AKOTSK MEN ⚔️ He cheats on you.
Maekarxreader , Baelorxreader, Valarrxreader , Aerionxreader , Daeronxreader
🚩TRIGGERS & WARNINGS 🚩: AGE GAP, Adultry, TOXIC, physical altercation, degradation, insecurity, p&v sex, oral receiving. Crying, verbal & physical abuse. screaming, arguing, attempted suicide, Watcher (during s*x), possessiveness, depression, miscarriage. Blood.
Summary: This head canon is not for everyone. So please read the triggers and warnings! Daerons part is darker than all of them. Suicide, miscarriage, physical abuse and dark thoughts are mentioned. I rolled the dice and decided some will have a happy ending and one or two might not. Some are longer and some are shorter. You will have to read to find out! ;) 4/5 of them are spicy and definitely smutty. So please be 18+! MDNI… enjoy my loves. 🫶🏼 comment, share & ❤️ please!
When you married Maekar, no one promised you romance. He was a man forged for war and duty, not soft words or lingering kisses. Still, over the years, you’d learned to love him through the small things. The way he’d silently drape his cloak over your shoulders on cold evenings, how he’d always make sure your horse was the safest before a journey, the rare smile that only you ever seemed to earn. He wasn’t affectionate.He wasn’t gentle. But he was yours. Or so you believed.
The whispers begin after the Harvest Feast. At first they’re harmless. A lady in waiting giggles when you enter the room before quickly looking away. Servants fall silent whenever your footsteps echo down the corridor. Every conversation seems to stop just a second too late. You ignore it. Until one night you awaken alone. Maekar’s side of the bed is cold.
Following instinct more than suspicion, you wander the halls of the Red Keep. The torchlight flickers as muffled laughter slips beneath a chamber door. A woman’s laughter. Your stomach twists. When the door opens…Maekar steps into the hall fastening the collar of his tunic. Behind him, wrapped in silken sheets, sits a young noblewoman from House Rowan.
For several seconds…No one speaks. Maekar doesn’t even appear guilty. Only annoyed that you’ve seen. You grab the fabric covering your stomach. You shake your head, your other hand holding onto the stone walls. You walk backwards then turn away from him, making your way back to your chambers. He didn’t care.
You are now under the covers facing away from the doors. The chamber doors open. You can hear Maekar walk in. He shuts the doors. He exhales and starts walking towards the bed. He sits on his side, his back facing your back. Maekar turns his head towards you. He thinks you’re asleep. He eventually lays down next to you & drifts to sleep. You on the other hand stayed up all night. You couldn’t sleep. He destroyed you.
The next morning, you get out of bed before he does. You dress for the day. He wakes up as your braiding your long brown hair at your large vanity. You don’t say a word to him. He rubs his forhead standing up. He starts explaining it with the same cold practicality he uses to discuss military campaigns. “It changes nothing.” His affair is political. The girl’s father commands thousands of swords. “You are still my wife.”
You don’t say a word , turning to him. As though those words erase everything. As though betrayal is simply another duty expected of a prince. “And you are my husband.” You say with a similar cold look. You stand from your seat, and walk towards the chamber doors, he grabs your wrist. “Don’t do something you will regret later.” He says coldly. You snatch your hand away from his. You turn away from him walking out the chamber doors. He drops his head in defeat.
Every shared meal becomes unbearable. Every council meeting forces you to sit beside the man who shattered your trust while pretending nothing has changed. Eventually the court begins placing wagers… Not on whether Maekar will end the affair, but on how long you’ll endure the humiliation.
Maekar listened to your cry, when you thought no one was listening. You didn’t smile for him anymore. You made excuses when it was time to be intimate. You dreaded being near him. He felt it. He realized this hurt you more than he intended it to. Realizing you do love him. How could he fix something like this, he thought.
The next morning you walk through the halls , ladies and lords start mumbling , giggling to each other about you as you walk past them. You see your husband, Maekar walking towards you. He notices the gossiping. Maekar’s head turned sharply toward the cluster of whispering lords and ladies. Their hushed gossip died the instant his cold violet eyes settled on them.
“You seem awfully interested in my wife,” he said, his voice calm enough to send a chill through the hall. “If you have something to say about her, you will say it to me. Otherwise, keep your venom behind your teeth.” He took a slow step toward them, his expression hard as stone.
“Let this be the last time I hear her name spoken with mockery. I have no patience for cowards who hide behind whispers. The next person I catch spreading rumors about my wife will pray that exile is the worst punishment I choose.” Silence fell over the gathering. Not a single lord or lady dared meet the prince’s gaze.Maekar looked at each of them in turn before adding one final warning.
“Remember this well , an insult to my wife is an insult to House Targaryen… and I do not forgive either.” They scatter from their position. Maekar walks towards you. He grabs your wrist circling you around and picking you up by your waist, throwing you over his shoulder. You yelp at the surprise. You start smacking your hands against his back, telling him to put you down. He ignores your words coming out of your mouth.
Servants froze where they stood, their conversations dying instantly as Prince Maekar stormed through the corridors with his wife slung effortlessly over his shoulder. None dared speak. None dared meet his eyes. Reaching your chambers, he shoved the doors open with enough force to make them slam against the stone walls. “Shut the doors,” he ordered without looking back.
The nearby servants hurried to obey, heads bowed as they quickly closed the heavy doors behind him. The latch clicked into place, leaving the room in complete silence. Without another word, Maekar set you down with little gentleness, sending you tumbling back onto the bed. You bounced against the mattress, staring up at him in bewilderment, searching his face for an explanation.
His jaw remained tight as he stepped between your knees and lowered himself before you, In between your thighs. His hands gathered the fabric of your gown, lifting it to your waist before he finally looked into your eyes. The fury that had burned in the hall had softened into quiet resolve. “I ended it,” he said firmly, his voice low but unwavering. “It will not happen again.” His gaze never left yours. “I gave you my word when I married you. I intend to keep it.”
He moves his face to your now exposed folds. His tongue gently starts licking your clit. You let out a soft moan. Both his hands wrap around your thighs, holding your legs open for easier access. Your back arches off the bed. Louder moans escape your lips. Now your hands are intertwined in his hair. “Maekar.” You moan out loud. Maekar is grunting and breathing heavily against your wet folds. His face deepens into you.
Maekar pulls away , he starts kissing your inner thighs. He kneels up, flipping you on all fours. His hand runs down your back forcing you to arch. His hands grab the bottom of your dress once again lifting it up to your waist. Your ass is exposed to him. Maekar positions both hands on each cheek, spreading them open. His face leans in, his tongue gliding up and down your anus. The feeling is almost breathtaking. You push your ass against his face, moaning loud for the whole kingdom to hear. Maekars tongue travels repeatedly from your ass to your sensitive clit. Your hands are balled up into the bed sheets. You can feel his rough hands massaging your bare cheeks.
He slaps your ass hard. You yelp from the the sting. He smiles against your ass. You can feel a tingling sensation in your stomach now. “Maekar , I’m going to cum.” You cry out. Maekars tongue starts sucking on your swollen clit. You release all over his face. Your juices are dripping down your thighs.
You lay there, breathing hard as you slowly roll onto your stomach. Maekar settles beside you, his hand finding yours. He lifts your palm to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against it. “I never want to see you hurt like that again,” he murmurs. You remain quiet for a moment before speaking, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need time.” He nods without hesitation, his thumb brushing softly over your hand. “And I’ll wait,” Maekar promises.
You knew marrying Aerion meant marrying madness. The kingdom called him beautiful. They also called him cruel. You learned quickly both descriptions were true. Some mornings he woke determined to spoil you with jewels imported from Lys, draping necklaces around your throat while whispering that no woman in Westeros could compare.
Other mornings… He barely acknowledged your existence. Then came Lady Meredyth. She wasn’t subtle. She sat beside Aerion during the feast. Laughed too loudly at his jokes. Rested her hand upon his arm as though she belonged there. No one dared tell her otherwise. Least of all Aerion. The sight made you sick. You pushed your chair back, ready to leave the table, when Aerion’s hand shot out and clamped tightly around your wrist.
“Where are you going?” he hissed, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “As far away from my fool of a husband as I can,” you whispered, leaning close enough for the words to brush against his ear. His grip tightened painfully. You yanked your hand free, wincing as his nails dug into your skin. Without another word, you stormed out of the dining hall and into the castle corridors.
