Heavenlypuggs

"Good, now let us be on our way. We have a bit to go today, and your sister's places are somewhat along the way; it would be nice to meet them."

I kissed him as I dropped my hand from his face, ready to grab my gloves, when his hands suddenly gripped my waist, turning me to face him once more.

I was about to ask him what was wrong when his lips suddenly met mine, his hands squeezing my waist a bit tighter.

I practically melted into the kiss and into his arms.

John pulled back first and leaned his forehead against mine, and took a deep breath, his eyes still closed.

"I love you, so very much, and I wish to shout it from the rooftops."

I couldn't help but giggle as the image of John on the roof shouting about how much he loves me.

"And I love you my dear, sweet John. You have owned my heart ever since I met you, and even though it would be fun to watch you yell your love for me from the roof, we must make haste."

"You are very right my dear, but I will first send word to my oldest sister that you and I will be visiting her this afternoon."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea. No need to surprise her." I told him as I went to grab my bag, but John just gently took it from me.

"I can not have you carry out your own bag my love. You are to be my wife."

I followed behind John as we left our room. He stopped off at the front desk to pay for the rooms and also have word sent to his oldest sister that he was coming with his betrothed.

"Before we leave, why don't we have a quick bite to eat before our journey." I suggested.

"But we just finished eating." John said to me.

"I know, but I am enjoying it here so much. Just reminds me of my trips here with my father."

John grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles. "Then we shall have something small to eat." He said to me.

JOHN'S POV

I could see my oldest sisters cottage in the distance.

I could hear the delightful screams and squeals of my many nieces and nephews.

"Uncle John!" I heard as our carriage got closer, and that moment my sister stepped out of home. Her with child once again.

I stopped the carriage and helped my very nervous lady down.

"Brother, it was a surprise to get notice that you were coming today, and with someone who has finally tamed your wild ways." Anna teased as she kissed my cheek.

"Oh hush you, but yes you are correct. I have fallen in love, well been in love with this fine woman for a very long time. Dear sister, I would like for you to meet my love." I introduced the two of them, and Anna's eyes widened for a moment when she heard the Bridgerton last name.

"How very nice to meet you. Please have a seat out here, it is much to nice of a day to spend inside." Anna said, and the two of us agreed.

My nieces and nephews surrounded us as we tried to sit down asking us a bunch of questions.

"Children. She is a guest." My sister said with a strong voice, that had them instantly calm down.

"I have treats and tea. I will grab them." Anna said, and my sweet woman offered to help, but Anna quickly turned down her help.

"You are guest for now, but John why don't you come and help me. Children, behave. Remember I can hear all, and see all."

I had to cough to to hide my laugh as I watched the children muttered amongst themselves at their mother's threat.

"What would you like for me to grab?" I asked her as I looked around, then I felt slap upside my head.

"What is that for?" I groaned as I rubbed the back of my head.

"She is a Bridgerton!" Anna exclaimed.

"Yes, we know." I said back with attitude, not liking that I was hit.

"Even though her family is kind, I do know that they would not allow you to marry her."

I stayed quiet.

"Do not tell me you two have run away?"

Before I could answer her, another voice chimed in.

"I understand your concern Anna, but this is mine and John's choice."

"A choice that could put him in jail, and you alone for the rest of your life."

"Anna, I know your heart is in the right place." I tried to speak, but I was interrupted.

"In high society, there are many, many rules that must be followed. Many girls do not marry for love, but of social obligation for their families. When it was my turn to enter society, I did, pushing aside my feelings for John, and trying to do what was expected of me, as a woman of high society, but with each suitor that came knocking, bringing gifts to try and impress me, I only wanted one person to do that. I was going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I refused to be some trophy for a man who would have a mistress and leave me to raise his children."

My sister gave us a soft, but sad smile.

"Where are you going if I may ask? Your family will be awfully worried." I am glad she changed the topic of conversation, for now.

"Slova. Her great-aunt left her a cottage." I said as I kissed the side of my love's head.

"You two have a far journey. Let's spend some time together before you two head off. I know my children have missed you dear brother, and my husband will be home in a few hours." Anna said as she finally grabbed her kettle to take outside.

ANTHONY'S POV:

My brothers and I stopped at The Angel Inn. Always a favourite spot of our fathers and our sister.

"Yes, I am looking for a woman and a man who may have stopped here last night."

The lady behind the desk just gave me a look. "We get plenty of those each day. Unless you can tell me what they look like, I can not help you." She went to turn away, but Colin stepped in.

"I believe these may help. These are drawings of the two people we are searching for." Benedict pulled out two pieces of parchment.

I clasped Benedict on his shoulder as the lady took a look at the drawings.

"Yes, they left this morning. He had someone bring a letter to a family member."

"May we speak to that person?" I inquired.

"Of course. That would be me son. Jack." She called.

"Yes mam?"

"These gentlemen are wondering who this man sent you to this morning." Jack looked at the drawing.

"His sister, lives in Abingdon, at some cottage called Flowersland."

"Thank you." I said to him, handing both him and his Mother coin for their help.

Benedict was already outside, informing Colin and Gregory what we were informed.

"They are not far and if we time it correctly, we will catch them." I said as I got upon my horse.

"On to Abingdon dear brother's. Let us bring our sister home." I said, hoping in my heart that we get to them in time.

Taglist: @madhatterbri , @maxverstappsthighs @crimesolvingcat @beammeupthisplacesucks1 @antisocialfiore @mysticwitchcraftco @fairyprincess101 @juliexz @mmmunson

“You heard me.” Baelor replied.

Lyonel stood there in disbelief, his mind racing at the thought of losing you to another man.

“I love her and she loves me. This is not merely an alliance for either of us anymore. This is nonsensical!” He protested.

“That is a shame.. hopefully she can grow to love Lord Tyrell.” Baelor mentioned.

Lyonel’s brows furrowed and his body language shifted.

“Is this humorous to you?—“

“Does the Prince of the realm find it humorous robbing his daughter of a love match?”

Baelor sat back in his chair, fidgeting with his rings.

“Humorous? No—“

“ I have no control over what the king desires in terms of betrothals. I set this one up for my daughter, I was happy to and you ruined it.”

Lyonel scoffed, his shoulders pulled back at Baelor’s words.

“I did not ruin anything. I did not have her punished, he did! I did not embarrass her, he did!—“

“So, don’t you dare try to put the blame in my lap!” Lyonel fumed.

Baelor rolled his eyes with a loud scoff.

“You are a fool and it was my mistake to consider you as anything other than that. You had my daughter's name in rumors that should’ve never been thought of!—“

“Yet, you think that you deserve to be her husband?”

Lyonel began to pace Baelor’s tent, his anger rising as the time passed.

“I don’t deserve her as she is far too good for me, that I’m man enough to admit— but she doesn’t deserve this. This rotten family has done nothing but change her.”

“If you love her, then you will leave and let her do her duty to the realm. You have done more than enough thus far, Lord Baratheon.” .

“You do not know what it is that you are asking of me!” Lyonel shouted, slamming his hand on Baelor’s desk.

“I am not asking anything, the king is telling you. You need to leave the princess alone.” Baelor spoke.

“This will ruin her.” Lyonel muttered.

“You and your version of love ruined her—“

“Your love for her is weak and fickle, just like your honor as a man. It was you who allowed her to get into this situation.” Baelor pointed out.

Lyonel bit his tongue and stormed out of the tent. Baelor wasn’t entirely wrong, but he wasn’t right either. Things had spiraled out of Lyonel’s control and he had no idea what to do, but this wedding between you and Lord Tyrell could not happen.

Lyonel grabbed his things from his tent, got on his horse, and left without a word.

You slowly got up and got dressed, feeling embarrassed that Daeron saw you and Lyonel. You believed him when he said that he wouldn’t tell as Daeron has always been good at keeping secrets, but it was still humiliating. 

There was an ache between your legs from your intense fun several hours prior, coupled with the pain in your feet— you needed some milk of the poppy.

The wind blew outside, softly rustling the flap to your tent. As the breeze brushed against your skin, you sat in the chair and tried to put your boots on. 

Your focus was interrupted by your father walking into your tent.

“Father?” You spoke, your eyes glancing up at him.

“Here, let me help you.” He replied, sitting in the chair across from you.

He patted his leg, signaling for you to raise your foot and put it in his lap. 

You did so with a wince leaving your mouth.

“Is there something wrong, father?” You ask through the pain.

He looks over the bloodied bandage on your foot and doesn’t respond.

“You needed to get these changed before you went to sleep. They need to be changed regularly or you risk infection.” He softly ridiculed you.

“I know, I know.. I was just tired and didn’t want to bother with it.” You responded.

He sighed and sat there staring at you, your foot still in his lap.

“There is a matter that I need to speak with you about.”

Those were words that would always make you anxious and make you want to crawl out of your skin. They could either be the best news you’ve ever heard or earth shattering.

You adjusted in your seat, your eyes filled with worry.

“Is there something wrong?”

His lips were pursed and his was breathing steady, so it was impossible to read the situation for what it was.

“Your grandfather has decided to end your marriage alliance with Lyonel—“

“He thinks that it has caused too much of a stir. Instead, he’s proposed a betrothal to you and Lord Tyrell.”

You stared at him blankly as if his words were foreign. Your mouth parted with so many things that you could say and yet, none left your mouth. 

Tears fell from your eyes in shock as you registered what your father had admitted.

“What?” You choked.

“It was not my decision, but we found it best.” He added.

You leaned forward grabbing his hand. “Please, father. Do not let him do this—“

“I love Lyonel.”

He let out a sigh as he hoped that your feelings weren’t already so deep for him.

“I understand, I do— but it is done.” He spoke plainly.

“I don’t want to wed anyone else! I will not do it!” You yelled, pulling your foot out of his lap.

You stood up, your balance off and unable to remain steady.

“Daughter, please be careful.” He warned, reaching out to help you.

You sob, stumbling away from the chair and towards your cane by the table.

“You yourself got to marry our mother and experience a great love, but you rob me of that? Why?”

“What about my happiness? I instead get to be married to an old man, who will surely treat me like a brood mare and not care about me.” You pointed out.

“I’m sure that Lord Ty—“

“Get out!” You yelled, interrupting him.

He was startled to see you be so upset and feel so deeply about such things.

“Let me at least help you—“

“Get out! Get out!” You screamed, people outside of the tent staring to see what was going on.

Your uncle was making his way towards the tent when Baelor made his way out of it with a look of defeat.

All you wanted to do was get married to Lyonel and go live out your days in Storms End, but even that thought had gone up in smoke.

Once you had calmed down, the Maester came into your tent and assessed your feet.

“Princess, you must be mindful. Your feet are still healing and too much pressure on them will delay the healing process. Unless, you absolutely have to— please refrain from walking.” 

You nodded, your cheeks wet from tears and eyes puffy.

He applied the paste to your feet and wrapped them gently, leaving you with milk of the poppy before exiting the tent.

As the Maester walked from your tent, Valarr entered holding a tray with your breakfast on it.

“Valarr?” You questioned, surprised to see him.

“Sister.” He responded with a smile.

He rushed to set the tray on the table with a smile and give you a hug.

“It has been too long.” He laughed.

His presence made you want to cry again as you missed your brother and did not get to see him often.

“What are you doing here?” You asked as he took the seat in front of you.

“You think I’d miss the wedding for my sister? She’s marrying the laughing storm, there’s no way I’d miss that.” He smirked.

You wiped your teary eyes.

“Not anymore.”

His brow raised in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Grandfather has decided against that betrothal and has instead proposed me to Lord Tyrell.” You explained.

You pulled over the tray of food and prepared to eat, so that you can drink some milk of the poppy.

Valarr’s eyes looked like they could bulge out of his head.

“Leo Tyrell?—“

“Gods be good.” He huffed.

You took a  bite from the fig on the tray, trying to hide your sadness.

Valarr glanced down at your bandaged feet, his stomach turning at the sight.

“I heard about your punishment..” 

You scoffed, “who hasn’t?”

He looked sad seeing you in the state that you were in, a state of sadness that was unfamiliar to him.

“I don’t like to see you this way, sister—“

“Sad and hurting.”

You stirred the bowl of oats that sat in front of you.

“Trust me, I don’t want to feel this way. I just wanted to be with Lyonel.” 

Valarr was unsure of how to comfort you in this as he’d never experienced this before. He was never denied his love for Kiera and didn’t agree with how things were going.

“I’m sure Lyonel made you the happiest woman in the seven kingdoms.”

You caught yourself smiling at the thought of him as you ate, a warm feeling rushed over your body.

“He makes me feel seen as a person and not just a woman who can give him children. I don’t feel like a pawn with him—“

“I feel happy and free.”

Valarr himself smiled at your words about Lyonel. He leaned forward and rubbed your knee.

“That’s how you should feel.. it’s just unfortunate that grandfather changed his mind.”

Valarr’s words turned the oats in your mouth bitter, bringing you back down to your sad reality.

“Maybe, the two of you could keep in touch as friends?” He suggested innocently.

You scoffed, dropping your spoon into the bowl.

“I will not stand around and watch the man that I love eventually fall in love with someone else. It would kill me..”

Valarr’s facial expression softened.

“I did not mean—“

“I did not mean for it to come off that way. I just wanted to suggest something that might put you at ease.”

You waved him off with a feigned smile. “It is okay, brother. I understand what you meant.”

He nodded, his eyes watching you as he wanted to ask you a question— but was fearful of doing so.

“Sister?”

You picked up your spoon and took another dreadful bite out of your oats.

“Hmm?”

He adjusted in his seat, “did you—“

“Did the two of you have sex?” 

You swallowed your food and wiped the corner of your mouth.

“Do not ask questions that you do not want the answer to.”

“I am asking for an answer, sister. Did you?” He reiterated.

You glanced at him and stirred your oats.

“Yes.. last night.” 

He sighed, covering his face with his hands . “Did you at least have him finish elsewhere?”

You just stared at him and didn’t respond.

“God’s be good!—“

“You have to be smarter than that, sister!” He softly scolded you.

“Never mention this to anyone else.” He added.

You finished your bowl of oats and began eating another fig without a care at his panic. 

“You’re the only person I’ve told. It’s not exactly like I want to go shouting it outside.”

There was a silence in the tent after your words and his. He understood that you loved Lyonel and that you weren’t intending to be harmful with your actions.

“Kiera and I did not wait either, unfortunately. We should’ve, but I allowed myself to be weak.” He confessed.

“Yet, you sit here and judge me?” You questioned.

He waved his hand. “I am not judging, because I understand your feelings. I just do not believe it to have been a wise decision given the already dire situation.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“I know that it wasn’t smart.”

He leaned forward in his chair, touching your arm.

“I do not want you to think that I am against you, as I could’ve easily ended in the same position. We will figure out a solution, I’m sure of it.” 

He stood up and gave you a loving hug — placing a kiss on your head.

“I will help you figure this out, I promise.”

Your brother left out of your tent with a smile on his face and no doubt on a mission.

The last day of what was supposed to be the royal hunt was painfully dull. You spent most of it to yourself and avoided everyone. All you could think about was Lyonel and how he’d handled the news, you assumed not well— because he did leave. He left without a word and you couldn’t say that you blamed

him much, your family had driven him crazy. They’d made him think that you weren’t worth the hassle.

The wind did not ease up as everyone had hoped, instead it picked up— rustling the flaps to your tent and blowing things off of tables. 

Your father kept his distance and did not say anything else after he told you the news. It seemed he realized that maybe you were losing yourself in this punishment and then ending your betrothal.

——

Lyonel rode his horse back to King’s Landing and hoped to figure out a way that could stop this betrothal. 

He could not lose you and it certainly wouldn’t be to the pig Leo Tyrell. Lyonel could not stand him and his sharp tongue. He was worse than annoying, he was a pain in the arse. 

You were his, the woman that he’d do anything for and go anywhere for. He had never quite loved a woman the way that he loved you. 

Your sarcasm, beautiful laugh, quiet nature, and overall curiosity. You made him dream of a life that he didn’t deem possible for himself. Losing you would be a death sentence for the laughing storm.

It also wasn’t lost on him that he had spilled inside you, when the two of you had sex— what if you did become pregnant?

How could you explain that to your father, the king, and your new husband?

The thought of you being in a scandal like that made him feel ill. 

The ride back to King’s Landing was slow and tiresome. You rode in the carriage as you were drowsy from the milk of the poppy and could not keep your eyes open. Your tongue felt like cotton in your mouth and your head felt too heavy to lift up. 

You were eager to get to your bed. You had missed it deeply, along with the peace and quiet of your own private room. 

For most of the ride you were in and out of sleep, until you jolted awake as the carriage came to a stop. 

The grey skies blocked out the sunlight and made you confused on how long you had been asleep or how long that it had taken you to arrive back at home. 

As you rubbed your eyes, the door to your carriage opened.

Your father held out his hand, allowing you to steady yourself on him as you were still not quite yourself. Your eyes noticed the other carriages present, but they weren’t Lyonel’s. 

That’s when you noticed the roses on the banners, it was House Tyrell.

Given how quickly they had arrived in King’s Landing, your grandfather must’ve already had this plan in the works. You suddenly had begun to feel more uncomfortable than you were before, the nausea building in your stomach.

A short, old man stood in front of you and your father. He held his hand out and shook your fathers with a smile as he gave him a warm welcome.

Your father rubbed your arm. “Daughter, this is Lord Tyrell.”

You gave a half smile with a nod.

“Nice to meet you, my lord.”

Lord Tyrell nodded back and grabbed your hand, placing a soft kiss to it.

“It is lovely to meet you as well, Princess.”

You had started to frown as it felt impossible to hide the disgust that you felt. Baelor noticed your frown and leaned close to your ear.

“Don’t be rude, daughter. Stop frowning.” He whispered.

Lord Tyrell did not seem to notice your frown and slight recoil as all he did was stare at you like you were a piece of meat. 

“You are absolutely beautiful—“

“I’m sure our children will have your beauty.”  He spoke.

“What an odd thing to say.” You mumbled to yourself.

He’d only just met you and already had the thought of having children with you on his mind.

He seemed like a sick pervert to you, not even a normal old man.

After you did not respond to his remark, he held a conversation with your father. You excused yourself from the conversation, grabbing your cane and making your way to your chambers.

Lord Tyrell was not even moderately attractive in your eyes, how you would be able to marry him and eventually bed him was heavily on your mind. There wasn’t enough milk of the poppy in the realm that would make it easier for you to suffer through him.

Just the thought of the old man on top of you— rubbing your body, wanting you to suck his shriveled cock, and rutting into you made you dry heave. 

He was a far fall from Lyonel.

Once you were in your chambers, you had requested more milk of the poppy from the servants. The pain in your feet and legs had begun to return after the walking that you had to do. You stumbled to your bed and started to undress yourself, when your door opened.

It was Lyonel.

You were shocked to see him, but so happy to at the same time.

He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a deep kiss. 

“I’m sorry that I left, my love. I just—“

You smiled, pulling your lips from his and staring into his eyes.

“It’s okay, I am not upset with you.”

He held you in the hug for a moment longer, taking in the feeling of relief that he gets with you.

“How are you doing, my sweet doe?” He asked.

You pulled from his grasp and sat down on your bed, a frown on your face and on the verge of tears.

“I feel awful, Lyonel— that’s the truth of it.”

His heart ached in his chest at your words, because none of this was supposed to happen this way. It was never supposed to be this complicated.

“I don’t care if I have to bankrupt Storms End to satisfy the king, I’ll do it. I won’t let you go.” He mentioned.

You slowly and meticulously unlaced your boots— pulling them off so that you could fully relax.

“I don’t want you to piss off my grandfather, Lyonel.”

“Fuck the king.” He scoffed.

Your eyes flicked over to him as he stood in front of you, a slight scowl spreading across your face.

“Apologies, my love.” He spoke, correcting himself.

The stress of this ordeal had started to weigh on you heavily, your potential fate constantly on your mind. You needed rest— just complete silence to process your feelings, fears, and inevitable heartbreak. If only you hadn’t gone to Lyonel’s feast, then things would be different.

“I’m scared.” You mumbled.

