bio

I create little worlds about anyone I would totally fall in love with irl.

MC. adult. when you know you know ig. minors dni.

masterlist

The Price I'd Pay for You. (Jacaerys Velaryon)

Burn the World. (Jacaerys Velaryon) - coming soon.

Learning Curve. (Jeon Jungkook) - coming soon.

Disease. (Park Jimin) - coming soon.

Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // sensitive topics, familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 11 word count: 2998

notes: This one is shorter than the others, I really just needed a chapter filler to guide myself and you into how she is working with and on herself moving forward from Jace... I have gone ahead and written 2 more chapters in preparation for this one to be released, they do not have Jace in them still which I think might be boring so please let me know if youd like me to drop them asap so we can get back to Jace and MC time! I think I'm just worried about engagement and keeping people interested without having Jace around.

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 11

Morning came with the soft pittering of feet outside your chamber door, only a few servants up at this early hour. You rolled out of bed and slipped a robe around yourself, covering yourself from the early morning light. You moved through the familiar corridors like a ghost, your footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone.

Your mother's chambers occupied the western wing, overlooking the sprawl of King's Landing and beyond the castle walls. When you knocked, her voice called for you to enter almost immediately, as though she had been expecting you. She sat at a small table near the window, already dressed and composed, a cup of tea cooling before her. The vial of moon tea sat beside it, small and innocuous.

"You have decided," she said. It was not a question.

"Yes." Your voice came out steadier than you felt. "I need it."

Alicent studied your face for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she reached for the vial and held it out to you. Her fingers were steady where yours shook as you took it from her palm. The glass was cool against your skin, the liquid inside darker than you had imagined, almost black in the dim light.

"Drink it all," she instructed quietly. "Do not stop halfway, it's taste is horrible but it passes quickly."

You uncorked the vial. The smell that rose from it was bitter and herbal, reminiscent of wormwood and something sharper, something that made your stomach turn even before the liquid touched your lips. You lifted it to your mouth and drank. The taste was vile, coating your tongue and throat with an acrid film that made you gag. You forced yourself to swallow, to drain every last drop, until the vial was empty and you could set it down with shaking hands.

"How long?" you asked.

"An hour, perhaps two. The cramping will start first." Your mother rose and guided you to the bed, her touch surprisingly gentle. "Lie down. I will stay with you."

You obeyed, settling back against the pillows as your mother pulled a chair close to the bedside. For a while, nothing happened. You lay there in silence, feeling only the rapid beating of your heart and the lingering bitterness on your tongue. Then the first cramp hit.

It started low in your belly, a tightening sensation that made you draw in a sharp breath. The pain built slowly at first, a dull ache that spread through your lower abdomen like fingers closing into a fist. You pressed your hand against your stomach, as though you could somehow hold the life inside you in place through sheer will even though you came here to do the opposite. The cramping intensified, waves of pain that came faster and harder with each passing moment.

Your mother reached for your other hand and held it firmly. "Breathe through it," she said. "Do not fight the pain. Let it come."

You tried to follow her instruction, drawing in deep breaths as the cramping became unbearable. Sweat broke out across your forehead and upper lip. Your body was rejecting what it had been nurturing, expelling the tiny life that had taken root inside you. The pain was unlike anything you had experienced, sharp and relentless, a physical manifestation of the choice you had made.

The bleeding started perhaps an hour later. You felt the warm rush of it between your thighs, soaking through your smallclothes and into the bedding beneath you. Your mother called for a servant to bring fresh linens and a basin of water, her voice calm and authoritative despite the circumstances. She helped you out of your soiled garments with practiced efficiency, washing you clean with a damp cloth before helping you into a fresh shift.

"It will continue for several hours," she told you as she worked. "Perhaps into tomorrow. You must rest and let your body do what it needs to do."

You nodded weakly, too exhausted to speak. The cramping continued in waves, each one stealing your breath and leaving you gasping. You curled onto your side, drawing your knees up toward your chest in a futile attempt to ease the pain. Your mother sat beside you throughout it all, her hand resting on your shoulder, her presence a strange comfort in the midst of your suffering.

As the morning stretched into afternoon, the worst of the pain began to subside. The cramping grew less frequent, less intense, though the bleeding continued. You lay there in a haze of exhaustion and grief, feeling the life drain out of you in slow, steady pulses. The child you had carried for three months was gone now, expelled from your body in blood and tissue, reduced to nothing more than a stain on the linens.

Your mother rose to refresh the basin of water, wringing out the cloth she had been using to cool your forehead. When she returned to your bedside, she sat down heavily, as though the weight of the day had finally caught up with her. For a long moment, she said nothing, simply staring at her hands folded in her lap.

"You will need to lay with Aegon again," she said finally, her voice quiet. "If you do not conceive within the next few months, the whispers will become shouts."

You turned your head to look at her, too tired to feel anything beyond a dull resignation. "I understand."

"Do you?" Your mother's gaze lifted to meet yours, and there was something raw in her expression, something you had never seen before. "Do you understand what I have done to you?"

You did not answer. You were not certain what she wanted you to say.

"Rhaenyra came to me," your mother continued, her voice taking on a distant quality, as though she were speaking more to herself than to you. "Years ago, when you were still children and even after that, after you had grown and we all suspected you two to be... Close. She proposed a betrothal between you and Jacaerys. She said it would unite our families, would heal the rift that had grown between us. She said her son loved you, that you loved him, that such a match would bring happiness to you both."

Your face twisted with even the name leaving your mother's lips, the thought of that long served memory and all the other things spiraling through your mind.

"I refused her," your mother said. "I told her it was impossible, that such a match would only legitimize him more than he already was as her son, despite being a bastard. I was angry with her. I told her that duty demanded you marry within our own family, that the realm required it. I chose politics over your heart. I chose the crown over your happiness."

She fell silent, her hands twisting in her lap, wringing her skin to leave folds and wrinkles. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I made a grave mistake, I see that now. I sacrificed you for a throne that may not even survive the coming storm. I destroyed your chance at love because I believed duty was more important than happiness. I was wrong."

You stared at her, unable to process the enormity of what she was saying. Your mother never admitted to being wrong. She never questioned her choices, never second-guessed the decisions she made in service to the realm. To hear her speak these words now, in the aftermath of what you had just endured, felt surreal.

"It is too late now," she continued, her voice breaking slightly. "The choice has been made. You are married to Aegon. Jace is betrothed to Baela as well, a lovely pair. There is no undoing what has been done. I can only tell you that I am sorry, I am sorry for what I have cost you, I am sorry for the life you will never have."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, silent and unbidden. You had not expected this, had not anticipated that your mother would acknowledge the cruelty of what had been done to you. Anger and grief surged through you, the thought of what your life could have been slipped past your eyes. Her apology did not change anything. It did not bring back the child you had lost or the future you had been denied. It only made the weight of it all feel heavier, more unbearable.

Your mother reached out and took your hand again, squeezing it gently. "Rest now," she said. "You need your strength."

She stayed with you until evening, until the bleeding had slowed and the cramping had faded to almost nothing.

"You are stronger than I ever was," she said quietly. "Remember that."

The weeks that followed blurred together in a haze of physical recovery and emotional devastation. Your body healed slowly, the pain subsiding into occasional twinges. The bleeding coming back here and there from stress or missed blood, tapering off until it finally stopped altogether. You moved through the Red Keep like a ghost. The servants whispered when they thought you could not hear, speculating about your pallor, your listlessness, the way you seemed to have retreated into yourself.

Every morning, you climbed the winding stairs to the rookery. The maester who tended the ravens that had grew accustomed to your presence, welcomed you, even told you well before you had completed the last step that no ravens had came. You searched each scroll with desperate hope anyways, looking for a blank grey seal, for some acknowledgment of what you had done, what you had sacrificed. You had written to him the day after you took the moon tea, your hand shaking as you penned the words. You told him it was done, that the child was gone, that you had made the choice you both agreed was necessary. You told him you loved him, that you needed to hear from him, that his silence, especially now, would be unbearable.

No response came.

You returned to the rookery each morning, your heart clenching with hope each time a raven arrived, only to discover messages about grain and livestock shipments or political maneuvering. Never anything for you. Never anything from him.

Perhaps your letter had never reached him. Perhaps it had been intercepted, destroyed before he could read it. Or perhaps, and this thought was the most devastating of all, he had received it and chosen not to respond. Perhaps the weight of what you had done together, the reality of the child you had ended, was too much for him to bear along with all of the other things poisoning his mind.

You had endured the pain, the bleeding, the physical expulsion of the life you had carried. You had made the choice to protect a child that would never be born, to spare it from a life of shame and danger. You had sacrificed everything, and the one person who could have understood, who could have been there with you in writing if not in body, had abandoned you to silence, again.

Starfyre grew restless in your absence from the Dragonpit. When you finally forced yourself to visit, your dragon pressed her great head against your chest, keening softly. You wrapped your arms around her neck and wept into her scales, the first tears you had allowed yourself since the day you took the moon tea. She understood loss in a way humans could not.

Your mother watched you with increasing concern. She did not press you about Aegon, did not demand to know when you would resume your wifely duties. For once, Alicent seemed content to let you heal in your own time. She brought you meals herself sometimes, sitting with you in silence while you picked at the food on your plate. The tenderness she showed you now only emphasized how alone you truly were. Even your mother's newfound compassion could not fill the void Jace's silence had created.

It was nearly a month after you took the moon tea when you finally returned to the chambers you shared with Aegon. It was mandatory that you both begin sharing a room again. The physical recovery was complete by then anyways. Your body restored to its former state as though the pregnancy had never existed. Only you knew the truth of what you had lost, what you had endured. Only you carried the weight of that knowledge because Jace had not acknowledged it after, had not shared in the grief that threatened to consume you.

Night had fallen over the Red Keep, the corridors lit by torches that cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. You moved slowly through the familiar passages, your body no longer weak but your spirit utterly depleted. A servant had helped you dress earlier, lacing you into a simple gown of deep green that made your skin look even paler than usual. You had stared at your reflection in the mirror and barely recognized the hollow-eyed woman looking back.

When you entered the marital chambers, you found Aegon standing by the window. He was silhouetted against the moonlit sprawl of King's Landing beyond the walls, his posture tense as he stared out at the city below. He turned at the sound of the door closing, and for a long moment neither of you spoke. You simply looked at each other across the space of the room, two people bound by duty and circumstance, trapped in a marriage neither of you had wanted.

His gaze traveled over you slowly, taking in your pale face and the exhaustion evident in every line of your body. Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of pity perhaps.

"You look unwell," he said finally, his voice lacking its usual edge of resentment or mockery.

"I am tired," you replied. The words felt inadequate to describe the bone-deep weariness that had settled into you, the emotional devastation that no amount of rest could cure.

He nodded slowly, his eyes still studying your face as though trying to read something written there. Then he turned back to the window, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I have no intention of troubling you tonight."

Relief flooded through you so profound it nearly brought you to your knees. You had been bracing yourself for the expectation, for the duty that was demanded of you despite everything you had endured. To be granted this reprieve even now felt like an unexpected mercy, a small kindness in a world that had shown you precious little of either.

"There is a woman," Aegon continued, still facing the window so you could not see his expression. "In the city. I have been visiting her. Frequently."

You understood what he was telling you. He had found his own escape now, a true one, his own way of surviving the cage you both inhabited. He had someone who sought him out, who wanted his company, who made him feel something other than trapped. The knowledge should have stung, should have felt like betrayal, yet you could not summon the energy to care. If anything, you felt a strange sort of envy. At least he had someone. At least he was not drowning in silence and abandonment.

"Does she make you happy?" you asked lifting a book off of a small table in front of the hearth, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aegon was quiet for a moment, his silhouette dark against the moonlight streaming through the window. "She makes me forget about all of this," he said finally. "That is enough."

You moved to the bed and sat down on its edge, your body with an aching that went beyond the physical. The silence between you was not uncomfortable. It was the silence of two people who had barely spoken since your arranged marriage, yet knew each other on a level that others would not comprehend. Two people who had found a way to coexist within the confines of their shared cell without demanding more than the other could give.

He turned to look at you, his expression softening in the dim light. "You should rest. You look as though you might collapse."

"I intend to."

Aegon crossed the room slowly and paused beside the bed, looking down at you with something that might have been concern or perhaps simply recognition of shared suffering. "We are both trapped," he said. "In different ways, perhaps, trapped nonetheless."

"Yes," you agreed. "We are."

He reached out and briefly touched your shoulder, a gesture that held only a strange sort of solidarity. Then he withdrew his hand and moved toward the door, his footsteps soft against the stone floor.

"I will return before dawn," he said. "For appearances."

"I understand."

He left without another word, the door closing softly behind him. You sat there in the silence of the empty chamber, feeling the familiar weight of everything that had transpired settle over you like storm clouds once again.

You lay back against the pillows and closed your eyes, your hand resting over your long passed empty stomach. The pain had gone in your body but the memories hurt worse than a hundred daggers. Yet, tomorrow, you would rise and begin again the charade that you had fallen out of. It only took months after Jace's departure and final silences for you to resume the position you were given.

The moon continued its arc across the sky, indifferent to your suffering, indifferent to the choices that had brought you to this moment. You lay there in the darkness and counted your losses one by one. The man you loved since childhood, the life you dreamed of, your child, your freedom. You counted them all until exhaustion finally claimed you and you slipped into a dreamless sleep, still waiting for a response that would never come.

Chapter 12.

Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // sensitive topics, familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 10 word count: 5824

notes: Uhg I love this chapter, also be prepared bc you arent seeing jace for a while. SORRY. Also the amount of ship terms I had to research for this is insane.

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 10

The journey to Driftmark took most of the day. You stood at the prow of the ship as it cut through grey waters, watching the island emerge from the mist like something from a dream. The fortress rose from pale stone cliffs, its towers stark against the overcast sky. Seabirds wheeled overhead, their cries sharp and mournful. The wind carried the salt tang of the ocean, cold against your face, whipping your hair back from your shoulders. You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself, though the chill you felt had little to do with the weather.

Aegon stood beside you, silent for once. He had been subdued since receiving word of Laenor's death, his usual sardonic humor absent. Whatever his faults, he understood the gravity of attending a funeral, the weight of standing witness to another family's grief. Your mother stood near the stern with your father, her expression composed, her hands folded neatly before her. Aemond and Helaena remained below deck, away from the wind and spray.

As the ship approached the harbor, you could see figures gathered on the docks. The Velaryon banners hung at half-mast, their seahorse sigil rippling in the wind. Your stomach twisted with anxiety. After months of fading letters and growing silence, after weeks of carrying his child in secret, you would see him again. The thought filled you with equal parts desperate longing and nauseating dread.

The ship docked easily. Sailors secured the lines while a gangplank was lowered. Your father descended first, his movements slow and careful, his health clearly in shambles. Your mother followed, then you and Aegon, then your siblings. The wood creaked beneath your feet as you walked down to the dock, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Rhaenyra stood at the head of the welcoming party, dressed in black, her face pale with grief. Daemon stood beside her, his expression unreadable after just losing his wife a few weeks prior. Luke was there, his young face drawn and red-rimmed from crying. Baela and Rhaena flanked them, both in mourning clothes, both solemn.

Jace stood behind his little brothers. He wore black as well, the color rich against his brown hair. His face was carefully composed, though you could see the grief etched into every line of his features. He looked older somehow, as though the past three months had aged him years. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture rigid with the effort of maintaining control.

Your father approached Rhaenyra first, offering condolences in a voice that carried across the dock. Your mother followed, her words formal and appropriate. You watched this exchange with only half your attention. Your gaze kept drifting to Jace, willing him to look at you, desperate for some acknowledgment, some sign that he still felt what you felt.

He did not look at you. His gaze remained fixed on some point in the middle distance, his jaw tight, his entire body radiating tension. When your father moved to speak with Daemon, when your mother embraced Rhaenyra with surprising tenderness, when the formal greetings shifted into quieter conversations, Jace still did not look at you.

The Velaryons led your family up the winding path from the harbor to the fortress. The climb was steep, the stone steps worn smooth by centuries of use. You walked beside Aegon, your hand resting lightly on his arm for balance, though you barely registered his presence. Your attention remained fixed on Jace's back as he walked ahead with his family. His shoulders were set, his stride purposeful. He did not turn around. He did not slow his pace. He gave no indication that he was aware of your presence at all.

The fortress interior was cool and dim after the brightness of the outdoors. Servants moved through the halls with quiet efficiency, their faces appropriately somber. The Velaryons had prepared chambers for the visiting royal family, rooms that overlooked the sea. A steward showed you and Aegon to your quarters, a spacious suite with windows that faced the water. You thanked him mechanically, barely hearing your own words.

When the door closed behind the steward, Aegon moved to the window and stared out at the grey expanse of ocean. "This is going to be miserable," he said quietly. "Funerals always are."

You did not respond. You stood in the center of the room, your hands clasped before you, your mind racing. Jace had not looked at you. Not once. Not even a glance. The coldness of his avoidance felt like coiled snake, worse somehow than the fading letters, worse than the growing silence. At least the letters had contained some warmth, some indication that he still cared. This complete avoidance felt like erasure, as though you had ceased to exist for him entirely.

The afternoon passed in a blur of formal gatherings and quiet conversations. The royal family assembled in the great hall for a meal, though few people seemed to have much appetite. You sat beside Aegon at a table with your siblings, picking at your food without tasting it. Across the hall, Jace sat with his family. You watched him when you thought no one was looking, searching his face for some sign of the boy you loved. He remained distant, his expression carefully neutral, his attention focused on his mother and brothers.

Servants moved between tables refilling cups and clearing plates, you had been looking down at your plate, pushing food around with your fork, when some instinct made you glance up. Your gaze met Jace's across the hall.

The impact was immediate and devastating. His eyes were still just as beautiful but filled with a grief that went beyond his father's death. You saw longing there, and pain, and something that looked like yearning. The connection lasted only a heartbeat. Then his expression shuttered, his gaze sliding away as though the sight of you caused him physical pain. He turned his attention back to Luke, who was speaking quietly beside him, and did not look your way again.

Your belly clenched violently the moment his gaze left yours. The sickness surged through you in response to that second of loss connection. For one heartbeat, he had looked at you and you had looked at him, the anguish, the longing, the love he could not voice. Then he had chosen to make you invisible.

Your hand trembled as you set down your fork, your breath coming shallow and quick. You reached for your wine cup with fingers that felt numb, the liquid cool and tart on your tongue, doing nothing to settle the rolling in your stomach. Aegon glanced at you, though he said nothing. You forced yourself to take a breath, then another, willing your body to obey even as your mind reeled.

That single moment of eye contact had told you everything you needed to know. Jace was not indifferent. He was not cold. He was breaking, just as you were breaking, and his avoidance was not cruelty in the traditional sense. It was survival. He could not look at you without shattering, could not acknowledge you without losing the careful control he had constructed. The realization should have brought comfort. Instead, it made everything worse. You were both drowning, and neither of you could reach for the other without pulling you both under.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of polite conversation and careful avoidance. You retired to your chambers early, claiming fatigue from the journey. Aegon did not question this. He had his own demons to wrestle with, his own complicated feelings about duty and family. He left you alone in the sitting room while he disappeared into the bedchamber, likely to drink himself into oblivion as he often did when faced with situations he found uncomfortable. Or any situation at all really.

You stood at the window and watched the sun sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold. The sea stretched out endlessly before you, dark and restless.

Tomorrow would bring the funeral. Tomorrow would bring more avoidance, more anguish, more of this slow torture. Tomorrow you would stand beside Aegon and watch Jace grieve, and you would not be able to comfort him. You would not be able to touch him. You would not be able to tell him about the child you carried, about the choice you still had not made, about the moon tea waiting in your mother's chambers back at King's Landing.

Tonight, however, you simply stood at the window and watched the light fade from the sky, one hand on your stomach, wondering how much more of this you could endure before you broke completely.

The morning of the funeral dawned grey and cold. Mist rolled in from the sea, shrouding the castle in a damp chill that seeped through stone and clothing alike. You dressed in black, as was appropriate for mourning. Your handmaidens worked in silence, their movements efficient and practiced. They arranged your hair in a simple style, pinned back from your face, and draped a black veil over your head. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you barely recognized the pale, hollow-eyed woman staring back.

Aegon was already dressed when you emerged from the bedchamber. He wore black as well, his usual disheveled appearance replaced by something more formal and appropriate. He offered you his arm without comment, and you took it, grateful for the support. Your legs felt unsteady, your stomach churning with anxiety and nausea.

The funeral was to be held on the cliffs overlooking the sea, a traditional Velaryon ceremony. The entire household assembled in the courtyard before making the procession out to the ceremony site. You stood with your family, your hand resting on Aegon's arm, watching as the Velaryons gathered. Rhaenyra stood at the center, flanked by Daemon and her sons. She wore black silk that rippled in the wind, her silver hair loose around her shoulders. Her face was composed, though you could see the grief etched into every line of her features.

