Daydreams&bloodlust

You try to keep your breathing steady despite the rapid hammering of your heart; it's so strong that it pulses behind your ears and up your throat. The figure in front seems to be scanning the ground for something, likely the other wires, when you spot a tug at the metal chain he appears to be holding.

"Whoa, steady. What is it, hm?" It isn't clear who the man is speaking to until you see another figure creep out from the shadows. You swallow thickly as it stands, inhuman in the way it hunches over as it sniffs the air. It's difficult to make out much, even with your eyes settling to the low light, but you think you spy the glint of metal around their head, and a collar attached to the chain.

Suddenly, their head snaps over to your direction, and there are two pinpricks of red where the eyes should be.

The sight of it makes you gasp, and almost immediately, they rush towards you. Automatically, you grab your bag as you burst into a sprint. There isn't a thought in your mind that could scream louder than the instinct powering muscle and bone.

You can barely hear the snap of chains and a voice sounding out a command from behind you as you run. "Go fetch." The confidence through that word makes your heart leap, and the back of your knees go damp with sweat. You know that beyond the clearing at the bottom of the hill, the treeline gets thicker and harder to navigate. It's the only thing that could give you a chance of safety. When you actually break free of the woods and make it down to the clearing, you think you can do it.

The air is cold enough to tear at your lungs, and your legs bark in agony from travelling all day, but you don't stop. You can't afford to. The pounding of footsteps from behind is virtually silent; the occasional snap of twigs is the only clue that you're being chased. Panic floods you as the sounds get closer, until ultimately, you feel the graze of something sharp on your shoulder as you get knocked to the ground. The denser edge of the forest is ripped away from your sight in moments, your only means of escape dashed from mere feet apart.

The collision into the ground is hard enough to knock the air from you, rattling your teeth as you taste the rot in the earth underneath. Whatever is straddling you isn't letting up, shoving your face down even as you thrash around under them. A sick laugh bursts out from above, much too close, as something wet drips onto your neck.

Dirt cakes your fingernails from where you scrape and claw the earth below, struggling to get your breathing under control. Your attacker's hand grips both of your wrists tightly, pinning them as you shiver, but you refuse to beg for them to stop, not wanting to give any satisfaction. The fierce sight of their hands makes your brows furrow in confusion, eyes widening when it becomes clear that the fingers are much longer than they should be. The tips of them resemble talons more than they do any nail you have ever seen.

There's a low, gritty growl, and you freeze up when you can hear what sounds like a bloodhound sniffing close to your ear. The cold press of metal against your skin makes you flinch away, but it only follows you again, along with a soft panting that curls around the side of your face. The heat of it is thick with the scent of iron, enough to make your stomach turn.

Though you try not to make a sound, a faint cry leaves you as the panic replaces your control. No matter how much you fight their grip or kick your legs, nothing gives, and pretty soon, you're too tired to keep up the effort. When your struggle lessens, you're shoved onto your back as if it takes no effort, and your arms are restrained against the ground again. That's when you stare up, expecting either man or some bizarre strain of infected, but you find neither.

Instead, above you is full of gnashing fangs that drip with something viscous and cold between the bars of a muzzle. Male in appearance, completely stripped bare with deep-set eyes that glow red like the end of a poker or coals through the snow. There is no chain attached anywhere, as you saw before, though you do see a worn collar around his thick neck, unsuccessfully covering the thin, black-looking veins blooming across the skin underneath. As he settles on top of you, you want to scream. It sticks in your throat until the only noise you're making is the small, shocked hiccups where your body refuses to function properly.

When you try weakly to struggle again, it's only brief, and you can only squirm underneath him to no avail. A gnarled sigh drips from his parted mouth, those red eyes widening a fraction before relaxing. To your horror, his hips give a slow, firm drag over yours in response to your movements, and you feel something give a twitch against you. Your breath hitches as he does it again, the movement stuttering as his eyes remain fixed on yours.

No.

Something scared slips out of your throat, wavering and small as you tremble underneath him. That twitch against your clothed sex has you shake your head desperately. His stare, seemingly not fully present, is locked onto your face as you feel his length hardening against you. There's a disgust lurching inside of you when his hips force the seam of your jeans to rub against your clit, and you hear a pleased sigh from above.

"That setup was pretty clever, with the bells an' all. But he can smell the smoke of your fire miles away." The voice you had only briefly heard returns to you, tearing your attention away. "I assume..." Black trainers enter your field of vision first, then the purple velour of his tracksuit as he approaches the two of you. His words seem to distract whoever is on top of you, enough that they lean back a little and settle their stiff cock against you.

Your breath stills as the new man crouches beside you, and you see his face for the first time. His mouth twists into a cocky smile, and under the moonlight, it's enough to know that his teeth don't flash white; they're almost the same shade of yellow as his hair.

"Who do we have here then, eh?" His brows lift in question, expecting an answer. Your lips tightly press together, trembling as you stay silent. There's a sharp exhale through his nose as he huffs, then places his hand on his chest, just above the several gold chains hanging there. "Ah. Rude of me, I am Sir, Jimmy Crystal." His hand gestures to the other man or beast above you. "I see you've already met Jimmy Fangs." You're too scared to be confused over the details. There's another heavy jerk of his cock against you, followed by a lusty sound as he grinds against you.

When you don't answer, Jimmy laughs as though one of you had made a joke. "I'm only teasin', he's not a Finger, so he doesn't get a title." There's a dismissive wave of his hand as he stifles a laugh at his own joke, though it's completely lost on you. "No, Remmick here is more of a uh.. Well, a hellhound, I suppose." His eyes drift to Remmick's groin, the movement of another drag of his hips catching Jimmy's attention. An excited giggle bubbles out of him with a 'Oho!' as he looks back at you.

Jimmy's hand reaches out to take your jaw, and the thick rings he wears are cold against your skin. He forces you to face him, appearing to have lost interest in a name. If he ever had one anyway. "…and it seems, he's taken a bit of a shine t'ye."

The thought of this… You hesitate to think of 'Remmick' as a thing, but realistically, what other word could you use? It must be some new strain of the virus, and the concept of having to keep the strain muzzled is beyond frightening. "H-He's infected." You manage to stammer out, barely audible even to your own ears.

A thoughtful grin spreads across his features, something calculating underneath that makes your stomach drop. "Well now, that's a pretty voice-" Jimmy's thumb strokes the skin under your bottom lip before pulling away. "-And no, a different kind of demon. Still got a nasty bite, mind." Jimmy gives the muzzle a tap, earning a quick jolt away from Remmick.

Jimmy inhales as he sits back on the grass, looking over the two of you with a playful shrug. "Ordinarily, I'd feel more… charitable, per se. But my pet needs a new toy."

New toy.

It's said so casually, as though you were clothes hung up in a store, being browsed to see how you might fit. The question of what he means doesn't come out; you can only shake your head, scared because you already know the answer. "No…" That makes Jimmy's lips curl into a sly smile, and you try to pull your wrists away from Remmick, but it hurts where the claws pinch.

"Aye." Jimmy scoffs at you, and you see him produce something sharp from his pocket. "I'll tell ye exactly what's gonna happen, so it's no surprise." Another smirk, but you can't tell if he's being genuine or if there's sarcasm lining the words. "I'm just that kind."

You decide that Jimmy is holding a blade, and it makes you stop moving when he leans forward to bring the pointed end to the buttons on your jacket. "I'll get rid of these clothes-" With a flick of the steel, the buttons are gone in an instant, and the material goes loose. It makes you cry out in protest as the reality finally sets in. You're already taking rapid breaths when the knife slides under the hem of your shirt, making a short tear up. "-And we're gonna see if my pet wants to keep ye once he's fucked ye." Your breath hitches at the same time as Jimmy's hands take the bottom of your shirt, either side of the cut in the fabric. The tears building up in your eyes blur your vision, and you're unable to stop.

With a vicious tug, the flimsy material is torn in a straight line all the way up to the neckline, and your tears finally break over to stream down your face. Before Jimmy can slice through your bra, the blurred shape of Remmick gets closer until the cold muzzle is pressed against your skin. You shiver at the feeling and clamp your mouth shut, scared as you feel his tongue slide over the wet streaks through the bars.

