed expression, but there was something softer in the way he looked at you tonight. As you settled into your chair, he reached forward, presenting you with a small, ornate box.

“A gift,” he said simply, his voice steady yet carrying the weight of something deeper. “From our family, to you.”

Curiosity sparked in your chest as you carefully lifted the lid. Inside, nestled within a velvet lining, was a delicate hairpin—an intricate piece of gold filigree, adorned with tiny emeralds that caught the light like captured stars.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as you lifted it gently between your fingers, the weight of history pressing against your palm.

“It belonged to your grandmother,” your mother murmured beside you, her voice quieter now, reverent.

Your gaze snapped back to Otto, your fingers tightening around the pin. He was watching you closely, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a memory, perhaps, or something he could not quite say.

“My grandmother,” you repeated softly, running your thumb over the cool metal. You had never met her, only heard stories in hushed tones, only seen the way your grandfather’s face grew distant at the mention of her name.

Otto nodded. “She would have wanted you to have it.”

For a moment, there was silence. The hall still bustled with music and laughter, but here, in this space between you and your grandfather, time slowed. Your mother’s hand ghosted over your own, a rare, fleeting touch, before she withdrew.

“This is your heritage,” she said. “Not just Targaryen, not just fire and blood.” Her eyes softened. “But Hightower, through and through.” You swallowed, feeling the weight of the pin in your hands.

And then, as if compelled by some unseen force, you carefully lifted it to your hair, securing it into place.

A declaration. A choice.

When you looked up again, Otto was smiling. And, for the first time tonight, it was not a smile of politics or strategy. It was simply a grandfather’s pride.

For the rest of the evening, you found yourself seated beside your mother, occasionally leaning towards Helaena to whisper and giggle at her soft musings. The tension that had thickened the air earlier, laced with the weight of lingering stares and unsaid words, slowly faded into the background as you let yourself enjoy the warmth of your family’s presence.

Your mother, despite her earlier worries, seemed at ease now, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her goblet as she listened to you recount something amusing about the courtly ladies of Oldtown. Helaena, ever the dreamer, murmured something about spiders weaving threads of fate, her violet eyes unfocused as if she could see beyond the feasting hall itself.

And then—

“Princess.”

The voice was careful, almost hesitant, but it still carried across the table with the weight of someone who had been waiting for the right moment. You turned your head toward it, your expression lighting up when you saw who had spoken.

“Jace,” you greeted warmly, your smile coming easily, as it always did with him. He was standing near the table, his dark curls slightly tousled, his stance uncertain as if he had been debating whether or not to approach.

His shoulders squared under your gaze, and he cleared his throat. “I—uh, I wanted to tell you something. About Joffrey.”

Your brows lifted in curiosity, and you tilted your head, prompting him to continue.

Jacaerys hesitated for only a moment before exhaling sharply, as if bracing himself. “A few months ago, he snuck into the rookery at Dragonstone. Thought he could impress the maesters by learning to read Valyrian better than me.” A small, fond smirk tugged at his lips. “Instead, he ended up getting chased by an entire flock of ravens because he knocked over a tray of meat scraps.”

The image painted itself vividly in your mind—the young prince, all wide-eyed determination, only to be sent fleeing through the stone halls of Dragonstone with a mass of furious birds in pursuit. The thought was so absurd, so unexpectedly humorous, that you couldn’t help yourself.

You laughed.

A bright, genuine sound that bubbled past your lips before you could stop it, shaking your shoulders as you pictured Joffrey running for his life, the maesters shouting after him.

Jace relaxed at your reaction, a slow grin spreading across his face, but— The sound of sharp inhalations came from beside you.

You felt it before you saw it.

Your brothers’ gazes snapping towards you, their postures going rigid at the sound of your laughter—at the sight of you smiling so freely at Jacaerys Velaryon.

Aegon, who had been lazily swirling his goblet of wine, suddenly went still, his fingers tightening around the cup. Aemond’s jaw clenched, his single eye narrowing as he leaned back in his chair, observing the interaction with quiet intensity. Even Daeron, who had been placating your mother only moments ago, straightened, his previously easy demeanor shifting into something unreadable.

For a moment, the air grew thick again.

Jace must have noticed it, because his grin faltered slightly. His hand twitched at his side, as if he wanted to say more, but the weight of the stares around him made him pause.

You, however, ignored them.

Still smiling, you reached forward and lightly tapped his arm. “Jace, I would have given anything to see that.”

The warmth in your voice made him visibly relax, and he chuckled, shaking his head. “If I had known, I would have sent a raven. Maybe even let you see how the maesters struggled to catch him after.”

You laughed again, softer this time, but the damage was done.

Across from you, Aegon drained his goblet in one go, setting it down with an audible clink. Aemond’s fingers tapped once against the hilt of his dagger, slow and deliberate. Daeron simply exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in exasperation.

And from the corner of your eye, you caught your mother pressing her fingers to her temple, as if preparing herself for yet another night of managing the storm that was her sons.

As your laughter softened into a lingering smile, you turned your gaze back to Jacaerys, your eyes glimmering with a playful light. His expression was still caught between amusement and surprise when you extended a hand toward him, the invitation unspoken yet undeniable.

“Dance with me,” you said softly, the lilt of your voice teasing yet sincere.

For a moment, Jace hesitated, his dark brows lifting ever so slightly, as though he hadn’t expected such a request. But then, as if realizing how foolish it would be to deny you, his lips curled into a smirk, and he reached for your hand, clasping it gently before bowing his head in agreement.

“I would be honored,” he murmured.

As he led you onto the dance floor, you could feel the heat of countless eyes tracing your every step, the weight of silent stares pressing against your back. Your brothers. Your uncles. Even your mother, who, despite her earlier warning, watched with an expression that was unreadable.

But you ignored them all.

Because in that moment, as Jacaerys’ fingers settled against your waist, warmth seeping through the fabric of your gown, the world outside of your dance melted away.

The music swelled, a soft yet lively melody, and Jace guided you effortlessly into the rhythm. His grip was firm but not possessive, his movements confident yet careful, as if ensuring that you never once felt uneasy in his arms.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet, meant only for you. Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the directness of his words.

Then you giggled, tilting your head up at him with playful scrutiny. “Just tonight?”

Jace blinked before chuckling, shaking his head as though realizing he had walked straight into your trap. “You always look beautiful,” he amended, his thumb subtly tracing against the curve of your waist, sending a shiver up your spine. “But tonight… you are radiant.”

The compliment sent warmth blooming across your cheeks, and you lowered your gaze briefly, unable to stop the small, pleased smile from tugging at your lips.

“You flatter me, my prince,” you teased lightly, though the sincerity in his words made your heart quicken.

Jace merely smirked, dipping his head slightly so that his breath brushed against your ear. “Only because it is the truth.”

The way he said it, with such quiet conviction, made your stomach flutter.

He kept you engaged throughout the dance, his voice a steady, familiar comfort as he asked about your days, your interests, your thoughts. He laughed when you recounted a humorous tale of courtly gossip, and you blushed when he praised you for your wit, your kindness, your charm.

And then, as the music slowed into a more languid melody, Jace’s grip on you subtly shifted, his hand pressing just a fraction tighter against your waist as he leaned in slightly.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice gentle but laced with something deeper, something more curious. “Will you be wed soon?”

The question caught you off guard, though in truth, you should have expected it. You lifted your gaze to meet his, searching his expression. There was no jest in his tone, no teasing smirk on his lips—only a quiet, genuine interest.

For a moment, you considered your answer.

Then, with a slow, knowing smile, you tilted your head at him. “I intend to enjoy my youth a little longer before becoming some lord’s wife.”

Jace exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head as though unsurprised by your response. “That sounds like you,” he admitted, amusement flickering in his brown eyes. “You were always too free-spirited to be tied down so soon.”

Your smile widened. “Would you rather I be married?” you teased, arching a delicate brow at him.

Jacaerys hesitated only for a moment before his fingers curled slightly against your waist.

“No,” he admitted, his voice lower now, more intimate. “Not yet.”

The honesty in his tone sent a thrill through you, a warmth that settled in your chest and spread through your limbs.

But before you could respond, the music swelled into its final note, and Jace—perhaps sensing the moment was slipping away—grinned before spinning you one last time, drawing a surprised laugh from your lips.

When the dance ended, he bowed slightly, his fingers reluctantly slipping from your waist. “Thank you for the dance,” he said, his voice softer now.

You smiled, dipping into a playful curtsy. “Anytime, my prince.”

And as you turned back toward the high table, you could still feel the warmth of his hand lingering against your skin, even as the weight of a dozen burning gazes followed your every step.

The night had stretched long, filled with laughter, whispered confessions, and stolen glances that burned with unspoken meaning. You had danced until your feet ached, until the music blurred into a haze of notes and murmured voices, until exhaustion settled deep into your limbs like a slow, creeping tide.

Now, as the grand feast continued in the throne room, your mother’s hand lay firm yet gentle on your back, guiding you away from the lingering eyes that had followed you all evening. The corridor was quieter, the torchlight flickering against the cold stone walls, and for the first time since the celebration began, you could finally breathe.

Alicent remained silent as she led you to your chambers, though you could feel the weight of her thoughts pressing against the air between you. It was not until your maids opened the heavy wooden doors that she finally spoke.

“You did well tonight,” she murmured, her voice soft yet edged with something unreadable. “You carried yourself with grace.”

You turned to her, exhaustion pulling at your features, but you smiled nonetheless. “It was a celebration, Mother. I merely enjoyed myself.”

She hummed in response, but said nothing more as your maids moved to unfasten the intricate clasps and pins that held your gown together.

As the layers of heavy brocade and embroidered silks slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet in a whisper of fabric, you exhaled a long, relieved sigh. The weight of the dress had been suffocating, the jewels that adorned your neck and wrists had dug into your skin, leaving behind faint imprints of their presence.

Your mother stepped closer, her fingers carefully undoing the last of your necklaces before placing it atop the vanity. She lingered there for a moment, staring at the delicate strand of gold, her expression unreadable.

Then, she finally spoke. “You received many offers tonight.”

You blinked at her reflection in the mirror, tilting your head slightly. “Offers?”

Alicent met your gaze in the glass, her brow lifting ever so slightly. “Marriage proposals,” she clarified. “More than fifty.”

You laughed, the sound light, almost amused. “Fifty? That is… excessive.”

Your mother did not laugh with you. “You are of age now,” she reminded you, smoothing her hands over the thin fabric of your nightgown as one of your maids finished tying the ribbons at your back. “It is only natural.”

Your smile lingered, though it softened with something more thoughtful. You turned to face her fully, your bare feet cool against the stone floor. “I have no intention of marrying so soon after my nameday,” you admitted.

Alicent studied you, and for a moment, something in her eyes—something wary, something uncertain—flickered. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by quiet understanding.

“Good,” she murmured, though her voice held a touch of relief. “It is your choice.,”

Her approval settled warmly in your chest, and you reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Rest now,” she said, brushing a loose curl away from your face. “I will have the maids bring you tea to help you sleep.”

You nodded, exhaustion finally pulling at your limbs as you settled onto the edge of your bed. Your mother watched you for a moment longer before turning to leave, her steps quiet against the stone.

As the door shut softly behind her, you exhaled, tilting your head back slightly. The room was quiet now, save for the soft rustle of your maid arranging your covers.

The weight of the evening still clung to your skin, the echoes of laughter and whispered words lingering like ghosts in the dark. And yet, despite the exhaustion, despite the heaviness in your limbs, you could not shake the way certain gazes had followed you tonight.

Lingering. Burning. Waiting.

With a final sigh, you slipped beneath the silken sheets, your fingers tracing absentmindedly over the faint imprints of jewelry that still marked your skin.

Tomorrow, the world would still be watching. But for now, in the quiet of your chambers, you allowed yourself a moment of peace.

The morning sun filtered through your chamber windows, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. You sat before the vanity, running a fine-toothed comb through the loose waves of your hair, still lost in the haze of the previous night’s events. Your mind replayed the music, the laughter, the whispers that had danced along your skin like a lingering touch.

But then, a firm knock at your door shattered the quiet.

“Enter,” you called, setting the comb down as the door swung open.

Ser Criston Cole stood there, clad in his dark armor, his expression unreadable yet laced with something guarded. He bowed his head slightly. “Princess, your presence has been requested in the throne room.”

You frowned slightly. “By whom?”

“Your mother and father,” he answered. “At once.”

A strange unease coiled in your chest, but you simply nodded, smoothing out the delicate fabric of your gown before rising to your feet. As you stepped toward him, he fell into step beside you, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword as he led you down the long corridors of the Red Keep.

The walk to the throne room felt longer than usual, your mind racing with possibilities. Was this about last night? Had something happened after you left?

The great doors to the throne room were already open when you arrived, and as you stepped inside, the first thing you saw made your breath hitch painfully in your throat.

Your father—King Viserys—sat upon the Iron Throne.

But it was not the image of strength and power that the seat of kings should hold. No, he looked… fragile. Weaker than you had ever seen him before. His form slumped slightly, his skin paler than it had been the previous evening. The weight of the crown seemed almost too much for him to bear.

Your heart shattered.

Still, he managed to lift his head, his weary gaze finding yours as a small, almost wistful smile touched his lips. “My daughter.”

You stepped forward, a lump forming in your throat. “Father.”

The air in the throne room was thick with tension, every noble, every member of court, standing still as though the very walls held their breath. You glanced to the side and saw your mother, her face carefully composed but her hands clasped tightly together—a sign of her unease.

Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron stood nearby, their expressions unreadable, though you could see the way their shoulders had gone rigid. Even Otto Hightower’s gaze was sharp, calculative, as if already measuring the weight of the conversation that was about to unfold.

And then, your father spoke.

“The Prince of Dorne spoke to me this morning.”

The words echoed in the vast chamber, bouncing off the stone walls, settling like a heavy weight upon your chest.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “The Prince of Dorne?”

Viserys inhaled slowly, as if gathering his strength. “He has come with a proposal,” he said, voice rasping with age and illness. “He seeks your hand in marriage.”

The throne room fell into utter silence.

Frozen. Unmoving.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Marriage.

The word rang in your mind like a tolling bell.

You felt the shift in the air immediately—your brothers standing even straighter, their gazes darkening, the tension rolling off them like an approaching storm. Your mother’s lips parted slightly, her grip on her own wrists tightening just the slightest bit. Even Otto, always composed, blinked in what might have been the faintest trace of surprise.

And yet, it was Daemon’s reaction that struck you the most.

The Rogue Prince sat upon the steps of the throne, one arm draped lazily over his knee, his expression unreadable. But there was something sharp in his violet gaze as he looked at you—something assessing, something dangerous.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to speak, though your voice was softer than you intended. “The Prince of Dorne…” You trailed off, tilting your head slightly. “Why me?”

Your father’s gaze softened. “Because you are the only daughter of House Targaryen and House Hightower,” he murmured. “You are a union of fire and faith, and Dorne seeks peace through marriage.”

You pressed your lips together, mind racing.

A political marriage.

A way to secure peace.

A cage wrapped in golden silk.

You glanced at your mother, searching her face for anything—approval, dismay, reluctance—but Alicent’s expression was unreadable, her brown eyes flickering with something only she understood.

And then, a new voice broke the silence.

“They would send their prince here for her?”

The voice was low, edged with something dangerous. You turned slightly and met Aemond’s gaze. He stood tall, arms crossed over his chest, his single eye burning with something close to fury.

“How interesting,” Aegon mused beside him, though his smirk did little to mask the tension radiating from him. “Dorne must be truly desperate.”

Your father’s gaze flickered toward your brothers, but it was Daeron who spoke next, voice calmer but no less sharp. “Has my sister given her thoughts on the matter?”

Silence.

And then, all eyes turned back to you.

You inhaled deeply, gathering your composure before meeting your father’s gaze once more. “I am honored by the proposal,” you said carefully, choosing your words like a blade poised at your throat. “But marriage is not something I have considered so soon after my nameday.”

Viserys let out a slow breath, exhaustion weighing him down. “I do not wish to force you into anything you do not want,” he murmured. “But this is an offer worth considering.”

You nodded, though your mind was still reeling.

Alicent finally stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “You do not need to decide today,” she reassured, though her voice was firmer than usual. “We will speak more of this later.”

You exhaled, allowing her touch to ground you. “Thank you, Mother.”

Still, as you turned to leave the throne room, you could feel the weight of their gazes upon your back—your brothers, your uncle, the entire court. And you knew, without a doubt, that this proposal had stirred something dangerous in them. Something possessive. Something that would not be easily tamed.

The gardens of the Red Keep were bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun, the scent of blooming jasmine and citrus trees heavy in the warm air. The whispers of rustling leaves and the gentle trickling of the fountains did little to ease the tension coiled in your chest.

Your mind was still reeling from this morning’s announcement. Marriage. To a Dornish prince. The words felt foreign on your tongue, the idea of it unsettling despite your carefully composed response in the throne room.

As you wandered the winding paths of the gardens, trailing your fingers along the soft petals of a blood-red rose, a strange sensation crept over you. The unmistakable feeling of being watched.

You halted mid-step, your gaze flickering to the side. And there, leaning against the stone archway that framed the garden, stood Prince Qyle of Dorne.

He was watching you.

A knowing smile played at his lips, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, something amused. The wind tugged at his sun-kissed curls, and his silk garments—deep shades of gold and burnt orange—clung to his form, a stark contrast to the blacks and reds of your own house.

The moment your eyes met his, he pushed off the wall, walking toward you with the easy grace of a man who knew his own charm.

“Princess,” he greeted smoothly, his voice carrying the distinct accent of Dorne, lilting and warm, like honey dripped over fire.

You inhaled deeply before offering a polite smile. “Prince Qyle.”

He extended a hand toward you, palm up, fingers long and elegant. “Might I have the honor of accompanying you through the gardens?”

You hesitated only a breath before slipping your hand into his, ever the proper princess. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm, as he led you along the cobblestone path.

“You are even lovelier beneath the sun,” Qyle murmured after a moment, his gaze drifting from your face to the curve of your bare shoulders. “Though I imagine your beauty does not fade under moonlight either.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, tilting your head slightly. “You flatter me, my prince.”

“I only speak the truth,” he countered smoothly, glancing down at you with dark eyes that gleamed with mischief. “Is it wrong to admire the woman who might one day be my wife?”

Your steps faltered slightly, but Qyle’s grip on your hand remained steady.

“You assume much,” you mused, recovering quickly. “I have yet to accept any proposal.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Of course. But in Dorne, we are taught to go after what we want.” His thumb brushed lazily against the back of your hand, an innocent gesture yet intimate enough to stir something unfamiliar in your stomach. “And I find that I want you, Princess.”

Your breath hitched, and for the first time, you truly looked at him. Not as the political pawn your father wished to wed you to, but as a man. A man who was undeniably attractive, undeniably confident. His presence was unlike that of your brothers, your uncles. He did not look at you with possession, with a claim already placed upon you. No, he looked at you like a conquest he intended to win.

“You are bold,” you murmured, arching a delicate brow.

“And you are captivating,” he returned. “Tell me, do your Targaryen princes court you so openly? Or do they whisper their desires behind closed doors?”

You hesitated, unsure of what to say. Because the truth was, your brothers—Aegon, Aemond, Daeron—held their affections in a way that was more dangerous than mere words. They hovered, they watched, they claimed you in ways unspoken, ways that made your mother’s wary glances linger longer than they should.

Qyle studied your silence, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Ah,” he mused, “so they do not speak it aloud, but it is there.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Are all Dornishmen this presumptuous?”

“We prefer to think of it as honesty,” he replied easily, before tugging you to a halt beneath the shade of a towering orange tree. His free hand reached up, plucking a ripe fruit from the branch. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a small dagger from the sheath at his waist, slicing the fruit open in one smooth motion.

The scent of citrus filled the air as he lifted one of the slices to your lips.

