the anvil

to forge a flame by @aerrions

synopsis: a disgraced lady of house peake is given to prince aerion targaryen as punishment for her family’s treason. forced into dragon colors and courtly captivity, she resists him quietly until cruelty, pride, and dangerous tenderness begin to blur. f!reader.

here with me by @captainfern

synopsis: despite your warnings, aerion drinks a powerful stimulant, and then seeks your help when nothing else seems to fix him. f!reader. (18+)

uneasy lies the head that wears the crown by @vanillamacchiatos

synopsis: a rather small but challenging argument between you and prince aerion, your betrothed, leaves you in disarray. perhaps there is more than one way the prince can make it up to you? f!reader.

mine by @myladysapphire

synopsis: no one was more grateful than you when Aerion was sent to Lys, greatful for the break form his delusions and torment. But when he returns and you both remain unwed, Aerion insists you will be his bride, he doesn’t see any problem with it, for your as helplessly in love with him as he is with you, right? f!reader. (18+)

dreamer by @sedonasummer

synopsis: aerion cares for his cousin-wife as she suffers from dragon dreams. f!reader. (18+)

she's my wife by @cosmictheo

synopsis: while lunching in the red keep’s gardens with the targaryens, ser duncan spots prince aerion behaving like a civilized man beside a kind, sun-bright lady. bewildered by the rare sight, poor dunk assumes she must be prince baelor’s daughter, patient and too compassionate—because surely no woman of sound mind would choose to spend time in aerion’s company on purpose. f!reader.

growing strong by @catbayunthestoryteller

synopsis: once married against both of your wishes, learning how to charm a targaryen prince as mad as aerion is not easy, unless you know exactly how to play the game. f!reader. (18+)

lead guitarist by @drqcaryz

synopsis: it was meant to be just a fling, just a little fun and something to take the stress away but you two got carried away, and well that was a shitty mistake. modern au. f!reader. (18+)

Gwayne Hightower gasped when his gaze met his wife’s, bearing the Hightower heavy cloak on her shoulders over the fine white silk dress. Her eyes were shining more than the diamonds adorning her neck, the smile on her face making his heart race and his pants get tight. 

He tried to think of anything else, there were many other steps to follow until he could be alone with his woman, the wedding rite was intricate and solemn. But all Gwayne could think of was her wife’s lips on his, soft and plush, the musky and flowery scent of her hair… her hands were so soft, he lost himself in that feeling for a moment, imagining how much softer the rest of her body would feel under his own… chest against chest, his tongue lapping on hers…

When the newlyweds finally were left alone in their chamber hours later, Gwayne laughed. 

“I am glad we were very clear about not having a bedding ceremony.”

She smiled. He couldn’t keep his hands off her anymore. So, Gwayne held her against his chest, murmuring over the fire cracking in the hearth:

“The vows we made. I intend to keep every word to heart. I shall protect you with all means I and my house have. And I will love you and cherish you forever. I promised this before the gods, and I will hold onto these words.”

The lady was crying. Gwayne’s eyes widened, he dried her face with his thumb, furrowing his brows:

“Why are you crying?”

She looked up at him, lip trembling, one last tear running down her face:

“I am so happy, my lord. I am so lucky to have you as my husband… I prayed so much to the Seven to send me to a good man, to a kind man… I couldn’t have been more blessed than I am at this moment…” 

Gwayne felt his own eyes wet, lips turning into a smile. He was the lucky one, for sure. But they had already talked too much. They had a week of rites, celebrations, and so many preparations but now he made sure they wouldn’t be disturbed for two whole days. He made his family promise him that he would be spared for the next days to be with his wife, to know her and consummate their sacrament. And by the gods he would do as he said, he would honor his vows and be with his lady wife, and cherish those unusually quiet hours they had to themselves before their lives returned to the whirlwind of work and duties… 

All those concerns disappeared from his brain when he noticed the chamber was prepared as he asked: a hot bath, flowers everywhere, incense burning, a table set with all kinds of fruit and delicacies from the banquet, and the finest wine available in Oldtown. 

“Here. Let me help you.” 

Gwayne untied the Hightower cloak from his bride’s shoulders, placing it carefully on a table nearby. When he got back to where she was, the little wine he had on the feast got the best of his wits and he held her face with both hands, kissing her. She held her breath, but when he broke the chaste kiss she was smiling, her own fingers holding his shoulders. He felt butterflies on his stomach like a boy seeing a pretty girl for the first time. 

Gwayne tilted her chin up with a hooked finger:

“Did you enjoy kissing my lips, my lady?”

She smiled, lips parted, waiting for more, but he still wanted to toy a bit…

“Yes, my lord husband…”

He studied her face, her eyes… never a woman had been prettier to his eyes than his wife at that moment. His wife… 

He noticed a small movement of her tongue on her mouth, a twitch of her lips… She needed him as much as he needed her. That was clear. But he was no brute, he took his time learning how to treat a woman properly. How to correctly take care of his wife, how to keep his marriage pleasant and true. And they had time to consummate their bond. He wasn’t going to push her or to fuck her as she was an object… Gwayne was no brute, he was a knight.

But she looked at him with clear signs of desire, her body leaning into his space, her eyes drifting between his own and his lips… 

He asked anyway, chivalrous as always:

“We do not need to consummate our matrimony tonight. We have time. But if you want to, as much as I want it… I will be gentle, I promise you. I will make you feel good… As it is your right. Do you understand?”

Gwayne kissed her hand, searching her face again, but she spoke:

“Gwayne… I mean, my lord…”

“You can call me Gwayne…”

“I want to be with you. I am ready to do it… Gwayne.”

“Good. Come with me.”

Gwayne guided his wife to the bath, helping her out of her gown, loosening her braids, keeping her jewels on. She looked like a goddess to him, all bare but for the diamonds and pearls she brought from her kingdom. He couldn’t resist kissing her again, holding her naked waist, feeling her skin prickle and her breath harden. He licked her lips, and she opened her mouth to him. The kiss deepened, Gwayne’s hands kneading the fat on her hips, on her ass, making her gasp from time to time, her nipples hardening against his velvet doublet, and the vulnerability of the situation made her drip for him. 

They broke the kiss. Her lips were sensitive. Gwayne was starting to get a little more impatient… So he took his time to breathe deep and calm himself down, which he found almost impossible as he was literally undressing in front of his wife, getting ready to bathe and to have her… 

She fought her shyness and stared at his naked body, the pale skin taut over the muscle on his chest, his pink nipples, the auburn hair going down from his stomach until his crotch… He embraced her again, and the sensation of skin against skin almost made him come on the spot. He was so hard already, but he would surely take his time with her. He would give his best to pleasure his wife on their first time together. He dreamed of making this a special moment she would keep in her heart forever, a beautiful moment for her to hold onto in difficult times or when he was away… He would teach her how to make love, how to satisfy her own needs with his body. It was his duty as a husband.

Gwayne entered the bath and helped his wife to join him, laying her back against his chest, and she simply leaned into him, head on his shoulder. He put his arms around her body, sighing at the delicious sensation of the hot water and of her body sliding against his, her plump ass brushing his cock, and he was twitching… Then, she moved a bit from him, and their lips joined again. Her fingers carded through his coppery locks while he held her face, tongue sliding against hers, the heat impossible to contain, and they were already panting. He slid one hand to her breast, marvelling at the softness and how it moulded in his palm, the hard nipple rolling against his fingers and making her moan quietly in his mouth. 

The kissing hardened. Gwayne positioned her on his lap, straddling him. Her core was now exactly over his rock-hard cock, and she felt so good she thought she would faint. Their hips found a grinding rhythm by themselves as the making out resumed, and he thought he couldn’t get any harder ever in his life. Her pussy was silky against his dick, sliding back and forth, sideways… They both moaned, licking, lips brushing and sucking on one another, and she was already learning how to kiss him back, her body teaching her exactly what it needed to satisfy that hunger that burned her heart. 

As the grinding and kissing took its time, she felt a tightening on her lower belly, a raw pleasure she had never experienced before, and her body moved by itself, circling her hips, making that special spot under her feel so good… Gwayne noticed her movements and how she looked already wrecked, and he pressed his hands splayed on her lower back, bringing her impossibly closer to his own hips, making her rub hard on him… He broke the kiss for a moment to talk her through that new experience:

“Chase the feeling… Push it a bit… Let it go when it gets impossibly good. You will know when you get there…”  

She just moaned, grinding harder and harder, feeling the first contractions on her now swollen pussy, and the hot water was spilling all around them, the air was filled with their moans and the sound of water being splashed off the bath… She felt her center tightening, and a sensation that she was reaching somewhere… Something, some state she had never experienced before… Gwayne slipped his hand between their bodies and rubbed her clit, pressing it in slow movements, and she felt it crash down like a huge wave, her eyes shut, her mouth opened, and her heart felt like bursting. It was the strongest sensation she had ever experienced. Her body tingled. All that existed was down there, where they were touching each other, where she was still grinding her pussy on his hard cock and his rough fingers circled her folds slowly, helping her ride that peak… And she fell all at once, heart feeling as if it was exploding, her breath so hard as she wasn’t breathing enough air to keep alive, and Gwayne held her in his arms, caressing her hair, kissing her temple. 

“That’s it, my love… It was strong, wasn’t it? Your bliss?”

“Yes… I have never… It felt so strong…”

“Shh… breathe. I know… I am here with you… ”

When her body calmed down, she looked at him, and her eyes were wet again. He felt concerned, but she kissed his lips, licking his mouth, caressing his face, and he felt the change in the air: she was a woman now. She was his woman, his wife, to care, to love, to pleasure, to protect. She was his, all his… 

Gwayne stood up, taking his wife in his arms, and walked to the bed, leaving a trail of wet footprints. He laid her carefully over the soft sheets, positioning himself over her body, and they hissed at the touch of their bodies now out of the water: it was warmer, softer. They kissed, hands exploring each other’s bodies, touching all the skin available while their mouths kept kissing and licking in a now rougher way. The need they had an hour ago, a curiosity and excitement of having each other, of seeking pleasure, turned now into an unquenchable thirst, and they kept chasing the high of being together, the feeling of not being alone anymore. They both felt like one, as each other’s limbs were their own; she felt the safety his arms offered, the heat his chest provided, and he felt the love her legs around his waist brought to life. Gwayne broke the kiss, holding her face in his hands:

“May I kiss your body? I want… Gods… I need to feel all of you…”

“Yes… yes…”

The orange light of the fireplace and the candles shone on his curls when he looked down at her, waiting for permission… Then, his lips were on her neck, making the hair on her nape stand up and her nipples harden even more. He licked her neck, savoring the faint scent of soap and roses, licking her clavicle, kissing the space between her breasts, lips finding one nipple and licking it in a feverish caress, eyes closed, mouth watering, the delicious bud on his tongue making his head fuzzy… The taste of her body was magnificent, the sounds she made were the most beautiful music he had ever heard…

Her breasts made him feral, and he stood there a bit longer, flat licking one nipple, then another, hissing at her fingers softly pulling on his hair… He latched to one breast, opening his mouth and taking all he could inside, licking the soft peak… But he couldn’t stay there any longer. He had dreamed of kissing her most private flower… the source of her pleasure… He kissed his way down her belly, holding her down while she arched her back under so much pleasure… 

He lined his mouth to her core and looked into her eyes while he had the first taste of her cunt on his tongue, eyes rolling back as he felt it hit… She tasted divine, even more than he imagined… He went back to look at her all spread out to him, using his hands to open her folds as he looked into her virgin pussy, waiting to be filled by his cock… creamy, white wetness gathered in her little hole, and Gwayne felt he could die of hornyness. He teased her with one finger, and she wiggled her hips, taking him gladly. It was already a stretch, but he could make it work for both of them.

Gwayne ate her pussy as if it was his last meal, flat-licking from hole to clit time after time, then sucking at her clit, teasing her hole with his tongue and his finger, slowly, making her want him, making her beg for it... 

“Please… Gwayne, please… I cannot… I need you”

 She shivered and trembled under his touch. He was all over her, sucking her clit hard and inserting only one finger, touching her in the spot he learned felt so good for women… His wife gasped, moaned, arched her back… And Gwayne could feel her cunt throbbing, her little pussy clenching on his finger while she moaned and called his name, until she stilled. 

He made her peak again. Gwayne felt proud of himself: he was satisfied with how he made her feel, because he had promised to himself he would pleasure his wife as she deserved it, and now his woman lay under him, panting, chest rising quickly, eyes glassy, mouth open… He crawled up to her face, kissing her, and she could taste herself on his tongue. 

“Was it good, my lady wife?”

She nodded, incapable of words. 

“Good. Now… I want to… I need to feel you… It may hurt a little at the beginning, but I promise you the discomfort will be quick and it will feel good right after. I promise you.”

“Do it, Gwayne. Claim me… I’m yours…”

Gwayne did his best to inhale deeply and be as gentle as humanly possible, but with her pleas he felt it getting harder and harder, his want growing and his cock throbbing… 

He inserted one finger into her hole, then another. She was loose enough after two good peaks, so it would probably feel good for her again very soon. He inserted a third finger, and moved it slowly. She gazed at him, brows together, and soon she was chasing the feeling by herself, moving her hips… 

He took his fingers out of her, positioning his narrow hips over hers, between her thighs, rubbing the sensitive head of his cock on her wanting pussy, and then he got inside in one slow movement. Gwayne’s eyes rolled back, and his mouth fell open as he bottomed in. He inhaled, exhaled, and looked down at his lady wife, and she was smiling at him, caressing his face, mouth open, like a goddess made flesh only for him to have, to pleasure… she moved her hips, circling slowly, and both moaned. Gwayne supported himself on his elbows, letting their bellies rub, and the hair at his navel scratch her folds, stimulating her even more. He moved his hip, taking his cock half out of her hole, and then all the way in again, and they moaned loudly. She had her eyes lidded, and lips parted when she breathed:

“It feels so good… You feel so good… “

“Fuck…”

Gwayne wasn’t a man to curse a lot, but he couldn’t contain his tongue anymore. She felt too fucking good, it was like a paradise. He could fuck her like that forever, slowly, feeling every inch of her silky, creamy walls around his dick… 

He couldn’t contain himself anymore. 

He needed to come. 

Gwayne held himself from that for too long. They had time for more later, now he chased his own high, in and out, in and out… The rhythm built itself as pleasure turned impossible to held back, and his hands held her body down the mattress, keeping her knees folded on his sides, and that position made her cry and come again, and that was it, Gwayne closed his eyes, moaning, mouth agape, his ears ringing, a string of drool fell down his chin to her face, hips moving on their own, their gasps and cries mixing…

And then all got silent but for their panting and their hearts drumming inside of them…

Gwayne got out of her, his seed dripping over her ass, over the sheets, but he kept his wife close, holding her as their breathing slowly turned to normal and the cold air made their bodies shiver. 

Her voice brought him back to reality:

“I cannot believe I heard you cursing, my lord…”

Gwayne laughed. 

“You made me curse… wife. With this delicious body of yours… I am afraid I will be cursing many times in the future…”

They rested under blankets and furs until the cold air of dawn brought the sounds of the Hightower stirring to life again. But not for them. They would be inside those doors for the time they deserved, only caring about each other and savoring the honeyed feeling of those newfound emotions. 

Jacaerys set down his goblet and looked at Forrest and Sabitha Frey. Negotiations of Harrenhal were set; the Freys would take the castle at the war’s end. He could not help but feel a little proud of himself, for he had improved his mother’s standing alone.

Lord Frey took a bite of his provisions. “There is one more thing.”

Jace looked at him. “What is it?”

“My Prince, you are a man grown. And word has it that you have not secured a betrothal as of yet.”

Jace knew, if only in the back of his mind, that talk would soon arise about this; he would not let future whispers begin, calling him The Heirless King or Jacaerys the Unbetrothed. His mother would be pleased with the Frey’s allyship, but this implication dove into complexities. To secure an alliance was one thing, but to have his feet in another negotiation was another. Vigilance was key.

“That is correct.”

“One of our daughters is eight and ten, two years my Prince’s senior,” Lord Frey said, then pursed his lips and looked down at his feet. “She has not secured a marriage either. After the war is won and Her Grace sits upon the throne, we would like to propose a betrothal between you and our lady daughter.”

A Frey Queen Consort… it was certainly an audacious prospect. Jace had been thankful that his mother had not pestered him about the idea of marriage yet. He had a claim to uphold, not a betrothal to secure. Or so he thought.

Jace knew that he had to choose his next steps carefully. The war was not won yet, and his family were to be dependent on the Freys’ honor until the end. If he refused, they could deny their crossing and obiscience. Looking at their faces made the decision more pressing. He knew that he could not let his reservations show. That would be a weakness.

“I will send word to my mother. I cannot guarantee that she will send her approval, but there is no need to fear the mood of her response.”

“See to it that she hears the advantage of this.”

You were glad that you were not in the midst of the war between the Hightowers and the Targaryens. The Twins was more than a shelter from the war that only suffocated you into loneliness and mundanity. This was the fate of so many ladies of the realm, to keep themselves in one place and never have the agency of motion. It was a fate you wished to resist.

“You plotted my marriage without my consent?” you spat.

“I know that you wished to get married.”

“To get married, yes, but only if the suitor is mine to choose!”

