Its only a dream…

After years of residing in the Red Keep for work, from a young age, you had worked your way into a higher household staff position. You had become a Mistress of the Keep, being an understeward to the chief household steward, meaning that you had adapted to its royal residents and their outlandish behaviours and expectations. 

You also had the weight of authority on your shoulders, ranking above the regular servants and maids, aiding the chief Lady steward in running the household which came with an immense amount of responsibilities under her. One of your main duties was to manage the royal servers and dread began to consume you as you realised exactly why the staff were fleeing from that one bedchamber. 

Those specific shouts, you knew all too well. The shouts of Prince Aerion ‘Brightflame’ Targaryen.

A young girl no older than two and ten, serving as a cleaning maid, ran over to you with pleading eyes as the cluster of staff hurriedly continued on through the dimly lit halls. Elina, you recall, was fairly new to her duties here.

“Please Mistress,” she grasped at your hands tightly and shaking slightly, “I wish to be assigned to one of the Princesses instead of Prince Aerion. He’s madder than the claims!”

“Hush now, sweet child,” you reassured, catching her small hands in yours gently and mentally praying to the Seven that nobody could hear - for her sake. If her words got back to the Crown, there would be trouble. “I will speak with Lady Slynt regarding your reassignment to Daella or Rhae.” 

Exhaling gratefully in relief, she thanked you before making way to continue with her duties. 

Beginning to throb against your skull, your brain swelled at the oncoming stress. You swear to the Seven that you only experienced headaches when Prince Maekar brought his gaggle of silver haired children back to the Keep from Summerhall. 

It had been a couple years since Maekar brought all of his children to the Keep together. You suspect that his Wife’s passing had a part to play in this. Maekar barely ventured to King’s Landing during these past years and when he did, his children never accompanied him.

And now, due to their return, you had another point set on your extortionately long list of tasks. 

Lady Slynt was an old, rigid widow who ran a strict household and as much as you did not favour her, she was good at being chief steward for the Crown. 

As a result of her nature, many servants and maids often found themselves seeking you out instead of her in their times of need. Your understanding, calmness and diligence was a reassuring respite and system of support to them. You get shit done, so to speak, and you had a way of swaying Lady Slynt to ensure the benefits of the castle staff on occasion which led them to favour you. 

A sudden crash and crackle of glass against wood, hit and stifled behind the chamber doors. A short high pitched scream followed soon after, before a girl around your age had swung one of the hefty doors open before it was soon slammed shut again behind her. She scampered out into the halls rushing away in the opposite direction to you.  

“Gods be good.” You mumbled under your breath as your legs carried you towards the Prince’s chambers. 

Head held high and unyielding, your knuckles softly knocked against the thick, polished wooden door. You briefly wondered what he would think of you now after being gone from the Keep for so long but quickly dismissed the notion. Silly, you shook your head at the sudden thought regarding the Prince you used to be in service of.

“You dare disturb me again with your idiocy.” Aerion’s voice was low and laced with ire as his heavy, muffled, footsteps approached on the other side. 

His steps halted. A moment of silence passed. 

“What is it?” His tone was thick with vexation, reverberating through the wood separating you both.

As you inhaled deeply, preparing to answer, the door was quickly yanked open to reveal an irritated looking Aerion with his eyebrows pinched together. His Valyrian eyes widened ever so slightly but his brows loosened at the sight of you. 

Your hair was styled akin to a Lady, not a servant, and your body was draped in fabrics far more luxurious than what the maids wore. It suited you far better than the usual rags he was accustomed to seeing you in. 

“What is amiss, Your Grace?” 

Your serene vocals reached his ears and a sly curve of pink lips rose on his face. His large, veiny hand moved to rest on the side of the open door, his frame looming over yours at just an arms reach away.

“My my,” he suddenly mused, striking violet orbs drifting over your face and down your figure whilst his tongue slipped out effectively wetting his bottom lip, “haven’t you become quite a woman.” 

All adverse intent left his features whilst peering at you. Not letting your calm expression shift under his unexpected sultry watch, you merely nodded despite the heat rushing through your body. 

“It has been some time, Your Grace.” Two and a half years, to be exact. 

“An understeward now, I hear.” His smirk only grew and his gaze lavished at the sight of you after so long apart, you had changed in many ways. “Last time I saw you, you were changing my bedsheets, drawing my baths, and fetching me all that I desired.”  

His tone was teasing, leaning on a mocking shock, as if he could not believe that you were no longer his maid. As if that was the role you were purely born to live in this world.

“Well, my Prince, mayhaps I am much better suited to this position.” Eyes drifting down to the shattered glass, you couldn’t help but let your eyebrows narrow. “I wish to know why you sent my batch of servers fleeing from your presence.” 

The curve of his lips quickly downturned with a bored roll of his eyes, leather boots crunching atop the broken shards. “It seems you have not trained them akin to you.”  

A backhanded compliment. You had taught those servants well. It was not your fault that they failed to keep composure, even after your warnings about the Dragon Prince’s temperament. 

Aerion had taken a liking to you over the years which you were unaware of. You met when you were just three and ten years old. He was five and ten. You were assigned to service the Prince whenever he was in the Keep back then, but now it was very much different. 

Growing accustomed to his every need, you learned who Aerion was and what he liked. The Targaryen Prince took you for granted all those years ago, that you did know. 

You fluffed his pillows exactly how he liked. You set his bedding and laid the layers of furs and silks exactly how he liked. You drew his baths exactly how he liked: steaming hot because The Blood of The Dragon does not burn. 

You washed his clothing, treating the expensive fabrics from Essos in his favourite scented soaps from across the Narrow Sea with gentle handling, just how he liked it. You also fetched whatever he required, without fuss but a mature speed and ease, just how he liked it. 

You even ran your soft fingers through his hair, gently styling it exactly how he liked. And you remember the soft hums which loosely escaped his throat as your fingertips brushed across his head. Your skin prickled at the thought. Yet amongst this he got to grind on your nerves, exactly how he liked, whilst you bent to his every whim. 

An obedient feline amongst incapable rats who scurry away at just an inkling of my presence, he thought. He would never admit it out loud, but he missed you. And he missed what you did for him. No other maid had lived up to the standard that you set. 

“Your Grace, I apologise for the inconvenience,” eyes still set on the broken glass, you pushed back your own simmering agitation from his former comment, “I will send someone to clear this. What did you require from my batch? I will see it is done.” 

Aerion’s lavender gaze never left you as you spoke. He simply watched you patiently awaiting his response with fluttering lashes. Your bottom lip briefly caught between your teeth, mentally wishing for a smooth transition of his understanding at the new position you had worked up to.

“No,” he uttered firmly, hand pushing the door open further and stepping to the side, urging you to enter. “I want you to clear it, ābra (woman).”

The familiar High Valyrian word filtered through your senses and the hairs at the back of your neck stood up against his drawling accent. He had begun calling you that years ago and the derogatory implication was nothing you could fight upon his entitled status.

“My Prince.” You huffed lightly, tone edging on frustration. “I am no longer in a position to do so, which you are clever enough to be aware of. I will send for someone to clear this mess and see that your needs are met in haste.” 

“Fine,” he relented begrudgingly with low eyes as he moved further into his chambers, stalking over to the copper bathtub placed near the structured archway leading to the balcony. Over the balcony’s edge the waves of Blackwater Bay crashed against the rocks below, glittering under the sun setting across the sea. “I required a bath after my journey, and your little rats do not seem to know what hot water is.” 

His slender fingers dipped into the waters of the tub and he grimaced. “Too cold for Dragon Blood.”

“I will send new maids to remedy this for you, Your Grace.” You remained steady before quickly dismissing yourself, not wanting to be roped into whatever he was mentally cultivating with the sly, expectant look he shot you from the corners of his otherworldly amethyst eyes. 

The maids clawed at you, night and day, to be relieved of Prince Aerion and your head was pounding. It had not even been a full moon’s turn yet and there were only so many reassignments you could organise without Lady Slynt being too suspicious. 

You were beginning to think he was being purposeful in causing the high turnover of the Red Keep staff which were assigned to him. But why?

It was tiring enough overseeing the household and aiding everything and everyone to function as smoothly as possible for The Crown, and it was even more tiring with Aerion here causing unnecessary dilemmas. 

Sighing heavily, your hand gripped the quill between your fingers as inked names spread across the sheet in front of you. A sudden call of your name pulled you away from the parchment on your desk, listing staff schedules. You placed the quill down, fingers brushing over the softness of the swan feather. 

You were lucky enough to have learned to read and write, being within the Red Keep walls instead of the pits of Fleabottom. You had always thanked your parents for that… being born within the walls of Keep, and with your parents already serving The Crown. Unfortunately, just a decade into your life a plague had swept through King’s Landing and taken them with it. 

“Lady Slynt,” you greet the older, greying woman with a small bow of respect after standing from your chair.

It was not unexpected for Lady Slynt to seek you out, but her next words were very much so.

“I bear news that I expect will not be taken lightly from you.” Her monotone words rang in your ears and your body trembled slightly in anticipation with a slow sinking sensation creeping onto you.

Stretching over to place the parchment in the desk drawer, you finally faced her with a concerned gaze. “What has happened, my Lady?” 

“Prince Aerion,” she began slowly and you desperately wanted to scream as your heart began pounding against your ribcage just as much as your head was currently throbbing, “has requested you to be in his service again…” 

Inhaling sharply, you could not stop the frown that graced your face.