“Try it,” he murmured.

You hesitated, your lips parting slightly as he brushed the fruit against them. The juice dripped down your chin as you took a bite, the burst of sweet and tangy flavor flooding your senses. Before you could react, Qyle reached forward, his thumb sweeping over your chin to catch the stray droplet of juice. His eyes flickered to your lips. Your breath stilled.

And then—

“Step away from my sister.”

The voice was low, edged with warning, and it sent a shiver down your spine. Qyle did not move immediately. Instead, he smirked as he turned his head, meeting Aemond’s gaze with the air of a man who enjoyed pressing his luck.

Aemond stood at the edge of the garden path, his single eye gleaming with barely restrained fury. His hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, fingers tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

And behind him, Aegon was watching, arms crossed over his chest, his usual smirk absent from his face. Daeron lingered slightly behind them, his mouth set in a tight line, his violet eyes flickering between you and Qyle.

Qyle exhaled a quiet chuckle, releasing your hand with a deliberate slowness. “I see that your brothers do speak, after all.” He turned his gaze back to you, his smirk softening. “A pity. I was enjoying our time together.”

You swallowed hard, glancing toward your brothers, whose expressions burned with something dangerously close to possession.

“I should return,” you murmured, your voice softer now. Qyle gave you a slow, lingering look before stepping back. “Until we meet again, Princess.”

And with that, he turned and strolled away, leaving behind nothing but the scent of oranges and the smoldering gazes of your brothers.

The moment Qyle disappeared from sight, a firm hand clamped around your wrist.

“Aemond—” you gasped, your voice barely above a breath as you felt yourself being yanked forward, the warmth of the Dornish sun replaced by the cool shadows of the Red Keep’s stone corridors.

His grip was unrelenting, his pace unyielding. His fingers dug into your delicate skin, as if determined to brand himself upon you, to remind you that you were not meant to slip through his grasp.

“Aemond, stop!” you pleaded, your free hand grasping at his wrist, nails digging into his sleeve in desperation.

Behind you, the hurried steps of your other brothers echoed through the hallway, a silent pack following the scent of their own fury. Aegon and Daeron trailed close, their own breaths heavy with something dark, something possessive.

But Aemond did not stop.

His pace quickened, his long strides forcing you to stumble slightly, your slippers barely catching the stone beneath you. The sudden jolt of nearly losing your footing sent a sharp pang of fear through you.

“Aemond, please—!”

Your words were cut short as your foot slipped on the edge of the stairway leading to another corridor, the world tilting as your body lurched forward. A gasp tore from your lips. But before you could fall, strong arms encircled you, halting your descent.

“Enough!”

The voice rang through the hallway, sharp and commanding, cutting through the tension like a blade through flesh.

Aemond froze.

You barely had time to register the warmth surrounding you before you were enveloped in the soft, familiar scent of lavender and myrrh.

Your mother.

Alicent held you close, her grip tight as if she could shield you from the fury that lingered in the air. Her hands trembled slightly as she ran them over your arms, her eyes scanning you for any sign of harm.

“Have you lost your minds?” Alicent’s voice was sharp, laced with an emotion you couldn’t quite place—fear, anger, desperation. “Dragging her through the Keep like a common prisoner?”

Aemond’s jaw tensed, his fingers flexing at his sides. He said nothing, his eye burning with something dangerous, something unresolved.

“She was with him,” Aegon muttered, his voice laced with something bitter, something possessive. He took a step closer, his gaze flickering to yours. “She let him touch her.”

You stiffened.

Alicent turned her gaze to you, her brown eyes searching yours with an urgency that made your heart pound. “Is this true?” she asked, her voice softer now, pleading.

You hesitated.

Because what could you say? That a man simply held your hand? That his fingers had brushed your lips? That for the first time, someone outside of your own blood had looked at you as a woman, not a sister?

Before you could answer, Aemond scoffed. “She let him,” he repeated, his voice bitter, sharp as Valyrian steel. “She stood there and let him feed her fruit like some Dornish whore.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Aemond—”

“You should be grateful it was only her wrist I grabbed,” he continued, his voice low, venomous. “He touched her. He dared put his hands on something that does not belong to him.” Something. Not someone.

Your stomach twisted at his words.

“I do not belong to you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but the force behind it made all three of your brothers still.

Aemond’s eye darkened. Aegon clenched his jaw. Daeron, who had been silent until now, inhaled deeply, his eyes clouded with conflict. Alicent’s grip on you tightened, her own breath shuddering.

“You are my daughter,” she whispered, her voice thick with something pained, something exhausted. “Not some prize to be fought over.”

Aegon chuckled darkly. “Tell that to them,” he muttered, motioning toward his brothers before glancing at you. “Or better yet, tell it to yourself, sweet sister.”

Your breath hitched.

Alicent turned sharply to her eldest son, fire flashing in her eyes. “Aegon, enough.”

Aegon only smirked, tilting his head slightly as his gaze flickered over you, lingering. Alicent exhaled shakily before turning back to you, cupping your face between her trembling hands. “You will not see him again,” she said, her tone firm but laced with desperation.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she shook her head.

“No.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I will not allow this. You are to be married to a nobleman, not to be some Dornish prince’s plaything.”

You swallowed hard.

Married.

You knew it was inevitable. Knew your duty was to be bound to some lord, some prince for the sake of your family. But you had not expected it to happen so soon. Had not expected it to be dictated so harshly. Alicent turned to Ser Criston, who had been standing near the corridor in silence, watching the scene unfold with a clenched jaw.

“Take her to her chambers,” she ordered.

You wanted to argue. To protest. To remind her that you were not a child to be locked away. But the moment you met Aemond’s gaze—the storm raging behind his eye, the quiet fury simmering in Aegon’s smirk, the way Daeron simply looked away, as if he could not bear to meet your stare—you knew there was no winning.

Not this time.

So you swallowed your pride, inhaled deeply, and turned toward Ser Criston.

“Come, Princess,” he murmured, his voice softer than you expected. You followed him without another word. and behind you, you could feel their eyes watching. Burning. Waiting.

The door shut behind you with a quiet but final thud, sealing you inside the familiar sanctuary of your chambers. Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, desperate rhythm that echoed the chaos inside you.

Your maids hesitated by the door, their hands clasped together, glancing at each other with uncertainty.

“My lady, are you certain—”

“Lock the door,” you interrupted, your voice sharp, unwavering.

Their eyes widened slightly at the demand, their hands twitching at their skirts. The weight of their silence was almost suffocating, thick with unsaid protests.

“Now.” Your tone left no room for argument. With hurried movements, they obeyed, the sound of the key turning in the lock cutting through the stillness of the room. You exhaled, your breath unsteady as you watched the small metal object slide beneath the heavy wooden door, glinting faintly in the dim candlelight.

And then, with the sharp tip of your slipper, you kicked it. The tiny key skidded across the floor, disappearing beneath the folds of the heavy curtains by the window.

Lost.

Just like that, you were alone.

Isolated.

Your body trembled—not from fear, but from something deeper, something raw that clawed at your insides. Frustration. Desperation. The realization that no matter how high the walls of this keep stood, you would never truly be safe.

Not from them.

Not from yourself.

With slow, measured steps, you moved to the center of your chambers, the silence pressing against your skin like a suffocating shroud. The air was thick with the remnants of the night, of heated glances and possessive touches, of whispered claims disguised as protection.

You pressed a hand to your temple, trying to will away the storm raging in your mind. Aemond’s grip, unrelenting around your wrist. Aegon’s smirk, knowing, taunting. Daeron’s quiet acceptance, his silence louder than any words. Your mother’s desperation, the exhaustion lining her face as she clung to you like she was trying to keep you from slipping away.

And then there was him.

Prince Qyle.

A man who had done nothing more than offer his hand, his voice soft with admiration, his presence unfamiliar in a way that was almost… freeing. But freedom was an illusion.

You had seen it in the way Aemond’s eye burned with quiet fury. Felt it in the way Aegon’s voice curled around the word belong. Heard it in the way Alicent had whispered, you will not see him again.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips.

This was your fate. Not as a daughter. Not as a princess. But as a prize. A thing to be possessed, claimed, stolen before another could reach out and take you first.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your gown, nails digging into your palms as you closed your eyes. The weight of your brothers’ stares still lingered on your skin, seared into the very marrow of your bones.

Would they come for you?

Would they be the ones to break through the locked door, to take what they had already deemed theirs? Or would you be left alone in this gilded cage of your own making, waiting, waiting— Always waiting.

The soft murmurs of the court faded into a distant hum as Alicent excused herself from the King’s solar, her movements hurried, her heart heavy with unease. The absence of your presence at supper gnawed at her, twisting something deep inside her chest. You had never missed a meal before—never isolated yourself like this.

Not until tonight.

Behind her, the hurried steps of her sons followed, their presence a silent defiance of her attempt to dismiss them. Aegon, his smirk long gone, walked with a tension that rarely graced his usually careless demeanor. Daeron, quieter, but no less persistent, exchanged glances with Aemond—whose face was unreadable, his one violet eye dark with something she could not name. When Alicent reached your chambers, she twisted the doorknob.

Locked.

A tight, sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she knocked, her voice firm yet laced with motherly concern. “Open the door, darling.”

Silence.

She knocked again, this time more urgently. “It’s me. Please, open the door.” Then, finally, your voice came—muffled by the thick wood separating you from them.

“Go away.”

Alicent stiffened.

“My love,” she tried again, her palm pressing against the door as if she could reach you through sheer will alone. “Please, don’t do this. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Your laugh was sharp, bitter—so unlike the melodic giggles she had cherished for years. “You already know.”

Her lips parted, but before she could utter another word, Aemond’s voice cut through the dimly lit corridor, low and tainted with something dangerously close to regret.

“Sister—”

“Do not call me that.”

A beat of silence.

Then, your voice again—shaking, but no less sharp.

“Is that what you see me as, Aemond? A Dornish whore?”

The words hit like a blade to the gut. Alicent’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes snapped to Aemond, whose entire body went rigid, jaw locking as he stared at the door as if he could will it to open. His fingers twitched at his sides, the leather of his tunic creaking under the pressure of his clenched fists.

Aegon let out a slow, exhaled curse under his breath. Daeron—sweet, quiet Daeron—simply stared, his expression one of quiet horror. The weight of what Aemond had done, of what he had said, settled upon them all.

“Aemond,” Alicent whispered, her voice barely audible, laced with a disbelief she rarely allowed herself to feel.

He said nothing. But he didn’t have to, because the damage was already done. She turned back to the door, pressing her palm against the wood once more, desperate, pleading. “My love, he didn’t mean it.”

A humorless chuckle. “Didn’t he?”

Alicent’s throat tightened, her nails digging into the door as she shook her head. “You know your brother. You know how he is when—”

“When he feels threatened?” Your voice was mocking now, brittle as shattered glass. “That is what I am to you all, isn’t it?”

Alicent felt her heartbeat in her ears, a sickening pulse that echoed your words. Aemond’s breaths grew heavier beside her, and when she turned to him, she saw something in his face that almost looked like fear.

“I never meant—”

“You all meant it.” Your voice wavered now, and that was what shattered her the most. She could hear it—barely contained, restrained but present nonetheless. The hurt. The betrayal.

A mother knows.

“Sweet girl,” Alicent whispered, pressing her forehead against the door as if the cool wood could ease the burning ache inside her. “Please, let me in. Let me see you.”

Nothing.

And then— “I don’t want to see any of you.”

The finality in your tone was the last dagger to her heart. Alicent took a step back, her vision blurring as her fingers trembled at her sides. Her sons stood behind her, silent, unmoving—each lost in the weight of what had transpired.

Aegon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Well, Aemond, you’ve really fucked this one up.” Aemond said nothing. Because for the first time in his life— He had no way to fix it.

The days bled together like ink seeping into parchment, each moment stretching into the next, void of meaning, void of color. The once-vibrant world beyond your chamber door had dulled to nothing but distant echoes—pleas, whispers, the muffled arguments of those who had betrayed you.

You did not respond.

You did not move.

You only existed, trapped in this fragile shell of silence, your body curled atop your bed, clutching the porcelain doll that had once been your childhood comfort. Its glassy eyes stared at you, unblinking, soulless—a perfect reflection of the emptiness festering inside you.

Your lips were dry, chapped from disuse. The only thing that passed them was the occasional sip of water, just enough to keep you breathing, but never enough to make you feel alive. You had not eaten in days. The hunger clawed at your ribs, a dull ache that never quite left, but you welcomed it.

It was a distraction from the deeper, more unbearable pain. Outside your door, the world did not stop. It never did.

“Please, my love,” your mother’s voice trembled as she knocked softly against the wood, as she had done every morning, every night, every moment she could. “Just open the door. Just let me see you. Let me help.”

Nothing.

A pause. A shuddering breath.

“Your father asks for you,” she whispered. “He is growing weaker. He… he misses you.” Your fingers clenched around the doll. Your throat tightened. But you did not move. Another knock—louder, more insistent. This time, it was Aegon.

“Alright, this is ridiculous,” he huffed, frustration laced through the forced casualness of his tone. “You can’t just lock yourself away forever, little sister. You’re being dramatic.”

Still, you did not answer.

A sigh.

Then, Aemond’s voice—lower, restrained, guilty.

“Sister.”

It was not the word that made your stomach twist. It was the way he said it. Soft. Measured. Uncharacteristically vulnerable. Like he knew the damage he had done. Like he hated himself for it. A beat of silence passed.

Then another.

Then—

“I should not have said those words.” Aemond’s voice was quiet now, stripped of the sharp arrogance it usually carried. “I do not expect you to forgive me.” A pause. A swallow. “But please… come out.”

For a fleeting second, your grip on the doll loosened. But then you remembered. The way they had dragged you from the gardens. The way Aemond’s fingers had tightened around your wrist. The way he had spat those words at you, branding them into your skin like a searing blade.

Dornish whore.

And suddenly, the ache in your stomach was nothing compared to the one in your chest. You turned onto your side, pressing your cheek into the pillow, curling further into yourself.

From outside, the silence stretched.

Then, a sharp thud. Aemond’s fist against the door. “Aegon’s right,” he muttered, his voice colder now, tinged with something unreadable. “This is childish.”

A deep breath.

“And you are stronger than this.”

A single tear burned its way down your cheek. Not because of his words. But because a small, treacherous part of you wanted to believe him. That night, as the voices faded, as the knocking stopped, as the world quieted once more— You lay there, unblinking, the doll still clutched to your chest. And you realized— It was easier to feel nothing at all.

The door creaked as it swung open.

For the first time in days, you stood there—frail, silent, hollow. The dim candlelight flickered across your pale skin, casting shadows beneath your lifeless eyes. You did not look at them, the ones who had begged for your presence, who had knocked upon your door until their knuckles bruised.

Your mother inhaled sharply, her hands trembling at the sight of you. Aegon straightened from where he had been slouched against the wall, his usual arrogance replaced with something unreadable. Aemond’s eye flickered with a mixture of relief and something else—something sharp, something laced with regret. Daeron, the most innocent of them, simply stared, his lips parting as if to say something—only to stop when he saw the emptiness in your gaze.

You said nothing, You did not smile. You simply turned, your feet carrying you through the halls of the Red Keep, your brothers and mother trailing behind you like shadows.

No one dared to speak.

Not as you made your way through the winding corridors, past the looming figures of guards, past the lingering scent of burning candles and incense, past the hushed whispers of servants who had all but given up on ever seeing you again.

Not as you stepped into the threshold of your father’s chambers.

The air was thick with the scent of decay, of sickness. The once-mighty Viserys the Peaceful lay upon his grand bed, his body withered, his skin ashen, his breath shallow. His crown—your birthright, your family’s legacy—lay abandoned beside him, untouched, a symbol of a kingdom that was slipping through his fingers.

Your throat tightened. You had prepared yourself for this or so you had thought.

But nothing could have prepared you for the sight of him like this—so weak, so small, so far removed from the father you once knew, the father who had doted on you, who had once held you upon his knee and told you tales of Old Valyria, of dragons, of kings and queens long past.

Your lips parted—only for nothing to come out.

You could not speak.

The words—the grief—lodged itself in your throat, suffocating you. So you simply stepped forward, your trembling hands reaching for his. His skin was cold, far too cold, and yet, when your fingers brushed against his, his eyelids fluttered open.

For a moment, he looked confused.

Then—recognition.

“…Daughter,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. Your lips trembled. You tried to answer him, to let him know you were here, that you had returned.

But no sound came.

Your voice—your strength—was gone.

A broken breath escaped you as you simply sat there, your fingers curling around his frail hand. Your silence spoke louder than any words ever could.

Behind you, you heard movement. Your mother and brothers had followed you inside, standing just beyond the threshold, hesitant, watching. Alicent’s hand covered her mouth, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Aegon looked away, his fingers flexing at his sides as if struggling to remain composed. Aemond’s jaw tightened. Daeron’s lips pressed into a thin line.

They were seeing you now—truly seeing you. The shell of the sister they had broken. The princess who had locked herself away and emerged without a voice, without the light that once resided in her eyes. And for the first time— They understood the weight of what they had done.

The warmth of your father’s skin lingered against your lips as you pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead. His breathing was shallow—so faint it was barely there at all. You lingered for a moment, fingers ghosting over his fragile hand before you pulled away.

The room was suffocating. The scent of burning incense, the dim candlelight flickering against the stone walls, the sound of your mother’s quiet weeping—it was too much.

You needed to leave.

Your feet felt like lead as you turned toward the door. Each step was a battle, the weight of exhaustion pressing against your limbs. Days without eating, without truly living, had stolen the strength from your body, but you pushed forward.

One step. Another.

Then—nothing.

Your knees buckled.

A choked gasp escaped you as the world tilted, the stone floor rushing up to meet you. The sound of your mother’s frantic cry rang in your ears, distant, as if she were calling to you from the other side of the world.

“No—no, my love—!”

Hands grasped at you—familiar hands, desperate hands. Your mother’s arms wrapped around you, cradling your body against her as if she could keep you tethered to this world, as if her love alone could rewrite fate.

Your brothers were there—Aegon cursing under his breath, his usual arrogance replaced by something raw and broken. Aemond’s face was unreadable, but his fingers clenched into fists so tightly they trembled. Daeron’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

You tried to breathe.

Tried to hold on.

But it was too late.

A smile ghosted your lips as your blurred vision settled on your mother’s face, her emerald-green eyes wide with terror. You reached for her, brushing your fingertips against her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin one last time.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Then—nothing.

The world faded.

A great darkness enveloped you, pulling you under like a tide, deeper and deeper until there was no pain, no sorrow, no weight upon your chest. The exhaustion that had plagued you for so long melted away, replaced by something light, something free.

And then—

“Daughter.”

Your eyes fluttered open.

The room was gone. The heavy stone walls, the flickering candles, the throne that had cast a shadow over your entire life—none of it remained.

Instead, you stood in a grand hall bathed in golden light, the scent of dragonfire lingering in the air. The warmth of the sun kissed your skin, and the wind tousled your hair as if it were welcoming you home. And there—by the great arched window—he stood.

Your father.

Not the frail, dying man you had left behind, but the King he had once been—the man who had lifted you onto his knee and told you stories of Balerion the Black Dread, the father who had placed a crown of flowers atop your head and called you his brightest star.

Tears welled in your eyes, but they did not fall.

You were a child again.

A little girl with wild laughter, with bare feet against the cool stone floor, with a heart that had never known sorrow. With a soft giggle, you ran to him—your small hands reaching, your father’s arms opening wide to catch you. And as he lifted you into the air, spinning you as he had done long ago, you knew— You were finally home.

The great hall was silent.

Not the silence of peace, nor of reverence, but of grief—a silence so thick it suffocated, pressing upon the lungs of those gathered like a heavy fog. No one spoke, no one dared to. Even the torches along the walls burned lower, as if mourning alongside the kingdom.

