Sam✳️

Love was not lost; it was simply dormant, lingering under the surface and waiting for the right spark to bring it back to life.

Baelor still felt fondness when he gazed at his good lady wife. The strong, beautiful woman who had given him two healthy sons, and when she expressed her desire not to have more, he respected her wish. Otherwise, he was certain they would have rivaled Maekar and Dyanna. He adored his boys, longing for more little ones to be following at his heels. But a good husband respects his wife's wishes, does he not?

They still lay together, nestled close and finding creative ways to bring each other pleasure, but Baelor missed spilling between her pliant thighs. In his youth, he would ravage her any chance he could, making her squeal and blush. Many gifts were bestowed upon her, and songs were sung of his devotion and love for her. It was not gone, nor did he suspect her desire for him had disappeared entirely, but perhaps these were just the curses of passing time. Now, with their two sons, one a man grown and the other on the cusp, they felt the effects even more, and disappointment settled deep inside.

A breath of fresh air swept through the Red Keep when you arrived at court, draped in yellow silks as if you were a sunbeam. One of Queen Myriah's ladies, Lady Dalt, was in failing health, and you were called to be by your grandmother's side to help nurse her and attend to the Queen in your grandmother's absence. Prince Baelor and Lady Jena were sent to greet you upon your arrival, and both fell under your bright enchantment.

"My lord, my lady," you said respectfully before lowering into a gentle curtsey.

"Lady Dalt, it is our pleasure to welcome you to court," Lady Jena smiled, red hair cascading down her shoulders. She wore a vibrant violet gown with diamond and pearl jewelry. A netting of pearls blanketed her shimmering hair. A glittering thunderbolt dangled from the silver chain around her neck. Her cheekbones were sharp and defined with a full mouth and kind, blue eyes. A stunning beauty.

"It is an honor to have you here, even under such sad circumstances," Prince Baelor said. His outfit was a more somber black with slashes of crimson woven through his doublet. Rings of gold and ruby gleamed on his fingers, but it was those eyes of differing shades that were captivating. One brown, one blue. Most intriguing.

"The pleasure is mine. The good queen is most kind to allow her personal maesters to attend to my grandmother in her time of need. I am happy to serve in whichever capacity is needed."

Baelor and Jena exchanged a look, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange. Both had felt that spark. It had breezed in with you. Sunshine and lemons. A rainbow spilling down the halls.

"Allow us to show you to your quarters," Baelor said, offering you his arms.

"I'm sure the heir of the realm and his good lady wife have better things to do," you teased.

"Nonsense, we would like to assure that you are settled properly. Your grandmother is a beloved in our court, and we will see you well tended to," Jena insisted, guiding you onto Baelor's arm before squeezing her husband's shoulder.

"Your grandmother's rooms are adjoining, should you need to assist her," Baelor explained.

"That is most kind and thoughtful," you smiled, slipping free of his arm to take a look around before pushing one of the windows open. "It is a bit stuffy." Your smile made Baelor and Jena's hearts skip a beat. They watched as the sun warmed your cheeks, longing to lay their lips over the sun kissed flesh.

"If there is anything you require, please let us know. We wish for you to feel comfortable here," Jena offered as her husband's hand slipped over her lower back. She was always so generous and welcoming, one of the many reasons he loved her.

"That is kind of you, my lady. I…if I am not overstepping, I would greatly appreciate some colorful cushions and bedding, if possible. To cheer it up a bit," you said kindly.

"I will talk with the steward at once," Jena said.

"We will leave you to settle and rest, but mayhaps you'd like to join us for dinner in the Tower of the Hand this evening? A private audience with just us before we expose you to the full court," Baelor stated.

"Oh, I would love that! Thank you, Your Grace."

"Until this evening, then," Baelor smiled, and the two left you to rest as the servants filed in to help unpack your belongings.

Queen Myriah had instructed the servants to prepare a bath for you, knowing the rituals from Dorne. You bathed in warm water, floating with jasmine, rose petals, and lemon rinds. It felt good to wash the grime away from your skin that had clung to it during your travels. After your bath, you looked in on your grandmother, dabbing her forehead and helping her drink the herb laced tea.

"My cough is getting better," she told you weakly.

"That is wonderful," you said, fluffing up her pillows. "Your cheeks have color in them as well. These are all good signs."

"Thank you for coming, my dear."

"I only wish you had summoned me sooner," you said gently, kissing her forehead and smoothing back her graying hair. "But I am here now, and you'll be feeling right as rain soon. Mother sent me with some treatments and a taste of home." Your mother wished to come, but such a tumultuous journey would have stressed her.

"With a fine Dornish queen, I do not lack for home," she chuckled.

"What about lemons from our gardens?" you teased. "Mother sent me with a whole trunk."

"Oh! Delightful."

"Now, rest. I will check in on you before supper." You kissed her cheek before returning to your chambers.

You peeled the rind from the lemons, steeping them in the hot water fetched for you, drizzling in some Tyroshi honey along with the lemon juice. After it was covered with a clean cloth, you left it to steep, intending to serve it with your grandmother's supper. Two handmaidens helped you get ready for dinner with Prince Baelor and Lady Jena. You chose another garment of dazzling yellow silk decorated with patterns of white lemons. White-gold hugged your throat and fingers with tiny matching hoops dangling from your ears. You dabbed a bit of citrus oil on your wrists, hollow of your throat, and behind your ears. Before departing for the Tower, you checked on your grandmother once again, helping her take sips of the brew.

"You look lovely, my darling girl. Enjoy your supper." You left her with a kiss as two guards escorted you up the winding stairs that led to the Tower of the Hand.

"Lady Dalt," the guard introduced before stepping aside to allow you passage.

Lady Jena bristled around you, her red hair braided and glittering with amethysts, and she wore a samite dress in an almost orchid color. "My, you are bright." Her tone was amused, and the curve of her knuckle trailed down your cheek, making your flesh warm beneath her touch.

"Should I change?" you asked, suddenly feeling nervous.

"Oh, no. Yellow is such a beautiful color on you," she praised.

Baelor wore a similar outfit to earlier this afternoon, except the doublet was the color of freshly spilled blood. He poured three cups of wine, presenting two to you and Jena.

"Thank you, Your Grace," you said, smiling as you drew it between your ringed hands.

"Please, you needn't bother with that fuss. You may call me Baelor when we are in private," he said.

"My, that makes me feel rather special," you beamed, touching your hand to your heart.

"You are special, dear girl," Jena mused before taking a sip of the wine, the red liquid staining her lips.

Your fingers lightly touched the necklace around your throat, nervously tugging and sliding the chain through your fingers as you gauged the looks Baelor and Jena were giving you.

"Why do I suddenly feel like I am being served up as the main course?"

Baelor and Jena exchanged a sly look. "You are perceptive," Baelor hummed.

Jena stepped closer, lifting your hands and pressing the lip of the cup to your mouth, prompting you to take a deep sip of the sour Dornish red. One of your favorites. Your grandmother had a loose tongue. "But not if you don't wish to be," she whispered, swiping away a stray opaque ruby droplet that dribbled down the corner of your mouth.

You took a deep breath. It seemed for a brief moment that you held all the power in the equation, and you should use it to your advantage. "Mmm, well, first I would like the supper promised to me and an evening to consider. I think that is fair, wouldn't you agree?" You were interested, but not too rash to quickly fall into an arrangement with them. You doubted that many made the prince and his wife wait for their desires to be fulfilled.

"I would," Baelor nodded, extending his hand and motioning you toward the table. There was an absence of servants, which was strategically planned, no doubt.

The olives were fresh and flavorful, crunching pleasantly beneath your teeth.

"You must try the duck," Jena smiled, nodding toward Baelor to serve you a piece.

He was skilled with the knife, cutting through the succulent meat to ensure you got a decadent slice with crispy skin.

"Thank you, Y…Baelor," you smiled after quickly correcting yourself. After lifting the fork to your mouth, you sank your teeth into the tender piece of meat and skin. "Absolutely delicious."

Those mismatched eyes were glued on you, as were Jena's stunning sapphire-hued ones, making you feel like the duck about to be devoured.

"I can feel you both attempting to wear me down," you chided playfully.

"Tis a compliment, my dear lady," Baelor said, though he was respectful enough to lower his gaze. Jena seemed bolder, never faltering. You could appreciate it.

"Indeed, it is," Jena murmured, finding herself enraptured by you. She had never felt such stirrings before, never dared to think of another besides her husband. But this little rainbow sent from Lemonwood had conjured her mind into a frenzy. Though she did not wish to have you simply for herself, she imagined you nestled between her and Baelor. Mayhaps you were a missing puzzle piece, sent to complete them. "Now I'm certain they cannot compare to what you can get from home, but there are lemon cakes for dessert."

"I could never refuse a lemon cake, good or bad," you grinned.

Jena lifted one with three fingers, the large amethyst on her ring finger catching in the candlelight before pressing the sweet to your lips. With a soft flutter of your lashes, you parted your mouth to allow her to feed it to you. The candied lemon rind was tart, the icing sweet, and the cake crumbled between your teeth.

"It is delicious," you murmured after swallowing it down.

"Good," Jena beamed, cleaning your mouth with her linen napkin.

"We are meant to be behaving, my dear," Baelor scolded gently.

"Oh, forgive me. Have I offended you, dear girl?" Jena's hand glided over the curve of your cheek, and you couldn't resist pressing into her palm.

"Not at all. A bit of teasing is acceptable, my prince," you said, turning your gaze toward Baelor and watching a mischievous smile curl across his lips.

His chair scraped against the floor shrilly before he approached you, wine cup in hand. Heat bloomed through your lower belly as he loomed over you, something dark in those mesmerizing eyes. "Open." A simple, sharp command. You were beginning to think they held a fascination for your mouth.

He tilted the cup, draining the wine into your mouth with one hand cupped beneath your chin, yet a few drops still plopped onto your yellow gown, staining the fabric. Your head spun, wine heady on your tongue as it filled your mouth, and you very nearly buckled to your knees, ready to accept their offer. Baelor reached for a linen napkin, dabbing at the burgundy droplets that clung to the bodice of your dress. A warm flush heated your skin, spreading down your neck and toward your chest. His warm thumb traced over your stained, swollen lips.

"Now, who is the one misbehaving?" Jena cooed, standing behind her husband and wrapping her arms around his waist with her chin resting on his shoulder.

"She said she didn't mind," Baelor reasoned.

"I fear I must take my leave lest I rush headfirst into this," you whispered, nearly stumbling as you stood up. Prince Baelor quickly steadied you.

"Of course, one of the guards will escort you back to your chambers. We eagerly anticipate your decision on the morrow," he said, bowing his head.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply to gather your wits. "I assure you that you shall have one. Good evening."

"Might we give you a kiss before you depart?" Jena asked, and Baelor fixed her with a stern look. "To ensure sweet dreams."

"I…well, yes, I suppose that would be acceptable."

Jena took hold of your chin, drawing you close and pressing a chaste kiss upon your lips before turning your head toward Baelor. He followed suit.

The guard escorted you back to your chambers, where you fell face down on the bed, breathing in deeply and clutching a pillow tightly against your chest. Their taste lingered on your tongue. Thoughts swam through your head like a raging sea until dreams eventually pulled you into a deep slumber. When you woke the next morning, bright white sun streamed through the windows. You rubbed your face and entered your grandmother's room, still wearing your stained dress.

"The brew you made did me a world of good, dearest," she smiled, sitting in a chair by the window. "I can see you had an eventful evening." She raised a dark brown.

"That is wonderful news," you praised, bending to kiss the top of her forehead. You broke your fast with her, helping spoon feed her a hearty broth. "And it was nothing of the sort, just a simple dinner."

"Mmm," she hummed.

When you returned to your chambers, you discovered servants bustling about. Pillows, cushioned chairs, silks, and tapestries in vivid hues were placed, bringing warmth and vibrancy. Blues, yellows, greens, pinks, purples, reds, and oranges. You were particularly enamored with the tapestry depicting green trees bursting with ripe lemons. After the servants departed, you burnt a bit of jasmine incense and meditated with your thoughts. You requested a private audience with Prince Baelor and Lady Jena later that afternoon. Prince Baelor summoned you to the Tower nearly two hours later.

