********************************************

Your father often told you stories of his friendship with the Targaryen prince.

Prince Maekar, the extra spare, the fourth son of King Daeron II, the prince who would most likely never inherit the throne.

Because of his birth circumstances, Prince Maekar was not required to remain in the Red Keep the way his older brothers were. He was given free reign on where to receive education, and entertainment. He often wandered outside of King’s Landing during summers.

The Prince became especially fond of Duskendale.

Your father, Robert Darklyn II, was born the same year as Prince Maekar. More so, he was born the same month, as well as the exact same week. During Maekar’s summer trips to Duskerdale, your father was placed along with him as his companion. Their friendship grew stronger every year.

“A brother through everything but blood,” is how your father described him.

During your childhood, Maekar continued to visit House Darklyn each summer. You would see him often, though you did not speak to him. Your mother was very diligent in keeping you and your siblings away.

“He is a prince,” she would say to you, “He has no time for entertaining an unruly child such as yourself.” Your mother would say these things with a laugh, but you did not think they were a joke. She did find you unruly. Out of all your siblings, you were the one scolded the most often.

“Sometimes, it is better to listen than to speak,” she would tell you, over and over. But it is a lesson you were slow to learn.

Maekar brought his sons to visit Duskendale very few times. Around the age of eleven, your mother tried to merge the families together in the dining hall for their visit. But your father decided your siblings were too disruptive, so you did not communicate with the princes any further.

When Maekar’s wife, Lady Dyanna, began declining in health, he requested your father’s presence at the castle, desperate for the company of the only man he knew he could trust. He spent several months as a guest at the Red Keep. You and the rest of your family would visit him for two days at a time every three weeks.

You did not care to keep royal company. Your mother let you wander outside if you had a guard with you, saying it was easier to keep you out of trouble if you were out of the castle.

As a girl, you enjoyed fishing. Most afternoons in Duskendale you spent near the water. During your trips to the Red Keep, you found yourself often seeking out the lakeside.

“It is not good for a girl your age to still be interested in these activities,” your mother would tsk. “It is high time you began learning embroidery.”

But sitting by the lakeside kept you quiet and out of the way, so when the family visited the Red Keep, they would allow you to do so.

Most days, however, you didn’t even try catching fish. You just wanted to linger by the water instead of by the royals. They made you wary. Especially the boys.

You did not like Maekar’s son.

Daeron Targaryen was the eldest of all the children. He made you feel unwell when he was around. His eyes tended to...linger. Though, he was quick in his looks, and part of you would always convince yourself you imagined it.

Until once, during a feast held to celebrate the birth of Rhae Targaryen, Daeron sought you out in a way that could not be ignored.

You had been standing behind your family’s table when he found you. You had neither seen, nor heard him. It felt like he had appeared out of nowhere.

“You are the only one of your family members to not be dancing.”

His voice started you, causing your shoulders to flinch. He laughed at it.

You smelt alcohol on him. He was only five and ten, four years your senior, yet he smelled like an old drunkard.

“I am not good at dancing,” you said to him, hoping that would send him off.

“Perhaps you should give it a try with me.”

You felt put under pressure. You were shy to answer, “Thank you, Prince Daeron, but perhaps another time.”

You felt wary when he didn’t make any move to leave.

“I insist.”

Your stomach dropped.

…Could he do that? Could he insist?

“I feel unfit for dancing at the moment,” you say, slow and unsure. “But thank you.” You shuffle back a step.

His hand falls on your shoulder, “I will help you.”

You pull yourself from his touch. “I must repeat my refusal, Prince Daeron.” You step back again. “Perhaps one of my sisters-”

His hand reaches out and latches onto you. A sharp gasp leaves your lips.

“Allow me just until the end of this song.” He pulled on you. “Try it with me.”

You panic, trying to push his hand off, “Wait-”

He yanks you, his drunkenness causing him to use more strength then he intended, making you stumble forward. “You will have fun, I promise.” A laugh. “I’m sure you will enjoy it.”

You try to pull away, but it only results in another yank. This time, you stumble so hard you almost fall. “Prince Daeron!”

“They are playing music from Darklyn, haven’t you noticed-?”

“Let go of her this instant,” a voice spits.

You are quickly released.

A hand darts out and grabs Daeron from the back of his collar, tearing him away from you.

“Dismiss yourself from the hall,” came the swift and stern voice of Prince Maekar, whose fist shook his son by the back of the shirt. “Take yourself to your chambers. Now.”

“Father, I was only hoping for a bit of fun-”

“Remove yourself immediately before you embarrass me any further.”

“No one is even looking this way-”

“Which I am lucky for. I would hate for more whispers of my drunken son being overly abrasive to our guests. Go wallow over dreams in your private chambers.”

Daeron ripped himself from his father’s hold. His face was tinted red from embarrassment. His eyes fell to you, then back to Prince Maekar.

“Worry not, father. I am done here anyway. Your guests are very...” His eyes fell on you coldly. “…unentertaining. I will take my leave.”

Daeron exits the hall. As he does, you feel he is too close. You take a step to the side, barely missing a brush of his shoulder.

“Lady (Y/N).” Prince Maekar’s voice is still stern. “Go find your mother. Do not loiter alone.”

“I did not mean to loiter, Prince Maekar,” you are quick to say. “My-My father said to remain at our table, so that is where I have stayed.”

He exhaled loudly, like he was annoyed. You were not sure if the annoyance was at you, or his son. “Regardless, it is time to find your mother.”

Your eyes fell to the floor. You give an obedient nod. “Yes, Prince Maekar.”

You hurry to find your mother, but you feel too embarrassed to explain what happened.

At the end of the night, Maekar called a meeting with your parents and explained things himself.

After that day, you were kept at home with your young siblings when your family went to the Red Keep during the summer.

********************************************

There is a specific sound your husband makes when he is displeased with something his father has told him.

It is a low grunt, mixed with a scoff.

You hear this noise at breakfast the next morning, as food is being served around the table, and wine is already overflowing for the men.

“Daeron has been spotted,” Prince Maekar announces to the family.

Aerion was audibly disappointed.

Valarr frowns, leaning forward. “Spotted where?”

“At a tavern. It was a brief sighting from a guard. They claim the moment Daeron saw them, he took off, and they were unable to catch him.”

Baelor asks, “What of Aegon?”

“No sight of him yet.”

Aerion let out a low hum, bringing his third cup of wine up to his lips. “Perhaps Daeron killed the little rat and that is why he’s hiding.”

It is hard, but you manage to control your face from physically reacting to his words.

Maekar glares. “You will hold your tongue from making any further comments.”

“Apologies father, I am only trying to soften the blow for when Aegon’s body is found.”

You have never seen someone rile up another person the way Aerion riles up his father.

Or, perhaps you have. Perhaps this is what it looks like when people say you push Aerion to the point of striking you.

The maids whisper of your ‘uncontrollably tongue’. Just this morning, when Aerion ordered them into the tent to apply your makeup and hide any lingering bruising, you heard them gossip about you beneath their breath. “She enjoys his rage,” you heard one say. “She does not care who pays for it.”

You hate them, you realized just today. You hate the serving girls. They pull your hair too hard when braiding, they yank the brush too hard when brushing, they pull your corset too tight because they are angry with you.

They take their anger out on you, yet they do not dare harm a single hair on Aerion’s head.

Aerion, the one who sliced one of their faces open. He is not punished for it, you are punished for it, even though you have remained merciful to them. You do not make sounds when they hurt you, because you know Aerion would react badly to it. You let them mistreat you without complaint, because you know he would strike them if you made a complaint. You have protected them, yet they still lie about you, spreading rumors that you are as sadistic as your husband.

Even here, in the breakfast hall, you notice the way the cupbearer refuses to meet your eye as she pours more water into your glass, yet she smiles at the Princes when she fills theirs. You wonder what lies Madam Pricher has fed her.

“The entire kingdom holds its breath for the safe return of Aegon,” Valarr says to his uncle. “I am sure if anyone finds him to be in trouble, they will give him shelter and food.”

“Yes, because Ashford is so respectful towards royalty,” Aerion hums. He holds his glass to be filled. Another cup of wine. His fourth. You become nervous. It is his fifth glass that brings out his more horrible behaviors. “The same animals that stormed the arena.”

Valarr eyed his cousin. “Hm. If only it were Prince Aerion who went missing, they would have stormed the streets in celebration.”

A small chuckles leaves Baelar. You quickly bite the inside of your lip. You glance at Aerion for his reaction, only to see he is again staring directly at you, his eyes casing your face. You wonder what would have happened if you had smiled. You recall his earlier threats of whippings, and pulling nails off. You recall the way he held your hand to a desk, and tried to cut your finger off. Your body turns cold, and you turn your eyes to your lap.

“I will not joke about the health of my sons,” Maekar grunts. “The guard who let Daeron out of his grasp has already been reprimanded. I have all others on high alert looking for them. They’re believed to both be in the city.”

You risk looking at Aerion’s cup. He is halfway though with the wine. You realize you may have less than an hour before his mood turns drunk and violent.

“(Y/N),” Maekar calls out.

Your eyes snap his way, startled by being spoken to.

“You have been wandering the city. Have you heard any whispers about the boys?”

You cannot help but look to Aerion, as he has specifically told you not to say a word during meals.

“She has heard nothing.”

“I did not ask you,” Maekar quipped.

“Have you heard anything?” Aerion tests you. “Speak if you have.”

You imagine answering him, and being punished with a breakfast plate being smashed over your head. You keeps your mouth shut.

“There,” your husband says. “She has heard nothing.”

Valarr scoffs. “Has anyone checked to see whether or not Lady (Y/N) still had her tongue? Or has he cut it out already-?”

Baelar makes a small tsking sound, and Valarr quiets.

Aerion straightens in his seat, his eyes narrowing the slightest on Valarr. “My cousin worries for you, (Y/N),” he tells you loudly. “Aren’t you lucky, to have the future king so concerned for your wellbeing?”

You try to take yourself out of your body. You clasp your hands together, and you try to think of how nice the day is outside. How the wind keeps it from being too hot. How the flowers are all in bloom-

“Show him there is nothing to worry about,” Aerion commands you. “Stick out your tongue for him to see.”

Your face flushes hot, eyes widening at the request.

“Go on,” Aerion says again. “Put his concern to rest.”

Surely, this was only a jest. Your husband would not make you stick your tongue out like some trained animal in front of his family?

Baelar sighs. “Aerion-”

“Valarr is worried, uncle, let us relieve him.” His hand falls to your knee, and he gives it a warning squeeze. “Stick your tongue out. Now.”

Everyone stares at you, even the servants.

Humiliation makes your hands shake. His hold tightens on your knee. Slowly, you part your lips.

“I did not say open your mouth,” Aerion says. “I told you to stick your tongue out. If not, he’ll accuse me of planting a false one.”

“That is enough,” Valarr tells him.

Aerion brings his hand higher to your thigh, and you feel a pinch on your leg.

There is no getting out of this. And you suppose in the grand scheme of things, this is mundane in terms of things Aerion could demand of you to do.

So you obey him. You stick your tongue out, keeping your eyes on the wall to try to suppress some of the humiliation.

You shut your mouth quickly when Aerion begins to laugh. “Satisfied, Valarr?”

You do not look at him, but his voice is softer now. “I did not ask for that.”

Aerion pushes out his chair. There is still laughter in his voice. “Come, (Y/N). We are done here.”

You rise from your seat as fast as you can. You follow after him, face still hot with embarrassment.

When you exit the dining hall, you see Madam Pricher and Ser Thenty standing near the exit. They follow behind you and Aerion as you leave.

Your husband walks with a new strut. He chuckles. “How utterly bashful he became. He should know better by now than to make comments about things that belong to me.”

As a woman, you should have not been offended anymore by being told you ‘belonged’ to someone. Yet, it still irked you. To belong to a man was one thing, to belong to this man was your greatest shame.

A sigh leaves his lips. “At least he decided to hold his outburst until after I was done eating. It’d be a shame if he continued day after day ruining our meals.”

He ruined the meal?

Of course.

Valarr Targaryen. The future king. He was the one who ruined the meal.

You walk under a shaded archway of the castle. You are relieved to be in the cold shadow of the building. You risk wiping the sweat off your brow. Aerion remains walking with a fast pace, and he is hard to keep up with.

When you round a corner, Aerion grabs you and pulls you to a stop.

You quickly shift around, looking for any of the Ashford guards. Aerion has ledged you in a spot that has none. Madam Pricher and Ser Thenty still trail along, but they linger further back as they notice Aerion has stopped.

Your whole body tenses as Aerion brings his hand up to cup your face.

What does he want? What the fuck does he want from you?

“You know that’s what he wanted, don’t you? He wanted to see you open your mouth on command, and that’s why I gave him what he wanted.”

You swallow. You give a quick, obedient nod.

“No,” he drawls beneath his breath. “You don’t see it the way I do. You think of him as the good son. The courageous heir to the throne.” His hand moves to grip your jaw. “He is not as innocent as he pretends. Best believe the only reason he thinks of your tongue is to picture it running up and down his cock-”

You rip yourself from his grip, disgust on your features.

Ha laughs again. “Don’t be so naive to think it false.”

You physically bite your tongue so hard it hurts.

He is quiet, as if waiting for you to say something. When you do not, he presses further. “Unless you know it to be true? And perhaps you find enjoyment in it?”

You grip your skirts in fists, and you glare at him. He waits again. But you know better now. You do not speak.

But is he unrelenting. As if he wants you to speak. Because he wants to correct you.

“It seems my whorish wife gets excited at the thought of other men stroking their cocks to the thought of her.” He notices the way you flinch at the brazen words. He worsens his behavior. “Next dinner, I should give them something to really look at. I should just order you to pull up your skirts and show them your cunt-”

You shove his chest away from you, disgust drenching you.

He breaks out with laughter. His laugh, which you hate most out of anything in the world, is what finally makes you snap.

“How dare you speak to me with such crudity?” you spit at him, unable to handle the seething rage you feel.

“Crudity.” The word amuses him. “My, my, how sensitive you are for someone that enjoys whipping naked women.”

You turn away from him sharply. “Ser Thenty, I wish to be escorted to my tent-”

Aerion grips your upper arm and yanks you back to him. He is still amused. “Settle, woman.”

“You are barbaric,” you spit at him.

A laugh. “Barbaric?”

“I am your wife,” you whisper in a hiss, trying to rip your arm from him. He does not let go.

“I am aware.”

Your rage seeps through your words. “Yet you debase me so openly.” Your fists open and close on the fabric of your skirt. “Is it not bad enough to have me humiliated in front of so many spectators in the city, you must do so in front of the royal family?”

“I forgot how much my cousin’s opinion mattered to you.”

Aerion is jealous of his cousin, you remind yourself.

So you taunt him with the things he envies.

“The opinion of the future king will always matter over yours-”

Aerion hits you so hard that you fly back against the stone wall, barely catching your balance on it. Pain hinders you as you clutch your cheek.

“That is your only warning,” Aerion says to you.

Your hair falls in front of your face. You let it stay so that you do not have to see him anymore.

You make a quick attempt to get to Ser Thenty and Madam Pricher, who stand at the end of the small courtyard, watching. You manage to stumble only a few steps towards him before Aerion’s finger grip around your arm.

“Barbaric,” he repeats. “You find your own husband barbaric. Do you know how barbarians behave?”

“Let me go,” you say, your voice feeling raw as you hold back the tears forming in your eyes from the stinging slap.

“I will show you what it means to be debased so publically,” he tells you. “So that next time you will be more appreciative of the husband you have.”

He yanks you towards the willow tree.

“Stop it,” you whisper. You try to pull back, grounding your feet in the dirt. “Aerion-”

He flings your body towards the tree.

Your blood freezes as you watch his hands fall to his belt, and he unfastens the buckle.

No.

No.

He did not mean to do that here.

He would not abuse your body here. In someone else’s home. In someone else’s courtyard.

He was more than barbaric. He was a barbaric, hateful, spoiled, evil bastard.

You take a quick step back as his belt is dropped to the ground, and he begins to unbottom his britches.

“Behind the tree,” he orders you.

You do not move.

“Or not,” he says. “Who am I to care if we have more onlookers?”

“This is the Ashford’s castle-”

“It all belongs to the Targaryens.”

Your hands are shaking again, and your eyes dart to a single guard you see up ahead. “They-They will not forget this disrespect if word of it reaches them.”

You could picture the gossip now. The uncontrollable Targaryen son fucked his wife publically in an Ashford courtyard.

His whorish wife, they would call you.

Your eyes sting as you imagine what else they will say. You look back at the guard. Will he watch?

“They will survive.”

“It will reach your father,” you tell him, flinching as he steps closer.

His voice remains uncaring as he unbuckles his top coat, carelessly letting the jacket fall to the ground. “Gods, whatever will I do if my father hears?”

This could not happen. Not out in the open. Not in such a beautiful place. “No, Aerion, this-this is unacceptable-”

“I know. It’s barbaric, isn’t it?” he taunted with another short laugh.

You are desperate as you call, “Ser Thenty!”

“They will wait behind the gate of the courtyard.” Aerion shoos them away. “Go. A husband requires privacy with his wife. You will wait beyond the gate.”

They obeyed. They both stepped on the other side of the stone wall as if you were not begging for help.

“Behind the tree. Now.”

“Okay,” you whisper, taking a cautious step back. “Okay. Okay.”

