#the violent delights | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kamaluhkhan · 10 months

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you are so gorgeous (it makes me so mad)

pairing: young!coryo snow x fem!reader

summary: clemensia dovecote has a theory that you and snow are destined for an enemies to lovers arc. you're sure it's completely, absolutely not true...right?

warnings: 18 + smut; biting + mention of blood ; both reader and snow are not the best ppl and have some very classist/elitist opinions

a/n: finally!! i wrote one of the ideas that has been haunting me ever since i've been back in my hunger games obsession + watched tbosbas...needless to say this will likely be a series inspired by taylor swift's reputation album. also i am so sorry this is unedited bc ofc it's 3am when i had the motivation to write this but i hope y'all enjoy ♡

i've had enemies so intense it felt like love, so mutual it felt romantic (chelsea hodson)

"what in the name of all the gods is he doing here?"

you're practically seething when coriolanus snow walks into your foyer. he's wearing an ensemble made with crisp white silk and intricately embroidered with gold thread - elegant, eventhough its silhouette would have been fashionable last year. a single white rose sits in the pocket of his jacket. he surveys the crowd, like he's calculating who's most worthy of his attention, platnium blond hair perfectly curled and practically glowing under the light of the chandelier. he looks beautiful, almost angelic.

you absolutely hate it.

"oh, i invited him," clemensia dovecote informs non-chalantly.

coriolanus makes eye contact with you from across the room, and you turn your head sharply to your best friend.

"why would you think it was okay to invite him?"

clemensia smiles mischeviously, grabbing two champagne flutes from a passing silver tray. she hands one to you.

"i know the two of you have your petty squabbles — "

"they are not petty, nor are they squabbles," you grumble, taking a sip of your drink.

your contempt towards coriolanus was perfectly reasonable and absolutely mutual. he had some ridiculous notion that snow had to land on top, that it was his right to be there instead of yours. your relationship, if you could call it that, was limited to nothing more than snide remarks, sarcastic comments, and scornful stares. you both hyperaware of the importance of keeping up appearances, but the older you got - the closer to life outside of the academy and the higher the stakes - the more any sense of civility between you two faded. just earlier this week, you'd gotten into such a heated debate about the best way to increase viewership for the upcoming 10th annual hunger games, that your professor excused you both from the class early due to the disruption. it seemed that no one knew how to make you burn with anger quite like coriolanus snow.

clemensia rolls her eyes. "whatever you want to call it, i actually think the two of you would get along if you really tried."

one of the things you admired - and, frankly, loathed - about clemensia was her determination to always prove herself right. she had this theory - one you would call ludicrous - that the tension between you and coriolanus had nothing to do with academics or status and everything to do with wanting to rip each other's clothes off.

your eyes catch coriolanus' icy blue ones again and you down the rest of your drink. obviously, clemensia was wrong about this. so, very wrong.

"well," you huff, setting your empty glass down on another silver tray that passes by. you brush invisible dust off your dress - a deep red lace, short and form fitting with exaggerated long sleeves - and add: "you'll be lucky if i invite you to my next party."

clemensia might have had the sense to apologize then, but you walked away before she had a chance.

you allow yourself to weave through the crowd, greeting every guest with an equal facade of enthusiasm and grace. you smile as brightly at one person as you do the next, showing off your newly bleached teeth and making sure that everyone feels special. silver trays of food and drinks appear and reappear throughout the crowd, being carried by nameless waiters. there's a table overflowing with gifts concealed by crisply folded wrapping paper - you expect at least half of them will be worthless.

you put up a good front, but soon enough your lipstick needs reapplying and your hair readjusting, so you briefly excuse yourself lest anyone notice a crack in your perfectly constructed image. the door to your room is slightly ajar, and you open it to reveal none other than the person you'd deliberately, but not so successfully, tried to ignore all night, his white silk shirt stained a dark crimson that happened to match your dress.

coriolanus was furious when he found out you'd invited the entire graduating class, except him, to your birthday party. you'd even invited sejanus. it wasn't that he particularly wanted to celebrate you, of all people. you were the most brilliant, biting, enfuriating person he knew, but to be excluded in such a way was insulting. when clemensia extended him the invite, he jumped at the chance to prove to everyone, to you, that he belonged here. tigris curated his outfit, and it would have been perfect had arachne crane, vapid creature she was and ever the lightweight, spilled an entire glass of red wine on him. he hurried away before anyone could see him in such a humiliating state. coriolanus is in the middle of calculating his options when you walk into what he now realizes is your bedroom.

you don't say a word at first. you haven't said one to him all night. instead, you close the door behind you and your eyes graze his figure.