Only once you were alone did you glance down at your wrist. Dark red marks, the unmistakable outline of his fingers, were already beginning to bloom beneath your skin. A burst of laughter echoed from behind you.
You looked back toward the feast just in time to see Aerion leaning close to Lady Meredyth, his face buried against her shoulder as she smiled up at him.
Your heart sank. How could he? Is this all marriage is? Is this what the rest of my life will be? Tears blurred your vision as you hurried back to your chambers. Aerion never returned that night. Nor the next. When he finally did, you confronted him. He only laughed. “You expected fidelity from a dragon?” His words struck harder than any slap.
“I never expected to share my husband with every woman in King’s Landing,” you shot back, your voice trembling with equal parts rage and heartbreak. Aerion laughed. He laughed at your pain. “I don’t remember you being like this,” you whispered, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “I remember the man I married… and this isn’t him.” You buried your face in your hands, your sobs echoing through the chamber.
“Get used to it, Princess,” Aerion replied lazily as he poured himself another cup of wine. “I don’t want to,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper. He looked down at you, slowly licking the wine from his bottom lip. “I don’t think you have a choice, my dear wife.” As if you were nothing more than a child, he ruffled the top of your head before turning and leaving the chambers without another glance.
Silence settled over the room. You remained seated on the cold stone floor, too broken to move. Aerion made his way through the bustling streets until he reached one of King’s Landing’s taverns. The room buzzed with drunken laughter and music as he claimed a seat with a few acquaintances.
Across the room, he spotted Daeron and Valarr seated together with mugs of ale. A crooked grin spread across his face. Rising from his chair, Aerion sauntered over and dropped into the empty seat beside them.
“Brother. Cousin.” He raised his cup. Reluctantly, they lifted theirs in return. The silence that followed was heavy. “Good ale,” Valarr finally muttered, attempting to ease the tension. Daeron simply emptied his mug in one long drink. Aerion chuckled.
“So that’s how we’re greeting each other now?” Before either man could answer, Lady Meredyth strolled past the table. As she did, her fingertips lightly traced along Aerion’s arm.
His eyes followed her with unmistakable desire. Without hesitation, he caught her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. She laughed, settling comfortably against him.
Valarr exchanged an uneasy glance with Daeron before clearing his throat loudly.
Aerion ignored him completely. Daeron let out a weary sigh. “Maekar has heard the rumors,” he said bluntly. “About you parading your mistress around while your wife watches. He’s heard her crying.” He paused. “We all have.”
Aerion stopped kissing Lady Meredyth. Slowly, he turned toward his brother. “What did you say?” Valarr leaned forward. “He’s been discussing sending your wife north. Betrothing her to a Stark… sending her to Winterfell.”
“He won’t.” Aerion’s voice was quiet. Dangerously quiet. “He will,” Daeron replied without hesitation. “He’s also spoken of marrying you to Lady Meredyth… or whichever whore you decide to keep.”
Aerion shoved Lady Meredyth off his lap. She crashed onto the tavern floor with a startled cry. His fists slammed onto the wooden table so hard the cups rattled.
The tavern fell silent. “Watch your tongue, brother,” Aerion growled. Without another word, he turned and stormed away, leaving the stunned patrons staring after him.
Hours later, Aerion stumbled through the doors of your chambers, reeking of ale and wine. “Y/N…” he slurred. The room was empty. Only the crackling fire answered him.
“Y/N!” he shouted louder. He lurched toward the bed but lost his balance, collapsing onto the floor. Moments later, you stepped inside.
Your eyes widened. “Aerion!” You rushed to him, dropping to your knees beside him. His face hovered inches from a pool of vomit. Carefully, you lifted his head into your lap.
“What happened? Sit up.” You reached for a silk cloth and gently wiped the sickness from his mouth and face. He looked up at you with unfocused eyes. Then… He laughed. “My father…” he slurred between chuckles. “He’s going to sell you off like some common whore.” The words struck harder than any blade. You froze. Here you were…Kneeling in his vomit. Holding him. Cleaning him. Still trying to care for the man who had shattered your heart. Something inside you finally broke. Your hand collided with his cheek.
Once. Twice. Again. Again. Again. You couldn’t stop. Aerion merely raised his arms to shield himself from your blows. “How could you?” you screamed, tears streaming uncontrollably. “After everything I’ve done for you… after I gave you my heart!” Another slap. “Did you ever love me?” The room fell silent. Aerion lowered his arms and simply stared at you. His face remained unreadable. Not a trace of remorse. Not a flicker of guilt. Nothing.
The following weeks were nothing short of miserable. Every night, Aerion drowned himself in ale and wine, stumbling back to your chambers only as the sun began to rise. He always carried the same stench—liquor, smoke… and his mistress’s perfume. The moment you felt the bed dip beneath his weight was the moment you slipped out of it. You avoided him whenever possible.
That morning, Maekar had summoned you for a private conversation. He spoke gently, apologizing for the pain his son had caused you. “I have been considering sending you to Winterfell,” he admitted. “There, you would be betrothed to a young Stark closer to your age.” You sat quietly, taking in his words. “I need time to think,” you finally replied. “You’ll have my answer by morning.” Maekar simply nodded. “I am truly sorry… for Aerion.”
That evening, exhaustion finally pulled you into a restless sleep. The chamber doors suddenly burst open. You startled awake. Aerion staggered inside. He wasn’t alone.
Lady Meredyth followed closely behind him, a goblet of wine already in her hand. Of course, you thought bitterly. He was drunk. Again. The pair settled into the chairs beside the fireplace, laughing together as though they hadn’t a care in the world.
You stared at them in disbelief. Your heart twisted in your chest. Slowly, you threw the blankets aside and crossed the room. “If it doesn’t inconvenience you, my prince,” you interrupted, your voice calm despite the hurt behind it, “I’m tired… and I’d like to sleep.” Lady Meredyth immediately fell silent, lowering her gaze as she took another sip of wine.
Aerion barely looked at you. “You should try counting dragons, my dear,” he drawled before smirking. “Or should I say… wolves?” Without another glance, he turned back to his conversation. You stood there for a long moment. Then something inside you settled.
Without a word, you turned toward the chamber doors. “Servants!” you called into the hallway. Several hurried over. “Fetch my trunks. I want every one of my belongings packed tonight. They’ll be ready for tomorrow’s ride north.” The servants exchanged surprised glances before bowing. “At once, my lady.” As they hurried away, silence filled the room.
Aerion slowly turned toward you. Disbelief spread across his face. He rose from his chair and watched as you calmly gathered your books and journals from your bedside—the ones you’d collected during your months in King’s Landing. He crossed the room in long, angry strides. “What are you doing, wife?” he demanded, the words dripping with venom. You ignored the hostility in his voice, carefully placing another journal into your satchel.
“I’ve made my decision.” You finally looked at him. “After tonight… I’m going to Winterfell.” Aerion barked out a laugh. “No, you’re not.” You met his eyes without flinching. “I am.” Your voice was steady.
“And you cannot stop me.” He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Then, in an instant, his expression darkened. He grabbed you by the arms and threw you back onto the bed. The force knocked the breath from your lungs. He climbed over you, pinning you beneath him. His face hovered inches from yours.
“So that’s it?” he growled. “You’re going to run off to Winterfell and forget all about me?” His grip tightened. “I suppose you’re thrilled to warm another man’s bed.” “I wanted you.” The words escaped before you could stop them. Aerion froze. For the first time in weeks… He looked shaken. Your eyes filled with tears. “That’s all I ever wanted,” you whispered. “You.” A tear slipped down your cheek. “What did I do for you to treat me like this?”…
The anger slowly faded from his face. Something inside him seemed to crack. His grip loosened. Without saying a word, he climbed off you and stepped away.
You remained lying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as tears silently streamed down your temples. Aerion turned toward the fireplace. Only then did he seem to remember Lady Meredyth was still standing there.
“Get out!” he roared. She flinched. Without protest, she snatched up her goblet and wine pitcher before hurrying from the chambers. Silence returned. Aerion lowered himself into the chair beside the fire. He said nothing. He simply stared into the dancing flames. You slowly rose from the bed, wiped the tears from your cheeks, and lifted the satchel containing your belongings. Without looking back, you walked past your soon-to-be former husband and left the chambers behind. Aerion never moved. He remained seated before the fire until dawn, alone with the silence he had created.
