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The prince watched the streets below through scarlet drapes. His hand rested on his scabbard, thumb fidgeting with the ring on his middle finger; the sigil of the dragon prominent and direful. Cries and laughter teased an omened night, carrying their melody along a chilling breeze. Your heels sounded daintily and faintly against the floor below; bare skin a futile noise against the flagstones. You leaned into the wall, the cold stone meeting your skin as it carried your weight with pleasure. A hand clasped against your chest, sliding the fabric to reveal part of your breasts.

“You asked for me.”

Aerion turned his head, facing you captured in the widths of the entrance. Clear, golden curtains danced alike to the wind when you approached him. A thin robe, tinted blue, covered your body nigh. The fabric swayed, rippling like waves with each delicate step you took. With your back straightened and poised, your anxiety seemed a fear hidden in plain sight. Through heavy eyelids, you watched him take you in; gaze loaded, gliding over your figure with primal intent.

“You’re late,” he complained, agitation tainting his words. A hand roamed his chest, wandering to the gape of his neck. “Had to prepare myself for a person of kingship, no less,” you teased. Your fingers caressed his skin softly, pulling him close. The prince’s lips were plump and half agape—would be gentle ‘gainst yours, you thought. You could nearly feel his breath mirroring your own until he spoke, hitching back. “I don’t kiss whores.” Aerion gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Didn’t your boss inform you?”

You chuckled. “My apologies, m’lord.” The close proximity heated your cheeks. Only a person of royalty could make you feel so small. The prince’s eyes were the deepest amethyst, a glow covering them near the windowsill. The limited sunlight seeped through a veil of velvet, casting its warmth and rays on the white of his hair; an ethereal sight to behold. You leaned back shyly. “I must’ve forgotten.”

Aerion had chosen you. A finger ran through your hair, his eyes following the flow of pure white across his hand. You resembled his kin fair enough: not quite, but enough for now. Anyone could tell the colour of your irises and other common features apart; dark hair tainted the remainder like a curse. In his current mood, however, he could forgive it. The red string he longed for—the focal point and his reason for being here—was something different. You seemed innocent, sweet; you had a look that made him certain of it: he could break you.

“Disrobe yourself.” Hands obeyed, wrapping around the hem of your cloak. Tenderly, you tugged at the ends, letting the fabric fall over your every curve. The silk built up around your feet, weaving a sea on the carpet below. Aerion traced the outline of your breasts, halting at the fixation of something gleaming in the afternoon sun. Squinted eyes captured the vibrant gold piercing the skin of a place so sensitive—so frail.

“I’ve never seen this before…” he said lowly, voice as if completely captivated by the sight of it. His fingers caressed the nipple softly.

“Where are you from?” The question stunned you for a moment. Placing a finger on his chest, you idly traced the seams of his vestments. “Now, Westeros—my Prince,” you said teasingly, looking up through your lashes. “But you could be my king tonight.” The latter was said so shushed, so quietly, you barely heard it over the noise from outside.

“Are you resisting?” he voiced with token concern. Aerion took the metal bar between his fingers, fussing it left to right. You took a shuddering breath. The motions evoked tingles in the midst of the bundle of nerves. He took note of the reaction, tilting his head and shifting his gaze from your breast to your face. Somewhere along the lines, his hold turned corrosive. A hold became a grip. He twisted it tight.

A sharp pain shot through your heart. Your eyes opened wide, choking out a breath. A hand clasped against his chest, seeking irrevocable headfast. You felt the velvet beneath your fingernails. He towered above you, a dark glaze shadowing his face; the young prince whose reputation you’d been deafened to. You hunched forward, gathering yourself as he softened his grip.

“I will ask you again: where are you from?” You shook your head, hands trembling with lightness. “I…” His eyebrows furrowed; a penetrating look forced you to answer. Your lack of urgency, however, pushed him further. Nails pierced the muscle caged between his touch. A sizzling burn pressed your eyes shut. Fingers curled up at the crux of his tunic. “The Narrow Sea and every place bordering it—I cannot recall one place as my home,” you spoke, a grunt sealed behind your words of haste. “I was the daughter of a sail’s man.”

The prince’s nails retracted. “What did you do to deserve this, then?” A cold shivered down your spine. Distracted by the pounding pain, you answered, “Nothing.” Recalling the words in your mind, they formed mindlessly like a ghost on your tongue; a verse reprised so many times. The memory appeared like a faded dream, the crew chanting in anticipation. Memory clashed with reality, as the noise melted with the abrupt cheering from the alley below:

“The only footprints I shall leave, Are those that will be washed away.”

“’T was given to me. Meant to define a new passage of life,” you stammered. Aerion’s eyes flicked between yours, contemplating the words. Ultimately, he averted, dismissing the answer entirely. His hold left your breasts bare. He watched the streets as if in sudden deep thought. Melody arose from the chattering down under; one low and patient, leading and baseless. A violin chased its lead in the background. Aerion returned to fidgeting with the ring, the dragon appearing just and proud. A cold wind brought back a tremble upon your flesh when he awoke from his scrutiny.