"you show up to my party, late no less, and now you're parading around in what looks like a bloodstained shirt that is far too outmoded to be appropriate attire for this occasion," you remark, displaying that signature fierceness. "are you trying to ruin my birthday, snow?"

"don't blame me," coriolanus scoffs. his shoulders tense and he makes a point to stand up a bit straighter. "blame arachne for not being able to hold her alcohol while she's complaining about the food."

"oh?" you raise an eyebrow. "what did she say?"

"something about people in the districts having better options."

"vapid bitch," you mutter under your breath. you walk over to your closet, disappearing for a few seconds before bringing out a fresh shirt. you extend it to him, but he doesn't take it.

"i can't very well have a good time when one of my guests looks like he just got killed in the hunger games," you huff. "so either you put this on or your leave my party. now."

coriolanus holds your gaze, his jaw clenched, before giving in and taking the shirt from you. he goes to undo the buttons of his shirt, but stops when he notices that your eyes never leave him.

"some privacy would be nice," he says sharply.

you roll your eyes, muttering something about it being your house and your room, before sitting across the room at your vanity. as he undresses and throws his soiled shirt on the floor, coriolanus watches you closely. you meticulously apply lipstick, the shade of red almost as dark as your black nails.

you were attractive, there was no denying that, but ultimately dangerous. because you weren't carelessly cruel like arachne, nor did you wear your heart on your sleeve like sejanus. you didn't use your family's status as an excuse to avoid hard work like felix, nor were you a spineless know-it-all like clemensia. no, you were different from the rest. you had a fiery ambition and a sharp tongue, a wicked streak with just enough charisma to lure people in. sometimes when he thinks of you, coriolanus recalls stories his grandma'am once told him and tigress, about sea monsters who would tempt sailors with their bewitching voices and enchanting beauty, enticing them to risk everything - to jump into the ocean and never be relevant as anything more than a midnight snack. you were a constant, suffocating reminder of how quickly he could lose everything if he lost control, if he gave in.

coriolanus watches you set down the tube of lipstick before picking up a compact. you lightly brush the shimmery powder inside over your face to accentuate some of your gorgeous features.

the desire that burns throughout his body now has to be a side effect of the few glasses of liquor he managed to drink, allowing himself the appearance of having a good time alongside everyone else without losing control.

your eyes leave your reflection momentarily, and you finally catch coriolanus staring at you. you wink at him from across the room just as he's finished with the last button. the way you look at him makes the collar of his shirt feel tighter.

he can not give in....but what's the harm in admitting, just for one night, that he would let you drown him? devour him? beg on his knees to give you pleasure, and then thank you after the fact?

coriolanus clears his throat. "this feels wrong. i should be the one gifting you with a new shirt. it's your birthday, after all."

you let out a breathy laugh, setting down your makeup. you walk over to him, until there are only a few inches between you despite the vastness of your bedroom.

even you had to concede that coriolanus snow had such a gorgeous face for such a vicious person. you're infuriated by how elegant he looks now, in your shirt. your hands busy themselves in smoothing down his already perfect collar and you take note of the intensity of his heartbeat. you notice the way his jaw remains clenched, his posture stiff, his skin flushed. you realize that he must be trying so hard right now to retain his composure around you and you feel something that can only be described as triumph.

you smile at him, sickly sweet, and remove your hands from his body. "the best birthday present i could get is winning the plinth prize over you, snow. we both know you're not good enough, let alone better than me."

he hesitates slightly before responding.

"sorry, valerius. that's the one thing i can't give you. is there anything else you'd want from me?" he whispers, words dripping like honey.

"that depends, is there anything you want from me?"

he hums, moving his hand to cup your cheek. he begins to trace your lips with his thumb, ruining the look you had so meticulously crafted.

if only you knew.