Aerion had already made his decision long before you ever learned the truth. He had given Maekar his blessing to end your marriage. He had even agreed to your betrothal to a young Stark heir. He believed it was the only kindness he had left to offer you.
You didn’t discover any of it until the morning you were set to leave for Winterfell. As servants loaded your belongings into the wheelhouse, Aerion quietly pulled you aside, away from the watchful eyes of the court. For the first time in months, he looked sober. Tired. Defeated.
“I told my father to let you go,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I told him to end this.” You stared at him, unable to find the words. “I was never meant to be your husband.” His laugh was hollow, filled with self-loathing. “I kept telling myself I’d change… that tomorrow I’d stop drinking, stop chasing women, stop ruining everything I touched.” His violet eyes met yours, red from sleepless nights. “But I never did.”
Silence settled between you. “I wasn’t cruel because I hated you,” he confessed. “I was cruel because I was terrified of loving you.”
His jaw tightened as he struggled to continue. “I never learned how to love anyone. Every time I felt myself caring, I ran from it. I drowned it in wine, in anger, in anyone who wasn’t you.” He swallowed hard. “And after everything I’ve done… I don’t deserve another chance. I don’t deserve you.” A tear slipped down his cheek before he hastily wiped it away.
“You deserve a man who comes home to you. One who doesn’t make you question your worth. Someone who knows how to love you without destroying you first.” His voice cracked.
“I could spend the rest of my life trying to become that man… and I still don’t think I’d ever be worthy of you.” You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. There was nothing left to say. You climbed into the carriage without looking back.
As the procession disappeared beyond the gates of King’s Landing, Aerion remained standing alone. Only when you were gone did the first tear finally fall. Daeron, watching from the courtyard, caught sight of his younger brother silently wiping his face before turning away and marching back toward the Red Keep without another word.
A year passed. Winterfell had become your home. You had married the young Stark lord, and for the first time in a long while, life was peaceful. Your husband was patient, kind, and gentle in all the ways you had once believed impossible. Now, another blessing grew beneath your heart. Your pregnancy had begun to show, your rounded belly impossible to hide.
Letters still arrived from King’s Landing. Egg wrote often, filling pages with childish excitement and stories of court. Valarr sent thoughtful updates, always asking after your happiness. Even Maekar wrote from time to time, checking that you had settled well in the North. But Aerion never wrote. Not once.
Months of silence passed before word reached Winterfell that the Targaryens would be visiting. You expected Maekar. Daeron. Valarr. Egg. You never imagined Aerion would come. Two weeks after the first snowfall, the royal procession finally arrived. The moment the carriages stopped, Egg burst through the doors before any servant could stop him.
“Y/N! Y/N!” he shouted, sprinting across the courtyard. His older brothers laughed as they hurried after him. He threw his arms around you before suddenly freezing. His bright eyes drifted down to your swollen belly. “…Am I going to be an uncle?” he asked with innocent curiosity. A warm smile spread across your face as you rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I would love for you to be an uncle to my little Stark.”
Your husband stepped beside you as the rest of the family approached. Maekar embraced you warmly before asking how life in the North had been treating you. You assured him that Winterfell had become a true home. Then, quietly, you thanked him. He understood exactly what you meant. Before either of you could speak again, the final carriage door burst open. A boot stumbled onto the icy stone. Then another.
Aerion emerged. The sharp smell of wine reached everyone before he did. He staggered forward, barely able to keep his footing.
Several servants rushed to steady him, but he shoved them away with a drunken wave. Moments later, he doubled over and vomited onto the snow-covered courtyard. Maekar pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience already gone. “For the love of the gods…” he muttered before striding over “Pull yourself together.” Aerion slowly lifted his head. His unfocused eyes found his father’s first. Then they landed on you. He froze.
For a brief moment, the world around him seemed to disappear. Then his gaze drifted lower. To your rounded belly. Something inside him broke. Your husband stepped forward, placing himself gently at your side.
“Perhaps the prince would like to retire to his chambers and change into fresh clothes,” he offered politely. Aerion never answered. He simply looked at you one last time before lowering his head and stumbling silently across the stone courtyard, disappearing into the castle without another word.
The Great Hall buzzed with life. Laughter echoed against the stone walls as goblets clinked together. Lords and ladies traded stories while servants hurried between the long tables with platters of roasted meats and fresh bread.
Your husband, Lord Stark, sat beside Prince Maekar. The two had not stopped talking since Maekar’s arrival, speaking of war, politics, and the North as though they had known one another for years. Every so often, another burst of laughter erupted between them.
Little Egg sat beside you, absentmindedly poking at the slice of ham on his plate with a small knife, far more interested in playing than eating.
Across the table sat Aerion. Unlike everyone else, he remained silent. His untouched meal sat before him while his eyes stayed fixed upon the plate. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack. Your smile slowly faded.
For a brief moment, your eyes lingered on him before you quietly looked away, pretending not to notice. Instead, you turned your attention back to Egg. “Father,” Egg asked innocently, looking toward Maekar, “when my nephew or niece is born… may I give them a stone dragon egg?” The conversation around the table quieted for a heartbeat.
Maekar looked at his youngest son. His usually stern expression softened into something almost fatherly. “If that is what you wish,” he replied, lifting his goblet. “Then so it shall be.” Egg beamed. “Truly?” Maekar nodded once. Egg nearly bounced in his chair with excitement. You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I’m certain they’ll treasure it,” you said warmly. Then…
A quiet chuckle drifted from the far end of the table. The sound was enough to silence the room. Every head slowly turned. Aerion sat motionless, one hand covering his mouth. His shoulders trembled ever so slightly as if he were struggling to suppress another laugh. His eyes never left his lap.
Lord Stark frowned. He cleared his throat. “Is something amusing, Prince Aerion?”Another laugh escaped him. Longer this time. Sharper. Aerion slowly lowered his hand from his face. His smile was hollow. “No,” he said quietly. “Not amusing.” Silence settled over the hall. “It’s pathetic. ”You felt your stomach twist.
Maekar narrowed his eyes. “Mind your tongue.” Aerion ignored him. His gaze finally lifted from the table and settled on you. “So…” he murmured. “You’ve already decided to replace me.” Your husband straightened in his chair. Valarr chimes in, “cousin you’re drunk.”..
“The princess is my wife.” Your husband warns him in a way. Aerion laughed again. “I wasn’t speaking to you.” Lord Stark’s chair scraped violently across the floor as he stood. The room froze. Maekar rose more slowly, his voice calm but commanding. “Aerion.”
But Aerion had already pushed himself to his feet. His chair crashed backward onto the stone floor. “You speak of children,” Aerion scoffed, staring directly at you. “You speak of dragon eggs and futures as though the past never happened.”
“I said enough,” Maekar growled. Aerion ignored him again. His eyes never left yours. “You loved me.”
The words struck the hall harder than any sword. “And now you sit there smiling beside another man…” He let out a bitter laugh. “As though I never existed.” Lord Stark stepped between the two of you. “One more word about my wife…” Aerion took a step forward. “What?” he hissed. “You’ll defend what’s mine?”
The sentence had barely left his lips before Lord Stark drove his fist into Aerion’s jaw. The crack echoed through the Great Hall. Aerion stumbled sideways, crashing into the feast table. Goblets shattered across the floor as wine spilled like blood over the white tablecloth.
For one stunned heartbeat… No one moved. Then Aerion roared. He lunged at Lord Stark, tackling him into the benches. Wood splintered beneath them as the two men traded furious blows across the floor.
Guards rushed forward. “Stop them!” someone shouted. Maekar slammed his goblet onto the table so hard the metal dented. “ENOUGH!” His voice thundered through the hall. Still, neither man listened. Aerion landed another punch before Lord Stark threw him backward into one of the stone pillars. The impact shook the room.
Before Aerion could charge again, Maekar crossed the distance. His hand wrapped around Aerion’s throat. Not enough to choke him. Just enough to stop him. “You shame this family,” Maekar said through gritted teeth. Aerion glared back, blood running from the corner of his mouth. “You already destroyed it. The day you convinced me to let her go. I was almost convinced you wanted her for yourself.”
For the first time…Maekar’s composure cracked. His open hand struck Aerion across the face with enough force to send him to one knee. The Great Hall fell deathly silent. No one dared breathe. Maekar stood over his son. “You will leave Winterfell before sunrise.”
Aerion slowly wiped the blood from his lip. His eyes drifted toward you one last time. There was no anger left in them. Only regret. Without another word, he turned and walked from the hall. The massive doors slammed shut behind him. The feast was over. And whatever remained of House Targaryen had fractured beyond repair.