“The wedding would be in weeks of his arrival, there is plenty of time for courting.”

“Then we have a different perception of time, perhaps.”

The Prince was said to be quite comely, but great beauties are only made so by truly knowing them. He could be the most handsome young man in the seven kingdoms, but if he was not fit to be your companion for life, you would have been swept away into a life of misery. Routinely, you spent your days pacing from the West Tower to the East praying that this kind of misery would not find you. And now you feared it did.

“Sweetling, do not be angry with me. You know the difficulties of being a woman and how the lords of the realm perceive us. Having the Targaryens as an ally, and one bound in blood at that, will help us greatly. Your father and I took action at the first moment.”

Briefly, you thought of Queen Rhaenyra. You both shared a similar plight, only the irony was that her son will invoke your own even more. But it could not be denied that you had wanted a romance in your life. You had experienced the bare bones of suitors; they would smile and look at you at feasts, then their attention would be occupied with another lady.

The war had brought another tear upon your life. Your friends, the ladies Roesaynne, Leona, and Gertrude, were frequent guests at your keep, as you were at theirs.  But recently, you had been given word that their lord fathers had sequestered them within their castles. You had not seen them since. You understood the reason; dragons were fearsome creatures that may descend from the sky at any time. It was best to keep the nobles safe from that prospect. As safe as they could be, and left for misery to strike them as you suspected it did.

You fidgeted with the velvet sleeve of your dress. “What could you perceive of him?” you asked, your tone much quieter. “His character?”

“He was quite even-tempered.”

You shook your head minutely. Even an hour’s worth of conversation would not be enough. The Prince had not laid waste to the Crossing with his dragon, true, but you knew that the greatest conflicts of the Realm were from disagreements amongst the nobles. There was nothing saying that this would not be the same. And there was the obvious fact: the Prince of Dragonstone was a dragon rider. Wise as you tried to be, you feared him for this. Would your own lord father instruct you to stay inside your castle like your friends were?

There was no place for you here for much longer. One of your brothers, Gunther, three years your elder, would inherit the Crossing, and your sister would soon be married. On paper, marrying the Prince was a miracle.

The door bursted open with a loud thunk. Both you and your mother turn your heads toward it. It was your little sister, Marsella, enthusiasm ripe on her face.

“Mother! I saw him,” she giggled.

“Not now, Marsella.”

Marsella’s face was flush as spring. “I saw the Prince and Vermax, though the others were too stupid to look for him before they went away. He was—”

“Please, leave us,” your mother commanded.

Marsella’s face fell, and your eyes saddened when they found hers. She then turned and left, shoulders caving in. You would see to her afterwards.

“Where, might I ask, will the wedding take place?” Being a lady of the realm meant that you could never be comfortable anywhere. You were told by your mother’s friends not to get attached to any setting, since men, hungry for power and status, often brought in a new environment.

“At the Red Keep, as will your courting.”

“It will not,” you said.

“Do not meddle with the plans that have been so carefully forethought!” Her voice broke midway, and she clasped a hand around her mouth and turned her head to the side. “I am sorry. I have a great stress on me. What is it that you wish to be changed?”

“Not the location of the wedding, that is a logical place for it to be held,” you said. “But the courtship, please, mother, let him come here instead. if you truly want this to be a success, he must know me, and where my roots are from.” You saw the opportunity for this small agency: the Prince, learning about your home from you… you hoped that it would spark a subtle intimacy. You knew it was a foolish thought, but if the war was to be won by the rightful queen, such comfort could be afforded. Or so you hoped.

“Jace.” You said his name with such certainty that he couldn’t help but smile before you had even reached him.

He was still sitting on the couch when you made your way over, carefully navigating through the crowd with a drink still in your hand, your cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the room. You looked far too pleased with yourself, and Jacaerys knew from experience that meant trouble.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to regret whatever happens next?” he murmured as you stopped in front of him.

You ignored the question completely, instead looking down at him with a small smile before deciding there was no reason to stand there any longer.

The next thing he knew, you were lowering yourself into his lap.

Jace let out a quiet laugh, his hands immediately moving to your waist to steady you when you nearly knocked the both of you backwards. “You couldn’t have warned me?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, completely comfortable as you settled against him. “Would you have moved?”

He thought about it for a moment, his expression already giving away the answer, “no.”

“Exactly.”

He shook his head, but the smile on his face gave him away. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you’ve won an argument before I’ve even answered.”

You smiled proudly, resting your chin against his shoulder. “Because I know you.”

And unfortunately, you were right.

Jacaerys could never stay annoyed at you for very long. Not when you were looking at him like that, not when you were curled into him like you belonged there, not when you were humming along to the music while completely ignoring everyone else around you.

After a moment, he glanced down at you and noticed the way your eyes were starting to droop slightly. “How much did you drink tonight?”

You immediately looked offended. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because you’re sitting on me.”

“I always sit on you.”

“Not usually when you’re struggling to keep your balance.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look serious, but it didn’t quite work when you were already smiling.“I’m fine.”

“I know.” The softness of his answer made you pause.

“You do?”

Jace brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face, his expression fond despite himself. “Yeah. You’re just a little more affectionate when you’ve been drinking.”

You considered this carefully before nodding. “That’s true.”

He laughed quietly, slightly surprised that you actually agreed, “you admit it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you said, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric of his shirt. “I like you.”

The simplicity of it caught him off guard. You said things like that so easily when drunk. With no hesitation, no embarrassment, no second guessing yourself. You just simply looked at him and told him exactly what you were thinking.

The confidence in your voice made Jace laugh, his hand resting comfortably against your waist as he looked down at you. “You like me?” he teased, raising an eyebrow as though he couldn’t possibly believe it.

You stared at him for a second, genuinely confused by the question. “Jace.”

“What?”

“I’m literally sitting on your lap.”

He tried to hide his smile, but you could already see it forming. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

You looked at him like he was being ridiculous. “It does.”

“How?”

Your answer came immediately, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because I don’t sit on just anyone’s lap.”

That was what finally got him.

He shook his head fondly as he pulled you a little closer. Somehow, you could make the simplest things sound like undeniable proof, and he didn’t have the heart to argue with you.

“There it is,” you whispered almost cooingly, smiling as soon as you heard him. “I like when you laugh.”

Jacaerys looked at you for a moment, his expression softening almost instantly. “You spend a lot of time trying to make me laugh.”

“Because I like seeing you happy.”

And that was the kind of thing you said that always ruined his ability to tease you.

Because underneath all the playful comments and the drunken confidence, there was still just you. The person who noticed when he was tired, who remembered little things about him, who made him feel loved without even trying.

His thumb brushed gently over your cheek. “You know you’re very sweet when you’re drunk?”

You immediately frowned. “Only when I’m drunk?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I think you’re sweet all the time.”

Your expression softened, and for a second all the teasing disappeared. “You’re my favourite person.”

Jace smiled slightly. “You say that a lot.”

“Because it’s true.”

He looked away for a moment, trying to hide how much that affected him, but you caught it anyway, cheekily following his gaze.

You noticed the way the corners of his mouth lifted and immediately caught the slight warmth creeping across his cheeks.

“You’re blushing,” you say, looking far too pleased with yourself.

Jacaerys shook his head, trying to deny it even though the smile he was fighting only made it worse. “I’m not.”

You only gave him a knowing look, your fingers still absentmindedly playing with the fabric of his shirt. “You so are.”

“It’s warm in here,” he argued, glancing away once more as if that would somehow make his excuse believable. The way he avoided your eyes only made you smile more. “You’re lying.”

And he knew you were right, which was the most frustrating part.

After a while had passed, you had finally settled down against him, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder while his hand moved slowly along your back.

“You know you’re very clingy tonight?” Jace murmured, though there was no real complaint in his voice.

You immediately shook your head, refusing the accusation. “I’m not?”

He looked down at you, amused, because the evidence was quite literally sitting in front of him. “You haven’t moved from my lap in half an hour.”

“Because it’s comfortable.”

“You could sit somewhere else.”

The words were playful, almost automatic, and the teasing look on his face gave away the fact that he didn’t mean them for even a second. He was far too content with you exactly where you were, curled against him like a sleepy cat that had decided his lap was the only acceptable place to be.

You looked up at him suspiciously, as if you were trying to figure out whether he was serious. “But I don’t want to.”

“You’re impossible,” he murmured, but his hand only tightened slightly around your waist.

You smiled, already knowing you had won.

“You love it.”

And unfortunately for him, you were right.

He did.

Jace could pretend to be bothered by your clinginess all he wanted, but the truth was he liked having you close. He liked the way you reached for him without thinking, the way you always seemed to find him in a crowded room, and the way you trusted him enough to completely relax in his arms.

So Jacaerys didn’t tell you to move.

He didn’t tell you to go drink water or that you were being ridiculous. He just pressed a kiss to the top of your head and let you stay exactly where you wanted to be.

you were melting into him, your shyness burning away under the intensity of his affection. a soft sigh escaped your lips, and he swallowed it with a gentle hum of approval.

"you taste sweeter than the wine," he murmured against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you. his eyes, usually so sharp and arrogant, were soft and hazy in the torchlight. "i could taste you forever."

you buried your face in the crook of his neck. "aerion, someone will see."

"that is no concern of mine, nor should it be yours," he whispered, his hand moving to the small of your back, pressing you even closer. "let them see how much i adore my wife."

down the hall, two kingsguard stood as still as the stone statues they guarded. this was the fourth time this week they had been forced to witness their prince's...devotion.

ser gerold cleared his throat, a low, discreet sound. "my prince," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "the hour grows late. your father requested your presence after supper."

aerion didn't even turn his head. "he can wait," he said, his voice muffled by your hair as he pressed a kiss to your temple. "i am occupied with matters of state."

the other guard shifted his weight, the leather of his boots groaning softly. he caught gerold's eye and gave a minuscule, almost imperceptible shake of his head. don't push it. they both remembered what happened to the last guard who had complained too loudly about the prince's "distractions." a reassignment to the night's watch was a fate worse than death for most.

later that night, when the castle was finally quiet, ser gerold found himself standing before prince maekar in his solar. the prince was poring over maps, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"your grace," gerold began, choosing his words with the care of a man walking on eggshells. "i bring a report. a... logistical concern, regarding the prince's... security detail."

maekar didn't look up. "spit it out, ser gerold. i haven't got all night for you to dance around the issue."

"it is... well, it is the corridors, your grace. prince aerion has developed a fondness for... lingering. in the halls. with the princess." gerold paused, sweating under his armor. "it makes it difficult to maintain a secure perimeter. the constant... stopping. it creates blind spots. and the guards, they do not wish to witness such... private moments, for fear of disrespecting the princess, or... of being accused of treasonous thoughts."

maekar finally lifted his head, a flicker of something- amusement? annoyance?- in his dark eyes. he stared at the knight for a long moment.

You sat at the edge of the bed while the maids laced them, watching the leather bend at your ankle. You had spent your whole life with a tail that moved without instruction, and now you had two limbs that apparently needed buckling into place like cargo.

"They've swallowed my feet," you said.

The younger maid, flour still on her sleeve from some earlier errand, pressed her hand over her mouth.

"They're only boots, my lady."

"Only? They wear little houses. For feet."

That broke her. Her laugh came out in a short burst and caught on the others until three women were smiling at you the way people smile at a child insisting something obvious is a revelation. You didn't mind. You tapped your heels together.

Clack.

You did it again.

Clack.

You were still laughing at yourself when the door opened and every other thought in your head simply stopped.

"Jace!"

You forgot that walking was an unproven skill. Your whole body forgot with you. You slid off the bed, took one confident step, and discovered on the second that your knees had not been told what their job was.

The floor tilted but you grabbed the bedpost with both arms and your heart was still climbing your throat when warm hands closed over your shoulders.

"You have to stop greeting me like you're diving through the sea," Jace said, laughing, though there was real relief under it. "One day I truly won't reach you in time."

"I almost had it."

"You did not."

"I almost-“

"You managed one step."

You looked down at your feet, betrayed. "...I suppose it was."

A cough came from the doorway, deliberate and unhurried, and Jace's ears went red. He stepped back at once.

"Apologies, Mother."

Rhaenyra crossed the room and sat beside you rather than across from you, close enough that you could count the silver threading through her hair. She had very beautiful hair, you concluded in your mind.

"So," she said. "I have heard an extraordinary amount about you."

"Mostly from my son."

Jace groaned from the chair he'd retreated to.

"I should like to hear the rest from you."

You told her your home was wet, which made Jace laugh into his hand. You told her it was bigger than Dragonstone, palaces of coral catching light the way the boots did, only better. Your father was a king. Your mother a queen. Yes, you were truly a princess, and no, Jace had not believed you at first, which had been rude of him.

When she asked about whales your whole face changed. You stretched your arms as wide as they would go, then wider, because no gesture held how big they actually were, how their songs carried for miles the way nothing on land seemed to carry.

"They choose whether to let you ride them."

"And if they don't?"

"They swim away."

"More polite than dragons," Rhaenyra said with a fond smile on her face.

Then Rhaenyra was quiet a moment, watching you.

"And who inherits your father's throne? When the time comes?" She asked out of curiosity.

"My eldest sister. Thallia is Crown Princess."

"Your eldest sister."

"Yes."

"Not your eldest brother or the eldest son?"

You didn't understand the question. "Why would that matter?"

The room went quiet. Jace shifted in his chair. Something moved across Rhaenyra's face, surprise first, then something sadder underneath it, before she smoothed it away.

"It does not matter there," you said, still trying to follow her confusion, "if they are sons or daughters. Whichever child is eldest succeeds. My grandmother ruled, before my father. She still speaks at court more than anyone."

"Your grandmother ruled," Rhaenyra repeated, quiet, like she was hearing an old argument finally settled somewhere she hadn't expected to hear it settled.

"Is it different here?"

Jace went still. Neither of them answered right away.

"Your people," Rhaenyra finally said, with a small sad smile that was entirely genuine, "sound wiser than a great many people on land."

She didn't explain, and you didn't push, though you thought of that silence again much later, once you understood what it had cost her to sit that throne at all.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

It took three days before you could cross a room without Jace's hands hovering at your elbows.

"You expect me to balance," you said on the second morning, glaring at your feet, "on these?"

"They're your legs."

"They are deeply unreliable."

"You've had them two days."

"My tail never behaved this badly."

"Your tail had more practice."

You frowned, unable to argue with that. "...That is fair."

He held both hands out. You took them at once like you always did whenever he offered you something. His hands were warm. Yours stayed cool no matter how long he held them, and he'd mentioned it more than once, like some part of the sea had simply never left you.

"Now. One foot."

"Which one?"

"Either."

"They look the same."

"The left."

"...Which is left?"

Jace closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them there was something helpless and fond in his face.

"We're going to be here a while."

They were. But you learned each other in that time, small pieces at a time. That he bit the inside of his cheek when he was trying not to laugh at you. That he let you win small arguments you were plainly wrong about, because watching you defend a bad answer with total conviction entertained him more than being right did. He learned that you counted under your breath before anything difficult, a leftover habit from timing your breath against tide, and that you flinched at loud sudden noise, a wariness bred into you by years of avoiding surface storms.

By the third evening you managed the length of the corridor under your own power, swaying only slightly, and Jace applauded so hard two passing servants stopped in confusion.

"I did it."

"You did."

"I am a human."

"You are something close."

"I walked."

"You certainly did."

You considered the scale of your achievement. "I think I deserve something."

"And what would that be?"

"I wish to lie down."

He laughed. "You've walked ten minutes."

"It has been exhausting."

That night, once you'd thrown yourself across the bed and declared it the greatest invention humans had produced, once you'd rolled onto your stomach and back again simply because you could, he pulled the blankets over you with a care that sat strange and warm in your chest.

"You tuck people in?"

"So they stay warm."

"Humans think of everything," you murmured, already half asleep.

He smiled and brushed the hair from your face and didn't leave until your breathing had gone slow and even.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

By the fourth day you could walk well enough that Jace decided you should see something of the castle besides your own chambers.

He started small. A spoon was the first wonder, examined with total seriousness while he explained its purpose, and you declared it clever despite his insistence that it was just a spoon. Bread came next, and you fell in love with it instantly, closing your eyes at the first bite. He told you about flour and yeast and the long wait for it to rise, and you listened like he was describing some old and careful magic, which you supposed, in its way, he was.

By the third day of walking around Dragonstone with him he'd stopped correcting you when you called something a wonder, and started waiting for the question before you'd even asked it.

"Jace?"

"Yes?"

"Show me another wonder."

It was on one of these walks that the windows undid you.

You'd spent ten minutes with your palms flat against the glass overlooking Blackwater Bay, watching the water stretch toward a horizon you missed with an ache you hadn't expected.

"The sea," you said. "I can see all of it."

"It is a good view."

"It is outside."

"...Yes."

"And we are inside."

"Also yes."

You leaned closer, breath fogging the glass. "But I can still see it."

"That is rather the purpose of a window."

"A window." You turned the word over. He explained it let the light in. You hummed, thinking, and then your face lit with the particular certainty of someone who has just solved something.

"Oh!"

Before he could ask, you took two determined steps forward.

"You can simply swim through-"

THUNK!

You bounced back with a gasp, both hands to your forehead.

