Fire All The Time. Blood, Occasionally.

She tries to swallow and feels instant regret when her throat burns as if she's just swallowed shards of hot glass. Her nose is completely blocked, forcing her to breathe through her mouth, which only further parches her throat like a piece of dry parchment. The dull, rhythmic pounding behind her eyes begins to form into a full-blown aching throb that feels like her head is about to split open.

The sound of the alarm is like a hammer beating against the inside of her skull, each chime like a nail being driven deeper into her temples.

Slowly and painfully, she reaches out from under the duvet and fumbles blindly for her phone until the noise finally cuts off, plunging the room into an absolute silence that should have given her relief.

It does not.

Instead, the quiet feels heavy and loud, amplifying her misery a thousandfold, and only growing more unbearable with every passing second.

When she tries to sit up, her muscles ache in protest, and the slight movement sends a wave of vertigo rolling through her. The room seems to tilt at an unnatural angle, and her vision blurs, darkening at the edges until she's forced to squeeze her eyes shut.

She groans and falls back into the pillows, burrowing herself into the blanket as a chill runs through her spine. She tries to take a deep breath to steady herself, but the cool air tickles the back of her throat, triggering a dry, hacking cough.

When the fit finally subsides, she just lies there, her body rebelling even at the thought of moving. The shivering intensifies and she pulls the duvet tighter, trying to create a cocoon of warmth but failing miserably.

Pale morning light begins to creep through the gaps in the curtains as she stares blankly at the ceiling.

She needs to get up.

She needs to prepare for work.

She can't afford to be sick. Not today.

There is so much to do: briefings before the Small Council convenes in the morning, a lunch meeting with the Braavosi delegates to finalize a trade deal, a visit to Hayford Memorial to oversee and support the donation of a new medical wing, a pile of correspondence that won't sort itself, and a mountain of other things she needs to do.

Baelor is expecting her.

Baelor needs her.

Baelor chose her and trusted her to do her job with unwavering precision, and the thought of failing him makes her already feverish skin crawl.

With grim determination, she pushes herself up against the mattress once more. Ignoring her protesting muscles, she slowly swings her legs over the side of the bed. The moment her feet touch the cold hardwood floor, another shiver races up her spine, and the room suddenly spins into a sickening roll that threatens to send her crashing face-first to the floor. She lurches backward out of instinct and collapses back onto the mattress, her heart hammering against her chest.

She lies there unmoving, staring once again at the ceiling while trying to suck in air through her nose that remains stubbornly and hopelessly blocked, with the reluctant acceptance that she was truly and utterly…

Fuck.

…sick.

The realization tastes as bitter as the bile rising in the back of her throat. She's spent five years in Essos—she's survived the humid, sweltering heat of Pentos, the dusty, treacherous winds of Volantis and the biting, salt-crusted air of Braavos—all without so much as a sniffle. Then the moment she returns to Westeros, just a few months in the capital, and she is already taken down by a common cold. What a cruel joke.

As if adding insult to injury, the pale light, now a bright glare piercing through the curtains, hits her right in the eyes, sharp and unforgiving. She lets out a muffled groan and pulls the duvet over her head.

Outside, the city is beginning to stir, the distant hum of morning traffic filtering through the window, marking the start of another day. The hum of the capital usually brings her a weird sense of comfort. But King's Landing is a cruel mistress. It does not care if you are bleeding, grieving or dying. And it certainly does not care if you're sick.

"Damn it," she rasps, her voice a pathetic, unrecognizable sound.

Baelor will have to do without her today. She might be stubborn but she isn't delusional. As much as her pride rebels at the thought, she knows she'll only be a liability in this state. It's humiliating enough she's taken out by a common cold, it would be far more worse if she collapses in the middle of a trade meeting.

With a sigh that comes out more like a wheeze, she reaches for her phone again. She needs to call Dunk. He'll have to hold down the fort for now. While he's young and lacks the experience in handling the intricate politics of the realm, he's capable enough to assist Baelor with the more straightforward demands. But most importantly, he is fiercely loyal to a fault and persistent. If there's anyone she trusts more to remind Baelor he's missed lunch again, it's Dunk.

Her finger hovers over his contact.

She hates this feeling.

This vulnerability. This helplessness.

But her body has finally decided it had enough.

She stares at her phone.

There's really no point delaying the inevitable. She might as well just get this over with.

She taps the call icon and presses the phone to her ear.

~

Lyarra doesn't remember much after the call with Dunk.

She has a vague, hazy recollection of his slightly panicked voice when she mumbles her goodbye, then the world simply dissolves into a haze and she drifts into a restless, fevered sleep.

Her dreams are a disjointed mess of the past and present. One moment she is back in the cold but familiar halls of Winterfell, and the next she is standing in the sweltering heat of Volantis.

Voices drift through her consciousness. A man and a woman speaking in hushed tones, too low for her to catch the words. They sounded…worried? For her? The voices fade and she is drifting alone again.

Then she feels an arm slide around her shoulders, firm and steady, hoisting her up. A glass is pressed to her lips.

"Drink," a voice whispers. "Just a few sips."

The drink is bitter, and she grimaces, trying to turn her head away, but the hand at the nape of her neck is insistent, anchoring her.

"I know," the voice murmurs again, closer this time. "It's foul, but it will break the fever. Come now, Lyarra. Be as stubborn with the medicine as you are with me."

That touch of dry humor is familiar. Had she been awake, she would have offered a sharp retort about his own stubbornness, but instead, she forces herself to swallow a few more mouthfuls. The liquid burns through her throat, but the warmth that follows is a welcome relief, spreading through her chest like a slow-burning hearth, lulling her back to sleep.

Before succumbing once more to the darkness, she feels a soft fleeting touch across her cheeks with a gentleness that feels more like a dream.

"Sleep," the voice commands, though it sounds more like a quiet plea.

And she obeys.

This time the sleep is like a deep, cool well, pulling her down into its depths where the darkness is no longer heavy, but soft and weightless. The constant, frantic hum of the city outside falls away into a gentle murmur as if the world itself decided to hold its breath.

As she sinks further into the darkness, she feels the tension in her body bleed away, leaving her lighter than she has felt in years. There are no deadlines here, no trade deals to negotiate, no council meetings to navigate, no weight of expectations.

For the first time since she set foot back in King's Landing, she lets go. The armor she's worn like a second skin finally dissolves. There is no longer the need to hide behind the exhausting mask of perfection. Here, in the quiet sanctuary of her mind, she is simply Lyarra—tired, and oh so, only human.

She lets out a long, shuddering breath and allows the cool well of sleep to claim her completely, knowing that when she wakes, the world will still be there—relentless and unforgiving as ever—but, for now, it could wait, and she lets herself dream of kind, warm eyes: one the color of dark honey like an autumn afternoon, and the other a beautiful blue-purple hue, like the Northern winter sky in sunlight and a deep indigo like summer twilight in the dark.

The colors shift and dance behind her eyes, a kaleidoscope of colors that is filled with a warmth that wraps around her like a soft, woolen cloak warding off the last of the lingering chills.

The Battle of Redgrass Field had gone successfully. The remaining Blackfyre driven back into the shadows and across the sea. Now to recollect the men, send them home and grieve their losses.

The Princes were no different. Nearly a year after the Blackfyre proclamation, they had been squashed. The newly named Anvil had only wanted one thing after the turmoil had finally settled, you...

Days on the road had finally ended when they reached King's Landing, the Red Keep looming imposingly over the riders. Maekar's heart raced and his vision blurred, mind swarming with the thoughts of your softness, your gaze, your everything that stood as a stark contrast to his previous efforts.

It all ended when his gaze locked with yours. You saw the still simmering fire that burned bright in his violet eyes. He was a man changed the weight of stress set in his features. But he was still your Maekar.

In the blink of an eye, Maekar had descended from his horse and crossed the courtyard into your arms. His mass of muscle and armor crashed into you before you find your feet are no longer on the cobblestone. His lips smash against yours, stealing your breath away.

"I need you..." Your feet return to the ground but his hands do not leave you. One hand gripping at your hip; the other holding your neck.

"My prince, there is to be a feast" You glance around him at the others still remaining the courtyard. The reunions of brother in arms and lovers long separated but this feels far too intimate. Far too special to be proclaimed so loudly amongst his kin.

"Indeed there will be." The hunger in his eyes spoke for itself. "They will excuse us..." A kiss is placed at your jaw. "They have their great warrior..." A kiss is placed at the opposite corner of your mouth. "Their heir to congratulate." His lips meet yours again as his teeth tug at your bottom lip. "They won't miss us."

He turns his head to the side, glancing around the yard, before he whisks you away down a mostly forgotten corridor. Shoved against the wall in a scantly used inset. The stone digs into your back as Maekar pushes your skirts up around your waist. He drops to his knees and places your thigh over his shoulder as he wastes no time diving into your heat.

This is peace. The world blocked out by the softness of your thighs. The heady, musty scent that has him intoxicated. The taste of you on his tongue. Fuck the accolades he had you weak for him.

The Hammer. Baelor's newest alias paired to his brother's Anvil. Driving the Blackfyre forces into Maekar's forces, forcing them into submission.

Not entirely unlike now. You lay pressed into the sheets of your chambers. Your hair wrapped in Baelor's fist, craning your neck back. His other hand is wandering alternating from grasping at your hip, leaving dark bruises in its wake, to grasping at your breast, his thumb catching your nipple is its careless sweeps, to your mound as he rubs tight circles into your clit.

Its overwhelming as each thrust knocks another involuntary sound from you. Moans. Whimpers. Pleas. All morphed into an amalgamation of sound that Baelor feeds on.

"Fuck you needed this huh" His hand moves from its grasp in your hair to wrapping around your neck pulling you back as he nips at your earlobe. "Missed me" He presses harder into the bundle of nerves as his hips take on a deep staccato, losing the softness he attempted to deploy earlier.

Your walls clench around him, the edges of you vision going.

"That's it. Take me. Take everything I give you." He bites at your shoulder as his hips begin to falter. A deep groan pulled from him as you fully clench down on him, the waves of ecstasy crashing over you leaving you numb and boneless in his strong, calloused hands. He follows you shortly after. He collapses onto you, catching his breath, as he kisses along your shoulders paying extra attention to the collections of bites that have made there way there.

He props himself up on his forearm as he traces your features. Committing them to memory with the same hands that squashed a rebellion. The hands that had you unravelling beneath him, stained in bastard blood.

His thumb traces your lips as you take it into his mouth and lightly bite down, nipping at a weapon of war left so vulnerable to you.

Tourneys were a time of merriment and celebration. Thrown for namesdays and births and weddings and more. A time of drink and palatable carnage for the sake of masculinity and proving of oneself.

The Laughing Storm had long since proved his place amongst the lords and knights of Westeros. But as a man prone to boredom, who was he to turn down the chance to drink and make merry and prove himself as the man you married all those years ago.

He moved as if jousting was second nature to him; taking any hits like they were nothing. Booming laughter as he unhorsed another opponent. A notable victor of the day, Lyonel liked to perceive himself a god amongst men, untouchable and magnificent.

While he was quite the magnificent men, the scatter of blue and purple that scattered across his chest and arms would dispute the invulnerability that he claimed. However he was a man due to be rewarded beyond the laurels that sat upon your head.

So here he found himself laying back as you lavished his body in your affections. Feather light presses of your mouth to the constellation across his chest. Fingers tenderly massaging into the stiff muscles of his thighs. You relieve the last of his aching as you sink down onto his length, knees nestled on either side of his hips.