You wore a blue dress on this visit, like the calm waves of the sea, with silver jewelry, and your hair swept out of your face.

"There's our little rainbow," Jena smiled, wearing a lilac gown with long, billowing sleeves.

"I heard your grandmother is feeling better, very good news," Baelor smiled, standing to greet you.

"She is, thank you."

Anticipation hung in the air, and each one waited for the other to speak. You twisted the silver ring around your middle finger before doing so.

"How would this arrangement work?"

"Please, sit," Baelor said, waving toward the cushioned bench and pouring you a glass of wine. Jena moved to your left side, drawing your hand into her lap while Baelor sat to your right, placing the cup in your free hand. There was a comfort in being between the two; the sweet fragrance of rose wafting from Jena and an earthy spice clinging to Baelor.

Details were discussed. They wished to share you. You would become their mistress, which was not unheard of in the royal household, but it would be treated with utmost care. You would not be paraded around like a conquest, but cherished and valued. Nearly all the wine in your cup was gone by the time the discussion ended. Your mother's nagging voice circled the back of your head, cautioning you against his, that Prince Baelor and Lady Jena were nearly old enough to your own parents. But you did not heed the phantom warning; you wanted it more than anything.

One word was all that was needed. "Yes." It toppled from your lips with ease.

The amber glow from the candles and the orange firelight illuminated the room, bathing you in warmth as Baelor unlaced your crimson gown, letting it billow around your feet. Jena pressed a sweet kiss to your lips before removing your under shift, leaving you in just jewelry, slippers, and stockings. Baelor's calloused hands cupped your breasts, thumb circling around your nipples until they hardened. Ravenous teeth scraped over the delicate skin of your neck. A dragon looking to pierce its prey. Lady Jena's fingers were like sparks over your bare skin, lightning strikes searing your flesh. Each one left their mark.

You settled in Baelor's lap, stockinged thighs thrown over Jena's shoulders as her hungry mouth pressed against your damp cunt. A rose flush clung to her pale cheeks, her pink tongue delving between your folds, making you whimper against Baelor's palm clamped over your mouth. You could taste the salt of his skin. His other hand skimmed down your belly, seeking your swollen pearl and circling it. They worked in tandem to bring you to a sweet release, leaving you trembling and panting in the aftermath. You had never been touched in such a way before. Just stolen, secret kisses, and once a squeeze to the arse. This was utterly divine.

The next night, Jena demonstrated how to pleasure her husband's cock. That rosy mouth wrapped around his stiff flesh, sliding alluringly over it and stretching her lips crudely wide. She pulled away just before his seed spilled, guiding you into her place. It was a strange feeling, making your eyes water and triggering a gag reflex, but she coaxed you into relaxation while Baelor stroked your hair.

"You're doing so well, sweet girl," he praised, which was a remarkably high compliment in itself and one you wished to chase. His seed spilled down your throat; sticky and salty, while Jena's fingers tangled in your hair.

The evenings bled into long hours before you snuck off in the early dawn before the rest of the Keep roused. Thighs marked with pink bumps from Baelor's beard, Jena's red nail scratches on your hips and down your back, and cunt aching from their sweet abuse. Pillows muffled your yawns as you managed to sleep for a bit until the time came for you to look after your grandmother, who was doing much better. You wondered if you would have to return home soon, now that she was in better health. Quickly, you shook such thoughts from your mind. Queen Myriah was delighted at how well you got along with Lady Jena and moved her into her service for the duration of your stay.

"We have a present for you, little pet," Jena cooed, pulling you into her lap and kissing you.

"Oh?" you asked, eager to discover what it was.

Baelor presented you with a necklace on a velvet cushion. Jewels of various colors hung from the golden chain. Ruby, sapphire, emerald, amethyst, citrine, a fire opal, and an indigo hued tanzanite. Every shade in the rainbow.

"It's beautiful, thank you," you beamed as Baelor fastened it around your neck.

They treated you like a princess, spoiling you with trinkets and attention. It was easy to become wrapped in it, to become enveloped in them. You weren't brazen about it; you weren't flaunted around the Keep as a plaything, all of it kept private. Which is perhaps why your meddling grandmother arranged a meeting between you and Lord Leo Tyrell's son when the vassal was visiting at court. You were polite and agreed to tea, not wishing for any suspicion to arise, but you had no intentions of marrying him. You were able to fake a smile for an hour, sipping on your tea and eating cream cakes to keep from screaming as he blathered on about upcoming tourneys.

Though that night at the feast, he asked you for a dance, and you could feel Baelor and Jena's eyes on you. You didn't think you could refuse and accepted his offer, gliding across the stones and twirling as the musicians played.

"What a lovely couple they would, don't you think, Your Grace?" your grandmother whispered loudly to Queen Myriah, who gave a sly smile. Mayhaps you should not have worked so hard nursing her back to health.

You returned to your seat, feeling irritated, and scraped your fork down your plate, relishing in the abrasive sound it made. Your mood did not lift as the night ended and you returned to your chambers. The guard arrived at his usual time to escort you. While part of you wished to be in their company, to be wrapped in their arms, you resisted. Your mood was foul, and you wished to stew in peace.

"I am not coming," you told him crossly before slamming your door and strewing in front of the fire, digging your bare feet into the stone beneath them.

Nearly an hour passed before there was a knock on your door. You put on your slippers and flung the door open. "I told you that I'm not coming!" The words garbled in your throat when you saw Baelor and Jena standing there instead of the guard.

"Yes, so we came to you," Baelor replied coolly as Jena slipped into your chambers.

"I do not recall inviting you in," you growled.

The prince shut and bolted the door behind him before taking hold of your chin, fingers digging into your flesh. You had not seen this side of him before. Jealousy laced through his eyes.

"Is that any way to talk to the heir of the throne?" he accused.

"Oh, so now are the heir with me?" you scoffed.

"I fear our little pet has forgotten her place. Parading about with that Tyrell boy," Jena said, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. She dipped her finger into the pot of sweet cream on your table, coating it. You craved a sweet treat during the hour of the ghosts. Baelor turned your face toward hers, and she shoved her cream-coated finger into her mouth. "We must remind her, husband."

"Indeed."

All you could do was mumble around the finger shoved in your mouth before Jena withdrew it, and a soft, wet pop vibrated through the air. She peeled the robe down your body before capturing you in a violent kiss, teeth gnashing and blood spilling from where she split your lip. You nearly tripped as Baelor spun you around, lapping the blood away and trapping you into an intoxicating kiss that nearly drew all the air from your lungs.

"Do you think that Tyrell boy can make you feel as we do?" Jena whispered in your ear, tugging on your hair.

"N…no," you whimpered once Baelor pulled his mouth away from yours. "I do not care for him; that was my grandmother's doing."

He withdrew his dagger, slicing through the silk of your nightdress, leaving it in tatters. The flat of the blade pressed against your nipple.

"Look at the wildnesses you bring out of us, sweet girl," Baelor whispered, gold flickering in his brown eye.

"I like it," you admitted, heart pounding in your chest. There had been nights when you had been bound with silk or leather, resting on your knees while you pleased them. Soft fabrics wrapped around your eyes as they teased you, competing to see who could make you peak the quickest.

Jena's teeth sank into your shoulder, hard enough to break the skin and leave a mark. It seemed the ravenous dragon blood had somehow toppled into her veins, searing deep in her skin just like it was slowly doing for you. They may have lost their actual dragons, but their allure and power shone brightly. Through your heavy-lidded eyes, you saw the riding crop attached to Baelor's belt. Tonight would be painful, but you would walk on hot coals for them. You would run through fire. A little pain seemed of no consequence.

Your upper body rested against Jena's lap after Baelor bent you across the bed. Arse upturned and vulnerable. The leather tenderly caressed your skin before the sharp crack marred it. Baelor was methodical, striking your skin precisely and criss crossing over the delicate flesh until scarlet welts bloomed. The pain made your skin itch and burn, making the throbbing and need between your thighs almost impossible to ignore. He knelt behind you after, kissing each mark he left while Jena stroked your hair and let you suckle on her fingers.

"Our good girl," she purred while Baelor's hands stroked your hips. "Sweet little pet."

There was a rustling of clothes before he entered you from behind, while Jena continued to hold and stroke you. His thrusts were more powerful this night, driving himself deep inside you.

"Would you like your prince to fill you with his seed?" Jena whispered, her blue eyes turning dark, almost an indigo. She knew what her husband desired above all else. A soft pair of thighs to rut against and a willing cunt to spill in.

"Y…yes please, my lady," you whimpered.

"He desires it above all else, sweet girl; it would make him happy," she whispered, stroking the back of your neck.

"P…please, Your Grace, spill inside me," you begged.

His hips slammed into your sore, bruised arse before he spilled, sending his seed deep inside your cunt and spilling down your thighs. But you weren't satiated yet; you needed them embedded inside you. Flesh burning next to yours. You clawed at Jena first, as Baelor's amused laughter filled the room.

"Our little pet has claws," Jena purred, letting you do as you wished. You suckled on her rosy nipples, tugging them between your teeth. Your tongue trailed over her soft belly before it buried in her cunt. Nails dug into her hips while you tongue fucked her until she mewled like a needy cat in heat. Her naked body arched, hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her moans before she spilled against your mouth.

You set your sights on Baelor next, dragging your nails down his furry chest and the V leading to his ruddy, leaking cock.

"Might you need some time to recover, Your Grace?" you teased wickedly.

"Should I whip you again for such insolence?" he asked sternly, tugging on your hair.

"I fear I might need many beatings before the lesson stick." You felt brazen tonight.

"Do not fret, little pet. I will guide you well." His cock slowly stirred to life, and you wasted no time engulfing him with your mouth. He hissed, bucking his hips.

Jena shifted behind you, the curve of her pelvis pressing agaisnt your arse while you sucked on Baelor's cock.

"We should get you a cock, wife," Baelor grunted.

"Yes, I should like that," she purred, moving her body to the side and sinking two fingers inside you.

Wish fulfilled. Caught between them both, stuffed full and drooling, weeping with desire. Baelor had enough spend to spill into your eager mouth as you clenched around Jena's fingers, soaking them with your release. But it did not end there. It ended with Jena astride Baelor's face with you riding his cock. You milked him dry that evening, hoarding each delicious drop. Jena's mouth melded against yours in a brazen kiss while she soaked her husband's mouth, and you soaked his cock. That morning, they were the ones to sneak off into the early dawn light.

Fate would assure you remained in their favour, forever bound to them.

Two full turns of the moon later, brought you unannounced to the Tower of the Hand, wringing your hands nervously.

"What has you so distressed, sweet pet?" Baelor asked, concerned written all over his face as Jena poured you a cup of pink wine from the Arbor to help soothe your nerves.

Your hand trembled as you took a deep breath.

"I am with child."

Love was not lost; it was simply dormant, lingering under the surface and waiting for the right spark to bring it back to life.

Baelor still felt fondness when he gazed at his good lady wife. The strong, beautiful woman who had given him two healthy sons, and when she expressed her desire not to have more, he respected her wish. Otherwise, he was certain they would have rivaled Maekar and Dyanna. He adored his boys, longing for more little ones to be following at his heels. But a good husband respects his wife's wishes, does he not?

They still lay together, nestled close and finding creative ways to bring each other pleasure, but Baelor missed spilling between her pliant thighs. In his youth, he would ravage her any chance he could, making her squeal and blush. Many gifts were bestowed upon her, and songs were sung of his devotion and love for her. It was not gone, nor did he suspect her desire for him had disappeared entirely, but perhaps these were just the curses of passing time. Now, with their two sons, one a man grown and the other on the cusp, they felt the effects even more, and disappointment settled deep inside.

A breath of fresh air swept through the Red Keep when you arrived at court, draped in yellow silks as if you were a sunbeam. One of Queen Myriah's ladies, Lady Dalt, was in failing health, and you were called to be by your grandmother's side to help nurse her and attend to the Queen in your grandmother's absence. Prince Baelor and Lady Jena were sent to greet you upon your arrival, and both fell under your bright enchantment.

"My lord, my lady," you said respectfully before lowering into a gentle curtsey.