Lyonel walked over to the bed, standing in front of you with a saddened expression.

He gently lifted your head with his finger.

“Don’t be, I will protect you from this—“

“You mean everything to me.”

He kissed you softly, his hands holding your face and melting away your worry. Everything else was merely background noise when you were with Lyonel. You couldn’t focus on anything else, nor could you be sad.

The kiss deepened, his body leaning against yours and making you lay back onto the bed.

“Lyonel.” You spoke, just short of a whine.

“Just let me take care of you.” He muttered into your mouth.

You laid back onto the bed and Lyonel dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed— his arms wrapping around your thighs as he pulled you closer.

He pushed your gown up, a groan leaving his mouth at the sight of you.

“It doesn’t take much for you to get wet.”

He put your legs over his shoulders, his tongue swiping your slit. Your fingers curled into the sheets as his tongue lapped at your clit.

“Fuck, Lyonel.” You gasped. 

His tongue rubbed against your clit with such precision, your eyes barely open from the pleasure.

Your betrothal to him had just ended—you were promised to another and shouldn’t be doing this. It was wrong, but it felt so right.

“You taste so good, my love.” He growled.

You moved your hand and had your fingers intertwined with his messy curls.

 The sensation in your stomach building.

“What would Leo say if he caught you being a whore for me? Hmm?”

You yanked his head back, the grip tight on his hair. Your chest rising and falling fast.

He looked at you and began to smirk, letting out a deep chuckle.

“I like it when you’re rough.” He taunted.

He pressed two of his fingers inside of you, distracting you.

“Look at that, how well you suck them in.”

The way he touched you, talked to you, and handled you drove you mad. No one had ever had such control over your body, but he did. He did and you hated it.

He pulled his fingers out of you, staring at them in awe as they were coated in your slick. He brought them up to your mouth.

“Suck them.” He demanded.

You complied with ease, bringing his fingers to the back of your throat with a moan as you sucked them clean.

“Good.. you are so good, my doe.” He groaned.

He started eating you out again, your back arched from the sensation. It felt amazing and you couldn’t get enough of it.

You could not imagine having to lose out on this man and pleasure for Leo Tyrell.

“Fuck!—“

“Lyonel, Lyonel.” You whined as your peak approached.

You were hardly able to keep quiet as you reached your peak, feeling completely out of your own body.

Lyonel loved to make a mess out of you, keeping you wrapped around his finger and wanting more. He stood up, licking his lips and had an accomplished grin on his face.

“Did that help you feel better?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes as you laid there and took time to collect yourself.

“I love you.” He mentioned. 

You pulled your gown down and sat up slowly. “I love you too, my stag.”

He gave you a kiss with a smirk. 

“I like when you talk to me like that.”

You laughed as he crashed back onto the bed with you.

 It was things like this that defined your relationship with him, not the big moments— but the small ones. How you hated when those moments would come to an end, how you knew that you wanted a lifetime of small moments with him. This was what you wanted, nothing more and nothing less.

You and Lyonel stared into each other’s eyes, smiles on your faces..

The sound of thunder echoed throughout your chambers as the sky continued to darken, reminding you of the night sky— but slightly warped.

Lyonel’s fingers rubbed your face, his cold rings meeting your warm skin. He touched you as if it’d be his last chance to see you.

“I will give up everything for you.” He confessed.

“I’d never ask you to do any such thing.” You replied.

“But I would… you can get drunk, participate in tourneys, and live anywhere. Should they deny us our love, all you have to do is say the word and we can leave.”

Words that would normally make you laugh otherwise, hung in the air with consideration. 

“Okay.” You acknowledged.

The two of you spent another two hours, just laying on the bed and laughing at nothing— enjoying each other’s company.  He eventually had to leave, even though you didn’t want him to.

Despite the brewing issues in the capital with the insufficient amount of meat available, the crown still thought it was a reasonable idea to throw a feast for your betrothal to Lord Tyrell. The sickness in the goats and cattle had proven to be more serious than first assumed. It spread like wildfire, contaminating livestock and making them inedible.

The capital had grown restless as they waited for a solution from the crown, but there was no real solution— not outside of being careful and waiting it out. No one had any idea where the sickness had originated and there was no cure of any sorts. They were even in talks of trading with the free cities to handle this rather growing issue.

You sat in your chambers and braided your hair, staring at yourself in the mirror. For this feast, you were wearing your own house colors— but you also pinned the small stag that Lyonel had made to your sleeve. You didn’t like the idea of standing in front of people and faking your interest or happiness. 

It made no sense.

You stared at your dress as you finished your braid. Your heart sank as you realized that if things didn’t work out, you’d no longer be wearing black and red— but green and gold. Lyonel would not mind you still wearing House Targaryen colors, but you knew that Leo would be a different story.

To calm your nerves and oncoming pain, you drank some milk of the poppy. The walk from your chambers took way longer than it should’ve, but you were in no rush and your feet hurt.

The dining hall was filled with people, the candles bright and warm, along with music playing. 

You took your seat at the table beside Lord Tyrell, his hand brushing against your thigh as you sat down.

The hall had an unusual amount of flowers present, which you could only imagine that it was supposed to be a form of symbolism. 

As time and multiple conversations lingered on, more wine was poured into your goblet and supper was served.

“I think that you shall like the reach, princess.” Lord Tyrell spoke as he cut into the meat on his plate.

“It is vast and beautiful.” He added.

“So, I’ve heard. I’ve also heard that you could get lost in its beauty.” You mentioned as you ate your carrots, trying to seem interested in the conversation.

He chewed the meat loudly, the kind of noise coming from his mouth that made you want to scream. The noise had truly begun to get under your skin.

He chuckled, gulping down some of his wine.

“That is right! The gardens there are filled with Chrysanthemums, lilies, and roses of course. Flowers that remind me of your beauty.”

Aerion snickered, causing Lord Tyrell to glance at him and making the moment even more awkward. 

Marker had a scowl on his face from Aerion’s comment, but also disgusted with the whole ordeal.

You saw Lyonel watching your every move from his table, his eyes noticing how uncomfortable you were.

Your knee jerked and hit the table as Lord Tyrell had stroked your upper thigh.

You winced in pain, getting the attention of your father.

“Are you alright, darling?” 

You nodded, rubbing your leg. “Yes, I’m fine.”

The tension at the table was noticeable to all who sat at it, except Lord Tyrell— who didn’t care and was too focused on you to notice.

People made their way to your table and congratulated your family on the match. 

“Leo, it seems that you’ll have a few babes after all!” A lord joked.

Lord Tyell and that man found his joke to be hilarious.

“That I will!—“ He spoke, looking at you.

“They say Targaryen women are wild behind closed doors, so who knows how many we’ll have.” He winked, laughing with the man.

He was truly disgusting, saying those things and talking about you like you were an object. 

His words made your stomach ache.

You had the staff fill your goblet several times over the course of the feast, hoping to dull your senses enough to forget where you were.

A lot of people had gotten up from their seats and danced around. Lord Tyrell had asked for you to dance with him, but you politely declined because of your feet.

Lyonel drank ale and watched how close Leo was to you, his veins filled with jealousy.

The only people left at your table were— Lord Tyrell, your uncle, your father, Daeron and you. Everyone else had gotten up to mingle, which you should have too.

The staff brought you a slice of raspberry and lemon pie, something you hadn’t eaten since your mother had passed. It was her favorite and you always struggled to eat it after she died.

You ate the pie and felt a sense of comfort and peace. You felt close with your mother, someone you needed now more than anything. 

Some of the filling dripped onto your chin and you grabbed the towel to wipe it, but before you could— Lord Tyrell had used his finger to wipe it off. You stared in shock as he put his finger into his mouth and sucked the filling off with a smile.

Your uncle frowned in disbelief as he saw the entire thing unfold.

“Hmm, that pie is delicious.” Lord Tyrell mumbled.

You felt stuck as if you couldn’t move afterwards. You wanted to curl up and die. He had managed to ruin such a peaceful moment for you.

You slowly pulled yourself up, your legs wobbling and tears filling your eyes.

“May I be excused?” You asked your father.

He nodded.

You took your towel, threw it down onto the table and grabbed your cane. 

Once you made it down the first steps and were walking to the doors to exit, Lyonel tried grabbing your hand.

“My love, what’s wrong?”

You yanked it away and kept walking, but your father saw interaction and he wasn’t the only person. Lord Tyrell also saw the quick interaction between the two of you, how there was more beneath the surface than just a betrothal.

Whether you and Lord Baratheon had developed deep feelings for each other, mattered not. He was going to wed you and you were going to give him an heir.

You walked down the hall and up the steps to your chambers. Your breath felt as if it were caught in your chest and the space was closing in on you. Your skin felt warm and your gown felt too tight.

Everything felt wrong and you felt uneasy. You stumbled into your chambers, slamming the door behind you.

Your fingers reached for the laces on your gown and struggled to untie them. 

Tears streamed your cheeks as you hurriedly untied your laces and pulled the fabric of your gown away from your skin. Your breaths came  in with a sense of relief, finally feeling like you could breathe.

As you leaned over your desk, you took a moment— allowing yourself to feel all of the feelings that you had been suppressing.

The door to your chambers had opened and shut, just faint enough for you to recognize.

“What happened?” Lyonel spoke, his steps coming closer to you.

Tears fell from your eyes onto the book on your desk, your hand smacking it off in a fit of rage.

“He’s a fucking pig!—“

“I have to marry him and pretend to be happy with him! A man that I will never love and who will only see me as a broodmare.” You fumed. 

Lyonel slowly walked behind you and wrapped his arms around you, the candlelight in your room casting a shadow on the opposite wall. 

“Calm down, darling.” He spoke softly into your ear.

You touched his arms as they wrapped around you in a form of protection, your anger slowly leaving your body.

“Do not allow that small man to make you feel this way. You are so much more than this anger that you feel, more than his small thoughts of you.” Lyonel reminded you.

“You are perfect, precious to me. You will never be a Tyrell—“

“Lyonel—“ you interrupted.

“Never, you hear me?” Lyonel whispered into your ear.

His warmth pressed against your body, clouded every angry and sad thought that had still swarmed your mind. Would Lyonel kill him to stop the wedding? Would you have to run away?

Lyonel’s lips grazed your ear in a teasing manner, before he started to place soft kisses along your exposed neck.

You bit your lip as your hands dropped to your side, fingers fidgeting with the fabric on your dress.

Lyonel moved his hands to your waist, his eyes glancing over your exposed back with your laces mostly untied.

“You are mine—“

“And mine only.” Lyonel groaned.

He pushed his foot in between yours, gently causing your legs to spread.

“We shouldn’t..” you mumbled, leaning forward on your desk to brace yourself.

He pulled your gown up and ripped your tights without a care. His fingers were moving to rub against your wet cunt.

“So wet already.” He teased, his finger rubbing through your folds.

“Lyonel.” You whimpered.

He rubbed your clit, your lips slightly parted.

“If you want me to stop, then just say the words.”

Moans escaped your mouth, but no words telling him to stop.

“Please—“ you whined.

His brow raised, “please what?”

Your legs wobbled, “don’t stop.” You stammered.

Lyonel pulled his hand away from your cunt as he pulled his cock from his trousers.

You gripped the edge of the desk as you felt his head rub against your slit.

He spit in his hand, rubbing his sensitive head. 

He lined himself up and slowly pushed in, stretching you.

“God’s.” You mumbled.

The stretch was intense like it was the first time, the kind of stretch that took your breath and felt good at the same time. He took his time as he gave you inch by inch, making you almost beg him to stop teasing.

He pulled you back against him, his hand wrapped around your neck as his cock snapped into you.

“He could never love and fuck you the way that I do.” He grunted.

You didn’t know what had gotten into him tonight, but whatever it was— you had enjoyed it.

He adjusted and  leaned you over the desk—pounding into you. 

“You’re so deep.” You moaned.

“If only he knew how far from innocent you are, how you liked to be fucked.” Lyonel grunted.

You reached your peak in shock, it came quicker than it ever had before. He covered your mouth as he fucked you, your moans louder than they should be.

“You’re singing so pretty for me tonight.” He chuckled.

Lyonel’s fingers pressed so deeply into your hips that you were sure he’d leave marks.

“Fuck, my love—“

“You grip me so perfectly.” 

He cock slammed into two more times, before the thrusts stopped and Lyonel’s grunts filled the air. His seed painted your walls white and left you a leaking mess.

“Fuck me, you are amazing.” He breathed as he pulled out after a moment.

He grabbed a towel and wiped you off. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

You shook your head, turning around to face him.

“Are you jealous? Is that why you said the things that you did?” You asked.

He hesitated as he adjusted his trousers, a smirk tugging at his lip.

“A stag jealous of a rose?—“

“Nonsense!” He joked.

He gave you a kiss and left your chambers as he’d already been away from the feast for too long. The last thing that you needed was for someone to notice his absence and come looking.

You did not bother to return to the feast, you were now tired and in no mood to pretend with Lord Tyrell. You stayed in your chambers for the rest of the night and immediately went to bed after your bath.

Following your disappearance from the feast, Lord Tyrell had arranged for breakfast in the garden. It was just you and him with extra kingsguard for you, considering tensions in flea bottom were steadily rising. Your father nor uncle could attend as they were needed in a council meeting to discuss the starving peasants.

The sun was out, high in the sky and beaming onto everything below. Though the sun was out, it wasn’t particularly warm as the wind carried a chill breeze.

You sat across from Lord Tyrell, staring at the rose bush directly behind him and waiting for it to be over.

“It’s a beautiful day outside today, Princess.” He spoke.

You nodded, adjusting in your seat as a sharp pain traveled up your leg.

“That it is.” You replied.

He sipped some of his tea, his eyes lingering on your face.

“You did not return to the feast last night, your presence was missed.”

Your brows raised at his statement as you hoped that he would not bring it up.

“I felt unwell and I was in a bit of pain, so I decided to retire to my chambers a little early.”

He nodded, his gaze shifting to something behind you.

“Princess, are you happy with our betrothal?" 

You bit the inside of your lip and faked a smile as you could not say what you really felt. 

“Of course.. of course, my lord.”

The food and fruit was brought to the table as the loud silence lingered. You put two honey cakes and a few pieces of fruit onto your plate, catching a glimpse of Lord Tyrell’s face as he looked repulsed. He looked at you like you were over eating, like you were doing something wrong.

His visible disgust made you lose your appetite and feel insecure.

He ate the food on his plate with no hesitations, a loud smacking noise filling the air every time he bit into a honey cake.

“With our wedding fastly approaching, I want to explain my expectations.”

You sat there, intrigued by what he’d say even though you did not ask. Your fingers picked at fabric on your dress as a small distraction for yourself and to hide how annoyed you were.

“I will be kind to you, I will never raise a hand to you, and I will care for you— but I will not tolerate anything other than a dutiful wife.” He mentioned.

“Make no mistake, this will not be a love match. It is my duty.”

“I understand, my lord.” You replied softly.

“When I bed you, I will spill elsewhere— until we’ve been at HighGarden for a month. I want you to have the chance to get used to your new home, before we start trying.”

Him talking of bedding you made you feel nauseous and as if this was a cruel punishment or a jape from your grandfather.

“I want us to have three children, with reasonable spacing between them of course. I care not about the sex, but at least one boy would make things easier.” He added.

“If I do not want three children?” You asked, getting his attention from his fourth honey cake.

“That would be unfortunate.” He replied.

The wind blew, bringing in a cool breeze.

“I also will not tolerate insolence from you either—“

“I do not intend to be insolent.” You replied back plainly, interrupting him.

“Do not interrupt me, girl!” He scolded.

Your face began to scowl instantly at his remark. You already were not fond of him and found him to be a disappointing stain on his house, but his rudeness was unnecessary.

“I’ve heard about this punishment that you received, unfortunate but perhaps necessary—“

“Your relationship with Lord Baratheon, whatever it is— will cease.”

Your brows furrowed as you feigned ignorance and gritted your teeth.

“I was merely only betrothed to Lord Baratheon, we had no relationship outside of that. I hardly spoke with him, my lord.”

He scoffed, sucking his fat fingers to taste the honey.

“I saw the two of you in the dining hall and whatever that was. There will be no more of it.”

“My lord, that was only—“

“I will not have a whore for a wife!” He snapped.

You stood up from your chair faster than you ever had before.

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

You didn’t even wait for a response from him before you walked off. You were not perfect nor had you ever tried to be, but you did not deserve to be talked to this way.

You did not know Lord Tyrell well, but you had never heard that he was cruel. 

Baelor and Maekar sat in Baelor’s solar, recovering from the boring and frustrating council meeting. There was still no viable alternative to shortage of meat and the free cities had not responded yet. 

Maekar sat down in the chair with a loud sigh.

“This place has caused me more stress than my own children possibly could.” 

Baelor sat down at his desk, his energy was low as the whole thing had been a tiring situation. Between the shortage, your betrothal, the king's concerns— he was worn thin.

“I see Lord Baratheon is still present in the city.” Maekar spoke.

Baelor’s fingers fidgeted with his rings.

“I suppose he’s still here to show support for the upcoming wedding, along with the other noble houses.”

Maekar scoffed, grabbing some nuts from the bowl beside him.

“Don’t be daft.”

“I’m not being daft. Their betrothal is over and he would have no other reason to be present other than support.” Baelor responded.

Maekar rolled his eyes, a huff of air leaving his mouth.

“He’s still here because he loves her, don’t deny what your eyes have allowed you to see.”

Baelor leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused on Maekar and his words.

“Well, that no longer matters. Does it?—“

“She is to wed Leo Tyrell.”

“He is a disgrace of a man, I find him repulsive quite frankly.” Maekar mentioned.

“It’s a wonderful thing that you’re not being wed to him then, brother.” Baelor reminded him.

Maekar began to frown at his remark as it did indeed rub him the wrong way.

“Let her marry Lord Baratheon and let that be the end of it. He’s less likely to be a pain in the crowns arse anyway.”

Baelor sighed in annoyance.

“It is not up to me and you know that. Father isn’t happy about the rumors and neither am I.”

“Well, he wouldn’t have to worry about rumors if he didn’t punish her for something so minor— that caused the rumors.” Maekar pointed out.

“There’d be no punishment, if she’d just listened.” Baelor gritted.

Maekar chewed on the nuts in his hand.

“Seven hells, who cares if she fucked him? They were going to be wed.”

Baelor’s eyes flicked up at Maekar. 

“Now, they’re not and that would present a problem— if that were the case. No lord would want her in that condition.”

“When were her age, we had fucked our way through the street of silk.” Maekar added.

Baelor’s lips were pursed as he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“We did, but she is a woman.”

The hours had passed by and you sat in your chambers. Your fingers idle, your mind filled with thoughts and questions.

The way that Lord Tyrell had talked to you was embarrassing and just more hurtful than you cared to admit. You knew that the men could be awful as you’d heard tales, but you’d never experienced such brutality in person. 

The servants and Maester came into your room. The servants prepared a bath while the Maester changed your bandages.

“The wounds have a long way to go, but they are looking better than they did yesterday.” The Maester spoke.

You nodded.

“Thank you for helping me.”

He finished wrapping the bandage on your right foot.

“It is my job, princess. I imagine I would no longer be a Maester, if I did not help you.” He chuckled.

His reply made you smile as you could appreciate his honesty. Being a princess meant that everyone always walked on eggshells around you and your family, very seldom were they bold enough to just talk plainly.

“I must also admit, Princess— though the wounds cause you great pain, we will have to lessen the amount of milk of the poppy that you consume. It is not healthy for prolonged use.” He mentioned.

“Oh.” You muttered.

In your mind, you weren’t consuming that much milk of the poppy. It almost felt like you hadn’t had enough lately. Most days you had to try ignoring the pain.

He finished tending to your wounds, leaving you more milk of the poppy— but only a small amount.

You got undressed and took your bath—trying to relax. While you sat there in peace with your eyes closed, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.” You spoke.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Lyonel standing in front of you with a grin on his face.

“I’m not interrupting, am I ?”

You shook your head, your wet hair clinging to your chest as the ends floated in the water.

