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Summerhall bristled with preparations for Egg and Ser Duncan’s arrival. You held your crimson skirts in your hands as you followed your father around the castle, as he oversaw the preparations. 

“Why are we hosting this oaf?” you complained.

“Watch your tongue,” your father warned, narrowing his eyes at you. “Your brother is squiring for the hedge knight, and it is time they stay here for a bit. Ser Duncan needs a bit more refined training. You will be cordial when he is within these walls, daughter.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes and storming back to your rooms. You would do no such thing. You weren’t quite sure why the gigantic hedge knight flustered you so much; perhaps it was because he had taken your favorite brother away, or perhaps it was because you held him partially responsible for the death of your beloved Uncle.. You could be petty, jealous, and possessive, and you did not like it when people took things that were yours. Your ladies arrived later to help you change into the garments your father requested, as he preferred a uniform and united look for the family. You stood at his side with a scowl on your face as Egg and Dunk arrived on horseback.

You cheered up when Egg ran into your arms, letting you spin him around. “Oh, you’ve grown bigger,” you sighed.

“Just a few inches,” Egg reasoned as your father greeted Dunk.

You held his hand as you all filed inside the castle. Dunk gave a polite nod when his gaze landed on you. You wrinkled your nose.

“Be nice to him,” Egg scolded.

Rhae and Daella circled around Duncan’s feet, chattering away and making the poor hedge knight stumble around his words. He never could think as quickly as Maekar’s children could talk.

“Why should I? When he has stolen my favorite brother away?” you huffed. Your gaze snapped back over to Dunk, and an odd fluttering took over your chest. He was very tall and very handsome, but he was also stupid, and you hated him. Gods, you really did sound just like a spoiled child. Perhaps you need to cool off and try to be cordial. 

“Ser Duncan, might I show you the gardens?” you asked sweetly, tossing your curls over your shoulder. Maekar and Egg exchanged a look with each other, and Egg was about to warn Ser Dunk to stay where he was.

“Uh, it would be my honor, milady,” he said, giving an awkward bow and offering his arm.

You slipped yours through his, leading him to the beautiful gardens of Summerhall, awash with flowers in full bloom in vibrant colors. Your father had even constructed a beautiful fountain in the middle, made of white marble with a dragon spewing forth the water from the middle.

“The hydrangeas are my favorite, especially the blue ones,” you hummed. They were the same hue as Dunk’s lovely eyes. You suppose he did have a rather handsome face, even if it was dirty.

“I don’t know much about flowers, milady, but they are pretty,” he agreed, his face flushed, clearly nervous in your presence. You liked that you had that effect on him. He might prove a fun plaything. 

“The fountain is my favorite, especially when the humid air sets in,” you smiled, letting go of his arm and gathering up your skirts as you dashed over to it. Your feet landed in the cerulean water with a splash. “Come and join me, Ser Duncan!”

It took him only three strides to reach you, and he sat on the marble’s edge as he tugged off his worn boots.

“I shall have those shined for you, and I’ll have my ladies attend to those tears. You cannot walk around here looking like a peasant,” you scoffed, and he glared at you.

“There is no need to insult me, milady. We weren’t all born with silver spoons in our mouths,” he snapped.

“Do you think me spoiled, Ser Duncan?”

“I’d wager you are very spoiled, milady.”

“How rude of you to say,” you huffed, crossing your arms.

“You asked me,” he pointed out, stepping into the bubbling water. You peered up at him.

“I could have your tongue for it.”

He scoffed. “I doubt it.”

“My lady, you should address me as my lady,” you scolded. His blue eyes narrowed at you. You were a testy little thing.

“Seven hells, I forgot one time…”

“Now a second,” you smirked, and his cheeks puffed out with his irritation.

“You're in need of a good smack, milady,” he blurted out. He surprised himself by uttering such a thing to a princess no less, but you were testing him.

“Oh, am I?” you taunted, hands on your hips as you crooked your neck.

“You may be highborn, but I’m certain Prince Maekar has taught you manners, milady, or perhaps you need a reminder,” Dunk said.

“And you wish to give me one?”

Dunk’s fingers curled into tight fists at his side. His palm itched to smack your spoiled arse and teach you a lesson. But he would not risk it. He remembered what happened when royal blood was struck.

“I said…do you wish to give me one, Ser Duncan?” you asked tersely, advancing on him and shoving him. Perhaps the heat had gone to your head, perhaps your thorny temperament had gotten the better of you, and you knew you played a dangerous game by provoking him. But sometimes you never learned your lesson of playing with fire until you were truly burned.

“I’m not falling for your tricks, milady,” Duncan grumbled, feeling the fool.

“Pity, I thought you might be fun, but seems are just a big, stupid lunk as Aerion said. Do stay there, Ser Dunca, you smell as if you need a bath,” you fumed and stormed away, spraying water as you departed. You left him standing in the fountain with a confused look on his face.

“You better not have been mean to him!” Egg yelled, chasing after you as you left wet footprints on the floors.

“And what if I was?” you snapped, whirling around to face him.

“Then you should apologize! He doesn’t deserve your wickedness,” Egg yelled.

“He is a big, stu…”

“Enough!” Maekar barked. “Ser Duncan is a guest in our house, and if you cannot be pleasant towards him, I will have you locked in your room. Now, both of you stop howling like wild animals.”

Egg smirked at you and went running out to find Duncan. You skipped dinner that evening, figuring you could suffer through an aching stomach over having to sit at the table and make nice with everyone. You sulked in your bed, sitting up when you heard a rustle at your door.

“I brought you some lemon cakes,” Egg whispered, pushing them through the crack at the bottom.

You padded over to retrieve them. “Thank you.” The sugary treats melted against your tongue.

“He really is a good man, sister. He is good to me. Please try to get to know him.”

You sighed. “I shall try my best.”

“You'd better, or I’ll put toads in all your dresses,” Egg threatened. You had forgotten what a mischievous little cretin he could be.

You snorted. He really was your favorite brother. You woke in the morning in better spirits and determined to get over yourself a bit. Your ladies laced you into a soft lavender gown made of lightweight fabric as the warmer weather set in. You broke your fast with them before wandering to the training yard to observe. You took a seat by your father as you watched the Master of Arms spar with Dunk. You were surprised by how quick such a big man was on his feet. The sound of clashing swords filled the air.

“I suppose he is not…unskilled,” you murmured.

Maekar raised a brow. “Of course he’s not, silly girl. Did you think I would entrust him with Aegon if he was? He beat your brother bloody out on that field.”

You hummed softly in response, your eyes glued to him.

“Egg, you stay back, don’t want you getting whacked with his,” Dunk told Egg seriously when the Master of Arms handed him the morningstar.

“Yes, Ser Duncan!” Egg chirped, moving out of harm’s way. Your cheeks heated, your heart speeding in your chest as you observed how much he looked out for Egg. Suddenly, you hated yourself for how you had spoken to him the day before.

“Excuse me,” you said, retiring back inside to find some chilled wine to drink. You barely had time for a sip before your sisters were dragging you off to one of their little tea parties. Rhae placed a flower crown on your head and made you greet her favorite stuffed rabbit named Lady Penelope. Daella poured the tea into the pretty porcelain cups decorated with painted pink peonies.

“We should invite Ser Duncan!” Daella gasped.

“Oh yes,” Rhae agreed, nodding vigorously before taking a dainty sip from her teacup.

“I shall go find him,” Daella said, rushing off, her braid swinging behind her. You were surprised when she returned a few minutes later, holding Dunk’s hand and dragging him toward the small table. You wondered if his default expression was always one of such bewilderment.

“Welcome, Ser Duncan, this is Lady Penelope, our guest of honor,” Rhae said.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lady Penelope,” he smiled, nodding toward the stuffed rabbit.

Daella poured him a cup of tea, and you had to keep from laughing at how small the cup was in his large hands. He certainly appeared a giant with his knees drawn to his chest as he sat on the floor in front of the small table.

“Here are some cakes for you,” Daella said, ever the perfect little hostess, and he shoved three into his mouth. His face turned red when he realized all three of you were staring at him. Rhae giggled sweetly.

“Lady Penelope, we must feed Ser Dunk properly!”

“I will go to the kitchens,” you offered.

“You don’t have to do that, millady.”

“Nonsense, you are our guest, and we must have you well fed.”

You had the kitchen send up crusty bread, cheese, and salted ham, along with fruit for the girls to enjoy. You weren’t surprised that a man of Dunk’s size had such an appetite. You had to admit you swooned at how sweetly he talked with your sisters and entertained their little game. You felt truly ashamed for how you misjudged him. Your sisters eventually released you and Dunk, tinkering in the corner with little vials.

“You better not be making any more potions. Father will be very cross,” you warned them, only to be met with mischievous laughter.

You walked with Dunk back toward the training courtyard. “Dunk…Ser Duncan, I owe you an apology.”

He paused and whirled his head around to face you like you suddenly sprouted three heads.

“What for, milady?”

“I was rude to you on your arrival, and you did not deserve to be treated that way,” you admitted.

“Oh, I…uh…I accept your apology, then, milady,” he replied and continued his walk over to the yard, leaving you feeling bewildered. Oh, you liked him very much. There were very few that could leave you speechless.

The time came for Dunk and Egg to depart, and your father arranged an extravagant feast on the last night. You were seated next to Dunk and found yourself unbothered by the way he chomped on the goose leg. You felt your father, Daeron, and Egg’s eyes all on you, waiting for you to make a snappy remark.

“Try the stuffed grape leaves, they are a specialty here,” you smiled, putting a couple on his plate.

“Thank you, milady,” he grinned. Egg’s jaw nearly hit the ground.

You continued to place food on his plate, finding a certain joy in it. Musicians played in the main hall as a sweet wine and dessert were served. You did not notice Daella and Rhae lingering about the cups, making sure certain ones were placed in yours and Dunk’s hands. Dunk offered you a small smile, raising his cup in your direction, and you returned the favor. You both took a sip at the same time before spitting the wine out. Your sisters giggled before dashing away.