"Lady Dalt, it is our pleasure to welcome you to court," Lady Jena smiled, red hair cascading down her shoulders. She wore a vibrant violet gown with diamond and pearl jewelry. A netting of pearls blanketed her shimmering hair. A glittering thunderbolt dangled from the silver chain around her neck. Her cheekbones were sharp and defined with a full mouth and kind, blue eyes. A stunning beauty.

"It is an honor to have you here, even under such sad circumstances," Prince Baelor said. His outfit was a more somber black with slashes of crimson woven through his doublet. Rings of gold and ruby gleamed on his fingers, but it was those eyes of differing shades that were captivating. One brown, one blue. Most intriguing.

"The pleasure is mine. The good queen is most kind to allow her personal maesters to attend to my grandmother in her time of need. I am happy to serve in whichever capacity is needed."

Baelor and Jena exchanged a look, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange. Both had felt that spark. It had breezed in with you. Sunshine and lemons. A rainbow spilling down the halls.

"Allow us to show you to your quarters," Baelor said, offering you his arms.

"I'm sure the heir of the realm and his good lady wife have better things to do," you teased.

"Nonsense, we would like to assure that you are settled properly. Your grandmother is a beloved in our court, and we will see you well tended to," Jena insisted, guiding you onto Baelor's arm before squeezing her husband's shoulder.

"Your grandmother's rooms are adjoining, should you need to assist her," Baelor explained.

"That is most kind and thoughtful," you smiled, slipping free of his arm to take a look around before pushing one of the windows open. "It is a bit stuffy." Your smile made Baelor and Jena's hearts skip a beat. They watched as the sun warmed your cheeks, longing to lay their lips over the sun kissed flesh.

"If there is anything you require, please let us know. We wish for you to feel comfortable here," Jena offered as her husband's hand slipped over her lower back. She was always so generous and welcoming, one of the many reasons he loved her.

"That is kind of you, my lady. I…if I am not overstepping, I would greatly appreciate some colorful cushions and bedding, if possible. To cheer it up a bit," you said kindly.

"I will talk with the steward at once," Jena said.

"We will leave you to settle and rest, but mayhaps you'd like to join us for dinner in the Tower of the Hand this evening? A private audience with just us before we expose you to the full court," Baelor stated.

"Oh, I would love that! Thank you, Your Grace."

"Until this evening, then," Baelor smiled, and the two left you to rest as the servants filed in to help unpack your belongings.

Queen Myriah had instructed the servants to prepare a bath for you, knowing the rituals from Dorne. You bathed in warm water, floating with jasmine, rose petals, and lemon rinds. It felt good to wash the grime away from your skin that had clung to it during your travels. After your bath, you looked in on your grandmother, dabbing her forehead and helping her drink the herb laced tea.

"My cough is getting better," she told you weakly.

"That is wonderful," you said, fluffing up her pillows. "Your cheeks have color in them as well. These are all good signs."

"Thank you for coming, my dear."

"I only wish you had summoned me sooner," you said gently, kissing her forehead and smoothing back her graying hair. "But I am here now, and you'll be feeling right as rain soon. Mother sent me with some treatments and a taste of home." Your mother wished to come, but such a tumultuous journey would have stressed her.

"With a fine Dornish queen, I do not lack for home," she chuckled.

"What about lemons from our gardens?" you teased. "Mother sent me with a whole trunk."

"Oh! Delightful."

"Now, rest. I will check in on you before supper." You kissed her cheek before returning to your chambers.

You peeled the rind from the lemons, steeping them in the hot water fetched for you, drizzling in some Tyroshi honey along with the lemon juice. After it was covered with a clean cloth, you left it to steep, intending to serve it with your grandmother's supper. Two handmaidens helped you get ready for dinner with Prince Baelor and Lady Jena. You chose another garment of dazzling yellow silk decorated with patterns of white lemons. White-gold hugged your throat and fingers with tiny matching hoops dangling from your ears. You dabbed a bit of citrus oil on your wrists, hollow of your throat, and behind your ears. Before departing for the Tower, you checked on your grandmother once again, helping her take sips of the brew.

"You look lovely, my darling girl. Enjoy your supper." You left her with a kiss as two guards escorted you up the winding stairs that led to the Tower of the Hand.

"Lady Dalt," the guard introduced before stepping aside to allow you passage.

Lady Jena bristled around you, her red hair braided and glittering with amethysts, and she wore a samite dress in an almost orchid color. "My, you are bright." Her tone was amused, and the curve of her knuckle trailed down your cheek, making your flesh warm beneath her touch.

"Should I change?" you asked, suddenly feeling nervous.

"Oh, no. Yellow is such a beautiful color on you," she praised.

Baelor wore a similar outfit to earlier this afternoon, except the doublet was the color of freshly spilled blood. He poured three cups of wine, presenting two to you and Jena.

"Thank you, Your Grace," you said, smiling as you drew it between your ringed hands.

"Please, you needn't bother with that fuss. You may call me Baelor when we are in private," he said.

"My, that makes me feel rather special," you beamed, touching your hand to your heart.

"You are special, dear girl," Jena mused before taking a sip of the wine, the red liquid staining her lips.

Your fingers lightly touched the necklace around your throat, nervously tugging and sliding the chain through your fingers as you gauged the looks Baelor and Jena were giving you.

"Why do I suddenly feel like I am being served up as the main course?"

Baelor and Jena exchanged a sly look. "You are perceptive," Baelor hummed.

Jena stepped closer, lifting your hands and pressing the lip of the cup to your mouth, prompting you to take a deep sip of the sour Dornish red. One of your favorites. Your grandmother had a loose tongue. "But not if you don't wish to be," she whispered, swiping away a stray opaque ruby droplet that dribbled down the corner of your mouth.

You took a deep breath. It seemed for a brief moment that you held all the power in the equation, and you should use it to your advantage. "Mmm, well, first I would like the supper promised to me and an evening to consider. I think that is fair, wouldn't you agree?" You were interested, but not too rash to quickly fall into an arrangement with them. You doubted that many made the prince and his wife wait for their desires to be fulfilled.

"I would," Baelor nodded, extending his hand and motioning you toward the table. There was an absence of servants, which was strategically planned, no doubt.

The olives were fresh and flavorful, crunching pleasantly beneath your teeth.

"You must try the duck," Jena smiled, nodding toward Baelor to serve you a piece.

He was skilled with the knife, cutting through the succulent meat to ensure you got a decadent slice with crispy skin.

"Thank you, Y…Baelor," you smiled after quickly correcting yourself. After lifting the fork to your mouth, you sank your teeth into the tender piece of meat and skin. "Absolutely delicious."

Those mismatched eyes were glued on you, as were Jena's stunning sapphire-hued ones, making you feel like the duck about to be devoured.

"I can feel you both attempting to wear me down," you chided playfully.

"Tis a compliment, my dear lady," Baelor said, though he was respectful enough to lower his gaze. Jena seemed bolder, never faltering. You could appreciate it.

"Indeed, it is," Jena murmured, finding herself enraptured by you. She had never felt such stirrings before, never dared to think of another besides her husband. But this little rainbow sent from Lemonwood had conjured her mind into a frenzy. Though she did not wish to have you simply for herself, she imagined you nestled between her and Baelor. Mayhaps you were a missing puzzle piece, sent to complete them. "Now I'm certain they cannot compare to what you can get from home, but there are lemon cakes for dessert."

"I could never refuse a lemon cake, good or bad," you grinned.

Jena lifted one with three fingers, the large amethyst on her ring finger catching in the candlelight before pressing the sweet to your lips. With a soft flutter of your lashes, you parted your mouth to allow her to feed it to you. The candied lemon rind was tart, the icing sweet, and the cake crumbled between your teeth.

"It is delicious," you murmured after swallowing it down.

"Good," Jena beamed, cleaning your mouth with her linen napkin.

"We are meant to be behaving, my dear," Baelor scolded gently.

"Oh, forgive me. Have I offended you, dear girl?" Jena's hand glided over the curve of your cheek, and you couldn't resist pressing into her palm.

"Not at all. A bit of teasing is acceptable, my prince," you said, turning your gaze toward Baelor and watching a mischievous smile curl across his lips.

His chair scraped against the floor shrilly before he approached you, wine cup in hand. Heat bloomed through your lower belly as he loomed over you, something dark in those mesmerizing eyes. "Open." A simple, sharp command. You were beginning to think they held a fascination for your mouth.

He tilted the cup, draining the wine into your mouth with one hand cupped beneath your chin, yet a few drops still plopped onto your yellow gown, staining the fabric. Your head spun, wine heady on your tongue as it filled your mouth, and you very nearly buckled to your knees, ready to accept their offer. Baelor reached for a linen napkin, dabbing at the burgundy droplets that clung to the bodice of your dress. A warm flush heated your skin, spreading down your neck and toward your chest. His warm thumb traced over your stained, swollen lips.

"Now, who is the one misbehaving?" Jena cooed, standing behind her husband and wrapping her arms around his waist with her chin resting on his shoulder.

"She said she didn't mind," Baelor reasoned.

"I fear I must take my leave lest I rush headfirst into this," you whispered, nearly stumbling as you stood up. Prince Baelor quickly steadied you.

"Of course, one of the guards will escort you back to your chambers. We eagerly anticipate your decision on the morrow," he said, bowing his head.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply to gather your wits. "I assure you that you shall have one. Good evening."

"Might we give you a kiss before you depart?" Jena asked, and Baelor fixed her with a stern look. "To ensure sweet dreams."

"I…well, yes, I suppose that would be acceptable."

Jena took hold of your chin, drawing you close and pressing a chaste kiss upon your lips before turning your head toward Baelor. He followed suit.

The guard escorted you back to your chambers, where you fell face down on the bed, breathing in deeply and clutching a pillow tightly against your chest. Their taste lingered on your tongue. Thoughts swam through your head like a raging sea until dreams eventually pulled you into a deep slumber. When you woke the next morning, bright white sun streamed through the windows. You rubbed your face and entered your grandmother's room, still wearing your stained dress.

"The brew you made did me a world of good, dearest," she smiled, sitting in a chair by the window. "I can see you had an eventful evening." She raised a dark brown.

"That is wonderful news," you praised, bending to kiss the top of her forehead. You broke your fast with her, helping spoon feed her a hearty broth. "And it was nothing of the sort, just a simple dinner."

"Mmm," she hummed.

When you returned to your chambers, you discovered servants bustling about. Pillows, cushioned chairs, silks, and tapestries in vivid hues were placed, bringing warmth and vibrancy. Blues, yellows, greens, pinks, purples, reds, and oranges. You were particularly enamored with the tapestry depicting green trees bursting with ripe lemons. After the servants departed, you burnt a bit of jasmine incense and meditated with your thoughts. You requested a private audience with Prince Baelor and Lady Jena later that afternoon. Prince Baelor summoned you to the Tower nearly two hours later.

You wore a blue dress on this visit, like the calm waves of the sea, with silver jewelry, and your hair swept out of your face.

"There's our little rainbow," Jena smiled, wearing a lilac gown with long, billowing sleeves.

"I heard your grandmother is feeling better, very good news," Baelor smiled, standing to greet you.

"She is, thank you."

Anticipation hung in the air, and each one waited for the other to speak. You twisted the silver ring around your middle finger before doing so.

"How would this arrangement work?"

"Please, sit," Baelor said, waving toward the cushioned bench and pouring you a glass of wine. Jena moved to your left side, drawing your hand into her lap while Baelor sat to your right, placing the cup in your free hand. There was a comfort in being between the two; the sweet fragrance of rose wafting from Jena and an earthy spice clinging to Baelor.

Details were discussed. They wished to share you. You would become their mistress, which was not unheard of in the royal household, but it would be treated with utmost care. You would not be paraded around like a conquest, but cherished and valued. Nearly all the wine in your cup was gone by the time the discussion ended. Your mother's nagging voice circled the back of your head, cautioning you against his, that Prince Baelor and Lady Jena were nearly old enough to your own parents. But you did not heed the phantom warning; you wanted it more than anything.

One word was all that was needed. "Yes." It toppled from your lips with ease.

The amber glow from the candles and the orange firelight illuminated the room, bathing you in warmth as Baelor unlaced your crimson gown, letting it billow around your feet. Jena pressed a sweet kiss to your lips before removing your under shift, leaving you in just jewelry, slippers, and stockings. Baelor's calloused hands cupped your breasts, thumb circling around your nipples until they hardened. Ravenous teeth scraped over the delicate skin of your neck. A dragon looking to pierce its prey. Lady Jena's fingers were like sparks over your bare skin, lightning strikes searing your flesh. Each one left their mark.