He nears you. You wait for him to come closer, and the moment he steps behind the tree with you, you dart out the small opening behind it. You force your feet against the ground and try to run to Ser Thenty.

Aerion snatches you fast, gripping your hair and yanking you back behind the treetrunm.

He is laughing still like he is having the time of his life. “How pitifully slow you are.” With a firm shove, you tumble to the ground. Aerion kneels over you. “The more noise you make, the more of an audience we will have-”

“Get off of me!” you scream at him.

You writhe on the ground, using all your strength to try to get out from under him. He pins your hands down with ease, and amusement covers his expression. “You can either give me your body, (Y/N), or I will take it. And believe me, I would have much fun in taking it.”

It was all just a game to him.

Your torture was a game to this horrid excuse of a man.

Fire burns in your veins. You spit in his face.

You hear half a laugh before you feel the blow to your face.

You shut your eyes tightly, the slap causing your head to spin.

Aerion’s hand moves down your legs, which you writhe and kick with all your might. He grabs your skirt and lifts it to your waist.

Aerion frees himself from his trousers, and with abruptness, and no thought to your dryness, he shoves himself into you.

The pain of the harsh intrusion causes you to cry out.

Your brain tries to shut itself down. Your mind tries to leave this place.

Your husband makes a low groan, his hands tightening on your dress, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

You should be protected. That is what Prince Baelor promised you. He said you would have a knight that protects you.

But Ser Thenty is useless.

You have no idea as to why he is not serving his purpose, so you flood your mind with ideas as to how to make him.

You can do nothing but scream. So you scream.

You open your mouth and scream as loud as you possibly, possibly can.

It works in the smallest of ways. It catches Aerion off guard, making him pull his face back. He reaches out and grabs a broken tree branch, snapping off the top, and shoving it against your lips to force you quiet.

An idea sparks immediately. Your hands flies out to feel the ground beside you. You find a different branch, smaller, but enough to grip onto.

You recall exactly where you stabbed Aerion nights prior. So you grab the small stick, and you jam it in the exact same spot.

“Ah!” Your husband hunches back. “You fucking whore-!”

You rip the stick from your mouth, and slam the pointed end against his face. You hit his cheekbone, and you see the blood as you shove him back from you.

Flipping over, you try to crawl out from under him. He grabs you, yanking you back to him. You reach for something new, and you find grab a rock this time. You turn and slam it against his forehead. You hope it kills him.

But he only hisses in pain, his hand finding your throat, squeezing it so hard you see stars. He lifts you up by the throat, and slams you back to the ground.

Your hand flies out again feeling for anything you can teach. Your luck reappears as you feel a large, fallen branch. It is almost too heavy to lift with one hand, but you are able. You bring it up and slam it against his face. Once. Twice. Three times.

He screams louder.

One hand still pins down your shoulder, so to get it off of you, you turn your head and bite his arm as hard as you can.

Aerion rips his hand away, and you force yourself out from under him. You snatch the large branch off the ground, and you slam it down to his body. Then again, and again.

You hear him laugh. A long, elated laugh. “I am going skin you alive, you stupid whore-”

You slam the branch down against his head. You scream as you do so.

Aerion catches your wrist, yanking you down and knocking you off your feet. It does not make you stop. You grab his hand, and bite his wrist once more, as hard as you can. When he rips it away, you raise the branch as high as you could and bring it down on his head.

You want him dead. You hit him again. You want him dead. And again. You want him dead and gone and burning in hell-

“Lady (Y/N)!”

The scream was so loud that your whole body jolts, your heart sinking to your stomach.

“Get off of him now!”

You flinch so violently the tree branch drops from your hands. You fly to your feet and whip around.

Ser Donnel of Duskendale stands with a face red with anger. “Get away from him, you stupid girl!”

Your body quivers as you grip onto your dress, patting yourself down and making sure you are not exposed. “Ser-Ser Donnel-”

“Step away from the Prince!”

You take fast steps away from your husband.

Aerion had been right, your screaming had eventually drawn a crowd. There are more than a dozen guards near the entrance of the courtyard now, Ser Donnel’s harsh command the only thing keeping them from entering.

Your body stays tense with panic, but a different kind now. You are no longer fearing for your safety, you are fearing your punishment.

They are going to punish you for this. Oh god, they were going to hurt you for this. You wanted to burst into tears.

“H-He was-” You gulped. “He was-”

“Quiet, woman!” Ser Donnel hollers at you. He kneels in front of your husband. “Prince Aerion, do you require a maester?”

A lazy smile formed on his face. “Not as much as I require my dagger. Hand it to me so that I am able to slice that bitch’s throat open.”

“Ser Donnel,” you choke, “I was only defending myself-”

“For fuck’s sake,” he snaps at you. “I just witnessed you beating the royal prince with a tree branch. Have you any fucking idea what this will cause for you?” He grabs hold of your husband. “Allow me to assist, my prince.”

He raises Aerion into his feet. Your husband sways, before resting an arm against the tree trunk, leaning over, and puking out red wine. Ser Donnel wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“He forced me behind the tree,” you try to say rapidly. “He-Ser Donnel-He was forcing himself on me, and-” You choke on your own panic. “He would not stop, I did not know what else to do.”

There is a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. You see his anger subside the smallest amount, but his voice stays stern. “Yet it is you who will face punishment for this.”

You fall apart, breaking down right then and there.

“Quiet,” the knight orders you.

Aerion wipes his mouth, but stays resting on the tree with his eyes shut, wincing as he places a hand over his torn stitches. “Shove a fistful of dirt in her mouth to silence her.”

You wish you had the speed to grab Ser Donnel’s sword and kill Aerion with it.

Tears stream down your face. “Please, do not tell his father,” you beg the knight.

Ser Donnel places a hand on your jaw, turning your head back and forth. “Prince Aerion caused these markings?”

You did not know what your face looked like, but you assumed the slap to the face, hitting the ground, and having branches shoved into your mouth did some visible damage.

You shake from your crying. “I beg of you. I beg of you, do not tell Prince Maekar.”

“Prince Aerion, what was the cause of this?”

“My wife is excited by bloodshed-”

“He is lying!” you say to Ser Donnel. “He is a bastardly liar-!”

Ser Donnel hisses, “Hold your tongue!”

You had been trying.

All day, you had been trying your absolute hardest to hold your tongue. You stuck out your tongue on command, in front of the soon to be king.

You tried to hold your tongue but Aerion wouldn’t let you.

He escalated and escalated and escalated and you wish you had the strength to have driven that stick into his skull.

“I must take you to Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar at once.”

A sob escapes your throat. “No-”

“You have been warned about this,” Ser Donnel spits beneath his breath. “What did you think would happen?”

“He will not understand,” you cry.

“You will put yourself at Prince Maekar’s feet, and you will beg for his forgiveness.” Ser Donnell snaps. He gestures for the guards to move forward. “And if he is merciful, perhaps you can save yourself from the same fate you saw after your incident with Prince Daeron.”

The incident with Prince Daeron. Your body still shudders at the memory from your maiden years.

“No,” you say again. “Please. Aerion-” You suddenly grasp onto your husband’s hand. “Aerion, do not let your father hear about this.”

Aerion drags his hand over his mouth, and he catches a drop of blood that comes from a cut just above his mouth. “And why should I defend the whore who so viciously attacked me?”

“Please,” you cry again. “I am sorry. I will never dare do something like that again. Aerion-Aerion, I-” You search your mind for anything you think might trigger some form of sympathy.

You recall how calm Aerion was in his armor tent, how tender his words became when you massaged him.

So you force yourself forward, clinging to him, burying your face in his chest. “I beg for you to forgive me.”

You dare not look at his face. You keep your face against his chest, gripping his shirt like he is your hero rather than your tormentor.

“Do not let him force me inside, my prince. Please, I am sorry.”

There is a moment where you hear nothing, and you can only imagine Aerion is exchanging words with Ser Donnell through looks alone.

“Lady (Y/N) is my lawful property,” Aerion eventually speaks. “What she does is no business of my father.”

“Prince Aerion,” Ser Donnel urges. “I must warn you, he may hear about this through gossip either way. There are guards witnessing this, and they will tell tall tales if no disciple is given to her.”

“The disciple comes from me, not my father. She is mine, not his.”

You can feel Ser Donnel’s agitation. Yet he holds back any further comment besides, “Very well.”

“Come, (Y/N),” Aerion commands, pulling you away. “Let us return to our tent.”

You cannot bear to meet Ser Donnel’s eye. Aerion holds your upper arm, and he leads you out of the courtyard.

As you pass the entryway, your blood freezes as you see Ser Thenty and Madam Pricher waiting exactly on the other side of the archway.

Standing there.

As if nothing was happening.

As if they had not so clearly heard you screaming.

They begin to follow after you, as if nothing had happened.

*******************************************

You do not return to the Red Keep until the death of Lady Dyanna.

Your entire family makes the journey as soon as your father hears the news.

Never in your life had you seen a grown man weep until the day you arrive at the castle, and Prince Maekar greets you father with tears still in his eyes.

The Prince loved his wife. And your father loved your mother. You were raised with this belief-that husbands and wives loved each other. It was a kind thought in the cruel world.

“You will be on your best, most respectful behavior,” your mother told you all before the funeral. “The Targaryens are grieving. They should be met with empathy and compassion only. Does everyone understand?”

Your siblings were obedient. You tried to be too.

Yet, when your siblings were sent out to begin their walk to the funeral cathedral, you were the one held behind.

“It is very important to your father that you remain silent today,” your mother tells you with both hands on your shoulders. “Can you do this for him?”

“I do not speak out of turn,” you tell her.

“Yes, but...a proper girl must bite her tongue even when insulted. Do you understand?”

You did not. Yet, you replied, “Yes, mother.”

“Be respectful to the princes. Even Prince Daeron-”

“Prince Daeron is the one without respect-”

“(Y/N),” she criticized. “He lost his mother. The only words you should speak are condolences.”

“…Yes, mother.”

She gave a heavy sigh. “Go and behave. I believe in you.”

The funeral was a somber event. The princes lined the front of the building as people drawled on about the will and plan of the gods.

When it was time to leave, you followed after your siblings to the front of the building. “We will offer our sorrows,” your father tells you.

You walk along with your siblings, each of them offering condolences to the princes as they passed.

Maekar’s children are there, even the babies held by wet nurses. You divert your eyes as you pass the sons, as to not make eye contact with Daeron.

You stand next to your father as he passes his friend. “She was a beautiful, kind mother, Maekar. The kingdom will miss her.”

You do not know how it tumbles from your mouth, yet it does. Maekar stands so tall, so noble like. You are so young, you are not smart or well versed in how a kingdom works.

Stupidly, you try to console him by saying, “She would have been a well loved Queen-”

Your father’s hand clamps down on your shoulder, silencing you. “Forgive her,” he says quickly. “She is ignorant to titles.”

“All is well,” Maekar dismays. “She...would have done wonders as a queen.”

You are pulled away, and your father hisses, “What were you thinking? Maekar is a fourth son, he will never take the throne, his wife would have never been queen.”

“That is not certain-”

“Go to your mother,” he demands. “You will stay by her side for the entirety of the feast.”

“Why is there a feast?” you ask him. “You said the castle is in mourning-”

“Enough. Go with Ser Donnel,” your father commands you.

Ser Donnel, one of the guards from your home in Duskendale, was now a knight of the Red Keep. He was still loyal to House Darklyn and was the escort to your father during his visits.

“Little Lady (Y/N),” Ser Donnel greets you with a short laugh. “Your father has already warned me to keep my eye out for you.”

“Take her to the feast. Ensure she does not linger with any company,” your father commands him.

You are sent away with a knight like you are a criminal at risk of escape.

******************************************

What fucking use is he?

What use is that pathetic, empty-headed, cowardly, bastard of a knight.

There is rage in your eyes as you stare at Ser Thenty from across the room.

The feast was lively tonight. The first week of jousting had officially ended, and there was a city wide celebration thrown.

Aerion forced you along for it, despite your body aching from the earlier incident.

“You had been right not to involve my father,” Aerion had told you when the two of you got back to the tent. “He would have punished you publically. I will not.”

Aerion had settled on a…martial punishment.

It was brutal, but it was bearable. And you were grateful that he did not break any of your fingers as he so often threatened to.

You got off easier then you would have had Prince Maekar gotten involved.

“You were lucky for Ser Donnel arriving,” your husband told you. “I would have walked you back to the tent stripped naked had you hit me one more time.”

No, he wouldn’t have. That was something you were learning.

Aerion could not stand the thought of someone else seeing you naked. Your body belonged to him, and he wanted it to be only for him.

He would even force Ser Thenty to face the wall when he had his way with you.

Ser Thenty, who did nothing.

He was tasked to protect you, yet he would stand by and listen to you scream.

He would have allowed Aerion to continue to rape you right there in the courtyard. He heard you screaming and crying and begging for help, yet him and Madam Pricher stood by as if nothing happened.

You were wrong. Ser Thenty was not a good knight.

He was as evil as every other man.

You hated Ser Thenty.

You hated Madam Pricher.

You hated your husband.

You hated everyone at this feast.

Everyone was dancing and laughing like it was the time of their lives, and you were practically chained to your chair and living on the mercy of a tyrant.

You had nothing to look forward to. Nothing to keep you at peace.

Just...nothing.

Depression hits you with a numbness. You did not think, you only stared ahead, no thoughts in your mind. You sat empty headed and hoped you would die in the upcoming year.

You were numb to the point that when a cupbearer filled your cup with wine, you drank it.

And you kept drinking. You kept your cup to your lips, because it kept your husband from speaking to you.

Until Aerion suddenly snaps at you, “Slow down. You will be sick tonight if you continue that quickly. And I will not have patience with a sick woman.” He takes another chug of his own wine bottle, then wipes his face with his sleeve like an uncivilized child. “Pull yourself together or everyone will think low of you.”

Your insides twist. “They already think low of me for being your wife.”

“They would think low of you for being anyone’s wife, you do a horrible job at it.”

You stare blankly at the dancers that perform in the middle of the room. Aerion seems quite taken with them, yet part of you wonders if he only watches the women because he knows it get under your skin.

Aerion’s family sits far away from you two. You understand why. You take a moment to finally get a good look at Valarr, as you have never been able to before.

He is handsome, and perhaps that is why Aerion is so worried about you speaking to him.

Though, in another life, you would have found Aerion as the most handsome man in the world. But his attractiveness was ruined when he first opened his mouth.

Your eyes dart to Ser Thenty as he circles the room, before coming to Madam Pricher, who rests against the wall behind you.

“I will return in a moment, Madam Pricher,” you hear him tell her.

“Very well. Be swift.”

You glance behind you, and you see him leaving the feast hall.

Your anger blooms once more, spiking your heart rate.

“I feel as if I will vomit,” you tell Aerion.

“Hm.”

“I must step outside for air.”

“Convenient timing,” you hear him say, a hint of irritation in his tone. But your husband is angry about everything, always, so you do not care.

The room spins when you rise to your feet. You hold yourself still for a moment to make it stop.

You walk swiftly after Ser Thenty. He goes outside. In suspected privacy, he begins to lower his pants to urinate against the tree.

“Ser Thenty!”

He flinches, and quickly tucks himself away and recomposes himself. “Lady (Y/N), where is your chaperone?”

Anger bites in your voice, frustration deleting all your hesitation. “Is it not supposed to be you?” you accuse. “Were you not the one Prince Baelor charged with maintaining my safety?”

“What?” Ser Thenty fastens his pants as quickly as he can. “You should not be out here. Return to the feast inside.”

“What purpose do you have?” you drawl, the wine draining you of all common sense you had about decency. “What is the point of you following my husband and I if he is able to do whatever he pleases? Strike me whenever he pleases? Rape me whenever he pleases-”

“Lady (Y/N),” he cuts off sharply. “We are not meant to converse alone.”

“And you are not meant to witness my torture, you are meant to prevent it!”

“I apologize,” Ser Thenty tells you. “But there is little for me to do. Aerion is a Prince of the seven kingdoms. No matter my orders, I am forbidden from harming him.”

“So I was right in my doubt of you? You cannot do anything because you are a small, cowardly man?”

His tone loses patience. “You must return inside. We cannot be caught out here without a chaperone.”

You did not care for a chaperone. The wine gripped your heart and rid you of your common sense.

Your hand shoots out and you grab Ser Thenty, gripping his arm with a tight squeeze. “Are you not ashamed of yourself for this-?”

He shoves you, hard. So hard you stumble, your anger faltering as your mind reminds you this is a man capable of harming you.

“Do not touch me,” he snaps at you. “You know what your husband will do if he sees such a thing.”

“Of course I know what he will do! You are the one who ignores his actions-!”

“You are alive, Lady (Y/N). You are alive, without any broken bones. I am completing my duty.”

“You are a liar as much as a coward!” you scream. “You sat and did nothing as I called to you!”

“I would have went to you immediately if you were in actual distress, my Lady.”

Your heart spikes with blood curdling anger. “You walked away as my husband raped me!”

“He is your Lord husband,” Ser Thenty tells you. “A man cannot rape a woman that belongs to him.”

And there it was.

There was the answer right there, all along.

You do not get protection from a knight like a man would.

Because you are a woman, meaning you belong to someone.

Why would an object be valued over their owner?

Tears sting your eyes at the frustration of this life.

“You are a craven bastard!” you cry. “And I hope you are tortured in the pits of Hell for all you have allowed to be done to me!”

