Shimmer circled the stronghold, her pearlescent scales glittering in the dim light as the sun set in the sky. You were not meant to be flying out on her after dark, but you were never one for following the rules, Much to Ormund's ire. Hobert had given you a longer leash, spoiling you as your grandfather had in the Red Keep before you and Daeron were sent to ward in Oldtown. You tested Ormund's patience more than your dear sweet twin, Daeron. You liked to believe the Targaryen blood pumped hotter through your veins. She swooped down on your command, landing on the blackstones, alerting the guards to your arrival. You slipped down her wing, landing gracefully on your feet before striding with ease and confidence into the base of the Hightower.

"You reek of that beast," Ormund scowled the moment you set foot inside, peering down at you from the balcony. He removed the silver pomander from his doublet and inhaled the citrus and clove scent of the tightly packed satchel nestled inside.

"I've grown used to it; it does not bother me," you replied with a shrug of your shoulders, a long silver braid falling down your back. Those eyes remained on you like a hawk. While you thought only Targaryen blood rushed through your veins, he saw the Hightower breaking through. The Blood of the First Men. Mayhaps that's why he favored you and Daeron so. Mayhaps he wished to remove Aegon and Aemond from the succession and crown Daeron instead.

"I've had a bath prepared for you," he stated, beckoning you closer with a crooked finger as he descended the winding staircase to meet you halfway.

"How kind of you, Uncle," you said sweetly, peering up at him. He wasn't, not truly, but you preferred to call him that over cousin. Especially since the term got under his skin so easily. He grasped your chin firmly once you were close enough.

"We have talked about this. I do not want you flying alone, unprotected," he lectured, a disapproving look etched across his face.

"Shimmer may look pretty, but she is fearsome. She bit the finger off my nursemaid when she hatched."

"Only you would brag of such brutal behavior." However, his lips twitched in amusement in remembrance of the Hightower guard who grabbed your arms and sequentially lost his to the jaws of your pearly beast. Not even he could deny the thrill he got when you obeyed his orders to lay dragonfire to traitors of the crown. Mayhaps the one time he could stand the smell of burnt flesh.

You huffed. "If anything, I learned the art of brutality from you."

"You are a wicked girl. You should go to the sept and repent for your sins."

"Or you could correct my ways, Uncle."

"That is a dangerous game. We agreed to stop."

"Mayhaps I was too hasty in my agreement to that. I have missed it, I have missed you. Gods know I need a firm hand to guide lest I turn into a feral dragon myself," you whispered, peering up at him through your lashes.

"I should take my belt to you," he warned, fingers digging into the flesh of your jaw. He had never once struck you in your younger years and never dared to lay a finger upon your precious twin.

"While I kneel in front of the altar? Leaving welts over my skin for atonement?" You truly were a wicked little thing, and Gods, he would follow you straight into the Seven Hells.

A shiver ran through him, briefly closing his eyes as he imagined you prostrate on the hard stones in front of the blazing altar as his cane struck your tender backside. Welts blooming over your skin as he thrashed your dragonhide, seeing if he could make you break. He abhorred yet welcomed a challenge. His hand fell away from your jaw, and he clenched your upper arms, shaking you gently.

"Seven Hells, you drive me to the brink of madness, little niece," he groaned. What mortal man could resist your temptation?

You smiled, arousal gathering between your thighs, and suddenly your riding leathers felt awfully restrictive.

"Shall you punish me before or after my bath?" you teased.

"I suppose I can bear that wretched stench a bit longer." He hauled you off, one hand furled tight around your bicep as he dragged you down the halls and into your chambers, barking at the handmaidens to leave. He stood nearly a head taller than you, and it made your knees weak. You never cared for silly boys; you yearned for a man. When you had turned eight and ten, you tested the waters with him. He had been widowed two years before and had not taken a second wife yet. His children were more suitable to be your companions than he was. Yet that stopped neither of you from toppling into the forbidden. More taboo for him than you. Targaryens had long made a practice of incent.