“Not again,” Egg sighed, dropping his face into his hands.

“It seems we have both fallen victim to my sisters’ pranks,” you told Duncan kindly as the servants collected the soiled cups.

“I’m sure they meant no harm, milady,” he reasoned.

You shook your head. “No more my lady, please use my name.”

Maekar nearly choked on his wine when he heard, and Egg screwed up his face. This was not what he meant when he said you should be nice. You loved the way your name fell off Dunk’s tongue, and when he escorted you to your chambers, you pulled his face down and kissed him. He sputtered like a fish against your mouth for a moment before growing bold and returning the kiss.

“Goodnight, Ser Duncan,” you whispered, leaving him standing speechless and red faced in the hall.

You saw your brother and Dunk off in the morning with the rest of the family. You approached Dunk as he was seated on Thunder and procured your handkerchief from your bodice, kissing it before handing it to him.

“To keep you safe on your journey, Ser Duncan,” you smiled.

“Thank you,” he whispered, clutching it in his large hand.

“Has anyone told you how handsome you are?” you asked him. He stumbled over his words, looking like a fish gaping for water. “Hmmm, I can see why not.”

He scowled before a smile crossed his face, and he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I will give you a smack for that when I return, milady.”

“I look forward to it, Ser Duncan,” you smiled, your eyes sparkling.

Nearly a year passed before their return, and Egg had grown even taller, wisps of silvery hair clinging to his head once again. Decorum left your body as you bounded toward Dunk, leaping into his arms. Aegon had sent missives when he could, and you knew it most likely begrudged him, but he also included Dunk’s feelings for you in them. You assumed the hedge knight could not read or write and relied on Egg to relate such messages.

“Milady,” he grinned, holding you close.

Daella and Rhae circled around Dunk, hand in hand, as they asked when he was going to marry you. You would bet that your father already had a headache forming. Dunk fumbled with his words.

“It seems my family has a talent for leaving you speechless, Ser Duncan,” you smiled, kissing his cheek before he placed your feet onto the ground.

“You have quick tongues, and I do not, I’m afraid,” he admitted.

“Father, were you able to find out if Lord Bloodraven took the dragon’s egg?” Aegon inquired.

“Are you still fixated on this obsession, boy?” Maekar sighed. “Come, we’ll discuss it more inside. Welcome again, Ser Duncan.” 

You drew Dunk’s large hand into yours, guiding him inside as your sisters chased behind him.

“You two better not slip anymore love potions into our wine or I’ll have Dunk throw you into the fountain,” you warned them.

“You wouldn’t!” Rhae gasped.

“Ser Dunk is far too nice to do such a thing,” Daella scoffed.

“Oh, but I am not! Are you hungry? I’m certain you are. It was a long journey,” you smiled at the tall man, and the kitchen sent up food. He blushed as red as the roses in the garden when you slipped into his lap, feeding him plump grapes.

“Should you be doing such things? It won’t upset your father?”

“And what is he going to do to me?” you laughed, peeling an orange. Most of the time, your father was all bark, and no bite, and you and your siblings took full advantage of it.

Dunk scoffed, swallowing down a crust of bread. “You’re all far too spoiled for your own good. I’m trying to break Egg of that.”

“Hmmm, and do you think you could break me of it?” you teased.

“I am tempted,” he snorted. He enjoyed the feeling of you on his lap as he imagined what it would be like to make you squirm.

“Find me tonight, Ser Duncan, and we will see how true to your words you are,” you smiled, leaving him with a lingering kiss before going about your day.

After dinner, when the castle had settled, Dunk wandered through the dimly lit halls to find himself standing outside your door. It was hard to ignore his heavy footsteps, and you prayed he did not wake the whole household on his journey to you. You opened your doors and ushered him inside.

“You walk like a giant,” you complained.

“I’m sorry, milady,” he apologize, slumping his shoulders to try and appear smaller.

“I suppose you can’t help it,” you sighed, pulling him over to the bed and making him sit on it. You straddled his large lap, running your fingers through his hair. It had grown longer since his last visit. “You seem nervous.”

“Well, it is not every day a princess invites you into her bed, and if we are discovered, it would be my head.”

“My father would not take your head, nor would I allow him to. What we do poses risk to us both,” you reasoned. “But I will not force you to stay.”

His large hand traveled up the curve of your waist before cupping your cheek, drawing your face in closer to his before kissing you deeply.

“I do not wish to leave,” he whispered.

He assisted you in removing his tunic, your hands wandering over the solid muscle beneath.

“Have you lain with a woman before?” you asked.

“With a girl at Lannisport, she taught me many things,” he admitted. It was petty, but you wished to slap this girl in the face for having Dunk before you.  “Are you a maiden?”

“If you promise not to judge me, I will answer you honestly.”

He nodded.

“I am not. Once, I held my cousin Valarr’s favour and gave my maidenhead to him. I thought we would wed, but he fell in love with another instead,” you admitted.

He squeezed your waist before rolling your nightshift over your head, leaving you bare before him. He knew he should not speak ill of the dead.

“He was a fool then.” He cupped your breast, kneading the supple flesh and making you shiver.

“All men are fools,” you murmured, feeling his cock swell beneath you.

“So I’ve been told,” he smiled up at you. You tugged on his hair, pulling his head toward your chest. His mouth wrapped around your breast as he suckled. You rocked in his lap, feeling his hard cock beneath you.

Lust and heat overtook you both. His breeches were shed, and you sat on his cock, whimpering from the sheer size of him. You were certain he was nearly buried in your womb.

“Dear Gods,” you groaned, sweat dripping down your neck. If a serving girl in Lannisport could handle him, you certainly could. You were blood of the dragon after all. The evening turned hazy as you and Dunk switched in various positions.

Your favorite was when he took you while on all fours like an animal in heat, his cock slamming in and out of your dripping cunt. It was a bit degrading, but oddly thrilling. The hedgeknight taming the dragon. His large hand slapped down on your arse, making the skin bloom pink. His seed filled you, dripping thickly down your thighs. He kept true to his word, pinning you over one large thigh as he hand slapped your rump until it glistened red. You had to bite back your mewls and howls lest you send guards storming into the rooms. You almost laughed as you imagined what their faces might be.

You nearly lost all control when he pulled you onto his face, devouring your cunt like the starved man he always was. His nose bumped against your swollen pearl, making your legs twitch and your toes curl. You were thankful your ladies had braided your hair before bed, as moisture clung to every inch of your skin. You twitched and trembled on his face before spilling into a sweet release. You could not fit all of him in your mouth as he was so impossibly large, but your mouth wrapped nicely around his tip, suckling him until he burst into your mouth.

“I should have to send this Lannisport girl a note of thanks,” you panted, straddling his thick chest. Your body was flushed and dewy from the exertion. Sweat drenched both your bodies, soaking into the sheets beneath.

“Aye, she was a very good teacher,” he grinned.

“And you are a very good student,” you purred.

“I am glad to have pleased you.”

“That you did, thrice over,” you smiled, stretching out on his chest. One large hand settled on your lower back.

“I would marry you, make you an honorable woman, but I doubt your father would allow such a thing.”

“He would not,” you sighed softly, stroking Dunk’s face. “But your sweet words make my heart sing, and know that I would gladly say yes if able. You are not scared of my tempestuous ways.”

“All you need is a firm hand, milady.” His palm patted your sore arse, marked with his handprints.

“I suppose you are clever, Dunk the Lunk,” you teased. He swatted your tender flesh for good measure, delighting in your soft squeal. He often worried he might be too much for the delicate ladies and was glad to find you were made of Valyrian steel.

You curled up in his embrace, nuzzling your face into his neck as his arms wrapped around you. A gleaming, warm stream of sunlight woke you, and you gently shook him awake the next morning.

“Quick, you need to get dressed and leave before my ladies discover us,” you whispered.

He moved with speed and left you with one more kiss before departing. You slipped on your robe, curling beneath your scarlet blanket and breathing in the musky scent left behind. Dunk was in a good mood as he stepped into the hall, freezing like a deer caught in the sight of an arrow, as he came face to face with Maekar. The stern faced white haired man wore a black brocade robe with red dragons.

“I…milord…I mean my Prince,” Dunk stammered as Maekar slowly blinked his violet eyes at the large man who just emerged from his eldest daughter’s room. He held up a hand.

“We will not speak of this, Ser Duncan,” Maekar said evenly before returning to his room.

Dunk nodded and went to his room. You dressed in a guazy dress of sapphire, in elated spirits as you broke your fast in the main hall with your family and Duncan.

“You seem in good spirits, sister,” Daeron noted.

“It is a beautiful morning,” you smiled, gazing over at the hedgeknight. Egg made a retching noise. You retired to your chambers while Dunk and Egg trained and raised an eyebrow as Maester Gyldayn entered.

“A tea, princess, requested by your father and brewed carefully,” he explained, placing it in front of you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, swallowing hard before lifting it into your hands and drinking every drop. You were wise enough to know that was the best course of action.

Dunk returned to your room that evening.

“You cannot spill inside me,” you lectured him.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t…”

“No, we should, we just must be careful,” you smiled, guiding him between your thighs. The bed creaked with his weight. He braced you against one large thigh, helping you rock against his skin. Your swollen pearl dragged over his warm flesh.

“You’re so pretty,” he cooed, gently pinching one of your nipples.

“And you are handsome, my sweet hedge knight.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes, when you are not gaping like a fish,” you replied before silencing him with a kiss and leaving a sticky trail on his thigh. These dalliances continued for the rest of the week, with him careful not spill his seed inside you again. It put both of you at great risk should fall with child. His head rested between your breasts, your fingers combing through his long hair, with your legs wrapped around his massive waist.

“You could come with Egg and me, join us on our adventures,” he whispered.

“As lovely as that sounds, that would not be fair to my brother, and I fear I’m far too spoiled to be sleeping in ditches. The thought of eating cold salt beef makes me gag,” you murmured.