“I hadn’t had the chance to see you today. I wanted to come check on you.” He admitted.

You smiled. 

“I have not done much, other than have an awful breakfast with Leo.”

He walked closer to the tub, his hands behind his back and worry on his face.

“Oh?”

You wiped your face.

“He called me a whore.”

The grimace of Lyonel’s face was unlike any expression that you had seen before.

“That’s not funny.” He replied.

You adjusted in the tub, leaning on your side and facing Lyonel.

“He said that he would not have a whore for a wife.”

“Hmm.” He grunted in response. You could see his face twitch when you repeated what he had said.

“I have somewhere that I’d like to take you tonight.. if you don’t mind sneaking out.” He smiled, kneeling beside the tub.

“Lyonel, I cannot get into any more trouble.” 

He pushed your hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear.

“No one will ever know, we’ll be dressed differently.”

Your brow raised in intrigue and a bit of confusion.

“Dressed differently?”

He showed you the clothes that he had held behind his back. They were not the kind of clothes that a noble

would wear, but the clothes of peasants.

“Dressed like a peasant?” You asked.

He nodded and you could tell this was a terrible idea, but you were interested in where he’d take you.

You finished up your bath, dried off, and got dressed. Lyonel helped you hide your silver locks in the hat that he brought you.

The two of you held hands as you snuck out of the keep and into the night.

Your heart raced as the two of you walked around. The night sky was clear and bright, no wind or sound of insects. It was just quiet.

“Where are we going?” You laughed.

He glanced at you with a smirk as he held your hand and continued walking.

The two of you had managed to make your way onto the street of silk, a road that you had never been on before. You had heard tales, but never anything in great detail.

The street was lively with beggars, whores, puppeteers, and regular commonfolk. You didn’t bother to ask Lyonel where he was taking you again, but you knew that it probably was somewhere you shouldn’t be.

As you walked a woman on the sidewalk inhaled fire and spit it back out like a dragon, the crowd and yourself in awe.

An elderly woman sat at a table, she called your name as if she knew you. It caught the attention of both of you and made you stop.

“Let me see your future, girl.” She spoke, her voice deep and raspy.

You glanced up at Lyonel and he shrugged his shoulders.

You walked over to the woman’s table as she just creepily stared at you. She tapped the table and signaled for you to give her your hand.

Her gnarled fingers traced your palms, her eyes closed and only the people walking around provided sound.

Lyonel watched as you waited for the woman to say something, he was surprised that you’d believe such nonsense.

The woman started to laugh and dug her nail into your palm.

You yanked your hand back with a wince, Lyonel ready to stab the woman with his dagger.

“I’ve seen your future girl..”

“A plague will befall House Targaryen and only few will remain, including yourself. The throne might pass through you, if your inevitable madness does not prevail.”

Her words started to cling to you and worry you, even though you couldn’t understand why.

“Kiss your brothers and hug them tight, for they do not have long—“

“Your uncle will become a kinslayer and the man beside you will have a hand in it.”

“Stop.” You spoke, your eyes beginning to water at her awful words.

Lyonel had a frown on his face as he did not like what she was insinuating nor did he like that she was upsetting you.

“Fuck off, witch.”

“That I may be, but I only speak the truth.” She teased.

“She will give her husband six babes, but he will have seven.” She added.

Lyonel grabbed your hand and pulled you away as he didn’t want her words to affect you and take root, but it was too late.

“Do not believe that madwoman, my love.” He whispered to you.

You wiped your eyes, an uneasy feeling in your stomach. 

“I don’t.”

You continued walking with Lyonel, your eyes watching all of the things around you.

He brought you to a building— purple, velvet drapes hanging at the door.

“This is where the fun begins.” He laughed.

When you walked into the building— you were met with the faint sound of music being played, but the biggest shock was people were nude and moaning.

You tugged at Lyonel’s hand.

“Lyonel! What are we—“

He grabbed a goblet of wine from the nude woman’s tray and handed it to you. “Drink up.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but he was serious. You started drinking the wine and saw two people having sex against the wall near you.

You had no business being in a whore house with Lyonel or in general. Being in there made you feel gross and made you wonder what Lyonel truly thought of you.

You handed the goblet to Lyonel as he dragged you to the end of the hall and stopped in front of the last room on the left.

He turned to you.

“I need you to be quiet, but I want you to peek through the curtains and tell me what you see.”

“What?” You questioned with mild annoyance.

“Just do it, my love.” He answered.

You leaned forward, sighing and closing one of your eyes to properly peek through the slit of the curtains.

You didn’t see anything at first, you just heard the moans of a man who was getting his cock sucked.

Then he moved his head and it was Lord Tyrell. Your eyes widened, but you weren’t surprised that he would do that. Of course he’d hold the views he does and then sleep with whores.

It wasn’t until you heard a voice, that you questioned your eyes and what you saw.

“I’m back, my rose.”

Lord Tyrell smiled with glee as the naked man approached him.

You gasped and Lyonel covered your mouth. 

“Shh.”

You watched as Lord Tyrell happily embraced the man with a deep kiss, before he started sucking the man’s cock. The woman sucking Lord Tyrell’s cock moved her head, but it was no woman— it was a man.

You felt as if your eyes were going to bulge out of your head.

Was this why he was so old with no wife and children? He was only into men? Is that why he said your marriage would be no love match?

You stormed out of the building in front of Lyonel, unable to understand what your eyes showed you.

“What the fuck?” You yelled.

“I needed you to see it with your own eyes.” Lyonel spoke, grabbing your hand.

“Does my father know?” You questioned.

Lyonel shrugged. “I doubt that they have heard the faint rumors that circled about him. They would never allow such a marriage to happen.”

You were more confused than ever and just needed time to process.

“I will be informing the king of such information and I’m sure they’ll send their spies to verify the rumor, before ending the betrothal.” Lyonel pointed out.

You held his hand and walked with him to your chambers in silence. You finally reached your door, hesitating to go in.

“I will see you tomorrow after I speak with the king.” 

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his lips before entering your room.

When you were in your room and fully alone, you sobbed into your hands. Your life had become one big jape and you seemed to be the only one who did not find it humorous.

You pulled off the peasant clothes and climbed into bed. It didn’t take long for you to drift off, the wine playing a major role.

The sun shined into your room, but there was quite a bit of commotion outside the keep and in the hallway.

Your door flung open, your father hurrying to your bed. He shook you, calling your name and trying to wake you.

You jumped awake, frightened from your father being there along with the kingsguard.

“No.. no.” You mumbled under your breath, you did not want to get in trouble again.

“Daughter, snap out of it!” Baelor spoke.

He covered you up when he realized you were only in your shift and had the guard turn their backs.

“Get dressed! We must go now!”

“Father? What is going on?” You stammered.

“The smallfolk have revolted, there was a riot in Fleabottom last night. We have had to shut the gates to the city.” Your father mentioned.

You were shocked, too stunned to speak.

Baelor looked at you as if he was going to regret what he told you.

“In the riot last night, people were injured—“

“Lord Tyrell is dead.” He admitted.

Your face dropped, “what?”

Baelor sighed, taking a moment before telling you the rest.

“Along with Leo, there were other nobles hurt. A few of the Tyrell and Baratheon bannermen were killed.. “

“We have not been able to find Lord Baratheon, yet.” He added.

His words had become hazy as your ears rung and your heart dropped.

You began to cry.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated.

Early in the year you learned your marriage prospects had been under discussion. Your fate was to be decided by a council of men twice or thrice your age. They would sell you to the highest bidder — of that you could be sure — and you'd spend the rest of your life locked up in some castle, made to squeeze out one babe after the other. You hated the idea as much as you despised your situation.

You were not married off young — a Targaryen princess, eldest daughter to Rhaegel forgotten about in the aftermath of the rebellion. Now the court considered you much too old for regular suitors — thought you a spinster at the bright age of three-and-twenty — so there was far too little acceptable options left for you. And so you found yourself beyond hopeless.

That was until you learned of your uncle's predicament — different, yet similar to your own. Baelor Breakspear was in need of a bride and he was free to wed the woman of his choosing. It was not an outrageous possibility — even though he was your kin, the man was kind and gallant. He had no need for multiple heirs as he had fathered two during his late marriage to the Lady Jena Dondarrion. And as you knew — he did not wish for the marriage himself, rather agreed upon the fate set on him by the men of the small council. So you had made your decision.

That night you ventured to his chambers at a late hour. After you knocked on his door the prince invited you in — he seemed slightly surprised by the sight of you. He was still working on some documents — signing them and considering what they entailed.

"Uncle, allow me to speak bluntly." you said then and he gave you a nod. "I know of your situation regarding marriage, as I assume you know of mine. I come to you with a proposal — let us marry. I find you a chivalrous man — a trait not possessed by many these days. I can only assume you'd expand that kindness to your lady wife. As to myself I can assure you I'd carry myself with the same dignity I have for years now. I would not embarass you, nor act foolishly. And I swear I would do my duty — both to you as your wife and to the realm as its future queen." you should've been nervous and yet it was as if you were discussing the weather. Your tone was steady, your back kept straight — a picture of a dignified Lady.

There was a moment of silence.

"My dear girl, I believe you do not know what you are asking for." Baelor carefully said, but it did not seem final. As if you put the image into his mind and he was considering it.

"I have not been married before, that is true. But I am a child no longer. Your own son has been wed for years now — he is my younger by a year. The question of my own marriage is to be decided without my say in it. I find you the most bearable of all my prospects, uncle. I do not wish to end up dead by childbirth in a few short years — my body no longer my own, but a vessel for bringing forth as many heirs as possible. I trust that would not become my fate by your side. I ask you for this union for I believe it could benefit us both. If you do not agree — I shall go back to my chambers and forget about ever coming here." you explained — staying true to your heart. You could not decipher his expression — was it a one of concurrence or a one of indignation? Only one thing was sure now — you held his attention fully.

"Very well then. Allow me this night to consider it, niece. I shall bring forth an answer on the morrow." he said after a moment of thought and with that — you had been dismissed.

The next day when you awoke there was already a small roll of parchment on your table — bearing the Lord Hand's seal. You cracked it open and read its contents. Baelor agreed to your proposal.

You were wed in two moons time.

It had been months since your marriage to the prince. You were content as his wife — he treated you with the utmost respect and kindness. Yet there was a part of your union that had not been planned — the feelings you harboured during all this time.

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when you knew yourself to have fallen for your husband. It happened gradually, you supposed.

Through all the feasts he was vigil at your side — assuring your comfort on top of fulfilling his duties as the Hand. He allowed you to stay near as he discussed the matters of the realm — rarely sending you away when various Lords requested his opinion.

Baelor also gave you your space — you could spend your days as you pleased. You obviously treated the duties of a Princess of Dragonstone with the utmost importance — engaging with Ladies of the proper standing, attending court as it was held, politely speaking to nobles and emissaries. But after all that — you could bury yourself in books or spend far too much time on horseback. You were grateful to your husband for that.

The both of you had fallen into a quiet routine. Every third night or so he would call for you to come to his chambers — a servant at your door would inform you of it and lead you to his as if you did not know the way.

You and Baelor then talked — at times for hours on end. He would confide in you — about the matters discussed by the small council, about documents he was supposed to sign, about the fear for his father's health as well as his worries for Valarr. He asked for your opinion on various things — taxes, your own ideas on laws to help the realm, certain Lords and Ladies alike. The both of you discussed volumes you had found in the library and their contents — even argued about that some nights. You liked those nights — and the fact that you would always revisit it to see who was right.

Yet it was all for the sake of keeping up appearances. Your lord husband had not laid a hand on you since your wedding night — even though you shared a bed. You were grateful for that too — at first. And then you became frustrated — so much so that the nights you spent alone would be filled with the moans of his name, your hand between your thighs bringing you to ecstasy. What you had no way of knowing was he spent the same nights in similar fashion — fucking into his own fist, muttering out your name as if it were a prayer.

You were blind to his longing glances and touches lingering a moment too long during dancing — just as he was blind to your clandestine smiles meant only for him and your subtle acts of seduction. The two of you truly were a perfect match.

And so when one night — after perhaps one too many cups of Dornish red — he brought you back to his own chambers you found yourself restless. Baelor helped you out with the lacing of your dress — as well as the one of your corset. He then turned his gaze away — closing his eyes as you let the fabric pool at your feet. You stepped out of it — now clad in only a sheer shift.

He waited until you were abed and under the covers to open his eyes again. Only then did he start undressing himself — pulling out his 'Hand of the King' pin from the fabric of his doublet and then taking it off. The prince did not notice your hungry gaze on his bare back. Once he was only in his breeches he slipped under the covers himself — just to find you already on your side, facing him.

"Thank you, husband. You have been beyond kind in all those months of our marriage. It has exceeded my expectations for which I am grateful. Even though I fear you shall never desire me in the way a man desires a woman, I am truly happy with our union. So again — thank you." you said, your voice serene and then leaned forward to place a whisper of a kiss upon his cheek. Before Baelor could fully register what had just happened — you were already turning onto your other side, your back now to him.

Your husband laid there, frozen in shock. His wife feared he would not desire her — a ridiculous notion. He had spent months yearning for you — too afraid he'd ruin the very thing he promised you upon agreeing to your marriage. Now with this newfound knowledge — there was only one thing he could do.

He came up closer to you back — his chest almost flush with it. And — to your utmost suprise — you felt your husband's fingers lifting your chemise to caress the outer side of your bare thigh. You sobered up instantly.

The touch was warm and gentle, felt almost cautious — as if your lord husband was wary not to startle you, yet you were all but afraid. Heat radiated through you, as if there was a fire raging beneath your skin — wild and uncontained. Your breath stilled but your body moved of its own accord, your legs spreading a little — a quiet invitation.

You heard a sharp intake of breath which was followed by a more firm grip on your thigh. Baelor's calloused — from years upon years of wielding a sword — fingers were traveling across your skin, getting closer to the inside of your thigh. Once they reached it you let out a quiet sigh and so did he. You wanted to say something, to ask something — so did he — and yet the both of you remained quiet if not for the small gasps and shaky breaths. The game was on — who would be the one to speak out first?

You couldn't see his face and yet you could swear there was a grin upon his lips when he reached in between your legs. At first his hand teasingly cupped your already soaked, bare sex — the signets and various rings cold against your heat — at which your hips bucked into his touch. His fingers spread your folds, coating themselves in your wetness — tender was the way your prince touched you — and pulling a moan out of your lips. They circled the small bundle of nerves — the one that had your vision blurring — putting enough pressure on it to have you cry out, your hand clawing at Baelor's strong arm just to ground yourself. He placed a gentle kiss upon your shoulder, the course hair of his beard scratching your skin a little.

The movements of his hand countinued eliciting soft gasps from you and there was a slowly growing pressure in your abdomen — not yet ready to erupt, but undeniably there. And then his fingers left your clit, creeping down towards your dripping enterance — just to tease you by not entering. You whimpered, your nails digging into his arm to rush him — he just kissed your shoulder again. The torture seemed to never end — with Baelor constantly not giving into your cravings, just going around them — and it was maddening.

Finally, he pushed one of his fingers into you and your back arched — your inner walls fluttering at the intrusion and your grip on his arm tightening. Just as could be expected — the finger was bigger than your own ones and it was clad in jewlery. He started pumping it in and out of your pussy, ever so slowly. The palm of his hand was rubbing on your clit with each thrust, the delicious friction making you writhe in his grasp. And then he added a second finger — you moaned, loudly enough to startle yourself.

You remembered him opening you up with his fingers on your wedding night but it was nothing like this — not as exquisite, definitely not causing you to loose yourself in the sensations. It's not to say your wedding night was terrible — of which you had been previously afraid of. It was fairly painless and the prince was kind — so you've been granted more than most women — but your body didn't react to him like this back then.

You also couldn't compare your own taking care of your needs to your current situation. When you were alone it felt good — good to touch yourself right where you wanted it. Your husband's touch however felt different — his palms wider than your own, his fingers longer and a bit rougher — as he teased you, not giving into your desires right away.

Now though you felt the pressure growing in your abdomen with each move of his wrist. Baelor still didn't speak a word — just ground his hips into your backside, revealing he was hard as a rock. You trembled. And then his fingers curled upwards and brushed across a spongy spot inside you — your back arched, ass pressing right onto his cock and a sob fell from your parted mouth. You felt your husband smile upon the skin of your bare shoulder.

He stroked his fingers inside your pussy at the same exact angle as a moment before. You felt yourself closer to your undoing, your legs trembled and lewd noises filled your shared chambers — your moans as well as the wet squelching sounds coming from between your legs. Your thighs clad around his broad wrist like a vice, doing their best to slow the onslaught of pleasure that was urging you toward your peak. But you knew you didn't want it to stop — needed him to keep going.

And it didn't slow him down — with force he pushed his thick digits inside you again and again, bullying them into your pussy. You were constantly grabbing at his muscled arm, your lips parted to let out moans and whimpers alike, your brow furrowed.

Baelor loved it — loved the way you were arching into him, loved the way your cunt clamped down on his middle and ring finger, loved the noises so unbecoming of a proper lady. But in here you did not need to care for propriety — not in front of him, not in your marital bed. He wanted you just as you were — not the carefully crafted version presented to the court.

"Just like that, my sweet girl. You're taking my fingers so well. So good for me. Come around them, will you?" your husband's whispered words came off almost breathless. He did not care for stupid games any longer — needed you to know how well you were doing.

Suddenly, the tight coil in your lower abdomen snapped. Your body went taut, all muscles straining with exertion — thighs quaking, eyes shut, mouth agape and a sinful cry spilling from it. His fingers continued pumping into you, fucking you through the waves of your release. You squirmed in his grasp, your body seemingly unable to take on even a second more of stimulation.

"Baelor!" you gasped, your nails digging into his forearm — hard enough to leave marks — to try and pull his hand away from your abused cunt. He let you — withdrawing his hand from betwen your thighs — but not before cupping your whole sex in his palm at which you shuddered.

Before you could fully catch your breath you felt his strong hold on your hips — flipping your trembling body so you'd face him. And the sight before you? It was magnificent. His pupils were blown wide, making his eyes almost match in colour — and they were set on you. You knew his passing glances in court, secret looks shot your way during feasts — but not this. Now there was something else in the way he looked at you. Yes, it was with care — as he has always done — but there was something deeper, more unrestrained. You did not dare name it for him — and yet the same thing shone in your own eyes.

You wouldn’t wait a moment longer — felt as if you physically couldn't. Your lips reached his with a feverishness you didn't know yourself to possess. The prince wasn't indifferent either — he matched your fire with his own, his kisses scorchingly hot. You were both trying to claim each other — as if a simple moment was not enough. As if you needed to be melted together for eternity.

You let your lips part, an invitation for his tounge. Baelor took it with a frenzy of a man starved. There was nothing soft, nor mellow in the way your mouth chased his. Desperate — a description of the both of you — yet still human. Still needing to part for breath.

"I love you, Baelor. I have for months now. I know our match was not one made of love, but despite my best efforts I can't stay oblivious to the obvious. I wouldn’t have dreamed of disturbing you with this if not for what has just transpired — but now I have a shadow of hope you might share my torment of wanting the forbidden. If you do not bear the same passions tell me so at once, I beg of you, and I shall never speak of them again." the words flew out of your mouth before you could think them through. They were breathless and longing, a palpable proof of your dishevelled state. And yet when you finally found the courage to fully look him in the eye — his gaze was already on you.

"Oh my dear wife, don't you dare suggest I have been alien to what you're speaking of. Do you think my heart to be made of stone? I have tried to practice restraint, tried to give you the union we have agreed upon. Yet it is all to no avail. Every night we are parted I dream of you, every feast I search for your presence as if for salvation. I have loved you for a long time now and by your confession you have saved me from my anguish, ñuha jorrāeliarzy." he whispered fervently, his palm moving to cup your cheek had you leaning into it. There was a soft smile on his face and now you could place the emotion in his eyes — it was love. It felt as though you could take a breath after being underwater for a very long time.