"S-Stop-" Your voice is strained, then cut off with another drag of Remmick's hips against yours. He takes up almost your entire vision, unwelcome to all of your other senses and before he's even pulled away from your face,

"Toys don't need clothes. Remmick, take 'em off." Jimmy nods to Remmick, who, with a grunt, sits back to rip your jeans and underwear off of you in one. The moment he lets go of your wrists to do it, you attempt to wriggle away. His claws are too quick to pin you by your throat, and there's a low bellow rumbling in his chest that leaves no room for interpretation. It's a direct warning to stay.

It's so cold with you completely exposed. You can't even press your thighs together to stop Remmick with the way he slots himself between them, and in the moonlight, you only panic more when you get a glimpse of him.

He's big.

Unnaturally so. Thick and dripping from the flushed head of his cock as he starts to rub himself against your bare folds. The unwelcome sensation makes you flinch away from him, and you hear the slide of fabric from the side of you.

When you look over, your stomach drops. Jimmy's hand is lazily stroking his own cock as he watches both of you, mostly playing with the head and metal piercing that's nestled at the tip.

"Play with her tits, get her all wet." Jimmy's lips remain parted after he speaks, and he slowly wets his top lip as he stares at your chest. Remmick gathers your wrists with one of his hands, his other slides down to grope your breast through the fabric of your sports bra. He hooks the claw of his index underneath, and just like Jimmy's blade, there's little resistance as he shreds up in one fluid motion.

The second your breasts fall free, you hear a groan from Jimmy that curdles in your ear. Then Remmick is palming you roughly enough that if your nipples weren't already drawn tight from the cold breeze, his long fingers certainly would have done the trick. Your eyes slip shut when he roughly pinches one between his knuckles, and in addition to the shivering it causes, you end up writhing underneath him without meaning to. Your face burns from being forced to endure it, but more than that, Remmick actually manages to force strained noises out of you that have you ashamed. The humiliation of it all is too much to bear, the undeniable feeling of your slick leaking out against Remmick's cock has your face heating up so much you know it would burn to the touch.

There's a small moan from Remmick, and you catch him looking down between you, as though he might have also just felt it. He ruts against you, slow and drawn out, head dragging through the wet folds enough to bump against your clit in a way that has you breath hitch. You could sob at how wet you sound; it's obvious that Remmick can hear it too.

When the blunt head of his cock catches at your entrance, you both flinch, then drool is dripping onto your bare torso as you shake your head in disbelief at it all. Every drop makes your heart pulse louder in your ears, until he leans back to let it slide down the bars of his muzzle and onto his cock. When he finally pushes into your entrance, everything else is drowned out by the ringing in your ears.

Desperation and disgust claw under your skin as he rocks into you. Remmick is too thick for you to comfortably ease around him, and you're not nearly relaxed enough to take it easily. A series of throaty grunts punches out of Remmick, bullying his way inside of you until he bottoms out with a carnal growl. You're completely frozen, your presence cut off as you feel the head of Remmick's cock nudge against your cervix.

To the side of you is the noise of shuffling; you don't spot the way Jimmy's hand reaches out to catch Remmick's drool in his palm. Or the way he sits back to let his wet hand glide over his cock. Jimmy seems to have found a rock close by, big enough to lean back against with his free hand resting behind his head as he soaks in the sight of you.

When Remmick moves back, you move with him as he pulls out halfway, then your entire body is shoved onto the ground with every brutal thrust he takes. Whatever string of fate leading you to this point doesn't take pity on you, as the pain of the stretch doesn't let up, no matter how slick your cunt is against him. Your eyes begin to glaze over as Remmick's nose flares under the muzzle. In the background of your mind, you know it isn't only slick, and the torn pain shooting through you is enough to make you whimper.

Remmick mistakes the noise for something else entirely, and his grunt gives way to thin moans as he sets a rhythm into you.

"How's that feel? She… nice and tight fer ye?" You stare at the sky as Jimmy half keens over to Remmick.

The stars are so pretty tonight, dancing with light even though they're trapped in the sky's inky grip.

Remmick's strained voice is rough as it answers Jimmy. Desperation clings to each sound, and you distantly register that it's the first words that you've heard from Remmick. "S'good… So good." He just keeps repeating himself over and over again. In any other situation, you might have felt stunned to learn that he can talk.

Jimmy's voice sounds more excited, and the glide of his hand over his cock matches Remmick's pace. A revulsion courses through you for being able to notice it. "Harder, m-make her tits bounce fer me." Remmick's hips speed up; every harsher thrust has new tears forming, and your breath is fighting. Worse than any other outcome right now, the assault on your walls is beginning to feel good. You could scream if there were any way to get air into your lungs without choking on it.

Your brows pinch as you try to fight the heat that flickers inside of you. The only thing left for you to do is focus on the sky, even as you feel Remmick force your hips to grind back against his; you hope that's the case, anyway. You refuse to acknowledge how his hands aren't touching your hips, how you would never move your hips to match his movements.

You could vomit.

The noise to your side doesn't consciously translate as Jimmy as he moves closer. It isn't until his hand reaches for one of your breasts that you realise you were completely dazed. You grimace at the way he kneads your flesh, rough in a way that has his rings pinch the skin between them.

The movement earns a low growl from Remmick, and you feel Jimmy's fingers almost go. Jimmy flashes a huffed smile to Remmick, sneering with a command. "Share yer things. Can't use that mouth anyway, can ye, lad?" Jimmy raises a challenging brow to Remmick, making it sound as if he's doing Remmick a favour by lowering his mouth to your nipple.

Jimmy traces the tip of his tongue around the stiff peak, shifting his gaze from Remmick directly to you as he takes it into his mouth. Your skin muffles his groan, though you feel it reverberate through your chest all the same. When he suckles, it's harsh and rhythmic, all the while Remmick is still fucking up into you relentlessly, enough so that he's rocking your body as he ruts.

By the time you even realise that Remmick let go of your wrists to hold both of your thighs apart, it's too late. You don't have the energy to move them, or do anything but take each full drag of his cock, and between him and Jimmy, you're too weak to fight the pleasured whines that melt out of you.

Jimmy's grin darkens around you, giving a quick nip as he just barely pulls away, cock pulsing in his hand as he doesn't let up his strokes. "Use his name, let him know whose ye are."

The demand makes you shake your head. You can't bring yourself to willingly do that.

Jimmy's voice drips with venom, and you hear the sharp sound of a blade being unfolded. Then it's pressed to your collarbone, and you give him as much of your attention as you can manage. "Do it, or you'll get a nasty cut."

The threat of the blade makes you swallow thickly, and the promise of more pain you hadn't considered forces your lips to move. "Re… Rem-mick." The taste of his name is acrid between his thrusts. "Remmick."

Calling out to him carves a possessive sound from his chest, and his hips snap up into you harsher than before. Enough so that it forces genuine moans from you, and you could cry, disgusted with yourself at how good it feels. Even more so when the thick drag of his cock hits your G-spot enough that even the disassociation isn't taking root.

Jimmy seems to catch it through the expression on your features, and his eyes don't leave your face as he leans back with a grin. "Stop." A broken whine slips out of Remmick, unwilling to stop at the command until Jimmy sticks the blade into Remmick's forearm. There's a snarl and a flash of the fangs enclosed by the metal bars, but you hear the threat in the way his chest rumbles with a guttural noise. The only sign Jimmy might be spooked by it is the quick movement away he takes to dodge a claw. He swallows, "Turn her over."

Remmick glares at Jimmy, brows knitted together in their stand-off until you feel Remmick slowly pull out of you. Every inch without him has your gut twist with the loss you didn't want in the first place. The sensation only confuses you, not that you have time to think about it. You're suddenly staring at the ground, unaware that they had moved you onto your hands and knees until the tickle of grass brushes your face. It's the only sense of anything soft you can fathom. Before you can even begin to think about it, an intrusion hooks into your mouth, dragging your head up by the upward force on the roof of your mouth.

Jimmy's fingers. You gag on the way they drag you up enough that you already know what's going to happen. No matter how you try to hold back fresh tears or hiccups around the grubby digits, you can already see his cock level with your face.

"If I feel so much as a nibble, he'll be the last of your worries… Howsat?" His head tilts in question, but you don't have the words to answer. You only nod to show that you understand; it was this or it was your life.