At the center of the throne room, upon a bed of silken drapery, lay two bodies.

Viserys, King of the Seven Kingdoms, Ruler of the Realm—lifeless, his once-golden crown now set beside him. His frail body, no longer suffering, no longer withering away under the weight of his reign.

And beside him—you.

Draped in a gown of the purest white, the very color meant for a bride, not a corpse. A cruel trick of the gods, a mockery of fate itself.

Your hands were folded delicately upon your chest, as if in sleep. Your golden lashes rested against your cheeks, your lips curved into the faintest of smiles. A bride for no one. A daughter lost. A sister stolen.

Your mother knelt beside you, her trembling fingers brushing against your cheek. Alicent Hightower—Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the unshakable force behind the throne—wept. She did not care for who bore witness. She did not care for propriety or for the expectations of a court that demanded strength from her.

“This is not how it was meant to be,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, broken. “Not like this.”

Aegon stood at the foot of the bier, his face unreadable. His lips parted as if he wished to speak, to say something, but what words could undo what had been done? What jest, what arrogance, what careless remark could shield him from the agony of losing the only sister who had never seen him as a failure?

Aemond did not move.

He stood still as a statue, his lone eye locked upon your face. He had mocked you, taunted you, called you a Dornish whore in a moment of bitter rage—he had hurt you, and now you were gone. His fingers twitched at his side, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. He would have given anything to take back those words, to undo that night, to fix what had been shattered.

Daeron, the youngest of your brothers, let his tears fall freely. His hand clutched at yours, gripping your cold fingers as if he could will life back into them. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, wake up.” But there was no answer, no warmth in your touch.

Helaena sat beside your mother, her sobs soft but unrelenting. She had dreamed of this. She had seen it before it happened, and yet she had been powerless to stop it. Her delicate fingers traced idle patterns upon the silk of your gown, as if trying to etch your presence into her memory before it faded forever.

The court stood at a distance, their faces a mix of sorrow and unease. Lords and ladies, knights and advisors—all gathered to bear witness not to a joyous union, but to a tragedy that would haunt the realm for years to come.

It was supposed to be your wedding.

You were meant to stand before them as a bride, draped in finery, adorned in jewels, a crown upon your head as you took your place beside a husband of your choosing. Your mother was supposed to smile as she placed a veil upon you. Your brothers were supposed to drink in your honor, to fight over who would have the first dance.

Instead, you lay cold and still, untouched by time, wrapped in the shroud of death. Your mother’s fingers curled into your gown, clutching at the fabric like a lifeline.

“My love,” she murmured. “My sweetest girl.”

She had lost her youth.

She had lost her husband.

And now—she had lost you.

Aegon turned away first, unable to look any longer. He stormed out of the hall, his shoulders trembling, his grief masked by frustration. Aemond lingered, his fingers twitching at his side as if he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t bear to touch something so fragile. Daeron did not let go.

Your mother did not move.

The bells of the Red Keep tolled in the distance, their solemn chimes echoing through the castle, announcing to the realm what they had lost.

A King.

A Princess.

And with them, the last remnants of innocence in a world that had always been far too cruel.

Tag List : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @hayleythecannibal @ceoofglytchell l @ashblooddragons @laedeviour @venusbyline

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

Have you had enough?

Targaryen reader x Aemond Targaryen x Aegon Targaryen.

Your husband and brother, Aemond, have been taking everything that belonged to Aegon. You're tired of it, the drop that spilled the glass was Aegon's incident. Your brother, the one who you actually love, badly injured, that was the end of your patience.

Warning ⚠️: Credits of this images goes to whoever they belong to, I took them from the Tumblr blogs: bbygirl-aemond / Winterswake/ tarth. Grammatical and spelling errors, I haven't watched this chapter of HOTD yet, I just needed to take the idea out of my mind so I can continue with a new chapter of the story (By fire and heart).

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Everybody running and walking from one room to another, you didn't understand at first why all the scandal until you saw a group of guards carrying your brother.

Aegon and you were close, spending much time together which your mother clearly didn't see with good eyes, you loved him in the way you couldn't love your husband.

Aemond took you as a wife and treated you with respect but not love, he never loved you, he simply took you because both were single and your little brother was far away from home to save you from that terrible unhappy marriage, it was only you and him, when he heard about your little secret romance with Aegon, he made you his wife before you could dishonor yourself that was his argument, but the truth was he did it for the simple fact to not give Aegon the satisfaction to also be the owner of you, or your body, silly Aemond never thought what actually mattered it was your heart, Aegon was deep inside your heart. A thousand men could be between your legs but only one could have your heart, loyalty and devotion.

You walked behind the guards questioning what happened. None of them could answer you, once they're in the king's chambers, one of the masters asks you to not interfere and wait out of the room.

- My princess, please you have to wait and let us work. In your conditions the least you need is stress.

You're going to respond when you see Aemond walking inside, he doesn't even stop to see you, you're sure he didn't listen to what the master told you, he walks directly to Aegon's bed. You walk and stay behind him, your tears falling as soon as you see your beloved brother, his precious face now half burned as much as the rest of his body, you're sure Aemond was behind all that, you left the room looking for Ser Criston, you found him on the way to your mother's chambers.

- What happened?

- My princess, I don't know, everything was fast, I just saw the king and his dragon falling.

- Don't dare to lie to me. Did my husband have something to do with this?

He doesn't talk but silently nod at you. Your body is burning with rage, you're furious you would love to burn your husband alive. His thirst for... power? Revenge for the traumas of childhood? Whatever it was, has taken it too far. Your nephews death and now your brother fighting for his life, Rhaenyra claiming the throne, dealing with a war and the pain of her newborn and Lucerys deaths, the poor Helaena trying to accept her son's death too and now carrying with a husband who probably will end as your father ended, in that bed looking the days and nights go until the gods have mercy and let him die.

You've been avoiding Aemond since they arrived, you spent much of your time with Aegon, Helaena doesn't complain, she's okay with it, she always knew your feelings for her husband, she's glad you're taking care of him and occasionally visit the king's chambers to help you or at least to talk with you. Even your mother visited Aegon, but there were no signs of Aemond.

Until one evening, you were holding Aegon's hand, whispering something close enough to him hoping he somehow could listen to what you were sharing with him, when the doors of his room opened, you did not see him but you were sure it was Aemond for the sound of his boots on the floor, you know his way to walk by heart.

- Ao spend olvie jēda kesīr (you spend much time here)

- Se ao spend olvie jēda sitting va zȳhon dēmalion (And you spend much time sitting on his throne)

You don't Even look at him, you're still holding Aegon's hand, contemplating what once was his face.

- Perhaps my wife could support me as much as she's supporting our brother. Your devotion to him is admirable, but it's what I'm expecting you to give me, not to him.

- Why would I support you? All the atrocities you've been causing and you expect me to congratulate you, to love you?

- Are you accusing me of something, wife?

His jaw tensed, his eye looks at you full of anger.

- Don't pretend you're innocent, I know you. You always wanted to take Aegon's place. You always take what is not yours, tell me husband, have you had enough? What else do you want?

Before he can argue again, Aegon opens his eyes, with the few strength he still has, he squeezes your hand.

Aemond notices it and pushes you aside, he starts to talk with Aegon, asking him what he remembers, he insists it wasn't his dragon who attacked him. Aegon simply says he doesn't remember anything, but you know he's lying, Aegon always has been good to keep himself safe, his facility to preserve his own survival and right now his only chance to survive it was to pretend he did not remember what happened.

Aemond was not going to leave the discussion in the air. He left but you're sure he will be back to try to make you regret your accusations.

Just as you predicted, At the hour of the owl, he appeared in your chambers, you were awake, looking through your window, you know how much he hates your indifference against him.

- So, what else will you take from our brother this time?

You say without any worry. Aemond walks until he's right behind you, you can feel his jaw against your head.

- What he expected to claim too. You.

He whispered while placing his hands around your waist, you couldn't contain your laughing, Aemond confusion made it harder to keep. You laughed loudly on his face, you are now face to face with your husband, he has never seen that look, your eyes darkened and your smile was full of evil, giving him a small kiss on the lips, murmuring almost whispering.

- Oh Aemond, do you seriously think I was still a pure untouched little princess?

He stepped back, his face doesn't show any emotion but you can feel his blood boiling.

- I am pregnant.

- Liar. I made everything to be sure he would not put a finger on you.

- Ask the master, I'm waiting for my first child.

Seeing his body tensed and full of anger brings you a new kind of feeling, it's an addictive pleasure you didn't know could exist.

-You know what makes it funnier? Even if one day I have your child, he will be just like you.

- What do you mean?

- A Second son who will not inherit anything. Or even better you will never have a child with me because I will prefer to be burned alive before giving birth to your children.

He quickly takes you by the neck and slams you against the wall, pressing his body against yours, even with the lack of air in your lungs, the pleasure of seeing him frustrated makes you feel alive, excited. He released you and left the room without saying more.

Once you take some air, you smile to yourself, your husband and his poor try to keep you away from Aegon, expecting to have you all for himself, but not even your body belongs to Aemond, he never thought he would be so frustrated about such a little thing like that, not having your love or your respect was the last thing he thought he would care about, the last thing he would desire to have more than anything else.

[beware-of-pity]

You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) IV

Masterlist

Previous Chapter - Next

Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

Cross-posted on Ao3

Chapter IV: "Angel" he calls me (Does he know that I'm falling?)

Your room had become a graveyard of memories, most of its belongings were those passed down to you from your late family members, and its latest additions were your mother’s, which you kept in a coffer, locked and sealed in the corner of the small vastness of your room.

The air was often stuffy as a result, and between Helaena's insect viewing screens and your mother’s piled embroidery works, you took every opportunity you were offered to be far away from it.

Jaehaera, on the other hand, viewed it almost as a playground, often roaming it as a labyrinth of a past she could not remember, a past that wasn’t hers. You attempted to show her Helaena’s needlework or her insects collection, anything that could keep the memory of her mother alive, but your little girl did not seem that interested. You had put the effort off for the while, waiting at least until she was grown enough to remember what you were showing and telling her.

Instead, it seemed that she had found a toy and companion in a doll you and Helaena used to play with at her age, shaped to the liking of your mother, with dark, auburn hair and brown eyes. You had let her have it and asked Rhaenyra for some new fabrics, for you to sew some new clothes for the doll, as its last were old and ragged.

Today, you were allowed out during your change of guard.

To leave the ‘vault’, as people would call it, the long keep with the slate roof behind the royal sept your family was confined in, was like a breath of fresh air, for however fresh the change could be, seeing the foul smell the city often carried with itself and it’s reputation. Thankfully, the gardens were exempted from such nullity and nuisance, the smell of freshly planted flowers making up for its environment.

Such a pity Jaehaera had to attend her lessons on such a beautiful sunny day. You were sure she would have liked the feel of the sun on her skin after so long inside, but you most of all understood how important her lessons were for her, actively encouraging her to go to them even on those days she would not wish to, taking her to the chamber where they would be held, hand in hand.

Were you both to be confined to the Keep for the rest of your lives with no hopes of seeing any change, then her wit would one day become her saving grace, and you would make sure she cultivated her talents in quantity.

Just as you had been made to do at her age, for the rest of your life by your mother.

From where you walked, you got a clear view of the inner courtyard, filled and bustling with activity. From servants and stable boys hanging around to high and low nobles promenading around, as they always did, as if they had nothing better to do.

You knew very well that that was not just what they were doing. The art of lingering around, present but never noticed, becoming part of the backdrop in people’s lives was something that, while you could not go unnoticed of doing, was something you had learned a thing or two about since the beginning of your confinement as Rhaenyra’s prisoner.

Steely but silent, never to make a sound too loud, that’s how you moved around the halls of the Keep, watching with your ever-curious eye. If there was one thing you were grateful to your mother for, it was for teaching you never to take people or anything by their surface level. A man, as common as they come, could be the Lord of the Seven Hells in disguise, and by putting up a good bravado, he could fool even the wisest, the most pious. The angel of death disguises itself as an angel of light. The gods shine bright their light among the most faithful to protect others from him, but even the gods’ gaze cannot reach where their light cannot overpower the dark. It was in your best interest to understand people and their motives, now more than ever when your survival depended on it.

You watched as the familiar figure of Jacaerys came from the double doors leading to the courtyard. He donned his riding gear, very clearly prepared to head to the dragonpit to visit Vermax and take him for a ride. You were about to call out for him, greeting him and calling out for a good morrow, having only seen him now since yesterday, but stopped when you realised he was not alone.

Baela and Rhaena followed soon after, walking out the doors donned in the same riding gears as him, a clear sign that they were going with him to ride their dragons too.

The laughs of the trio reached your ears as you watched them smile and chatter with one another, so content and carefree. So unlike you and your predicament. You wished to be with them, in your own gear, going to the dragonpit to ride Silverwing, who you missed dearly. But it was a common truth that you could not. A truth you could only turn into reality in your dreams, where you dreamt of sitting upon the leather saddle on her back, soaring to the skies as you once used to.

You clenched your hand involuntarily, the pain so evident as you felt the tips of your nails dig into your palm, so deep that had you not stopped yourself, you were sure to draw blood.

A feeling so dark and viscous twisted at your heart.

How was this fair? Why should you have to pay the price for the sins of others? You had been pardoned for your family’s crimes, why, then, were you not allowed to return to a life of normalcy? Why, after two years since the war’s end, were you still treated as a traitor would?

Jaehaera, too, a girl so young and so bright, of just ten years of age, isolated by the children of her age, was allowed only to familiarise herself with Rhaenyra’s youngest sons.

The reasons as to why pulled at your viscera. If they were doing this for reasons that you were not allowed to know, if they were hiding them from you, you knew it was because they, too, understood that you would not stand for them.

Everyone had witnessed in what was now being called the ‘Dance of the Dragons’ how destructive and deep the rage and anger of the Targaryens could be. You seemed meek, weakened as the years passed, but no one forgot who you were, as you never showed yourself to be passive to slights and insults thrown your way. You had to stand for yourself, now more than ever, when you had no one to do so for you, and with a rage running so deep? Some would say the perfect recipe for disaster.

A Targaryen whose blood of the dragons ran as deep as that of those that came before you and those that will come after, as hot and boiling as that of dragons made flesh.

One day you will wake from the ashes of your sleep and remember who you were. Today, was just not that day.

You had been promised that you and Jaehaera would be treated well, but you knew very well that promises meant nothing. They could be easily spoken, so easily broken, just as oaths had been during the war. or how much longer this would last, you could not know.

You were comfortable now but in the future? Who would assure you a life worthy of being called as such? Jacaerys? Jacaerys would be too busy being King to assure you continued to have the life he was making sure you had now, and if rumours of him being betrothed to Baela were to become true, who is to say his gaze would not be too hastily driven to his new wife rather than to his duties or his responsibilities.

Because that’s what you were, a responsibility, now belonging to his mother, your sister, but one day to become his.

Watching them walk up to the wheelhouse, with no sense of worry or care, made you only want to be able to have what they had more than anything.

You turned to walk in the opposite direction, turning your gaze from that which you had begun to crave once more, something you knew you would not be given, could not be given, as they always reminded you.

Unbeknown to your thoughts, your feet had led you towards the forest of the godswood. You had not noticed until the darkness of the shade washed over you, glimpses of light shining down at you from the cracks of the moving branches.

The rustling of the leaves by the wind calmed your thoughts, your hunger for what you craved, the anger for what you were denied. The chirping of distant birds, the murmur of crickets, and the washing of the waves of the Blackwater Bay created the perfect backdrop for your walk, but the fresh chill made for a cold reminder of the spring that had yet to come as you clinched to your frame your shawl, moving it over your shoulder from where it rested hanging on your elbows. The thick walls shut out the clamour of the castle, creating the perfect quiet for your unrested mind, despite your occasional shivers.

You allowed the silence to surround you, only broken by your and your guard’s steps, who, unlike your wishes, moved unsynchronised. Ser Rickard’s were heavier, not just made so by his weight and height but also by the heavy armoury he concealed his body with.

He who had first been in your mother’s services when Ser Criston had gone to march against Rhaenyra, who, surprisingly, had been allowed for him to retain his position as a member of the Kingsguard, now the Queensguard.

Though he was appointed as your sworn protector to get him out of her gaze, she was not too fond of having her late brother’s treacherous servitude anywhere near her.

Ser Rickard was always kind to you, taking care of you as a father would, perhaps better than yours had when he was still alive. Despite the strict orders he had been given about never letting his eyes off you on these particular and secluded walks, he allowed you the freedom you were deprived in the thick walls of the Red Keep, which were known to have ears and mouths to carry the whispers of misbehaviour far and wide.

As you sat upon a bench, he took some steps back, watching over you from the distance as you gazed over the bay set before you. The sea leading to the Gullet was filled with merchant ships from around the continent, Volantis, Lys, and Braavos, going in and out, carrying with them the well-being of the Capital and that of its people.

The godswood was empty, as it would be along the walls of the city of Southron gods. Hardly anyone came here to pray. Prayer would only fill the ears of the trees when a Stark or a northerner was nearby, otherwise, the tree would have to bear witness to secret escapades from young couples, whispered plots or your solitary walks. You suppose even the gods would grow bored of such entertainment. You were not much to look at in this state, after all. At least for them, for it seemed you had indeed caught the eye of someone.

The sound of leaves being crunched under heavy boots that did not belong to Ser Rickard made the both of you twist in alert, awaiting the reveal of the intruder of your quiet.

The man had not proved himself to be a stranger by any means; you knew him quite well, the familiarity between you two not a hidden knowledge to one another.

“Lord Reynford”  Reynford of House Redwyne, Lord of the Arbour, once ally of your brother and a kin of yours, though through which unmanned and distant cousin you had never met, you could not tell. You had a vague idea of why he was here as you acknowledged his presence.

“Forgive me, your grace, I did not mean to interrupt the quiet” his voice was gruff and slightly monotone, not giving away anything. He dressed richly, even for his age. His face clearly showed his age, a man of over two and fifty years of age, who carried himself well despite his tenure.

“It’s hardly quiet, wouldn’t you say?” You asked, the sound of the city below you two proving your point.

“So it would seem, though I meant you quiet. The city can hardly be disturbed when in itself is a cause for disturbance,” he said, walking closer.

With the tail of your eye, you spied Ser Rickard stepping closer, and you held up a hand, signalling for him not to.

He stopped in his tracks, unsure whether or not to listen to your silent command, which went against what he was instructed. Though he cared for you and gave you much relative freedom, he was always at the ready to prove his loyalty to the monarch he was now sworn to serve. You did not blame him for not wanting to so easily disobey the orders he had been given or to prove himself disloyal by the newly bound oath he had sworn. It was beyond his bounds to allow this conversation to continue, of the possible treachery that was sure to be whispered.

Still, now, you found yourself wanting to be selfish, wanting this thing to be given to you. Fortunately for you, it seemed that Ser Rickard understood you too well. He returned slowly to his previous posting, giving you and Lord Reynford space and privacy for your conversation. He would grant you this, only because of how wanting you seemed of it.

“Such a pity, that such beautiful day is to be disturbed by the cold of the wind” Lord Reynford now stood in front of you, clutching his hand behind his back. He wore a heavy, blue cloak with a red fur collar fastened with a pin in the shape of a burgundy grape cluster. A true Redwyne, he presented himself as such, showing others how proud he was of his heritage.

“How true you speak, but I suppose beautiful things are not often left untouched by the harshness of the world. Wouldn’t you say?” He seemed to ponder your words, though you could see he wasn’t really giving them much thought, his mind somewhere else altogether, perhaps to the reason why he was here.

