Sam✳️

It had started, as many of the best evenings did, with you wanting something and deciding to negotiate for it.

The three of you were in your shared chamber — the large one, the one that had been yours collectively for long enough that it had stopped feeling like any one person's room and had become simply yours, the furniture arranged around three people's habits, the books stacked in three different systems, the bed large enough to be almost architectural. Baelor was at the window. Maekar was on the bed, back against the headboard, reading something with the focused severity he brought to everything including leisure. You were sitting in the chair watching both of them and thinking.

"I think I want something," you said.

Maekar turned a page. "You always want something."

"And I usually get it."

"Debatable," he scoffed.

Baelor turned from the window. He read your face with those mismatched eyes — the specific quality of his attention when he had registered that this was not ordinary — and the corner of his mouth moved slightly. "What do you want?"

You looked at both of them. Took a moment to appreciate the specific sight of them — Baelor at the window with the evening light catching the dark hair threaded with white, broad and certain and composed; Maekar on the bed with the white hair loose and those violet eyes now lifted from the book and doing their assessment, the old scars visible above his open collar, the sheer presence of him.

"I was thinking on having both of you," you said as simply as stating the weather of the day. "At once."

A pause in which the room processed this.

Maekar's eyes moved to Baelor. Baelor's moved to Maekar. A communication passed between them that had no words.

"That is not," Maekar said carefully, "an unusual request, coming from you."

"The specifics are unusual." You held his gaze. "I want one of you in my cunt." A beat. "And one of you in my arse."

The quality of silence that followed was entirely different from the one before it.

Baelor's composure remained intact, which cost him something — you could see it in the slight tension at his jaw, the specific effort of a man receiving information that has gone directly to his body and is being managed upward. "That is," he said, "a very specific request."

"It is."

"We have not—" Maekar started.

"In some time," you agreed. "I know. That is rather the point." You settled back in the chair. "I find I miss the feeling and I am offering it. The question is how you earn it."

Another silence, this one with a different texture entirely — the specific charged quality of two men who have just been told there is something rare on the table and are beginning to calculate.

"Earn it," Maekar repeated.

"There are terms," you said pleasantly.

Baelor, who had been watching your face with the full and undivided attention of a man who had decided this conversation required it, moved from the window. He came to stand a few feet from you with his hands clasped behind his back and his expression doing something complicated. "What terms."

"Whoever impresses me most," you said, "gets to choose their position."

The look that passed between them this time was different from the first. Still communicative, still the language of two men who had been in each other's orbit their entire lives — but with something new in it. The competitive edge. The specific quality of Maekar when he has been told there is a prize and someone else might get it first.

"Define impresses," Maekar said.

"I'll know it when I see it."

"That is not a useful metric."

"It's the only one I feel inclined to offer," you amusely completed.

He looked at you. At Baelor. Back at you. Something moving through his expression that was equal parts calculation and the specific anticipatory quality of a man who had already decided he was going to win this and was working out the method.

Baelor, meanwhile, was looking at Maekar with an expression you had not entirely seen before.

"Come here," Baelor said.

Maekar looked at him. "I'm reading."

"I am aware." Baelor crossed to the bed. Stood at the edge of it, looking down at his brother with those mismatched eyes and the composed certainty of a man who has made a decision and is past the point of reconsidering it. "Come here, Maekar."

Something shifted in Maekar's expression. The book was no longer relevant — it had been set aside without his appearing to notice. Those violet eyes reading Baelor's face with the thoroughness he gave everything, arriving at a conclusion that moved through his expression in stages.

"You cannot be serious," he said.

"Have I ever said anything I didn't mean."

A pause. "What exactly are you—"

"The terms," Baelor said, with the mildness of a man discussing logistics, "did not specify what would constitute impression. I have a proposal." His eyes did not leave Maekar's face. "Unless you are not interested in winning."

The specific effect of that sentence on Maekar was immediate and visible — the jaw, the slight straightening, the competitive instinct locating the challenge and responding to it before the rest of him had fully processed what was being proposed.

He moved to the edge of the bed.

They were close now — close in the way they had always been close, the physical proximity of a lifetime of shared space, but with a different quality to it tonight. Baelor looking at Maekar with the careful attention he gave to everything he was about to do. Maekar looking back with the expression of a man who had run out of certain ground and was standing at the edge of something he had not mapped.

"I do not—" Maekar started.

"I know," Baelor said. Quiet. "Tell me to stop and I will."

A silence. Maekar said nothing.

Baelor moved slowly — the same careful quality he brought to everything, nothing sudden, nothing that didn't give Maekar time to register and respond — and closed the remaining distance between them, and pressed his mouth to his brother's.

