#meakar

Storm’s End had never been a quiet castle, it was a place of crashing waves, booming laugher and men shouting across the training yard.

Which is why, when the training yard went suspiciously silent, everyone went on alert.

Lyonel noticed immediately, of course he had. He was looking forward to you watching him in the yard, even if you would roll your eyes and call him a showoff, something in him still preened beneath your attention.

Which was precisely why, when your attention was very clearly not on him, the laughing storm fell deathly quiet.

“Something the matter, my lord?” one of the knights asked cautiously, uncomfortable with the sudden silence of a man who was normally the loudest voice present.

“Nothing” Lyonel said easily, a practiced smile slipping into place. But his eyes has not moved from the other end of the yard.

You had fully intended to watch your husband that morning. Truly you had. There was something undeniably satisfying about watching him in the yard, broad shoulders rolling as he swung a blade, sending knights twice his size sprawling into the dirt.

You would tease him for it, of course, you knew he loved it.

But the sight of it stirred something warm and dangerous in your chest all the same. You had certainly been looking forward to racing him back to your chambers afterward for an afternoon “nap”

Unfortunately, on the way to your husband you had been intercepted.

A visiting knight from the Reach had stopped you near the edge of the yard. He remembered your sister and had been eager to ask after her, offering congratulations on her recent betrothal, recalling the last time he saw her.

“I assure you” the knight was saying with goodnatured exasperation, “your sister was quite determined that I was a terrible dancer”

You laughed “Ah yes, that does sound like her”

He smiled at that “I believe she said something along the lines of if you step on my foot again I shall consider it an act of war”

You covered your mouth to hide your grin, you sister definitely learnt that from you “That is actually one the milder threats I taught her”

The knight laughed outright this time “Well then I consider myself fortunate to have escaped with only bruised toes”

“Quite” you said dryly “If she had truly disliked you she would have invited you to play a game of cyvasse”

His brows lifted “Your sister plays cyvasse?”

“Oh yes” you replied sweetly “And she is very good, that is why she only plays with people she dislikes. So she can crush them”

The knight burst into laughter.

It was at that exact moment the training yard fell completely silent. You noticed the change only vaguely, still smiling as the knight tried to catch his breath.

Across the yard, however, your husband had just dropped his practice sword.

You were too busy saying, with perfect sincerity “Of course we all pretend it’s a friendly game. It spares everyone’s dignity”

The knight laughed again, louder and more boyish as a shadow fell across you.

You turned, already knowing who is was before you saw him, broad shoulders still dusted with training sand, dark hair damp with sweat, a smile on his face that you knew well enough by now to recognize as deeply suspicious.

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, wondering what has him so peeved.

“My lord” the Reach knight said quickly.

Lyonel clapped him on the shoulder with alarming enthusiasm, nearly crushing the poor boy “Enjoying Storm’s End?”

The knight nodded “Very much, My Lord” the boys voice a tad higher than before.

“Good” Lyonel simply replied as his eyes met yours. You stared at him question of why he was manhandling the poor boy.

Lyonel’s grin widened, moving around the knight to slide his arm easily around your waist, pulling you against him.

“Lyonel” you chide, falling against him. He looked down at you with that bright, wicked expression.

“Wife” he replied easily, looking pointedly back at the boy. Smiling in satisfaction when the knight’s eyes widened a fraction “Terrible habit of mine” he carried on casually “Interrupting conversations when my wife is involved”

The knight cleared his throat “Well em I should perhaps um” he stumbled over his words

“Of course not” You began

“Yes” Lyonel said cheerfully cutting in “You should”

The knight bowed quickly and retreated across the yard, practically running.

You watched him go. Then you turned slowly toward your husband, slapping his chest lightly “That was unnecessary”

Lyonel looked entirely unrepentant pulling you closer “He was smiling at you”

“Yes” you replied dryly “That is what people do when they are speaking politely. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the concept”

“He leaned closer” he continued, as if proving his point

“He was trying to hear me over the noise of your men” you pointed out .

“There was no noise” he countered, grinning wildly.

You glanced across the still silent yard, every knight present was pretending to be extremely invested in their swords.

You looked back at Lyonel “You interrupted a perfectly civil conversation”

“He was flirting” he replied eyes dark, hand flexing at your waist,

You let out a short disbelieving laugh “He was asking after my sister! He does not give two figs about me!”

Lyonel hesitated at your smiling face, but only for a moment “Still suspicious”

You rolled your eyes “Gods give me strength from my territorial fool of a husband” You teased as you leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

Lyonel smiled again, slower this time, entirely unrepentant “Worth it” he murmured before pulling you back in for a deeper kiss.

Summerhall’s feasts were never as grand as those at King’s Landing. But they were warm. Lanterns glowed along the stone arches, music drifted softly through the hall, and the long tables were filled with visiting lords, knights, and household retainers enjoying wine and conversation.

You had escaped the high table, when Lord Tyrell wanted your husbands attention.

Not permanently, of course. Maekar would notice if you vanished entirely, and later that night he would undoubtedly show you in bed exactly how much he had noticed.

You merely wanted a moment.

Just long enough to speak with one of the visiting lord who had been telling you about the horses bred in the Dornish Marches.

“…and they claim the bloodline runs back three generations” the lord was saying, gesturing enthusiastically with his cup, faced flushed with wine.

You leaned forward with interest “Three?” you repeated skeptically. “That seems unlikely”

He laughed “You sound exactly like my stablemaster, my lady”

“I suspect your stablemaster has more sense than your breeder” you replied dryly.