“How right you are, you yourself are a great example of such saying,” he said, his voice low “I do remember how charming you looked in green, princess. How dreadful these black gowns make you look” he extended a hand to pull a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“You flatter me,” you said, closing your eyes at the contact of his finger against your temple, wanting nothing more than to pull away, but not wanting to be impolite, something you were taught to be unacceptable against high and honourable lords “but those times are gone, my lord. You best make sure to forget of them”

“Nonsense, i could never forget such pretty sight” he disagreed “How I and many others wish to see it again, you cannot imagine, Princess” You watched as he shuffled closer “More than anything, that and much more. We all wish for your happiness and your desires to be fulfilled”

“And what would you know of my desires, my lord?” You asked, tilting your head in a slight show of defiance, but not against him, but rather his assumption.

“Nothing, unless you wish to share them with me” How clever of him, he had plotted it all it seemed, not leaving a single possibility in its wake.

“And tell me, Lord Reynford. Are you of the same cloth that Lord Peake was cut from?”

Unwin Peake, a man known for being willing to die to see his ambitions succeed. He wasn’t exactly subtle in his straying of hands, his overstepping, his overaching. The way he pushed his daughter, of just one and ten years of age, into befriending the eight and ten-man that was Jacaerys concealed anything but what he was truly after. Like any other man, Peake yearned for the throne, though he wasn’t exactly quiet about his wants or needs, which was why his plans had not unfolded in the way he wanted.

He had fought for your brother through the very end, and as such, he had approached you many times, trying to inspire rebellion in you, which you quickly and always turned him down for, at times rather harshly for his insistence. But it wasn’t your fault that he didn’t understand that you had no interest in opening old wounds unless necessary. Unless it be to protect yourself and Jaehaera.

“I would sooner allow you to take my life than be condemned to the same ring of the seven hells in which that man belongs in” he replied gruffly, almost offended by the comparison. But he was a smart man who understood the question you had just asked him. The meaning of your words was plain to see. Was he here to try and use you for your plans, or was he an ally, here to reassure you of his loyalty and, most of all, his eagerness to serve you?

“You must believe me, your grace. I wish for nothing more than to serve you in my capacities” The reassurance was much needed, and though you believe his words to be sincere, you were not too quick to fall for them. Any man could speak with enough sincerity to get what he wanted, and though a servant and faithful subject, he remained a man, and men are but deceiving creatures. He would have to prove himself first.

“Your words are as sweet as the wine that flows at your feasts,” you said, voice thick “almost….intoxicating, if said to the wrong person we can only imagine the damage they could cause”

“Then we must make sure they do not reach unwanted ears, no?” His eyes burned with hidden conviction, one only for you to see. Bearing witness only, were the trees. They were there, listening, silent, watching you two. The greenery of their leaves, the greenery of the grass, the shade reflecting such colour. Green, a colour so bright and so deep, the colour of living things, of life, of earthly change and of rot. So many rotten things were green, your family having been one of them.

“You said that my desires are ones you share” you tested him, wanting his reaction. He perked at your words, clearly listening intently to your coming request.

Remember this feeling, you told yourself, this is the moment you stop being the lamb to the slaughter.

You were blind. No, you had blinded yourself of the truth which had now come to the surface.

You were rotten, just like them, just as your family had been, just as much as the words you were speaking. How sweetly the fox speaks when it is being cornered by the hound.

“I want to be free”

Taglist: @esposadomd

If anyone wants to be added, please comment so, and you'll be tagged in the next chapter

[thekinslayed]

Thy Mission

summary | The lines between desire and duty blur between the Targaryen brothers on their last night before a battle.

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI, oral sex (m), p in v sex, anal, mentions of war, double vaginal penetration, incest, Aemond Fucks™, porn w little plot, mentions of sex work, just pure filth tbh

wordcount | 5.1k

note | this was inspired by Uneasy Lies The Head by @troublesomesnitch! her work is absolutely amazing and i highly recommend for everyone to check them out!

likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated! <3

(dividers by @targaryen-dynasty)

Aemond marched across an array of tents that lined their encampment. He passed horses being fed, blades being sharpened, and fires where the men roasted game for supper. A sneer adorned his lips as he passed by a group of soldiers sat around logs, giggling whores on their laps. How these women managed to follow their army and could stand being around these stinking, grubby men, he knew not the reason. They were at war, and he had no time to indulge in such depravity.

He hastened to reach Aegon’s tent, situated at the far end of the camp. The King’s accommodation was larger than the rest and was well guarded, or rather, it usually was. His Kingsguard were nowhere near their station, making Aemond stop in his tracks to search for any White Cloaks. He found none.

Ever the wary soldier, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword in case of any threat that may jump out of nowhere. Strange sounds came from behind the tarp of his brother’s tent, a bemoaning from Aegon that made Aemond rush in through the flaps of the tent. 

“Aeg– Seven Hells!” Aemond cursed, the sight of the King’s pale arse greeted him as he entered his tent. Aegon’s standing figure barely covered your figure kneeled before him, taking his cock earnestly as he thrusted into your mouth. Groans left the King’s lips, his pace never faltering despite his brother’s intrusion. Aemond lifted a hand to shield the sight from his eyes, quickly turning around to leave, but is stopped.

“Fuck– Brother, wait!” Aegon called out, panting as he chased his release. 

“I can wait outside.”

“Just give me one sec– fuck, that’s it.” Aegon breathed out, praises falling from his lips as you took him further down your throat. The sound of your mouth eagerly sucking his cock filled the room, coupled with the moans falling from the King’s lips. Aemond rolled his eye and doesn’t leave, but instead turned around to face the wall of the tent. The elder chuckled as he turned to the sight of his brother’s back. Fucking prude.

The intrusion and the feeling of having an audience drove Aegon closer to his release. His hips picked up its pace, his cockhead hit the back of your throat brutally almost to the point of gagging you. You whimpered around his length, tongue pressed on the underside of his cock as you fondled his stones.

Breathy moans grew louder as he gripped your hair, rather exaggerating for his audience of one. His balls tightened at the thought of cumming while his brother watched, looking back to see if Aemond had turned around. He had not. As he approached his end, Aegon took his cock out of your mouth and tugged at it furiously. Coughing lightly from the assault on your throat, you hastened to free your breasts from your shift, presenting it to your King to accept his seed, just like he liked it. Your jaw fell agape as Aegon’s cock spurted his white, hot release, painting your tits. A final groan left his lips, before stepping away from you.

“What is it, brother?” Aegon asked after a moment, chest still panting. 

“Cole needs your input on th-”

“Turn around and face your King when you speak.” The elder ordered. Aemond gritted his teeth, sighing in exasperation as he turned around to face his brother. He is met with the sight of you, still on your knees, and Aegon’s glistening cock that started to soften. He is granted a better view of you as his brother walked away to fetch a cloth.

One amethyst eye fell on your chest, the royal seed still dripping around your mounds, some even had trickled down to the skin still covered by your shift. His cock stirred in his trousers at the sight, gulping at the flame that started to ignite in his belly. Tearing his gaze from your breasts, his eye flickered to your face. Your eyes met, and you gave him a meek smile. 

With a rag in hand, Aegon returned with a smirk on his face at his brother’s hungry gaze on you. His softened cock swayed as he walked, tossing you the clean cloth to wipe yourself before approaching the serving table where a jug of wine and clean glasses sat. He poured a cup of red, taking a small swig before handing it to you, which you accepted with a gracious smile.

“So…” Aegon spoke, tearing Aemond’s attention away from following your lips as you sipped your wine. “Is something the matter?” He asked as he began to dress.

Aemond cleared his throat, before meeting Aegon’s eyes. The tips of his ears warmed up at the amused look on Aegon’s face, no doubt having caught him staring at you unabashedly. 

“Cole requires your presence in the council, your grace. The plans need your approval before the move on the morrow.” The younger prince informed him. Aegon let out a groan at his words, rolling his eyes as Aemond gave him a stern look.

“You know of these plans, yes?” The elder asked. You rose from your place on the ground to assist him with putting on his doublet.

“Of course.”

“Do they seem acceptable to you?” The king asked once more. Aemond clenched his fists as he tied them around his back, his patience was running thin at his brother’s lack of urgency. “I think we have favorable circumstances.”

“Then why do you need my approval?”

“Because you’re the fucking King.” Aemond snapped. Your eyes shifted warily between the brothers as they stared at each other, fingers hurrying to finish securing the last clasp on the King’s doublet. Aegon’s lips quirked upwards, which caused Aemond’s nostrils to flare in annoyance. Your hands smoothed down his chest as you finished, stepping off to the side as they left wordlessly. 

As the brothers left, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in. A thickness in the air dissipated from the tent with their departure, a blazing tension that can burn a mere lowborn like you, but one only dragons could handle. You had never seen such fire between two people, especially not in brothers. Curiosity sparked within you, an eagerness to witness what these Targaryens must get up to, or if they had acted upon these desires at all.

“Does your whoring know no bounds, brother? Even at war?” Aemond berated as the brothers made their way to where their council waited. His longer legs made for bigger strides, Aegon having to walk faster to keep up with the younger, grumbling under his breath.

“That is exactly the point, brother. We face the possibility of dying at any given moment. Would you rather die having never known the pleasure of having your cock sucked?” Aegon retorted, earning a scoff from the other silver-haired prince in return. 

Aemond’s had his cock sucked before, of course. He’s fucked through young ladies and servants at court almost as much as Aegon had. As much as his brother thought him a blushing prude, he was still a man who had needs. He just did a better job in keeping his head in authority over his cock, and his… endeavors kept within the confines of his chambers.

The pair paid no attention to the people that bowed and greeted them as they passed, and continued their path to where Cole awaited them in the tent located at the center of camp. As the brothers approached, one of the men standing guard lifted the tarp to let them through.

“You know, if you ever decided on getting off your high horse and fucking live a little, I am more than happy to share,” Aegon suggested, his tone teasing as the back of his hand slapped the one-eyed prince’s firm shoulder. Long silver tresses whipped across his face as Aemond turned back to him briskly before he could react.

“Enough.” The younger hissed, before turning back around to dip through the tent's entrance. Aegon let out a cackle at his brother’s dramatics, following after him.

“Deny yourself all you want, brother, but I know you love a good pair of tits.”

At the hour of the owl, Aemond was ordered to the king’s tent. For a pressing matter of the utmost discretion, the squire had said. His tent was right beside Aegon, and he knew not the reason why the fucker couldn’t have made the short walk if the matter was so urgent. 

Nevertheless, the prince made his way to his brother’s pavilion, clad in only his cotton tunic and breeches, ducking through the canvas to enter. There was no Aegon in sight, however, Aemond was met with the sight of you kneeled on the cot, leaning on your elbows with your arse on display. His eye widened as your eyes met, watching as you scrambled to cover your bottom half and sat up. 

“My prince!” You greeted him, cheeks flushing red. Aemond’s eye trailed over your garments. A thin, almost translucent, white fabric covered your front, tied behind your back by a golden-colored rope. Your back was exposed, and the fabric dipped down to drape over your rear. He could see your breasts through the glow cast by the oil lamps scattered around the vicinity, the shadows emphasizing the way your nipples pebbled in the cold night air.

“Where is my brother?” He asked, tone stern as he clasped his hands behind his back. His discerning eye caught the open vial of oil on the wooden table beside the cot.

“H-his grace’s attention was needed elsewhere, my prince. Something about feeding his dragon.” You stuttered, growing anxious as the prince closed his eye and sighed. He turned to leave the tent, but your sweet voice called out to him.

“He should return any moment.” You said, getting up from the cot to stand. “Would you like a cup of wine as you wait?” You offered, hands wrung together as he stared at you.

You felt like shrinking under his sharp gaze, gooseflesh formed on your skin as his pupil seemed to dilate at the sight of you. He let out a hum and nodded, stepping back into the tent. You hastily poured him a cup of wine, reaching out to offer it to him as he sat on the edge of Aegon’s cot. A gasp threatened to leave your lips when his warm hand covered your smaller one as he took the cup. It is raised to his thin lips, tongue darting out to lick at them as his throat bobbed when he swallowed. 

“Where are you from, girl?” The prince asked, another hum leaving his lips as you told him of your homeland. You watched as his veiny hand traced the embellishments adorning the shiny cup, long fingers trailed along the rim. “You are a long way from home.” He commented.

“Indeed, my prince.” You responded, smiling bashfully. You had been on your journey to work in a brothel in the Street of Silk when word had reached you and the girls you traveled with about the King’s army taking camp not too far from where you were. All of you made your way over to the encampment, eager to provide your services to the soldiers weary from battle. There was no doubt most of you hoped to be called upon by one of the royals who resided at the site, well aware of the King’s proclivities. Tonight, it seemed, was your lucky night.

“I imagine a tent in the middle of the woods is far from the comforts of your own home, my prince.” You mentioned, boldly taking a step closer to his seated form. His head leaned up to look at your face, his eyelid hooded as he regarded you.

“There is little comfort to be expected during war.” He uttered, earning a nod from you.

“Still, solace can still be sought out anywhere, should you look hard enough.” You remarked, a smooth tone in your words. His knees had bumped lightly into the outside of your thighs as you stepped into his space, looking down at him with a seductive smile. Aemond’s hand twitched when he felt an urge to touch you, causing him to grip the cup in his hand tightly. “I could provide that for you… if you would like.” You suggested, voice dropping to a whisper. 

His eye darkened at your words, igniting a spark of excitement within you. You stared at each other for a moment longer, your heart thumping loudly against your chest in anticipation. The prince dropped the cup of wine to the grass with little regard, before gripping your hips to pull you into his lap. 

You climbed onto his lap eagerly, thighs caging his own. His lips smashed onto yours in a frenzy of teeth, tongue, and spit. You moaned against his lips as his hand gripped the hair on the back of your head. His free hand slithered around your lower back, pushing your weight down onto his growing bulge. Your hips ground down on him with expertise, fingers lifting the hem of your garments to show him your center. His jaw dropped ever so slightly at the sight of your cunny humping on his clothed cock, your essence started to smear on the dark fabric of his trousers as your hips circled his lap. Pink lips attached to the pale skin of his neck, licking and biting on his flesh. You preened at the sounds of his low grunts in your ear and the appreciative smack he delivered to your rear before squeezing it.

Large calloused hands trailed the smooth expanse of your back, the warmth radiating from him a satisfying contrast from the chill night air. His fingers reached the knot on the back of your neck, toying with it.

“Take it off.” Aemond commanded, tone stern and commanding. You immediately obeyed, rising from his lips to stand, before reaching back to undo the tie holding up your garment. The thin fabric dropped into a puddle of white on the floor, your flesh bared to the prince’s eye. A small smirk rose on your lips as you watched how his gaze ran down your body, delighted at the hungry look that clouds his purple eye. You turned around and bent over, giving him a view of your glistening pink folds. 

Aemond could feel the throbbing in his trousers at the sight of your cunny, a warmth spread from his chest as the urge to ravish you threatened to overtake him. What caught his eye, however, is the way your puckered hole also gleamed in the warm glow of the tent. His mind recalled the way you had been on your knees when he had entered, as well as the vial of oil that sat open beside you. He all but salivated at the mental image of you stretching your tight back hole as you waited for Aegon.

The younger prince always had a bad habit of wanting whatever his older brother was given– the crown, the Conqueror’s sword, and the glory that came with sitting on the throne. If he had the chance he would snatch everything that wastrel was freely given, he was more deserving of it after all.

And now Aegon wasn’t here, and Aemond would be a fool to not claim the delectable morsel of flesh before him. 

He stood from the cot and threw you onto the feather mattress, ordering you to get on your knees. You wordlessly obliged, excitement pooling in your belly at the younger prince’s dominant nature. The king often had contrasting personalities in bed, you had discovered, depending on his mood. There were some moments when he would take and take all that you could give, treating you as a mere hole to fuck, but oftentimes he would be a babbling, pathetic mess, and you would have to soothe and take care of the tearful man that suckled on your teat like a baby lamb. You enjoyed your time with the King, but the dark look in Prince Aemond’s eye as he manhandled you as if you were a sack of grain exhilarated you, causing your core to clench around nothing. He grabbed the vial of oil from the side table, before untying his breeches as he took his place behind you. Your position prevented you from getting a view of his cock, but you heard the slick sounds of his hand slathering oil on his shaft, and a few sighs falling from his lips. A breath hitched in your throat as you felt his cockhead align with your hole, a whine falling from your lips as he started to breach.

Aemond cursed at the way your tight ring of muscles gripped his cock. It took almost all of his restraint to not push into you in one motion, your walls clenching as you struggled to take his length. It seemed to take forever for him to bottom out, more whines fell from your lips as he still slowly thrusted into you inch after inch. Though you haven’t caught a glimpse of his length, you were sure he was longer than Aegon. 

“Ha, so fucking tight…” Aemond cursed. His hands squeezed the plump flesh of your arse, hips still unmoving as he gave you a moment to adjust. As he felt your hole start to relax, your hips wiggled against him slightly to urge him to move. His hips started to set a steady pace, a groan fell from his lips as he felt every ridge of your walls.

“Here I thought a whore like you would be looser than a worn-out glove. Isn’t that what you were doing when I came in, hm? Stretching out this tight little hole of yours?” Aemond questioned, earning only a moan from you in response. A dark chuckle fell from his lips, before delivering another smack to your rear.

“I haven’t started fucking you yet, girl. Have you gotten drunk on my cock already?” Your cheeks burned at his words, your hands fisted the soft sheets as the prince thrusted deep into you. Aemond’s hips started to pick up their pace, his thrusts growing harder and harder. The sounds of his flesh slapping against yours started to fill the vicinity along with your moans, no doubt heard by anyone close enough to the King’s tent. The silver-haired prince continued to ram into you, his own moans of delight left his lips as he threw his head back in pleasure. 

More slaps to your ass caused the flesh to sting, and the soft rub from his hands soothed the reddening flesh. Tears started to gather in the corner of your eyes, sobs fell from your lips when Aemond pulled on your hair to lift your head back. You felt his bare chest press to your back, unaware of when he removed his tunic. The weight of his warm body on yours was a welcome sensation. His lips positioned right next to your ear, biting at your lobe before whispering.

“Touch yourself. Go on, show me how you cum with my cock in your tight hole.” He ordered you, warm breath fanning the side of your face as he spoke. Your fingers immediately fell on your pearl, urgently rubbing circles on the nub to hurl you closer to your release. Aemond grunted as your walls close in around his length, making it almost too tight for him to continue thrusting into you. Your moans increased in pitch as the coil in your belly threatened to snap, uncaring of whoever might hear you. A particularly harsh thrust from Aemond threw you over, a long whine escaped your lips as your juices gushed out of your empty core.

The prince continued to fuck you through your orgasm, thrusts still unrelenting as he chased his own release. A heat licked at the base of Aemond’s spine, crawling upwards as he neared his end. He was so close, your spasming walls pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“What do we have here?” An amused voice spoke, cutting through the cloudy daze both you and the prince found yourself in. Aemond grunted in annoyance, hips stilling at the sight of his brother stood with a devilish smile on his face. “How long have you been standing there?” The younger seethed, cock still buried in your hole as he regarded Aegon. The entrance of the tent faced his blindside, making him unaware of his brother’s arrival, nor of how long he had been watching them.

“Long enough to see how much you have been enjoying yourself. Please, brother, carry on. Do not let my presence hinder you.” Aegon urged on, stepping into the pavilion, the scent of smoke following him. He shot you a wink when your eyes meet, before walking over to the serving table to pour himself some wine. The high that was close to washing over Aemond had died down at his brother’s intrusion, and if it weren’t for your hips wiggling against his and your shining eyes staring back at him, he would have left and brought himself to release in the privacy of his tent. Keeping his eye on you, the prince tried his hardest to ignore the sound of Aegon moving around behind him.