He throws his head back, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. You lean down to press kisses along his exposed neck, sucking your own constellation into view. He tries in his exhausted state to meet your ministrations with his own thrusts. His hands find your waist as you lean back falling into a rhythm you both seem to enjoy. His chin drops forward and he watches you. Your tits bouncing. The pleasure etched into your features. The laurel, he placed on your head when he crowned you his Queen of Love and Beauty, sitting askew on your head.

Aerion is on a ride through the woods after having an argument with his father. He wants to calm down but he rides further than usual and finds himself in a place he is not so familiar with. Instead of panicking, which would be unusual for him, he decides to explore the area.

He hears a female singing and follows the sound only to find a lonesome tower in the middle of the woods. The woman sitting in the window high above him has very long silver hair, which makes his eyes sparkle at the sight. He certainly didn't expect to see someone with Valyrian descent in a place like this.

Aerion waits for you to stop singing before approaching the tower. You get scared at the sight of him and you try to hide but he is stubborn, mostly fascinated about your silver hair. Because his hair is like yours, you reveal to him that you might be his distant cousin. After your mother bore a silver-haired bastard, your grandsire decided to lock you up far away so you wouldn't ruin your mother's reputation. Yet, you weren't given away because a Targaryen bastard could be useful one day in the game of politics.

Aerion finds it outrageous because what do you mean that the dragon like you is locked up and in a cage? This cannot be. Not under his watch.

Even though he leaves you on that day, he promises to be back. And he is back, with many other knights from his father's castle. He makes sure you leave the tower and he takes you as his wife without asking for anyone's permission. Bastard or not, you're a real silver-haired dragon. And he's pretty sure that you were waiting in that tower just for him.

There's one thing, though. Aerion doesn't allow you to cut your hair. Never.

I believe this is a story that could happen to young Baelor Targaryen when he was being encouraged to meet with many young women to find a suitable match and a proper future Queen.

Amongst many Ladies throwing themselves at him, he sees only one who seems to be more mesmerised with the castle itself and the decorations than any man surrounding her. And she is stunning, too. Baelor is certain he has never seen her before.

He asks you for a dance and you agree in a rather carefree manner. You have no idea who he is. He realises that after a while and finds it amusing but then someone calls for him and addresses him as the Prince. Your eyes widen and jaw drops. He chuckles and promises you that he will be back soon. But when Baelor is looking for you again, you are nowhere to be seen.

Baelor is miserable because he doesn't even know your name but he makes sure his father knows that he won't rest until he finds you. King Daeron eventually agrees to search for you as the news spread all over the Realm.

You are a Lady from a lesser House. Your family's castle is very humble and you can't even afford many servants, therefore you are used to doing chores yourself. The ball at the Red Keep was an occassion that happens only once in a lifetime, only because your rich cousin got sick and allowed you to attend in her name. Therefore, you are too ashamed to admit that you are the girl that the heir to the throne is looking for.

Baelor is persistent, though, so he finds you eventually. Even though he's a little surprised with the place he finds you at, he doesn't let it show. And he insists that you are the only one he wants to marry. His father has to agree despite the gossips about the future Queen being from a lesser House.

Daeron is at some wild party and he doesn't even remember how he got there but there's this wild sorcerer who makes weird potions and no one believes his skills as he is being mocked. Confusing his own goblet of red wine with disgustingly green potion, Daeron takes a huge sip and the very next moment he realises he's a fucking frog.

His friends haven't even noticed what happened. Perhaps it is for the better. A bit less embarrassing. Still, he wonders what the fuck is going on? He leaves the tavern and hides under a leaf to sleep it off, hoping it's nothing but another nightmare.

But it's not. He wakes up as a frog as well. He realises that the sorcerer was not a fraud everyone accused him of being. Not knowing what to do, he hopes to find the magician and on his way he finds himself in the gardens of your castle.

He sees you in the moonlight, walking down the path with tears streaming down your cheeks. From the incoherent mumbling he figures out that some Lord broke your heart. You sigh and sit by the small pond while Daeron jumps on a leaf. There's not much he can do as a frog but he can at least keep you company because he feels bad for you.

You are in such an awful state that even the sight of a frog makes you feel emotional. You take it into your hands and caress its head as you thank it for being there for you. Something about the animal is so cute that you find yourself leaning in to place a gentle kiss upon it. You've always loved all those things and animals that others found ugly because you felt sorry for them.

The next thing you see is a man in front of you as you scream. Daeron, relieved that he is in his human form again, begs you to stay quiet. He explains to you that he is a Targaryen Prince that was accidentally cursed. You are suspicious but his sad eyes are pretty convincing. The whole thing feels like it was some twisted fate that brought you two together, so Daeron makes sure you become his wife. Just in case he turns into a frog again.

It's not that he planned to kidnap you. But you show up at Summerhall in the evening, lost on your way to Dorne after your carriage was attacked by thieves. Your knights are dead, your servant is injured and you are a Lady in distress. Prince Maekar allows you to stay for some time and writes a letter to your family about your whereabouts.

You should be worried because why doesn't he offer you his own knights to escort you back home? You are too stressed and scared to realise that he basically locks you up at his castle. He is a grumpy and kind of scary man, why would he even care about keeping you around anyway?

Yet, everytime he looks at you, something stirs within him. You are so young, so pretty, so full of joy and energy. You're like a shy little doe in a world full of hungry wolves. He doesn't want to let you go. He wants you to stay at Summerhall where he can protect you from the world outside and where you light up his whole existence.

After a few weeks you ask him if there is a reply from your family and he gets oddly irritated. He simply doesn't understand why you want to leave. He gives you everything you might want. You can take care of the garden, you are free to roam all over the library. Your every whim is fulfilled.

While living at Summerhall, you grow attached to Maekar, too. Especially after learning of his sad past and his wife's passing. You feel bad for him and you catch yourself thinking that you actually don't want to leave his castle even if you were given a choice to do so.

Then, after few more weeks, your father arrives with his knights. He was searching for you after finding out you never made it to Dorne. He is beyond angry at the Prince for not informing him about you and for keeping you at Summerhall for so long. It ends in a sword fight between your father and Maekar but you stand between them and reveal to your father that it is your wish to stay. Maekar is surprised. After all, he's been nothing but unkind and harsh towards you. But you can see right through that mask of his and you love the man he is behind it.

You were cursed since you were a little babe and your parents couldn't do anything to prevent it. When you turned eighteen, you fell into an endless sleep and nothing seemed to work.

Valarr is in the area with his father to help him arrange a treaty with some Lord when he hears the story from two gossipping ladies. He doesn't want to believe it but his curiosity wins. Since his father doesn't truly need him around, he just decides to go to your parent's castle which is nearby.

He pretends to be a little lost and asks for his horse to be fed. As a Prince he is of course greeted with all the honours. Soon he finds out that indeed your parents have a daughter who is cursed with an endless sleep. They take him to the room you are sleeping in and Valarr's heart freezes at the sight of you. He can't explain it but he feels as if you were destined to be together.

However, he simply goes back to his father and then they both travel back to King's Landing on the next day. Weeks pass and he can't stop thinking of you, though. He is even dreaming about you. Something is drawing himself to you and Baelor notices that as asks his son about it, so Valarr tells him the truth. Baelor encourages Valarr to listen to his heart and see you again.

So, Valarr mounts his horse and rides nearly without any stops to your parents' castle. When he arrives, he demands to see you straight away. Your surprised parents take him to your room and watch suspiciously as the Prince leans in to place a soft kiss upon your lips. He doesn't think it would heal you but it is something he simply has to do at least once before he dies.

But then a miracle happens and you slowly wake up. He moves away immediately because he doesn't want to scare you but you only smile softly. I've seen you in my dreams.

“I swear to the seven,” Lady Rosby spoke, her eyes light with mirth as she spoke, “husbands even sneak off into brothels to get it.”

Lady Darklyn laughed, “My husband loves it, every night he begs for me to get on my knees,” she giggled, lifting her tea to her mouth. 

“And you enjoy it?” you asked, looking sceptically at your ladies. 

“You don’t need to enjoy it,” Lady Westlering scoffed, “it's what they expect.”

“It's a part of our wifely duties,” Lady Rosby laughed. 

You sank into your seat, a flush on your face as you thought of what the ladies had said. Not once had Baelor asked for you to take his manhood into your mouth, nor had the idea crossed your mind. He loved to taste you, and did so more often than not. Surely he expected you to return the favour, perhaps he was just waiting for you to initiate it.

You moved forward in your chair ever so slightly, shakingly reaching for your tea, “and how does one, please a man in such a way?”

The ladies laughed, telling you about another wifely duty you failed at. 

The thought of it didn't exactly please you, but with how you had failed so far, it was only right that you give Baelor what he wanted, right? If all men liked this, then Baelor would. Surely he expected this, craved this as so many other men did. 

It was hard to contain your emotions as the ladies spoke of it, of how they instructed you in the manner, even harder to hide your nerves as you forced yourself into Baelor's Solar, your hand picking at the skin of your fingers as you passed by Ser Donnel and Ser Ronald, a shy, nervous smile on your lips as you greeted them. 

Baelor was slumped over his desk, entirely focused on the letters he was reading. His hand rubbing at the temple. He hardly noticed when you walked in, his gaze only finding yours when you placed a hand on his shoulder.

“My dear,” he greeted, reaching for your hand and placing a soft kiss atop it. 

“Stressed, husband?” you asked, swallowing roughly as you built up the courage for your next action. 

He smiled, “a little,” his hands reached for your waist, his smile dropping slightly when you stepped away from him and instead fell to your knees. 

“Allow me to help relieve you of some stress?” you spoke, your hands reaching for the ties of his breaches, your fake confidence spurring your actions on.

Your hands worked quickly to free his length, the cock that had started to harden the second he laid eyes on you, your eyes focused entirely on his cock, knowing that if you looked at him and his face. The way his eyes were most likely set on you, his brow arched in confusion. You knew if you glanced his way, any confidence you had, fake or not, would fade away. 

You placed a long lick across his length, your hand steady at the base of his cock as you moved to suck on his tip. A groan fell from Baleor's mouth, his hand reaching for your hair, “What are you doing?” he asked, his breath heavy as you tried to take him into your mouth, gagging as you did so. 

You ignored his as you tried to relax your throat and take more of him into your mouth, your hand working to pump what couldn't fit. Your eyes were closed, your breath heavy through your nose as you attempted to bob your head on his cock. He groaned your name, his hand pulling so softly on your hair, “My love, what are you doing?” You tried to ignore him, focusing on your actions, only to start choking on his cock. He pulled you off of him quickly at that. You were breathless the second his cock left your mouth, tears welling in your eyes, and your hand rising to grab your throat.  

He fell to the floor beside you, pulling you close to him, pulling you into a hug and holding him close to you, his hand soothing your hair as you regained your breath. He shushed you as you started to cry softly, “It's okay, my love,” he reassured, “you need never do that,” 

You shook your head into his chest, forcing yourself away slowly, “the ladies they-”

He shushed you, “I care not what the ladies of court say, or what ideas they give you - did they tell you to do this?”

“Yes, they said…they said all men expect it, love it and that if I did not then-” your voice cracked, and your face fell back into his chest. 

“Oh my darling girl,” he hummed, cradling you to his chest, “you never have to do anything like that again, unless you wish to.” he kissed the top of your head, “i expect nothing from you just your love,” 

You lifted your face from his chest, your face flushed and eyes puffy as you looked at your husband, at the love in his eyes and the pure devotion. Embarrassment filled you. How could you let the ladies convince you of such nonsense? “I'm sorry,”

He shushed you once again, kissing your forehead softly, “You have nothing to apologise for, nothing at all”

His hand cradled your face, ducking down to place a soft kiss on your lips, “I love you, you are perfect”

“So you did not want that?” you whispered, still flushed in embarrassment. 