Jimmy's eyes narrow at you, displeased with your response, or rather, a lack of. Something hateful flashes over his expression, and in an instant, you feel the hard slap of his cock to your face. It makes you wince, and Jimmy only chuckles at the reaction. "When I ask something, I expect an answer."

Your face burns as it forces you to answer. "…Yes."

"Yes…?" Jimmy's head tilts to the side unexpectedly as his hand wraps around his length.

Your lips tremble as your voice shrinks. "Yes, Sir."

There's a much happier sound that hums from him, and he slowly pushes the head of his cock to your lips. "There we go, good lass. Open wide." You're hesitant, but manage to open up just enough for him to push past your lips. The taste of him makes you cringe, dirty on your tongue and cold where the metal piercing is.

When you wrap your lips around him, there's a slow groan that leaks out of him. You almost forgot about Remmick until he's finally grinding up against your slick again. The reminder makes your eyes widen as he lines himself up with your entrance.

The way Remmick slowly sinks back into you with a groan has your walls clenching around him, gripping him tight without permission. This time, you know for a fact that his hands find your hips, and as he begins to thrust into you, it rips a quiet moan from Jimmy as the motion forces you to stuff more of his cock into your mouth. "Good lad, Remmick." You swear you hear a whimper from behind you, and Jimmy's the back of fingers find your cheek to stroke it in a mock display of affection. "Maybe ye'll give us some new pups, hm?" Your mind doesn't let you process that new fear yet.

Any time Remmick pulls out, you try your best to move away from Jimmy, to breathe, to do anything so that you don't completely shut down. But with the way Remmick's hitting into your sensitive walls with the new angle, it's deep enough that you're both moaning into the night air.

Jimmy's fingers grab at your hair as he fucks deeper into your mouth, choking you as his eyes slip shut. "S-So warm… Lucky we- Oh hell- Lucky we found ye…" You can only swallow his cock as it pulses against your tongue and reaches the back of your throat. The metal stabs into your palette with each movement, somehow making you more violated than anything previously. Through the tears, it isn't clear to you what his expression looks like, only that there are thin whines that are beginning to seep out of him. A horrid mixture of hope and revulsion takes root inside you, wanting it to be over as soon as possible and yet not wanting him to finish anywhere near you.

Revulsion wins, you knew it would by the taste of Jimmy's pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as he whines. His eyes scrunch as you can only get forced onto him faster with how Remmick possessively sinks into you. You hate it, and as your eyes scrunch up to prepare for Jimmy's release, to your surprise, he pulls out of you completely. It isn't clear what's happening until his cock keeps bumping against your face, and you see him stroking himself. He's slack-jawed with ragged breaths until finally, Jimmy's release is dripping down your face. You feel it cool against your face, mingling with your tears as your gaze drops to the floor in shame.

From the sound of panting behind you, Remmick isn't far behind. His movements are becoming more erratic, and despite how much you try to force it away, a heat curls awkwardly inside you until it snaps. A choked sound is ripped from Remmick as your walls reflexively convulse around him, and it doesn't matter about your efforts; your mouth hangs open as you cry out with the pleasure-pain of it all.

"Mine.. Mine…. Mine..." Remmick's words are punctuated with thick grunts in your ear as he hunches over you. You can hear the need in his huffs and quick breaths, then you feel an odd sensation at your entrance. The feeling has your mind grow dizzy as the base of Remmick's cock begins to swell, and he slams forward one final time to lock himself in with you by the knot that has formed. The pain is too much for you. It makes you yelp, and Remmick is only capable of drooling over your shoulder as his hips stutter against yours.

"Oh shit, he really likes ye, doesn't he?" You can't even address Jimmy's amused question as spurts of heat suddenly flood your core in waves. The growls in your ear eventually taper off into whimpers, and the metal of his muzzle is pressed against your neck. You can't help but whine quietly in response to the gentle swell of your stomach, filled with Remmick more than should be possible.

You wish you would die already.

Remmick mistakes your frantic hiccups and gasps for something else unknown to you again, and you can only cry harder at the arm that snakes its way underneath you. As if it were a cruel trick on the universe's part, his claws pull you closer to him the way a partner would after making love. What's worse is that he doesn't seem to be trying to leave you at all.

"Best get comfy, that knot's gonna keep us here a while." Jimmy's voice floats down to you with a twisted sound, something comical layered throughout the lilt.

You hadn't spotted a bag on the ground before now; it's to the side, and Jimmy is already riffling through the backpack when you notice. He's crouched over, then whatever he pulls out, he taps it at one end.

It looks like a syringe.

Dread courses through you, and you go stock still as you brace yourself for the worst, until he completely walks past you to go to Remmick instead. Whatever dark fluid is inside the needle forces a barked cry from Remmick as you feel him flinch. Though you don't witness the black veins in Remmick's neck bulge in response, you feel the reaction almost immediately; Remmick's arm goes slack under you, and the rest of him seems to relax above you.

Jimmy steps back into view as he wipes off something from the end of the syringe. Then he pauses for a moment, looking to you with a considering grin. "Keeps him settled.. Well-behaved. This'll be your job now, lass."

It was rare you got to spend time with your family. Your elder brother Edwyn was the heir to your father’s title and, as such, the pair of them spent a great deal of time overseeing the land and renters. Leo, as a second son, was antsy and often busied himself on adventures that you could only dream of. Your sister Marian had been married some six months ago and you missed her dearly. When you had heard than she and her lord husband would also be in Ashford, you had been more than content to brave the long ride down just to see her.

And then there was the matter of your betrothal to Lord Frey’s son, Owen.

You hummed to yourself as you navigated the dark corridors, slippers padding along the stone floor. The only sign of life you could hear was from yourself. There was a good chance that you had gotten yourself turned around so you stopped and began to retrace your steps.

The pair of you had met at your sister’s wedding and both Lord Frey and your own father had been delighted at the way you seemed to draw together. Owen Frey was handsome enough, and not unkind, and he knew all the right things to say. When your father had told you of the potential for an arrangement, you had agreed without really thinking about it.

Owen Frey seemed a sensible enough man, and you certainly tried to be a sensible woman. Lord Frey was said to be an honorable and loyal man, and he and his wife genuinely seemed to care for one another. You hoped that with them as an example, Owen would also come to care for you as a husband should.

You paused, huffing a breath as you scanned your environment. It all looked the same. You were just about to turn on your heel again when you heard something ahead. Some kind of scuffling, and a laugh.

Pressing your lips together, you debated turning around. But by now you were likely already late for dinner and your father would not be pleased. Not when the Ashfords were such accommodating hosts – and not when the Targaryens were also staying.

With a nervous breath, you made your way forward and peeked around the corner. Immediately you sucked in a breath, clapping your hand over your mouth as you registered what was before you.

At first you saw only two lovers entwined. Hands beneath shifts and unbuttoned trousers and choked gasps. Then you recognised the clothes on the woman – a household servant of the Ashfords. You cringed at the way she scratched down the male’s back, moaning into his neck as his hands did something down the front of her dress.

You were not ignorant to the ways of man and woman. Well, not entirely, anyway. But you knew enough to know that it was incredibly bold of the pair to be so intimate so out in the open. You stifled a laugh and turned to dip away – and then you heard it.

“Oh, Owen, please!”

You stalled, mouth popping open with a silent ‘oh’. Shaking, you peered round the wall once more, just to confirm. Neither of the pair had spotted you. This time you saw what you had been previously blind to. The sword at the man’s hip, the Frey sigil on the pommel. The hair, an unassuming shade of brown, that only now you recognised. The man’s hand moved to grip the girl’s hip and you saw the rings adorning his fingers.

You stayed for only a moment longer, a headache forming between your brows. You did not confront them. Instead, you raced away, as quietly as you could, turning blindly down corridors until you bumped into a maid who was, by chance, looking for you.

You trailed after her until she reached the dining room, slipping by her as she held the door open for you. Your father stood to greet you and you heard yourself explaining that you had been lost. So silly of you! Your father laughed boisterously and made some joke about you being distracted due to your engagement.

“For a moment, daughter, we thought you had snuck away with Owen,” he chuckled, “Lord Frey told us the boy is ill.”