"you're the birthday girl, sweetheart," he chides. "i'm supposed to be the one giving the gift. you do know how birthdays work, don't you?"

he's mocking you, you know that. he's trying to make you feel weak and small. you had the power a second ago, his heartbeat in the palm of your hand, and normally you wouldn't stand for him turning the tables. you'd push him away, storm out the door. but right now all you want is to tug on his perfect blond curls, to bite the smirk off his lips. maybe it's the way he's so close and can't seem to take his eyes off your lips or the calculated amount of wine you drank that's made your head a bit foggy, made you put your guard down. made you start to entertain the idea that maybe possibly clemensia's theory had some truth to it.

"why don't you surprise me?" you suggest.

coriolanus surges forward and kisses you with such ferocity, he might as well be a man starving. teeth on teeth on tongue. you instantly tangle your hands into his hair, pull on some curls just to see what he'd do. he retaliates by biting down on your bottom lip, hard enough that you taste the metallic tang of blood mixed with the remnants of honeyed wine on his lips. you whimper and pull away slightly. he holds your face firmly between his two hands, so you cannot go too far.

"sorry." but he smirks, and you know he doesn't really mean it.

eventually, you've both stumbled onto the bed half-naked. coriolanus positions himself above you, effectively caging you in with his arms and legs. you take note of his lean thighs, his bare torso with skin taut around his bones. you're almost taken aback by how frail he looks - like a malnourished teenager from one of the districts. you reach out to trace the outline of his ribs, your nails scraping against his skin, and he shudders. your hand moves lower, teasing the waistband of his underwear. he stops you before it slips underneath the material.

instead, coriolanus begins to indulge in his deepest fantasy. he kisses and sucks and bites down your body, his tongue trailing down your chest, over your breasts and around your nipples, across your stomach. he laps up your soft whines, the curses that tumble from your lips for him to do something more. you sink further into the silk sheets when he arrives between your thighs. you raise your hips, desperate to find any sort of relief, and you feel his nails dig into your hips.

"patience," he teases, his breath fanning over where you needed him most. "so needy." you could practically feel coriolanus roll his eyes.

"i swear to god snow, if you don't do something soon. i-i'll go find someone else to fuck me. felix, or maybe sejanus --"

you yelp when his teeth sink into your inner thigh. he looks up at you, eyes the darkest blue you've ever seen them.

"don't," coriolanus warns, and he gets back to work, lips actually arriving at where you needed them most.

after you've reached your high, he comes back up to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. when he pulls away, you take note of how his lips and nose shine with remnants of you. the way he looks at you while he licks his lips shows you that he wants more. you move your hand down, and you're deeply satisfied when you feel him half hard, already sticky with his release.

"oh." you smirk. "you already finished."

his eyes widen, skin flushing pink. you could feel his heartbeat grow faster above you. you could imagine he was debating the best way to restore his dominance from before. yet, here he was, nothing but a horny teenage boy who came untouched as he was eating out his worst enemy. you find it in you to not call him pathetic, but instead decide, in your post-orgasm haze, you find it endearing.

"i-i didn't mean to, but --"

"i'm just that sexy when i cum," you suggest, running your hands through his curls to calm him down. "how about we try again, pretty boy?"

soon enough, he's sitting up with his back against your headboard and your legs wrapped around his waist, his length fully nestled into your warm cunt. coriolanus' blunt nails graze your hips, moving lower to your ass to guide you with each thrust. you love seeing him underneath you, seeming completely mesmerized by how your breasts bounce up and down in front of him. he leans forward to wrap his lips around your nipple, but you beat him to it. you bend forward and suck bruises onto his skin, everywhere and anywhere: underneath his chin, across his collarbone, where his neck meets his shoulder.

his moans are so loud, and you're sure he's not going to last much longer. you're also worried that some of the other party guests might catch you, so you pull his head away from your shoulder and crash your lips back onto to his. you swallow his moans as best you can, tongues fight for dominance, but he lets out a deep groan, and lets you win. you bite down on his bottom lip just as you reach your climax, causing him to let out a deep groan once more.

you gasp when he suddenly flips you over, pulls out of you and stokes himself a few times before painting your body with his release. coriolanus all but collapses on the bed beside you. you're both breathing heavily for a few moments, on your backs looking up at the ceiling, before he turns on his side towards you. coriolanus trails hs fingers down to your abdomen, sticky with his cum.

"i told you: snow lands on top."