"The sea attacked me!"

For one long moment Jace tried not to laugh. He truly tried.

"I may have assumed you understood how windows worked."

"How was I to understand? In the sea, if I can see somewhere, I can go there!"

"Don't."

"I am trying very hard."

"You are laughing."

"I am absolutely not-"

He broke, doubling over, hand braced on the wall. You folded your arms with what dignity remained to a woman who had just walked into glass.

"I have been grievously injured."

"I'm sorry."

"You are not."

"No."

"You think this is funny."

"I think it may be the funniest thing I have ever seen."

You poked the glass, cautious.

"...It is rather clever."

"It is."

"It still hit me."

"It did."

"I dislike windows."

"I give it until tomorrow."

"...Perhaps."

He was right. By the next afternoon you were pressing your whole hand against every window in the eastern wing, delighted each time, as though the glass might have changed overnight.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Baela offered to take you to the dragons on the fifth morning, catching you in the courtyard where you'd been practicing your walk along the garden wall.

"I could take you to meet her, if you'd like."

You considered this seriously. You'd only seen dragons from a distance so far, huge shapes cutting the sky, and something about the size of them had unsettled you. But Baela's dragon was different, she said. Calmer, less prone to the temperament that ran through the rest of the family's mounts.

"Is she fierce?"

"Moondancer? No. Watchful. Careful. She doesn't like sudden things, but she isn't cruel about it. I think you two might understand each other."

"Not Vermax's kind of dragon, then. Jace said he was fierce." you said, remembering how Jace's voice always changed at that name, careful, like something held rather than spoken.

"No," Baela said gently. "Not like him."

Jace had duties that morning, some matter his mother needed him for, and though he lingered near the door too long, he trusted Baela enough to let you go without him.

Moondancer was resting in the lower yard, pale-scaled, wings folded loose. The moment your footsteps changed rhythm on the stone, her head came up and turned toward you, sharp and immediate.

You stopped walking.

She didn't blink. A low sound rose out of her chest, not quite a growl, and you took a step back on instinct.

"She doesn't know your scent," Baela said quietly, not moving closer herself. "You don't smell like anything she recognizes. Not Targaryen blood, not sea folk she's seen from the air. To her you're unexplained, and dragons are suspicious of what they can't place."

"She thinks I'm dangerous."

"She thinks you're unexplained. There's a difference, though I grant you it doesn't feel that way when she's looking at you like that."

Moondancer's head lowered, still fixed on you, and huffed through her nostrils hard enough to stir dust at your feet. You held still, unsure whether stillness was the right instinct.

Baela laid a hand against the dragon's jaw and murmured something too low to catch. Slowly the tension went out of the huge shoulders. The growl faded into something more like consideration, though her eyes never left you.

"It's alright," Baela said, to the dragon and to you both. "She isn't going to hurt you. She's deciding about you. Dragons take their time deciding. Come closer. Slowly."

You made yourself move, one step at a time, the way you'd learned to walk in the first place. Moondancer tracked you, and when you were close enough to feel the heat off her scales, she huffed again, softer, and lowered her head the rest of the way.

"Hold your hand out. Palm flat. Let her close the distance."

You did, arm unsteady. Nothing happened for a long moment. Then, slow, almost generous, she pressed her nose against your palm.

The breath went out of you all at once.

"There," Baela said, smiling now. "She's decided."

You laughed, giddy, and pressed your palm flatter against warm black scale.

"Hard."

"What did you expect?"

"Harder than whales."

"Probably." Baela was watching you with something soft in her face. "She was uncertain of you. I wanted you to see that, actually, rather than have her simply accept you the way she does family. Trust isn't automatic here. Not even from a dragon. Maybe especially not from a dragon."

You kept stroking slow lines along the scales while she went on.

"I think she likes me."

"I think she does too. That matters more than you know. She's careful who she warms to." She paused. "Moondancer is like that. If she's decided about you, she actually decided."

That evening you found Jace on the cliffside, watching the water the way he did when his thoughts got too heavy to carry indoors.

"I met Baela’s dragon today."

"So Baela took you."

You sat beside him. "Moondancer is very beautiful."

"She is."

"But." You chose your words carefully. "She is lonely."

His smile faded.

"The whales become lonely too. When they lose someone."

He said nothing for a long moment.

"Where I come from, nothing truly bonded is ever lost." You took his hand in both of yours. "Vermax is not lonely anymore. He waits."

"...Waits?"

"For you."

His breath caught. Neither of you spoke, the wind moving between you, the sea whispering against the rocks below. When he finally looked at you, something in his face had come loose.

He kissed you. Not because you were pretty, though you were. Because you'd given him something he hadn't known he was still looking for. Peace.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

The dancing was Jace's idea, and he seemed almost embarrassed to suggest it, which surprised you, given how easily he suggested most things.

"There's a dance," he said, over supper that same evening. "For an upcoming feast. Mother will expect everyone to know the steps. I thought, since you’re here for at least some of it, I should teach you."

"I know how to move," you said, faintly offended on behalf of every hour spent learning to walk.

"This is a different kind of moving."

He was right almost immediately.

He cleared a space in one of the smaller receiving rooms, empty but for a few chairs pushed to the wall, evening light slanting through the windows. There was no musician available, so he hummed the melody himself, which you found more charming than you let on.

"Your hand here." He guided your right hand to his shoulder and took your other hand, settling his palm at your waist with a care that made your breath catch slightly. "We move like this. Step, step, together. Simple."

It was not simple.

Your feet, still suspicious of every request, tangled within four steps. You stumbled into his chest and looked up at him with an exasperation reserved for your own body's many failures.

"This is worse than walking."

"It's the same as walking. With rhythm."

"I do not have rhythm. I have tide. They are not the same thing."

He laughed, tried again, counting softly under his breath. You managed six steps before your ankle rolled and you pitched sideways, and he caught you the way he always seemed braced to.

"Perhaps dancing simply isn't among my gifts."

"Or perhaps you're overthinking your feet." He studied you a moment. "Try this. Stand on my feet."

You stared at him. "That will hurt you."

"It won't."

"You are wearing boots. I am wearing boots. That is considerable weight for your feet."

"Y/N." He said your name the way he did when he wanted you to actually listen. "It won't hurt. I promise. Trust me."

You searched his face for any sign he was being polite about pain and found none.

"...If you yelp, I will feel terribly guilty."

"I won't yelp."

One hand braced hard against his shoulder, you stepped up onto the tops of his boots. He closed his arms around you at once, drawing you in until there was barely any distance left, your face suddenly much closer to his than it had been a moment before.

"There," he said quietly. "Now you don't have to worry about your feet. I'll do the moving. You just hold on."

"This feels like cheating."

"It is entirely cheating. I'd like to see you complain, though."

You didn't. You had nothing to say for a moment, caught between the closeness of him and the low light and the way his hand had settled at the small of your back.

He began to move, slow steps that carried both your weight easily. No stumbling, no tangled feet, just the rhythm of it, his voice counting soft against your hair.

"Step. Step. Together."

You lifted your face and found him already looking down at you rather than at his own feet.

"You're not counting anymore," you said.

"No," he admitted. "I suppose I'm not."

The light slid lower, turning the room the color of honey, and neither of you moved to light a lamp. When the tune he'd been humming trailed off, he kept moving, and so did you, until the only sound was the scuff of his boots against stone and the sea somewhere beyond the windows.

"I think," you said, cheek against his shoulder, "that I may enjoy dancing after all."

"High praise, from a woman who called it worse than walking ten minutes ago."

"I am allowed to change my mind."

"You are." His arms tightened. "I hope you do it often. Where I'm concerned."

You didn't answer that directly. You only pressed closer and let him carry you both through a few more slow turns before the light gave out.

It happened on the sixth evening, halfway through supper.

Your hand froze mid-motion. The goblet slipped and shattered somewhere distant, though you barely heard it over the violet light spreading beneath your skin, down your arms like ink through water.

"No." The word came out barely a whisper.

Jace was on his feet before anyone else drew breath. "No. Not yet. Please, not yet."

The hall went silent. Your legs vanished beneath scale as your tail struck the floor. You tried to speak, to tell him you were frightened too, that six days had never been enough, but your voice was simply gone.

He carried you to the beach himself. At the water's edge, still holding you, he asked the only question that mattered.

"Will I see you again?"

You shook your head. Small. Not no. Only, I don't know.

You kissed him, and he nodded when you pulled back.

"I'll wait."

He lowered you into the water. You swam out and turned back to see him still standing there, soaked to the knee, making no move to leave it.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Chaos met you long before the palace did.

Your eldest sister found you first, cutting through the current so fast she nearly knocked you sideways in his rush to reach you.

"She's alive! She's alive, she's home!"

Her shout carried through the water in the way sound traveled beneath the waves, and within moments the whole Coral Court seemed to be converging on you at once. Sisters. Servants. A pair of guards who abandoned their posts entirely. Someone had already raced ahead to announce your return before you'd even passed through the outer gates, so that by the time you reached the palace proper, half the kingdom had turned out to see you.

Your mother reached you first, pulling you into an embrace so fierce your ribs protested, her hands leaving your shoulders only to frame your face, searching frantically for wounds that weren't there.

"My little pearl. Are you hurt? Tell me you're not hurt."

"I'm not hurt, Mother. I promise."

"Where have you been? One whole weeks with no word, no message, nothing-"

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll explain everything, I promise, just-"

Then your father's voice cut through the crowd, and the whole hall went still.

"Enough."

He sat upon the throne of whalebone and pale coral, and though you'd braced yourself the whole swim home for his anger, the sight of his face still made something in your chest go cold. He did not look relieved. He looked like a man holding something very carefully in place.

"Approach."

You swam forward, chin lifted despite the tremor building low in your stomach.

"Where were you?"

"On land." You confessed.

The word landed like a stone dropped into still water, and you watched it ripple outward through the gathered court, whispers breaking out on every side.

"With a human prince."

The hall erupted. Your father's hand came down hard against the arm of his throne, and the noise died as quickly as it had risen.

"I forbade the surface."

"I know."

"I forbade contact with humans."

"I know, Father, but-"

"And yet you defied both."

"He would have drowned!" Your voice rose to match his now, frustration breaking through the fear. "I found him tangled in his dragon saddle, half unconscious, sinking. I couldn't just leave him there."

"You could have summoned aid. You could have brought him to shore and left him for his own people to find!"

"There was no time!"

“You could have not returned to him!”

“Father-“

"You could have been killed!" His voice cracked on the last word, splintering in a way you'd never once heard from him, and for the briefest moment you saw past the fury to something rawer underneath it. "Do you understand what it is to wait, not knowing whether your child is alive or dead? Do you have any idea-"

He stopped himself. Composed himself, visibly, the way you'd watched him do a hundred times before in court, folding whatever he was feeling back down into something more presentable.

"I forbid you from leaving the palace," he said, quieter now, final. "You will remain here until I say otherwise."

"Father- please-"

"That is my judgment. It is final."

You looked to your mother, hoping for some intervention, but she only shook her head slightly, a warning, not now, and let your siblings draw you gently away from the throne room before you could say anything further to make it worse.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

That night, once the excitement had settled and the palace had quieted, your sisters gathered in your chambers the way they used to when you were small, piled together on cushions of woven kelp and soft anemone fronds, and you finally let yourself talk.

"Tell us everything," Nerissa said, tucking her tail beneath her, eyes bright. "All of it. Don't leave anything out."

"Father will be furious if he hears you encouraging this," you warned.

"Father isn't here." Vaelira grinned. "Talk."

So you did.

You told them about the boots first, because it still made you laugh to think of it, how you'd sat there turning your foot in the lamplight like it belonged to someone else, convinced the leather had swallowed your feet whole. Lysene laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth. You told them about the windows, and Maerys shrieked with delight at the part where you walked directly into the glass, certain you could simply swim through it.

"You didn't."

"I absolutely did. It hurt a great deal. The sea does not warn you, on land, that it has learned to become invisible and solid at the same time."

"That is the single most embarrassing thing I have ever heard," Ceryna said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"It gets worse. He laughed at me. For a full minute."

"As he should have."

"You are all supposed to be on my side."

"We are on the side of a good story," Nerissa said, unrepentant, "and that is a very good story."

You told them about bread, too, the way flour and yeast and patient waiting turned into something so warm and soft it seemed like a kind of magic in itself. You told them the names of things you'd learned, spoon and doorway and staircase, savoring each word on your tongue like it still belonged to you a little.

"And the prince?" Lysene asked, quieter now, leaning forward. "Tell us about him."

You felt your face warm despite the cool water around you.

"His name is Jacaerys. Jace. He has dark hair and darker eyes, and he is patient in a way I did not expect a prince to be. He taught me to walk. He held my hands for hours while I fell, over and over, and he never once grew impatient with me, not truly, even when I fell for the tenth time in an afternoon."

"Is he handsome?"

"Lysene."

"It's a fair question."

"...Yes," you admitted, and your sisters dissolved into delighted laughter at the way you'd hesitated before saying it, as though the admission had cost you something. "He is handsome. And kind. He held onto me the very first night I nearly fell trying to greet him, and he has been catching me, in one way or another, ever since."

"You love him," Ceryna said. It wasn't a question either.

You were quiet a moment, turning the thought over the way you'd turned the boots over that first night, careful, curious, a little disbelieving of your own certainty.

"I do. I know it sounds impossible. I knew him such a short time."

"It doesn't sound impossible," Nerissa said gently. "It sounds like you."

"He danced with me," you added, softer now, remembering the low gold light of that room, his hand steady at your waist. "Even though I was terrible at it. He let me stand on his own feet so I wouldn't fall, and told me it wouldn't hurt him, and it didn't, and we just moved like that for the longest time, not really dancing at all really, just turning slowly together while the sun went down."

Your sisters had gone quiet, watching you with something soft in their faces, and Maerys reached out to squeeze your hand.

"Father won't understand any of that," she said. "Not yet. But I think it's beautiful."

"I think so too," you admitted. "I just don't know how to make him see it that way."

None of you had an answer for that, not that night, and so you let the conversation drift instead toward smaller things, the shape of human buildings, the strange taste of bread, the way land smelled entirely different from the sea, sharper somehow, full of things that weren't salt and current. Your sisters listened to every word like it was the most fascinating tale they'd ever been told, and for one evening, at least, the trouble waiting for you outside your chambers felt very far away.

It would not stay that way for long.

The pleading started perhaps two weeks later, once the first sting of the confinement had worn thin enough for you to believe, foolishly, that reasoning with your father might work where defiance hadn't.

You found him alone in his private study, a small chamber carved into coral shelving lined with old scrolls and treasures collected over decades of rule, and you gathered your courage before speaking.

"Father."

He looked up, surprised, though he schooled his expression quickly. "Y/N."

"I want to go back."

"No."

"You haven't even heard what I-"

"I know what you're going to ask, and the answer is no." He set down the scroll he'd been reading, giving you his full attention now, which felt somehow worse than being ignored. "You are not returning to the surface."

"I only want to see him. Once. To explain, to say goodbye properly if that's what it must be, but I can't simply vanish on him the way I-"

"He is a human prince, Y/N. His life is measured in decades. Yours is measured in centuries. Whatever this is, it can only ever end one way, and I would rather it end now, cleanly, than after you've given him more of yourself to lose."

"You don't know that."

"I know a great deal more of the world than you do, child, and I am telling you, as your father and as your king, that this ends here."

"That isn't fair."

"Fair has very little to do with keeping you alive."

You left the study with tears burning behind your eyes and did not try again for several days, though the wanting never once quieted, no matter how hard you tried to drown it in distraction.

It happened again nearly two months after you'd returned, this time in front of the whole family at supper, when you could no longer hold the question back.

"Please," you said, setting down your utensils, addressing your father directly across the long coral table. "It has been two months. He doesn't even know if I'm alive. Please, just let me send word, just one message, so he knows-"

"No."

"Father-"

"I said no." His tone had gone hard, final, and around the table your siblings had gone quiet, watching the exchange with the particular stillness of people who know a storm is building. "I will not hear this again."

"You can't just lock me away and pretend the outside world doesn't exist!"

"I can, and I will, if it keeps you safe."

"This isn't safety, this is a cage!"

The word landed harder than you'd meant it to. Your father's expression shuttered completely, and he rose from his seat without another word, leaving the table in a silence so complete you could hear the distant current moving through the coral outside.

Your mother reached for your hand under the table, and though she said nothing, you saw something shift behind her eyes, some old argument with herself finally beginning to tip.

That night your father had you moved to a smaller chamber, deeper within the palace, further from the outer currents that led toward open water, and though no one called it what it was, you understood well enough. It was no longer merely confinement.

It was a cage, exactly as you'd said, and you would spend the following months slowly, quietly, coming undone inside it.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

The weeks that followed blurred into something you would later struggle to remember clearly, the way a fever blurs the days around it.

At first it was only restlessness. You paced the smaller chamber they'd moved you to, drifted through what garden space remained accessible to you, tried to lose yourself in old routines that no longer felt like yours. Your sisters kept visiting, though less often now, their attempts at cheer growing thinner each time.

"Come with us," Lysene said one morning, tugging gently at your hand. "There's a festival in the eastern reef. Lanternfish, dancing, the whole court will be there."

"I don't feel like it."