Jace stood beside his mother, his expression carefully neutral. He wore black leather and wool, practical clothing suited to the coastal wind. Luke stood on his other side, young and devastated, barely holding himself together. Baela and Rhaena completed the family group, both dressed in mourning clothes, both solemn and dignified.

The procession began. The Velaryons led the way, followed by the royal family, then the household staff and various lords and ladies who had come to pay their respects. You walked beside Aegon, your steps measured and careful on the uneven ground. The path wound along the cliff edge, the sea crashing against rocks far below.

The ceremony site had been prepared with care. A stone platform jutted out over the water, ancient and weathered by centuries of salt spray. Torches had been lit despite the daylight, their flames guttering in the wind. A pyre had been constructed at the center of the platform, draped in Velaryon colors. The body, what remained of it after the fire, had been prepared according to tradition.

The assembled crowd arranged themselves in a semicircle around the platform. The Velaryons stood closest to the pyre, the royal family just behind them, then everyone else in order of rank and relation. You found yourself standing with a clear view of the proceedings. From this position, you could see Jace's profile, could watch the way he held himself rigid with grief, could see the trembling in his hands that he tried to hide by clasping them behind his back.

A septon stepped forward to begin the rites. His voice carried over the sound of wind and waves as he spoke of death and duty, of honor and legacy, of the eternal nature of the soul. The words were traditional, formal, meant to provide comfort through their familiarity. You barely heard them. Your attention remained fixed on dead wrapped in cloth.

When the septon finished, Rhaenyra stepped forward. She stood before the wooden coffin, her back straight, her head held high despite the grief that must have been crushing her. The wind whipped her hair around her face, tugged at her black silk gown.

Jace's shoulders had begun to shake. You could see him fighting for control, fighting to hold himself together as his mother stood before his late father in silence. Luke and Joffery cuddled into Jace's sides while Daemon stood quietly behind them, the face of a new protector for the three boys and their mother.

Rhaenyra's composure finally cracked. Small tears streamed down her face as she looked at the remains of the man who had been her partner for so many years.

She stepped back, her hand moving to her heart in a gesture of farewell. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys moved forward with a gift to their son. Lord Corlys' movements solemn and deliberate, he rested it atop his chest, closing his eyes in silent prayer before ordering to have him pushed to sea where his sister now also lay.

The assembled crowd watched in silence as the waves crashed over him. You stood beside Aegon and watched Jace grieve, watched him struggle to maintain composure as his father's remains were consumed by the sea. Your heart ached with the need to go to him, to wrap your arms around him, to offer whatever comfort you could. You remained frozen in place, your hand on Aegon's arm, while the man you loved fell apart mere feet away.

The ceremony continued for what felt like hours. The septon spoke more prayers. Various lords and ladies came forward to offer condolences to the family. The waves slowed, no longer crashing against the wall but rocking softly, like a welcome.

Throughout it all, you watched. You memorized the line of his shoulders, he looked taller, his shoulders wider, larger even. His hair had grown, framing the edges of his jaw line that you loved so much. His hands seemed to have held weight now, darker, rougher.

When the ceremony finally concluded, the crowd began to disperse. People moved in small groups back toward the fortress, their voices low and respectful. The Velaryons remained on the platform, standing together as a family, watching the last embers die. You walked back with your family, your steps mechanical, your mind elsewhere.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of formal gatherings and quiet conversations. A meal was served in the great hall, though it felt more like an obligation than a comfort. You pushed food around your plate, unable to eat, unable to focus on anything except the weight of grief that hung over the entire castle. You did not try to speak with Jace. You simply existed in the same space, separated by duty and propriety and the impossible circumstances that had torn you apart.

As evening approached, you found yourself unable to bear the confines of the stone walls any longer. They felt too close, the air too thick. You needed space, needed to breathe, needed to escape the suffocating weight of grief and obligation. You slipped away, moving through corridors and down staircases until you found a door that led outside.

The path down to the beach was steep and treacherous in the fading light. You gathered your skirts and descended carefully, your hand trailing along the cliff face for balance. The wind had picked up, carrying the salt spray from the waves crashing against the shore. By the time you reached the sand, your hair had come loose from its pins, whipping around your face in dark tangles.

The beach stretched out before you, a curve of grey sand and black rocks. The sun was setting over the water, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold and deep purple. The beauty of it was almost painful, a stark contrast to the grief and loss that had defined the day. You walked along the water's edge, letting the waves lap at your feet, soaking the hem of your gown. The cold water was grounding, pulling you back into your body after hours of feeling disconnected and numb.

You had walked perhaps a hundred yards when you saw him. Jace stood near a cluster of rocks, his back to you, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He wore the same black clothing from the funeral, though he had removed his outer layer. His shirt billowed in the wind, his hair tousled and wild. He stood perfectly still, as though he had become part of the landscape, as though he had been standing there for hours.

Your heart lurched in your chest. You should turn back. You should leave him to his grief, should respect the distance he had maintained all day. Your feet carried you forward anyway, drawn to him like a moth to flame, unable to resist the pull of his presence.

He did not turn as you approached, though you knew he heard you. The crunch of your footsteps on sand, the rustle of your wet skirts, the sound of your breathing, all of it would have announced your presence. He simply stood there, waiting, his shoulders tense.

You stopped a few feet behind him, close enough to speak without shouting over the wind, far enough to maintain some semblance of dignity after all this time. "Jace."

His name left your lips as barely more than a whisper. He flinched at the sound of it, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and raw from crying. "You should not be here."

"Neither should you." You took a step closer. "You should be with your family."

"I needed to be alone." He still had not turned to face you. "I needed to think."

"About your father?"

"About everything." His voice broke on the last word. "About him, about about you, about this impossible situation we have found ourselves trapped in. About how I am supposed to survive this when I can barely breathe."

Your throat tightened with emotion. "I am sorry about Laenor. I know how much he meant to you."

"He was my father." Jace's voice was thick with grief. "He taught me to ride, to fight, to sail, to be honorable. He loved me without reservation, without condition. He never once made me feel like I was anything less than his true son."

"He was proud of you." You moved closer still, drawn by the pain in his voice. "He was proud of the man you have become."

"Was he?" Jace finally turned to face you. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying, his eyebrows pierced with fatigue. "Would he be proud to know that I have been carrying on an affair with a married woman? That I have dishonored my family, betrayed my duty, acted with complete selfishness?"

"You have not been selfish." Your voice was fierce and pleading. "You have been in love. That is not the same thing."

"Love does not excuse what we have done." He took a step toward you, his expression anguished. "Love does not make it right. Love does not change the fact that you are married to another man, that I am betrothed to another woman, that we have no future together..."

The mention of his betrothal felt like a knife between your ribs. "Betrothed?"

"Yes." His jaw tightened. "My mother arranged it months ago. A political alliance, a way to strengthen ties with the Velaryons. I agreed because I had no choice, because refusing would have required a life of loneliness."

"Is that why the letters stopped?" The question burst from you before you could stop it. "Is that why you pulled away?"

Jace closed his eyes, pain etched across his features. "The letters stopped because they were killing me. Every word I wrote to you felt like reopening a wound. Every declaration of love was a lie because I knew I could never fulfill those promises. I am betrothed to another woman. I was trying to move forward with my life, I am to be king one day Princess. I cannot stay stagnant."

"So you just stopped writing." Your voice was hollow, knowing what he says is true, but you didn't care. "You just disappeared."

"I was trying to protect you." He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with devastating intensity. "I was trying to make it easier for both of us. I thought if I pulled away gradually, if I let the connection fade naturally, it would hurt less than a clean break. I thought I was being merciful."

"It was not merciful." Your cheeks were flushed now, tears brimming your eyes. "I am alone too Jacaerys, I carry burdens alone that crush me. You abandoned me when we ride the same ship."

Jace's expression shifted, confusion replacing some of the anguish. "What burden?"

"I am pregnant."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and devastating. Jace stared at you as though you had spoken in a foreign language, as though his mind could not process what you had just said. His gaze dropped to your hand on your stomach, then back to your face. "What?"

"I am pregnant." Your voice was steadier now, though tears began to fall. "I have been for weeks. I have known since before your father died. I have been carrying this alone, terrified and uncertain, unable to tell anyone the truth."

Jace's legs seemed to give out. He dropped to his knees in the sand, his hands reaching for you in desperation, in a kind of apology. His palms pressed against your stomach, flat and trembling, as though he could feel the life growing there through layers of fabric and skin. "My child?"

"Yes." The whisper was soft and agonizing.

His forehead pressed against your stomach, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. His hands moved across your belly with reverent gentleness, mapping the still-flat surface, trying to comprehend the reality of what you had told him. "A child. Our child."

"Yes." You ran your fingers through his hair, the gesture automatic and tender. "Our child."

He looked up at you, his face wet with tears, his expression a mixture of joy and anguish. "This should be the happiest moment of my life. Finding out that you are carrying my baby, that we have created life together. It should be a blessing. Why does it feel like a curse?"

"Because it is both." Your voice broke. "It is a blessing and a curse, a joy and a tragedy. This child is proof of our love, but it is also a death sentence. For me, for you, for the baby itself."

Jace's hands tightened on your stomach. "No. No, we will find a way. We will protect this child. We will-"

"How?" You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. "How will we protect this child? How will we explain its existence? I have not slept with Aegon in months. Everyone at court knows we maintain separate chambers. When this pregnancy becomes visible, when I can no longer hide it, questions will be asked. Calculations will be made. The truth will become obvious."

"We will say it is Aegon's." Jace's voice was desperate, grasping at impossible solutions. "We will say you reconciled, that you have been sharing his bed-"

You shook your head, tears falling onto his upturned face. "There is no way to make this believable. This child will be recognized as a bastard the moment it is born, it will not bare silver hair, my love."

Jace's expression crumbled. He pressed his face against your stomach again, his voice muffled by fabric. "What are we going to do?"

"My mother offered me moon tea." The words tasted bitter. "She prepared it days ago. It is waiting for me in her chambers at King's Landing. All I have to do is drink it, endure a day or two of pain and bleeding, and this problem disappears."

"No." Jace's voice was hard despite the tears. "No, you cannot. This is our child. A piece of us, a product of our love. You cannot destroy it."

"What choice do I have?" Your voice rose, yet you got to your knees to meet him on the same level, to watch his eyes mold into you once more. "If I keep this baby, it will be hunted. It will be used as a weapon against your mother. It will be proof of adultery, of dishonor, of everything our enemies need to destroy you and your mother. This child will never be safe. It will never be acknowledged. It will live its entire life as a bastard, scorned and whispered about, forever marked by the circumstances of its birth."

Jace's eyes wild with grief and understanding.

"You are asking me to agree to kill our baby." His voice was hollow, broken. "You are asking me to choose its death."

"I am asking you to help me make an impossible choice!" Tears streamed down your face now, hot and endless.

Jace pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you with crushing intensity. You buried your face in his neck and sobbed, your body shaking with the force of your grief. He held you as you broke, his own tears soaking into your hair, his hands moving across your back in soothing circles.

"I love you." His voice was ragged against your ear. "I love you so much it is destroying me."

This only made the sobs that wrecked your body grow, you felt as though you couldn't breath beneath the pressure of this life.

His hands moved to the nape of your neck and the small of your back, resting there with heartbreaking tenderness. "In a just world, love would be enough."

"We do not live in a just world." You were able to spit out the world as your breathing relaxed with his hands caressing you. Softening you once more.

Jace was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on your joined hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible over the sound of waves. "You will take the moon tea."

The words felt like a betrayal despite expecting them. Maybe you had wanted him to offer once more to run off with you, maybe this time you would have accepted.

"You are not asking." Your voice broke.

"I am telling you what I think you should do." His fingers lay traces against you as he spoke. "I am telling you that as much as it destroys me, as much as I want you to birth my child, I cannot let you sacrifice yourself. I cannot let you risk your life, your safety, your future for a baby that will never know the life they could have had."

You closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, something shifted in the weight between you. "Tell me," you whispered. "Tell me what you think they would have looked like."

Jace's expression softened, the rigid line of his jaw easing as he considered the question, a small smirk played at his lips. "I think," he began slowly, "the baby would have had your eyes. That particular shade of violet that catches the light like starfire. But perhaps my nose, less delicate than yours, more stubborn."

A watery laugh escaped you. "Stubborn like you, then."

"Stubborn like us both," he corrected, and there was something almost tender in the way he said it. "The hair, though... Dark of hair, just like their father."

You traced the line of his cheekbone, imagining the child that might have inherited his sharp features, his strong brow. "They would have been beautiful. Fierce, I think. Brave like you, but with a gentleness too. The kind of person who would have loved fiercely and without apology."

"Like their mother," Jace murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. "They would have had your courage. Your refusal to accept the world as it is presented to you."

The two of you sat there as the last light drained from the sky, speaking softly of the child who would never draw breath, imagining their laugh, their temperament, the way they might have moved through the world. You spoke of whether they would have loved dragons as you both did, whether they would have been a scholar or a warrior, whether they would have inherited Jace's sense of honor. Each detail was a small grief, a small love, a small acknowledgment of the life that could have been.

"I love them already," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "Even though they will never exist."

Jace didn't reply, his arms just tightened around you in aggreance.

Then, you just held each other. You grieved for the child you would never have, for the future you would never share, for the life you had imagined that could never be, for your 10 year old selves that had no idea where they would end up. The waves crashed against the shore, eternal and indifferent. The wind carried the salt spray across your skin. The world continued turning, unconcerned with your private tragedy.

When you finally pulled apart, when you had cried until you had no tears left, Jace helped you to your feet. His hands were gentle as he brushed sand from your skirts, as he tucked loose strands of hair behind your ears. He looked at you with such profound love and grief that it made your chest ache.

"When you return to King's Landing, you will take the moon tea." His voice was steady, though his eyes were still wet. "You will survive this, and you will move forward with your life. You will be safe."

"What about you?" Your fingers lined the hem of his tunic, your skin just barely grazing his lower stomach. "How will you survive this?"

"I do not know." His honesty was devastating. "I only know that I must. I must survive because my mother needs me, because my brothers need me, because duty demands it. I must survive because the alternative is unthinkable."

"I wish things were different." Your voice was hollow. "I wish we lived in a world where we could be together."

"So do I." He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

You stood there for a moment longer, memorizing the feel of him, the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing. Then you stepped back, putting distance between you, preparing to return to the roles you were born to play. Jace watched you go with an expression of such profound loss that it nearly broke you all over again.

You walked back to the fortress separately, maintaining the careful distance that duty demanded. By the time you reached your chambers, your skirts were dry, your hair had been hastily pinned back into place, your face had been washed clean of tears. You looked like a princess returning from an evening walk, not a woman who had just agreed to destroy her unborn child.

Aegon was already asleep when you entered, sprawled across the bed in a wine-induced stupor. You moved to the chair positioned near the hearth, sinking into its worn velvet with a heaviness that had nothing to do with your body and everything to do with the weight of your decision. Chapter 11.

Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // sensitive topics, familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 9 word count: 4823

notes: I finally finished it, I hope you enjoy!

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 9

The day Jace left was the worst day of your life.

You stood in the courtyard that grey morning and watched servants load trunks while dragonkeepers prepared the dragons for flight. The sky hung heavy with clouds that threatened rain but delivered nothing, the air thick and oppressive in a way that made breathing difficult. Rhaenyra moved through the preparations with quiet efficiency, her face composed, her movements deliberate. Joffery stood close to his father, young and uncertain, his eyes darting between Jace and the dragons as though he could sense the weight of what was happening.

Jace did not look at you. Not once. He stood beside Vermax with his hand resting on the dragon's scaled neck, his gaze fixed on something distant, something you could not see. You understood why he could not meet your eyes. One glance would have shattered the careful composure he had constructed.

You stood in that courtyard long after the dragons had vanished from sight. You stayed there as the servants finished their work and departed, as the guards changed shifts at their posts, as life carried on around you with complete indifference to the fact that your entire world had just been torn apart. The first drops of rain finally began to fall, cold against your face, mixing with tears you had not realized you were shedding.

When you finally returned to your chambers, you were soaked through. Your handmaidens fussed over you, bringing dry clothes and warm wine. You let them tend to you with mechanical compliance, your mind elsewhere, your body moving through familiar motions while your spirit remained in that courtyard, watching the sky where Jace had disappeared.

The first letter arrived within a week of his departure. You held the sealed parchment with trembling fingers and tore it open with haste. The page was thick with his words, passionate declarations that poured across the parchment like a confession. He wrote of missing you with an ache that consumed him, of counting the hours until he might see you again, of how every moment at Dragonstone felt hollow without you.

His love blazed through every line, raw and unguarded, exactly what you needed to hear in those first dark days. You read the letter until the parchment grew soft from handling, until you had memorized every word, every loop of his handwriting. That night, you slept with it beneath your pillow, as though proximity to his written words could somehow bridge the impossible distance between King's Landing and Dragonstone.

The second letter came the following week, equally long, equally passionate. Then the third arrived several days after that. For those first weeks, the ravens came with blessed regularity, every seven days without fail. Each letter sustained you through the emptiness, gave you something to hold onto when the weight of separation threatened to crush you entirely.

You spent hours at the rookery, watching for dark shapes against the sky, your heart leaping at every bird that might be carrying word from him. The ravenmaster grew accustomed to your presence, no longer questioning why a princess would linger in the tower where messages arrived. You became a fixture there, a ghost haunting the place where ravens came and went, waiting desperately for word from the one person who mattered.

The fourth week brought the first subtle shift. The letter that should have arrived on the seventh day did not come. You waited, telling yourself there were reasonable explanations, perhaps the weather had delayed the raven, perhaps he had been occupied with duties that demanded his attention. On the tenth day, it arrived.

The letter was still long, still filled with love, though something had changed in the tone. The urgency had mellowed slightly, replaced by a more measured affection. You told yourself this was natural, that the initial desperation would fade into something steadier, something more sustainable. The next letter came two weeks after the last. The pattern had shifted and you had begun to understand that the frequency itself was a kind of message.

The sporadic silence became its own special torture. A letter would arrive and your heart would soar with relief, only to have double the amount of time pass before the next one came. The letters themselves had grown shorter, the passion replaced by practical updates about his duties, about the weather at Dragonstone, about nothing of consequence.

He signed them with affection, though the intimacy that had once characterized every word had begun to fade like morning mist under a rising sun. You found yourself reading between the lines, searching for hidden meaning in every phrase, desperate to find some indication that he still felt what you felt. You found only absence.

The waiting became unbearable. You would convince yourself that something terrible had happened, that he was injured or ill, that some catastrophe had befallen Dragonstone. Then a letter would arrive, brief and impersonal, and you would realize the truth was somehow worse than any imagined disaster. He was simply moving on, slowly and inexorably, like water wearing away stone.

Starfyre remained inconsolable throughout those weeks. Your dragon had not recovered from Vermax's departure. She refused most food, ate only enough to survive. She would not be ridden, snapping at even you when approached with her reins. The dragonkeepers reported that she spent hours staring at the doors to the pit, as though waiting for Vermax to return. You understood exactly how she felt. You were both waiting for something that was never coming back.

It was after two and a half months, that you realized the truth your body had been trying to tell you for all that time.

Your monthly courses had not come. At first, you told yourself it was the stress of separation, the grief that consumed you, the way your appetite had diminished to almost nothing. Women's bodies were sensitive to such things. Surely that explained the absence. You waited another week, then another, telling yourself each morning that today would be the day, that the familiar cramping would begin and this fear would prove unfounded.

The cramping never came. Instead, there was nausea in the mornings, a sensitivity to certain smells that made your stomach turn, a heaviness in your breasts that had not been there before. You recognized these signs. You had heard the women of court discuss them often enough, had listened to your mother describe her own pregnancies. You knew what they meant.

You were carrying child.

The realization hit you one morning as you stood at your window, watching the sun rise over King's Landing. Your hand moved to your stomach, still flat, still showing no outward sign of the life growing within. A child. Jace's child. The product of your last night together and all that love you had poured into each other with such reckless abandon.

Terror followed swiftly on the heels of realization. This was not a blessing. This was a catastrophe. Everyone at court knew you slept separately from your husband, or that you were possibly barren or unsatisfactory. When this pregnancy became visible, when you could no longer hide the swell of your belly, questions would be surely asked. The truth would become obvious to anyone with eyes and the ability to count.

This child was a bastard. The evidence of your adultery, your betrayal of your marriage vows, your violation of every law and custom that governed noble marriages. If discovered, it would not just destroy you. It would be used as a weapon against Rhaenyra, proof that her sons were as morally corrupt as the whispers claimed she was. It would give your mother and the council exactly what they needed to discredit Rhaenyra's claim entirely.

The child growing inside you was a death sentence. For you, for Jace, for any hope Rhaenyra had of peacefully ascending to the throne.

You spent days in a state of numb terror, going through the motions of court life while your mind raced through impossible scenarios. You could not hide a pregnancy forever. Eventually, your body would betray you, would swell and change in ways that could not be concealed. You could claim the child was Aegon's, though that lie would require you to again share his bed. The thought made your stomach turn. You could not bear the idea of lying with Aegon again.

