Insert witty caption here.

You were rolling your hips slowly, excruciatingly so, his cock deep inside you as you rode him.

To him, it felt like hours since you started your torture, bringing him to the brink and then not allowing him to come. His handsome face was flushed, sweaty, and teary-eyed, his muscles tense, strained, and his fists constantly going from open to clenched and back, shaking the whole time.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. 

“Please, what?” you rolled your hips a little faster, drawing a surprised gasp out of him.

The sheets were drenched in his sweat, and you could feel his thighs trembling under you. His eyes were so wonderfully glassy, fixed on you. Your slick spilt over him, the wet skin sticking together.

“Please let me touch you,” he whimpered, his lips pouty, but his eyes were begging. 

A soft afternoon light was peeking through the blinds, illuminating the tiny beads of sweat on his taut skin.

“Is that all you want, baby?” your hand dragged over his chest and his abdomen, dragging more pathetic whimpers out of him.

“I want to come,” his voice was weepy, breaking. “Inside you,” he quickly added, one of his hands hovering over your hip, hoping you’ll allow him to wrap his long fingers around your waist, but knowing better than to do it without asking.

And yet, you still hoped you would break him soon, that one of his whimpers would be too much, too far, and he would pin you against the mattress in a second and take what he wanted. Perhaps, soon, you thought, licking your lips, moaning as you circled your hips, angling yourself so his cockhead would drag those pretty sounds from your lips.

You liked how nothing else existed in his mind at that moment but you. The whole world could be falling apart around you two, and he would still pitifully beg to be buried inside you for a moment longer.

“You want to come, baby? Spill inside?” you continued your slow movements, enjoying how his cock made you feel tiny shivers through your whole body. Poor guy had no idea what he had: those huge, sexy hands that made you crazy any time he would place them on you, those big, needy eyes that were constantly observing you, watching intently what you liked, no, loved, and that big, veiny cock that had you unravelling in no time. And the way he would say please every time, the way he would wait for you to come home on his knees, begging to lick you before you even had a chance to take a shower.

His utter devotion already made you come three times, twice in his mouth and once on his cock, that beautiful, fat cock that deserved to be worshipped over and over again, no matter what he believed.

“And you promise to be good?” you touched your tits, squeezing your nipples and watching his eyes go wide. The first time you allowed him to touch you like this, he simply placed his hands on your waist and sped up a little. You still liked watching his face as he came, feeling his seed spill in you, his desperate little pleas, but you just needed more.

“I promise,” he whined, now fisting the sheets like his life depended on it.

He smelled so sweetly when he begged, the flush spreading through his whole body, his cock twitching inside you.

“And do you remember the rules, handsome?” you watched as his face turned a deeper shade of red at your compliment, from his chin all the way to his ears, his eyes fluttering at your lips, almost as if unsure of what you just said.

“I can -fuck, I have to be rough and fuck you hard,” his eyes were now glued to your bouncing tits again, his sweaty hair glued to his rugged face, another moan freely escaping his throat as your pussy momentarily spasmed around his cock.

“And the most important rule?” you asked, guiding his hand to your mouth and sucking at two of his fingers.

His whole body went rigid instantly, his jaw clenching and eyes flickering shut, his abdominal muscles tensing as he desperately strained not to come, despite wanting to fill you so badly and watch his seed leak out of your fucked-out pussy.

“I…” his voice stuttered a little. “I focus on myself. On my pleasure.” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing so shyly. 

You flashed him a smile that knocked the breath out of him, parting his lips, his beautiful blue eyes flickering with adoration.

“Fuck me, baby,” you cooed sweetly, wondering what he would do. Same thing as always, press his fingers into your flesh, and then continue the torturous tempo, while obsessing over how you feel? Or would he finally do as a trained lap dog and fuck you hard and rough, as you asked him to?

He snapped his hips, making you fall forward with a playful shriek, your hands pressing firm against his chest, and then, in one quick move, turned you both around, your back hitting the soaked sheets.

Guiding your legs around his waist, he started slowly, still pacing himself, but his tongue was hard and demanding in your mouth, his lips sucking on yours, his forearms framing your head. 