It was soft. Almost tentative — which was not a word that applied to Baelor in most contexts, but here it did, the specific care of a man who was attending to something delicate. His hand came up to Maekar's jaw, barely touching, a question rather than a hold.

Maekar went very still.

You made a sound.

You hadn't planned to. It left you entirely without consultation — something immediate and involuntary at the sight of them, of Baelor's hand at Maekar's jaw and the specific frozen quality of Maekar receiving the kiss with the expression of a man whose system had encountered something it had not been built to process.

Maekar heard it.

His eyes, which had been closed, opened. They found you across the room — dark and violet and reading your face with the focused assessment that missed nothing — and what he found there moved through his expression in real time. The flush. The way you were gripping the arms of the chair. The specific quality of you watching them with your lips slightly parted and your breathing already changed.

Something shifted in him. He turned back to Baelor and kissed him back.

Not tentative. Maekar had processed the available information — this is what she wants, this is what it does to her — and had arrived at a conclusion and committed to it with the same decisiveness he gave everything. His hand found the back of Baelor's neck. The kiss moved from chaste to something considerably less chaste with a speed that suggested Maekar had decided that if he was doing this he was doing it properly, and properly for Maekar had always meant thoroughly and without half measures.

Baelor made a sound against his mouth.

You gripped the chair harder.

They were extraordinary. The specific sight of them, the dark hair and the white, Baelor's hand still at Maekar's jaw now with more certainty and Maekar's at the back of his neck pulling him closer, the kiss deepening with the specific quality of two people who knew each other completely and were discovering that knowing someone completely translated even here. Maekar's other hand finding Baelor's shoulder. Baelor's moving to his brother's hair.

You stood up from the chair. You crossed the room.

You sat on the bed beside them and said nothing because there was nothing that needed saying — just your hand at Maekar's back, just your presence, just the specific thing of being close enough to feel the warmth of both of them and watch from this proximity and feel the sound building in you again that had started everything.

They broke apart. Both of them were looking at you. Both of them flushed. Baelor's composure present but reduced to its foundations. Maekar's entirely absent, replaced by the expression of a man who has done something he did not anticipate doing and found the data surprising.

"Well," you said. Your voice was not steady. "That was very impressive."

Maekar's eyes moved over your face. Reading the flush of it, the quality of your breathing, the very obvious effect. The competitive certainty assembling itself in his expression with a speed that was almost amusing.

"We are not finished," he said.

And reached for Baelor again. What followed was less tentative.

Maekar, having decided, was Maekar — the competition had located its footing and was proceeding with the focused dedication of a man who intended to win something specific. He kissed Baelor with the thoroughness you recognised from other contexts, his hands certain now, and Baelor responded with equal certainty, and you sat beside them and watched with your hands moving over both of them and the sound you were making had gone past the occasional involuntary to something more sustained.

"Tell me," you managed against Maekar's ear, "what you want."

"You know what I want," Maekar answered, against Baelor's mouth, which was frankly an extraordinary sentence to hear from him.

"Say it," you bit his lobe.

He drew back from Baelor. Those violet eyes finding yours from close range, dark and certain and carrying the specific quality of Maekar who has won something and knows it. "I want your arse," he said, with the flat directness of a man placing an order. "I've earned it."

You looked at Baelor.

Baelor, who was flushed from jaw to chest and whose composure was somewhere in the vicinity of the floor, looked back at you with those mismatched eyes and something that was not quite a smile. "I find," he said, with the remnants of his diplomatic voice, "that I am entirely content with the alternative."

"Entirely content," you repeated.

"Enthusiastically content." A pause. "Urgently content."

You laughed. It came out somewhat wrecked.

The logistics of three people were not, after years of practice, a mystery — but they required attention, and you gave them attention, and Baelor gave everything attention as a matter of principle, and even Maekar — who was not patient in most contexts — was patient in this one because the prize was specific and he intended to arrive at it correctly.

You took your time. There was oil on the cabinet in the bathroom — Baelor, who thought of everything, had ensured this somehow some moment in the past without raising the matter as something relevant — and hands that knew you, and the specific luxury of two people attending to your comfort simultaneously with entirely different qualities of attention. Baelor's careful and thorough and narrating quietly in that wrecked precise voice. Maekar's focused and purposeful and punctuated by the occasional sound that suggested his patience was finite but holding.

By the time you were ready you were beyond ready.

