🧁

His eyes glared at the water as if he could command the fish to bite by sheer noble decree.

“They won’t bite if you keep scowling at them,” a bright voice chimed from behind him.

Aerion stiffened, his jaw tightening. He turned his head sharply, expecting a person sent by his father to drag him back to his lessons.

Instead, he saw you.

You were the daughter of Maekar’s most trusted ally, having arrived only an hour ago.

While the adults spoke of their business, you had wandered out into the sun, your heavy skirts already trailing in the damp grass.

You looked entirely out of place among the solemn guards, a little burst of warmth against the grey stones of summerhall.

“Go away,” Aerion snapped, turning back to the water, “You’ll frighten them.”

“You’re the one frightening them,” you retorted easily, completely unbothered by the venom in his tone.

You marched right up to his rock, your slippers squelching in the mud, and plopped down beside him without asking. “My father says that fishes can sense when someone is angry. They don’t like the energy.”

“Your father is a fool, and so are you,” he hissed, expecting you to cry or perhaps run back to the castle.

But you didn’t seem bothered as you tilted your head, watching the bobber dance on the ripples. “You’re doing it wrong anyway. The bait is too high.”

Aerion opened his mouth to deliver a cutting remark—something about how a dragon did not take lessons from a silly girl—but before the words could leave his lips, your smaller, warmer hands brushed against his.

You reached out, bypassing his defensive posture, and gently adjusted his grip on the handle, lowering the tip of the rod so the bait sank properly into the water.

The prince froze. No one touched him without permission. No one dared.

Yet, as the silence stretched between you, the bobber suddenly dipped aggressively. A heavy tug yanked the line down, nearly pulling the rod from his hands.

“See!” you gasped, your face lighting up with a blinding grin. “Pull, Aerion! Pull!”

Forgetting his pride, Aerion yanked the rod back with all his boyhood strength. A massive trout broke the surface, thrashing wildly and splashing mud and lakewater directly across his pristine tunic, and right into your face.

Aerion braced himself for the screaming. Noble girls and boys always screamed when they got dirty.

But then a bright laughter echoed across the banks. “Look at the size of it! We caught it!”

Aerion looked from the wiggling fish to your mud splattered face. His lips twitched, fighting a smile before he forced his features back into a proud mask.

“I caught it,” he corrected, though his voice lacked any real bite. “You merely watched.”

“We caught it,” you insisted, bending down to take a closer look at the trout.

Your father’s visit ended shortly after, and the brief, strange kinship evaporated into memory as the years pulled you both down separate paths.

Years slipped by like water through fingers, and when you finally returned to court as a young woman, the boy by the lake had become a man feared by the entire realm.

Aerion was breathtakingly beautiful, and notoriously cruel. He walked through court with a sharp tongue and a sharper temper, but that did not faze you.

From afar, Aerion watched you navigate the treacherous nature of court. You were a vision of light, offering warm smiles to the guards, listening patiently to the older women, and showing unfaltering kindness to everyone you crossed.

To him, it was grating. All noble ladies were trained to be sweet, performing acts of grace to secure a good match or win the favour of higher lords.

He waited for you to finally lose your cool.

But the day never came. No, the reality of your kindness crashed directly into him one afternoon near the small council chamber.

You were walking down the corridor with a butterfly that had landed on your arm when the doors of the chamber burst open.

A flurry of lords tumbled out into the hall, fleeing in terror. Among them was the master of coin, frantically wiping dark ink from his doublet with his bleeding hands, his face pale as death.

“Seven hells,” one of the other lords whispered hoarsely, scurrying past you. “The prince has lost his mind entirely!”

You stopped, watching the chaotic retreat. Instead of turning back like any sensible person would, you set the butterfly on a nearby branch and stepped through the heavy doors.

An iron candelabra laid overturned on the floor, dark wax spilling across the polished wood, and an inkwell had been shattered against the wall.

Aerion stood by the high window, his back to you. His shoulders were incredibly tense, and his chest was rising and falling with heavy, angry breaths.

“I thought I made it clear,” Aerion growled without turning, “The next soul to disturb me will lose their tongue.”

“Then it is a good thing I am capable of writing. I do not need my tongue.” you responded lightly, closing the heavy door behind you.

Aerion went still. He turned slowly, his stormy eyes dark with lingering rage. When his gaze landed on you, he let out a harsh, bitter scoff.

“Come to play the saint for me too?” he sneered, maintaining his distance. “Save your sweet smiles for the lords in the hall. I have no patience for your endless charity.”

You took a few measured steps into the room, keeping a respectful distance yourself.

“I don't think they don’t understand how stressful it can be,” you said softly, ignoring his cruel words. “they whisper and push, expecting you to sit quietly while they try to manage your family’s rights. It makes sense that you’d lose your patience when they refuse to listen.”

He stared at you from across the room, his mind struggling to process what he was hearing. He had expected an admonishment, or at the very least, fear.

“They are parasites,” Aerion muttered, his posture unlocking just a fraction. “They look at me as if I am mad because I refuse to let them dictate my bloodline’s terms.”

“I can see that,” you replied gently, giving a small smile. “They may be stressed as well, but no one should have to bend to their whim.”

The room went silent before you spoke again.

“Whenever the court gets too loud for me, I find that walking around the gardens helps. The fresh air is always calming.. maybe it would help you too. It’s quiet out there.”

The fire in his eyes flickered, clearly caught off guard by the suggestion. He stared at your face, the lines of his memory remembering the specific curve of your smile.

A breathless laugh escaped him.

“The gardens?” Aerion repeated, his voice dropping the edge it possessed just moments ago.

He took a step forward, assessing your form. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Years ago at Summerhall, you told me the fish wouldn’t bite because of my ‘anger.' Now you’re trying to herd me into the bushes to calm down.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, a soft laugh bubbling up. “You remember that?”

“I remember a girl pushing my hands around and getting me covered in mud,” he murmured.

He then let out a soft click of his tongue, turning to look at the doorway. “Fine. We will walk the gardens. But only because your previous method somehow worked.”

“Of course,” you smiled.

As the weeks progressed, a unique friendship blossomed between you.

Aerion still remained difficult as ever to the rest of the world, but your presence seemed to simmer that down.

The shift did not go unnoticed by the ladies of the court, leading to an afternoon that they wouldn’t stop gossiping about for days.