You settled in Baelor's lap, stockinged thighs thrown over Jena's shoulders as her hungry mouth pressed against your damp cunt. A rose flush clung to her pale cheeks, her pink tongue delving between your folds, making you whimper against Baelor's palm clamped over your mouth. You could taste the salt of his skin. His other hand skimmed down your belly, seeking your swollen pearl and circling it. They worked in tandem to bring you to a sweet release, leaving you trembling and panting in the aftermath. You had never been touched in such a way before. Just stolen, secret kisses, and once a squeeze to the arse. This was utterly divine.

The next night, Jena demonstrated how to pleasure her husband's cock. That rosy mouth wrapped around his stiff flesh, sliding alluringly over it and stretching her lips crudely wide. She pulled away just before his seed spilled, guiding you into her place. It was a strange feeling, making your eyes water and triggering a gag reflex, but she coaxed you into relaxation while Baelor stroked your hair.

"You're doing so well, sweet girl," he praised, which was a remarkably high compliment in itself and one you wished to chase. His seed spilled down your throat; sticky and salty, while Jena's fingers tangled in your hair.

The evenings bled into long hours before you snuck off in the early dawn before the rest of the Keep roused. Thighs marked with pink bumps from Baelor's beard, Jena's red nail scratches on your hips and down your back, and cunt aching from their sweet abuse. Pillows muffled your yawns as you managed to sleep for a bit until the time came for you to look after your grandmother, who was doing much better. You wondered if you would have to return home soon, now that she was in better health. Quickly, you shook such thoughts from your mind. Queen Myriah was delighted at how well you got along with Lady Jena and moved her into her service for the duration of your stay.

"We have a present for you, little pet," Jena cooed, pulling you into her lap and kissing you.

"Oh?" you asked, eager to discover what it was.

Baelor presented you with a necklace on a velvet cushion. Jewels of various colors hung from the golden chain. Ruby, sapphire, emerald, amethyst, citrine, a fire opal, and an indigo hued tanzanite. Every shade in the rainbow.

"It's beautiful, thank you," you beamed as Baelor fastened it around your neck.

They treated you like a princess, spoiling you with trinkets and attention. It was easy to become wrapped in it, to become enveloped in them. You weren't brazen about it; you weren't flaunted around the Keep as a plaything, all of it kept private. Which is perhaps why your meddling grandmother arranged a meeting between you and Lord Leo Tyrell's son when the vassal was visiting at court. You were polite and agreed to tea, not wishing for any suspicion to arise, but you had no intentions of marrying him. You were able to fake a smile for an hour, sipping on your tea and eating cream cakes to keep from screaming as he blathered on about upcoming tourneys.

Though that night at the feast, he asked you for a dance, and you could feel Baelor and Jena's eyes on you. You didn't think you could refuse and accepted his offer, gliding across the stones and twirling as the musicians played.

"What a lovely couple they would, don't you think, Your Grace?" your grandmother whispered loudly to Queen Myriah, who gave a sly smile. Mayhaps you should not have worked so hard nursing her back to health.

You returned to your seat, feeling irritated, and scraped your fork down your plate, relishing in the abrasive sound it made. Your mood did not lift as the night ended and you returned to your chambers. The guard arrived at his usual time to escort you. While part of you wished to be in their company, to be wrapped in their arms, you resisted. Your mood was foul, and you wished to stew in peace.

"I am not coming," you told him crossly before slamming your door and strewing in front of the fire, digging your bare feet into the stone beneath them.

Nearly an hour passed before there was a knock on your door. You put on your slippers and flung the door open. "I told you that I'm not coming!" The words garbled in your throat when you saw Baelor and Jena standing there instead of the guard.

"Yes, so we came to you," Baelor replied coolly as Jena slipped into your chambers.

"I do not recall inviting you in," you growled.

The prince shut and bolted the door behind him before taking hold of your chin, fingers digging into your flesh. You had not seen this side of him before. Jealousy laced through his eyes.

"Is that any way to talk to the heir of the throne?" he accused.

"Oh, so now are the heir with me?" you scoffed.

"I fear our little pet has forgotten her place. Parading about with that Tyrell boy," Jena said, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. She dipped her finger into the pot of sweet cream on your table, coating it. You craved a sweet treat during the hour of the ghosts. Baelor turned your face toward hers, and she shoved her cream-coated finger into her mouth. "We must remind her, husband."

"Indeed."

All you could do was mumble around the finger shoved in your mouth before Jena withdrew it, and a soft, wet pop vibrated through the air. She peeled the robe down your body before capturing you in a violent kiss, teeth gnashing and blood spilling from where she split your lip. You nearly tripped as Baelor spun you around, lapping the blood away and trapping you into an intoxicating kiss that nearly drew all the air from your lungs.

"Do you think that Tyrell boy can make you feel as we do?" Jena whispered in your ear, tugging on your hair.

"N…no," you whimpered once Baelor pulled his mouth away from yours. "I do not care for him; that was my grandmother's doing."

He withdrew his dagger, slicing through the silk of your nightdress, leaving it in tatters. The flat of the blade pressed against your nipple.

"Look at the wildnesses you bring out of us, sweet girl," Baelor whispered, gold flickering in his brown eye.

"I like it," you admitted, heart pounding in your chest. There had been nights when you had been bound with silk or leather, resting on your knees while you pleased them. Soft fabrics wrapped around your eyes as they teased you, competing to see who could make you peak the quickest.

Jena's teeth sank into your shoulder, hard enough to break the skin and leave a mark. It seemed the ravenous dragon blood had somehow toppled into her veins, searing deep in her skin just like it was slowly doing for you. They may have lost their actual dragons, but their allure and power shone brightly. Through your heavy-lidded eyes, you saw the riding crop attached to Baelor's belt. Tonight would be painful, but you would walk on hot coals for them. You would run through fire. A little pain seemed of no consequence.

Your upper body rested against Jena's lap after Baelor bent you across the bed. Arse upturned and vulnerable. The leather tenderly caressed your skin before the sharp crack marred it. Baelor was methodical, striking your skin precisely and criss crossing over the delicate flesh until scarlet welts bloomed. The pain made your skin itch and burn, making the throbbing and need between your thighs almost impossible to ignore. He knelt behind you after, kissing each mark he left while Jena stroked your hair and let you suckle on her fingers.

"Our good girl," she purred while Baelor's hands stroked your hips. "Sweet little pet."

There was a rustling of clothes before he entered you from behind, while Jena continued to hold and stroke you. His thrusts were more powerful this night, driving himself deep inside you.

"Would you like your prince to fill you with his seed?" Jena whispered, her blue eyes turning dark, almost an indigo. She knew what her husband desired above all else. A soft pair of thighs to rut against and a willing cunt to spill in.

"Y…yes please, my lady," you whimpered.

"He desires it above all else, sweet girl; it would make him happy," she whispered, stroking the back of your neck.

"P…please, Your Grace, spill inside me," you begged.

His hips slammed into your sore, bruised arse before he spilled, sending his seed deep inside your cunt and spilling down your thighs. But you weren't satiated yet; you needed them embedded inside you. Flesh burning next to yours. You clawed at Jena first, as Baelor's amused laughter filled the room.

"Our little pet has claws," Jena purred, letting you do as you wished. You suckled on her rosy nipples, tugging them between your teeth. Your tongue trailed over her soft belly before it buried in her cunt. Nails dug into her hips while you tongue fucked her until she mewled like a needy cat in heat. Her naked body arched, hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her moans before she spilled against your mouth.

You set your sights on Baelor next, dragging your nails down his furry chest and the V leading to his ruddy, leaking cock.

"Might you need some time to recover, Your Grace?" you teased wickedly.

"Should I whip you again for such insolence?" he asked sternly, tugging on your hair.

"I fear I might need many beatings before the lesson stick." You felt brazen tonight.

"Do not fret, little pet. I will guide you well." His cock slowly stirred to life, and you wasted no time engulfing him with your mouth. He hissed, bucking his hips.

Jena shifted behind you, the curve of her pelvis pressing agaisnt your arse while you sucked on Baelor's cock.

"We should get you a cock, wife," Baelor grunted.

"Yes, I should like that," she purred, moving her body to the side and sinking two fingers inside you.

Wish fulfilled. Caught between them both, stuffed full and drooling, weeping with desire. Baelor had enough spend to spill into your eager mouth as you clenched around Jena's fingers, soaking them with your release. But it did not end there. It ended with Jena astride Baelor's face with you riding his cock. You milked him dry that evening, hoarding each delicious drop. Jena's mouth melded against yours in a brazen kiss while she soaked her husband's mouth, and you soaked his cock. That morning, they were the ones to sneak off into the early dawn light.

Fate would assure you remained in their favour, forever bound to them.

Two full turns of the moon later, brought you unannounced to the Tower of the Hand, wringing your hands nervously.

"What has you so distressed, sweet pet?" Baelor asked, concerned written all over his face as Jena poured you a cup of pink wine from the Arbor to help soothe your nerves.

Your hand trembled as you took a deep breath.

"I am with child."

“But I like when you get all overprotective and grabby.” He’d probably have a fucking heart attack if held caught you walking down the driveway in your matching silk shorts and tank. There were always people wandering back through here on their way home from the pub. You guys move into an apartment together just off the high street by your university a year ago.

“Fucks sake-“ he groaned, but it wasn’t one of grievance because of your wreckless plans to make him go crazy.

It was one of barely restrained pleasure. You’d been stroking his cock on the couch for approximately a hour now and he’d gotten close to finishing probably four times.

“don’t make me wait.” He groaned fingers digging into your stomach a bit as he sunk deeper into the couch cushions, a new layer of sweat developing over his brow.

“No-I want you to cum in me…” you whined and squeezed his balls, juggling them gently between your fingers. “It’s my birthday you promised I could pick what we do.”

Earlier, after enjoying takeout Chinese and some glazed donuts with birthday candles stuck in them, he’d handed you a card and a small box.

You’d both agreed to no presents, that was the rule for birthday and holidays!

You two were trying to build a life together, committed to making sure your lives in the future would never be similar to the crap you to have grown up around in Flea bottom. The friendship, the shared history and deep understanding of one another’s past made a lot of aspects of being in a relationship easier. There was already established understanding between you two. Really the only challenge had been that you’d both known each other through the lens of platonic friendship for so long that exploring both of your sexual sides was sort of awkward at times. Especially because Duncan was generally sort of shy about this stuff. He got flustered easily and lost in trying to determine if things were “too crazy”

The card was sweet and lovely…and at the end he’d written that it was your night, no judgment. He wouldn’t really answer any of you initial questions, just brought you over to the couch and urged you to open the small box. When you got the wrapping off and pulled out the TV remote you laughed, not understanding how this was a gift to you? He let you pick the nightly TV show almost every night, unless football was on!

You rolled your eyes when Dunk told you to just turn it on and see while opening his knees more so you could sit down between them. That was how you two always relaxed on the couch. It was just habit at this point.

Duncan, who could barely stand the idea of watching porn, because it “wasn’t you” had linked your laptop up to the TV screen and set up your Reddit page that he’d seen you scrolling on before. Your previously liked videos all over the dashboard and now the flat screen. You’d shown him stuff, occasionally, but it got him all flustered and red in a way that seemed cruel so you’d attempted to be a bit less forthcoming with what, other than him, was making you wet as of late.

He knew that, and although he appreciated that you were mindful of where he currently was with sexual exploration he didn’t want to stifle you-especially not on your birthday. He was kissing at your neck and hour prior…telling you how much he loved you, and informing you that he wanted to watch this stuff with you…let you pick something fun for them to do out of it.

He’d gotten the giddy reaction he had anticipated and that made this all worth it…even before you’d pulled his jeans off and began playing with his half hard dick!

Duncan’s forhead pressed against the back of your head breathing in the grapefruit scent of you shampoo to try and steady himself as he twitched in your grip.

“mm…okay keep going.” He squeaked out and you turned back to face forward and hit the down button to move the the next video.