It wasn’t long until he was lost once more in the sweet sounds that fell from your lips, uncaring about his brother’s eyes on his back as the coil in his belly tightened again. He clenched his eye shut, focusing on the delicious sensation of your ridged walls. When he opened his eye, Aemond was taken aback to see Aegon, somehow already naked, directing his cock to your lips.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The younger snapped. Aegon doesn’t stop despite his brother’s annoyance, sighing as you started to suck on his cock.

“Oh please, Aemond, she has enough holes for us to share. She’ll be happy to have both our cocks.” Aegon scoffed, his hips setting their pace. “Wouldn’t you, darling?” He cooed, caressing the back of your head as you nodded at him as much as you could, whimpering.

Aemond’s eye fell on the sight of Aegon’s cock disappearing into your mouth, his brother’s stomach tightening. The tips of his ears flushed red as a spark ignited in him that made his cock throb, one he convinced himself was from the squeeze you gave him. He tore his eye away from the sight of you and Aegon, pulling out of your hole with a sigh of frustration. Aemond had started to tuck his still-hard cock back into his trousers when Aegon stopped him.

“W-where are you going?” His brother asked, breathless. The younger only stared at him, observing how Aegon’s face contorted in pleasure when you started to fondle his balls. Forcing himself to withdraw from your mouth, the King turned to face Aemond.

“Our father and uncle must have shared women all the time, Aemond. Don’t be such a priss.” Aegon remarked, causing his brother to scoff. “Come on, you haven’t even tried her cunt yet. It is heavenly!” He encouraged, gesturing to you. Still on your knees, you turned to meet Aemond’s gaze, giving him an encouraging smile. His eye falls on your dripping cunny, the flames of his desire being stoked once more.

You turned around to lay on your back, spreading your legs wide for your prince. Leaning on your elbows, it was then you finally got a good look at Aemond’s cock. It was long, as you expected, and veiny. His cockhead blushed a deep red, the slit dripping a clear liquid. The sight made you gulp as another gush of arousal dripped from your core. You looked between the two men, assessing their sizes. Aemond had the length, while Aegon had more girth.

The prince looked at you, then at Aegon, who slowly stroked his cock while looking back at him.

Fuck it.

The younger prince pulled his trousers down, stepping out of them before gripping your thighs, pressing them to your chest. A gasp left your lips in surprise as he enters in one swift motion, the intrusion giving you little time to adjust to his impressive length. Immediately, he fucked you with an animalistic pace. There was a sense of urgency in his thrusts, having been denied his release twice because of Aegon’s presence. Moans openly fell from your lips at the way his tip kissed your cervix deliciously, another wave of release drawing closer with each thrust. Before you could react, a hand grips the side of your face, the elder turning you to his cock once more. He thrusted into your mouth, resuming his earlier pace as you sucked on his length. The King threw his head back as your moans vibrated around his cock, sending a spark of pleasure through his veins. The two silver-haired men chased their release, both equally unrelenting in their thrusts. However, you were the first to break among the three of you. Your thighs spasmed as your core clenched, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Aemond’s cock continued to drive into you as a broken moan fell from your cock-filled mouth when you spill around his length. He moaned as you pulsed around him, his long-awaited climax starting to wash over him like the tide. The prince pulled out of you in haste, furiously tugging at his shaft, spurting hot seed onto your stomach as he groaned in delight. 

Seeing his younger brother spill his seed triggered the older Targaryen’s release. With his eyes locked onto the way Aemond’s cockhead let out spurts of cum, Aegon spilled his own royal seed onto your breasts with a curse. You moaned at the warm sensation of their seeds painting your flesh, turning to look at the two royals who were catching their breath. 

Their cocks were still hard, which meant there was still more to come. Another spark of arousal coursed through you, making you clench your thighs together. The two brothers met each other’s gazes, the air shifting into something different as their eyes met. Aemond felt a strange feeling in his chest, unable to tear his gaze away from his brother’s flushed expression.

With his eyes still on his younger brother, Aegon ordered you, “Why don’t you ride my brother’s cock, darling?”

Both you and Aemond settled into position at the King’s authoritative tone. The prince sat on the edge of the cot, gripping your waist as you aligned yourself above his cock. A sharp inhale left the both of you as you sank onto his length, your core still sensitive from your last peak. You started to ride his cock, his hands guiding you up and down. Aemond was tantalized by the sight of your tits bouncing in his face. They were still covered in Aegon’s seed, though the prince paid it no mind as he took one of your breasts into his mouth. The cum tasted salty in his mouth, though he continued to suck on your teat while burying down the shame building in his consciousness. Aemond could sense his brother approaching the two of you, hard cock sitting heavy in his hand. Aegon’s hand urged you to lean forward, causing Aemond to lean back onto his elbow as your hips stilled momentarily. You felt Aegon’s cockhead run down your puckered hole, expecting him to claim it. But before you could react, Aegon started to breach your already full cunt.

“Your grace, wai– Oh!” You squealed, the sensation taking you by surprise. You had never felt this full before, and the stretch made you bite your lips as you struggled to take both cocks. Aemond was equally caught by surprise, his grip on your hips tightening as you clenched. When Aegon had managed to insert his cock into you fully, you clung onto Aemond’s shoulders at the overwhelming feeling. The two Targaryens started to thrust into you, finding a uniform rhythm.

With a whine, you wrapped your arms around Aemond’s neck, pressing your front, still sticky with both their seeds, against his firm chest.

With your head buried into his shoulder, Aemond had a clear view of his brother’s face. Purple eyes met, sparkling in the warm glow of the pavilion. Aegon let out a small moan, brows furrowed as his hips continued their ministrations. His eyes fell onto Aemond’s lips as his brother bit them, biting back a grunt of pleasure. The King’s head ducked down closer to his brother’s face, with the intent of capturing his lips, but the prince turned his head to the side in avoidance. Aegon ignored the slight pang in his chest at Aemond’s rejection, turning his gaze instead to the sight of your cunt taking both their cocks.

The underside of their shafts rubbed together, sending a delicious spark of pleasure that licked at the base of Aemond’s spine with a familiar warmth. Shifting his weight to one elbow, the prince pistoned his hips into you roughly. You were far gone, drooling onto his shoulder as your jaw fell slack, uncontrollable moans and whines coming out of you. 

Without warning, your third release washed over you. Goosebumps rose on your flesh at your most intense climax yet, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. Your core compressed both cocks together even tighter, which caused both men to grunt in your ear. Black spots covered your vision, mind far from earth as they chased their release. Aegon was the first to break, his release overwhelming him, making him double over. The elder gripped onto his brother’s shoulder for stability, accidentally gripping some of his brother’s long tresses as he spurted his seed into you.

When Aegon pulled out, Aemond ground his feet, thrusting up into you as he chased his own end. You had gone limp in his arms, but your core still pulsated around his cock. With your body fully laid on him, your pearl rubbed on the base of his cock. The friction sent you into overdrive, triggering another orgasm that prompted Aemond’s. The prince couldn’t resist the loud groan that left his lips as he spurted another round of his seed into you.

He could feel the top of his head buzz at the aftermath of his climax, laying there for a moment with you still draped on top of him like a blanket. 

After gathering his bearings, Aemond carefully laid you on the cot. A hiss left both of you as he pulled out, the mixture of the brothers’ seed spilling out of you. You laid there on your stomach, eyes closed as your mind floated away. One of them, you weren’t sure who, wiped you clean. You let out a hum as a sign of gratitude, dozing off almost immediately from exhaustion.

Aemond wordlessly dressed while Aegon settled into his cot beside you. He spared your blissed out figure one last look before moving to leave.

“Good night, brother.” Aegon called out to him, prompting Aemond to stop and look back at him. The two silver-haired men locked eyes once more, the strange feeling in Aemond's chest returned as he looked into his brother's round orbs. Pursing his lips, Aemond gave his brother a nod of acknowledgment before turning to leave.

On the morrow, they shall ride together at the head of their army. The memories of this night shall remain unspoken of as they charge forward together in battle, presenting a united front.

[targtowerxstark]

Hello dear, since your request are open, can you write about dragon dreamer reader as cregan wife? Thankyouu and have a nice day🙃🙃🙃🥰

I love this idea!!!. I’m working through requests now !!and please flood my inbox i love everyone’s ideas 🫶🏼

The Dreamer of Winterfell

Cregan Stark X Dragon dreamer wife

The wind howled across the vast, snow-covered lands of Winterfell, a relentless force that swept through the stone halls, rattling the windows and echoing through the chambers. Inside the great keep, a fire burned brightly in the hearth of the great hall, casting warm flickers of light across the carved wooden tables and the banners of House Stark.

Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, sat in his high seat, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the stone floor. His mind was far from the revelry of the feast that had begun earlier in the evening. He had other matters to attend to, matters far more pressing than the politics of the North. His thoughts were with his wife, the Lady y/n Targaryen, the dragon-blooded princess from the distant lands of the south.

Y/n, his beloved, had been restless these past few nights. She would wake him in the early hours, eyes wide and searching, speaking of dragon dreams that none could understand but her. Cregan had always been a man of reason, of solid ground beneath his feet, but he knew his wife was no ordinary woman. The blood of dragons ran through her veins, and with it, strange gifts—gifts that often brought her torment.

Tonight, as the wind whispered against the stone walls, y/n stood before the great window in their chamber, her slender form silhouetted against the pale moonlight. She was gazing out over the snow-draped landscape, her face pale and drawn with worry.

“y/n,” Cregan’s deep voice broke through the silence, causing her to turn. He had removed his cloak and gloves, his heavy fur-lined tunic still warm from the fire, but the coldness in his heart remained. “What is it? Another vision?”

She turned fully to face him, her violet eyes darker than usual, as if she had been drawn into some shadowy world from which she could not escape. “It was… different this time, my love,” she said softly, her voice a mix of sorrow and confusion. “The dragon called to me again, but this time… it did not speak in flames, Cregan. It was in whispers—dark, cold whispers.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed. He had long since learned that y/n’s dreams were no mere trappings of the mind. “Tell me, my lady,” he said, stepping closer to her, his large hands gently resting on her shoulders. “What did you hear?”

She closed her eyes, as though trying to recapture the vision. “The whispers spoke of a great shadow,” she murmured. “A darkness that would come from the farthest reaches of the North, from lands no man knows. It will bring the cold and death, Cregan. It will erase everything.”

His grip tightened slightly, though he remained calm. “You know that the dragons of old spoke in riddles. These whispers may be no more than a warning, but the true meaning may remain hidden.”

Y/n shook her head, her silver-blonde hair shimmering in the light of the hearth. “This time, I do not think it is just a warning. It feels like a truth, one that will soon come to pass. I saw it—so clearly. A frozen Lord, as white as snow, with eyes like blue sapphires. It sleeps beneath the ice and rises in the North, and the lands freeze in its wake. There is nothing left but frost and death.”

Cregan’s heart sank at her words. As much as wanted to believe these were just bad dreams, the very idea of a frozen lord, sleeping beneath the ice, bringing death to the lands he held so dear was a thought he could not bear. “You speak of something similar to white walkers my love, A threat of such power would be a terror to all the realm,” he said, his voice low and troubled. “But how can we stop it?”

Y/n turned away from him, walking slowly toward the window once more. She placed a hand on the cool glass, her breath fogging up the pane as she stared out into the vast, snow-filled night. “I do not know,” she said quietly. “The vision was so clear, so vivid, but there is nothing more. No answer. Only the certainty that it is coming.”

Cregan stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the world pressing on him. He had long known that the Targaryens carried both fire and blood, but it seemed that the gift his wife bore would soon bring them both to a crossroads.

"Y/n," he said, moving closer to her, his voice firm but filled with compassion. "We will face this together. Whatever this darkness is, whatever this cold might bring, we will stand as one. The North is strong, and so are we. The gods may have gifted you with these visions, but it is our will that will shape the future."

She turned to him, her eyes softening. "You have always been my strength, my love," she whispered, reaching out to take his hand in hers. "But I fear that even the might of Winterfell may not be enough to face what is coming."

Cregan's grip on her hand tightened. "Then we will seek out the answers,y/n. We will not sit idle and wait for this terror to claim us.“

Y/n closed her eyes, her forehead resting gently against his chest. “And what of the dream? The whispers of the cold and death? Should we ignore them?”

Cregan stroked her hair gently. “No,” he said firmly. “We will not ignore them. But we must prepare—seek counsel, gather strength. We will go to our allies, to those who know of the white walkers and the old prophecies. The North may be our home, but there are forces beyond the Wall and beyond the Reach that we must understand.”

Y/n pulled away slightly, her eyes meeting his. “You believe we can stop it?”

Cregan pulled her closed and whispered in her ear.

“We can only try my love”

[therogueflame]

By Fire, By Right

hi lovebugs,

I am SO sorry that this took so long, i just didnt have the motivation to do it. i did not proofread before posting. is it obvious i wrote this in an hour? oopsies. This one is shorter than both the Small Council and Steel and Silk, but thats bc it has literally 0 plot. none. zilch. enjoy

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Summary: On the night of your wedding, beneath the glow of candlelight and the weight of ancient vows, Aegon takes what has always been his.

WC: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+, Sex (p in v), oral (fem!receiving), no use of y/n, but implied fem!reader

King Aegon II x Wife!Queen!Reader

MDNI!!!!

The bedchamber was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, golden flickers casting shadows over rich silks and cold stone. The air carried the faint scent of dragonfire and myrrh, clinging to your skin, a lingering trace of the vows spoken before gods and men. The chamber had been prepared with great care, the bed draped in deep crimson, an unspoken expectation woven into the hush that settled between you.

The feast had stretched long into the night, filled with wine, music, and endless toasts to your health and happiness. Lords had lifted their cups in grand displays, their words full of empty flattery, their voices loud with drunken revelry. The finest dishes in the realm had been set before you, the grandest musicians had played their songs, but none of it had mattered.

Not to him.

Aegon had barely touched his cup, ignoring the endless flow of wine that had been pressed into his hands throughout the night. His focus had remained on you, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable but intent. There had been no outward impatience, no sign of discontent, yet the way he had watched you told you everything. He had been waiting for this moment more than he cared to admit.

Now, at last, you were alone.

The chamber doors had closed behind you, shutting out the sounds of the lingering celebration, leaving only the crackle of the hearthfire and the quiet rhythm of your own breath.

Aegon sat at the edge of the marriage bed, his tunic loose at the collar, exposing a sliver of his chest. His crown lay discarded on a nearby table, its weight abandoned for the night. His violet eyes roamed over you, the same way they always had, but tonight, something had changed.

You had been his before this night. In whispers exchanged beneath the cover of darkness. In hands that had learned the shape of you in secret. In nights where restraint had faltered and desire had outweighed duty. In the way he reached for you when no one was looking, in the way he had always pulled you closer rather than let you go.

Yet tonight was different.

There was no need for secrecy, no need to slip away before the dawn. There were no barriers left between you, no pretense, no stolen moment that had to end before it had truly begun. Tonight, he did not have to claim you in haste. Tonight, you were his, and he was yours, and there was nowhere left to run.

"You are staring," you said, stepping closer, your fingers reaching for the ties at his sleeves.

Aegon did not blink, did not look away. The candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, making the violet of his eyes seem darker, more intense. His lips curved, slow and knowing, but he did not move. He let you come to him, let you reach for him, let you think you had the upper hand.

Before you could undo the laces at his wrist, he caught your hands. His grip was firm but unhurried, his touch more possessive than forceful. His thumb brushed lazily over your pulse, his touch warm and deliberate as he studied you, taking his time. He looked at you as if he had all the time in the world.

A smirk tugged at his lips, the same self-assured expression he always wore when he knew he had already won. "Can you blame me?" His voice was low, rough with amusement, but beneath it lay something else, something heavier.

His fingers curled around your wrists, holding them in place as his gaze roamed over you. He did not speak immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make you feel the weight of his attention. Then, finally, he murmured, "I have had you before, but tonight, you are mine in every way."

Heat curled in your stomach, pooling low as the words settled between you. You had always known him to be like this—arrogant, indulgent, utterly shameless in his claims over you—but there was something else in the way he looked at you now. There was no teasing lilt, no boyish grin. He was not just claiming you because he could. He was claiming you because, tonight, there was no need to steal anything. Tonight, nothing could take you from him.

"You have always been mine," you reminded him, tilting your chin up slightly. Your voice was steady, but you could hear the breathlessness in it, feel the way your heart pounded against your ribs.

His smirk widened, a spark of challenge flickering in his eyes. "Then let me remind you."

He pulled you onto his lap with practiced ease, his hands finding your waist and settling there as if they had always belonged. His grip was firm, his thumbs pressing into the fabric of your wedding gown as though he wished to tear through it, but he did not rush.

He exhaled slowly, the warmth of his breath brushing against your throat. He did not kiss you. Not yet. Instead, he lingered there, his lips grazing your skin, savoring the moment before he took what he already knew was his.

"This should feel no different," he murmured, his voice quieter now. His hands tightened at your waist, his hold possessive. "And yet."

You let out a slow breath, fingers threading through his golden hair, savoring the softness of it, the familiar heat of him.

"And yet," you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

The weight of the night settled between you, thick with something deeper than desire. This was Not a secret meeting behind closed doors. Not a rushed moment stolen between responsibilities. No hushed whispers in darkened corridors, no hurried touches before duty called you away. There was no shame, no fear of discovery, nothing left to keep you apart.

Only certainty.

Aegon cupped your cheek, his fingers warm against your skin as he tilted your face to his. His touch was not demanding but deliberate, his gaze searching yours in the dim candlelight. The teasing edge he so often carried had melted into something softer, something deeper.

"Let me take my time with you," he murmured, his voice quieter now, heavy with something unspoken. "Tonight, I have no reason to rush."

The words sent a slow warmth through you, one that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with him. There was a promise in them, an unspoken vow that had nothing to do with duty or expectation. This was not a night for reckless passion or frantic need. It was a night for something greater.

You smiled, pressing your forehead to his, your touch soft and knowing. "Then take all the time you need."

Aegon let out a slow breath, one that felt almost like relief, before his lips found yours.

The kiss was slow and deep, nothing like the frenzied nights before. It was not a desperate claim or a demand but a confirmation of what had always been. He was yours, and you were his.

His hands skimmed over your back, moving with deliberate ease, gliding down the curve of your spine until his fingers found the delicate lacing that held your gown in place. He did not fumble, did not rush. Each tug and pull of the ties was patient, a testament to his practiced skill. As the fabric slackened and slipped away from your shoulders, he bent forward, pressing his lips to the newly revealed skin, his warm breath brushing against you like a whispered secret.

"I have dreamed of this moment," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety rasp against your skin. "Of undressing you slowly, savoring every inch of you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, not from nerves but from the weight of them. You knew he spoke the truth. In all the times he had touched you before, there had always been a lingering urgency, a stolen moment that could not last long enough. But now there was no need for restraint, no need to keep his hands from wandering or his mouth from lingering.

Slowly, the layers of your wedding gown pooled around you, the rich fabric forgotten as it slid from your body. You were left in nothing but your shift, the delicate linen barely concealing the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips. Aegon’s hands traced every inch of bare skin, his fingers gliding along the newly exposed flesh as if learning you all over again.

He was in no rush to claim you, no rush to take what had already been his in every way but this one. Instead, he took his time, savoring each touch, each brush of his lips, each soft sound that escaped you as he worshipped every inch of you.

He had called you his queen before the realm, but here, beneath the glow of candlelight, he made you feel like one.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered against your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbone.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he continued to explore your body with eager hands. The heat between you grew with each passing second, a slow burn that promised to consume you both. With a low growl, Aegon stood, lifting you with him. He carried you over to the bed and gently placed you down on the soft furs. His eyes drank in every inch of your exposed skin before he joined you on the bed.

He hovered over you, his weight resting on his forearms as he gazed down at you with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

Aegon's lips claimed yours once more in a kiss filled with passion and longing. His hands roamed over your body with an urgency that drove any coherent thoughts from your mind. Your own hands were busy too – eagerly exploring every inch of his hard, muscular frame.