Heads are turning from the guards outside. More eyes have fallen on you too.

Ser Thenty appears flustered now, less bold under the attention.

“I am going back to the feast,” he tells you. “You should try to sober yourself. You are likely to upset your husband this night.”

You suddenly bend down, pick up a rock, and throw it at the coward.

Ser Thenty ducks it, his eyes widening.

You hear the insult he whispers. “Unrestful cunt.”

He leaves you alone with only the guards that pose along the tent.

You do not want to return inside. Inside is Hell. Outside is Hell. Everything is Hell.

So instead, you drop yourself on the ground with your back against the tree.

You hide your face, and you break down.

*******************************************

You pick at the food on your plate boredly as you watch the nobles dance their way around the hall. “Has a fourth son of a king ever become king himself?” you ask.

Ser Donnel stands beside your chair. He gives a nod as his eyes scan the room for trouble. “Aye. A few times in history. Though, is it not too common.”

“Could Prince Maekar be king one day?”

“It is possible. Though, not too likely.” He glances at you with curiosity. “For what reason do you ask?”

You lean back in your chair. “My father is angry that I told Prince Maekar his wife would’ve been a good Queen-”

“He told you not to speak,” came your sister’s voice from beside you. “You always have such stupid things to say-”

“Be silent,” you snap at her. “I am talking to my knight.”

“Your knight?”

You ignore her and say to Ser Donnel, “It would have been possible for Lady Dyanna to have been queen one day. And if she had been, she would have been well loved. What I said was not incorrect, why must I always be punished for speaking?”

“Because you don’t speak properly,” your sister tells you. “Mother says that is why they will have to arrange your marriage. You will never be courted because you are loud.”

“You will never be courted because you are nosy-”

“Girls, settle,” Ser Donnel chides. “We must keep respect on a day like this.”

“How is any of this respectful?” you ask. “People are drinking and laughing. They are meant to be crying.”

Your sister huffs. “You are still so very loud with your opinions-”

“Enough of you.” You push yourself to your feet. “I will be retiring for the night.”

“Your father requests you remain here until the feast is over,” Ser Donnel tells you.

You lean back in your chair with a heavy sigh.

“Prince Daeron is dancing,” your sister comments.

You say, “Prince Daeron is drunk-”

“(Y/N),” Ser Donnel chides again.

“He is stumbling,” you say. “He has stepped on his partner’s feet several times. She looks as if she is in pain from him. Should you not put a stop to it, Ser Donnel?”

“His mother has passed. Let him grieve how he needs to.”

A frown forms. You watch Prince Daeron, unimpressed.

Finally, the song ends and the girl he danced with rips herself from his grip and flees off the dance floor.

He is not able to find another partner by the time the next dance starts. So he returns to his table and slumps down in a chair beside his brother, Prince Aerion.

Prince Aerion is different then the others. There is a glare on his face as his eyes take in the events of the room. You wonder if he finds it all disrespectful as well.

His eyes continue to cross the room. Then, without warning, his eyes dart to you.

Heat rushes to your face and you quickly look away. You wonder if he noticed you staring. You risk a glance back, and see Prince Daeron whispering something to him. Both of them look at you. You quickly stare at the table, and try to convince yourself you did not see them.

But then the horrid unthinkable happens. You hear him.

Coming from your left, you hear his voice. “Lady (Y/N).”

Your head turns. Prince Daeron stands there, drunk as always, a smile too wide for his mother’s funeral feast.

“I was hoping to have that dance with you now.”

You look at Ser Donnel first, and it is clear this has caught even the knight off guard.

“Prince Daeron,” you slowly begin, “I am…still not well at dancing-”

“I do not mind.” He holds a hand out. “Shall we?”

His eyes are glazed over from drunkenness. You risk glancing at his shoes, which look heavy, and you imagine them stepping on your feet.

“I am very sorry, Prince Daeron, but my father has ordered me to stay seated-”

“Dance with the prince,” your sister urges you. Her voice drops to a whisper. “It is his mother’s funeral. Why are you being so cruel?”

You are jolted as Daeron puts a hand on your chair, pulling it out. “Exactly. It is my mother’s funeral. You would not reject me for a dance at this time, would you?”

“I-” Before a word gets out, he grabs your arm, and pulls you up out of your chair.

“Prince Daeron,” Ser Donnel speaks, “You appear unsteady.”

“I am perfectly alright.”

“I think it would be best if you took a break.”

“Your concern is noted.” Daeron’s hand remains on your arm. His head jerks towards the dancing. “Shall we?”

You do not know what to do.

So you try to think of what your father would advise. He would surely tell you to be respectful, and not to embarrass him.

Placing your hesitation to the side, you agree, “Perhaps you can accompany me for…one dance.”

As you are taken to the dance floor, you feel a sweeping nausea that you must suppress.

Daeron is an awful dancer. He refuses to use any proper dance moves, and he refuses to let you do any either. Instead, he pulls you into him. Your body hits his with a startled gasp, and his hands fall to your waist. He sways with you, though his swaying feels more like stumbling.

Your closeness is inappropriate. Your eyes dart around, fearing your father will see it.

At least those around you look sympathetic rather than judgmental. They know you do not want this dance.

“I have not seen you in so long,” Daeron says to you.

You turn your head as you speak, the alcohol on his breath almost too strong to bear. “My father prefers traveling on his own when he visits the Red Keep.”

“No,” he mumbles. A short shake of his head. “I have not…seen you. I saw you so often before. It’s as if you are…hiding from me now.”

You do not understand him, and you do not want to.

Moments pass without anything said.

“I am very sorry about your mother,” you tell him, because you do not know what else to say. “I cannot imagine your grief right now. I will pray that you are able to get through it.”

“Yes, my mother.” A light smile. “She would have made a very good queen.”

Your shoulders slouch, and you think he is mocking you.

Until he says, “One night, I saw my father on the throne with the King’s crown on his head. He did not believe me.”

It confuses you. “You…saw him?”

“Dreamt of him.”

You do not know what to reply to that, so you say nothing.

A larger smile rises to his lips. “You know, my brother-” He pauses, and laughs. He does not continue.

The music comes to an end. You try to take a step back from him. He does not let you.

“Once more,” he says.

It would embarrass your father if anyone saw you argue with Daeron, so you stayed where you were, and allowed him one more dance.

“You are ten and three now?” he asks you.

“Yes. Ten and three.”

“Have you become a woman yet?”

The question startles you. Your face flushes hot. “P-Pardon?”

“Have you bled yet? And entered womanhood?”

Yes. You began bleeding almost a full year prior to this. But it was not his place to know. You refuse to meet his eye. “No.”

“You would not lie to your Prince, would you?”

You glance around the room to try to see if your father is watching. “We mustn’t speak of such things.” Your voice wavers with your desperation to get away from him.

“Why not?”

You feel choked with embarrassment. “It-It is improper.”

Your eyes search for Ser Donnel.

“And what of maidenhood?” he asks. “Are you still a maiden? Or have the men in Duskendale already seen to that?”

You try to rip yourself from his hold. He holds you tight.

“That is an abhorrent, s-sinful thing to ask,” you tell him. “Let me go at-at once.”

“It is a simple question.”

He grips tightens on your waist so hard it makes you shout a panicked, “Ser Donnel!”

Heads begin to turn your way.

Daeron keeps a tight hold on you. “You needn’t be embarrassed. It is only a question-”

“Let go of me,” you try again, but with no resolve. You feel hot and unable to breathe.

He pulls you against him harder. “Take it as a compliment that your beauty has stirred such scandal among royal princes.”

“Please, let me go,” you have resorted to begging. “I do not wish to dance any longer.”

“He speaks as if he already owns you, can you believe that?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Yet he mocks me for my behavior. He mocks me as if I do not have the power to ruin what he wants.”

His drunken ramblings mean nothing to you. “Please, my prince, my mother will worry if she-”

Daeron leans down, and he places his lips against yours.

A hard, painful, brute of a kiss. His face slams so hard against yours that the inside of your lip is cut from your own tooth.

You are struck with panic. Instinctively, you stomp your foot down onto his, you shove his chest away, and you slap him in the face as hard as you can.

The hall falls hauntingly quiet. The band has stopped playing, all conversations cease in an instant.

You have struck the King’s grandson, and everyone has seen it.

********************************************

“What has happened, Lady (Y/N), are you hurt?”

It is Ser Donnel that approaches you.

He has heard your cries from his post at the front of the feast, and he recognized them. Hearing you crying so often in your childhood, the tears ring as familiar as your voice.

You hide your face from him.

“Lady (Y/N), please, tell me. Has someone hurt you?”

“You know who hurts me,” you whisper.

“Do you require a maester?”

The words cause you to cry harder. “I require a divorce!”

“Lady-”

“I require a jousting accident that makes me a widow!”

“You should not say these things aloud,” Ser Donnel tells you.

“I do not care who hears!” you weep. You place your face in your hands and cry harder. “I wish for a window to jump out of and end my misery!”

A somber sigh leaves the knight. His hand falls on your shoulder. “The days will get easier, my lady.”

“No, they will not!” Your tears stream down your chin. “They get worse every day that passes! My husband ripped me from my home and forced me into marriage! Then he threw me into solitude for months! Now he has decided to use every waking minute to break my soul!”

You are so swept up in your emotions that for the first time in your life, you have no room to be embarrassed. You are a horrible wreck of a crying woman and you do not care.

“I am doing nothing but awaiting my death!” you scream with hot tears leaving your eyes. “I hate that evil man! I hate him! I-I-!” You cut yourself off by choking on your own son. You bury your face further in your hands. “I wish to never see his face again!”

Ser Donnel is silent. You cry beside him as if he was a confidant. You did know if he was, if anyone was, but you appreciated that he did not force you back to Aerion.

“I will write to your father,” he eventually tells you. “I will have a letter sent this very night, letting him know that there is…concern to be raised about your treatment. I will request his immediate visit to the Red Keep. He is sure to get there by the time we return from the tourney.”

“Aerion will have me dead by then,” you sob. “He will have sliced my throat and thrown my body to the wolves-”

“He will do no such thing, Lady (Y/N).”

“You have no idea what he is capable of.” You choke on your own tears. “He wants me dead, Ser Donnel. He wants to rip me to pieces and burn me to ashes.”

“He does not.”

“He despises me.” Your words are muffled. “And he wants every person to know it.”

“Have I not told you what he wants from you?” Ser Donnel asks. “He wants an obedient woman-”

“He does not!” You finally pull your hands from your face. “He riles me! You do not believe me, but he does! He wishes for me to speak out of turn because he wants to punish me in the most despicable ways!”

“Aerion was most insistent on your wedding. He would not go through such great lengths only to have you die by his hand.”

His words cause a stir in your body. They begin to sober you. “…What great lengths?” you whisper.

Ser Donnel seems to hesitate, as if unsure if he is spilling a secret.

“Aerion claims I was chosen by him,” you say. “But-My mother said it was his father who insisted on such a marriage between houses.”

“Prince Maekar, nor your father, would have ever wanted the houses bridged through Aerion.”

“What?” You do not understand, and the confusion makes your head ache even more. “Why-Why then was the marriage permitted?” Why were you given to that monster?

Ser Donnel glances towards the knights at the entry way. He lowers his voice. “…It was not permitted. Not by Prince Maekar, not by your father. Aerion went to his grandfather, the King, for permission.”

Your blood runs cold. “…The king?”

Ser Donnel seems uncomfortable now. “I fear I have said more than I should have.”

He stands, and you quickly reach out to grab his arm. “No. No, don’t go. Why did he go to the King-?”

“I have no authority to answer such questions,” he tells you.

“My life is on the line, Ser Donnel-”

“It is not,” he insists sternly. “Lady (Y/N), if your husband meant to kill you, do you think he would have spared you from facing his father after your violent actions against him this morning?”

“My violent actions were justified-”

“I have no doubt they were. He has always been a cruel boy, and I’m sure he wants you scared, but he does not want you dead. You will live through this. But be better about it.”

“What am I to do?” you ask him with a pitiful cry in your tone. “What will make him stop?”

“Perhaps obedience is not all he wants,” Ser Donnel tells you. “He is a jealous man, as I am sure you’re aware. He wants a good wife, but perhaps most of all a wife who knows she is his. Let yourself belong to him.”

Belong to him. Belong to Aerion. Is that not death itself?

Another long sigh from Ser Donnel. “I am sorry about this marriage, (Y/N). I warned your father about this. I told him that your sisters were the ones who were wifely, that you were the more troublesome. He had said himself that you were not meant for any marriage, with any man, especially not a man that is so…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “But it is done now. And I will ensure your father is made aware of your mistreatment.”

You stare at him, his words falling heavy on you. “…My father said I was not meant for marriage?”

He looked at you as if he pitied you. He probably did. “Do not lament over such things. Come, step inside. It is time to return to your husband before he notices your absence.”

*******************************************

Your mother holds you against her, pleading, “I will send her home immediately, my Prince. You will never see her here again.”

The hall is quiet, sounded by only harsh whispers that have spread through the room like fire.

“I apologize for her, she will be punished-”

Prince Maekar silences her. “Do not speak.”

Your body trembles, and your mother holds you tighter.

Maekar talks only to your father. “Your daughter has struck my son.”

“She will be punished for this greatly.”

“Mama,” you whisper, “He forced a kiss upon me-”

“Do not speak!” Your father shouts at you, his anger louder than Prince Maekar’s.

You hide your face in your mother’s dress.

Maekar’s voice is so cold it gives you shivers. “Your daughter has struck my son on the day of his mother’s funeral.”

Another man steps up to speak. You do not know, nor recognize him. “Perhaps this should be settled privately.”

“Perhaps not,” Maekar spits. “It was done publically.”

“She is a child, brother, and your son is not known for being gentle with girls.”

“The consequences of a woman striking a royal are stated clearly in the law book.”

Murmurs break out in the dining hall.

You’re confused by the voices jumping around. You keep your eyes shut tightly.

“Seven whippings.”

You hug your mother tighter. “I am sorry-”

“Shh,” she shushes.

“Please, my prince,” you hear your father say. “She is a stupid girl, but she is not a traitor to the crown. Give her a chance to correct this.”

There is more whispering done by your father and the prince, but you are too far to hear it.

Finally, Maekar announces, “A compromise has been made. She has the chance to bend the knee to Daeron. Here. Now. Bend the knee and ask for forgiveness.”

“(Y/N),” your mother whispers, pulling you away from her. “(Y/N), go to your father.”

You look around to see the crowded room stares directly at you. You walk to your father with shaky steps. Your eyes clouded with tears.

“Kneel down before Prince Daeron,” your father tells you. “Apologize for your sins and beg him for forgiveness.”

Your lips quiver. “Kneel?”

“Kneel.”

You finally lay eyes on Daeron again. He is slumped along a chair, but rises to his feet with a look of smugness. “Beg for forgiveness,” he says, “And maybe I will give it to you.”

The amount of people watching you makes you feel sick.

Your eyes return to your father. “...He was improper to me-”

“Kneel and apologize,” your father stresses through gritted teeth. “I will not ask again.”

Taking hold of your shoulder, he forcibly turns you and forces you towards Daeron.

“Kneel,” you are instructed again.

You stare at Daeron.

And suddenly, the worry you feel-you fear you feel-is replaced by nothing but complete and utter outrage.

How dare he?

How dare he rip you from your seat, force you against his body, ask about your womanhood, and force a kiss on you?

This drunken, perverted bastard disgraced you.

And you were meant to apologize to this fool?

You would not.

To apologize would mean to say you were wrong. He was wrong. He deserved more than a slap, and you will not claim you are sorry for it.

You whip back around to your father. “I will not bend the knee to him.”

Prince Maekar’s eyes grow wide with anger.

Your father spits, “Get on your knees-”

“He spoke of the most abhorrent things,” you announce. “He asked about my bleeding, and my maidenhood, and he forced a kiss upon me-”

“(Y/N)!”

“He forced his hands on me, and I will not apologize for defending myself against him!” you cried to your father. “He does not deserve any apology! I do!”

Maekar snaps at your father, “She will kneel, or she will be whipped.”

You speak before your father does, “Then I will be whipped!”

And so it was.

Maekar grants his friend the sole favor of allowing your father to whip you himself.

So right there, in the middle of the feast hall, in front of nearly every noble in the realm, you are bent over a table and whipped seven times.

*******************************************

Ser Donnel coaxes you to your feet. He leads you inside, ushering a nearby servant to wipe your eyes and fix your powdered face.

The servant returns you to your seat beside your captor.

“You were gone for a long time,” Aerion comments. His eyes are on the entertainment, but all his attention seems focused on you. “Where did you go?”

“I was only getting fresh air.”

“With whom?”

“Myself. And two guards.”

“Which guards?”

“I do not know the names. I did not speak to them.”

“You were out for so long without speaking?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” He snaps a finger in the air. “Madam Pricher.”

You feel a coldness as she steps forward. “Yes, Prince Aerion.”

“Who was my wife outside with?”

“I only needed a moment alone-“

“She followed Ser Thenty out, Prince Aerion.”

His eyes finally settled on you. “Did she now?”

The urge to begin weeping fell upon you again.

“Ser Thenty,” he all but snapped. “What business was so important you had to discuss it with my wife?”

The knight’s eyes dashed between the two of you. “She followed me outside, my prince. I did not ask for it. I corrected her immediately and excused myself, reminding her there should never be a time we are alone without a chaperone.”