Baelor had seen to that with his usual thoroughness — the oil warm from his hands, his fingers careful and patient and attentive to every sound you made, reading you the way he read everything until he was certain, and then continuing past certain because Baelor's standard was not the minimum required but the best possible. His mouth at your jaw, your throat, murmuring things against your skin in that precise wrecked voice — you're perfect, you're so good, tell me if you need me to stop — and the specific quality of being attended to by Baelor while Maekar's hands moved over you from behind, less patient and more purposeful, the heat of him against your back and the low sounds he was making into your hair that suggested his finite patience was approaching its limit.

"She is ready," Maekar said. Not to you. A conclusion delivered to the room.

"I think I will determine that," your tone nowhere near a reprimand with the shaky voice you managed.

A sound from behind you that was almost a laugh. Almost. His mouth at your neck. "Are you ready."

"Yes," you said. "I've been ready since the chair."

The sound Maekar made at that resonated through his chest and into your back.

Baelor lay back against the covers — unhurried, because Baelor was always unhurried, because Baelor's patience was the kind that had almost no bottom to it — and looked up at you with those mismatched eyes dark and attending and his cock flushed and hard against his stomach and waiting with the same quality of composed certainty as the rest of him.

You swung your leg over him. Reached down, positioned him with your hand and sank.

The sound you made — and the sound he made simultaneously, the specific harmony of two people arriving at the same overwhelming fact from opposite directions — belonged to no public occasion. His cock filling your cunt completely, the familiar stretch of him, the specific completeness that made your eyes close briefly and your hands press flat to his chest.

"Gods," Baelor said. Low. His hands at your hips, steadying, the grip of them careful. "You feel — every time — you feel—"

"I know," you said.

"You don't — you can't possibly know what you—"

"Baelor." Maekar, behind you. His hands finding your waist. "Later."

Baelor exhaled. His hands tightened on your hips. Those mismatched eyes finding yours with the specific quality of a man tabling a conversation he intends to finish. "Later," he agreed.

Maekar's hand found the back of your neck — not gripping, steadying, the specific pressure of him orienting you forward, and you went, leaning into Baelor's chest, changing the angle, and felt Maekar shift behind you.

"Breathe," Maekar said, against your hair and pressing a kiss against your temple. The word quiet and direct and carrying none of his usual severity — just the specific instruction of a man who was paying attention to you and intended to keep paying attention.

You breathed. He pressed forward.

The sound you made this time was entirely different — lower, longer, pulled from somewhere that had nothing to do with thought, the specific overwhelming sensation of him breaching that tight ring and pressing inward, slow and relentless and impossibly careful for a man of his general approach. The stretch of it — the specific fullness of Baelor in your cunt and Maekar pressing into your arse simultaneously, the thin wall between them meaning you felt both of them with a clarity that was almost unbearable — made your hands scrabble at Baelor's chest and your breath come in short intervals.

"Still," Maekar almost hissed. His hands at your waist, anchoring. "I have you. Stay still."

"I'm — gods — I'm trying—"

"I know." His mouth at the back of your neck. The tenderness of it, from him, in this moment — extraordinary. "You're doing perfectly. Stay still."

He pressed deeper.

Baelor's hands on your hips tightened. His eyes on your face — reading every flicker of expression, the composure entirely absent, replaced by something that was raw attention and barely managed wanting and the specific effort of a man holding himself completely motionless while everything in him wanted to move. "Tell us," he said. Careful. "Tell us if—"

"Don't stop," you said. "Please don't stop."

The exhale Baelor released. The sound Maekar made above you.

Maekar pressed forward the last remaining distance and seated himself fully and the sound you made at the completion of it — at the specific overwhelming fact of both of them, buried in you simultaneously, the fullness of it beyond any single word you had available — echoed off the walls of the chamber and neither of your husbands looked remotely apologetic about having caused it.

You felt everything — the specific heat of both of them, the way they filled you from different angles with different qualities of pressure, the thin wall between them meaning every slight shift of one was felt by the other, meaning the three of you were connected in a way that was almost absurdly complete. Baelor's chest beneath your hands, rising and falling. Maekar's chest against your back, the old scars warm against your skin.

"Move," you said. "Please — I need you to —move."

They did.

Not in unison — that was not how it worked between three people, not how it had ever worked, and the lack of unison was precisely what made it extraordinary. Baelor's hips rolling upward in the deep certain motion that was specific to him, the full deliberate stroke of a man who had decided to be thorough about this, his cock dragging against the walls of your cunt with a precision that suggested he was attending to this with the same focused care he gave everything. And Maekar pulling back and driving forward with the controlled urgency that was always him, the possessive deep thrust of a man occupying territory he has won and intends to hold, his cock filling your arse with the specific relentless certainty of Maekar doing anything he had decided to do well.

The counterpoint of them.