"was that a joke, coryo?" you guffaw, genuinely surprised at the mischievous but playful glint in his eye. a bit surprised at yourself, too, for using his nickname that you'd so carefully avoided. you had to remind yourself that he was still the same coriolanus snow you'd grown to hate.

the boy tangled in the sheets beside you, his messy curls translucent under the light of your chandelier, his skin glowing with sweat and decorated with lipstick and rose-petal bruises. the boy who now smiles at you with dazzling blue eyes, leans closer and whispers:

"don't get used to it. it's a special occasion." coriolanus kisses you sweetly, and you shiver before he adds: "happy birthday."

this boy in bed with you now is the same manipulative, power hungry snake who would stab you in the back if need be. and, the truth of the matter is: you aren't much different, either.

you get up to grab his wine-stained shirt, use it to wipe off his release and toss it back down to the floor.

his eyes follow you the entire time, even as you come back to straddle him again. almost instantly, you feel him harden underneath you. you hold his head in your hands, kiss him deeply, tease his bottom lip between your teeth as you pull away.

"snow lands on top, huh? not for long, if i can help it."

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starogeorgina · 3 months

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𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targ oc

Warnings: Smut, violence, blood, swearing

1.16

Jacaerys flinches in pain. His fingers dig into the dark brown leather arms of the chair as the maester finishes stitching the wound in his thigh where the arrow had struck him. Jace had reluctantly accepted the smallest amount of milk from the poppy after being persuaded by your mother, who was becoming distressed seeing him in pain. Your mother and Daemon had taken kings landing without any bloodshed when the green army guarding the city dropped their weapons and retreated when they saw Syrax and Caraxes circling above the keep. But the cheering for your mother's victory was short-lived when you and Jacaerys returned injured.

When the maester moves away, a handmaiden steps forward with a bowl of clean water and a cloth to wipe the blood away. Her touch is unintentionally harsh, and when Jace clenches his fist, you decide to intervene.

“Allow me.”

You hold your hand out to take the bowl from her, but the handmaiden looks back at Maester, as if she’s waiting for him to give her permission. The sooner Maester Gerardys arrived from Dragonstone, the better. You didn’t blame the girl for being unsure; she had served the greens for so long that she probably thought you were all monsters.

“I can tend to my husband,” you say softly. “You may go; we will be fine.”

The handmaid leaves the bowl and cloth on the table, then bows before leaving. Clearing his throat, the maester says, “I will need to return soon and put a fresh bandage on the princess’s arm to cover the stitches, my prince.”

“I will redress the princess’s arm once she has bathed.”

“My prince, princess,” the maester seems unsure but goes without saying anything further. Since maester Orwyle was in chains, the current maester would only be serving in the keep for a short time before returning to the citadel.

Exhausted, you sit on the floor between Jace’s legs and start washing away the blood, old and new. Seeing fresh tears gather in your eyes, Jace gently tilts your chin up to face him. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know my love, but it’s over. Our mother is on the throne, and the greens are no longer a threat. Our children can come home.”

You press your cheek against his clothed thigh. “It’s not over, though; Aegon escaped. He will still have men willing to back him for being born with a cock. What if he finds our children before we do?”

Jace’s jaw tightens. He couldn’t deny it was a possibility. “Sunfyre is still in the dragon pit; Aegon won’t be able to go north on foot. If he’s smart, he’ll leave the red keep. Knights have been sent to search Old Town and what remains of the riverlands.”

He was right; as long as Aegon was unable to reach his dragon, he’d be stuck lurking in the sewers where he belonged. The greens were currently locked in the cells of the castle, aside from the most dangerous one. “I’ve still not received a raven back yet; I’m worried.”

“It will take a couple of days, my love, and I trust Lord Stark will let no harm come to our family.”

“I best get this off you,” your hands shake as you resume wiping blood off his leg. When Jace suddenly tenses, you stop. “Jacaerys?”

He quickly steps in front of you, snatching his sword that’s lying on the wooden table. The door to the chamber bursts open, and in the commotion, you knock the bowl containing bloody water over. Daemon comes to an abrupt halt. “There are six members of the kingsguard posted outside these quarters, and you believed our enemies could waltz by them?”

“And yet some of the very same kingsguard remained in kings landing and served the greens. Until her grace chooses knights herself, I won’t trust them.”

“How very wise, my prince,” Daemon smiles before looking both over. “You are both still filthy. Good. Come along; her grace wants us to join her immediately.”