That same night, after the feast had ended, Maekar and your husband remained deep in conversation, discussing politics over cups of wine. Taking advantage of their distraction, you quietly slipped out of your chambers wearing nothing but your nightgown. Barefoot, you crept through the silent halls, careful not to be seen.
When you reached Aerion’s chambers, you slowly eased the door open just enough to slip inside. The fire crackled brightly, casting a warm glow across the room. Aerion lay sprawled across his bed, fast asleep. Dark bruises had already begun to bloom across his face from the fight earlier that day. Protectively resting a hand over your growing belly, you slowly approached him.
“Aerion,” you whispered. You lowered yourself onto the edge of the bed. He stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent beneath his breath. He was far too intoxicated to realize you were there. “Aerion… why did you come?” you whispered again. “Why would you do this to yourself… to me?” Your fingers gently brushed the strands of silver hair away from his bruised face.
“I thought if I ever saw you again, I’d be consumed with anger… or feel sick at the sight of you.” Your voice cracked. “Instead… I saw the man I fell hopelessly in love with all those years ago.” Your thumb caressed his cheek with heartbreaking tenderness.
“I wish things could have been different, my prince.” You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his bruised cheek before rising to leave. Just as you turned toward the door, a hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist. “I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” Aerion’s voice was rough, barely above a whisper.
He slowly drew you back toward him until your faces were only inches apart. He cupped your cheek, and before either of you could think better of it, his lips met yours. For a brief moment, you hesitated. Then every wall you had spent years building crumbled. You kissed him back.
His embrace was careful, mindful of both your bruised heart and the child growing beneath your hand. He rested one hand protectively against your belly as the two of you simply remained there, breathing each other in after years apart.
Neither of you spoke. The silence said everything words never could. Then voices echoed from the hallway outside. You quickly pulled away. “Shh,” you whispered, your eyes wide with panic.
Aerion rested his forehead against yours.“The worst thing that could happen already has,” he murmured. “But… my husband. What if he finds out?” you whispered, your voice trembling. A faint smile tugged at Aerion’s lips. “Then you’d be returning to King’s Landing with me… both of you.” His hand gently rested against your belly once more.
The footsteps eventually faded. You remained where you were for another long moment before leaning into him again, unable to resist the comfort of the man you had never truly stopped loving. “I’m sorry,” he whispered between quiet kisses. “For hurting you… for everything.”You closed your eyes.
“I missed this, I missed you.” He says sticking his tongue back in your mouth. His fingers lightly brushed the ribbons along the back of your nightgown— A sudden knock interrupted the moment. You both froze.
“Yes?” Aerion called, trying to steady his voice. “My prince,” a servant said from the other side of the door, “I’ve brought fresh bandages and medicine for your wounds.” You looked at Aerion in alarm. “Leave them outside the door,” he replied. “You may go.” He shouts.
“As you wish, my prince.” The servant’s footsteps disappeared down the corridor. You rested a hand against Aerion’s chest.“Aerion… we shouldn’t. This can’t go any further.” Your words came out shaky, though they pained you to say them.
After a long silence, he nodded. “As you wish.” A sad smile crossed his face. “But at least help me change these bandages before you go.” He pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead. You nodded. He rose from the bed and retrieved the medicine and fresh bandages from outside the door. The next few hours passed in comfortable silence.
As you carefully cleaned and wrapped his injuries, Aerion never looked away. His eyes remained fixed on you, memorizing every detail as though he feared it would be the last time he would ever see you. When dawn finally broke, you quietly slipped back to your own chambers. A short while later, you passed Aerion’s room. It was empty. He had already begun the journey back to King’s Landing.
That evening, during another feast, you excused yourself for some fresh air. Daeron insisted on accompanying you, unwilling to let you wander alone in your condition.
Outside, you leaned against the cool stone wall, taking slow breaths beneath the evening sky. “The day you left King’s Landing,” Daeron finally said, breaking the silence, “was the day I watched my brother break.” You remained quiet, listening.
“My father presented him with one betrothal after another.” Daeron swirled the wine in his goblet before taking a sip. “Aerion refused every single one.”
“He always had an excuse. She wasn’t beautiful enough. She wasn’t worthy enough. Her house wasn’t powerful enough.” A small, knowing smile crossed Daeron’s face. “But I think the truth was much simpler.” He looked over at you. “They just weren’t you.” Your throat tightened, but you said nothing. “I don’t believe my brother will ever marry.” His gaze softened. “I’m glad you escaped.” He smiled warmly. “I’m glad you’ve found happiness.” You looked toward the darkening horizon. You were happy. And yet…
Seeing Aerion again had awakened a part of your heart you thought had long since been buried. Perhaps that kiss had simply been two souls saying goodbye to the life they were never allowed to have.
After a few more moments, Daeron gently escorted you back inside, where the music and laughter of the feast carried on as though nothing had changed.
Everyone envied your marriage. How could they not? Baelor was honorable. Wise. Patient. The perfect heir. Whenever he took your hand in public, nobles sighed with admiration. Children pointed at you both and whispered about true love. It was all an illusion. Months passed before you noticed the pattern.
Late-night meetings. Letters burned before dawn. Excuses that never quite fit. You never suspected another woman. Baelor had given you no reason to. Until the letter slipped from inside one of his history books. The handwriting wasn’t his. “I miss you already.” Three simple words. Enough to unravel everything.
When you finally confronted him…He didn’t deny it. He simply closed his eyes. “I never meant for you to find out.” No lies. No excuses. Just devastating honesty. He admitted he’d fallen in love with someone else. Not because you’d failed. Not because your marriage lacked kindness. Simply because hearts sometimes betrayed duty.
Then he asked something impossible. “I cannot lose you.” You stared at him in disbelief. “Why?” Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at Baelor. “Is it because I’m younger than you? Do you see me as some foolish little girl?”
Baelor immediately reached for your hands, panic flashing across his face. “No… no, Y/N,” he pleaded. He gently cupped your face, his expression filled with guilt. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll mishandle you. Forgive me, but you seem so delicate. I’m terrified I’ll hurt you… or somehow ruin you.” Your brows furrowed in disbelief. “What?” His words caught in his throat. “I…”
Realization slowly dawned on you. “Is that why you’re always so careful with me?” you asked quietly. “Is that why you never handle me like man in bed?” His silence was answer enough. “You think I’m fragile.” Baelor lowered his head before giving a reluctant nod.
You pulled your hands from his grasp and rose to your feet. “Y/N, please…” He reached for you again, but you stepped away. Without another word, you left the chambers. Embarrassment burned through you with every step. Was that truly how he saw you? Like some priceless ornament to be admired from a distance but never truly touched? Was he so afraid of breaking you that he had built a wall between you?
The thought stung more than you cared to admit. You knew you weren’t the timid, delicate woman he imagined. And somehow… you intended to prove it.
That evening, the Great Hall was alive with music, laughter, and flowing wine. You sat beside your husband, though your attention wandered elsewhere. By now, you’d emptied four cups of wine, earning more than a few curious glances from those seated nearby.
“My dear,” Baelor murmured beside you, “perhaps you’ve had enough.” You let out a mocking laugh instead of answering. Across the table, Aerion watched the exchange with unmistakable amusement. Throughout the feast, he found every excuse to draw you into conversation. His clever remarks earned genuine laughter from you—laughter Baelor hadn’t heard from you in weeks. Baelor noticed.
When he reached for your hand beneath the table, you quietly pulled it away. Aerion caught the small gesture and couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. An uncomfortable silence settled over Baelor as he shifted in his seat, lifting his wine to his lips. Across from you, Aerion’s gaze never left yours.
For a fleeting moment, beneath the table, you felt the lightest brush against your leg making its way in between your thighs. You inhaled sharply, startled. No one else seemed to notice. Only Aerion.
His violet eyes gleamed with quiet mischief as the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. You turned toward Baelor, but he was already deep in conversation with Maekar, seemingly oblivious. Slowly, you glanced back toward Aerion. His eyes remained fixed on yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.
Next to you, Baelor looked back at you. You offered him a warm, innocent smile. He smiled in return, unaware of the silent battle unfolding around him.
You slowly slipped your foot free from your slipper and, beneath the table, let it trail lightly up Aerion’s leg. The corners of his mouth curled into an even wider smile. A faint flush spread across his cheeks, betraying him. Baelor noticed immediately. “Are you feeling well, nephew?” he asked, his brow knitting with concern.