Baelor Targaryen offered you a polite smile as he responded to your father. Distracted once more, your father sat down and began conversing with the heir. Feeling that all attention was once again off of you, you made your way to the table and found yourself a seat.

You sat down at your brother’s side without looking up. It was only after your brother had pushed a steaming plate in front of you that you glanced about. You found yourself squeezing at your utensils, something hot and uncomfortable brewing in your stomach as you picked at your beef.

After a particularly vicious stab, you set your cutlery down. Tucking your hands beneath the table, you squeezed at your thighs until you were sure you drew blood. Your eyes stayed dry. You searched yourself for despair, for sadness, and instead found red hot fucking fury.

A shiver wracked through you and finally you looked up. Aerion Targaryen met your gaze. He did not blink as he stabbed a hunk of beef and brought it to his mouth. He chewed it nicely but his eyes were anything but.

You knew about Brightflame. About his propensity for anger and cruelty. You had made a game of avoiding him all week, despite the fact your family took meals with his almost daily. And now, with him sitting across from you, this was the closest you had ever been.

It must be exhausting, you thought, to be so angry all the time. You could feel your own righteous rage swirling in your chest, taking violent swipes at your heart every time you attempted to push what you had seen from your mind.

Aerion stopped chewing and stared openly. You blinked as you realised your lips had curled in something like a snarl. Your anger burned hotter than you knew what to do with. You slouched back in your chair, ignoring the way your brother coughed at your ill manners, and stared right back.

It was stupid. You knew that but you did not look away. Let him be cruel, you thought, let him spit and curse at you for your disrespect. You discovered that you anger enough to return the fire. It needed to go somewhere, did it not?

Your brother stilled, hand finding yours beneath the table and squeezing in warning. And still, you did not move. To your surprise, it was Aerion that moved.

He cleared his throat and set his fork down. He leaned forward and you readied yourself for the fall out of your disrespect.

“Woman,” he said slowly, “what is your name?”

Your brother nudged you to answer. Distantly, you wondered if Owen remembered your name. If you thought about you at all as he fumbled with the maid girl in the corridor, where anyone could come across them. Did he feel guilt as he humiliated you? As he made you look like a foolish, sheltered girl?

“You do not recall my name,” you said slowly, “despite the fact that our families have dined together all week?”

Your brother choked on his wine. Aerion’s eyes widened, something chaotic and wild fluttering in his pupils. It looked like fire.

“I do not,” he answered just as slowly, chin dipping as he waited for your response.

You should tread carefully. You should apologise. You should lower your gaze and speak only when spoken to. You should pretend you never saw Owen and the girl and marry him anyway, settle for a life long of betrayal and disappointment.

“Then I do not wish to tell you,” you hissed, slamming your palms to the table as you shot up out of your chair. All eyes landed on you. “Father, I am unwell. I wish to retire.”

Aerion’s eyes made your skin burn. They drilled into the side of your face as you stoutly ignored him, dipping your head as your father stammered out an excuse and the host bid you well.

You walked quickly from the table, wrenching open the door before the guard could do it for you. Once alone in the corridor, the cool air brushing at your heated cheeks, a hysterical laugh bubbled in your throat. To Aerion and Leon, it probably looked as though you were running. But it was not fear that had driven you from that hall.

Alone in your room, you waited for the tears to come. When the hours dripped on, and the tears still did not come, you resorted to pinching your thighs until bruises welled beneath your nails. Your eyes remained dry.

The anger would not leave. Seething, you threw yourself across the bed, tempted to tear at the sheets like some wild animal. You did not feel like the lady you had been raised to be. But where had that gotten you? Reeling and thoroughly humiliated, you felt lost.

What Owen had done was not out of the ordinary. You were sure that even your father had fathered a bastard or two in the village. But it was not what you wanted for yourself, and as a fourth daughter, you had more choice than most.

Owen had seemed like the safe choice. The sensible choice. You were vexed at your own naivety, annoyed at your own surprise and subsequent disgust. You had been willing to settle for the first man that seemed reasonable and now you were stuck. Did a right choice even exist?

There would be no wedding. You were sure that you could get your father to agree once you told him of what you had witnessed. Your father would not take kindly to his daughter being embarrassed in such a way. The Freys were going to benefit from the wedding more than your family so it would be no great loss.

You sighed. So much had changed in so little time. The tourney was over tomorrow and you would be making your way back home by mid-afternoon. Once on the road, away from the Freys, you could tell your father what you had seen. He would send word of the cancelled arrangement to the Freys, all without you having to set eyes on Owen ever again.

As the sky began to darken further, a maid came in to light your candles and the fire in the grate. Idly you wondered if she was the one you had seen with Owen earlier. Once she had left, you sat up and went to the window, peering out with boredom.

Anger still kindled in your stomach. You rested a hand over your lowed belly, half expecting to feel heat.

The castle was quiet. The gardens below were quiet, too. Your father would kill you for walking around in the dark without a guard but the room was beginning to feel stifling.

When you were young, you had been an unruly child. Eager to escape your finishing lessons and play with your brothers or roam the grounds alone. Your father had assumed you had grown out of it and maybe you had.

Now, though, all you wanted was to leave the suffocating grip of the castle. Owen was under the same roof as you, somewhere, sleeping soundly or perhaps not alone. If he was going to flout the rules so blatantly, then so would you.

Like earlier, you got turned around several times before you eventually found your way outside. The ground was slightly damp from the earlier rain. You would have to clean your slippers before dawn.

You wound your way around bushes and flower beds until you found your way to a hidden alcove. The moon was bright enough to guide your path and you kept carefully out of sight of the castle. The wall was slanted enough for you to rest against it, almost sitting.

The air was soothing against your harried flesh. You closed your eyes and imagined it cooling further, eager to shake the weight of emotion from your chest.

The garden was enclosed in high walls. Beyond them you could hear raucous laughter and singing. The final night of the tourney was just as loud as the first. What would it be like to be among the smallfolk? To laugh, to dance and to drink as they did? As men did?

What would it be like to fuck as they did?

The word was so crass that you open your eyes and looked around, half expecting your father to appear and scold you for the mere thought. Satisfied that you were indeed alone, you settled back and closed your eyes once more.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed when you heard it. Your name, cutting through the careful silence you had cultivated, drawing a shocked yelp from your lips.

Aerion Brightflame stood five feet in front of you, hand on the pommel of his sword. The gesture was not threatening – or maybe it was. It was difficult to tell when everything about him was threatening.

Aerion silver hair was tousled, as though he’d been running his hands through it. His clothes appeared hastily thrown on, as though he had gotten ready for bed and then changed his mind. Perhaps the night air cooled his temper, too.

He repeated your name again, and you realised that someone else must have told him it. He looked smug and you wanted to smack him clean across the face for thinking he had won whatever stupid game it was that he thought you were playing.

“Do you make a habit of sneaking about alone?” he asked, stepping closer.

You squinted at him and did not reply. Was this the same man you had been avoiding all week? Whatever fear you had previously felt had been eaten away by fire and now fatigue as you slumped back against the wall.

Aerion’s lip curled at your silence; displeasure dotted in the creases of his face. You tilted your head a little. He was not unpleasant to look at, even when he scowled. He was handsome, you admitted, as all Targaryens tended to be.

“Answer me, woman,” he finally snarled, “or I’ll drag you before your father.”

Aerion had stepped closer. If you reached out a hand, you would be able to lay it on his chest.

What would it be like to fuck as they did?

It was a terrible idea. Downright stupid. When was the last time you had been stupid? Been anything other than the lady you were supposed to be?

You reached out and laid your hand on the dragon’s chest.

Aerion stilled. You met his eyes steadily, attempting to gauge interest. He did not stop you when you stepped closer, tilting your head until your eyes landed on his lips. They looked red and bitten already.

Aerion did not stop you when your hand slid up his chest and into the short hair at the base of the back of his neck. His lips parted and his breath puffed out when you tugged a little, curious. Owen had tugged that woman’s hair. It seemed like something that was done.

“Woman,” Aerion finally said, “are you stupid?”

“No,” you murmured, “but I think I’d like to be. Just for tonight.”