She continued, “as his maid.”

“B-but he can not, I-I- am under your service to aid you with running the household, my Lady.” You stuttered in shock, lips parting as you processed exactly what was about to happen. Losing the position which you had worked so hard to reach at a simple command without good reason.

Lady Slynt sighed thoughtfully, a brief uncharacteristic flash of empathy coating her wrinkled face. She respected your perseverance and had known you since your work began all those years ago. Amongst all the other staff, you had never raised a complaint under serving the Brightflame Prince in comparison. 

“The Crown’s orders. There is nought to be done. They have noted the lack of servers and how quickly the Prince’s maids wished to be assigned elsewhere, do not think I have not noticed either. Prince Maekar has specifically named you, noting the lack of problems you brought under his son’s service unlike the others… he is supporting his son’s request.” She laughs lightly before continuing, “I suspect he is tired of his troublesome sons and will do anything to keep them as content as possible.”

Falling back into the chair defeated, the wooden legs scraped against the stone floor as you took in your chief stewardess’ words. Your heart was sinking and you felt small, every step you had worked up to was just crumbling away with mere syllables. 

Of course a lowborn girl who had strived for better would have everything swiped away by an entitled ‘Noble’ Prince. Noble knights, noble princes, noble Lords, and many more never lived up to the moral excellence of the word and purely rode through life with their highly ranked titles doing as they so pleased. 

You should have known what he was planning from the moment he saw you again. You thought yourself so foolish to believe that he would leave you be. Years before his last departure, he had even attempted to take you back to Summerhall under his service. 

Recalling his grip on your wrist before you parted ways two and half years ago, the way he had whispered your name into the warm air at the start of summer season by the gates of the Red Keep, “come with me. I do not need any other wench. Only you.” 

“It is my duty to remain here, Your Grace.” You had replied with your bottom lip quivering and a heat blooming within your chest.

“Your duty,” he murmured, stepping closer with his thumb carefully grazing over the sleeve of your maid gown, “is to me.”

Your skin prickled, an uneasy chill washing over you at the memory.

Luckily, at the time, Lady Slynt already had her watch on you to become her future understeward as the current Lord had frequented too many brothels which resulted in a ‘wrong place, wrong time’ scenario where he was stabbed to death by some smallfolk on the Street of Silk. Well, you suppose it was rather unlucky for him but it had worked out in your favour.

Lady Slynt’s hands wrapped around the back of the chair on the opposite side of your desk, leaning over it for support. She was old and fraying, physical aging beginning to take its toll on her and you respectfully expected to fulfill her duties and rise to chief steward yourself once her life has run its course. She was training you for that, after all.

But now? It was all disappearing in an instant. 

“The Crown has generously offered an increased coin for your service status to revert back to the Prince’s maid whilst he resides here in the Red Keep.” She continued solemnly, “they are aware of what they are asking of you… and it will be a loss not having your aid with overseeing the household.” 

Nodding reluctantly, you knew you had no choice in the matter. “I understand. Thank you, my Lady… I wish to be alone with my thoughts for a moment.”

She left out an acknowledging hum, leaning back from the chair to wrap her hands together against her skirts. “Take your leave for the remainder of the day and rest. Your service to Prince Aerion starts on the morrow.”

“And what of my current position?” You hesitantly queried as she moved towards the exit. 

“A young Lord from a small House in the Riverlands has been sent for.” 

The air of early morn was cool against your skin with your old maid skirts being too thin and airy. Growing accustomed to your elevated understeward dresses, you already missed the prettily detailed, soft fabrics. It was a small luxury that you had secretly loved.

Flat shoes grating against the gravel of the training yard, you drew a deep breath as you strode over to the practising Princes with a cup and small cotton handkerchief in hand.

Aerion seethed as the Master-At-Arms called for a break and reprimanded his movements for being ‘too aggressive’ towards his cousin during their sparring. Boots kicking the gravel, he jammed his sword into the ground in one swift motion before tilting his head back to catch his breath.

“This is only training, Your Grace. Best save your anger for the Tourney.”

Beads of sweat coated his forehead as he looked back at the Master, narrowing his gaze. “I do not know which anger you speak of. I merely fought with skill as usual.” 

Overhearing some of the exchange, you knew better. Aerion had always held a strained relationship with his cousin. He wanted to hurt him purposefully. His long-term grudge against the second Heir to the Iron Throne made you sigh in almost disappointment. That has not changed in these past years, it seems.

Yet, you never really expected Aerion to change in that regard being so willful, stubborn and proud. You knew that he never liked his cousins with their dark hair and charms, that he thought they were no true Targaryen’s with their lack of Valyrian features and traditional princely ways. You knew that Aerion saw himself as much more than just a Prince. Their ancestors were great Dragon Lord’s, ‘closer to Gods than to men’ they say, and Aerion took that more seriously than anything or anyone else.  

Prince Valarr’s concerned expression lifted into a slight smile upon spotting your presence. He had always been ever so kind to you throughout the years, and when Aerion was not around you were assigned to his service until you became an understeward. 

Never demanding unless necessary, always polite and courteous, Prince Valarr was always fought over by the castle staff. You surmise that it was also to do with his handsomeness too. Many young maidens alike longed to be within his occupancy. Dignified, duty-bound and handsome, Valarr was adored by many.

Aerion’s back was still turned towards you, a fair distance away across the yard, exchanging harshly hushed words with their training Master that you could no longer hear. 

Valarr’s smile fell as he approached, eyes drifting over your old attire. Hair sticking to his forehead, his face glistened with sweat and his chest heaved against the black gambeson that he wore as he dragged a hand through his dampened short locks, passing the streak of silver. 

“Misstress,” he spoke in greeting, uttering your name breathlessly before giving you a questioning look, nodding towards the items within your grasp. “Why are you acting as a maid on this morn?” 

“Your Grace,” you bowed your head with a low voice, forcing a kind smile to your mouth, but Valarr knew you well after all these years and saw straight through it. “Prince Aerion has requested me back in his service.”

Valarr’s expression twisted at your words, thick brows pinching together in confusion and dishonour. “You are an understeward of this household, a maid no longer. You have worked hard for this, I know. I will speak with my Father about resurrecting your position.”

“How very kind of you, Your Grace,” you murmured sadly, yet still maintaining your smile. “But I fear there is nought to be done. Your Uncle approved this, with no doubt, seeking your Father - His Grace’s approval too. There have been… issues with my batch serving Prince Aerion and I am happy to rectify the inconvenience it has caused.”

The charming Prince only shook his head in disbelief, lightly clicking his tongue in the direction of his silver haired cousin. “You are not truly happy with this arrangement are yo-”

Aerion’s loud, taunting voice suddenly echoed through the training yard, effectively cutting off his cousin’s words. Your head snapped to his direction, quickly forgetting Valarr’s words.

“There you are, ābra! Help me quench my thirst.” A spent grin crawled up his lips as his hand rested on the hilt of his sword which lay buried into the gravel, showing no indication of him walking over anytime soon. He added, gaze taunting towards Valarr, “send my impeccable maid over here, Cousin!” 

“Excuse me, Your Grace.” Parting from Valarr, he spared you a sympathetic glance as you moved away to meet Aerion. 

Inside, your mind was reeling. Impeccable?

Inside, your mind was vexed to no end. How dare he do this to me. 

Inside, the surge of emotions that whirled around within you became more overwhelming with every second that passed. 

“My Prince.” Voice laced with exasperation, you lifted the cup of water for him to accept. 

Only, he did not move. Instead, a small smirk appeared on his smooth lips. You raised the cup further in expectancy for him to take it. 

“My limbs grow tired after training. Would you mind?” His large hand lazily gestured towards his mouth with the gracefulness of a Prince. A sparkling, sly, glint was swirling in violet gaze. He wanted you to feed him the clear liquid. 

If only slapping a Targaryen Prince was not considered treason. Gritting your teeth, you slowly lifted the cup up towards his mouth. 

Tongue dipping out and licking across his bottom lip like a dragon tasting the air, a proud smirk appeared briefly before his pink lips closed around the edge of the golden cup. Aerion hummed against the metal, signalling you to tip it and you obliged.

His large slender fingers quickly flew up, grasping around your hand attached to the cup and you shuddered at the heat of his calloused palm fixing around your knuckles. Clearly his limbs were not as tired as he claimed. He wanted you to submit to his every command knowing that any refusal on your part could no longer happen. Just like before.

Your gaze locked with his as he drank and his lavender orbs stared back into yours. The apple of his throat bobbed with every gulp and you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift to the sharp curve of his jawline and the muscles contracting around his neck. 

It had been years since you last saw the Brightflame Prince. He was bigger now, broader and stronger. And it roused something deep within you. You could not deny that the Blood of the Dragon which ran hot through his veins had made him increasingly more dashing over the years.

Small whiffs of expensive oils from Lys filled your senses and you realised that his scent had changed. Stronger, harder and increasingly smokey and sweeter. It made your mouth salivate. 

Fuck, you quickly push away your thoughts with heat creeping onto your cheeks. Despite your anger at him for ripping away the job you had earned, this anger felt dangerous now. Tainted with something you were not yet ready to admit to yourself. 

It was not like before when he had you running around after him like a compliant, headless chicken, doing everything he asked of you without fuss and fear but with an irritation for his whims and an anger for his demeanour. 

This anger felt deeper, more personal, more erratic. 