The conversation around the table quieted as every pair of eyes turned toward Aerion. He cleared his throat, forcing a smile. “I-I’m… quite well,” he replied, though his voice cracked enough to betray his composure. Everyone continued eating. His foot makes its way back under your dress in between your thighs. You can feel his toes now gliding up and down your wet garments.
Your hands tighten around the tablecloth as your breathing turns uneven. Across the table, Valarr leans forward, concern etched across his face. “Are you alright, Y/N?” he asks softly. Baelor catches Valarr’s question and immediately turns to look at you. You give a small shake of your head. “Actually… no. I’m feeling unwell. I think I’ll retire to my chambers.”
As you rise from your seat, Aerion’s foot slowly slips away from between your legs. Baelor notices the movement. “Would you like me to escort you, Princess?” Aerion asks, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
“I would love that. Thank you, my prince,” you reply with confidence. Baelor watches the exchange in stunned disbelief. His mind is still trying to process what he saw when you stood. He wants to object, to stop you, but the words never come. He knows you need space. Just… not this kind of space.
As you walk toward your chambers with Aerion at your side, you stumble, leaning into him for support. “Easy,” he murmurs, steadying you with a gentle hand. At last, you reach your chamber doors. Aerion pushes one open, allowing you to step inside. “I suppose this is goodnight,” he says with a hopeful smile, clearly wishing it wasn’t.
You turn to face him, a mischievous grin spreading across your lips. Grabbing the collar of his shirt, you pull him into your chambers before shutting the door behind him. With a firm shove, you press him against it. You crash your lips against his in a desperate, heated kiss. He responds without hesitation, his hands wandering over your waist as he pulls you closer. His lips trail from yours to the side of your neck, drawing a shaky breath from you. Aerion reaches for the back of your dress. With one sharp tug, the fabric tears down the seam. You gasp at the sudden force before smiling and capturing his lips once more.
Then the chamber doors burst open. Baelor stepped inside with unsettling calm, as though he had expected to find exactly this.“Leave, nephew,” he ordered evenly. Aerion reluctantly pulled away from you, meeting his uncle’s gaze before looking back at you. He stole one final kiss, and you returned it without hesitation. You were still furious with Baelor, and in that moment, defying him felt satisfying. Aerion slowly backed away. As he passed, his fingers brushed against your hand before slipping away completely.
Baelor watched the exchange, his jaw tightening. Once Aerion had left, Baelor shut the chamber door behind him.
“So… this is how you choose to show me?” he asked, taking slow, measured steps toward you. You stood your ground, staring back at him as though he had done nothing to deserve your forgiveness. Without a word, you slapped him across the face. Baelor hissed through his teeth as the sting settled into his cheek. His head turned with the impact before slowly facing you again.
Then, without warning, he scooped you up and threw you onto the bed. You yelp at his strength. He’s never handled you this way. He rips off the already torn dress you have on. Your breast are exposed to him. He leans down sucking and biting on your nipple as one hand travels to your neck. He tightens his grip. You let out a low moan.
Baelors lips then travel back up to your neck and then to your lips. He crashes his lips against yours. He bites your bottom lip. You cry out in pleasure. He grins against your mouth. “I should reward my nephew for bringing this side out of you.” He says breathlessly. “I want you to fuck me , baelor.” You begged to your husband. He grabs your throat once again, tighter than before. He uses his knees to spread your legs apart, his other hand freeing himself from his trousers. Baelor slaps his hard shaft against your exposed folds. He rubs his tip against your sensitive clit. You moan at the sensation. Baelor then slaps his hard tip against your clit. Your body jumps at the surprise.
He spits in hands , rubbing it up and down his large shaft. He sighs and the sensitive sensation. Baelor then positions himself at your wet entrance. He shoves himself in you without any warning. You scream as your walls clench around him. You bite your lip, making eye contact with your husband. Your cheeks are now red. His thrusts grew faster and harder. Your breast are bouncing uncontrollably. His hands travel to your breast massaging them fiercely. “You been very bad today have you ,princess.” He smiles. “Mhm. Yes ,my prince.” You cry out, both hands around his neck. Your legs wrap around his waist in hopes he go deeper than he already was. “Baelor!” You scream out. Baelor loses his composure, and releases. He’s panting, hunching over you. The sensation of his hot cum leaking inside you , makes you find your peak. Your legs tighten around his waist, your nails dig into his back. You cry out in pleasure. Baelors face cradled in between your neck and shoulder, he gently kisses your naked skin.
He falls next to you. Immediately taking you into his embrace. You weren’t angry anymore. “I can do this all night.” You say smiling at your husband. “Shall we continue.” He says mischievously. Baelor ended his affair with his mystery mistress. Baelor couldn’t keep his hands off you after discovering this new personality of yours.
How lucky you were to be married to Valarr Targaryen. Despite the pressures of court, the two of you have always shared a loving marriage. Everything changes after Valarr spends a night at a tavern with his cousins, Aerion and Daeron.
Valarr’s gaze drifted across the crowded tavern until it landed on a beautiful red-haired woman watching him from across the room. Warmed by several cups of ale, he absentmindedly raised his mug in acknowledgment. The woman took it as an invitation. She smiled and made her way toward him.
Aerion noticed immediately and gave Valarr a hearty pat on the back. “No offense, cousin,” he teased with a crooked grin, “but you can do much better than her.”
Valarr’s expression immediately changed. He hadn’t meant to beckon her over at all. Embarrassed, he took another long drink from his ale, hoping the awkwardness would pass. The woman stopped beside him, facing the bustling crowd before turning to him with a graceful bow. “It’s a pleasure to see you here, my prince.”
“Ah… yes,” Valarr replied with an uneasy smile. “I’m only here to take the edge off.”
She tilted her head, a mischievous smile spreading across her lips. “And would you like some help with that, my prince?” Before Valarr could politely decline, Aerion, far deeper in his drink than anyone else-slung an arm around his shoulders. “He’d love some help!” Aerion laughed. With his free hand, he playfully pinched Valarr’s cheek.
Valarr winced. “Aerion…” His cousin only laughed harder, lifting a pitcher of ale to Valarr’s lips. “Drink!” Daeron appeared beside them, joining in with a drunken chant. “Chug! Chug! Chug!”
The entire table took up the cry. Caught between laughter, alcohol, and the relentless pressure from his cousins, Valarr gave in. He grabbed the pitcher and drank as they cheered him on. One cup became several.
An hour later, Valarr could barely keep himself upright. His vision blurred, his thoughts muddled beyond reason. He was completely blacked out, scarcely aware of where he was or what was happening around him. Aerion exchanged an amused glance with Daeron before nudging the stumbling prince toward the red-haired woman.“Go on,” Aerion urged with a drunken laugh.
With another careless shove, he guided the pair toward an empty storage room at the back of the tavern, the heavy wooden door swinging shut behind them. Caught up in heavy drinking, relentless teasing, and the pressure to prove himself, Valarr makes a single, devastating mistake-he cheats.
The moment it happens, regret crashes over him. The memory alone makes him feel sick to his stomach. He can’t erase what he’s done, no matter how desperately he wishes he could. Wracked with guilt, he confesses the truth to you, expecting your anger but never anticipating the emptiness in your eyes.
From that day forward, Valarr devotes himself to winning you back. He showers you with thoughtful gifts, spends every waking moment at your side, and does everything he can to prove that his mistake will never happen again. Yet none of it matters. The flowers wilt, the jewels remain untouched, and every apology falls on deaf ears. You cannot bring yourself to forgive the betrayal.
The chamber door creaked open. You didn’t look up. “I brought you something,” Valarr said quietly. Silence. He stepped closer, setting a velvet box beside you on the table. Another gift. Another desperate attempt to mend something that couldn’t be bought.
“I don’t want it.” You snap at him. His shoulders slumped. “I know.”
The room fell quiet again. The only sound was the crackling fire and the uneven rhythm of his breathing. “I wish you would yell at me,” he whispered. “Throw something. Tell me you hate me.” You slowly lifted your eyes to meet his. “What good would that do?”. Valarr swallowed hard. “Anything would be better than this.” Your expression remained empty.
“This silence… the way you won’t even look at me anymore.” His voice cracked. “It’s killing me.” He pleads. “You should’ve thought about that before.” You bark at him. Those words struck him like a blade.