—

Jace finds solace holding you close in the bed you’d be spending the night in. As your mother only reclaimed her rightful throne earlier that day, permanent quarters had yet to be readied, and the servants were working hard to remove any sigils of the usurper before hanging your mother's banners. Not that you cared about something so insignificant as sleeping quarters; you just wanted the day to be over.

Jace smiles at your shoulder; your robe is open at the front, giving him access to the bare skin of your stomach. He traces his finger along the glossy-looking scars left from multiple pregnancies.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing; I’m just admiring how beautiful you are.”

A small laugh passes your lips. “You can hardly even see my scaly scars in this light.”

Over the years, Jacaerys would insist you think of the stretch marks as dragon scales whenever you complained of them. From anyone else, it may have been an insult, but Jace always said it admiringly. Neither of you had bathed since returning, as Daemon said it would be good for the people to see Rhaenyra's eldest children and heirs looking like warriors. Both of your bodies and hair were covered in soot, blood, and dirt. Jace stripped his clothes off, then collapsed onto the bed naked, while you threw a thin blue robe on.

“They are reminders of how strong you are, only adding to your beauty.”

You chuckle at his sweet words. You run your fingers through Jace’s thick hair, keeping as you start to fall into a slumber, but the pressure building makes you reposition further up the bed until you’re sitting with your back against the headrest. Jace looks at you quizzically and moves to sit beside you.

“The weight of my breasts is hurting my back.”

He glances at you sympathetically. If your baby was here, the pain would subside dramatically since you’d be able to feed him. You noticed Jace’s gaze now lingering on your swollen breast. Realizing he’s been caught, he gulps down, “This is the biggest they have ever been.”

You readjust your posture, and this time Jace does the same, so he’s right beside you. He pushes your robe open further and cups your breasts, feeling the warm, swollen flesh in his hands as he lifts them slightly.

“Gods.”

“Feel any better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He slowly rubs circles on your sensitive nipples until they are hard, then dips his head down to take one into his mouth. Jace gives equal attention to both breasts, licking and sucking on them to give you relief. One of his hands slowly moves from your breast, down your rib cage, and stops just below your navel. Wetness was gathering between your thighs, and Jace knew this by the way you pressed your legs together.

His lips ghost over yours. “What do you want?”

“For my husband to desire me.”

“Sweet wife, all I’ve ever wanted was you, and even now, I still ache for your touch.” Jace caresses your thigh; the metal on his rings is cool against your skin. He presses his long finger through your slit, gathering arousal, then rubs it over your clit, causing you to moan. He sucks on your nipple again.

Lewd sounds fall from your mouth as Jace pushes a finger between your folds. Your back arches at his touch. Given how long it had been since you were last intimate and how reactive your body was to his touch, it doesn’t take long for your legs to begin shaking as your orgasm gets closer. Jace props at your hole with a second finger, but when you wince, he pulls it away.

“Still so tight, princess; I don’t wish to hurt you.”

“Fuck, Jace!”

Screaming his name, you climax over his fingers. “If it weren’t for the pain and wound on your thigh, I’d mount and ride you as I would a dragon.”

“I will be most definitely looking forward to the feeling of you claiming me as yours again.” Smiling, his nose brushes against yours, “but I’m not done with you yet for the night. I’m desperate to taste you.”

—

“Have the cots moved slightly further apart. My sons will only kick each other during the night if they are too close.”

The handmaiden nods. “I will have them moved, princess.”

In the early hours of the morning, you were informed your mother's old quarters would be the ones you would reside in. The color green was almost completely withdrawn from the castle walls. All bedchambers would be adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen, along with the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn, to honor Queen Aemma. And a silver seahorse on sea green from House Velaryon to honor not only your husband but also your late father, Laenor Velaryon. Aemma and Rhaenys bedchambers would be beside each other, and Avery and Aethan would share a room until they were older.

“Thank you… forgive me, I never caught your name.”

“Mia Princess. Which bedchamber would you like to be in Prince Daemon’s room?”

“The room next to his brothers, but have his cot brought to my side of the bed. My babe will be sleeping in the same room as us.”

Nearly all of the servants had traveled from Dragonstone by boat to serve the queen in King's landing. The handmaidens who knew how to care for your children chose several items for their new chambers, including furniture, clothing, and bedding. You pick up one of the blankets and look for the name sewn into it.