"Ñuha valzyyrys." you breathed, all eloquent thought escaping your mind — leaving only these two words. You were overflown with emotion — so much so that a single tear rolled down your cheek. His thumb caught it — wiping at your skin.

"I have been a fool for not acting on my desires right until tonight. Allow me to make it up to you now, sweet girl." the prince pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a promise. You nodded, not saying anything — too scared your voice would crack.

There was a caring smile on his lips as he rolled you onto your back and climbed over you — propping himself up on his elbows as not to crush you under his weight. He settled between your thighs and they wrapped around his waist on instinct. Your chemise was now pooled around your waist — a result of your previous endevours — leaving your drenched sex completly bare against the fabric of his breeches.

He could feel your arousal dampening the material as he ground his hips into yours — which earned him your shudder and a mewl. The pressure of his hard cock on you – so close and yet not close enough — was exquisite. Baelor lowered his face into the crook of your neck with a heavy sigh.

"Are you sure you want this, ñuha riña?" he then asked, his voice muffled due to kisses he was pressing into your skin. Instead of an answer all he got was your hand in his hair, fingers pulling him forcefully up and toward your own face — just so you could kiss him as he groaned.

"Your wish is my command, wife." he chuckled softly. You had to admit you rather liked the sound — so much so your hips bucked up to meet his, eliciting a low gasp from him and a whimper from your own self. Your hands trailed down to his breeches.

"May I, husband?" your fingers hesitated at the laces — waiting for his consent. It came in a form of a thrust into your waiting palm. You did not say anything as you pulled at the strings and they came undone — nor as you tugged them down, freeing his cock and letting it rest on your abdomen. Only kissed him deeply, claiming him as yours.

It was perfect — the way you fit together. Your mouths molded together, your bodies working in a harmonious tandem. Your legs parted perfectly around his hips, as if he was meant to be between them. His strong muscled arms bracketed your head — letting you forget there was a world outside of your marital bed. And yet it was not enough, you realised there was a constant ache deep in you. A need only he could cure.

"Baelor, I need you, please I-" he cut you off, his lips closing in on yours — you melted into the kiss, your thoughts drifting away. Upon parting you noticed his hand was sneaking between you, reaching his length.

Even though you were quite inexperienced — with no lovers previous to marriage — you knew your husband to be well endowed. He was thick and there were visible veins around his shaft — as well as a certain heaviness to it. His tip was now glistening, a pearly bead of fluid adorning it. You shuddered at the thought of him inside you, even though you knew yourself to be able to take him — had done so once already. A fact you were truly marvelled at now.

"You want me inside you, sweet girl? Is that what you're begging for so prettily? I didn't know my wife to be so desperate for her husband's cock. I have to remedy that, don't I?" the prince teased and you nearly cried out for him — but before you could do that you felt him at your enterance. He wasn’t pushing in yet, just coating himself in your arousal. Your breath caught and your hands flew to his broad shoulders — to hold on to him.

"Gevie." he sighed, his head resting in the crook of your neck.

And then Baelor started — ever so slowly — pushing his tip in. You whimpered, your nails digging into his skin, your thighs wrapping around him tighter. His own body trembled — with restraint and pleasure alike — and he let out a deep groan. It was torturous — the shallow thrusts that were gradually spearing your insides open. The pressure that came with it was not completly foreign but long past being familiar.

"A tight little thing, aren't you? Squeezing me within an inch of my life. We've only just begun, dear wife." his muffled chuckle sounded out against your skin. It was followed by another roll of his hips at which you gasped. And another. And another. You could've sworn you were whimpering — but it all seemed so distant now. It was as if you were no longer inside your own body.

"So good for me. You're doing so good. That sweet cunt was made for my cock, stretching around me so well." you heard him say, the praise falling off his tounge easily. Your inner walls clenched around him at that and you felt him smile. Wetness dripped out of you, coating him and the linens under you — which allowed his thrusts to reach deeper.

You felt full — incredibly so. And yet when you looked down the planes of your body, between the two of you — you saw there was still about an inch to go. The sound that escaped you was one of pleasure and exasperation both. He only grinned into your skin upon hearing it. And then he pushed in right to the hilt.

Your back arched off the bed, your breasts brushing against his chest. The moan you let out was undoubtedly sinful — he answered it with one of his own. Baelor stilled as your nails scraped down his back and your thighs clamped around him like a vice. He waited for a moment and then two — letting you adjust to the fullness.

Your breath was shallow and you had to will yourself into taking a full one. You kissed him — deep and thorough, your tounge exploring his mouth to distract yourself. All through the kiss he did not move an inch — even though the gods knew how much he desired to do so.

Eventually — your breathing calmed, your nails were no longer digging into his skin and the fullness started feeling almost natural. It had you craving more so you bucked your hips — what in turn got you his hiss.

"You want me to fuck you? Is that so? A word would've sufficed, love." his words reached your ears, low and full of lust. You trembled.

And then your husband withdrew himself from your heat — just to slam back into you, causing you to cry out his name. He repeated the motion — set a punishing rhythm to it. You felt as if he was bringing you to the edge of madness — your sanity dangling on a very thin thread.

Your body was already sensitive — still feeling the aftermath of your first peak. Your pussy was clenching down with the onslaught of sensations — which caused him to put more force into his thrusts. He was merciless in bringing you to your pinnacle, your dear husband.

Baelor reached down with one hand. It landed on your thigh, the flesh of it plump and meaty. He hiked it up — bending it and pushing it toward your chest. The next slam of his hips into yours had you crying out, holding onto him for dear life. The change of angle made his cock rub against the tender spot inside you — the one that made your vision blur and your back arch.

"I wish you could see yourself, love. Maybe I should fuck you in front of a mirror next? You are truly exquisite, especially now. A real beauty, taking my cock so well. I'm so proud of you, my sweet girl." your husband's words would make you blush — if not for the fact he had seemingly fucked the ability of recognition right out of your mind.

You were not used to him using such language. He was usually perfectly composed, your prince. The perfect heir, even better Lord Hand. He was a composed man, a distinguished one. Who could have known he'd be whispering such profanities right into his wife's ear?

He rolled his hips forward — again and again. Baelor earned himself your nails, lodged into his skin once more. He'd surely bear marks on the morrow — red, crescent shapes. He was glad — wanted to carry a physical memory of you with him. It would ease the burden of his duties — let him tap back into the moment when he had you in his arms.

And while your husband was already thinking of all possible ways to have you screaming his name tonight — your thoughts were gone. They left only the sensation of him fucking you in their wake. Your brain had been certainly liquified because of that by now. And to add to it all — you couldn't trust yourself to say anything. Your voice would probably break, only sounds leaving you would be moans and cries.

With each trust now — came a whimper from your lips. You could feel the familiar pressure settling low in your abdomen. It had your pussy greedily clamping down on his length — as if it wanted to keep him inside. You knew you wouldn’t last long like this — knew he'd bring you over the egde soon enough. You wanted however to hold out for a moment longer.

Your effort would prove to be in vain.

"My pretty, little wife. You don't even know how much I wanted you through all those months. How much will I have put into not allowing myself to touch you. Every time I saw you in your nightgowns I had to restrain myself. Now I wonder if you were trying to tempt me, test my patience with all those sheer shifts. But worry not, we will make up for all the time lost. The night is long, my girl." Bealor said, his own deep voice faltering as the walls of your cunt fluttered around him. Yet he kept going. Kept bullying his cock in and out of you, leaving you shaking and sobbing in his grasp.

His rhythm was steady — even though it was brutal. And that was probably what had sent you tumbling off the edge, your climax hitting you like a brick to the head. You cried out, your fingers tightened your grip on him — pulling a hiss out of his lips because you dug your nails so deep into his skin. Your peak had your body trembling, your pussy squeezing him hard enough to make his hips falter.

To his credit — the prince kept fucking you through your release. He didn't stop when you were almost unbearably thight around him. Nor when he felt your nails tear the barrier of his skin drawing blood. He just kept muttering praises you were too fucked out to hear — guiding you through the waves of pleasure. Letting the drawn out feeling slowly subside.

And as you realised — he has not reached his own peak yet. So he kept pushing into you — into your sensitive cunt.

"Baelor I- I don't know if I can-" you tried to say, your voice unsteady and hoarse. He delivered a particularly hard thrust at that — making you whine.

"You will. You will be a good girl for me and let me fill you up. You will lay there and take all I give you, my love." he said. The command in his voice had you nodding — agreeing to please him. To make him proud of you.

And so he continued pounding into your wet heat. He loved the feel of you, all trembling and mewling under his touch. Loved the way your back arched and the way your brow creased in ecstasy. It all had him close — teetering just right on the edge of what he was desperate to reach. So his hand sneaked between your bodies — allowing his thumb to cirlce the small, tender bead near the top of your sex.

The action had you sobbing and your pussy clenching down. You were already overstimulated and the added touch was almost painful. You were sure you could be heard by every servant and courtier in the Keep alike — you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Baelor's rhythm staggered. As it turned out all he needed was to feel your muscles spasm on his throbbing cock. He buried himself right to the hilt with a guttural moan — earning him yet another cry from your lips. And he allowed his release to overtake him, spilling his seed deep into you — stuffing you full of it. His strong shoulders shaked and one of his hands grabbed at the pillows — grounding himself through his pleasure.

And then your battle hardened husband collapsed — as if struck down. His weight was comforting — even if only for a moment. For before you could fully embrace him, he was already rolling you both to the side. It allowed you to stay in his arms as his cock stayed lodged in you. You sighed — a quiet, content sound.

The prince leaned back to look at your face — at your shut eyes and features slowly softening.

"You did well, sweet girl. Took me so good. I'm glad to have such a wife." he said before pressing a kiss to your forehead. You melted at his words.

When the both of you settled into a comfortable position you started gradually drifting off to sleep. That's when you felt him move. He carefully withdrew himself out of you — ever so delicate. Yet you still whimpered, still needed to hold onto him. He could only offer you an apologetic kiss.

You winced at the empty feeling — felt his seed start dripping out. It was strange — how easily you got used to him streching you out and how wrong it felt when he wasn’t doing so. Especially considering how a very short time ago you were falling apart trying to take all of his cock.

The chamber was quiet if not for your steady breaths — until you heard the unmistakable rustling of sheets and felt the sudden lack of a husband at your side. Your eyes flew open, searching for his figure in the dark room. You found him going towards a basin filled with water, a cloth in hand. Upon reaching the bowl he dipped the fabric into it. Your gaze followed his movements, trailing the expanse of his bare form. A strong, muscled back. Broad shoulders, relaxed now — as if an invisible weight had been taken off them. And a whole litter of already paled scars.

You wanted to kiss each and every one of them.

He came back to bed with the damp material and sat beside you — then leaned down to place a soft kiss upon your lips, one you returned. You felt his palm on your thigh, spreading your legs and reaching for your sex. Felt him gently run the cloth along your folds — collecting all the fluids. Even though he did it with the utmost care — an involuntary shudder ran through your body.

He kissed you again. It was all delicate, loving — tender. You wanted him close — as much as it was possible. So you pulled him down onto the matress at which he let out a hearty laugh — but allowed it nonetheless. As soon as he was at your level Baelor tugged you to his chest — wrapping his arms around you, his fingers slowly playing with your hair.

"Rest for now, sweet girl. I'm not done with you yet." he murmured and you said a quick prayer in your mind — asking the Gods to grant you strength.

You did as the prince told you to though — sleep creeping up on you easily in his embrace. The last thing you registered was him pulling up the linens to cover you both up and his hand stroking your hair.

You barely slept that night. Baelor's hunger for you disallowed you from rest — he claimed you in so many different ways it would've made even a whore blush.

On the morrow he simply dressed and with a kiss to your forehead, departed for his everyday duties — ever the proper heir. You stayed abed the whole day — feining indisposal.

The cold morning breeze had come in hard— blowing things around, rattling the flaps to the tents, howling occasionally. The sky was an angry hue, a deep grey with streaks of blue.

Lyonel’s bannermen were still scattered about, sleeping anywhere that they could. Some were on the tables, some in the grass, and some were just planted in the mud like they belonged there.

Lyonel woke up in the tent, still in his chair. He’d indulged himself with too much ale the night before, his eyes were sensitive and his head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton.

Despite that feeling, you were on his mind. Flashes of the prior night and how beautiful he thought you were, his sweet doe.

The wind howled outside and the sound still couldn’t wake the men and women from their stupors.

Lyonel slowly stood up from his chair, the palm of his hand against his head as the pain radiated through it.

“It is time for everyone to get up. I know that you might not want to, but you have to.” He spoke.

No one in the room moved even slightly at his words.

He looked around and grabbed two of the metal trays from the table, he started banging them together as hard as possible. People slowly started to wake, looking around in confusion.

“Come on, everyone get up!” He shouted.

He threw the trays down as people got up and began moving around the tent, most leaving the tent.

His feast was extravagant as usual, but even better because you were there. You’d made him happier than any woman for the night could’ve. He remembered your intimacy and how you tasted like something exquisite, a taste that he wanted more of on his tongue.

The tents and areas around them were in a state of disarray, giving the staff a bigger job than they had bargained for.

Lyonel peeked his head out of the tent and thanked the gods that there was no sunlight to blind him. He had a bath prepared for him in his chambers, but it took him a while to get to it. His body ached and he needed to take it slow, at least until he could soak for a bit. His bath water was scalding just like he wanted it, he sank into it and immediately felt a sense of relief.

The steam rolled off his body as he sat in the tub and relaxed with a towel over his eyes. He was in the tub until the water had begun to cool. With the bath and some water, he felt a bit better— at least his muscles did not ache as badly as before.

He left his chambers and had decided to pick some flowers for you as that was the least that he could do. He planned to surprise you with more gifts as your wedding approached, he wanted to spoil you and make you feel loved.

On his way outside, he noticed that he was getting quite a few stares with people whispering. The whispers weren’t loud enough for him to understand, but he figured something must’ve been amiss.

It wasn’t until he overheard two of his bannermen mentioning your name that he had to ask.

He approached them with a curious smile.

“Gentlemen, may I ask what you are talking about?”

The men turned pale, white like a sheet. “Uh, nothing.. we’re not talking about anything, Lord Baratheon.” One of the men spoke.

“We just mentioned the weather is all.” The other added.

Lyonel pretended to understand and accept their answer, he placed one hand on each of the men’s shoulders.

“Ah, the weather—“

“I’m not sure how my soon to be wife’s name fits into a conversation about the weather. So, do enlighten me on what you were saying.”

They both glanced at each other, neither one of them willing to speak first.

Lyonel’s grip on their shoulders tightened and he gritted his teeth.

“My patience is thinning, so answer quickly.”

One of the men caved, wincing under the pressure from his grip.

“Ah! okay, okay.”

Lyonel removed his hands, a fake smile on his face.

“Your woman.. I mean your betrothed got in a bit of trouble.”

Lyonel’s brow raised in confusion, “trouble?”

The man nodded, scared to continue speaking.

“Aye, m’lord. To my understanding, her grandfather found out that she was at the feast last night and she was not supposed to be.. he did not take kindly to that information and gave her a punishment.”

Lyonel’s face dropped, his heartbeat quickening with worry.

“What?”

“Aye. The staff said that they could hear her screams, the guards carried her back to her chambers and she was limp.” The other man added.

Lyonel’s heart dropped and he raced to Baelor’s solar. He never wanted to get you in trouble and regardless of anything, you should not have been punished.

When Lyonel got to Baelor’s solar, he knocked and had to take a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“You may come in.” A voice spoke.

Lyonel walked in and shut the door behind him.

Baelor’s solar smelled of honey and lemons, everything was tidied and in the right place. His fireplace was lit with a raging fire, providing intense heat in the room.

Baelor continued to look at the scrolls on his desk and did not bother to look at Lyonel. “What can I do for you, m’lord?” 

“What did you do?” Lyonel asked.

Baelor dipped his quill in ink, “I’m not sure that I understand your question.”

“What did you do to her?” Lyonel asked again, his question coming out more agitated.

“I did not do anything to her.” Baelor responded.

“You punished my wife! You had no position to do that.” Lyonel fumed.

Baelor put down his quill and looked at Lyonel, his mismatched eyes scanning his face.

“You forget yourself, Lord Baratheon. She is my daughter and she is not your wife yet. Shall you decide to continue in this manner, arrangements to change that can be made.”

Baelor’s words did more harm than good, because Lyonel was in no mood for his feeble threat. His brows were furrowed and he bit his tongue, trying to stay respectful.

“My daughter had forgotten herself and her station, which her grandfather found it necessary to remind her.”

Lyonel rubbed his face, his palms sweaty and a laugh of disbelief leaving his throat.

“You are a sick, sick fucking man. She thinks the world of you and you let some weak knight harm her.” 

Baelor sat back in his chair, giving Lyonel little to no reaction as if he didn’t care.

“Lord Baratheon, if it weren’t for you enabling such troubling behavior we would not be here— now would we?”

“You storm in here under the false guise of being upset, when you put her in this position. You knew that she was not allowed to be there, but you encouraged it, yes?”

“You might as well have delivered the punishment yourself.” Baelor spoke.

“Do you aim to break her spirit? The same very spirit that you said reminded you of your late wife.” Lyonel questioned.

Baelor’s eyes flicked over to him, almost as if they could bulge out of his head.

“Careful now, Lord Baratheon. I’d hate for you to lose that bold tongue of yours.”

Lyonel scoffed, his blood boiling.

“She deserves much better than what you offer. You are a fraud, no different than any of the Targaryen princes before you.”

Baelor stood up in front of his chair, his patience completely gone.

“You put her in a position where other people could question her honor, the princess! My daughter!” Baelor yelled.

“Do not pretend to be mighty with me, Lord Baratheon. If you do it again, you both can suffer the same punishment together—“

“Make yourself scarce and maybe I’ll be able to forget your lack of respect and that this conversation happened. You are dismissed.” Baelor reiterated.

Lyonel stormed out of there and was more pissed off than when he went in. He did not like that they punished you, but as Baelor pointed out— he played a big role in you needing a punishment. He didn’t know how he’d be able to face you again, especially after failing you this way.

You laid in your bed, almost too weak to even lift your head up. Despite only having your feet whipped, the pain had traveled up your body. You felt as if you had been trampled.

You were ashamed, you knew better and you did it anyway. Your father had warned you and you did not take him seriously.

The fire in your fireplace had begun to give out, the embers slowly fading out. Your room was dark and you needed to relight the fire.

You raised your head, a wince leaving your throat. It felt impossible and you felt helpless. With your upper body strength and plenty of groans, you were able to pull yourself up.

Your feet dangled on the edge of the bed, your bandages covered in dried and fresh blood. 

You took a deep breath and put your feet on the ground. Even the soft thud of your bandages touching the stone made you feel like you were seeing stars.

You were going to try regardless, you had to. You stood up and instantly tears rolled down your cheeks. The pain was so intense, it was something from your worst nightmare.

You tried to walk and fell to the ground, landing face forward on the stone. 

There was no strength left in you to try pulling yourself up. All you could do is lay there and sob, your tears wetting the stone.

It was times of sadness and despair like this that made you miss your mother. She was your favorite person in the world, the one that taught you everything that you knew. You were hurt and you needed her so badly. You even called out to her as you cried, hoping she’d open your door and rush over to check on you.

You laid there helplessly, crying on the floor for an hour before the Septa’s came in to help you and bring your breakfast.

“God’s be good, girl. Are you okay?” Septa Mordane asked, rushing over to you.

Septa Mordane and Septa Edyth had been sent to see you through this and look after you. The last thing your grandfather needed was for you to die from an infection or worse, kill yourself.

They had to drag you to the tub and help you get dressed, because you had no strength. It was like being a child all over again.

Your bath water had to be changed immediately, because as soon as you put one foot in the tub— you sobbed in pain and your feet began to bleed due to the hot water.

As you sat in the tub, your mind completely elsewhere— Septa Edyth helped bathe you.

She brushed your wet hair as you sat there lost in thought.

“You need to eat something.”

You blinked slowly, your eyes watering again. “I’m not hungry.”

She made sure to ring your hair out, so it wouldn’t drip everywhere.

“Do not be difficult. You will need all the strength that you can get and food will help that.”