"You never feel like it anymore."

"Lysene."

"I'm sorry. I only meant-" She stopped herself, studying your face with a worry she didn't quite know how to voice yet. "You used to love festivals."

"I still do," you said, though even you weren't sure it was true.

You went, in the end, because she asked twice more and because refusing felt like more effort than agreeing. You smiled when the lanternfish spiraled gold and slow overhead, laughed when your youngest brother challenged you to a race through the coral, even let him win, the way you always had, just to watch him grin.

But none of it reached anywhere past the surface of you. You could feel the difference yourself, distantly, like watching someone else wear your face.

It was your grandmother who said it aloud first, nearly six weeks in, catching your chin gently in one weathered hand and turning your face toward the light.

"Your scales have gone dull, child."

"They're fine, Grandmother."

"They are not fine. Look." She guided you toward the polished shell mirror in her chambers, and you made yourself look, really look, for the first time in longer than you cared to admit. The dawn pink you'd worn your whole life, vivid enough once that strangers had complimented your mother on it, had faded into something pale and grey, tired in a way scales weren't supposed to be able to look.

"Oh," you said, quietly.

"How long has it been like this?"

"I don't know. I hadn't noticed."

"That," your grandmother said, "is precisely the trouble."

You stopped visiting the sunken ship after that, the one you'd claimed as a child, still half full of bells and pearls and smooth glass stones gathered over years of careful searching. You simply couldn't summon the will to swim there anymore, and when your youngest brother asked why, you told him you were tired, which was true, though not in any way rest could fix.

Then, one grey morning in the communal gardens, surrounded by your family the way you always were when the reef gathered to sing at dawn, your voice caught.

It happened without warning. You opened your mouth for the second verse, the one you'd known since before you could properly speak, and the sound simply wasn't there. A dry, broken rasp came out instead, and then nothing at all.

The silence that followed felt enormous.

"Y/N?" Your mother's hand found your shoulder. "Sweetheart, are you alright?"

You tried again. Nothing came.

Panic rose fast and sharp in your chest, and you fled the gardens before anyone could stop you, swimming hard until your arms ached, until the pressure in your chest matched something closer to how you actually felt.

Your father began trying things after that, in the clumsy, well-meaning way of a man used to solving problems with resources rather than understanding.

"Look," he said one evening, entering your chambers with something cradled carefully in both hands. "The largest pearl ever recovered from the deep trenches. Divers spent three days retrieving it."

You turned it over once in your palm. It was, unmistakably, beautiful.

"It is beautiful," you said, and meant it, though the words came out flat.

He waited, watching your face for the old delight, the rush to add it immediately to your collection the way you always had as a child.

You held it back out to him instead. "I think Mother would like it."

Something shifted behind his eyes, though he said nothing, only took the pearl back and left quietly, and you didn't see the way he stood outside your door afterward for a long moment before finally swimming away.

He assigned you a guard next, a cheerful young merman named Cato who trailed you through the palace with determined good humor, filling silences with jokes and stories and an endless patience you almost resented him for. He meant well. You could see that clearly, even through the fog that had settled over everything. But no amount of company filled the specific shape of what was missing.

"You don't have to entertain me," you told him once, gently, when his stories had trailed off into concerned silence. "I know my father sent you."

"He's worried about you.”

"I know."

"So am I, honestly. You used to laugh at my jokes."

"They still are funny," you managed, and offered him something close to a real smile, though it cost you more than it should have.

By the second month, even that effort had become difficult to sustain, and your father's anger, which had burned hot and certain in the weeks after your return, began, slowly, to curdle into something else entirely. You caught him watching you sometimes from across a room, the particular way you watch something fragile you've already dropped once and are terrified of dropping again.

It was your grandmother who finally forced the reckoning, nearly ten weeks in, when she found your father alone in the throne room long after the rest of the court had dispersed.

"You've imprisoned her," she said, without preamble, settling into the water beside him with the unhurried authority of a woman who had ruled these waters for a hundred years and had long since stopped needing anyone's permission to speak plainly.

"I protected her."

"You protected your fear."

"Mother-"

"You forgot," she said, cutting through whatever defense he'd been building, "that she is not yours to keep. She was never yours to keep. Children are lent to us, not given, and we are meant to raise them strong enough to leave when the time comes, not build the walls higher every time they try."

"She could have died out there. She very nearly died in here instead, and I don't understand how, I did everything a father is supposed to do-"

"You did everything a king is supposed to do," she corrected, gently but without softening it. "Kings protect their kingdoms with walls and rules and punishments. Fathers protect their children by trusting them enough to let go." She reached for his hand, old and steady over his own. "I raised you better than this, my son. I know I did."

He was quiet a long moment, staring at nothing.

"I don't know how to fix it."

"You already do." Her grip tightened. "You simply do not wish to hear the answer, because you're afraid of what it will cost you."

"And if it costs me her, one day, to some human prince and a life I'll never see the shape of?"

"Then it costs you that," she said simply. "Better that, than losing her slowly, right here, while you watch and call it keeping her safe."

He said nothing else that night, but the following evening, restless and unable to settle, he went to check on you himself, something he'd avoided doing directly for weeks, unable to face what he might find.

He found you asleep, curled tightly on your side, both hands drawn up close to your chest around something small. Carefully, gently, he pried your fingers open.

A little bronze dragon pin sat in your palm. Unremarkable by any measure that mattered to a king's treasury. Worn nearly smooth along one edge from the endless small motion of your thumb tracing over it, night after night, for months.

He sat very still for a long time, looking at it, and understood, finally and completely, exactly what he had been doing to you.

He went to his mother again that same night, and together, in the deep archive chambers sunk beneath the palace where the oldest records of your people were kept, they searched for hours through scrolls layered thick with silt and age, looking for anything that might undo the damage he'd caused.

They found it near dawn. A spell older than either of them, older than the current reign, describing a bridge once common between land and sea, back when the two worlds had mingled more freely than either now remembered.

He came to you the following evening, alone. No guards. No crown, which you noticed immediately, because you had never once in your life seen your father without it.

"My little pearl."

You looked up at him from where you'd been sitting, too tired to summon much surprise at the visit.

He knelt. Actually knelt, lowering himself to meet your eyes, and you realized with a small shock that you had genuinely never seen him do this before, not once, not even when you were small enough that it would have made sense.

"I was wrong," he said. "About all of it."

"Father…"

"Let me finish. Please." His voice wavered slightly, and you fell quiet, watching him gather himself. "I thought if I kept you here, beneath the sea, close enough to watch over always, nothing could ever hurt you again. I told myself that was love. I have told myself that was love for two months, while I watched you disappear right in front of me, and I did not let myself understand what I was actually doing until I found this."

He held out his palm. The little bronze pin sat there, dull and worn.

You made a small broken sound and reached for it, closing your fingers around it the way you had every night since you'd smuggled it home.

"I did not realize," your father said quietly, "that I had become the very thing hurting you."

Tears slipped free before you could stop them.

"I should like to meet this prince," he continued, and something almost like humor moved beneath the exhaustion in his voice, fragile but real. "If a human boy has managed to steal the heart of my impossible daughter so thoroughly that she would rather waste away than live without the hope of him, then I suppose I owe it to both of you to at least know the man."

"You mean it?"

"I mean it." He reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from your face, the way he used to when you were small and frightened of nothing more serious than a passing shark. "Perhaps it is time the sea stopped hiding from the land. We have kept ourselves apart long enough, out of fear more than wisdom, and look what it has nearly cost us."

You threw your arms around his neck, sobbing now in earnest, and he held you the way he had when you were small enough to fit entirely against his chest, murmuring something soft against your hair that wasn't quite words at all, just comfort, just relief.

"You will always have the sea," he said eventually, pulling back enough to look at you properly. "Whatever happens with this prince of yours. That will never change."

"It is still my home," you managed, voice raw but steadier than it had been in weeks. "It will always be my home."

"I know." He smiled, sad and warm at once. "But home is not only a place, little pearl. Sometimes it is a person waiting for you. I think it is past time I let you go and find out for certain."

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Two months had passed since Jace last watched you disappear beneath the waves, and the world above the water had reshaped itself entirely in that time.

Rhaenyra sat the Iron Throne now, the war ended not in the bloodletting everyone feared but in an uneasy peace bought at real cost. Otto Hightower and Aemond had paid for their treasons, along with Hugh Hammer, who'd gambled everything on a stolen dragon and lost it. Aegon lived, stripped of title, his family spared, a mercy that had cost Rhaenyra more than most people would ever know.

Vermithor, sensing something worthy in the grieving prince who'd lost his own dragon, had let Jace claim him.

Jace still mourned Vermax daily, in the quiet hours no one else saw. But he'd learned grief and moving forward weren't opposites, only companions that had to learn to walk the same road. Most evenings, once his duties to the crown were done, he flew out over the darkening water to the beaches of Dragonstone and waited, patient as tide, for some sign you'd return.

His patience was rewarded on an evening like any other, the sky gone violet and gold, when a head broke the surface past the rocks.

He lost his breath entirely.

He'd imagined this so many times over two months that he half suspected his own mind of conjuring it again. But you swam closer, smiling, unmistakably real, and he found himself running into the water without any memory of deciding to move, soaked to the waist by the time he reached you, and you threw your arms around his neck and kissed him before either of you managed a word.

Not that you could have managed one. Your voice had not come back to you, not fully, not since the night grief had stolen it, and even now, mermaid again and streaming water, you had nothing to offer him but the press of your forehead to his and the tears sliding down to mix with the salt already there.

He laughed anyway, disbelieving, hands framing your face like he needed to confirm with touch what his eyes were already telling him.

"You came back."

You nodded, fierce, and pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then turned slightly, one hand still fisted in his shirt, gesturing back toward open water.

Jace looked past your shoulder as several more heads broke the surface. Your father emerged first, followed by your eldest sister and two others, water streaming from pale hair as they waded toward the shallows.

Jace's arms tightened around you, some old instinct rising in him before he could think better of it. You felt it and pressed a hand flat against his chest, shaking your head, trying to tell him without words that it was alright, that this was meant to happen, that you had begged your father for this yourself.

Your father stopped a few feet away, close enough now that you could see the water still running off his shoulders, the trident held loose in one hand, its head catching the last of the light. He looked at Jace for a long moment without speaking, the kind of look that took its time, that missed nothing. Jace, to his credit, did not look away, though his hand found yours and held it.

"So," your father said at last. "This is the prince." Your father communicated through telepathy, an ability granted to him through the trident he possessed.

You wanted badly to say something, to introduce them properly the way you'd imagined doing a hundred times, and the wanting with no way to answer it sat sharp in your throat. You settled for looking between them, hand tight in Jace's, willing your face to say what your voice couldn't.

Jace understood well enough. "Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Your Grace." He inclined his head, water still dripping from his sleeves.

Your father's eyes moved over him slowly, taking in the soaked clothes, the salt drying pale at his collar, the way he'd run into the sea without a moment's hesitation the instant you surfaced.

"You went into the water for her."

"I would have gone further, if she'd needed me to."

"Would you." It wasn't quite a question. Your father stepped closer, and you felt Jace's hand tighten slightly around yours, though he held his ground. "My mother tells me you searched for a way to hear her voice, once. That you spent your own coin, your own time, chasing old magic on the strength of nothing but a girl who couldn't promise you anything."

Jace glanced at you, surprised you'd told anyone that story at all, and something in his face softened before he answered.

"She saved my life and asked for no reward like most people would have. She told me she didn't know if she'd ever come back. I decided that was enough to wait for anyway."

"Two months." Said your father.

"Two months." Jace agreed.

Your father studied him a moment longer, and something in his expression eased, though not entirely. His gaze moved to you, and gentled further.

"She stopped singing, while she was away from you. Did you know that?"

Jace's gaze cut to you, alarmed. You looked down, unable to answer, unable even to explain, and his hand found yours again, gripping tighter.

"No," Jace said quietly. "I didn't."

"Her voice simply left her. Grief does that, to our kind, when it goes on too long unanswered." Your father's jaw tightened. "I nearly lost her to it. I want you to understand that plainly, before anything else is said here. Whatever this is between you, it very nearly cost me my daughter's life."

You tugged at Jace's sleeve, shaking your head, trying to soften it, but your father held up a hand, gentle, silencing the protest you couldn't voice anyway.

"I am not saying this to frighten you, or to shame her." His eyes stayed on Jace. "I am saying it because I need to know you understand the weight of what you're asking to hold. She is not a small thing to love carelessly. None of my daughters are. But she especially. She has never once in her life done anything by half measures, and I do not expect that to change simply because the person she's chosen happens to breathe air instead of water."

Jace was quiet a moment, and when he spoke his voice had steadied into something quite serious. "I don't intend to love her carelessly, Your Grace. I flew to that beach every evening for two months not knowing if it would ever mean anything. I'd have kept coming if it took two years."

"Fine words."

"They're not just words."

Something almost like the beginning of a smile moved at the corner of your father's mouth, though he suppressed it. He turned the trident slightly in his grip, and you recognized the old restless habit, the way he turned it when he was deciding something.

“This trident is older than the Fourteen Flames,” he said, changing course, though you suspected he’d already decided what he meant to say next long before he’d surfaced. “It has been carried by every ruler of the Coral Court since before Valyria first learned to bind dragons to its will. It holds old magic. Older than most remember exists at all. It is also, prince, the only reason I can stand here at all and speak words you can understand. My daughter cannot. Not above the water. Not since the grief took her voice.”

You nodded, small, and managed something that might have been the beginning of a rueful smile.

“You have it. Whatever you ask.”

“Swear that her happiness comes before your throne, before your dragons, before your own pride. Swear that if the day comes when she needs the sea and you keep her from it, I will have cause to come for you myself.”

“I swear it.”

“Swear that you will let her go, freely, whenever she wishes to return to us. That you will never make her choose between her family and yours.”

“I swear that too.” Jace’s voice didn’t waver. “She belongs to both worlds now. I have no interest in asking her to pick one.”

Your father held his gaze a moment longer, searching, the way he’d searched your face the night you returned home half drowned in grief. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed, finally, to find it.

“Good,” he said simply. “Then we understand each other.”

He turned to you, and the sternness went out of him all at once, replaced by something much softer.

“Are you certain, little pearl?”

You nodded, hard, both hands closing around his free one.

“Then step back from the water.”

You hesitated a moment, glancing at Jace, and he squeezed your hand once, a small silent reassurance, and you stepped out of the shallows onto dry sand.

Your father raised the trident, its head catching the dying light, and spoke words that belonged to no language you recognized, old and layered, syllables that seemed to hang in the air a moment longer than they should have. For a breath, nothing happened at all, and your heart climbed into your throat.

“Take another step,” your father said, watching you with quiet certainty. “It doesn’t finish until you’ve left the water fully.”

You did.

The change came like a held breath finally released, warmth spreading from your hips downward, and you looked down to see your tail unraveling into legs, solid and entirely your own. Your knees, still faintly unfamiliar even after everything, threatened to buckle, and Jace caught you at once, steadying you exactly the way he had that very first night.

You opened your mouth, and this time, for the first time in two months, sound actually came.

“Jace.”

Just his name. Small, rough, cracked at the edges from disuse. But it was your voice, entirely your own, and the sound of it seemed to undo him completely. He made a small broken noise against your hair, and held you tighter.

“Say it again.”

“Jace.” You laughed, half a sob, pressing your face into his shoulder. “Jace, Jace, Jace.”

“I could listen to that for the rest of my life.”

Your father watched the two of you with an expression that had gone entirely unguarded, pride and grief and relief tangled together, and when you finally lifted your head to look at him, eyes wet, he simply smiled.

“There she is,” he said quietly. “I’d nearly forgotten what your voice sounded like.” He sat on the land now.

“Father.” Just his title, and then you were crossing to him, arms around his neck, and he held you the way he had the night you’d come home, except this time there was no fear in it at all.

“Take care of her,” he said, over your shoulder, to Jace, though his eyes had gone soft. “She is the best of us, whether she believes it or not.”

“I know it,” Jace said. “I’ve known it since the first night she risked her life to save mine.”

Your father huffed something that was almost a laugh, and pulled back to look at you one last time.

“Come home when you wish it. The sea will always know how to find you.”

“I know, Father.” Your voice still rasped faintly, but it was steadying with every word, growing surer. “Thank you. For finding this. For coming.”

“And bring him with you, someday. I find I’d like to know him better. Perhaps I can find something that would help him breathe underwater.”

He stepped back into the shallows, your sister already turning to follow, waving you goodbye, the water closing gently around them as they slipped beneath the surface and were gone, leaving only the widening ripples where they’d been, and the sound of the tide, and Jace’s arms still steady around you on the sand, and your own voice, finally, fully your own again, murmuring his name once more just to hear it answer back.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

He'd come prepared this time. A simple dress, folded and waiting on the sand where he'd left it hours earlier in stubborn hope, and he helped you into it with carefully averted eyes while you filled the silence with questions about everything that had happened while you were gone.

"There's more," he said, once you were dressed, once your family had said their farewells and slipped back beneath the waves. "Something I want to show you."

He called for Vermithor, and even after everything you'd already seen on land, nothing prepared you for the sight of the old bronze dragon descending in a slow spiral and landing with a weight you felt travel up through your own new legs before he'd even fully settled.