“Spoiled brat,” he laughed.

“And you adore me for it, and I’m certain you delight in taming the spoiled dragon princess” you purred. He couldn’t disagree.

“I will be in your arms again, I swear on it.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise, Ser Duncan.”

The sun was already climbing and the clash of steel felt good in his hands and at first the draught seemed to do its work.

The dull pressure behind his eyes faded. He moved through his drills with sharp precision, sweat soaking his tunic, muscles warming in that familiar, satisfying way.

But as the morning wore on, a different kind of heat began to build.

It started low in his gut, a restless warmth that spread through his veins like slow fire. By the time he sheathed his sword and made his way back to his chambers to wash and change, the warmth had turned into something far more insistent.

His cock thickened without warning, swelling and lengthening until it pressed heavily against the front of his breeches. He frowned and adjusted himself, but the touch only made it worse.

The ache settled deep in his balls, heavy and tight. By the time he stripped for a quick wash, he was fully hard, the shaft flushed and already leaking at the tip. He tried to ignore it while he dressed, choosing the supple leather breeches he favored for court.

It was a mistake.

The material hugged every inch of him, and as his cock strained harder, the confinement became exquisite torment.

The broad head caught against the lacing with every step. Precum beaded steadily and soaked into the fabric until a damp patch formed against his thigh. He gritted his teeth and forced himself toward his solar, telling himself it would pass.

It did not.

By midday the need had grown unbearable. Maekar dismissed his squire with a curt word and locked the door of his private solar behind him. He stood there for a long moment, one hand braced against the heavy oak, breathing hard.

This was beneath him.

He was a prince of the blood, a warrior who had led men into battle, not some green boy who could not control his own body. Yet his cock throbbed insistently, the leather of his breeches now visibly damp where the head pressed against it.

Every beat of his heart sent another pulse of heat through the thick length. He could not go to the feast like this. He could not sit beside you, his wife, and pretend composure while his mind supplied image after filthy image of what he wanted to do to you.

With a low curse he unlaced his breeches and freed himself. His cock sprang out heavy and flushed, the head dark and shiny with precum that dripped in a steady string onto the floor.

Veins stood out thick along the shaft. His balls were drawn up tight and aching. He wrapped his hand around the base, squeezing once, and hissed at the sensation.

The touch was almost painful in its intensity.

He stroked upward in one rough pull, thumb dragging over the leaking slit, spreading the slickness down the length. A groan tore from his throat.

He tried to keep his mind on duty, on the letters that still needed answering, on the training schedule for the new recruits. But every stroke pulled his thoughts back to you. Your voice, soft and even as you spoke to him at meals. The way your hips moved when you walked.

The soft sounds you made when he was inside you. He imagined bending you over the desk in this very solar, rucking up your skirts, and driving into your cunt in hard, punishing thrusts while you clutched at the wood and cried out his name.

He imagined filling you so full of his seed that it leaked down your thighs for hours afterward, marking you as his in the most primal way.

His hand moved faster, rougher. The wet sound of skin on skin filled the quiet room. He braced his other hand on the desk, hips jerking forward to meet each stroke. Precum flowed freely now, making everything slick and hot. He could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter at the base of his spine. His balls drew up even further. He was close, so close, and the need was overwhelming.

“Fuck,” he growled under his breath. His strokes grew erratic, almost desperate. “Wife. My wife.”

The orgasm hit him hard. His cock jerked in his fist and thick ropes of seed spilled across the wooden floor in heavy pulses. He kept stroking through it, milking every drop, your name still on his lips in a rough, broken groan. For one brief moment relief flickered through him, warm and sharp.

It lasted only seconds.

The heat did not fade. If anything it roared back stronger, hotter, more insistent than before. His cock remained thick and heavy in his hand, only half softened, still twitching with aftershocks.

The ache in his balls doubled.

Fresh need surged through him so fiercely that his knees nearly buckled. He stared down at himself in disbelief, at the mess on the floor and the way his shaft was already filling again, hardening once more as if he had not just spent.

The potion, whatever the maester had given him by mistake, had turned a simple release into fuel for the fire.

His mind flooded with even more vivid images of you. Of taking you. Of ruining you. Of claiming you so thoroughly that you would feel him for days.

Maekar let out a low, frustrated snarl and cleaned himself with a cloth from the basin. His hands shook slightly as he laced himself back into the confining leather.

The pressure was worse now.

Every step would be torment, his cock felt enormous, trapped and leaking again almost immediately. He was riled beyond reason, restless, on edge in a way he had never experienced.

Discipline had always been his strength. Today it felt like a fraying thread.

He forced himself through the afternoon duties anyway. He reviewed reports. He spoke with his captains. He tried to focus on anything but the constant, throbbing ache between his legs and the way his thoughts kept circling back to you.

By the time he bathed and dressed for the feast, the need had grown into something almost feral.

His cock strained against the leather with every movement, the head catching and rubbing until he was gritting his teeth against the sensation.

He was leaking steadily now, the front of his smallclothes soaked.

The failed attempt at relief had only made him more desperate, more possessive, more determined to get you alone and take what his body was screaming for.

The great hall was bright with candlelight and alive with sound when he arrived. Roasted meats and spiced wine scented the air.

Music drifted from the gallery above. Nobles filled the lower tables, laughing and calling to one another. You were already seated at the high table, and when he took his place beside you, you turned with that calm, lovely expression and spoke in your quiet voice.

“The roast swan is particularly good tonight. The cook used those spices from the Summer Isles you favor.”

Maekar managed a short nod. His cock was now a thick, throbbing bar trapped along his thigh, the leather stretched so tight across the swollen flesh that every small shift sent sparks of sensation through him.

He could feel the steady leak of fluid making everything slick inside his smallclothes. Under the table he reached for you, but instead of taking your hand his palm settled on your thigh, fingers spreading wide and gripping hard. The silk of your gown was warm from your skin. He squeezed, feeling the soft give of flesh beneath, and did not let go.

You continued speaking in that same even tone, as if the world were perfectly ordinary. You mentioned a letter that had arrived from Dorne, the new tapestry being hung in the queen’s solar, the way the Pentoshi singer’s voice carried so clearly through the hall.

Your words were soft and pleasant, meant only for him.

Each one sent another pulse of need straight to his groin.

He imagined silencing that sweet voice with his cock, pushing between your lips until your eyes watered, or better still, flipping up your skirts right there and driving into your cunt while the court dined on unaware.

The failed release in his solar had left him even more riled, the images in his head sharper, more urgent. He wanted to ruin you. He wanted to make you take every inch and every drop until you were shaking and marked and his.

He leaned close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Keep using that voice and I will not answer for what I do to you before the night is done.”

Your eyes flicked to him, a flicker of awareness there now, but you kept your tone steady as you reached for your goblet. “The singer is quite talented. Do you think the queen will request another song before the dancing begins?”

Maekar’s fingers dug deeper into your thigh. His cock jerked hard in its prison, another thick bead of precum soaking through the leather. He was riled beyond reason, restless, shifting constantly in his seat as he tried to find relief that would not come.

The head of his shaft felt raw from the constant friction. His balls ached with the need to empty again, even though he had already spent once that day.

He could smell you beside him, that warm skin and faint floral oil you used, and it made his mouth water and his cock throb harder. He wanted to drop to his knees under the table, push your thighs apart, and lick you until you shook and came on his tongue.

Then he wanted to flip you over and take you from behind, hard and deep, while you were still fluttering from your release.

The courses came and went. Servants moved around them with platters and pitchers.

Maekar ate almost nothing.

He drank more wine than was wise, hoping it might blunt the relentless throb between his legs, but the alcohol only made the heat spread faster through his blood. His cock felt enormous, straining so fiercely that the laces bit into the swollen flesh. He shifted again and again, trying to ease the pressure, but nothing helped.

Every time you spoke, every time your shoulder brushed his or your hand moved near his, he imagined those hands wrapped around his shaft, stroking him, or your mouth stretched wide while he held your head and fucked your throat in steady thrusts.

The memory of cumming earlier with your name on his lips only made the current need sharper. It had not helped. It had made everything worse.

When a servant leaned in too close to refill his cup and accidentally brushed his arm, Maekar snapped a sharp word that made the man flinch and nearly spill the wine.

He regretted it at once and pulled you closer with the hand still gripping your thigh, as if your nearness could somehow anchor the fire raging inside him.

You glanced at him again, that same quiet concern in your eyes.

“You seem very tense tonight, my prince. Shall I send for the maester to have another look at your head?”

He turned toward you, voice a low, rough growl meant for your ears alone. “The maester can rot. Whatever he gave me has my cock hard as iron and leaking like I am some desperate boy. I tried to find relief with my own hand earlier and it only made the need worse. All I can think about is getting you alone, bending you over the nearest surface, and ruining this sweet cunt until you cannot walk without feeling me. Until my seed is running down your thighs and you smell of nothing but me for days.”

Your breath caught, just slightly, but you recovered and took a sip of wine as though he had merely agreed with your earlier remark about the singer. Your hand, however, slid over his under the table and pressed down firmly, a silent answer that sent another bolt of raw lust through him.

He lasted through the start of the dancing. Barely. When the musicians struck up a lively tune and couples began moving to the floor, Maekar stood. His cock was a constant, painful throb, the front of his breeches now visibly darkened if anyone cared to look. He took your hand without asking and led you from the hall with long, purposeful strides. Several lords called after him. He ignored them all.

In the corridor he moved quickly, pulling you along until he found a shadowed alcove behind a heavy curtain. The moment you were hidden he was on you. His mouth crashed down on yours, rough and demanding, tongue pushing deep as his hands tore at your gown with impatient fingers.

Fabric ripped, the sound was loud in the small space as your breasts spilled free and he palmed them hard, squeezing the soft flesh, pinching your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they tightened and you gasped into his mouth.