His mouth trailed down your neck, his teeth dragging over your sensitive skin as he picked up his pace.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered against your neck as he slammed hard, drawing a loud, pleasurable moan out of you.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you breathed out between moans, your nails dragging over his back. “I need you, baby, don’t stop.”

“Like this?” he inquired, his voice rough and laced with something different as his cock slid in and out of you, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“You feel so good, baby, so big,” you continued cooing sweetly in his ear, encouraging him further, chasing your own pleasure as he fervently fucked you into the mattress.

A moan escaped him, as it always would when you praised him and his skills in bed. Your sweet, needy boy, trying so hard to give you what you asked for, fucking you in the way he never did before, making all those pretty little sounds escape your lips, sounds of moans and whimpers mixing with his grunts.

“Does it feel good for you too, baby?” you dragged your lips over his temple, your nails digging deep in the skin of his back. You were close again, so close, and you were scared he was holding back because he could feel your cunt fluttering around him. 

“I want to make you feel good,” you moaned out when he didn’t respond, desperately clinging onto him. 

“Baby, please,” more desperate pleas spilt from your lips as you dug your heels into his back, pushing him deeper into you. 

He stilled, and you could feel his cock twitching inside you; he bit your shoulder, hard, and grunted, the intensity of his orgasm overwhelming him. 

The way he clung onto you and bit you, his body pressed over yours, the desperate sounds of him coming, and the scent of his sweat were enough to tip you over as well.

You came, for the fourth time this afternoon, whimpering his name, completely losing yourself in his arms and the feeling of warmth and pleasure spreading through your whole body. 

“Oh, baby,” you peppered his temple with soft kisses, your hands tangling in his ruffled hair. His breathing was still ragged, and you could feel little droplets of his spit around where he was still biting you.

He finally got up on his forearms, immediately crashing his lips against yours, kissing you passionately. 

“You’re still shaking,” he sounded slightly worried, and yet, didn’t even try to pull out. He loved nothing more than to stay in you, for as long as possible, feeling his spend slowly drip out of you. 

“Yeah,” you laughed, playfully kissing his nose, your fingers playing with his hair. 

“That’s all on you, though,” you teased him, watching his ears get red again, a shy smile spreading on his face.

Instead of responding, he buried his face into your neck, mumbling into it.

“Can we go again, please? Like… Can we try it this rough again?”

“Yeah, baby? Would you like that?”

“More than anything.”

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The horns blared through the Kingswood, a cacophony of brass and baying hounds that echoed off the ancient oaks and tangled underbrush. You rode at the rear of the hunting party, your mount picking its way through the dappled shadows, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine.

The invitation had come as a surprise, honestly. Your house, ever loyal to the crown, had been summoned to join House Targaryen in this grand hunt, a show of unity amid the endless whispers of court intrigue. But hunts like this were more pageant than pursuit, with lords and ladies preening in their finest riding leathers, bows slung over shoulders more for fashion than function. You weren't here for the deer or the boar; your eyes had been on one man since the party set out from King's Landing at dawn.

Prince Maekar rode near the front, broad-shouldered and imposing even without armor, clad in a simple dark tunic edged with red velvet that caught stray sunlight through the canopy. You adored his short, straight Valyrian hair and his beard that framed a face etched with perpetual sternness.

There was something in the way he held himself, a quiet strength that drew you like a moth to a lantern.

The party had paused for a midday rest, tents pitched in a wide clearing, servants scurrying with wineskins and platters of cold meats. You lingered at the edge, pretending to adjust your saddle, when you overheard Prince Baelor, Maekar's elder brother and the ever-diplomatic Hand, speaking to him in low tones.

"You're glowering like a storm cloud, brother," Baelor said, clapping Maekar on the shoulder. His voice carried that easy warmth, the kind Maekar seemed to lack. "These hunts are meant for sport, not suffering. Take a ride to clear your head. The boars will still be here when you return."

Maekar grunted, his mouth twisting in that familiar scowl. "Sport? It's a farce. Half of these lords can’t hit a barn door with an arrow, and the other half are too busy filling themselves with wine to notice the game." But he nodded once, sharp and resigned, swinging onto his horse: a sturdy black destrier that matched his mood.

Without another word, he spurred the beast into a trot, veering off the main path into the deeper woods. No one questioned it; princes did as they pleased.