Aerion’s grip tightened around your soft hand, slowly removing the cup from his mouth. He exhaled in relief, lips shining from the wetness before tilting his head down to level his eyes with yours.

“Such a good little maid.”

A shiver ran through you. It’s just the cold, you falsely reassured yourself, I am angry with him. 

“Your Grace.” You held yourself back from spitting in defiance, attempting to pull your hand out of his hot touch. 

He relented, for a flash, releasing your hand which held the now empty golden cup before quickly swiping at your other wrist. His long, slender fingers wrapped around you, raising your hand which clutched the soft handkerchief.

“What are you-”

“My face,” he interrupted and breathed out, his hot breath mimicking a dragon’s smoke amongst the cold air. 

Wishing it not to be real, your heartbeat sped at his continued, controlled touch… you enjoyed his harsh grasp on you. 

His silver lashes fell, eyes shutting upon your gentle dabbing against his shining forehead. He let out a tired sigh whilst you smoothly stroked the cloth down to his sharp cheekbones. His fingers began to graze up your wrist, wordlessly stroking against the soft skin of your hand. 

Breathe halting without you realising, you continued to admire his Valyrian features as your fingers clutched tightly at the handkerchief effectively wiping away the glistening sweat against his pale skin. Tiny battle scars presented scarcely on his face and you wondered what had happened during his years away from the Keep. 

Across the training yard, Valarr observed with knowing eyes at the intimate actions of Aerion’s hands clutching you. Aerion was not known to openly touch anybody, let alone lowborns, unless a fight was to be had or he found himself in bed with a whore. 

His cousin wanted you, the second Heir realised, in more ways than just being his maid. 

The next couple weeks were tiresome, yet freeing. Being relieved of your heavy understeward duties ensured that you had more time to spare and you found yourself frequenting the gardens. Surprisingly, your headaches have mostly ceased too. Perhaps it was due to the free time you now found yourself with, or perhaps it was something else entirely. 

Whilst you were grateful for the respite, you missed being a stewardess for the Crown.

The staff were all shocked at your demotion, yet they kept their mouths quiet. It seemed that they felt partially responsible, but you knew it to not be true. Blame could not be pressed onto them as this was the cunning of the Brightflame Prince. 

It was late noon, Aerion off doing whatever duties he chose to acknowledge for the day, which left you traipsing through the blossoming flora within the Red Keep gardens after completing your morning tasks. It was quiet, peaceful, until the laugh of a young boy filled the air following with the deep laugh of a young man.

Stepping around the large rose bush, you spotted the young Prince Aegon beside a giant man with light, shaggy brown hair. They sat on the short grass beneath a large oak tree, laying on a velvet blanket. You had not yet seen little Aegon since Maekar initially returned with his children and you had never seen the large man beside him in the Keep before. 

Smiling at their joyous laughter, your feet carried you closer and a small gasp filled your ears as you came into their sights. 

Prince Aegon instantly jumped up from the ground, rushing over and nearly knocking you over from the sheer force of his small body colliding with yours. 

“Mistress,” his small arms wrapped around your skirts whilst he spoke your name excitedly. Your heart panged at the title, knowing you ought to correct him but you couldn’t bring yourself to deal with the inquisitions right now. 

Surprisingly, when you were in Aerion’s service years ago, his younger brother enjoyed your presence which seemingly toned down the cruel torment against him. Egg assumed you provided a distraction, taking his older brother’s attention away from him as you were quite beautiful after all. He never understood how you consistently managed to cope under his brother's service but he remained ever so grateful. 

“Hello, little Prince,” you let out a light laugh, eyes flitting around the surrounding area, noting the guards. “You must not hug me, I will get into trouble.” 

Egg pouted slightly before holding his chin up proudly against you. Your arms remained in the air as you peered down at him, careful not to wrap around the young royal. “But I have not seen you in so long. I will not let you get into trouble, they have to obey me.” 

Nodding at the child’s authority with a smile, you reminded him, “I am lowborn, My Prince. Regardless of what you wish, your family overrules everything, even you sometimes. I can not return the gesture without reprimanding.”

Pulling away from you, Egg’s arms swung softly by his sides as he stared at you. “Mayhaps you are right.” He suddenly grinned as if an idea had sprung to mind, “you must meet Ser Duncan, my friend! He is lowborn like you, but a Knight and I also squire for him now!”

He gestured to you to follow and you obliged, smiling at his eagerness. The giant man appeared even larger as he scrambled to stand, bowing lightly as you headed over but not before nearly tripping over the corner of the velvet laid beneath him. 

“My Lady,” he began with wide eyes and a hesitant smile, taking in your every feature. “I am Ser Duncan The Tall.”

You could not stop the small giggle which escaped you as you peered up at the large man. “I can see that.”

He seemed to blush, ears turning red as Egg laughed at your comment and he shifted on his long legs, giant hands gingerly reaching for the fabric of his tunic to fiddle with.

“A small jest. And I am no Lady, Ser Duncan, there is no need for formalities with me.” You greeted him with a soft grin, expressing your name before stating, “I am merely a maid of the Keep.” 

The young Prince quickly looked confused at your statement but remained silent. Last he had heard, you were Lady Slynt’s understeward. 

“Well,” Ser Duncan chuckled nervously, long legs fidgeting as he stood before you. “A v-very beautiful one at that.” 

A small heat crept through you. Something about him was very endearing, he did not appear like the other Knight’s you had crossed paths with. He gave the impression that he was honourable and good of heart. His accent indicated that he was of Fleabottom. I wonder how he rose to have a young Prince as his squire, you thought. 

“How very kind of you to say, thank you Ser Duncan.”

Gaze shifting between you both, Egg stared up with admiration in his eyes. Your brows narrowed at the young Prince. He knew that his Knight would take a liking to you and he was trying to initiate something. Being crafty ran in the family, it had never been more clear than now. 

“I think you should show Ser Duncan around the Keep, he still gets lost.” Egg spoke slyly with the corners of his mouth turned up. He added, “you know the grounds better than anybody, you’ve lived here your whole life.”

“Now Egg, I do believe the lady may have important duties to be focusing on instead of touring the grounds with me.” Duncan dismissed the notion with a smile, although his gaze never left you.

“That is true,” you sighed, “Prince Aerion will not take kindly if I am not there to fulfill his needs.” 

Egg’s mouth was suddenly agape whilst Ducan appeared startled at the mention of the older Prince. “Wait, I thought you had become Lady Slynt’s understeward! Do not tell me he has taken that away from you.”

“It is quite alright, my Prince.” Reassuring the young boy, your lips curled up lightly, “I know your brother and his needs well, it is easy to accommodate after learning his ways in my younger years. I have less responsibility and more time to myself now too, and it is nice after the past busy years.”

He let the information settle and slowly smiled back as if realising this would somehow benefit him which raised an inquisitive look from you.

The water was steaming in the deep pan as you removed it from the hearth for the last time and made your way over the copper bathtub within Prince Aerion’s chambers. It splashed around the nearly filled tub as you emptied the last contents of the pan into the bath. Aroma’s of ginger, jasmine and bergamot filled the air from the oils you had previously spilled in to mix with the water. Dried oranges floated on the surface of the now slightly murky and steaming hot bath.

A sigh escaped your lips, relaxing at the delicious scent. The same scent which had followed Aerion wherever he went with a mix of smoke and cedar. 

Eyes drifting over the small wooden stacked shelf table placed beside the copper tub, you ensured everything that was needed was in place. Body soaps, hair soaps, a soft sea sponge, a cotton washcloth, a large woolen towel, a folded bathing robe, more luxurious scented bathing oils in sleek glass bottles and lastly a golden chalice with a flagon of Arbor Gold wine. 

He would arrive any time now. Like clockwork, his evenings since his return ended in a long bath. 

Sometimes he would return later than expected, smelling of cheap sweet perfumes with red lines drawing down his pale, muscular back which never failed to make your cheeks hot, knowing exactly where he had been. And he was always so eager to wash away the stench which clung to him with your hands softly guiding the soap soaked sponge across his defined shoulders. 

There were never any other marks beyond those faint red lines across his back, however. You suppose it would be in poor taste for him, a Prince, to stroll around with love bites left by the women in the pleasure houses. Or maybe he simply did not let them touch him like that… you shake your head bashfully. It is not your place to think of such things, but you can’t help but wonder what type of lover he is. 

Was he harsh and rough due to his usual temperament or was he slow and firm, ensuring his partner took pleasure as well? Mayhaps the scratches on his back came from a mixture of pain and pleasure…

You recall when he first started frequenting the brothels. It was not uncommon for Lord’s and Prince’s to do as such before marriage. 

You were merely seven and ten when you had started to notice what he had been up to. Sometimes he would tell you straightly where he was going, as if to get a reaction out of you, his virtuous maid, like he enjoyed seeing you flustered at what he would seek as a man at nine and ten. And it only continued for the next few years until his departure. 

That being said, virtuous you were no more. 

A young Goldcloak at the Keep had fallen for you during your time as an understeward in the beginning of your new position. However, that love only bloomed for eleven moons. 

You were wrapped up in his kindness, strength and devotion, blessing him with your maidenhood and late night bed sharing until one fateful fight amongst the smallfolk in Fleabottom had cost him his life. He was only trying to diffuse a fight between a barmaid and an aggressive drunkard. The latter ended up hanged in the square of King’s Landing for his crime. 