They helped you out of the tub and got you a different nightgown to put on as your last one was covered in blood at the hem.

Once you were dressed, the Maester was brought in to change your bandages. He applied a paste to your feet and gently put on new bandages.

“Will I be able to walk again?” You spoke, your voice wavering.

He nodded. “Yes, Princess. It will just take time, healing the feet is no easy task.”

Before he left, he gave you milk of the poppy and said that he’d be back in a few hours to give you more. The Septa’s helped you onto the bed, the sheets were fresh and the pillows had been fluffed.

The only way that you could sleep now is on your stomach and even that  was very uncomfortable.

Everyone left out of your room, leaving you to rest. This feeling was like a crushing weight on your chest, it was suffocating. You had never felt more alone and sad in your entire life.

Your eyes got heavy as the milk of the poppy worked its way into your system. It did not take long for you to drift off.

Lyonel's fury was unheard of, he could cut the head off of your grandfather with how angered he was. You just wanted to have harmless fun with the man that you were marrying, the man who had begun to fall for you.

He found your fathers lack of reaction to your grandfather’s order cowardly, but he unfortunately understands that whether your father agreed or not— it would have happened. 

His mind wondered about what the punishment was as no one would say, they just only knew that you were punished. As he paced his chambers, he was fearful for you and what dark corners of your mind that this would take you.

What if you no longer smiled the way that you did before? What if you became a meek shell? Or worse, what if you hated him?

He had just gotten you and gotten close with you, he could not lose you.

His mind raced, his hands shook, and he couldn’t sit still. He was just ready to marry you and return home to Storms End. There he could live out his life in peace with his lovely wife and maybe a few babes to keep the two of you busy.

The hours had gone by and it was time for supper, you had slept most of the day and could continue to sleep it away. Your hair fell in front of your face as you laid there, draping it like a sheet. 

The door to your chambers had opened and shut so faintly, you almost thought that it had not happened. The smell of food traveled through the air in your room, almost making you nauseous as you were not hungry at all. 

There was a weight that sat on the edge of the bed beside you, you felt the bed dip down underneath them.

“Daughter.” A voice spoke.

Your heart stopped in your chest, almost bringing you to tears.

“I’m sorry..” You mumbled, the only words that you could get out of your mouth before you began to cry.

The guilt of hearing your apology and your voice crack, made his heart ache — it was like a scream stuck in his throat.

He rubbed your head as you began to cry as his own eyes watered as well. 

“Do not cry, sweet girl. I do not need an apology from you as you have not done anything wrong—“

“I did not wish that punishment for you, but my wants rarely matter when the king orders something.” 

Even when you were in trouble, he was always soft with you. His little girl could never do any harm. You were not angry with him, but upset at yourself— that you put him in such a position. You could not blame anyone but yourself, as you should’ve never left your chambers to even peek outside of the gates.

Baelor stood up from the bed and placed a kiss on your head.

“I will be back to check on you.”

You were so overwhelmed with every feeling possible, it was just too much. You like Lyonel— his pretty smile, curly hair, lewd jokes, and insanely loud laugh. It’s just if he has helped get you into this position now, what position would you be in later?

There was a knock at the door, Septa Edyth and Septa Mordane walked in. They were there to repeat the same tasks as they did earlier— helping get you out of the bed, into the tub, and now dressed for bed.

You sat in the tub and began to silently weep, Septa Edyth glancing at you as she changed your bloody sheets again.

“Princess, I hope that this serves as a reminder that unruliness is not tolerated. There have been rumors about you losing your maiden hood to that man, unsavory rumors that taint your image.” She spoke.

You sat in the warm and slightly bloodied water, your vision blurry from tears.

“I did not bed him, but I should’ve considering what it has cost me.”

Septa Mordane’s head turned fast, her stare unforgiving.

“You will watch your mouth, young lady!”

You scoffed, completely drained. “A lie taints my image and makes me look bad, but no one bats an eye at members of the kingsguard dragging me as I’m unconscious with bloodied feet to my room. I get my feet whipped for a rumor.”

Septa Mordane lights the candles on the mantle.

“You are unwed and a princess, you are to remain a maiden until marriage.”

“I did! I didn’t have sex with Lyonel, yet I was punished like I was a harlot—“

“Answer this Septa Mordane, had I lost my maiden hood that night to Lyonel— were you going to whip his feet as well?”

The room was silent, Septa Edyth picking up your sheets but also wondering what the answer would be.

“As I figured.” You mumbled.

A few minutes later, she helped you out of the tub and gave you your nightgown to put on. While you waited for the maester to come and dress your feet, she braided your hair.

“No one wants to see you punished, but you must learn that there are certain things that you cannot do.”

You didn’t say anything, you just wanted to get to bed. The maester applied more paste to your feet, the stinging feeling not getting any easier. He bandaged them up and left swiftly afterwards.

Before you sent Sept Mordane out, you had her help prop you up in the bed so that you could read.

You wanted to read, hoping that you could find a slither of joy in something as you are confined to your room and cannot walk. Even then, you struggled to concentrate as your feet throbbed. You were not able to have any milk of the poppy, because you did not eat dinner.

Despite that, you managed to get through a decent sized portion of the book— even though you had to do quite a bit of rereading.

You put your book beside you and lowered yourself back onto the pillow with instant regret. Being on your back was the worst position in terms of comfortability.

There was a knock at the door, you figured it was the Maester coming to see if you had eaten to receive some milk of the poppy. Instead, it was Lyonel.

He shut the door behind him, standing there as if he was fearful.

“Get out.” You mumbled.

He walked closer to you, his eyes finally landing on your bandaged feet— blood starting to seep through again.

His heart shattered in his chest, a look of horror coming onto his face.

“God’s.. what did they do to you, my love?” He whispered in shock.

You looked everywhere but at him, you just could not find it in your heart to face him.

“I heard about what happened this morning.. I had no clue.” He admitted.

You began to cry, even though you did not want to.

“Lyonel, please go.” You spoke, your voice cracking.

He looked at you, a frown on his face. “I do not want you to be alone during this.”

You scoffed, wiping your bitter tears.

“You have done enough. I do not need you here.”

Your words hit him hard, he wasn’t sure what he expected— but you were cold. You did not smile at him, or entertain his company. You were cold, sad, and drained.

“I did not know that they would do this.” He reiterated.

You began to laugh. Not laughter from amusement, but because you were exhausted.

“I guess Orinna did not take kindly to my behavior. I heard the Septa’s mentioning it before they walked to the door.”

His brows furrowed with a look of confusion on his face.

“What?”

“Orinna thought it necessary to tell my grandfather—“

“Your whore was mad that she could not bed you.” You elaborated.

“She.. she would not do that.” Lyonel replied.

You wiped your tears.

“Are you serious?—“

“I got my feet whipped because she told him, yet you sit here and defend her?”

“No, no. I am not defending her, I am just shocked.” He protested.

“That’s quite alright, Lord Baratheon. You can go back to her and just stay away from me.” You noted.

He walked closer to the bed, but he stopped in his tracks.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else—“

“That night was one of the best nights of my life. You are all that I want, I could never move on knowing that I had you in grasp.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Please, just go.” 

Lyonel started to feel sick at the stomach, losing you is not what he wanted to happen.

“I did not mean for this to happen. I would never—“

“It happened, Lyonel! Do you not get it? I disobeyed my father and I got punished for it. I got dragged to the dungeons and had my feet whipped.. for what felt like an eternity.” You choked out.

“You were not there, you did not help me.. I was alone in the punishment as I am alone now.”

He wiped his face with a sigh escaping his throat.

“That’s not fair and you know it’s not.”

You shrugged, your face wet from tears. “Perhaps not, but neither was this.”

“I understand you’re upset and hurt, but my love— I don’t think distance is what you need.” He uttered, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I cannot look at you! I should’ve never gone to the feast.. I shouldn’t have let you touch me. It was all a mistake.” You blurted.

The look of hurt on his face was noticeable.

“I am sorry. I am, I did not know that this would happen or I would’ve just simply left the tent and sat in the gardens with you—“

“I would never put you in harm's way or hurt you, you are far too precious to me… I do not regret a single second with you, even if you’ve now come to regret our time.” He confessed.

His words lingered in the air as you looked towards your window. The door opened and shut softly as he left your room.

Lyonel walked outside and mounted his horse. Your words truly broke his heart as he never meant to hurt you. He understood your feelings, but he prayed that you’d change your mind and come around. The thought of losing you and anything that he could have with you would ruin him.

Lyonel rode his horse past the gates towards one of the nearby inns.

The moonlight lit his path as the night was quiet and peaceful. When he got to the inn, there were some people lingering outside and the sound of laughter coming from inside.

“Lord Baratheon, nice to see you!” The drunk man smiled.

Lyonel walked past the man and made his way inside.

A few cheers and words came from some of the people inside, “Lord Baratheon is here to drink with us!”

He shook his head, “actually I’m here to find someone.”

“Who m’lord?” The man asked, sipping his ale.

“Is Orinna here tonight?” He questioned.

The man nodded and pointed. “Yes, she’s over there.”

He looked over and saw Orinna sitting at a table, her gaze meeting his.

Lyonel walked outside, which got her to get up from the table and follow him. 

He stood on the side of the building, the faint wind breeze moving the leaves on the tree overhead.

She smiled as she approached Lyonel.

“My stag, what are you doing here?” She asked.

Lyonel did not smile back or give much of a reaction. It was clear that he was angry.

She rubbed her hands on his chest against her cloak, going in for a kiss but he moved his head.

He grabbed her wrist, squeezing it tightly.

“Ow, Lyonel! You’re hurting me.”

“Tell me, why would you go to King Daeron?” He questioned sternly.

She furrowed her brows, tugging her wrist. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He gritted his teeth, leaning in closer to her face.

“Don’t play the fool with me, woman. I am in no mood.”

She stared into his eyes and seriousness on his face.

“She was an arrogant twat. She did not engage with the rest of us, like she was better than us—“

“She sat in your lap like she was yours.” She confessed.

“She is mine!” He corrected her.

“What about me, Lyonel? What about us—“

Lyonel scoffed on the verge of a laugh. “Us? Orinna there was never an us. One lazy lay moons ago, that was all.”

Her eyes watered and her lip quivered.

“That’s not true.”

He nodded his head in annoyance. “It is—“

“I do not want you anywhere near her or me again. If I catch you near us, I will bring you to her so that she can cut out your tongue!” He spat, dropping her wrist.

He walked away and was irate.

“What does she have that I don’t?” She cried.

“A heart.” He replied as he mounted his horse

Lyonel kept to his word and left you alone, he did not want to invade your boundaries. While you spent your time in your chambers recovering, he had a cane made for you. He wanted you to have something special and something sturdy to help you, when you did start walking again.

You laid in bed, trying to sleep— but for some reason you couldn’t.  Counting backwards didn’t help, not moving didn’t help, crying didn’t help either.

There was a knock at your door.

“Come in.” You spoke.

The knight came into the room with the cane in his hand.

“I was told to bring this to you, my lady.”

You squinted, confused as to what it could be. The knight walked closer and you were able to see it clearly, it was a cane.

He handed you the cane and swiftly left your room afterwards.

You held it in your hand, examining it and your fingers tracing the design.

It was beautiful in every way. It was stained red with hints of black and had multiple dragons etched into it. The pommel was smooth and it was the design of a small sleeping doe. Around the pommel he had your name etched into it as well.

You smiled as your eyes began to water. He went out of his way to be thoughtful for you, even though you pushed him away. He cared more than anyone else had as of late.

Your feet were not healed enough to handle you walking on them, even with a cane — but it would eventually come in handy.

You placed the cane near your bed and laid there, your mind thinking of  him. It took quite a bit of strength for you to not call him in there and immediately forgive him, but you couldn’t. 

The memories between you and him had turned sour, like a bitter ale. The deep marks on the soles of your feet will remain a constant reminder of why you should stay away from him, why you should never forget your place as a woman in the world. You would still marry him and do your duty to him, but that was all that it would be— duty. Your duty to a nice man that your father had betrothed you to.

Had you not have gotten in trouble, things between you and Lyonel would’ve blossomed into something beautiful. The kind of betrothal that young women in the realm desire and deserve.

When you laid there, no matter how much you begged the thoughts to leave your mind— they wouldn’t. Lyonel Baratheon had taken your mind by storm. He was all that you could think about and all that you desired deep down. 

You wanted to feel his mouth on yours again, your hands against his, your fingers intertwined with his curls, his fingers inside of you, and his tongue on your clit.

The thoughts caused you to have a dull ache between your legs as if your body was calling to him.

You had eventually fallen asleep at some point in the night, but you could not remember when. Your sleep was nothing of note, you didn’t dream and you didn’t have a nightmare. Even then, you could still feel the slick that coated the inside of your thighs after your unladylike thoughts from the late night.

That morning, you had no time to waste. There was going to be a royal hunt to celebrate your betrothal to Lyonel and the upcoming wedding. You were not interested in attending and you even begged your father to let you stay at the keep— considering that your feet still caused you a great deal of pain, but he said no.

The hunt would be for three long miserable days. Three days where you would be outside and uncomfortable. Your father had the maester give you milk of the poppy in a vial, so that you would not be in intense pain.

Septa Mordane walked into your chambers with your breakfast.

“You must eat this morning and it is not up for discussion, princess.”

“I am not hungry, it will upset my stomach.” You replied.

She sat the tray down and walked to the bed to help get you up.

“You will have to put on shoes and walk today. It will be very painful, Princess. We cannot give you milk of the poppy on an empty stomach.”

You were reluctant, but you ate a bowl of oats with some fruit while you bathed. 

Once you were out of the tub and dressed, there was a pit in your stomach. Septa Mordane brought your boots to the bed as your bandaged feet dangled off the edge.

You took a deep breath.

She gently put your feet in your boots and laced them up, trying her hardest to not inflict unnecessary pain. Your fingers gripped the sheets as you winced in complete pain.

“Now, princess— you must walk to the courtyard.” She spoke, standing up from lacing your boots.

“Please, don’t make me.” You pleaded.

She felt bad for you and the amount of pain that simple tasks caused you.

She allowed you a moment to prepare yourself and grabbed the cane for you.

“We must make haste.” She mentioned.

You took the cane and mentally prepared for the most agonizing pain. Septa Mordane helped you stand up and went to open the door to your chambers.

“One step at a time, princess.”

You put your foot forward with the cane and your mouth slightly parted from the shooting pain up your legs. She walked alongside you as you slowly walked through the keep.

Tears streamed your face as you finally made it outside. Your hands began to shake and you felt lightheaded.

You gulped down some milk of the poppy, probably too much— but you did not care. 

Daeron helped you onto his horse sitting in front of him as you didn’t want to ride in the cramped carriage. 

Lyonel saw you slumped forward on the horse and your face puffy from crying. It was a heartbreaking sight for him, you looked completely out of it and different from yourself.

The milk of the poppy had kicked in and you had started to fall asleep.

“Do not fall.” Daeron spoke.

“I won’t.”

The sun shined outside, but it was still cold out and there would be the occasional cloud blocking the sun and making it look grim out.

“Did you fuck him? Is that why they whipped your feet?” Daeron questioned.

Your eyelids fluttered as you were in that middle state of almost asleep and not quite.

“I didn’t, but it would have at least been more worthwhile if I had.” You scoffed.

“My father had my feet whipped when I lost Egg and did not get to Ashford in a timely manner.” He mentioned.

“They sure love that form of punishment.” You joke, your speech slightly slurred.

You eventually fell asleep while on the horse and to your shock, you didn’t fall off and injure yourself even more. By the time everything came to a stop, you were so tired and exhausted. It took a bit for things to get set up, but once they were— you immediately retreated to your tent and went to sleep.

Your father checked in on you periodically, as you slept the entire first day away. He had your boots pulled off and the bloodied bandages changed as you slept. They ate dinner without you and had Lyonel join them.

“Are you excited to marry my cousin, Lord Lyonel?” Egg asked, breaking the silence.

Lyonel nodded with a fake grin.

“That I am, your cousin is a wonderful woman.”

Baelor sat at the opposite end of the table, eating his food silently and listening to the conversation.

“Where is she at anyway? She should be here as this hunt is for her.” Aerion complained.

Daeron sipped the wine from his goblet.

“I’m afraid his betrothed is still sleeping off her indulgences of milk of the poppy.”

The silence was loud and awkward, leaving only the sound of forks and knives scraping their plates. 

“It is the perfect weather for a hunt.” Lyonel spoke, changing the subject.

Baelor wiped his mouth. “It is. I hope that my daughter will be awake soon to enjoy it.”

“I doubt that she will, uncle.” Aerion spoke.

Maekar frowned and nudged Aerion, “be quiet.”

Despite this hunt being seen as a supposedly celebratory event, it was far from. You weren’t happy, Lyonel felt as if he’d lost you, and your father was unhappy with the events prior.

When you finally did wake up, everything had quieted down. Only the faint sounds of the fire outside were still going. 

You slowly and tediously put your boots back on, whimpering as you did so. You wanted to take a short walk, just to get out of your tent and try pushing through the pain of walking. The cane was very sturdy and beneficial as you struggled maintaining your balance.

The sounds of grass and twigs being crushed under your struggles with walking, caught Lyonel’s attention. He pulled his knife out, thinking that it might be a boar outside of the tents. With slow and quiet movements, he walked to the front of the tent— peeking his head through the flaps with his blade in hand.

Instead of a wild boar, he saw his sweet doe or at least what you used to be. You were struggling to walk past the tree line and even one step at a time was taking a toll on you. You no longer reminded him of a doe in that moment, you reminded him of a young fawn that was silently struggling. 

He walked out of the tent and sheathed his blade.

“Do you need help?” He asked.

Your movements stopped as you sighed at the sound of his voice.

“I don’t need anything from you.” You grumbled.

He walked closer to you, trying to assist you.

“I can help you, just let me.”

You slowly turned around at the sound of his footsteps creeping up on you.

“Can you just leave me alone, Lyonel? Please.”

He stood there, his brown eyes scanning your face and body. 

“No.” He replied plainly.

You scoffed, adjusting your grip on the pommel.

“No?—“

“I already told you that—“

“I will not watch you struggle and I will not abandon you in your struggle. What does that say of me as a man, as your soon to be husband— if I do that?” He interrupted you.

You bit the inside of your lip, trying to hide an outward expression.

“I will wed you and do what you ask of me, why can’t that be enough? I just want to be left alone.” You replied.

“I feel guilty enough as is, are you really going to punish me forever over this?” He spat, an annoyed look on his face.

You pulled your shoulders back in offense.

“Punish you? —“

“Me not acting like this didn’t happen is a punishment to you?”

He shook his head and waved his finger.

“I did not say that and you know that’s not what I bloody meant.”

You ignored him as you didn’t have much to say.

“Lyonel, it was your whore who caused this. You asked me to stay and If you hadn’t—“

“How many times do I have to say that I was wrong!?!—“ He yelled, startling you.

“You are being cruel, unfair, and cold. I do not like it, this is not you.” He mentioned.

You rolled your eyes and turned around, preparing to walk away from him.

“You hate me over this. You no longer care to build any foundation for a relationship, this is now only a duty to you. You’ll be the dutiful and wounded wife to the awful and cruel husband.” He mocked.

Your chest rose and fell fast as you listened to him with your back turned.

“Are you going to hate your children too? Hate them when they resemble your cruel husband too much? or when you feel the scars on your feet? or even if they make a mistake like their father?—“

“How far will your contempt go, my love?” He questioned.

Tears streamed your cheeks at his words. They were honest, but they cut you deeply.

You slowly began to walk away, leaving his questions unanswered.

Lyonel’s words replayed in your mind on repeat during your short and tiring walk.

You were happy to make it back to your tent and be able to rest. Your feet felt numb from the pain as you pulled your boots off.

Before laying down, you drank more milk of the poppy and tried to ease the ache that you felt. 

The ache wasn’t in your feet, but only your heart. Things between you and Lyonel had worsened in ways that you did not expect nor were you ready for.

Lyonel walked right into your tent as if he belonged there and he was unapologetic about it as well.