Your heart gave a quick, eager thud as you watched your lover disappear into the trees. The hunting party’s laughter and clinking goblets faded behind you like a distant memory. You waited only long enough for the last of the servants to turn their backs before swinging into your saddle again. Your mare sensed your urgency; she stepped lively but quietly, ears pricked forward as you guided her onto the faint trail Maekar’s destrier had left: broken twigs, churned earth, the occasional deep hoofprint in the soft loam.

The Kingswood swallowed you whole. The air grew cooler, richer with moss and resin and the faint metallic tang of the nearby stream.

After perhaps half an hour, the trees began to thin, and the path opened onto a hidden meadow, long and sunlit, cradled between two gentle rises of oak and beech. Tall grasses swayed in lazy waves, studded with late-summer wildflowers. Oxeye daisies, harebells, clumps of purple vetch. A narrow stream wound through the center, bright and shallow, its surface flickering like molten silver. And there, on the far bank, sat Maekar.

He had dismounted. His horse grazed contentedly a few yards away, reins trailing loose. Maekar himself perched on a wide, flat stone that jutted into the stream, knees drawn up, forearms braced on them, staring down at the water as though it had personally offended him. Even at rest, he looked coiled with shoulders tense, jaw set in that familiar stubborn line.

You got off quietly, looping your mare’s reins over a low branch near his. The grass cushioned your steps as you crossed the shallow ford, cool water swirling around your ankles and soaking the hem of your skirts. You tried to move softly, but, of course, the Kingswood had its own language. Every twig snap and rustle of leaves carried, and Maekar was never careless about sound.

His head snapped up the instant your boot touched the far bank.

For a heartbeat he froze, shoulders tensing, hand dropping to the dagger at his belt, violet eyes narrowing as though you were an intruder in his private domain. The scowl returned in full force, jaw tight, the guarded mask of a man who rarely allowed anyone near his solitude snapping back into place.

Then recognition struck.

His hand fell away. The tension eased, though surprise lingered in the slight parting of his lips and the faint widening of his eyes before he schooled them back to their usual sharpness. He blinked once, slow and deliberate, as if convincing himself you were real, and not some trick of the light filtering through the leaves.

For a long moment he simply stared.

You stood there on the bank, water dripping from your hem, heart thudding loud enough that you wondered if he could hear it over the stream. The meadow seemed to hold its breath with you.

Finally, Maekar exhaled through his nose and shook his head once, as though trying to dislodge the sight of you from his mind.

“My love,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough, almost swallowed by the stream’s murmur, “you’re here.”

It wasn’t quite a question, closer to startled disbelief, though something softer flickered beneath it before he could hide it.

You offered a small, careful smile, stepping fully onto the grass. “I did not think you would mind my presence… much.”

He stared at you another long second, then let out a short, humorless huff that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so startled. “Mind,” he repeated, as though tasting the word. His gaze swept over your wind-tousled hair, damp skirts clinging to your calves, the faint flush on your cheeks from the ride, causing something in his expression to crack further. The scowl didn’t vanish, but it lost its bite; the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying him.

“Seven hells,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. He shifted on the stone, broad frame making room without quite admitting he wanted you closer. “Come here before you catch your death standing in those wet skirts.” A poor excuse.

You smiled and happily crossed the last few steps, settling beside him on the wide stone, close enough that your knee brushed his. He didn’t pull away and instead, after another beat of silence, his hand found yours. Large, warm, callused fingers closing around your smaller ones with careful firmness. He lifted your hand to his mouth, pressed a brief, hard kiss to your knuckles, then lowered it again without letting go.

You felt the heat climb into your cheeks and didn’t bother hiding it. “You’re in a mood,” you teased softly.

“I’m always in a mood,” he muttered. But his fingers tightened around yours, thumb resuming its slow circles. “This one’s… tolerable.”

You laughed under your breath. “High praise coming from you.”

He grunted, which was as good as agreement.

For a while you simply sat, the sun shifting across the grasses in warm gold waves. A pair of redstarts darted low over the grass, tails flicking like tiny flames. Maekar’s free hand eventually rose to the nape of your neck; thick fingers threaded into your hair, cradling the back of your head with surprising gentleness. He tugged you steadily toward him until your temple rested against his shoulder.