You could run. Take Starfyre and fly to Dragonstone, throw yourself on Rhaenyra's mercy, beg for her sanctuary. The fantasy lasted only moments before reality crushed it. Running would be an admission of guilt, would confirm every suspicion, would start a war. Your family would never forgive such a betrayal. Jace would be blamed, accused of seducing you, of dishonoring the princess. The consequences would be catastrophic.

You could end it. The thought came to you late one night as you lay awake, your hand resting on your still-flat stomach. There were ways to end unwanted pregnancies. Moon tea, prepared by maesters or midwives, could purge a womb of its contents. Noble women used it all the time, quietly and without fanfare, when circumstances made a child impossible or dangerous. You could seek out such a remedy, could drink it down and let your body expel this problem before it became visible.

The thought made you weep. This was Jace's child. A piece of him growing inside you, a tangible result of your love. The idea of destroying it felt like destroying the last connection you had to him, like admitting that your love had been a mistake, that the consequences were too terrible to bear. You wanted this child. Gods help you, despite everything, despite the impossibility and the danger, you wanted to carry this baby, to bring a piece of your love into the world.

You could not have what you wanted. You had learned that lesson thoroughly over the past months. Wanting something did not make it possible. Love did not conquer duty or politics or the brutal realities of power. You were trapped, pregnant with a child that could never be acknowledged, facing a choice between impossible options.

Your mother's patience, never abundant, had worn completely through during these weeks as well. She summoned you to her chambers with increasing frequency, each conversation more pointed than the last. The topic never varied: your failure to produce an heir. The accusations grew sharper with each meeting, her disappointment more evident, her frustration more palpable.

She told you the council was concerned. Five months of marriage and no sign of a child. The whispers had begun. They said you were barren. They said the marriage was unconsummated. They said Aegon found you unsatisfactory. Each word landed like a physical blow. You kept your expression neutral through sheer force of will, refusing to let her see how deeply the accusations cut, how bitterly ironic they were given the truth growing in your womb.

She told you that nothing was private for you now. That your body belonged to the realm. That your ability to bear children was a matter of state concern. She told you to prove the whispers wrong by doing your duty, by lying with your husband and producing the heir this realm needed.

The cruelty of the situation was not lost on you. You were being accused of barrenness while carrying a child. You were being pressured to produce heirs when you were already pregnant with a baby that could never be claimed. You were being told your body belonged to the realm when your heart and your womb belonged to someone the realm would never allow you to have.

It was during one of these increasingly tense conversations, that something inside you broke. Your mother had been particularly harsh that afternoon, her words cutting deeper than usual, her disappointment palpable in every gesture. She spoke of duty and obligation, of how your failure reflected poorly on her as a mother. She spoke of the council's concerns, of your grandsire's growing frustration, of how much longer this situation could continue before more drastic measures were considered.

You sat there listening to her catalog your failures, feeling the weight of the secret pressing down on you, and suddenly you could not bear it anymore. The isolation was crushing you. The fear was consuming you. You needed someone to know, someone to share this impossible burden, even if that someone was the last person who should know the truth.

"I am with child." The words left your mouth before you could stop them, quiet and devastating in the stillness of her chambers.

Your mother stopped mid-sentence, her expression shifting from frustration to confusion to something that might have been hope. "What did you say?"

"I am pregnant." Your voice was steadier now, though your hands trembled in your lap. "I have been for several weeks. I am certain of it."

The hope that had flickered in her eyes blazed bright. "This is wonderful news. Why did you not tell me sooner? We must inform your father, must make preparations, must-"

"It is not Aegon's child." The words came out flat, final, cutting through her excitement like a blade. "I have not lain with him since our wedding night."

The silence that followed was absolute. Your mother stared at you as though you had spoken in a foreign tongue, as though the words made no sense, as though she could not possibly have heard what you just said. You watched the understanding dawn slowly across her face, watched hope transform into horror, watched her expression cycle through disbelief and shock and something that looked almost like grief.

"No." The word was barely a whisper. "No, you cannot mean that. You cannot have been so foolish, so reckless-"

"I love him." Your voice broke on the words. "I have always loved him. I tried to stop, tried to do my duty, tried to be the daughter you wanted me to be. I married Aegon. I stood in that sept and spoke those vows. I let him consummate our marriage. I have done everything you asked of me. Everything except stop loving Jace."

Your mother sank into her chair as though her legs would no longer support her. Her face had gone pale, her hands gripping the armrests with intensity. "Do you understand what you have done? Do you comprehend the consequences of this?"

"Yes." Silent tears were falling down your face now, hot and unstoppable.

"Then why?" Your mother's voice was anguished now, all her usual composure shattered. "Why would you do this? Why would you risk everything for-"

"Because I love him." The words came out as a strangled scream. "Because I have loved him since I was ten years old. Because he is the only person who has ever made me feel like I was more than just a princess in a game of court. Because when I am with him, I am myself. Because I would rather have one night with him than a lifetime with anyone else. Because I could not stop myself even when I knew I should."

Your mother was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made you want to look away. When she finally spoke, her voice was different, softer, stripped of its usual authority. "You are my daughter. My only daughter. I have been hard on you, I know. I have demanded much. I have pushed you toward duty and obligation without considering what you wanted, what you needed. I thought I was preparing you for the life you were born to live. I thought I was protecting you."

She stood and crossed to where you sat, kneeling before you so that your eyes were level. Her hands came up to cup your face, her touch gentle in a way it had not been in years. "I have failed you."

The tenderness in her voice broke something inside you. You had expected rage, condemnation, perhaps even violence. You had not expected this, this sudden softness, this glimpse of the mother you remembered from childhood before duty and politics had hardened her into something cold and distant.

"I am frightened." The admission came out as a whisper.

Your mother's thumbs brushed away your tears, her expression pained. "If this becomes known, if anyone discovers the truth, the consequences will be severe. Your father would have no choice but to act. The council would demand justice. Aegon would be within his rights to set you aside, to have you punished for adultery. Jace would be accused of seduction, of dishonoring his family. Rhaenyra's claim would be irreparably damaged."

"I know." Your voice was hollow. "I have thought of nothing else for days."

Your mother was quiet for a moment, her hands still cradling your face, her eyes searching yours. When she spoke again, her voice was careful, measured, as though she were choosing each word with great deliberation. "There is one way. One path that would protect you, that would prevent this from becoming the disaster it threatens to be."

You knew what she was going to say before the words left her mouth. You had thought of it yourself, had turned the possibility over in your mind during those long sleepless nights. You had known it was the logical solution, the practical choice, the only way to prevent catastrophe.

"Moon tea." Your mother's voice was gentle, almost apologetic. "A maester can prepare it. You would drink it, and within a day or two, your body would expel the pregnancy. It would be painful, yes, and there would be bleeding, though we could explain that away as your courses finally arriving after months of stress. No one would need to know the truth. The problem would be solved before it became visible."

"You want me to kill Jace's child." The words felt like fire burning through your throat.

"I want to protect you." Your mother's grip on your face tightened slightly, her eyes intense. "I want to save you from a fate worse than death. I want to prevent you from being destroyed by a mistake, from having your life ruined because of one moment of weakness. This is not about what I want or what you want. This is about survival. This is about protecting you from consequences that would be catastrophic."

"It is not just a problem to be solved." Your voice broke. "It is a child. Jace's child. A piece of him growing inside me, the only thing I have left of what we had together. You are asking me to destroy that, to kill the last connection I have to the person I love most in this world."

"I am asking you to save yourself." Your mother's voice was firm now, though still gentle. "I am asking you to choose life over death, safety over sentiment. You cannot keep this baby. If you try, it will destroy you, it will destroy your marriage, your reputation, your future. It will destroy Jace as well, will paint him as a seducer and a villain. Is that what you want? Is that the legacy you wish to leave for this child?"

You had no answer. The logic was irrefutable. Keeping the pregnancy would lead to disaster. Ending it was the only rational choice, the only way to protect yourself and everyone you loved. You knew this. You had known it from the moment you realized you were pregnant.

Knowing it did not make it easier. Knowing it did not stop the pain that welled up inside you at the thought of destroying this child, this last piece of Jace, this tangible proof that your love had been real and not just a beautiful dream.

"I need time." Your voice was barely audible. "I need time to think, to decide. Please, Mother. Do not ask me to make this choice right now."

Your mother studied you for a long moment, her expression conflicted. You could see the war playing out behind her eyes, the tension between her desire to protect you and her understanding that this decision had to be yours. Finally, she nodded, her hands dropping from your face as she stood.

"You have a few weeks before the pregnancy becomes visible. After that, there will be no hiding it, no explaining it away. If you are going to end this, it must be soon." She moved to her desk, her movements stiff, as though she had aged years in the span of this conversation. "I will have the maester prepare the tea. I will keep it in my chambers. When you are ready, when you have made your decision, you need only come to me."

She turned back to face you, her expression softer than you had seen it in years. "I love you. I know I have not said that often enough, have not shown it in the ways you needed. I have been a poor mother in many respects. That does not change the fact that you are my daughter and I would do anything to protect you."

You stood on shaking legs, your body feeling foreign and strange, as though it belonged to someone else. "Thank you for not being angry."

"You deserve far more kindness than I have given you." Your mother's voice was thick with emotion. "You deserve to be loved, to be happy, to have the life you want rather than the life you were born to. I cannot change the circumstances of your birth or the obligations that come with it. All I can do is try to protect you."

You left her chambers in a daze, your mind spinning, your heart heavy with the weight of impossible decisions. The moon tea waited in your mother's rooms, a solution to a problem that felt unsolvable. All you had to do was drink it, endure a day or two of pain and bleeding, and this nightmare would be over. You would be safe. Jace would be safe. The realm would be spared the scandal and chaos that would follow if the truth became known.

All you had to do was kill the child growing inside you. All you had to do was destroy the last piece of Jace you had left. All you had to do was choose survival over love, practicality over sentiment, duty over desire.

You returned to your chambers and stood at the window, your hand resting on your stomach, feeling nothing yet but knowing that life was there, growing, changing, becoming. You thought about Jace, about whether he would want you to keep this child or end it. You thought about what he would say if he knew, whether he would beg you to protect yourself or plead with you to protect the baby. You thought about the letters that had grown increasingly sparse, about the distance that had opened between you, about whether he even still loved you the way you loved him.

You thought about all of this as the sun set over King's Landing, as the city below was swallowed by darkness, as the stars emerged one by one in the night sky. You thought about choices and consequences, about love and duty, about the impossible situation you found yourself trapped in.

Your handmaiden brought a letter to your chambers the next morning, the sealed parchment bearing a grey inconspicuous wax as always. Your heart, which had learned not to leap at the sight of ravens from Dragonstone, gave a traitorous flutter.

You dismissed your handmaiden and broke the seal. The parchment crackled as you unfolded it, and you recognized Jace's handwriting immediately. The script was less careful than usual, as though written in haste or distress.

You read the first line and the world tilted.

My father is dead.

The words did not make sense at first. You read them again, then again, trying to comprehend what they meant. Laenor Velaryon, dead. Jace's father, Rhaenyra's husband, gone.

You sank onto the edge of your bed, your legs suddenly unable to support you. The letter continued with sparse details. An accident, they were calling it. Laenor's body had been badly burned, barely recognizable. The funeral would be held within the week.

Jace's grief bled through every word despite the brevity of the letter. You could feel his anguish, his shock, his desperate need for comfort that you could not provide. He did not declare his love or beg you to write back. He simply stated the facts and signed his name.

You read the letter three times. Then, you folded it carefully and held it against your chest, your eyes closed, your breathing shallow.

Laenor was dead. The man who had been kind to you as a child, who had stood beside Rhaenyra through years of whispered accusations, who had been Jace's father. Gone.

The loss was profound, yet it was not just grief you felt as you sat there holding the letter. It was something else, something you could not quite name. A sense that the world had changed drastically, that the careful balance of power and alliance had been disrupted, that consequences would follow from this death in ways you could not yet predict.

You thought about Rhaenyra, now widowed. You thought about the political implications, about how this would affect her claim to the throne, about what alliances might shift in the wake of Laenor's death. You thought about Jace, grieving and alone at Dragonstone, needing comfort you could not give.

You thought about the three months of fading letters, of growing distance, of love slowly dying through neglect and separation. You thought about the choice you had not yet made, about the child growing inside you that Jace did not even know existed, about your mother's offer of moon tea. You thought about all the impossible situations you found yourself trapped in as you sat in your chambers, holding a letter that announced a death and changed everything.

The grey morning light filtered through your windows, casting long shadows across the floor. In the city below, life continued. Merchants opened their shops. Servants went about their duties. The realm turned on its axis, indifferent to personal grief, unconcerned with the small tragedies of individual lives.

You did not know if you should write back. You did not know what you could possibly say that would matter. You did not know if he even wanted to hear from you, or if your correspondence had become just another burden he carried. You did not know if you should tell him about the pregnancy, about your mother's offer, about the choice you still had not made.

You sat there as the morning stretched into afternoon, as the light shifted and changed, as the world continued turning without regard for your confusion or pain. You held the letter and tried to understand what it meant, what it changed, what it demanded of you.

In the end, you had no answers. You had only questions and grief and the terrible knowledge that months of separation had made loving Jace impossible. You had only the weight of impossible choices pressing down on you.

You folded the letter carefully and placed it in the drawer where you kept the rest of them. Then you stood and moved to a soft green velvet chair before your fireplace, staring into the soft flames, one hand still resting protectively over your stomach, wondering what came next.

Chapter 10.

Thank you so much! I’m working on the next chapter as we speak, Im kinda stuck on it bc it could go at least 3 different ways in this chapter and all of which have different endings. I’m trying my best to get it out though!

Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 8 word count: 6410

notes: I will not lie, I struggled rewriting this chapter... I didn't know where to go since this needed to be a large turning point for MC and Jace, I considered many different paths and landed on this one. I hope you like it! Also more smut bc Jace is sexy :)

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 8

Before dawn broke over King's Landing, when the world still lay shrouded in darkness and the Red Keep slumbered in that peculiar silence that belonged only to the earliest hours of the morning, Jace slipped through your door. The darkness was nearly complete, broken only by the faint glow of banked coals in the hearth and the pale luminescence of the sun getting ready to wake.

You had been waiting for him, your heart quickening at the sound of the door sliding across the stone floor. You went to meet him but he moved with a practiced air of someone accustomed to moving through your shadows. The cold, damp air of the corridor clung to him, carrying the scent of the pre-dawn chill and when he pulled your close, his skin was cool beneath your fingertips.

Your chemise was all you wore, the thin linen no barrier against the chill or against him. He lifted you without preamble, carrying you back to the bed where the coverlet still held the warmth of your body. He laid you down, his hands already reaching for the hem of your chemise, drawing it upward with urgency.

The darkness wrapped around you both like a friendly shadow, intimate and absolute. You could barely see his face in the shadows of the early morning, could only feel the heat of his breath against your skin as he pushed your chemise higher, exposing your thighs to the cool air. His hands were warm now, no longer carrying the chill of the corridor, they traced paths along your legs that made your heart stop.

He settled between your thighs, his shoulders broad enough to spread them wider. The anticipation made your heartbeat sink low into the depths of your pleasure. Your fingers clutched at the silk coverlet beneath you when his mouth finally found you, the first touch of his tongue against your most intimate flesh drew a gasp from your lips that you had to muffle with your own hand.

The sensation was exquisite, overwhelming in its motion. He moved with purpose, his tongue tracing loops that made your hips lift involuntarily from the bed. You were already wet for him, had been since the moment you heard him enter your chambers and the evidence of your desire only seemed to spur him on. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for him to devour you in ways you could not explain.

The pressure of his tongue against your clit made coherent thought impossible. You could feel the roughness of his jaw against your inner thighs, the scratch of stubble sending shivers through your entire body. Your fingers found his hair, tangling in the dark strands, holding him to you as though you were afraid he would stop. The darkness made every sensation more acute, every touch magnified by the absence of sight.

Hearing what made you gasp in the moment he stayed on that rhythm, savoring the sounds that escaped your lips for him, what made your thighs tremble against his shoulders. You had to bite down on your knuckles to keep from crying out. The pleasure built in waves, each one cresting higher than the last, threatening to pull you under.

Your other hand remained tangled in his hair, pushing him down with desire, you could feel his lips curl into a smile at your desperation. He hummed against you now, pleased with his work and your falling apart beneath him. The vibration of his sound traveled through your core, adding another layer of overwhelming pleasure. You could feel your wetness spreading, could feel how thoroughly he was tasting you, claiming you with his mouth in a way that felt sacred and profane.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, out of pure desperation for relief your hips began to move of their own accord, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of everything he was giving you. The silk beneath you grew damp now with perspiration and the pleasure that leaked from your folds, your body responding to his ministrations with explicit desire.

Just as you felt yourself approaching that precipice, he pulled back. The loss of contact made you whimper, your fingers tightening in his hair in protest to the loss. He moved up your body, beautiful lips leaving a trail of bruises as he did. Eventually he found your mouth, kissing you, sharing the taste of you. You could feel the hardness of him press against your entrance, could feel the heat of his skin against yours as he settled his weight over you.

His hands found yours, pinning them against the pillow above your head, his fingers interlacing with yours in a grip that was both possessive and tender. When he finally entered you, it was with one smooth thrust that filled you completely, that made you arch up against him with a gasp that he swallowed with another kiss.

There was no hesitation, no question. You had moved past such things a long time ago. Your body knew him, welcomed him, clenched around him with the need of someone who was madly in love.

You could not touch him the way you wanted to, could not run your hands across his back or pull him closer. The restraint of him, the surrender required, sent another wave of pleasure through you. Your fingers curled against his palms, seeking purchase, seeking connection in the only way he would allow.

The faintest sliver of light began to creep across the floor, so subtle you almost missed it in the throes of your doing. The first true herald of morning. Shadows that had been absolute began to soften at their edges, the protective darkness that had covered you both starting its inevitable retreat. You could make out the barest outline of his face now, the sharp line of his jaw becoming visible where before there had been only sensation and sound.

"Say my name," he whispered against your ear, his voice rough, a desperate need that transcended the physical. "I want to hear you say my name."

The plea was intimate in a way that went beyond intimacy of your bodies joined together. He needed to hear it from your lips, needed the sound of his name spoken in that breathless, trembling voice that belonged to him.

"Oh, Jacaerys," you breathed, the syllables breaking on a gasp as he thrust deeper.

The effect was immediate and devastating. His entire body went rigid above you, every muscle tensing as though your voice had struck him like lightning. A sound tore from his throat, something between a moan and your name, raw and unrestrained. His fingers tightened around yours with bruising force, his grip becoming almost painful.

His hips began moving again with renewed desire, driving into you with a force that made the bed frame creak beneath you. Each thrust was punctuated by your name falling from his lips like a prayer, like a curse, like the only truth he had left in this world. The sound of it in his voice made your heart clench, made you clench around him as pleasure built to an unbearable peak.

The friction of his movement inside you, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his breath against your neck as he buried his face there, all of it combined into something that transcended mere physical pleasure. This was devotion, hunger and love, all tangled together in the diminishing darkness that had protected you both.

More light spilled through the windows now, pale silver giving way to the softer gold of true dawn. It touched his shoulders first, illuminating the breadth of them, revealing details that darkness had hidden. You could see the bruises blooming across his ribs from the training yard fight, yellow now and healing against his skin. The marks of violence that Aemond had left on him were laid bare by the advancing dawn.

His hips moved with increasing urgency, driving into you with a rhythm that made your toes curl. The light continued its relentless progression, stealing across the silk coverlet, illuminating the tangled sheets, revealing the evidence of your passion. You could see his face clearly now, could see the intensity in his eyes as he looked down at you, could see the way his expression held pure pleasure.

The tension built again inside you, climbing toward that same precipice he had brought you to with his mouth. The pleasure was almost unbearable, made more so from the dawn that was exposing you both with relentless inevitability. The protective darkness had abandoned you entirely now. Pale light flooded the chamber, touching everything, revealing everything.

You could feel the marks you had left on him, faint scratches along his shoulders where your nails had dug in when he placed his mouth to you. You could see the flush spreading across his chest now, could see the way his muscles tensed and released with each movement. The vulnerability of being so completely visible, so utterly exposed, sent a thrill of both pleasure and danger through you.

Your legs that were wrapped around his waist pulled him deeper. The pleasure built as your bodies moved together in perfect synchronization, as the world narrowed to nothing but the two of you and this hour that dawn had already broken. The light had exposed your transgression to the waking world beyond these walls.

The knock at your door shattered the moment like glass.

"Daughter, I must speak with you."