You were walking through the outer courtyard with a small retinue of noble ladies, the daughters of prominent lords from the Reach. They were talking endlessly, giggling as they spoke of whatever irrelevant topics crossed their minds.

“You must be careful, my dear,” one of the ladies said, leaning in closer to you. “Prince Aerion may be amused by your novelty but once he grows bored of playing with his new toy, you will be left with nothing but yourself.”

“He is a prince of the blood,” another lady chimed in, her voice tight. “They take what pleases them for a moment and cast it aside. Do not mistake a tyrant’s passing curiosity for actual regard.”

“Aerion simply values sincerity,” you replied, offering an unbothered smile. “There is no game being played.”

“You are far too gullible–” the former lady was cut when Aerion walked out from the room beside.

The ladies instantly adjusted their posture, immediately dropping to curtsies as he approached, each of them desperately hoping to catch the prince’s favour despite their previous warnings to you.

Aerion ignored them, his eyes locking firmly onto you.

Without a word of greeting, and completely disregarding decorum, he walked into the center of the group and stepped right into your space, his frame towering over you.

“You’re late,” his voice was low—meant strictly for you, though it carried across the hall.

“Late for what, my Prince?” you asked, tilting your head up to meet his gaze with your beaming expression.

“I am going to the cliffs, and you are coming with me,” he stated flatly.

Behind you, a collective intake of breath echoed from the ladies. Here he was, actively seeking you out, his attention consuming you and utterly shattering their spiteful claims that you were just a passing game.

You looked back at the girls, giving one last smile before parting from them. “Very well, my Prince, if you insist.”

“I do,” Aerion tilted his head, turning on his heel to fall into step right beside you, his side brushing against yours as he guided you out of the yard.

That would not be the first or last time the court would witness the two of you separating from the rest of the world.

During one evening, after failing in your search for Aerion through the whole castle, you found him alone in the secluded parts of the library.

He was sitting alone, staring dead at a massive volume of ancient Valyrian history.

“I am not in the mood for company,” he hissed out, “leave.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in worry before approaching and setting down a small plate of pastries on the corner of the table. You pulled out the empty chair beside him and sat down despite his request.

Reaching over the plate, you picked up a small pastry and held it right in front of his face, completely disregarding his brooding glare.

“Eat,” you insisted gently as Aerion still refused to acknowledge you. “You always go for these specific ones. I know you like them.”

His fingers that had been gripping the edge of the book twitched, and he finally turned his head to look at you.

The weight on his shoulders gradually disappeared as he looked at the pastry, then up at your fond expression.

Aerion didn’t move to take it from your hand. Keeping his intense gaze locked firmly onto yours, he leaned slightly forward.

Then, totally unprompted, he took a bite right out of the pastry while it was still held between your fingers.

A tiny giggle slipped past your lips, a bright warmth blooming all the way to the tips of your ears at the sheer intimacy of it.

You tried to bite your lip to hide your surprise, but your shoulders shook with quiet amusement as you looked into his smug face.

Aerion chewed slowly, the corners of his lips twitching at your giddy reaction.

“You are ridiculous,” he murmured as he swallowed.

“Maybe,” you agreed, your heart fluttering as you set the remaining half down onto the plate. “But it worked. You feel better already, don’t you?”

Aerion stared at you for a moment, drinking in your presence. He did feel better—the tight, suffocating knot in his chest had already unraveled. But it was certainly not because of the pastry.

Slowly, he hesitantly reached out across the small space between your chairs. With one deliberate movement, he dragged your chair until it hit his.

Then, his hand moved to flip over on the table with his palm facing up, his fingers sprawling open in a silent, stubborn invitation.

You, on the other hand, did not hesitate. You slid your hand into his palm, your fingers easily weaving through his.

Aerion squeezed your hand, his rings pressing firmly against your skin, though his touch was surprisingly careful.

However, the true demonstration of expanse that you two had built played out before the entire court during a grand feast, where Aerion’s attempt to maintain his reputation crumbled.

The feast was deafeningly loud.

You were seated next to Aerion by Prince Maekar.

Aerion had spent the first half of the feast interacting with other lords while you conversed with other ladies.

He was glaring at a group of lesser lords when he noticed your sudden silence. Just then, some of the lords he had been talking to earlier called out to him and he tried to force his eyes back on them.

Aerion was aware that you two were the topic of conversation as of late. He couldn’t let the people of court think he had gone soft. At least that was what his pride told him.

But the sight of your fragile form pulled at him like a physical anchor, shattering his resolve. His demeanor instantly changed.

He turned fully in his seat toward you, his cold stare evaporating.

“You’re pale,” Aerion murmured, voice stripped away of anything harsh. “What is it?”

“Just… a headache, Aerion,” you whispered softly, giving him a tired smile. “The noise is particularly loud tonight.”

Aerion didn’t waste a second as he gently used his hand to cradle the back of your head.

His fingers began combing through the loose parts of your hair, his thumb tracing circles down your temple to ease the pressure.

The chatter around the surrounding tables died down, dozens of eyes tracking his movements, yet no one dared to disrupt. They watched as Aerion paid no mind to everything else the moment you showed discomfort.

You leaned into his touch, a smile returning to your face. “Aerion… everyone is watching.”

Aerion let out a defeated sigh as he grinned. “Let them stare,” he concluded, his fingers tucking in a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve broken me anyway.”

Shifting his broad shoulders, he blocked the rest of the room from view, shielding you from prying eyes.

“You are tired,” he paused, “if anyone breathes a word about that, I will have their heads.”

“You can’t murder the entire court,” you teased, lifting your head up for a moment.

You set the book down as he stepped closer, your heart still doing that familiar flutter despite all those years.

Aerion closed the distance, his fingers reaching out to cup your chin, tilting your face up.

“You look so small in this massive bed,” he murmured, pointing out the change in furniture. “And so terribly lonely. Did you think I wouldn’t come to you tonight?”

“I didn’t know if you would be occupied with father, or… your training,” you replied, voice softer than you intended, showing just how easily your resolve melted the second he touched you.

Aerion let out a chuckle, tapping your cheek lightly before pulling his hand away to pace the length of your mattress.

“Father concerns himself with tedious matters of state, and the knights in the yard are dullards. None of them understand what truly matters.”

He stopped, turning his gaze back to you.