He laughed at that deep and slightly drunkenly.

It was that laughter that carried across the hall all the way to the high table,

Where Maekar had been listening to a Lord Tyrell drone on about grain shipments. In truth he had been only half listening, but when his gaze followed that laughter across the hall he stopped hearing the man entirely.

His full attention was now fixed on you.

You were sat on the lower benches leaning slightly forward, animated in a way, that told him you were no doubt talking about riding or horses, one of your passions.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been content to simply watch you. His beautiful wife, planning all the sinful things he wants to do to you later that night,

However, his attention had shifted to the source of the laughter. The man seated beside you. He was too close, smiling at you, too broadly.

Maekar’s fingers tightened slowly around his goblet as he rose from the table, forgetting about the sputtering Lord Tyrell entirely.

You had not noticed the shift in your husband, too focused on the topic at hand.

You were in the middle of explaining why Dornish horses handled uneven terrain better than Stormlands stock when a shadow fell across the bench.

You look up to see your husband close behind you, tall and immovable, silver hair catching the lantern light.

You smile up at him, thinking nothing of the scowl on his features. A regular occurrence.

“My prince” the lord greeted quickly, scrambling to his feet in his drunken haze.

Maekar did not look at him immediately his gaze was on you smiling up at him “You left the table” he grumbled

You raised a brow “Lord Tyrell was no doubt preparing to pull you into a dull conversation, I made a quick exit. I was planning to come back” You gestured calmly to the man beside you “We were discussing horses”

The lord nodded eagerly “Yes, Your Grace. Remarkable animals”

Maekar finally looked at him. A long moment passed. The lord shifted under the weight of that gaze. You looked at your husband in confusion at his sour mood.

“Horses” Maekar repeated

“Yes” the lord replied, his voice suddenly much higher.

Another pause, the lord seemed to understand he should make a swift escape “Ah I believe I hear mywife calling me” he lied poorly before staggering away across the hall, even Daeron had more grace.

You watched him retreat, Then you turned your eyes slowly toward your husband “That was rude”

Maekar clasped his hands behind his back “He was sitting too close”

“He was pointing” you replied incredulously.

“He laughed” he countered

You stared at him “I said something amusing, I can do that, you know”

Maekar said nothing, but his expression did not change, nor the intense look in his eye.

You studied him for a moment. Then your lips curved slightly “You are jealous”

“No I am not” he replied defensively.

You raised a brow, clearly not believing him.

He paused, then corrected himself flatly “Yes. I was fucking jealous”

The honesty startled a quiet laugh from you “Gods help me” you murmured, getting up and stepping closer to him, your hands settling against his chest as his moved instinctively to your waist The hum of the feast forgotten for a moment.

“I did not realise when I married a Targaryen I married a territorial dragon” you tease

Maekar’s hand tightened slightly at your waist “You married a man” he continues “a man with eyes”

Your smile widened “Well then” you said lightly, stepping closer “a man with eyes should know I was only speaking about horses”

Maekar’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth “That fucking lord was not thinking about horses”

“Perhaps” you replied calmly “But you are supposed to trust your wife” you added sweetly

Maekar studied you for a moment. Then said quietly “I do”

His thumb flexed slightly against your waist. “I simply dislike being reminded that other men possess vision”

You laughed again at that placing a firm kiss on his lips.

Across the feast at the high table Daella, who had witnessed the entire exchange, leaned toward her sister.

“He does realize everyone can see this, doesn’t he?”

Rhae just grinned “No”

She watched their father still holding you at the waist in the middle of the hall “He never does”

The gardens of the Red Keep had been opened for the afternoon gathering

It was meant to be a lighter affair than the feasts of the great hall. Tables of fruit and sweetwine had been arranged beneath flowering trees, musicians played softly near the fountain, and courtiers wandered along the paths enjoying the spring air.

You had escaped the cluster of ladies near the terrace with a smile.

They had been discussing embroidery. You had endured precisely fifteen minutes of it.

That was more than enough, especially as your mind wandered to your husband and the rather skilful use of his tongue that morning.

Instead, you had wandered toward the far end of the garden where several lords had gathered near the rose hedges. One of them had been speaking animatedly about the recent dragon histories uncovered in the Citadel archives.

That had caught your attention immediately.

“and the maesters insist the account is exaggerated” the lord was saying, clearly enjoying his audience “But the records suggest the dragon was nearly the size of Balerion himself”

You tilted your head slightly “That seems unlikely” you say quietly not realising you had been overheard,

The lord turned to you with interest “You disagree, your grace?”

“I suspect the maesters are correct” you replied calmly “Histories have a habit of growing larger in the retelling.”

He smiled “A fair point. Though it is refreshing to meet someone at court who has actually read those histories”

You smiled faintly “Despite all my septa’s warnings that reading would addle my wits,” you said dryly.

The lord laughed loudly at that, and you could not help joining him.

Across the garden, Baelor stopped speaking.

He had been standing beneath one of the flowering trees with several lords and his son Valarr, discussing trade matters that required far more patience than enthusiasm.

Your laughter carried easily across the garden. Baelor’s gaze lifted automatically and found you.

You stood near the rose hedges speaking with a Reach lord.

He watched you for a moment, just a moment. Then he realized the lord beside you had stepped closer.

Valarr noticed the silence first “Father?”

Baelor blinked and nodded once, though he had not heard the question

Valarr followed his father’s gaze. Across the garden, the Reach lord laughed at something you said.

Valarr’s mouth twitched “You are staring”

Baelor’s gaze did not move “I am observing” he replied calmly, though his voice had grown slightly tight.