“Lay down.” His fingers snapped toward the bed as he jerked his chin in command. Uncertainty and anticipation were veiled by your movements. Feet stepped one after another, accentuating your hips just right. A glance behind your shoulder caught his gaze. You held it, caging it—even with uncertainty tightening your chest—before melting into the cushions below. They cradled your body in the way only the Mother could favour her most cherished child.

Laid satin met your skin in a sweet dance of fervour. Your elbows dug into the bedding, chest heaving in aspiration. Aerion followed your trail, bucking into the mattress. Knees sank into the soft satin, straddling you. His leather breaches took against your naked body like a punishable truth. Eyes moved down the bareness of your flesh, capturing it like a predator would a prey. His breath hitched, eyes fixated on your chest.

That was when you felt a thick, warm substance sticking to your torso. Aimlessly, it paved a way down your stomach. Instinctively, you reached for that at fault. Looking down, your cheeks reddened when you saw the blood. You chuckled awkwardly. “Apologies, m’lord. It is an endless healing process.” You raised yourself by the arms. “It can be sore at times—I’ll clean up quick, if you let me.”

The prince restrained you. Hands dug into your shoulders, clashing against your collarbone. With cruel strength, he forced you back. He exhaled in awe, eyes fogging up. Fingers roamed your body from navel to heart, led by the thin flow of blood. You believed you were fooling yourself, watching his pupils dilate ever so slightly. The tip of his finger gathered the spill, rubbing it together between his index and thumb. The colour aligned briefly with the shade of the gemstone carried forth in the jewellery of the Crown.

“So fragile,” he murmured. “Bleeding so easily at the slightest touch.” Your stomach sank when you sensed a strained presence against your bare cunt. Despite swallowing with unease, your fingers wrapped around his neck, pulling him in. For the first time this evening, he allowed your demanding touch.

The sound from the outside was no harsher than a whisper. A quietness in the room drowned out all else, bit by bit becoming a loud, eerie noise, pounding in your ears, swallowing your senses. “Do not forbid yourself from experience merited pleasure,” you soothed. Curling up his fingers, you brought them to his lips. For a heartbeat, your touch lingered, ebbing away in futility; his motion none. And then he took them.

His tongue lapped up the scarlet fluid—your very own. Aerion could only imagine as if it were his kin’s. Family turning to family. Blood returning to blood. Eyelids turned heavy as a repressed moan slipped through his teeth. A shudder climbed his throat, his Adam’s apple fluttering briefly; his hips jerking into you, your heat sensing the faint stir of his cock. You quavered, watching the sight before you; saliva weaving a deliberate string from his wet mouth to his tainted fingers while he withdrew them.

The sound of his breeches coming undone filled the air. “What did it feel like?” he urged, his hands reaching within. “Tell me.” Fixed on his lips, those reddened and covered in wanton desire, you angled closer. Your breasts pressed against his clothed chest, the vestments a harsh contrast against your flushed skin. Aerion felt the shrill metal despite the fabric barrier between you. He whipped out his cock, the tip red and leaking with a hungering ache. You hummed with delight, biting the shell of his ear, whispering nigh. “A sharp pain, my Prince. Like a blade through a heart.”

He sighed deeply, head buried into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. Without warning, he pushed his cock into your heat. A grimace creased your face, eyes shutting briefly in a flicker of pain. The stretch was rough and his pace unyielding; hips dipped into yours with an otherwise sweet embrace. “I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?” he grunted, fingers piercing into your thighs. Your fingers combed his hair, clutching it tightly and only pulling him nearer. “Like my whole chest was on fire.”

“It lasted longer than usual—” Aerion’s cheek shivered with an eager twitch. Your walls burned when he quickened his pace, sliding his length out—so deliciously close to your pearl—before pushing back in harder than before. “—The man who did it was no more an expert than myself.” The last part was covered in a moan as, in your core, awoke a heat.

He shifted closer, pushing your back forward with a calloused touch. Sloppy kisses roamed your neck down to your tits. He licked up the blood trail so dearly, so eagerly, you felt yourself loosen in his hold. A wetness eased his cruel thrusts when your skin heated up. Embers filled your stomach as his rough muscle savoured the last bits of fluid your body had to offer.

“A twisted burn,” you continued panting, a lump forming in your throat. His teeth found the wound, teasingly gritting at the metal, his lips enclosing fully around your nipple. The taste of blood filled Aerion’s mouth, the alloy on his tongue bewitching him to abide by his pleasure further. The feeling was overwhelming, your mind fogging up, and your muscles loose and overstimulated. Like a lover’s clutch, your hand held the back of his head, as he watched you through and through—eyes catching, needlingly sucking like a man starved.

He tugged with his teeth, a harsh pull that forced your back to arch. Gasping for air, the violent tug felt like your heart was breaking out of your chest. “Please—” you cried, eyes wide open and desperate. Tears teased the edges, blurring your vision. “D’you reckon I can just rip it apart?” he hissed, jaw shifting slow with deliberate malice, teeth grating together. You cried out in pain, tugging at his hair until your knuckles saw white. A torturous clash found the depth of your nerves, electrifying them in a twisted way.