His hands continued their deliberate exploration, carefully peeling away the layers of your gown with a tenderness that belied his strength. Each new patch of skin, exposed to the cool air, was immediately claimed by his lips, his tongue, or the gentle scrape of his teeth, leaving a trail of tingling warmth in their wake. You arched into his touch, your breath hitching as he lingered on particularly sensitive spots, drawing out soft gasps of pleasure.

“You're still wearing too much,” you murmured, your fingers tugging insistently at the hem of his tunic.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against your skin. “Patience, my love. We have all night.”

Nevertheless, he released you momentarily, just long enough to pull the garment over his head, revealing the hard planes of his body. The flickering candlelight danced across his skin, highlighting every taut muscle and old scar. Your hands roamed eagerly over his chest, tracing the ridges of past battles and the firm definition of his abdomen, each touch reaffirming the magnetic pull between you.

Aegon's eyes darkened with lust as you explored his body. He captured your lips again, the kiss deeper and more urgent now. His hands slid down to your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you closer. You could feel the heat of his arousal pressing against you through the remaining layers of fabric.

"I want to see all of you," he breathed against your mouth. With a fluid motion, he lifted you and laid you back on the bed. His gaze raked over you hungrily as he slowly removed the last of your gown, leaving you bare before him.

You flushed under his intense scrutiny, but there was no shame in it. This was your husband, your king, the man who had chosen you above all others. You reached for him, drawing him down to you.

Aegon's body covered yours, his weight a delicious pressure as he settled between your thighs. His lips found yours again, the kiss deep and consuming. You ran your hands down his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin as he moved against you.

"You are exquisite," he murmured, trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck. His hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Aegon's lips moved with deliberate precision, tracing the path of his hand and leaving a trail of warmth that seemed to ignite your skin. He devoted himself to your breasts, switching between tender, feather-like touches and more demanding caresses that pulled involuntary gasps of his name from your lips.

Your fingers wove into the soft strands of his hair as he descended lower, planting a series of open-mouthed kisses across your abdomen. Each press of his lips made your breath catch in your throat as Aegon's mouth journeyed further down, his tongue crafting intricate patterns on your flushed skin. He lingered at your hip, delivering a playful nip that sent a shiver through you before he soothed the spot with a gentle kiss. His violet eyes, deepened with an intense longing, locked onto yours as he nestled himself between your thighs, ready to explore further.

"I want to taste you," he murmured, his breath hot against your most sensitive flesh. "To savor every part of you."

You nodded, your voice lost in the whirlwind of anticipation as Aegon lowered his mouth to your most intimate place. The first tentative swipe of his tongue sent a jolt of electricity through your body, causing your back to arch off the bed as if pulled by invisible strings, a breathless gasp escaping your lips. His strong hands, firm and steady, clamped onto your hips, anchoring you in place as he embarked on a thorough exploration with lips and tongue, each movement deliberate and expertly executed.

Aegon's dedication was unwavering, his technique a seamless dance between broad, sweeping strokes and precise, focused attention on the sensitive bundle of nerves that sent fireworks exploding behind your closed eyelids. Your fingers instinctively dove into the cascade of his silver-gold hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more as exquisite pleasure coiled tightly within you. Sensing your urgency, Aegon responded with eagerness, his tongue delving deeper, tasting and teasing with an artistry that spoke of familiarity and skill. He knew every curve and contour of your body, understood exactly how to touch you to ignite a fervent, all-consuming desire.

"Aegon," you gasped, your hips rolling against his mouth. "Please..."

He hummed a low, resonant tune against your collarbone, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, like ripples on a pond's surface. His left hand remained firmly on your hip, fingers pressing into your soft flesh, while his right hand began a slow, tantalizing journey up your trembling thigh. You felt each of his calloused fingertips as they inched higher, teasing at your entrance, circling slowly before pressing inside with deliberate care. The dual sensation of his tongue, warm and wet, drawing circles on your clit, and his fingers curling inside you, stroking your inner walls, had you careening towards the edge of ecstasy.

Aegon's ministrations grew more intense, his fingers working in tandem with his tongue, a harmonious dance designed to bring you closer and closer to the peak. His tongue lapped against you, alternating between swift flicks and long, languid strokes, while his fingers crooked inside you, beckoning forth your orgasm. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your chest heaving as your body trembled with need, muscles tensing in anticipation. When he curled his fingers just so, hitting that perfect spot inside you, a hidden treasure trove of sensation, the tension finally snapped.

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, a relentless tide that left you crying out his name, your back arching sharply off the bed, sheets fisting in your hands. Aegon didn't relent, drawing out your climax with gentle licks and caresses, his fingers still moving languidly inside you, until you were quivering and oversensitive, your body pulsing with aftershocks. Only then did he press a final, tender kiss to your inner thigh, his stubble grazing your sensitive skin, before moving back up your body. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, and you could taste your own saltiness on his tongue, a primal, intimate exchange.

Aegon's body pressed against yours, his arousal evident as he settled between your thighs. His violet eyes were dark with desire as he gazed down at you, a mix of tenderness and hunger in his expression. You reached up to cup his face, drawing him down for another kiss.

"I need you," you whispered against his lips, your body still thrumming with aftershocks of pleasure.

Aegon's hand glided down the curve of your waist, his fingers tracing the contours of your body before firmly gripping your thigh. He gently lifted your leg, draping it over his hip, aligning himself at your entrance with careful precision. The warmth radiating from him was palpable, hinting at the imminent intimacy you both craved.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Aegon leaned forward, his chest pressing against yours as he enveloped you in a close embrace. Both of you gasped, a shared intake of breath as the familiar, electrifying sensation of him filling you completely surged through your senses. He paused momentarily, his forehead resting tenderly against yours, your mingled breaths creating a warm, shared space. In response, you rolled your hips with a silent plea, urging him to continue. Aegon responded, establishing a languid pace that had your back arching beneath him, your body instinctively synchronizing with the deep, measured rhythm he set. Each deliberate stroke sent waves of pleasure rippling through you, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer, urging him deeper into the connection you both shared.

Aegon's rhythm was unhurried and intentional, each movement deliberate as he maintained an unwavering gaze, eyes locked with yours. He moved with a languid grace, each thrust carefully measured to extract the utmost pleasure for both of you. The tension simmered within your core, a coil winding tighter with every precise roll of his hips. When he angled just right, hitting a particularly sensitive spot, a gasp escaped your lips, and your fingers instinctively dug into his shoulders, leaving small crescent-shaped impressions on his skin.

As the fervor of the moment began to consume him, Aegon's pace shifted from steady to frantic. His control wavered, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath a warm, ragged pant against your skin. His movements became more fervent, driven by a primal urgency. You wrapped your arms around him, holding on with desperation, as the overwhelming cascade of sensations threatened to drown you both.

With Aegon's thrusts becoming faster and more intense, your body quivered on the brink of another climax, every nerve electrified. The room reverberated with the melody of your shared passion—sharp, ragged gasps mingling with deep, resonant moans, accompanied by the steady, rhythmic creak of the wooden bed frame beneath you, which groaned in protest with each movement. Your fingers ventured down Aegon's spine, feeling the taut muscles ripple and contract beneath your touch, his skin glistening with a sheen of perspiration that caught the dim candlelight flickering in the chamber.

"Look at me," Aegon commanded, his voice roughened with a primal desire, cutting through the dimly lit atmosphere. You complied, lifting your gaze to meet his, where the intensity of his violet eyes seemed to pierce through you with an almost palpable force. The usual color of his irises was nearly eclipsed by the inky blackness of his pupils, dilated wide with lust, consuming the vibrant hue in a sea of darkness.

As you locked eyes with him, his gaze seemed to pull you into an ocean of intensity, and the room around you blurred into insignificance. Waves of pleasure coursed through your body, each one building upon the last. His hips moved with a relentless rhythm, each thrust more determined than the one before, expertly hitting that perfect spot inside you. You felt yourself hovering on the brink, every nerve tingling with anticipation, so close to that ultimate release.

"Come for me," Aegon growled, his voice a deep, commanding whisper that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. "Let me feel you." His words were a potent mix of demand and encouragement, resonating deep within you and urging you to surrender.

The combination of his words and a particularly deep, precise thrust sent you tumbling over the edge. You cried out his name, your voice echoing with the ecstasy that surged through you, your body tightening around him in response. Aegon's groan was guttural, his rhythm stuttering as your climax triggered his own. With a final, forceful thrust, he drove himself deep within you, releasing as he reached his peak, his body shuddering with the intensity of it all.

For several moments, you both lay entwined, bodies trembling and hearts racing as you came down from the heights of passion. Aegon's weight pressed you into the mattress, a comforting anchor as the room slowly came back into focus. His breath was warm against your neck, each exhale sending a small shiver through you.

Gradually, Aegon lifted his head, his violet eyes meeting yours once more. The intensity from before had softened, replaced by a tender warmth that made your heart swell. He brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle, as if savoring the moment.

"My queen," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "My wife."

You smiled up at him, reaching to cup his cheek, your thumb tracing the faint flush that still lingered on his skin. "My king," you replied softly. "My husband."

Aegon exhaled a quiet breath, leaning into your touch. For once, he did not speak, did not smirk or tease. He simply held you, his arms tightening around you as if anchoring himself in your warmth. The weight of the night settled between you, not in duty or expectation, but in something real, something that had always been there, waiting for this moment to be fully realized.

The candles burned low, their golden glow flickering against the chamber walls, casting soft shadows that swayed with the dying light. The world beyond this room, with all its expectations and burdens, had faded into nothing. The court did not matter, nor did the crown or the weight of what tomorrow would bring.

Here, in the quiet of your wedding night, there was only the warmth of his touch, the steady rhythm of his breath, and the unshakable truth that you belonged to each other completely.

Aegon held you close, his arms wrapped around you as if nothing could pull you from him. And for tonight, nothing would.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

A Way Out

benji x targtower!fem!reader 

Summary: You’ve only wanted to be free with the wind for as long as you can remember. You know war is coming and you make an attempt to flee and seek the future you want. When it all comes crumbling down madness is the only thing left to comfort you. 

Warnings: 18+ vulgar language, wine, depression, panic and anxiety attacks, thoughts of wanting to die, mention of sex, pregnancy, birth, kidnapping, poison, mention of death, death/suicide(reader), alicent not being a mother, other targtower children appearances, slight timeline au but the dance is still there, mention of war 

Authors Note: a request from @chainsawsangel - the most angsty thing i’ve ever written! literally the main song in my head and that i played while writing this was Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want by The Smiths so idk !

Word Count: 8.7k  

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A Year Before

Over the years your mother and grandfather have slowly taken hold of the Iron Throne. You’ve watched the rapid decline of your fathers health and he’s been nothing more than a corpse these past couple of moons. Your eldest brother drowns himself in his cups day in and day out while the younger of your two brothers hones himself into a deadly weapon. Your only sister is so closed in on herself that you can barely hold a conversation with her. The only person you can turn to is your mother who should be offering you warm embraces but can seem to only muster a cold shoulder.

You try not to blame her for your poor upbringing and push it onto an unlucky draw from the Gods before entering this world. Many aren’t as lucky as you and your siblings and you try to remind yourself of this. You have never wanted for anything besides maybe love and a true family. The only living thing you feel a genuine connection with is your dragon. He is your only solace in times of distress and the feeling of the wind blowing through your hair causes you to dream of flying off, never to return. There is nothing for you in King's Landing, you’re only a daughter and not even the first. Some days you don’t even feel like a daughter but a painting to be stared at until they tire and walk away.

You weren’t a painting but a song on the wind. Something never to be grasped or locked away. You were made to free and soar on the breeze. The wind would sing back to you in its high pitched tone and promise you the escape you desired. You and your dragon fly higher into the clouds chasing the sound of freedom away from the city below. One day you promise to yourself and your dragon. One day we’ll leave this place for good. For now you settle for disappearing for a day or two in the depths of the Kingswood. 

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After drinking the last of your water you decide to relent and make your way back to the dragon pits. You coast above the city before your dragon walks you into his cave. Upon exiting the cold stone halls your mother is waiting for you with her hands folded and a frown etched on her face. 

“Let’s go.” she turns on her heel and you follow behind her to the carriage. She glares at you from across the enclosed space and pinches the bridge of her nose as the carriage comes to another stop. “Stay here.” she’s out of the carriage instantly and the door is snapped shut. You lean back into the seat and groan just wanting to be back in your chambers and alone. 

You start to loosen your riding gear wishing you could just put a night dress on and go to bed. You hear your mothers whispered shouts on the other side of the door before it’s being ripped open. You watch as your mother shoves a stumbling Aegon into the carriage before sealing herself in with you both. He takes the seat next to you and smells worse than he looks. Your mother looks over you both with disgust, mumbling under her breath. 

“The Gods must have been playing a cruel joke on me when they sent you both to me.” she shakes her head, grabbing her Star of the Seven necklace. “You disappear in your cups and whores and you,” she gives you a pointed look. “Disappear to Gods knows where.” she scoffs. 

“Do you wish for me to just sit in the castle until you marry me off?” you snap and Aegon chuckles from beside you. 

“And I sit and wait until you usurp the throne from Rhaenyra?” his throat sounding raw. 

“You two should be more grateful for all that is done for you. When we get back to the Keep you each will go straight to your chambers. I’ll hear no more.” she waves you both off off, turning her head to stare out the window. 

You’ll be grateful when you’re sealed away in your chambers alone. 

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11 Months Before

With the succession in question a war for the throne is inevitable. Ravens have been flying for weeks on end to secure secret alliances for the plotted usurpation. Many Lords and Lady’s have traveled to court to affirm these alliances and the Keep quickly becomes stifling. You can’t take the cramped halls and the constant feasts. You’ve had enough of the continuous parading about and the lunches and teas. Tonight is the night you leave. 

The bag on your shoulder should feel heavy but it feels light as the air itself. You’ve had this planned for some time now you smile as you make it out of the Keeps gates. You slip through the city streets and push off people who try to stop you. You sprint up the Hill of Rhaenys to the dragon pits not caring to look behind you at the life you’re leaving behind. 

The massive opening is dark as you slip in and wait for your eyes to adjust. You start in the familiar direction and rest your hands on the cool stones as you enter the caves. The familiar chuffs bring a smile to your face as you slowly enter the cave. He starts to uncurl and pushes his snout into you. You pat your hands down the length of him before climbing up and attaching your bag. You settle into the saddle and he takes you into the dark skies. 

The moon lights your path as he leads you both west. You lean down and hug against his neck feeling his mighty wing beats. You fly on the breeze for hours until the sun begins to rise and you land in a small forest. You unhook from the saddle and recline back feeling safest still atop your dragon in strange lands. 

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A week has gone by and you’re dangerously low on supplies. You have no idea where you are but you saw a town not too far off when you landed for the day. You pull your bag down from behind the saddle and start to change out of your riding gear. The nearby creek offers you a different hair color that will help you blend in. The mud feels foul in your hair but once it dries you just look like a commoner living on the streets. 

Holding your breath you wait at the edge of the tree line. You walk out and quickly make your way into the thrum of bodies down the main street. You stop at different stalls and pull coins out of your pocket trying to silently replenish your supplies. You move from vendor to vendor quickly trying to take as little time as possible so you can leave this town. Your bag is quickly filled and you turn on your heel to make an exit until a hand is wrapped around your wrist. 

“I make it my business to know all of the people who carry gold coins in my town. You, I’ve never seen before. Who might you be under all of this mud?” you look up at the man looking down at you with dark eyes. You look him over searching for a house symbol or anything that will mark who he is. 

“Let’s just take her back to the castle. Question her.” his company says. You look over this man and see the symbol of the Blackwoods. You know not all of the River Lords swore obeisance to your mother and grandfather but can’t remember if the Blackwoods were allies or not. 

The grip on your arm is sure to leave a bruise as you're pulled through the streets to the castle in the center of the city. Whispers and nods of ‘My Lord’ follow in your wake through the halls. Surely this man isn’t Lord Benjicot he can’t be a day over five and twenty. You study him and he pulls you through a large wooden door. It looks to be his council chambers but before you can look around you’re pushed down into a seat. 

“I’m a generous host when I know who my guest is.” the man sits back in his chair and looks you over. 

“Who might my host be?” you ask softly and he tilts his head. 

“You’re in my town and you don’t even know who I am?” he chuckles. 

“In honesty I don’t even know the town I’m in. Not for certain. From my observations I’m assuming you’re Lord Benjicot?” he squints his eyes at you. 

“Your speech is too fine and your pockets are too deep to be a commoner.” your heart starts to beat faster. “There’s been rumors of a dragon flying about at night and I’m wondering if you would know anything about that, as a traveler of course.” he tilts his head studying you. 

“I have seen no such thing, my Lord.” you shake your head quickly. 

“No? They say a Targaryen Princess is on the run. The Queen will pay well for any information.” your leg starts to shake. “Where do you come from?” he looks to his men and nods them out of the room leaving you both alone. Your chest starts to tighten not knowing what’s about to happen. 

“I’m from everywhere.” your words hushed. 

“Why would a Princess be on the run?” you watch as he rises and pours two glasses of wine. “And why is she all the way at Raventree Hall?” he sets a glass in front of you and takes his seat once more. 

“I don’t know why a Princess would be on the run, my Lord.” you nibble your lip hoping that your denial will work. “If you’re truly housing the Princess I would keep your voice down or alert the Queen at once. These are trying times.” you keep your words hushed and avoid his eye contact. 

“No matter how much mud you put in your hair it can’t dull the lilac of your eyes, Princess.” he sighs, taking a sip. 

“Please,” the word barely audible. “I can’t go back. Please.” your eyes finally meet his and you see the sadness in them.

“Why are you running?” he nods prompting you to talk.

“I want to live a different life.” you scrunch your brows. “I don’t like being a Princess. I think if we lived other lives I must’ve not been very good in them.” you look at him with a half smile. “This life feels like a punishment.” he frowns at your words. “I’m looking for a way out. I can give you all my coin. Anything. Please just don’t sell me back to them.” you wipe away a wayward tear quickly and huff as you spot the look of pity on his face. 

“What kind of Lord would I be if I denied a Princess refuge in her most desperate hour.” he jests but he doesn’t know how true his statement is. “You can stay for as long as you need. Unbeknownst to anybody.” he nods his head. “Should a dragon come at night, we have feed for him.” he offers you the start of a smile. 

“What is your price?” you squint at him not understanding why he would agree to help you. You’ve never known a kind hand to come without a price.

“No price. It is my duty and honor to house you, Princess.” his face starts to soften.  

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10 Months Before 

It’s been just over one month since you’ve settled into Raventree Hall. Lord Benjicot, or Benji as he requests, has stayed true to his word. No Kingsmen have been through here and you’ve remained unfound. You dye your hair once every fortnight and keep to yourself. Your dragon is content enough to coast above the trees and indulge on the meat you bring him. 

Even with time and distance from the Keep you still feel suffocated and watched by it. You feel lost and alone most days but you have no desire to go home. Benji has never made you feel like you must work to earn your keep here but you’ve become stagnant. You don’t feel like you belong here. The people are kind but they don’t truly know you. You’re constantly looking over your shoulder and you dislike dying your hair so often. You miss your silver hair and fine gowns. You want for a home and a family you’ve never had but at least you didn’t feel so utterly alone. 

“How has my home been treating you, Princess?” Benji looks across the dining table at you. He sees the frown sculpted onto your face day in and day out. 

“Very well. Thank you.” you nod and turn all your attention to your plate. You both share three meals a day and he never has anyone else at the table. You can’t help but feel like a burden. Surely you’ve over extended your welcome but he’s too kind to tell you to leave. Gods what if he tells someone where you are. “Though I think it’s time for me to leave.” you set your fork down and he looks at you stunned. 