You went very still, and without thinking, took a step toward him the way you had with Moondancer.

Jace's hand caught your arm.

"Wait."

You stopped. Vermithor's head turned toward you both, and unlike Moondancer's careful wariness, there was something sharper in his attention, a low warning already building in his chest. He'd bonded to Jace only weeks ago, in the middle of a war, out of grief and necessity rather than years of earned trust. He did not know you.

"He's still learning me," Jace said quietly, not taking his eyes off the dragon. "He isn't like Vermax was. Vermithor decides slowly, and he decides once."

"Then perhaps I shouldn't-"

"You should. Just let me go first."

He stepped forward alone, one hand raised, and said a single low word. "Lykiri."

Vermithor's rumble softened, though his eyes stayed on you over Jace's shoulder, unconvinced.

"Come here," Jace said, holding his other hand back without turning. "Slowly. Give me your hand."

You laced your fingers through his and let him draw you forward one step at a time, until you stood close enough to feel the heat off bronze scale even through the cooling air. Vermithor's head lowered, close enough now that your own reflection sat small in each huge eye, the growl in his chest settled into something watchful rather than open threat.

"Easy," Jace murmured, to the dragon and to you both. He guided your hand slowly, his fingers around yours the whole way, until your palm hovered just above scale. "He won't hurt you. I wouldn't let him near you if I thought otherwise. But let him do this on his terms."

Your hand touched down.

Vermithor let out a short rough grunt, his flank shifting under your palm, and for one held breath you were certain he'd pull away or worse. He didn't. He simply stayed, tolerating you, wary but not growling, the way an old careful animal accepts something it hasn't decided to like but has decided, for now, not to fear.

"There," Jace said, relief plain in his voice. "That's more than I expected. He didn't do that for my mother the first time."

"I don't think he's decided about me yet."

"No. But he didn't decide against you either. With him these days, that's worth quite a lot."

He helped you climb up first, settling you in front, then swung up behind you, his arms coming around you on both sides to reach the reins, so you sat with the whole open sky ahead and his chest solid at your back.

"Hold the strap there," he said, close to your ear. "And me, if you'd rather. I'm not going anywhere."

You gripped the leather with one hand and reached back to hold his arm with the other, and Vermithor's wings unfurled with a dry rushing sound, still grumbling faintly at the whole arrangement, but rising all the same.

The first beat of those wings sent a lurch through your stomach unlike anything the sea had ever given you, not even your fastest dives chasing whales through open water. The sand fell away fast. You gasped, fingers tightening on his arm, and he reached back to rest his hand briefly over yours.

"I have you. You won't fall."

You believed him completely.

Dragonstone spread out beneath you, towers and walls rendered small and careful, like something carved rather than built. You had walked those halls. You had fallen against those windows. You had learned to stand upright in those corridors, and now you were looking down at all of it from a height that made your chest ache with something too big for one word.

But it was the sea that undid you.

You had known the ocean your whole life from inside it, surrounded by it in every direction. You had never once seen its shape. From above, in the fading light, it stretched out silver and endless, catching the last of the sunset in broken streaks of gold, the swells rolling in patterns you'd never been able to see from beneath the surface. You could see all of it at once, the way it curved toward the horizon, the way moonlight was already gathering thin along its edges.

"It's so big," you said, voice cracking slightly, not from fear this time. "I lived inside it my whole life and I never knew it looked like this from above!"

Jace turned his head just enough to catch your face. Whatever he saw there softened something in his own.

"Is it what you imagined?"

"I never imagined it at all. I didn't know there was a shape to imagine."

Vermithor banked in a long unhurried turn, and you laughed, a bright startled sound half torn away by the wind, gripping tighter out of instinct rather than fear. Below, the water rippled where his shadow passed, as if the sea recognized something familiar overhead.

"There," Jace said, pointing down and to the left. "That's where you pulled me out from deaths door. The gullet."

"I am glad I did! The pretty prince! "

You swatted his arm, laughing, and he laughed with you, the sound scattered by the wind before it could land anywhere.

You flew a long while after that, following the coastline as the last color drained from the sky and stars came up one by one. You watched fishing boats far below, small lanterns swaying at their bows. You watched a pod of dolphins break the surface in a slow arc, and felt an old instinct pull at you even from this height, before it passed and left only wonder behind it.

"I used to watch birds," you said, cheek against his shoulder. "From below. I always wondered what the sea looked like to them."

"And now you know."

"Now I know." You tightened your arms around him, feeling his breathing steady beneath your hands, his warmth a fixed point against the huge cold openness of the sky. "I think I understand something now."

"What's that?"

"Why you waited on that beach every evening. Even when I couldn't tell you if I'd come back." You turned your face into the wind. "It's a little like flying, isn't it. Loving someone. You have to trust there's something holding you up even when you can't see it."

Jace was quiet a moment.

"I always saw you," he said. "Even when I didn't know if you'd come back. That was enough to keep watching the water for."

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder through the fabric of his coat, and he reached back once more to rest his hand over both of yours at the strap.

Vermithor began to drop lower, the lights of the Red Keep growing warmer ahead, torches lining the walls. The wind gentled as the open sky narrowed back down toward something more solid, more like a world you now, somehow, belonged to as much as the sea.

"Are you ready?" Jace asked, as the courtyard rose to meet you.

You thought of everything the sea had given you. Your family. The whales. The long patient songs that had shaped your whole life before this one. And you thought of boots, and windows, and bread, and a bronze pin worn smooth by your own thumb, and a boy who had waited on a beach for two months without once doubting you'd return.

"Yes," you said, and meant it entirely.

Vermithor's feet hit stone with a shudder that traveled up through your whole body, and Jace helped you down, hands steady at your waist, and for a moment you simply stood there together, catching your breath.

Above you, the last color faded from the horizon, and the sea, distant now but never out of reach, went on turning beneath the stars, patient and waiting, the way it always would.

At last, you had returned with the prince.

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Yet for centuries the merfolk had kept to themselves, hidden from human eyes by choice rather than necessity, for the sea was their domain, vast and forgiving, older than any castle built of stone, and they had little wish to share it with a race that seemed forever at war with itself and everything around it.

In time, that same secrecy had turned them into little more than legend, tales spun by sailors over cups of watered wine on nights when the wind howled and the deck rolled beneath them. Sirens were known to lure ships onto rocks with voices sweet enough to make a man forget his own name, and feast on whatever remained once the rocks had finished their work.

Mermaids were a gentler breed by comparison, prone to guiding lost sailors safely home as often as they were blamed for storms and ill weather they had no hand in at all. Two natures entirely, wearing similar faces, and precious few humans who lived long enough to learn the difference between them.

They were beautiful creatures beneath the waves, long tails the colour of pearl and coral fading seamlessly into human torsos, faces too fine and too still to belong to any mortal woman, gill feathers tracing delicate lines along their throats that fluttered faintly with every breath of water drawn through them. Webbing caught the light between their fingers and along the curves of their ears, and their eyes, when a sailor was unlucky or lucky enough to catch one open beneath the surface, ethereal was the word men reached for, when they had any words left at all.

It had been pure chance that placed you so close to the Gullet on the day the battle came, chance and your own incurable curiosity, which your sisters had scolded you for since you were small enough to hide behind their tails.

You had always had a weakness for collecting things. Rings slipped from dead men's fingers, buckles and buttons and the little bronze bells that sailors sometimes wore for luck that had done them no good at all in the end, coins gone green and soft with centuries beneath the salt.

You kept them in the hollow belly of an old sunken hull you had claimed as your own years ago, arranging and rearranging them the way a child arranges shells on a beach, and you were forbidden, absolutely forbidden, from ever breaking the surface to retrieve anything that had not already sunk deep enough to be safely yours. The deep waters near the wreck sites were permitted. The world above the waterline was not.

You had seen fleets pass overhead before, dark hulls cutting shadows across the sunlit shallows, and it had never troubled you much. Ships came and went. Men fought their wars on the surface and left their dead to sink down to you eventually, and you had learned not to think too hard about where the trinkets came from.

What startled you that day, what sent ice through your veins even in water still warm from the summer sun, was the sound. A battle breaking out with no warning at all, not the slow grinding approach you were used to but something sudden and enormous, the water shaking with it as though the sea itself had been struck. Fire that should not have been able to burn beneath the waves somehow did, hissing and spitting where it touched the surface, and ash sifted down through the water like grey snow, and wood came apart in great splintering chunks, and bodies. So many bodies, falling and falling, sinking past you like stones dropped from a terrible height, men who had been laughing and cursing and praying only moments before.

You very nearly got swept into the worst of it yourself. Your pale pink tail caught for one heart-stopping instant on a length of trailing rigging, and you fought and thrashed to free yourself, kicking hard for clearer, deeper water, away from the chaos above. It was then that something struck the surface with such force that the shockwave of it rolled straight through your chest, and you turned back despite every instinct screaming at you to keep swimming, and saw a dragon.

Only the one. You did not know his name yet, though you would come to learn it soon enough. Vermax, green as new leaves, thrashing against water he had never been built to fight, wings beating in great useless sweeps, trying and failing again and again to claw his way back up into a sky that no longer wanted him.

And strapped to his back, tangled in leather that should have kept him safe and now threatened only to drown him with the beast, was a boy.

A very pretty boy, you thought, even through the horror of it, because you had always had a weakness for pretty things as well as shiny ones, and some habits did not care what was happening around them.

He fought his harness with a growing, panicked desperation, one leg caught fast beneath a buckle that would not give no matter how he wrenched at it, and you watched the fight slowly bleed out of him as the water rose past his chin and then his mouth. You watched him press his palm flat against his dragon’s scaled hide, whether in farewell or in simple desperate comfort you could not say, and something inside your chest twisted so hard and so suddenly that it hurt, a feeling you had no name for and no time to think about, and you were moving before your brain had caught up to it.

The buckles gave easily enough beneath your fingers, quick clever things built for human hands rather than merfolk ones but simple enough once you understood the shape of them, all but the one pinning his leg fast, which would not release no matter how you pulled. It was your sister's whalebone dagger, tucked always at your hip, that finally cut him free, the leather parting in one long stroke. By then the boy had gone entirely still, his eyes half open and unseeing.

You spared one moment, only one, though it cost you dearly to spare it, to press your palm flat against Vermax’s scales in something like an apology, for jot being able to save him. The great beast simply closed his eyes, as if content that his rider had found safer hands than his own to carry him the rest of the way, and sank without a struggle into the dark below, leaving no trace but a slow drift of green scales catching what little light remained.

Surfacing was a huge mistake. You broke into open air in the very heart of the wreckage, ships burning on every side, smoke thick enough to sting your eyes, and had barely a breath to get your bearings before an arrow split the water beside you, close enough that you felt the wind of its passing against your cheek and almost hitting the boy in the neck.

You looked up into a row of crossbows all trained your way, men shouting words you did not understand but whose meaning was plain enough in the set of their shoulders, and understood with sudden, terrible clarity exactly how little difference they would see between a dragon’s rider and whatever monster had come to finish the work the sea had started.

You went back under. Humans could not breathe water, but neither, you thought grimly, dragging the boy's dead weight down with you, could you survive a volley of bolts meant to end lives.

You swam hard and fast and low, keeping to what cover the drifting wreckage offered, dragging him through water gone thick and stinging with smoke and ash, until the sounds of battle fell away behind you into a dull, distant roar and the nearest shore rose dark and welcoming against the horizon. You hauled him up onto the sand with strength you did not know you possessed, adrenaline lending you what your body alone could not, and only then let yourself look at him properly.

Your stomach dropped. His lips had gone the deep, bruised blue of a man already claimed by the sea, his skin pale as the underbelly of a fish, and his chest did not move at all.

The old stories. Your grandmother had told them half as warning and half as wonder, back when you were young enough to still believe every tale she spun, of how a drowned man's lungs might yet be coaxed back to life if the sea inside them was driven out in time, before the body forgot how to want air at all. You laid both palms flat over the centre of his chest, unsure of your own strength, and pressed down hard.

Once. Nothing happened. Panic clawed up your throat.

Twice. Your own breath caught, tight and painful.

Thrice, and you pressed with everything you had left in you, uncaring now whether you cracked something beneath your palms, because a bruise, even a broken rib, was nothing at all set against death.

On the fourth press he convulsed beneath your hands and turned sharply to one side, retching a lungful of seawater onto the sand, coughing so violently his whole body shook with the force of it. You sat back, tail curling instinctively beneath you, heart hammering, and watched the grey slowly bleed out of his face as air, found its way back into him at last.

He did not understand, in that first hazy moment, anything beyond the fact that he was somehow, impossibly, still alive. The world swam in and out of focus around him, blurred and ringing. The last clear memory he had was of Vermax beneath him and the water closing over them both in a great green rush, of struggling against a harness that would not give no matter how he fought it, and then a blurred pale shape cutting toward him through the murk like something out of a half remembered dream, and then nothing at all.

He sat up too quickly. Pain lanced through his skull bright enough to make him gasp, and he only dimly registered that he had knocked someone backward in the process, hearing a small startled sound beside him.

"I am sorry- I did not mean to- are you..." The words died somewhere in his throat.

A hand still rested lightly against his shoulder, small and cool and strange. He gaze followed it down past a bare collarbone, down a torso, and then no legs at all, only a long tail the colour of pale coral, still trembling faintly where it lay half in the surf, catching what little light the dying sun still offered.

His eyes came back up to meet yours. Yours were already wide with fright, caught somewhere between diving straight back into the water and staying just long enough to see what he would do with the knowledge now sitting plainly on his face.

"You," he breathed, and could not seem to manage a single word more than that.

You did not wait to find out what he would say next. You began dragging yourself backward toward the water on your palms, tail scraping over wet sand, and that seemed to break whatever had held him frozen in place, because he scrambled after you across the shore despite the state of his own battered, aching body.

"Wait, please, don't go, who are you? What is your name? Why did you save me? Why?" The questions tumbled out of him faster than you could possibly have answered even if your voice had worked properly, one tripping over the next, desperation making him clumsy with his words. When you opened your mouth to try anyway, nothing came at all, no sound, not even a whisper. You touched two fingers to your throat and shook your head slowly.

"You cannot speak?"

You nodded, something apologetic in the tilt of your head.

There was no simple way to explain it to him, not with gestures alone, that merfolk voices were shaped and tuned for the weight and pressure of deep water and simply could not survive in air thin and empty as this, so you only looked at him, sorry, and slid a little further back toward the tideline, the cool water lapping welcome against your tail.

"Wait!" He was on his feet now, unsteady, swaying slightly as he turned to take in the shore around him properly for the first time. "This is Driftmark- I think- and that," he pointed to a dark shape rising jagged from the water in the distance, smoke still curling faintly from somewhere within the battle behind them, "that's Dragonstone. That is where I live. I must find some way to thank you properly, I do not even know how yet, but I will. I swear it."

You gave him one last long look, drinking in the sight of him properly now that the worst of the danger had passed, pale and shaking and utterly unlike anyone you had ever pulled from the wreckage before, and nodded once before the water closed silently over your head.

What he did not know, could not have known, was that you had not truly gone. You lingered just beneath the surface, hidden in the shallows where the light still reached, watching as the full weight of what he had lost caught up to him at last.

You watched his shoulders begin to shake, watched him sink slowly to his knees on the wet sand as the grief he had been too shocked to feel finally broke over him, grieving the bond severed so suddenly with his dragon, a bond you understood was not so different from the ones your own kind shared with the great whales that sometimes let mermaids ride upon their backs through the deep currents. You felt sad and helpless and entirely too far away to do anything about either, your own chest aching in sympathy for a boy you did not even know the name of yet.

Trinkets, you thought at last, retreating slowly deeper into the water where the cold and the dark could swallow the strange, unfamiliar feeling sitting heavy in your chest. I will bring him pretty things. Pretty things always help. Everyone knows that.

By the time Jace made it back to Dragonstone, disguised as best his battered state allowed, the sun had long since set and the castle had already begun to mourn a prince presumed lost at sea.

Rhaenyra, who had spent the whole of that day and the one before convincing herself, against every hope, that he was truly gone, very nearly lost her composure entirely at the sight of him standing whole in the doorway of her solar, swaying but breathing, and threatened violence on anyone who dared suggest it a cruel trick before she was even certain of it herself.

Then he was close enough to touch, close enough that she could feel the warmth still clinging to him despite the cold seawater soaked through every layer of his clothes, and she crossed the room in three swift strides and pulled him into an embrace so fierce it near cracked his ribs, one hand cradling the back of his neck the way she had when he was small enough to carry on her hip.

She pulled back only far enough to strike him hard across the face, the sound of it sharp in the quiet room, then dragged him straight back into her arms before he had time to recover from either the blow or the embrace that followed it.

"Never," she whispered fiercely against his hair, "never again. Do you understand me?"

Jace made no complaint about any of it. He only held on, breathing in the familiar smell of her, flowery and something that had always simply meant home no matter where in the world he found himself, and let himself be scolded and forgiven in the very same breath, over and over, until the shaking in his hands finally began to still.

There would be time to explain everything later, the mermaid and the potion he did not yet know he would go looking for and the strange ache already settling in his chest at the thought of never seeing her again. Tonight he only wanted this, his mother’s arms and the solid stone floor beneath his feet and the simple, overwhelming relief of being alive.