Your lover was found with a ring, tucked into his armour, small enough to fit your finger and encrusted with a small sapphire. You had never felt such internal pain and grief before. 

That was a year and a half ago. At twenty and three now, you had not taken another lover since the loss of your first.

“What is with your melancholy, ābra?”

Aerion’s low voice filtered through your ears causing you to jump at the unexpected sound. You hadn’t heard him enter, being so lost in your thoughts. 

His amethyst gaze watched you intently, the downturn of your mouth, the sag of your usually upright posture, your pinched eyebrows, the way your fingers thoughtlessly played with the dried oranges floating in the hot bath whilst your gaze focused on the distant moonlight through the archway leading to the balcony.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” Straightening yourself in a rush, your previous actions and expression disappeared as you forced yourself to smile and flick the droplets of water off your hand. “Apologies, I was merely lost in thought. Your bath is ready.”

His eyes scanned your now smiling face, an extremely brief and unexpected flicker of concern speeding past his orbs. As quickly as it came, it dispersed. And as quickly as you may have acknowledged it, you pushed it to the back of your mind.

“Pour me some wine, will you? It has been a long day.” He nodded towards the flagon before striding over to the dressing screen across his large chambers to remove his clothing. 

As instructed, you poured the Gold Arbor into the golden chalice amongst the sounds of shuffling fabric and his deep breathes. Shortly after, Aerion stepped out from behind the screen, a light dressing robe wrapped around him as he made his way over to the copper tub. 

Shifting on your feet, you turned your back to him, allowing him to drop the robe onto the floor and step into the steaming aroma of the copper tub. There was still modest respect you had to maintain when serving the Crown, no matter how much you had seen before. Although, you had never seen his-

“Stay tonight, my hair needs washing.” He drawled with a groan, water rippling against the edges of the tub as he settled into the hot liquid. 

“Of course, Your Grace.” Spinning back around, you pulled a small stool over to the head of the tub where his head rested. 

The stacked shelved table was within arms reach and you got to work, dipping the sea sponge into the murky water beside his figure, careful to avoid touching him directly before pulling it out and lathering the bar of body soap around it. You perched yourself onto the cushioned stool. 

His hand reached for the table, snatching the chalice to take a swig of the wine before he sank lower into the bath, tilting his head back and wetting his hair before he sat upright again to sip.

Your right hand gripped the sponge, gently pressing it to the sides of his neck before slowly rubbing it down to his shoulders and chest in a circular motion. This was routine, softly scrubbing the upper half of his body before working along his muscular arms and gently grasping his hands in your left hand each time your right hand scrubbed with the sponge.

This proximity was normal to you. Comfortable. It was your job and certainly not the first time you had washed the Brightflame Prince. 

“What did you do whilst I was fulfilling my duties today?” He relaxed further under your touch, setting the chalice back onto the table.

The sudden question caught you off guard. Typically, he would prefer to bathe in silence with only your light breathes, the sloshing of water and his light relaxed moans under your touch filling the air. On occasion he would engage in conversation with you - you know today is one of those days.

You hummed before responding. “I read ‘The Dance of Dragons: A True Telling by Grand Maester Munkun’ and walked the gardens,” you began, left hand lightly pushing his shoulder to encourage him to sit up so you could wash his back. 

He leaned forward, arms resting on each side of the tub, giving you a full view of the defined muscles rippling across his back and you could sense the smirk on his lips at what you had been reading. 

Continuing, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself at Aerion’s pride, you knew he took delight in his bloodline and especially when you spoke of such with him. 

“If,” you began hesitantly, sponge moving in circular motions across his spine, “if you claimed one of your Houses dragons… which one would you have wanted to ride, my Prince?”

Aerion titled and turned his head, violets meeting the corners of his eyes to meet your own. The cloudy water rippled around his movement and his lips were turned up. “The Blood Wyrm.” 

“Caraxes?” You confirmed, your own lips curling up.

“He was fierce, unique and even more powerful with The Rogue Prince Daemon on his back. A dragon singled out for his differences amongst the masses, he speaks to me. If only they…” The back of his head turned away from your sights, but not before you caught the frown appearing on his face and you began to think that you should not have mentioned it. 

You did not wish to bring negative emotions onto Aerion regarding his ancestors' war and what he had been deprived of. Your motion on his back continued, working the sponge down to his lower back before moving up again. 

His head shook as he murmured something lowly to himself. It was a stupid question on your part, in hindsight. You needed to change the direction of this conversation, before he could spiral out at the possibilities of what could have been.

“Oh, and I saw your youngest brother today. Prince Aegon has grown much since I last saw him yet he seems to remain as full of liveliness as the last time he was here. I also met his new Knight, Ser Duncan, who is quiet the gentlema-”

Aerion’s back suddenly tensed, making you pause your movements with the soapy sponge in your right hand across his shoulder blades. 

“Ser Ducan is a disgrace.” He breathed out harshly and you could practically feel his agitation swimming around the air. 

Finding his statement hard to believe, you bit back a laugh and contained the annoyance seeping through you. “My Prince… I will take your word for it but-”

“You are not to go near him.” Body tensing further, his head turned to face you again, the steam from the still hot water floating over his Valyrian features like smoke puffing around a dragon. You instantly retreated your movements with the sponge and your blood was quickly boiling.

Inhaling deeply and nervously, you decide to challenge him. Who is he to tell you who you associate with or not? You may be his maid, yet that does not include him dictating what you do when you are not actively serving him. 

“Prince Aegon has requested that I help Ser Duncan learn the layout of the Keep. From tomorrow I will be showing Ser Dunc-”

“No. Egg is not in his rights to command as such.” He harshly cuts you off, violet gaze burning into you whilst you lower your hands to rest on the end of the tub, clutching the sponge tightly. Shaking his head he mutters to himself, “impudent little brat.”

“But my Prince,” you draw out bitterly. “You are sparring tomorrow in preparation for the Tourney on the next moon turn. You will not require me until-”

“Change of plans,” he spits out, turning on his side, shifting around in the deep tub to rest on his knees whilst his arms hunch over on the tub's edges to crawl his way over to you and lean over your seated figure. 

The murky, scented water sloshes around rapidly with his movements and you freeze, eyes moving toward the water which now barely covers below his hips. A ‘V’ shaped line on the front of his pelvis dips into the water under his muscular abdomen and you avert your gaze to avoid seeing more, only to face the wroth flaming around his violet irises and tightly clenched jaw.

Heat rushes through you as your skin prickles, nerves spiking and tight knots forming in your stomach in anticipation. You could not fathom what had set this off, surely he could not be this angry with his younger brother for requesting you to aid his friendly Knight? You knew that Aerion was meddlesome and cruel towards Aegon, yet this circumstance did not make sense to you. 

Mayhaps you should not have asked him about the great dragons of House Targaryen. Could it possibly be that? 

His red tongue swiftly darts out to wet his lower lip as he takes in your unexpected fawn-like state before he continues darkly, “you are to accompany me and remain by my side at all times going forth, save for slumber. I will be busy in the upcoming days and I need your aid, little maid.”

Rendered speechless, your soft lips part in shock as your eyes widen, gravely realising the mistake in telling him that your service was requested outside of his approval and wishing you had bit your tongue instead of challenging him. 

Droplets rolled off his body and onto you as he leaned further. The water creating small dark circles on the fabric of your skirts before the droplets rolled onto your bare chest and between the valley of your breasts. 

The violet flames of his eyes watch you intently, as if searching for any signs of disobedience. As if he was a predator, finally upon its prey. His gaze was hungry as he loomed over you. Power and control consuming him until his eyes flickered with something you had only experienced once directly before, from your late lover. 

Lust. Desire. Need. Possession.

It all came crashing down to you at the same time. This was not the first situation where he had stared at you in such a manner. All those years ago and in recent weeks, the memories of his wanton gaze on you was flooding your mind and circling right back to this very moment. 

He was attracted to you, you had finally realised. He wanted you in a way which a Prince should not want for his maid. He wanted you all to himself and Aerion was never one for sharing. 

A burning passion radiated off him whilst your widened eyes fluttered down in diffidence, settling on his muscular abdomen. Your fingers began to fiddle with the soaked sea sponge and your thighs absentmindedly rubbed together.

“Are you listening, ābra?” One of his wet hands lifted then, to lock onto your jaw, thumb resting on your chin as he tilted your head back up to meet his gaze. Warm droplets rolled off his dampened hair and dripped onto your cheek.

“Y-yes, my Prince.” The words stutter out before you realise it. 

“Good little maid.” His pink lips curl up cruelly whilst his thumb begins to gently graze across your plush lower lip. 

And without warning, you realise that you like it. You like his hot touch on your body and you like watching his lavender eyes burn into you. And worst of all, you like that he wants you all to himself.

Then, he quickly pulls away, as if nothing was amiss. As if he had not just sent your mind reeling and your body reacting to him in such lascivious, submissive way. 

He twists around, settling into the tub again, broad back facing you whilst you dipped the sea sponge back into the scented water with trembling hands. 

You can not believe what you have been reduced to. Prince Aerion’s good, obedient, little maid who follows him around everywhere and constantly remains within an arms reach, with the exception of his training. Even then, you are always nearby, ready to fulfill his every need. 

And the main issue? You were beginning to relish in the attention. 

The attention of his constant amethyst watch. The attention of his large hands, calloused from training and battles, on your body. On your face, arms, hands, and scandalously, your neck and waist. The call of your name on his pink lips and the High Valyrian words he articulated to gain your attention.