“Only if you do, my dear, but I expect nothing more than what we already have between us,”

You smiled, reaching up to kiss him once more, “Did you like it? Was it good?”

He smiled, “Everything you do is good,” he kissed you softly, “you're my good girl, remember?” You preened at his words, kissing him softly, the embarrassment slowly fading away.

Authors note: i know its not a part 3 but i've got such severe writers block for this entire universe - so i hope this drabble makes up for the alck of updates!

Taglist

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Golden

@bellarkeselection @The-mystery-lost

“Mrs Targaryen!” “Look here, please! Mrs Targaryen!” 

The press shouts your name as Baelor leads you into the car. They had been hounding you all night at the gala and seemed in no effort to stop, even as you tipsily made your way into the limo.

The night had been long, a business meeting disguised as a gala for the children's hospital in Kings Landing. An endless amount of ass-kissing and press housing you and Baelor for whatever gossip was circling you both had tired you out.

If not for the open bar, you and Baelor would have run off, or at least plotted halfway through the night. 

Now, as the limo finally pulled away from the Rosby mansion, you had never been more grateful for the blackout windows of the limo. 

Soft kisses were pressed to your neck as you settled in your seat beside Baelor, his hands moving to brush your hair out of the way to give himself more access to your neck. 

You bite your lip, giggling at the feeling of his lips on you. His hand reaching for your thighs, and parting them slowly, his hand trailing up your thigh through the slit in your dress.

His lips parted from your neck slowly, groaning into you as he inched closer to your cunt, “driver, roll up the partition, please,” he orders, his eyes locking with yours as the faint sound of the window rolled up. A giggle left your mouth at his words,  knowing exactly what was about to happen.

Baelor fell to his knees, parting your thighs. A soft, pleased moan falls from his lips at the sight of your bare cunt. 

You had teased him with that fact all night. That you had forgone underwear, that it was just you and your dress, your body ready and waiting for him the second they were out of the gala. 

With your dress bunch at your waist, your cunt wet and teasing him, a moan falling from his lips as your legs fell apart and he settled himself between your legs. 

“I have wanted to taste you all night,” he groaned, his hand coming to part your slit, gathering your slick on his fingers, before bringing it to his mouth. You bit your lip at his actions, attempting to hold back the moan that threatened to tear through you. 

“Please,” you moaned, reaching for his hair, “I need you,” 

He hummed, settling further between your legs, his hand once more reaching between your thighs and towards your cunt. “So polite, good girl,” he spoke, his thumb reached for your clit, rubbing soft circles on it as his tongue reached to lick between your folds.

A loud moan fell from your mouth, your hand reaching to cover your mouth, attempting some sense of decency, knowing the partition was only partially soundproof. Your head fell back into your seat, as he gave another lick across your slit. “fuck,” you moaned, as his fingers began to spread through your folds and reveal your cunt to him. “Stop teasing me, please” he laughed softly, palcing a teasing lick across the length of your folds. Your hand reached for his hair, stopping him from moving away and teasing you again. 

His hands flew to your waist, allowing you some semblance of control as he pulled your waist down onto his face. His nose rubbed against your clit as his tongue began to feast on you like a starving man.  

Your head turned into the headrest of the car, attempting to bury and hide the moans spilling from your lips. Your hands tugging Baelor impossibly close to you, his tongue thrusting in and out. The coil in your stomach growing impossibly tight. 

Your hips thrusted into him, as his hands flew from your waist to your ass, you felt his own groans rock through your body, his own pleasure filling him as he tasted you, feasted on you like you were his favourite meal. Which you were. 

“Good girl,” Baleor said, faintly into your cunt, as you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. 

He parted from your cunt slowly, rising up your body and taking your mouth with his, his cock hard against your thigh, and your own taste in your mouth.

A soft knock sounded as your hand reached for his belt. 

“We are here, sir,” the driver's voice spoke, muffled by the partition. A giggle fell from your lips, and a smirk took over Baelor's face. 

“Close to two decades, actually.” You corrected and glanced at her then, amused as she guffawed. 

For the past few months, it became quite clear to you that Maekar had really meant it when he warned you that he did not do things halfway. Not his work, or his decisions. 

And certainly not whatever this was between you. 

You did not put a label on it. Not out of fear, because you were not afraid of commitment, but because it did not feel necessary to rush into defining it to something. 

But you were not going to pretend that this was casual.

Not when he looked at you the way he did, not when he showed up for you every time, not when he let you into his space bit by bit. 

This was not some fleeting affair, you both knew that. And yet there were still lines that were not crossed.

He had yet to meet your friends and family. And it was the same case for you.

You did not meet his sons, nor his eldest brother whom he adored, and not the rest of the family. You knew they existed in the shape of stories he told you in quiet moments, in the way his phone sometimes lit up with their names, in the subtle shift in him when he spoke about them. But they were still separate from what you had with him. 

You knew his brother knew of your existence, Maekar told you about it, and his elder sons had an inkling their father was seeing someone, but you still had to meet them. 

If you were being honest with yourself, that sat somewhere uneasy inside you. But you chose to ignore that for the moment. Even if part of you had already started to wonder how long that “for now” would last. 

“So, about that double date…” Rowan prodded again. “Really, when do you think we should go on one? It would be so much fun!”

“Not sure…” You hummed, pushing another hanger aside. “Let me get through this work party though. Then we can talk about double dates and social group integration.”

You were surprised he had invited you to his work event and you knew that for a man like Maekar, that was not an insignificant step. If anything, it was the closest thing to a statement he was willing to make.

He told you about the event a couple of weeks ago. 

It had been late one evening, while both of you were in bed, sheets tangled around your legs. Your body was still warm and draped over his, your cheek resting against his chest as you idly traced patterns along his skin. Meanwhile, he had his arm around you, finger moving slowly through your hair, his breath uneven.

It was one of those rare moments where he was not entirely guarded, where his control had loosened just enough to tell you about it.

“There is a work event.” He said, voice still rough from everything that came before.

“Hmm?” You murmured, half-distracted. 

“You are coming with me.” He said deliberately.

That made you still, your hand frozen mid cares. 

“Am I now?” You lifted your head slightly, looking up at him. 

“Yes.” His arm tightened at your waist.

It was not a question, and not a request either. It was just a statement, and that made it all the more significant.

“Ugh, fine!” Rowan sighed dramatically, her voice bringing you back to the present. but then smiled. “But now we are finding you a gorgeous and sexy dress!” 

Some time later, after far too much browsing and not enough deciding, she chose two dresses and shoved them into your arms. 

You blinked down at them.

“Rowan-”

“Just. Try. Them.” She said, steering you towards the fitting rooms. 

You sighed, letting her. 

Once the curtain slid closed behind you, the noise of the store muted a little as you focused on trying out the dresses.

You slipped into the first one, a simple cocktail piece in soft black. It was all clean lines, with a modest cut at the front, an effortlessly elegant piece. It hugged your body just enough without drawing too much attention, the kind of dress that made you look polished and put together.

You studied yourself for a second. It was nice, safe, pretty in a way that would not cause a scandal.

The moment you stepped out, Rowan took one look at you and shook her head immediately.

“No!”

You laughed. “You did not even give it a proper chance.”

“I did.” She said, waving her hand dismissively. “It is giving ‘pleasant colleague.’ We need ‘his downfall.’ Go back and try the other one.”

You rolled your eyes, but disappeared behind the curtain again.

The colour of the second dress was in a deep and rich variant of your favourite colour. The fabric was heavier in your hands, like it was meant to fall a certain way.

You slipped it on, zipping it at the back, smoothing it down your sides.

And when you turned toward the mirror, you paused. 

It was a sleeveless one, with an elegant neckline that framed your collarbones and drew the eye just enough. The structure of it hugged your waist before falling smoothly over your hips, following your shape in a way that felt deliberate without being obvious.

Nothing too revealing, or excessive.

Just… perfect. Impossible to ignore.

You stared at yourself for a moment longer than you meant to. 

And when you stepped out slowly, Rowan went very still. And then she squealed. 

“Yes! Oh, that is the one!”

You turned slightly, the fabric moving with you, smooth and effortless. “You really think so?”

She walked toward you like she was inspecting a masterpiece.

“I do not just think it!” She said. “I know it.”

You glanced at yourself in the mirror again, a small smile on your lips.

Rowan crossed her arms, a slow, satisfied smirk forming. “Maekar is going to lose his mind.”

You laughed, but it came out softer than expected.

“He will probably act like nothing is happening.” You said. 

Rowan gave you a look through the mirror.

“Oh please!” She said dryly. “That man already struggles to behave around you.”

You bit your lip slightly, remembering. The way his control slipped sometimes. And the other times it did not, because of how tightly he held it, like it cost him something.

Your fingers smoothed over the fabric at your waist.

“He will definitely notice.” Rowan added, quieter this time.

You looked at your own reflection again.

“Yes, he will…” You agreed, still smiling.

You knew he would.

Rowan clapped her hands once.

“Perfect!” she said. “Then you are definitely getting this dress.”

Then, with a wicked smile, she winked at you through the mirror. “And I cannot wait to hear how badly he handles it.”

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

Music was echoing softly throughout the apartment as you fastened your earrings with careful fingers, dancing to the beat in your lace underwear. Humming the tune, you checked yourself in the mirror, adjusting the necklace and a few strands of hairs that were out of place.

Maekar was going to be here at any minute, and although you knew that man did not tolerate tardiness, you still took your time to look good. 

You were fighting the clasp of your bracelet and finally put it on when the doorbell rang.

“Shit!” You yelped, scrambling to the door and nearly slipping on the floor as you hurried down the hallway, before yanking the door open.

“Fucking hell! How are you still not dressed?!” Maekar said as he stepped inside, adjusting his coat, his voice sharp with impatience. But his eyes roamed over your body, as he took the state of undress that you were in.

You nearly whined as you looked at him.

It was borderline unfair how extremely handsome he looked. He wore a dark blue suit, tailored to perfection. The fabric sitting clean against his shoulders, his chest, his waist, every line of him precise and controlled. The colour made his eyes sharper and colder. Except they were not cold when they looked at you. 

“I will be ready in ten minutes, tops!” You said quickly, pecking his cheek and backing away quickly towards the bedroom. 

“We need to leave in five!” He sounded exasperated.

“Honestly Maekar, that is just poor time management on your part.” You said over your shoulder, laughing. 

He groaned out your name, annoyed, rubbing his face with his hand. “That is not how it works. You were supposed to be ready on fucking time.”

“Oh, you really think after you see me in this dress we will leave on time?” You teased, biting your lip as you winked at him.

He paused for a moment, before dryly saying: “Do not make me drag you out of here over my shoulder.” 

You laughed, disappearing into the bedroom. “Do not threaten me with a good time, babe!” 

A loud scoff followed you.

He stayed in the hallway. Of course he did, because both of you knew that if he had followed you in, you would not be leaving the apartment at all. You could easily picture him, arms crossed over his chest, his back straight. His patience would be thinning by the second, pretending he was not listening for every single movement you made. 

You took your sweet time anyway, just enough to make it intentional. 

When you finally stepped out into the hallway, Maekar was clearly about to say something.

But he did not.

For a moment, he just… looked at you.

You stood there, framed by the warm light, the dress catching it in a way that deepened the colour, making it richer and dangerous in a quiet way. It fit you exactly as it should. Nothing excessive, or loud, but simply impossible to ignore.