“But you understand, don’t you?” He stepped closer, the fabric of his doublet rustling as he leaned down, placing his hands on either side of your thighs, effectively pinning you into your own bed.

“Or have you been listening to the idle gossip of the septas again? Tell me you haven’t let those foolish people fill your pretty little head with their nonsense.”

You swallowed, gaze flickering back to his eyes. The weight of his presence was already making it hard to think straight. Your body instinctively curved into the space he occupied.

“They only speak of duty, brother. Of what is expected of a lady of our house when she comes of age.”

“Duty?” Aerion scoffed, shifting his weight so that his knees would sink into the soft mattress right between your thighs, parting them just enough to spark heat deep in your stomach.

“They know nothing of our duty. They worship a new god and preach to the common filth. They want to break us until we are nothing more than their ordinary selves.”

He reached out, fingers tangling into your hair, tugging it gently to force your head back.

His expression softened in a way that always made your chest ache with a desperate need to please him.

“It frightens you, doesn’t it?” Aerion whispered, his free hand coming down to stroke your thigh. “The thought of duty… being given away to some Lord. To have a man with foul blood touch you.”

You shivered, a small whimpering breath escaping your lips. You shook your head slightly against his grip. “I don’t want that. You know I don’t. I want to stay here with you.”

“I know you do, my clever girl,” Aerion murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed yours, leaving you breathless. “Your blood cannot be tainted. It is meant to stay pure, inside these walls. You know you are meant for me.”

But then the tender air vanished.

His hand on your thigh tightened, fingers digging in with bruising pressure that caught you off guard. His eyes darkened, a sudden cutting edge of disappointment slicing through his voice.

“Yet you still keep that final piece of yourself guarded,” he hissed softly, “you let the words of other people linger in your mind. I give you everything, and yet you withhold the one thing that ensures our bloodline remains pure. You do not live up to your claims. It wounds me, sister.”

The accusation cut straight through you.

The mere thought of displeasing him just because you didn’t understand the full weight of his demands made your chest tighten. You couldn’t bear his disappointment.

“No, Aerion, that’s not true,” you pleaded softly, hands automatically reaching up to grip his forearms. “I love you, more than anything.”

Aerion didn’t relent. He kept his gaze heavy and punishing as he looked down at your wide eyes.

“Do you?” he titled his head, a skeptical drawl that made tears prick the corners of your eyes.

“Words are easy, little sister.” He moved closer, his intoxicating scent engulfing you entirely. His lips brushed against the tip of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You said you love me?” he whispered filthily against your skin, the tone of his voice making your body ache in that foreign way.

“Of course I do,” you choked out, instinctively tilting up toward his knee as you practically begged for him to stop being angry with you. “Aerion, please, I do…”

You were instantly at his mercy, unraveled by nothing but your big brother’s words.

Aerion pulled back to look into your glassy eyes, a satisfied smirk finally breaking across his features.

“Then show me,” he commanded, his chin nodding upwards in your direction.

You didn’t even have time to nod before Aerion’s mouth slammed into yours. It was anything but gentle, his tongue forcing its way inside.

You whimpered into his mouth as his hands moved to the laces of your gown.

He didn’t tear them—not yet, but his fingers were slick and impatient, loosening the fabric until it pooled around your shoulders, exposing the curve of your breast.

His eyes raked over your skin. “Beautiful,” he purred, “So pure. So untouched.”

He leaned down, his hair brushing your cheek as his lips found the skin beneath your jaw. You made a light gasp, hands latching onto his shoulders.

Aerion chuckled softly against your skin, clearly pleased by how easily you melted under his touch.

He trailed a line of wet kisses down the column of your neck, his tongue tasting the frantic pulse ticking in your throat before moving lower.

When the fabric of your dress got in the way, he ripped it apart completely, throwing it somewhere onto the floor of your chamber.

Aerion paused at the sight of your naked body, his lips parting as his eyes explored every curve.

His mouth found its way back to your skin. Closing over the sensitive peak of your breast, his tongue began circling snd sucking, leaving marks.

A broken whimper escaped your lips, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He dragged his hands over your sides, smoothing over your waist before his fingers brushed your inner thigh, moving higher until he pressed against your center.

You were already slick, a needy wetness coating his fingers.

“See?” Aerion whispered, his eyes dilating with primal lust. “Your body knows exactly who it belongs to. You’re this wet and I haven't even touched you.”

The intensity in his gaze made your throat tight. He started undressing as you laid beneath him, chest heaving.

You couldn’t help but look down as he took his pants off, eyes trailing his every move.

You knew you desperately needed his approval, but as he positioned himself between your thighs, a sudden wave of panic hit you. You’d never felt anything so large pressing against your entrance.

“Aerion, wait,” you breathed, your voice small as you looked into his eyes. “I’m scared… It’s too.. it’s going to hurt.”

“It will,” he growled softly, “But you’re going to take it aren’t you? You’re not going to disappoint your brother, hm?”

He didn’t give you a chance to protest further. Placing one hand beside your head, Aerion pushed himself forward with heavy deliberation.

The barrier of your maidenhead gave way with a painful burning sting. A cry tore from your throat, tears immediately pricking your eyes as he drove deeper, breaching you completely until he was fully buried in.

The fullness was staggering, a deep ache forming around your walls as they stretched to make room for him.

Aerion stayed still for a moment, letting you absorb the size of him. He looked down at your tear stained face, a terrifyingly soft, mocking smile splayed on his face as he watched you tremble beneath him.

“Look at you,” he cooed, his voice a low, sweet purr of mock sympathy. “Crying over a little sting? My poor, fragile sister. It hurts, doesn’t it?”

You could only nod weakly as your hands clutched at his shoulders.

“But you bore it for your brother, didn’t you?” Aerion murmured, his tone shifting to give you the validation you so badly needed.

He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your damp cheek. “Good girl. Such a loyal little dragon.”

Before you were able to process his words, his hands locked onto your hips. With a sudden roll of his hips, he began to move inside you.

The abrupt friction hit your freshly torn walls and you let out a needy wail, your head tossing back into the pillows.

The sensation was overwhelming. A blurry rush of heat and a sharp blinding pleasure began to form deep in your lower stomach.

“Aerion–ah! Please, it’s too–”

“Too much?” he tutted, a breathy laugh escaping him as he quickened his pace, his thrusts getting deeper, harder, driving you into a euphoric state. “It’s exactly what you deserve. You belong to me now, you always have.”