He broke the kiss only to drag his lips down your throat, biting hard enough to leave dark marks, sucking until blood rose to the surface beneath your skin.

“Could not wait another fucking minute,” he snarled against your neck. One hand dropped to his laces, freeing his cock with rough tugs. It sprang out heavy and flushed, the head dark and shiny with precum that dripped steadily onto the stone.

Veins stood out thick along the shaft. His balls were drawn up tight and aching.

He hiked your skirts roughly, bunching the silk high at your waist, and shoved two thick fingers between your legs. You were already wet and hot. He groaned at the slick feel of you coating his fingers and pushed them deeper, curling them once before pulling them free.

“Good. Already soaked for your husband’s cock.” He did not waste time with more preparation. He lined the broad, leaking head of his cock up with your entrance and thrust in hard, burying himself to the root in one powerful stroke.

The stretch was intense.

He felt your walls clench around his thick girth, struggling to take him after the long hours of denial. He gave you no time to adjust as he pulled back and drove in again, setting a brutal, relentless pace from the first thrust. The wet sound of his cock slamming into your cunt filled the alcove. His hips snapped forward again and again, skin slapping against skin, each deep stroke jarring your body against the stone wall.

“Fuck, yes. Take it. Take every inch of me.” His voice was ragged with lust and hours of pent-up need. One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise while the other fisted in your hair, pulling your head back sharply so he could bite at the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“This is what you do to me. Tried to take the edge off with my own hand and it only made me want you more. Now you are going to take my cock until I decide you have had enough.”

He fucked you without mercy, the potion and the long day of torment making him almost savage.

Each thrust was deep and punishing, the broad head dragging over that sensitive spot inside you on every withdrawal before slamming back in to the hilt.

His free hand came down on your ass in a sharp slap, the crack of it loud in the small space. He did it again on the other cheek, harder, watching the skin bloom red beneath his palm.

“Mine. This cunt belongs to me. Mine to use. Mine to fill until it overflows.” Another slap, then another, the sting making your walls tighten around him. He felt you flutter and clench and grinned against your throat, feral and satisfied. “You like that. Like when I take what is mine. Like when I ruin you.”

Your body responded, walls pulsing around his thick cock as the first orgasm crashed through you.

He did not slow.

He fucked you straight through it, hips driving harder, the wet sounds growing louder as your release coated his shaft and dripped down your thighs.

When he finally came it was with a guttural roar, slamming deep and holding there as his cock jerked and pulsed, flooding you with thick, hot ropes of seed.

He kept thrusting through it, short, hard jerks of his hips, pushing his cum deeper inside you, making sure it stayed. It leaked out around his shaft anyway, running down your thighs in warm, messy rivulets that soaked into the bunched silk of your gown.

He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, breathing hard, forehead pressed to your shoulder. His cock twitched with aftershocks, still half hard thanks to whatever the maester had given him.

Slowly he pulled out, watching with dark satisfaction as his seed spilled from your well-fucked cunt in a steady stream.

He turned you around, lifted you easily into his arms, and carried you the rest of the way to your chambers without bothering to right your torn clothing.

Once inside, with the heavy door barred behind them, he laid you on the bed and stripped away what remained of your gown with impatient hands. His own clothes followed in quick movements. His cock, still slick with your combined fluids, stood ready again, flushed and heavy.

He climbed over you, spreading your legs wide with his knees, and thrust back in without preamble. This time he took you slower but no less roughly, each stroke measured and deep, grinding the base of his cock against your swollen pearl on every downstroke. He pinned your wrists above your head with one strong hand, the other gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his burning violet eyes.

“Look at me while I ruin you properly, wife.” His voice was lower now, rough with spent lust and lingering fire. “I tried to find relief earlier and it only made this need worse. I am going to fill you again. And again. Until you cannot take any more. Until you smell like my seed and everyone who comes near you tomorrow knows exactly who you belong to.”

He released your wrists only to hook your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half so he could drive even deeper. The new angle made every thrust hit that spot inside you with devastating accuracy.

He pounded into you with steady, powerful strokes, the bed creaking beneath the force of it. His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your swollen pearl and rubbing tight, relentless circles while he fucked you. “Come for me again. Now. I want to feel this cunt milk me while I fill you.”

When you came, clenching and fluttering hard around his thick cock, he followed quickly, burying himself as deep as he could go and pumping another heavy load into you.

This time he stayed inside afterward, rolling to his side and pulling you with him so your back was to his chest, his cock still nestled in your warmth.

One hand stroked down your side, over the marks and red prints he had left, soothing even as he remained possessive. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, softer now.

“The maester is going to explain himself at first light,” he muttered against your hair, though there was no real anger left in him. Only deep satisfaction and the fierce, abiding devotion he felt for the woman in his arms. “Whatever he gave me tonight, it has made me want you more fiercely than I have in years. But I would have wanted you anyway.”

His hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing gently over the heated skin where he had spanked you. “Rest while you can. I am not finished with you yet.”

The night stretched long and heated. The fire the remedy had lit in his blood burned hot for hours more. He took you again sometime in the deep hours, slower but still intense, your bodies moving together in the dark with quiet, desperate sounds.

You had both drifted into uneasy sleep afterward, tangled together, his arm heavy across your waist.

It was near dawn when he stirred again.

You felt him wake behind you, his body pressing closer along your back. His skin was clammy against yours, hot and damp with sweat, and he was trembling.

A low, shaky breath left him as he nuzzled into the curve of your neck. One of his hands slid down your hip, then between your legs, fingers finding where you were still slick and sensitive from earlier. He made a broken sound, half groan and half apology.

“I am sorry,” he murmured against your shoulder, voice rough and thick with sleep and lingering need. “Wife… forgive me. I cannot stop. The fire… it will not let me rest.”

You felt the thick, hard length of him press against your entrance from behind. He was shaking as he pushed in, slow at first, then deeper, burying himself inside you with a trembling thrust. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you back against him as he began to move. The strokes were not gentle. They were deep and urgent, his hips rocking forward with a desperation that made the bed creak softly. His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you open for him.

His skin burned and chilled at the same time against your back. You could feel the fine tremors running through his muscles, the way his breath hitched with every thrust. He pressed his face into your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin there before he bit down, not hard enough to break the skin but firm enough to leave another mark, a sharp sting that made you tighten around him. A muffled groan vibrated against your flesh.

“I want to hurt you,” he said, the words slipping out raw and unfiltered between shaky breaths. “I want to mark you. Make you feel this for days. I want to ruin you until you cannot think of anything but me inside you.” His voice cracked on the last word. He thrust harder, the apology coming again even as his body betrayed how much he meant it. “I am sorry. Gods, I am sorry. But I need… I need to hurt you like this. Need to feel you take it.”

His teeth sank into your shoulder once more as his hips snapped forward, the bite grounding him even as he lost control. One hand slid up to cup your breast, squeezing almost too tightly, while the other held your hip in a bruising grip. He fucked into you with short, powerful strokes from behind, his cock dragging along every sensitive inch inside you. The trembling in his body grew worse. He was shaking against you, clammy skin sliding over yours, his breath hot and uneven on your neck.

The sound of his teeth scraping against your skin was drowned out by the wet, rhythmic slap of his pelvis crashing against your ass. He wasn't just fucking you; he was trying to merge with you, his movements frantic and devoid of any gentleness. Every time his cock bottomed out, it felt like a physical assault on your insides, a blunt force that left you breathless and reeling.

“Tell me you want it,” he growled, his voice a guttural rasp. He shifted his grip, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh of your hip, leaving white marks that would surely turn purple by morning. He pulled back almost entirely, teasing the entrance of your pussy for a fraction of a second before slamming back in with a violent, bone-jarring thrust.

You let out a choked scream, your fingers clawing at the sheets, but he didn't let up. He leaned forward, his chest crushing you into the mattress, his weight pinning you down as he continued to hammer into you. The friction was intense, the heat between your bodies becoming suffocating. He reached around, his hand leaving your breast to wrap firmly around your throat, not enough to choke you, but enough to let you feel the absolute power he held over you in this moment.

“Look at me,” he commanded, though you were facedown. He forced your head to the side, his violet eyes dark and blown out with lust and a desperate, starving kind of need. “I'm ruining you, aren't I? I'm breaking you open.”

He accelerated the pace, the short, powerful strokes turning into a blur of raw motion. His cock felt thicker, harder, stretching your walls to their absolute limit. He began to bite again, not just your shoulder, but the nape of your neck and the slope of your shoulder blade, marking you with a territorial hunger.

The apology was gone now, replaced by a low, animalistic moan that vibrated through his chest and into your back. He was close, his muscles locking up, his entire frame vibrating with the effort of holding back just a few seconds longer to savor the feeling of you tightening around him.

“I'm going to fill you... I'm going to leave it all inside you,” he hissed, his grip on your throat tightening slightly, tongue licking at the sweat that accumulated on your neck.

“Take it,” he growled softly, the words half apology and half command. “Take what I give you. Even when I am like this. Especially when I am like this.”

Another bite, this one lower on your shoulder, followed by the wet heat of his tongue soothing the mark. His thrusts grew rougher, more erratic, the potion’s last embers driving him to claim you one final time before it released its hold.

You felt him reach his peak with a broken moan against your skin, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he spilled another heavy load, hips jerking through the release.

Maekar didn't give you a second to recover. The moment the last pulse of his orgasm faded, he gripped your hips and violently flipped you over, manhandling you onto your back with a force that knocked the wind out of you. You hit the mattress hard, your legs splayed wide, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable beneath him.

He didn't wait for you to catch your breath, your eyes wide with desire. He surged forward, his hand snapping up to wrap firmly around your throat.

He didn't squeeze enough to cut off your air entirely, but the pressure was constant, a heavy reminder of his dominance that forced your chin up and your chest out. His eyes were still dark, blown out and predatory, his teeth bared in a feral snarl as he looked down at you.

“I told you I wanted to ruin you,” he rasped, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. “I'm not fucking finished.”