Panic flooded through you, cold and sharp. Jace withdrew quickly, both of you scrambling off the bed in frantic silence. Your hands shook as you reached for your chemise, pulling it over your head while Jace grabbed his breeches. The laces, the ties, everything seemed to take twice as long as it should. Your fingers fumbled, clumsy with fear. The light that had felt so intimate moments before now felt like an accusation, illuminating every frantic movement, every sign of guilt.

"One moment, Mother," you called out, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jace had his breeches on, was reaching for his tunic. You pointed frantically toward the servant's entrance he had slipped through just an hour before. He understood immediately, gathering the rest of his clothing and moving silently across the room. You watched him go, your heart in your throat, before turning back to assess yourself.

Your hair was a disaster, thoroughly mussed from his hands. You ran your fingers through it quickly, trying to smooth it into some semblance of order. Your chemise was on but wrinkled. You grabbed your dressing gown from the chair and pulled it on, tying the sash with trembling fingers. The bed was rumpled, the pillows askew. You straightened them as best you could, your movements jerky with adrenaline. The morning light streaming through the windows seemed to mock your efforts, illuminating every imperfection, every sign of what had just transpired.

"Daughter."

"Coming, Mother."

You took one last look around the room, searching for any evidence of Jace's presence. Seeing nothing obvious, you crossed to the door and opened it.

Alicent stood in the corridor, her expression stern and assessing. She wore a gown of deep green velvet, her hair arranged in an elaborate style that emphasized the sharp angles of her face. Her eyes swept over you, taking in your disheveled appearance, your flushed cheeks, the way your chest still rose and fell with rapid breaths.

"You look unwell," she observed, stepping past you into the room without waiting for invitation.

"I was sleeping," you said, closing the door behind her. "The dawn was cold, and I could not find warmth."

"Indeed." Alicent moved through your chambers with the confidence of someone who had every right to be there, her gaze cataloging every detail. She paused by the bed, one hand reaching out to touch the rumpled coverlet. "You sleep restlessly, it seems."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. "I have been having dreams, Mother. Nothing of consequence."

"Dreams." She turned to face you, her expression unreadable. "Tell me, daughter, do these dreams explain why you have been married for four months and still show no signs of bearing an heir?"

The question landed like a blow. You had known this conversation was coming, had dreaded it with every passing week. Aegon had kept his word about your arrangement, had not pressed you for more than the occasional public appearance as his devoted wife. In private, you barely saw him. He spent his nights drinking and whoring while you spent yours with Jace.

You smoothed your hands over your gown, buying yourself a moment to compose your features. "These things take time. Not every coupling results in immediate conception."

"Time." Alicent repeated the word as though weighing it, finding it insufficient. "You have had four months of marriage, of what should be regular attempts to secure the succession. The realm expects an heir from this union. Your father expects it. I expect it."

Heat flooded your face, creeping down your neck. "Mother, I cannot control when the gods choose to bless us with a child."

"The gods favor those who make proper effort." She crossed the distance between you, her expression softening though her eyes remained sharp with maternal concern. "I understand that the transition from maiden to wife is not always easy. Some women find the marriage bed difficult at first, find their husbands' attentions unwelcome or uncomfortable. Is that what troubles you? Are there difficulties between you and Aegon that prevent conception?"

You could not meet her gaze, your eyes fixing instead on the embroidered hem of her sleeve. "Aegon and I are adjusting to our new circumstances."

"Adjusting." Your mother's voice carried a note of frustration wrapped in gentleness. "Your brother has his vices, I will not pretend otherwise. He drinks too much, spends too many nights in the city when he should be in your bed. I have spoken to him about his responsibilities, about the duty he owes to you and to the realm. He assures me he is fulfilling his obligations as a husband."

The lie sat bitter on your tongue. Aegon fulfilled nothing, asked for nothing, wanted nothing from you beyond the public performance of devotion. The arrangement suited you both perfectly, though you could never explain why to your mother.

"We are trying, Mother," you said quietly, the words barely above a whisper. "I promise you, we are trying."

Alicent studied you for a long moment, her gaze searching your face for something she could not quite name. Whatever she saw there seemed to satisfy her, or at least convince her that pressing further would yield no useful answers. She sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly as though releasing some tension she had been carrying.

"I worry for you," she said finally, reaching out to cup your cheek with one hand. "You seem troubled, daughter. Distant. Marriage should bring you contentment, or at least peace in knowing you have fulfilled your duty. Instead, you grow more weary by the week, more withdrawn. If there is something wrong, something I should know about your union with Aegon, you must tell me. I cannot help you if you hide the truth from me."

Your throat tightened with emotion you could not express. "There is nothing wrong. I am simply tired. The adjustment to married life has been more taxing than I anticipated."

"Then rest more. Eat properly. Take walks in the gardens." Alicent's hand dropped from your face, though her expression remained concerned. "A healthy body is more likely to conceive. You must take better care of yourself. The realm needs heirs from this marriage, and I need to know that my daughter is well."

"Yes, Mother."

She moved toward the door, then paused with her hand on the latch. "I will speak to Aegon again. Perhaps he needs a firmer reminder of his duties as a husband. You should not have to bear the burden of this alone."

"Please, do not trouble yourself. We will manage."

Alicent's expression suggested she did not entirely believe you, though she nodded. "Very well. I will leave you to rest. You do look exhausted, and I have taken enough of your afternoon."

She opened the door, then looked back at you one final time. "Your duty to this house is paramount. Whatever personal feelings you may have about your marriage, you must set them aside and focus on providing. That is what is expected of you."

"I understand"

"Good." Alicent swept out into the corridor, her green gown trailing behind her like a banner of her house.

The door closed with a soft click, leaving you alone in the sudden silence of your chambers. You stood there for a long moment, your hands trembling at your sides, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the weight of her words settled over you like a dark cloud.

In another part of the Red Keep, Rhaenyra stood before her eldest son in the chambers that had held her and her family for years. The apartments were grand, befitting her status as heir to the Iron Throne, with tall windows that overlooked Blackwater Bay and tapestries depicting the glory of House Targaryen. Laenor Velaryon stood near the hearth, his handsome face troubled as he watched his wife and son. Luke sat in a chair by the window, his young face pale.

Jace had arrived moments ago, still slightly disheveled from his hasty departure from your chambers. His mother had been waiting for him, her expression grave in the afternoon light that filtered through the windows.

"We are leaving," Rhaenyra said without preamble. "Within the week, we depart for Dragonstone."

Jace felt the words like a physical blow, his breath catching in his throat as though she had struck him. "Mother, no. We cannot leave. Not when-"

"We must." She crossed to him, her hands reaching up to cup his face with the tenderness of a mother who knows she is about to break her child's heart. "The situation here has become untenable. The whispers about your legitimacy that grow louder each day paired with the way Alicent looks at us with barely concealed hostility. We are no longer safe in King's Landing."

"I will not leave her." The words came out fierce, raw with the kind of pain that could not be contained. "I cannot abandon her to face this life alone."

Rhaenyra's expression softened with understanding and sorrow, the look of a woman who had once stood exactly where her son now stood. "I know you care for her, Jace. I know what she means to you, how deeply you love her. That is precisely why we must go. Every day you remain here, every moment you spend in her presence, you put both of you in greater danger."

"She is my wife in all but name." His voice broke on the words, splintering like glass. "She is mine, and I am hers. I cannot simply walk away from that."

Laenor moved from his position by the hearth, crossing to stand beside Rhaenyra. His hand came to rest on Jace's shoulder, the gesture gentle and understanding. "I know what it is to love someone in a way the world does not understand," he said quietly. "I know what it is to want something so badly that you would burn the realm down to have it. That kind of love, it consumes everything in its path."

Jace looked at his father, seeing the compassion in his eyes, the weight of his own impossible choices reflected there.

"Your mother and I," Laenor continued, his voice steady and kind, "we have built a life together that works because we understand each other. We understand what it means to love in ways that do not fit the mold the realm has created for us. That understanding has been our salvation, our way of surviving in a world that would condemn us both if it knew the truth."

"Then you understand why I cannot leave her." Jace's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. "You understand why asking me to walk away is asking me to tear out my own heart."

"I do understand." Laenor's grip on his shoulder tightened, anchoring him. "I also understand that sometimes love means making the choice that will keep the person you love safe, even if that choice destroys you. Especially if that choice destroys you."

Rhaenyra stepped closer, her hand coming to rest over Laenor's on Jace's shoulder. "Listen to me, my darling boy. The world will take your love and twist it into something ugly, something dangerous, something that will be used to hurt both of you in ways you cannot yet imagine. Do not make her choose between love and survival, because that is a choice no one should have to make. That is a choice that will destroy her no matter which path she takes."

Jace stared at her, seeing the pain in her eyes, the weight of her own choices reflected back at him like a mirror.

"She has already chosen." His voice was barely a whisper, broken and raw. "She chose me. She has chosen me every day for years."

Rhaenyra pulled him into an embrace, as though she could shield him from the pain of the world through sheer force of will. "You must be strong enough to let her go, to give her the chance at peace that staying with you will never allow. You must love her enough to release her."

Jace buried his face in his mother's shoulder, his body shaking with silent sobs that tore through him like storms. Luke rose from his chair and joined the embrace, his arms wrapping around both of them, adding his strength to theirs. Laenor moved closer, his hand coming to rest on the back of Jace's head, completing the circle of family that surrounded him in his grief.

"We leave in five days," Rhaenyra said quietly, her voice muffled against his hair. "Use that time to say goodbye. Use it to make peace with what must be."

Laenor's hand squeezed Jace's shoulder once more, a gesture of solidarity and understanding. "We will get through this," he said quietly. "Together, as a family."

You descended into the cellars with your heart light, anticipation thrumming through your veins like wine. The morning's interrupted intimacy had left you aching for him, your body still humming with unfulfilled desire. You had counted the hours until darkness fell, until you could slip away and find him again.

The passage opened into the ancient chamber where Balerion the Dread's skull dominated the space. Jace stood before the skull with his back to you, his silhouette dark against the candlelight. Something in his posture made your excitement falter. His shoulders were rigid, his head bowed as though bearing an unbearable weight. He did not turn at the sound of your footsteps.

"Jace," you said softly, your voice echoing off the ancient stone.

He turned slowly, and the expression on his face stopped you in your tracks. Gone was the warmth you had seen that morning, the tenderness, the desire. In its place was something terrible. His eyes were red-rimmed and hollow, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. Grief warred across his features in equal measure. He looked like a man who had been broken and was barely holding the pieces together.

Your excitement drained away like water through your fingers. "What happened? What is wrong?"

He stared at you for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and strained. "We are leaving. My mother has decided. We return to Dragonstone in five days."

The words hit you hard, the pain in your chest unable to be registered by your brain. You heard them, understood each one individually, yet they refused to form a coherent meaning in your mind. "What?"

"Five days." His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "My mother believes we are no longer safe in King's Landing. The tensions are too high. After the fight in the training yard, after everything, she says we cannot stay. Our legitimacy is being questioned too openly. Our presence here endangers us all."

"No." The word came out small, disbelieving. You shook your head, taking a step toward him. "No, that cannot be."

"It is decided." His voice cracked on the words. "My mother spoke to me this afternoon. She and my father both. They fear what comes next."

"No." You said it again, louder this time, panic rising in your throat. "No, Jace, no."

"I have no choice in this." His voice broke completely, tears spilling down his cheeks. "I am her heir. Where she goes, I must follow."

The devastation in his expression made your knees weak. This was a man being torn apart, watching everything he loved slip through his fingers while he stood powerless to stop it.

"Five days," you repeated, the words tasting like ash on your tongue.

"I cannot bear it." He crossed the distance between you, his hands coming up to cup your face with trembling fingers. "I cannot bear the thought of leaving you. Of waking each morning knowing you are here and I am there. Of going through my days without seeing your face, hearing your voice, touching you."

Fresh tears spilled down your own cheeks. "Jace."

He lifted you suddenly, your back pressed against the wall as your legs wrapped around his waist. His mouth crashed against yours with renewed hunger, swallowing the gasp that escaped your lips. The kiss was deep and consuming, his tongue sliding against yours with a desperation that made your head spin. You tasted salt from tears mingled with hopelessness.

Your fingers buried themselves in his dark hair, pulling him closer even though there was no space left between you. He kissed you like a man drowning, like you were air itself. His lips moved against yours with fierce intensity, breaking away only to trail hot kisses along your jaw before returning to claim your mouth again. Each kiss felt like a promise, like a plea, like goodbye and forever all tangled together.

"Please," you whispered against his mouth, though you did not know what you were begging for.

More time, perhaps. More of this. More of him.

He answered by kissing you harder, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other gripped your thigh where it wrapped around him. His mouth moved with yours in a rhythm you both knew intimately, tongues sliding together in a dance that sent heat pooling low in your belly. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, could feel the tremor in his hands as they held you.

When he pulled back to breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes searching your face as though trying to commit every detail to memory. His thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, swollen from his kisses, and you caught it gently between your teeth before releasing it. The gesture made him croon, a sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours.

"I cannot lose you," he breathed, his voice breaking on the words before his mouth found yours again.

This kiss was slower, deeper, achingly soft despite the urgency thrumming through both your bodies. His lips moved against yours with reverence, tasting and savoring, biting your lower lip in claim, one that made you whimper into his mouth. Your hands cupped his face, feeling the dampness of tears on his cheeks, feeling the way his jaw worked as he kissed you with everything he had.

You broke apart only when breathing became necessary, both of you gasping for air. His lips were red and swollen, his eyes dark with desire and grief in equal measure. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the sensitive spot just below your ear that always made you shiver. His breath was hot against your skin as he whispered words of love and devotion between each press of his lips.

Your head fell back against the stone wall as his mouth traveled down your throat, kissing and tasting every inch of exposed skin. You felt his teeth graze your pulse point, felt the way he sucked gently at the hollow of your throat, marking you in ways that would fade too quickly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, holding him to you as pleasure and sorrow warred within your chest.

When his mouth returned to yours, the kiss was different. Softer, somehow, though no less intense. His lips moved against yours with a reverence that made fresh tears spill down your cheeks. He kissed them away before finding your mouth again. You opened for him completely, letting him taste every part of you, giving him everything you had to give.

Time seemed to suspend itself in those moments. There was nothing but the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against yours, the way his mouth moved with yours in perfect synchronization. You memorized the texture of his lips, the way he breathed between kisses, the small sounds he made when you deepened the connection. Every sensation burned itself into your memory with crystalline clarity.

His hands shifted from your thighs to your waist, and he lifted you away from the wall with surprising gentleness. Your legs remained wrapped around him as he carried you through the shadows toward the platform where Balerion's skull loomed.

The massive skull of the Black Dread rose before you, its empty eye sockets staring down like a silent witness to everything that had come before and everything that would follow. Candles surrounded the platform in a careful circle, their flames casting dancing shadows across the ancient bone and creating pools of warm light in the darkness. The air here was warmer, heated by the dozens of flickering flames that turned the space into something almost sacred.

He set you down on the edge of the platform with careful deliberation, the ancient stone cool beneath you. Your gown bunched around your waist in careless folds, exposing you to the candlelit air. He stood between your thighs, his hands moving to frame your face as he looked down at you with such profound love that it made your chest ache.

The candlelight illuminated his features from below, casting shadows that made him look both younger and older than his years. You could see every emotion written across his face: love, sorrow, devotion. His thumbs brushed away the silent tears that tracked down your cheeks, his touch infinitely gentle despite the urgency that still thrummed through both your bodies.

"Look at me," he whispered, though you had never looked away.

You nodded, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. He stepped closer, positioning himself at your entrance, and you felt the blunt pressure of him seeking to join with you. Your breath caught as he entered you slowly, filling you completely while he watched you with unwavering focus.

This angle was different from anything that had come before. Deeper, somehow, more intimate. You sat on the platform's edge while he stood between your legs, his height giving him leverage to move within you with controlled precision. Your hair fell back as he leaned into you, the long strands dangling perilously close to the flames that surrounded you both. The heat from the candles warmed your back, adding another layer of sensation to the overwhelming feeling of being joined with him so completely.

He began to move, his hips rolling in a rhythm that was slow and measured. Each thrust was purposeful, as though he were trying to memorize the feel of you, the way your body welcomed him, the small sounds you made as pleasure built between you. His hands moved from your face to your hips, steadying you, guiding you to meet his movements.

Your legs that wrapped around his waist pulled him closer, needing to eliminate every inch of space between you. The new angle sent sparks through you and you gasped, your head falling back. He leaned down, his lips against your neck sending goosebumps through your body as he continued the slow, deliberate rhythm.

"I love you," he whispered, the words barely audible over the soft hiss and pop of the candle flames. "No matter what happens, no matter where they send me, no matter how much time passes. You are mine, and I am yours."

You could not speak past the lump in your throat, could only nod as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. He kissed them away once more, his lips trailing across your face with the most absolute care before finding your mouth again. The kiss deepened as his movements became more urgent, more desperate.

The candlelight created a halo effect around you both, turning the moment into something almost ethereal. You could see the way the light played across his form, illuminating every curve and plane. His gaze relocked with yours, the connection between you so intense it made your heart soar.

The pleasure built gradually between you, a slow crescendo rather than a sudden peak. You could feel it coiling tighter with each movement, each slide of his body within yours. His hands tightened on your hips, his breathing growing more ragged as he approached his own release. Still, he watched you, his attention shifting only briefly to your parted lips and your wet tongue that laid behind white teeth.

The scent of melting wax mingling with the salt of tears and the musk of your joining. Everything narrowed to this: the feeling of him inside you, the warmth of his hands on your skin, the way he looked at you with such profound devotion.

When your climax came, it rolled through you like a wave, gentle but all-consuming. Your body quivered as pleasure washed over you, your eyes fluttering closed for just a moment before you forced them open again, needing to see him, needing to watch as he followed you over that edge. His release came moments after yours, his hands gripping you tightly as he shuddered. You felt him pulse inside you, felt the way his entire body tensed and then relaxed. The expression on his face as he came undone was something you knew you would carry with you always, a memory seared into your soul.

Afterward, he did not pull away. He remained standing between your legs, still joined with you, and pulled you forward into his arms. Your face pressed against his chest, your arms wrapping around his waist as he held you with desperate care. One of his hands cradled the back of your head while the other pressed against your spine, holding you as close as possible.

You could hear his heart beating beneath your ear, could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to control his breathing. Your own tears soaked into his clothes as you clung to him, your hands fisting in the fabric as though you could keep him here through sheer force of will. His face pressed into your hair, and you felt the wetness of his own tears falling onto your head.

Neither of you spoke. There were no words adequate for this moment, no way to express the depth of what you felt. Instead, you simply held each other, your bodies still connected, your hearts beating in tandem. You remained there on the platform's edge, him standing close, holding you against his chest with soft tenderness, both of you clinging to these final moments before the inevitable separation.

His arms tightened around you as he pulled out and you felt the words he could not say against your hair. Silent words of love, of devotion, of promises that you both knew might be impossible to keep. You held him tighter in response, your silence speaking louder than any vow, your body saying what your voice could not.

The candles continued to burn, their flames steady and bright, as you held each other in the gathering darkness and counted the seconds that remained. Chapter 9.

Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 7 word count: 4132

notes: I very much enjoyed just writing a cute couple scene for them, they've really only had one or two at this point. Enjoy!

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 7

The wind whipped through your hair as your mare galloped across the open meadow, the tall grass bending beneath her hooves in rippling waves of green. Behind you, you could hear the thunder of Jace's stallion keeping pace, the powerful animal's breathing steady despite the speed. The Red Keep had grown small in the distance, its golden stone towers reduced to mere points on the horizon. Out here, with nothing but rolling hills and endless sky surrounding you, it felt as though you had escaped into another world entirely.

You urged your mare faster, leaning low over her neck as the landscape blurred past. The afternoon sun warmed your back through your riding leather. You've always much preferred the practical garments that allowed you the freedom of movement your court gowns never permitted. Your heart raced with exhilaration, with the pure joy of speed and hooves hitting the hard ground and the knowledge that Jace rode beside you.

Though nothing beat dragon back.

His stallion eventually drew level with yours, the black destrier's powerful strides eating up the ground with ease. His long mane taken from its plait, flowing freely in the wind. It was almost as beautiful as Jace's curly locks of sultry chocolate. Jace sat his mount with natural grace, his face alight with the same wild happiness you felt coursing through your very own veins. He caught your eye and grinned, that boyish expression that never failed to make your chest tighten with affection.

"Trying to lose me?" he called over the pounding of hooves.

"Merely testing whether you can keep up," you shouted back, laughing as you guided your mare around a gentle slope.

The horses began to slow as you approached a line of ancient oaks that marked the edge of the meadow. Beyond them, the land rode into gentle hills dotted with wildflowers, their colors vivid again the green grass. You pulled to a walk as you navigated the large trees, the mares sides heaving slightly from exertion, her coat gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. Jace's stallion fell into step next to yours, flitting his head as the white mare beneath you excited him. Two animals moving companionably together as their riders had done for years.

"You were telling me about Septa Marlow," Jace said once he had caught his breath, his tone deliberately casual though his eyes danced with amusement. "Something about embroidery stitches being the key to feminine virtue?"