Valarr hummed thoughtfully “That man appears very interested in your wife” he teased

Baelor’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly “Yes”

Valarr watched his father in amusement, wondering how long it would take him to snap.

Baelor prided himself on composure. Prince of Dragonstone, hand of the King, man trained from boyhood to command a room with calm restraint.

Valarr watched the Reach lord lean slightly closer to you again.

Baelor sighed softly as through cursing himself, then he excused himself from the group.

Valarr grinned behind his back.

You were in the middle of explaining why dragon histories were often exaggerated when a familiar presence settled beside you.

You did not need to turn to know who it was “Your Grace” the Reach lord said quickly.

You glanced up to find Baelor standing beside you, expression calm as ever.

“My love” he said gently.

You smiled automatically “Dear husband” you greet sweetly.

The lord cleared his throat slightly “We were discussing the Citadel’s dragon records”

“So I heard” Baelor replied. His voice remained perfectly pleasant. But he stepped slightly closer to you all the same.

The lord nodded eagerly “Yes, my prince. Your lady was explaining why the historical accounts are often exaggerated.”

Baelor glanced down at you briefly, his mismatched eyes softening “My wife has always had a fondness for accurate histories”

The lord chuckled “Well then she has corrected me quite thoroughly”

“I imagine she has” he replied. You narrowed your eyes slightly at Baelor’s tone.

The Reach lord shifted awkwardly under the quiet weight of the prince’s attention.

“Well” he said after a moment “I should allow you both to enjoy the gardens”

He bowed quickly and moved away. You watched him go. Then turned slowly toward your husband “That was unnecessary”

Baelor folded his hands behind his back. “He seemed very interested in you”

“Yes” you replied patiently “We were having a conversation, interest is normally a part of it”

Baelor studied you quietly and you in turn watched him.

Then your lips curved slightly “You were jealous”

Baelor hesitated, only briefly “Yes”

The honesty startled a small laugh out of you “Seven hells, what for?”

Baelor regarded you as though the answer should have been obvious “You were laughing”

You blinked “I do that occasionally”

“With him” he continued

You stared at him for a moment before the amusement returned “Baelor” you said gently, stepping a little closer “half the court laughs with me at some point during the day”

“Yes” he agreed calmly “That does not trouble me.”

You folded your arms “But that particular lord does?”

Baelor’s expression softened slightly “You were speaking about something you love” he said quietly “You lean forward when you do that”

Your brows knit faintly “I…….what?”

“And your eyes brighten” he continued thoughtfully “You begin speaking faster. Your hands move when you explain things”

You stared at him, a soft smile forming. “You have noticed all that?”

Baelor met your gaze “I notice everything about you”

The warmth that rose to your face surprised you, making you feel like a blushing maiden again You cleared your throat lightly “Well” you said after a moment, recovering your composure “the lord was asking about dragon histories. I was hardly flirting.”

“I know” he replies in that insufferably calm way.

“Then why chase him off?” You ask

Baelor’s mouth curved in the smallest smile “Because he was enjoying it”

You laughed again despite yourself “Gods help me ”

Baelor reached for your hand gently, drawing it into his “I do trust you” he added softly.

Your smile returned “But?”

“But” Baelor said, eyes warm as they held yours “I have waited a very long time to call you my wife” His thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles “I do not particularly enjoy sharing your attention.”

You huffed a laugh and leaned closer “You are impossible” you mutter, giving him a soft kiss.

Baelor smiled faintly against your lips “Perhaps”

Across the garden, Valarr had been watching the entire exchange.

One of the young knights beside him tilted his head “Is the prince always so attentive to his lady wife?”

Warnings: Male gaze yearning (he wants that cookie bad) fire at summer hall (I could not help myself) cursing, accidents, poor self image (reader is delulu), poor family dynamics

Imagine: You were the eldest daughter of a great house. Your mother had sadly passed many years ago, bringing your sister into the world, and from that day forward, you were no longer simply a daughter. You were lady of the house in everything but title.

Your father, too grief-stricken to wed again, turned to you instead. The duty of running the household and raising your sister had fell to you, just a girl yourself at the time. You learned quick, avoiding your loneliness by through work and sharpening your keen mind.

There was a time you thought your father would secure a match for you. You remembered that conversation, a pit in your stomach “I cannot spare you. Who would care for us if you were gone?”

It had hurt then, but like always you buried it down, hoping it would hurt less overtime. Eventually, you believed the words true. You were useful, dependable, practical. But not loved, not desired. You believed it was somehow your fault.

Now years had passed and you felt well past your marriageable age. A spinster. The word had once stung. Now it simply fit.

Your sister, bright and beautiful and just spoiled enough to be charming, had blossomed into the perfect bride.

Your father had arranged an exceptional match, not for you, for her. And so the household prepared to travel

————————————————————————————————————

Summerhall was not what you expected. For a family home of a prince and supposedly six children, the air was chillingly quiet.

The great hall was long and ceiling high, banners of the three-headed dragon hanging heavy in the still air. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, catching on polished stone and red silk.

Prince Maekar stood at the far end of the hall, not flanked by guards but by his children, only 3 you counted. One boy (or man you supposed by his age) and two girls

He was taller than you expected. Broad shouldered, sliver hair brushed back neatly, he was handsome, undeniably so. However his expression was carved into something stern and restrained.

His violet gaze moved first to your father, then to your sister who smiled at him brightly, Then to you, you did not smile, you met his gaze steadily.

He did not look away first, you did. Only because your father nudged your arm sharply in reminder. He was a prince, after all. You curtsied in silence as introductions were made.