Headaches may be no more, but your head was relentlessly pounding with thoughts of him.

And surprisingly, he truly had never let you out of his sights. He never snuck off to the Street of Silk and he had not smelt of the sickly sweet perfumes worn by the working women who resided there. 

You had to admit, it excited you since noting his desire towards you and the lack of brothel visits. His touch had become harder, needier and borderline desperate. But it also confused you. He could have any maiden in the Kingdoms if he so wished it. Why me?

One morning in the following moon turn, when it was days into the Tourney of King’s Landing to celebrate Prince Baelor’s nameday, you were thoroughly surprised to find an expensively hand crafted gown resembling your old stewardess attire in your chambers within the servants quarters. Aerion was nowhere to be seen, being summoned to the Small Council Chambers which you were firmly denied entry to despite his attempts to tell his father that he needed you, his maid, in there with him. 

Lips parting in disbelief, you strode over to your small wardrobe to see the beautiful black silken gown with red embroidery hanging in front of the wooden doors. A small piece of parchment was folded and pinned to one of the sleeves, encouraging you to unpin it. 

Your fingers grasped at it, unfolding the parchment slowly to reveal ink handwriting which you knew all too well. 

‘Little Maid,

Wear this in honour of me to represent my House. Cheer for me ābra, I will win.

Your Prince,

Aerion Brightflame”

A smile spread across your face whilst you wanted to scoff back a light chuckle. Of course, he already knew that he would win this noon’s jousting. 

Aerion was fiercely skilled in combat and tourney’s, although he often opted for methods of chicanery which you suspect revolved around his boredom of constant wins. He simply enjoyed partaking in trickery when his opponents were easily beaten to begin with. 

You placed the parchment onto your bedside table, moving closer to the gown to let your fingers run across the silks and over the tiny dark red beads which swirled around the bodice and hems like flames. It was then that you noticed it, between the beading on the winged sleeves, a crimson “A” as clear as daylight shining amongst the darkened beads. He wanted his mark on you no matter how subtly.

It was not uncommon for the Red Keep servers to dress more formally during events hosted by the Crown, yet this was different. 

Later on, you found yourself amongst the tent encampments of Westeros’ greatest Houses, weaving through the bustling Knights, Nobles and servers until you spotted the Targaryen Pavilion in the distance. The lands by the King’s Gate were vast and every tourney hosted by the Crown took place here, just outside of the walls of King’s Landing. 

Draped in blacks and reds and dragon crests, you peeled back the tent’s entrance to enter, only to feel a large hand wrap around your forearm and quickly pull you in. You gasped at the unexpected movement. 

You could have sworn you heard the whispered word of “gorgeous” exiting the Brightflame Prince’s mouth.  

Aerion’s lavender gaze locked onto you, skimming over your appearance and his grip hardened. Eyes darting around the tent, you realised it was just the two of you present. 

“I knew it would suit you,” he murmured, deep voice striking through your heart as his hand was sliding across your arm to reach your hand. He was not yet armoured and his movement was smooth. 

“A very gracious gift, thank you, Your Grace.” You grinned kindly, allowing his hard fingers to brush over yours before he released you from his grip. 

“Very well, I could not allow my maid to be by my side in cotton rags.” He dismissed the gesture, like he had not effectively put you in his colours with his embroidered initial decorating a gown which was clearly above the usual standards for just a maid regardless of the Crown’s event or not. 

Feeling like rolling your eyes, you held back, not wishing to aggravate his seemingly calm mood. 

You could have been mistaken for a lesser Noble Lady with the luxurious fabrics adorning your frame and your intricately styled hair, but the lack of jewels indicated that you were not, save for the small ruby necklace hanging around your neck which was gifted to you upon your eight and tenth nameday from the Targaryen Prince.

‘You are a woman now’, you remember him telling you as he gave you the necklace in a small leather box, ‘take this as a thank you for your years in my service.’

A chill ran through you at the memory, it had never been so clear to you that he had favoured you until recently. Part of you wished that you had used that to your advantage. 

“You kept it,” he suddenly mused, noting the delicate chain around your neck, slender fingers reaching to take the ruby into his touch. His warm fingers grazed against your bare chest, hovering over the scoop neckline of your dress and you felt yourself flushing with heat. 

“Of course,” you spoke lightly, nearly shaking as his eyes drifted towards your plump rouged lips. “I thought it would pair well with this gown. I wished to look my best for today’s jousting, under your service.”

Aerion hummed pleasantly, deep in his throat, before letting go of the ruby to slowly drop his fingers across your skin until they reached the neckline of your gown just above the swell of your breasts. Your breath caught in your throat. His touch suddenly yielded, hand moving to rest on his hip. 

“Well, you certainly are the most presentable maid here.” 

The rustling of footsteps nearing the tent broke the burning tension within the air and you hurriedly stood back, attempting to change the topic of conversation in case unwanted ears were listening, “have you enough wine, Your Grace?”

At that moment, Prince Valarr entered, helm in hand to match his Targaryen armour clad frame, with his young squire closely following his steps. Aerion watched his cousin intently, taking no note of the small squire trailing him. 

“Cousin,” Valarr greeted before turning to face you. His blue and brown eyes widened slightly upon noting your appearance and he spoke your name softly, “very comely.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you curtsied in greeting. “Why, thank you, Your Grace.” 

Aerion’s relaxed expression suddenly hardened, the air around him tight. His body swiftly moved closer to yours. Valarr’s gaze flitted between you both, turning skeptical, upon noticing his cousin's now stern face. 

You swallowed thickly. “May I fetch some more Gold Arbour for you, my Prince?” You reiterated to the silver haired man with nerves in your eyes. 

“Yes,” he huffed with a languid flick of his wrist, “and send Yorkel to seek my squire. I require assistance for arming.”

Perched in the crowd next to the royal box with a few of the other royal maids, your breath hitched as Aerion rode out into the arena. Horses neighed, crowds cheered for their respective Knights amongst the intense drumming and the potential champions spurred on the audience with wild gestures of their lances.  

Aerion’s armour was akin to a dragon, intimidating with scales and spikes carved out and enameled with vivid flames of red and orange. He had certainly intensified his style since you last watched him partake in the Lists, a few years ago. 

The drums were still rolling as the Knight’s circled the grounds amongst Prince Aerion. It will be starting soon. 

Golden Dragons and Silver Stag coins were being tossed around between the crowds, everyone wagering with each other on which Knight or Noble would win the jousts. Men in their armours circled below the stalls, Ladies passed their favours and rough shouts of excitement filled the arena. 

A small joyful shriek emitted from the young maid beside you as a Knight of House Clifton rode directly below your stalls and halted his Shire. Lifting his helm, he grinned up, brown orbs directly leaning towards you. 

He lifted his lance expectantly. “My Lady,” he began and you stammered to correct him.

“Ser, I am no Lady. I work for the Crown-”

“Regardless, you are the most beautiful maiden I have seen on this day.” Etching his lance further up the stone wall, careful not to raise it too high into your space, he continued, “do me the honour of allowing me your favour and I will win.”

You couldn’t help but flush in slight embarrassment at his words. This was out of custom. Maids did not tend to give their favours to Lords or Knights. In fact, you were unsure if it had ever been done before and you found yourself in mental conflict. House Clifton had no Lords, yet was known as a Knightly House.

Lashes fluttering down to the red ribbon tied around your wrist, you paused, hesitating. You had not expected anybody to ask for your favour, but many maidens carried one with them despite their status. Deep down you had hoped to give your favour to Aerion, alas that was wishful thinking. You could never give your favour to any of the Royals, being lowborn. 

But right now, this was purely meant to be part of the game. Ser Clifton was a Knight but no noble Lord and you suppose that there will be no repercussions for this. You nodded slowly before untying the red silken ribbon and wrapping it around the young man's lance and securing it with a tight knotted bow. 

“I wish you the utmost luck, Ser.” 

Across the tracks, Aerion was deathly still, watching the exchange and as your gaze drifted back up, you caught him swiftly shutting the faceguard of his helm before harshly thrusting forward and whipping the reins of his black Friesian to take off into the direction to assume position for the joust. Had he seen everything? Did he note your hesitance? Did he know that you oh so wished to give him your favour instead?

Your whirling thoughts soon stopped as the drums halted and the crowd silenced, eagerly waiting in anticipation for the jousting to begin any moment now.

The joust was deadly. Aerion was spiteful and victorious. He had taken out every single Knight in the joust, all until one remained. 

Aerion charged against Ser Clifton and took the Prince’s flame enameled lance straight into his side, puncturing through his chainmail and flesh whilst red hot blood seeped out. The sight made you nauseous and violently gasp as Ser Clifton fell from his horse, clutching his side and shouting in pain. The crowd only cheered for their Prince. 

You prayed to the Seven that the Maesters would be able to save Ser Clifton’s life whilst he was visibly losing consciousness. 

Everything felt suffocating. The loud noise of the audience, the brightness of the sky, the red blood splattered around the dust of the ground and your heart felt like it was in your throat. 

Aerion slowed on his Friesian, trotting back around, proudly circling the injured Knight on the floor. He flicked his faceguard up, helm now revealing his clenched jaw and narrowed violet eyes as he spat out sickening words towards the impaled, unconscious Knight bleeding out on the ground that you could not quite hear amongst the roars of the crowd. 