His eyes moved slowly, from your face, then down, taking in the line of your shoulders, the curve of your waist, the way the fabric followed your body.

“Maekar…” You called out to him softly.

A moment passed before he looked back into your eyes. Smiling, you moved towards him, turning your back to him and gathering your hair over one shoulder.

“Zip me.” You said sweetly, glancing over your shoulder at him.

Inhaling deeply, Maekar stepped closer and the shift in the air was immediate. His presence filled the space behind you, his heat radiating at your back, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around you. 

For a second he did not move to touch you. You looked up at him.

“Maekar…” You prompted him.

His hand finally came up, knuckles brushing lightly against your back, before he found the zipper. The contact made you breath hitch. He noticed, because of course he did.

The zipper slid up slowly, the sound soft in the quiet space around you. His knuckles grazed your spine again, like it was not entirely accidental. When it reached the top, he did not step back. His hand stayed where it was for a second, before it shifted to your waist, then at the front, pulling you flush against him.

He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, his beard tickling it as he inhaled your scent deeply. 

“You wore this for me.” He grumbled. It was not a question, but a simple statement of the obvious. 

You tilted your head back, a slow smile forming. “Maybe.”

His grip tightened. “You should not have worn this.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, lowering your voice.

“You told me I had to be there.” You reminded him. “But you did not say that I had to behave.”

He growled loudly, and something flickered in his eyes then, his pupils blowing a little. 

“Fuck…” He muttered under his breath, pressing a kiss to your neck.  “You are going to kill me tonight.”

“Oh, I know.” You laughed a little, pleased. 

You turned then, slowly, until you were facing him fully, no distance between you. “But I still need you alive… for later.”

His hands gripped your hips tightly. His gaze dropped to your mouth, and for a moment neither of you moved. 

His hand cupped your jaw firmly and he pulled you in for a kiss. It was slow at first, his lips molding against yours like he was tasting something sweet, like he already decided he was not going to stop. You exhaled softly against his mouth, your hands finding his suit instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric. Groaning, he deepened it a moment later, just enough to make it dangerous. Just enough to make it very clear to you this could spiral.

You could not help but let your fingers slide up to his collar, tightening slightly as you kissed him back, matching him in ferocity, moaning as he sucked on your lower lip. 

Then you pulled back, barely.

“Maekar-” You whispered, his lips brushing against yours before you stopped him with a small laugh. “You are going to ruin my makeup.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, he did not move away.

“If you did not want that…” He said lowly. “You would not have asked me to zip you.”

You smiled, breath still a little uneven. “That is not why I asked you to do that.”

“Hmm, maybe not…” He agreed, eyes still on your mouth. “But it is what you wanted.”

You shook your head, amused, though your fingers were still resting against his chest.

“You are unbelievable.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “But we better leave now, or we will be late.”

He rolled his eyes, huffing. “Now you care about time?” 

You just nodded, the smile never leaving you. His thumb brushed once along your jaw before he finally let you go. He stepped back just enough to give you some space, but one of his hands still lingered on your waist.

“You are not leaving my side tonight.” He said. 

“Good.” You said. “I did not plan to.”

That seemed to settle something in him. His grip tightened once more against your waist, almost thoughtful, before he forced himself to step back again. Just enough to regain some sense of control.

“We should go.” 

“Yes.” You agreed, pulling out your from the wardrobe and putting them on. “You just need to stop staring.”

That earned you a look, half warning, half something darker, something that lingered just beneath the surface. Then finally, he sighed, stepping back and reaching for the door.

“Fucking hell, come on.”

As you passed him, his hand found your waist again. Like it had every intention of staying there.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The elevator ride to the restaurant was quiet. It was not awkward, it was never that with Maekar. But it was charged in that sort of humming way you were starting to recognize. His hand rested at your lower back the entire time, like he needed the contact as much as he insisted you stay close to him.

The doors opened to the rooftop, and for a moment you paused.

“Holy shit…” You said under your breath.

The city stretched endlessly below. Lights spilled in every direction, glass towers reflecting each other in gleaming lines. The restaurant itself was all polished surfaces and soft gold lighting. The tables spaced just far enough apart to feel exclusive. Conversations overlapped in low and polished tones, the kind that never rose too high and never revealed too much. Waiters moved like choreography, precise and invisible.

Maekar did not look at the view. He looked at you first, taking in your amazed gaze, a soft look in his eyes. And then he turned, watching the room, assessing the space in front of him. He was already aware of who was here, who mattered, who would need his attention.

He guided you through the crowd with a quiet precision, his hand steady at your back. He acknowledged people just enough to satisfy them, but never enough to invite them in. 

“This is a farce.” He muttered under his breath as someone passed you with a glass of champagne. “A fucking circus.”

You glanced at him. “A circus?”

“For clients.” His gaze swept the room again, sharper this time. “Making people feel like they are part of something important.”

You smiled faintly. “And you do not enjoy this at all?”

“Fuck no.”

“Yet here you are.”

His gaze shifted to you then, something sharper behind it. “I do not have a choice in this matter.”

You studied him for a second. “But you kind of do.”

He huffed under his breath. “Not at my level.”

“Oh…” You nodded slightly, understanding settling in.

“And Baelor?” You asked. “Your other brothers?”

A brief pause enveloped you, as his jaw tightened a little. 

“Baelor is already here.”

You followed his gaze instinctively, as he looked into the crowd.

“Aerys avoids these when he can.” He added dryly. “Claims they are a waste of time.”

You smiled faintly. “Well, I guess he is not wrong.”

“No.” Maekar agreed. “He just does not have to pretend otherwise.”

“And Rhaegel?”

Maekar’s jaw tightened slightly. “He has never come, not since…”

He did not elaborate further. And he did not need to, because you understood that this was as much as he was willing to talk about that here.

Your hand brushed lightly against his arm, before grabbing it tight. Leaning a little closer, your voice was low enough for only him.

“You know, I am proud of you Maekar.”

He stilled, before his head turned toward you, brows pulling together slightly, not in confusion, but wary in a way.

“Why?”

You smiled softly.

“Because you helped build something that requires all of this.” You nodded at the space and the people in it. “Even if you hate it. Even if you would rather be anywhere else.”

The noise of the room faded for a second, as his gaze held yours longer than it should have in a place like this.

“You should not be…” He murmured, but there was no real conviction behind it.

“Well, I am.” You said. “You better learn to deal with it.”

He snorted. Then quietly, almost reluctantly, he said: “You make this more tolerable.” 

Your smile softened. “That is high praise coming from you.”

“It is.”

You were about to respond when you felt it, eyes lingering on you. You caught a few glances, the ones that were not subtle enough to be missed, and the ones that were not hidden.

You knew why. The age gap between you two was obvious, and in a place like this, it was a statement. But you did not care, for you had walked into this knowing exactly what this relationship would look like to others.

But Maekar, he noticed. And although he did not react outwardly, his posture stiffened and his scowl deepened. 

You leaned closer again, fingers gripping his arm tight.

“Relax, babe.” You murmured. “They are just looking. Ignore them.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “The fuckers are staring.”

You tilted your head, amused. “Let them.”

His gaze flicked down to you, something sharper returning behind his eyes.

“You do not mind?”

“Nope.” You held his eyes, pure warmth behind yours. “I knew what I was doing the moment I flirted with you at the bar.”

Something in his expression shifted at that. It did not ease entirely, but his shoulders were less tense. He was about to say something, when a voice cut cleanly through the space between you. 

“Maekar!”

You turned, and your eyes widened. You knew immediately who it was. 

It is him, you thought. This was the man whose approval you actually cared about, ever since Maekar spoke to you about him. The one who knew Maekar better than anyone else in this room. 

Baelor moved towards you two with the kind of presence that did not need to demand attention. It simply took it. He too was wearing a suit, dark grey and tailored to perfection. You could not deny it, he was handsome.

Although his posture was relaxed, his mismatched eyes flicked between you and Maekar in a single, efficient glance, taking everything in. 

“Brother.” Maekar acknowledged him with a nod.

Baelor’s eyes moved between the two of you again, noting your hand on his arm, his rigid posture, taking in everything that mattered.

Then he smiled genuinely.

“Well.” He said, tone smooth and almost amused. “It is wonderful to finally meet you.”

Maekar did not respond immediately, but you were not phased by that.

You stepped slightly forward, untangling your hand from his arm and offering it to Baelor.

“It is great to meet you too!” You said warmly. “I have heard a lot about you.”

Baelor took your hand, his grip firm but not overpowering, his gaze steady on yours.

“Hopefully nothing too bad.” He replied lightly.

You smiled. “Oh, that depends on your definition of bad.”

That earned a quiet huff of amusement.

“I like her.” Baelor said, glancing briefly at Maekar, before his attention returned to you, more focused this time but not unkind.

Maekar’s jaw tightened just slightly. 

“You have made quite an impression already.” He commented.

“Yeah, they are not subtle at all about it.” You replied, glancing briefly around the room.

Baelor followed the movement.

“No.” He said. “They rarely are.”

“Well, I do not mind them.” You said with confidence. “They can stare all they want, but it is not going to change things.”

Baelor studied you for a moment longer, then nodded in approval.

“Good.” He said, then looking at Maekar. A brief silence followed, as something unspoken passed between the brothers.

Then Maekar spoke, almost abruptly. “Where is she?”

Baelor’s brow lifted slightly. “Mm?”

“Your girlfriend.”

Baelor’s gaze softened, and his smile became more pleasant. 

“She is here, of course.” He said, glancing briefly over his shoulder, scanning the room with ease. “Currently, she is speaking to a client with Lyonel Baratheon.”

A thoroughly unimpressed sound left Maekar, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “Of course they are.”

You glanced between them, catching the dynamic instantly. Baelor only looked faintly entertained.

“She is networking.” He said simply.

“She and Baratheon are charming someone.” Maekar corrected dryly.

“Both can be true.”

Maekar rolled his eyes and Baelor’s smile deepened just slightly, like he expected that exact reaction.

Then his gaze returned to you.

“I will not keep you.” He said, with a hint of dry humour. “You are being watched enough as it is.”

He clasped Maekar on the shoulder. “Do not ruin it.”

Maekar’s expression hardened just slightly. “I will not.”

Baelor’s mouth curved faintly, giving the smallest nod, like he was filing something away, before he turned to you.

“It was good to finally meet you.”

You smiled. “You too.”

Another glance passed between the brothers, something layered and familiar. With a final nod to both of you, he stepped away, disappearing back into the crowd as smoothly as he had arrived.

You turned your head slightly toward Maekar.

“Well.” You murmured. “That went well.”

He did not answer immediately, his gaze still on Baelor’s retreating figure. But then he looked at you, warmth behind his eyes. 

“Yes.” He said quietly. “It did.”

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

You spent most of the evening at his side.

Not because he had made his preference of you doing that very clear beforehand, but because it felt the most natural place to be.

You leaned into him during conversations, your shoulder brushing his arm, offering quiet commentary only he could hear. They were small observations, half-teasing and half-curious, meant just for him. 

At one point, the two of you found yourselves trapped in a painfully dull conversation, with a client who seemed very pleased with his own voice. Maekar was barely enduring it.

You lifted your glass, hiding your smile as you leaned closer. “Blink twice if you need rescuing.” 

“I do not.” He muttered under his breath. 

A moment later, when the client turned to speak to someone else, you saw it. 

A quick, subtle blink. Then another.

Your eyes lit up. “You just blinked twice!”

“That was a coincidence.” He said flatly, his hand tightening at your waist in quiet warning. 