Later that day he meets Daeron and Aerion at the same tavern. Watching his cousin unravel, Daeron eventually offers a reckless suggestion. “Perhaps she’ll only understand once the scales are balanced. Let her have the same freedom you took for yourself.”
Valarr is horrified by the idea, refusing outright. The mere thought of another man touching you makes him feel physically ill. Before he can dismiss it completely, Aerion quietly volunteers himself, claiming that if anyone were to do it, it should at least be someone Valarr trusts.
The suggestion plants a poisonous seed in Valarr’s mind. He hates the idea. He despises himself for even considering it. But as the days pass and your cold silence never softens, desperation begins to outweigh reason.
One evening, Valarr finds you alone in your chambers. He hesitates at the door, his heart pounding. Every instinct tells him to abandon the conversation before it begins, yet he forces himself inside. With shame written across his face, he quietly tells you about Daeron’s suggestion-and Aerion’s willingness to go through with it.
His voice trembles as he makes it painfully clear that he doesn’t want this. He isn’t giving you away because he believes it’s right. He’s only bringing it up because he’s desperate to repair what he destroyed, even if it means breaking his own heart in the process. The decision, however, is yours.
“And you would allow me to be intimate with another man?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. Folding your arms across your chest, you step closer to your husband.
“I only agreed-“ Valarr is cut off. “Daeron,” you say with a smirk. Silence. Valarr simply stares at you, stunned that you already had someone in mind. Even more surprising, it wasn’t Aerion. “Daeron?!” he blurts. You nod. “And this… this will make everything right?” he asks cautiously. You nod once more.
Without another word, Valarr turns and walks to the round table. He grabs the pitcher of wine, pours himself a full cup, and drains it in one long swallow. Setting the goblet down with a loud slam, he exhales heavily. “As you wish.” Then he turns and walks out of the chamber.
Valarr finds Daeron and Aerion in the kitchens, absentmindedly picking at whatever food had been left out. He approaches them. “She agreed,” he announces, his voice loud enough to make them both stop what they were doing.
Aerion immediately claps his hands together, laughing. “So, when will she have me?” he asks confidently. Valarr’s expression darkens with irritation. “She asked for Daeron specifically,” he says flatly, sounding as though he were announcing the winner of a contest. Daeron nearly chokes on his wine. Aerion’s grin disappears as he slowly turns to face his brother. “Daeron?!” Aerion blurts.
“I said the same thing,” Valarr replies without a hint of amusement. Daeron gives Aerion a small, almost apologetic smile.
“I’d like it done by tonight, if possible,” Valarr says firmly. Daeron takes another sip of wine before setting his cup down. “I don’t feel comfortable lying with your wife, cousin,” he admits. “It was your idea,” Valarr reminds him. “Once it’s done, everything can return to normal. Besides…” He glances toward Aerion. “I trust you far more than I trust Aerion.”
“I still can’t believe she chose Daeron over me,” Aerion mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “And thank the gods for that,” Valarr growls.
Late that night, Valarr escorts Daeron to your chambers. The walk is painfully silent. Valarr doesn’t utter a single word. Beside him, Daeron takes frequent sips from his goblet, clearly trying to calm his nerves.
The chamber doors creak open. You stand before the fireplace, wearing nothing but a silk robe. The warm glow of the flames dances across your figure. Valarr’s expression darkens the moment his eyes fall upon you. Daeron quickly averts his gaze, unwilling to disrespect his cousin.
Valarr slowly approaches you. “He’s ready, my love,” he says quietly, taking your hand in his. You meet his eyes with an icy stare, the hurt and desire for revenge still burning within you. “You may leave now,” you say coldly, without a trace of sympathy. For a brief moment, sadness flickers across Valarr’s face. His grip loosens as he gives a silent nod.
Without another word, he walks past Daeron, his head hanging low as he quietly leaves the chamber. The heavy doors close behind him. Daeron remains seated in the chair beside the fireplace, turning the goblet in his hands as silence settles between the two of you.
You slowly make your way toward Daeron. He does everything he can to avoid meeting your gaze. With a small smile, you settle onto his lap and pick up the cup of wine resting on the table beside you. Beneath you, he shifts nervously, trying to steady himself.
You remain silent, your smile never fading. Daeron is the first to break the silence. “I was honored when I heard you chose me,” he says, swallowing hard. “Surprised, actually.” You don’t answer.
Instead, you take a slow sip of wine, letting it linger on your tongue rather than swallowing it. Gently, you cup Daeron’s face and lean in, pressing your lips against his. Your lips part, and his mouth opens ever so slightly in response.
You let the wine pass from your mouth into his. His eyes widen with surprise before he instinctively swallows. Without hesitation, Daeron surges forward, capturing your lips in another desperate kiss. You meet him with equal passion, your hands cradling his face as the kiss deepens.
Daeron’s hands begin to wander over your body as you slowly grind against him. A soft moan escapes his lips, muffled by your kiss. You continue to rock your hips against the firm outline beneath his clothes, and his grip on you tightens as the kiss grows more heated.
You pull away, breathing heavily. “Wait,” you whisper. Sliding off his lap, you make your way to the chamber doors and pull them open. Daeron watches you in confusion, his brows knitting together.
You peek into the hallway and call for your husband. Valarr, who had been lingering just outside your chambers, waiting anxiously for the moment to end, immediately looks up and hurries toward you. You take his hand and guide him inside.
“Is it over?” he asks, his gaze shifting to Daeron, who is still fully clothed. Relief flickers across his face. “Have you changed your mind?”. You smile and shake your head. “No,” you reply softly. “Actually… I want you to sit there and watch.” You gently press him down into the chair.
You guide Daeron toward the bed. He looks almost frightened, his uncertainty written plainly across his face. With a calm motion, you slip your gown from your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet. Now bare before both Valarr and Daeron, you feel Valarr clear his throat behind you, but you pay him no mind.
Daeron’s eyes never leave you. His gaze trails over you with open fascination, as though he can’t look away. Slowly, you climb onto the bed and settle onto his lap, straddling him. He draws a shaky breath, his hands remaining frozen at his sides, unsure of whether he should touch you.
Daeron glances over at Valarr, who is watching the two of you in complete silence. His face is unreadable, and somehow that is what unsettles Daeron the most.
You cup Daeron’s face, gently guiding his attention back to you. Leaning in, you brush your lips against the side of his neck. “Don’t look at him,” you murmur softly. “Look at me.” You pull back just enough for your eyes to meet his. Taking his hands in yours, you place them against your waist, encouraging him to hold you.
“Did I make a mistake choosing you, my prince?” you ask, cupping his face in your hands. Your voice is soft, but your next words are loud enough for Valarr to hear. “Should I call Aerion to finish the job instead?”
“Please, Daeron,” Valarr pleads from his chair. “I can’t bear to watch my wife enjoy my monstrosity of a cousin.” You turn your attention back to Daeron, refusing to look at your husband. “Just pretend he isn’t here, my prince,” you whisper.
Your lips meet his in a slow, lingering kiss. After only a moment of hesitation, Daeron gives in, returning it with surprising passion despite Valarr’s watchful presence. A faint smile tugs at your lips as he finally loses himself in the moment.
Tilting your head slightly, you lean closer to him, encouraging the closeness between you. Across the room, Valarr shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze drifting toward the fire as though he can’t bring himself to watch. You notice immediately. “I said watch.” Your sharp command cuts through the silence.
Valarr slowly turns back toward the two of you. His expression is tight with anguish, and for the first time, he cannot look away. The hurt etched across his face mirrors the pain you carried the day he confessed to his affairs.
You move your hands to his waist untying his trousers. You lean up at his pulls his pants down to his knees. You immediately grab his hard length. He’s big. You spit in your hand and stroke his member. Daeron closes his eyes mumbles words you can’t understand. Then you guide his length into you. You sink down onto him. “Fuck.” Daeron moans out , tossing his head back. His hands are gripping your waist tightly.
Through the moans, you hear your husband speak up, “don’t bruise her.” Valarr says from his seat. You laugh at his response. You start riding against Daeron, yours are on his chest. “Faster, princess.” He says quietly, as though he don’t want his cousin to hear. You grin mischievously, and ride him faster. You push your self to your feet in a bouncing position. Your hands remain on his chest as you start bouncing up and down on his hard member. Your breasts are bouncing uncontrollably in Daerons face. “You feel so good, my prince. You fill me so well.” You cry out.