All formality, the herold announced each child.

“Prince Daeron” He stepped forward slightly. Handsome, you noted, near your sister’s age. But the red rim of his eyes betrayed him, as did the faint scent of wine. His gaze lingered on your sister, but not with warmth. Then he glanced at you, just for a moment. His expression flickered, almost in recognition. You did not know why.

“Princess Daella.” She stepped forward with a composed curtsy, Trying very hard to appear older than she was. Her posture impeccable, her gaze openly assessing your sister with fascination.

“And Princess Rhae.” The smallest peered from behind her sister’s skirts, violet eyes bright with bold curiosity. She was not watching your sister. She was watching you.

“Are you the one Father is marrying?” she asked loudly before anyone could stop her.

Your sister blushed violently. Your father stiffened. Maekar’s expression did not change, though you did catch a faintest tightening in his jaw.

You crouched slightly so you were level with her, a habit long engrained from raising your own sister “No princess” you said gently “My sister is to be your father’s new bride” very careful not to refer your sister as her new mother.

Rhae tilted her head, her violet eyes studying you ”You look braver”

You smiled at her, feeling her father’s sharp gaze on your back. “Bravery is not required when meeting your new family” you said “Only good manners” you finish with a wink.

Rhae considered that seriously, her little brows furrowing.

Maekar finally spoke “Rhae” The single word was not loud, but it carried authority. She stepped back at once.

Your sister laughed nervously, introducing herself to her future family.

However your gaze was pulled back to Meakar to find him watching you.

You met his gaze head on, like you were both measuring each other up.

—————————————————————————

The gardens of Summerhall were beautiful, carefully cultivated. It was easy to spend the day out there in the sun.

Your sister and the prince walked the gardens, as you played the part of chaperone.

Maekar walked the garden path beside your sister, hands clasped behind his back. She spoke pleasantly of home, of music, of her fondness for embroidery and hawking in mild weather.

Across the lawn, beneath the weirwood, you sat with Daella and Rhae.

Rhae was speaking quickly, hands flying as she recounted some grievance. Daella tried to appear dignified but leaned closer all the same.

“And did you climb the tower again?” you asked Rhae with a smile

The girl hesitated “…Yes”

“Then you cannot be surprised that you were forbidden from supper!” You laughed, head falling back.

“It is not fair” Rhae insisted

“Fairness and consequence are rarely the same thing,” you replied calmly “Or so my once Septa told me”

Daella laughed at that, clearly having heard the same lecture more than once. You lay back across the grass, sunlight warming your face. Rhae copies you, slipping her hand into yours without thought.

You let her, a faint smile crossing your face, remembering your sister at this age.

You had not noticed Maekar had stopped walking. Your sister faltered mid sentence “Your Grace?”

He did not answer at once, his eyes gaze has shifted toward you. Toward the easy way laid across the warm grass, shirts raised slightly in the breeze. His youngest daughter’s hand resting trustingly in yours.

Rhae laughed suddenly at something you whispered to her, bright and unguarded, Daella following suit.

Maekar changed direction without comment. Your sister hurried after him, confused but unwilling to question.

He stopped a short distance from the tree. Rhae noticed him first and straightened. Daella followed suit.

You rose smoothly, brushing grass from your skirts “Your Grace” you said evenly.

He looked at his daughters. “Rhae” he said “You were instructed to practice your letters”

Rhae flushed opening her mouth to no doubt apologise. “She was telling me of the tower” you interjected calmly saving the girl from a scolding “I believe she understands now why it was unwise”

His gaze shifted to you, staring at you for a moment longer that courtesy required, his eyes unreadable.

“Do you?” He finally asked, turning his attention back to Rhea.

Rhae nodded quickly “I do”

Maekar studied the girl a moment longer. Then he said “Very well. Letters after supper”

Rhae brightened. Daella glanced between you both, something thoughtful in her expression.

Maekar continued walking through the garden as if nothing had happened. Your sister followed, attempting to resume her previous line of conversation.

Behind him, Rhae’s laughter rose again. He did not look back. But his steps slowed.

———————-

When you suggested a ride, your sister had been delighted. In truth, she was struggling to find common ground with Maekar. While not a skilled rider herself, she was certain the effort alone would interest him.

And so your ‘simple ride’ became a chaperoned outing with two princesses in tow.

Your sister hesitated at the mounting block, smoothing her skirts carefully as a groom steadied her mare. Daella mounted neatly with practiced precision, posture straight and proper, all the training of a princess.

You did not wait for assistance, riding a second nature at this point. You took the pommel, placed your boot in the stirrup, and swung yourself astride in one clean motion.

You did not notice the Prince’s gaze linger as you settled in.

You settled easily into the saddle, knees firm, back straight but relaxed. When the groom handed you the reins, you gave the horse a light squeeze of your thighs.

The mare responded instantly

“You ride often?” Daella asked, curious.

“Every day I am permitted” you replied lightly “It is my favourite pass time”

Your sister laughed “She races the stable boys and refuses to lose”

“I do not refuse” you corrected “I simply do not lose” Rhae giggled at that

Maekar mounted without flourish, trodding up to you all on his black stallion.

The ride began at an easy pace along the tree line. Your sister remained careful, guiding her mare delicately as she tried to entice the prince into a conversation. Daella focused intently on posture and rein control. Rhae bounced slightly on her pony, too eager, too confident.

You noticed the girls careless movements “Shorten your reins princess” you called gently “And heels down”

Rhae adjusted at once, turning to you with a bright smile. Maekar’s eyes flicked to you, something unreadable in his expression.