You moaned, whimpering at the onslaught of his words and the brutal force of his thrusts. Your walls clenched frantically around him, pulling him deeper with every stroke.

Aerion’s features were taut, his jaw clenched as he stared down at you.

He was consumed by the sight of your submission, his eyes roaming all over your body while he delivered heavy strokes that hit the sensitive spot of your cunt.

A high, breathless cry broke from your throat. You clawed into the muscles of his back and your vision went blurry as your climax crashed over you.

You buried your face in his neck, sobbing his name into his skin as you drowned in the sensation.

“There it is,” Aerion praised as he felt you pulsing around him. He didn’t slow down, chasing his own release with ruthless friction.

It didn’t take long before his frame went rigid, his hips shuddering as he released his seed deep inside your freshly claimed warmth.

Aerion remained heavy and unmoving over you, his breathing slowly steadying against your neck.

He didn’t pull away, keeping you anchored under him, making sure you felt every ounce of his weight.

After a while, he shifted, lifting his head to look down at you. His fingers traced a lazy path up your arm, ignoring the way you still trembled.

“Look at what we’ve done,” he murmured as his thumb caressed your flushed cheek. “You were so frightened over nothing. All that worrying, and for what? You liked it, didn’t you, my sweet girl?”

A deeper blush burnt through your face, but you didn’t look away. “Because it was you,” you responded, still breathless.

Aerion grinned at that, thoroughly satisfied. “Never forget that, little dragon.”

The atmosphere felt entirely claustrophobic.

Aerion sat in front of you, while Daeron sat a few seats down, slouched over his chalice, already half drunk as he stared blankly into his wine.

"You disappeared from the library rather early this afternoon, sweet sister," Aerion’s voice suddenly sliced through the silence, a lazy hum.

You stiffened, your fork hovering inches from your plate. You hazarded a glance up, your heart beating quicker, "I finished my reading, brother. I wanted to walk the gardens."

"Did you?" Aerion murmured, his silver hair catching the glow of the torches as a smirk burned across his lips. "Fascinating. I wonder what or who you found out there to keep you so preoccupied."

Maekar grunted from the head of the table without even looking up, his deep voice interrupting. "Eat your food, girl. Stop playing with it."

"Yes, Father," you mumbled quickly, your lips pouting as you lowered your gaze.

But beneath the heavy tablecloth, Aerion—or rather his leg—was already moving.

You felt the heavy leather of his boot slowly brush against your ankle. You froze, your breath hitching.

You didn't move, praying he would stop, but the tip of his boot began a slow, deliberate ascent up the inside of your calf.

The rough leather dragged against your skin with agonizing friction that sent a sharp spike of heat straight to your core, making your thighs instinctively tighten.

You glared at his neck, trying your absolute best to avoid eye contact, but his unrelenting movements forced your gaze upward.

Aerion was already waiting for you.

Completely unbothered by Maekar's presence, he slowly dipped his silver spoon into his soup, lifting it to his lips.

His eyes locked onto yours as his tongue slowly, filthily slipped out, licking the spoon with a wet intentional stroke.

He dragged his tongue all the way up and down the metal, his eyes darkening with a hunger that made his intentions explicitly clear.

It was a silent, graphic promise of exactly what he wanted to do to your body later, and it made your stomach flip with a violent burst of terror and lust.

You tore your eyes away, your face flushing as you tried to focus on your breathing. But Aerion wasn't finished.

His leg extended further under the table, his foot shifting with calculated precision until the edge of his boot pressed firmly into the sensitive, aching junction between your thighs.

A sharp gasp nearly escaped your lips, turning into a muffled choke. The heat was immediate, a traitorous, uncontrollable wetness instantly blooming beneath your skirt as he began to apply a slow, rhythmic pressure right against your clit.

Your body betrayed you instantly. The friction of the leather through your layers was excruciatingly perfect, coiling a tight knot deep in your lower stomach.

Your inner walls flexed, pulsing around a deep, sudden ache. You wanted so badly to lean into the pressure, to rock against the hard heel of his boot just to find a fraction of relief, but you had to resist rocking against your chair.

You had to lock your spine completely rigid, your nails digging into the chair as you gripped the edge of it with great force.

One wrong movement, one soft moan, and your father's unforgiving eyes would snap directly to you.

You knew you were both in catastrophic trouble if your father noticed, and the absolute danger of it only seemed to make amuse Aerion as he watched you suffer.

He pressed harder, his heel grinding slowly through your fabrics, trying to break your composure.

Small tears of frustration and overwhelming heat pricked the corners of your eyes. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to ground yourself as your pussy clenched helplessly under the table.

Then, Maekar’s heavy voice boomed through the silence again. "Aerion. The squires reported you left the training grounds early today as well. I expect your full attention on the field tomorrow."

Your heart stopped. Your entire body locked up in pure terror. Aerion’s foot didn't move, in fact, at the sound of Maekar's voice, he dug his heel deeper, right into your pulsing center.

"Of course," Aerion responded, his expression entirely unbothered as he looked across at your flustered face. "I was merely... preoccupied with other matters."

Beneath the table, he made a sudden, heavy rub of his heel, grinding right over your stimulated clit while Maekar was looking down.

The combination of the terrifying proximity of your father and the relentless, hard friction was too much. The coil snapped.

Right under Maekar's nose, a violent release crashed over you. Your inner walls clamped down frantically, pulsing in tight, desperate waves.

A sharp, breathless wail tore from your throat before you could stop it. A high, undeniable sound of pleasure.

In a flash of pure panic, you grabbed your napkin, bringing it to your face a second too late. The high, needy whine escaping into the room before being forced into a frantic sneeze.

The cover up was terrible. The sound had been too long and too desperate to sound like a real sneeze.

The table fell completely silent. You kept the napkin pressed tightly over your nose and mouth, your shoulders trembling as your release continued to roll through you beneath the table.

Your face was burning crimson, your eyes watering heavily, and your chest was heaving so noticeably under your gown that anyone looking could see you were out of breath.

Maekar paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, his eyes snapping up to look at you.

He stared for a tense second, his brow furrowing as he evaluated your deeply flushed skin, your shaking shoulders, and the watery look in your eyes.

Daeron also paused his drinking, squinting at you in confusion over his chalice.