Suddenly, his gaze lifted in your direction. Your body tensed, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest so hard that you thought you may faint. But his mouth moved well enough for you to understand his next words. 

“My chambers. Now.”

The Red Keep was some distance away from the Tourney. You’re not sure why Aerion had commanded you to meet within his chambers, the Lists were not yet over for the day. But you saw the unadulterated wrath within his lavender orbs and made haste, ushering one of Aerion’s men to escort you back to the Keep under the Prince’s instruction. 

You ought to feel some relief, exiting that quickly overwhelming environment. Unfortunately, only a deep dread welled up within you.

The Keep was quiet now, majority of residents vacated to join the tourney and staff were busy in the kitchens and throne room, preparing for the feast and celebrations on evenfall. 

The crashing waves of Blackwater Bay were soothing against your anxiety. You could not pinpoint for certain exactly why you were waiting here. The sun was still high in the sky, beating down on you relentlessly. Heart thrumming in your chest, your bodice quickly felt suffocating as you waited, pacing around the balcony of his chambers. 

You’re not even sure how long you had been here for but it felt as if hours had passed already. 

Heavy steps echoed through the hall outside the chambers and your own steps stopped whilst you listened. Your heart felt as if it were climbing up your throat in an attempt to escape as the heavy chamber doors swung open, the hinges creaking. 

Aerion strode in, void of his armour and unphased by your panicked state, running a hand through his tousled silver hair. His breaths were heavy whilst his pace quickened towards you and you backed away from his advance.

His eyebrows narrowed and his tongue slid out to swipe across his mouth. “What was that?”

“M-my Prince?” Stumbling away until your lower back hit the edge of the balcony, you realised you could not escape as his larger body as he approached yours. 

“Do not act coy.” He seethed, with a near roll of his violet regard on you. 

“What do you mean?”

“How dare you.” He breathed out heavily.

Frustrated, your hands balled into fists by your sides and your brows raised in disbelief. “How dare I?” The sheer audacity of him accusing you of something sent a rage so powerful within your bloodstream that you thought you might burst. 

“You did it to spite me after all I have done for you.”

“To spite you? What have I done?! You are the one who treats me in spite! You took away something that I had worked hard for, something that I wished to better myself and make my life worth something!" Your vocals were rising with each angered syllable that left your rouged lips. 

The Brightflame Prince’s eyes sharpened in offence. “I have only given you easier work with better coin. You should be thanking me.” 

“No. I do not understand. You are being selfish and ignorant, Aerion!” You bristled with pinched brows, his birth name spilling from your lips before you could process it.

He halted, head tilting and tongue dragging across his cheek. His jaw was sharp as he grinded his teeth, never letting his violet eyes leave your own. “Aerion, is it?”

You bit your lip, cowering back in front of him, regretting your mistake. “I am sorry, Your Gra-”

“Say it again.” He cut in with no patience, wrath still laced around him.

You nearly scoffed, jolting your head out of his watch and peering to the side in disbelief. “What?”

Unexpectedly, his large hands lifted to cup your cheeks on both sides, firmly holding your face to meet his so closely that you could feel his hot breath mix with your own. He was maddening to touch you so. 

“My name,” he whispered lowly, “say it again.” 

“Aerion.” 

A guttural groan escaped him as his name left your soft mouth and you stilled, eyes widening. “It sounds better than I imagined,” he drawled, inhaling deeply as if catching your scent. 

“My Prince, I still do not understand what you are talking abou-”

“Did you even know that Knight’s name?” He uttered as he leaned in, lips so close they were almost touching your own. His violet eyes pierced through your own and your knees felt wobbly. 

“The Knight of House Clifton?” You mumbled, confused, anger simmering away ever so slightly. Is that what this was about?

His grip on your face hardened whilst he stared down at you. “You gave him your favour. What else were you going to give him?”

“N-nothing, Your Grace. He approached me, I tried to tell him that I am not a Lady but he insisted. I wished him luck and then,” you rushed out breathlessly, “and then after the jousting commenced, you impaled him with your lance.”

As you spoke the words out loud, the realisation hit you. He was jealous. A smug satisfaction seeped its way into your veins and you held back a smirk that wanted to creep its way onto your lips. 

“Prescisely.” His close proximity had your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“You did it on purpose, my Prince? All because I gave him my favour.” 

“Your favour is mine, ābra. Yet you give it to any common Knight who asks.” His forehead met yours harshly with his gaze remaining on yours through silver eyelashes. 

“You never asked me.” Your lips trembled as you spoke slowly, “and I can not give you mine. I am not a highborn Lady.”

“But you are my maid. I need not ask.” And with that, he vehemently pressed his mouth to yours.

His pink lips were hot and wet against yours. Firm and hard and wanton. You felt as if you were set alight with dragonflame, parting your lips to lean further into his and reaching your hands up to grip and pull at his velvet doublet. 

You couldn’t help but whine against his touch as one of his hands tilted your head back whilst the other wrapped around the nape of your neck, effectively pulling you closer. Feeling his tongue slide across your lips, you eagerly met it with your own as your mouths moved against each other in frustration. 

Years of pent up tension consumed you both. And the recent moon turns where you had been reunited made it all the more gratifying. You should not be doing this. You certainly should not be kissing a Targaryen Prince. So why did it feel so good? You wanted more. 

A short gasp escaped you as his soft lips moved to the side, latching onto the curve of your jaw whilst he tilted your head back further, presenting your neck to meet his movements. You gripped onto his doublet tightly, a small airy moan escaping your throat as his lips sucked onto the curve of your neck and his sharp teeth lightly bit your flesh.

“M-my Prince, we can not.” You finally managed to breathe out. But there was never any rationalising with Aerion. 

“Hush now,  ābra.” He murmured against your skin, continuing to suck and nibble until he found a sweet spot on your neck which made you mewl and he pressed his muscular body firm against yours, pinning you to the balcony. 

“I am done holding myself back. I need you.”

His primal words sent shockwaves through your body and core tightened in anticipation. How long had he been holding back on having his way with you?

It had been so long since you had been touched like this. And it had been agonizing, lusting after a Prince you thought that you could never have. You knew the reality of what you were about to step into but the commanding touch of him on you had you seeking more. 

“Do not hold back then,” you spoke breathlessly between light whines as your chest heaved against him. The wetness between your legs was growing as his mouth assaulted your neck with harsh kisses, sucking and nibbling against your soft skin.

He moaned lightly at your words, head rising to meet your eyes with his violets. “Say it,” he began, tone edging on needy and you wanted to wrap your legs around him, pull him against you and ease the throbbing between your legs with some friction. “Tell me that you want this. I know you do.”

“Aerion, I need you.”

And that did it. Moments later, you were sprawled out on the luxurious bed within his chambers, your new gifted dress discarded onto the floor along with his own attire which were ripped and removed in a desperate haste of greed and desire.

His naked body was flush against yours, his smooth skin burning your own. 

The defined muscles of his abdomen rippled against your soft flesh as two of his slender fingers curled up deliciously inside your dripping cunt. His other hand settled on one of your breasts, pinching and rubbing the hardened peak. His cock was achingly hard between his legs, standing thicker and longer than what you had experienced before.

“Mmhmm, f-fuck.” You mewled under his touch, lips parted and hips rising to meet his hand, begging for more.

Aerion smirked above you with heavy lids whilst you clawed at his biceps. With each drag and curl of his fingers inside your sopping heat, your back arched and high pitched moans of pleasure escaped you. Small squeaks left your throat at each roll of your nipple between his fingers and your head flung back against the plush pillows. Your once intricately styled hair, now coming undone unto mess. 

“Such a good little maid. All mine, aren’t you ābra?” He drawled, speeding up the pace of his fingers.

“Yes,” you managed to choke out between ecstasy, his words making the coil within you tighten. “I’m y-yours, ñuha dārilaros (my Prince).”

The High Valyrian words stunned him. A deep ache and need shooting straight to the tip of his rock hard cock. He groaned deep within his chest, continuing his assault on your throbbing, wet cunt. He had not expected to hear such words leave your lips - the rouge now faded and smeared from all the rough kissing. 

Something he was unaccustomed to bloomed within and his craving for you only increased by tenfold. 

You had acknowledged and understood the words in the few lessons that Aerion had made you attend with him in recent weeks. You really were by his side, save for slumber. 

“Ñuhon iksā (you are mine),” he drawled out, voice raspy and filled with desire before increasing the thrusts of his fingers into your soaked hole. “My ābra.”

A string of “ah, ahh, ahh’s” left your lips with every curl of his fingers, finding that sweet spongey spot within you. Suddenly, his palm was drawn away from the sensitive bud of your breast and quickly trailed down towards your lower stomach. His large hand pressed firmly down on your womb and your hands scratched down his arms to grip the layers of blankets covering the bed. 

“A-Aerion.” You moaned, gasping for air whilst he focused on repeatedly hitting that sweet spot within you. Your silky, soaking walls clenched around him, eagerly sucking him in.

Combined with the pressure of his hand pressing down on you, it had you squirming beneath his grip. It was sensational and overwhelming, sweet dripping bliss and overstimulation all at once. You felt as if your mind was leaving your body due to the unexperienced pleasure. 

Using your fisted hands, clutching the blankets, you attempted to push yourself up, and shimmy away from his euphoric assault on your cervix. “It’s too m-much.”

“Senstive little thing, aren’t you?” Although, it was no question on his part. He was enjoying you being so sensitive and submissive under him.