You hummed in satisfaction as a man, dressed fully in a knights costume stood towering over a women knelt fully nude on the floor.

“Jesus-“ dunk blinked watching the man put his foot out a bit and drag the toe of his boot between her spread legs.

“I know…” your biting your lip and stroking him faster as you feverishly watch the women settle down against the guys boot and rock her hips back and forth.

“Just wait…it gets even better.” You tell him without moving your eyes from the video. He does, to look down at you, take in the fact that your nipples are peaked against the fabric of your top, that you are breathing faster than before and that he can feel your thighs clenching. This was getting you off. Majorly apparently.

“Look-“ you squeeze around his tip making him moan and he looked ahead again. Just in time to see the guy yank her hair so hard that she falls back off his shoe some and he the guy tells her to open her mouth.

“no-Christ not that one doll, m’sorry.” He blurts out when the girl opens her mouth wide and lays there while he spit onto her tongue.

He couldn’t understand why you were into all this degradation stuff, he didn’t think it matched with how you carried yourself outside of the bedroom. He didn’t realize yet that it was really a compliment to him, that you wanted to explore this stuff with him. You knew he was safe, knew he would stop as soon as it stopped being fun for you or you started to second guess things. You trusted him more than anybody else in the world.

Quickly you blinked out of the trace and moved to the next video. Surprised to feel his hips suddenly jerk up against your hand. You glanced from him to the screen and saw his eyes were locked to it. Glued to the image of a guy railing this girl from behind. Hands grabing her back and ass to drag her whenever he needed her to be positioned.

You knew the spank was coming, you’ve watched this one a few times in the past so you stayed turned towards him waiting to see what his reaction was.

Smirking when the loud slap sounded and Duncan’s light eyes rapidly grew darker. He liked this.

His hand grabbed your wrist suddenly to stop the stroking and he kissed you.

“That one…let’s do that baby.” He breathed eyes still glancing at the screen a few times. You eagerly nodded standing up and pulling your shirt off, shimmying the thin shorts down off your feet as well. Strings of your arousal connected from you to the crotch of those. You got appallingly wet. Constantly. Your thighs squelching as he grabed your waist with both hands and pulled you back to him. He kissed down your chest, his ear brushing your nipples as you ran your hand through his hair.

“You won’t hurt me” you promised him. The moans from the TV still playing out behind you.

“I’m serious Duncan, you wont.” His bright topical sea blue eyes looked up at you as he kissed down your stomach, hands gently following and moving from your waist to your lower back. He swallowed when the weight of you ass warmed his cupped hands.

“and even if you do…” you bent a bit kissing his lips “It’ll just make me cum harder.” You hummed in his ear before bending over onto the couch cushion looking back at him like a minx as his mind fought to catch up to this moment.

Though when he watched you settle onto your hands and knees at the other end of the couch Duncan was quick to gather his mind, and his slack jaw and quickly got behind you.

“you’re soaked-“ he kissed at your back, and you moaned when his hands gripped your thighs opening them up some more by pulling the soft skin.

“I’ve been playing with your cock and watching porn for a hour…I should hope I’m wet.” You laughed dryly and smiled when Dunk kept kissing lower, mouthing at your ass a bit and you held to the couches arm rest arching your back more to present yourself better. He took his time groping your butt, squeezing the cheeks and smirking when you’d whimper.

“fucking hell,” you groaned, cheek pushed against the armrest and you gripped the fabric some when his teeth flared against your smooth skin.

You reached a single arm back when one of his hands dropped to drag over your slit. His knuckle brushed your clit because it peaked slightly out from between your lips since you were so worked up by this point. You whinned and grabbed just under your ass and pulled yourself open, smiling and moaning because that parted you open enough that his fingers dragged right against your hungry core, clenching desperately at even just the slight dip in his finger made.

You gasped when he seemed to see you needed some relief asap, swatting your hand away and heaving you up slightly by your arse so your pussy was level with his face. He leaned forward, tongue aimed first to lick at your drooling core and you groaned lowly. Nodding into the couch when his tongue flattened to flick back and forth over your bud. Nosing at your vagina some which made you instinctively push back towards his face.

Your eyes shut, enjoying the feeling, savoring it. He devoured you, constantly, he was happy to do this for both of you every night. It helped you relax and get to sleep, generally just assisted in unwinding after a crazy clinical day. There wasn’t anything better than having him eat you out to climax, clean you up, and then snuggle you in bed!

He had don’t it enough that he knew just how to push you over the edge. Your fingers dragged over the arm rest and your face pressed to it, hair hiding you from him as your mouth opened and forhead contorted. You couldn’t move from this position because he had your hips up high and so you had to take everything he gave you.

“I’m coming-fuck my gods Dunk!” You exclaimed, with a gasp. You tensed some as the climax ripped through you.

He pulled his face back from you licking slightly at his lips as they glistens from your orgasm. His hands rubbed up and down the outer side of both your thigh and whined because that made goose bumps rise all over your legs, only made worse because of the cool air hitting your warm messy pussy.

“that was nice.” You giggled once recovered, and slowly moved your hips from side to side trying to coax him to keep going.

Duncan was hypnotized by your lower have swaying in front of him. He was fisting his cock at the moment making sure he was as hard as possible for you.

“greedy girl,” his hand dropped his dick and he tapped his palm against your ass. You lowered into a more serve of an arched back and moaned. “Just finished and already need me in ya?” He gave your bottom another tap and shifted so your other cheek was pressed to the sofa and you could look back at him.

“harder.” You demanded, eyes blazing with need. “Please Dunk, it’s my birthday-AaaHhh!” Suddenly his palm slammed down against your right cheek and you moaned loudly at the stinging feeling the prickled you ass now.

He squeezed the reddening flesh and then spanked you again watching your face as you drooled a bit against the bed and your eyes contently closed.

“this what you been needing, needed to be spanked?” He raised a brow and you nodded.

“mhm…” you push yourself back against him and earn another wack for being to over eager.

“fuck me like a whore!” You suddenly cried out ass beat red on both sides and you reached back with both hands to spread yourself open more for him. He got up on his knees behind you, and instantly grabed your hips pulling you back until his tip hooked into your core. You pulled your hand back and used them under you the brace yourself so you wouldn’t suffocate face down against the couch.

“you want that? What me to use you to cum? To get off as quickly as I can? That’s what you want?” You nodded beaming because that’s exactly what you want!

The ability to use your voice to form any coherent words leaves you entirely for a moment because he had placed one hand against the center of your back to hold you still and the other found a warm home between the fold of your thigh and pelvis as he pushed himself forward.

“ohhh, fuck….yes thank you. Mmm” you groaned lowly eyes shutting with a flutter as his balls slap into your clit. He hadn’t ever gotten so deep that quick. He always worked into you slowly.

The thrill of having to adjust to his large…giant cocks intrusion left you whimpering and clenching.

He was so deep in you that there was a a slight physical protrusion of your lower belly and you gasped when you managed to shift your weight onto one arm and shoulder so you could reach down and feel at that spot.

“Fucks sake.” Dunk gulped at the additional pressure your hand provided. As if your snug pussy wasn’t more than enough for him! He’d slammed into you but thrusting was a different story. He couldn’t bring himself to keep going until he knew you could handle it so he kisses at your back, rubbed his fingers over the welted skin on your ass and waited until your tense whimpers became warm, needy, disgruntled whines!

“Y’so patient tonight,” Duncan stretched to kiss the back of your head. Smirking a bit when he saw your cheek squished against the cushion.

“Mmm no just full up.” You mumble squeezing yourself around him for good measure. Eyes watery from him being within your fully. It did not matter how often you two slept together, he was still beyond well endowed and your body had to adjust to him every time.

“I could just stay like this?” He kissed across your shoulders and his hand moved down from your hip to reach for the top of your slit and he rubbed two fingers against your clit. You liked a side to side motion with his fingers over circling for what he’d noticed. “Could get you off easy like this.” He breathed in the scent at the nape of your neck and groaned lowly when you whined and pushed yourself back against him. You were already feeling your stomach tighten from what his fingers were doing to you.

“no….” You groaned shaking your head and trying to look back at him. “Fuck me p-properly.” You begged him, voice cutting out from a gasp.

“So Greedy.” He taunted and you rolled your eyes huffing.

“it’s my birthday.” Your legs squeezed together a bit because his hand was working you really close to your edge and you worried you’d get to oversensitive to keep going if you came again!

“aye, it is. Happy birthday my girl.” He leaned over your fully, hand leaving your wet pussy to grab your jaw and turn you to him a bit more. He kissed you hungrily while stroking your cheek.

“fuck!” You pratically bit his lip when his hips stuttered back mid kiss and then snapped back against your ass.

“fuck…oh fuck!” That was the only vocabulary in your mind at the moment. Which was fair because Dunk had let got of your cheek, grabed both your hips and was currently dragging you back and forth to meet this movements of his twitching cock.

“like this? This is how you want to be fuck?” He groaned out, it did feel quite good. Everytime he pulled back he pushed your hips forward and then dragged your butt to smack into his lap when he thrusted in. It meant his cock was hitting the deep sensitive place within you each time.

“yes! YES!” You nodded finger nails digging into the fabric of the couch as you gasped and groaned. Eyes shut tight as you took the pounding. You’d wanted this for so bloody long and it felt like a dream now that you were finally getting it. “Fuck keep going-don’t stop Dunk.” You begged him throughly gritted teeth. It was alot for you to handle, you’d probably have a limp tomorrow…and this sort of sex was probably going to bring on your period a few days early but all of that was more than worth it for this moment.

Duncan was grunting, quite an anomalistically behind you, chasing his own high and that even warmer heat he knew would surround him when your finished with him still inside. Both of you were pretty addicted to feeling the other cum.

“Oh fucking hell-ugh, harder!” You cry and gasp when he pushes your hips down suddenly so you’re trapped flat on the sofa. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.” You whimper when he begin to take you at this new angle, his hips smacking into your round arse and the angle made yoh feel like his tip was going to just barrel right through your belly button. “Fu-dunk! fuck!” You shriek suddenly, going stiff? Holding your breath and shaking a bit under him as your pussy spasm and you reach quite the peak against him.

He was spilling his own release into you the moment your cunt gripped him tighter than he’d ever felt before. You were still in the throws of your orgasm when Duncan’s shaking body leaned over you, his knees pressed in the space of yours and you whimpered at the warmth of his chest laying over your back. Eyes opening a bit to see his tense hand was pressed into the cushion beside your head to keep himself up slightly. He would crush you, as much as you wanted to let him just crumble onto of you, it was legitimately suffocating.

“roll over baby.” You managed to get out eyes clearing and your senses coming back before his. He always took a long time to recover. But you found that sweet. That you made him feel so good he was pratically drunk after!

“come er’ doll” he flopped onto his side, back against the backrest of the sofa and he moaned at the feeling of slipping out of your warmth. You quickly shifted against him, smiling at how sweaty he was. “I love you too.” He responded to your climax blubbering and opened his eyes hand stroking your cheek that was red from the effort of what you two had just done.

“So much.” You closed your eyes and laid your head over his chest making sure your ear was in a spot that you could feel his thundering heartbeat.

“thank you for my present.” You whisperer keeping your eyes closed as you dangled one arm down between your tight to feel the mess.

“let me catch my breath and I’ll get us to the shower.” He promised. You nodded gently against him.

“mkay.” You had a lot less of a bite, then you had earlier because of how throughly fucked and satisfied you felt. “Thank you.”

He kissed your temple, fingers trailing through your hair as he studied you, your dark lashes, the little marks on your face from the sun or maybe acne when you both were younger, and then he groaned a bit. A low, needy, aroused groan when he reached your lips and they were parted. Filled with two of your fingers as you sucked the mess of both your orgasms off you fingers.

“You are bloody wild woman” but the amused tilt to his voice was so warm it made you beam up at him.

“you love it…admit it.” You squeezed his side, licking your lip chuckling when he bent to kiss you as his response.

She remained beside the sofa, handing the maester the items he required to finish the stitches and mix the salve that would go overtop to keep infection out.

Daeron could heard you two speak, about him, as you led the man towards the door. He was outlining instructions on how to care for the wound on the journey back to Summerhall. It wasn’t likely any member of the royal family would be remaining in Ashford for a moment longer than they need to!