Baelor rolling deep and slow when Maekar thrust forward, the two rhythms creating something that hit you from both directions simultaneously, that built something with no single source and no single peak but a sustained overwhelming accumulation of sensation that made coherent thought increasingly theoretical.

"Fuck," you said. The word arriving without consultation.

Maekar made a sound against your hair that was not entirely dignified.

"Tell me—" Baelor, beneath you, his voice demolished, his hips finding their rhythm and holding it. "Tell me how it feels."

"Full," you managed. "I feel — gods — I feel both of you — I can feel you both so—"

"Yes," Baelor said. The word rough and immediate, the composure entirely gone. "Yes — I can feel him — I can feel Maekar through you — you feel—"

"Don't," Maekar said, above you. His rhythm stuttering for a fraction of a second. "Don't say that."

"Why," Baelor said, with a somewhat playful breathlessness that had no diplomatic quality left in it, "does it bother you."

"It doesn't—" Maekar's thrust landing harder than the previous ones, the specific response of a man whose composure has been prodded— "it doesn't bother me, it's simply—"

"You can feel him too," you said. The words coming out wrecked and certain. "Can't you. Through me. You can feel him."

The sound Maekar made was not a word. His rhythm intensified as Baelor's thumb found your clit.

The specific arrival of that — the pad of his thumb working in slow deliberate circles while his cock drove upward into your cunt and Maekar's drove into your arse from behind — collapsed whatever remaining composure had been holding you. Your head dropped to Baelor's shoulder. Your hands gripping him. Maekar's hands at your waist pulling you back to meet every thrust and the sounds you were making had gone past language entirely, just the raw physical fact of being completely, totally, overwhelmingly full of both of them and Baelor's thumb and the specific counterpoint rhythm that was hitting you from every possible direction.

"She's close," Maekar said. Above you, directed at Baelor, the two of them communicating over your head with the specific language of men who had been in each other's orbit their entire lives and had added a new vocabulary tonight. "I can feel her — fuck she's—"

"I know," Baelor said through gritted teeth. His thumb moving faster. His hips finding a deeper angle. "You are taking us so fucking well, my heart."

"Don't stop," the words barely words. "Whatever you do don't — please — both of you — please don't—"

"We have you," Baelor said. Certain. Warm. Even now, even this undone, the specific quality of Baelor present and attending. "We have you."

Maekar's hand moved from your waist to the front of you — finding where Baelor's thumb was working and joining it, not replacing, the two of them together — and the specific fact of both their hands on you simultaneously while both their cocks filled you was the thing that finished it entirely.

You came apart.

Not the sharp clean peak of bilateral sex — something longer than that, more sustained, rolling through you in waves that kept arriving because there were two of them, two sources of sensation, and every tremor that moved through you was felt by both of them and responded to by both of them and the feedback of it was extraordinary and endless and you were saying things that were not words and gripping Baelor like he was the only solid thing and feeling Maekar's forehead press to the back of your neck with a tenderness that undid you as thoroughly as everything physical.

"Perfect," Baelor said. Into your hair. His voice entirely wrecked. "You're perfect — you're so — gods, you feel—"

"Again," Maekar said, against your neck. The word rough and wondering. "She's — Baelor — she's going again—"

You were going again.

The second one arrived before the first had finished, the overstimulation of both of them still moving — Maekar's rhythm gone from controlled to urgent, Baelor's thumb still working despite the shaking of his own hands — and this time you were louder and less coherent and heard both of them respond to the sounds you were making in real time, felt both of them tipping toward their own edges, the specific tension of two men who had been building to this all evening finally arriving at the point of no return.

Baelor first.

His hips losing their rhythm entirely, his hands gripping you with both arms suddenly, pulling you down hard against him as his cock pulsed in your cunt and his voice broke open against your throat with your name in it, said the private way, the specific way that had no public version.

Maekar mere seconds behind him.

Which was also Maekar — competitive to the last, holding on for the seconds that meant he did not finish first, the seconds that cost him visibly and enormously — and then the composure gave out completely, his hips driving forward one last time and holding there, buried as deep as he could go in your arse, his face pressed hard into your hair and a sound leaving him that was rougher and more private than anything he had produced all evening.

The three of you shook. Then stilled. Then breathed. The chamber was very quiet except for three people's hearts returning to their usual business. Your brain did not entirely register just how you disentangled from each other. Not that it did matter, after all.

Maekar's forehead was against the back of your neck. Baelor's arms around you from your front. The specific warmth of being completely surrounded — pressed between them, held by both, the evidence of the evening present and warm and thorough.

"Both of you," you said, eventually, against Baelor's chest. The words arriving from somewhere underwater. "Simultaneously. I want it on record."