“Sure.” You replied, entirely unconvinced. “Do you want me to spill my drink on him?”

“Do not fucking dare.”

“I can aim for the shoes.”

His mouth twitched a little, and he pulled you just a little closer, like that would contain you. 

During another, equally tedious, conversation, you leaned in again, voice just brushing his ear. “Is this the part where I pretend to understand, or the part where I rescue you?”

His lips curved faintly. 

“Neither.” He murmured. “This is the part where you stay quiet and suffer with me.”

“Unfair…” You smiled against your glass. “It does not sound very appealing.”

“It was not meant to.”

You laughed softly, earning a brief glance from the person speaking, which Maekar smoothly redirected before it could linger.

At some point, someone began praising his work. You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

“I think they like you.” You whispered.

“They like the work that I do.” He corrected you.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, one brow arched. “Okay, babe, that is such a sad way to phrase that.”

“It is an accurate one.”

You tilt your head. “You are wrong.”

“I am never wrong.”

“For tonight’s sake, let’s agree to disagree.” You smiled.

After a while, you decide to go to the bar to get a second round of drinks.

“Do you want another one?”  You asked him, already knowing the answer.

He just nodded once, but you did not move.

“Say please.” You said teasingly. 

He just looked at you, unimpressed. “No.”

You raised your brows, a small pout forming.

He exhaled sharply, like this was somehow more exhausting than the entire event. “Fuck… Please.”

You smiled, satisfied, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “See? That was not so hard.”

You slipped away toward the bar, leaving him to be promptly pulled into another conversation the second you were out of reach. 

“Two of the same!” You told the bartender, leaning lightly against the counter as the hum of the people softened, becoming more distant.

“Can I get you that instead?”

You turned towards the voice. The man talking to you was young, well-dressed, with an easy confidence and a smile that usually worked without much effort.

You smiled politely, already shaking your head. “You do know this is an open bar, right?” 

“That is not what I meant.” He said, a grin lingering. “I meant, can I join you?”

“No.” You said firmly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “I am not alone and I am not interested.”

He glanced around. “Well, I do not see anyone.”

“That does not mean they are not here.”

Instead of stepping back, he leaned in slightly, to test how far he could push. “Oh, I am sure they will not mind.”

“They would.” You said, still composed. “And so do I.”

“Come on!” He said, lowering his voice. “One drink. If your mystery date shows up, I will disappear.”

You almost laughed. “You do not want to be here when he does.”

“I will take my chances.”

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

Across the room, you did not know that Maekar was watching. 

He did not mean to, but his attention kept slipping, his gaze kept drifting from the conversation he was in to you. 

To the boy that stood too close. To the way he leaned in, too comfortable, too familiar. 

And something in Maekar’s chest tightened. He did not like it. Not the attention you were getting, and not the way he was looking at you like you were single, available.

Not mine, Maekar thought.

His jaw set.

Someone said his name. He did not respond, he just excused himself mid-sentence.

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

You felt him at first, the space behind you shifting, and you knew he was close.

The man beside you noticed him immediately, his posture rigid straight and his expression faltering just enough.

Maekar stepped in beside you, his arm brushing yours before his hand settled at your waist, firm and unmistakable in meaning. His presence alone changed the temperature of the moment.

His gaze moved to the man, cold and unforgiving.

“Mr. Targaryen!” The man said quickly, the colour draining from his face. “Sir, I did not realize- I did not mean-”

“I am aware.” Maekar cut in.

“I was just-” The man tried again.

“I know what you were fucking doing.” Maekar growled. 

“I did not mean any disrespect-” He tried again, glancing briefly at you, like you might soften this. 

“Do not look at her.” He said. “If you want a fucking job tomorrow, you will leave.”

The man hesitated, looking at you again, searching for an out that was not there. 

“Now!”

He nodded quickly, muttering apologies before stepping back and going away entirely.

The bartender set the drinks down without a word. 

You picked one up, handing it to Maekar, your fingers brushing his. He downed the whiskey in one go, his hand finding yours and gripping it firmly. 

Before you could say anything, he was already moving, pulling you with him through the crowd. Past conversations, past watchful glances, until the noise dulled and he found a more secluded spot.

The air felt heavy, and you decided, mistakenly, to tease him a little, to try lighten the mood.

“While I do appreciate the rescue, you really should have seen your face!” You murmured, putting the drink down on a table nearby. “I fucking loved it. So territorial, so… what’s the word? Posse-” 

“Careful.” 

You blinked, his tone catching you off guard. It did not have the usual sharpness to it, or what you would consider playful from him.

You looked at him properly then, and saw that it was something beyond irritation and jealousy. Something that made your smile falter.

“Maekar…” You said softly. “Is everything alright?”

He sighed slowly, one hand dragging back through his hair, the gesture uncharacteristically unguarded.

“The fucker was looking at you like-”

He stopped, jaw tightening. You stepped closer without thinking, your hand coming to rest against his chest, feeling the steady, restrained tension beneath your palm. 

“Like what?”

He met your gaze again, steady and intense. He did not have to say it, but you saw it. 

Not anger, or ego. Nor was it the usual possessiveness. 

This was something sharper.

It was the awareness of the gap between you. The years, the difference in ease, in your lives, in perception. The way other people saw it, the way they judged it. The way they might assume you would outgrow it.

Outgrow him.

You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing over his knuckles before pulling it gently toward you, holding it close. 

“Fuck them.” You said firmly. “Fuck all of them! I do not care about them.”

“That is not-”

“I care about you.” You interrupted him, voice quieter now but no less certain in your declaration.

That got his attention. You saw it, the way his eyes softened just slightly. The way the tension in his shoulders eased, not gone, but no longer so prevalent. 

“I came here for you.” You stepped closer, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

“You think I would choose them over you?” You whispered.

His fingers flexed in yours. 

“No.” He whispered. “But they are easier.” 

That caught you off guard. You pulled back just enough to look at him properly.

“I do not want easy.” You said. “I do not want them.”

Your grip on his hand tightened.

“I want you Maekar. Only you.”

His gaze held yours. 

“And you do not have to fight the entire room for my attention.”

He scowled. “I can if I need to.”

You laughed under your breath, stepping closer until the space between you disappeared entirely.

“You do not.” You murmured. “Can’t you see? You have already won.”

Just for a second, he stood still. Then your arms snaked around his neck, pulling him down towards you.

And you kissed him. Your lips pressed against his with quiet insistence, like you were answering something he did not fully ask out loud. Groaning in your mouth, he responded, giving in fully. 

His hand came back to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back without restraint. No careful distance, no measured control. It was just heat and certainty, his mouth moving against yours like he needed to feel it, needed to make sure you were real, still here, still choosing him. 

Then you pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips still brushing his as you spoke. “Let’s get out of here.”

⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬

The ride back to your apartment was quiet. Not because there was nothing to say. But because neither of you trusted yourselves to say it without breaking whatever fragile restraint was left. 

His hand rested on your thigh the entire time the entire time he drove, heavy and warm. 

By the time the car stopped in the parking lot of your building, you barely waited, unbuckling the seatbelt and fully kissing him, hard.

Maekar answered immediately, like he had been waiting for it. His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, pulling you closer, and you shifted without thinking, one knee pressing onto the seat.

You would have been fully straddling him if it were not for your dress.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, pulling just enough to make him growl against your mouth, his other hand gripping your hip like he needed to anchor you there.

“Come on, babe… Let me show you how much I want you.” You caught his lower lip between your teeth, tugging it sharply. “All of you… only you.”

That did it, whatever restraint he had left snapped cleanly.

The walk to your apartment was a blur. The door barely had time to shut behind you before he was on you.

His hand found your waist, turning you, pressing you back against the door with a force that stole your breath.

He then kissed you again. Hungrily, like he was starved of it. Your hand found his hair again, pulling his closer, parting your lips to allow his tongue to enter, deepening the kiss.

Your hands came up instinctively, gripping his jacket, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours with relentless intensity. Every kiss deeper than the last, like he wasn’t satisfied, like he couldn’t be.

His hand slid up your side, then back down, mapping you like he needed to remember every line, every curve.

“You have no idea what you do to me…” He muttered against your lips, voice rough, barely restrained.

“You will show me… later…” You breathed back. “Right now, I want to focus on you babe…”

Without waiting for a response, you pushed him towards the nearest wall and dropped to your knees. Your hands fiddled with his belt buckle, the sound of metal clinking filling the space. Looking up at him through your lashes, your lips parted as you freed his cock from its confines.

It was already hard, pre-cum barely leaking from the tip, and you did not hesitate. You leaned in, tongue flicking out to trace the underside from base to the tip, savouring the salty taste of his skin. Maekar groaned loudly, his hand immediately going to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. But he held back for now, letting you set the pace.

You wrapped your lips around him, sucking gently at first before taking him deeper. One hand stroke him where your mouth could not reach him, the other gripping his thigh for leverage, nails digging deep enough to remind him of your need for him. 

“Fuck…” He groaned your name, his voice rough, hips twitching forward. You hummed around him, the vibration sending a shiver through his body. You hollowed your cheeks as you sucked him harder, your saliva coating his length. 

You pulled back briefly, lips swollen and eyes lidded, watching him as you continued stroking him with your hand. 

“You are the only one who makes me feel like this…” You whispered, giving him a long lick. “The only one I want inside of me…”

Diving back in, you took as much of him as you could, wanting to show your devotion to him.

Maekar groaned, his control starting to slip as his fingers tightened in your hair. His hips bucked at your ministrations, and you let him guide you for a bit. You could not help but moan as he thrust into your mouth, pushing as far as he could.

After a few deep thrusts, he pulls back, his fingers gripping your hair tight, a string of saliva stretching from your lips to his cock. Maekar’s eyes were almost black, watching you as you stood and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Take me to the bedroom!” You demanded breathlessly. “I need you…”

Maekar did not hesitate, scooping you in his arms, cradling you against his chest as he carried her down the hall to the room. You nestled into him, kissing and nipping at his jawline. He kicked the door open and lowered you back on your feet, his gaze raking over your body. 

He quickly unzipped the back of your dress, peeling the fabric down your shoulders and arms until it pooled at your feet. Your breasts strained against the lacy bra, nipples already hard peaks begging for attention. He unclasped it with a flick of his fingers, tossing it aside to bare you completely, leaving you naked and exposed. He pushed you down to the bed, and you made sure to get comfortable as he loomed over you.

“My turn to taste you.” He growled, stripping off his shirt and pants quickly before kneeling between your legs. He yanked your lace panties down in one swift movement, tossing them aside to expose you, already glistening with arousal. 

Your breath hitched as he spread your legs wide, strong hands pinning your thighs open. He leaned in, his breath hot against your folds, and dragged his tongue flat along your slit. You moaned, hips bucking instinctively into his face, but he held you steady.

“Fuck, she is always so sweet for me…” He grumbled against you, his mouth fully descending on you now. 

He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over the swollen nub in quick and firm strokes that made you gasp. One hand went to his head, tangling into his hair, pushing him more towards you as the other clutched the sheets.

“Oh God, Maekar!” You moaned loudly as he devoured you. His tongue plunged inside you, thrusting in and out as if a preview of what was to come. He lapped at your inner walls before returning to circle your clit, giving it a firm such as one hand slid up your thigh. He pressed two fingers into your soaked entrance without much resistance, curling them upward to stroke that sensitive spot deep inside.

“Please… do not stop…” Begging, your cries of ecstasy grew louder as his thick fingers thrust steadily, his mouth not stopping its relentless assault on your clit. He twisted his fingers, scissoring them to stretch you. Your juices coated his hand as he pumped faster, the wet sounds mixing with your please. 