You groaned, the memory of that interminable lecture flooding back. "She spent two hours explaining the moral superiority of the cross-stith over the running stitch. Two hours, Jace. I thought I might very well expire from boredom right there in the solar."

"Two hours seems excessive even for Septa Marlow." He guided his stallion closer until your legs nearly touched, the iron of your stirrups clinking as he did. "What did you do to deserve such punishment?"

"I may have suggested that my time would be better spent in the library studying the histories of the Conquest, or riding Starfyre, rather than stitching another cushion cover that no one will ever use."

Jace laughed, eyes meeting yours as he did, the sound was rich and warm in the open air. "I can imagine how well that was received."

"She told me that a proper princess concerns herself with womanly arts, not dusty old books about battles and dragons." You wrinkled your nose at the memory, your voice taking on a mocking imitation of the septa's pious tone. "As if our entire house was not built on the backs of dragons and the Targaryens that rode them."

"There it is," Jace said softly, something in his voice made you turn back to look at him.

"There is what?" You asked almost incredulously.

"That expression." His gaze had grown intent, focused on your face with an air that made heat bloom in your cheeks. "The way your nose wrinkles when you are particularly vexed. The way your mouth curves when you are trying not to smile at your own irreverence."

The air between you seem to thicken, charged with the familiar tension that always sparked to life whenever you were alone together. Your mare shifted, tucking her neck in and moving her hindquarters to bump into the black stallion beside her.

"Jacaerys Valeryon," you said, aiming for reproach though your voice came out breathless. "Are you telling me you were not listening?"

"I confess, Princess, I was not paying much attention to your complaints about embroidery. I find you far more captivating than any tale of septas and their moral stitchery." He reached across the small space between your horses, his gloved hand finding yours where it rested on your thigh.

Your throat tightened and a small smile lifted your cheeks. "You are insufferable."

"You love me anyway."

"Unfortunately." The word escaped as barely more than a whisper. "The most unfortunate thing that ever happened to either of us."

His hand tightened on yours. "Yet I cannot bring myself to regret a single moment. Even knowing how it would end, even knowing the price we would pay had we be discovered. I would choose you again and again."

You blinked against the sudden sting that cursed your eyes for the thousandth time. "As would I."

He dismounted in a fluid motion once you reached the wildflower field that you so desired and moved to you to help you down from your mount. His hand settled on your waist, strong and sure. You let yourself slide from the saddle into his arms. For a moment, you simply stood there, your bodies pressed close. The horses wandered a few paces away to crop at the sweet grass, their reins trailing, forgotten.

Jace cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones with infinite tenderness. Then he kissed you, slow and deep, pouring everything he could not say into the stroke of his lips against yours. You melted into him, your fingers trailing up his torso feeling the ridges of his body until they landed safely around his neck.

When you pulled apart Jace nuzzled his nose against yours, his eyes honey colored in the lowering sun.

"I brought you something," he said after a moment, his voice warm with barely contained excitement.

"Oh?" You pulled back slightly to look at him, curiosity sparking through the haze of desire. "What manner of contraband are you smuggling on our ride today?"

He grinned, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat to produce a small cloth-wrapped bundle. "I know I promised you a horse one day, but you already have this beauty." He patted your mare's flank affectionately. "So, I thought perhaps something else might do instead."

You took the package carefully, inside lay a delicate silver chain, suspended from it was a pendant wrought in exquisite detail. A dragon, its wings spread in flight, its scales so finely crafted you could make out each individual one. Tiny garnets served as its eyes, catching the light like glowing dragonfire.

Your mouth hung ajar in awe. "Jace, it is beautiful."

"It is Vermax," he explained, taking the necklace from your hands with careful reverence. "I wanted you to have something of mine. Something you could keep close."

You touched the pendant with trembling fingers, feeling the careful detail of scales and wings, the weight of it both physical and symbolic. "I shall treasure it always, my Prince."

He moved behind you and fastened the chain around your neck. The pendant settled just above your heart, the metal still warm from being pressed against his chest during your ride. You turned to face him, catching his hand and pressing it flat against your chest so he could feel the pendant between you and his hand.

"Close to my heart, where you have always been," you murmured.

He pulled you close once more, his arms wrapping around you as you held him just as tightly, breathing in the scent of him. Around you, the meadow stretched endlessly, the wildflowers swaying in the breeze, the distant call of birds the only sound beyond your mingled breathing and the rustle of your horses.

The sun had begun its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and amber. The light caught in Jace's dark hair, turning it a light bronze, and illuminated the planes of his face with a warmth that made your chest tighten at just the look of him. Truly a Prince. You walked together in the fading afternoon, wrapped in each other, joking and talking in this small moment shared together.

The training yard rang with the clash of steel on steel, the sound echoing off the high walls of the training yard. Dust hung in the air, kicked up by boots and the occasional stumble. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, turning the packed earth into a furnace that radiated heat in the shimmering waves.

Jace circled Aegon warily, his practice sword held in a defensive position. Aegon moved with the lazy confidence of someone who had been drinking since midday, his movements sloppy despite his natural skill. They had been at this for the better part of an hour, a supposedly friendly sparring session that had grown increasingly tense as time wore on.

Luke stood off to the side with several other squires, watching his brother with poorly concealed anxiety for his well being. His hands kept clenching and unclenching at his sides, his young face tight with worry. Aemond leaned against the weapons rack, his single eye tracking every movement with predatory focus. He had been making comments for the past twenty minutes, little barbs and observations that seemed designed to needle Jace into losing his composure.

"You favor your left side nephew," Aemond called out, his voice carrying clearly across the yard. "Any opponent worth his salt would have exploited that weakness three times over by now."

Jace ignored him, focusing on Aegon's next move. Aegon lunged forward with a clumsy overhead strike that Jace easily parried, the wooden swords cracking together with enough force to send vibrations up both their arms.

"Look at him," Aemond continued, pushing off from the weapons rack and sauntering closer to the sparring circle, his gaze deliberately sweeping over Jace with theatrical disdain. "One might almost forget he claims the blood of Old Valyria at all."

The observation hung in the air like a blade. Several of the watching squires shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances laden with understanding. Luke took a step forward, his face flushing with anger, though one of the older squires caught his arm to stop him.

Jace's jaw tightened, his grip on his practice sword adjusting slightly. He did not respond, instead pressing his advantage against Aegon with a series of quick strikes that forced your husband back several steps.

"An observation," Aemond said, his tone deceptively silk as he circled the sparring circle. "It is curious, is it not, how the realm whispers about such things? How they wonder at the peculiar fortune that blessed your mother with sons who bear no resemblance whatsoever to their supposed father. One might almost think the gods themselves were commenting upon her... discretions."

The implication was unmistakable, a venomous suggestion that hung between them like poison. Aegon's eyes narrowed, his drunken haze burning away in the face of tension. He lowered his practice sword slightly, glancing between his brother and nephew.

"Aemond," he said, a note of warning in his voice.

"What?" Aemond spread his hand in a gesture of false innocence. "I speak only of what ever courtier in the Red Keep already knows. Their mother's reputation is hardly a secret, brother. The realm has long memories regarding such matters of... questionable paternity."

Jace's next strike came harder than necessary, catching Aegon across the ribs with enough force to make him grunt and stagger. Aegon's expression darkened, his grip tightening on his sword.

"Careful, nephew," Aegon said, his voice low and dangerous. "This is supposed to be friendly."

"My apologies, uncle." Jace's tone was perfectly controlled, perfectly courteous. "I thought you wanted a proper challenge."

"Oh, he cannot give you a proper challenge," Aemond interjected, moving to stand next to his brother now. "Aegon has been deep in his cups since breakfast. Perhaps you would prefer a real opponent?"

Every person in the training yard had gone still, watching to see how Jace would respond. The moment stretched taut as a bowstring, the air itself seeming to hold its breath. Jace moved suddenly, quick and fluid he pivoted his sword, pressing the blunted edge against Aemonds throat with enough force to make clear the intent. His jaw clenched, eyes burning with a fury so raw and consuming that it seemed to set the very air ablaze around him.

"I so badly wanted to ignore your cry for attention," Jace began, his voice carrying the weight of a threat that needed no shouting to be understood. "But speak of my mother again and I will forget this is a practice sword."

Aemond's smile was sharp as a dagger. "I simply state what everyone in this keep already knows. I did not know that your question to legitimacy and your mother's honor troubles you so... Proof of her shame, I fear."

Jace moved before anyone could react, dropping his practice sword and launching himself at Aemond with his bare hands. They collided with brutal force, Jace's fist connecting with Aemond's jaw hard enough to snap his head back. Aemond returned a push to Jace's chest before they went down in a tangle of limbs, rolling across the compacted earth as they grappled for advantage.

"Jace!" Luke's shout was lost in the sudden chaos as squires rushed forward, some trying to separate them, while others simply tried getting out of the way.

Aemond got his knee up into Jace's stomach, forcing him back long enough to land a vicious punch to his temple. Jace's head snapped to the side, blood spraying from a split above his eyebrows. He barely seemed to notice, driving his elbow into Aemond's face with enough force to crack bone.

Aegon had stumbled back, his practice sword forgotten as he watched his brother and nephew tear into each other. Luke tried to push through the gathered crowd desperate to reach Jace, though the press of bodies was too thick.

Aemond managed to get on top now, raining down blows on Jace's face and chest with methodical brutality. Years of resentment poured from his fists, every strike punctuated by ragged breathing and incoherent words. Jace got his arms up to protect his face, taking the hits on his forearms, waiting for an opening.

When it came, he took it. Jace twisted his hips and drove his knee upward with devastating force, catching Aemond in the side, hard enough to force air out of his lungs in a strangled gasp. As Aemond doubled over, Jace rolled them both, using his momentum to pin his uncle beneath him. He grabbed Aemond's wrist and wrenched it backward, drawing a howl of pain as the joint threatened to dislocate.

Jace rose to his feet, and landed a swift kick to the same painful side of Aemonds.

"Do not speak of my mother that way again," Jace answered viciously, staring down at Aemond with power as blood ran down his own face. "I am a dragon, same as you."

Jace drew back his foot for another strike, just to get the message across, he was no longer the small boy Aemond could once push around with ease. Two of the larger squires had managed to get hold of him, dragging him away before he could land another.

Aemond lay crumpled in the dirt. His face was a landscape of devastation, both eyes swollen nearly shut, his nose clearly broken and bleeding profusely, his lip split in multiple places. He coughed weakly, spitting blood onto the ground. His breathing came in shallow, pained gasps, each one clearly agony.

Luke was there immediately, his younger brother's hand finding his arm. "Jace, we have to go."

For a moment, Jace stood motionless, his gaze fixed on Aemond's broken form in the dirt. The rage still burned in his dark eyes, a living thing that demanded satisfaction. Then Luke pulled harder, his voice urgent and desperate.

"Jace! Please."

Something in his brother's plea seemed to reach him. Jace turned away from Aemond, from the ruined training yard with its scattered weapons and blood darkened earth, from the watching squires who had begun to back away in fear. He and Luke walked toward the gate, their footsteps heavy with the weight of what had transpired. Behind them, a testament to years of festering resentment finally unleashed.

You found him in his chambers an hour later.

The door was unlocked, which surprised you until you pushed it open and saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He looked up at the sound of the door, and your breath caught at the sight of his face.

His left eye was swollen nearly shut, the skin around it already turning a deep purple that would darken to black by morning. The cut above his eyebrow had stopped bleeding though it needed cleaning, the edges ragged and angry. His lip was split, and there were bruises blooming along his jaw and cheekbone like dark flowers. His knuckles were raw and bloody, the skin torn from repeated impact.

"Jace," you breathed, closing the door quickly behind you and crossing to him.

"You should not be here." His voice was rough, strained.

"I do not care." You knelt in front of him, your hands hovering over his face, afraid to touch him for fear of causing more pain. "What happened? I heard there was a fight in the training yard, though no one would tell me details."

Before he could find words, you stood and moved to the washbasin in the corner, finding a clean cloth and dampening it with water. When you returned to kneel before him again, you began gently cleaning the blood from his face with meticulous care, your movements tender and deliberate. He winced as you dabbed at the cut above his eyebrow, his hands wringing at themselves.

"I am sorry," you murmured, working as carefully as you could. "I know it hurts."

"It is nothing." His fingers tightened, knuckles turning pale white. "I have had worse."

"That does not make it better." You rinsed the cloth and continued your work, cleaning away the dried blood to reveal the full extent of the damage. The cut would likely scar, a thin line bisecting his eyebrow. The thought made your chest ache. "A maester will need to stitch that."

You moved to clean the blood from his knuckles, your touch reverent and protective as you worked each split skin with gentle precision. His hands were strong, calloused from years of sword work, and seeing them damaged like this made something twist painfully in your chest.

"Aemond said things," Jace began quietly, his voice hollow. "About my mother, about..." He trailed off, his jaw clenching. "About what I am."

Your hands stilled and you looked up at him, searching his face. What you saw there made your blood run cold, doubt and uncertainty clouded his eyes. The poison of Aemond's words taking root in the mind of the man you loved.

Fury ignited in your chest, swift and consuming and protective.

"No." The word came out sharp as a blade. You set the cloth aside and rose to your feet, your eyes blazing. "No, Jace. You will not do this. You will not let him plant his venom in your mind and take root there like some festering wound."

He looked up at you, startled by the intensity of your anger.

"Do you hear me?" Your voice trembled with the force of your protective rage, directed not at him but at the cruelty that had been inflicted upon him. "Aemond is a bitter, jealous man who cannot bear that you are everything he will never be. He cannot bear your mother's love, your brothers' loyalty, your own honor. So he strikes at the only weapon he has, words, lies, poison meant to make you doubt yourself."

You moved closer, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "You are the son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne. You are a dragon rider, a man of courage and integrity. Your legitimacy is not questioned by those who matter, it is questioned only by those too small and bitter to acknowledge your worth."

Your voice dropped, frustration bleeding through. "What you did today in that training yard was exactly what Aemond wanted. Can you not see that? You show the people that his words have power over you, that there is something to hide, something to defend so desperately that you would break a man's face over it."

Jace's expression shifted, confusion giving way to a flash of anger. "You would have me stand there and let him speak of my mother that way? Let him call my brother-"

"I would have you be smarter than this." You cut him off, your tone sharp with worry rather than condemnation. "You gave the entire castle a spectacle, proof that the whispers about your legitimacy cut deep enough to make you violent."

He stood abruptly, his jaw clenched tight. "So I should simply endure it? Let him spread his poison unchallenged?"

"I am not saying that." You stepped closer, your hands reaching for his shoulders though he remained rigid beneath your touch. "I am saying that every time you react like this, you paint a target on your back. You make yourself vulnerable."

Silence fell between you, heavy and charged. Jace's face was twisted with emotions you could not describe, his hands still clenched into fists at his sides. The afternoon light slanted through the window, illuminating the bruises already darkening across his face, the split in his lip, the raw evidence of his loss of control.

"You do not understand," he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. "You cannot understand what it is like to have your very existence questioned, to have people look at you and see only doubt, only suspicion. Those words are not just insults. They are daggers aimed at everything I am, everything my brothers are."

"I know." Your voice softened, though the frustration remained. "I know it is unbearable but that is precisely why Aemond uses those words. He knows they will make you reckless, make you forget caution and strategy in favor of immediate satisfaction. He is counting on your pride to be your downfall."

Jace turned away from you, his shoulders tense. "So I am supposed to swallow my pride?"

You moved to sit beside him, placing a finger beneath his chin, forcing him to meet your eyes. "Every bruise on your face is a victory for Aemond. That is what I am trying to make you see."

He stared at you for a long moment, conflict warring across his battered features. Slowly, the tension began to drain from his shoulders. His hands unclenched, reaching instead to cup your face with a gentleness that belied the violence still evident on his knuckles.

"I am sorry," he said quietly. "You are right, I let my anger cloud my judgment."

You leaned into his touch, your own hands coming up to cover his. "I am frightened for you. Do not give them reason to see you as unstable, as unworthy, you make it easier for them to justify taking everything from you."

He pulled you close, his battered lips pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head. "Thank you my love."

You held him there in the fading light, the tension between you slowly dissolving into something softer, more fragile. Outside, the Red Keep continued its daily rhythms, oblivious to the small reconciliation playing out in this chamber. Eventually you would have to leave, to return to your own rooms before your absence was noted.

For now, you simply held him and let him hold you, offering what comfort you could in a world that seemed determined to tear him apart.

Chapter 8.

dragonseed!readerxjacaerys fic

he has bastard issues and so does she?

enemies to lovers?

Jacaerys Valeryon

jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 6 word count: 6479

notes: Hey... I know I said to be patient for this next chapter buuuut- I finished editing and adding to it and it's my favorite chapter yet. It has the most smut filled scene yet, a full biopsy was done basically lol. I'm not kidding though, most of those 6k words are just smut... Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 6

Morning came too soon, announced by the soft knock at the chamber doors. You had returned to bed sometime before dawn, lying as far from Aegon as the mattress would allow, staring at the canopy overhead while he snored softly beside you. Sleep had been impossible, despite not sleeping the night prior your mind would not let you rest. It churned with thoughts of Jace, of the future, of any and everything.

Aegon stirred as the knock came again, more insistent this time. He groaned a sound of pure misery and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. His eyes were still closed when he sat up, moving with the careful deliberation of a man whose skull felt as though it might split open at any moment. The beautiful morning light that filtered through the window made him wince when his eye peaked open for only a brief time. Then, he threw his arm across his face to shield himself from it's assault.

"Gods," he muttered, his voice hoarse and strained. "Make it stop."

The knock came a third time, louder now. Aegon flinched at the sound then swung his legs over the side of the bed with obvious effort, moving as though every joint ached. He stood unsteadily, gripping the bedpost for balance, and you realized with a start that he was still drunk or at least caught in that miserable space between intoxication and sobriety where the world felt hostile and your own body betrayed you.

When the fourth knock came Aegon froze, tension seizing his shoulders before he finally spoke. His voice was sharp, irritable.

"Give us a moment, stop knocking for the love of gods." He said with clenched teeth.

Aegon studied you for a moment like he was remembering all that had happened the day before, then moved to pull on his breeches and tunic with jerky, irritable movements. He hissed through his teeth as he bent to retrieve his tunic from the floor, clearly regretting the motion immediately. Once dressed, he stood swaying slightly, one hand pressed to the back of his neck.

"Come," he said watching the door with irritation. "You insolent cunts," he murmured after.

The door opened again before you could respond. Maester Orwyle entered, his expression professionally neutral as he carried his satchel of instruments and remedies. Behind him came two serving women, their eyes downcast as they waited by the door.

"My Prince," Maester Orwyle said, bowing to Aegon before turning his attention to you. "Princess, I must perform the examination to verify the consummation of your marriage."

Your stomach twisted, this was the part you dreaded most, the clinical inspection that would confirm what the court needed to believe. You sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around yourself as modesty demanded, though modesty felt like a cruel joke in this moment.

Aegon moved to the window, then immediately regretted it as the full force of the morning light struck him. He turned away with a sound of pain, pressing his palm against his eye. His posture was rigid, tense, nothing like the relaxed disinterest you might have expected. He looked as though he might be sick at any moment.

Maester Orwyle approached the bed with measured steps, he examined the sheets, his weathered hands lifting the fabric to inspect the stains more closely. His expression remained impassive as he noted the placement, the quantity, the color of the dried blood.

"The evidence is clear," he said after a moment, his tone matter-of-fact. "The marriage has been consummated and the Princess's maidenhood had been claimed by her husband, as is proper and expected."

Relief and revulsion warred within you. Relief that the deception had worked, that Aegon's pragmatic solution had spared you further scrutiny. Revulsion at the entire spectacle, at the reduction of your body and your choices to this single moment of verification.

"Very good," Aegon said from across the room, his voice sharp and hopelessly dismissive. "You may inform the King and Queen that all is as it should be. Now, if you're finished, I have a pressing need to return to my bed."

Maester Orwyle bowed, clearly taken aback by the Prince's curtness. "Of course, my Prince." He turned to the serving women. "Prepare the sheets for display."

The women moved forward with practiced efficiency, stripping the bloodied linen from the bed while you sat frozen, clutching the remaining sheet around yourself. They folded the stained fabric carefully, reverently, like they held a holy relic rather than a sheet with a lie dripped onto it.

When they finished, Maester Orwyle departed with another bow, the serving women following close behind with the bundled sheets.

Aegon immediately sank onto the bed once more, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. His jaw clenched, his breathing shallow. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained.

"I am going back to sleep, tell mother I need rest."

You closed your eyes briefly, steeling yourself for what was to come.

The great hall had been prepared for the formal display. Banners bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen hung from the vaulted ceiling, long tables filled with fruits and cakes to enjoy. The morning light streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the assembled crowd. Members of the royal family stood on the dias next to the Iron Throne, while the lords and ladies of the court filled the space below, all gathered to witness the proof of your union with Aegon.