"Noted," Baelor said. His voice demolished against the crown of your hair. "To be revised in the near future, I should hope."

A pause in which you did not find the strength to laugh.

"I won," Maekar said, smugness clear in his voice.

"Technically," you teased.

He lifted his head. "What the fuck does technically mean."

"It means the terms were most freaky and I'm not certain the kissing qualified on its own merits."

"I kissed my brother."

"You kissed your brother adequately and then fucked my arse, yes."

"Which was exceptional."

"Which was very good," you agreed. "Not quite the same thing."

Maekar stared at the back of your head. You did not need to turn around to know exactly the type of face he was sporting.

Baelor made a sound. "She's doing it again," he said. To Maekar. The tone of a man reporting a known weather pattern to someone who should have prepared for it.

"I can hear you," you said.

"I know." Baelor's hand found your back. Patted it once, twice, with the specific quality of someone soothing an animal they find both troublesome and dear. "I'm speaking to Maekar."

"And exactly what am I doing?" you asked in a playful voice.

"Poking the bear," Baelor said. "You always poke the bear when you've gotten what you wanted. It's a victory lap."

"It's not a—"

"She does this," Baelor said to Maekar. Conversationally. "You know she does this."

"I know she does this," Maekar said, with the flat resignation of a man who knows he is about to rise to something and cannot stop himself. "It was exceptional," he said to you, directly. "You said my name four times in a row."

"I usually say Baelor's name frequently."

"You said mine four times."

"I was being polite."

The sound Maekar made. "You were screaming."

"Enthusiastically polite," you raised your pointer finger in defence.

"Four times—"

"All right," Baelor said. With the composure of a man managing a room that has gotten away from him. "Both of you." A pause. "I was not aware this counted as a game, but Maekar won. The evidence is extensive and I was present for all of it." Another pause. "You are both catastrophic and I am going to need everyone to be still for approximately ten minutes because I am held together with goodwill and I would like to keep it that way."

You laughed softly against Baelor's chest. Maekar's arm came around you and his hand settled on your sternum, your own covering his and interlacing your fingers together.

"I know you won," you finally conceded to Maekar. You could almost sense his smile through the back of your head.

"She knows I won," Maekar said.

"I know," Baelor said, smiling. "Quiet."

A.N.: i am not gonna comment on how long this idea has been plaguing my mind. i think i cannot blame ovulation anymore, i think this is the real me

Taglist: @qardasngan @nerdyinfluencertastemaker @princessphilly @shyravenns @loveslide @dulcebloodhnd @caitlynluna @sacha1slytherin @faithfullyvigilantsliver @alternarabuda @jjubilee-fluff @a-sunflower-in-bloom @heieufh @karakatitsa-sonya @eleventhboi

It was preposterous! The Hand of the king? the crowned prince? your father participating in this unneeded risk?! He must have fever, this was maddening, everybody seemed to think it as well but there was nothing to be done now but watch the trial by seven play out.

And watch you did, with horror, every single stomp of horses feet, thrown lances, swinging swords and spit of blood or crack of teeth. The one blessing, you supposed, was that he fought for the side your mischievous cousin hoped to win and so the boys cheers and remarks did not wear on you as deeply. Had he been rooting against your father you’d of soured quickly. You could deal with plotting lords and envious ladies but you did not think you could suffer through hearing your own blood shout for your father’s ruin.

You had never been more tense then you were when Ser Duncan pulled beaten cousin Aerion up and ordered that he yield. This had to end, it needed to end now before something horrible happened. Egg, who had taken up squeezing your hand as you watched with wide eyes, heard his brothers words before you. He jumped and clapped at his brothers announcement and you felt your body relax for the first time since your father had ridden out.

There was no clapping on your part, it didn't feel right given the death and the fact that your family was looking quite rough, but a small relieved smile did settle on your face.

That smile did not last the hour.

It may now never return.

“Prince Baelor is dead.”

You overheard it from a maid in the hall while going to your chambers to freshen, wanting to rid yourself of the layer of anxious sweat that had built on your skin.

A entire new layer was produced from your sprint to the maesters chambers. Surly he was there, surely he was not dead and just very unwell. The maesters would be working on him.

There was work being done but it was on Prince Aerion. Your neck craned as you scanned the room. Where was he?

“Vaella” Cousin Daeron was being held to a seat, a nursemaid holding a blood soaked cloth this his face. He’d been trampled, apparently at the very start of the event.

“I did not know it would be him-“ Daeron attempted but the women tending to him begged him to stop talking, it just produced more blood.