Valarr stands up, pacing back and forth, biting his knuckles. The room is filled with moans and clapping. Only no one was clapping. You settle back on your knees and lean back grinding against him. Daeron looks down and watches as your body rolls on him, watching as your wet pussy swallows his hard cock. You toss your head back in pleasure, “I really hope it was worth it.” You say looking over at your husband in distress.
Valarr grabs a ceramic table decoration and throws it at the stone wall. You laugh. Daeron looks over to Valarr. “Hurry it up” Valarr spits out. You look down to Daeron, “you heard my husband, my prince. Hurry it up.” At this point you feel satisfied. You rode Daeron faster to catch your peak. Daeron closed his eyes trying to ignore any sight of Valarr. He grabs your waist flipping you, your back is now against the bed. Daeron is on top of you now. Still inside, he thrusts into you with a fast pace. You cry out at the sensation of him digging into you. “Daeron”, you moan out. Daeron leans down kissing and sucking your breast.
Your hands dig into his scalp, your fingers intertwining with his messy long hair. Daerons moans vibrate against your smooth skin. “I’m going to cum, Valarr.” You moan out to your husband. Valarr sits back down in front of the fire. His hands covering his face.
Daeron leans up, thrusting harder. He’s panting faster. You cannot hold it anymore. You let go. You cum all over his member, and cry out at the euphoric sensation. Your reaction makes Daeron peak. He hunches over you, he digs his face into your neck. And releases. He’s grunting and panting against your warm skin. He bites the inside of your neck, then slowly kisses it. Daeron collapsed onto the bed beside you, struggling to catch his breath.
“Finally… thank the gods it’s over,” Valarr groaned as he rose from his chair. You pulled the bedsheets over your bare body, unable to hide your amused smile. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” you teased, watching your visibly relieved prince. Valarr crossed the room and dropped to one knee beside the bed. Taking your hand in both of his, he looked at you with pleading eyes.
“So… it’s over? We can forget this ever happened?” he asked hopefully. You smiled and gave him a reassuring nod.
Valarr let out a long sigh of relief. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice,” you said with a grin. “There won’t be a next time,” he declared confidently. “Never again.”
Daeron pushed himself up on one elbow from the other side of the bed. “Maybe we just need to take Valarr out more often,” he remarked with an innocent shrug. Valarr shot him an offended glare. You couldn’t help but laugh at Daeron’s comment.
Suddenly, a knock echoed through the chamber. All three of you turned toward the door at once. Daeron immediately disappeared beneath the covers, seeking shelter.
The chamber door creaked open, and Aerion poked his head inside. “I was wondering if the princess was… satisfied,” he said with a crooked smile. “Perhaps she still needed a hand?” He had barely taken a step inside before Valarr answered. “It is finished, and I can assure you, your assistance is no longer required.”
Aerion’s shoulders visibly slumped in disappointment. “Leave,” Valarr said flatly. Without another word, Aerion turned and quietly left the chamber. Daeron climbed from the bed and began pulling on his clothes. “I’ll fetch the maester for a cup of moon tea, my love,” Valarr said gently. “And have a hot bath prepared as well, husband,” you replied as you slipped from the bed.
Daeron and Valarr walked together toward the chamber doors. Just before Daeron left, Valarr stopped him.“I wanted you to know… I’m not upset.”Daeron offered him a small, understanding smile before giving his shoulder a reassuring pat. “I know.”
Outside the chamber, Valarr called for the servants. “Prepare a hot bath for the princess and summon the maester.” He orders. “At once, Your Grace,” the servant replied before hurrying down the corridor.
A short while later, Valarr returned to your chambers. You stood beside the fireplace, the warmth of the flames dancing across your skin. He crossed the room without hesitation and gently pulled you into his arms. “I meant what I said,” he murmured. “Never again.” Valarr confesses reassuringly.. “I know you did,” you whispered, cupping his face tenderly.
Later, you soaked quietly in the steaming bath while Valarr remained faithfully at your side. Kneeling behind the tub, he gently massaged your shoulders, occasionally pressing soft kisses along the back of your neck as the tension slowly melted away. How lucky you were.
The wine always reached Daeron before you did. Every evening, servants carried casks into his chambers as though they were offering tribute to a king. By midnight, he could barely stand. By dawn, he barely remembered your name. At first, he apologized. Then he laughed. Eventually, he stopped pretending to care.
You learned to recognize the smell of perfume that wasn’t yours lingering on his clothes. Lipstick stained his goblets. Strange women left your chambers before sunrise with swollen lips and smug smiles, never once sparing you a glance. The court whispered. The servants pitied you. Daeron simply drank.
That night, thunder rolled over King’s Landing. You stirred beneath the blankets, reaching across the bed for the warmth of your husband. Instead, your hand brushed against unfamiliar skin. Your eyes snapped open. Moonlight spilled through the windows, illuminating the scene beside you.
A young woman lay tangled against Daeron’s bare chest. His hands wandered over her as though you weren’t lying inches away. As though your side of the bed wasn’t still warm. As though you didn’t exist. Your heart stopped. For one impossible moment, you waited. Surely he’d notice. Surely he’d stop. Surely he’d remember he had a wife.
His bleary violet eyes met yours. Neither shame nor surprise crossed his face. Only annoyance. “What?” he muttered. You stared at him, unable to breathe. “I’m trying to sleep,” he slurred before pulling the woman closer. She giggled. The sound shattered something inside you.
Without a word, you climbed from the bed. Neither of them stopped you. Neither of them cared. The heavy chamber doors closed quietly behind you. That was the loudest sound you’d heard all night. You spent the remainder of the night in an unused guest chamber. No fire. No blankets fit for royalty. Only silence. It felt kinder than your marriage.
Weeks later, a maester smiled gently while placing a hand over yours.“Congratulations, Princess.” You blinked. “The child appears healthy.” A child. His child. You left without saying a word. When Daeron learned the news, he only laughed. “A son, perhaps.” He raised another cup of wine. “We’ll celebrate.” By sunset, he’d forgotten.
The bruises became easier to hide than the tears. Daeron rarely meant to hurt you. That was what everyone said. He was drunk. He didn’t know his own strength. He was grieving. He was under pressure.bThere was always another excuse.
One evening. The castle stairs were slick from rain carried in by passing guards. You were walking slowly, one hand resting over your growing belly. Daeron stumbled behind you, drunk beyond reason. “I said I wasn’t finished speaking to you.” He slurs.
“I’m tired,” you whispered. “You always have an excuse.” He reached for your arm. Too hard. You pulled away. He shoved. Not with hatred. Not even with intention. Just enough. Just enough for your heel to miss the next step. The world disappeared beneath you. Stone met flesh. Again. Again. Again. Pain exploded through your body before everything became quiet. The last thing you heard was Daeron shouting your name.
When you awoke, the room smelled of herbs and melted candles. Every curtain had been drawn. Every face looked mournful. The Grand Maester stood beside your bed. His eyes told you before his mouth did. “I’m so sorry, Princess.” Your trembling hand moved to your stomach. It was flat. Empty. The silence inside you was unbearable.“No…” No one answered. Because there was nothing left to say.
Daeron entered hours later. His clothes were still stained with wine. His face was stained with tears. “I’m sorry.” You didn’t look at him. “I didn’t mean-” Silence. “I swear to the gods-“ Silence. He reached for your hand. You pulled it away. For the first time in your marriage…He looked afraid.
Days passed. You never left your bed. Food remained untouched. Goblets of water gathered dust. Servants begged. Nothing reached you. You simply stared out the window, watching ravens circle above the Red Keep.
The Grand Maester cornered Daeron outside your chambers. “If Her Grace continues like this, she will follow the child.” Daeron’s face drained of color. “What?” He blurts out. “She neither eats nor drinks.” The maestar informs him. “I’ll make her.” Daeron says.
“You cannot force someone who no longer wishes to live.” Those words struck harder than any sword. Daeron rushed into the chamber. You hadn’t moved. He knelt beside the bed. “You have to eat.” Nothing. He held the bowl toward you. Your eyes remained fixed on the rain outside.
“You hate me.” Silence. “You should.” Silence. “I killed our child.” The words broke him. He buried his face against the edge of the mattress, sobbing so violently his shoulders shook. “I killed everything.” Still…You said nothing. Not because you couldn’t. Because there was nothing left inside you to give.