You glanced over at the tub filled to the brim, steaming billows from it, and the retracted partition resting at the lip. It was decorated with numerous dragons in flight over blooming orchards with trees filled with ripe fruit. You loved it. It had been a gift from Ormund on your previous nameday. He rewarded as much as he disciplined. You could smell the scent of roses. He preferred you sweet to counteract your surliness. Your muscles ached for the warm waters, always enjoying a long soak after riding your mount.

Ormund wasted no time in ripping your riding coat open. It was made of green wool, lined with black silk, and kept fastened with golden buttons shaped like the Hightower. The sweat and smell of burnt meat were pungent on your clothing.

"Now what was that pretty dragon of yours burning?" he hummed, working your green tunic over your head, leaving your top half bare to his ravenous eyes. At least you and Daeron had been blessed with pretty dragons, well kept and gleaming, and not some of these rank beasts, like the one Aemond flew. Ormund detested the hoary bitch.

"She grows hungry during a flight," you replied simply.

"Answer the question. Have you been pilfering the livestock again?"

"A sheep, a pig. Though she longs for an aurochs."

"I'm hardly surprised. She has the same spoiled taste as her rider." He pushed you into the chair and knelt to remove your boots, wrinkling his nose at the mud and what was most likely dung clinging to them. The gag he let out was so dramatic that you had to clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter. He placed them outside your doors and ordered one of the handmaidens to clean them thoroughly. When he returned to the spot in front of you, he removed his ornate doublet and rolled the sleeves of his undertunic up his strong forearms. Veins prominent, and your teeth yearned to sink into him. To feel his blood fill your mouth and seep into yours.

You squeaked as he yanked your breeches off with such force that you had to dig your hands into the arms of the chair to keep from toppling out. He yanked you onto your feet, taking seat before yanking you over his lap. Your hardened nipples scraped over the fabric of his breeches as his palm rested on your upturned rump, gently kneading your flesh. The first crack felt like dragonfire searing your skin. A strained gasp toppled from your lips. You had goaded him into it after all.

Each smack lighted a fresh fire over your exposed skin. You gritted your teeth, doing your best to control yourself. Though you suspected he enjoyed it when you caused a fuss. Handprints blazed on your skin, and you nearly sighed with relief when his hand stilled. Shimmer's roar could be heard, shaking the walls as she mirrored your pain.

"Fetch me your hairbrush," he ordered, stroking the back of your thighs.

"N…no, Uncle, please," you begged, not sure you could take much more, even though moments earlier you were encouraging him to strike you with his belt.

"I want you to feel this on the morrow when you are in the saddle," he growled, squeezing your abused backside. "I want to bruise you."

Heat lapped in your lower belly, a twitch making your pearl ache. Slowly, you pushed yourself up with your hands braced against his strong thigh, retrieved the silver brush from your vanity, and watched his large hand wrap around the handle. Your knees nearly gave out. You hated it, yet you craved it. He was everything you needed. Everything you wanted; the full attention of a man who could control you when you needed it. He was your rider, and you were his dragon.

The strikes against your flesh cracked through the room, salty tears spilling from your eyes as your Uncle tenderized your flesh, cutting through that thick dragonhide of yours. It was divine.

"There, there, sweet niece," he cooed, stroking your abused flesh before gathering you in his arms and letting you sob into his chest. Yearning to crawl inside his skin, to dig your talons in. Despite the pain and humiliation, arousal clung to your thighs, and the smell beckoned him. Tangy and sharp, like a plum.

He carried you over to the bath, carefully lowering you into the balmy waters. Pink rose petals floated around you. You hissed softly as your sore arse grew used to the temperature before the pain began to subside slowly. He unbraided your hair, untangling it with the brush he had used to spank you with before having you close your eyes as he poured the water jug over your scalp. There was a mixture made of plant lye he preferred to use to clean your hair, gently lathering it up with his skilled fingers. After he rinsed it, he applied a thin lotion made from boiled goat's milk and jasmine to soften your hair.