He moaned at your touch, tongue circling its way around the heart of your breast. Blood leaked through his teeth down his chin. With a quick release, his crude touch left you; its damage withering and lingering in ecstasy.

Aerion took the skin, kneading it gently and caressing it with his thumb. Your eyes were shut, feeling a hot shiver across your chest. With clamped hands and fear in your bones, your eyelids twitched, wakening to the wicked sight in front of you. Teary-eyed, he watched you, his breath hitching. “I’ve once seen it rip,” he said. A finger flicked at the still-sensitive skin, the nerves afire; lightening like the clash of flintstones. Your lips were pressed tightly, swallowing a moan. His voice was a rasp, fingers gliding across your lips as he took your face in his hand. “Some lord’s daughter who got her lobe ripped in an ugly fight.”

His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and face damp. White hair desperately clasped against his skin. All you saw was an amethyst haven of lies, hearing him continue his delirious wants. “Who knows… maybe I’ll take yours as a gift.”

You didn’t know what overcame you as your lips trembled in his hold. Tears kissed your lashes, paving a way down your cheeks. He ploughed into you at the sight of them, panting in between thrusts; his mouth agape and gasps primal. The mattress beckoned beneath your weight when he pressed further, rolling into your hips. The metal coils within pierced your skin, and something brewed in the depths of your stomach.

The prince’s words, said with haste, became only another addition to the corrupt feeling: “You look so much prettier when you cry. Did you know that?”

His teeth clenched, tightening his jaw. Aerion watched you through furrowed brows. The blood became a withering taste in his mouth, lingering forth less and less. He watched you attempt to arch your back, lean into him, appease him; to honour your work.

A bruise had started to form around the abused area of your breast; a delicate blue and purple painting your flesh. “You serve me so well,” he whispered, eyes gliding over the trophy. You hooked up a leg, granting him better access. Your eyelids fluttered faintly, feeling him reach your sweet spot so right—that which had been neglected too many times with others.

Another deep thrust of his and you clenched around him. He groaned into you, his length twitching in the heart of your velvet walls. “Not yet,” Aerion panted, demanding in voice. He refused to be a pawn for a whore. With your wet eyes and fucked-out look, he refused to let you relish it the way he intended for himself.

A hand sought his blade in its sheath. He retrieved it from the leather bundle, the steel sliding across his palm with ease. Winching at the feeling, he dropped the blade like a blazing object. But not before it appeared: a prominent line etched into the inside of his hand, compelling out the similar carmen substance. The very one he imagined running through yours. Fiercely, he reached for your face, the cut aligning with your mouth. His thrusts became feverish and out of sync as he watched you recoil. Your lips formed into a thin line.

“Suck,” Aerion demanded. He gripped your neck, pulling you closer. Fingers groped, teased, and forced open your mouth. Through gritted teeth, you obeyed at last. With helpless eyes, you looked up at him, lowering the barrier as your tongue welcomed the wound into the warmth of your inner cheeks. “You are my whore. When I tell you to suck, you suck.”

Nodding, you exhaled through your nose. He watched you intently, his upper lip trembling gently. The blood came pouring in as your muscle found its core. Metal jinxed your senses, making you swallow a cough. Eyelids fluttered in ache; the taste overwhelming and the flow brutal. “Don’t…” he whispered, staring as if pondering. “Don’t spill any of it.”

His grip found your lovehandles, pulling you in deeper. “It’s more worth than your life.” Your chest rose in hedonistic bliss; Aerion’s hand across your face, shielding the burning cheeks beneath, felt like the kiss you’d been denied all along. The lewd sounds of your bodily fluids mixing, drawing each other in, became a solution of lust louder than the voices of the Seven above. You moaned against his calloused grasp, teeth stained the same red that pulsed through his veins. “I need you, m’lord.”

He anchored his palm, digging into your lips. “My Prince,” he corrected. “The only dragon to live in flesh as my own.” You shook your head in silent concession, your fervour undimmed. “My Prince—my King. My dragon king,” you moaned, teeth pinching into his skin.

Aerion’s hips twitched, back curving as he groaned into you, painting your walls white. You clenched around him not long after. He let out a repressed moan, feeling you milk him dry. He saw stars, hearing you mutter through his release in reprise: “My dragon king. Always.” His head sagged, like the weight of it strained his neck. For a moment he stayed there, withdrawing his hand from your face, pulling the white streaks forward to fall before you.

He made sure his seed stuck; fingers gathering up the spill, shoving it back relentlessly into your sensitive cunt. The crackling fire of the hearth was the only heartening aftercare you were granted. You were used to it, of course, but his lingering waiting and delayed movements made you curious. Left bare and cold with a pounding heart and bruised breast, you could not help but wonder why he’d chosen you.

“I shall see you again,” he said, clearing his throat. He’d raised his breeches after wiping away the excess of his release. The leather belt sounded like a lashing coming together before he tightened it. The singing from the alley suddenly became apparent. It bled back into reality slowly as if it had been holding its breath. Aerion placed four coins on the table across the chamber. The dragon’s gold flickered in the evening sun. More than thrice your fee’s worth.