“Good morrow, my prince.”

“Good morrow,” he nods politely. “Good morrow, wife.”

Noticing something was slightly off with Jacaerys, you turn to face the handmaiden. “Could you ask for them to move the crib into our bedchamber before building the furniture in the princess’s room?”

“Of course, right away, princess.”

“Thank you, Mia.” When she’s out of the room, you place a hand on Jace’s arm. “Something wrong, my prince?”

“You haven’t eaten this morning.”

Chuckling, you look at him surprised. “Is that all? I could not find sleep and bathed early, then got caught up in different things. I have news: a raven arrived from Clara, and the children are fine. The Stark’s are taking good care of them.”

“Thank the gods!” he sighs in relief. Jacaerys, like you, was terrified that something would happen to them; his calm demur about the situation was just a front. Stepping forward, he holds the blanket in your hand at the opposite end. “Aega?”

“It’s supposed to say Aegarax, but I’ve not had the time to finish it.” You’d embroider the name of your children’s dragons into their blankets once they are chosen. “Soon all my time will be consumed with motherly duties again, and I for one cannot wait.”

Jace runs his knuckle over your cheek; the gaze in his eyes is nothing short of adoration. “My love, I don’t believe those duties ever stopped.”

—

Growing up as the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you were spoiled with the finest gowns and jewelry. Even when you lived among vipers, you still had an exceptional wardrobe. But as one of your handmaidens finished the intricate braids in your silver hair, you felt different. The black dress was made of the softest free-flowing fabric and was slightly shorter at the front to allow your red dragon riding boots to be worn soon. On the bodice of the dress, a three-headed red dragon is sewn in. The sleeves were short enough for the stitches on your arm to be seen.

Daemon’s gaze was burning into the back of you as he patiently waited. He knew how important keeping appearances was. He was dressed in the armor that he would wear into battle.

When the braiding is finished, you excuse the handmaiden and stand. Daemon gives you an approving nod: “You look fearsome, good daughter. Queen Visenya would be proud. Not only a princess, but a Targaryen dragon-rider who fights for the rightful queen.”

Toying with the rings on your fingers, you say, “Might I ask where we are going? I don’t believe her grace mentioned us going to battle on dragon back.”

“To face our enemies. As you know, Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Jacaerys are discussing solutions on how best to deal with the crown's debt to the Iron Bank caused by the usurper, and her grace wishes for you to take the lead on another issue. Shall we go?”

Daemon has his hand on the hilt of dark sister as you follow his lead, making your way through the hallways of the keep. When the halls are nearly empty, Daemon breaks the silence. “As I said to her grace, you and Prince Jacaery are perfectly matched. You both possess your mother’s gentle nature, are quick to anger, and never forget a slight; however, if you are to rule one day, we will need to make sure you can channel your anger properly.”

“Ah yes, something you strive in, Prince Daemon.”

He chuckles, “Our queen thinks the same thing. Which is why she thinks it's best you decide what happens next.”

You stop walking when you reach the outside of the throne room. It scares you, not knowing what awaits on the other side. “I’m frightened, Daemon,” you say quietly enough that only he can hear. “What if I let my mother and Jacaerys down?”

“You are a Targaryen, Lyarra. Blood of the dragon, and one day you’ll be queen. The simple truth is that, as the daughter of the first queen of Westeros, you’ll have to understand the importance of your responsibilities.”

“I understand my responsibilities.”

—

“Why am I to decide?” You ask in your mother tongue.

High Valyrian rolls off Daemon’s tongue impeccably. “The queen still feels guilt sending you to live with these usurper cunts. She is trying to make amends.”

It hurts your heart to know your mother still blames herself for how badly the Hightowers treated you.

Although Aegon fled when your mother and Daemon took back the king's landing, the rest of the green council were arrested and held in the black cells of the keep. Not daring to overstep by sitting on the throne that belongs to your mother, you stand in front of it. Your hands become sweaty as you look down at the prisoners who were on their knees, trying to decide their fate. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, especially with the memories of how cruelly you had been treated coming flooding back. You glance at Lady Baela, the only other member of the Queen's Council who is currently present. She gives you a small nod, a silent act of support.

Clearing your throat, you speak in English again and address members of the kingsguard. “Return Maester Orwyle, Ser Tyland Lannister, Lord Jasper Wyldel, to their previous cells. They are to be sharply questioned to see if they are of any further use to us.”