You turned your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in leather, cedar smoke, and the faint salt of his skin. His beard brushed your cheek as he tilted his head, lips grazing your hairline in a kiss so light it might have been accidental. It wasn’t.

“You should not have come,” he said after a long silence, voice quieter than usual. “Someone will notice.”

“Let them.” Your hand slid up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat beneath wool and muscle. “I wanted to see you. Away from prying eyes.”

Maekar exhaled through his nose, sounding like something between exasperation and surrender. His arm came around your waist, broad hand splaying across your ribs, pulling you more securely against his side. “Foolish girl,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it: only that low, rough fondness he reserved for you alone. “You’re reckless, but bold. Chasing a prince into the woods like some hedge knight’s tale.”

“I didn’t chase." You lifted your head enough to meet his eyes. They were softer than usual, like perpetual storm clouds that had parted just enough to let light through. “I followed. There’s a difference.” “You’ll ruin my reputation. Men will think I’ve gone soft.” “You have, my love,” you teased, leaning closer towards him. “Just not with anyone else.”

He huffed but his gaze held yours for a long beat. Then he leaned in, slow enough that you could have stopped him if you’d wanted.

You didn’t. Maekar's hand tightened in your hair gently, possessive. He tilted his head, nose brushing yours, and then he kissed you properly. Slow. Deep. Not hungry or frantic, but certain. His beard scraped your chin, his lips firm and warm, tasting faintly of the wine he’d drunk at the midday rest. One arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer until you were half in his lap, your skirts pooling over his thighs. He kissed like a man who had waited too long to do it and now intended to make up for lost time. You parted your lips and he accepted the invitation without haste, tongue brushing yours in a slow, thorough stroke that sent warmth pooling low in your belly. Moaning softly in his mouth, you bring your hand up to the side of his neck, thumb feeling the pulse flutter underneath.

He broke the kiss first, but only to rest his forehead against yours, breathing uneven. His eyes were closed, pale lashes fanning against his cheeks, and his thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, rough pad following the line of it as though memorizing.

“Stay,” he said quietly, almost gruff, but unmistakably a plea.

You nodded, nose brushing his. “I'm right here.”

Maekar exhaled again, long and slow. Then he gathered you closer, arms wrapping fully around you, one hand settling at the small of your back, the other sliding up to cradle the nape of your neck. He tucked your head beneath his chin, beard tickling your temple, and simply held you.

Nature stretched quiet around the both of you, but the stream sang, and somewhere far off a horn sounded, faint and unimportant. Here, there was only the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the slow stroke of his thumb along your spine, the occasional brush of his lips against your hair.

He didn’t speak again for a long while. He didn’t need to, anyway.

When he finally did, his voice was so low you felt it more than heard it.

“Next hunt,” he murmured against your temple, “you ride with me from the start.”

You smiled into his neck. “Is that an order, my prince?”

A soft huff, almost a laugh. “It’s a request.”

You smile softly and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling the way his pulse jumps beneath your lips.

“Granted,” you whisper.

His arms tighten, just for a moment, and he rests his cheek against the top of your head. No grand speeches. No poetry. Just him, showing you in the only way he knew how: with touch, with nearness, with the stubborn, quiet devotion he gave to so few things in this cruel land.

The sun slid lower, gilding the grasses in fire. The Kingswood held its breath. And for once, the Anvil looked perfectly content to let the world wait.

maekar notices everything. every lingering touch, every lord whose gaze travels too far down your body, every whisper that a young wife demands a vigorous husband. the court circles you like vultures, and even his own blood forgets their place; daeron has the wit to disguise his awed stares, but aerion…he watches you like a bloodhound. hungry.

he lets it pass at first. it is not her fault, he tells himself; you are young and vibrant, and men are predictable beasts. he has seen it all before, and reassures himself that the novelty will fade eventually. but maekar is not known for his patience—you are his, and by the seven, he will not let you forget it.

your fists are balled into the rich cotton beneath you, the sheets muffling your moans as his hips snap into you from behind, his cock filling you to the brim with each thrust. strong fingers clutch your hips hard enough that you know bruises will have bloomed by morning, but the ache only makes your cunt wetter.