He let out a low chuckle, continuing his movements and briefly lifting his hand from your womb to wrap around one of your thighs and drag you back down the bed closer to him. His hand was straight back on your lower stomach after that. 

You were helpless against his strength and God-like fingers which were pulling you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, leaning forward on his knees and pressing his tongue to the buds of your breasts, swirling his wet appendage around both - equally. You mewled under him, cries of pleasure escaping your throat. “You will take what your Prince gives you, little maid.”

“P-please,” you whined and you did not even know what you were pleading for. His fingers hammered into you and the pressure of his hand on your lower stomach was increasing. That tight coil within was tightening even more. “I-I think-”

“I know,” he whispered your name between your breasts, planting his wet lips over them. “Show me how pretty you are when you finish around your Prince’s fingers.”

The pad of his thumb suddenly found your bundle of nerves, drawing circles on your clit whilst his fingers continued to work you. The sudden addition of pleasure had your crying out, airy moans going higher with each movement against your throbbing cunt.

“That’s it sweet girl,” he urged whilst your silken walls clenched around him one last time before you gasped out in relief and gushed around his fingers. 

White-hot pleasure rolled over you, eyes snapping shut and head tipping back in pure euphoria, your limbs shook, grip loosening around the blankets.

“S-Seven Hells!” The scream that escaped you as your orgasm rushed over you fell deaf on your own ears with your entire body trembling and rippling beneath the Targaryen Prince as he continued to curl his fingers further up into you. You were seeing stars as the euphoric sensation washed over you, leaving you absolutely void of any coherent thought and any air left in your lungs. 

“God’s I can not wait to fill this tight, pretty little cunt.” Aerion’s pace slowed, in what you thought was to accommodate you coming down from your peak, until the height of pleasure wore off and you felt him pull away before his calloused hands roughly grip your hips to flip you onto your stomach.

The shift made you lift your head back to glance at him in a haze. He was still resting on his knees behind you and had swiftly closed your legs, only to straddle himself over your thighs. 

The weight of his thick, long, hard cock was suddenly resting between your ass cheeks and it felt heavy. His white seed seeped out of his mushroom shaped tip and that is when you realised his cock was aching and desperate to be inside of you.

You were grateful that Aerion had taken care of your own pleasure first which was about to aid your sweet little pussy in accommodating the sheer girthy size of him. At the base of his cock, small silver hairs gathered. His veiny shaft was throbbing and his cockhead was angrily reddish and leaking for you.

Aerion had never felt so painfully hard, sexually frustrated and pent up like this in all his years. No other woman had riled him up like you did. He gazed into your blissful hazy eyes, hair sprawled around you and down your back, fingers clutching the pillow in front of you, the curve of your hips and ass and the still dripping pussy between your closed thighs. 

You watched him through heavy lids, chin over your shoulder, whilst his hands moved back to your hips - lifting them, reaching over you to grab another plush pillow and stuff it under you. The pillow beneath your hips was angling your ass higher, presenting a clearer view of your throbbing, soaked cunt for him.

His lips curled slyly, hand grasping the base of his cock to slide the tip of his cock over your overstimulated folds. You mewled at the feeling, hot and wet, pushing back against him, begging. 

“When did you part with your maidenhood?” The question caught you by surprise. He saw your facial expression shift to one of shock as your mouth fell agape. He continued with a voice low, unwavering, and exerting. “You think I wouldn’t know, ābra?”

A sudden prickle washed over your bare skin and you were sobering up from post-orgasmic bliss. His cockhead still nestled against your folds, felt you clench around nothing, as if trying to pull him in and he groaned as your slick coated him.

“Tell me.” He demanded, quickly smacking the tip of his thick cock on your sensitive folds which made you jolt and whine in response. 

“W-while you were away.” You finally admitted, limbs heavy with defeat. “How did you know?”

He hummed, lifting his cock and smacking the tip against your soaked folds again. You gasped out, the feeling harsher than the first. Aerion only smiled cruelly. “The Crown has eyes and ears everywhere, little maid. Did you think that I would not know if you found yourself in bed with another? Never forget that you belong to me. You always have, ever since we met.”

The revelation had struck you, but there was no time to dwell on it as Aerion pressed his cock further against your sopping heat and slid into you with one swift and harsh thrust of his hips. 

You cried out his name, moaning underneath his muscular frame as he filled you completely. Thick and hot and far inside you, stretching you out to your fullest, you could feel him pulsing as a deep moan filtered through his parted lips. 

“Fucking Gods,” he muttered, chest rising and falling as your soft, soaked heat enveloped him. “Still so tight.”

With a slow pull back of his hips, his hands gripped your cheeks, spreading them to admire the view of your pretty little hole being stretched and stuffed full with his length. His veiny cock was coated in your slick and continued to retract his hips until only the tip of his cock remained inside of your swollen folds.

“You forget yourself,” he breathes out heavily, tone edging on indignation. “This cunt was mine to claim. And you dared to share it with another. You dared to give your favour to another. You dare to forget that you belong to me, ābra.” 

A loud gasp erupted through you whilst Aerion’s hand unexpectedly lifted and came down crashing against one of your ass cheeks, leaving a burning sting and a red handprint behind. 

“I-I am sorry, Your Grace.” You choked out pathetically, unable to bear his unmoving cock inside of you.

“Do not be,” he rasped whilst you clenched around him wantonly. His hands glided back over to grip your hips harshly and pull you back onto his thick, aching length, bottoming out. You couldn’t help but whine at the feeling between his next words, “you will only think of me after I am done with you.” 

And with that, he pulled back out until his cockhead was at your entrance before slamming into you again, hitting a spot so deep within you, your head dropped forward into the pillow you were clutching whilst you moaned at the sensation of him filling you completely. 

His thrusts were relentless, consistently pounding into you like an animal in heat. Like he was a starved, deprived man who was searching for salvation. Like he was trying to erase any trace of your former lover. 

“S-so good, A-Aerion!”

Moans, groans and whines filled the air of his chambers along with the sound of skin slapping together and obscene squelches from where he buried himself deep within you. He could not get enough of your tight, dripping pussy. 

“O-oh Gods! Oh f-fuck-k!” You whimpered whilst his hips snapped into you, hitting a particularly deeper angle whilst his hands gripped your plush hips harder. 

“You take me so well,” he grunted out your name, balls tightening as bliss consumed him.

Amongst the rapid thrusts of his cock impaling you, your ass cheeks bounced upon his pelvis as one of his hands left your hips to grip your hair and harshly pull you up flush against him. Upright on your knees, back arched and his muscular chest pressed against your back, whines in a mixture of pain and pleasure escaped you. 

“This is the only cock you will have from now on, pretty girl. You are mine. Do not forget it.” He whispered next to your ear, tongue dipping out to lick a long strip across the juncture of your neck until his teeth slowly bit into your flesh. 

His words rang loud in your ears and you nodded absentmindedly. You were his, and he meant it. You understand all of it now and you realise that you want it too.  

Mewling against the harshness of his touches, your scalp ached from his clutch on your hair at the back of your head and his pointed teeth felt sharp as they began to dig into your neck further. He fucked himself into you, your back arching to meet his brutal thrusts, other hand leaving your hip to grasp at your tits to kneed and squeeze them. 

Whines and airy moans flew from your mouth under his grip and hard cock filling you up. “I-I want to see you,” you managed to pant out, hands reaching back to touch him desperately. “P-please!” 

Feeling Aerion smile against your neck, his teeth part from your flesh and his grip on your hair yielded. The sudden feeling of emptiness consumed you as he slid his cock out of your sopping heat, making you whimper at the loss, and gently lifted your trembling figure to lay flat on your back. 

He crawled over you, settling between your legs and placing his lips to yours hungrily. Meeting with a clash of tongue and teeth, he devoured you, savouring your taste and memorising every crevice of your mouth. Your lips were soft and wet against his own.

Moaning into the kiss, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer and feeling the ripples of his muscles flush on you, your hands moved to thread through his silver locks. His cock slid against your swollen folds, knocking your clit and you whined at the contact into his mouth whilst he whimpered into yours.

“I need,” you pulled away breathlessly, fingertips tugging at his short hair, failing to find the words.

“Tell me what you need, ñuha ābra (my woman).” He purred teasingly, grinding his hips into you, allowing his length to slide against your heated core, causing you to mewl and grind your hips into him. 

“You… I need your cock inside me.” You were burning to feel him again. 

Aerion took pride in seeing you so wanton and desperate for him. He had harboured an intense attraction for you years ago and since he returned to the Keep, it came bumbling back and flooded his mind and bloodstream. All he could think of was you.

His hand moved down to grip his length, sliding his cock over your heat mockingly as you squirmed, lining it up with your entrance before burying himself to the hilt. Your hands gripped onto his bulging biceps at either side of your head whilst he slammed his hips up into yours, cock hitting deep within you and balls slapping against your ass. 

Your delicate, oversensitive walls were barely managing at this point but it felt so fucking good. The lewd noise of your skin slapping against each other filled his chambers along with your desperate mewls and moans. Each time Aerion’s hips smoothly met yours, he was reaching so deeply into you that you felt as if he were in your throat. 

“You feel perfect.” Aerion moaned out at your tightening around him, his deep, rich voice making your heart swell and your legs tighten around his hips – pulling him even closer to you, if that was even possible. It caused his pelvic bone to rub against your clit each time he thrusted whilst your tits were bouncing along wildly.