Aerion’s hand moves towards you. You flinch, even though he merely places a gentle hand on your wrist. “You so often forget the rules I have placed for you.” His thumb brushes your skin. “What was so urgent that you needed to run after him like a whore left unpaid?”

You stared at the table in front of you, wishing you could sink into the floor.

“Answer me or I’ll beat it out of him.”

The threat of harm caused Ser Thenty to quickly say, “She felt I was not doing my job properly. I disregarded her and returned inside immediately.”

Disregarded.

That is exactly how you felt.

And it made you feel so cold.

But the chills truly hit your body when Ser Thenty added, without prompting, “Ser Donnel is the one she was out there with.”

Your heart skips a beat, your head snapping in his direction to stare at him with widened eyes.

“There were other guards nearby, but they were sitting out of range of being heard,” he continued. “I do not know what they conversed about.”

You stare up at Ser Thenty with eyes of horrific betrayal.

He has thrown you to the wolves to save himself.

You watch as your husband’s eyes darken. You try to quickly tell him, “He was only consoling my distraught mood-” You hiss in pain as Aerion’s hand snakes up the back of your head, tugging tightly on your hair.

His thumb brushes the back of your ear, his fingernail pushing deep against the skin. “And what secrets were being whispered into my wife’s ear by dear Ser Donnel?”

“There were no secrets-” You flinch, your mouth shutting as you feel the sliver of something sharp on your skin.

Your husband’s dinner knife. It is in his hand, pressed against the back of your ear. Your hands fly to push him arm away. “Aerion-”

“Place your hands on the table. If you cause a scene, you will not like the outcome you find.”

Your hands are trembling now, yet you force them flat against the table. You look around, desperate for someone to have noticed already, but it seems nobody has.

“Shall I take an ear?” Aerion taunts you. “To punish you for continuously not listening?”

You shut your eyes tightly. “Nothing was done, the-the guards can vouch for me,” you quickly spudder out.

He gives a short, unconvinced, “Hm.”

Your whole body flinches as you feel the sting of a small cut against the back of your ear. Your hand flies out instinctively to try to push him away, “Aerion-”

“Hands flat on the table.”

You force yourself to do so. But he presses harder. Your eyes sting with tears from the sharp pain.

Aerion leans forward, his face painstakingly calm. He brings his lips to your ear. “Was I not the one who saved you from Ser Donnel’s wrath just this morning?” he asks you. His voice mimics being emotionless, yet...something was there. You could hear something in that tone, whether it was jealousy or hatred, you did not know. “He would have ripped you from my hands and delivered you to my father to be whipped.”

You try, once, to get out of the situation. “Ser Thenty, he is hurting me-”

He presses the knife harder. A sharp cry leaves your lips. It turns a few heads of those sitting beside you. Your hand flies up to cover your mouth. The small batch of blood you felt now becomes a trickle down your neck.

“You think he wants to spare you from this?” Aerion scoffs. “Do you think Ser Thenty does not see what a disrespectful cunt you are?”

“I am sorry.” You do not know what else to say.

You feel defeated by this world.

There is no more fight left in your body, it is just...pain. It is always pain, and it will always be this way.

The tears in your eyes begin to spill over.

“I am sorry. Please, forgive me.”

That is all you do anymore. Beg for forgiveness.

Your stomach churns with how sick you are of all of this.

“I-I did not call on Ser Donnel.” You try to keep your voice quiet and even. “He saw me in distress, because I was weeping. That is all. We spoke of my father. I-” The blood trickles down to your shoulder. “I would never call on him.”

His hold on you barely loosens. “You will repeat every word that was said when we return to the tent.”

“I will. I will repeat every word.” You are desperate for relief of this pain, so your hand moves to his thigh, and you clutch the material of his trousers. “I am sorry, husband, I did not mean to disrespect you, I-I know better. Forgive me.”

He is quiet a moment, but he finally pulls his hand away, the knife leaving with it. You shudder a long breath of relief.

He places a napkin in your hand, and pushes it against your ear. “Pull yourself together. The tears make you look so ugly.”

You hope you bleed out and die.

The edge of Aerion’s knife is coated in your blood, and it has dripped down to his wrist. He brings the knife to his mouth. You feel sick as you watch him draw the knife along his tongue, ingesting the crimson red until it is gone.

“Go clean yourself off,” he tells you. “The tears and blood will be gone when you return.”

You swallow. “Yes, Prince Aerion.”

You push out the chair quickly.

When you turn around, you see those two bastards just staring at you.

Ser Thenty and Madam Pricher watch you like nothing has happened. As if they were not your protectors that have been carelessly witnessing your torture.

A rage builds in your soul and you are unable to swallow it down.

You have been held hostage by your husband, living only by his mercy. And this pitiful excuse of a knight seems to think you deserve it? That it is your role of wife, that being beaten without complaint is you staying in your place?

Perhaps Ser Thenty would see his sins for what they were if he were the one forced to survive Aerion’s rage.

He threw you to the wolves. Did he not deserve for the same to be done to him?

“Ser Thenty,” you announce. There is an expression of guilt on his face. But you have seen enough guilt. That will not save him now. “You have failed me.”

His shoulders slouch. You hear the slightest chuckle from Aerion.

You wish to wipe that smile off your husband’s face with violence. But you have no violence that will harm him.

So you aim to harm that pathetic heart of his.

You steady your breath, your hand still holding the napkin to your ear.

“But you are my favorite knight,” you say. “So I forgive you.”

Ser Thenty’s eyebrows knit together in a frown. You can see your husband’s head turn to stare directly at you now.

With Aerion’s eyes on you, you take a step toward Ser Thenty, you raise yourself higher, and you place a kiss on his cheek.

The squealing of Aerion’s chair is so instant and loud it makes you flinch away.

Then you flee. You take off out of the dining hall, walking quickly down the hall as the door shut behind you.

Suddenly, there is screaming. More than one person screaming.

You heard Madam Pricher’s voice. “Prince Aerion! Prince Aerion, please-”

There is commotion so loud that all you make out is more screaming. Then the door slams open again, and billowing footsteps follow as guests storm out of the hall.

People are leaving-no, evacuating.

You walk fast, but there are people running now. They hit your shoulders as the crowd begins passing you.

One hand still covers your ear with a napkin. As the screaming grows louder, you raise your other hand, and you cover both ears.

********************************************

aerion targaryen scrolled through his phone in the darkness of his room, his thumb moved with practiced ease through instagram, past influencers and celebrities until he found your page…

he'd discovered you by chance, a suggested account that had caught his eye, you were an enigma wrapped in pixels, and aerion was instantly obsessed. for weeks, he visited your page daily, liking every post within seconds of it going live. he studied your face through the digital, memorized the curve of your hip as you posed in lingerie against led-lit backdrops. you were art, you were commerce, you were everything his privileged life lacked-raw, unfiltered authenticity, even in its artificiality.

then he found the link in your bio.

your username flashed on his laptop screen, cyberg1rl. aerion adjusted himself in his chair, heart racing as he entered the password to the exclusive site. the video loaded, and there you were, larger than life, moving with practiced sensuality in front of cameras that captured every angle of your performance.

he created an account: si1verdragon. simple enough to be overlooked, specific enough that you might notice.

the first time he typed in your chat, you were mid-performance, arching your back and playing with your tits over a pretty sparkly push up bra as you rode a silicone toy mounted to a chair. your eyes flickered to the chat window as his message appeared.

si1verdragon: you're so beautiful

you paused, a genuine smile breaking through your performer's mask. "thank you, silver dragon" you breathed, continuing your movements. "that's so sweet of you to say."

aerion's chest swelled. you'd noticed him. you'd said his username.

night after night, he returned. he learned your schedule, your preferences, the way your breath hitched when someone tipped generously. he never missed a show, his comments always respectful, almost reverent, in a sea of crude demands and graphic suggestions.

the tipping began subtly. a few tokens here and there, enough to make his username flash briefly on the screen. but as aerion's obsession deepened, so did his contributions. he started dropping substantial amounts during your shows, watching as your eyes widened each time his username appeared with a significant donation.

one evening, the chat was flooded with typical requests- harder, faster, show them more

si1verdragon: [tip: 500 tokens] take your time.

you paused mid-movement, your eyes finding his username in the chat. "well, someone knows how to treat a lady," you purred, your voice sweet with appreciation. "thank you, silver dragon."

aerion's hand moved to his groin, already hard from watching you. as he watched you, his fingers wrapped around his weeping length.

"do you like watching me touch myself through these panties?" you murmured.

aerion groaned, his strokes quickening as you slipped a hand between your legs, rubbing yourself through the damp fabric. "they're so wet already," you breathed. "all for you. all for my silver dragon."

his tip notifications became more frequent, each one larger than the last. the other viewers faded into the background as your attention focused increasingly on him.

"i hope you are super hard for me," you continued, "i bet you'd love to feel these wet panties on your cock, wouldn't you?"

aerion could only nod, though you couldn't see him. his strokes grew more frantic as you pushed the panties aside, revealing your glistening folds. the sight of your fingers circling your clit, combined with your explicit words, pushed him closer to the edge.

with a final, desperate thrust of his hips, aerion came, his sticky warm coating his hand and stomach. as he recovered, breathless and sated, he watched you finish your own performance, your eyes locked on the camera as if you could see him through the screen.

he tipped again generously, watching as the notification appeared on screen.

si1verdragon: [tip: 1000 tokens]

you started seeing him everywhere. not in person, but in your digital space. his username si1verdragon appearing in your comments, your dms, your live streams with increasing frequency. he was becoming more than just another client, he was becoming a presence.

and this night was no different.

si1verdragon: [tip: 5000 tokens] private show. joi. cock rating.

your breath hitched at the amount, nearly double what he'd ever sent before. as the system automatically switched you to private mode, you felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with apprehension.

the video loaded, and at first, you saw only his pale stomach, the defined lines of his abdomen disappearing into the waistband of his dark boxers and what seemed to be a happy trail leading down...then, as he shifted position, you saw it, his cock, already hard and straining against the fabric.

"hi, silver dragon," you breathed, your voice already dropping into that seductive, intimate register reserved for your most generous clients. the sight of him, even just this partial view, had heat pooling low in your belly. "five thousand tokens...you really know how to get a girl's full, undivided attention."

you leaned closer to your camera, making sure the soft lighting caught the sheen on your lips. "tonight is all about you. we're going to start with a little... appreciation. i'm going to rate that big cock of yours, tell you exactly what i think of it. then, if you're a good boy, i'll give you some very specific instructions on how i want you to touch it for me."

your gaze drifted back to the screen, to the thick outline straining against the dark fabric. "you're already so hard for me…and that happy trail...i have a thing for happy trails." you licked your lips slowly.

you watched as his abdominal muscles tensed at your words. he was responsive, and you loved it. "before we really get started, though, i need to know," you said, your tone softening just a fraction. "what should i call you? do you prefer silver dragon, or do you have a real name you'd like me to moan while you stroke yourself for me?"

there was a pause, just the sound of his slightly ragged breathing through the speakers. then, a low voice rumbled through your speakers, sending a fresh jolt of arousal straight to your core.

"aerion," he said. "my name is aerion."

a smile spread across your face. "aerion," you repeated, letting the name roll off your tongue, tasting it. "it's a beautiful name."

his only response was a sharp inhale as his hand finally dipped below the waistband of his boxers. he freed himself, and the sight made your mouth water. he was perfect. long and slightly thick, with a satisfying heft even through the screen. the skin was pale like his stomach, but the head was a flushed, angry pink, already beading with a single, perfect drop of precum. prominent veins mapped a path up the shaft, and his fist looked so good wrapped around it.

"rate it," he commanded suddenly, his voice firm. "tell me what you think."

you studied him carefully, your gaze tracing every vein, every contour of his perfect cock. "ten out of ten," you said honestly. "perfect length, perfect thickness. the way it curves slightly to the left...it would hit all the right spots."

his breath hitched at your words, his strokes becoming more erratic. "keep going," he urged.

your hand instinctively moving down to rub yourself through your already damp panties. you shifted your position, giving him a better view as you slipped your hand inside the lace.

"the thickness is going to feel so good stretching me out. and those veins…i'd love to feel them inside my pussy and on my tongue…"

his breathing grew heavier as he began to slowly fist his cock, his movements deliberate and controlled. "you like that?" he rumbled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"i love it," you moaned, your own fingers finding your clit and circling it slowly. "your voice makes me so wet, aerion. hearing you talk while you stroke that perfect cock for me..." you locked eyes with your camera, imagining you were looking directly into his.

his response was a low groan that sent shivers down your spine. "show me how wet i make you," he commanded.

your eyes remained fixed on the screen, on the way his hand moved up and down his shaft, on the bead of precum that welled at the tip and dripped onto his stomach.

"wasn’t i supposed to be the one giving you the instructions?" you giggle,

"you are," he confirmed, his voice a deep, velvet purr. "and your instructions are making me desperate to see what they're doing to you. show me. please?"

the command in his voice was undeniable, you bit your lip, thinking it over for a second and you found you didn't mind one bit.

"okay," you breathed, your voice a little shaky with arousal. "since you asked so nicely."

you shifted, angling your laptop to give him the perfect view as you leaned back against your pillows. slowly, teasingly, you hooked your thumbs into the sides of your soaked lace panties and drew them down your legs, tossing them aside. you spread your thighs, your pussy glistening in the soft glow of your ring light.

"fuck," he groaned, the word guttural and raw. his hand tightened around his shaft, his strokes pausing for a moment as he just stared. "you're so pretty..."

you used two fingers to spread your folds, giving him an unobstructed view of your slick, swollen clit. "can you imagine trying to fit in here, aerion?"

you watched as he resumed stroking, his pace now faster, more desperate. the sight of his fist pumping that perfect length while he stared at your exposed pussy was almost too much.

"now," you said, your voice firming up as you remembered your role. "since you've had your look, now i want you to spit in your hand."

you heard the sound, a wet, slick noise that made your own pussy clench. "good boy," you praised. "now, wrap your hand back around your cock. i want you to start with long, slow strokes. all the way from the base to the tip, twisting your wrist just a little when you get to that perfect pink head. do it for me, please, aerion? show me how you'd fuck me with it."

his breath hitched, and he obeyed instantly. his hand moved in a slow, torturous rhythm, his eyes locked on the screen, on your fingers as they began to mimic his motion, circling your entrance.

"mhmmm," you moaned. "just like that. don't you dare go faster. not until i say so."

his pale stomach contracting as his breath hitched audibly. his hand, which had been moving with such deliberate slowness, faltered for a moment.

"aeri," you purred, drawing out the syllable.

you watched as his strokes resumed, the slick sound of his spit-lubricated hand filling the quiet room. he was trying to maintain the slow pace you'd commanded, but you could see the tension in his forearm, the way his hips wanted to thrust up into his fist.

"you like that, don't you?" you continued, your own fingers slowing to match his languid pace, "you like it when i tell you what to do. you like it when i give you a special name?"

his only response was a choked-off groan, his head falling back against the pillows. you could see the sharp line of his jaw, the frantic pulse beating in his throat.

"i said slow. or do i need to stop touching myself completely? is that what you want?"

"no," he bit out, the word sharp and immediate. "no. i'll be good. i'll go slow."

he forced his hand back to the agonizingly leisurely rhythm, and you rewarded him by sinking one finger knuckle-deep into your dripping heat. you both moaned at the same time.

"i'm so full already, and it's just my fingers. how am i ever going to take all of you?" you added a second finger, stretching yourself for him.

that was it. that was the breaking point. with a guttural curse, his control shattered. his hand became a blur of motion, flying up and down his cock with a desperate, frantic energy. the sound of his fapping filled your speakers, loud and wet and utterly obscene.

"i'm sorry," he gasped, his voice strained. "i can't... fuck... i can't go slow anymore. i need to cum. please, let me cum for you."

you moaned, your own fingers speeding up, plunging into your wetness as your thumb worked your clit in tight, fast circles. “i wish you’d cum in my mouth aerion, then i'd flip over and let you fuck me from behind and fill me with another load.”

his body went taut, a perfect, pale bow strung with tension. his back arched off the bed, he came. thick, white ropes of cum striped his stomach and hand, some even reaching his chest. it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.

"tell me what you'd do if you were here," you whispered, still playing with your naked body on display.

aerion's breath caught at your words. "i'd touch you everywhere. i'd memorize every inch of your skin with my hands, my mouth."

your breath hitched, and your movements became more frantic. "i'd kiss you," he continued, growing bolder. "i'd make you forget every other man who's ever watched you, ever touched you."

"god, yes," you gasped, your back arching as you brought yourself closer to the edge. "i want that. i want you."

the words hung in the air between you, charged with meaning and possibility. aerion watched you reach your peak, crying out his name. a blinding, pulsing wave of pleasure that left you gasping and shaking against your pillows.

for a long moment, the only sounds were your mingled, ragged breaths.

the silence that followed was thick, heavy with the aftermath of your shared release. it was different from the usual post-show quiet. this wasn't the empty void after a performance, this was a charged, humming space filled with unspoken words. you watched as his chest rose and fell, his body still splayed out on the bed, a masterpiece of pale skin and satisfaction.

you propped yourself up on an elbow, not even trying to hide the admiration in your eyes. "i don't usually enjoy the private shows this much."

"i don't usually pay for company," he admitted, a hint of something raw and honest in his tone.

"i enjoy your company, aerion.”