“maekar,” you plead, your voice a high-pitched whimper. you scarcely know what you’re begging for, but your husband’s name is the only word you can muster, and it’s all he needs to hear.

he pries one hand off your body, snaking it between your legs to rub circles on your swollen clit, and the sound you make sends fire burning across his skin. your cries echo against the stone walls of his bedchamber, and he’s certain the guards outside can hear what he’s doing to you.

good. let them.

his fingers on your sensitive button have your walls fluttering around him helplessly, and he feels his cock twitching, his peak drawing dangerously close. still, he resists, determined to send you over the edge first. his eyes are dark and famished as he takes in the sight of your ass bouncing off him, your slick coating his length each time he buries himself in you.

“fuck, good girl,” he hisses, his voice ragged as your grip on him tightens. “take me just like that.”

your whines get louder as your legs begin to tremble; under his touch, you fall apart with a desperate moan, your release turning your vision white as your body sinks into the bed beneath you. fuck, all of king’s landing must have heard that.

the thought pushes maekar to his limit; he hooks a muscular arm under your waist, turning you onto your back with his cock still inside you, and his hands spread your thighs so that he has an unobstructed view of your glistening pussy swallowing him whole.

“seven hells,” he growls, his thrusts growing irregular. “look down. see what a mess you’ve made for me.” it’s a command, and you obey, prying your teary eyes open to see where your bodies meet; the glossy remains of your climax cling to his pelvis, sheening his pale skin and catching the light each time his taut muscles ripple.

“all for you, my prince,” you breathe, your voice soft and dreamy as you come down from your peak. “i’m yours.”

your words sink into him like valyrian steel, and he spills inside you with a low groan and a string of profanities, his hips staggering to a halt. finally, he collapses beside you with a heavy sigh, pulling out of you carefully.

no words are exchanged, but you curl into his side, your body pliant and spent and your breathing heavy. his arm locks around you, keeping you close, and in the candlelight of his chambers, maekar allows himself the faintest curl of a smile.

Though you could not make out every word, Maekar's anger was unmistakable.

Maekar took meticulous care of every horse at Summerhall. He visited the stables daily, bringing apples, inspecting hooves, and making certain their manes were properly groomed. He always claimed to have no favorites, but you knew better.

Galfrey was special. Your father had gifted the horse to Maekar after the birth of your first son, Daeron, and the prince had treasured him ever since.

You knew your husband's temper and love for this horse were not going produce a rational punishment for Ser Douglass. He'd likely get a good whack around the head, or worse if you did not intervene.

You quickly made your way down to the garden, hopeful that you'd reach your husband before he lashed out too badly at his knight.

"Maekar!" you called sweetly as you entered the garden.

He ignored you.

His tirade continued unabated while the stable boys stood awkwardly nearby, apparently having managed to stop the worst of the bleeding.

You reached your husband's side and interrupted him gently. "Oh, what accident caused this injury on Galfrey?" you asked trying to sound as if you were seeing it for the first time.

Ser Douglass turned his full attention on you, clearly relieved he'd been saved from Maekar's wrath.

"My lady, it was a simple accident! The rain we had last week loosened many of the rocks on the northern path. Galfrey stumbled and was cut." The poor knight looked absolutely petrified.

"Why was the path not checked properly before bringing the horse down it?" Maekar spat. "You've yet to produce a reasonable answer, Ser."

You walked over to Galfrey, examining his injury. "Well the bleeding has stopped, thanks to these two boys." You turned to the stable boys and offered them both a smile. "I think he shall survive, my love." You said turning back to your husband.

Maekar said nothing. He let out a grunt of annoyance and tugged the reins from Ser Douglass' hand. "Give me my damned horse you fool." He muttered to his knight.

The knight opened his mouth to apologize again, but Maekar silenced him with a raised hand. With a final scowl, he turned and led Galfrey toward the stables.

Once he was out of earshot, you offered Ser Douglass an apologetic smile. "He was rather harsh on you, Ser. Galfrey will recover, and by tomorrow all shall be forgiven."

"My thanks, Princess," the knight said fervently.

You had barely taken three steps before a voice called after you.

"Princess!"

One of the stable boys hurried forward and fell into step beside you.