He positioned the head of his cock, still slick and swollen from his first release, against your soaking entrance and with one brutal, uncompromising shove, he slammed back inside you. The impact was jarring, his cock sliding through the pool of his own cum to bottom out deep against your cervix. You gasped, your back arching off the bed, but his grip on your throat tightened, pinning you down and forcing you to take every inch of him.

He began to fuck you with a renewed, aggressive energy, his hips snapping forward in a relentless rhythm. Each thrust was a heavy, wet thud, the sound of his pelvis crashing against yours echoing in the room. He wasn't looking for pleasure now; he was claiming you, driving himself into you as if he wanted to leave a permanent mark on your insides.

“Take it,” he commanded, his voice guttural. ”Take all of it.”

He shifted his weight, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other remained locked around your neck.

The position left you completely open, your pussy stretching and gripping him with every violent plunge. He began to pick up the pace, his movements becoming frantic and raw.

He leaned down, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of your collarbone, biting hard enough to draw a whimper of pain and pleasure from your lips.

The friction was agonizingly intense, the mixture of his cum and your own lubrication creating a loud, squelching sound with every stroke. He was hammering into you now, his cock hitting your depths with a force that made your entire body shake. He watched your face, savoring the way your eyes rolled back and your breath came in ragged, broken sobs, his expression one of pure, unadulterated hunger.

He stayed buried there afterward, still trembling, still holding you tight as if afraid you would slip away. The apologies came softer now, murmured into your hair between shaky kisses to the bite marks he had left.

“I am sorry, wife. For the bite. For the words. For needing you so fiercely it feels like it will tear me apart.” His hand stroked down your side, gentler now, though the tremor had not fully left him. “The maester will answer for this. But you… you are everything. Even when I lose myself like this.”

The worst of the fire finally began to fade as the first pale light of dawn crept through the shutters.

Maekar’s eyes flew wide, the reverent haze shattering in an instant. Violet irises, still dark with the remnants of lust, locked onto the marks he had left, deep, angry crescents of teeth sunk into the curve of your shoulder, the mottled purple and red where his fingers had clamped like iron vices during the peak of his release. A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat.

“Gods, woman, look at what I have done to you?”

The words were barely finished before he ripped himself from your body with violent suddenness.

The thick drag of his cock withdrawing punched a broken gasp from your lips, the sudden emptiness was jarring, followed by a hot, messy spill of his spend that leaked thickly down your thighs and onto the ruined sheets. He recoiled as though scalded, shoving himself upright and backward in one brutal motion, his broad, sweat-slicked chest heaving.

He stared down at you like a man who had just woken to find blood on his hands. One hand hovered in the air between you, fingers trembling, before he yanked it back and clenched it into a white-knuckled fist against his thigh.

The protective cage of his body was gone, now he knelt above you, silver-gold hair wild, the pale dawn light carving harsh lines across the sharp planes of his face and the corded muscle of his arms.

“Fuck,” he rasped, voice hoarse and cracking. “I— I used you like a beast. Like some half-mad dragon that doesn’t know its own strength.” His gaze raked over every mark, every bruise, every place his mouth and hands and teeth had claimed you through the long, brutal hours of the night. Shame and something darker, possessive, almost feral, warred openly in his expression.

He swallowed hard, throat working. For a heartbeat he looked like he might reach for you again, but he stopped himself short, muscles locked tight with the effort of restraint. The bed creaked under his shifting weight as he put another deliberate inch of distance between you.

“Tell me,” he demanded, low and rough, eyes still wide and frantic. “Tell me I didn’t break you. That I didn’t take more than you could give.” His voice dropped even further, almost pleading beneath the growl.

“Because if I have… if these marks are more than passion’s price…” He trailed off, jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped, and for the first time since he’d dragged you into this bed, Maekar Targaryen looked truly afraid of what his own hunger had wrought. “I am going to fucking kill that fucking fool, oh Gods, my love.”

His hand lifted again, hovering over the worst of the bites on your shoulder without quite touching. The tremor in his fingers was visible. “Speak, little one. Now. Before I lose what little control I have left.”

You were still breathless, lungs burning, body trembling from the sudden, brutal emptiness he’d left behind. His spend was leaking hot and thick down your thighs, your cunt still fluttering around nothing, sore and slick and used. The marks on your shoulder throbbed in time with your heartbeat, but the ache between your legs was deeper, sweeter.

You reached for him with one shaky hand, fingers brushing the tense muscle of his forearm before he could pull farther away.

“Maekar,” you rasped, voice hoarse from screaming his name through the night. “Look at me.”

His eyes were still wide, wild with guilt, but you held his gaze and gave him the truth, raw and unashamed.

“I liked it,” you whispered fiercely. “I liked it. Every mark. Every time you bit down and fucked me harder because you couldn’t stop yourself. Whatever that maester gave you…” A shaky, breathless laugh escaped you. “It made you so fucking sexy. Like you were burning from the inside out and the only thing that could put the fire out was me.”

You shifted on the ruined sheets, letting him see the mess he’d made of you, the glistening streaks on your inner thighs, the way your body still trembled with aftershocks, the vivid proof of his hunger painted across your skin.

“I wanted it,” you continued, softer now but no less certain. “I wanted you like that. Rough. Desperate. Like you’d die if you didn’t get deeper inside me. The way you growled my name when you came… Gods, Maekar, I’ve never felt so wanted in my life.”

His breath hitched. The horror in his violet eyes cracked, something darker and hotter flooding in to replace it. His cock, still half-hard and glistening with your combined release, twitched visibly against his thigh.

You saw the moment the fear lost its battle with need. His hand finally closed the distance, fingers trembling as they traced the bite mark on your shoulder with something that was no longer just shame and guilt, but that it was possession, renewed and burning.

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice low and rough, almost broken. His thumb pressed into the deepest tooth mark, making you hiss. “Tell me you wanted the beast. That you still want him.”

He leaned over you again, caging you in, but this time the tension in his body was different, coiled, hungry, barely leashed. The pale dawn light caught on the sweat still clinging to his chest, the faint tremor in his arms as he held himself above you.

“Because if you keep talking like that, little one…” His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower, to the way his spend continued to drip from your well-used cunt. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep myself from taking you again. Harder. Until every mark on you is fresh and you can’t walk without remembering exactly who put them there.”

His eyes were wide again, but not with fear this time, but with hunger and he was waiting for your answer like a man starving.

You reached up with trembling fingers and brushed a strand of silver-gold hair from his forehead, your voice soft and breathless in the quiet dawn.

“Maekar… can you go slow for me?”

For a heartbeat he simply stared at you, violet eyes wide and searching, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were still asking for him after everything. Then something in his expression cracked open, raw relief, aching tenderness, and a love so fierce it looked almost painful.

He nodded once, jaw tight. “Anything,” he rasped. “Anything you want, my heart.”

He lowered himself over you with deliberate care, one hand sliding beneath your head to cradle it while the other stroked gently down your side, avoiding the worst of the bruises. His cock, still slick with the evidence of his earlier frenzy, nudged against your entrance. He paused there, forehead resting against yours, breathing you in.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your lips. “Just feel me.”

The first slow push was almost reverent. He sank into you inch by careful inch, letting you feel every thick ridge, every pulse of him as your body stretched around him again. The mess he’d left behind made the glide obscenely wet, but he moved like he was afraid to hurt you, deep, steady, and so achingly gentle that your eyes stung.

Maekar kissed you like a man worshipping at an altar. Soft at first, then deeper, his tongue stroking yours in time with the slow roll of his hips. Each thrust was measured, loving, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in to the hilt, grinding there so you felt every inch of him claiming you anew.

“So good for me,” he praised against your mouth, voice rough with emotion. “My brave girl. Taking everything I gave you and still wanting me like this.” He kissed the bite mark on your shoulder with exquisite tenderness, tongue soothing over the indents his teeth had left. “These marks… they’re mine now. Because you wanted them. Because you wanted me.”

Another slow, deep thrust. He groaned quietly into your neck, the sound half-reverence, half-restraint. His hand found yours and laced your fingers together beside your head, squeezing gently as he rocked into you.

“I love you,” he breathed, the words slipping out raw and unguarded between kisses. “Even when the fire takes me. Even when I lose myself in you. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you feel how much.”

He kissed you again, slow, deep, and devastating, while his hips continued their unhurried rhythm, each thrust a promise, each roll of his body against yours an apology and a devotion all at once. The morning light painted both of you in soft gold as he loved you with everything he had left.

He felt it the moment your body began to tighten around him.

Maekar’s rhythm never quickened, but it deepened, each slow, deliberate thrust grinding against that perfect spot inside you with devastating precision. He watched your face the entire time, violet eyes dark and intent, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every soft sound that escaped you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and rough with love. “Let go for me, sweet girl. I’ve got you.”

His free hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit with gentle, circling pressure that matched the unhurried roll of his hips. He kissed you through it, deep, lingering kisses that stole your breath, then moved to the marks on your shoulder, pressing his lips there like a vow.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he praised, the words hot against your skin. “Taking me so sweetly. Letting me love you the way you deserve.” Another slow, grinding thrust. “Come for me. I want to feel you fall apart around my cock. I want to feel how much you still want me.”

The combination unraveled you.

Your orgasm built like a slow, inevitable tide, deeper and more overwhelming than the frantic ones from before. Your back arched, thighs trembling around his waist as the pleasure crested. You clenched hard around him, pulsing in long, rhythmic waves that dragged a broken groan from his chest. He held you through it, never stopping the steady, loving rhythm, fucking you gently through every crest and aftershock while whispering your name like a prayer.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours as you shook beneath him. “So fucking beautiful when you come for me. That’s my girl. My brave, perfect girl.”

He kept moving through the last tremors, slow and deep, letting you ride out every last ripple while his arms cradled you close. Only when your body finally went soft and pliant beneath him did he allow himself to bury his face in your neck, hips stuttering once, twice, then stilling as he followed you over the edge with a low, reverent groan of your name.