“You can take a third one, can’t you?” He said huskily, looking up at you, his eyes almost black. “My good girl can take another one, hmm?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

“Say it.” He gave your clit a quick lick. “I need words.”

“Yes…” You mewled.

Adding a third finger, he filled you more, thrusting deeper and harder as he returned to your clit, tongue pressing without mercy. Your walls clenched around his fingers, your orgasm cresting fast under his touch. Maekar hummed against you, his free hand holding you in place as you writhed. It hit you like a wave, your body shaking as you came on his tongue, your walls squeezing his fingers tight as he kept licking and pumping through it, drawing out every moan, every whimper. He finally withdrew with a satisfied smirk when your body went limp, lips and beard glistening from your release. 

Rising up, Maekar was about to position himself between your legs, when you rose up and met him.

“Not yet.” You took his hand. “I want… need to do this first.” 

He let you guide him, curious to see what you would do. You prompted him to sit back against the headboard before straddling him, wrapping an arm around his neck. His cock stood rigid and pressed against your inner thigh. Grasping him, you lowered yourself fully, gasping as he filled you slowly, your walls stretching around his girth with not much resistance.

His hands settled on your hips as your other arm curled around his neck, grinding down in slow circles that made both of you groan. He captured your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, as you tasted yourself in his mouth. Your lips moved over his hungrily, breath mingling as you increased your rhythm, lifting and dropping on his cock, taking him deeper each time.

“Mine.” He murmured against your lips between your thrusts, fingers digging into your skin. You moaned into the kiss, our breasts brushing deliciously against his chest with every bounce, your clit grinding against his pubic bone.

“Only yours.” And you kissed him again, pouring everything into it. 

You picked up your speed, your hips snapping down harder. Maekar’s mouth trailed from your lips, to your jaw and neck, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the way, before biting at the sensitive spot between your shoulder and neck. One of his hands squeezed your ass, before giving it a loud spank. You moaned and clenched around him, and he delivered a few more, reddening your cheek.

He stared at you, pupils blown wide as you rode him, and you could see the hunger in him, the need for more.

“Take what you need, Maekar.” You whispered. “Show me how I am yours.”

With a low growl, Maekar tightened his grip and flipped you without pulling out. He pinned you beneath him, pushing you into the mattress, his body covering yours completely. He thrust wildly into you, setting a punishing rhythm, making you cry out in pleasure. Your nails raked down his back as he filled you completely again and again.

“Is this what you need?” He demanded, a hand wrapping around your throat. He gave it a light squeeze. “To feel me owning you?”

“Yes!” You moaned lewdly, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

Each thrust drove deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The bed creaked under you, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the bedroom. One of his hands pinched your nipple hard enough to make your whimper, then soothing it with his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive peak.

Sweat slicked your bodies as he fucked you harder, his cock dragging against your walls with every withdrawal. Your moans almost turned into screams, as your walls clenched, your body trembling once more on the edge.

“Do not stop! Oh-” His name died on your lips as his thumb found your clit and rubbed circles that matched his pace.

“Come for me.” He ordered. “Be a good girl and come on my cock…”

The pressure built unbearably, and you shattered around him, walls pussy clenching tight, milking his cock as waves of pleasure crashed over you. But he kept going, fucking you through your orgasm and chasing his own release, your incoherent begging a symphony to his ears.

His hands gripped your hips then, fingers digging in so hard you knew bruises would bloom there by morning. But you did not care. 

He rutted into you like a wild animal, his climax hovering just out of reach. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, muffling your cries against his skin. You wanted this, needed him to claim you fully. 

Maekar thrust like that for a while before his pace faltered. His body tensed, and with a final thrust, he came deep inside of you, flooding your walls with his cum and moaning your name like a prayer. He collapsed on top of you, his weight like a comforting blanket. 

“Mine…” He grumbled, but it was unguarded in a way you had never heard before. 

Your lips found his skin again, pressing a gentle kiss just below his jaw. 

“Forever yours.”

The air in the bedchamber was thick, charged with the scent of your arousal and the heavy, oppressive weight of the men staring at you. Baelor had just stepped back, his challenge hanging in the silence, asking if Maekar was finally capable of doing his duty. The question seemed to snap something inside Maekar.

He moved with a sudden, violent urgency, all but shoving Baelor aside, his shoulder connecting with his brother's chest, forcing the taller man back a step. Maekar didn't even seem to register the contact. His violet eyes, usually so cold and distant, were burning now, fixed entirely on you. The indifference of the past months had evaporated, replaced by a hunger that was terrifying and thrilling all at once. He loomed over the edge of the bed, his chest heaving, staring down at your naked, exposed form as if he were seeing a star fall from the sky.

You looked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs, legs still parted from Baelor's attentions. You felt incredibly vulnerable, yet the power you held over him in this moment was undeniable. He was mesmerised. The man who had ignored your existence for weeks was now unable to tear his gaze away.

"How do you want me, husband?" you asked, your voice trembling but audible in the quiet room.

The word husband seemed to undo him. A low, ragged sound tore from his throat, half-groan, half-growl. He leaned down, bracing a hand on the mattress beside your head, and captured your lips.

It was nothing like the dry, perfunctory peck he had given you at the wedding altar. This was a conquest. His mouth was hot and demanding, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin in a way that made you shiver. He kissed you deeply, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped into his mouth, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as you felt the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his tunic.

He broke the kiss only to strip you of the last barrier between you. His hands were rough, impatient, hooking into the fabric of your shift and yanking it down your arms. You lifted your hips to help him, and within seconds, the linen was discarded on the floor. You were entirely naked, bared to the flickering candlelight and the hungry eyes of both men.

Baelor, having recovered from the shove, stepped closer to the bed. His gaze moved over you slowly, a deliberate, appreciative perusal that started at your flushed face and traced down the curve of your neck, over the heave of your breasts, and settled on the damp heat between your thighs. He reached out, his hand sliding up your ribs, his palm warm and slightly calloused. He brushed his thumb over the swell of your breast.

"Look at her," Baelor said, his voice low and rough. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"

Maekar watched his brother's hand on you, and instead of the anger you might have expected, he let out a groan of agreement, his own hand coming to rest on your hip, gripping you hard.

He descended upon you, and took your nipple into his mouth. The sensation was sharp and wet. He licked the tight peak, his tongue swirling around before sucking hard, drawing a cry from your lips. He didn't linger there long, his need was too great. He kissed a trail down your stomach until he reached the apex of your thighs, leaned in and gave your clit a few quick, firm licks, tasting the wetness Baelor had drawn from you. The touch was fleeting but intense, sending a jolt of pleasure through your nerves that made your back arch off the mattress.

Then he rose up, his hands moving to the laces of his breeches. He worked them frantically, his cock springing forth, thick and heavy and flushed with blood.

He paused then, his hand wrapping around the base of his shaft and looked you in the eye, his violet gaze searching yours, checking, making sure you actually wanted this despite the circumstances, despite the audience. The stern, judgmental mask was gone, leaving only a man desperate for connection.

You nodded. "Please," you whispered.

Maekar positioned himself between your legs, spreading your thighs wider with his knees, and guided the head of his cock to your entrance, pushing forward slowly. The stretch was immediate and intense. He was big, thicker than you had imagined, and your body, though wet, resisted the intrusion.

He entered you inch by inch, his jaw clenched tight with the effort of holding back. There was a lot of discomfort, a burning sting as your body adjusted to the sudden invasion. You gasped, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you, your eyes squeezing shut.

Baelor's hand moved to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with a tenderness that belied the raw scene. He watched your expression shift as Maekar filled you, cataloguing every wince and flutter of your lashes.

"There you are," Baelor murmured. "You are alright. Just breathe for him."

Maekar seated himself fully inside you, his hips flush against yours, and stilled. He seemed overwhelmed, his body trembling slightly as he fought for control. The initial sting began to fade, replaced by a dull, heavy ache that throbbed in time with your heartbeat.

He began to move. At first, his thrusts were shallow, experimental. The friction was strange, but as he found a rhythm, the discomfort began to recede, melting into something else. It started to feel good. The fullness, the drag of his cock against your inner walls, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Maekar truly could not believe he had denied himself this for so long. You were perfect. You felt incredible, tight and hot and wet, gripping him like a velvet fist. He had been a fool to sleep in the cold when he could have been in your warmth.

"Do you like how that feels?" Baelor asked from his perch on the side of the bed. His eyes were locked on the place where you and Maekar were joined.

You nodded frantically, unable to form words, your breath coming in short pants.

"Tell him," Baelor commanded, his voice firm.

"Yes,"  your voice breaking on a moan as Maekar rolled his hips. "So good, Maekar."

"Good girl," Baelor praised. He sat back and watched, a dark, satisfied figure in the corner of your vision, while Maekar fucked you.

Maekar, however, did not like where your attention lay. He was moving faster now, properly fucking you, the bed creaking rhythmically beneath you. Your moans and screams were filling the room, driving him crazy, but he wanted them for himself.

With a growl, he reached up and turned your face away from Baelor with one hand, gripping your chin firmly and pulling your attention back to him. He forced you to look into his violet eyes, to see only him.

"Mine," he grunted, the word punched out of him with a sharp thrust. "You are mine. I was a fool, a stupid, stubborn fool, but I am here now."

He began to whisper nasty things to you, filth that shocked your ears but inflamed your blood. He apologised for neglecting you in the same breath that he praised your sweet cunt, telling you how tight you were, how good you felt milking his cock, how he was going to fuck you every night to make up for lost time.

He grabbed your leg, hooking your knee and pushing it up toward his shoulder. The new position folded you nearly in half, changing the angle of his penetration. He slid so incredibly deep that you cried out, a mewling sound that was half-pleasure, half-pain. He was hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars, a place that felt too sensitive to be touched.

"Come on," Maekar urged, his voice ragged. "Give it to me. Let me feel you."

The pressure built to a breaking point. The coil in your belly tightened until it snapped. Your inner walls clamped down around him, rippling and fluttering as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Maekar followed you shortly after. You felt him pulse inside you, his cock jerking as he spilled his seed deep into your womb, filling you with heat. He thrust through his release, riding out the aftershocks, marking you.

You were exhausted.

Maekar removed himself from you slowly. He leaned over you, placing a gentle, almost reverent kiss on your forehead before lying down beside you with a groan. He didn't bother to cover himself or tuck himself away, leaving his cock to lay against his thigh, still glistening with your combined fluids.

You lay there with your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath, your body humming with the aftershocks of the most intense experience of your life.

Then a shadow fell over you.

You opened your eyes, blinking against the dim light. Baelor was standing over you. He had unlaced his breeches while you were recovering, and he was stroking himself slowly, his eyes locked on yours. There was no hesitation in him, only a dark, expectant demand.

Maekar sat up, propping himself on his elbow. He looked at his brother with an expression that was somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion.

Baelor did not look at him, his gaze was only for you.

"Surely," he said, his voice smooth and dangerous, "you would not allow me to go unsatisfied."

The wind swept across the tourney grounds this morning, making the tents ripple and banners whip. Dust whirled with each hoof pawing the ground. Layla coughed a little and waved off a fly from her face. She cast a glance across the field of trampled grass and the early morning sun casting its soft but quite ominous glow onto the jousting grounds. 

Meeko took a step back and looked her over. With the help of Tanselle they had bound her chest tightly again, more so than before to make the armour fit. They had applied a dark stubble shadow onto her jaw, darkened her brows. Her hair was now hidden beneath the padding and once she’d slip a helmet on no one would know who was underneath. 