“I pray you’ll be better behaved for me than you were him.” You said as soon as the door was shut. “I hardly have a maesters touch.”

“aye, but I do not mind if you are not gentle.” He was being clever. He always rested on his humor when things were bad and he found himself in a poorly position.

“You will care quite a bit when the poppy wears off and you can actually feel your face. I assure you.” He did not miss that you grimaced a bit while touching your finger to his jaw, it was all bruises quite horrible.

“you’ve seen me look worse-“

“I have not.” Your tone was deathly serious and it gave away that you’d been shaken by this.

While sitting down beside him you couldn’t help but shake your head. This was far worse then the simple bumps he got on his head from stumbling about, or cuts he wound up with while trying to sneak back into or out of the keep. He was paler than he was when he got a horrid cold from staying out all night unconscious in a muddy bank besides one of the brothels.

When the guards had brought him home that time you had half a mind to ride to the village and tell off every women in the establishment for letting him just leave while he was in that state! The only reason you had not was because Daeron kept muttering your name while the maester attempted to break his fever.

That was three years ago and his father, Prince Maekar had done you all a service by pretending he did not near who his eldest had called for.

Another lord, one less busy, one with far less to concern himself with, would have likely taken you off of Daeron’s service. They just assume what was happening when a young man, a prince, was seeking out their maid.

Maybe things would have been easier for you if Prince Maekar had seen you moved to his younger daughter’s service or just rid from the hall entirely.

It would be agony for Daeron though and perhaps Maekar knew that and couldn’t bare to take something else away from him.

“It’s a cut.” He offered and began to move to get his muddy and somewhat bloody clothing off.

“half your ear is gone Daeron-“ you began before he cut you off leaning in a bit towards where you sat.

“sorry, what was that?” He raised his brow and cupped his wounded ear. Snickering a bit when you hit his chest.

“you jest Daeron but I watched you be trampled…again and again!” You pushed yourself back up and began to pace, not able to stand how he was acting. “Prince Baelor lost his life and you are making quips. You very well could be being prepared by the silent sisters right now as well!”

Gods above, he was impossible.

You had to face away from him, gods forbid he thought he was truly so hilarious and decided to continue on with his idiotic remarks. They did not ease you at all and absolutely did not make you feel that this is any less serious!

You outright flinched when his hand touched your back. Fingers curling over your shoulder and you kept faced away from him.

“I’m alright, I know you were scared, but I swear to you that I am.” He breathed out, voice much softer and gentle than it was before. It seemed he had remembered himself, and who he was with at the moment.

“why did you even need to participate in that blasted trail-“ now you turned, which displaced his hands.

“Losing your brother…claiming him stolen away-slipping from the group your father had sent you ahead with?. Daeron I could strangle you, I swear it!” Hearing him assure you he was genuinely okay and recognize that he’d frightened you you’d felt this reaction was justified. He was being wreckless…or rather it was likely just he had so little regard for himself that it seemed he never attempted any action that would be self preserving.

The prince looked down at your hands, your knuckles were white from how tightly balled your fist were. You’d smacked him before…a while ago, not that long into when you became his maid. He’d made a mess of his chambers, barricading himself inside and slipping out a note under the door asking you to bring him wine and women.

Under false promises that you had a barrel of wine and also two very pretty women for him in the hall, he opened the door. The moment a flagon of wine was dumped over his feet and your hand flew against his cheek he was beyond enchanted by you.

From then on you were always the one assigned to the oldest of Prince Maekar’s children, he requested you personally whenever another maid would show up. You did not let him get away with so very much, and given all the time you two spent together he knew you had developed an actual understanding of who he was. What could be pushed and what couldn’t. It was a thin and very sensitive like that you trapezes better than any other person in his life.

“I did not know you would be here.” He admitted with a long exhale eyes closing firmly for a moment before his heavy lids opened back up to look down at you.

“so that is reason to get yourself killed?!” The excuse was less than a comfort. It made you more nervous about the future. About what would happen when this courtship his father was arranging on his behalf actually played out. He was just going to be careless if you weren’t there? If he knew you weren’t going to be watching and worrying over him?

Daeron seemed to be at a loss for words because he allowed his shrugging shoulders to response before he stepped around you to slump down against the bed.

“and what will you do when you eventually marry Daeron? Just be stomped over by every horse in the stable?” He looked up from the bed in an instant. Brow furrowed as his eyes took in your scowl. He found you pretty still. All frustrated and upset. You were more beautiful to him thought when he had done something sweet or said something humorous as a more appropriate time. When you smiled and your eyes got narrow and twinkly when your laughed.

He wanted to see you like that more. He always told himself that he would get himself together enough so that you did not frown as much, or at least did not frown for or because of him.

“when you marry and I leave Summerhall, what will you do?”

“You will still be there my lady…” he pressed eyes searching yours for more of an explanation.

“Daeron…” you shook your head voice failing you under the pressure of his eyes. The wrinkle you saw forming between his brow as what you were saying settled over him. He was up and to the sofa at once, knees pressing into the ground by your feet. He was tall enough that even in that position that your eyes were level with one another.

“no,” he grabed your cheeks rubbing them both. “You will remain with me even if this courtships pans out I will ensure it.” He search your sad eyes for agreement and his shoulders fell when he found not.

“it would be torture-“You swallowed down the lump in your throat. “Please…I cannot”. To watch him be with a lady, even if it was strictly duty, would be agony for you!

“you will have my time, my attention, my….love. Gods you know where my true feeling lay.” He pushed your hair back. All tattered from rushing around when the trial ended and you were trying to find where he was being dragged off too.

“but-“ your jaw was shaking and you closed your eyes the moment Daeron’s hand tucked around the nape of your neck and settled you into his chest.

“but nothing, things will go on as they have.”

You wondered what he referred to when he said things. You being his friend? Cleaning him up? Watching him sleep? Lingering at feasts and festivities so he always had somebody to escape to for conversation?

Or did he mean sitting against you while you brushed his hair? Kissing his temple when he woke scared? Slipping into the pond at one of the more secluded gardens and letting the sun dry the both of you while you laid out in the plush grass and he told you stories while tracing the lines on your palm?

You’d given him years of your life…years of love and bits of yourself that you knew you could never get back despite no real transgressions occurring between you two.

“you love me? Do you not?” You whispered it against him, it was as if your voice did not actually ant to say it. You’d resisted addressing all this outright for so long already your body seemed desperate to just keep it all in a bit longer.

“Yes…more than myself.” He held you to him tighter, for once mot wanting to see your eyes. He knew they’d not be slivered and twinkling in this moment.

“it will kill me to see you with her. A little bit will die within me with every passing day. I swear to you.” You were crying, despite the fact that your eyes were sealed tightly close trying to prevent it.

“Do not torture me with that fate Daeron. P-please.” You wrapped your arm around him, holding at his back.

For the first time he held you until sleep came to ease the tears from your eyes and settle your forheads tensions. Your frown even softened to a gentle line. He stayed up, watching you, memorizing every breath you took and giving you more space when you twitched in your sleep.

For a heartbeat, the world was silent save for a choked curse from Maekar beside you. Your hands flew to your bodice, fingers clumsy and numb as they fumbled with the laces. The silk felt rough against your skin. You could feel the heat of shame crawling up your neck. It had nothing to do with the act itself and everything to do with the look on your father's face.

Beside you, Maekar was already fastening his breeches, his movements economical and swift. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his eyes, usually so full of a molten warmth for you, were now wide with panic you had never seen before. He took a step toward the door.

"Maekar, no," You grabbed his arm, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his bicep. "Do not."

"I must," He tried to pull away, but you held on. "I must explain this to him."

"Explain?" A harsh, broken laugh escaped your lips. "He will kill you. He will run you through and not think twice on it. Did you not see his face?"

A sob tore from your throat, your shoulders shook, as you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, as if you could physically hold the grief inside. Maekar reached for you, trying to pull you into an embrace. "My love," 

You slapped his hand away. The hurt that flashed across his face made you feel guilty, but you could not bear to be touched. "Do not," you choked out, turning your back to him, wrapping your arms around yourself. "Just… do not."

You could feel his gaze on the back of your neck. "I am sorry," he said finally. "I am sorry it happened thus. Yet he was always going to learn of it. I did not wish to keep you a secret."

You hated the words. In that moment, his declaration sounded almost like relief. As if this terrible, earth-shattering confrontation was a necessary step he was glad to have taken. You knew it was not fair, you knew it was your own pain twisting his meaning, but you could not help it. You turned back to him, face streaked with tears, and stepped into the circle of his arms.

He held you tightly, one hand stroking your hair, the other pressed firm against the small of your back, anchoring you. He rested his chin on the top of your head. "He will be angry," Maekar said, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "But he cannot stay angry with you for long."

He could not have been more wrong.

The week that followed was an exercise in silent torture. Baelor did not speak to either of you, refusing to so much as look at either of you or be in the same room longer than necessary.

Where you had always stood at his side you found your place now occupied by your brother Valarr. He looked deeply uncomfortable to be in the middle of a squabble he did not understand. His pleading, apologetic gaze meeting yours. You felt like an exile in your own home.

You tried to bridge the chasm. Each morning, Baelor would break his fast with you, yet when you went to his solar, the place where you had always been welcomed without announcement, you were stopped by the guard. "My apologies, Princess. The Prince has asked not to be disturbed."

"Disturbed by me?"

"By anyone, Princess," he replied unconvincingly.

But the cruelest cut of all, the one that truly shattered you, was the tea. Since you were a small girl, you and your father had shared a private tea every seventh day in a small, sun-drenched room in the gardens. It was the one place in the world where titles and duty fell away. You would talk, he would listen, give you counsel, make you laugh as he sipped his tea, his eyes soft with affection. Here, he was just your papa.

You went to the sun room, fussing over the servants' work until it was just as you wanted. The tea was brewed, the little lemon cakes you both loved were on a plate, and the sun was high in the sky. You waited until the room grew cold, until the tea was undrinkable. He did not come.

You were utterly alone.

What you did not know was that Baelor had come. He had stood by the door only a few steps away, close enough to hear you singing a little tune. He had pictured you inside, waiting for him, your face bright with anticipation, and the weight of what he had seen, what he had lost, crushed him. He could not bring himself to walk through the door and retreated to the silent, cold comfort of the library, where he worked through the night. The ink from his quill blurring with tears he would not allow himself to shed.

That evening, you poured all of it out to Maekar. You sobbed against his chest, your hands fisted in his tunic as he held you, his body rigid with fury on your behalf. This could not continue.

You were in your language lesson the next afternoon when a steward arrived for you. "Princess," he said with a formal bow. "His Grace, the King, requests your presence."

Your heart seized as you walked the familiar path to Daeron's chambers, your stomach a knot of dread.

The room was exactly as you remembered it. Walls lined with books from floor to ceiling. Massive windows overlooking the city, and there, standing as far apart as possible, were your father and Maekar. The air between them crackled with tension and volatile energy.

Your grandfather, Daeron, sat behind his desk. He saw you immediately, his gaze softening as he took in your defeated face and the tremor in your hands.

"Oh, my child." He rose from his chair and came to you, his hands reaching out to take yours. "The days have not been kind to you, have they?"

You simply shook your head, the gesture releasing a fresh wave of tears you had not realized were still trapped inside.

Daeron tutted softly, pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbing at your face. "There, there, we cannot have you weeping over this."

He released your hands and turned, addressing the room, his statement for everyone and no one. "Maekar has asked for your hand in marriage," he announced. "I have decided to agree to the match."

"Father?" Baelor snarled, his mismatched eyes blazing. "How could you? Without even consulting me?"

"Someone must think of her," Maekar said, his voice laced with contempt. "Since her own father cannot be troubled to—"

That was it. Baelor flew across the room, his face a thundercloud, lunging for his brother, his fist connecting cleanly with Maekar's cheek. "Stop! I beg you," you shouted, but they continued grappling, a mess of furious muscle and royal silks.

"Boys, please," Daeron said, his voice weary from a lifetime of mediating squabbles. "Stop this, you are men grown."

Baelor shoved Maekar away, his chest heaving. "I have always given you everything that was mine," his voice trembling with pain. "Freely! Without complaint! Yet it is not enough. You would steal my daughter?"