It was two full days before he saw you again, two days that felt considerably longer to both of you than their number suggested.

He had taken to walking the shore each evening as the sun went down, though he offered no one an explanation for it beyond a vague murmur about wanting air, and Rhaenyra, watching her son closely for any sign of the grief she knew still sat unresolved in him, chose not to press the matter, not yet.

On the second such evening, with the light turning gold and heavy across the water at the very edge of dusk, a small shape broke the surface some distance out from where he stood. Only your eyes showed at first, wary, scanning the beach with the caution of a creature that had learned, however briefly, exactly what danger humans could pose. Once you were certain he was truly alone, no soldiers, no crossbows waiting in the shadows, you swam closer, arms full of things gathered carefully from the seafloor over the two long days you had spent working up the courage to return.

He laughed before he could help himself, disbelieving, because you had brought him what looked like a small fortune of drowned treasure: coins gone green with centuries of salt, sea glass worn to the smoothness of river stones in every colour from deep emerald to pale, milky blue, pearls still crusted faintly with the ghosts of the shells that had once held them, all of it cradled carefully against your chest as though it were the finest gift any king had ever received.

"For me?" He pressed a hand to his own chest, incredulous, and you beamed and nodded so hard your whole body shook with the force of it, tail flicking once against the shallows in what he would later come to recognise as excitement.

"I have nothing half so precious to give you in return," he said, quieter now, kneeling properly in the wet sand so that he was closer to your level, and you shook your head firmly, as if to tell him that was hardly the point of any of it, that gifts given freely required nothing given back.

He knelt at the waterline for a long while that evening and talked, filling the silence you could not, telling you his name, his House, that he was a prince of Dragonstone and heir to something called an Iron Throne that sounded, from the little he explained, far heavier a burden than any crown ought to be. Your eyes lit at the word prince, delighted, and you pointed to your own chest in turn, tapping it twice for emphasis.

"A princess, then?" he guessed, and you nodded, pleased as anything with yourself, and something in his chest that had been wound painfully tight since the moment the water closed over his head two days before finally began, slowly, to loosen.

You tried, that first proper evening, to tell him other things too, though the telling was slow and clumsy without words. You drew shapes in the wet sand with one finger, a rough sketch of a tail, of waves, of something that might have been a whale or might simply have been a very poor circle, and Jace watched with a fascination that made you strangely warm beneath your scales, guessing at your meaning and laughing softly whenever he guessed wrong, which was often.

When the moon rose high enough that you knew you had to leave, you leaned in and pressed a quick, shy kiss to his cheek, as if to tell him not to be sad any longer, that you would return, that whatever grief still lived behind his eyes need not be carried entirely alone. That Vermax lay peacefully beneath the sea. And if he had been pretty enough to catch a second glance from you even amid the chaos of a burning battlefield, well.

You had always liked pretty things, and you saw no shame in admitting it, even silently, even only to yourself.

In the days that followed, Jace found himself buried in the library far more often than seated at council, a fact that did not escape his mother's notice for long. The war, if it could even still be properly called that, had cooled in the aftermath of the battle into something closer to a wary, watchful peace, both sides circling cautiously around the idea of parley rather than open slaughter, and so Rhaenyra could afford, for the first time in longer than she cared to admit, to spend her worry on her son rather than entirely on her crown.

It was on the seventh day since his return that she finally cornered him about it, finding him hunched over a table stacked high with scrolls he had clearly been picking through for hours, Daemon lounging nearby against a bookshelf with a look of a man who had already scented an amusing story and had no intention whatsoever of leaving before he heard the whole of it.

"The one who saved me from the water," Jace admitted at last, ears burning red under his mother's steady gaze, "was a mermaid. I have been meeting her at dusk every evening since. She brings me gifts."

Silence, and then Daemon's low, delighted laugh rang out across the quiet library. "A fish," he said, "has stolen my son’s heart. Rhaenyra, did you hear that? A fish."

"She is not a fish," Jace snapped, mortified, colour flooding all the way up to the tips of his ears, and would say nothing further no matter how Daemon pressed him for details, though his ears stayed scarlet the rest of the evening and he refused, quite pointedly, to look either of them in the eye.

It was only once they were alone, Daemon finally chased off by some matter of ships needing his attention, that Rhaenyra asked, more gently now, what exactly he hoped to find buried in all those old scrolls.

He confessed it slowly, haltingly, that he was searching for some means of letting you speak properly above the water, because you listened to him so patiently each evening, tilting your head at his every word as though nothing he said could ever bore you, and he found, to his own quiet surprise, that he wanted very badly to hear your voice in return, to know what you sounded like when you laughed instead of simply seeing it in the curve of your mouth.

Something in her face softened at that, the last of the earlier sternness melting away entirely. She crossed the room and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, something she would often do when he was but a babe and even now.

"I nearly lost you once already," she said quietly. "I do not think I would survive losing you a second time, not truly. If this girl from the sea brings you peace after everything, then that peace is worth more to me than I can properly measure. I will help you find your answer, if I am able. You have only to ask."

He thanked her, throat tight, and went to bed that night lighter than he had felt in a very long time.

By the tenth day, though, his search had turned up nothing but dust and disappointment, page after page of tidal charts and shipping records that told him everything about the sea and nothing at all about the creatures who lived beneath it, and he was scowling so fiercely at a particularly useless scroll that he did not hear Baela approach until she dropped a stack of books onto the table hard enough to make him jump nearly out of his seat.

"What have I told you about pouting, cousin? It hardly befits a prince, especially not one so recently returned from the dead."

"I am not pouting," he said, pouting.

She laughed, unbothered, and pushed the books toward him anyway, settling into the chair across from him with the satisfied air of someone bearing very good news. "Found these buried in the old archive, behind a shelf half the household seems to have forgotten existed. Scrolls on sea creatures, potions, that sort of thing, all written in the old tongue. Some of it looks to go back to Old Valyria itself, if the binding is anything to judge by. Thought they might serve you better than moping about the library like a wet cat."

His whole face changed, disappointment giving way so suddenly to hope that Baela laughed again just watching it happen. He thanked her so earnestly, gripping her hands in both of his, that she looked half embarrassed by the whole display and waved him off with a mock scowl of her own, and then he buried himself in the texts for the rest of the day and well into the night, barely stopping to eat, ink staining his fingers as he copied out passage after passage by candlelight.

The gods, it seemed, had finally decided to smile down upon him after everything, because tucked among the brittle, crumbling pages he found precisely what he had been searching for all along: an old Valyrian draught, described in cramped, faded script, said to grant a creature of the sea, mermaid or siren alike, a brief and temporary span of human legs, the magic bound to fade again once enough days had passed.

Gathering the ingredients took the better part of two more days, some of them common enough to find in any well stocked kitchen and others requiring correspondence sent quietly to a maester on the mainland who asked no questions he clearly did not wish answered, and finding an alchemist both skilled and discreet enough to brew the whole of it properly took longer still. But by the fourteenth day since the battle, Jace stood at the shoreline at dusk with a small vial clutched tight in one hand, its contents glowing faintly violet in the fading light, and his heart hammering somewhere up near his throat.

You surfaced as you always did by then, cautious first, scanning the shore out of old habit, then delighted once you saw him standing alone, swimming in swiftly with your usual haul of shells and drowned bottles clutched against your chest. He knelt at the waterline and, for once, did not simply talk about his day or ask after yours in the halting, gestured way you had both grown so used to.

He explained the potion instead, slowly, carefully, holding the vial up so you could see the strange violet light swirling within it, watching your face closely all the while for any sign that this was too much, too strange, too great a thing to ask of you.

You went very quiet. Your brow furrowed the way it always did when you turned something over carefully in your mind, weighing it from every side, and Jace, who had come to know that expression well over a fortnight of evenings spent together, made himself sit still and wait, though every part of him wanted to fill the silence with reassurance.

"It is only if you wish it," he said softly, when the silence had stretched long enough that he could not help himself any longer. "I would never have you feel forced into anything on my account, not after everything you have already given me. If you would rather not, I will understand completely, and I will still come to see you each evening, just as I have."

You studied the vial a long moment more, turning the choice over one final time, thinking of your sisters and the warnings you had grown up hearing about the dangers of the world above, of legs that were not truly yours and a voice that might vanish again the moment the magic faded.

Then you looked at him, at the earnest hope he could not quite hide no matter how he tried, and something in your face settled at last, resolve chasing out the last of the hesitation, and you nodded.

He could have wept from the sheer relief of it. He handed you the vial with hands that were not entirely steady, and you drank it down in a single determined swallow, immediately screwing your face up at the taste, which was somehow both bitter and sickly sweet beneath it, like rot dressed up in honey, and Jace laughed at the disgusted noise you made.

The change came almost at once, faster than either of you had quite expected. Your tail began to glow faintly from within, the violet light spreading through the coral pink scales, and then, slowly, the scales themselves began to dissolve and reshape, splitting and lengthening before your very eyes.

You watched it happen to your own body with something closer to wonder than fear, propping yourself up on your elbows in the shallow water to see it better. It did not hurt, not truly, only felt strange, an unfamiliar pulling and settling sensation that ran the length of what had been your tail only moments before, and then, quite suddenly, you had legs. Two of them, unfamiliar and entirely new to you, kicking weakly in the shallows as you tried, with no success at all, to make them do anything useful.

It was Jace who first remembered, with a start that nearly gave him whiplash, that you now had absolutely nothing on at all beneath the water. He spun to face the other direction so fast he nearly lost his footing on the wet sand, hurriedly unclasping his own travelling cloak and passing it back over his shoulder to you without turning around, ears burning scarlet all over again.

"Here, please, wrap this around yourself, I am so sorry, I did not think- I should have thought of it before you drank the wretched thing."

You took the cloak, bewildered by the whole strange business of clothing, and wrapped it clumsily about yourself as best you could manage with limbs that still refused to cooperate properly.

"Why," you whispered, voice thin and strange and entirely your own, and both of you went utterly, completely still.

"You spoke," Jace said, turning back around despite himself, eyes wide with wonder, all thought of modesty forgotten entirely.

"I did," you said, marvelling at the strange, thin sound of your own voice carrying through open air, so unlike the way words moved and pressed through water, lighter somehow, and stranger, but yours all the same.

He knelt properly before you then in the wet sand, something almost formal in the gesture despite how thoroughly absurd the whole moment truly was, both of them soaked and shivering and grinning like fools, and asked if he might finally know the proper name of the maiden who had pulled him back so stubbornly from death's door.

You told him. Your name, spoken aloud for the first time in your life, and that you were the seventh daughter of a house that ruled beneath the narrow sea, a true princess in every sense, just as you had claimed all along through nothing but gestures and a proud tilt of your chin.

"I know this may only last a short while," Jace said, still kneeling, still holding your hands as though he feared letting go might undo the magic.

"And I mean to keep searching, if that is what you wish, for some way to make it last longer, or even permanent. But for now, will you come and meet my family properly? They ought to see, with their own eyes, the girl who saved their prince from the bottom of the Gullet."

You tried to stand at that, eager and entirely too confident in limbs you had possessed for all of ten minutes, and discovered immediately that legs demanded a coordination and strength the sea had never once asked of you. You stumbled, pitched forward, and landed hard on your knees in the wet sand with a startled, frustrated huff.

You tried again, gripping his shoulder for balance this time, and managed perhaps three wobbling steps before your legs betrayed you a second time, sending you tumbling sideways with a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan of pure exasperation.

Jace, biting back a laugh of his own though it clearly threatened to escape, knelt beside you and tightened the cloak properly around your shoulders, then slid one arm behind your back and the other beneath the crook of your knees, lifting you up into his arms with far more ease than his still-recovering body should reasonably have allowed.

"I will teach you to walk properly," he promised, adjusting his grip as you settled, somewhat stiffly, against his chest, your new legs kicking experimentally against nothing at all. "Though I think that particular lesson is better suited to daylight and a rather softer patch of ground than this. Just now I have limited time before the magic fades, and I intend to make the very most of it while I can."

The jaws that dropped when Jacaerys Velaryon strode into Dragonstone’s great hall carrying a girl in his arms, salt still drying in tangled waves through her hair, wrapped in nothing but his own travelling cloak and kicking her bare feet with open, delighted fascination at the strange new sensation of having feet at all, were a sight none of the household would soon forget, and several among the kitchen staff would still be whispering about weeks later.

Baela nearly dropped the tray she was carrying. Rhaena’s mouth fell open mid sentence and simply stayed that way. You met Rhaenyra and Daemon’s twin looks of open astonishment with wide, curious eyes of your own, entirely unbothered by the attention, as though growing an entirely new pair of legs within the hour were the most ordinary thing in all the world, and gave the queen a doe eyed stare that made it very difficult indeed for anyone in that hall to remain suspicious for long.

Daemon was the first to find his voice, low and disbelieving, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well- damn. He wasn’t kidding about the fish.”

Rhaenyra’s palm found the back of his head before he had even finished speaking, a sharp, swift smack that made him yelp and rub at the spot, wounded.

“Mind your tongue,” she warned, though there was little real heat in it, her gaze already softening as it moved from Daemon back to her son and the girl held so carefully in his arms.

In the end, there was little else for anyone present to do but believe it, however improbable the tale sounded when spoken aloud: that the lost prince of Dragonstone had indeed been pulled from the bottom of the sea by a little mermaid, and that she, in turn, without quite meaning for it to happen at all, had followed him all the way home.

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Endless questioning. That was all he had heard, and it was just about enough to drive him crazy, past the point of insanity if possible.

You were no fool, he knew of it. He would not have stepped foot into another marriage let alone being forced to take a bride, if she was dimwitted. And you were far from it.

Callous, stern and prickly many called him, and yet you and what followed had wandered round him like a buzzing fly. Though it was not your company he despised, he liked that more than he could admit, but it was the mockery. For a man of his age, not old and yet not young with six children in his stead, you had been incessant in wondering exactly.

How.

He was handsome, far more than people had mentioned or cared to, striking in that fierce way. Hardened by battles and fatherhood alone. And you were captivated, and curious. And luckily for you, you were the thing, the creature, the pest that consistently managed to get under his skin.

The way you walked, talked, the way you made eyes at him across the feasting table, the way you’d so perfectly slotted into the family and how everyone, including the children adored you. For that he was thankful, truly, but it didn’t stop the fact you drove him mad.

“She is a new addition to the family, and she is fitting in quite well I should say.” Baelor countered as both men walked through the punctured halls of Maegor’s Holdfast.

“She has taken over.” Maekar muttered with a roll of his yes , stalking slowly beside his brother.

“Your senses perhaps.” Baelor replied coolly, an edge of amusement following.

Maekar slowed, squinting piercing eyes at his brother as they moved to stand over the edge, overseeing the court below where you and the children had played. Egg and Rhae had tugged at your hands, making you stand to play and duck behind the plant pots with them in small strides, with Daeron watching on. Even Valarr stood at the corner with a smile, whispering no doubt pleasantries and flattery about you. Some said you would have been more suited to one of the younger Prince’s, perhaps there would be more in common, a likeness, but even though he remained shadowed, the idea made his blood boil. A possessiveness over territory he had yet to claim.

Not a chance.

“What I mean is, she does no harm. It has been a long time since they have all looked like this.” Baelor reasoned, picking at the stone underneath his palm as he eyed Maekar.

“Around you she may not.” The grumble came fast, quick to override his brother’s words. But his throat felt dry, tacky and stuck like the words could barely come out. Like what he had heard was true.

His senses, overtaken his senses. How?

What with your cunning ways, your ability to charm and please, and weasel your way in without needing to, to be so beautiful and too good for him. It needled at him. The marriage both of you had been so blessed with was not necessity, not by anyone’s means, but yet it came anyway.

Swift and secure, as all things should be, strengthening alliance or something else they had bothered to give title.

The loss changed him, hardened him in ways that most wouldn’t be able to understand, but you had tried to. Endlessly. Attempts to break down the brick wall that was your husband became futile, and so you decided to go around him. For it was jsut as new to you as it was to him, and with him years your senior, you had expected him more forthcoming.

And yet he was not.

He was reserved and callous, moving through the halls of Summerhall like a gust of wind more than a steady hand, ignoring all of your questions insisting they were nothing but “nonsensical whims.”

But you had longed for something different. Perhaps not the chivalrous fanciful lords and their ways, but his own.. the longing looks he had given you across court, the fleeting touches at your lower back and arm when duty had warranted it. But you wanted more, you wanted him, not duty. And he had been rather intent on keeping it from you.

But one thing he didn’t deny, was that his brother may well have been right. None of them had looked like it in such a long time, nor had he felt the way he had in so long. So.. undone, having to pry himself from his thoughts, especially when you caught his gaze from across the din.

Your smile bright and curved, more like a smirk, knowing and tempting. His jaw ticked harshly, tongue pressing deep into his cheek, only for a fleeting moment before you had looked away, and his fingers had all but gripped the stone under his fingers enough to chip it.

Baelor had caught it, a single glimpse to his side and back onto you and the children again. The heat that burned from the man beside him was enough to scold and he had not lingered on the thought of what had wandered through his head.

Nor did he need to, because before pulling away, Maekar’s eyes barely left you.

His thoughts were, you.