"You like horses?" He blurted.

The question was so unexpected that you nearly laughed.

He was tall and gangly, all elbows and knees, with unkempt brown hair sticking up in several directions. You were fairly certain you had never seen him before.

"Forgive me, but are you new to Summerhall?" You asked.

"Oh! Yes, my lady." The boy flushed immediately.

"I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. My name is Flyn. I arrived a fortnight ago."

He sounded breathless, as though he had spent the last several minutes arguing with himself before gathering the courage to approach you.

"Well then, welcome to Summerhall, Flyn."

His face brightened at once.

The poor thing looked as though you'd knighted him.

Flyn followed you down the dirt path to the stables talking the whole way. "You're right, Galfrey will be fine. He's not badly injured. It's just a scratch. I think the Prince is being unfair about the situation!"

"Well, don't let the Prince hear you say that." You said laughing. "He is very passionate about his horses. There is nothing wrong with wanting them to be cared for properly."

"I suppose not, Princess. I meant no offense." Flyn said quickly.

"No offense taken. You are new here, and will quickly learn Prince Maekar is a serious man, a stern man, but never unfair."

You and Flyn walked in silence for a bit longer when he suddenly stopped.

"Is something the matter?" You asked.

"No, Princess, It's just that you never answered my question about horses. Do you like them as much as the Prince does?" He asked with a somewhat expectant smile.

You were caught off guard at his insistence you answer the question.

"I, um yes well who doesn't love horses?" You joked.

"I hate them." Flyn answered his voice becoming bitter.

"You hate them? Why would you seek to work in a stable if you hated horses?" You asked in disbelief.

He turned away from you now and looked at the ground, his ears and cheeks flushed in pink. "I came to Summerhall to work for you, well to work near you." He swallowed hard.

"What ever do you mean, boy?" You said more formal now, unsure of where this conversation was going.

You could see him chance a look at you from the corner of his eye.

"The people in my village, they all speak very highly of you, Princess. It's said that your kindness and gentle nature make serving at Summerhall easier than most other castles." He was boring holes into the dirt path with his eyes, unable to look at you. "And your beauty is legend." He added quickly.

"Ah, I see." You smiled at his confession. "That is very kind of you to say, and it pleases me to know others think so highly of me." You laughed despite your best efforts to remain unaffected at his confession.

You resumed you walk down the path to the stable in silence as you thought of Flyn's words.

When you reached the stables he spoke again, "I hope I didn't cause you any offense or embarrassment, Princess." He said shakily.

"None at all, in fact quite the opposite." You smiled brightly at him and pushed the door to the stable open and stepped inside.

Maekar was sitting on a low wooden stool feeding Galfrey an apple. The other stable boy who had been in the garden with Flyn and Ser Doulgass was brushing Galfrey's mane.

"There you are." You said softly.

Maekar glanced up. The contentment on his face vanished instantly.

"Where the fuck have you been?" He barked.

The words struck you like a slap. You were stunned to the spot. Maekar never spoke to you this way. "Excuse me?" You said horrified.

"Not you woman, him!" Maekar lifted his hand and pointed behind you. You turned to see that Flyn had followed you into the stable.

"Forgive me, my Prince. I was only speaking to the Princess."

"Speaking to the Princess eh?" Maekar said eyes narrowing on the boy.

"He was introducing himself, husband. He was being polite." You said defending Flyn.

Maekar did not look at you or acknowledge your words.

"Do you think I am blind?" Maekar asked.

"What? No, My Lord!" Flyn stuttered.

"Do you think I am stupid?" Maekar asked with an annoyed huff.

"Neither, My Lord." Flyn looked seconds away from fainting.

"Maekar." You said his name as a warning, but he paid you no mind.

"What do you require of me?" Flyn asked rushing over to the wall of hay bales and grabbing at them. "I can lay new hay. Should I lay new hay?" Flyn was desperate to divert the attention away from Maekar's accusations.

Maekar ignored the boy's frantic questions. "Stable boys do not speak to my wife! They do not walk with her. They do not trail after her. You are a servant, my servant. She will not entertain your fantasies!" Maekar's voice was low and severe.

Flyn stared wide eyed and crimsoned faced at Maekar unable to speak.