"You're coming down with a fever," Maekar grunted eventually, his voice laced with disapproval as he chose to attribute the strange breathless noise to illness.

He returned to his food, though his jaw remained tight. "Go to your chambers immediately and have the Maester bring you some tea. I won't have sickness sweeping through our family."

"Yes, Father," you choked out, your voice unsteady from the aftermath you were still riding out.

Across the table, Aerion’s smirk widened into a triumphant grin, thrilled by how close you had just come to destroying the both of you.

He slowly slid his foot down your calf, letting the rough leather drag over your sensitive skin one last time before pulling back.

No, i don't think reader would ever grow to forgive aerion. What he did was intentional and reader isn't gullible. She def has a backbone and wants to protect their child from him. I didn't really think about it yet as i don't plan on making a part 2 to the story, but i would presume that reader found solace back with her family and gave birth to their child there. As for her duties as a Prince's wife... This is where the second possibility comes in.

She comes back before she gives birth to their child, and continues her duties back in kings landing with aerion. While she's pregnant he would insist on staying by her side, but she would often dismiss him by claiming she needs time alone.

Their dynamic will never fully restore to how it used to be, however for the child's sake she puts up with him just enough in front of their kid. If she was forced to be in a room with aerion without their child, she would busy herself with whatever she can find before she actually has to converse with him.

But given that aerion is, well, aerion he doesn't give up. Ever. Each day he tries his best to win back readers love (whether it'd be gifting her with jewelry or writing her letters of apology) and whenever she spares him even a glance he takes that as a win.

Even with all of that though, i don't believe that reader will ever see him as more than what he did to her. Aerion ruined their relationship and that is all she sees when she looks at him. Which is why they sleep in separate chambers (her request, obviously). The excuse she gives to everyone is that aerion "snores" too loud.

Also! He definitely still wears the ring she left behind. He must have had it adjusted somewhere and wears it on his pinky everyday without fail.

"I only gave it to him because he is a prince, Taliya. I couldn't humiliate him or myself in front of the king. You understand that, dont you?" You lied, reaching out to squeeze her wrist.

For a second, Taliya looked completely lost, her mind warring between the devastating reality of what had just happened and the absolute, fake warmth you were radiating.

She let out a broken sniffle, pulling her hand away to press it against her trembling lips.

​"I... I need to leave," she choked out, unable to look at you or the arena for another second.

"Of course," you whispered back instantly, leaning in to pat her arm. "Go back to the keep and rest. I'll come check on you the very moment the melee is over."

​You watched her turn and flee from the pavilion, her head bowed to hide her crying face from the crowd.

The moment her back was turned and she was swallowed up by the crowd, the pity melted off your face in less than a second.

Turning back to the arena, you rested your chin in your hand, a tiny smile finally touching your lips as you watched Aerion tie your green silk ribbon tightly around his arm, ready to bleed the field dry for you.

Dinner was louder than usual that night. The melee had been a bloodbath, exactly as everyone expected, and Aerion had stood victorious at the center of it all, your pale green ribbon stained with the dust and blood of his opponents.

You were idly picking at a pastry when a shadow fell over your table.

"My lady."

​Aerion stood there, simply extending a hand, his wrist still adorned with your ribbon.

​"The King demands a dance from the victor," Aerion said, his voice smooth. "And I demand the presence of the lady who granted me her favour."

You let out a delicate breath, looking up at him with wide eyes. Your fingers slipped into his palm without hesitation.

"It would be my honour, my Prince." You smiled, standing up as the crowd cheered.

He pulled you close and led you toward the center of the floor where the musicians were shifting into a slow, heavy measure.

As soon as you were among the swirling crowd, away from the prying ears of your family, Aerion brought you even closer.

His hand on your waist was firm, pressing you against his chest.

​"You played your part exceptionally well today, little rose," he murmured against your temple, "the Tully girl looked as though she was going to vomit when I took your ribbon."

​You didn't flinch at his bluntness, you tilted your head up, keeping your face perfectly hidden from the rest of the room on his shoulder.

​"I have no idea what you mean, my Prince," you lied smoothly, your tone a soft, mocking pitch. "Poor Taliya was simply heartbroken that you didn't notice her. I was merely trying to shield her from your cruelty."

​"You are a liar," he whispered, his violet eyes flashing with possessive heat as he looked down at you. "A beautiful, vicious little liar. You wanted her to watch. You wanted everyone to see that you are the one I choose."

​"And if I did?" you murmured back, letting a fraction of your real, unbothered nature show in the curve of your smile. "A dragon doesn't care about a bit of collateral damage, does he?"

​"Never," Aerion replied, his thumb dragging sharply over your hip. "In fact, I find it thoroughly entertaining."

You found yourself smiling harder at that, slightly turning your head down at his comment.

The feast lasted for hours, but you slipped away, informing your father that you were getting sleepy.

Walking through the quiet corridors, your pulse was steady, and your mind entirely clear.

When you reached the front of your chambers, you didn't enter. Instead, you walked down the hall to Taliya’s room.

Her door was unlocked. Inside, the candles had burned down to stubs.

Taliya was huddled on the edge of her bed, still wearing the wrinkled blue gown from the tourney. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her face was stained from hours of crying.

​"Taliya," you breathed, rushed and anxious, instantly crossing the room to sink onto the mattress beside her.

You reached out, wrapping your arms around her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace.

​Taliya didn't hug you back this time. Her arms remained heavy in her lap, her body completely stiff against yours.

​"Everyone was looking at me," she whispered, her voice hoarse from weeping. "When he took your ribbon... everyone whispered. They laughed. I could hear them."

​"They are vultures, all of them," you cooed into her hair.

Over her shoulder, your eyes stared blankly into the dark corner of the room, struggling to feel a thing.

"They don't know your worth, Taliya. Prince Aerion is a monster for what he did today. He intentionally used me to humiliate you."

​Taliya pulled back just enough to look at you, her red eyes searching your face. "But why did you dance with him tonight? I heard the music. If he was being cruel to me... why did you let him hold your hand?"

You squeezed her hands with practiced guilt, leaning in until your foreheads almost touched.

​"Because I was terrified, Taliya!" you cried softly, your voice cracking with fear.

"You know what he is. If I had refused him, if I had publicly slighted the Prince after he won the melee... he would have ruined my family. I did it to keep his anger from all of us."