The path widened ahead into open grass with a hedge. Without thinking, you pressed your heels and leaned forward. Your mare surged, making the jump a a good speed, the wind caught your hair, laughter spilling from you before you could stop it. Your cheeks were flushed in exhilaration.

For a brief moment, you forgot entirely that you were being watched. Maekar’s eyes gaze tracked the strong line of your thighs against the horse’s flanks. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

You guided your mare back toward the others “You show off” your sister accused lightly

You smiled back at her “I had to correct your assumption that I lose” you replied teasingly

Unaware that behind you Rhea attempted to mimic you. She kicked too hard and the pony startled. There was a sharp cry as Rhae tumbled sideways into the grass.

Everything stopped. Maekar dismounted instantly, with you right behind him.

“Rhae!” Maekar’s voice carried panicked urgency as he dropped beside her “Look at me”

She blinked rapidly, shocked more than hurt “My arm” she whimpered

You dropped next to him, unconcerned how your body brushed his. You examined it quickly, hands steady “You landed well. It is only bruised” you smiled reassuring at her.

Her lower lip trembled. She did not look at her father. She threw herself toward you.

You gathered her without hesitation, the force her movement pushed you backward into Maekar. He caught you both instinctively, his hands coming to your hips to steady you, his chest brushing your back.

Rhae’s arms tightened around your neck. Once of Maekar’s hands came to his daughter’s hair, the panic in his eyes only just fading.

“She is not injured” you said calmly, turning your head to meet his gaze, as he knelt behind you “Only shaken” suddenly aware of how close he was.

He nods briefly, his shoulders relaxing marginally, letting out a “thank the fucking seven” under his breath. Neither of you move, his one of his hands still at your hips, your eyes locked for just a moment too long. You assume it must be from the shock.

It was you who looked away first, breaking the spell.

“Come on, you ride again” you say softly to the girl in your arms.

Rhae stiffened “Must I?”

“Yes” you said, brushing dirt from her sleeve as her father still stroked her hair “If you do not, you will fear it next time”

“She is right” Meakar adds quietly, his breath ghosting by your ear. Flexing his hand slightly at your hip, before removing it from your body. You think nothing off it, nor the way the heat of his touch lingers like a brand on your skin.

“I will ride with her” you assured him as you stand, girl still in your arms “She will be safe with me”

Maekar’s gaze dropped to where your arm secured his daughter. To the way Rhae leaned back into you without hesitation.

He mounted again without comment. The ride resumed. But this time, his stallion drew closer to yours. You unaware of his gaze on you.

——————————-

The ride ended without further incident. Rhae, pale but determined, completed the ride with you. Daella rode quieter than before, thoughtful, you mean to ask her later how she is.

By the time the stable yard came into view, the panic had settled into something steadier. You dismounted first, lifting Rhae down carefully before handing her reins to a waiting hand.

“You were brave” you told her softly smoothing her hair down.

She straightened at once “I was” her big eyes looking up to yours.

“Yes” you agreed nodding gently, placing a kiss to her head.

Daella lingered long enough to give you a searching look before following her sister inside. Your own sister had already gone ahead, chattering nervously about how dreadful it had all been.

Soon, the yard emptied. Only you and Maekar remained, unaware that his eyes had been on you the whole time.

You brushed dust from your skirts, smoothing the fabric as though nothing unusual had occurred.

“She rode again” he said simply, in his usual grumbly tone.

“She did” you replied meeting his gaze

He regarded you a moment longer, assessing “Most would have carried her inside” he challenged

“And let her live in fear?” you met his challenge calmly

A faint shift in his posture made him stand taller “She is not fucking timid” he said firmly. You could almost hear the ‘blood of the dragon’ speech the Targeryan’s where so fond of.

“I did not say she was” you reply, just as firmly.

He pauses for a moment studying you “You were correct”

The words were simple, unadorned, but send a warmth through your chest all the same

“She needed to mount again” he continued “You saw it quickly”

“I have seen it before” you answered simply, feeling suddenly bashful at his praise.

“With your sister” he summarised his gaze casting over you in question.

“Yes” you nod.

He studied your face as though measuring “You were quite young to be raising a child” he said more a fact than a question.

“It was necessary” you offered simply.

Something in his expression altered at that, but he did not say anything further. The breeze moved between you.

“I did not mean to overstep” you added after a moment, feeling awkward in silence “She reached for me”

“She did” he said, his eyes swimming with that undistinguishable emotion again “Thank you” he said finally. You sense it was not something he offered lightly.

You inclined your head, smiling softly “She is a brave child”

“She is” he agreed, his gaze lingered on you a fraction too long. Then, almost as an afterthought “You ride well”

Warmth bloomed through your chest again despite yourself “So I have been told” you say a small smile on your lips, missing the way his eyes dropped to them.

A groom approached from the stable doors, breaking the moment.

Maekar stepped back, as though only then aware of how close together you stood, but before he turned away, he said almost offhand “She will ride with you again” a question disguised as an order.

“If you permit it you grace” you replied, smiling faintly.

His eyes flicked back to your mouth for just for a second “I do” he said finally.

And then he turned and left without another word.

———————————————

The weeks passed quietly, you surprisingly grew to like Summerhall, its once silent halls now filled with children’s laughter.

Rhae began bringing you ribbons to braid into her hair. Daella began lingering after lessons, asking questions that were not truly about history. Even Daeron, in his own way, gravitated toward you. It had not been intentional.