——

The chamber was cool, years of aged stone encasing you more than you’d have liked. The day had .. wonderfully, breaking your fast with your ladies and the children, tending to them in the gardens and watching over some of their lessons, and retreating back to your ladies once more. For them you were thankful, able to wander the lower halls without question or prying eyes, and the ability to talk as freely as you wished.

“If only he wasn’t so prickly.”

“Careful, he is our Prince after all.”

“It is a miracle he has fathered children of his own at all, not near as pleasant as his brother.” Quickly followed by, “Apologies my lady, we only wish to see you happy..”

You had confided in them briefly, private chatter between you of how exactly to woo the prince, or rather atleast to accept his affections that so many had claimed to have seen. Also that so many had claimed the Prince did not have a heart to give.

But they were wrong.

Not with the way he looked you, so dark and delicate, like he could snap at any moment..

You must have made him feel green again, one had giggled, as you did.

You had asked him to visit your chambers many nights, and yet he did not, instead your maid came to you, always. She bathed you often, brought tea and a fresh pitcher of water, even sat with you a while when you had wanted it. Almost as if it had been sent for you, and for that you were thankful. But there was no sign of him.

And alas, you had had enough.

They were not wrong, you had noticed it too. Such fighting for restraint and the tension that lingered was inevitable, a livin thing that made you ache.

And so you had taken their advice.

If he will not make such a move, perhaps you should.

And you liked that idea, you liked it very much. Because out of all the talk and gossip, the questioning of your husband’s want for you was dwindling, and yet you did not give in.

Your chambermaid, Niamh, had just finished setting out the tray in the small table, a glass bowl of fruits beside a candle, a hand towel and your bodily oils. She stood straight backed and patient for what her ached body would allow, resting her arms at her middle with a small, expectant smile.

“I have run you a bath, should you require assistance, my lady?”

“That will be all thank you Niamh, you are dismissed.”

She nodded curtly, and with the turn of her heel the oak creaked behind her softly. You had waited a further few moments to let the echoes of her footsteps die out before you moved, stepping into the thinness of your laced nightgown with a devilish grin.

Because it was not the bath you were ready for.

Your steps patterned the lines of the corridors you’d mapped out for some time, every corner and shortcut that was hidden beneath stone. Maekar’s own chambers was not far from your own, a whole stretch of hall and a turn away. Every outline of jagged rock shadowed with a trail of sconces and the few tapered and coloured tapestries that hung from the walls.

Your heart thrummed harshly in your chest with adrenaline, your fingertips flexing as you clutched your arms around yourself from the cold night air. And once you arrived outside of his chambers, the feeling only seemed to grow, goose pimples trailing your skin. But with a single look, defiant and what confidence you could muster up, the two men standing vigil outside had stepped aside without protest for you.

Seemingly aware of the mission you had embarked yourself on.

The chambers were darker than your own, everything lined perfectly and sparse just as you had remembered it from your night together moons ago. The last time he had truly touched you. You stepped inside carefully, snaking yourself around the door before closing it shut with a heavy click.

The hearth warmed the room, dimming it in golds and oranges across banners of red and black. Your breath stuttered as you turned, so taken with breathing the space in you hadn’t known the figure staring right at you. And a look of confusion etching the striking, miserable features.

His robe was a dark and velveted crimson, one that wrapped to his shins and broadened his shoulders. His eyes glistened in that light, twinkling more tender than they had let on, almost enticing.

“Husband.” You greeted innocently.

“Who let you in?” Maekar spoke sharply, like the words were a bad taste on his tongue.

“Your kingsguard, very thoughtful of them.” You gestured behind you at the door as you moved further into the room, closing the gap between you as much as you could dare.

“You should be asleep,” His eyes raked over you for a single moment, rather all he could allow himself before he turned to his side, back facing you as he made for the bed, “in your own chambers.”

Your nightdress was of the finest silk, cream and a lightness that hugged your curves in the most torturous way, your hair clung to your shoulders and your skin bared.

Something he should not have seen, should not have wanted as much as he did.

“I have come to see you.”

You dared a foot forwards, planting it across the cool floor and onto the myriah carpet just at the end of the bed, a small smile peeking at your features. He had rested himself onto the edge of the bed, sitting hunched as his legs trailed far and long in front of him, shoulders sagged and tense.

“Well now you have seen. Now leave.”

But you did not, you couldn’t. He was far too close, and you had not yet begun.

You didn’t answer to that, instead you had crawled toward him on the edge of the bed, a mere arms length away.

“I have missed you.”

He only looked at you as he took a heavy inhale, a simple look, displeased and thrown. Why. You blinked up to the violets that bore into yours, a face like statue and stone. How could you. After all that was placed on you both, all the gossip and venomous words that spilled behinds backs, after how much he had attempted to keep from ruining you.

“What are you saying?”

“Well you hardly spend any time here.. with me.” You kicked your legs in front, swinging just beside his, close enough to knock together where yours didn’t meet the length of his own.

“Do not pretend to be so stupid.”

“It scares you.” You inched closely, carefully, arms reaching toward him, through the robe. And he allowed you to, legs spread wide and shamelessly as you settled yourself over him, a knee perched on either side.

“What?” He blinked up through lidded eyes, pupils blown and decisive, even if he would not speak as such. He would let you have your fun, amuse yourself and find out what you had so longed to have.

“The thought scares you.” You continued, fingers running along the collar of his robe, lining the silk just across the hem where his skin was bared. Few silver hairs littered his chest where the material opened, hard planes of pale muscle rising and falling sharply.

“What thought woman? Speak.” Maekar snapped through the quiet, impatience clawing at his skin like a fire.

“Surrendering yourself.”

He almost laughed, almost, a short incredulous huff bubbling from his throat.

“It is not my duty to surrender.”

“But it is your duty to put a babe in me is it not, the marriage was consummated moons ago and you had done so little as touch me.” Your fingers worked at his shoulders, taut muscle pulling between your nails. He stayed rigid, batting your hand away with a flick.

But you moved it back, placing it right back to where you had it.

“Do not test me.”

You could feel him there. The warmth of his breath, the burning glare that did not leave your face, the heat brushing between you through thin layers of fabric. Arousal flooded your core, and you had half the mind to bite back a moan. You had not had him like this, and he was not denying you.

“I’am not testing you.” You shrugged, hands slowly circling to meet around his neck. A brave move, even if not wise. He swore he could hear the hammering of your heart, and still see the curve of the smirk he had not from forgotten hours earlier, the one that plagued his mind.

The one he wished to wipe off of your face and take you over his lap in an instant—

“Perhaps it is more than duty you require..” Your fingers continued at his collarbones, humming dreamily at the thought. “Perhaps it is want.”

Your eyes met, bearing down into one another as your breaths mingled, your faces somehow rocked closer together on instinct, where your lips neared touching.

“Though if you do not wish for more, nor to consummate this marriage.. I wouldn’t be offended. Perhaps you are scared.. and after having so many it would be more than enough for an old man to—“

That was enough. The pure breaking point he’d sure he’d lost a long time ago. All resolve had seemed to snap with a heavy punch in his gut.

You didn’t have time to contemplate another word before he had shifted you both roughly. Long, thick fingers circled around your throat, your back shoved down into layers upon layers of silken sheets and furs. The tassels of his robe had fallen in his swiftness, bearing his chest completely leaving him only in his breeches and you had completely lost your breath.

You were pinned, folded with your legs pressed into his thighs as he kneeled over you.

“Do not anger me, girl.”

You blinked up at him, gasping at the pressure against your throat. You could smell him from there, more than before. And he was intoxicating. His scent, the smell of woodsmoke and pine, and need.

“You know well that is not it.” He gritted, glaring down at you with a gaze that made the pressure in your belly pinch hot.

“Then what is it.. mayhaps that you are older—“

The fingers tightened at your throat as he leaned down, body rising over yours as more weight anchored you down.

“Seven hells no. Tell me what you want. Say it, tell me you want this as I do, before I change my fucking mind.” The hand at your waist clamped tighter, stretching the seams of your nightgown. Your skin was ablaze, ignited under his touch and the aching deep in your core.

There was much you could have said, even struck him for making you wait so long, for denying himself of you for reasons he couldn’t even begin to name, but you had forgotten all else, raw need buzzing through your skin.

“Want you to put a babe in me husband.. want you to show me how well you fuck.”

You breathed out with a whine. And he growled, deep and beastly, like a primal instinct that could not be tamed. So guttural it sounded almost dragonlike.

His grip curled around the back of your neck, shoving you up to face him with bared teeth as he pressed himself further down, nose nudging harshly into yours.

“Good girl.”

His lips crashed to yours, fierce and unyielding, the force shoving you both back onto the bed as he bent over you. Your tongues swept together before his pushed his between your lips, tasting you, savouring and claiming all at once.

“You have driven me mad, wife.” With one hand he reached between you, unlacing the confines of his breeches in one heavy tug. They fell away down to his knees, the sharp ‘v’ of muscle trailing down to his cock defined and pulsing with vein. Even through lidded and lusted eyes you could see him, all of him. He was thick as he was long, the tip reddened with an aching blush and the beading sticky stream of precum.

Maekar waited a moment, slowing as he rose, releasing his grip on your neck, tracing his fingers over the bunched hem of your nightgown. He pushed it up, inch by inch until he brought it to your chest.

“Off.” Was all he called gruffly, and the command made you dizzy, raising your arms shakily as he snaked it off of you before tossing it somewhere to the floor where neither of you had cared to look for it.

He had longed for this sight. You had lingered long in his memory since the first time, the swell of your breasts and nipples pebbling under the cool air, the dip of your waist and curve of your stomach. The flush of your face under the firelight flickering behind you, silhouetted only by his shadow above you. Gods you did drive him mad.

And he was a fool to wait so long, to make you wait.

Hands brushed down your sides, callouses scratching along your skin as you shivered under his touch, fingers splaying over your belly and parting your thighs.

“All of this teasing.. and talk with your ladies who do not know fuck all.”

His fingers dug into the flesh of them, ignoring the way you inched downward to him, the hard press of his length just above your aching cunt.

“She must be so needy for me for being desperate like some common whore...” He tutted sharply, running a finger from your navel to your heat, slipping through the wetness that gathered over your clit and entrance. Flush crept your cheeks brazenly, hips arching instinctly as he curled two inside of you.

You moaned loudly, digits filling you at once as your cunt sucked them in greedily, rocking back onto them as he flexed them. He worked you open like that, scissoring as you bucked and humped yourself back onto his hand restlessly. And again he let you, urging you on, pumping his fingers deep while his thumb circled at your clit, letting your sticky sweetness coat his hand.

The sounds were lewd, a squelch against his palm where it filled you, motioning and massaging at your g-spot over and over until you had broke a sweat across the sheets, working yourself up with a desire that needed to be sated.

He didn’t let you finish, couldn’t, not even the satisfaction of having you come undone on him was enough. He had to have you, and there was only way it was going to happen, with having you wrapped around his cock and buried deep inside of you.

“Why the fuck did you—“ Your words caught on your tongue, dying as he angled himself, heavy length rubbing through your folds with a sickening tease. He slipped himself inside, thickness filling you with a burning stretch as you took him. His mouth moved back over yours, catching your whines and enduring the way your nails clutched at his back with a groan.

He stilled only to feel all of you, sheathed so far inside you swore you could feel him in the your belly. His cock punched deep, fingers gripped in a swarm around your hips to only anchor himself further, tongue sweeping over yours in a feverish haze. You could hardly breathe, the air punched from your lungs as he thrust inside of you, pulling out gently just to shove himself back deeper, and purposefully until stars blurred your vision.

Your thighs curled at his hips, muscle tensing and straining where he fucked into you like a man possessed, grunts muffled into the curve of your jaw as you begged and whined for him, wrapping yourself tight at his middle as he huddled himself over you. The hard bone of his knees braced at the bottom of your thighs, stretching you further for him to get more of you, your body on full display and all for him.

You tried to speak, to rise over the lack of words as your mouth parted, but it failed you, he was merciless.

“Take. It.” He rasped, rising over you to tug your legs upward, resting them onto his chest and up to his shoulders. Your husband was undone, completely. Silver flattened hair had fallen into his eyes, pale skin flushing with a sheen of sweat and desire, his eyes burning as he took you in. As if to study you so deeply and commit you to memory, finally having you in his arms, unable to spout those stupid questions and irk him further.

But it did not last long, not until he had you flipped again, this time with your face pressed into the furs, a heavy palm smoothed over your back.

“You want to know how hm?” His breath hit the shell of your ear, cock sliding over your arsecheek.

Your blood ran cold, a shiver wracking your body as fingers twisted into your hair, forcing you up along with his hips. He had you bent beneath him, his hips dragging into your arse as he lined himself up once more. You were arched up into him, breasts bunched into the mattress and your cries muffled into the sheets.

The angle there hit deeper, fuller, settling that spot inside of you with every snap of his thrusts. The sound of slapping filled your ears, punctuated only by his grunting and your moans. He tugged you back onto him where you fell completely boneless, his cock spreading you open as your arms spread wide, clutching and fisting at the pillows as you moaned into the mattress.

“This is what you wanted is it, to fuck you full..” A hand cracked down onto your arscheek and you mewled, arching your back to meet the stinging pressure. He fucked into you still, sinking in and out so deeply it was certain to kiss your cervix.

“Perhaps this will shut you up.. spilling inside of this cunt.”

Your whines became babbles, a plea of “yes yes yes” falling from your lips needily, and he gave you it, everything you desired, begged for, everything you deserved. His head fell, a hand moving over the trail of your spine, cinching at your waist to bring you closer.

You couldn’t take it.

The pair of your fell apart together, every slap of skin and pant sending you over the edge. His teeth bit into your shoulder from behind, tongue smoothing over the marks that punctured your skin.

“Please..” You whined, your walls spasming wildly around him as your climax crashed over you.

“Let go for me, my girl..” He groaned through gritted teeth, grabbing a harsh fistful of your arse as you clenched around him, your swollen cunt milking him dry as he chased his own high. He gave few more thrusts before spilling inside of you, fucking it back into you as you shook round him, legs limp beneath him.

He did not let go of you right away, pulling from you carefully, your wetness and his spend leaking from you as he rested your hips back onto the bed. A pillow was placed under your middle as he lifted you without fuss, tilting you ever so slightly downward. So it will keep. Your heart eased its hammering as your body began to rest, heavy warm arms tugging you upward and onto his chest.

The sheets were pulled over you carefully in silence, only his ragged breaths and the crackling of the hearth filling the heavy silence in the room.

“Rest.”

A hand combed through your hair, smoothing over your face as you looked up at him, and this time he found yours, and really looked. Your arm wrapped over his as his hooked under your legs, sweeping you closer, together wrapped in your warmth.

He felt you looking, and he waited, expecting another quip as per usual.

“Are you done with the nonsense now?” He mumbled, resting his head back onto the wooden headboard.

“Mhm.. maybe.” You hummed, tracing the silver hairs at his chest.

“For fucks sake..”

“I believe you’ll have to do it again.”

There it was.

The mouth that drove him mad. His arm tightened around you, but he said nothing.

Though he didn’t need to, his exhales grew harsher, his spend still dripping from you as you rubbed your thighs together, and over the hardening of his cock.

Not as duty, not as requirement, but as your husband, and the pure unrestrained need for wanting you, and how he wasn’t to deny it again.

Endless questioning. That was all he had heard, and it was just about enough to drive him crazy, past the point of insanity if possible.

You were no fool, he knew of it. He would not have stepped foot into another marriage let alone being forced to take a bride, if she was dimwitted. And you were far from it.

Callous, stern and prickly many called him, and yet you and what followed had wandered round him like a buzzing fly. Though it was not your company he despised, he liked that more than he could admit, but it was the mockery. For a man of his age, not old and yet not young with six children in his stead, you had been incessant in wondering exactly.

How.

He was handsome, far more than people had mentioned or cared to, striking in that fierce way. Hardened by battles and fatherhood alone. And you were captivated, and curious. And luckily for you, you were the thing, the creature, the pest that consistently managed to get under his skin.

The way you walked, talked, the way you made eyes at him across the feasting table, the way you’d so perfectly slotted into the family and how everyone, including the children adored you. For that he was thankful, truly, but it didn’t stop the fact you drove him mad.

“She is a new addition to the family, and she is fitting in quite well I should say.” Baelor countered as both men walked through the punctured halls of Maegor’s Holdfast.

“She has taken over.” Maekar muttered with a roll of his yes , stalking slowly beside his brother.

“Your senses perhaps.” Baelor replied coolly, an edge of amusement following.

Maekar slowed, squinting piercing eyes at his brother as they moved to stand over the edge, overseeing the court below where you and the children had played. Egg and Rhae had tugged at your hands, making you stand to play and duck behind the plant pots with them in small strides, with Daeron watching on. Even Valarr stood at the corner with a smile, whispering no doubt pleasantries and flattery about you. Some said you would have been more suited to one of the younger Prince’s, perhaps there would be more in common, a likeness, but even though he remained shadowed, the idea made his blood boil. A possessiveness over territory he had yet to claim.

Not a chance.

“What I mean is, she does no harm. It has been a long time since they have all looked like this.” Baelor reasoned, picking at the stone underneath his palm as he eyed Maekar.