You stood beside your husband now, mother had dragged him out of bed by his ear and practically dressed him herself. Your own appearance was immaculate, a gown of deep green silk, your hair arranged in an elaborate style, braided and pinned with golden ornaments that caught the light. You looked every inch the dutiful Princess, the perfect bride.

The dias held the weight of the realms approval. Your father sat enthroned while your mother stood with the satisfaction of a woman who had orchestrated exactly what she desired. Helaena drifted somewhere in her own distant world, her eyes unfocused on things only she could perceive. Aemond's singular gaze was sharp as a blade, assessing and cold.

On the other side of the throne, Rhaenyra and her family stood, gathered like a storm cloud. Laenor's relaxed posture proved steady, and Luke fidgeted with visible discomfort at the ceremonies formality.

Though it was Jace who held your attention if only brief. He stood slightly removed and his dark eyes found you with an intensity that made you look away almost instantly. His formal wear always stood out to you, it made him look regal and truly a Prince of the Iron Throne. Yet, it was the tension radiating from him that truly captured you, the rigid set of his shoulders, the barely concealed anguish tightening his features, the white knuckled grip of his hands at his sides. To the casual observer, he appeared merely dutiful, appropriately attentive to the proceedings.

You knew the truth of what lay beneath that careful control and the knowledge of his suffering made your chest ache.

Maester Orwyle stepped forward, carrying the folded sheets with ceremonial gravity. He moved to the center of the hall, where a table had been prepared for the display. With care, he unfolded the linen, spreading it out so that the stains were clearly visible to all.

"Behold," he announced, his voice carrying through the hall. "The proof of consummation. Princess and Prince Aegon's union has been sealed in the sight of gods and men."

A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd. This was what they had come to see, the confirmation that everything has proceeded according to tradition and expectation. Your virtue had been proven, your value as a woman and bride confirmed.

You kept your gaze fixed on the middle distance, refusing to look at the sheets, refusing to acknowledge the spectacle being made of your body. Aegon stood beside you with his usual air of detached amusement, playing his role with the ease of long practice.

Then you made the mistake of glancing back to Jace.

His face had gone pale. He was staring at the displayed sheets with an expression of dawning horror and confusion.

King Viserys rose from his chair with effort, drawing the attention of the hall. "The union is confirmed," he declared, his voice weaker today then usual but still carrying authority. "Prince Aegon and the Princess have fulfilled their duty to House Targaryen. May their marriage be long and fruitful."

The court erupted in polite applause, the lords and ladies offered their congratulations, their voices blending into a meaningless din. You smiled and nodded, accepting their praise with practiced grace. all while your heart screamed for a man that stood only feet from you with devastation written across his face.

The ceremony concluded and the crowd begin to disperse, moving toward the doors in clusters of conversation and gossip. You remained on the dais beside Aegon, trapped by protocol and expectation, unable to move, unable to breath.

You waited around until midday before making your escape. The morning had been filled with audiences and smiling and nodding until you thought you would fall over from performance. Your mother had kept you close, parading you before various nobles as though you were a prize to be displayed.

Finally, you claimed enough fatigue and requested permission to retire to your chambers. Alicent had granted it with a knowing smile, assuming you needed rest after your wedding night. You had smiled back and thanked her, then made your way through the corridors with measured steps, giving no indication of your true destination.

You moved through the lesser used passages of the Red Keep, your heart pounded as you descended the stairs that led to the lower levels, then out through a side entrance that opened onto the path leading to the Dragonpit.

The air outside was cool and fresh after the stuffiness of the keep. You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself and walked quickly, your boots crunching on the gravel path. The Dragonpit loomed ahead, its massive stone structure dark against the afternoon sky.

You entered through the side gates, nodding to the dragonkeepers who recognized you immediately. They bowed and stepped aside, allowing you passage into the vast cavern where the dragons were kept.

Starfyre sensed your presence before you reached her alcove. Her call echoed through the stone chamber, a sound of recognition and welcome that made your chest tighten with emotion. You rounded the corner and found her waiting, her pale scales gleaming in the dim light, her golden eyes fixed on you with intelligence and concern.

"Lykirī, ñuha riña," you whispered, approaching slowly. Easy, my girl.

She lowered her massive head, allowing you to press your forehead against her snout. The warmth of her, the familiar scent of smoke and dragon, grounded you in a way nothing else could. You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, letting the tension drain from your body.

"I needed you," you murmured against her scales. "I needed to be somewhere real."

Starfyre rumbled softly, a sound of comfort and understanding. Her presence was a balm to your frayed nerves, a reminder that some things remained constant even when your world had been turned upside down.

You stood there for a long moment, simply existing in her presence, letting the chaos of the last few days fade into the background. The dragonpit was quiet save for the occasional shift and rumble of the other dragons in their alcoves. This was your sanctuary, the place where you could breathe without the weight of expectation crushing down on you.

Then you heard footsteps. You turned, your heart leaping into your throat before you saw Jace emerging from the shadows of the corridor. He stopped when he saw you, his expression raw and unguarded in a way it hadn't been in the great hall. His eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw tight, his entire body radiating tension.

"Jace..." you breathed.

He crossed the distance between you in what felt like an instant, pulling you into his arms with desperation. You clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his tunic, your face pressed against his chest. He held you as though you might disappear if he loosened his grip, his breath ragged against your hair.

"I don't understand," he said, his voice breaking. "How was there blood? The maester's proclamation... They declared you went to your marriage bed a maiden, yet I know with absolute certainty that you were not."

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands framing his face. "You were my first, my love," you said firmly. "The only one who has ever truly mattered to my heart and my body."

Confusion flickered across his features.

"The blood was Aegon's, not mine," you explained quickly. "He cut his own hand and spread it on the sheets to create the appearance that I had been a maiden. It was a deception, Jace. A constructed falsehood for the benefit of the court... And me."

He stared at you, processing this information, his expression shifting from confusion to understanding to something darker. "He deliberately deceived the realm to protect you?"

"To protect us both," you said. "He desires this marriage no more than I do. Last night, he made me an offer of considerable hope." You took a breath, steadying yourself. "He said I might have my freedom in private. That I could see you, be with you, provided I maintain the appearance of a devoted and dutiful wife before the court. He does not care what I do behind closed doors, with you."

Jace's hands tightened on your waist. "He is permitting this? Permitting us to continue to be together?"

"Yes." You searched his face, desperate for him to understand. "It's far from perfect. It is not what we had dreamed of or desired. We have to exercise the greatest caution more than we have ever practiced before. A single misstep and everything crumbles to dust."

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving over your face as though memorizing every detail. When he finally spoke his voice was rough with emotion. "I believed I had lost you entirely. When I saw those sheets, when they proclaimed you had been a maiden, I thought I had imagined everything between us. That this, us, was some fevered dream."

"This is the only genuine thing in my entire existence, Jacaerys. Everything else is mere performance and duty and carefully constructed lies. You are my truth."

He kissed you then, hard and desperate, pouring all his fear and relief and love into the press of his lips against yours. You kissed him back with equal intensity, your hands tangling in his hair, your body pressing against his as though you could merge into one person and never be seperated again.

When you finally broke apart both of your breath was heavy and long. Jace rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his hands still gripping your waist as though you would drift away if he let go.

"I can't bear to share you with him," he said quietly. "I understand why I must. I comprehend that this is our reality now. You are his wife by law and custom, and I am merely-" He broke off, his jaw clenching. "I cannot endure the thought of his hands laying on your skin."

"He barely touched me at all," you said softly. "It was duty fulfilled, nothing more. Mechanical and swift. He desired it no more than I did." You cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. "You are the one I want. You are the one I choose of my own free will, every time, without hesitation or doubt, it is you."

His eyes stained red with unshed tears. "I should have fought harder for you. Should have discovered some means to prevent this from happening, to shield you from your fate."

"There was no possible way to prevent it," you said. "I think you know that and yet you strike yourself with the thought of you being able to protect me. We will take this opportunity to be together, even if it must remain hidden for the rest of our lives. That is more than I dared hope we would have."

He pulled you close again, burying his face in your hair. You held him tightly, feeling a tremor that ran down his spine, the barely contained emotion threatening to break free.

"Come with me," you whispered against his ear.

The moment understanding flickered in his eyes, his entire body responded. His grip on you tightened, his breathing quickened, the shift in him from devastation to desperation. When you took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, his palm was hot against yours, feverish with want.

You led him deeper into the Dragonpit, the stone corridors grew narrower, the air cooling and carrying the mineral scent of ancient stone mingled with the faint sulfurous tang that clung to everything in this place. Your footsteps echoed softly against the worn flagstones that had been walked by dragonkeepers and Targaryens for generations.

You could feel the tension radiating from Jace, the barely restrained hunger that made his fingers tighten around yours with each step. When you glanced back at him his eyes were fixed on you, dark and honeyed. The curve of his lips sent heat flooding through your body.

The network of the smaller chambers branched off from the main cavern like veins through rock, you knew the path by heart now, you had walked it countless times over the past year. Every turn, every shadowed alcove, every crack in the stone was familiar territory.

When you reached the heavy wooden door that hung slightly crooked on its iron hinges, weathered and scarred by time, Jace moved closer behind you. As you pushed open the door with your available hand you could feel the heat of him at your back, could hear his breath and feel it tickle the hairs that stood on your neck. The hinges groaned softly in protest, a sound that had become as familiar as a lover's sigh.

Inside, the room was exactly as you had left it. No larger than a modest bedchamber, its walls were rough stone that still bore the marks of the tools that had carved them. The air was cool and still, light filtered through narrow cracks in the ceiling where mortar had crumbled away over the years.

The blankets you had brought here, thick wool that smelled faintly of lanolin and smoke, worn soft by use and time, were already spread across a section of the floor from your last visit. The makeshift bed had become a sanctuary, a place where you could truly just be together, even if it was dark and lonely.

Jace closed the door behind you with a soft thud that seemed to seal you both away from everything beyond these walls. The sound of it settling into its frame was familiar, comforting in its finality. The moment the latch clicked into place something in him seemed to break free. His hands instantly finding your waist pulling you against him stealing your mind, body and soul.

The kiss was nothing like the gentle, love filled touches you had shared before. This was hunger, raw and unrestrained. One hand rose to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your silver hair with possessive urgency. The other hand pressed firmly against the small of your back, drawing you into him with almost bruising force until your body was flush against his, every line of you aligned with every line of him.

He leaned over you, his lips moving against yours, his tongue seeking entrance as he angled your head back, deepening the kiss until it felt like drowning in the most exquisite way. His body pressed into yours with the weight of months of longing, of desperation, of a love that had nowhere else to go but into this moment, this touch, this claiming of you that was both tender and fierce.

When he finally pulled back you were both trying to catch your breath, your chest heaving against his. For a long moment, neither of you moved. His eyes searched yours and yours his, your pulse quickened, seeking something in the depths of each other's gaze. In that suspended moment of silence, with only the sound of your breathing filling the small space between you, the connection between you deepened. More intimate than any touch, more binding than any vow.

You reached for the laces of his tunic, fingers finding the leather ties that held the garment closed. The moment your hands touched him, he caught your wrists. His grip was gentle despite the tremor running through his fingers. When you looked up at him, you saw a war playing out across his features.

Desire burned in his eyes, hot and undeniable but beneath it lurked something else. His gaze was held on your hands and his wrapped around your wrists.

"Tell me this is truly what you desire," he said, his voice strained. "Tell me you are not doing this out of some sense of obligation to me, or because you believe it is what I require of you to feel more like the man that is yours." His thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin of your inner wrists, a touch so gentle it made you shiver.

"Allow me this," you said softly, bending in attempts to catch his gaze, to pull him out of his thoughts. "I beseech you Jacaerys. I need this more than I can properly express. I need to feel as though my body belongs to me again, as though my choices are my own to make."

Understanding dawned in his eyes like sunrise breaking the horizon. The fear melted away, replaced by something deeper and more profound. He released your wrists slowly, his fingers trailing over your skin as he did.

You unlaced his tunic with slow, deliberate movements, your fingers working the leather ties with practiced ease despite the trembling in your hands. Each tie you loosened felt like reclaiming a piece of yourself, of him.

When the last tie came free you pushed the tunic from his shoulders. The fabric was fine, warm from his body heat, it slid down his arms with a soft rustle. Your hands moved to the ties of his breeches next, fingers finding the laces at his waist. He drew in a sharp breath as your knuckles brushed against his lower stomach, the muscles contracting there in anticipation.

Deliberately slowing your movements as you worked the laces free. Intentionally brushing his hardening length that hid beneath the leather with your delicate fingers, purposefully sneaking glances at his face as you knelt in front of him. When the laces finally came undone you pushed the breeches down over his hips, letting them sit at his feet. He stepped out of them, standing before you in only his smallclothes.

The light caught on his skin, highlighting the definition of muscle and the slight hollow at the base of his throat where his pulse beat visibly. You simply looked at him for a moment, drinking in the sight of him half-bare before you.

Your hands moved over his chest, palms flat against his skin. He was almost hot to the touch and you could feel his heart beat race beneath you. You traced the lines of muscle with your fingertips, following the contours of his body, relearning the familiar landscape that you had explored so many times before.

Slowly, you led one finger down the trails of his stomach, where the muscles tensed and released with each breath he took. His skin was smooth and soft in some places, rougher in others where training had left its mark on him. A scar on his ribs from a training accident years ago, a thin white line that you traced countless times before.

Goosebumps raised on his skin in the wake of your finger. His breathing stopped as you trailed lower over the fine trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his smallclothes, you watched him as his eyes became lost and his lips parted in want.

"Lie down," you instructed quietly, your voice barely above a whisper in the stillness of the chamber.

He obeyed without hesitation, lowering himself onto the blankets. The wool compressed beneath his weight and he settled onto his back, his beautiful dark hair spreading across the makeshift pillow he had created from other blankets and hay. His eyes never left your face, watching you with an intensity that made your skin flush red.

You knelt beside him on the blankets, the wool soft beneath your knees. Your lips found his chest, trailing downward with deliberate slowness, your mouth and hands working in concert to unravel him. He let out a soft deep croon, his lips parted, watching you intently as he surrendered to your control.

When you reached his waistband, you paused, your fingers finding the hem at his hips. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze now. His eyes were filled with desire and something deeper, reverence, awe, intense need all tangled together.

You pulled his smallclothes down slowly, revealing him inch by inch. He lifted his hips to help you and you drew the fabric down his thighs and off completely, tossing it aside. He was already hard, as you had felt when you unlaced his breeches, but now you see his arousal straining toward his stomach.

Wrapping your hand around him, you felt the heat and weight of him in your palm, the silken skin that covered rigid flesh. His breath hitched at the contact, his head falling back against the blankets, his eyes closing as the sensation washed over him.

You stroked him slowly at first, watching his chest rise and fall more quickly than before with each movement of your hand. Soft sounds fell from his lips that he seemed unable to control. You could feel him pulse in your grip, could feel the way his hips shifted slightly, seeking more.

"Tighter," he breathed, his hand covering yours, showing you the pressure he craved.

Then you lowered your mouth to him, your lips parting to take him in. The taste of him flooded your senses, salt and musk and an undeniable sensation of happiness. You took him slowly, savoring every inch, feeling every vein on your tongue. His fingers tangled in the strands of your hair, resting there, you knew he was resisting the urge to press you down further.

You glanced up at him through your lashes, wanting to see his face, to witness what you were doing to him. His head was back, his throat exposed, the tendons standing out in sharp relief. His lips were parted with the intense feel of your mouth wrapped around his cock. The sight of him like this, undone by your touch, sent a thrill of power through you.

You worked him with your mouth and hand together, finding the rhythm that made his breath hitch, that drew those soft sounds of pleasure from deep in his throat. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper then pulling back to trace the sensitive underside with your tongue. His hips jerked slightly at that, a soft curse falling from his lips.

"Seven hells," he gasped, his voice breaking on the words. "The things you do to me... I cannot..."

You looked up at him again, deliberately meeting his eyes this time while your mouth was still on him. The effect was immediate, his expression transformed, pleasure and wonder and something like worship crossing his features. His hand tightened in your hair, still not guiding but holding on as though you were the only solid thing in a world that turned to dust.

"You are magnificent," he breathed, his voice rough with barely controlled passion. "The sight of you, the feel of you, I am completely undone beneath you."

This was power, this was choice. Your body, your desire, given freely to the man you loved. Not duty or obligation or performance for someone else's benefit. Just you and him and the pleasure you could give each other.

You continued your ministrations, watching his face intently now. Watching his jaw clench, his eyes flutter closed, finding what drew those beautiful sounds from his throat. When you took him deeper once more his whole body tensed. You could feel the way his muscles coiled tight as pleasure built inside him. His breathing had become uneven, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The hand in your hair became its own, showing pressure as his fingers flexed against your scalp.

He wanted you to go faster, he wanted to finish.

His face contorted with pleasure, his brow furrowing, his lips parting on a silent cry. You watched as his eyes met yours again, darker now, intense and filled with such love that it made your heart swell.

You pulled back before he could finish, releasing him with a soft pop. His eyes widened as you did so, confusion and desperation for release warring in his expression.

"Not yet, my Prince." you said meeting his gaze once more as you untied the laces of your gown. "I want you inside of me when you come undone. I want to feel you let go."

He quickly sat up to help you with your laces, fingers fumbling in his eagerness. Together you worked the fastenings loose and he pulled the fabric away from your body with more force than necessary, his patience clearly fraying. The gown slid down your arms and your waist until it sat on the floor. The cool air of the chamber raised goosebumps on your newly exposed skin, your nipples tightening in response.

You wore only your chemise now, the thin linen doing little to hide the shape of your body beneath. Jace's gaze moved over you with undisguised hunger. You reached for the hem of the chemise and pulled it up and over your head in one smooth motion, baring yourself completely to him.

The cool air was no comparison to his gaze. So heated, full of love and desire that made you feel beautiful and wanted and wholly yourself. You had never felt more seen, more known, than you did with him. Looking at you like you were something precious, sacred.

"Come here," he commanded, his hand motioning for you.

You got back down to his side now and his hands immediately found your waist, pulling you down beside him. His palms roamed your skin, caressing your sides, your hips, sliding up to cup your breasts, squeezing your nipples gingerly. You gasped at the sensation.

You wished to let him have his way with you but this was your moment.

You moved to straddle him, your knees settling on either side of his hips, reclaiming the control you had established. His length lay flat against his stomach as you rubbed your very ready heat against it, letting yourself edge even yourself in this moment.

You raised your hips, taking him in your hand, circling his tip against the entrance of you. His hands came to rest on your bottom, his palms hot against your skin, his fingers spread wide showing the scale of his hands in comparison to you.

"Wait," he said, his grip tightening. "Let me guide you down."

His eyes were locked with yours, he held you suspended above him for a long moment, before slowly pulling you down onto him. You sank, inch by inch, the stretch exquisite to your core, the fullness overwhelming in the best possible way. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you let yourself moan and enjoy him.

Once you had him fully within you he let out a breath, lips parted, he said your name in lust.

"Do not move yet," he commanded breathlessly. "Let me feel you stretched around me, taking me so perfectly."

His eyes were locked on your face, watching every expression that crossed your features.

"Perfection itself," he breathed reverently, as though he were speaking to himself. "Now, show me how you wish to take your pleasure from me Princess..."

You began to move, lifting yourself slowly and then sinking back down. The friction was delicious, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine and deep in your belly. You set a rhythm that pleased you, that gave you exactly what you needed.

"Faster," he urged after several moments, his hands gripping your waist more firmly, beginning to guide your movements with more authority.

His hands roamed over your body as you moved, caressing your thighs, your hips, sliding up to cup your breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, your head fell back once more letting the twisted desire flow through you as he played with your curves.

This was reclamation. This was healing. Every movement, every gasp, every moment of connection was yours to claim and his to give freely. You were taking back what had been taken from you, asserting ownership over your own body, your own pleasure, your own choices. The power of it thrummed through your veins like dragonfire.

"Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. "I want to see you come undone whilst I am buried deep in you."

You obeyed, your hand moving between your legs to where your bodies joined. Your fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves there, slick with your arousal and you began to circle it with practiced movements. The added sensation made you moan louder and louder, a sound that echoed off the stone walls of the chamber.

"Oh Jacaeyrs..." you called feeling him hitting the exact spot needed, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you.

His hips began to move beneath you, meeting your downward movements with shallow thrusts that drove him deeper. With each connection a small breath left his mouth, it was like a melody. Soon your movements became erratic, your fingers moved faster, your hips grinding against him with increasing desperation.

You looked at him again now, his eyes wide as he watched you use him for yourself.

"Let go," he said, running his hand beneath the edge of your breasts and over your nipple. "I want to see you come undone, I want to watch you shatter around me."

The pleasure was building to an almost unbearable intensity, threatening to consume you entirely. His voice only maximized that, you were preparing to let go.