Even in the afterglow, he didn’t pull away. He stayed buried inside you, kissing the tears of pleasure from your lashes, stroking your hair, murmuring soft praises against your skin while the first true light of morning crept across the bed.

He pulled you closer, wrapping himself around you protectively, his lips brushing the marks on your shoulder with something close to reverence.

“Sleep,” he whispered, voice hoarse but steadier. “I have you. I will always have you.”

While my giftee is no longer involved their prompt was illuminated manuscript with a kneeling Dunk (amazing line up with my own offer), and I knew just the Codex Manesse image.

Though the 'plot' veneer here is after Ashford, Ser Arlan's coat of arms (with the black diamond of a funerary hatchment) gets a top spot as part of Dunk's lineage.

Dunk's arms are simplified to be a little more real world heraldic.

The Targaryen arms are not the show version again for real world heraldry - where the important part is a consistent blazon (written description) rather than a absolutely consistent image. So unless the dragon was specified as in annulo (in a circle), these are can still be described as Sable, a thee-headed dragon Gules.

The little arm beasts are also Dunk & Baelor. I like to imagine them curled up together like the weirdest little cat things.

Dunk-beast is pointing specifically at the 'hold honor in their breast' line as an "I remembered my vows, did you?"

The helmet Baelor is presenting has the Targ color torse (fabric twist) as livery for a knight sworn to the house - the similar twist on Dunk's arm is absolutely his King's ✨favour✨. Winged crests in shield colors were very common in Germanic heraldry though it also double up here as a trace of Ser Arlan again.

Baelor's little cape has a pattern called vair which is supposed to look like a squirrel's winter fur. Royal mantles and all that.

Some tea, candles, meditation, again. It will work this time, you told yourself, your mind anxiously racing. It has to work. 

One good night of sleep was all you needed, one good, uninterrupted night without that man, a ghost really, invading your dreams. You shuddered just thinking about his increasing visits, his slow walk around your bed as you were frozen in paralysis, unable to move, unable to scream.

He would smile, showing off crooked teeth, his long hair jet black and his eyes red, an ornate ring on each finger, except the left ring finger. And then he would come closer, slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, his body on top of yours but still careful not to touch you, yet. And then, he would lie down next to you, smelling you, whispering. 

He was always whispering, but you could never make out the words, his voice like a faint rumbling of leaves under the autumn wind. One of his fingers would slowly extend, the tips of his fingers black, like dipped in dirt, and he would carefully remove a strand of hair clinging to your lips away from your face.

“Pretty,” you heard him say once, your eyes immediately darting to his lips.

It sent a different kind of shudder through you, his touch and his voice.

This night was no different. He was already in bed with you when you woke, your mind in a panic. You could smell him before your eyes even got accustomed to the dark, an earthy scent mixed with a little bit of sulfur. Your breath hitched in an instant, and your heart was beating so hard it drowned out any other sound in your ears as you desperately tried to blink him away.

He smiled even wider, enjoying your panic. His finger was extended already, and you noticed the ring was shaped more like a claw, a sharp, gold metal glimmering under the street light making its way through your blinds.

Whispering again, you tried to make out the words, focusing on the movements of his lips. Everyone kept telling you your nightly visitor was not real. A figment of your imagination and a consequence of trauma; there were no ghosts or demons, and nothing supernatural was happening in your bedroom.

You tried to tell them that this guy was different; sure, you were visited by sleep paralysis demons before, and sure, they were terrifying. But this guy, he was something else. You even went to church to get blessed, the priest trying to calm you down by repeatedly telling you that you were not getting possessed. 

The more alone you were feeling, the more often he would come, and although initially disturbing, his visits became more soothing. Like you were a lamb he was trying to convince to willingly come to the slaughter.

And there was something else you couldn’t quite place, but it was so hard to look away from him… Although at first you found him repulsive, the black veins prominent on his face sending cold chills down your spine, you would describe him as charming. Magnetic. Charismatic. Seductive.

It was hard to tell what was real and what was not when you found yourself in this petrified state, except that you couldn’t move and couldn’t talk. So perhaps your friends were right. Perhaps this mysterious demon wasn’t real either. Perhaps feeling a cold, prickly metal slowly scraping against your lip was just your mind playing tricks on you.

He smiled, the hushest of growls escaping his throat, and then repeated it, his finger sliding over your lip faster, and then he quickly curled it, causing the sharp metal to pierce your skin. Surely, if this were real, the sensation alone would wake you up?

“So pretty,” he whispered, watching a drop of blood form and slide down your chin. He collected it with another finger, his touch featherlight, and licked his fingertip.

“And so tasty,” his pupils went wide, black on red filling your sight, as he slowly pushed you onto your back and crawled over you.

You realised, when a bunch of pendants, talismans, dragged over your chest, that he was shirtless under his jacket, a bunch of line tattoos that you couldn’t quite make out outlining his toned chest. Your breath hitched again, for a different reason, and you closed your eyes quickly. 

When you opened them again, he was still there, that twisted smile still on his face, his long, fine hair tickling your skin. He leaned in, his nose dragging over your shoulder until it reached the crook of your neck; he inhaled, a hoarse chuckle escaping his throat. You could feel cold sweat forming at the back of your neck, and you still couldn’t look away.

“I wonder what else tastes good?” he teased, his finger burning into the sensitive skin of the hollow of your throat. 

You exhaled sharply, still trying to speak, to scream.

He dragged his finger slowly in a straight line, stopping just above the thin fabric of your panties.

“And what do we have here?” he whispered as you desperately tried to move, a cold shiver forming at the small of your back. 

Gently, he pushed your legs wider, mesmerisingly staring at the wet spot on your panties, two of his fingers now sliding over it, before he pushed your panties aside. Cold air collided with your slick-ridden pussy, his fingers slowly pushing their way between your folds. You sighed.

He slid them up, spreading your needy juices over your clit, then down again, pushing a finger inside you. It felt good, so fucking good, his long finger slowly massaging your walls as his thumb kept drawing circles over your clit. Perhaps the nightmare was turning into something else entirely. 

Slowly, feeling a little bit of resistance, your mysterious demon started to introduce another of his long fingers, pulling out the first one slightly, your stomach disappointingly dropping at the loss of stimulation. You felt it then, your pussy acting as if it had a mind of its own, more of your slick gushing over his fingers as he finally pushed them both fully in.

A cold metal of his rings was pressing against your fluttering walls, a sensation so unexpectedly pleasant you felt like you almost moved. He kept pumping his fingers even as he leaned down, smelling your pussy, a first lick sending the most enjoyable shivers through you.

The knot in your stomach, long formed, was tightening as your demon kept lapping at your pussy, sucking at your clit, his fingers still tirelessly finger fucking you, the dual sensation completely overwhelming you. If only you could talk, talk and beg for his cock. 

He curled his fingers, hitting that one spot that was always bound to tip you over the edge, an orgasm so intense it finally released you from your paralytic shackles, shameless whimpers and moans falling from your lips as you ground your hips against his face, trying to prolong the feeling that made you feel so inconceivably good.

When you finally opened your eyes, still gripping your sheets, you were alone in your room, no demonic presence to be noted anywhere. You turned around, trying to sleep, ignoring the puddle of sweat you found yourself in.

Perhaps all of your dreams could end like this, you thought to yourself, grabbing a toothbrush, before stopping dead in your tracks. It was still visible: a little blood dried on your chin, and the tiniest of the cuts on your lower lip.

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Jace had been foolish and rash in his decision; it had been you who had your guards pry the sword loose that kept your mother locked in her chambers. You were angry at Jace for commanding this. You were angry at Ser Lorent for obeying. If your mother were a man, would they have done such a thing? Certainly not. You caught a glimpse of the shredded red dress, her own anger and disappointment shining through the rash cuts and rips in the fabric, and the distressed look on Mysaria's face. There would be Seven Hells to pay when Jace returned, but the Gods robbed him of such a fate.

When your twin died at the Gullet, after your mother held his lifeless body to her breast, she turned to you and held you tightly in her arms. Your tears of grief mixed with hers, sobbing for the boy…no, the young man who was lost that day. The young man who would have been a great king, with Baela ruling by his side. Two sons dead, two brothers lost to the Stranger. Now you were her heir. The Crown Princess. You wept with your mother, you wept with your good sister who would never be queen, and then you were left to weep alone in your chambers.

"Princess. Ser Addam is here," your guard announced as you warmed in front of the fire, stretched out on the cushioned bench with a white fur draped over your lap.

"Allow him inside, please," you whispered.

"Princess, I am sorry for your loss. Prince Jace will be dearly missed," Addam said, lowering his head. "If only…mayhaps if I had gotten to the Gullet faster…"

"Oh, Addam, you were only following my mother's instructions. I do not think anyone would place the blame on you," you said quickly, standing and rushing over to take his hands in yours.

He softened beneath your touch, giving you a tender smile as he squeezed your hands. "Forgive me, you lost your brother, yet here you are giving me comfort and reassurance."

"Well, I've heard that Lord Corlys has been lost to the sea, so you have your worries as well," you told him gently.

"A man I hardly know," Addam sighed.

"Yet he is still family." He had confided in you not long after arriving on Dragonstone with your mother. The two of you had become quick friends, racing each other on dragonback, with him on Seasmoke and you on Aegarax. You taught him the commands in High Valyrian, as he preferred how they sounded rolling off your tongue. You seemed to possess endless patience, which he warmed to more easily than some of the gruff dragon keepers. "I think I have cried all my tears; no more seem to come, even though my heart weeps inside my chest," you whispered.

"Grief is a strange thing, princess. It can hit you when least expected," he said, and you lifted your gaze to meet his dark eyes and to find that sweet smile on his face. The familiar scent of dragon wafted from him, one you found comforting. "Then there will be moments where it slowly peels away."

"You're right. It happened with Luke and my baby sister. One moment you'll be feeling fine and the next, you'll be brought to your knees. Would you stay with me, Addam? Until I fall asleep? I find such comfort in you."