“I just wanted to see if you’d made it back safely. I also want to let you know that I plan on returning to Storm’s End.”

You were quiet with nothing to say and that was a first. Lyonel went to walk out of your tent, his heart broken by the entire ordeal.

 “Wait.” You spoke softly.

He looked at you with surprise and intrigue, wondering where this would go. Your eyes were glassy, almost a mirror for him to look into.

“Will you hold me?” You asked.

His brow raised and his breath hitched, “hold you?”

You nodded and looked like the same helpless fawn that he’d seen earlier.

He didn’t respond, but he caved to you as you did him in asking. He pulled his boots off and laid on the fur rugs with you.

No questions, no protests, and no anger from earlier.

You laid facing him and pressed your face into his chest, his big arms wrapped around you.

“I’m sorry, Lyonel.. I’m just struggling—“

“I don’t want you to leave.”

He placed a kiss onto your head. “You will never have to struggle by yourself, my sweet doe. This will blow over soon and your sadness won’t make me love you any less.”

You pulled your head away from his chest and looked up at him. 

“You love me?”

He smirked and wiped the tears welling in your eyes. “I’d be a fool not to.”

Without any hesitation, you pressed your lips against his. You didn’t want to hide any more, be mean, or push him away— for you could not hide it any longer. 

You loved him too, more than you wanted to admit and it scared you.

The wind blew, the flaps to the tent rustling and the breeze hitting your skin.

Your kiss with him deepened, your tongues exploring each others mouth and his hands wandering your body.

“I want to have sex with you.”

He pulled back, “my love—“

“I mean it, Lyonel. I love you and I want you.”

His fingers caressed your cheek as he stared into your eyes.

“I don’t mind waiting. I truly do not.”

Your fingers rubbed against his exposed chest. 

“I want to feel all of you.. I want you to show me your love.”

He left you laying on the rugs as he got up without a word. He pulled his boots off and closed the flaps to your tent for privacy.

He stood in front of you, the exact embodiment of a stag. His streaks of grey hair complimented by the fire.

“Are you sure, my love?” He asked once more.

You nodded, biting your lip.

He took off his doublet as he walked back over to you and crawled on top of you.

His lips were on yours and they tasted like what you had been longing for since the feast.

Your fingers began undoing the laces to your dress as he left soft, open mouthed kisses against your neck.

A whine left your mouth as you felt his warmth against your skin.

His fingers intertwined with yours as he helped you, teasing you as he licked your bottom lip.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” He whispered.

He helped you pull off your gown and shift, exposing your body to him. His eyes wandered over your chest and stomach, but he didn’t say anything. You pulled your arm over your chest, feeling insecure.

“Do you not like what you see?” You asked, the question coming out small.

He looked back at your face and his brows began to furrow.

“What?—“

“I love what I see, sweet doe. I just had to take in your beauty.” He confessed.

He dipped his head down and pressed kisses along your chest.

“I’d kill a thousand knights for you.” He muttered.

His big hands cupped your breasts and he shook his head between them. 

“God’s, I never want this moment to end.”

You felt his warm mouth around your nipple, his tongue swirling it and his fingers rubbing the other one.

Your mouth fell open at the sensation, the heat pooled between your legs.

“I want you to fuck me, Lyonel.” You whimpered.

He let out a low chuckle, his eyes watched you in amusement.

“Eager aren’t you, my doe?” He questioned.

His fingers trailed down your stomach and to your wet cunt. He slipped his fingers between your folds, pulling a moan from your mouth.

“I love when you sing for me.” He groaned.

He adjusted and undid the laces to his trousers, you watched as he pulled them off. Your mouth falls open at the sight of his size— how long and thick his cock is.

“That won’t fit Lyonel.” You mentioned nervously.

He laughed as he found your innocence hilarious. “It will, I promise.”

He adjusts the cover on top of the two of you as he hovers over you. You pressed your lips against his, kissing him deeply. Your hips bucked as you feel his cock rub against your cunt.

“I will take my time, but it might hurt some. I will try my best to keep it from hurting too much.” He admitted.

You nodded. “I trust you.”

He adjusts your legs and lines himself up with your entrance.

“I love you.” You remind him.

He kissed you as a distraction and pushed his head in. 

“I love you too, my sweet doe.”

You winced and began to tense up from the sting.

“Relax, my love—“

“That’s it.” He coached as he slowly pushed the rest of him in.

The pain was more than you expected and it did not feel good at first.

“You are so fucking tight.. God’s” he grunted.

Your cunt felt full as if there was no more room for him to go.

He thrusted in and out of you slowly, kissing you and kissing your neck. It didn’t take long for your pain to subside and for it to feel good, once it did— you loved every moment.

The heat swirled between the two of you, something you had been denying since the day after the feast.

“Lyonel.” You moaned, your eyes fluttered from pleasure.

“You take me so well, my darling.” He growled as he kissed your neck.

His thrusts were so deep and long. When he said that he’d take his time with you, he meant it.

“Fuck.” You purred.

“I will pull out, so I don’t spill my seed inside you.” He grunted, kissing you.

You pulled away from his kiss and stared into his eyes. “No, don’t.”

His brow raised.

“No? You want me to fill you, possibly give you a fawn?” He teased, kissing your chest.

“Yes.” You whined.

Lyonel loved hearing you talk like that, talking about carrying his babe and wanting his seed inside you— it made him feral.

Your moans had started to get louder as he fucked you, the pleasure beyond belief.

“I want to try something else.” You mentioned, his thrusts coming to a halt.

He had a confused look on his face, but he obliged and slowly pulled out of you. You pushed him onto his back and began to straddle him, which made your feet hurt— but it was worth it.

He had his hands on your hips, watching you in awe as you lined him up and slowly sank onto him.

“God’s, woman.” He groaned, throwing his head back in bliss.

You began riding him, his cock filled you and stretched you in the best possible way. It felt as if his head was touching your cervix.

He gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into your hips from the pleasure.

“You look magnificent from this angle.” He spoke as he pushed your hair out of your face.

One of his hands moved to your cunt, his thumb pressed slow and deliberate circles against your sensitive clit.

The pleasure had overtaken your mind and turned  you into a whimpering mess on his cock.

“This feels so good.” You breathed.

The pressure in your stomach built as you were nearing your peak, your cunt clenching around his cock. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you got closer and closer.

“Lyonel, I’m going to—“

He smirked, still rubbing your clit.

“That’s it, my love. Take what you need from me.”

His name spilled from your lips over and over as you came on his cock, tears formed in your eyes.

Lyonel adjusted, sitting up and pulling you close to him. He kissed you with such hunger, wrapping his hands around your waist as he fucked you from below.

Your raspy moans against his ear.

“I’m going to fill you, hopefully make you round with a babe.” He grunted.

His thrusts were hard and fast, giving you no time to recover from your climax and giving you unfathomable pleasure.

“Fuck, woman. I’m going to cum.” He moaned.

His thrusts came to halt and his guttural moan filled the air as his seed filled your cunt. 

Painting your walls white and leaving it warm.

He pressed his head against your chest, trying to catch his breath after such a good fuck. Both of you were reeling from your high.

You stayed in that position for a few more minutes, kissing each other and expressing your feelings.

You stood up, slowly as the pain from your feet became noticeable again. Lyonel guided you to sit down and grabbed a towel to clean you with.

He noticed the streaks of blood on the towel and got a little worried.

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” He questioned.

You nodded, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Lyonel handed you your shift to put on and put his trousers on. After that the two of you laid in each other's arms on the furs, falling asleep.

The morning sun had begun to creep into the tent, both of you sound asleep. The flap of your tent rustled and shoes stomping on grass came to a halt.

“Baelor would like to see you, Lord Baratheon.” Daeron spoke, startling both of you.

You jumped to cover yourself with a look of horror on your face.

“Daeron.” You spoke.

He stared for a few seconds longer.

“I do not care enough to tell.” He mumbled before walking out of the tent.

Lyonel got up quickly and got dressed, giving you a kiss on the lips and hoping that he was not seen.

He entered Baelor’s tent as he seemed to be in deep thought, before he saw Lyonel.

“Good morning, Lord Baratheon.”

Lyonel faked a smile. “Goodmorning.”

“I wanted to make this quick as tomorrow we will be ending the hunt—“

“The king has found that the punishment of the princess and possible reasons why, have brought too much negative attention to the betrothal and our house. He has decided to end this betrothal and betrothe her to Lord Tyrell instead.” Baelor spoke plainly.

Lyonel’s face dropped and his skin felt cold to the touch.

“What?”

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated

When you were betrothed to Daeron, people felt pity for you. They would ask how you were handling the news, like it was a sickness. They would tell you to be mindful of that family— because they were all rotten to the core, depraved, and had unusual indulgences. Everyone worried for you and the toll that it would take on you, but you weren't worried.

Because, being married to Daeron wasn't the worst fate that you could have. You had seen what some of these other lords subjected their wives to and their cruelty, but Daeron was not cruel.

You knew about his issues, but you promised that you would help him and you meant it.

After your wedding, Daeron was shaking from his lack of wine that night. He wanted to be sober for you and put his best foot forward.

You held his hands as they shook and promised that you understood him. You kissed him and reminded him that you weren't going anywhere.

His nightmares were a totally different beast, one that neither you or he understood. They disturbed him so greatly, some nights he would wake up in tears. You would hold him and run your fingers through his hair, soothing his mind until he could fall back asleep.

Shortly afterwards, he withdrew from you and stopped sleeping in your chambers. He did not want to wake you with his troubles, he found it embarrassing and pathetic. Instead, you'd sneak into his chambers and lie with him just in case.

You were not going to allow him to suffer alone.

One night, you woke up and you felt the urge to go to him. You couldn't explain the feeling or where it came from, but you knew that it was necessary. You walked into his dimly lit chambers, the fire in the fireplace slowly dying.

He was in the bed, his skin warm to the touch and his lips quietly muttering riddles that you didn't understand.

He jolted awake, almost falling off the bed and rubbed his eyes. "My love, what are you doing here?"

You crawled into the bed with him, reaching your hand out.

"I felt that I needed to come to you."

He pushed his hair out of his face and he seemed so defeated.

"Come here." You spoke softly.

He moved closer to you, laying his head on your chest.

"I am sorry." He mumbled.

You stared at him, your fingers tracing his head.

"Whatever for?"

"This, having to deal with me. You are far more than I've ever deserved. You are too kind, and too pure to be wed to a drunk."

You shushed him.

"I knew what I was getting myself into, none of this was lost on me. I have decided to love you everyday regardless. Your afflictions do not make you any less worthy.”

You could feel his tears wet your nightgown.

"I love you." He mumbled.

You smiled, staring at the ceiling.

"I love you too, husband."

He sat up, staring at you like he was afraid that you weren't real. His beautiful eyes stuck on your face.

"Daeron?" You spoke with a puzzled look on your face.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours.

"You are so perfect.. too good for me."

He kissed you gently at first, taking his time as if it were a moment that he didn't want to end. His hand caressed your cheek and a tear fell from his eye.

You are perfect in his eyes, an unimaginable beauty. You are his, something he never imagined that he'd have or deserve. Even in his dreams—you were all he thought about. You steadied him.

Your kiss deepened, your tongue entering his mouth and a groan escaping his.

"I need you." He whined in between kisses.

You helped him pull his tunic off and untie his trousers.

His cock was already hard, his tip flushed red with a bead of precum on it.

He gently helped you remove your nightgown. His hands roaming your body as you laid on the bed.

"My beautiful wife."

His mouth trailed your body— from your lips and down your chest as he came between your legs.

You kissed him, moans leaving your mouth as your tongues wrestled.

He lined himself up at your entrance and slowly sank into inch by inch. His mouth wide open from the feeling of your warmth.

"Daeron." You whimpered.

He thrusted in and out of you slowly, your legs wrapped around him.

"You feel so good, so tight." He groaned.

Your eyes were half lidded at the pleasure of him being so deep inside you.

"Fuck." You gasped.

He looked into your eyes, his breaths ragged.

"You mean everything to me, my love."

Your eyes watered at his words during the intimate moment. Regardless of everything else, you were so helplessly in love with Daeron. The same thing that people had told you to be mindful of.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his thrusts getting faster and harder.

"God's, Daeron.. this feels so good."

You unexpectedly reached your peak, his name spilling from your lips over and over again as you gripped him.

His groans in your ear drove you mad.

You could feel his cock twitch as he got closer and closer to his release.

"Fuck.."

"I love you, I love you." He moaned into your ear.

His ropes of cum sprayed inside you.

He kissed you along your neck and face, reeling from his release.

He pulled out slowly and helped you clean up.

Afterwards he laid in bed, his arms wrapped around you as his sleep took him quickly.

Despite your patience and understanding, Daeron's sober attempts were to of no avail.

He would try for a day or two and he'd be in absolute agony, a heart wrenching sight for you. You never wanted your husband to be in pain, only sober.

He'd get embarrassed when you would bring him wine to ease the shakes and his overall misery.

"I'm sorry.. I disappoint you." He drunkenly mumbled.

You caressed his face with a faint smile.

"One day at a time, remember?"

He nodded and took a sip from his goblet.

As you tried to guide him, you reminded him that you could weather the storm with him through it all. The only thing that would sour your marriage is if he strayed away from your bed.

Cheating in any capacity was just something that you could not forgive.

Sometimes when he was on a bender, you wouldn't see him for two days. It was troublesome at first, but he'd always find his way back to your chambers—like a stray cat.

It was alarming how drunk he could get— how he could barely recognize you sometimes, lay in his own vomit, struggle to remember where he was.

You felt pity for him and his continuous pain.

Later, you made him promise that if he ever felt the urge to drink that he would come find you. No matter when or where, you'd hold him and talk him through it.

Your father had taken leave from the small council as there were things that he needed to handle at home. After a short conversation, King Daeron and Baelor agreed to let you sit in for him. Yes, you were a woman— but you were the most knowledgeable about the debts of the crown, beside your father.

They demanded respect from everyone in the room. No disrespect or belittling would be tolerated.

You sat in the small council meeting, the sun shining on the table and lighting the room.

Maekar was in the middle of speaking about a disgruntled Reach Lord. He proposed a potential marriage alliance, strengthening the crown's ties to the Reach.

You sat in your chair, your hands locked in your lap and your brow raised.

"A marriage alliance? He owes the crown more money than any other Lord right now."

Maekar rolled his eyes and Baelor agreed.

"I must say that I agree with her. He owes too much and is no closer to paying it off. He should not be rewarded."

"If we do not handle his disputes, it could fester into something worse. A rebellion? A war?" Another member chimed in.

You shook your head, which King Daeron noticed.

"Do you not agree, my lady?" He questioned.

"No, I do not. I do agree that his disputes should be settled, but it turning into more than a dispute is outrageous. He owes the crown a ton, where would he get the money from for a rebellion? What other house is crazy enough to go against the king?" You spoke.

Baelor sucked his teeth and leaned forward, moving a piece on the table.

"House Greyjoy."

You scoffed, "they wouldn't dare."

King Daeron sat there silently, taking in the information. "Does anyone know if House Greyjoy has been up to anything suspicious as of late?”

Before anyone could answer, the door slammed open—startling everyone.

It was Daeron drunkenly stumbling in.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Maekar yelled.

"Wife.." Daeron spoke, his speech slurred.

You tried to hide the puzzled look on your face and the obvious embarrassment.

"You are free to continue without me." You spoke to the council members, leaving your seat.

You walked over to Daeron, shutting the door behind you..

"Daeron, are you okay?"

He hugged you like he saw a ghost.

"I saw.. I saw you leave." He fretted.

You hugged him back, the smell of wine and ale on his clothes.

"I have not gone anywhere, I am still here."

You helped him walk to his chambers, listening to him blabber about random things.

When you got into his chambers, he fell to the ground—almost pulling you with him.

"I'm sorry." He groaned.

You helped him up and stared into his eyes.

"Tell me what you saw, hmm?"

His eyes began to water as he hated reliving those awful nightmares.

"The dragons, they—“

You nodded, holding his hands and listening to him.

"I'm here, you can talk to me."

He sniffled, wiping his tears.

"They showed me, you leaving.. they showed you never returning."

You kissed him, wine and despair on his tongue.

"My sweet husband, why would I leave you— when everything I need is in this room?"

He shook his head, "I do not know. It is only what I saw.”

"Do you wish for me to stay with you?" You questioned.

"Please." He replied.

You walked to the window, pulling the shutters close. He stood by the bed and stripped out of his clothes.

The room darkened, with a small hint of light coming through. You lit a candle and placed it on the windowsill.

You climbed into bed with him and put your head on his chest.

"I love you." He mumbled.

"I love you too, husband."

The two of you eventually dozed off, sleeping the rest of the day away.

——

When you awoke, the candle was still barely lit and the sheets rustled against your skin.

Your eyes fluttered open and were still trying to focus— before you turned to the sound.

It was Daeron jerking off right beside you.

"I did not mean to wake you.. I'm sorry."

You rubbed your eyes, "you did not wake me."

Your eyes flicked down to his hand movements under the sheets.

"Daeron?"

He looked at you, "hmm?"

"Have you drank any wine since you woke up?"

He stopped jerking off and sighed.

"No.. I just want to stop the nightmare that I feel coming."

"I need you." He confessed.

You adjusted in the bed, "come here then."

He crawled over top of you and kissed your neck, his cock rubbing the inside of your thigh.

"Need you so bad.. so bad." He groaned.

He parted your legs, his fingers rubbing between your folds.

You moaned into his mouth as his fingers circled your clit. The heat building in your stomach.

He kissed you deeply as he helped you get completely naked.

He brought his fingers back down, pressing two of them inside you— slowly bringing them almost all the way out and then back in.

Your back arched from pleasure as he fingered you and put his mouth on your nipple. He sucked your nipple and circled it with his tongue, making you whine.

"I want to put a babe in you, make your belly round with me." He muttered.

You pushed him onto his back and climbed into his lap straddling him.

"My love.. I don't know if I will last long." He grabbed you with hesitation.

"I don't care." You replied.

You lined his cock up with your entrance and sat down, a moan escaping your lips as it bottomed out.

He threw his head back in bliss.

"You are heavenly, my wife."

His hands were on your hips as you rode him.

"I am going to fill you with me." He groaned.

Your hand was on his chest, his hands sliding down to your ass.

"Oh, Daeron."

Your hair fell in front of your body as you leaned forward. He pushed it out of the way, wanting to see all of you.

Your moans grew louder and louder.

"They will hear you in the halls, darling."

His grip on your ass tightened and his breaths close together, his knuckles turning white.

"I'm going to cum, my love."

You leaned down, kissing him and keeping the same pace.

A guttural groan escaped his throat as he came. The kind of moan that you had never heard from him before.

You did not care to finish, you just wanted to put his mind at ease.

"Did that help put your mind at ease, husband?" You asked with a grin.

He nodded, trying catch his breath.

You cleaned yourself off and left his chambers shortly after.

Maybe, you were truly helping him or so you thought. After that night, he disappeared on a bender for four days.

You were worried sick about him, but Maekar notified you that he was found.

You sat in Maekar’s solar, drinking the tea that you brought with you.

"I thought he was getting better." Maekar frowned as he stared out of the window.

You sighed. "It is a process that has it's ups and downs, but he is trying.”

Maekar sat in his chair, pulling out a paper.

"He will get better, he has no choice. His behavior is shameful to our house, to you, to any children that you will have."

You understood people's frustrations with him, as you had occasionally gotten frustrated yourself. You just tried to be graceful as you knew that he was trying.

"Has he mentioned what these dreams are about?" He asked.

You rubbed your cup, glancing down at your feet.

"Sometimes, it depends—“

"Me leaving, the return of dragons, the fall of your house, the death of the last targaryen."

Maekar looked up from his paper.

"Do you believe them?"

You took a sip of your tea, the crackle of the fireplace distracting you.

"Some of them, yes. Some are too vivid to be a lie or made up, others are some of his fears."

"Hmm." He grunted.

"He should be grateful to have you, someone who does not give up on him.. I do not think that I could tolerate a spouse like him.”