One evening you had been crossing the corridor heading to your chambers when you heard a retch and the clatter of boots against stone.You found him half collapsed beside a window, wine staining the front of his tunic. “Prince Daeron” you said evenly looking down at the sorry sight of him.

He squinted up at you, unfocused “You are not my septa”

“No, I am not” you simply

He attempted to stand and failed spectacularly. You sigh quietly and knelt beside him, gathering his hair back from his face just as he leaned forward again “You will thank me for this tomorrow” you informed him calmly.

He laughed weakly between bouts of sickness. “You smell like grass” he muttered.

“You smell like wine” you hummmed, patting his back as he retched.

When he had finished, you guided him carefully to sit upright against the wall.Daeron’s gaze drifted unfocused again. “The dragon does not choose wrong” he said “He only pretends” Then he slumped fully unconscious against the wall.

You stared at him for a long moment. Then sighed and called for a servant. The next morning, Daeron greeted you at breakfast as though nothing had occurred. But when his gaze met yours across the table, it lingered, unsettlingly knowing.

———————————-

Your sister tried. She dressed carefully. Laughed brightly. Sat beside him at supper and attempted conversation. She had tried everything in her arsenal to get the prince’s attention but nothing seemed to work

You on the other hand could not seem to get his attention off you. His violet gaze, found you often. Across the garden paths, the training yard, and the supper table.

You told yourself it was because of his daughters, because you had inserted yourself into their routines and he was assessing your influence.

It could not be anything else. You were not the beauty, you were not the bride.

⸻—————————————-

The gardens of Summerhall had become a sanctuary of yours, spending you days often with the girls. Rhae had declared she wished to grow her own flowers. Daella, not to be outdone, insisted upon herbs of practical use.

You knelt in the soil between them, sleeves rolled up, hair falling out of your pins. “You must cut the stems cleanly” you instructed, guiding Rhae’s hand. “Like this”

You reached for the pruning knife. Distracted by Rhae’s chatter, you did not notice your fingers slick with crushed leaves. The blade slipped, against your skin. A thin line of red opened across your palm as you sucked in a breathe.

“Oh!” Rhae gasped.

“It is nothing,” you said quickly attempting to hide your hand. It was not nothing. Blood welled faster than expected, warm and bright against your skin

Daella stood at once “You are bleeding”

“I had gathered as much” you say sardonically. You rose looking for your handkerchief meaning to bind it yourself.

In the activity you did not notice him walk up beside you “What has happened?” Maekar asked

The girls straightened instinctively “She cut herself” Rhae supplied.

“It is hardly dramatic” you replied “Just a small cut”

He stepped closer. Too close.

“Your hand” he ordered his own outstretched.

“This is hardly necessary—” you argued before he cut you off.

“Your hand” he repeated. The command left no room for refusal.

You took a breath and extended your hand out like a naughty child.

He took it in his. Until that moment you had not noticed how large his hands were. His grip was firm, steady, turning your palm upward. His thumb pressed at the base of your hand to examine the cut. The warmth of his skin against yours startled you more than the injury had.

“It is not deep” you said lightly

“Hold fucking still” he commented gruffly. His thumb shifted, pressing against the inside of your wrist. Where your pulse fluttered.

He felt it. You saw the faint tightening of his jaw. For a suspended heartbeat, the air between you thickened as heat climbed your neck.

Ridiculous, you told yourself. You were imagining it. He was courting your sister, he would never want someone like you.

He slowly binded with wound, tying it off tightly, his fingers grazing your skin.

“That should hold it” he said voice lower than before.

“Yes” you answered quickly.

He did not release you immediately. Just long enough for your pulse to betray you again.

You looked away unable to keep his gaze as it flicked over you. No doubt assessing the lowly spinster who was so affected by a man’s simple touch. Not sing the way his violet eyes darkened.

“Do not be careless” he added, voice rumbling through his chest.

“I was distracted” you answered, biting your lip.

His gaze flicked briefly to your mouth. Then away. You told yourself you imagined that too.

Rhae cleared her throat loudly. The moment fractured, he checked you binding once more then turned and walked away.

You exhaled slowly, watching him go. He had not looked at you as a man looks at a woman. Of course he had not. He was ensuring you did not faint in front of his daughters.

That was all.

You were not foolish enough to believe otherwise.

——-

One evening, the household gathered in the library. Firelight warmed the dark wood shelves. The scent of old parchment and smoke filled the air, you loved it here.

Your sister sat near the hearth beside Maekar, a goblet in her hand. She was attempting to coax him into telling some story of his youth during the Blackfyre Rebellion.

You sat on the rug nearby, skirts pooled around you. Rhae knelt on the chair behind you, fingers tangled carefully in your hair as she attempted an ambitious braid.

“You are pulling” you warned mildly with a wince.

“I am not” she said petulantly, but eased her hold.

Daella sat crosslegged across from you, watching with narrowed, curious eyes “We should play a game” she announced suddenly.

Rhae brightened “Yes!”

You sighed lightly “What kind of game?”

“A question game” Daella declared, eyes mischievous “You must answer honestly”

“That is dangerous” you replied a small smile, willing to indulge the young girl.

“That is the point” she said smiling sweetly.

You glanced toward the hearth, your sister still talking, but Maekar’s attention had shifted. Not obviously, but was now clearly he was listening to you and the girls

“Very well” you sighed “Within reason” pointing a finger at her warningly.

Daella leaned forward eagerly like she had been waiting for this chance “Why are you not married?”

You smiled faintly, straight to it “Because no one has ever asked me”

“That cannot be true” Daella pressed.