You were not sure who moved first; only that, one second you were thinking how similar a shade Aerion’s hair was to the moon, and the next you were pressed up tight in the alcove.

Aerion used his body to pin you there. At first, the kiss was clumsy and unpracticed. It was your first, after all. But you had always been a quick learner.

Aerion’s mouth was firm and unforgiving. Your lips parted under his like they had done so a thousand times, tongue reaching out to brush silkily along Aerion’s and earning a surprised groan. His hand came up to squeeze your face, holding you still as he had you how he liked.

It felt good. The kissing and the rebellion of it all. Throughout it all, your hands remained in his hair, tugging hard whenever he did something you particularly liked. He nipped at your lips, pulling sweet gasps and moans from them as he went. That push and pull of his tongue in your mouth, smoothing softly over yours – was that what fucking was like?

Aerion pulled away and you almost hissed. His hair looked messier than previously, the front of his clothes ruffled from where you had been pressed together. His lips were red and wet from the kiss and you watched as his tongue darted out and smoothed over them.

The anger had given away to something impossibly hotter. Something molten and desperate was welling in your core. It was nothing you had ever felt or even considered feeling when it came to Owen. You tilted your head back against the stone wall and waited for the prince to make a move.

“Foolish girl,” he finally said, dragging his eyes from where your breasts heaved against the ribbon of your dress. “Is that what you wanted? To act like a whore for the night? Are you satisfied, then?”

You laughed quietly, the sound ringing through the garden. “I think whores do a great deal more than kiss, my Prince.”

Before you could think too much, you reached down to rest your hand over the hard outline of Aerion’s manhood. He made a choked sound and jolted forward, no doubt surprised at your boldness. Instead of laughing at the shock on his face, you pressed your nose to his chest, seeking out the sliver of bared skin you had seen then.

And then you bit down. Hard.

Aerion groaned long and loud, hand coming up to grip the back of your head as he allowed you to sink your teeth into his flesh. It felt powerful. You did not relent until blood welled beneath your teeth, copper leaking onto your tongue as you laved it over his wounded flesh.

You kept your hand firmly on his cock, rubbing the heel of your palm over where you assumed the head was. Aerion’s grip grew tight before he let you go, chest heaving, staring down at you with blow pupils.

He said your name again, quietly this time, and with no mocking. His hands had fallen to grip your wrists but he let go of one, reaching up the place his palm over the spot you had bitten.

“And yet,” you sighed, “I still do not feel like a whore.”

You kept your mind switched off as your hands dropped and began tugging at the strings on his trousers. Your own core throbbed with every little move. It was different from the lazy self-exploration of yourself you had previously indulged in. Was this feeling normal or was it to do with the dragon before you?

“Fuck,” Aerion swore as you popped his cock from his trousers, the heated flesh pulsing in the cooler air.

It looked big – but that did not matter. You had no intention of taking it inside of yourself. Instead, you smoothed your palm over the head, collecting the wetness that had gathered there. You squeezed experimentally and smiled at the sound it produced from Aerion.

Aerion cursed again and then his hands were on you. You yelped as he held you firmly against the stone wall, damp rock pressing into your back, and began to ruck up your dress until it was fluffed around your waist. He kicked your legs apart and shoved his hand down the front of your garments until his fingers met the soft curls at the apex of your thighs.

This was not the plan. Not that there had been one in the first place – but this definitely was not it.

Aerion’s fingers met the soft, pillowy flesh on your cunt with little ceremony. His eyes were glued to your face, chest rising and falling swiftly as he parted you with his fingers and ran his index over the tight flesh of your hole.

“Even whores do not get this wet,” he growled, cupping your tender flesh. “Put your hand back on my cock. Now.”

You resented the bite in his voice but your mind was surprising gentle exploration of his fingers. Instead of sliding inside, they ventured up, up, until they met the soft ball of flesh that would surely make you lose your fucking mind.

Aerion buried his face in your neck, tongue licking over the exposed flesh as your hand found his cock and began to move. When he stopped, you stopped. You would not let him come away from having had more than you. You were determined to satisfy your earlier curiosity.

His fingers rubbed tight circles over your swollen flesh, faster and then slower. He rutted into your palm with hard thrusts, breath hissing in your ear as he approached his peak.

He was not the only one. You could feel your own fast approaching. For the first time, clarity began to clear your mind. You understood why Owen, why that girl, had gotten so caught up. Initially you had wanted to do this to experience what you felt you were missing out on, to be reckless as they had been. Now you felt the urge for control. The urge to prove that you were better than them.

Still you allowed Aerion’s fingers to rub you. There was no doubt that he knew what he was doing. His hips bumped yours as he fucked your hand, orgasm tearing through him in a way that made you dizzy and thirsty for your own.

You yelped when Aerion’s head bent down, nuzzling into the pillowy tops of your breasts before he bit down. Hard enough that you were sure he immediately drew blood. You whimpered and yanked at his hair, teetering on the edge of your own orgasm.

If I go over the edge, you thought, I do not know if I can come back.

With surprising strength, you shoved Aerion away. Your dress came tumbling back down and the whisper of fabric over your skin was enough to almost have you orgasming anyway. Unprepared, Aerion staggered before righting his stance.

His still hard cock was still peeking out of his breeches and you tore your eyes away before you abandoned all common sense. You could feel his seed on your hand, warm and sticky. There was blood smeared all over his mouth and when he snarled at you, you could see it in his teeth.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he barked. “You are not done here – we are not done here.”

You breathed heavily and swayed a little on your feet. You could see your own arousal on Aerion’s fingers, glittering in the moonlight. It looked rather pretty.

Aerion took a step forward and it shook you out of your reverie. Before he could say anything else (or use his fingers and command you to stay) you tore past him and ran inside. In some miracle, perhaps as reward for your restraint, you found your way back to your room in a matter of minutes. If Aerion called your name, you did not hear it.

The next morning was nothing memorable. You were beyond tired and still mildly irritated, but glad to be rid of the place. You had stayed up late cleaning your shoes and the conspicuous wet spot the prince had left on your dress. If the maids noticed anything as they packed your trunks, they did not say.

Your father was in a good mood. It was a good thing to spent time with the heir to the kingdom; it reflected well on the house. You smiled blandly as he and your brother Leon recounted their days, commenting on who had done well and the favourites.

The Targaryens had supposed to have been leaving early, but as you and your family made their way down, you discovered that they had not. You kept your gaze averted and curtsied when necessary, thanking Lord Ashford for his hospitality and Balor and his family for their company.

When you reached Aerion, you curtsied as before. Aerion surprised you by lifting your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your inner wrist. You felt his tongue on your skin and bit your lip, praying that your father would not notice.

Aerion pulled back and smiled. Your mouth dropped open. Your blood was still smeared across his lips and teeth.

Within days of arriving home, your father had contacted Lord Frey and told him the engagement was off. He was horrified by what you had reported. His poor darling girl, witness to such depravity!

As he had ranted and raved, you had subtly tugged at the high collar of your dress. You had taken to wearing such high collars and avoiding help from the maids since arriving home. The mark that Aerion had left on you was shocking. Blue and purple tinged with red. It was still sore and throbbed when touched firmly, which you did often.

You had managed to muster tears in your eyes and a tremble in your voice as you recounted the events of that evening. Perhaps you exaggerated a little. It did not matter; your father was thoroughly on your side.

Some days later, after some back and forth with Lord Frey, your father told you that Owen had left The Twins and was no doubted headed here, to your home. Your father had almost had an aneurysm at the sheer assumption of hospitality.

“Do not worry, father,” you had patted his hand, “perhaps he will come to apologise. I will hear him out, but I have no intentions of marrying him.”

“You are kind, daughter,” he nodded, “and wise. You deserve more than foolish young boys.”

Wise. You had nearly laughed. A week ago, you had been the stupidest person in the entire seven kingdoms. Stupider now, perhaps, since you did not regret it.

A week and a half after the tournament, you were sitting in the library when you heard the sound of a party arriving. You set your book down and straightened your spine before marching from the library and heading for the hall.

You paused outside, sharing a look with your ladies’ maid when you heard your father’s laughter from within. That was certainly not the reception you had envisioned for Owen Frey. Confused, you opened the door and stepped within, ready for an explanation.