“Don’t fidget with anything once you’re mounted.” Meeko said after checking every piece of armour one more time, making sure each possible weak spot was covered. “And remember what we said. First pass, do not try to win. Just stay in the saddle. Keep your shield high. Let the horse do what it was taught. You do not aim for glory, you aim for surviving the first hit.” 

Layla flexed her hand around the grip of her shield. A light smile curled her lips. “You say that as though surviving the second and third will be simpler.” 

“It won’t be, but we already knew that.” He adjusted the shield a bit and settled it properly against her left side. 

She exhaled through her nose and watched him surround her horse, checking the girth again. He had done this twice already. She had the feeling he was more nervous than she was about this joust. She looked over across the field again with the long wooden barrier dividing the riders. At the far end, she noticed the royal viewing stand rising above the rest. It was carved from timber and draped in cloth. Even at this distance she could pick Baelor out immediately. He had some sort of presence that made it impossible to ignore. He sat slightly forward, one arm resting against the arm of his seat as he spoke to Lord Ashford. 

When she had heard who she was going to go up against in her first joust she had kept wondering if this had been his doing. Out of all five favoured champions she was paired up against none other than his son, Prince Valarr. 

Meeko followed the direction of her gaze. “Don’t look up there.” 

“I wasn’t.” She said quickly and looked back at him. 

He chuckled as he looked up at her. Then, their attention was drawn as the crowd started chanting Prince Valarr’s name as he was brought into position too. 

“The crowd likes underdogs only after they survive the first pass. Until then they prefer princes. So let them shout for him. It costs you nothing.” Meeko patted her thigh. 

Her mare, which she had borrowed as she did not want to risk losing her own, tossed her head against the bit, ears twitching at the loud noises. She stamped her hoof against the dirt. Layla tightened the reins a bit too quickly. 

“Not so hard,” Meeko said. 

“She’s fighting me.” 

“Because you’re too hard. You need to relax.” 

She forced her fingers to unclench. The mare’s mouth slowly relaxed. Meeko laid a hand flat against her neck and spoke to the horse, “Poor foolish thing. No one has told you your rider is a menace.”

“Hey!” She swatted his hand and chuckled. “Enough now. If you keep fussing about us we’ll both be nervous wrecks before the first round.” 

The herald just then announced the next pairing, “From the far north we welcome Luca Mormont. And his opponent, Prince Valarr Targaryen.” 

The crowd burst into cheers and applause and whistles again. Layla felt her heart skip a beat and she slipped her helmet on, the world around her narrowing to a slit. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears and her hot breath filling the helmet. She adjusted the grip on her shield once more and took the lance Meeko offered her. She carefully settled it into the rest and nearly dropped the butt on the first attempt. 

Meeko’s hand shot up, steadying before anyone noticed. “Easy.”

She shut her eyes for half a heartbeat and opened them again. 

I know how to hold a lance.

“Ignore the crowd. Your only focus is your opponent, your shield, your horse and your lance. Nothing and no one else exists for the upcoming minutes.” 

She nodded and looked back across the list, focusing on the young prince. “If the gods are kind, he’ll underestimate me. Like they all do.” 

“Good luck.” He stepped back as Layla touched her heels to the mare’s side and the horse moved reluctantly at first but then seemed to calm. Lalya tried to ignore the comments from the men on the sidelines. 

“Too lean for a Mormont!” 

“Mind the prince doesn’t snap him in half!” 

They laughed, but Layla kept her eyes ahead. She wheeled the mare into place at her end of the barrier. She took in the prince doing the same on his end, aligning himself perfectly with the barrier. It was clear that this was not his first joust and for a second it made her aware of her own little imperfections. She chided herself and pushed these thoughts aside quickly. 

Her mare shifted beneath her, tossing her head once more. She adjusted the reins. Her shield felt heavier with every passing moment, her arm already beginning to tire from holding it high. Valarr lowered his lance slightly, testing its balance. She saw a servant stepping in and making small adjustments to the prince’s stirrup. When the man stepped away, Valarr rolled his shoulder once, settling into position. 

Layla swallowed. This is it. This was the moment of truth. A horn was blown once, a man called, “Hold!” 

She brought her shield up a bit more, angling it across her body as Meeko had shown her. 

“Not too high! If you leave your lower torso open any rider would take it. But not too low either! Leave the shoulder exposed and the impact would twist you clean out of the saddle.” 

“Lances!” 

She shifted hers into place, tucking the butt more firmly beneath her arm. She tried to remember the angle Meeko told her to hold. Slightly downward, not level. Let the point meet the shield, not glance off. 

The silence was almost unbearable and her pulse first quickened, then slowed a bit. 

“Riders ready!” 

Layla leaned forward a bit and the mare beneath her must have noticed as her muscles tightened too. Then, the horn sounded again. She drove her heels into the mare’s sides and for a split second nothing happened. But then the horse suddenly surged forward.

The rhythm of the gallop slammed through her legs, into her spine, into her skull. The lance wavered a bit in her grip, the tip bobbing as she fought to steady it. Valarr was approaching fast and much steadier. She reacted too late and the impact hit her like a hammer. 

Wood struck her shield, the force slammed into her shoulder, drove through her arm and into her chest. It knocked the breath out of her lungs and for one sickening moment she felt herself tilting out of balance. Her grip failed and her lance tore free from her hold, spinning away. She clung to the reins and her saddle with all her might though. 

Don’t fall, don’t fall, DO NO FALL!

The mare kept surging forward a bit more before it slowed under her uneven guidance. Layla gasped for breath that burned all the way into her lungs. She panted and patted the mare. She was still mounted, barely but she did not fall. 

She blinked the sweat from her eyes as the shouts and cheers from the stands reached her eyes then. Her arm throbbed and her shoulder felt as though it had been driven half out of its socket. She turned her head and saw Valarr had already reined in, his lance was shattered, just as much as hers. She steadied her breath as much as possible, hoping the pain would pass quickly. 

“My…my lord?” a young boy had approached her, holding out another lance.  

She reached down and took the lance from him. “Thank you.” She said. 

The boy blinked, then nodded quickly and scrambled away. She shifted the new lance in position. Across the field, Valarr had lowered his visor again and adjusted his new lance as well. 

“Second pass!” The man called again. 

The crowd was even louder this time. Since the first pass had not ended in quick humiliation she could almost feel the shift in their tones. They might wonder who this ‘underdog’ was that had managed to break lance with the prince and stay in their saddle. 

“Ready!”

The horn sounded again and this time the mare reacted immediately. Layla managed to absorb the impact of the horse beneath her much better. The lance began shaking again, the tip wavering but she forced it to steady. She lowered the tip, aligned it better than before. 

She braced herself for the next impact, the crack of wood was almost deafening this time. She felt a jolt running up her arm as she noticed the tip connected with something solid. His shield! But the moment of surprise was over quickly as she felt his own lance slamming into her shield, skidding slightly and twisting her body sideways. Her shoulder screamed, the saddle shifted under her and her left foot slipped in the stirrup. For one terrifying moment, she was no longer centered. 

The world around her tilted, she saw her horse, the sky, the barrier, the royal stand. Her right hand wrenched the reins too hard and the mare jerked its head, stumbling half a stride. The disruption suddenly threw her weight back into the saddle instead of out of it. Her spine burned like fire as she slammed down hard. Her lance had shattered fully this time, splintered apart on impact, but she barely took notice. She was still mounted. 

She hauled the horse back, it protested a little, tossing its head but slowed down after all. Layla sucked in air desperately behind her helm. Her arm felt like it was struck with a mace, her shoulder burned and her spine felt cracked. 

It felt like time had passed in the blink of an eye and she found herself lined up again with a new lance. Once the horn had blown again, the mare sprang forward faster, the hooves hammering onto the ground. Valarr’s lance struck her shield dead center and again she was lifted out of the saddle a bit but she squeezed her legs tightly, holding on as her lance struck too, not as clean but with just as much force. 

The horse thundered on and turned. Layla bit her tongue to prevent herself from screaming in pain. She blinked her eyes back into focus and furrowed her brow. Valarr was gone. But his horse was still there. She noticed the silence in the stands and just then spotted the prince lying in the dirt beyond the barrier. She stared at him rolling and coming to a stop.

And suddenly the crowd broke into a roaring thunder of shock, disbelief and pure exhilaration. Layla remained frozen in her saddle, her chest heaving inside her armour and her arm trembled uncontrollably. 

She failed to understand what had just happened. She hadn’t struck clean, had she? No, she definitely had not. The angle had been all wrong, but something must’ve happened. 

Move. You have to move again.

She tightened the grip on the reins and watched Valarr. He rolled onto one knee, bracing a gauntleted hand against the ground before he pushed himself upright. He reached up and removed his helmet, passing it to a waiting squire. He then looked over at her and finally gave a short, sharp nod. 

Layla exhaled slowly. She really had managed to win this first round. Meeko came rushing over. 

“You did it!” 

She was going to remove her helmet but he stopped her. “What?” She asked. 

“You’re sweating under that thing, we cannot risk the dye from melting all over your face.” 

“Oh…right…” She muttered. She then looked back toward the Prince limping a little as he moved off the field. Her eyes then lifted to the royal stand. Baelor sat calmly like before, but something about his look was more…intense. 

Plummer just then approached. “Luca Mormont!” He called. 

Layla straightened in the saddle. 

“You are the victor of this tilt!” 

She inclined her head and turned the mare slightly and guided her away from the center of the lists as the attendants moved in to reset the field for the next bout. Meeko walked by her side and helped her dismount behind the pavilions. Her legs almost gave out, but he caught her by the arm. 

“Walk, we need to get you back to the tavern.” 

Once they had closed the door of her room in the tavern, she removed the helmet. Much to their surprise, the dye had not smeared too much. She stood in the middle of the room for a moment, unable to move. 

Then, the event came crashing down at once and her hands began shaking. Meeko took the helmet and set it aside, then led her to the bed. 

“Sit and drink some water.” He handed her a cup. She gulped it down like a drowning person who just crossed the desert. 

Meanwhile, Meeko had begun unfastening the straps at her back, while Tanselle fetched warm water and washing cloths. 

“You fought bravely today.” He said. 

Layla let out a long breath and chuckled. “Barely.” 

“Well, barely counts.” He said amused. 

He removed the breastplate next and Layla felt so much better as that weight had been taken off of her. She drew in a breath and winced. A sharp pain flared in her ribs, stopping her from inhaling too deeply. She bent forward and pressed one hand against her thigh. 

“Easy, don’t rush yourself.” Meeko said. 

Tanselle reached out and gently pressed along her side. “Nothing seems broken.” She said. “Bruised though. Quite a lot. You’ll unfortunately feel it worse in an hour.”

“I already feel it,” Layla mumbled. 

The two of them worked in silence. Tanselle washed her carefully, while Meeko fetched new clothes from the wardrobe. He cast a glance at her and saw her eyes swimming. He knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. 

“You angled your shield wrong.” He said. 

“I know.” 

“You nearly fell from your horse.” 

“I know.” She grumbled.

“You leaned too early on the third.”

“I know,” she snapped. 

He then smiled. “Good.” 

“Good?” She tilted her head. 

“You know what you did wrong. That means you might not do it again. And despite it all…you unhorsed the prince.” He grinned cheekily. 

A light laugh escaped her. “I did, didn’t I?” 

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. All three of them froze. Meeko rose and moved to the door, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. 

“A message,” came the reply from the other side. It was a young man’s voice. “For…” he seemed to hesitate. “...for Luca Mormont.” 