A fresh wave of tears spilled over her cheeks, and she finally collapsed against your chest, sobbing violently into your green silk gown.

​"I want to go home," she wept, her fingers clutching desperately at your sleeves. "I hate this place. I want to go back to Riverrun."

​"No, no, you mustn't run away," you said quickly, leaning in close and looking at her with fierce intensity.

"If you pack your bags and flee to the Riverlands now, everyone at court will know he broke your spirit. They'll laugh even louder, Taliya" You gave her hands a desperate squeeze.

​Taliya looked completely lost, her mind stuck between her devastating humiliation and the fake warmth you were radiating.

"Alright.. Just, I need time to think. My mind is clouded with tears." She nodded, curling into herself and turning her back toward you.

With that, you rose from the bed and walked out of her chambers, letting out a sigh of relief as you closed the door.

The morning after the tourney, the highborn ladies gathered in the sunlit gallery, the air was thick with the scrape of needles through linen.

It was a picture of absolute serenity, a staged haven of courtly peace, but beneath all of it the murmurs of the tourney were still fresh.

You sat near the tall window, the bright morning light catching the delicate gold embroidery below your collarbone.

Your hands were steady as you worked a silver thread through a pattern of green leaves, your expression perfectly placid, a smile gracing your lips whenever an older septa passed by.

To anyone watching, you were the very picture of a dutiful lady of Highgarden.

Directly across from you sat Taliya.

She had forced herself to come down, desperate to prove to the court that her spirit hadn’t been crushed by the prince’s public snub.

Where you were a vision of calm, Taliya was unravelled. Her skin was pale, save for the dark hollow shadows beneath her eyes, and she hadn’t touched her cup of sweetened wine since she sat down.

Most telling of all, however, was her gaze.

Taliya wasn’t looking at her fabrics. She was watching you.

Every time you paused to select a new thread, every time you offered a comforting nod to a lady who whispered a word of greeting. Her eyes tracked the movement.

She was looking at your fingers. Flawless, unbothered, not a single tremble in sight.

She was remembering the panicked, concerned girl who had held her hand in the dark just hours ago, swearing she was terrified of the Prince’s volatile nature.

Yet here you were, completely serene. There was no fear in the curve of your shoulders, no lingering anxiety in the way you carried yourself.

“You’ve chosen a beautiful shade of green, my lady,” a minor lord chirped, leaning over to admire your needlework. “It matches the favour Prince Aerion wore yesterday.”

The gallery went subtly quiet, several heads turning to catch your reaction.

You let your needle pause, your eyes slightly rounding in a display of beautiful surprise. A flush rose to your cheeks.

“The prince was merely teasing my family, I am sure,” you said softly, your voice melodic and entirely convincing to the ears around you.

You turned your face slightly, offering Taliya a look of sorrowful sympathy—a reassurance meant only for her.

But the lie did not settle the way it usually did.

Across the table, her needle snapped sharply in her grip. She didn’t weep this time. She stared at your face, watching the way your lips curved into that familiar comforting shape.

For the first time, she wasn’t seeing a friend, she saw the seemingly absent warmth beneath your lips.

“Taliya?” you whispered, tone dripping with gentle sisterly concern as you leaned forward. “Are you quite well? Perhaps we should return to your chambers.”

At first, Taliya did not answer. She slowly pulled her hand back from the ruined embroidery, the pieces beginning to align in her mind.

“I am quite well,” she responded, voice dropping an octave. She looked directly into your eyes, her gaze tracing the smooth, unblemished line of your jaw. “In fact, I have never felt more clear-headed.”

Before you could say anything back, the bells of the Red Keep began to toll, echoing through the walls of the gallery.

It was the call for the midday court, the hour when the lords and ladies would gather to discuss important matters.

The older septa clapped her hands, dismissing the embroidery circle. Around you, the maidens rose in a flurry of soft chatter, gathering their belongings and smoothing their skirts.

Your movements were fluid as you stood up, you carefully folded your linen, fingers smoothing the green leaves you had embroidered with immaculate care.

When you looked back at Taliya, you offered her your arm. “Come,” your voice was a low sound, meant to soothe a grieving friend.

Taliya stared at your extended arm for a moment. Then, with a stiffness that made her look odd, she slid her hands around your forearm.

Her grip wasn’t the soft clinging touch of a frightened girl anymore, evident in the way her fingers clamped down against your sleeve with digging pressure.

You didn’t flinch. Your stride remained perfectly even as you guided her into the wide corridors that led to the castle’s heart.

As you walked, you navigated the crowd with proper charm. You inclined your head to an elderly lord from house Blackwood, you offered a dazzling smile to a pair of passing squires who quickly scrambled to clear a path for you.

But under the rustle of the crowd, Taliya leaned in close, her breath hot against your temples.

“Last night, you told me you danced with him out of fear,” Taliya whispered with her eyes fixed forward. “You said you only gave him your hand to keep his malice away from us.”

You continued walking the same pace, your composure remaining unaffected. “I did,” you replied with ease.

“Then why,” Taliya hissed, her fingers digging deeper into your arm, her voice shaky with sudden clarity, “did you look so beautiful doing it? I.. I lied last night. I watched you after returning to my room. You didn’t falter once.”

You paused just outside of the Great Hall, where the crowd was thinning as people streamed inside.

Your expression softened into a look of profound, deeply hurt innocence as you turned to face her.

“Taliya,” you breathed, your voice cracking slightly, “how can you say such a thing? I was terrified to my very soul. If I smiled, it was only because a lady must never let the court see her weakness.”

For a second, Taliya might have believed it. She might have burst into tears and begged for your forgiveness.

Yet as she stared at you, she noticed how eerily still you were. There was no sweat on your palms, no real heat in your skin.

Taliya let go of your arm, stepping back a single pace. Her face hardened, a look of spite igniting behind her swollen eyes.

“The heralds are calling,” she spoke, her words entirely flat. “Let us go inside.”

You slipped away from her with a gentle, reassuring squeeze of her hand, stepping into the gathering of house Tyrell. Your father stood near the front, flanked by his knights and companions.

As you took your place beside him, you smoothed your skirts, folding your hands neatly over your waist.

You offered an almost shy smile to a pair of ladies from the Reach who murmured praises about your grace.

Across the aisle, Taliya stood rigid beside her father. Her stance was an interesting sight. There seemed to be no movement in her body as her father conversed with her.