"then let me see you again. another private show. tomorrow?"

you hesitated, a flicker of your old, cautious self reasserting itself. this was the path to complication, to heartache. "maybe," you replied, your voice playful. "message me tomorrow and we'll see."

the promise, however noncommittal, seemed to satisfy him. "i will," he said firmly. "goodnight."

"goodnight, aerion."

the screen went black.

the next day, you ignored his message. and the day after that. and the day after that.

you told yourself it was for the best. you were getting in too deep. lines were blurring. this was your job, your livelihood, and aerion was becoming a liability to the emotional armor you'd spent years building. the memory of his face was too potent. it made you want things you couldn't have.

so you stayed offline. you didn't go live. you didn't post to your story. you let the notifications from si1verdragon pile up, unread.

you okay?

did i do something wrong?

please just tell me if you're alright.

on the last one he had used your real name, you stared at it, your thumb hovering over the screen, a war raging in your chest. how did he know it? did you ever tell him? you can’t remember now. you were being cruel, you knew that. but it was better than the alternative. it was better than letting him in completely, only for it all to fall apart.

on the fourth day, you caved. you couldn't bear the silence anymore, but you couldn't face him either. so you went live. you laughed and teased and performed for the faceless masses, collecting tips and praise like you always did. but your eyes kept flickering to the chat log, searching for a username that never appeared.

he wasn't there.

a strange, hollow feeling settled in your stomach. he was respecting your silence. he was giving you space. it was exactly what you'd wanted, but it felt like a punishment.

halfway through your show, a new notification popped up, but it wasn't a tip. it was a private message request. your heart hammered against your ribs as you clicked on it.

the username wasn't si1verdragon. it was a new one, one you'd never seen before: aeri0n_t.

i'm outside your building. i just wanted to make sure you were okay.

your blood ran cold. he knew where you lived? he knew where you lived.

your phone buzzed again. another message.

i'm not leaving until i know you're okay. i'll wait down here all night if i have to.

you looked around your apartment, at the familiar comforts of your own space, and suddenly it felt like a cage.

Tears silently roll down your cheeks, falling like incessant rain.

Your vision is all but a blur, clouded with the salty wetness. Some tears land on your lap, others slip down your neck but you make no effort to clean them. There’s no point to it, you’re already a mess. You sniff, making a small whistling noise as you struggle to breathe with a nose that becomes more stuffed by the minute. 

A sharp thump has you flinching, the wooden table rattling when a glass cup gets slammed down with unnecessary force. 

“How pathetic.”

Seated to your right on the small circular table, Aerion scrutinizes you with irritation etched to his face. His nose twists when looking at you, as if the sight of your tears is physically repulsive to him. As if he isn’t half the reason why you’re crying. 

“Planning on weeping like a puppy all night?” he cruelly asks. “Stupid question. Of course you are. That’s all you ever do.” 

Aerion leans closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to let you in on some secret. 

“Is this part of your plan?” he asks. You can only look at him, confused. “To shed all these pretty tears and then look at us with those big sad eyes. Do you think us stupid enough to be fooled by you?”

His words are purposely cruel and you look away, a new batch of tears being revived from the mockery. When you don’t answer him, his eyes narrow down. A telltale that his patience is slowly draining.

You can’t stop the pitiful whimper that escapes from your lips when he suddenly snatches your wrist. His fingers painfully dig into the bone, squeezing hard in a warning. 

“That’s enough with the fucking tears.”

“Aerion.”

His cousin intervenes, calm and composed even though there is a warning edge in his voice as he directs at Aerion. He nods towards Aerion’s grip.

“Let go of her.” he calmly requests, even though his tone indicates that such is not for discussion. “You’re hurting her.”

Aerion glares at his dark-haired cousin and for a moment there, it almost feels as though his impulsive anger will get the best of him. Watching the two men fiercely argue is common, especially as the smallest of inconveniences seems to trigger their completely opposite personalities and make them clash against each other.  

For a moment, it looks like one of their fierce arguments is about to break. But then the moment passes and so does Aerion’s irritation. It doesn’t entirely go away but it subsides just enough to give you space to breathe. 

Aerion rolls his eyes, lifting finger by finger until your hand is entirely released. He slumps on the chair, tongue poking into the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. 

“Do not pity her too much, cousin. She has a thing for dramatics. I barely touched her and that already got her panties in a twist.” he says, considering you with a dangerous glint in his violet eyes. “Makes me wonder how pathetic she’s gonna act when I finally fuck her.”

Your heart drops. 

It’s gonna happen eventually, you know that. You’re not stupid or naive enough to believe that Aerion or Valarr would take a chastity vow for the rest of their lives just because you don’t want them. You not wanting them didn’t stop them from quite literally kidnapping you and keeping you hostage in their basement.

But still, just the thought is disheartening in more ways than one.

The rest of your life…

You don’t want to spend your entire life trapped by a couple of mad cousins who seem to believe that keeping a girl locked tight in their basement is the solution for their obsession. You don’t want to be anywhere near them or to look at their faces or to listen to their voices or to pretend to be a good girl.

You don’t want to spend the rest of life at their mercy… and yet the possibility of such happening is frighteningly real. 

“Shut up. Do you always have to ruin dinner with your nonsense?” Valarr shakes his head with a sigh. 

“She’s the one ruining it with her tears and snot, not me.”

Humiliation burns in your face as you hastily swipe your palms across your cheeks, wiping down your cheeks. Your nose embarrassingly whistles again as you try to breathe in.

Valarr gently calls out your name. 

“Don’t listen to him. Aerion is an idiot who doesn’t own a shred of decency.”

Aerion grunts something that awfully sounds like a curse, but Valarr pays him no mind. 

He glances at you, swiftly cutting down the chicken tender in his plate into smaller pieces before lifting them over to your plate. An attentive thought, given how the plastic cutlery you are given barely works. 

Valarr eyes your plate. “Eat your food, sweetheart. It’s getting cold.”

Aerion snorts from his seat, rolling his eyes condescendingly. 

“Yes, sweetheart, eat your food. And clean that damn nose. All that whistling and sniffling is making me lose appetite.”

To say that you’re mortified is an understatement, you want nothing more than to disappear from the face of the Earth at that comment. You blow your nose with a napkin as quietly as you can, not needing more of Aerion’s insults. 

Valarr snorts. “I’d say your lost appetite has more to do with uncle Maekar calling than anything else. What did he want, anyways?”

“Same as usual, that old man says that…”

Their conversation gets lost on you as you focus on the food, a small sharp pain in your gut reminding you of the lunch you skipped.

The plate placed in front of you has long gone cold, but it still looks good. The chicken Valarr cut for you is neatly organized to the side, near the small stack of oven-cooked potatoes, greens and vegetables. Healthy. Fresh. 

Picking up the plastic fork, you shove some food into your mouth. It tastes good, like it always does. Seasoned but not overly so. Cooked just perfectly. The type of food that is served in upscale restaurants. 

Your mind drifts towards the rectangular service elevator located in the wall of the kitchenette, where the food arrives everyday without fail. Spacious enough to fit a maximum of a couple of food trays, but small enough to prevent a human body from crawling inside.  

Aerion once complained about their private chef’s attitude in the mornings and so it’s not hard to put the pieces together into the puzzle and figure out that there’s a person working on a daily basis upstairs. More than one, most likely.

The Targaryen family is wealthy enough to cause envy to most billionaires in the world and surely their sons have a full, large team of staff and employees to take care of their shared house. Private chefs, housekeepers, maids, managers, security. 

You’ve lost count of the days, but your captivity time couldn’t be over two weeks.

Two weeks of sending food to the basement.

Two weeks of the boys visiting the basement.

And while their visits are irregular and at odd hours, there’s not a single day they haven’t showed up. You always have dinner together, but they also show up throughout the day to visit you. Sometimes together. Sometimes taking turns.

Aerion and his arrogant attitude, always ready to taunt you about how miserable he can make your life if you don’t start acting right with them. Valarr and his gentle voice, always whispering soft comforting words that hide away his true intentions.  

Do their staff not notice their prolonged visits to the downstairs floor or are they paid enough to keep their minds and their eyes strictly to their work? Perhaps they simply don’t care. No one cares. And that means that you’ll rot in this stupidly comfortable basement for the rest of your life. 

A lone tear escapes from your eye and you quickly swipe at it, not wanting the barely contained dam to break loose.

Again. 

–

Sunday morning you wake up to find Aerion in the living room. 

You’re still half dazed from a night of poor sleep and ruthless insomnia, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes when you realize with a startle that silver-haired boy is on the couch. You stop by the doorway, legs locking up the moment you catch sight of him.

It’s not the first time Aerion has randomly made himself comfortable in the basement apartment, showing unnanounced. Valarr often does the same. It’s almost as if they take turns in checking up on you in person, despite their state-of-the-art vigilance system.

Or maybe their visits are just a strategic step in their plan, a way to force you to become accustomed to their presence around you. If that’s the purpose, you refuse to let it happen. 

Much to your dismay though, Aerion only ever drops in the most random occasions. Forcing you to quietly endure his presence while he drops to the mattress and scrolls down on his phone while laying in your bed as if you’re not even there. Sometimes he shows up for something as random as using the en-suite bathroom, only to leave right after. 

And sometimes, he comes with the sole purpose of terrorizing you.

The memory is still fresh of when he forced you to accept a shoulder massage, some lousy excuse on how tightly wound up you were and that you needed to relax. Only for the said massage to involve his hands wandering far too low and his fingers painfully digging into your muscles. 

And when he caught sight of the tears silently tracking down your face, he snapped. Pushed you away from him with a force that sent you to the floor. Yelled at you for being an ungrateful bitch, that he was only being nice. As if he was the victim, which couldn’t be further from the truth. 

While Valarr is always somewhat predictable, Aerion is the complete opposite. He’s fire. Dangerous and uncontrollable, always burning himself and others. He’s volatile. There’s never knowing of his moods, never knowing if ignoring him is gonna make him furiously snap at you or if he’ll just roll his eyes and leave you be.

He’s unpredictable and that’s perhaps what frightens you the most about him. One wrong word can either earn you a sharp slap to the cheek or a just a roll of the eyes - and there’s never telling which one will happen. 

So that’s why your heart skips a beat at the sight of Aerion slumped on the couch, feet propped up on the small coffee table.

You try not to stare too hard because of his clothes. Or the lack of them, given how he’s only sporting grey sweatpants. His toned torso is on full display, the black ink of a three-headed dragon on his forearm making a formidable contrast against his pale skin. A monster Aerion seems to be particularly fascinated about, some obsessive connection to the roots of his family history. 

Aerion doesn’t look at you. His violet eyes are fixed on the television, though the sound is completely off. A great way to watch television indeed.

He doesn’t acknowledge you, although it’s impossible not to have heard you coming and so you stand at the doorway for a few moments, resisting the temptation to just go back to your room and slip back under the covers until he goes away to do whatever he does on the weekends. But the smell of the delicious waft of fresh donuts coming from the kitchenette has your stomach aching.

In the end your hunger wins and you make an effort to push back the discomfort that gathers in your bones, an instinctive reaction to Aerion’s presence in your vicinity, as you walk across the living room till you reach the corner where the kitchenette is located. 

You set the coffee machine working and eye the tray on the counter.

Every morning the kitchen sends down a variety of breakfast pastries. Freshly baked, soft dough and still warm from the oven. Smelling so heavenly that your mouth waters just by looking at the elegant display of donuts, croissants and pancakes. 

And it tastes even better than its enticing appearance, you have to hold back from moaning as your teeth sink into a fluffy donut, the sugar glaze melting in your tongue. 

You’re halfway through a sugar-sprinkled croissant when Aerion speaks. 

“Come here.”

You glance at him and find his violet eyes already settled upon you. He takes his feet off the table and sits straighter on the couch. When you remain posted by the counter a moment too long, his eyebrows rise.  

“Come here or I’ll get you here myself.”

His words are said with a plain tone and yet they are enough to get you moving. You make your way to the couch without wasting time. Once you are within his reach, Aerion snatches your hand and rudely tugs you towards him. 

You land in his lap with a motion that is as painful as it is graceless and Aerion grunts. Tension surges through your body when his arm snakes around your waist like a reinforced chain, keeping you grounded to him. 

With his other hand, he brings your hand to his mouth and takes a bite of your half-eaten croissant.

He stares lecherously with provocation in his eyes as his tongue slithers to his lower lip, licking away the sugar powder. It takes nearly every ounce of self-control not to make your repulsion too obvious and even so the corners of your lips twist downwards. 

“Tastes sweet.” he comments, the tip of his tongue still languidly darting at his lips. “Do you like sweet things?”

You writhe before looking away, setting your eyes on the big screen. 

Aerion chuckles lightly but lets you ignore him, thankfully. He seems to be in a good mood, those days quite rare.

You were already half-imagining him angrily pushing you to the floor but instead he drags you closer with his arm, settling your back against his bare chest, tucking his chin over your shoulder. 

You remain like that for a while, the silence settling between you.

It’s far from comfortable, with you trying not to move on his lap while pretending to watch the screen when in reality you couldn’t be any less interested in seeing a blood-filled scene of what appears to be a criminal investigation show. 

You are as though a statue, mentally struggling and shallow breathing, while Aerion is seemingly more than comfortable. The minutes drag by with the pace of a snail, excruciatingly slow.

One episode of the show ends and another begins and yet Aerion seems perfectly content in keeping you captive in his suffocating embrace. 

At one point, Aerion begins to caress your arm.

Long fingers moving up and down the length of your arm in smooth movements, fingertips drawing light patterns on the exposed skin. Goosebumps erupt in your skin. His touch feels too intimate, body against body, skin against skin. You don’t even know if he’s doing this on purpose or if it’s genuinely an unconscious gesture.

Either way it messes with your head, a bad feeling in your stomach as you dread the moment he gets bored of innocent touches and his hands graduate into wandering to more intimate regions. 

Valarr shows up halfway through the third episode. 

By then, your legs have gone stiff from the awkwardness of sitting in someone else’s lap, your mind coming up with all sorts of excuses only to reject them out of fear of triggering Aerion back into his cruel persona. 

Aerion’s arm tightens around your waist at the sound of the door opening but remains quiet otherwise. Valarr repeats your steps, freezing by the doorway.

Only the rise of his eyebrows indicates some sort of surprise at finding you and Aerion in such a close position. Heat floods your cheeks, the awkwardness of the situation making you squirm. 

“Good morning.” 

You greet him back while Aerion only grunts. That has Valarr's attention shifting towards his cousin. 

“As much as I hate to interrupt, there’s an emergency.” he declares, “It’s about your brother.”

“Which one?”

“Daeron.”

Aerion sneers. “Shocking.”

“Apparently he pulled Aegon out of boarding school with an excuse and now they’re both missing. Uncle Maekar wants us to help the security team in finding them.” 

That doesn’t seem to please Aerion, opposite to you.

“Daeron has pulled this shit before. He’ll return in a few days when his money and booze run out. That’s what he always does anyway.” he spits, “I’m not wasting my time over a drunk brother who doesn’t wanna be found.”

Valarr looks at him, dark brows pinching. 

“You have to tag along, Aerion.” he affirms. His eyes dart towards you for a second. “Or do you want your dad to show up here by surprise?”

Sharp pain blooms in your arm, where Aerion’s gentle touch has now turned into cruelty with his blunt nails digging into your skin. His irritation feels palpable as he exhales sharply, upset. 

“Daeron, that fucking idiot.”

A yelp escapes you when Aerion abruptly pushes your body to the side with the roughness that is so typical to him. You wince when your arm gets trapped between the couch and your body as you fall down, part of you minimally grateful that at least he didn’t throw you onto the floor. 

Aerion curses his pathetic brothers, shoulder colliding against Valarr as he angrily storms off without so much as giving you a last word. You prefer it that way, anyways.

When you finally manage to pull yourself back together, giving into the relief of at last having back your personal space and relishing into the comfort of the solid couch underneath you instead of Aerion’s lap, it’s when you realize that Valarr hasn’t moved away. 

He’s staring at you with an expression on his face that you can’t decipher. Brows pushed together, eyes firmly set in you. As if he's trying to figure out something.

“... it might take a while for us to get back. Don’t wait up.” 

Valarr speaks at last, giving you a last strange look before leaving. 

–

Not a day goes by without you making a round on the apartment. It’s a habit that grew out of boredom as much as of necessity. You can’t stay in the basement forever. You simply… cannot. 

It becomes part of your routine, a habit that engraved itself into your nearly empty schedule. You examine the entire apartment at least once a day. Twice if you’re feeling desperate enough.

There’s not a specific time to it though.

Sometimes it’s the first thing you do in the morning, sometimes you have to delay it because of Aerion or Valarr. But your mind quickly becomes restless when the hours go by and you haven’t yet searched for every nook and creek in the apartment in hopes of finding a miraculous way out. 

By now the apartment’s floor plan must’ve been etched into your mind, not a single corner that yet remains unknown. Sometimes you consider writing all your findings into a notebook, note down all the details no matter how important or how insignificant they are.

You’ve always been fond of writing things down on paper, finding the physical support much more useful for when needing to clear your head and find a solution. Maybe you could even use the notes to conjure up a few plans, a path to finding back your freedom. But then you’re reminded of Aerion’s awful tendency to go through the few personal belongings you have and how his intruding hands would inevitably find your diary and you instantly give up on that idea. 

You don't need to make things worse for you.