“As in you wish to retire to your chambers for the night?” he sits up and studies you more intensely. Had something happened that you didn’t tell him about? 

“No, I think,” you nod your head, steeling yourself. “I think I need to go somewhere else. I don’t fit in here. I need something else. I need the wind, I need freedom. I feel stuck and lost.” you can’t help the words that continue to flow out of your mouth and he turns to you listening to everything you have to say. “I don’t belong here. Maybe Essos will call to me. I just need to not be here. Or anywhere.” you look up to him with tear stained cheeks and his heart stops. 

He can tell you’ve been reluctant to open up to him but he can’t very well just let you leave out on your own. Benji decides right then he’ll go anywhere with you. To protect you. To care for you. To listen to you. To be anything you need him to be. He cannot bear the thought of you out there on your own.

“Then I offer you my sword, Princess. Wield me as you need. Allow me to make your journey less dangerous. Take me where you please. I’m yours to command.” your brows scrunch as you wipe away your tears. 

“No.” you shake your head. “I cannot ask that of you. You’re a Lord and have duties and land to attend to.” you don’t even allow yourself to think of the idea of having him travel with you. 

“Is it not my duty as a Lord to assist the royal family in any capacity I can?” he grabs his fork and begins to eat again. “It is not my desire to send you to your death on the road.” you watch his jaw flex. 

“If you come with me, you know we will never be able to come back.” his eyes lock to yours as he nods. “It may even mean your death.” he sets his fork back down and looks at you unyielding. 

“Give me at least a moon to make silent preparations and we’ll leave it all.” he sips his wine. 

“And if my dragon won’t allow you to ride with us?” you sit back in your chair watching him. 

“Then I shall follow you both from the ground. By horse or foot, I care not.” he shrugs. 

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9 Months Before 

You sit across from Benji as he looks over the map on his desk. You two have been trying to find a route that will offer ample coverage for your dragon during the day. You both have gone back and forth about whether to risk going through the Vale and decided it’ll be the quickest. Your only reservation is that it’s so close to Dragonstone but you have plans to travel by night and take extra precautions. 

“We can leave when you want.” Benji looks at you and your eyes snap to him. 

“You’re positive you want to come with?” you still can’t wrap your head around the idea that he genuinely wants to come with. 

“I am.” he nods and rolls the map up and pushes it away from him. 

“Why?” you chew your lip. “Why do you want to come with me?” you start to pick at your nails. “Why do you want to throw your life away for a sad Princess?” your chest tightens and you beg the tears not to come. 

“You’re not the only one who wants to run from something.” his eyes hold the desperation you know all too well. “I don’t see it as throwing my life away. It’s not my desire to see you leave, no matter how selfish that sounds but I know this is no place for you. I,” he shakes his head at battle with himself whether to speak it. “I care for you deeply. More than I should but I would never do anything to cause you harm or displeasure.” his confession settles into your empty heart. He cares for you. 

“I wish to leave tonight, Benji.” you stare at each other in silent agreement and he nods. “I will start packing.” you get up and start to the door and pause. “I care for you too.” the soft confession has Benji staring blankly at the door that softly clicks shut behind you. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

The first week of travel has gone so smoothly and your mind has finally begun to settle. This time on the road you have more than enough supplies and Benji to hunt for you both. The first night when he said you two had to share a tent you blushed profusely and made him make a wall of supplies between the two of you until the chill of the night came. Every night, still with the same blush on your face much to your horror, he waits for you in the makeshift bed with open arms for you to curl into. 

Slowly you’ve started to open up and relax more. Benji has been able to break down your walls and he’s never been more in love with a sound than your laughter. When he wakes up in the early morning to prepare you breakfast he takes the first couple minutes to himself to watch your soft smile as you sleep. He loves when he turns from the fire to be blinded by your silver hair in the sun as you stretch with pink cheeks. At night he relishes how you fight off sleep to talk to him about all of your dreams for the future and your lives once you get to Essos. 

It all started so innocently you just wanted to kiss him. Just once. He didn’t tease you when you told him he was your first kiss he just asked if you would like to be kissed again. After the second kiss it was as if the invisible wall between you two lifted and you became one. When you were with him you felt as if this was the home you were looking for. He was kind and had patience with you and would worship you until you fell asleep. 

The following weeks were some of the happiest times in your life. The days felt never ending and the nights were warm thanks to Benji. You both decided to slow your travel and move at a more leisurely pace as you make your way across the land. Your dragon hunts at night under the shadow of darkness and you begin to feel at ease. Within the next couple of days you both will reach the Vale and begin the last part of your journey in Westeros. 

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8 Months Before 

The Vale’s forests are more dense than either of you two anticipated. It's taken the three of you longer than anticipated but the road has been easy. Your dragon is content to live off of the land and fly in the open skies above the both of you. As of late you’ve been traveling closer to dawn than normal in hopes of being able to reach the coast quicker. 

“By tomorrow we should be in Bravos.” his words are something you’ve been waiting to hear. Your heart is close to bursting. Your freedom is hours away. Once the sun slips under the horizon again you both can make your last flight over Westeros and leave.

“You still want to come with me?” you offer him leave every night. “I wouldn’t blame you if you just told everyone I’m crazy and forced you to take me to the coast.” you nibble your lip with a soft smile.

“I would be the crazy one to leave you here and now.” your smile widens at his words. “I’ve left everything behind for you and I would make that decision again and again.” he grabs your hands. “Whenever we settle in Essos, marry me.” your heart stops. 

“You don’t mean that.” you shake your head.

“I do.” he nods his head with a smile. “Marry me.” he searches your eyes. 

“I will.” you press your lips to his. You pull him into the tent when you hear distant thunder and tangle together in the bed before drifting off for the day.

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

You start to stir as you hear shuffling around outside. You smile that Benji is up and packing. By tomorrow you both will be in Bravos and planning your next move. You open your eyes and your heart feels as if it’s being ripped out of you as you open your eyes. It wasn’t thunder. How could you be so stupid? So hopeful?

“Please.” the word barely audible as Aemond looks down on you with disgust. “Please let me leave. Brother, please.” you stand clutching the blanket. “I’ll fly to Essos and you’ll never see me again. Please.” you beg as the tears stream down your face. 

“Get dressed and get up.” his eye looks you up and down. “Mother has been waiting for you to come home.” he looks over at a waking Benji before he scoffs and leaves the tent. You grab your dress as you hiccup back a sob.

“What is going on?” he’s sitting up instantly. 

“Aemond is here.” you shake your head. “I knew we shouldn’t have gone through the Vale. Then we lingered here for so long.” you curse yourself for letting yourself get so absentminded. “I can’t go back. Kill me. Please, Benji please. Use your dagger. Anything. Please.” you look around frantically for his blade. Your brother will surely tell your mother of the state he found you in and she won’t take lightly to it.

“I will do no such thing.” he grabs your wrists. “Look at me.” he watches your ragged breathing and eyes scanning around the tent. “We will get dressed and we’ll go together. I’m not leaving you.” you nod your head, unable to stop the constant stream of tears. After hastily dressing he grabs your hand and leads you out of the tent. You are greeted by Aemond, who is there waiting with members of the Kingsguard. 

“Seize him.” Aemond tilts his head at Benji and the guards are pulling him away the next moment. 

“Aemond please.” you plead. “Don’t kill him. Please.” you run to your brother grabbing his arms. “Please.” you sob and he grabs your face. 

“It is not my decision. The council will decide his fate on our return.” you watch as they throw Benji into a covered wagon and start hauling him through the forest. “You’ll ride with me.” he grabs your arm and drags you over to Vhagar. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

You’ve been locked in your chambers for hours. You pace around waiting for your mother to show up. You have no idea what has become of Benji and it’s making you sick. You need air, you need to see Benji. The doors of your chambers open to reveal your mother before they are shut again. 

“You’ve been gone for months and Aemond finds you naked in a tent with a man? In the Vale? And we find out he’s a Blackwood? Gods.” she looks you over with the same disgust you saw in Aemonds eye. “You’ve been sullied no doubt.” your chest tightens as she continues with her ridicule. 

“I love him.” your voice breaks. “We are going to get married.” she chuckles at you. 

“Mm of course.” she rolls her eyes. “You had better hope the moon tea will still work.” you back away from her. 

“I won’t drink it.” you rest your hands on your stomach. “ And if you kill Benji you kill me too. I won’t live. Mother please.” her eyes start to soften as you start to plead. “Please let him stay here with me. Please.” she smooths your hair back and pulls you into her embrace. 

“Why him? I could have found you a nice husband.” she searches your eyes. 

“I want to marry Benji.” she sighs and looks down at you with a frown. “I’ll run away again.” you shake your head pulling away from her. “I’ll take my life. I won’t stay here alone anymore. I can’t. I won’t.” you start to cry again.

“I will see what I can do.” she sighs and leaves you alone in your chambers once more. 

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6 Months Before

In the two months since your arrival back in Kings Landing much had changed. Your mother had allowed Benji to serve as a guard in the castle. She had known not to test your bluff about taking your own life. He was assigned to a night post on the opposite side of the Keep and it was almost impossible to see him. When you got a glimpse of each other in the halls it made everything worth it and the meals you both would indulge in once every fortnight were the only things you were hold on to. 

By the end of your first month back the maester was able to confirm your pregnancy. He urged you to tell your mother and you outright refused. He warrily agreed not to tell the Queen but you both knew it was only a matter of time. When you told Benji the news he cried and held you tightly and promised to take you away. Hours after he whisked you down the halls but as you turned the last corner a handful of guards stopped you both. After that night you have had at least three guards surrounding you at all times when you are outside of your chambers.

You’re not allowed out of your chambers often and most times are when you need to speak with your mother or for family meals. You haven’t seen your father in ages and rumors spread of his rapid decline. Your mother and grandfather have almost complete control of the throne it seems and everyone is holding their breath to see what happens next. The Keep feels colder than it has in years.

You quickly make your way to your mothers chambers to make your final plea of the day when you round the corner and run into Aegon. You take in his flushed cheeks and watery eyes and can tell he just came from where you’re headed. You notice too late he has one hand on your side and the other on your stomach from helping to steady you. Your spine stiffens as you stand up straighter.

“Does mother know?” he searches your eyes, removing his hands from you. 

“No. Please don’t tell her, Aegon. Please.” you plead in a hushed tone.

“You’re almost as much of a disappointment as I am.” he chuckles. “She’ll find out soon enough.” he shakes his head at you.

“But please not by your mouth, brother.” you grab his hand and he nods at you once.

“Well beware,” he nods his head towards our mothers chambers. “She’s in quite the mood.” he shrugs and continues down the hall. 

You pray to the Gods he keeps his mouth shut before you continue on your course to your mothers chambers. You knock quickly on her door and she sighs when she opens the door and sees you. She lets you in and you take a seat on the couch in her solar. 

“What is it?” she takes a seat in the chair across from you. She looks less than pleased to see you and you shrink in her presence.

“Please let me see Benji.” she shuts her eyes at your words and groans.

“Gods I’ve had enough of this. Enough of you and this River Lord. Enough of your brother sullying his name in the streets. I’ve had enough.” she shakes her head and stands up. “If I hear another word about him this week he will no longer be seen by anyone.” your heart drops at her words.

“I-

“No.” she waves you off reclining in her chair. “Leave. Go back to your chambers.” she closes her eyes in dismissal and you rise with a hot face and wet eyes. 

You sprint out of her chambers and down the hall until you’re alone and curled on your bed. You hold the blanket tightly and let out soft sobs so you don’t alert your guards. The door starts to open and you sit up quickly but when you look at the door it’s still shut. You look around your chambers and gasp with a smile as Benji is standing in a doorway in the wall. You stand up and he walks over to you engulfing you in a hug. 

“How? What is this?” you mumble into his chest as you look at the doorway in the wall. 

“Someone sent me to bring you this.” he holds out a ripped piece of parchment and you look at it with scrunched brows.

i wont tell mother

congrats  

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4 Months Before

The maester has kept his word of keeping quiet about your pregnancy and he suspects that you’ll be on the birthing bed in three months. Your handmaidens have proved their loyalty everyday by keeping you draped in large gowns and extra fabric to help conceal your bump. You’re terrified but so excited to bring such a pure light into this world. You know you have to tell your mother soon and you’re dreading her reaction. Benji has been such a solid force for you to lean on and you’re thankful for Aegon showing him the tunnels.

The tunnels have offered you and Benji everything the past two months. He has been staying with you every night and sometimes you pretend you’re both still in the small tent in the forest. You both secretly plan a better life for your child and hide away coin. You both decided to wait until after the babe comes in hopes of easier travel. Lately tensions around the Keep have been rising and it has you on edge.

“What if we just left now anyways. This babe will change everything. I think we should leave.” you grab his hands and look at him with pleading eyes. 

“You are in no condition to travel. We don’t have a destination set. We can wait. It’ll be okay.” he nods and wipes your tears away. “I promise.” you want so badly to trust him but you feel a sense of impending doom.

“I’m scared.” you hiccup back a sob. “Benji, I'm so scared.” he rests his hand on your bump. 

“It’ll be okay. I-“ your chamber doors open and your mother walks in. 

“What is this?” her face crumbles as she looks at you both and the hand on your swollen stomach. “How? You kept this from me?” her expression changes from anger to hurt and then a mix of the two. 

“Mother-

“How could you keep this from me?” she searches your face. “Go to your post, Benjicot.” she straightens her spine as she lifts her chin to him. He turns to you as you begin to cry. “If you do not leave now I will have guards come in and escort you out.” you stand in front of him and look to your mother.

“Please,” you sob. “Please, I love him, mother.” you hold onto his arm.

“Benjicot, leave now.” she raises her chin and stares at Benji. He pulls on his clothes while whispering promises that he will see you tonight. You follow him to the door crying the whole time. He squeezes your hand and slips out of your chambers.

“Mother, please.” you walk to her.

“Who knows?” she looks down her nose at you.

“No one.” you shake your head.

“Doubtful.” she scoffs. “Your handmaidens and at least one maester if you’re this far along. Gods I don’t even know what to do.” she lets out a bitter chuckle and looks up at the ceiling. “Why couldn’t you just have taken the moon tea? I let that pathetic River Lord stay here in exchange for you to drink it.” her eyes are filled with disdain.

“I would never have drank the tea.” you hold your bump protectively. “I love Benji and this child.” you look at her with watery eyes.

“You’re not even married.” she scoffs looking away. “My own daughter having a bastard.” she chuckles. Her harsh words are a shock to your senses.

“I don’t care.” you say exasperated. “Let us leave. Make up a story. I don’t care. I’m obviously not in the right condition for you to pawn me off for your throne so let us go. Please mother. Please we’ll disappear in Essos.” you know this is truly your final plea. Her knowing about your child is the tipping point. 

“No.” she shakes her head. “You’ll remain in your chambers for the remainder of this pregnancy.” your heart sinks as she leaves sealing shut the doors to your chambers with such finality that you feel it in your bones. 

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3 Months Before 

The past month has been absolute agony for you. Benji still manages to find you through the tunnels but only for fleeting moments. You are watched so carefully that you can barely even get out of bed without your handmaidens rushing in. If your mother hadn’t sequestered you to your chambers the maester would have by now from how sunken you’ve become the more swollen your stomach becomes.

You’ve never felt more alone in your entire life. You’ve taken to talking to yourself and the unborn child you carry. The babe has told you that it’s a boy. You tell him stories you remember hearing about Essos and about the wind. He whispers to you at all hours of the day of the childhood he envisions and how he wishes his father could be with you now. I wish he was here.

“I wish he was here too.” you whisper cradling your bump. “One day. One day we’ll all be a family.” the words barely a breath. 

Benji's PoV

Over the past month he’s watched you slowly lose yourself. He doesn’t understand how the Queen could do this to her own child. Someone so pure and sweet. When he enters your chambers for those minutes he holds so dear you look at him as if you don’t see him. Then when your eyes finally uncloud your face drops and you start crying and speaking High Valyrian. 

He wants to take you away from here but he doesn’t know if you’ll make it. You haven’t been yourself since your mother found out and he’s so terrified. He should’ve just gotten you on your dragon in the Vale and let them kill him. He was so selfish for wanting a life with you. 

He blames himself. He should’ve done more. He should’ve gotten you to safety and now you and his child are.. He doesn’t know. He clenches his fist as the tears fall down his cheeks. He wipes them away angrily before taking a deep breath and opening the secret door to your chambers. 

Your PoV

He’s here. The babe whispers into your mind and you smile holding your bump. You look down as if you can see through the layers straight to the babe within. You can’t wait for the day you get to bring him into this world. You hope Benji will be at your side. Gods you miss him. He’s here. 

“My Princess, please,” you know that broken voice. “See me, please.” you blink your eyes and you see Benji standing before you with a hand resting on your cheek. 

“You're here.” a sob racks through your body. “Stay. Stay, please.” you grab onto him and hold him closely. “You’re here.” you whisper into his neck.

“I’m here.” he doesn’t know what to say. He holds you closely and you cling to him. “I’m here. I’m sorry.” he can’t stop his own tears as he holds you closely. 

My father. The babe whispers with happiness. He’s here. You grab Benji's hand and bring it to your bump. You hold each other as the tears flow and he presses a kiss to your forehead before he rises. I don’t want him to leave. Your heart pangs. 

“I love you. I will try to see you again soon.” his smile broken and defeated.

“I love you.” you watch him open the door. “Stay.” you whisper as the door clicks shut behind him. 

“Princess, is everything okay?” a handmaiden opens up your main doors rushing to your side.

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2 Months Before  

You overheard the news from two of your handmaidens who have long thought your mind no longer works. Your father was dead. You weren’t sad at the news. He’s been dead for sometime now. You turn as your chamber doors open. Your mother walks into the room and looks you over. 

“Your father is dead. Aegon will be crowned tomorrow.” you look at her unblinking. “Benjicot is being sent to the wall. You will have this baby next month and you will be married to Lord Lannister shortly after.” you’ve been numb for some time now but her words slam into you.

“I won’t marry him.” you shake your head going to your couch. “We’re leaving.” you hum holding your bump. “Me, Benji, and our son.” you sit down on your chair. “Somewhere it’s always warm.” you offer her a soft smile. “We’re leaving after you join us.” you coo holding your stomach.

“He’s already on his way North.” she sighs, shaking her head. “He’s gone.” she starts walking towards the door. “Pull yourself together by the time Lord Jason comes to court. I won’t have you embarrass me.” the door thuds closed behind her.

He’s gone. He’s gone. You curl into the blankets on your bed as your handmaidens start to clean up your chambers. After lighting the hearth they leave tea on your table and leave you. You stare out the window feeling the tears fall down your cheeks. He’s gone. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

Someone’s here. I don’t care. He’s sad. So am I. He’s crying. You peel your eyes open and Aegon's red eyes greet you as he lays next to you. 

“What has she done to you?” he searches your dead eyes. 

“What of you?” your voice raw as you see the telling indentations across his brow where the crown sat minutes ago. 

“I’ll try to do something.” he whispers and you offer him a tired smile.

“There's nothing to be done. She’s already sent him to the wall.” his watery eyes meet yours. “Besides you offered us so much when you showed Benji those tunnels. I never got to thank you for that.” you brush his hair back.

“I wish I could’ve given you more.” his eyebrows scrunch.

“You’ve given me enough.” you close your eyes and turn back over. You hear him leave and let the world go dark around you once again. We’re alone. We have each other. I miss him. I miss him too. I’ll be with you soon. 

Benji’s PoV

Benji wakes up chained to a wooden bench being carted down the Kings Road. He’s surrounded by common criminals and he tugs on his chains to see if they’re loose. He bangs his head against the wood and the man next to him chuckles. 

“Like we would be that lucky.” the man smirks. “We’re already lucky enough to be going to the wall instead of the gallows.” he shrugs, shutting his eyes.