“Around you she may not.” The grumble came fast, quick to override his brother’s words. But his throat felt dry, tacky and stuck like the words could barely come out. Like what he had heard was true.

His senses, overtaken his senses. How?

What with your cunning ways, your ability to charm and please, and weasel your way in without needing to, to be so beautiful and too good for him. It needled at him. The marriage both of you had been so blessed with was not necessity, not by anyone’s means, but yet it came anyway.

Swift and secure, as all things should be, strengthening alliance or something else they had bothered to give title.

The loss changed him, hardened him in ways that most wouldn’t be able to understand, but you had tried to. Endlessly. Attempts to break down the brick wall that was your husband became futile, and so you decided to go around him. For it was jsut as new to you as it was to him, and with him years your senior, you had expected him more forthcoming.

And yet he was not.

He was reserved and callous, moving through the halls of Summerhall like a gust of wind more than a steady hand, ignoring all of your questions insisting they were nothing but “nonsensical whims.”

But you had longed for something different. Perhaps not the chivalrous fanciful lords and their ways, but his own.. the longing looks he had given you across court, the fleeting touches at your lower back and arm when duty had warranted it. But you wanted more, you wanted him, not duty. And he had been rather intent on keeping it from you.

But one thing he didn’t deny, was that his brother may well have been right. None of them had looked like it in such a long time, nor had he felt the way he had in so long. So.. undone, having to pry himself from his thoughts, especially when you caught his gaze from across the din.

Your smile bright and curved, more like a smirk, knowing and tempting. His jaw ticked harshly, tongue pressing deep into his cheek, only for a fleeting moment before you had looked away, and his fingers had all but gripped the stone under his fingers enough to chip it.

Baelor had caught it, a single glimpse to his side and back onto you and the children again. The heat that burned from the man beside him was enough to scold and he had not lingered on the thought of what had wandered through his head.

Nor did he need to, because before pulling away, Maekar’s eyes barely left you.

His thoughts were, you.

——

The chamber was cool, years of aged stone encasing you more than you’d have liked. The day had .. wonderfully, breaking your fast with your ladies and the children, tending to them in the gardens and watching over some of their lessons, and retreating back to your ladies once more. For them you were thankful, able to wander the lower halls without question or prying eyes, and the ability to talk as freely as you wished.

“If only he wasn’t so prickly.”

“Careful, he is our Prince after all.”

“It is a miracle he has fathered children of his own at all, not near as pleasant as his brother.” Quickly followed by, “Apologies my lady, we only wish to see you happy..”

You had confided in them briefly, private chatter between you of how exactly to woo the prince, or rather atleast to accept his affections that so many had claimed to have seen. Also that so many had claimed the Prince did not have a heart to give.

But they were wrong.

Not with the way he looked you, so dark and delicate, like he could snap at any moment..

You must have made him feel green again, one had giggled, as you did.

You had asked him to visit your chambers many nights, and yet he did not, instead your maid came to you, always. She bathed you often, brought tea and a fresh pitcher of water, even sat with you a while when you had wanted it. Almost as if it had been sent for you, and for that you were thankful. But there was no sign of him.

And alas, you had had enough.

They were not wrong, you had noticed it too. Such fighting for restraint and the tension that lingered was inevitable, a livin thing that made you ache.

And so you had taken their advice.

If he will not make such a move, perhaps you should.

And you liked that idea, you liked it very much. Because out of all the talk and gossip, the questioning of your husband’s want for you was dwindling, and yet you did not give in.

Your chambermaid, Niamh, had just finished setting out the tray in the small table, a glass bowl of fruits beside a candle, a hand towel and your bodily oils. She stood straight backed and patient for what her ached body would allow, resting her arms at her middle with a small, expectant smile.

“I have run you a bath, should you require assistance, my lady?”

“That will be all thank you Niamh, you are dismissed.”

She nodded curtly, and with the turn of her heel the oak creaked behind her softly. You had waited a further few moments to let the echoes of her footsteps die out before you moved, stepping into the thinness of your laced nightgown with a devilish grin.

Because it was not the bath you were ready for.

Your steps patterned the lines of the corridors you’d mapped out for some time, every corner and shortcut that was hidden beneath stone. Maekar’s own chambers was not far from your own, a whole stretch of hall and a turn away. Every outline of jagged rock shadowed with a trail of sconces and the few tapered and coloured tapestries that hung from the walls.

Your heart thrummed harshly in your chest with adrenaline, your fingertips flexing as you clutched your arms around yourself from the cold night air. And once you arrived outside of his chambers, the feeling only seemed to grow, goose pimples trailing your skin. But with a single look, defiant and what confidence you could muster up, the two men standing vigil outside had stepped aside without protest for you.

Seemingly aware of the mission you had embarked yourself on.

The chambers were darker than your own, everything lined perfectly and sparse just as you had remembered it from your night together moons ago. The last time he had truly touched you. You stepped inside carefully, snaking yourself around the door before closing it shut with a heavy click.

The hearth warmed the room, dimming it in golds and oranges across banners of red and black. Your breath stuttered as you turned, so taken with breathing the space in you hadn’t known the figure staring right at you. And a look of confusion etching the striking, miserable features.

His robe was a dark and velveted crimson, one that wrapped to his shins and broadened his shoulders. His eyes glistened in that light, twinkling more tender than they had let on, almost enticing.

“Husband.” You greeted innocently.

“Who let you in?” Maekar spoke sharply, like the words were a bad taste on his tongue.

“Your kingsguard, very thoughtful of them.” You gestured behind you at the door as you moved further into the room, closing the gap between you as much as you could dare.

“You should be asleep,” His eyes raked over you for a single moment, rather all he could allow himself before he turned to his side, back facing you as he made for the bed, “in your own chambers.”

Your nightdress was of the finest silk, cream and a lightness that hugged your curves in the most torturous way, your hair clung to your shoulders and your skin bared.

Something he should not have seen, should not have wanted as much as he did.

“I have come to see you.”

You dared a foot forwards, planting it across the cool floor and onto the myriah carpet just at the end of the bed, a small smile peeking at your features. He had rested himself onto the edge of the bed, sitting hunched as his legs trailed far and long in front of him, shoulders sagged and tense.

“Well now you have seen. Now leave.”

But you did not, you couldn’t. He was far too close, and you had not yet begun.

You didn’t answer to that, instead you had crawled toward him on the edge of the bed, a mere arms length away.

“I have missed you.”

He only looked at you as he took a heavy inhale, a simple look, displeased and thrown. Why. You blinked up to the violets that bore into yours, a face like statue and stone. How could you. After all that was placed on you both, all the gossip and venomous words that spilled behinds backs, after how much he had attempted to keep from ruining you.

“What are you saying?”

“Well you hardly spend any time here.. with me.” You kicked your legs in front, swinging just beside his, close enough to knock together where yours didn’t meet the length of his own.

“Do not pretend to be so stupid.”

“It scares you.” You inched closely, carefully, arms reaching toward him, through the robe. And he allowed you to, legs spread wide and shamelessly as you settled yourself over him, a knee perched on either side.

“What?” He blinked up through lidded eyes, pupils blown and decisive, even if he would not speak as such. He would let you have your fun, amuse yourself and find out what you had so longed to have.

“The thought scares you.” You continued, fingers running along the collar of his robe, lining the silk just across the hem where his skin was bared. Few silver hairs littered his chest where the material opened, hard planes of pale muscle rising and falling sharply.

“What thought woman? Speak.” Maekar snapped through the quiet, impatience clawing at his skin like a fire.

“Surrendering yourself.”

He almost laughed, almost, a short incredulous huff bubbling from his throat.

“It is not my duty to surrender.”

“But it is your duty to put a babe in me is it not, the marriage was consummated moons ago and you had done so little as touch me.” Your fingers worked at his shoulders, taut muscle pulling between your nails. He stayed rigid, batting your hand away with a flick.

But you moved it back, placing it right back to where you had it.

“Do not test me.”

You could feel him there. The warmth of his breath, the burning glare that did not leave your face, the heat brushing between you through thin layers of fabric. Arousal flooded your core, and you had half the mind to bite back a moan. You had not had him like this, and he was not denying you.

“I’am not testing you.” You shrugged, hands slowly circling to meet around his neck. A brave move, even if not wise. He swore he could hear the hammering of your heart, and still see the curve of the smirk he had not from forgotten hours earlier, the one that plagued his mind.

The one he wished to wipe off of your face and take you over his lap in an instant—

“Perhaps it is more than duty you require..” Your fingers continued at his collarbones, humming dreamily at the thought. “Perhaps it is want.”

Your eyes met, bearing down into one another as your breaths mingled, your faces somehow rocked closer together on instinct, where your lips neared touching.

“Though if you do not wish for more, nor to consummate this marriage.. I wouldn’t be offended. Perhaps you are scared.. and after having so many it would be more than enough for an old man to—“

That was enough. The pure breaking point he’d sure he’d lost a long time ago. All resolve had seemed to snap with a heavy punch in his gut.

You didn’t have time to contemplate another word before he had shifted you both roughly. Long, thick fingers circled around your throat, your back shoved down into layers upon layers of silken sheets and furs. The tassels of his robe had fallen in his swiftness, bearing his chest completely leaving him only in his breeches and you had completely lost your breath.

You were pinned, folded with your legs pressed into his thighs as he kneeled over you.

“Do not anger me, girl.”

You blinked up at him, gasping at the pressure against your throat. You could smell him from there, more than before. And he was intoxicating. His scent, the smell of woodsmoke and pine, and need.

“You know well that is not it.” He gritted, glaring down at you with a gaze that made the pressure in your belly pinch hot.

“Then what is it.. mayhaps that you are older—“

The fingers tightened at your throat as he leaned down, body rising over yours as more weight anchored you down.

“Seven hells no. Tell me what you want. Say it, tell me you want this as I do, before I change my fucking mind.” The hand at your waist clamped tighter, stretching the seams of your nightgown. Your skin was ablaze, ignited under his touch and the aching deep in your core.

There was much you could have said, even struck him for making you wait so long, for denying himself of you for reasons he couldn’t even begin to name, but you had forgotten all else, raw need buzzing through your skin.

“Want you to put a babe in me husband.. want you to show me how well you fuck.”

You breathed out with a whine. And he growled, deep and beastly, like a primal instinct that could not be tamed. So guttural it sounded almost dragonlike.

His grip curled around the back of your neck, shoving you up to face him with bared teeth as he pressed himself further down, nose nudging harshly into yours.

“Good girl.”

His lips crashed to yours, fierce and unyielding, the force shoving you both back onto the bed as he bent over you. Your tongues swept together before his pushed his between your lips, tasting you, savouring and claiming all at once.

“You have driven me mad, wife.” With one hand he reached between you, unlacing the confines of his breeches in one heavy tug. They fell away down to his knees, the sharp ‘v’ of muscle trailing down to his cock defined and pulsing with vein. Even through lidded and lusted eyes you could see him, all of him. He was thick as he was long, the tip reddened with an aching blush and the beading sticky stream of precum.

Maekar waited a moment, slowing as he rose, releasing his grip on your neck, tracing his fingers over the bunched hem of your nightgown. He pushed it up, inch by inch until he brought it to your chest.

“Off.” Was all he called gruffly, and the command made you dizzy, raising your arms shakily as he snaked it off of you before tossing it somewhere to the floor where neither of you had cared to look for it.

He had longed for this sight. You had lingered long in his memory since the first time, the swell of your breasts and nipples pebbling under the cool air, the dip of your waist and curve of your stomach. The flush of your face under the firelight flickering behind you, silhouetted only by his shadow above you. Gods you did drive him mad.

And he was a fool to wait so long, to make you wait.

Hands brushed down your sides, callouses scratching along your skin as you shivered under his touch, fingers splaying over your belly and parting your thighs.

“All of this teasing.. and talk with your ladies who do not know fuck all.”

His fingers dug into the flesh of them, ignoring the way you inched downward to him, the hard press of his length just above your aching cunt.

“She must be so needy for me for being desperate like some common whore...” He tutted sharply, running a finger from your navel to your heat, slipping through the wetness that gathered over your clit and entrance. Flush crept your cheeks brazenly, hips arching instinctly as he curled two inside of you.

You moaned loudly, digits filling you at once as your cunt sucked them in greedily, rocking back onto them as he flexed them. He worked you open like that, scissoring as you bucked and humped yourself back onto his hand restlessly. And again he let you, urging you on, pumping his fingers deep while his thumb circled at your clit, letting your sticky sweetness coat his hand.

The sounds were lewd, a squelch against his palm where it filled you, motioning and massaging at your g-spot over and over until you had broke a sweat across the sheets, working yourself up with a desire that needed to be sated.

He didn’t let you finish, couldn’t, not even the satisfaction of having you come undone on him was enough. He had to have you, and there was only way it was going to happen, with having you wrapped around his cock and buried deep inside of you.

“Why the fuck did you—“ Your words caught on your tongue, dying as he angled himself, heavy length rubbing through your folds with a sickening tease. He slipped himself inside, thickness filling you with a burning stretch as you took him. His mouth moved back over yours, catching your whines and enduring the way your nails clutched at his back with a groan.

He stilled only to feel all of you, sheathed so far inside you swore you could feel him in the your belly. His cock punched deep, fingers gripped in a swarm around your hips to only anchor himself further, tongue sweeping over yours in a feverish haze. You could hardly breathe, the air punched from your lungs as he thrust inside of you, pulling out gently just to shove himself back deeper, and purposefully until stars blurred your vision.

Your thighs curled at his hips, muscle tensing and straining where he fucked into you like a man possessed, grunts muffled into the curve of your jaw as you begged and whined for him, wrapping yourself tight at his middle as he huddled himself over you. The hard bone of his knees braced at the bottom of your thighs, stretching you further for him to get more of you, your body on full display and all for him.

You tried to speak, to rise over the lack of words as your mouth parted, but it failed you, he was merciless.

“Take. It.” He rasped, rising over you to tug your legs upward, resting them onto his chest and up to his shoulders. Your husband was undone, completely. Silver flattened hair had fallen into his eyes, pale skin flushing with a sheen of sweat and desire, his eyes burning as he took you in. As if to study you so deeply and commit you to memory, finally having you in his arms, unable to spout those stupid questions and irk him further.

But it did not last long, not until he had you flipped again, this time with your face pressed into the furs, a heavy palm smoothed over your back.

“You want to know how hm?” His breath hit the shell of your ear, cock sliding over your arsecheek.

Your blood ran cold, a shiver wracking your body as fingers twisted into your hair, forcing you up along with his hips. He had you bent beneath him, his hips dragging into your arse as he lined himself up once more. You were arched up into him, breasts bunched into the mattress and your cries muffled into the sheets.

The angle there hit deeper, fuller, settling that spot inside of you with every snap of his thrusts. The sound of slapping filled your ears, punctuated only by his grunting and your moans. He tugged you back onto him where you fell completely boneless, his cock spreading you open as your arms spread wide, clutching and fisting at the pillows as you moaned into the mattress.

“This is what you wanted is it, to fuck you full..” A hand cracked down onto your arscheek and you mewled, arching your back to meet the stinging pressure. He fucked into you still, sinking in and out so deeply it was certain to kiss your cervix.

“Perhaps this will shut you up.. spilling inside of this cunt.”

Your whines became babbles, a plea of “yes yes yes” falling from your lips needily, and he gave you it, everything you desired, begged for, everything you deserved. His head fell, a hand moving over the trail of your spine, cinching at your waist to bring you closer.

You couldn’t take it.

The pair of your fell apart together, every slap of skin and pant sending you over the edge. His teeth bit into your shoulder from behind, tongue smoothing over the marks that punctured your skin.

“Please..” You whined, your walls spasming wildly around him as your climax crashed over you.

“Let go for me, my girl..” He groaned through gritted teeth, grabbing a harsh fistful of your arse as you clenched around him, your swollen cunt milking him dry as he chased his own high. He gave few more thrusts before spilling inside of you, fucking it back into you as you shook round him, legs limp beneath him.

He did not let go of you right away, pulling from you carefully, your wetness and his spend leaking from you as he rested your hips back onto the bed. A pillow was placed under your middle as he lifted you without fuss, tilting you ever so slightly downward. So it will keep. Your heart eased its hammering as your body began to rest, heavy warm arms tugging you upward and onto his chest.

The sheets were pulled over you carefully in silence, only his ragged breaths and the crackling of the hearth filling the heavy silence in the room.

“Rest.”

A hand combed through your hair, smoothing over your face as you looked up at him, and this time he found yours, and really looked. Your arm wrapped over his as his hooked under your legs, sweeping you closer, together wrapped in your warmth.

He felt you looking, and he waited, expecting another quip as per usual.

“Are you done with the nonsense now?” He mumbled, resting his head back onto the wooden headboard.

“Mhm.. maybe.” You hummed, tracing the silver hairs at his chest.

“For fucks sake..”

“I believe you’ll have to do it again.”

There it was.

The mouth that drove him mad. His arm tightened around you, but he said nothing.

Though he didn’t need to, his exhales grew harsher, his spend still dripping from you as you rubbed your thighs together, and over the hardening of his cock.

Not as duty, not as requirement, but as your husband, and the pure unrestrained need for wanting you, and how he wasn’t to deny it again.