“It can” you shot back teasingly.

“You are pretty enough” Rhae added helpfully, tugging too tight on your hair

“Ow! And thank you” you mutter, rubbing at the spot where she tugged.

Daella continued on ignoring her sister “Do you not wish to marry?”

You hesitated only briefly “It has not been necessary”

“That is not the question” she shot back eyes narrowing, looking very much like her father in that moment.

You tilted your head. “Very well. Yes. When I was girl”

“And now?” Daella asked head tilting,

You gave a small shrug “Now I am content” you say attempting to believe your own lie.

Daella studied you for a moment clearly seeing through your words “Would you want children?” she asked next, softer now.

You sucked in a breath, as you hear you sister’s laughter falter slightly near the hearth. Feeling his violet gaze on you without needing to look.

“Yes” you said simply, your voice not giving away the pain in your heart.

Rhae leaned over your shoulder. “I would like more brothers” she announced brightly “Or sisters”

“That is fortunate” Daella muttered dryly, clearly uninterested on what her sister had to say.

Rhae continued, entirely earnest “Father could give you children, he gave mother lots of babes”

There was a sharp choking sound from the hearth as Meakar coughed hard into his goblet, a string of curses between his coughs.

Your sister startled, patting his back. You flushed, as Daella burst into uncontrollable laughter, clearly understanding the innuendo.

Rhae blinked innocently “What?” You felt heat rise up your neck with each mortifying second that passed.

“Rhae” Maekar said still coughing slightly “That is not appropriate”

“I only meant—” she began clearly confused

“It does not matter what you meant” he said low. Silence settled thickly over the room.

You cleared your throat lightly, rescuing the child. “Your braid is slipping” you said calmly. Rhae immediately returned to fixing your hair.

Daella wiping the tears from her eyes was watching her father now. Watching the way his hand had tightened around the goblet Watching the way he was not looking at your sister. But at you, eyes dark, with something unreadable.

—————————

The feast at Summerhall had been arranged long before your sisters courtship. In honor of the visiting lords from the Reach, a way to keep them in line with the Crown. It was nothing grand, merely music in the lower courtyard, lanterns strung between stone arches, wine flowing freely enough to encourage laughter.

You had not intended to attend, but Rhae insisted, and Daella declared it improper for you to remain hidden when the household gathered. Even if you insisted you were not part of their household.

Your sister was radiant in pale blue, seated beside Maekar beneath the archway, smiling brightly, speaking animatedly.

You kept to the edges at first, until you were noticed “My Lady” the visiting knight said with an easy bow “You shame the rest of us by attempting invisibility” He was handsome in a polished way, confident, the sort of man most find charming.

“You mistake me” you replied lightly, trying not to flush under his attentions “I have never claimed to be invisible”

He smiled at that “Then allow me the honor of your company” he said holding out his arm.

You had never been asked to dance before.

You glanced briefly toward your sister, she was smiled encouragingly. Next to her Maekar simply watched, you did not notice the tightening of his jaw as his eyes burned holes into the knight.

You placed your hand in the knight’s. The dance was simple, he was a skilled partner.

“You dance well” he said as you turned.

You laughed “I merely attempting not to fall!”

The music swelled. Lantern light flickered against warm stone. On the next turn, his hand settled at your waist. Closer than strictly necessary.

His thumb pressed lightly into the small of your back as he drew you through the movement. You stiffened only slightly. He did not seem to notice.

Across the courtyard however, Maekar did. He had not taken his eyes off you, his knuckles white as he gripped his goblet tightly. Daella, seated near him, noticed also.

When the dance ended the knight bowed “May I claim another later?”

You hesitated “I believe I will be retiring soon” you say not feeling at ease with this knight.

Surprised flickered across his face, clearly used to not being told no “As you wish”

You curtsied quickly and slipped away, returning to where the girls stood. Rhae grabbed your hand at once “You were beautiful” she whispered loudly. You laughed softly, still unsettled, slipping your arm into Rhea’s as she showed you the lanterns, Daella close behind.

Across the courtyard, Maekar finally looked away.

The music continued after you withdrew from the dance. You remained with the girls, Rhae still clutching your hand as though the act of dancing had elevated you to something grand in her eyes.

Unfortunately for you, the visiting knight had not withdrawn. If anything, he seemed emboldened by your refusal.

A few cups of wine loosened his restraint, he was animated, eager to impress. Near the far end of the courtyard stood a ceremonial bonfire set before one of the older tower archways. It had been prepared for lighting at dusk, oil pooled thickly beneath stacked wood.

The knight gestured toward it grandly. “Shall we have proper light?” he called. “Or must we wait for servants to do what a man can manage?”

A few of the visiting lords laughed, The knight seized a torch from the wall and strode toward the bonfire.

You felt something tighten in your chest, as your eyes instinctively searched the courtyard for Maekar to put a stop to this madness.

“Perhaps he should not—” Daella murmured, as you cried out “NO!”The knight plunged the torch into the oil

For one breath, nothing happened. Then the flames roared upward, fast and high. The oil caught along the lip of the pit and spilled in a thin, gleaming line where the knight had sloshed it carelessly across old stone. The decorative fabric draped along the tower archway ignited almost instantly.

Gasps rippled through the courtyard “Water!” someone shouted. The knight stumbled back, startled, dumbfounded in his wine fogged mind

Servants rushed for buckets. Men shouted orders. The knight stood frozen.

In the chaos, Rhae’s hand slipped from yours. You did not feel it at first. Then you looked down at the empty space

“Rhae?” You call out quickly looking around you.