You moved to Maekar's side, your hand finding his, fingers lacing through. "I am a woman grown," you said. "Free to make my own choices, as you have always claimed."

Your father looked at you for the first time in a week. The anger in his eyes seemed to fracture, replaced by hurt. He shook his head slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I do not understand this," he whispered, the words meant only for himself.

Daeron sighed. "Children will astound you," he said, turning to glare at his youngest son as he spoke. "They do not always behave as you would wish them to." He sighed again. "Come, Maekar. Let us leave them to speak."

He placed a hand on Maekar's shoulder and guided him toward an adjoining room, the door closing softly behind them, leaving you alone with Baelor in silence.

You turned slowly to face your father. He was staring at the spot where Maekar had been, his profile sharp and unreadable.

"Papa. Look at me."

He would not.

Tears pricked at your eyes again, a fresh well of sorrow. "I am so sorry," you choked out. "I am sorry I have shamed you. You are right to hate me, and I shall understand it if you do. But I need my father, please."

That finally turned him. His eyes searched your face, and the hard mask of anger crumbled. He saw his girl, weeping and broken, because of him.

"Petal," he breathed, crossing the space between you, his hands coming up to cup your face and gently wipe away your tears. "I could never hate you."

You blinked up at him, confused.

"It was never about you being with him. Not truly." He shook his head, his gaze distant. "Since you were small, you have told me everything, from the ladybug that landed on your finger to the quarrels amongst you and your friends. You never once kept a secret from me, even when you feared you were in the wrong. I cannot understand why you would keep this from me. It makes me feel as though… the trust, the closeness, was never real."

His voice broke on the last word, and the sight of it, your strong, unshakeable father brought to the brink of tears, was more than you could bear. "The act wounds me," he continued, his voice a whisper. "But the lie… the secret is what has broken my heart."

Then you pulled him into a hug, and he held you so tightly you could barely breathe, his face buried in your hair. "I am sorry," he murmured. "For how I have behaved. For the silence. No amount of apologies can undo it, but I am sorry, petal."

You clung to him, the week's worth of ice and fear finally thawing in the warmth of his embrace.

He held you for a long time, just rocking you gently, until the tension had finally drained from both of you. Then he pulled back, his hands on your shoulders, and a faint, wry smile touched his lips.

"You know," he said, his tone lighter. "I might yet find you a better match."

You pushed lightly against his chest, a laugh bubbling up, startling you both with its sound. "Stop it," you said, swatting at his arm. "I love him."

He eyed you, his head tilted. "Are you certain? He is a dark cloud, and you my sunshine. I cannot imagine what the two of you could possibly speak of."

"Father!" you said, indignant, pushing away from him more firmly this time, a smile gracing your face.

He relented, his hands held up in surrender. "Very well, very well," he chuckled. "I accept it. You have my blessing." His expression then sobered slightly, a glint of the old, protective fire returning to his eyes. He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone.

"But if he ever misbehaves," he said, his gaze hard and deadly serious, "if he ever causes you a single moment of unhappiness, I will run him through."

You looked at your father, at the fierce, unwavering love in his eyes, and smiled. "Do not fret," you said softly. "Maekar is well aware of it. You ought to beg his forgiveness for striking him."

"Must I? He struck as well as he received."

"Yes. The septons say we must love our brothers."

“Can’t help it. You know I love you like this” Every shove you make against him, he deflects. He grabs your hips and pulls you harshly against him, so your backside bounces against the hardness in his pants. “You know I always need your cunt when she’s bleeding. Don’t fight me.”

You whine in agitation. You felt bloated, achy, and completely undesirable, but your husband’s words still had their usual effect on your body. The pulse of desire was sparking inside, despite your hesitation and bad mood. Aerion removes his hands from you to unlace his shirt, so you take the opportunity to stride across the room, away from him.

He groans in exasperation at your distance.

“It’s the beginning of my cycle… so there is a lot of blood” you warn, more for yourself than him.

“The maesters say the beginning is the best time for the seed to take” he walks over to you, countering your issue with a solution. “And besides, have you ever known me to shy away from spilled blood?” He holds his hands up as though he is approaching a skittish animal. “You always say it helps with your pains” he reminds you.

“I hate you” you grumble and turn away from him. The hard plane of his back brushes the back of your head.

“I’m so mean, aren’t I?” He pulls you over to the bed, and sits on the edge. One hand holds your wrist secure while the other works his pants loose enough to free his cock. It’s hard and springs free with a slap to his bare stomach.

You cannot help but hungrily stare and he notices. He always does.

“You might hate me right now, but your pussy needs me” he bunches your nightgown up and spins you to face away from him. With a firm grip on your hips he lines you up in his cock. Gravity does the work, letting you side easily onto him. “See? You always take me so well” He mumbles, mystified as he watches his cock enter you, aided by the slickness of your cunt. You let him bottom out and feel the quick pants of his breath as he anticipates your next actions. You don’t move in the way he wants. You only reach for his hands and pull them around you.

He groans, desperate for any friction. “Move, my love”

“No, not yet. Let me just be close to you” you tug his arms tighter, seeking comfort and affections from your husband.

“Woman, move” he commands through gritted teeth.

You motion like you’re going to get up and remove yourself from him. Aerion had used up the little patience you had for him today. But once he realizes this, he backtracks quickly.

“Okay, oh okay fine.” He sighs as he bends to your will. “We’ll just sit here a minute. Whatever you want my love”

You smile triumphantly. You just let your husband embrace you, his body heat radiates from him to soothe your aches.

"You're hurting today?" he asks, pressing a kiss to the back of your head.

"A bit, yes." you admit. Your husband demonstrates his love for you by always ensuring you are doted on. In the time you have been married you’ve become quite spoiled - anything you desire is brought to you instantly. This is typical for a Targaryen princess. But what isn’t typical is that you act more like extensions of each other and not spouses joined by political marriage. You both feel a bit possessive of the other - twin flames - bodies and souls replicas of each other. You pick at his cuticles as a nervous habit as if they were your own hands. He fixes and adjusts your clothes constantly, concerned with your appearance as a reflection of his own.

Aerion kneads the flesh of your hips and lower back, where you’ve mentioned the cramps settle the most. His lean fingers dig in to the muscle, working out the tension. “There you go” he mutters. He eases the nightgown over your head, showing the bare expanse of your back to him. He notices your shoulders relaxing, melting into his touch. So he takes your hips and moves you ever so slightly up the length of his cock.

That is all it takes for Aerion to see red, literally. The primal switch in his brain has flipped after seeing his cock coated with blood. It’s something that reminds him of how fertile his wife is, how basic both of your nature is to produce children. He can only think of how what you would look like carrying his babe. His brain operates as a draconic beast to take, take, take. He rolls his hips up into yours, a little faster this time. “Let me fuck you properly now" he mutters. He's done being soft, time has run out and now he is antsy, needing to claim what is his. He maneuvers you underneath him, so you are kneeling at the edge of the bed, all while staying sheathed inside you. "My gorgeous girl, all mine.”

Aerion snaps his hips up into you, chasing heat that emanates from your cunt. The slide is easy, due to the blood, and he finds a steady rhythm snapping his hips into your backside. He cocoons your body with his, leaning his face next to yours. "You won't have to suffer from your moonbleed when you are with child. I can keep you so full, gorgeous girl." He snakes a hand in between your legs to find your slick folds and clit. His hand presses roughly against the pulsing nerves. "Let me fill you."

You turn your head to kiss him. It's sloppy exchanges of breath and saliva more than kissing. "You'd better." You challenge. "You are mine." A satisfied grumble emanates from within his chest as he wraps a firm, but not oppressive hand around your neck. This holds you pressed firmly into his chest. His fingers mercilessly work your clit until you orgasm suddenly. It hits you as fast as lighting, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut and simply succumb to the tremors of pleasure coursing through your body.

He moves his hand down to wrap an iron grip around your middle and comes with a shuddering groan of "Oh fuck". You feel thick ropes of spend being emptied deep within you. Afterwards, he pulls out but quickly presses a finger to plug your entrance, ensuring no spend drips out. He kneels before you, holding his fingers there as you sit on the edge of the bed, catching your breath. The inside of your thighs is smeared with blood and arousal. You cannot help but gawk at the crimson carnage he created. “Now we are both a mess, dear. I hope you’re happy.”

Again, he counters the issue with a solution. “I will send for the servants to draw a bath for you. Just make sure you keep the spend inside, alright?" He removes his fingers, gives a firm squeeze to your knee, then stands. He never sits still for long, and now is no exception. A tender kiss on your lips, and then he's pulling on his shirt, like he's ready to go about his day.

“Join me husband? You should bathe too.”

He picks his pants up off the floor, stepping into them with blood drying all over the length of his cock, and matted into the white hair at the base.

He answered not with words but by nuzzling your neck, his nose burying into your skin. His breath came in hot, slow puffs that made you shiver, tickling just below your ear. The hedge knight was soft in these quiet hours, slow to stir. On any other day, you would have melted back into his touch, but the throb in your womb grew too loud. Your breasts felt heavy, swollen, aching sharply the moment you adjusted your weight.

You twisted slowly in his arms until you faced him. His features were hard planes and soft shadows in the dying light. His nose had that crooked bend from a tourney years past; a pale scar cut clean through his eyebrow. His hair lay tangled across his broad forehead. He was built for fighting, a man made of iron and timber, but in sleep his huge frame was loose. To the world, he was a shield. Here, he was your Dunk.

Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, his thick stubble scraping against your skin. His eyes stayed closed, but his mouth softened at your touch. Your hand moved down his throat, over his chest, where the dark hair was coarse against your palm. You felt so small next to him.

Sliding your hand lower, following the ridges of his stomach to where the blanket started, you pressed your own belly, trying to ease the cramp inside. The pressure only made the ache twist tighter. You frowned, a sudden, familiar dampness spreading between your thighs—too wet, too slick for the sheets.

Your breath caught. You knew that feeling.

With a knot of dread tightening in your chest, you lifted the blanket. Even in the dim ember-light, the dark stain was clear on the linen, spreading beneath you. Your blood, soaking through your shift and onto the bed, right where he had been inside you hours before.

A gasp escaped you. You scrambled back, pulling away from his warmth in a sudden panic. The movement made you clumsy, and you tumbled off the side of the bed. Your bare feet hit the cold stone floor. You stood there shivering, watching a dark line trace down the inside of your thigh. Heat flooded your face. You had ruined his bed, made a mess of him, exposed this raw, private part of your body.

Dunk woke the instant you left his side. The ropes of the bed groaned as he sat up, a mountain of muscle rising in the gloom.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

His voice was rough with sleep but sharp with immediate worry. His eyes searched the room before finding you. His gaze swept over your shaking body, seeing how you tried to pull the hem of your shift down to hide the stains. When he caught the dark smear on your thigh and the wet patch on the bed, his face went completely pale. To a man like him, blood meant violence. It meant a blade.

"Gods," he choked out, his voice cracking. "I did this. I hurt you."

He stepped off the bed, his massive hands held out, trembling.

"No, don't look!" you cried, shrinking back against the wall as tears spilled down your cheeks.

Dunk looked entirely helpless, his hands clenching at his sides as his mind clearly raced through horror stories of internal injuries.

"But how?" he whispered, his breath coming fast and shallow. "I was gentle. I swear to you, girl, I was always careful."

"It's not from that," you sobbed, your face burning with a deep, ancient shame.

You couldn't meet his eyes. Your mother had called moon blood a private burden, a woman's secret, never to be brought before men. You had no words to explain this to a knight looking at you with such sheer, broken terror. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking with silent sobs.

Seeing your tears, Dunk closed the distance between you in a single stride, his massive shadow completely covering you. Before you could protest, his arms scooped you up like you weighed nothing at all. You squeaked, but he settled you securely against his chest, wrapping the fallen blanket around your shoulders.

He didn't take you back to the stained bed. He carried you straight to the heavy chair by the hearth, sinking down with you in his lap. He held you tight, one hand spreading flat across your back, pressing you into his body heat until your panicked breathing slowly matched his.

"Hush now, I've got you," he rumbled against your hair. He was still shaking from the panic of thinking he'd broken you. He pulled back slightly, his thick finger tilting your chin up. "Don't be scared of me. Just tell me what's wrong. I don't understand, but I'm here."