Everyone always seemed to talk in riddles when it came to your marriage. They would say things that were meant to be endearing, but the words had the kick of poison at the end. They applauded you for staying by his side, for loving him, for trying to get him sober—they applauded you for doing what a wife should.

They were surprised that you could love him, that you could tolerate him.

You sat in the tub, your head leaned against the back as you enjoyed your peace and quiet.

There was a faint knock at the door.

"Come in." You called out.

Daeron entered with flowers in his hand.

"These are for you, my love."

He handed them to you and knelt beside the tub with a smile on his face.

You grinned, smelling them.

"What are these for?"

He rubbed your arm, his hand shaking.

"Have you had your blood yet?" He pried.

You laughed with your brow raised, surprised at his question.

"I have not, why do you ask?"

"I have been thinking and I want to be better for you, I want to give you children, I want you to be proud of the man that you married."

Your heart fluttered at his words. You believed that he could do these things, but it would be far from easy.

"Daeron, I am always proud of you. Even on your toughest days, you get up and try."

He kissed you with a smirk on his face.

"I want to give you so many babies."

You giggled, trying not to get excited at the thought.

He sat beside the tub and talked to you about children, his dreams, his love for you. It was the closest you had truly felt to him in a while.

— —

With your help and plenty of trying days, Daeron had been sober for thirty-three days. It was the longest that he had been sober in years.

When he said that he wanted to be sober, he meant it.

He didn’t care who laughed and judged.

The first week was the hardest, so hard that the Maesters worried he would die. He had a fever that seemed impossible to break, couldn’t stop vomiting, had chills, and even experienced hallucinations.

Maekar was worried sick, he couldn’t handle seeing his son like that— seeing his skin so pale, lips dry, even hearing him call for his mother.

"Just give him the wine." Maekar protested.

"No!—“

"He will get through this, I know he will. He wants this and he'll never forgive you if you rob him of it."

"At least, he will be here to be angry with me—“

"This is a fools task.”

By week two things were looking up, he was becoming himself again and doing much better. He had gained his strength back, he was talking, and even laughed a little.

"I'm glad you did not give up on me." He spoke.

You kissed his forehead, "never."

Everyone was delighted to hear the news. They were so glad that things were looking up for him. They called you an angel for seeing it through.

Their smiles and warm comments did not move you though. You heard the things that they said when no one was listening. They made bets on how long he’d last, if you’d take a lover, if he was just faking being sober. This place, your new home— was truly an evil place.

No matter how bad it bothered you, you decided to ignore it and focus on other things. With his now inability to drink, he wanted you all time — even more since your blood had come and gone.

You walked out of the small council meeting, laughing at something that Baelor said.

Daeron stood at the door with his hands behind his back.

"Daeron, what are you doing here?—“

Maekar interrupted, "where is Aegon?"

Daeron pointed down the hall, "He's with the septa."

He waited for everyone to leave out of the room as their conversations continued.

He pulled you into the room and shut the door.

"Husband, is there—“

Before you could finish your sentence his mouth was on yours, catching you off guard.

"Daeron." You spoke.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"I need you so bad, my love.. so fucking bad."

"But, Daeron—what if they hear us?"

He sucked on your neck, "then they should mind their business."

He guided you towards the table and leaned you over it.

You could feel the wetness already pooling between your legs at the thought of him taking you there.

He pulled your dress up, his hand coming down against your ass cheeks.

You gasped.

"Such a beautiful view." He mumbled.

He untied his pants, his hard cock sprang free.

The wind outside blew, cold air from the window hitting your skin.

He ripped your tights, his fingers rubbing between your folds.

“You’re already so wet for me.”

You could feel his warm spit dripping between your ass and onto your pussy. Your eyes rolled back into your head, a soft moan leaving your mouth.

He pushed his cock into you, making you lose your breath.

"Oh, my." You moaned.

"You look so good.. taking every inch of me." He groaned.

He fucked you with such an intense need and hunger.

"Daeron." Whined.

"Yes, that's it—“

"Take me, my love." He grunted.

The table creaked under the movement of you two, loud enough for anyone to hear it.

"I've been needing you all day." He confessed.

Your fingers gripped the table and your legs grew weak, you were so close.

"Fuck, husband—“

"Oh my.."

He covered your mouth as your orgasm washed over you, your loud moans being muffled by his hand.

His hips rutted into you, his mouth agape from pleasure.

"Take all of me, my love." He groaned.

His fingers dug into your hips as he came. The warmth filling your cunt and some of his spend dripping onto the floor.

You stayed there for a moment, trying to process what you just did and how he took you in a public place.

He pulled your dress down as he pulled out.

"Would you like to take a bath together and eat dinner in my chambers?" He asked.

You nodded and gave him a kiss as he adjusted his pants.

— —

Later that night, the two of you attended dinner with his family instead. It wasn't anything grand, just a simple gathering.

You sat beside Maekar with Daeron on the other side of you.

The conversations were limited given Aerion's crude remarks.

"It is wonderful that you and my brother could finally join us." He smiled.

"That it is." Baelor added.

The food before you was more than you could ever indulge yourself in— various meats, vegetables, breads, and fruits. Your eyes wandered the table as you struggled to decide where to start.

Aerion decided to play a game and had the servers bring multiple pitchers of wine to the table.

"Wine anyone?" He snickered.

Your blood boiled inside your veins as you stared at the pitcher right in front of you. Aerion was cruel, so unforgivably cruel.

You pushed the pitcher farther down the table, a scowl on your face. One that your father in law noticed.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

You gritted your teeth, "I am fine."

Daeron had become uncomfortable and you could tell, just as well as he could tell that you were pissed off by Aerion's antics.

He rested his hand on your thigh, grabbing your attention.

"My love, do not engage him." He whispered in your ear.

You glanced at him. "He is disgusting."

His lips brushed your ear as he leaned in closer, "yes. Yes, he is."

His hand slid further up your dress, your eyes anxiously wandering the room.

"What are you—“

"Shhh." He mumbled.

Baelor began talking about the upcoming events on the calendar and how to prepare. He mentioned a small upcoming feast.

Maekar scoffed, "another fucking feast."

Baelor paused.

"Brother, please do not curse in front of the children."

Daeron's hand inched closer and closer to your already wet cunt.

"I'll stop if you wish it, just tell me." He taunted.

It was as if you stopped breathing when his fingers slid between your folds.

You blinked hard.

"You are so naughty, hmm?" He chuckled.

Your focus was completely off as he played with your clit, you were instead trying so hard to suppress the whimper in your throat.

Baelor called your name again as you were zoned out.

"Yes, my prince? I'm sorry, I did not hear you." You smiled, your skin warm.

"We still have yet to reach a decision on how to handle the disputes in the Reach. Your presence is requested at the next meeting."

The pressure was building in your stomach, you grabbed Daeron's thigh and gripped it—trying so hard not to scream.

The circles around your clit had the inside of your thighs covered with your slick.

You looked down at your plate, trying to steady your breaths as you got closer and closer to your peak.

"Don't make a sound, my sweet wife." He gently reminded you.

"Ah, yes! I will be there—“

"I am.. I am sorry for my latest absences." You stuttered finally replying back to Baelor.

Maekar stared at you as if he was trying to see through you. "What is the matter?"

Your eyes widened, trying to focus on his question and the pleasure.

"I just think the food is upsetting my stomach."

He rolled his eyes, his focus shifting to Aerion who was picking on Aegon.

"Fucking knock it off!" Maekar yelled at him.

You gripped Daerons thign, almost digging into his skin as you reached your peak.

A faint, barely inaudible whimper leaving your mouth.

Daeron pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek as he pulled your dress back down.

The two of you tried your best to continue dinner as if nothing had happened.

His new, profound hunger for you was insatiable. You two were having sex in the bed, on the fur rug, in the library, in the tub. He craved you more than ever, which you did not mind. You were just happy that your husband was okay. It was lovely to see the sober side of him.

You treated his sobriety just like his drinking, "if you get the urge to drink— just come find me." Is what you would tell him. You didn't care what you were doing, nothing was more important than helping him with his sobriety. 

At night the two of you would lay in the bed, talking about nothing. Sometimes he'd pretend that a babe was already in your stomach and he'd talk to it.

"You have no idea if I'm pregnant or not." You giggled, running your fingers through his hair.

He smiled. "I know that you are, we've worked too hard."

He kissed your stomach. "I don't know if you can hear me yet, but this is your father speaking—“

"I just want you to know that you will be the luckiest child in the seven kingdoms. You will have a mother and father who will love you beyond words."

Your eyes began to water, his words bringing you joy.

"Your mother is the most wonderful person that I've ever known, she would move oceans for you."

Daeron glanced at you and saw your wet cheeks. "My love, why are you crying?"

You laughed, wiping your eyes as he moved closer.

"I've just never heard anyone say such nice things about me before."

His hand caressed your face.

 "I cannot put into words how lovely you are. You deserve every nice word ever spoken.”

The two of you began to make out. His tongue slowly gliding into your mouth and you caving to him.

You didn't have sex, even though the two of you craved it. Instead you laid in his arms and kissed him most of the night. Your marriage was not perfect, but it was not cursed the way that people told you it would be.

When the sunlight peaked through, Daeron was gone. You figured he had things to attend to and started your morning like normal.

As the day went on, you and his father had realized that no one had seen him.

 Panicked seeped into your bones, made you scared that something happened to him. He was fine last night, everything was— you didn't understand.

You thought over and over on your time last night, wondering if he said anything that could help—but you could not think of anything.

Baelor and Maekar came to your chambers.

"We have guards looking for him. They will find him." Maekar mentioned.

Your nerves were a mess and your eyes were puffy from crying.

"Do you think he could be.. drinking?" Baelor asked innocently. 

Your eyes flicked up at him.

"No.. no—“

"He had been doing so good, he would not do that."

Baelor and Maekar exchanged a look, Maekar sighing.

Baelor touched your shoulder. "We will find him and he will be okay."

You nodded and he pulled you into a fatherly hug.

It was a nightmare that you begged the God's to wake you up from.

You didn't know where he went, what happened, or what he had been thinking—but you wanted your husband home.

That night, you felt so lonely in your bed. The same bed that he was in several hours ago. You had your hand on your stomach, the thought of you being pregnant crossed your mind.

What if something had happened to him, what of you and the possible child? The child would never know him, his voice, or his love. 

You laid in your bed, tears wetting your pillow as you cried yourself to sleep.

Those minutes and hours turned into days and eventually a week— then two. It had been two weeks since Daeron had last been seen, the crown and family in disarray over it.

They kingsguard had searched king's landing and the surrounding areas multiple times. Maekar's patience for anything other than finding him was gone and you were a shell of yourself. You had no more tears left to cry, your husband was gone—you knew it. He'd never disappeared like this, someone must've hurt him.

You stayed in your room from dusk till dawn, staring out of the window and hoping to see him walking below.

The world felt cold as if it lost its color when he left. You no longer saw things the same way nor felt the same way.

Since he disappeared, you became someone totally different. You did not smile, you barely ate, and you slept the days away hoping to see him again. Despite everything that people thought of him, he was your anchor. He was your husband.  

Another day of refused dinner and granted solitude. You sat in the tub, allowing yourself to go completely under water. 

You weren't going to drown, but even the thought would bring you closer to Daeron.

In the middle of your bath your door was opened with a sense of urgency.

You rose from the water, the water falling from you and splashing back into the tub.

The knight's face flushed at the sight of you.

"Apologies, m'lady. Prince Daeron has been found."

Your eyes fluttered as if you did not understand.

"What?"

He nodded, clearly in a rush.

"The guards are bringing him in now."

The knight was at your door and within a second, gone.

Part of you wondered if your mind had played a trick on you, maybe you had truly lost it.

You stepped out of the tub, water splashing onto the stone. Not even bothering to dry yourself off, you put your robe on and made your way out of your chambers.

There was commotion in the hallway, people standing around— gossiping and giving you judgemental stares. You no longer minded the stares, because you had come to understand everything people warned you about.

You walked all the way to the throne room, water from your hair dropping onto the ground. 

When you entered there were candles lit—the kingsguard surrounding Baelor and Maekar.

"Do you have any fucking idea how much havoc you wreaked, disappearing like that?" Maekar yelled.

You walked to the crowd and made your way through.

There Daeron was—dirty, clearly drunk, and unharmed.

A blow to the chest, a blow that made your insides twist with disbelief and disgust.

You glanced at Baelor and Maekar, your wet hair in your face.

"Wife.." Daeron slurred.

"Has he been hurt?"

Baelor stood, his hands interlocked in front of him. "No m'lady."

Your breaths came in harder and faster than you had anticipated.

"Why was.."

"Why was he gone for so long?" You struggled to spit out.

Maekar seethed with anger, his face red like a cherry from the garden.

"Tell her!"

Daeron struggled to raise his face from the ground, drool clinging to the corner of his mouth.

"The dreams became too much, I cannot.. I cannot bear it."

Upon hearing him, you pressed through the knights and walked out of the throne room. You don't even remember the walk to your room, your mind was so clouded— as if you were in a daze.

When you reached your room, you shut your door. Your feet gave out beneath you and your hands covered your mouth as you sobbed.

Your husband was not dead as you worried, he left on his own accord to get drunk. The very thing that he begged you to help him get away from, he ran back to with open arms.

You just couldn't understand, no matter how hard you wanted to.

Your husband had abandoned you, all the sweet dreams and conversations meant nothing.

The next morning, you attended the small council meeting without issue. You had missed the last few that they held, though they all understood why—they were surprised to see you.

You sat in your seat, twisting your fingers as the conversations went on. You were quiet, you didn't add more than what was necessary to the conversation. When the meeting was over, you quickly went back into your chambers. 

You dreamed of home, longed for it. You wanted to see your old friends, your parents. You wanted to feel anything other than the hopelessness that consumed you here in this forsaken place.

It did not take long for Daeron to find his way to you once he spent time alone and began to recover.

He saw you in the hallway on the way to a small council meeting. He called your name and chased after you, but you pretended as if you did not see him. When the meeting was over, as you exited—there he was.

You continued to walk and hum softly to block out his words.

"My love.. please." He begged.

You went to your chambers and left him on the other side of your door, but that did not stop him.

He continued to come—bringing your food, leaving flowers, crying through the door about his dreams.

It pained you a great deal to ignore your husband. You did not want to be mean or cruel, that was not in your nature.

He brought out a side of you that you hated, that he was not supposed to ever see.

One night, you decided to leave the door unlocked in case he wanted to come in. 

You softened a piece of your heart for him, just to finally get it over with.

There was a knock at the door.

"I just wanted to see that you are okay for the night, before I go to my chambers." He spoke.

"Come in." You softly called out.

You sat in your window seat, watching the stars and reciting your prayers.

The door opened and closed with a soft click behind him.

You glanced at him once as he approached closer. His hair was pulled back, he seemed clean, his clothes were also fresh.

"What do you want?" You spoke plainly.

He wiped his sweaty palms onto his pants.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I am sorry that worried you, that I drank, that I left you."

You did not respond, you just sat there and listened.

"I should've came to you about the dreams as you'd told me to. I just could not face you."

You glanced at him, tears running down your cheeks.

He walked closer to you, kneeling beside you and wiping your tears.

"My love.. do not cry."

You were not crying out of sadness, but anger. Your heart racing at his touch.

"No!" You shouted as you slapped him across the face.

He did not wince or whine, he only looked at you as if you deserved it.

"I mourned you, I fully accepted that someone could've killed you.. retreated into my room like a recluse."

He rubbed your cheek, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I know." He spoke softly.

"You abandoned me.." you sobbed.

He held your face and wiped your tears.

"I would never." 

"I could be pregnant with your child and you left."

His eyes widened at the thought, "are you?"

You pulled away, wiping your face with a shrug.

"My blood has not come yet."

His heart sank, because he had screwd up so massively. You might very well be carrying his child and the stress he caused you could've made you lose it.

"I am sorry, if you cannot believe anything else— please, believe that." 

"I want to earn you back. I want to be better for you and possibly them." He smiled and placed his hand on your belly.

"Never do that again." You sniffled.

He brought his hand to your face. "I won't."

His thumb accidentally rubbed your bottom lip, both of you staring at each other.

Your breath hung in your chest, waiting for his next move.

His thumb lingered on your bottom lip, slowly pushing it's way into your mouth. You sucked it, softly and slowly.

Your eyes watching as he was unraveling at the sight.

With a single move, his lips crashed into yours. A heat that had been brewing since he was brought back. You knew that shouldn't fuck him, at least not tonight— but he was your husband. 

You caved to him like a moth to a flame.

His tongue wrestled yours, neither one of you allowing breathing room for the other.

He picked you up and carried you to the bed, laying you down gently.

"I've missed you." He confessed.

You began helping him untie his tunic and untie his trousers.

The wind blew outside, the shutters slamming against the wall.

He pulled his trousers and tunic off, tossing them beside the bed.

You pulled your nightgown off, laying bare in front of him.

"You are so beautiful." He muttered as he kissed along your neck.

You reached your hand down and stroked his cock as he kissed your body, groans leaving his mouth.

"My love,  I will cum on the sheets if you keep that up." He groaned.

His hand cupped your breast, which made you wince.

He pulled away with a puzzled look on his face. "Are they sore?"

You nodded, "very."

He chuckled, placing kisses on your chest and stomach.

"You might actually be carrying a babe."

Your fingers ran through his hair, "Daeron?"

"Hmm?" He replied,

"Will you fuck me already?" 

He came back up to you, his lips claiming yours. He adjusted your legs and thrusted in you.

You gasped, your fingers digging into his back.

He gripped your hips and fucked you like you asked, not making love— but two people who need each other and shouldn't.

"I love you." You moaned.

He breathed deeply into the crook of your neck, "I love you more."

His skin slapped against yours, sounds of your love filling the air.

"I need you, I need you." He grunted, his eyes watering.

He was so deep inside you, claiming every inch of you that he had once abandoned.

"Don't stop, Daeron."

"I'm going to cum." You cried out.

He kissed you.

“Me too, my love."

You moaned so loudly as you reached your peak,  his loud moans following as he filled you. 

“Fuck.” You rasped.

You normally would never be that loud, but you could not help it.

He pulled out of you and left the bed to grab you a cloth. You laid there, trying to catch your breath and keep his seed from leaking onto the sheets.

He came back to the bed and helped you cleaDo you want me to have someone prepare you a bath?"

You nodded. 

"Please."

Once the bath was prepared, the two of you took one together. He sat behind you and whispered sweet nothings into your ear. He couldn't stop rubbing your belly, praying that there was a babe in there. He tried to ease the pain that he had caused you with his disappearance.

Few weeks later..

Your relationship had recovered the best that it could. You love him, but deep down you understood that their was a foul rot in your marriage.

It was like trying to scrub the floorboards clean when they never were to begin with and they never would be.

You knew that you would always have to deal with his drinking and dreams. You knew that there was no perfect world for the two of you, not in this life.

You tried to not let your mind focus on the worrisome parts as you wanted to be happy during your pregnancy.

When it was confirmed, you were terrified of what things would be like. You knew nothing of being a mother or anything that came with it, but Daeron always reassured you that you would be a good one.

He promised to be better and he had held up to that. He only drank a little, just to manage his shakes and keep him from being ill.

The two of you had grown closer and things were looking up.

— —

As the sun had begun to set, you wandered the halls looking for Daeron—ready for your afternoon walk around the garden. As you walked to find him— a guard found you and told you that Baelor needed to see you.

You were sure that it was about the possible rebellion that was on the rise.

When you entered his solar it was tense, Maekar was pacing and Baelor had a dreadful look on his face. 

You sat down in the chair, your palms beginning to sweat.

"I see that things between you and Daeron are getting better." Baelor spoke.

You nodded with a soft smile. "He is doing better, much better."

Maekar stood near the window and scoffed, mumbling profanities under his breath.

"Is Daeron okay?" You questioned with worry. 

Baelor's lips were pursed, his mismatched eyes looking everywhere but at you.

"Yes, he is alright. He is with Aerion."

You felt as if you could finally breathe, but you were still confused as to why you were there.