The apartment is spacious, with overhead lights that brightly illuminate the divisions during the day in a poor mimick of sunlight and then dim into a weak, gentle lightening as the hours pass till nighttime. It’s all white and beige. Clean and simple, minimalistic and yet not completely desolated. 

The main door is an impossible challenge.

Not only does it have a 10 digit passcode that changes everyday but also has a retinal and fingerprint scanner as well as a voice confirmation step. All those security steps severely limit down your chances but it did cross your mind that you could simply wait for the boys to open the door, push them aside and then make a run for it. But the same thought must’ve crossed their minds as well as they never unlock the door if you’re around. 

The spacious, larg living room is divided in two areas, wide enough to have a long beige couch and a home theater television hanged to the wall as well as to host the kitchenette in a corner, a small round table next to it where you eat your meals.

The reasoning behind having a kitchenette is beyond your comprehension as there is no oven, no stove, no microwave. Only the service elevator that acts as food delivery and a bunch of locked drawers where the metal knives and glass plates are kept.

Other than that, there’s only a small fridge with cold water and ice and then a small pantry stacked full with snacks and drinks to keep you satisfied until meal time. 

And then there’s your room, the king sized bed occupying the biggest part of it. There’s a very minimalistic touch to the whole division, with only the bare essentials - a small wooden wardrobe, a simple vanity, a clock on the wall. The en-suite bathroom is a small sanctuary within this nightmare, the only door with a functional lock. While there are cameras hanging on the top corner of each room - even the bedroom, the bathroom escapes from that fate. Most likely they didn’t want the gross vision of you using the toilet although you’re very certain Aerion would enjoy watch you take a shower. 

As of lately the tall door that controls your freedom persists in your mind.

Your thoughts are inevitably drawn to it, like a moth attracted to flame. Your heart skips a beat whenever that metallic beep travels through the air, the sound of the door being pushed open or even closed. 

You pay closer attention to when the door is opened from the inside.

The boys’ back covers the majority of the process and they’re awfully quiet when doing whatever is it that they do. But you’ve come to catch a few stray details about it. It’s not always the code that opens the door, nor is it the retinal scanner, or the fingerprint option or even the audio mechanism. 

It alternates.

The door-opening mechanisms change everyday in an irregular pattern, too confusing for you to even try and figure it out. Not just that, but the codes are updated every day as well. The punching of the keypad sounds different each time you try to listen, the words they whisper into the microphone resonating inconsistently on each occasion.

It’s too confusing, too complex and your memory doesn’t cooperate when you need it to. It’s a complete disgrace. It frustrates you so much that your eyes can’t stop being constantly drawn to it. 

Much like right.

You realize with a startle that Valarr has stopped talking, his eyes following your fixed gaze before returning to your face. He stares at you, not exactly surprised but perhaps a bit... amused? 

“... it was my idea.”

That grabs your attention. “Hm?”

“It was my idea.” he nods towards the door, “The door. Had it custom made, very specific design. State of the art technology gadgets. It cost us a fortune."

He smiles.

"Aerion doesn’t like it any better than you do, thinks it’s too much trouble.”

Your lips twist. 

“He’s not wrong.” you whisper. 

“He’s not wrong.” Valarr repeats slowly, nodding his head. “That’s true. It’s a lot of trouble. More for us than you, really. But I thought you’d prefer it this way.” 

You look at him, not sure whether to be confused or angry.

“Why would I?” 

Valarr gives you a pointed look, tilting his head.

“Well, maybe because instead of the door, Aerion suggested we keep you chained to the bed.”

A cold feeling spreads in your body, twisting your guts. You look at Valarr, horrified. What? 

He only shrugs his shoulders. 

“He wondered why should we go through the effort of tiptoeing around the door all the time when we could have it the easy way. A chain on your feet or your neck and problem solved. You’d be bed bound the entire time, unable to leave or to roam around. Easy fix, right?”

His hand lands on top of yours, warm and comforting, as your brain attempts to process the harsh scenario of what could’ve been. An image pops up in your mind, uncalled for.

Of you laying on the bed, writhing and twisting but never getting far away, held down by a steel chain that digs into your skin, Aerion’s hands travelling up and down your body, touching it without pudor or fear, taking what he wants…

“I rejected that option." he assures you, softly. "Because you deserve better. Because you don’t deserve to be that miserable, like a bird whose wings were stripped away.”

Valarr steps closer. His palm cups your cheek, thumb slowly rubbing the skin. He gently steers your face up, making you meet his eyes. Demanding for your attention, despite the bucket of cold, freezing water he just threw at you. 

“... it’s not always gonna be like this.”

When you only blink at him, he continues. 

“I know you don’t exactly enjoy being locked up here. I understand that. I’m sorry about that too. But this is just a temporary arrangement. Only until you give me and Aerion enough reasons to trust you.”

Your stomach flips.

“I’ll… be able to go upstairs?”

Valarr nods, a small smile gracing his pretty lips. 

“Eventually.” he confirms. “We have a pretty big garden, I think you’re gonna love it. The gardener is working on planting flowers, your favorites. Maybe one day you can tend to them yourself.”

“Then there’s the infinity pool, heated of course cause you hate cold water. Ah, and Aerion wants to show you the game room, he can’t wait to beat you in a bowling match but between you and me, my money is on you.”

Valarr chuckles and for a moment, you let your imagination run wild. Just for a moment. Just for a very small, short moment.

Not with them, never them. But the outside world.

There’s a flicker of hope reigniting inside you, at the possibility of feeling the sun’s warmth kiss your skin or to be able to fill your lungs with fresh, pure air. You don't even remember what fresh air feels like anymore.

“The perimeter of the property is well-guarded, we made sure of it. No one gets past our security team. You’d be safe to wander around the entire grounds and no one would stop you.” 

Valarr speaks as though that's a compromise. As though it's your safety they'd be concerned about when the truth is clear for all who can see.

And then reality dawns on you. You’d be able to go outside - a promise that has no grounds to be trusted in the first place - but at what cost?

By playing along in their delusional game and losing your sanity and self-respect in the process. By losing yourself in the middle of achieving whatever illusion of freedom they want to trick you with. By being their willing puppet.

Valarr seems to catch onto your distress and his tone loses some of the enthusiasm. He pulls his hand away from you and crosses his arms.

“Like I said, the security team is pretty solid. No one gets inside without our permission.”

He looks at you, brown eyes fleeting to your lips before returning to back to your eyes.

There was a bluebird on the sill of your window.

You had been in the middle of your embroidery, the shiny needle coming to stop between the fabric as you came to stare at the creature in awe. Its fidgeting body had hopped and fluttered on the stone ledge, chirping away as it observed you from across the room. Excitement pulsed through you as you gently settled your embroidery hoop onto the table as delicately as you could before you began approaching the bird.

Its song filled the silence, each chirp sending a little echo through the vast room as you dragged yourself to the creature in a crouch. Your skirts crumpled beneath your body as you approached. Your heart came to swell in your throat as you pushed down memories of your mother and sister, tears coming to collect at the edges of your eyes as you admire the delicate hues of blue on the birds wings. 

You had been so captured by the bird of your family's history you didn't hear the door to your room open or shut behind you until the bird suddenly let out a hard cry and fled through the open window. You remained in a low crouch until your name being called behind you made your body instinctively straighten as you rose and turned around to face the only other person who was allowed into the room. Your fear left you with no choice but to stand still as heavy boots trudged into the room while your eyes found the floor.

"It seems my lady wife has forgotten how to greet her husband," although his tone came as a tease, Aerion's hardened gaze bore into the side of your face— your months of marriage letting you know well enough that he was not in a joking mood.

You bowed before the Prince as you spoke, "I did not expect you today, my prince". Your words coming out airy and rushed as you continued to avoid his gaze. 

You knew what he had come for, its the only reason he had ever deigned to visit your secluded chambers in the Keep. 

When he didn't respond, your eyes reluctantly left the stone floor and found his body a few feet from you though his gaze was now on the window behind you. You watch his eyes flicker between the stone ledge and your crumpled skirts, your hands coming to smooth your appearance despite futile attempts. 

"Ah," he tutted, a smile slowly spreading to show his bright teeth that matched the color of his hair. "Let me guess. Was that your mother? Maybe it was your father?" his smile had turned wicked before he let out a chuckle as he approached until he was a step away from connecting your chests. "Or, perhaps it was your sister?" 

Despite the amount of mockery or bullying he had done to you, you could still feel pure disbelief bubble beneath your skin.

Aerion knew that your family had the stories of old just as his ancestry did—how his family had dragons while your family had bluebirds that the departed would use to visit you during tough times and yet he still mocked your traditions and family legacy.

You swallow a sob as you steel yourself before the man you married. 

Guilt fills you when—for a split second—you curse your sister for dying. It had originally been your sister that had been selected as the prince's intended, the waves of happiness that had overflowed from her at the mention of becoming a princess had left your family scrambling to depart from your home and only leaving your eldest brother and yourself to stay back. 

Then news came of an upturned carriage. You could still remember the moment the scout had arrived, ears coming to ring and muffle the words of how he found the bodies of your beloved mother and father with their throats slit while your sister was found not a few feet away face down in the river.

You were only allowed a few days of mourning until a raven came with a message of acceptance of you being a suitable stand in. Your brother had come to explain how your father had owed a debt and the debt would need to be paid one way or another. The last time you had seen your brother was months ago when he put you into a carriage that arrived from Kings Landing, multiple guards attached to escort you to your new husband. 

Aerion's fingers brushing your fallen tears brought you back to the present. His body had come to crouch down to look straight into your eyes that had dropped to stare at the floor. His iris' filled with unbridled lust as he shushed you, wiping away tears with false-sympathies. 

"You should not cry for that old family," he whispered, the tone sounding so sweet you almost consider leaning into the falsehood for comfort. "I am your family now, the only one you should consider."

His words only make your body jolt in despair. He allows two more tears to slip before he lets out a loud sigh of annoyance and pulled himself away to sprawl onto the furs of your bed. His hands undo the strings of his shirt until his chest is exposed. Aerion adjusts his position before he looks at you and jerks his head at you. "Come."

Flashes from your wedding night peppered into your mind at the sight of him, saying the same words he did when the time came to consummate the marriage. The knot in your throat was just like the one you had then, blocking all words as you forced yourself into his lap. The fabric of your skirts separated your body from his as he gazed up at you with boredom before he pulled a blade from the scabbard on his hip. He had done the same thing that night, the only difference was that you now knew what to expect of Aerion Targaryen when he came to your chambers. 

Bringing the edge of the blade to your corset, he gives no warning as he slowly drags the metal down and tears the front of your dress. The tip of his blade skims the surface of your chest and between the valley of your breasts while the sound of fabric tearing fills the room. You are forced to watch as the gown you had worn had now been reduced to scraps at the princes' sick attempt at seduction. His eyes found yours in bliss as he removed the top layer of your dress and left you bare. 

"This is how you should be greeting me"

Your skin pebbled with the exposure to the cold air, the crackling fire in the hearth doing nothing but adding to the ambience within your chamber walls. Your chest rises and falls with each breath as Aerion comes close and brings your breast to his mouth, the sudden warmth making honey of your bones despite the distaste you felt in your heart for the man. His mouth latched on as his tongue circled, pebbling your nipple until the brush of his tongue made a small whimper rip from your throat. He repeated the action on the other as his hands traveled to the strings of your skirts and pulled at the knot until the fabric loosened, he pulled away and dragged the skirts over your head. 

Aerion brought the blade back to your flesh, bringing the dagger to drag against your waist as he spoke. "You want to make your husband happy, yes?" You can only nod as you fix your gaze on the cherished knife of the prince. He seemed pleased with your response as he tossed the blade to the empty space beside him on the bed.

Your body felt three times heavier as he brought his hand up and grasped at your neck and forced you closer to look into his eyes. Irritation bloomed beneath his iris' as he squeezed the flesh of your throat, not hard enough to cut off your airway but enough to make your eyes widen as you looked down at him. You’re forced still as he works his stare over your face until he finally lets go and smacks your thigh hard enough to earn a small hiss from you. He comes to smile once more before he tells you to stand.

You knew better than to hope for his departure.  He had done the jest too many times.

You roll off of his body and stand to the side as he rose from the furs and raised his hands in wait. Your body moved mindlessly as you brought your hands to pull at the strings quickly, earning a chuckle from Aerion who joked about your impatience for him. 

You only wanted to get this over with.

You fiddle with the string of his trousers, eyes fixed on the fabric so as to still your shaking fingers when his hands stop yours with a swat and instructions to lay on the bed. You follow instructions as your fate was sealed the second you repeated the vows back to him in the Great Sept of Baelor, so you lie down and watch as Aerion removed his pants.

As you drag your gaze up his body, you hold the speckle of attraction you felt as the target of your resentment. You hated the way your body instinctively shifted and preened at the sight of his toned body, his figure shaped from his time training in the castle courtyard, his smooth flesh making one think he was untrained. It was when you look upon his hands that you can see the years of training etched into the creases of his palms, taut skin scarred with nicks and cuts. Your eyes land on his toned back that gleamed with the reflection of the flame in the center of the room.

His body turns to face you fully and you're quick to force your eyes to his face, avoiding the hardened part of his body that brought you both to pleasure and pain. His eyebrow raise at the sight of your reddened face, a low chuckle coming from his chest that came flush against yours as he brings his body over you with his entire weight. His eyes find yours as his brings his head to the side of your neck and bites down, his teeth grinding your skin in between each ridge so hard you cry. 

He pulls away and you give your best smile, ignoring the tears pooling out of your eyes. He leans down again, licking at your tears as his hands come to fondle your chest. His thighs have now come up to straddle your hips, his hard cock resting against your lower belly. You can't ignore the heat he radiates or the weight of what laid between the two of you. He gives you one last glance before he pulls back off of your body and spits directly on your center, missing by a few inches but it didn't matter as his spit dripped down, his fingers come down and glide the glob of saliva up and down your lips before he pressed into you with his fingers.

The sudden intrusion makes a gasp whisper past your lips, his groan sounding over your noise. "You're so wet," he mumbled, pushing his fingers in deeper before gliding them back out. "'And you said you weren't expecting me? Was this for someone else?" his fingers come to curl inside you, your slick making a squelch sound as he curled his fingers over and over like a scratch. You shake your head at him, maybe as an answer or in protest but the response seemed to satisfy him enough to lean down and kiss your lips gently. His thumb comes to flick your clit, making your mouth open in shock before he plunges his tongue into your mouth. Simultaneously kissing and rubbing, you've no way to choose how to respond and he ends up biting you when you don't kiss back. 

He hums at the sight of you, wet and undone by his fingers. He pulls his fingers from you, cutting you from reaching completion and flicks his hands of your slick before bringing his fingers into his mouth of the remnants. "My sweet girl, my wife" his breathless words mix with the lulling vibrations of your body and you can only watch as he rubs the head of his cock against you. His body rocks against you, bumping over and under your pearl all while he held himself up to hover over you and come up right to your eye line. It overwhelmed you, the intensity of his stare. All that you bubbled down to survive in his presense had started to come up. Your gaze travels up to the decorated canopy bed, focusing on the linen sheets that resembled your family house colors, the ones that matched the sky and the wings of the birds you wished you could become.

Aerion's eyebrows furrow at your expression, not looking at him but through him. It angered him to the point of stopping to reach up and pinch your face between his fingers, your eyes zoning back in and masking once more into a loving gaze. 

But he could tell it was fake, the shining eyes he had caught a glimpse of when he entered your separate chambers, eyes on a stupid filthy bird that twittered and scraped its talons on stone—that got a look of devotion while he got antipathy. He couldn't help the snarl that came from him as he released his grip, kissing his teeth as he rose from the bed. He turned his back to dress, leaving you confused and listless as you watched his back muscles move.

You do your best to hide your relief from your face.  He would most likely return to the streets of silk.

You sit up as he pulls on his white linen shirt, your hands coming to wrap your body with the sheets when a loud chirp sounds through the room. You both still, the sound not believed to be heard until it comes again more than once. 

Not a bluebird, please don't be a bluebird.

Your eyes remain on Aerion as he drops the pants he intended to put on, letting out a chuckle as he turns toward the windowsill. You follow his gaze after you see his joyous expression, seeing a bluebird fidget on the stone as it looked about the room as if invited to comment on the decor. You feel the gasp before you hear it, finding its eyes look at you often.

Aerion walked over until he came up beside you and pulled the sheets from your chest to display you to the small audience the two of you gained. Your hands fly up to cover yourself but Aerion was always faster, his hands curling around your wrist before pushing them onto the bed and coming to hover over you once more.

"I think daddy dearest wanted to check on his little girl," he jeered, not caring that your gaze remained on the bird. You protest, your eyes filling with tears as your pleas go unheard. Aerion's free hand came down between you two and lined his pulsing cock to your core and slowly inched forward. His moan filled the room as he sheathed himself in you before he let go of your hands and brought both of his to frame your face and turn your gaze to him. "Let's show him, yeah? Show him that you are all mine"

Aerion's violet eyes fix on yours as he pumps into you, each rock making the head of his cock kiss your insides. He watched you fight the pleasure he knew you felt, your lips coming to form an 'o' like it had countless times before. He let go one side of your face to grip the underside of your thigh, brining it up to angle you so he could reach deeper. His panting breaths mixed with your shallow breathing, he licked his lips before he kissed you. His hand caressed your face once before he pulled out to turn you over. 