Your breath hitched, the dam of your shame breaking under his honesty.

"It's my moon blood," you whispered against his chest. "It comes every month. It's normal."

He blinked, his thick brow furrowing. He looked from your tear-streaked face to the dark stain on the bed, his mind working hard. "Moon blood?"

You nodded, heat crawling up your neck. "It means I'm not with child."

Understanding finally dawned. His broad shoulders slumped, the terrifying tension draining from his frame as he let out a long, shuddering breath.

"Oh," he breathed against your skin. A tentative, sheepish smile broke through his rugged features. "That's all?"

You stared, your tears momentarily forgotten. "All? Dunk, I bled all over our bed."

He snorted, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "That's what's troubling you?" He shifted you in his lap, his thick fingers sliding through your hair. "Gods be good, I thought I'd ripped you in two. I was ready to ride naked through the castle looking for a maester." He shook his head, a self-deprecating laugh escaping him. "I'm a fool. A great, stupid oaf."

A watery laugh escaped you. His relief was so plain, his panic so genuine, that the humiliation simply melted away. Warmth spread through your chest. He wasn't disgusted. He wasn't angry. He was just Dunk. Your big, protective, wonderfully clueless knight.

He leaned down, kissing your forehead, then the crooked bridge of his nose nudged against yours before he found your lips. It was a kiss full of quiet devotion.

"Are you in pain?" he asked against your mouth, his brow furrowing again. "You winced when you moved."

"Some," you admitted softly. "A dull ache low down. And..." You hesitated, feeling the heavy, sensitive weight against his chest. "Sometimes they swell. My breasts. They feel tender and sore."

Dunk’s hand went entirely still against your waist. His gaze snapped down, his eyes darkening as he tracked the heavy rise and fall of your chest beneath the shift. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening with a sudden, fierce restraint.

"Tender?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave, rough and hesitant. He looked back up at your face, an anxious shadow crossing his eyes. "Do they hurt? Am I pressing too hard against you, girl?"

You bit your lip, a different kind of shiver running through you at the intense focus in his blue eyes. The safety of his embrace and the radiating heat of his large hands were already working a slow magic, turning the sharp, miserable cramps into a low, heavy pooling of warmth.

"A little," you admitted, tilting your chin up to look at him. "But it's... a good sort of ache, Dunk. I want you to touch them."

His breath hitched, the sudden shift from comfort to raw desire thick in the air. He shifted his weight, carefully sliding you off his lap and settling you into the deep cushion of the wooden chair.

"Stay here where it's warm," he murmured, his thumb catching a stray tear from your cheek.

He stood, his naked frame a pale, towering wall in the firelight. He walked to the bed, his long legs moving with purpose. With one massive hand, he ripped the soiled sheets from the mattress, balling them up and tossing them into the far corner of the room.

"Those can be washed," he said dismissively, looking back at you over his shoulder. "Or burned. I care not." His lips curled into a soft, reassuring smile. "You need a hot bath. There should be water warming in the kitchen still."

He turned toward the door, entirely forgetting his nakedness in his haste to care for you.

"Dunk!" you gasped, your fingers tightening on the blanket. "You cannot just walk out into the corridor like that!"

He paused, looking down at his own bare length and then back at you, a bright, sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Right. Forgot."

He walked to where his clothes lay, grabbing his breeches. The leather strained over his thick thighs as he pulled them on, followed quickly by his tunic. He paused at the threshold, looking back at you with a gaze full of fierce affection. "I'll bring the water up. And some clean cloths."

He was gone before you could protest, leaving you tucked safely by the hearth. Your heart thumped a wild, sweet rhythm against your ribs. The shame was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, blooming devotion. He hadn't flinched. He hadn't turned away. He'd seen you at your most raw, and his only instinct had been to shelter you.

True to his word, he returned moments later. A wooden bucket of steaming water hung from each of his massive hands, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the heavy effort. He set them down by the copper tub in the corner, the rising vapor softening the cool air of the room.

He straightened up and looked at you, still curled in the chair. A quiet question burned in his eyes. "Can you manage? Or would you like some help?"

The offer hung between you, heavy with intimacy. You knew exactly what he was asking. He was offering to wash you, to touch you and tend to you even when you felt undone.

You hesitated for a second, the last thread of hesitation tying your muscles tight, before you let the wool blanket fall to the hearth rug. You stood bare before him in your stained shift, the thin fabric clinging to the curve of your hips.

You saw his breath catch. His blue eyes darkened, tracing the lines of your body with a fierce, unwavering focus. There was no disgust in his gaze; instead, his eyes held that familiar, quiet awe that always made you feel cherished—as if you were something holy he had been chosen to guard. To a hedge knight who spent his life in the dirt, a little blood was nothing, but the sight of your body was everything.

"Help me," you whispered.

He was at your side before the breath could fully leave your lips. His massive hands were unbelievably gentle as he gathered the hem of the soiled shift, his calloused palms brushing against your bare thighs as he lifted the fabric up and over your head. He didn't look away, his eyes taking in every inch of you as you stood entirely naked before him.

Lifting you into his arms once more, he carried you to the tub and lowered you into the steaming water. A deep, shuddering sigh escaped your lips as the heat enveloped your body, immediately sinking into your muscles and soothing the sharp ache in your belly.

Dunk sank onto his knees beside the copper tub, grabbing a soft cloth. He dipped it into the water, running it over your shoulder. His touch was soft, careful not to press too hard against your skin.

"Like this?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Yes," you breathed, your eyes closing, your head tilting back against the tub's rim.

He washed you with a slow, quiet devotion. The warm cloth moved along your arms, traced your collarbones, and smoothed over your skin. He took his time, washing away the stray lines of blood from your inner thighs with infinite patience, the water swirling faintly pink before settling. He focused completely on your comfort, his broad palm pausing to rest flat and heavy below your navel, sending a deep, radiating heat into your abdomen.

"Hurt here, sweet girl?" he asked, his thumb circling your belly.

"A little," you admitted, but his hand was already easing the tension, the pain dissolving into a low, heavy ache of desire.

He leaned over the tub, pressing a warm kiss to your wet shoulder, his lips burning against your skin. "Let me make it better. Let me care for you."

His hand rose from the water, droplets sliding down his thick forearm. He cupped one breast, his calloused palm creating a delicious friction against your swollen flesh. You gasped, your spine arching into his touch. He watched you, his expression intense and hungry as he felt how firmly your body responded to him.

"Like this?" he murmured, his thumb brushing the sensitive tip.

"Yes," you breathed.

He leaned closer, his face inches above the water. His other hand took your remaining breast, rolling the nipple with gentle, heavy pressure.

"Gods, Dunk," you moaned, your head falling back as pleasure shot straight to your core, completely overriding the last of your cramps.

He lowered his head, his hot breath fanning your wet skin before his lips closed around you. The heat of his mouth, the firm suction of his tongue, was exquisite. He tested you first, then grew confident, greedy. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he suckled, a heavy, wet rhythm that had you writhing beneath the water.

He released you with a soft sigh, his blue eyes meeting yours as he licked his wet mouth.

"Didn't know," he said, his voice thick with arousal. "Didn't know it could be like this." He cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek. "Your man, remember? Never hide anything from me. Not this, not anything. I love all of you."

Tears welled again, but from love and desire. You surged forward, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. It was a clumsy, desperate collision of lips and tongue. His mouth was hot and demanding, his hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck.

You broke apart, panting for air. "Dunk, please," you begged, your hands tugging at his tunic. "I need you. In the water. Touch me. Your hands, all over me."

He didn't wait. He stood, tearing off his tunic and stripping his breeches with an urgency that made you gasp. His length sprang free, thick, hard, and beaded with desire. Magnificent, scarred flesh and sheer power, all yours.

He stepped into the tub, the water sloshing heavily over the copper sides onto the stone floor as he settled his massive frame behind you, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hard length nestled right against your hips, and he groaned at the tight contact.

"Tell me how," he rasped in your ear, his hands rising under the water to cup your breasts, squeezing them gently. "Tell me what you need, sweet girl."

"Just hold me," you whispered, leaning your head back against his shoulder. "Just be inside me. Slowly."

He hitched your thighs over his knees, his large hands gripping your skin with a force that was heavy but profoundly careful. The broad head of his shaft pressed against your opening, slick with bathwater and your body's own wet heat. He ground forward, filling you with a slow, massive pressure that seemed to anchor the remaining ache in your belly, stretching you out in one deep, deliberate movement that forced a breathless sob from your throat.

A heavy grunt tore from his chest as he seated himself fully inside you. His muscles seized as your walls clamped tightly around his immense width. He kept up that slow, deliberate pace, his frame trembling as he fought to keep his movements steady and supportive for you. His breathing was harsh, his thighs shaking beneath you as he mastered his own driving hunger.

It wasn't a rushed pace; it was a deep, overwhelming fullness that made the bathwater slosh over the copper rim, the wet sounds cutting through the quiet room. He held you tight against his chest, his massive frame anchoring you both as he moved within you, his body heat acting as a balm to your remaining cramps.

His calloused hands slid up your wet skin, your small fingers covering them, pressing his palms against your swollen breasts.

"Dunk... gods, Dunk," you panted, your head rolling against his neck as the sheer scale of him moving inside made your core pulse. "You fill me so completely. So deep."

"You're tight, girl," Dunk groaned in your ear, his breath a ragged gasp vibrating through your spine. All soft words vanished, stripped away by raw truth. "So warm. I don't care about the sheets, I don't care about the blood. I need to be in you. You feel too damn good."

Driven by the heavy pleasure, you tilted your pelvis, grinding back against his lap to chase that deep ache.

Dunk let out a sharp roar, his hands ripping away from your breasts to slam onto your hips. He clamped his fingers into your skin, locking your pelvis in place.

"Don't—gods, sweet girl, stay still," he choked out, his voice breaking as his chest heaved against your back. He was shaking, his knuckles white as he forced you still. "Don't move like that. I'm on the edge. I can't take you rubbing against me, I swear it, I'll spill now."

He held you frozen, his shaft throbbing heavily inside you as he panted, riding out the wave.

"’m close," he grunted, his voice dropping into a murmur against your wet neck. "So close it hurts, but I want to feel you break first. Let go around me."

With one hand pinning your hip, his other slid down through the water, his fingers finding your swollen center. He didn't touch you like something fragile; his thumb moved with a heavy, rhythmic friction that had you seeing stars.

The dual sensation of his massive length stretching you from within and his hand working over your flesh pushed you over. With a broken cry, you arched against his chest, your walls clamping tight on him, rippling in waves as your climax tore through you.

He followed you a heartbeat later with a low roar that rumbled through your very bones. His hips jerked forward, burying himself to the absolute hilt as he spilled inside you. The rush of his seed filled your core, a thick, branding heat that locked you together. A final, violent shudder racked his massive frame, and he collapsed back against the tub, completely spent, hauling you back with him so you were flattened against his chest.

For a long time, neither of you moved. The quiet returned, save for the sound of his chest heaving against your back and water dripping onto the floor. You lay entwined in the cooling water, bodies still locked together in the rawest intimacy. The ache in your belly was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, satisfied soreness and absolute peace.

Dunk's chin rested heavily on your shoulder. He pressed lazy, warm kisses into your skin, his calloused hands still resting over your hips, his thumbs tracing slow circles.

"Next month," he rumbled, his voice low, gravelly, and thoroughly content. You felt the curve of a smile against your neck. "We'll put a heavy fur down on the floor first. Save us the trouble of scrubbing the sheets."

A laugh bubbled out of you—full of joy and relief. He was right. It was just a sheet. Just blood. Just your body working, and there was no shame in it. As long as you had your big, clumsy, devoted knight to hold you through the dark days, nothing else in the Seven Kingdoms could touch you.

You turned around in his lap, splashing water carelessly over the copper sides, and cupped his rugged, wet face in both of your hands. You kissed him soundly, pouring every ounce of your gratitude into his mouth, knowing with absolute certainty that this was just another secret, another raw piece of your life that belonged solely to the two of you.

"I love you, Duncan the Tall," you whispered against his lips, your thumbs tracing the strong line of his jaw.

Dunk wrapped his massive arms around you, pulling you so close against his chest that you could barely breathe, his blue eyes steady and fiercely protective.