His brow knitted together as he made you stand, before methodically scrubbing every inch of your body. The dip of the sponge between your thighs made you shiver. Ormund breathed in deeply, a soft smile crossing his face as the dragon stench disappeared from your skin. Your freshly scrubbed skin was glowing, and your hair gleamed like molten silver. Tenderly, he dried you off, skimming his fingertips over your abused bottom. Bruises were already forming, and he felt satisfied with his work.

He moved you in front of the mirror, turning you slightly so you could see the marks he had seared on your skin. You groaned, peering over your shoulder and knowing riding tomorrow would be painful. You took hold of his wrist, lifting his palm to your mouth and kissing the rough skin that had struck you moments earlier.

"Thank you, Uncle," you murmured.

His fingers tangled in your wet hair, pulling you close and crashing his mouth against yours. The air left your lungs, head spinning.

"You have me under a spell, niece. Sent by the Gods to torment me."

"I could think of worse punishments," you teased, panting softly.

"I no longer wish to sully you. I will take you to wife," he whispered, gazing into your eyes.

"Truly?"

"The least I can do is make you an honorable woman. I cannot bear the thought of another man putting his hands on you. You are mine." His fingers dug painfully into your sore skin. Mayhaps if he wed you, the Gods would forgive him for all his sins. To save a young maiden from toppling further down the path of ruin.

"I have always been yours, Uncle."

He lifted you into his arms, your strong thighs looping around his waist as he carried you toward the bed. You were placed on your belly, his mouth pressing soft, eager kisses down your shoulders and back, then over your reddened backside, a smattering of violet bruises decorating the areas he struck the hardest. His face lowered against the curve of your arse, nose nudging against your cunt, before he pulled away to remove his clothing. The fresh, clean scent of your skin made his cock stiff. How delicious and pure you smelled. His little dragon now a soft, docile lamb for him to ravage. He rolled you onto your back, pulling you close to him as his cock nudged against your opening.

"We will repent together in the morning, side by side, sweet niece. On our knees, begging for forgiveness," he whispered before plunging deep inside you.

"Yes, Uncle," you purred.

He set a steady pace, each thrust making the pressure in your belly build until finally it released. His cock glistened with your wetness as he spilled his seed onto the floor. He had sinned enough for one day; he would save that for when you became his wife, and he would fill you with many babes. Ormund held you in his lap once more, kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples until you had a second release with his fingers buried deep inside. Your nectar coated his skin, and there was a brief moment he wished to bottle the scent. To unscrew the lid and breathe in his niece's sweet ambrosia, fresh from her cunt. After, he dressed you in a silk nightgown and brushed your hair before tucking you into bed.

"It will be cold tonight, snuggle up. Pleasant dreams, sweet niece," he whispered in your ear, his voice making your flesh tingle as he tucked the soft fur around you.

The next morning, you dressed demurely in a pale pink gown with pearls around your wrists, dangling from your ears, and clinging to the hollow of your throat. You appeared as an innocent maiden, silver hair tightly braided around your head, covered with a netted pearl snood, as you knelt beside your Uncle and lit a candle, then snuffed out the match with a soft breath. You clasped your hands tightly together, bowing your head in reverence.

"May the Maiden forgive me for my lustful desires," you whispered. "May she protect me from them until I am married."

A smirk curved over Ormund's face, but he kept his eyes closed, head bowed thoughtfully in his own prayers.

"May the Father guide me onto a more righteous path and send proper punishment to correct me when needed," you murmured sweetly.

One hand furled tightly around your throat, squeezing pleasantly and forcing you to peer into your Uncle's blue eyes. "Again, until you mean it." He pressed your hands against the altar, bending you forward and rolling your dress up around your waist.