Your father was stood there, arm in arm, with Maekar Targaryen. And to the left of him, tall and polished, was his son, Aerion.

You froze. For a moment you debated edging your way back out of the room but then your father caught sight of you.

“Ah!” he threw up his arms and came to grab your arm, pulling you further into the dragon’s nest. “My Princes, you remember my youngest daughter?”

“Certainly,” Aerion interjected before his father could speak. He dipped his head, mocking. “My Lady.”

You assumed you responded appropriately. You could not be sure. Maekar nodded stiffly, something like curiosity in his eyes as he looked you up and down. How much had Aerion told his father? Was he, in turn, going to tell your father?

“Why are you here?” you asked bluntly.

Your father said your name, surprised. “You did not know? I invited them here whilst we were all at the tourney.”

“Yes,” Aerion smiled, “I am here to hunt.”

The ground felt like it was dropping out from beneath you. Even the air felt thin. Whilst you swayed on your feet, vehemently regretting that night, your father chattered on to Maekar.

He had no fucking idea what he had agreed to. And, truthfully, neither did you.

Unwilling to leave your father and the princes alone, you found yourself getting ready for a hunt. You yanked on your riding dress and, once your front was covered, turned to allow your maid to lace up the back.

You did not know what Aerion had told Maekar, nor what his plans were with you father. You were worried that, at the first chance he had, Aerion would tell him of your indulgent and careless behaviour. Why else would he come all this way?

It seemed insane that he would do all this just to torment you. Or perhaps it would, if he were anyone else. Out of all the boys to fool around with. . .

You descend from your room and head for the stables. Yanking on your riding gloves, you find the stall of your horse, Silver. She was a precious thing and fickle with anyone other than you. You smoothed your hand over her mane and waited for the stable boy to arrive.

Aerion arrived first.

You scowled at the flash of silver hair you saw from the corner of your eye and did not bother greeting him. It was not him you feared; it was what he might tell you father. You should probably consider attempting to butter him up. Your lips thinned at the idea and you continued to ignore him.

Heat was radiating from his body as he stepped up bedside you, bumping your arm with his. Without asking, he reached out to pet Silver. You hoped she would bite him. Instead, she huffed and leaned down to nose at his palm. You frowned.

Distracted, you did not notice Aerion’s other hand creeping up toward the collar of your dress. You squeaked when you felt his fingers on the hem, yanking it down until the ugly spot he had left on your upper breast came into view.

The flesh was still unhealed. Whenever you looked closely in the mirror, you could still see the outline of Aerion’s teeth.

“Good,” he hummed, “yours has not healed either.”

He did not let go of your clothing, instead leaning closer as though he might bite again. Outraged, you slapped the prince across his face. Aerion let go at once, hand coming to rest on the quickly darkening flesh of his cheek.

Your chest was heaving, eyes wide and blinking furiously. You wanted to shout, to slap him again, to demand the real reason as to why he had come. You had finally been getting back to normalcy when he and his father had shown up.

You snarled still as Aerion reached out again, raising your hand as though you might strike him once more. This time he did not try to tear at your clothes. He tugged them back into the rightful position, brushing the wrinkles from your bosom as though his fingers were not leaving trails of fire behind as they went.

“I knew you had fire in you,” he finally said, brushing his fingers over your bared collarbones.

Before you could respond, there was the sound of someone clearing their throat. You whirled around, horrified to see Maekar waiting by the stable doors. Aerion did not seem alarmed. He met his fathers gaze and inclined his head before going to his own horse.

Maekar did not say anything. His gaze bounced from his son and then back to you, as though he was putting something together. He did not speak and seemed surprised. Had he seen you slap his son? It was nothing he had not deserve.

Markar must have agreed because he offered you a soft nod and then turned his attention to Aerion. You went back to Silver and pretended that neither of them were there. The two of them were having some kind of hushed conversation and you could not make out what they were saying.

Eventually your father and the stable boy arrived, and the hunt began.

Your father and Maekar rode ahead, crossbows hanging by their sides. It was the most serious you had seen your father. Neither of the men spoke, which you preferred.

Aerion rode at your side, which you did not prefer. He had his own crossbow but seemed to have little interest in it. His gaze was firmly fixed on the side of your head. Occasionally he would come close and kick softly at your calves, or reach out to pull your hair when he knew neither of your fathers were looking.

One particularly hard pull had you swearing and slapping at his hands. Aerion laughed quietly so as not to draw the attention of your fathers. Yours was particularly oblivious. Maekar, on the other hand, kept glancing over his shoulder, eyes sliding from Aerion to you. He seemed bewildered. Perhaps you were not the only one who did not know what Aerion was up to.

After several hours with no sign of game, you began to wish you had remained home. Let Aerion say what he would. It was not worth you distress.

Suddenly everyone seemed to still. You shivered at the sudden change. Even Aerion was silent. You peered out into the dense forest, trying to see whatever it was that had captured everyone’s attention. The only sign that anything was there was a slight rustling in the bush, and then a dull ‘thunk’ as Aerion fired from his crossbow quicker than you thought possible. Then a thud, as whatever it was hit the ground.

Aerion dismounted and disappeared into the brush, returning with an impressively large stag. Your brows raised at the clean shot. It was something even your brothers would have struggled with. Aerion held it up by the antlers and stared in your direction. You smoothed your expression and looked away as though you were bored. You did not want to encourage further ridiculousness.

You stayed on Silver as the men tied the poor creature between their horses and began to head home. Bloodlust satiated, Aerion mostly left you alone, and for that you were thankful.

At dinner, Aerion had the honor of the first serving. It had been divided into manageable chunks, cooked and seasoned in the preferred way of your guests. The scent of venison was thick on the air and you were hungry after the ride.

Your eldest brother Edwyn joined you at dinner. His lady wife was unwell and remained abed. If he was surprised by the royal visitors, he did not show it. He settled into pleasant conversation with your father and Maekar. To his credit, he attempted to include Aerion but the prince seemed determined to make him uncomfortable.

Rather than take the first cut for himself, Aerion slid it your way. All the men at the table went silent. Aware of the gaze of your father and brother, you smiled sweetly and acted surprised.

“For the lady,” Aerion said, smirking at your obvious discomfort.

The meat was rare and bloody. Not your favourite but you would manage. Aerion tucked in to his own with little fanfare, blatantly ignoring his fathers’ eyes. Greasy blood dripped over his lips and he chased the flavour with his tongue, never breaking eye contact with you.

 Conversation resumed and you ate your own food whilst wishing for the ground to open up beneath you. Did Aerion even have to say anything? One look at him and your father would surely learn of your behaviour that night. Aerion was hardly subtle.

For the first time since they had arrived, you wondered about Owen. He had been on his way here, had he not? You cringed inwardly at the thought of Owen and Aerion interacting. Not that Aerion would care about Owen, but during the Ashford tournament, Owen had been practically tripping over himself trying to impress the Targaryen guests. You dreaded to think of enduring that behaviour within your own home.

Aerion chose that moment to kick you under the table. Your knee bounced against the underside, drawing the attention of everyone once more. You laughed uneasily and apologised, waving away your father’s concerns.

You waited until all attention was back on the food, and then you kicked Aerion right back.

The next few days went by in a similar fashion. Maekar continued to hunt with your father, returning empty handed most days, and Aerion remained at the castle with you.

Everywhere you went, he was there. More often than not, the pair of you ended up alone. The servants were scared of him and you could not blame them. You overheard him barking at them on several occasions, and he had even thrown something at one of the maids who had come to wake him one morning.

Miraculously, none of these incidents seemed to make their way back to either of your fathers. If the staff trembled when they refilled Aerion’s cup, they did not notice. Neither did Aerion, for his attention was usually fixated on you.

You kept waiting for that temper to turn on you but it never did. So, you continued to bite back, though not literally, and convinced yourself you were doing it on behalf of all the servants.

After several days, you realised that the only thing that seemed to genuinely irritate him was you ignoring him. So, naturally, that was exactly what you did.

No longer did you glance up when he entered the room. At mealtimes, you arranged yourself carefully in your chair so that his legs could not reach you. You had your ladies’ maid, Silena, wind your hair into intricate braids so that there was nothing he could easily pull.