"Do you understand me?!" Maekar's voice was loud now and the sudden change in tone cause Galfrey to spook and pull at his reins.

"Y.. yes...yes." Flyn stammered. "I understand."

Maekar pointed to a shovel in the corner, and without taking his eyes off Flyn he spat "Shovel the shit from the stable, that's what I require of you."

Flyn said nothing and bolted for the shovel. He began frantically cleaning the stable stalls, never looking up at Maekar.

"Maekar Targaryen!" you scolded under your breath. "How dare you take your anger about Galfrey out on poor Flyn!"

"Oh! Flyn... that's the stable rats name then?" He said raising his eyebrows.

You shot him a severe look.

Maekar sighed heavily and ran his hand over his face. "Too many incompetent fucking fools working here." He grumbled.

You took a step toward your husband and laid your hands on his chest. His hands automatically came to rest on your waist.

"He was being kind. He was not flirting." You kissed Maekar's cheek and smiled up at him.

Maekar looked over your head at Flyn who was shoveling hay and horse waste into buckets. "Maybe so, but he's new and needs to learn his place." He mumbled under his breath.

"Jealousy is not very becoming for a prince." You teased.

“I miss when we used to have sex.” Your softly spoken words make Maekar pause where he stands by the desk in the corner of the room, broad shoulders tensing slightly. He turns to you slowly, hands flexing nervously as he looks at you laid back on the bed with an open book in your lap.

He doesnt even know what to say. “What?” His voice is rougher than he it means to be and he reminds himself he is not talking to some insolent servants or lords but his sweet wife.

“I understand why we dont, but I miss it. The intimacy, the closeness. And obviously the orgasms but that goes without saying.” You say so candidly it makes Maekars heart break slightly. He takes long but hesitant strides to your bedside and sits next to you on the fur covered mattress hesitantly.

Since the birth of Rhae your health has not improved and while at times it’s frustrating and makes you want to rip your hair out youve slowly come to adapt to it, trying to make the best of a bad situation. You take life at a slower pace never pushing yourself further than you can handle, adjusting your diet and having frequent meetings with the maester. It also helps that you have a gaggle of children who adore you and jump at the chance to assist you in whatever you need- much like their father. And you know everything your husband does is out of concern and love but sometimes the loneliness gets to you, leaves you wishing things were just how they used to be.

“I-“ He stops as soon as he starts, fiddling with his fingers in a display far from the ‘Anvil’ people know him as. You take his calloused hand in your own and rub your thumb over the back of it as you think. “I am sorry.” His gruff voice cracks just slightly.

“You do not need to apologise as I said, I understand. I am… fragile now, you could say.” You breathe out a laugh. “I do not think our lack of sex is because youre no longer attracted to me or are indulging in whores.”

He looks up at you as though you just slapped him. “As I should fucking think so.” A small smile grows on his face at the hearty laugh you let out.

“I just… it is difficult sometimes. My desires are still the same, Gods know it, but it’s these desires that are trapped in a body that is sick and unable to… engage in certain activities as I used to.” Your voice is sad, eyes unfocused as you think back through all your memories from before the birth.

“I miss it to.” He clears his throat pulling you from your own mind. “I am constantly thinking of ways to make you feel better, to try and make things fucking normal again, so much that I did not think about the consequences of them now. I forgot to ask what you wish for.”

You bring his hand up to your mouth and kiss over his scarred knuckles. “You have done nothing wrong. I am endlessly grateful for you and all you do for me, most men in your situation would not even give their wives a second thought.” You move a hand up to smooth over the crease on his brow from where hes lost deep in thought.

“Perhaps we could talk to the maester.” He says, returning a feather light kiss to your knuckles.

“Yes?” You smile at him unable to hide the rush of excitement of the prospect of getting to lay with your husband again, feel his battle-hardened body against yours as youve been thinking about endlessly.

“Mmm. See if there are any precautions we can take to reduce any discomfort or pain.”

“And just be aware husband, you will have to be gentle with me. I know your preferences all too well, but I fear I can no longer keep up with an anvil in the bedroom.” You squeeze his hand teasingly, smirking at the roll of his eyes. After a moment of silence you speak again.

“Maekar.”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

He grunts. “I love you too wife, even with your cruel jests.”