“Gods, Aerion!” You gasped out at a particularly rough and deep thrust into your sweet spongey spot, head falling back into the pillows beneath you, and back arching in delight at the feeling of his large cock sliding back and forth along your wet, velvety core. “You f-feel so g-good!”

“You’re so good for me,” he grunted, speeding up his pace causing you to whine uncontrollably at the overwhelming feeling of his cock so deep inside you. Aerion’s balls smacked against your ass whilst the sounds of your wetness echoed around the room. 

Raising your hips slightly to meet his thrusts, waves of euphoria began to fill your senses. Your silky heat clenched around him and a deep groan escaped Aerion’s chest as he quickened his pace. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. I want to feel you finish around my cock.”

“Mhmm p-please.” You struggled to get words out between his deep thrusts and you could feel him shudder against you slightly, signalling that he was close too. His hips ruthlessly slammed into you, relentlessly hitting the perfect spot inside you every time.

He revelled in the way your soaked cunt clenched around him with every thrust and he knew that you’d be falling apart for him again soon. Every stroke of his cock inside your tightening walls was very quickly placing you on the edge.

“Good girl, let go for me.” Increasing his pace and it felt like he was going impossibly deeper into your squelching pussy whilst you began to quiver around him.

Hands snaking up his arms, you reached the back of his neck, tugging at his silver hair, pulling him closer and burying your head into the crook of his neck. Inhaling his sweet, smokey scent, your senses were filled with nothing but him. Nothing but Prince Aerion ‘Brightflame’ Targaryen.

“Go on, little maid. Let your pussy cream all over my cock.” He encouraged you, thrusting harder into your sopping heat whilst your walls gripped him like a vice, sucking him in. 

His words finally sent you over the edge and you moaned out in ecstasy, uncontrollably convulsing around him whilst he began chasing his own release. Your body was shaking in euphoria as your swollen lips parted. Stars were consuming your vision for the second time as your orgasm washed over you more intensely than Blackwater Bay crashing against the rocks during a storm. 

He continued to pound into you through your own peak and you soon felt him pulsate inside of you. And so, he pressed his lips to yours once more with his teeth grazing your plump lips, shallowly pumping into you a few more times before burying himself into you as deep as he possibly could, and the most beautiful whimper you had ever heard was vibrating against your mouth from him. 

For the first time, after years of fantasising about it, he emptied himself within your silken, slick walls. 

Cock twitching, his hot white seed endlessly spurted against your womb, rope after rope. A high-pitched exhale left your throat, mixing in with your pants and Aerion’s soft groans of pleasure as he finished emptying himself inside of your clenching, dripping core.

Head dropping back onto the plush pillows, your grip around his neck loosened as you laid there beneath him, being filled to the brim with him and his seed. 

“Fuck,” his amethyst gaze was heavy on yours through his silver lashes as your name presented on his tongue. Your core was overly sensitive and aching from his rough advances but you were still revelling in the come down from reaching your peak. 

Carefully moving to rest on you, his cock still nestled deep inside of your abused pussy, Aerion’s chest heaved against your panting. His eyes flitted across your face, taking in every feature and his hand raised slightly to brush away the loose strands of hair on your face. A gentle, abrupt action on his part. A brief show of tenderness which you thought to be nonexistent. 

“Fuck, indeed.” A short, light laugh exited your swollen lips - only to have you groan slightly in pain.

Without a word, Aerion lifted himself off you slowly - seed spilling from your core and dripping onto the sheets, causing you to wince at the loss and the overstimulation. Settling into the bed next you and resting on his side, propping his head up with his knuckles, his other hand came to wrap around your waist.

“I am sorry if I have caused you pain, little maid.” The soft words left his lips and took you by surprise, his fingertips now playing with your hair as he leaned on his elbow, never taking his gaze away from your face. 

Sighing contently against him, your bodies remained hot and covered in sweat. “Thank you, my Prince. I just feel a bit sore, not much pain at all.”

“Good,” he murmured, fingers idly tracing something where his hand remained on your waist whilst you raised your own hand to stroke along his forearm. “I do not wish to cause you any bad pain, only pleasurable.” 

Your cheeks flushed with warmth, despite what you had both just done. “It was certainly the latter,” you smiled. 

“It will only be the latter,” his voice was surprisingly firm and meaningful, like a promise. 

“I need moon tea.” The thought escaped through your vocals before you could fully process it, eyes flashing with concern as your movements along his arm halted. Aerion smirked.

“I will send for some moon tea from the Maester on the morrow,” his face then ducked between your shoulder and neck, inhaling deeply before licking across the bite mark he made earlier - making you whine. “I am not yet finished with you today.” 

“Aerion,” Maekar began slowly, rubbing his forehead with his hand, vexation laced between his next words as he paced around his son’s chambers. 

It was just him and his son present after kindly ordering you away to prepare something for them to drink - an excuse to get to his son alone. You trailed behind Aerion with every step he took.

He had never been one to follow rumours but they spread fast within the Red Keep and this one was not something that he could ignore, especially when he had noticed his sons… ‘attachment’ forming years ago.

Aerion was lounging against the cushioned chaise armchair nearby the hearth, unbothered and waiting for his father to address whichever issue he brought with him now. He was waiting as if he had better places to be right now (tangled between his bedsheets with you).

And so, Makar put it bluntly. “Are you fucking your maid?”

Aerion paused, momentarily, staring blankly at his father before speaking with confidence. “How could I not be?”

“For fuck’s sake, boy!”

so you do it again. it's somehow better the second time. by the third time the engineer is on the phone with the label. by the fourth time management is in the room and they're looking at the two of you like they've found a goldmine.

what they've actually found is a landmine but the explosion is going to be spectacular and spectacular sells records.

so they put you together. iceflame. the name isn't your idea (it's the label's, some idiotic marketing intern who deserves a raise and also maybe a restraining order). you and aerion, front and centre, voices tangled together on every track, pressed together on every stage, faces inches apart in every music video. the chemistry is so potent it makes people insane. tiktok edits go viral. fan accounts dissect every look, every touch, every moment your voices catch on each other in a live performance and the air between you goes electric.

and management obviously says: lean into it. just a little. just enough. give them moments. the hand on the small of the back during curtain call. the eye contact that lasts a beat too long in the bridge. the interview where you finish each other's sentences and then catch yourselves and laugh. feed the narrative. sell the fantasy. it's good for business.

and so you do. because you're a professional. because you understand the industry and the game, the difference between a persona and a person. you lean into it just enough to keep the machine running and not an inch further.

except.

except aerion isn't leaning. aerion isn't performing. aerion has never performed a single second of what happens between you on stage and that's the thing that keeps you up at night.

when his hand finds the small of your back during curtain call it stays a beat too long because he forgets to move it. when his eyes lock on yours in the bridge it's because he's actually lost in it, in you, in the way your voice pitches on the high note that makes him breathless, makes him improvise purely to respond to you.

when he finishes your sentence in an interview he looks startled by himself, like he didn't mean to, like the words just came out because he knows you that well already and it happened faster than he could stop it.

the fans think it's real. your manager thinks it's great acting. valarr also thinks it's acting. valarr has to think it's acting because the alternative is unbearable.

you don't know what you think.

the music doesn't lie. the voices don't lie. you can fake chemistry in a photoshoot, you can manufacture tension in an interview, you can even choreograph every touch and every look.

but when you open your mouth and sing beside someone and your voices do that, that once-in-a-generation blend where two sounds become one sound, and the one sound is better than either alone? you can't fake that. that's the universe being cruel because it's real. everyone who hears it knows it's real including you, especially you.

aerion knows it, too. he writes songs about you. not for the album. for himself. songs no one hears, on his phone, recorded at 3am in hotel rooms in cities he can't remember, just his voice and a guitar and lyrics that would end both your careers if they ever leaked.

(they won't leak. he'd burn the phone first. but they do exist. and he sings them alone and thinks about the way your voice would sound on the second verse and it makes him sick with wanting.)

and valarr.

valarr who stands in the crowd at your shows, watching you sing with another man and smiles and claps and is supportive because that's who valarr is, that's what he does, he's the good one.

valarr who drives you home after and asks how the set went and listens to you talk about the new arrangement, and doesn't mention that he watched your hand graze aerion's on the mic stand. saw the way you both stiffened like you'd been shocked at the contact. valarr who kisses you the moment you're alone, takes you to bed because he needs to reassure himself that you're still his.

he hears what your voice does with aerion's voice, and what it doesn't do with anyone else's. who watches the tiktok edits when you're asleep because he can't stop himself, scrolling through compilations of every stage moment, every glance, every almost-touch, reading the comments that say there's no way this is acting and she looks at him like she's trying not to fall for him.

he won't confront you. he won't make you choose because valarr is terrified that if he makes you choose you'll choose wrong. so he holds on, turns the silver ring on his thumb, loves you harder.

and how much of it is really acting?

that's the question that eats you alive. that's the question you can't answer because answering it means looking at it directly and looking at it directly means admitting that when you sing with aerion something happens to you that doesn't happen with anyone else. that your body leans toward his on stage like you have gravity of your own. that the hand he puts on your back doesn't feel like performance, it feels like coming home, and home is valarr. home is supposed to be valarr, and it IS valarr except when you're singing.

except when you're singing, home is the two inches of air between your mouth and aerion's. the sound you make together that fills every room and empties every thought from your head.

how much of it is really acting?