The doors at the back of the hall creaked open once more.

Aerion stepped through.

He didn’t look toward the lords surrounding him. Instead, his violet eyes searched around your area, briefly landing on you before stopping at your father.

He walked with purpose, his silver hair gleaming in the sunlight.

Your father inclined his head with reverence as the prince approached. “Prince Aerion, the Reach is ever honoured by the presence of the royal blood.”

Aerion offered your father a polite nod of his own. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth and carried beautifully across the silent hall, commanding the attention of every ear.

“The honour is mine, Lord Tyrell,” Aerion said, peeking a glance at you.

“I have come before the court today on a matter of great import to my house. Your daughter has entirely captured my favour, and I find myself unwilling to look elsewhere. I have come for your blessing to take her as my betrothed.”

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the gathered nobility. Whispers erupted and your father’s eyes flared with shock, a proud smile breaking across his face.

On cue, you took half a step forward. A look of surprise also washed over your features, your lashes fluttering before you looked up at Aerion with a radiant smile. You sank into a graceful curtsy.

“Father,” you called, your voice sweet, clear, and humble. “The Prince honours our house beyond measure. If it pleases you, it would be my greatest joy to accept.”

“House Tyrell gladly gives our blessing, my Prince,” your father declared, booming with pride as he looked at you. “A glorious match.”

The court erupted into applause and excited buzz.

But from across the aisle, the final thread of Taliya’s control snapped. The green ribbon, the dance, your accidental meetings with him—it all fused into a single blinding flash of betrayal.

Before her father could grasp her arm, Taliya broke from her house.

The crowd gasped and parted in utter confusion as the Tully girl stormed forward, her face twisting in unadulterated rage.

“Taliya?” you asked softly as she stopped directly in front of you.

You let your wide eyes fill with concerned confusion, tilting your head like a worried friend trying to calm a madwoman. “What is–”

Smack.

The sound of her palm striking your cheek echoed like a whip through the whispers of the room.

The noise died instantly. The entire court went dead, suffocatingly quiet.

Your head snapped sharply to the side by the force of the blow, your skirts rustling with the sudden movement.

For a second, completely hidden by the fall of your hair, the facade vanished from your face. Your eyes went cold and empty as you stood entirely steady.

You turned your face to the crowd, and the mask was seamlessly back in place.

A single tear slipped down your reddened, burning cheek. Your lower lip trembled, your hands flying to your sternum as you shrank back against your father, looking completely shocked and heartbroken by the sudden violence.

“Taliya…” your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking with a fragile gasp. “Why… what have I done?”

For three heartbeats, the only sound was the heavy breathing of Taliya, who stood with her hand still raised, staring at you with wild, desperate fury.

Then, the room erupted.

“Insolence!” Your father yelled, “Guards! Seize her!”

From the other side of the room, Lord Tully looked as though he had been struck by a lance.

Blood rushed away from his face, his mouth opening in horrified disbelief at the social suicide his daughter had just committed before the eyes of the entire realm.

“Taliya, no…” he choked out, stepping forward to reach for her, but he was far too late.

Your hand trembled as you pressed your fingers against your cheek. Your eyes swimming with a fresh sheen of tears, looking bewildered as it fixed on Taliya with heartbreaking betrayal.

You looked so small, so fragile. A maiden assaulted by a madwoman.

The gold cloaks were about to approach when Aerion stepped forward, cutting through the space between you and Taliya.

His head tilted menacingly, the smirk he had worn earlier was now gone, replaced by a look of predatory outrage.

His knuckles were white as he gripped on the pommel of his sword, his eyes blazing with unhinged heat.

“You dare,” Aerion hissed, silencing the shouting of the lords in an instant. “You dare strike my betrothed? In my grandfather's own hall, before the eyes of the court?”

Taliya withered, the sudden, icy reality of her wrath finally piercing through her blind rage. She looked around the room, her chest heaving, but she found no sympathy.

The ladies twisted their faces in disgust, the lords were shaking their heads. To them, she was not a victim of betrayal, she was simply a bitter, jealous girl who had lost the prince’s favour and resorted to violence.

“She is a liar!” Taliya shrieked, hysterically sobbing as her father finally reached her, grabbing her tightly by the shoulders to pull her back. “She sat in my chambers! She swore she was afraid of him! S-she used me!”

“Silence!” Lord Tully roared, his voice thick with shame as he bodily dragged his weeping, screaming daughter away from the prince.

Two Tully guards quickly flanked them, shielding the uncontrollable girl from the court’s mocking stares as they hurried to the doors.

"Forgive us, my Prince… Your Grace, she is unwell… the heat of the tourney…”

The doors slammed shut behind them, cutting off Taliya’s cries.

The atmosphere remained tense, everyone still talking in hushed tones.

Aerion’s gaze lingered on the door where the Tullys had vanished, his chest rising and falling with a slow, controlled anger.

Then, he turned around.

The violent rage in his eyes softened into a look of protective concern as he stepped toward you.

Your father moved aside, allowing the prince to take your hands.

Aerion reached up, his rings cold against your skin as his thumb gently brushed the edge of your reddened cheek, tilting your face up so the whole court could see your tears.

Everyone who was watching saw a devoted, chivalrous prince comforting his wounded bride.

However, as your eyes met his, Aerion saw the calculation hiding behind the watery surface of your eyes.

A tiny, nearly imperceptible twitch touched the corner of his lips—a thrilled spark of amusement passing between the two of you, completely unseen by court.

Aerion turned to the people, his arm sliding securely around your waist, his posture an authority that brooked no further disruption.

“My betrothed has suffered enough shock for one morning. Lord Tyrell, I will see to it that your daughter's mind is set at ease.”

Your father inclined his head once more, his face still tight with lingering anger at the Tullys, though his eyes shined with immense satisfaction as he looked at the prince holding you so protectively.

“You honour us, Prince Aerion. Take all the time she needs.”

Aerion guided you to the door, and you kept your head lowered just enough to appear appropriately shaken.

One delicate hand was still hovering near your cheek as you walked with slight hesitation.

The loud noise began to fade as you walked through the heavy doors. He didn’t guide you to your quarters.

His grip on your waist remained firm, directing you down a stairwell.

He turned down a quieter hall that led toward the secluded gardens, a place he had shown you once before.

Aerion released his hold on your waist only to step right in front of you, leaning back on the balustrade.