Baelor pinched the bridge of his nose and sat back in his chair.

"We have been made aware of a troublesome and unsavory rumor that is circling this family." 

"Have you spoken to Daeron about his disappearance?" He questioned.

You tilted your head in confusion and gave an anxious laugh. 

"Not in great detail—“

"What is going on?"

Baelor sighed as if he was reluctant to relay the news.

"There is a rumor that Daeron has sired a child with a woman from one of the whorehouses."

Your fingers instinctively curled in front of your stomach as if you were protecting it. 

"No.. he would—“

"He would never."

"There are two credible spies for the crown that confirmed that they saw them.. coupling—“ Baelor added.

"That does not mean it is his given what she spends her time doing, but we will find out."

You had completely zoned out, your ears were ringing and your mind was elsewhere. 

Tears streamed your cheeks and the floor had fallen from beneath you with no end in sight.

Baelor called your name, bringing you back to his words.

You wiped your tears.

"He said that he would never." You mumbled.

"I ask that you grant me permission to leave and go home." You requested, your voice small and filled with pain.

Maekar glanced at Baelor. "What?"

"M'lady—“ Baelor started.

"I shall like to be alone." You interrupted. 

You stood up and left his solar, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

When you got into your chambers, you grabbed everything that you had and stuffed it into your trunks.

Daeron entered the room with flowers in his hand and a smile.

"My love, I waited at the garden for you—"

He finally noticed that you were packing.

"What are you doing?" 

You did not respond. You closed one of your trucks and locked the latch.

"Why are you packing your things?"

"I am going home." You replied coldly. 

He could not mask the confusion on his face.

"Why are you going home?"

You paused your packing and turned around slowly—your face puffy, wet, and eyes bloodshot red.

"Why would you do that to me? Hmm?"

He walked closer to you, reaching out for your hand but you stepped back.

"Darling, I don't understand."

"You promised me, promised me that you would never betray me.."

"Why would you climb into that whore's bed?"

His brows furrowed, almost offended.

"I don’t have the faintest notion of what you're talking about."

You scoffed. 

"During your time away, you fucked some whore. You know that you did! and you sit in my face and lie?—“

"Even two of the crown’s spies saw you."

He stepped closer, but you held your hand out.

"I would never do that to you."

"She's pregnant as well. So, congratulations Daeron, you have another child coming."

His eyes watered as he was truly convinced that you had gotten it wrong.

A heavy silence lingered, so silent that you could hear your heartbeat. 

His memories flooded his mind of his disappearance and drunken stupor. 

A horrified look on his face took over his face.

"I thought.."

"I thought it was you that I was confiding in about my dreams.. I mustve—“

He gasped, dropping to his knees beside you.

"I did not aim to stray away from you .. my love—“

"I would never.”

His tears wet your dress as he cried, realizing his damage.

"Please..please do not leave. I don't want to lose you and the baby."

"I am afraid I will not make it.." he pleaded.

You stood there contempt flowing through your veins, your life shattered.

The same dirty apple that you were delighted to bite from in the beginning has poisoned you.

You rubbed his head, your tears still flowing down your cheeks.

You had given him all you had to offer— your pride, your dignity, your patience, your love, and your body. All he did was take and ask for more.

Maybe being a widow would have been easier than this, maybe the stranger should have visited this house. It would have been a smaller pill to swallow.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You beamed as you saw your sister Eloise sit on a settee in the drawing room. Her eyes were tracing the words inside the small book that she held between her hands. „Eloise!“ At your excited exclamation of her name, she immediately put the novel aside and stood up. „(Y/N)!“ The two of you quickly crossed the room and engulfed each other in a tight hug. Her brown curls brushed against your cheek. Oh how you missed her. The parties and events were utterly tedious without her by your side. „Finally I get to spend some time with you! Have you been hiding away from me on purpose?“ „Eloise, please. There is no nook or cranny where I could hide without you finding me in less than 5 minutes.“ „Oh come on, make it less than 2 minutes.“ The pair of you sat down on the comfortable settee. Eloise poured some tea into two cups and handed you one of them. You kindly thanked her and took a sip of the aromatic beverage. „So how have you been? Probably lonely without me?“ „Oh indeed (Y/N). I so missed your constant nagging and how you would always steal my favourite tarts.“ She playfully nudged you with her elbow as you rolled your eyes at her words. „At least my company is more fun than the sheep you have spent your time with the past months.“ „Are you sure about that?“

After Eloise shared her travels and experiences from Scotland with you, the two of you parted ways to get ready for the masquerade ball. That is at least what you told your sister. It is only half a lie. Because you so conveniently found a small slip of paper underneath a book that was sitting on your shelf this morning. Romeo and Juliet. It was your way of communicating at which time John and you should meet during the day. And where. Of course one couldn’t simply leave letters with each others names on each others desks. Especially if it is a daily occurrence. So he came up with the most perfect hiding place for these notes. A little tribute to a story that sometimes reminded you of your own demise.

You were sitting on the swing, enjoying the spring sun and listening to the birds chirping while reading a book. Romeo and Juliet. It was one of your favourite novels. „For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.“ His voice jolted you out of the written world of Shakespeare. „I did not expect you to have read the book.“ „I did not. Or at least not the book version.“ He let his gaze wander across the garden, before joining you by sitting down on the other swing. „I once read the play.“ „Did you enjoy it?“ You set the volume down on the grass, focusing your attention on the man. „Back then I didn‘t appreciate it as much as I do now. At first I thought it was silly. Loving someone so much that you would be willing to part from this world just because you couldn‘t be with one another.“ His hand held onto the rope of your swing. His fingers slightly brushing against your own. The touch let your heart race a tad bit faster. „I thought he must be a fool. But now…“ His hand gently wrapped around your own. The warmth that spread from him made your cheeks heat up. His eyes were solely focused on you. Only you. „I sympathise with him and Juliet. I sympathise with their story.“

„Miss (Y/N) I didn‘t expect to see you here.“ Johns teasing voice echoed inside the study, breaking your train of thoughts. The two of you knew that as long as none of your brothers were at home, there would be a slim chance of anyone interrupting you here. Which is why there was a book scribbled on the note. Each room has their own little doodle, just in case someone would accidentally stumble upon them, even though they were well hidden. „What a coincidence indeed John.“ You walked towards him, a smile on your face. His fingers intertwined with your own, as he pulled you closer to him until both your chests touched. The temperature of the room immediately increased and you could feel the tension in the air. If someone would walk in now, there would be no denying your relationship. No more hiding. Sometimes you wished it would just simply happen. You placed your hands on top of his wig and pulled it off. Gently placing it on the table, you wrapped your arms around his neck. „I love your hair. Did it grow a bit longer?“ He chuckled. „It might have.“ The tips of your fingers brushed through the pieces placed at the nape of his neck. You felt him shudder under your touch. „If you continue I won‘t be able to hold back.“ „I didn’t know it only took me simply touching you to unravel you?“ „No. It is more than that. It is the way you look at me. Like I am your world.“ You smiled bashfully at his words and turned your gaze towards the wooden floor.

Suddenly you felt his finger on your chin, forcing you to look at him once more. „I love you.“ You couldn‘t even reciprocate his words before you felt his lips upon your own. He tasted sweet, just like the jelly he paraded through the parlour earlier. Leaning your head a tad bit to the side, you deepened the kiss. His hands wrapped around your waist and slowly began to move to your back, pulling you closer. The air around you shifted. The room felt too small. Way too small. You felt hot. The heat burning you from the inside. Even his touch scorched you. His lips left a trail of kisses from your mouth to your neck. A soft almost inaudible moan left your lips. „John, we can’t. Anyone could just walk in.“ Your words fell upon deaf ears as he just continued engulfing your soft skin with his lips. Careful to not leave any bruises. But he was starving. Starving for your touch. Starving for the sounds that would escape your swollen lips. He was a starved man and you were his salvation. You felt the back of your thighs hit the desk. „Jump“ Johns voice was husky. It sent a shiver down your spine. Doing as he said, you now sat upon the table. The same one on which Anthony would sign important papers and Benedict would sometimes fill in on his behalf. This was wrong. But oh it felt too good. It felt so right. The cool of the wood could be felt through your dress and it grounded your hazy mind a bit. And in this split second of you finally, finally coming down from the ecstasy you felt, you could finally properly hear. Not your heartbeat. Not the buzzing of the blood rushing through your ears. But the silence. The silence that engulfed this room. Except, of course, for the heated breaths that left both your lips. And apparently the footsteps that seemed to get louder as seconds passed by. Your eyes widened, as you registered the sound echoing from outside the door. Your body automatically started to get into panic mode. Quickly jumping off of the table, you shoved Johns wig onto his head and took a few quick steps to the side. Grabbing the next best thing you could find, you tried to look as innocent as humanly possible. Even with that flush still visible on both your cheeks.

so when the tour brought him to los angeles, where he knew you lived, how could he not shoot his shot? he half expected you to ignore him. you had millions more followers than he did—not that he cared about that—and he knew your dms had to be full of men begging for a chance.

when your response came up on his screen during sound check, his heart stopped.

before he knew it, he was performing, his eyes darting to the side of the stage more times than he intended just to see your reactions as you watched him. the clips and speculation would go wild online later—who was he looking at? who was there?—but that didn’t matter to him 

“fuck, look at you,” steve rasped when he had you spread out on the bed in his hotel suite after the show, bare and perfect and better than anything he’d dreamed of alone with his throbbing cock in his hand.

you smiled up at him, so pretty and too sweet for what he was about to do to you. his cock was rock hard, dripping with precum already as he pressed against your cunt, so soaked for him, just for him. when you’d told him you were on birth control and he could fuck you raw, he’d nearly cum on the spot.

he grabbed your thighs with those big hands you’d been watching all night, and pushed them up against your body, spreading you wide for him. the groan he let out at the sight was pornographic, making you clench around nothing. you wanted him inside you now—you’d heard the rumors, and they were true. steve was huge.

he nudged his thick tip at your hole, where you were so desperate for him, and then—

“oh, fuck,” he nearly whimpered as he sunk into you, inch by thick inch. he hadn’t realized how badly he needed the real thing until he was burying his cock into your perfect cunt. tight, wet, hot, and squeezing him so perfectly he wasn’t sure how long he’d last. but he was not going to embarrass himself now.

“god, steve,” you whined, writhing under him as you adjusted to the way he stretched you out. he only gave you a second before he was pulling back, then fucking into you like he couldn’t stand not to for another second. you gasped and moaned and cried out for him, your sounds making his hips buck uncontrollably, taking you harder.

“i—holy shit,” steve groaned, hips rutting against you so hard the bed was shaking against the wall. the heat in his gaze as he looked down at you nearly took your breath away, his cheeks flushed, messy hair stuck to his forehead. his fingers tightened against your thighs when he looked down, watching himself sink into you over and over. “jesus fuck. your pussy—oh—god, you’re so good, baby, could fuck you for hours, oh fuck yeah squeeze me like that again—“

he fucked you like a man starved, like he’d been craving this with his whole body for longer than you could even comprehend. he bent over you to capture your lips in a filthy kiss, pressing your legs tighter against you, nearly bending you in half as he licked into your mouth, bit your bottom lip, groaned against you.

you couldn’t even warn him before you came. it hit you when he sat up, adjusting the angle of his hips and using his grip on your body to drag you down against his cock so hard you were seeing stars.

“yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he coaxed breathlessly, his eyes rolling back as he felt you tighten around him, milking his cock for everything he had. “god, yeah, cum for me just like that, so good baby, so good, fuck, fuck—!”

he was so close, right behind you, you could tell. he watched your tits bounce from the force of his thrusts while he used your body to chase his high, the one he’d been craving for so long, and you were gonna give it to him.

“gonna cum in you,” he rambled, his mind going hazy from the pleasure. “gonna give it to you baby, gonna give it all, gonna fill you up so fuckin’ deep—“

he let out a choked moan, his hips losing their rhythm as he lost himself in you. “fuck, yeah, fuck, oh fuck, gonna cum, gonna make me cum, shit—“

it was your name on his lips when his cock jerked inside the tight confines of your perfect cunt, spilling every drop of his cum into you, pulsing deep and filling you just like he’d promised. it was the release he’d needed so badly, like he’d dreamed of, only better. he rode it out until it finally subsided, feeling like he could have come forever.

when he pulled out, he collapsed next to you. his hand resting on your waist as you both came down, neither of you in a rush to put any distance between you, or to get back to your individual hectic lives. there was something sweet about the way he looked at you now, like he couldn’t quite believe it was you here with him now.

A sigh of relief pushes itself out from your chest when your lover crosses the threshold.

"Oh, thank goodness," you say, rushing to him and taking him in your arms. "Thank goodness you're home."

"I'll always come back to you, for as long as the fates allow me to," Enjolras replies with an assured smile as he brushes tendrils of hair from your face. "Do you remember what day it is, mon amour?"

"These days seem to all meld into one as of late," you reply with a coy smile. "But of course I do, why do you think I was so anxious for you to come home?

His big brown eyes meet yours, traveling over the expanse of your face before settling on your lips. He pulls you to him by the waist, his hand tracing the curve of your face until his thumb brushes over the soft pillows of your mouth.

"Then remind me," his voice is nearly a growl as he tugs at your waist thrusting his hips to yours.

"Joyeux anniversaire, mon cœur," you say breathlessly.

"Older," he says with a mix of exhaustion and relief, "for at least one more day."

"The only day you can say you're older by an entire year," you remind him and encourage him—never letting the kindling of his fiery resistance burn out. "We should celebrate."

"You have something in mind?" A glimmer of mischief and unbridled need shines in his eyes.

With a slow glide of your hands, you let your shawl drop from your shoulders. The right sleeve of your dress slides down with the motion. In the firelight it enhances your shoulders and the fullness of your décolletage.

"Take all you need—I'm already yours."

A wanton moan leaves his mouth upon taking in your words. His hand roams the structured fabric of your bodice until they meet where you have laced it. With agonizingly slow caresses, he slips his fingers beneath the laces making it undone—a taste of how he intends to make you come undone.

Your chest heaves as his fingers move down the length of your bodice — an enticing enough of a distraction for him to fumble with a few laces. The bright red of his kerchief, you decide, is far too inhibiting around his neck. With a gentle pull of your right hand, you loosen it to reveal his strong neck and chest. His breaths, too, are deep as you eye the tight curls of his chest hair.

And in the shortest moments, he's discarding your corset to the floor as you pull your chemise over your head throwing it aside. He works at unbuttoning your overskirt and petticoats with a huff of impatience and frustration.

"Why are there so many skirts," he grumbles, coaxing a laugh from you.

"I often wonder the same, especially when I am in your presence," you whisper as the last of your garments fall to the floor.

He beholds you —fully exposed to him—in a daze of constant wonderment that you are actually his. His hands, still cold from the outside, are startling feeling to the bare skin of your hips. A begging whimper escapes you as his right hand traces lightly over your mound until his fingers find their rightful place between your thighs.

You nearly crumble to your knees as he moves his fingers over your folds and pushes them within you. The desperation you hold is apparent as you frantically push off his waistcoat and stumble to lift his shirt over his head.

"Been craving this, have you?" He laughs and teases you before pulling off his shirt to join in the pile of clothing you've discarded.

Those firm fingers of his find your most sensitive of buds, pulsing and begging to be touched.

"Enjolras!" You can only manage to cry out his name while gripping him by the shoulders and pressing your naked body to him.

The smirk he wears on his ruddy lips shows the satisfaction he has in making your body quiver. He removes his fingers from your center and wraps his arms around your waist. The warmth of the fire along with your heat for each other envelope you. The softness of his lips touches yours until you pull each other into the deepest of kisses—hungry and intense—like you've never kissed each other before and as though desperately need it to exist.

In tandem you fall gently to your knees on the floor. Breaking free from your kiss, he looks at you and brushes your long waves from your face. With his thumb he sweeps a gentle touch across the pink of your bottom lip. Then he lays you down gently and you watch as he steps out of his boots, pants, and finally his undergarments.

The golden-red glow from the fireplace illuminates his thin, yet well-defined form. Hunger has not completely taken its toll on him. It is as though he is fueled by his sheer want for revolution.

Your body shivers in anticipation for him as he crawls towards you, the floor boards creaking beneath his hands and knees. Then it happens faster than you can think and nearly quicker than you can gasp. His shoulders part your legs and he's clearing a path to your warmth with wet kisses where he settles his mouth to kiss your folds. He falls into you with the slowest, deepest, and most needy stroke of his tongue. It feels so much like heaven you can't even say his name. You can only moan and cry a prayer of gratitude for each swirl, twist, and flick of his tongue.

Beyond his hunger for food, he hungers for you. He shows it in how he devours you. His lips take in your folds until they find your perfect little bud. He laps at it and flicks it with the attention of man eager to show he's paid attention to every lesson that is you and this is his test.

"Enjolras!!!" You cry out, arching your back from the floor.

It only makes him push his mouth deeper. As he adores the deepest parts of you with his tongue. His fingers squeeze into the flesh of your thighs and he drinks your nectar like it's the only thing that can satiate his thirst. Your toes curly from the epitome of ecstasy and you cry out for him yet again. The neighbors and pedestrians in the streets likely hear the accolades you have for his every move. And you swear you hear him give out an audible smirk. He hopes everyone knows how good he makes you feel.

He lets you go, still quaking from your first peak of pleasure and lies next to you. Gathering your breath, you turn to him and kiss him, feeling the whiskers of his mustache on your skin as you taste yourself on his tongue. He sighs as your hand gently travels from his face, to his chest, his abdomen, and lower until you take hold of exactly what you want and exactly what you need. The hitch of his breath that quickens with each up and down stroke of his manhood tells you you're doing everything right.

"Good God," he groans as you work on him, keeping him in your hand as you place your legs on either side of his thighs.

His cock is waiting and straining for you, pulsing in anticipation for what he knows comes next. On instinct you take a deep breath before rubbing him over your opening and you lower yourself onto his shaft. Enjolras releases a deep and rough moan as he feels you tightened around him and even more as you begin to move. You flutter and tremble at his girth, rocking over him. He groans as he thrusts up into you while you bounce on him. You feel his hands grip your hips as you brace your hands on his abs. Sweat beads over your body as any words you've ever had turns into a chorus building into a crescendo of each other's names.

He presses himself up with his arms, thrusting deeper into you for a moment before he lifts you from his cock with a moan of surprise and fleeting disappointment. You wish he was always inside.

"Turn around on your hands and knees," he orders, before kissing you and pumping his cock.

You turn with a nod, closing your eyes waiting for the moment he pushes in. Then his hands find your hips and you feel it. He's thick, throbbing, and harder than ever and every glorious inch of him moves through your folds. You squeeze and squeeze and squeeze. It wouldn't be long. You could already feel another orgasm building inside you.

"Enjolras!" His name leaves your lips with a loud sob.

He thrusts over and over, alternating between fast and slow and fast and slow. He wants to make sure you feel every vein of him as he slides in and out. An intense need builds within both of you for him to move faster and harder, the head of him hitting that spot over and over. Each time you make love always feels like the last and somehow it gets better and better burning the memory of your bodies into your brain.

"Oh god, oh god Enjolras!"

You're crying now. Every nerve of your body has lit up with a pleasure that only he can provide. You're quaking for him as you explode around his cock. He is that good.

You clutch at the rug beneath you as choke him within you. As you scream out his name, he groans and releases ropes and ropes of heat inside you filling you up so much that some leaks from your warmth. He holds himself in you for a few quiet moments, allowing for you both to regain your breath.

You both collapse onto the rug after he leaves sheath of warmth that is you. Holding each other is always the natural thing to do. Silence takes over the room as you keep your head pressed to his chest. You take in the calm of his breaths, the beating of his heart reverberating in your ears and beneath your fingertips. They could be one of the last times you hear them. The way his fingers caress the waves of your hair could be the last time you feel him do that. He wants to say something serious, something that stands on the precipice of finality, but a tighter squeeze of him in your arms tells him it's not the time.

"Happy birthday, my love," you whisper.

"Another day older," he sighs.

"Another year, mon cœur."