The room that had once echoed with arguments now held only grief. And for the first time in his life, Daeron discovered there was no amount of wine strong enough to drown the sound of his own regret.
Daeron sat with you night after night, the silence between you growing heavier with each passing evening. Finally, one night, you broke it.
“Will it always be like this?” you mumbled, barely above a whisper. “Of course it won’t,” he replied as he climbed into bed beside you. “The maester said it’ll be safe for you to try to conceive again soon enough.”
You slowly turned to face him, your expression cold. “I didn’t mean that,” you said quietly. “I meant before… you parading women around. Your affairs.” He leaned back, looking almost offended. “Is that really all you’re thinking about?” he snapped. “Our baby just died, and you’re making this about yourself?”
Before you could stop yourself, your hand struck his cheek with a sharp slap. The room fell silent. Daeron didn’t say another word. He rose from the bed, his jaw clenched, and walked out of the chamber without looking back. He had no intention of changing. And in that moment, you made up your mind.
You stared at the empty side of the bed for a long while before quietly rising. No servant noticed as you slipped into a plain cloak. No guard questioned where the princess was going at such an hour. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors. You walked without purpose, or perhaps with only one. Every memory followed you. Your child’s first heartbeat.
The dreams you had whispered into the darkness. Dreams that tasted like ash now. Your vision blurred with tears. “I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered to no one. The castle gardens were cold beneath the moonlight.
You reached the old stone bridge overlooking the river that cut beneath the Red Keep. The rushing water was loud enough to drown every thought. You gripped the weathered railing. For the first time in months…Everything became still. “I’m so tired…” The words disappeared into the wind. Your fingers slowly loosened.
Elsewhere in the castle… Prince Baelor couldn’t sleep. He had spent the evening reviewing petitions, yet unease gnawed at him. Something wasn’t right. As he walked the corridors, he noticed your chamber door standing open. Empty. His heart lurched. He immediately turned toward the gardens. The night air struck his face as he hurried outside. Then he saw you. A pale figure collapsed upon the stones near the bridge.
“Gods…” He sprinted. “Y/N!” You didn’t answer. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he gently lifted your face.Your skin was icy. Your breathing was so faint he almost couldn’t find it.
“No… no, stay with me.” He gathered you into his arms. Your head fell limply against his shoulder. Fear unlike anything he’d ever known gripped his chest. “GUARDS!” he roared. The shout echoed across the gardens. “MAESTERS! SOMEONE, HELP!” His voice cracked.
He didn’t wait for anyone. He carried you himself. Your cloak dragged behind him as he ran through the halls, nearly knocking servants aside. “Move!” His usually calm composure had vanished entirely. “I NEED A MAESTER!”
Doors flew open. Guards rushed forward. Servants gasped. Baelor barely noticed. He kept running. “Prepare her chambers! NOW!” By the time he reached your room, sweat soaked through his tunic.
He carefully laid you upon the bed, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. “No…” He squeezed your cold hand. “You are not leaving this world.” The maesters burst inside moments later carrying satchels. Baelor immediately stepped aside but refused to leave. “Please,” he said, his voice shaking. “Save her.”
One maester checked your pulse while another prepared medicines. “Her pulse is weak. Bring warm blankets. We need hot water, hurry!” He shouts. The room erupted into frantic motion. Baelor stood frozen near the bed.
He had seen war. He had seen men die on battlefields. None of it compared to this helplessness. He looked at your face. So young. So broken. “What happened to you?” he whispered. Though deep down…He already knew.
Across the castle… Daeron laughed drunkenly as another cup was poured. Wine sloshed over the rim. His eyes were unfocused. Another woman sat nearby, though he scarcely paid attention to her conversation. A knight burst into the tavern. “My prince!” Daeron groaned. “What?”
“The princess-” he shouts. Daeron waved a lazy hand. “What about her?”
“They found her unconscious. Prince Baelor is with the maesters.” For a fleeting moment, the haze in Daeron’s eyes lifted. “…What?”
“The maesters believe she tried to take her own life.” The room fell silent. The cup slipped from Daeron’s fingers. Wine shattered across the floor. He stared at the messenger.
“No…” His voice was barely audible. The realization hit with crushing force. Every drunken night. Every cruel betrayal. Every promise broken. Every tear he had ignored. And the child they had lost… He stumbled backward, suddenly unable to breathe. “What… what have I done?”
Daeron burst out of the tavern, shoving through the crowd without a second thought. His heart pounded against his ribs as he sprinted toward the castle. By the time he reached the gates, he was breathless. The servants stared as he rushed past them, paying no attention to their confused expressions. He raced through the halls toward your chambers, his boots echoing against the stone floors.
Rounding the final corner, he shouted your name. His voice caught in his throat when he saw Baelor and Maekar standing silently outside your chamber doors. “What happened?!” Daeron demanded, stumbling toward them.
Before he could reach the door, Maekar seized him by the collar of his tunic and slammed him against the cold stone wall. “Is this your doing, boy?” Maekar growled. Daeron’s eyes immediately filled with tears.
“Is… is she alive?” he whispered, his voice breaking. Maekar studied his son’s devastated expression. The fury slowly drained from his face, and he released Daeron’s tunic. “The maesters are doing everything they can,” he said, his voice softening. “I need to see her,” Daeron cried. “Please, Father!”
Before Maekar could answer, the chamber door creaked open. The maester stepped into the hall, exhaustion written across his face. “She is resting, Your Graces. She inhaled a great deal of water, but we managed to remove most of it from her lungs. She has a long road to recovery ahead of her… but she will live.”
Relief washed over Daeron. “May I see her?” he blurted. The maester stepped aside with a nod. “As you wish, Your Grace.” Daeron pushed through the doors. The chamber was filled with the scent of herbs and burning candles. Soft prayers echoed beneath the crackling fireplace. His eyes immediately found you.
You lay motionless beneath thick blankets. Your lips were pale with a faint bluish tint, and your skin looked almost translucent. Only the slow rise and fall of your chest assured him you were still breathing. With trembling fingers, he brushed the damp strands of hair away from your face.
“I’m so sorry…” He sank to his knees beside the bed and gently took your hand into his own. It was ice cold. Bruises stained your skin, and small cuts covered your fingers.
The sight shattered what little remained of him. He lowered his head against your hand and sobbed. “As soon as you wake, I’ll become the man you always deserved. I swear it.” His shoulders shook with every breath. “And if I lose you… I will follow you into the afterlife.” He wept beside your bed until there were no tears left to cry.
Weeks passed before you finally opened your eyes. Throughout every single day, Daeron never once left your side. He hadn’t touched a drop of wine since the night you nearly died.
Each morning and every evening, he sat beside your bed reading your favorite book aloud, convinced that somehow your soul could still hear him. “…and they lived happily ever after,” he read softly. A slight movement caught his eye. He froze. Your eyelashes fluttered. Then your eyes slowly opened. The book slipped from his hands.
“Y/N!” He rushed to your bedside before suddenly sprinting toward the chamber doors. “Fetch the maester!” he shouted to the nearest servant. “At once, Your Grace!” She hurried down the corridor. Daeron rushed back to your side just as you struggled to sit up. “Please… don’t move, my love.”
His hands gently steadied you as tears streamed freely down his face. He cupped your cheeks as though he feared you might disappear if he let go. “Daeron…” you whispered. Your lips were dry, and your throat burned with every word. “Yes,” he breathed with a tearful smile. “It’s me.” He rested his forehead against yours.
“I promised the gods that if they spared you, I would become a different man. They answered my prayers.” He broke down, unable to hold back the sobs.You weakly lifted your trembling hand and gently touched his face. “I… I’m sorry…”
“No.” He shook his head immediately. “No… I’m the one who’s sorry. For everything.” The chamber doors burst open as the maesters hurried inside. Even then, Daeron refused to leave your side.
As the weeks turned into months, your strength slowly returned. And true to his word, Daeron remained beside you through every step of your recovery. He helped you dress each morning, carefully fastening every tie and button. He supported your weight as you learned to walk again, never once complaining when you leaned heavily against him. He brushed your hair, brought your meals, and stayed awake through sleepless nights whenever pain kept you from resting.
The selfish, drunken prince you once knew was gone.In his place stood a patient, devoted husband who cherished every breath you took. Slowly, your heart opened to him once more. This was the man you had always dreamed of marrying. And at last…He had become him.
I needed a cigarette after writing this. This one had me a little stressed out. XD