“where is he! Where is my father?” You tore into the hallway again unwilling to stop your search, mind empty and eyes blurred. You started crying so hard that you could not see clearly and ran right into the big hedge knight. The dumb, huge, unimportant man! Your father had told you he did not even think the oaf had truly been knighted! He had quite a bit of blood on him and you felt the warm crimson transfer to your dress and hands. The guards intercepting you before you could barrel into the room any more or the shocked victor could babble up something that likely would not be all the comforting to you. Their remarks were no better.

“it’s no sight for you princess,”

“best not to remember him like this.”

“let the sisters work”

“Prince Baelor would not want you to see this.”

Every sentence driving the reality of the situation into you more. Each one physically jarring you. When Ser Donnel made to take your arm and escort you away you stepped back quickly. Evading his grip.

“I’ll pray the seven spare you.” He’d supported the side that fought against him, they were culpable in your mind. The venom in your tone kept them all back and you fled to your room, to your maids and ladies.

You did not want them, you wanted your mother but she was all the way in kings landing, she and Mataerys likely would not know of the news until nightfall tomorrow and by then your father would likely be on the funeral pyre.

Valarr attempted to comfort you, but he was a ghost himself, still not completely comprehending the gravity of the situation. He needed your comfort as much aa you needed his and you simply had none to give. Eventually he left you alone too.

It was night when you finally stood again, shoulders sloped forward and hands still shaking. They couldn’t stop and you could not sleep. Even laying in bed felt suffocating now so you slipped from the chambers and walked aimlessly down the hall.

You considered for a moment seeking out wherever the silent sisters were working. You wanted to see him…maybe you could help? Bring useful might make you feel better-or at least more normal?

Instead though you found yourself stood before Daeron’s chambers. His remark earlier about not knowing it would be Baelor was still rattling around in your mind. What had he meant?

There was a grumbled decline of entry from inside the room when you knocked. Normally you would have turned around, obeyed the remark. But this incident had you feeling very unlike yourself. Emotions fluctuating and you felt a victim to them, unable to control your reactions. You did not enjoy feeling out sorts you just wanted your chest to stop racing and your mind to stop running.

With a clenched jaw you grabbed at the handle and pulled the door opened.

“who did you think it was?” You asked him right away when your wild and tired eyes located Daeron. He was sat right in front of the fireplace, flames so close there were beads of sweat on his under eyes.

You came forward to where he was and grabbed his shoulder to turn him away from the fire and towards you. He was so clammy that his tunic was damp under your hands.

“Daeron did you see this?” You begged.

He wouldn’t look at you, even the minor glance he made to almost meet your eyes seemed like it pained him. He did not think any of this would help you. It was done. Prince Baelor was already dead. He was taken back that you had even process what he said in the maesters rooms earlier. He supposed it was a testament to how intelligent you were, that your mind, even in the thickness of shock, could grab onto things and filter through them later

“Y-you knew and said nothing!” His eyes closed when your tone took a turn from inquisitive to bitter. He’d been bracing for that since you entered his chambers.

“Not clearly.” Daeron defended himself, weakly, but it was something. “I did not know plainly that it would be him.” He bit out.

Your forehead was a wrinkled mess, deep lines between your brows and your eyes, the whites were so red from tears in this moment that the color of the middle looked altered. You looked a fright and that was as before anybody’s eyes even traveled down to see your bloody, filthy, gown.

“worthless little nightmares that you grumble on about into your bloody cups.” There was the anger, the Targaryen blood you all shared peeking out now that you forgot about being liked and diplomatic.

Daeron had been at the red keep when he had his first vision…woke in the middle of feast where many of your young children were asleep on your chairs with cheeks squished against your mother’s laps. It had been terrifying for you, for the adults as well. You remembered how nobody could seem to console him. That was many years ago by this point and so you really only recalled your father telling you that the gods had given your cousin a gift. It did not seem like a gift to you, not when you had memories of Maekar dragging Daeron out of his mother’s arms because he wouldn’t stop grabbing into her tighter and tighter.

It was clearly a gift that he did not desire. the pressure and guilt and the unease. You knew all of that must surly be there in him and in another circumstance you would have been kinder but this was your father that was lost. Had he said something- you could taste the bitterness on your tongue and knew that he did not deserve whatever you would say next so you swallowed thickly and took a steadying breath.

“I….i know you are not specifically to blame.” You eventually got out. That was what you could offer him at this moment. That was as far as your kindness could extend.

Daeron hadn’t diverted his eyes from you during that whole verbal lashing. He’d suffered worse ones for issue far less painful than what you were experiencing. When you started to sit down, your skirts pooling around you as you joined him on the floor be sighed heavily and took a long swig from his cup.

“I might tell you it grows easier, mourning a parent.” Daeron knew it would be a kindness to say that and offerer some comfort. People had told him the same thing when his mother died.