Crossing his arms, his eyes scanned the faint flush on your cheek. A fine smirk appeared on his face.

“I must admit, little rose,” he started, a low laugh vibrating in his chest, “I did not expect the Tully girl to possess quite so much fire. She nearly ruined my grand announcement.”

“She didn’t ruin anything, my Prince,” you replied evenly, stepping past him to rest your hands on the railing.

"In fact, she gave us exactly what she shouldn’t have. Had she simply sat there and wept, the court would have pitied her. Now? They think she is mad with jealousy.”

Aerion’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with erratic fascination. He moved to close the distance between you until his shadow completely swallowed yours. His fingers reached out to trace the curve of your jaw, tilting your chin up.

“You barely even flinched,” he whispered, thumb brushing below the mark on your cheek.

You tilted your head slightly to his touch, “a lady must always know her audience. The court saw a girl attacked by a bitter rival. My father is furious, Lord Tully is shamed, and our betrothal is sealed with the sympathy of the realm.”

An amused chuckle escaped his lips. He leaned down, his breath warm against your face. “You are quite extraordinary, my rose.” His voice dropped into a low purr. “But you do know what happens to those who try to guide a dragon’s path, hm?”

You took a deliberate step forward, closing the scant gap between your bodies. Your hands came up, fingers light as they slip up his lapels, smoothing the wrinkled fabric.

“A dragon flies where it pleases," you looked up at him through your lashes, "and those who try get exactly what is offered.”

Aerion made a sharp breathless intake of air. Your lack of fear beneath such a gentle demeanor seemed to snap whatever restraint he had left.

His hand left your jaw and slammed against the balustrade behind you. He pressed his weight into you, trapping you while his other hand tangled into the neat pins of your hair. A few strands tumbled free, spilling over your shoulders to join the rest of your hair.

He leaned down, his lips brushing yours with bruising need.

The kiss was entirely untamed. Your fingers anchored tightly to his neck, while his hands roamed around your hair.

He groaned into the kiss, his grip tightening as his tongue slid past your parted lips, claiming your mouth with lustful hunger that stole the breath right from your lungs.

The pressure of his lips shifted from demand to a deeper consuming rhythm that made the rest of your world blur into insignificance.

The quiet air of the garden had vanished, now filled with the rush of the sea breeze and the searing friction of his mouth against yours.

He held you flush against him, hands moving from your hair down to the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

When Aerion finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his silver hair slightly disheveled. He didn’t let go of you, his forehead resting heavily on yours as you both pant for air, the feel still lingering om your lips.

“We should return, my Prince. The lords will be wondering where you went.” You giggled softly, moving your head back to gracefully readjust the stray locks of your hair.

Aerion made a noise of breathless laugh and a scoff, clearly enthralled by how quickly you could slip back into a dutiful lady.

He offered his arm, and you wrapped your hand around his sleeve. The two of you walked out of the garden and into the corridors that overlooked the lower courtyard.

The heavy sounds of shouting and wood scraping against stone made you two stop.

Aerion paused, drawing you to the edge of the stone railing. “Look there.”

The aftermath of Taliya’s outburst was unfolding in brutal, vivid detail.

The lower bailey was crowded with people on the steps, all of them watching the public disgrace of house Tully.

Several heavy wooden wheelbarrows were being aggressively loaded by royal stewards, trunks of fine blue silks and personal belongings thrown carelessly into the carts.

Lord Tully’s face was filled with deep, unmitigated shame. He was bowing frantically to a pair of stone-faced gold cloaks, his voice carrying up to the gallery as he pleaded for his house's honor, claiming his daughter had been struck by a sudden madness of the brain.

And then there was Taliya.

She was being escorted toward a covered wheelbarrow by two of her father’s own guards.

Her fine blue gown was wrinkled, her hair completely wild, and her face swollen from fresh weeping.

As she struggled against the guards' grip, minor lords turned their backs on her, refusing to look at the girl.

Taliya fought against the guards, her eyes frantically sweeping the high balconies of the keep, searching for any sign of mercy.

Instead, she saw you.

She froze, looking up at the high gallery where you stood side-by-side with Prince Aerion, his arm resting possessively over yours.

You didn't smirk. You didn't gloat, nor did you let a single trace of triumph show on your face.

No, right there in full view of the courtiers who were looking up at the newly betrothed couple, you let your expression soften into a look of tragic sorrow.

You squeezed Aerion's arm tightly, leaning into his side as if the sight of your former friend's ruin was too much for your gentle heart to bear.

Down in the dirt, Taliya screamed. A raw, choked sound of pure agony, realizing that even now, you were playing the saint, and her own reaction was only making her look more hysterical to the court.

The guards quickly shoved her into the dark interior of the carriage, slamming the wooden doors shut.

You let out a long, trembling breath, slowly turning your head away from the courtyard as if you could no longer bear to look upon the tragedy.

Your hand, still resting on Aerion’s arm, gave a delicate, involuntary shudder.

"Come, my lady," a soft voice called out from the archway.

A small group of ladies and an elderly septa had crept onto the terrace, their faces filled with profound, eager sympathy. Your father stood just behind them.

"The entire court bleeds for you, sweet girl," one of the older Tyrell women murmured, rushing forward to offer a silk handkerchief.

"To be assaulted so viciously by one you called a sister... it is a mercy the Prince was there to shield you from her madness."

You accepted the handkerchief with a small nod, gently dabbing at your unblemished cheek as if the memory of the blow still stung.

"Taliya is... she was merely unwell," you murmured, your voice sweet, soft, and entirely devoid of any malice. "The summer heat can do strange things to a gentle mind. I only pray the Septons at Riverrun can bring her peace."

"You possess the heart of an angel, daughter," your father declared, stepping forward to gently place his hand over your shoulder.

"And she shall have the protection of a dragon." One of the other ladies rang out, clearly admiring your betrothed.

The ladies-in-waiting let out excited, hushed whispers, as Aerion took your hand once more.

This time, he didn't pull you against his chest. In front of your father and the peering eyes of the court, he simply raised your fingers to his lips and kissed the back of your hand.

Aerion released your hand, a faint, ghost of a smirk playing at the very edge of his lips as he turned to walk back toward the council chambers.

You watched him go, your hands folding neatly over your skirts as the ladies swarmed around you, offering their arms and their endless bright congratulations.