"I-"

At this moment he helped you, using his hips to keep your rhythm, your climax crashed over you in waves, your body clenching around him with rhythmic intensity as pleasure exploded through every nerve. You collapsed against his chest, moaning his name, raw and unrestrained, the sound bouncing off the stone walls of the chambers. Your body trembled with the force of it, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

The sensation of you tightening around him, the feel of your body surrendering completely to pleasure, shattered what remained of his control.

"Fuck..." he groaned before he began to move with urgency, his hips driving upward into you with powerful thrusts. His hands gripped your waist, holding you in place as he chased his own release, his breathing ragged and broken.

"Gods," he breathed against your hair, his body moving with increasing intensity and roughness beneath you. "Oh fuck..."

His release came moments later, his body going rigid as pleasure consumed him entirely. He spilled deep within you with a gutteral mention of your name, his hips driving upward one final time before he stilled, his chest heaving with the force of his climax. His arms wrapped around you, holding you as though he might never let go.

His lips pressed soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your shoulder, each one a wordless declaration of love.

"I love you beyond all reason and measure," he whispered against your skin, his breath warm. "I love you so profoundly it terrifies me to my very core."

"I love you." you replied, your voice muffled against his neck. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear, still racing but beginning to slow. "You are mine and I am yours and that is the only truth that matters."

You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped around each other, your bodies cooling slowly in the still air of the chamber. His hands moved over your back in soothing strokes, tracing patterns on your skin. You could feel him softening against you, could feel the evidence of your joining beginning to slip from your body. Yet, neither of you moved to separate.

Eventually, you shifted to lie beside him, your head pillowed on his shoulder, his arm around you. He reached for one of the blankets and pulled it over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders. The wool was warm and soft, cocooning you both in a nest of comfort and safety.

The exhaustion of the past few days caught up with you all at once. Your eyes grew heavy, your body relaxing completely for the first time since. Every muscle that had been held tense with anxiety and fear finally released, leaving you boneless and content in his arms. Jace's breathing had already begun to even out, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm that preceded sleep.

You let yourself drift, secure in his arms, in this stolen moment of peace. Outside these walls, the world continued with all its demands and expectations and cruelties. The court would be gossiping about your wedding night, your mother would be planning your future as Aegon's wife and the realm would continue its inexorable march toward whatever fate awaited it.

In here, though, in this hidden alcove in the depths of the Dragonpit, you were simply yourself, simply his. The weight of duty and obligation couldn't reach you here, couldn't touch what you had created in this sacred space. Here, you were not a princess or a wife or a pawn in someone else's game. You were simply a woman who loved a man, and who was loved in return.

Chapter 7.

Jacaerys Valeryon

jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 5 word count: 5772

notes: This is a long one folks. As I stated in the first chapter, I have had most of this written already in a private doc. But now that I have it posted I'm rereading it and I am realizing that a lot of things are not how I wish them to be so I've been heavily editing and rewriting. After this chapter please expect delays. Also omg poor reader she is going through it this chapter. I'd also totally love to discuss character depth with yall in the comments, if you pick up on anything that is not deliberately said please let me know I'd love to know your opinions :D

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 5

Sleep had seemed impossible, the rain that stirred you from your bed was just an excuse to finally rise. You hadn't really slept, your mind in and out of consciousness, nerves and heartbreak waking you every few minutes.

Lighting a candle that had already burned itself to its stub you sat at your window, the rain drummed against it, steady and relentless. As if the sky itself was weeping for you. You couldn't help the hot sting that filled your eyes as you imagined this to be a nightmare. That you would wake up and find yourself back in time, back when you were just ten years old and Jace was just your favorite person in the world.

Today, you would marry your brother.

Three months had passed since your nameday, since the announcement of your betrothal. Three months of your mother asking your opinion on flowers and food and linen. Three months of secret moments with Jace that felt like trying to breath underwater, desperate, suffocating. Three months of watching your life close around you like a fist.

"Princess?" A soft knock at the door. "it's time to being preparations."

You closed your eyes and took a breath, how long had you sat here, staring at the droplets of rain that cascaded down your window pane? Not long enough.

"Come," you said.

The handmaiden's flooded into your chambers like a tide, bringing with them the scent of rosewater and lavender, carrying armfuls of silk and lace. They moved around you with ease and efficiency, replacing your candles, drawing back the curtains that had lain shut for days, laying out your wedding gown with reverent care.

The dress was a masterpiece. You'd seen it being constructed over the past weeks, watched as seamstresses labored over every stitch, every bead, every thread of gold embroidery. Ivory silk that shimmered like moonlight, overlaid with Myrish lace so fine it looked like spiderweb. The bodice was fitted with tiny pearls, the sleeves long and flowing, the train was so long it would take two attendants to carry it behind you.

It was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.

It made you want to scream...

"Into the bath, my lady," one of the handmaidens said, gently guiding you toward the copper tub that had been filled with steaming water.

You let them undress you, let them run the water over your shoulders and neck, let them wash your hair with oils that smelled of jasmine and orange. You sat there like a childrens doll being prepared for display.

Your mind wandered helplessly to Jace, where was he right now? In his chambers? In the garden? Was he preparing himself? Had he decided to attend and torture himself? You'd barely seen him these past months except in small, stolen moments, that felt like dying and being reborn all at once.

You'd found him in the library after midnight. You'd sent him a message, a book left on a specific shelf, a ribbon marking a particular page. Your secret code. When you'd slipped through the door he had already been standing there by the window, silhouetted against the moonlight.

"Jace," you'd whispered.

He'd turned, the look on his face had nearly broken you. Anguish and longing and love so fierce it hurt to witness. You'd crossed the room and kissed him desperately. Your hands fisting in his tunic pulling him close, but it was never close enough.

"I dream of you," he'd whispered against your lips. "Every night I dream of you and palm trees and sand so golden it looks unreal."

"I dream of you too my Prince," you'd whispered back and then you'd kissed him again because words weren't enough for how desperately you craved him.

"Princess, it's time to dry your hair."

The handmaiden's voice pulled you back to the present. You stood, water sluicing off your skin. You let them wrap you in soft linen before they sat you at the fire and began combing through your hair, working out every tangle with patient care.

You mother arrived not soon after they had finished braiding your hair into an elaborate crown. She looked resplendent in deep green velvet, the seven pointed star glittering at her throat. She dismissed the handmaidens with a wave of her hand and then suddenly you were alone with her.

"You look beautiful," she said, studying your reflection in the mirror.

"Thank you, mother."

Your voice sounded hollow even to your own ears. Alicent's expression softened slightly, something that might have been sympathy if you'd believed she could feel such an emotion.

"I know this is difficult for you," she said quietly, her hand resting on your shoulder. "You are doing what is right. What is necessary. Not only for our families future but for the realm. This marriage will strengthen our position, will-"

"Will make me miserable for the rest of my life," you finished.

Your mothers jaw tightened only slightly, her eyes growing wide. "Happiness is a luxury we cannot afford, you are a princess, you have a duty to your house, to your family, to the realm."

"What about duty to myself?" The words escaped before you could stop them. "What about what I want?"

"What you want is irrelevant." Her voice was sharp, cutting. "You will marry Aegon, you will be a good wife to him, you will bear his children and support his claim and you will do so with dignity and grace as befits your station."

Her grip was firm now on your shoulder, almost painful.

"I know you will miss him," she said and you blood turned to oil. "Whatever you had with the boy ends today. Do you understand me? Whatever foolish infatuation you've harbored, it ends when you speak your vows."

You stared at her reflection in the mirror, unable to speak. You didn't even know how to feel, you just felt empty, unreal.

"You loyalty in the past and now belongs to the crown, your future belongs to the crown and your children will belong to the crown." She paused. "If I hear even a whisper of impropriety, if there is even a hint of scandal with the Valeryon boy, I will make sure he is sent so far from King's Landing he'll never find his way back here. Do I make myself clear?"

You could feel it again, the burning in your eyes, the torturous feeling of your chest caving in. You wanted to kick and scream and run as fast as you could to anywhere but here.

"Yes, mother."

She studied you for a long moment, watched how your nails dug into the polished wood of your chair, how your eyelids turned pink with the feeling of grief.

"Good, now the handmaidens will finish preparing you. The court is waiting."

She swept from the room leaving you alone with your reflection and the crushing weight of her threat.

The handmaiden's returned and began dressing you immediately. The chemise first, thin silk that felt like nothing against your skin. The underskirts next, layer upon layer of fabric. Then the gown itself, lifted carefully over your head, the silk whispering as it settled around you.

They laced you in, pulling the bodice tight until you could barely draw a breath. They fastened your sleeves, adjusted the train, placed the veil of lace over your hair. Finally, they hung jewels at your throat and wrists, diamonds and pearls that caught the light like tears. When you were finally finished being prepared you looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked like a queen, like something from a song. Everything a princess should be on her wedding day. Except you were marrying the wrong man.

You looked like a beautiful lie.

"It's time, Princess," one of your handmaidens said softly.

Your father was waiting for you in the great hall, he looked more sickly by the day, his face drawn pale. Yet he smiled when he saw you.

"My daughter," he said taking you hand. "You look radiant."

"Thank you, father."

He tucked your hand into the crook of his arm and began walking you through the corridors of the Red Keep. Your train whispered behind you, carried by two young girls who'd been chosen for the honor. Servants and courtiers stopped to watch as you passed, bowing their heads.

You felt like you were walking to your death.

The rain had stopped by the time you reached the Great Sept of Baelor, yet the sky remained gray and heavy with clouds. The sept's bells were ringing across King's Landing, announcing to the entire city that a royal wedding was taking place.

Inside, the sept was packed with nobles. Above you thousands of candles blazed filling the air with the scent of beeswax and incense. The stained glass windows cast colored light across the floor, red and blue and green and gold, like scattered jewels.

The High Septon waited at the altar in his crystal crown and beside him stood Aegon. Your husband to be wore black and gold, the three-headed dragon embroidered across his chest. His silver hair had been carefully arranged, his face composed into an expression of solemn duty. When your eyes met his, you saw resignation.

The musicians began to play and your father started walking you down the aisle. Each step felt like wading through deep water, the weight of everyone's eyes in the sept held you down like stones. You could hear the whispers. The murmurs of approval and disapproval, the comments about how beautiful you looked or didn't, how perfect this union would be or how it would tear down the realm.

You'd met him in the gardens, you told your ladies in waiting that you needed a moment alone. Then you slipped through a gap in the rose hedge, he was waiting on the other side.

"We can't keep doing this," you'd said, even as you moved into his arms. "My ladies, they are growing weary of me-"

He'd kissed you then, cutting off your words. You melted against him, his hands had tangled in your hair, ruining the careful arrangement your handmaidens had spent an entire hour perfecting. You loved it.

"I love you," he'd whispered against you cheek before placing another delicate peck to your skin.

"I love you," you whispered back. "All of me loves you."

Now, walking down the aisle towards another man, you felt that memory like a knife in your chest. Your throat felt tight like it was choking you before you could finish the rest. Before you could walk up the steps to your new husband.

You reached the altar, your father released your arm and stepped back. Standing beside Aegon now you could feel the heat of his body, you could smell the wine on his breath.

The High Septon began to speak, his voice echoing through the sept.

"We gather here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of Prince Aegon Targaryen and Princess X Targaryen. This marriage represents the continuation of the Targaryen bloodline, the strength of our dynasty and the promise of stability for years to come."

The words washed over you like waves. You heard them, yet they didn't feel real, nothing felt real, this was happening to someone else, some other girl in a silk dress.

"Prince Aegon," the High Septon said, turning to your brother. "Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death parts you?"

Aegon's jaw clenched and for a heartbeat you thought he might refuse, might say no and walk away. Free you both from this nightmare.

"I do," he said, voice flat.

The High Septon turned to you and your throat closed. Your eyes looked anywhere but him or Aegon, the hem of your dress, the patterns lacing Aegon's jacket, your hands clasped together.

"Princess, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love, honor and obey, until death parts you?"

The air left your lungs. In the back of the sept you could feel Jace's gaze on you, brown soft eyes pleading you.

Don't say it, he begged. Please don't say it.

Yet, you had no choice, you never had a choice. Not on your eighteenth nameday, not at seventeen or sixteen or twelve or ten. This was your duty.

You'd found him in the dragonpit one night, standing alone beside Vermax. You'd run to him and he'd caught you in his arms holding you so tightly you could barely breathe. That didn't bother you. You ran your fingers across his shoulder and pressed your lips to the side of his neck.

"How do we survive this?" you'd asked against his skin, your voice breaking.

"Together," he'd said. "However we can, whatever it takes."

You'd kissed him desperately, pouring everything you couldn't say into that kiss, all your love, all your desperation, all your grief.

"I do," you whispered.

The words felt like poison on your tongue, like a knife in Jace's chest, like the death of everything you'd ever wanted.

The High Septon smiled. "Then by the power vested in me by the Faith of the Seven, I declare you husband and wife. May the gods bless this union."

"You may kiss your bride," he spoke to Aegon.

Aegon turned to you and for a moment you just looked at each other, Two prisoners in the same cage from birth. Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, a brief, perfunctory kiss that meant nothing and everything at the same time.

The sept erupt in applause. You were now married, truly, legally, irrevocably married. Bound to your brother by vows spoken before the gods and men. Your hope had been crushed like muddled herbs, ground up and dead.

Aegon offered you his arm and you took it, letting him lead you back down the steps and down the aisle. The nobles cheered and threw flower petals above your heads, you smiled and nodded and played your part even though inside, you were dying.

The wedding feast was held in the great hall which had been transformed into something out of a dream. Heat radiated from the candles suspended above in iron chandeliers, their flames dancing across the vaulted ceilings. The scent of melted wax was mingled with roasted meats, spiced wine and the cloying sweetness of flowers arranged in towering displays along every surface. Musicians in the gallery played a relentless waltz, their strings and pipes weaving together into a sound that felt less like music and more like they were commanding the walls to close in.

Tables groaned beneath the weight of endless food, roasted pheasant and glazed ham, towers of fruit and honeycakes, goblets of wine that servants refilled before you could empty them. Nobles in their finest silks and jewels moved through the space, their minds already taken by malmsey.

The heat was suffocating, sweat gathered at the base of your spine, beneath layers of silk and brocade that suddenly felt like chains. The noise pressed against you from all sides, the scrape of chairs, the clink of goblets, the endless murmur of voices raised in toasts to your union, or rather to their endless night of food and drink.

Every piece of sensation you felt was like another lock turning, another door closing.

You sat at the high table beside Aegon, your face arranged in the perfect expression of a dutiful bride, while inside you fractured into smaller and smaller pieces. Lord after lord came to offer his and hers congratulations, your face began to ache from holding a smile and your chest ached from holding back tears.

"The first dance belongs to the bride and room," the herald announced.

Aegon stood and offered you his hand, you took it and let him lead you onto the floor. The song was slow, his hand settled on your waist as yours settled on his shoulder. You'd danced with Aegon before, at feasts and other celebrations, this was different. This was nothing like ignorant fun you had as a child dancing to a song with your brothers and cousins.

Around you, the court watched and whispered and smiled. Somewhere in the crowd Jace was watching too, you could feel his gaze on you like a physical touch.

You'd passed him in the corridor outside of the throne room just two days ago. Guards and ladies in waiting flanked you, there had been no privacy for you in what had felt like forever. As you'd drawn level with him, he'd murmured in High Valyrian, so soft only you could here as he passed you like a ghost.

"Avy jorrāelan." I love you.

Your eyes instantly seeked the ground, as you walked you watched the cracks and crevices in the stone. You could almost feel his arms around you as you repeated the words over and over in your mind.

"You're trembling," Aegon said, pulling you back to the present.

"I'm fine," you said autmatically.

"You're a terrible liar."

Jace used to say that to you all the time.

Aegon spun you and when you came back to him, his grip tightened slightly. "I don't want this either, you know. In case you were wondering or cared to speak to me about it."

You looked up at him, startled by the sudden confession. You would admit you had been avoiding him since the betrothal, avoiding eye contact and leaving rooms when he entered. You wanted nothing to do with him until the very moment when you had no choice.

"I- I know." You stuttered because you didn't know, you barely had a clue other than Aegon's inept speech on the night of your eighteenth nameday.

"Do you?" His jaw clenched. "Do you know that I had my own life? My own... preferences? That I am giving all of that up because mother decided I need to marry my own sister to keep our bloodline pure?"

You stared at him, realizing for the first time that Aegon has his own form of heartbreak, his own trap. Recognition bloomed slowly, painfully. You thought about how his face had gone rigid that day, how his hands had turned white as he gripped the tables edge.

You'd been consumed by your own devastation that you'd barely registered his own loss.

"Aegon... I'm sorry I-"

"It's fine..." He paused. "We're both prisoners here, shackled together. The only difference is that I've accepted it."

The music swelled around you, other couples had joined the dance now, filling the floor with feet.

Your eyes met Aegons, he knew you were having a hard time. These last three months you have had ample opportunity to speak about this with him and yet you haven't. Using everyday to hold your grievances alone or with Jace in stolen moments.

Neither of you said anything else. The final notes of the waltz faded, he stepped back and bowed formally, releasing you from his arms. You stood there on the dance floor, pulse racing, as he walked away leaving you to your thoughts.

The rest of the feast passed in a blur, you danced with other partners, smiled at congratulations, played your part perfectly.

You caught glimpses of Jace throughout the night, he stood with his mother and brother, his face carefully blank. Yet, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

You'd met him in the servants corridors late one night when the castle was mostly asleep.

"Jace-" your words sounded breathless as he turned to you, a soft, painful smile on his face.

He pulled you into the alcove he stood in, pressing you against the wall and kissing you with an urgency that stole you breath and made heat pool between your legs.

"I can't do this," he'd whispered, lips grazing your ear. "I can't watch you marry him. I can't-"

"Shh," you'd whisper back, pressing your cheek to his. "Shh, it will be okay."

It wouldn't be okay. You were terrified. Terrified of the separation from the boy that you grew up with, that you loved, that you let take you in bed and make you his. But, you couldn't tell him that. You couldn't tell him how scared you really were, how your heart was splintering with each second that passed. So instead you held him, your fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders and spine, memorizing the feel of him because you didn't know when you'd have this again.

His hands felt hot as they framed your face now. In the dim light, you could see his face was flush, his bottom lip pouted, he was trying to be brave for you.

"I love you, all of me."

"All of me." You achoed.

Now, across the crowded hall, his eye found yours. The look on his face made something in your chest clench. You wanted to go to him and tell him that everything would be okay, you wanted to promise that this wasn't the end for you. But, you had already made promises to each other and they went unfulfilled. Anything promised now would only be a lie.

As the feast wound down, your mother appeared at your elbow.

"It is time, Princess," she said quietly.

Your stomach dropped. The bedding ceremony. The consummation. The final, irrevocable step that would make you Aegon's wife.

"Come now," Alicent said, gently taking you arm in hers.

She led you from the Great Hall, followed by a procession of ladies. They escorted you through the corridors of the Red Keep, up the stairs, to the chambers that would now be considered yours and Aegon's. It was larger than your old room, dominated by a massive bed with posts carved with dragons. Candles burned on every surface. A fire crackled in the hearth. Everything had been prepared for you, for Aegon, for this moment.

All you could think was that it should've been Jace.

The ladies began undressing you with practiced efficiency. They unlaced your gown, removed your jewels, unpinned your hair. Layer by layer they stripped away your wedding finery until you stood in nothing but a thin shift of white silk. You arms wrapped around yourself as you stood uncomfortable, it felt like you were already naked.

One of the ladies brought you a cup of wine. "To calm your nerves, Princess."

You drank it, grateful for the warmth that spread through your chest. No amount of wine could calm the panic rising in your throat though, it was hard to fathom what was about to happen to you.

"You look beautiful, Princess," one of the ladies said, adjusting your shift. "Prince Aegon is a fortunate man."

You wanted to laugh, or scream, or both.

They led you to the edge of the bed and had you sit, your mother stepped forward and placed her hand on your shoulder.

"It will be over before you know it daughter, wear your new title as wife graciously."

Then, she swept from the room, bringing the other ladies with her. The door closed behind them with a soft click and suddenly you were alone. You sat there, on the edge of the bed, and tried to remember how to draw breath. Your pulse was pounding so hard you thought it might break through your ribs. The chamber was deathly quiet, all except for the fire crackling and your own breath as you tried to catch it.

You stared at the door, waiting, dreading, knowing what was coming for you.

Time passed, it felt strange, like elastic. Then the door opened and Aegon stepped inside, still dressed in his wedding clothes. He closed the door behind him and stood there for a moment, just looking at you.

"You look... terrified," he said finally, though the words came out slurred and loose, his head tilting at an odd angle as he studied you. He swayed slightly, catching himself against the doorframe with a soft laugh. "Or maybe that's just... that's just the candlelight. Everything's so candlelit today... Weird."