Aerion’s fury built. You pretended not to notice when he sniped at the servants and scowled at your father. Maekar, eager to soothe over any tensions caused by his wild son, was always quick to distract your father with conversation.

One day, Aerion went out hunting with Maekar and your father. Once again, he presented you with the first cut of meat that he had caught. You thanked him politely and nibbled at it as though dissatisfied. Aerion jerked about in his chair as though he might jump up and start shouting.

Would that be enough to get your father to send him away? Probably not. You were beginning to understand that Targaryen princes got away with everything.

Four days trickled past, and there was still no sign of Owen. Not that you thought of him often. A raven had arrived from Lord Frey, asking if his son had arrived. It was odd and you had felt sorry for the man, worried for his son. No doubt he would turn up soon, but not so soon that you had to bear with him and Aerion under the same roof.

On the fifth day, you were thoroughly exhausted. You had begun to avoid Aerion as much as possible – and it mostly wasn’t. The man seemed to have eyes on you at all time.

He had spent most of the day with you in the library. When he wasn’t thumbing through books, he was digging his dagger into the table that had been in your family for generations. His blatant disrespect was unsurprising and you had snuggled further in your chair and tried to pretend like you were actually reading the words on the pages.

After an hour or two of the stifling silence, Aerion had got to his feet and torn the book from your hands. He had torn into it, throwing pages over you like confetti. You had been furious and ready to deliver another swift smack to his cheek. A servant had entered that time, saving you from breaking your silence, and you had both gone down for lunch.

Your father was not the most observant man, but even he could see that you were beyond taxed by the end of the day.

Rather than indulging in evening drinking and games, he suggested that you retire early and have a bath drawn by the staff. You were more than happy to do just that.

You lounged on your bed with a book you did not read as the servants prepared your tub. The water was steaming hot and inviting. Once it was full, they scattered petals into the water and added drops of some scented oil that had you relaxing almost instantly.

Your ladies’ maid waited to help you undress but, as you had every day since returning, you waved her off.

“I’d like some time to myself, Silena,” you smiled softly, “I’ll call for you once I am finished.”

You waited until the door was shut, and then several minutes more for good measure, before undressing. You tried to avoid looking at the bruise on the swell of your breast. Your eyes were drawn there automatically.

Pressing a hand over it, you hissed at the memory of pain and ignored the sparks it sent between your legs. Piling your hair on your head, you arranged it until you were satisfied it would not get wet. Once you were completely bare, you stepped into the tub and settled down, letting your head fall back against the high edge.

The water was verging on boiling, as you liked it. It was milky from the oils and soap. You grabbed a washcloth from the edge of the tub and began to run it over your shoulders and behind your ears.

You let your mind go blank as you cleansed yourself several times over until all you could smell was lavender and something almost smoky. Once more you sat back, content to relax until the water turned cold.

The sound of the door opening had you sighing and dipping lower into the water to hide your bruise. “Silena, I have no need of you yet –“

“But I have need of you.”

You shot up straight, sloshing water over the edge of the bath. Aerion let the door fall shut, reaching behind himself to click the lock into place. His eyes were dark as the fixed on you in the tub and you shivered, cold despite the hot water.

“I’ll scream,” you warned him.

“I’ll tell your father what we did together,” he countered.

He toed off his shoes as though these were his rooms and began to make his way towards you. You had no weapon, nothing with which you might fight him off with, and he seemed to know it.

You dared not take your eyes off of him. When he settled on his knees next to the tub, you became painfully aware of your naked state. It was strange; he had had his fingers on you, almost inside of you, and yet he had not seen you. Not really.

Aerion seemed to be thinking the same thing. He seemed displeased at the milky state of the water. It concealed you from him. You drew your knees up to your chest and waited for him to speak.

Aerion dipped his fingers into the water and hissed. “Hot.”

“I like it that way,” you defended. Then you shut your lips tightly, wishing you had not spoken at all.

Aerion smiled and touched your bare knee beneath the water. You tried to jerk away but he gripped you tight, nails biting into your softened flesh. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I am not here to entertain you, prince.”

“I thought that, too, at the tournament,” he said, “but then you were so wonderfully entertaining in the garden that night. I want more. Have wanted more, since then, and yet you deny what was once so freely given. Why?”

Your mouth felt dry. “I am a lady.”

“And yet,” he repeated, “you betrayed your betrothed that night, with me, didn’t you?”

You stilled, barely registering his words before they hit you full force. “He betrayed me first!” you snarled, sending a wave of water over the edge of the tub.

Aerion squeezed your knee tighter, ignoring the water creeping its way up his sleeve. It soaked into the golden embroidery that was pattered there, darkening the fabric until it looked like it had been flecked with blood.

“Betrayed you?” Aerion repeated. “Vengeful little thing.”

“He is no longer my betrothed,” you added weakly. “I told my father about what he did.”

“But he was coming here to see you regardless,” Aerion said, mostly to himself.

“How do you know about that?” you asked, finally tearing his hand from your knee. Blood welled from the indents he had left in your flesh with his nails. You shivered at the sting as the warm water washed over them.

Aerion’s eyes dropped low, searching for that mark he had left on your skin over two weeks ago. Then they dipped lower still, fixing on the tips of your breasts that were barely visible beneath the water.

He let out a muted groan, dragging his eyes upward until they were once again on your face. “I believe I said that we were not finished.”

It took you a moment to remember what he was talking about. “Aerion, no.”

“You think you know what you want,” he murmured, “and maybe you did, all those weeks ago. But your mind has become clouded. Allow me to clear it for you.”

You gasped when Aerion leaned over the tub, hands grasping your shoulders as he pulled you forward and arranged you to his liking. He had you with your back to him, against the tub, allowing him to peer over your shoulders and down your body.

You tried to move forward but he would not allow it. You stopped moving when you felt his teeth at your neck. If he left a mark there, it would be visible to everyone, including your father.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Let me finish what we started.”

Beneath the water, Aerion cupped your breasts with a firmness that had you whimpering. You could feel his warm breath puffing over the shell of your ear and you squirmed, searching yourself for your earlier reluctance. It was not there.

When Aerion rubbed his thumbs over your nipples, you nearly dissolved into the bath water. He kneaded them gentle, rolling the tips between his fingers in a way that had you gripping at his arms and shoving your face against his shoulder.

One hand abandoned your breast, instead snaking down and over the swell of your stomach, searching for the wetness between your legs. You let your thighs fall open without a second thought, eager for that feeling from those weeks ago.

Aerion sucked in a breath. “Sweet girl.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek at the same time as his fingers made contact with your aching clit. This was dangerous, you tried to remind yourself, for this you might do anything.

Like before, Aerion’s fingers began to propel you toward orgasm quicker than you typically could alone. Your clit seemed more than eager for whatever he wanted to give and each touch felt devastatingly soft, as though he was punishing you for not allowing him to give you this back in the garden.

Distantly, you wondered if he was trying to prove something. You could not find it in you to care, so long as he kept doing whatever it was that he was doing.

You almost didn’t notice when his fingers began to slide lower until one was nudging at your entrance. It was not something you typically did alone. You were always too worried of spilling your own blood. You opened your mouth to protest but, before you could, Aerion had you spread apart on his fingers as he gently fucked you with his hand.

You choked on your breath. “Aerion, please – you can’t –“

“Shhh,” he whispered, surprisingly tender as he took you apart. “Do not worry. Just feel.”

All it took was one swipe of his thumb over your clit. You had to plaster your hands over your mouth to mask the sound that was spilling from your lips. Aerion did not stop and instead continued to stroke you through your orgasm, to the point of painful sensitivity. He did not stop until you physically pulled his hands from you, and even then he seemed reluctant.

You sagged against the tub, entirely breathless and shaken. Aerion grabbed your face with one hand, turning you this way and that, as though he were admiring his own work. You waited for some snarky comment.

Aerion hummed to himself, letting his hand drop until it was hovering over the bite mark. His bite mark. He did not touch it, instead he pulled back and got to his feet, stepping somewhat unsteadily away from the tub.

“I shall see you tomorrow,” he said. “Never ignore me again.”

With that, he unlocked the door and slipped out as though he was never there. The only sign that he had been was a churning in your stomach and an ache between your thighs.