He diverted his eyes from you back to his cup and gave a dry, exhausted laugh.

“But it would be a lie.”

Your lips twitched and hands wound into the side of your gown. Knuckles quickly going white from how fiercely you gripped at the fabric to try and remain in control of yourself.

This pain would just continue on until it consumed you completely? That was what he was telling you!

“forgive me Vaella.” Your cousin choked out after a long few minutes of your both processing what he had said. When you looked at him, face still locked in the flames you could see his eyes were glossy and red. Perhaps the color was from the firelight reflecting onto his light blue eyes or he’d been doing some crying if his own.

“he was your uncle too, i know you had no desire to join the list let alone a trial.”

“A uncle is not the same thing as a father, you’ve every right to your grief…however it might manifest.” He looked at you finally, really looked at you.

Clearly people had taken issue with how he nursed his shattered heart when he lost him mother.

“does it help that much?” You asked eyes dropping to the cup that was set beside him in the floor. The red stain on his bottom lip to your it was mostly likely an arbor red that he was enjoying tonight.

“To much for my own good.” He groans and lays back over the rug. Letting his mind spin about as his eyes regained a clear focus on the ceiling.

“it helps with the pain,” he turned his face to the side, showing of his maimed ear.

You grimaced slightly at the sight of it, the thick stitches he had going up the hallow of his cheek and to his ear.

“Poppy would be better suited for that issue.”

“Yes, well poppy makes every man think their dreams and nightmares are real….” He leaned up onto his elbow and pushed his cup over towards you. “I worry what it would make of mine.”

You sigh and glance between him and the cup.

“you won’t be a drunkard after one night of overindulgence.” He assured. He knew the pain in your eyes, the tension in every inch of your body and the way your mind was racing. He could pratically hear your thoughts. He’d had all the same ones years before.

How would the family go on? Would anybody live him as much as they had? Things would never be the same? Would you ever smile again Would people ever stop whispering around you? watching your every movement for signs for heartbreak?

He knew the wine wouldn’t actually fix any of this, but it would settle you some. Slow your brain down. He hoped it would let the shock leave you.

You picked up the glass, hand still shaking and Daeron frowned deeper at the tremor. He did not have the most stable hands himself but he did touch your elbow to help you as you drank the contents of the cup down.

Watching thin rivets of crimson liquid train die. Your chin to your neck and soak into the neckline of your gown. He made no attempt to keep the liquid from pooling there, the fabric was already ruined from the blood.

You coughed a bit after swallowing down the last gulp and groaned at the head rush it gave you. Your eyes instantly softer and forhead smooth.

“I’ll have another.” You decided and got your feet under you to go to the small table and fill up the cup again. Almost reaching the brim.

He wanted to warn you to slow down, but he’d also assumed you’d come here because he was the only one who had no room to judge how you grieved, how you got through this first horrible night.

At some point, between glass two and three he’d gotten up and urged you to sit on the edge of the bed.

“the last thing we need to you falling and hitting your head.” He explained when you gave him a disgruntled groan.

“no,” you stood back up, but had to sit right back down because he was to close to you for your body to have any room to stay upright.

“Vaella, just sit down for now.” He sighed. Perhaps he shouldn’t have suggested the wine?

“No,” you pushed your hands against his stomach to urge him back a bit and he hissed a bit, because there was a lot of bruising there that you just hadn’t seen. “I want to talk to him!”

He backed up a bit, having no want to keep you somewhere against your will, he did not want to do anybting that would upset your further. Today has been upsetting enough.

“who?”

“Aerion-“ you snap. Voice giving away the fiery Targaryen nature that you had despite your more simple features. The wine had apparently stifled the sadness but that just mean the rage and anger could simmer to the surface. “It’s all his fault-all of this! Your bloody brother is-“

“my brother is both arrogant and insecure. Which makes for quite the troubling combination in a person.”

You paused, hand on his door. he is not wrong about Aerion and his nature but it also does not make you feel any better about this situation. Foolishly you thought yelling at him-hurting him would lesson your pain.

“and he currently lays in bed unconscious from poppy because of how throughly he’s been beaten. Save your torture of him for another day when he can feel it.”

Again, you suppose he is right.

“Has age made you wise?”

“I am not that old.” Daeron looked down at you.

“you are older than me.” You weren’t meeting his concerned eyes.

“fine-yes I am old and wise and your elder. Will that make you listen to me Vaella?”

You crack the faintest smile and chuckle. It’s not joyful but it’s there, a expression of amusement and not just agony and fear.