Meeko glanced back at her and she nodded. He opened the door just enough to take the folded parchment from the boy. He closed the door and turned toward her, holding the note between his fingers. Layla’s eyes widened as she noticed the three-headed dragon seal. 

“Open it.” She said. 

Meeko broke the seal and his eyes flew over the content quickly. Then again, more slowly. 

“Meeko? What is it?” She asked. 

He looked at her. “It’s an invitation.”

She waved her hands to spur him on to continue. 

“To dine with Lord Ashford.” He paused. “And the Targaryen princes.” 

That could not be true, could it? She shook her head and looked up at him. “Tonight?”

He nodded. He handed her the note and she read it too, then dropped her hand. 

How am I going to make it through an entire dinner in his presence?

When you packed your suitcase, you knew you wouldn't need too much. A couple of dresses and swimsuits to tan while your boyfriend feels like a true captain of the ship.

Valarr takes all the communication and organizing upon himself. He is also the one who carries your small bag in his hands with the most carefree expression. And let's not even mention the grace with which he pulls out his credit card (you already worked out that he pays for everything on vacation).

He is a gentleman. He is a romantic. He never lets you forget it. Not when he holds the door to your room for you, not when you sneak away to the beach in the evening. You settle onto a single lounge chair, pressing against each other in a way that takes up only half of the space. You watch the sunset with a chilled bottle of rosé, your hands intertwined (wearing matching bracelets you bought in France).

You took quite a few photos, mostly on the sly. Later, Valarr asked to see them and seemed almost shy, because they showed how you saw him from the outside.

This trip felt like summer wrapped in champagne colored fabric, with the scent of salt and strawberries.

𝗱𝗮𝗲𝗿𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻

Daeron is a regular in Spain. He has already explored every narrow street, every club, every cafe, and every restaurant. He is not the type to lock himself in a hotel and only venture down to the local pool from a distance. His escape from a sanitized, picture perfect vacation is obvious. He wants your summer together (and you chose the hottest season) to be unforgettable. And, of course, let's not forget that if he lies in bed staring at the ceiling, he will torment himself with questions. "Did I do everything right? Does she like it?"

It truly was not like anyone else's vacation, starting with the fact that you rented a cozy little house by the Mediterranean coast. And ending with the fact that this was a trip for three. You, him, and your dog. Daeron said it would be cruel to leave your sweet family member at home.

Daeron seemed to sparkle with energy. The moment you landed in Barcelona, he immediately whisked you off to his favorite spots. Honestly, you ran out of fingers counting how many times he said, "Oh, this is my favorite place!"

Is Daeron a football fan? No. But that doesn't stop him from proudly announcing to every passerby that he supports Barcelona.

You remember spending an entire day wandering through the Gothic Quarter. All you heard was, "Oh, let me take your picture here!" Later, you would find over two hundred photos, all looking nearly identical. "Pick the best ones… your eyes are closed in this one." After saying that, he would run off not like a grown man, but like a child, letting out a bright, playful laugh.

Daeron is the type to order a drink he has never tried before, choke on it while drinking it, and still declare that its flavor is "niche"?!

This trip was an explosive summer, like a fizzy candy melting on your tongue, leaving behind sweetness and laughter, all wrapped in the warm yellow rays of the sun.

𝗮𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻

Where should you go to show that you have enough money? Aerion honestly didn't really ask if you wanted to. As if everything was already obvious. Especially since he is ready to spend astronomical sums for your comfort. Aerion will gladly go with you to a boutique, he will even show patience while you parade in front of him in a new outfit. He will lounge on the sofa with the grace of a typical hero from 2000s movies. Afterwards, with a smug expression, he will carry the bags with your purchases in one hand while holding your waist with the other, as if saying whose girl you are with that single gesture.

In the evening, you have dinner on a yacht, gently swaying on the waves as if dancing. Gold touches your hair, and the table groans under the weight of various dishes. Lobster, crab, mussels, and what seems like a million other things. Not to mention dessert. Everything you love. Everything you want. Champagne that you probably won't even finish — should we even mention that the bottle costs almost as much as someone else's entire vacation?

At night, you won't sleep. You'll be tearing through the night streets in a sports car with loud music. The roof is down, and the wind whips through your hair. You can only just count the lights of the cars slipping away from you, though actually you are the one overtaking everyone. The engine roars like a wild beast. Aerion's hand is on your thigh, and there is not a trace of fear in his eyes, only pure thrill and adrenaline. He presses harder on the gas, even though neither of you are wearing seatbelts. You weave through the turns, but Aerion drives so confidently that you never doubt him for a second.

You return to your enormous suite still laughing, remembering how your blood boiled like molten lava, how you tamed the roads with that insane passion. Even when the water in the shower touches your skin, your body trembles with excitement.

This trip felt like a thunderstorm on a hot summer night, its silver flashes ringing like swords, and afterwards, you were wrapped in the soft, plush white of a hotel bathrobe, stirring a strange, restless peace…?

𝗯𝗮𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻

Your trip could be described in one sentence: happiness loves silence. You said you were going to Italy quietly, as if it were something insignificant. You packed unhurriedly, without fuss. In Baelor's suitcase, a couple of your dresses were neatly placed. In your bag, his razor rested. You took very few things. It felt like a small escape from the whole world.

Baelor acted like an explorer. You walked behind him, feeling that even in this minor situation, he was your valiant knight.

Your villa was a secluded spot, a paradise on earth. There you spent your quiet evenings and mornings, filled with the velvet sound of a record player. Jazz flowed like a calm, smooth river. Baelor hummed under his breath, so softly that he sounded like a purring cat. It was an honor for you to choose the record, as if the tone of your whole day depended on it.

Baelor lifted you into his arms, carrying you to your bedroom like a bride, swearing that you were lighter than a feather. He was polite to everyone around him, speaking without a trace of an accent. In Italy, he started calling you sweet names like "mia bella", "mia amata", "mia cara", and "tesoro mio". And truly, many suspected it. Passersby would turn to look at you with approval and admiration. You were a beautiful couple.

When you didn't eat at a restaurant, Baelor tried to impress you with his cooking. He stood at the stove, intently stirring a future sauce. It was a powerful image, but not at all rare. Baelor might even admit, slightly shyly, that the pasta hadn't turned out exactly as he had planned. Was it that delicious? He was being modest (obviously). Because afterwards, a satisfied expression would linger on his face.

He would choose a good wine, one that you loved. He remembered everything. He remembered how your earring seemed to disappear into the earth, and how a neat little box appeared on your pillow with new earrings — those very same ones, your favorites.

This trip felt like a world where only the two of you existed, and you needed nothing more. Like a scoop of ice cream melting in a glass bowl, left unnoticed, but still just as sweet.

𝗹𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗹 𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗼𝗻

Planning and Lyonel are highly incompatible things. Your vacation happened as suddenly as snow falling in the middle of August. As always, you were choosing a film. It wasn't a very civilized process. Whoever grabs the remote first gets to choose. In the middle of the movie, Lyonel simply announced, "We're going to Cuba, my precious." Arguing with him is like throwing accusations at a wall. He would be deaf to your grumbling.

Why Cuba? If only he knew the answer himself. Cigars? It was cliché, but that seemed to be his main argument in favor. And besides, Cuba somehow embodied, to some extent, his own burst of colors, the noise of honking cars lined up in uneven rows, street musicians singing loudly with soul.

You almost missed your flight, but he declared they would wait for you. And they did. He even had time to tell a few jokes to the girl carefully checking your tickets. Throughout the trip, he kept joking with you. Whenever he got bored, he would simply tickle you, saying, "There. There she is, that's my girl. I love your laugh."

When you checked in, you had no energy left. Lyonel scooped you up along with your suitcases, throwing you over his shoulder almost like your handbag. You rested for an hour or two before getting ready for an evening walk. He already started scaring you that a sea urchin would latch onto your legs. You argued. Because it wasn't that funny when he found them. But you quickly made up with kisses.

He's not the type to be shy. His hand never leaves your thigh. You bickered with each other a lot. The white rumpled sheets of your hotel room became your surrender.

You woke up hungover, it seems, after spending the whole night celebrating with the local rum. There's even a whole museum dedicated to it, by the way. Lyonel said it was boring, and not too secretly drank that very rum, showering you in royal compliments.

You went to a beach outside the city, a more resort style one. He grumbled. He prefers wild, rocky beaches. But he gave in, gripping the leather steering wheel of his rented retro car. You also danced almost as often as you drank. Does he know how to dance salsa? It doesn't matter. In an hour, you'll know how to dance it too.

This trip was as spontaneous and as explosive as a firework in the middle of a dark night. It was a celebration that you would keep in your heart forever.

𝗱𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗹

Do you even need to say that this trip was something incredibly tender? Duncan saved up for it carefully and diligently, having sworn that you would never want for anything. You saw his effort, and your eyes would sting with tears involuntarily. This was so much more than just a vacation together. His intentions were so honest that doubting them would have been the ultimate insult.

You could spend the entire night walking along the beach, your hands never parting, so tightly glued to each other. You chatted about everything and nothing at once, but you knew for certain that when you returned home, you would look at each other differently — more deeply.

When the girl at the coffee shop called you his girlfriend, Duncan got adorably flustered but nodded so enthusiastically that a silly smile spread across your face as well.

He carefully applied cream to your skin, his touches gentle, even though you were already boyfriend and girlfriend. He was so respectful and awkward… as if in a past life he had been a true, huge, but gentle knight.

You weren't supposed to be riding the waves, but Duncan was very good at surfing. He had never mentioned it before. You watched from the shore, mentally applauding every wave he conquered. But besides the beaches, you also visited plenty of parks, especially your mutual favorites with animals. Your photo gallery, and his too, was overflowing with adorable pictures of quokkas — little fluffy balls with black, bead like eyes. Also koalas and kangaroos, though you cautiously gave the latter a wide berth. Your knight promised he would protect you. It was said with such sweet sincerity that you truly wanted to cry.

This trip felt like a gentle surf. It kissed not your skin, but your very soul. It was wet footprints in the sand that were not washed away by the water, but remained as a pleasant, eternal memory.

𝗺𝗮𝗲𝗸𝗮𝗿 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻

There was no spontaneity in your trip. You planned everything meticulously with great care, choosing Switzerland as a stronghold of peace and quiet. Maekar certainly just wanted to let go of all his worries and anxieties, to simply allow himself not to worry about anything. If it were possible, he would have put "do not disturb" on his phone forever. But the burdens of fatherhood lay on him like a heavy weight. That's why the first thing he did when you landed was call his youngest son, making sure he was home and looked after. Daeron… probably wouldn't be the best babysitter. So Maekar never took his hand off his phone, as if he was already waiting for a text saying, "Dad, Egg burned down the house."

It was autumn, so you bundled up in a cashmere scarf. It was a little strange but endearing how your hand stayed hidden in Maekar's pocket. He pretended not to notice, until finally he offered you his gloves, concerned that you might be cold.

You walked unhurriedly, observing and memorizing every street, every little house, mapping them in your memory. You took only a few photos, but they meant everything to you. They were hints of your relationship, elusive but steadfast. Your pair of shoes and his, standing neatly in the hallway. His lighter and your hair clip on the nightstand. Your fingers barely intertwined, his pinky resting on yours. It said more than "I'm here."

You visited exactly as many places as you had planned, no more, no less. Mountain peaks appeared on the horizon, and it felt like… freedom. The air was clean and cool, and his gaze was calm, slightly tired, but belonging to you.

This trip was nothing other than a bird's flight. You cut through the blue of the sky, looking down at the world from your own great, but peaceful, height.