He moved toward the table where a pitcher of wine sat, his gait unsteady. His fingers fumbled with the cup nearly dropping it before managing to pour. Wine sloshed over the rim and onto the table, he stared at it with the bewildered expression of a man who couldn't quite tell if he poured it into his cup or on the table.

"Blast," he muttered, than drank deeply from what remained in the vessel. He poured another immediately, as though the first had never happened. "Want some? It's very good wine. Excellent wine! The best wine in all of Westeros I'd wager."

"I've already had some," you said quietly.

"Have more." He brought you the cup, moving with exaggerated care, as though navigating treacherous waters. He nearly tripped over his own feet, droplets of wine spilling over onto the floor, before catching himself with a surprised laugh. "The floor is very... slippery, have you noticed that?"

You took the cup from his outstretched hand and he watched you drink with the intense focus of someone trying to solve a particularly difficult riddle. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks flushed with wine and warmth.

"You know what's funny?" he said, sitting beside you, the mattress dipped under his weight. "This whole thing, us, getting married. It's absolutely mad when you think about it..." He laughed, a loose, rambling sound that echoed off the stone walls.

He drank again, deeply, then gestured at you with his cup, sloshing wine dangerously close to the edge once again. "At least you're pretty. Has anyone told you that? You're very, very pretty. Like a painting." He closed an eye and waved his hands in a circle to encompass your face.

"A very... Serious painting." His nose scrunched, "one that looks like it might cry at any moment."

At that moment you took the cup from his hand and guzzled the last of what remain, your face curling in on itself after swallowing. Aegon watched you as it burned your throat and stomach when it settled there. He took the cup from you and put it aside.

"Right then," he said, his tone matter of fact. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice. You feared if you spoke, if you had spoken at all you would turn into that crying painting.

Then he kissed you.

It wasn't like kissing Jace, there was no passion, no desperation, no sense of rightness. Just... Duty. A task to be completed, a box to check.

He never removed your shift, Aegon's gaze traveled over you, a glassy sense of regret and sadness.

"Lie down," he said.

You obeyed, your pulse pounding as you lay back against the pillows. Aegon undressed with the efficiency of an armless Prince, then climbed over you and settled between your legs. It was over quickly, mechanical, dutiful, and mercifully brief. He finished with a grunt, rolled on to his back and reached immediately for his wine cup.

Silence filled the chamber.

You lay there, staring at the canopy, feeling the wrongness of it all. Aegon sat up next to you, swirling his wine, his eyes glazing over the sheets for only a split moment before his expression shifted from confusion to understanding to something that might have been dark amusement.

He turned to look at you, his eyes sharp despite the wine and let out a short, humorless laugh.

"So the rumors are true then," he said, his words beginning to slur slightly. "You weren't a maiden after all. You absolute-" He hiccupped. "You absolute legend."

You wanted to deny it, to lie, to say something, anything, yet the words wouldn't come. Your throat had closed up long ago.

"Jacaerys Velaryon," Aegon continued, gesturing dramatically with his cup and nearly spilling it once more. "The one you've been making eyes at since we were children. Gods, I always knew it, with the whispers and gossip. The two of you were always sneaking off together." He paused, squinting at you with genuine curiosity. "I just thought you were being tediously noble, not-" Another hiccup. "Not fucking in secret. That's actually brilliant. Genuinely brilliant."

Tears burned behind your eyes, you couldn't look at him, the canopy above had doves holding pieces of greenery. When Aegon spoke again, though, his voice had lost its edge entirely, replaced by something almost warm.

"Relax, wife," he said, his tone turning conspiratorial. "I'm not about to run screaming to mother about it. I'm impressed that you two idiots actually pulled it off." He took another long drink and grinned at you. "A Princess, MY sister losing her maidenhood before marriage."

You finally found your voice, though it came out as barely a whisper. "What happens now?"

Aegon was quiet for a moment, swirling the wine in his cup with exaggerated concentration. Then he sighed.

"Look," he said, his tone more serious now, though still decidedly drunk. "You think I wanted to be shackled to my own sister? To give up everything I enjoy because mother is obsessed with putting me on the throne?" He shook his head, nearly losing his balance. "We're both prisoners here. The only difference is I've had longer to accept it and more wine to cope with it."

You stared at him, not understanding where this was going.

"I'm thinking," Aegon continued, leaning back against the headboard and gesturing with his cup again. "In public, you play the dutiful wife. You smile, you're gracious, you stand by my side at court. You give me heirs, because we'll need them of course, there's no avoiding that. In private, though..." He met your eyes, his expression surprisingly sincere despite the wine. "In private, you can do whatever, or whoever, you want. As long as you're discreet about it."

Your pulse was pounding so hard you thought it might burst. "What?"

"You can keep seeing him," Aegon said bluntly, then laughed. "Jace. Your noble bastard. I don't care. Fuck him in every corner of the Red Keep for all I care, just don't make it obvious enough that people start to notice." He paused, taking another drink. "In exchange, you don't ask questions about where I go or what I do. You let me have my freedom too."

You felt like you were drowning. "Your freedom?"

"Like fucking," Aegon said flatly, then giggled, actually giggled, at his own bluntness. "Whores, they are... Far more entertaining than anything I'll find in this marriage bed, no offense. Now that I'm a married man, though, Mother will expect me to be faithful, to be proper, to stop 'embarrassing the family.'" He made a disgusted sound and took another drink. "I'm not giving that up. So here's the arrangement: you get to keep your tragic love affair with Jace, and I get to keep visiting the Street of Silk without you weeping to mother about it. We both get what we want."

It felt surreal. Like a trap disguised as mercy.

"Why would you do this?" you asked, your voice shaking.

"Because I'm not interested in making both our lives miserable," Aegon said with a shrug, his words slurred.

You stared at him, at this man who was now your husband, offering you a lifeline while thoroughly drunk.

"The sheets," you said, your voice barely audible. "In the morning, they'll be examined-"

"Oh, the sheets!" Aegon exclaimed, as if you'd just reminded him of something terribly important. He stood up, swayed slightly, then made his way to the table with exaggerated care. He picked up a small knife that had been left with the fruit and cheese, studied it with the concentration of a scholar examining ancient texts, then pressed the blade to his palm and drew it across with a grunt.

Blood welled up immediately as he made his way back to the bed, giggling to himself about something, and let several drops fall onto the sheets with the precision of a man performing a sacred ritual. Then he wrapped his hand in a cloth and held it up like he'd just accomplished something magnificent.

"There," he said, grinning at you. "Problem solved. As far as anyone knows, you were a proper maiden and I did my duty. Brilliant, really. We're both geniuses." He paused, then added with drunken sincerity, "Our secret. Yours, mine, and Jace's."

You stared at the blood on the sheets.

"Do we have a deal?" he asked, extending his uncut hand toward you like sealing a pact.

You thought of Jace. Of the possibility of still having him, still touching him, still loving him, even if it had to be in secret for the rest of your lives, even if it had to be shadowed by this marriage.

"Yes," you said. "We have a deal."

Aegon nodded, satisfied, then flopped backward onto the bed with a contented sigh. "Good. Now let's both try to get some sleep. We've got a long, tedious life ahead of us, and I'm going to have a spectacular headache in the morning."

He was snoring within moments, his breathing evening out quickly as exhaustion and wine pulled him under.

You lay awake beside him, your unexpected ally. He wasn't kind, nor noble, yet surprisingly he was not cruel. He was just a man trapped in the same cage, trying to survive the only way he knew how, with wine, whores, and sardonic detachment.

You carefully slid out of bed, your legs shaking, you found your robe, wrapping it around yourself and moved to the window. The city was dark, most of its lights extinguished. Dawn was still hours away. You pressed your forehead against the cool glass and closed your eyes.

You knew Jace lay in his bed awake as well. You knew it with the same certainty you knew your own name. He was thinking of you, imagining this night, torturing himself with images of you and Aegon. You wanted to go to him, to run through the corridors to his chambers and throw yourself into his arms, to lay with him and rest peacefully.

So you sat at the window and whispered into the darkness.

"Kesrio syt mirre tubis. Kesrio syt mirre bantis." For all days. For all nights.

Chapter 6.

Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // suggestive content, angst, fluff, familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 4 word count: 2862

notes: I have genuinely read this chapter over and over again and I actually don't even like it anymore LOL I need to post it before I try to rewrite it from scratch. Enjoy!

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 4

Your handmaidens dressed you in green.

Of course it was green. Your mother had chosen the gown herself, deep emerald silk that caught the light like dragon scales, with gold embroidery along the bodice and sleeves. It was beautiful. It was suffocating. The fabric was heavy, weighing you down with every breath, the neckline high and formal, nothing like the simpler dresses you preferred.

"You look like a queen, my lady," one of the handmaidens said as she fastened the final clasp.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. A stranger looked back. Your silver hair had been braided and pinned into an elaborate style, woven through with gold thread and tiny emeralds. Your face was pale, your eyes too bright. You looked older than eighteen. You looked like someone playing a part in a mummer's show, costumed for tragedy.

"Thank you," you managed, your voice distant, as though it belonged to someone else.

When they finally left you alone, you stood at the window and looked out over King's Landing. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Blood and fire, the words of your house. Somewhere in the Red Keep, Jace was preparing for the feast too. You wondered what he was thinking. You wondered if his hands were shaking the way yours were.

Your pulse fluttered at the thought of seeing him tonight. Despite everything, despite your mother's warnings, despite Helaena's prophecies, despite the growing dread that had been building for weeks, you still felt that spark of hope. Maybe your father would surprise everyone. Maybe Rhaenyra's proposal had been reconsidered. Maybe, impossibly, there was still a chance.

You touched the emerald pendant at your throat, a gift from your mother that morning. It pressed against your skin like a brand.

A knock at the door made you turn.

"It's time, my lady," a guard said. "The court is waiting."

You took a deep breath, smoothed your skirts, walked toward whatever future had been decided for you.

The Great Hall was magnificent.

Hundreds of candles blazed in the chandeliers overhead, casting golden light across the long tables laden with food and wine. Banners hung from the high ceiling: the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, the seahorse of House Velaryon, the tower of House Hightower. Musicians played in the corner, a lively tune that felt at odds with the tension thrumming beneath the celebration like a plucked string about to snap.

Everyone who mattered was here. Lords and ladies from across the realm, dressed in their finest silks and velvets, all gathered to celebrate your eighteenth nameday. They smiled and bowed as you entered. You forced yourself to smile back, to play the part of the gracious princess.

You could feel it, though. The weight of too many eyes. The whispers that stopped when you passed. The way conversations seemed charged with something unspoken, something waiting.

You were seated at the high table, near your father. King Viserys looked tired, older than his years, the flesh of his face sagging like melted wax. He smiled when he saw you, though.

"My daughter," he said warmly, taking your hand. "Eighteen years old. How time passes."

"Thank you, Father," you said, kissing his cheek.

Your mother sat on his other side, regal in her own green gown, her expression serene. Too serene. When she looked at you, there was something in her eyes. Satisfaction, perhaps. Vindication. It made your stomach twist.

Aegon sat further down the table, already drinking heavily despite the feast having barely begun. He didn't look at you. Aemond was beside him, sharp-eyed and watchful as a hawk. Helaena sat quietly, staring at something no one else could see, her lips moving soundlessly.

Across the hall, at a table with the other highborn guests, you saw him.

He was dressed in the colors of House Velaryon, deep blue and silver, impossibly handsome in the candlelight. When your eyes met, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. He gave you a small smile, barely there. You felt it like a touch. Your chest tightened.

For a moment, you let yourself believe. You let yourself hope.

The feast began. Servants brought course after course: roasted meats, fresh bread, honeyed fruits, wine that flowed like water. You barely tasted any of it. Every bite turned to ash in your mouth. You drank wine to steady your nerves, yet it only made you feel more unmoored, more aware of the wrongness settling over the hall like a funeral shroud.

You kept glancing at Jace. He was seated beside his mother, who looked tense despite her composed expression. Luke was there too, laughing at something Jace said, oblivious to the undercurrent of dread.

Your father stood. The music stopped. The hall fell silent so quickly it was as though the air had been sucked from the room. Hundreds of faces turned toward the high table, toward King Viserys, toward you.

Your pulse began to pound in your ears.

"My lords and ladies," your father began, his voice carrying across the hall. "Thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate my daughter's eighteenth nameday. She has grown into a woman of grace and beauty, a true daughter of House Targaryen."

Polite applause rippled through the crowd. You forced yourself to smile. Your hands were trembling in your lap.

"As king, it is my duty to ensure the stability and prosperity of the realm," Viserys continued. "As a father, it is my duty to see my children well placed, their futures secured."

Your throat closed.

"Tonight, I am pleased to announce a betrothal that will strengthen our house and unite our bloodline."

The room seemed to tilt. You gripped the edge of the table, your knuckles white.

"My daughter will be wed to Prince Aegon, my eldest son."

The words hit you like a mace to the chest. For a moment, you couldn't process what you'd just heard. The sounds of the hall became muffled, distant, as though you were drowning. Aegon. Your brother. The drunken, resentful prince who could barely stand upright.

The hall erupted in applause and cheers. The sound was wrong, distorted, like hearing celebration from the bottom of a well. Your vision blurred at the edges. You felt your mother's hand on your arm, steadying you. You couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at anyone.

"This union," your father continued, his voice swelling with conviction, "will ensure that the Targaryen line remains pure and strong. It will prevent division, prevent the realm from tearing itself apart over questions of succession. This is our legacy. This is our duty."

Duty. The word echoed in your mind, hollow and cruel. You forced yourself to look up, to scan the crowd. Your eyes found him.

Jace was staring at you. The expression on his face shattered what was left of your composure.

Devastation. Pure, unfiltered devastation.

His face had gone pale as milk. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle jumping. His hands were fists on the table, knuckles white as bone. For a moment, he looked like he might stand, might shout, might do something reckless and desperate.

He didn't.

He just stared at you. In his eyes, you saw everything you felt reflected back: fury, helplessness, love, the terrible, crushing weight of finality. This was it. This was the end. The moth's wings had caught fire.

Tears spilled down your cheeks before you could stop them. You didn't care who saw. You didn't care about propriety or composure or playing the part of the dutiful princess. You just stared at Jace across the hall. He stared back. The space between you was an ocean, a chasm, the end of the world.

Beside him, Rhaenyra's face was a mask of fury barely contained. Her hand was on Jace's arm, holding him in place, keeping him from doing something that would destroy them all. She looked at you with something like pity, like sorrow. She'd tried to stop this. She'd failed.

Your mother leaned close, whispered, "Smile, daughter. This is a joyous occasion."

You wanted to scream. Aegon stood instead, raising his goblet of the reddest wine.

The hall quieted again, waiting for the prince's response. Your brother swayed slightly. He was already drunk. He steadied himself, looked out at the crowd.

"I am honored," he said, his voice flat and unconvincing, "to accept this betrothal. My sister is... a worthy match."

The words were perfunctory, empty. He didn't look at you. He stared somewhere over the crowd's heads, his expression resentful and bitter as gall.

"I will do my duty," he continued. There was an edge to his voice now, something sharp and angry. "As we all must. As we are all expected to. Duty above all else, is that not what we're taught?"

Your father frowned slightly. Aegon wasn't finished.

"I accept this union because I am a prince of House Targaryen, and princes do not have the luxury of choice. So yes, Father, I accept."

The hall was silent now, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Aegon finally looked at you. For just a moment, you saw something in his eyes. Not desire, not affection. Something almost like understanding. He knew what it was like to have your life dictated by others. He knew what it was like to be trapped in a cage of duty and expectation.

"To my future wife," he said, raising his cup in a mocking toast. "May we both survive what's been decided for us."

He drank deeply, then sat down heavily, ignoring your father's disapproving look.

The applause that followed was uncertain, scattered. People didn't know how to react to Aegon's bitter acceptance. It didn't matter. The betrothal had been announced. The decision had been made.

You were going to marry your brother. Your eyes found Jace again.

He was still staring at you. The look on his face was unbearable.

In that glance, you saw everything: every stolen kiss, every whispered promise, every night spent in each other's arms. You saw the future you'd imagined together, the life you'd dreamed of, the love you'd nurtured in secret for seven years.

You saw it all crumbling to dust.

His expression told you he understood. This wasn't a temporary setback. This wasn't something you could overcome with clever planning or desperate hope. This was the end. The final, irrevocable end.

You would marry Aegon. You would stand before the Sept and pledge yourself to your brother. You would share his bed, bear his children, live the rest of your life as his wife. Jace would have to watch.

A sob caught in your throat. You pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to hold it back. It was useless. Across the hall, Jace's jaw clenched. His eyes were bright with unshed tears. Then he stood.

The hall went quiet. Everyone turned to look at him.

"Congratulations, Princess," he said, his voice rough and strained. "I wish you every happiness."

The words were formal, appropriate, exactly what he was supposed to say. His eyes told a different story.

His eyes said I love you.

His eyes said I'm sorry.

His eyes said Remember us.

He bowed, a perfect, formal bow. Then he turned and walked out of the Great Hall.

Rhaenyra rose to follow him, not before shooting your father a look of pure fury. You watched him go, watched him disappear through the doors. Something inside you broke beyond repair.

The rest of the feast passed in a blur.

People approached you. Lords and ladies offering congratulations, speaking words you didn't hear, smiling smiles that didn't reach their eyes. You nodded and thanked them mechanically, your voice coming from somewhere far away.

Your mother appeared at your side, her hand on your shoulder.

"You did well," she said quietly. "I know this is difficult. You'll understand in time, though. This is what's best for the realm. What's best for our family."

You couldn't look at her. If you looked at her, you would say something you couldn't take back.

"He was never a real option," Alicent continued, her voice gentle yet firm. "Jacerys is a bastard, no matter what his mother and the King claim. You are a trueborn princess of House Targaryen. You deserve better than-"

"Stop," you whispered.

"Daughter-"

"Please just stop talking."

Your mother's lips pressed into a thin line. She said nothing more. After a moment, she moved away, leaving you alone in the crowd.

You saw Rhaenyra across the hall. You wanted to go to her, to thank her, to apologize for something that wasn't your fault. You couldn't move, though. You were frozen in place, drowning in a sea of congratulations and false smiles.

Finally, when you couldn't bear it anymore, you stood.

"I need air," you said to no one in particular.

You walked out of the Great Hall, your green gown trailing behind you. No one stopped you. No one followed. They let you go, let you escape, because what did it matter now? The announcement had been made. The damage was done.

Your chambers were a tomb.

You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The room was dark except for the moonlight streaming through the windows. Everything looked the same as it had this morning: your bed, your desk, your books. Nothing would ever be the same again, though.

You were betrothed to Aegon.

The reality of it crashed over you in waves, each one more suffocating than the last.

You would have to marry him. Let him kiss you in front of the realm. Share his bed. Let him touch you the way Jace had touched you. The thought made bile rise in your throat. You stumbled to the window, pressing your forehead against the cool glass, trying to think, trying to process the enormity of what had just happened.

The future you'd imagined, desperately hoped for, was gone. The promises you'd made to each other, that you'd find a way, that love would be enough, were nothing now. Love wasn't enough. It had never been enough.

You remembered the way he'd looked at you across the hall. The devastation in his eyes. The way he'd said I wish you every happiness when you both knew you would never be happy again. A sob tore from your throat, then another. Then you were crying so hard your chest ached. You sank to the floor, your elaborate gown pooling around you, let yourself break.

You cried for the future you'd lost. For the boy you loved and could never have. For the life you'd been forced into. For the duty that had destroyed everything beautiful and good.

You cried until there were no tears left, until you were empty and hollow and numb. Then you just sat there in the darkness, staring at nothing, feeling nothing.

Somewhere in the Red Keep, Jace was doing the same. You knew it with a certainty that made your chest ache. He was alone in his chambers, breaking apart the same way you were, mourning the same loss.

You couldn't go to him, though. You couldn't comfort him. You couldn't even send him a message.

That part of your life was over.

You were betrothed to Prince Aegon. Your duty was clear. The girl who had loved Jacerys Velaryon in secret, who had stolen moments in gardens and whispered promises in the dark, that girl was gone.

You had to bury her. You had to forget her. You had to become someone else. Someone who could survive this.

Outside your window, the moon rose higher, cold and distant and uncaring. The Red Keep settled into silence. The feast was over, the celebration was done. You sat alone in the darkness wearing a green dress that was a shroud. All you could do was try to figure out how to keep living when your soul had been ripped from your chest.

Tomorrow, you would have to face Aegon. Tomorrow, you would have to begin planning a wedding you didn't want. Tomorrow, you would have to pretend that everything was fine, that you were honored, that you accepted your duty with grace.

But tonight, you let yourself grieve.

You grieved for Jace. For yourself. For the love that had been beautiful and impossible and doomed from the very start. You understood, finally, what Helaena had been trying to tell you all along.

The moth sees the flame and thinks it beautiful. It doesn't see the heat. It doesn't feel the burning until it's too late.

You had flown too close to the flame and now there was nothing left but ash.

Chapter 5.