You're face down in the mattress before you process what happened, the furs and sheets now rumpled beneath your two bodies coming together once more. His hands came down onto your head, fingers weaving into your hair and pulling to make you turn away from the sheets and toward the room, specifically toward the window. 

"Aerion please—"

He shushes you sweetly, now petting your head as he continued his thrusts. "Your little birds gets to see what I get to do with mine"

His thrusts deepen as he holds you for balance by your head. His moans mix with the echoing slapping of skin coming together over and over. The fire continues to pop in its hearth and the bird continues to watch as your brought to completion despite your best efforts against it. He continues to thrust until he reached his rapture, filling you to the brim before removing himself from you and watched as his seed slowly glided down your leg and onto the floor.

His eyes travel to the side of your face before traveling to the window that was now vacant. He dressed himself, relishing in his satisfaction of the start of his early morning. He watched you until you rose from the bed. You take a moment to collect your expression before you turn to gaze at Aerion, ensuring your eyes meet his. He stays quiet a moment, looking over your face a few times before he reaches out and grasps your chin in between his fingers ever so gently.

“You slipped away for a little bird,” he stated, his grip cradling your chin a little. He skimmed the edge of your jaw with his rough fingers, a mock pout stretched across his face while he forced his deep violet eyes onto yours. His face is close enough to show off his unblemished skin and sharp cheekbones. He looked princely, but you knew better. 

A hiss escapes you when his fingers come and tighten on your jaw hard enough for you to know that it would leave a mark.

“Ensure it doesn’t happen again”

Giving you a pointed look, he released your face with a push and made his way out of the room without a glance back. At the sound of the door clicking to a close, your gaze lingers on the door for a moment before you feel your body jolt forward and you hear yourself let out a quiet sob.

────────────

It was hours later when a knock came at your door. 

You knew it wasn't Aerion as he would've walked in without so much as a 'hello', so you stand and walk to the door. You take cautious steps toward the door, opening it a crack until you see it is a knight that usually follows your husband. His face holding a kind smile as he present you with a box wrapped in a singular red string bow.

"A gift from Prince Aerion, your grace" 

Your face comes into a frown before you could stop yourself, the door creaking as you open it wider. You look behind the man expecting to see Aerion right beside him, smirking as he usually was—only, it was the lone knight and he looked confused as to why you had not responded. The question slips out before you could think of a more proper way of asking, your fear coming out a soft whisper.

"Is he on the way?"

The knight gives you a a frown of remorse, probably thinking the princess had missed her husband terribly in the few hours they spent apart. He shakes your head and relays the instructions he was given. 

"I was told to present this on behalf of His Highness, the prince. He is in the courtyard just outside your window and says he wishes to see your face as you open your gift"

Aerion, in all your time wed, had never sent you a gift.

The knight entered the room and walked to the sill, placing the small box down before bowing to you once then leaving. The door closed with a groan and a click but you could only stare at the box that lay a few feet away, a deep forboding feeling filling you from your toes to the crown of your head. 

A loud whistle just beyond the castle walls called out, the familiar tune letting you know that what the knight said was true. Your feet move before you realize and you are standing at the window looking down at Aerion, who was waiting for you just below on horseback. His familiar steed dressed in it's riding leathers made to look like scales of a dragon that no longer ruled the great skies.

"Open it," he called out, shrugging his shoulders with nonchalance as he stared up the stone wall. "I saw this while out this morning and knew you had to have it"

Your heart thumped right on the bone of your ribcage as you dragged your gaze from the smiling Targaryen prince to the box. Your shaky hands returned as you pulled the string and fumbled with box until it opened and you let out a cry before you fell to the floor.

There, in a box on the windowsill, laid the small body of a bluebird with broken wings and a note.

A bluebird for my bluebird —A.

The scream you let out as laughter traveled up the wall and through the window made your heart bleed just as deeply as you hurt. You don't know how long you stay there, screaming out your pain when just beyond the door, you hear the guards stand to attention and the door opens to reveal your husband. 

Your eyes had swollen and your face was smeared with your tears and despair when you come to look up at the unfeeling prince. In all your time being married, this was the cruelest thing he had done. You'd forgiven him when he had your family colors removed from all your wardrobe, coming to understand that you were now under his protection in the eyes of the seven. You even forgave him when he had all your belongings removed and replaced with ones to his liking. 

This was beyond forgiveness. 

Aerion goes to lay on the fresh sheets that were replaced mere moments after he departed from your chambers, his eyes on you as you come to stand. He raised his eyebrow at you, the look of entitlement painted clear on his face. He adjusts himself on the bed before he jerks his head at you. "Come my little blue bird"

The wind is knocked out of you at his sadistic smile, beaming bright at the sight of your fresh tears. You are out of the room before you realized that you moved, the sight of the knight in the corridor making your feet carry you out of there faster as your name is called from behind you. You reach the flight of stairs, the long winding steps stretching out the longer you stared.

You couldn't do it anymore. It would never stop. He will never stop.

Your body had racked forward with each sob you couldn't keep at bay, your tears burning the already raw skin on your face. Your hand had come up to grasp the rail when Aerion's voice called out to you from behind. 

You don't turn as you shake your head. You wouldn't go back, you'd rather—

You let out a breath and turn to face Aerion whose usual bored stance had come to attention as he gazed at you a few steps away, his brows scrunching together while he assessed your next move. It must've been written on your face because he was taking a few step forward until he was only an arms distance away.

"Step away," he muttered annoyed, keeping his eyes on yours. "If you wish to weep, you can do so in your chambers"

You shake your head and step back, stumbling until you catch yourself on the railing. He remained the bored princeling as you finally spoke. "Why do you do this?"

Aerion says nothing as he looks at you. A sob rocks your body as you ask again, your voice coming to yell loud enough to echo down the stair hall. Your hands are in your hair, pulling as if the answer will fall out along with your hair. He says something but you've come to ignore it as you cy out, hysterics taking over and making you pace until you stop and look at him.

As Aerion stands there was a dumb expression on his face, you decide then and there that the life you had dreamed of as a child would never come to pass. The image of a loving husband, who would come to kiss you the moment his eyes laid on you, would never come to pass. The laughter that echoed in your dreams of your partner and you sharing a look of love as your children say something funny or outlandish burned away along with any hope of anything getting better. 

You call his name once, your voice coming out a whisper as he looks up to your vacant face. He knew it was going to happen, he could see it within your eyes that stared back void of any emotion or light. It was like you were looking at him but more like you were staring directly into his soul. 

"I don't want to be your wife anymore"

Before he could say a word, you threw yourself back. The last thing you see is Aerion reaching out to you before the world goes black.

────────────

You could feel the cold fingertips on your forehead before you felt the world of pain that followed right after. You try to sit up in your bed only to be pushed down and instructed to remain still. You hear a voice whisper instructions to fetch a maester before you hear footsteps rush out of the room. Your hand flies up to your head when darkness greets you, panic of the possibility of blindness making your hands begin to shake.

A woman's sweet voice reassured you that you were only bandaged for your head. "Maester Robynn will see to your bandages once he arrives but you must remain calm"

You settle yourself at the womans instruction, coming to trust her by the mere sound of her voice. 

The peace only lasted so long before the sound of shouts and boots against pavement filled the halls. You had no choice but to lay there as the sounds approached until they were in the room with you. You listen as the boots come to stop at the threshold before the soft voice cuts the silence. 

"Your Grace, we await the maester but the princess is awake"

You fidget before your hands grip the sheets that covered you and go to sit up once more. You hear movement before you feel a hand on your shoulder pushing you back down. "Don't move, wait for a maester" the voice that speaks sounds strained, tight with emotion as if the words were forced out.

You settle down again but notice the hand on your shoulder had not moved from its point of contact, the warmth seeping through your clothes and burning your skin. You shrug away the hand just as another set of footsteps arrive and enter the room.

You're patient when the disembodied voice explains that your stitches would heal nicely, understanding when you're told you'd be on bed rest for a while and demure when the maester tells you to rely on your ladies in waiting for any and every need as to not strain yourself.

The consultation is cut short when an irritated voice vocalized what you had been wanting to ask for since you woke. "Remove the linen before I have you replaced"

A body approached you before you felt the wrappings around your head begin to fall loose, light coming in with each wrap removed. The maester informed you that bright lights should be avoided just as the last linen cloth is removed. You blink a bit as you try to focus, seeing blobs that slowly shifted to focus to see a nurse, a maester and a few knights in the room.

All begin to welcome you back with a smile you have no choice but to return until your eyes find the only person in the room that had yet to say a word. You look around the room to see everyone giving the man with white hair a look of relief. The man lets out a low sigh as he comes to look into your eyes before a small smile spreads onto his face. 

His hand comes to hold the one closest to him before he begins to speak. "You've been out for a few days now. They told me you might not make it but I knew," his voice faded into a breathy whisper as he continued. "I knew you'd wake. I knew it."

His fingers squeeze yours before he comes in close enough that you could smell the scent of wine and sharp smoke seeping off of his black and red clothes. He gave you another smile before he turned and began commanding everyone in the room to prepare a bath when you finally speak.

"I'm sorry, but who are you to me?"

You were in your chambers sewing a cloak for your brother, two of your ladies were gossiping while eating lemon cakes " do you know prince aerion?" Jeyne asked, "isn't he the second son of prince maekar " alys replied "right but he has quite the temper!" Jeyne exclaimed "do you know how many servants lost their hands and feet for making him annoyed, how many whores lost their lives for not pleasing him"

your movements faltered at the information , " it would be a great misfortune for whoever marries him" You didn't realize how invested you were in the conversation when the needle pricked your hand and you winched as blood dripping out of it "my lady!" alys exclaimed as she examined your hand, blood still dripping from it she called out the maids to bandage your bleeding finger .

But your attention was on your embroidery it was the sigil of house arryn, the blue bird was now covered with your blood .

It was nighttime now , you were in your chambers looking outside your window when suddenly a hand reached out behind you.

You gasped "ssh it's me" it was your brother rodick, he sat beside but your heart was still beating fastly.

"a raven has come from the royal family" he revealed his face now grim "they want to visit to discuss your marriage to prince aerion" you almost fainted from hearing the news but your brother held you .

You were nuzzled in his arms, his hand gently stroking your hair "I can't marry him!" "brother please! I can't marry him" you sobbed into his arm the image of that day still flashing before your eyes, the rumour ringing in your ears about the prince.

Rodick shused you " I will never do anything to hurt you " he whispered against your hair, even if it was for a short moment you found solace in your brothers arm .

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Today was the day where the royal family arrived in vale, prince baelor was in the front with prince maekar and the devil prince aerion was behind them .

Your brother was greeting them alongside your mother, you could see the entire scene through the curtain covered windows of your chamber .

Prince baelor and maekar were talking with you brother, your eyes were roaming around when you locked eyes with aerion, his lips now giving you the creepy smile.

You quickly pulled the curtains as you stood there your breath now unsteady .

"you must know the intent behind this visit lord arryn" prince baelor asked his fingers now toying with his rings, your brother looked over at both prince maekar and aerion.

" house arryn is very honoured to have the royal princes in vale but-" "but what lord arryn" aerion interrupted your brother his head tilted.

"I am afraid I can't give my sister's hand to prince aerion" your brother let out as he looked at aerion "she is my only sister and this might be a selfish reason but I want her near me " "I want her to choose her own groom, I want her to chase her own Happiness" aerion chuckled at those words.

"I understand your concern lord arryn, but this is a great opportunity for house Targaryen and house arryn to reunite again " prince baelor tried to argue.

"my lord arryn" aerions voice cut through the conversation "are you refusing the orders of the royal family".

Your brother was clenching his teeth "that was never my intent, your grace" he let out "but that is what you are basically doing, you are refusing a marriage proposal from the royal family"aerion countered.

This was when your brother realised he has no choice but to give you to aerion or everyone including you would suffer from house Targaryens wrath.

If this was any other prince he might have agreed but this was prince aerion the prince who thought himself a dragon , who had a reputation for harming servants, whore or anyone who angered him.

You were a sweet and gentle lady, it would be impossible for you to handle his anger, he feared that you might even kill yourself within a month of the marriage.

You were in your room when a maid entered "my lady , your brother has asked for you to get ready" you looked up from your bed "but why?" You asked "lord arryn is hosting a banquet for the royal family" you rolled your eyes at the news and got up to get ready.

You were wearing a soft blue gown with the sigil of house arryn embroidered on it, your hair put in a braid, a viel covering it with a circlet on top of it , the circlet had pearls dangling from the sides .

You entered the banquet with your mother, the prince's gazes were now on you, but one particular one was haunting you .

You went and bowed respectfully "lady arryn" prince baelor called out "your grace " you got up your gaze still lowered, "please come sit " he asked,you looked up and saw the only seat which was left was now was next to aerion .

Even if you didn't want to, you no choice but to obey the prince .

You sat beside the prince aerion who had his gaze still fixed on you, the banquet hall was lively only you were not.

An arm reached out and pinched your thigh you winched and saw it was aerion's hand on your thigh, you tried to move your thigh but he held it tightly his fingers now slowly hiking up your dress.

You tried to push his hand away as his got under your dress but it was all in vain and when he stopped you let out a breath of relief but his hand was still lingering there .

"ladies and gentlemen, we have an important announcement to announce" your attention was now on your brother "my dear sister is getting betrothed to prince aerion of house Targaryen" your heart almost lept out your mouth, your eyes now widening.

the people below were hesitant for a minute but soon started clapping and cheering.

Your brother met your eyes with his eyes filled with heart aches, tears were almost spilling from your eyes "don't be so gloomy" aerion whispered in your ears "I like it better when you were confident" you jerked your head, his lips almost grazing yours as you looked up trying not to cry .

The banquet went on but you excused yourself saying you were not feeling well and needed to rest, your brother put a hand on your shoulders, but you shook it off and started running towards your room .

You were undressed, wearing nothing but a chemise, your hair still in a braid walking around the room thinking of a way to get out of this marriage.

When You heard your door open thinking it was your brother you walked towards the door but to your surprise and disdain it was prince aerion now your bethrothed.

"your grace " you bowed almost wanting to slap his pretty face, to your shock he walked inside scanning your chamber " I don't think this is a appropriate time to be visiting me your grace " he chuckled "really " his voice dripping with mockery .

He closed the door and walked towards you until he was right infront of you "because I think this is the perfect Time" he whispered in you ear , as his hand found your neck not chocking you but threaning you .

He lowered his head his lips touching your, his tongue licking your lips "no! We shouldn't be doing this" you let out as you yanked his hands away and tried to run to your door.

Footsteps could be heard behind you as you tried opening it, a hand reached out and held your waist his body pressed against yours "no one is coming to save you " he let out his voice cold as he lifted you by your waist and pushed onto your bed .

You were laying there with your chemise exposing your plush thighs , you tried to cover them but his hand stopped you " don't you even dare " you knew you could do nothing right now.

You felt him on top of you , his chest pressed against yours your heart beating faster his thighs was over your , your arms caged as he whispered "that day you protected a lowly servant who insulted me " " now you must pay by being tormented by me for the rest of your life " his tounge licking your ear.

Fear consumed you and tears spilled out uncontrollably, his mouth was now on your cheeks, they were savouring the salty flavour of your tears caused by him .

Being Aerion's betrothed isn't always that bad. He is mean and arrogant... but he sometimes brings roses to my chambers after telling me cruel words. Like the time he insulted my whole House and its lack of money, but compensated it with a red shiny ring.

He likes me. It's just his ability to love is a bit rusty. He's rough around the edges, but every time he pushes me with more strength than intended, or pinches me a little too hard under the table when I say something he doesn't like, he'll look me in the eye like a puppy would and I know that is his way to say I'm sorry. I never expect anything else from him. I used to pray for someone to come save me, but I realized that dragons never let go of their treasures.

Right now I'm wandering around the tents of Ashford as Aerion has gone mad at me once again and disappeared for the day. I enter a tent where sounds of awe come out of people's mouths. A puppet play is being held. My eyes widen at the size of the puppets. There's a big wooden knight and a girl dressed as a princess. I smile and stand in the crowd with my hands clasped behind my back.

As the play comes to an end, I clap with fervour and a bright smile splays across my face. After getting closer and leaving some coins to the puppeteer, I turn to leave. I put a foot out of the tent and someone appears from behind me.

"Hi." The voice of a man says. I need to step back to see him properly; he's extremely tall and built.

"Hi." I reply, politely.

"Ser Duncan the Tall." He says with a hand on his chest, his accent thick and pretty. I tell him my name without any unnecessary titles.

"Beautiful name." He smiles and I do too at his innocent blue eyes. He looks extremely sweet for a man this big. I look down at the rope holding his sword and then back at him.

"Thank you, Ser Duncan." I nod my head.

"You liked the play?"

"In the extreme. I hadn't laughed that much in a long time." I reply, still a trace of awe in my words.

He stands there, nodding and smiling nervously. I look around for a second.

"So, you're here for the tourney, I take it?" I ask, fidgeting with my fingers behind my back.

"Yeah, I mean to be a champion." He stands straight and his chest slightly puffs.

"Doesn't every knight?" I tilt my head to the side.

"I'm not like every knight."

"Well, I'll be sure to see you then, Ser Duncan the Tall."

We continue to talk, as he walks me through the tents. He tells me about the man that named him and how difficult was for him to enter the lists. He tells me about the tree that serves as his pavilion and how quick his squire is though he drives him crazy. Ser Duncan is kind of clumsy but he makes me giggle, and I don't really get to laugh much at home, unless Aegon or Rhae come to me to play.

