more thoughts on maekar and his eldest son's wife. ( part one. ) slightly 18+, mdni.
maekar had pressed his lips tight and bit his tongue hard, so as to not mutter his son's vows under his breath on their wedding day. the same vows he had said to his late wife, the same vows he had begrudgingly taught his eldest son.
lady drumm, in turn, had looked past daeron to where maekar stood, before saying her own vows, almost as if needing permission, or approval, to marry his son. and maybe she did. even from the small distance between them, maekar did notice she held the same disdain for him that he did for her.
there had been a bedding ceremony. there had to be. it was needed when the wedding had been rushed to cover the fact that prince daeron had deflowered the holy lady of old wyk, as if there weren't a thousand whores and more for him to choose and sully as he pleased.
maekar had watched them. there had been no need for him to do so, but he had watched. he had stood at the footboard, and he had heard, perhaps too cleanly, how soft her moans were, and he had thought, in quiet hope and louder rage, that lady drumm was feigning to enjoy his eldest son lazily rutting against her body.
he had felt embarrassed of his son, of course, what father wouldn't? though not a brute nor a monster, daeron lacked what a man needed to be a proper husband. and maybe that was maekar's own fault, for not teaching him better. for allowing him to drink and whore and run away from time to time with no real consequences.
but maekar had found himself thinking of ways he could have fucked his newlywed wife better than his son ever will. a terrible thought, yes. what kind of father thinks about fucking his son's wife? ( the kind that kills his own brother, perhaps. )