“When my mother died,” he sighed it was still painful tk think about. “I didn’t sleep for five days.” You knew where he was going.

“I can’t sleep.” You whispered shaking your head. “Don’t make me-don’t suggest it Daeron!”

He pulled you into him when you started to panic. Tucking your face into his chest and he wrapped his other arm around your back rubbing soothing circles.

“going mad will not make any of this easier, i assure you that. Some rest will make this easier, make tommrow more bareable.” The pyre would be lit then. Baelor, the crowned prince and hand to the king would be put to rest.

“Tomorrow cannot come.” You grip the fabric of his tunic. “I never want it to be tomorrow. He won’t be here tomorrow. I had a father when I woke this morning, I broke my fast with him, I walked to the pavilions with him. If I go to sleep I’ll never wake in a world that he is still in.” Your voice broke, eyes wetting the cloth of his shirt and finally your wrapped your arms fully around him. Fingers digging into his back.

“I cannot wake for a day he does not breath in.”

Daeron closed his eyes letting you squeeze him as hard as you needed, lets you ramble all the words that were in your head. He’d thought them before, had felt exactly as you had.

“then at least lay down,” he pulled your head back a bit cupping your face. Nose red from crying and lips swollen from salty tears. “You do not have to sleep, or even close your eyes. But you need to lay down. Give your body a break.” You shook your head.

“I’m scared to be alone, Valarr left-“ you hiccuped and sniffled.

“Then you can lay here, cousin.” He motioned to his bed. “It’s plenty large, and I toss and turn all night…you wouldn’t be able to sleep even if you wished to!” He promised.

“I shouldn’t.” You whisper and he sighed, knowing what you meant. The propriety of it all.

“you are my cousin…you’ve lost something quite important to you. Whispering maids in some shack of a keep have no leg to stand on.” He promised.

“Really?” You stepped back, wiping your nose. You really did want to be next to somebody. It made you feel better. He specifically made you feel better.

“I swear to you, it is fine.” He stepped away and went to a trunk finishing out one of his long tunics and he held it out for you.

“Oh.” You looked down at yourself seeing the heavy gown, the blood and mud stains and then looked to him. “Father suggested I wear this one today.” You whispered.

“it’s just something to wear In bed, that’s all. You can put it back on in the morning and every day after if that is what you wish.” He was too considerate. Too thoughtful and sensitive. It made trusting him easy and so you took the tunic and stepped into the bathing chambers to get your gown the down, struggling slightly until the fell to a heap on the floor. You left it there and stepped back into his view wearing the grey tunic, tied tight against your collar and hung to just your knees.

“I’m not sleeping.”

“I know-just resting.” He was already laid in the bed. He didn’t want to sleep himself but he had a feeling you wouldn’t get in if he just sat in the chair by the fire and drank.

“yes…I’m not going to close my eyes.” You kneel on the other end and push the warm covers back enough that you can slip under them and lay flat on your back. Eyes blinking as you counted the nails in the ceiling.

Daeron did not speak, he just laid flat on his back, closing his eyes and staying like that until he hear your breathing change. Peeking a eye open then to sleep your head turned, relaxed to the side and your mouth open slightly.

Sleep took you and he knew that act was a mix of cruel and merciful.

He stayed up, watching you, fixing the blankets over you when you squirmed under them and when you turned towards the warmth he radiated he stilled, letting your arm lace over his chest and your head hide between his side and arm.

He did not dare more, and he did not even considerate trying to wake you to shake you off. If he could provide this comfort to you than he knew he should, it was the least he could do.

His eyes had deep bags by morning and when the door rattled open, and he sat his father large broad shoulders fill the entirety of the frame he had to stop himself from groaning. That would wake you.

Maekar had heard whispering of his niece not being in her chambers…and then he heard murmurings about Daeron having a guest in his rooms.

Perhaps he was the sick one for even considering those two things had any overlap. But he was not wrong. Daeron laid in the middle of his bed with Vaella clutching to him, her leg tangled over one of his knees snoring into his chest.

“Don’t-“ he warned through gritted teeth when it looked like his eldest was going to start making some long list of excuses. He doubted any of it would be believable, and knew none of them would change the situation that they’d been found in.

“Not today…” Maekar grumbled, shaking his head. He was going to watch his brother’s body be burned today, thinking about how his son had sullied his brother’s daughter. Ruined your pristine reputation. Was just a issue he could not address right now.

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added): @imsonotweird, @xyahx, @starkleila, @winkymar, @uroborosvirus, @faelinda, @rporter19, @niceforcum22, @qardasngan, @galactict3a, @mylcvemineallmine, @megan-mars, @superfan02, @noone1233nobody, @pixel-pixie-xo

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.