That smile widened across his face. "It would be my pleasure." He lifted your hands to his lips, gently kissing your fingertips.

He joined you on the bench, and you tucked the fur around both your bodies, letting your head rest on his shoulder. Deeply, you breathed in the scent of simmering embers that clung to his clothing.

"I would like to ride with you tomorrow and help search for Lord Corlys," you murmured, threading your fingers through his. In truth, it seemed like a fine distraction over wallowing alone in your chambers.

"I don't think your mother would allow that."

"If I am with you, I believe she'll be more lenient. She trusts you, Addam, believes you to be a sign. A talisman from the Gods."

"That is too much weight for my shoulders," he teased.

"You ride my father's dragon. A dragon who chased you, who sought you; if that isn't a sign, I'm not sure what else it could be. You are worthy, Addam."

"From your lips, princess." He kissed your temple.

You gazed up at him, growing bold and pressing a gentle kiss to his plush mouth. Warmth permeated from his face.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while," you admitted.

"I'll admit the same thought has crossed my mind once or twice," he chuckled, cupping your cheek.

"Mmm, then I hope you feel free to follow through should it pop into your mind again," you grinned, melding your lips against his once more. You tucked perfectly into his embrace.

He stayed with you until the golden dawn bled through the parted red velvet curtains.

"I should leave lest I cause a scandal with the crown princess," he whispered teasingly in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I will find you once I finish breaking my fast," you smiled. "And we will search for Lord Corlys together." One little sliver of grief unraveled.

"As long as you have your mother's permission," Addam said firmly.

"I will seek it and secure it," you assured him. He left you with another searing kiss before sneaking from your chambers. Just in the nick of time, as your ladies entered to help you dress, and the servants arrived with food. The grief had brought on a hunger, and you were eager to fill on the delicious food, especially the jammy eggs. You were dressed in your riding leathers before heading to your mother's chambers.

Rhaenyra had taken to her bed, wallowing in her grief. She reached a hand toward you, your fingers laced through hers, while you sat at her bedside. "Are you going for a ride?"

"I wish to help Addam search for Lord Corlys," you said gently, slipping into the Valyrian tongue to continue the conversation.

She gripped your hand tighter. "How I wish to coddle you against my breast and keep you safe once more, sweet girl. I am hesitant, but I will give my permission. Please do not rush into something reckless."

"I promise, mother." You placed a soft kiss on her clammy cheek. "Shall I have the servants arrange a bath for you? Perhaps that might make you feel better?"

She shook her head. "I wish to be alone. Come and see me once you have returned, so I know you are safe and sound. I trust Addam will keep you out of harm's way." You hoped Daemon would arrive soon and be able to lift her out of such bad spirits.

"Thank you, mother. I will return soon."

Addam waited in the mont for you with Seasmoke and Aegarax, side by side.

"I have her permission," you smiled at him, squeezing his gloved hand before mounting Aegarax. Her purples scales gleamed once she emerged into the sunlight, appearing like a violet burst against the blue sky.

You took to the skies with Addam, circling over the Gullet. Returning to Dragonstone at evenfall, feeling a high from successfully finding Lord Corlys, Aegarax crawled into the mont with Addam and saw Caraxes slithering through the volcano. The heaviness of your twin's death that you carried on your shoulder and deep in your back began to lift when you discovered Lord Corlys along with the Hull brothers and your sweet-sister, Baela. Grief slowly peeling away in a thin layer.

"My mother will be distracted by Daemon. I'll have the guards inform her of my return. Mayhaps you'd like to bathe with me? While I can bear the dragon stench, the scent of salt and sea makes me a bit nauseous," you admitted.

There was a large bathing chamber built into one of the rooms, one that your mother and Daemon had spent a lot of time in early on in their marriage. One that had been designed and built during Queen Visenya's time. Mayhaps it provided a private abode for conjuring her blood magic.

"That sounds like bliss," Addam smiled, taking your hand. "Then you must eat a good meal."

"As must you," you smiled, squeezing his hand.

It was an odd feeling as you disrobed with him, your back turned slightly as you removed your riding leathers after Addam helped tug your boots off. When you spun around, you caught sight of his chiseled body. Lithe, toned, and gleaming. You had never seen such a defined stomach before, and the urge to trace your tongue over each taut groove. Quickly, you moved into the warm water and swallowed down your lewd thoughts. But you could feel Addam's gaze lingering on you as you descended into the built in stone tub. He joined you a moment later, groaning as the water soothed his aching muscles.

A pleasant silence enveloped the room, both of you marinating in the warm waters and fragrant oil. He leaned back against the stone lip, stretching his arms out and tilting his head back. The tips of his tightly woven black hair dipped into the edge of the water. You lounged across from him before slowly closing the space and pressing your hands against his slick, bare chest.

"Princess?" he questioned, fixing his gaze on you.

"Please, Addam, call me by my name," you whispered before pressing your mouth against his.

It seemed Addam had been harboring similar feelings, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. Your name rolled off his tongue, making it sound like the most beautiful word ever to exist. His mouth pressed against your shoulder before moving across your collarbone, then his tongue gathered against the hollow of your throat. Dragonfire spread through your body from his touch, and you whimpered when it broke. Addam reached for a sponge, taking his time to help you wash before lifting you onto the stones, out of the tub.

"Do you wish for me to stop?" he whispered, nuzzling his face against the swells of your breasts.

"No," you moaned. He kissed his way down your belly before spreading your thighs. Little droplets of water clung to your bare, tepid skin.

He moved you with a firm ease, as only a dragon rider could, and lowered his face between your splayed legs. His tongue teasingly lapped at your cunt, causing the dragonfire to bloom brighter and hotter in your lower belly. The gentle trace of his tongue over your swollen pearl was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, not even with your curious fingers.

"Oh Gods, don't stop, Addam," you mewled.

He chuckled against your flesh before suckling on the tender bud and making your legs feel like jelly. Your toes curled, your body twitched, and a sudden burst of pressure flooded your lower stomach, followed by a beautiful state of euphoria. It was so intense, making your belly tighten, then relax in its wake.

"You make such beautiful sounds, princess," Addam murmured against your thigh. Your palms pressed against the polished stones, panting softly as you met his dark eyes. A cheekiness clung to his handsome features, lips twisting into a playful smile.

"There you go, calling me princess again," you chided softly.

"It seemed fitting in the moment. Gods know you are my princess." The way he said it made warmth roll through you. It made your heart flutter.

Another layer of grief peeled away.

The day came when your mother took King's Landing and her rightful throne. As you wandered the halls of the Red Keep, childhood memories played through your mind. Jace and Luke chasing you through the halls, Ser Harwin's kind smile, your father presenting you with an amethyst necklace he had bartered from Pentos, Helaena placing a dotted butterfly in your hand, Aegon chuckling as he showed you hidden passageways, Aemond sulking in his bitterness and disappointment, and Joffrey's loud wails when he was born. You reached for your mother's hand.

"You feel the ghosts as well," Rhaenyra whispered, squeezing your flesh.

"Happy ones," you replied.

A small silence befell before your mother broke it. "He makes you happy."

"Addam? Very much so."

"He is a good man. He brought me hope when I thought it lost. Lord Corlys asks that I legitimize him and Alyn."

"And will you?"

"I am sure I will be criticized for it, though I'm sure I will be picked apart for many things. I have agreed."

You kissed her cheek, and her nose rubbed gently against yours. A soft gesture from your youth, her loving touch that lingered on your skin after she tucked you and Jace into bed.

Addam's days were long as he was sent on countless patrols, circling the kingdom on Seasmoke. You would see him off every morning, watching Seasmoke disappear into the clouds and turning into a misty streak. One late night when he returned, weary from the day and his red cloak dragging the ground, he discovered you in his chambers, and an immediate smile spread over his face. A steaming bath and a hot meal waited for him, along with you in a silken violet robe, hair cascading down your shoulders.

"Come," you instructed, extending your hand toward him.

His palm was rough, but you had grown to love his touch. You undressed him from his armor, taking care with the pieces, and draped his scarlet cloak over one of the chairs. The two of you were no longer shy around each other, and he stood proudly before you, in all his glory.

"Into the bath," you hummed, and he climbed into the tub. You sat on a stool behind him, lathering the sponge before scrubbing his back.

"A man could get used to this," he sighed, flexing his toes in the warm water.

"Duly noted," you grinned, continuing to wash him up until the dragon stench faded.

He looked handsome draped in the dark blue robe, his russet skin gleaming from the bath. You ate with him, listening to the details of his day and overindulging in the lemon cakes. It turned out you both possessed a sweet tooth. You drained your cup of Arbor Gold before straddling his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"You will no longer be Ser Addam of Hull, I am told. Soon you will be Ser Addam Velaryon," you smiled.

His large hands settled on your hips. "I never thought I'd ever bear the name Velaryon."

"You and Alyn have earned it," you whispered before kissing him.

The robes tangled together on the floor while Addam placed you on the bed. His cock protruded stiffly from his strong thighs, your soft palm stroking him until frothy beads clung to his tip after the fleshy hood retracted. You gathered them over your tongue before guiding him under you.

"You have ridden enough for today; allow me to do the work," you smirked as you mounted him, sinking slowly onto his hard, velvety cock.

Addam groaned, lust drowning in his dark eyes while his hands roamed your naked body, squeezing your tits, hips, and arse while you rode him. When he took you a second time, he moved on top and wrapped your legs around his waist, sinking deep inside you with each powerful thrust. Your head rested on his chest while he rubbed soothing circles over your back until you fell asleep in his arms.

Another small layer peeled away.

Addam and Alyn were now styled as Velaryons, and so you carefully broached the topic with your mother during a private dinner with her. "I wish to marry Addam."

An amused smile tugged at her lips. "I thought as much."