“And if they aren’t?” Daemon asks with a mischievous look on his face.

“Then they can either die or go north and join the nightwatch. Take Ser Arryk to the cells on the second level. After being questioned, he will receive the same choice.”

Alicent scoffs.

“If I may ask something, princess?”

You look at the traitor's bastard Otto amused and say, “Speak freely, but nothing you say will change your fate.”

Understanding, he nods, “What is to become of Aegon’s heirs? They are—”

“Innocent,” you cut him off. “Princess Jaehaera and Prince Maelor will be treated as any other highborn child. You have my word; no harm will come to them.”

“The city belongs to Princess Rhaenyra for now.” Alicent’s voice is laced with venom. “But she will not hold it long. The rats play when the cat is gone, but my son Aemond will return with fire and blood.”

“Aemond is dead.” You study her expression, and she does not waver. The former queen doesn’t believe her son is dead. You walk down the steps until you are in front of her and crouch down. “The bruising on my neck is from his hands. He managed to sneak into Dragonstone and waited until I was alone in my bedchamber and tried to strangle me to death.”

Her eyes gloss over with tears.

“Prince Jacaerys put an end to the assassination attempt.” You stand up straight again and smooth out the creases in your dress while taking a couple of steps backwards. “The usurper's loyal hound, Ser Criston Cole was killed by dragonfire on the battlefield.”

She holds your gaze and grits her teeth. “Which dragon?”

“Vermax.”

“Bastards are monstrous by nature.”

“Another word about my husband, and I shall have your tongue cut from your mouth. The last time we saw each other, you mocked the deaths of Prince Lucerys and Prince Gaemon. You should be grateful I haven’t had your head placed on a fucking spike.”

Otto gives his daughter a stern look, telling her to be quiet.

“Death is an easy escape, Alicent. You can live the rest of your life knowing that your own ambition is the reason your children are dead. Send her to the silent sisters.”

When she’s escorted out of the throne room by Ser Erryk, you return your attention to the men remaining. “Otto Hightower, I sentence you to death for the crime of treason.”

Prince Daemon stands beside you, and you step to the side silently, giving him permission to go ahead and carry out the sentencing. The former hand of the king would always be a threat to your family. Daemon goes down the steps and, in one swing, slices Otto’s head off with dark sister. You hold back a shriek when blood begins to spread across the marble floor.

Your eyes narrow in on the last person kneeling. “Take Larys Strong to the black cells; keep him in chains until his sentence is carried out tomorrow in the dragon pit.”

—

“You did good,” Daemon praises as you leave the throne room. “Those green cun—”

He was cut off by the handmaiden you spoke with earlier, rushing over to you, her cheeks flushed red. “Princess,” she gasps. “My prince, my lady. Forgive the interruption, but the queen has asked for you to go to the council room immediately.”

You could sense the urgency from Mia without her outright saying how serious the situation was, “Thank you.”

You hold your dress at the front so you can run without tripping, and the three of you rush to the small council pivy. Soon as you enter the room, your eyes are glued to Jace, who is gripping onto the edge of the table, tears rolling down his cheeks. He looks enraged.

“My Prince,” you go to him, and his grip on the table is hard; his knuckles turn white while he grabs ahold of something tightly in the other. “Mother, your grace, what's going on?”

Your mother's chest and neck are blotchy from stress; she holds onto her necklace tightly for comfort. There are tears in her eyes as well. The queen struggles to control her emotions as she tries to speak.

“A raven arrived for me,” Jace’s voice cracks. “It was a massage from Aegon; it says ‘a daughter for a daughter, bastard’. He still thinks I took Aemma from him, and now he’s going to take Reni from me.”

You feel as if you’re going to be physically sick. “What?”

“This is Reni’s,” Jace says, opening up his hand, and you shudder at seeing your daughter's doll. “We need to go North immediately.”

When Jace goes to storm out of the room, you catch his arm, preventing him from leaving. “Jacaerys, wait!”

“We cannot wait; he’s going after our little girl.”

You take the doll from his trembling hand. “Rhaenys sobbed when she realized her favorite toy was left behind.” With her name sewn into the doll's dress, anyone could have easily guessed who it belonged to. “Her doll was in our bedchamber.”

“Which means…”

“Aegon is in Dragonstone.”

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