Once you were sure he was gone, you dunked your head under the water and did not come up until your lungs were screaming for air.

Despite his words, you did not see Aerion the next day. Nor the one after that. You father, brother and Maekar also seemed to have disappeared. Uneasy, you assumed they had some official business that needed seeing to. Maybe the princes had even left.

No, you knew they hadn’t. It felt silly to say but you could feel Aerion, still lurking in your home, despite staying out of sight. Fire seemed to burn hotter with him in the building.

At night you found yourself sweaty and cross, abandoning your blankets and tossing and turning until you were able to pass out. You never slept for long.

On the second day, after hiding in the library and dining alone, you felt unusually anxious. All your clothes felt tight and ill fitting. Had Aerion told your father about the bath? It was all you could think about all day. You picked at your food and didn’t read a thing until it was time for bed, at which time you went up alone and dismissed Selina in favour of dressing yourself.

You tugged on a sleep gown, relishing the soft loose fabric in comparison to your day clothes. The fire in the grate was out and you felt too warm to fetch Silena so you left it alone, allowing the candles lit to guide the way to your bed. You shoved all the sheets down until they were not touching you. Then you positioned yourself like an X, trying to cool down and banish the day’s anxieties from your brain. You had to stay in control. It would not do to let your guard down when Aerion was around.

Sleep would not come. Even when you trained yourself to stay perfectly still, taking even and deep breathes, it seemed to taunt you from the darkest corners of your room. Eventually the candles went out, leaving you in almost complete darkness.

The moon still shone in through your window. It allowed you to see vague shapes and the outline of your own body. You squeezed your eyes shut and begged the seven for sleep.

Just when you were ready to jump up and begin lighting candles, there was a noise. For a moment you did not recognise it for what it was. Your heart shot into your throat as you realised it was the sound of your door opening and shutting, then the lock falling into place.

You remained still, tense and silent as you peered into the darkness, heart hammering in your chest. It was not until the moonlight glinted off of something silver that you relaxed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you breathed, sitting up as Aerion approached your bed. “You can’t be in here.”

“Scared?” he asked, settling himself on the edge of your bed.

“This is highly improper,” you warned, eyes bulging from your head as Aerion began to shed his clothes as though the room were his own.

He did not respond. He continued shucking his clothes until only his braies remained, the outline of his cock already half hard between his legs. You swallowed and commanded yourself not to stare. Eventually he shed those too.

“You can’t be in here,” you repeated weakly.

Aerion’s hand found your ankle in the darkness. You yelped as he yanked you, your back hitting the mattress as he dragged you further down the bed. You were near winded as he climbed on top of you, knees on either side of your hips as he rested his weight softly on your stomach.

It wasn’t until he began to snatch at your wrists that you remembered yourself and began to struggle. With a yell, you set your teeth to the first line of flesh you saw.

Your teeth sank into his bicep much like they had sank into his chest all those weeks ago. Blood trickled into your mouth and you bit harder.

Aerion’s hand came to cradle the back of your hand. “That’s it, just like that.”

Immediately you let go, hissing up at him with bloodied teeth. “There is nothing sweet about this. Now get off.”

Aerion leaned down and licked the blood from your mouth, moaning every time you nipped at him with already bloodied teeth. It was insanity, madness, and it was making you unbearably fucking wet.

“My turn,” Aerion said, and then his teeth were burying into your neck so deeply that you faintly wondered if you would scar.

Your hips bucked upward, driving his cock into your stomach as he sucked at your neck, teeth pinching and tongue soothing as he went. You were done. There was no way you could cover whatever mark he had left this time. Had this been his plan all along?

When Aerion pulled away, there was blood smeared across his face just like before. More of it, even. He ran his fingers over the mark you had left and hissed, fisting his cock with his other hand.

“Enough with waiting,” he muttered, “I have been a patient man.”

You did not protest as Aerion shoved your night dress up until it was bunched under your armpits. You nearly moaned when he parted your thighs, baring you to him fully for the first time.

He pressed his fingers to your entrance and groaned. “So fucking hot. Are you sure you are not blood of the dragon?”

He ran his fingers through your arousal and brought them to his lips, letting your slick mingle with the blood before licking his fingers clean. Your cunt throbbed with each pass of his tongue over his fingers and it took you a moment to realise you were whimpering aloud.

“No matter,” he said, “you’ll have a dragon inside you, one way or another.”

Placing one hand on your stomach, Aerion used his other to notch his cock at your entrance. The heat coming off him was intense. Sweat beaded on your hairline as you tried to focus on the consequence, on why you should not be doing this, but your mind refused to focus on anything but the thick feel of Aerion sliding into you.

There was a flash of pain as he nudged up against something inside you. He gave you no time to adjust, instead thrusting forward and taking your maidenhead with little compassion. You winced at the bite of pain.

Aerion kept your thighs pinned wide to accommodate him. His eyes darted from your face to the obscene sight between your legs. His hips began to shift as he thrust in earnest. All thoughts of pain fell away as you became accustomed to the thickness of him.

Aerion Brightflame was fucking you and you were letting him.

Everyt ime your eyes fell shut he would stop until you were focused back on him. The wet sound of your union had your ears burning as you mewled beneath him, greedily chasing every little feeling he was introducing you to.

You could feel yourself twitching around his length as his nails dug into the meat of your thighs. The scent of sweat and sex was a heady thing, heavy on your tongue as Aerion fucked you steadily with deep thrusts of his cock.

Your jaw dropped open when his hand dipped between your legs, collecting blood there and bringing it to his chest, smearing it there as he gazed darkly down at you.

You watched as he smeared the blood in a line over his lips, and then as he reached down and made the same motion over yours. You could taste the copper and sweat and felt almost dizzy with the arousal that hit you.

Aerion was not finished. His hand went down again, this time with his thumb finding your clit. He wasted no time. He began rubbing in the way he had learned that you liked, driving you toward orgasm faster than you could keep up with.

Your thighs clenched around his hips, trying to slow him down, but he was relentless. Between the quick passes of his thumb and the way he was fucking you, you were helpless. Your orgasm splintered through you like physical thing, wiping your mind blank until all that tied you to earth was the cock breaking you open and the hands gripping your face.

“Yes, yes,” Aerion chanted, hips driving into yours with vigor. “Come around me, wife.”

His words made no sense and yet – your orgasm washed over you, stronger than ever, until you were left writhing beneath him on the bed. You recognised your own voice, begging for a break as Aerion wrang every drop of relief from you.

It was only then that his hips began to lose rhythm. He leaned down to press a sloppy kiss to your lips, tongue chasing the combination of blood, sweat and arousal that coated both your lips. You felt him moan into your mouth, felt his hips stutter as he emptied himself inside you.

You were still aware enough to know that it was a bad thing. Visions of yourself, unwed and with child, threatened to break the bliss. You tried to push Aerion off but he was having none of it.

“Be still,” he grumbled, arranging you in his arms until he had you pinned to his chest, cock still inside you. He pinched your ass when you would not stop moving.

“Aerion,” you cried, pushing at his chest. “You – you have ruined me! I could be with child –“

“Good,” he yawned, fingers pinching, “it will reflect well on me when you are with child in less than a year after the wedding.”

You paused, remembering his earlier words. “Wedding? I am not getting married, Aerion.” “Oh, but you are,” he grinned, all sharp and poision, fitting his teeth to the mark he had already made on your neck. “You are to be a dragon’s bride. My bride.” “My father would not allow it,” you said weakly, disbelieving.

“He already has,” Aerion bit down, “he will tell you of your good fortune tomorrow morning.”

“My father would not make me –“

“Make you?” Aerion repeated, pulling back slightly so that he could see your face. The movement reminded you that his cock was still very much inside you. “Who is he to refuse a dragon?”

“Besides,” he continued, “you are well suited to me, wife.”

“Wife,” you said numbly, shivering when Aerion tilted his hips and rubbed his cock against a particularly inviting place inside you.

“What do you think I came all this way for?” he smiled wolfishly. “Look how you blossom beneath me. My wife. Call me husband. I demand it.”

a/n - when the cookie is so good he stalks you across Westeros and his father is so tired of him that he goes along with it

I worked so hard on this 😭 please let me know if you enjoyed it! Every like, reblog and comment is deeply appreciated

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