"The great Valyrian houses united, just like you and Father were," you said before biting into a bit of quail. While you knew the truth of the matter, you never wished to lay it before her. Laenor had been the man who raised you; he had been your father for all intents and purposes. "The people will look fondly on a crown princess who is married." You prepared for her to say no. You were the future heir, and your marriage alliance could be used as a great bargaining tool.

"My father allowed me to choose, and I will allow you the same, sweet girl. Truth be told, many in this realm will find fault with a woman ruler even if she is perfect. You may as well be happy with a good man by your side."

Lord Corlys was overjoyed with the news; another son to serve as a royal consort. You understood the crown was under stress from the stolen gold and insisted that you did not need such a lavish wedding.

"But you are heir to the throne; you should have a wedding befitting a crown princess," Daemon scoffed.

"My only desire is to marry on Dragonstone in the old tradition of Valyria," you replied, knowing that would appease him and broker no further argument.

"Ah. Very good," Daemon chuckled. You remembered your mother's wedding to him, dawn creeping over the horizon. It had been a confusing time; your father and aunt not long in the ground, but you remembered the passionate heat between your mother and step-father. There was no doubt that they were meant to be. Fire meeting fire. Twin flames. You loved the ritual, the blood exchange, and the words spoken in the ancient tongue.

Truth was, you were eager for it to happen sooner rather than later, and a simpler wedding assured you that. Addam's child grew inside you.

From beneath the layers of grief, a hard center of hope began to emerge.

The tang of Addam's blood lingered on your lips and tongue, the pungent incense making your eyes water as you recited the vows in High Valyrian. Addam had worked diligently with Maester Orwyle to master more of the language, and you could see the pride in his face as he repeated the words. The scarlet slashes on palms, his rough and yours soft, mingled together, signifying you were one with him now. Seasmoke and Aegarax circled overhead, braying and chortling. As Dragonstone was yours by rights now, you and Addam stayed there for a week after the wedding, in a bliss of relaxation, fucking and dragon riding. You waited two turns of the moon before visiting Orwyle, who confirmed you were with child and your grief was but a mere layer of gossamer tucked under your skin.

Jacaerys was born in your mother's first year on the Iron Throne. A tumultuous year that brought on a new dawn and fresh clutches of dragon eggs. Addam had chosen a green one with orange swirls for his son, one that reminded him of Vermax. One that you hoped would hatch soon. The mornings were started with Jacaerys tucked against your chest and Addam by your side, gazing lovingly at the two most important people in his life.

"Your uncle never lived to take the throne, but you will be king someday, my little Jace," you whispered in his ear. Already he looked like a smaller version of his father, and you hoped he possessed Addam's nature as well. He seemed to have inherited Jace's dark curls; the tightly coiled ringlets decorated his small head.

"He will be a good one with two strong queens paving the way for him," Addam smiled as Jace's small hand grasped his finger.

"I wish to feel your embrace, husband," you murmured.

"How can I refuse, wife?" he grinned, gently shifting you into his arms, holding you and Jace against him.

- Maekar is not a gentle man by nature, but he is honorable and had set out to do good by his wife, as well as he could anyway. His deep-set insecurity rises to the surface when your shoulders tense when he steps close, when you quickly curtsey and zip off when he enters the room, and when you can barely hold conversation with him when you dine alone together.

- Obviously, he handles this poorly. Anger getting the best of him and staining his image of your relationship. He’s curt, sharp, unsettled by your apparent indifference and bruised by how you obviously don’t care for him.

- He’s grumpy when he watches himself in the mirror, closely monitoring the imperfections in his face and the places time has changed. Then he’s grumpy that he even cares about something as foolish as a pretty wife thinking him grotesque.

- This is, of course, not actually the case. Maekar is just so intimidating. His longstanding reputation as the Anvil, legends of swordplay, snide words and furrowed brows. When you were told he’d be your husband, you’d fretted over how you’d overcome finding him so daunting.

- How surprising it was, then, to find him quite palatable when you finally met. Handsome as sin; tall and broad with his piercing lavender eyes and glittering silver hair. In place of the boorish words you’d expected, you were met with princely honor. He was not warm, or delicate, but he was formidable in his duty, and you soon realized he was daunting in a far more frightening way.

- It was not like he was the only one you didn’t make much conversation with. Maekar watched you like a hawk at feasts, eyes following you as you trapezed around the crowds, avoiding nosey guests and keeping to yourself. Whispering softly to the ladies you knew but generally staying clear of new acquaintances. He equates it to the nerves of being the new lady of Summerhall, nothing more. Your feelings for him and your disinterest in mingling have nothing to do with each other. Obviously.

- Maekar’s staunch belief in your apathy is tested when one afternoon, as he sits with you in the gardens of Summerhall, sweating in his leather doublet but pretending to enjoy his present condition for your sake. You’d finally risen to leave, something about a meeting with a Septa, when you turned back to him with an unreadable look on your face. As quick as lightning, you leaned in, fingertips gliding over his chin as you pressed a chaste kiss to his jaw. You’d backed away in an instant, eyes wide and fingers to your lips, before you curtseyed and ran off.

- It was not often that the Prince found himself bewildered, but that had certainly thrown him off.

- His mind was once again proven mistaken when upon idling up to the door of your chambers, he heard you conversing with a maid.

“I cannot ask him to spend an entire morning with me! He is a Prince, he has far more important matters than entertaining his wife.”

Maekar pushed down his embarrassment as he pressed his ear against the smooth wood of the door.

“M’lady, you could always ask him. Has his grace not treated you with kindness?”

You let out an exasperated sigh.

“He has been the very picture of a gentleman, yet I do not think he cares for me.”

The defeat in your voice made Maekar’s chest clench. You were the one who did not care for him? Why would it matter to you that he couldn’t get you out of his head, that the very thought of you upset with him gripped his heart.

- After months of marriage, Maekar finally begins to understand that maybe you feel the same skepticism toward him as he did to you. He does try to come off less harsh, less hardheaded, and slowly he watches with hidden delight as you open yourself up to him.

- It’s gradual, but eventually you start offering him answers to questions he’s asked himself about you. Why you favor chiffon gowns over velvet, how do you get ready for bed, what dessert makes you lick the sugar off your fingers (he’s particularly interested in watching that one). It dawns on him that you are allowing him in, that few people get the gift of your affections, and Maekar is exceedingly pleased that you feel safe in your marriage to him. Protection is his way of showing love, and he is more than happy to keep you close.

- When a knight becomes too forward with you at a tourney, leaning in low and asking after your favor, Maekar’s head almost explodes with white-hot anger at your wide eyes and worried brow. He’s there in an instant, stepping up behind you with a hand firmly gripping your elbow and his chest against your back. The Prince will gladly be your shield if it means you aren't frightened.

- Banquets are no longer the same dull, awkward affairs as before. Maekar sits close to you at the high table. The leering eyes of the court are harsh, but the arm he has possessively slung over the back of your chair, coupled with a glare that would make the bravest of knights turn tail, keeps anyone from staring too long. It also means he gets you all to himself; leaning in to whisper against your ear, and listening to you speak softly back. The first feast you laugh openly at something he says, leaning over and pressing your palm against the bulk of his thigh, his ears are turning red and his trousers are bursting at the seams.

- He craves your attention, proud to be a place you go when you cannot face the brunt of court. He is more than happy to tuck you into his cloak, mumbling some lame excuse before leading you off to have you alone.

- Even years into your marriage, there are still times Maekar makes you feel bashful and demure. Sometimes it's a grand gesture; a jeweled necklace that must have been a fortune he insists on clipping around your neck, a book so rare it was thought that every copy was lost to time. It has you giggling sweetly and insisting it's too much. Of course, to him, nothing is too much for his wife, the very thought is ridiculous. Sometimes it's the little things that get to you. Giving you his gloves when he feels your hands are too cold, fresh flowers on your nightstand every morning in spring, a gruff compliment that’s just the right combination of romantic and stoic awkwardness. It always has you biting your lip, covering your face, and shuffling your feet. Maekar will roll his eyes, a halfhearted comment about the ridiculousness of your shyness after all this time, but he’s still so charmed to get the reaction out of you.

“Surely you cannot still be coy around me, my lovely girl?”

- You kiss him so sweetly he can barely stand it. Hands curled around his face, mouth soft and timid against his own; he wants nothing more than to take you in his arms and kiss you properly, but he bides his time and lets you lead. He’ll blissfully sit back and let you perch in his lap as you explore him with your tongue. The nervous giggle you let out when you bite at his bottom lip ignites dragonfire deep in his belly, and the startled yelp you let out when he grips your hips tighter only fans the flames.

- The sounds you make in bed are music to his ears, but he has to work to get you to let them show. He’ll be tongue deep in your cunt, juices dribbling through his beard and hands gripping your thighs before he realizes you’ve got your hand over your mouth. He reaches up to bat it away, set on hearing the sweet moans you release as he pleasures you.

- “None of that, little lady, I want to hear you.”

- He’s holding your chin while he slides his cock through your folds and pressing into your entrance. He doesn’t want to give you the chance to look away; he likes watching your eyes as he sinks into your cunt, the way they roll back a little as he cants his hips up, the fluttering of your lashes as he thrusts into you and you fight to keep looking at him.

- Maekar insists on you being clear with what you want from him when he takes you. He will not have you silent, laying by as he takes his pleasure. It's mortifying at first, the way he presses close over you, whispering that he will not move again until you’ve told him how you feel. Is he too much? Would you like him slower? Faster? Do you prefer his fingers or his tongue? Pierced atop his cock or held underneath him? You mumble out responses, and he makes you repeat them until he can hear you clear as day. He’s a soldier, he lives to serve, and so knowing exactly what you want pleases him greatly; it means he can take your orders and execute them to the fullest extent.

- His kisses are hot on your neck, hands roaming from the swell of your bottom to the curve of your breast, clutching your waist and tugging you close to his chest. You whimper softly until he bites at our throat, a grin on his lips at the sudden shriek you let out.

“What do you need from me, my love? What can your husband do for you?”