Benji ignores him and begins to try and form a plan. Why are they sending him to the wall? You’re about to give birth and he won’t be there. Gods he doesn’t know what to do. He should’ve gotten you out. He has to believe he still has a chance to do so. 

He doesn’t know what to do. His heart starts to pump faster and his breathing becomes ragged. He’s being taken from you when you need him the most. He’s terrified of what they’ll do to you in his absence. He needs to get free. He needs to return to you and his child. He needs to.. He needs to.. He needs.. 

“What's wrong with you?” the man next to him mumbles as his vision goes black as he passes out from panic and anxiety.

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1 Month Before

It's time. The voice wakes you along with the immense pressure. You don’t call for anyone as another wave of pain washes through you when you sit up in the dark. You prop yourself up on the pillows and focus on your breathing. I get to meet you soon. A sharp pain tears through you. 

Your teeth dig into your lip as the pressure builds. Your fingers dig into your knees as you spread your legs and begin to push. I’m here. The voice soothes you as you continue in silent anguish. You’re almost there. A small cry comes from you as your son pushes out of you and onto the bed. You scoop him up and bring him to your body. 

He gives out a soft cry and nuzzles against your chest. You’re here. I’m here. You hold him alone in your chambers rocking him and having no care for the after birth or any of the mess and tending to you need. Your child was here. You weren’t alone. He’s here. I’m here. He’s here. I'm not alone.

“Princess.” your handmaidens gasp as they open your door. 

“Oh Gods.” 

“Get the Maester.” 

“Get the Queen.” hurried whispers float around your chambers as you continue to silently rock your son. 

“What’s happened?” your mother bursts into your chambers. “Gods.” she looks at you. “Clean her up.” she walks over and grabs the babe out of your arms. You try to reach for him but she’s out of your chambers and suddenly your son is gone. 

Where are you? I’m here. Where are you? My son. I’m here. Where are you? “Where are you? I’m here. Where are you? I’m here.” screams tear from your body. “Where are you? Where are you?” you call out over and over.

“Princess calm down.” your handmaidens look at you with concern. 

“Where are you?” the maester walks over to you with a cup and pours its contents down your throat. “I’m here. Please, I’m here. Where are..” 

I’m here. 

Please, where are you?

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1 Week Before

Where are you? 

You haven’t seen your son since you’ve given birth to him. The only people you see are your handmaidens and the maester who gives you sleeping drafts. You haven’t seen any of your siblings. Not even your mother. You have no one. No one is coming for you. You’re alone.

Where are you? 

You’re in the tunnels in the dead of night holding a candle stick. The stone bites into the soles of your feet as you climb higher making your way towards the maester’s tower. You softly push on the door and peek in seeing an empty room filled with glass vials and books. 

Where are you?

Your eyes scan over the small glass tubes quickly reading them over. You walk over to the cabinets and continue your search. It has to be in here. A comforting warmth washes over you as your eyes stop. 

Tears of Lys. 

There you are. 

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1 Day Before 

Your mother sits across from you for the first time since she took your son. She mentions nothing of him and instead tells you of your wedding tomorrow. Apparently Lord Jason is here and awaiting your company. You don’t speak or hold her eye contact. You stare at your nails as she continues to tell you what your life is to become. You wince as you dig into the skin around your nail and a droplet of blood appears.

You decide it has to be tonight. You have no idea what the state of the realm is in and have no desire to try and tread through it again. Especially now that you’re all alone. You call out to your son everyday but never get a response. They took your two great loves. You’re alone.

I’m sorry. I’m leaving. I can’t stay. 

Benji’s PoV

Tonight was the first night they didn’t chain him when he slept. After everyone was asleep and the man on the night watch turned he was gone. There’s a month of travel and a war between you both right now but he will do everything to get back to you and your child. He wishes he had a way to get a message to you but it’s impossible.

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1 Hour Before

You sit at a desk with a blank expression and a quivering hand. The ink splatters across the parchment and you scrunch it up and grab a new one. This one is stained with your tears. 

Benjicot and my boy-

I’m sorry. I promised you both freedom and songs of the wind. Instead I’ve ruined everything. 

I will be with you both again in the afterlife. 

-Your wife and your mother

You leave the parchment spread on the desk next to the countless others you attempted to write. Walking to the table that holds your wine feels as if you’re walking across the city. You hold onto the wine with a shaking hand and pour yourself a glass of wine. You pull the vial out of your pocket and empty the entirety of it into your glass of wine. You swirl the red liquid around and down the mixture. You set the glass and vial next to your letter and go lay back on the bed. 

You let out one last exhale before shutting your eyes and calling out one last time.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Death 

Where are you?

I will remain here.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

2 Months After - Benji's PoV 

The one month journey turned into two because of the raging war. The road was hard but all he thought about was you and your child. Gods he misses you so much. He doesn’t know what is waiting for him in Kings Landing but whatever it is he’s taking you both to Essos and starting the life you planned those months ago. No waiting, no excuses. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

Getting into Kings Landing was easier than Benji had thought. He snuck in through the docks and made his way into the Keep through the tunnels. He walked up to your chambers and listened for any sounds. You must be asleep. He opens the door and finds your chambers empty.

No, your chambers look abandoned. Left as they were never to be lived in again. He walks to your desk and sees the letter. The empty vial next to the empty glass. No. No. This isn’t real. No, he won’t accept this. 

“No.” he shakes his head reading it again. “No. Where is she?” he grabs the letter and slips back into the tunnels. Where are you? Where have they hidden you away? This isn’t real. Where are you? Benji’s heart races as he flies down the stairs.

He makes his way down the steps and into the crypts. He won’t believe it. It can’t be. He presses against the wall as he sees someone kneeling on the stone lighting a candle. He waits the couple minutes the woman whispers before she pads away. He continues down the hall and falls to his knees at the lit candles. No. No. His vision blurs as the tears fall.

“I’m sorry.” he chokes out. “I’m here. I’m sorry.” he looks at the date etched on the stone dating two months ago. He was far too late. “I’m sorry.” he grabs for his dagger. “I’m here. I’ll be with you soon.” he brings the tip of the blade to his heart. “I’m sorry.” he lets out a sob.

“Stop.” his head turns at the soft voice. “There’s someone who needs you.” he follows the stranger up the tunnel steps and into the back of the nursery. A small boy with black hair and violet eyes stares up at him. He’s here.

“My boy.” Benji picks him up. “Our son.” he starts to cry. He’s here. 

He turns to thank the stranger but they’re gone. He wraps his son up and packs a bag quickly and leaves out of the Keep through the tunnels. He races to the docks and shoves coin into a shipmate's hand and boards the boat, stowing himself and your son away in the underbelly. They’ll arrive in Essos by the end of the day. Your dream is coming true but you’re not here to see it. He holds your son tighter as his tears start once more. 

As the ship leaves the harbor there is a loud crack heard from the city followed by a roar. Benji looks up and sees your dragon flying above the Blackwater with a chain hanging from his neck. No other dragons come for your dragon and Benji thanks the Gods they were able to get away.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

4 Months After

Benji sits with his son in the countryside just outside of Volantis. Above your dragon soars on the wind. He’s followed the two of them across Essos and watches over their travel. Benji was worried the dragon would bring too much attention but no trouble has come of it. Your dragon only approached Benji once when they first landed to allow him to remove the chains but since then he keeps his distance. Your dragon seems to be waiting for your son to acknowledge the claim he has placed on him already.  

Benji is thankful for this last gift you’ve given them.

The sun is high and warm as the light breeze flows through the tall grass. 

Faintly, Benji swears he can hear your voice wind.

I’m here. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

um i cried while writing this and while editing and while just thinking abt it xx 

pls take care of yourself bc i know this is a rough topic and there are people out there who care for you and who will answer when you call and there are resources out there if you need them!!

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @moonymoo1 @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington @misspendragonsworld @nz2004 @ninihrtss

[thatrandomidiot182]

Bird in a Cage

TW. cursing, minor violence, some gore, toxic relationships, reader matches their freak

Pairings. Targtower Duo x Reader (Mainly Aemond). (Possibly implied) Helaena x Reader.

A/N. Happy Halloween, everyone!! Ghostface Targtower won the poll by a landslide! Unfortunately, I got so caught up in writing this that I neglected the runner-up, which happened to be my favorite, so that will also be out soon, hopefully... definitely before Thanksgiving!! 😅

Anways, hope you enjoy reading! If I missed any TW pls let me know, I'm still new to tagging them...

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Shitshitshitshit- "FUCK!"

The loud thud followed by a string of obscenities was almost enough to get you to falter in your gait.

Almost.

The all-consuming fear and anxiety flooding through your veins was enough to keep you running without sparing a second glance back.

Your breath left you in short, hurried pants. Eyes darting back and forth between the ground and hall in front of you in a frantic attempt to keep your footing and avoid any unnecessary obstacles.

Obstacles like the vase next to the bathroom that you've stubbed your toe on one too many times, or the small table placed at the beginning of the stairway downstairs...

Or the sudden cloaked figure that popped his head over the bannister.

"Where do you think you're going pretty bird?"

The short scream that left you was more out of shock than fear, as his leather clad hand shot out to grab yours just as it had reached out to grab the railing.

"Ooh, I quite liked that..."

Your head snapped back towards the lurking figure behind you. The long black robe was a bit snug on his figure, draping down to rest on the top of his stained sneakers. His gloved hands were draped across his chest, stretching the fabric of the robe to the point you could see a glimpse of the color shirt he was wearing beneath.

It appeared to be emerald green, in a shade similar to Aegons favorite-

Oh God Aegon!

The sudden reminder of your best friend, who you had left on your bed during your journey to the kitchen, was enough to make you nauseous.

If the first killer emerged from your room when you had first come up the stairs, then...

It meant that Aegon was dead.

Without a doubt.

He stood no chance if the killer had caught him off guard...

God, you just hoped it was quick.

If anything, it was more likely than not that his throat had been slit...

Just like little Lucerys Velaryon...

Luke had been the first victim connected to these killers and the leaked crime scene photos were quick to circulate your school once it was confirmed.

It was disgustingly inappropriate, and you had nearly vomited all over Aegons lap when he had shown them to you.

You remember the sick grin on his face as he had goaded you into looking. The wicked gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he had mocked your reluctance.

"C'mon, everyone else has already seen them! You don't wanna be known as the only wimp who didn't look, right?"

His words rang out as clear as day as you recalled the contents of the picture, only this time, you were imagining Aegon himself as the victim.

You wonder what he'd ended up looking like.

Was his head twisted back, eyes forever frozen wide open in fear?

Maybe he never even got a chance to fear his fate, and was instead left slumped over the bed with his signature grin engraved on his face...

Or, maybe the killer had used the extra five minutes you spent preparing the popcorn to beat the poor boy unconscious before-

Your morbid thoughts quickly came to a halt as you heard the footsteps pickup again.

"Well, this was easier than I thought it'd be, I'm honestly a bit disappointed in you, birdie... We put so much effort just to get you all to ourselves, and you don't even put up a fight? That's not very considerate of you..."

You furrowed your brows, in annoyance. Without saying anything in response, you quickly yanked your hand away from the one on the stairs, barreling straight towards the one who had emerged from your room. Thankfully catching him off guard, you burst into the master bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

You allowed yourself a small grin of satisfaction at the thud that followed.

"You are such a moron!"

Thankfully, their bickering allowed you enough time to manouver the window open.

Sitting on the windowsill and sparing a quick look behind you let you see that they had already gotten over their squabble and were making their way into the room with you. Unfortunately, it seems like the taller one had caught onto your plan, as he pushed his partner towards you before disappearing into the hallway.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Your jaw clenched as you rushed to squeeze yourself through the opening, barely escaping his gloved hand that had reached out to stop you.

"Fuck you."

With those final words, you pushed yourself out onto the roof of your backyard patio, taking an extra second to pettily slam the window back down onto your pursuers hands.

"SON OF A-"

Ignoring his expletives, you made quick work of carefully crawling your way down the slope of the roofing. As you finally reached your destination, you hesitated.

The last time you did this, you were about ten inches shorter and had someone waiting to catch you.

Now, you were fifty times more scared, still in your pajamas, with no shoes, and two serial killers chasing you down...

But, beggars can't be choosers.

So, with a quick, quiet "Fuck me" you jumped.

The water was always freezing when the sun went down.

When you were little, you used to cry when your parents wouldn't let you go night swimming. You always used to talk back and argue that you weren't a wimp who'd get sick from being a little cold...

Now you're thankful they never did give in to your pleads, as even now, as you pulled your fully grown self out of the depths of the pool, you could sense the sickness developing.

You didn't have time to dwell on your feelings however, as just as you had regained your footing, the grating sound of your back door sliding open rang out.

You didn't even glance back at the figure you knew was there before you booked it towards your side gate, quickly flicking the pathetic excuse for a lock open.

This one was quieter than his counterpart. Taller, too, but not as broad, as was obvious by the flowiness of the cloak he donned.

You hated it.

You hated how easy it was for him to get behind you, as you slammed the gate shut in his face.

You hated that you didn't hear him complain about it like the other one.

Not taking another second to dwell in your thoughts, you made your way off of the property and into the street.

Your feet screamed in protest as the sharp pebbles and rough asphalt dug into your soles, but you kept running.

Your body shivered as the wind blew through your clothes during your sprint, but soon enough, your eyes welled up with tears of relief as they fell upon a welcome sight.

You had made it out.

You escaped.

You survived.

The relief was so overwhelming that you didn't even question the presence of Aemonds car parked at the corner of your street.

You simply ran up to the side of the door, knocking frantically on the passenger window, where you were met with the familiar wide-eyed gaze of Helaena.

Sweet, innocent, dear Helaena, who you had never been more happy to see.

"Helaena! Oh my god- thank god- We need- You know, the killers- The- The murderers they- They, OH! Aegon-Aegon is-"

Your rambling was cut short as Helaena opened the car door, pushing you back slightly as she rushed out to meet you.

"W-What are you doing out here? You're not supposed to..." She trailed off, hands clasped down on your shoulders as she whipped her head around in search of something unknown to you.

"Oh, god if anyone sees us-"

Your brows furrowed as she delved into a quiet ramble, her blunt nails digging into your arms painfully as you process her words.

"Helaena, what the fuck are you talking about? Right now isn't the time for your whole weird chick act, okay! Get your ass in the car we need to go!"

You don't know if she was purposefully ignoring you or not, but her silence was enough to fuel the rage that had been simmering inside you all night.

You didn't mean to lash out on her, but she was an easy target, and if you didn't focus on your anger, you'd completely shut down.

"HELAENA! Are you listening to me!?! We need to get the FUCK out of here, so get in the car!"

She once again ignored you, staring blankly over your shoulder as she limply released her hold on you.

You huffed, "Helaena, get in the car."

When she didn't respond, you resorted to copying her earlier actions, gripping her shoulders, and shaking her back and forth in an attempt to wake her from her sudden stupor.

Now giving up on being quiet and just shouting in her face, "HELAENA GET IN THE GODDAMN CAR-"

You froze as a hand clamped down on your shoulder, "Sorry, little bird, but she won't be doing that."

Gulping, you slowly turned your head towards the man that stood behind you, coming face to face with that stupid goddamn mask.

"Boo."

You screamed, or at least you tried to, but the gloved hand that wasn't on your shoulder quickly snapped up to cover your mouth before you could. The killer, who you recognized as the one who chased you by the pool, wasted no time and immediately spun you around to face him, slamming your back into the car.

"God, you're adorable, you know that..." His grip on you tightened as his hand trailed from your shoulder to your waist. "But, you're also infuriating."

You whimpered as his grip continued to tighten, squirming in his hold as he pressed his body to yours, pinning you against the cool metal of the car behind you.

"I just don't know what to do with you..." He sighed, pelvis up against your own as he shoved a knee between your legs, keeping you trapped and off balance. His hand moved from your waist to your head as he gently ran his fingers along your hair.

"That's it, keep looking at me like that-"

"You got her! Good, I don't know how I was gonna pull off a resurrection..."

Your eyes widened at the voice that had interrupted whatever creepy ass monologue was about to happen. You watched, frozen stiff as the source approached your little group, focus quickly snapping from Helaenas guilty form to the new arrival...

Aegon.

His smirk broke into a laugh as his gaze met your own, body hunching over as he cackled to himself, "Oh man, you should see the look on your face! Not so tough now, are ya?"

As much as you would have liked to deny the truth, even your survival fried brain was coherent enough to piece together the facts in front of you.

It really was impossible to deny...

Even though he had ditched the cloak, his shirt was the exact same shade as the man who chased you in the house, and clenched in his bloodied and bruised fingers was that stupid mask...

Your eyes welled up with tears as you processed, muffled sobs ringing out into the night as he laughed in your face.

"Come now, you're already crying? The best reveal hasn't even happened yet..."

You tearfully glared at Aegon as he walked over to slump his form onto Helaenas.

"Yes, as you should've guessed by now, I'm not the only one involved in this little game, no. Our dear, sweet, innocent little Helaena is in on it as well! Not so innocent now, is she-" he snickered to himself as Helaena avoided your gaze, "But! The final reveal has yet to be made!" He snapped up straight, hands flaunting about as he dramatically made his way towards your figure.

"Yes, our friend here has yet to introduce himself, how rude!" He laughed, hand slowly reaching toward the mask of the man holding you.

"Make your guesses now, folks, it's not a hard guess, really. It's actually quite obvious if you ask me!" He paused, left hand raising to cup his ear as he swiveled his head around, eyes meeting yours as the implication struck...

No. fucking. way.

He smirked as your eyes widened, hand snatching the mask back to reveal flowing silver locks and a face you knew all too well.

"Why, if it isn't the one, the only, Aemond Targaryen! Who didn't see that coming?" Aegons laughter rang through your head as your sobs increased.

You desperately shook your head, fighting the hand against your mouth as you screamed your denial.

There's no way this was happening.

There's no way your best friend just revealed himself and his siblings to you as serial killers.

There's no way that was your boyfriend.

"Are you done now, or should I get you a hat and a horn too?" Aemond spat, glaring at Aegon as his elder brother lifted his hands in surrender.

"Hey now, I'm just trying to lighten the mood a little! You don't really think she'd be down for the next part the way she currently is, do you?"

You ignored their bickering, instead focusing on berating yourself for being so stubborn.

Everyone told you he was bad news, even his own family!

Your parents had talked to you about him before. Saying your relationship was unhealthy, that he was too toxic for you, and staying with him was only gonna end up with you getting hurt.

You ignored them, of course. Too blinded by the rose tinted glasses he had strapped on your head to see all the red flags.

He had complete control over you, molding your personality and hobbies to be solely centered around him and his desires.

He didn't like your friends? Oh well, they weren't that cool anyway, besides, you still had Helaena and Aegon!

He worried about you running around late at night? You never liked going out much, no biggie! Aegon was always down for a movie night at your house!

He hated when you wore that dress you loved so much? It's okay, you were planning on getting rid of it, too. Helaena had mentioned that it was looking a bit tight...

The hold he had on you was alarming. Everyone knew it, you knew it. You just ignored it, perfectly content to live your life peacefully under Aemonds thumb if it meant he'd always and forever look at you like that.

No one had ever looked at you like that before Aemond.

With blown out pupils and rosy cheeks.

Eyebrows always curved in the softest, most reverent look you'd ever seen.

Aemond had always looked at you like you were a work of art. You just never realized what that truly meant.

You never realized how deep his devotion ran, how obsessed he was with you... how obsessed they both were, really.

Until now.

Where you sat shaking, nauseous, and terrified in between the two serial killers who just so happened to be your closest friends.

Your closest friends who were also vicious, merciless, cruel monsters that murdered your other friends just to get you to themselves... and who... who...

Who, you couldn't help but feel flattered by.

You know you shouldn't but, come on...

What girl wouldn't, when the two people they love most turn out to be equally as obsessed with them.

You're just glad you were smarter about it than they were...