"You're... A Lady, right?" He asks. Of course he had noticed my expensive clothes and the jewelry adorning my body; a big necklace, earrings, rings and a simple head chain I never go out without.

"Yeah. My betrothed is supposed to joust tonight."

"Who is he?"

I hesitate. He would look at me differently, like everyone the second I say his name.

"Prince Aerion."

"Who is that?"

I chuckle. "You don't know who he is? I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude... He's one the grandsons of the King. Aerion Targaryen, Prince Maekar's son."

"Oh..." He immediately kneels.

"Oh, please, get up, Ser. I'm just a Lady from nowhere important. We're not even married yet." I hurry him, giggling.

"You have a wonderful laugh." He says, standing up.

"Well, thank you, Ser." I reply, my eyes sparkle.

It's the night already. Aerion is getting on his horse as I sit near his father. My eyes divert to the crowd and stop at the man whose head stands out. We interlock eyes and he smiles and waves. I limit myself to smile briefly and quickly look away to my husband-to-be, who is staring right at me before putting his dragon helmet on.

The joust begins, and Aerion touches Ser Humfrey's shield. Within two lances, Aerion wins. No one else challenges him for the night.

When he comes up to me he lifts me up and kisses me. I set my hands on his chest and push him off of me so he doesn't get too carried away.

"Your husband is a champion." He whispers in my lips.

"My betrothed is." I remind. He just sighs and sets me on the ground, though his hand remains on my waist as he talks with his father.

I put my hand on his shoulder and turn to look around. Duncan isn't anywhere to be seen. I return to what my father-in-law is saying, which I don't care one bit.

Later on, I'm at my chambers. I read a book by the half-opened window, enjoying the summer breeze, until suddenly, someone storms in, making me startle. I turn and see Aerion, he doesn't have a happy face on.

"Come here." He says.

I frown but leave my book face down on the windowsill and step out. "Yes?" I ask, once in front of him.

His hand extends to my loose hair. It snakes to my nape and he grips a big spot, making me inhale deeply.

"Who were you smiling to at the joust?" Aerion says. His voice paused, calm, as always.

"Nobody, Aerion." I whisper, holding his wrist, trying to ease his grip.

"You smiled at the air, then? I swear you get weirder every day." His purple eyes narrow. "C'mon, don't be afraid to tell your husband the truth. My parents built an entire family out of truth."

"Betroth..."

"Your fucking husband!" He roars in my face and tightens his grip, a few hairs have been ripped out for sure. "Tomorrow, in two months, or in a year. But your husband anyway."

"Aerion, you're hurting me." I plead after hissing and shutting my eyes close.

He lets me go and I send my hands to soothe the pain on my nape. "Are you not going to say the truth?"

"A knight smiled gently at me, that's all." I whisper, looking at him in the eye. He knows I'm telling the truth.

He stares at me. He blinks softly, as if containing himself, and it freaks me out every time.

"A knight..." He nods and starts to look around, pretending to give it a thought. "But... There's a part I still don't understand. Why did you smile at him... wife?"

"Out of politeness, Aerion, of cour..."

"Well, from now on you're not polite anymore." He says mocking the way I speak. "From now on you only smile at your fucking husband, as you should. And you're lucky we're not killing that bastard knight." His words are spit like venom to my face.

That's not true. He won't kill him because he is not powerful enough. His dad, uncle and grandfather would give him a smack on the head and tell him to forget about it and go play with his little dragons.

Aerion is always like this, making threats and promises I know won't happen, though it doesn't scare me less as he is giving me hints of how his brain works.

"Next time, don't be such a whore and try looking at your husband for a change." He hisses, inches away from my face. He then storms off with a shut of the door that makes my heart stop for a second.

I throw myself to the foreign bed, the book forgotten by the window. I lay my head on the pillows and hug my legs to my chest, my eyes lost. That's how the rest of my life is going to be?

In the morning, while having breakfast, Aerion comes over and sits beside me.

"Good morning, my Prince." I say.

"Morning, wife." He replies. In his gaze, the I'm sorry look.

I just nod and pat his shoulder.

After we're done, he insists that I go see him train. As I stand, trying not to stain the ends of my dress with mud, he's some feet away, fighting a knight. Aerion is said to be many things but he is in deed a good fighter, maybe even better than Valarr, his cousin, who has so much recognition but only jousts against old men or Lord's of high birth and low skill. Or at least that's what Aerion says.

"Did you see that, wife?" Aerion says, lifting his training mask.

"Wonderful tactic!" I applaud and he smiles arrogantly before resuming.

He keeps me there for a long time, until he gets bored and dismisses the knight. He comes up at me and makes me hold his sword.

I stand there, the steel against my hand. It's been tainted by the blood of his rivals so many times and now it's shiny and immaculate.

"It looks good on you." He smiles, while taking some of his armour off.

"Thank you, though it's not my thing." I say, still looking at it, thoughtful.

"I'd like to test you sometime. Maybe teach you a thing or two."

"Yeah, sometime. Maybe back home."

"Maybe." He says.

He nods at me and we walk back to the castle. I still hold the blade, heavy in my left hand, while Aerion makes me set my right hand on his bicep.

He doesn't let me go for the rest of the day. I know he still thinks about last night. We only separate when he has to continue to defend the honour of the fair lady. Aerion is challenged by two knights and he wins, but with difficulty.

He doesn't say much as he just leaves while discussing with his father. I asked him if I could stay for a moment and he just waved his hand, too busy to talk to me.

I look around. Valarr is talking with Prince Baelor, they both have smiles on their faces. I sometimes wonder if there would be any difference if I were marrying that side of the family. Kiera always looks like she's having so much fun with them, while I'm next to Aerion, who sighs and rolls his eyes like a child at every gathering.

The crowd moves around me as I step out the platform and begin to make my way through the people. Everyone is pushing each other in order to achieve a common goal. I regret not leaving with Aerion the moment I could.

"A Lady is coming through!" I hear behind me.

Ser Duncan holds my arm carefully and continues to shout, making people gasp and make way for me. When we finally get out, he lets go.

"Sorry, my Lady. Are you okay?" He asks, frowning and looking down at me.

"I'm fine, Ser Duncan. Thank you so much, you didn't need to..."

"Oh, please, how couldn't I? A Lady like you shouldn't have to wait for the old drunken to go first." He chuckles.

"I'm just like anyone else." I gift him a warm smile, as I fidget with my fingers.

"I don't think everyone is this pretty and kind."

I bite my lower lip, unconsciously. "You're gonna make me blush."

He looks down at my mouth and then back at my eyes, "I certainly wouldn't mind seeing that." He smiles awkwardly, showing his crooked teeth.

"You're jousting tomorrow, right?" I say after a second of silence.

"Yeah, I am. My stomach hurts since this morning." He chuckles, holding his belly.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be fine. I trust you're very skilled."

"I won't let you down, my Lady."

We continue our walk. The people are now scattered around the field so we move easily. After a few minutes, he stops me at a shop.

"They sell the best berries here. Raspberries, blueberries, you name it." Duncan says, pointing at the fruit.

"I love berries." I mutter, staring at him with cherish.

"Here." He says picking some up and handing them to me.

When they reach my test buds, I immediately hum. "Ser Duncan, this is great!" I giggle. I turn to the man selling them. "Give me a handful of this." I reach to my pocket for my little bag with coins but Duncan sets his hand on my wrist.

"I got them."

"No, no way. No offense but... I don't need the money."

"Maybe you're right but I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing I let a Lady pay for something I offered."

"Please, don't do this to me." I chuckle, with a bit of shame.

"I won't get any poorer than I already am." He says, paying the man.

"You're not making it any easier, you know?"

"I'm sorry."

His eyes bore into me and I gulp. "Come on, I think there's another puppet show tonight." He says extending his arm. I take it and he guides me.

By the hour of the owl, I find myself on my bed. I should be asleep already but I can't stop thinking about him. His sweet voice and that thick accent, his broad shoulders, his incredibly big arms. Even his crooked teeth or the shape of his nose. My heart races slightly at the thought of his hands, which are bigger than my face. I bury my head on my pillow, knowing how wrong this is.

When the time of the jousting comes, my heart starts pumping faster and Aerion frowns at how excited I am.

"Since when do you enjoy tourneys so much?" He asks.

"I just want to see you, Aerion. I know how much you like this." I say smiling. Before we part ways, I give him a subtle kiss on the lips, for which he's taken aback. I never kiss him but at that moment it wasn't his lips I was picturing.

All the knights make big entrances, people scream for them, cheering and shaking their arms. Aerion gets challenged by an older knight but he's known for being one of the best. They break five lances before my betrothed finally wins. He tries to smile but I know his ego is hurting. Something is happening to him and he knows it.

I look at the gates every time they open, inhaling deeply. And it's by the eighth time, that Ser Duncan comes in. His armour is simple but effective, I hope. His horse is a beautiful black beauty and he looks delicious mounting it. I shake my head slightly and insult myself to my insides. I look down, his squire is a child, which is weird but not impossible. Not many applaud but I do, feverishly. And when he turns to see us, our eyes interlock. I try not to smile longer than I would do for anyone else. I lick my lips as he starts marauding through the tents.

Oh, Gods.

He stops at Aerion's.

I feel my jaw trying to escape my body as I tighten my teeth so much I could easily break one. My heart stops as Aerion sizes him down and laughs.

The horses are now facing each other. I grip my chair so hard my fingers turn white. Is it possible for my heart to come out of my mouth? Because it feels like it's going to happen right now.

I look up at the sky and close my eyes as I pray.

I hear the lances clash and my chin quivers. I can't cry. Why would the Prince's betrothed be crying?

The whole crowd screams in awe and I have to gather courage to see what's happening. I open my eyes and they are returning to their sides. The little boy hurries a new lance to Ser Duncan and Aerion's squire imitates him.

They charge. The horses race. I can't tear my gaze away from it now. The wood explodes once again and they're both holding their own.

But on the third charge, Aerion dismounts Ser Duncan.

I immediately look down as a collective gasp reaches my ears. To my side, Prince Maekar is watching attentively, though he doesn't smile as he always does when Aerion wins.

Which means he didn't.

Ser Duncan draws his blade as his horse runs away to the little boy. Aerion hops off Blaze and draws his own sword. The sound of steel makes me sick. My whole world has become the ground I'm sitting on and I wish for deafness when I hear both men grunting and groaning.

After what feels like ages, Prince Maekar speaks under his breath.

"Fuck me." He sighs and I see him pinching the bridge of his nose.

The people scream like they do after every victory but more passionate than usual. I raise my gaze and my face contorts.

Ser Duncan is the new champion.

He holds his sword up in the sky and smiles with a slight bloody face. I smile, unconsciously.

Aerion is sitting on the ground, holding his stomach. His eyes narrow as he looks at me. I wipe my smile off immediately, not even a trace left.

Aerion's purple gaze is on the floor. He sits on his bed, not facing me. His torso is naked but with a bandage across his stomach. A maiden was sent to fetch me. She said that my husband demanded me. "Not husband." I replied, as I followed her.

I stand by the door. My hands gripping my dark red gown. I used to dress in all blue, just like my mother and my sisters. But he changed that the minute I started living with them. He dressed me and put on the accessories he wanted, like I used to do with the rag dolls my grandma made for me. The only thing I choose to wear is the head chains, but only because he likes how they look on me too.

"I hate your smile." Is the first thing he says. My heart clenches as my eyes fill with tears. I have a terribly thick skull. How could I possibly be so stupid? "It always appears on your face for the wrong reasons."

"Aerion..." I begin, with a thin string of voice, but I close my silly mouth as his finger raise in my direction, telling me silence is the better option.

"I don't need your cheap words, wife." He says, standing up with difficulty. I flinch slightly and look down. He comes limping to me but his arms are perfectly fine as he snatches my jaw, making my neck crack. I start shivering and panting, my hair scattered across my face.

"I'm sorry." I whisper.

"Shut up!" He roars, and he sounds just like I imagine a dragon would. I set a hand on his wrist, as I always do when his grip starts hurting too much. "Shut up if you don't want me to sew your mouth with my own hands!" He lets me go and I hold myself.

Aerion paces slowly. A soft sob escapes my throat.

"It's fine, I won't kill you. Though maybe I'll kill that fucking hedge knight." He says, facing the window.

"You won't kill anyone. You're just a spoiled brat whose mouth is bigger than his actions." I mutter, with pure despise, as I rub my neck.

He laughs, then turns violently and slaps my cheek making me fall to the ground. My head spins and I feel a denigration I had never felt before. He kneels beside me and grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head backwards.

"Look at me, wife." I obey and stare right into his dangerous purple eyes; not one feeling behind them. "Does it look like I'm bluffing? I am the King's grandson. Do you think anyone, and I mean every fucking person in every fucking kingdom, would even bat an eye if I kill a hedge knight?" He foams at the mouth with rage. "Answer me, wife. Do you?"

"I'd care." I murmur.

He lets me go, just to deliver a punch to my face.

The moon shines on my wounds. I had crawled my body to the window, to try and find some peace outside. Aerion had stormed off when I became completely still. I think I ended up more wounded than himself. My head lays on the cold floor. My tears have left white traces all across my face. I feel so defeated. I look at the sky and a falling star appears just then. In another time I would have smiled, but I don't think I can ever do it again. I stare at it and think of the time Aegon told me a story about the luck they brought to the ones that got to see them. It seems like a twisted joke right now.

The door opens and I flinch.

"My Lady." I hear behind me. It's my maid, Rosan. "My Lady?"

"I... I can't get up." I say weakly.

"Gods." She says under her breath. I must look so incredibly pathetic. "I'll get you to your chambers." The door opens again. "You. Yes, you. Come here. Help me up."

"What is it?" A man asks. It must be Aerion's guard, the one that my betrothed dismissed before continuing to ruin me. "Oh, no." He sighs.

This is so humiliating.

My clothes are torn, showing all the wrong places.

"Help me take the Lady to her chambers. And don't say a word to anyone."

"How could I?"

I guess Aerion was right. As atrocious as he may be, his grandfather still rules all these people and their families.

After covering me with a blanket, they both help me up so the guard can lift me in his arms. I hiss and he apologizes, trying to accommodate me as best as he can.

They drop me in a bathtub and Rosan dismisses him. She starts washing the blood off me after getting rid of the clothes that were left. I moan every time her touch grazes my fragile spots. She reaches my thighs and after scrubbing them, she gasps.

She saw it. The A.T. carved on my skin.

I'm alone, all clean but still dirty somehow. Tainted. I try sleeping but every time I close my eyes, his deranged look returns to my mind. The apologies that were leaving my mouth ruminating in my ears. So I just stare at the ceiling.

A maester came. I don't know who called him but he came to my aid. He gave me a herb to ease the pain and a tea I don't know what it was for. At least I can walk now.

I wonder how many times I'll have to go through this. Only a month has gone since our engagement. The wedding won't be held until after two months, as two of Aerion's cousins are marrying before us. I don't even care about delaying it anymore. Everything I was scared of has already happened. All I have left is my hope. And so I remember the first days, where I would pray every minute of every hour.

My hands snake up to my chest and I clasp them together while looking up at the stone.

I call the Mother and ask her for safety and mercy. I call the Father and ask him for justice. I call the Warrior and ask him for strength and courage. I call the Smith and ask him to fix me. I call the Maid and ask her to restore my innocence and to make the love I deserve find its way to me. I call the Crone and ask her for guidance. I even call the Stranger, like never before, and ask them to stop making me feel like an outcast in my own body.

I finalize my prayer and sigh. But after a few minutes, as if it were a reply from Them, it hits me. The only man that has shown me happiness, politeness and what a true knight should be.

I trust my maid with my life. She left my home with me and I know she'll never betray me. But I don't want her to pay for my recklessness so I just wait for her to guarantee me that Prince Aerion is sleeping in his chambers.

I try going as fast as I can. I feel the cold air surround me, giving me goosebumps. But I don't care. I just walk behind the shut tents. Not many people are left. It looks like a feast is being held at the Baratheon tent and I just pray Ser Duncan's at his pavilion and that the directions he once gave me were reliable.

"Ser Duncan!" I exclaim, tiredly, as I reach the trees he mentioned. The sound of the river gets louder. "Ser Duncan!"

I hear some rustling as I try to catch my breath. He appears behind the bushes, his appearance disheveled, as he narrows his eyes.

"My Lady? My Lady!" He says and sprints to me.

"Oh, Ser Duncan!" I throw myself to him. He holds me in his big arms as he wipes my hair off my face.

"What happened to your sweet face?" He frowns deeply.

"Ser Duncan, before anything else is said, I have to ask you if you're willing to run away with me. I know I'm asking a lot but..."

"Yes." He interrupts me. "I would have everything I needed."

I smile while my eyes fill with tears.

"Well... I need to run away, yes?" I nod and he nods back. "I can't stay here, I'll either die or be miserable for the rest of my life. They can't see me ever again." I explain.

He's crouched down to me, enveloping me with his frame.

"They won't, My Lady. I'll wake my squire up and we'll leave immediately."

"Are you sure? The tourney..."

"I told you I was going to be a champion. I already am." He whispers inches away from my lips. I feel his hand on the small of my back, while I set my fingers on his wounded cheek.

"Thank you, Ser Duncan."

"I'll do anything for you, My Lady." He reassures me, burying my face in his chest and caressing my crown.