She had darted toward the archway, toward where the fire was now crawling. Perhaps frightened. Perhaps curious. Perhaps simply too young to understand the danger.

“Rhae!” You screamed.

“No!” Daella shouted grabbing at your arm. The smoke surged suddenly, swallowing the tower entrance in gray. And Rhae disappeared inside.

“Go to your father!” you order Daella. You did not think, you ran, straight toward where Rhae had disappeared.

The smoke burned your lungs the moment you crossed beneath the arch. “Rhae!” you called, coughing. Inside the old stairwell, heat climbed fast along the stone.

You could hear her crying. You followed the sound.

The stairwell was choking with smoke. Each breath scraped your lungs raw. Heat rolled down the narrow stone steps in suffocating waves.

“Rhae!” you called again coughing

“I’m here!” she sobbed from above.

You climbed blindly, hand sliding along the wall until you found her near the first landing, curled into herself, coughing violently.

“I can’t see” she cried.

“I know, I have you” you said reaching for her. You pulled her close, turning your body to shield her from drifting sparks. The wood near the ceiling had caught.

“We are leaving. Hold tight” you say trying to keep the panic out of your voice.

She wrapped her arms around your neck, you tried to back the way you came, but the smoke thickened and behind you something heavy collapsed.

You staggered back instinctively, dragging Rhae with you. The way down was gone. Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Above you, at the bend in the tower wall, a narrow arrow slit window stood cracked open. The old iron lattice had rusted through on one hinge, leaving a gap barely wide enough for a child.

You moved without thinking. You lifted Rhae toward it. “Listen to me” you said firmly, gripping her shoulders. “You must climb through”

“I don’t want to—” she started weakly

“You must” you demand, wheezing slightly

Smoke thickened around you. Your eyes streamed. You boosted her upward, ignoring the burn in your arms. She scrambled, terrified but obedient. Hands reached from outside. servants below had seen her. You smile as they pulled her through the gap, exhaling in relief.

The gap was too small for you, you knew it. You turned your gaze turned toward the stairs. They were fully ablaze now. You covered your mouth with your sleeve and tried to move lower, crouching where the smoke was thinner.

Your vision swam. Your lungs refused to draw in air. The world tilted as you leaned against the walls.

And then. A shape burst through the smoke, smashing through the fallen wood. Too blurry for you to see. He reached you in three strides and caught you just as your knees buckled.

His hand closed around your arm, dragging you upright.

“I have you” he said, voice rough with smoke and something else.

“She’s out” you managed wheezing

“I know” He pulled you against him, one arm locking around your waist, shouldering through smoke and heat without breaking pace.

You barely felt the courtyard air when he emerged. You only felt him as he halfcarried, halfdragged you away from the arch, as you coughed not finding air.

Rhae sobbed somewhere nearby. Servants rushed forward.

He lowered you only when you were clear of smoke and even then, his hand remained at your waist.

Your gown was scorched at the hem. The shoulder seam torn. Ash streaked your throat.

When you swayed, he did not ask. He lifted you into his arms “Get me the fucking Maester” he growled at nearby staff.

—————————————

The last thing you remembered was Maekar’s arms and his voice growling through his chest.

You awoke to cool linen beneath your hands. Your throat burned, your head ached and you are alone.

For one foolish, fragile moment, you expected him to be there. Then you remind yourself you are not her.

You push yourself upright slowly, ignoring the protest of your lungs. A knock sounds at the door, your father enters.

He does not embrace you, he does not ask how you fare. He closes the door carefully behind him. “You have caused considerable difficulty” disappointment evident in his tone.

You swallowed against the rawness in your throat. “I saved was saving a child” you protested

“Yes” he replied evenly. “And in doing so, you have placed yourself in a compromising position”

“Half the Reach saw Prince Maekar carry you from flame” your father continued. “Your gown torn. His hands upon you” Heat flooded your face despite the lingering chill in your bones.

“I was unconscious” you mutter

“That will not matter to those who whisper” he reasons

Silence settled heavily in the chamber.

“I have spoken with the prince” your father said.

Your heart stuttered painfully.

“He understands the necessity of preserving both your reputations” ever the calculating lord, your father.

“What does that mean?” you asked quietly.

“It means” your father says with a sigh “that he has agreed to marry you”

The air left your lungs. “He was courting my sister” you managed.

“He was considering an alliance” your father corrected

“He agreed?” you asked again, softer now.

“Yes” he says simply with no hesitation or elaboration.

The simplicity of it hurt more than argument would have. Your father turned to you. “You will prepare yourself. The betrothal will be announced at first light ” He left the room without another word.

You sat in the quiet, smoke still lingering faintly in your hair, the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

You had saved a child.

You had ruined a courtship.

You had been carried through fire.

Lyonel:

Absolutely, that man is a certified yapper. Whether he is plowing you from behind (stag crown on) or feasting between your thighs his words of encouragement flow through you “that’s it my love, let me hear you” “gods you are perfect” “that’s it my good girl, take me” he loves to hear you, whimpers, moans and screams.

Maekar:

Whilst not as vocal as most others, curses and words of quiet devotion spill from his lips in low growls, praises in High Valyrian growled as he gently holds your throat fucking up into you “come rȳ nyke ñuhor nyke perzys” (come for me, my fire) “ñuhor nyke jēdrar mine” (my love, mine) his words meant for only you and the gods

Baelor

Marriage to Lyonel had not dulled the fire between you. If anything, it had made it worse.

The first few moons had been a revelation. Your husband took a great deal of pride in making certain you knew exactly how desired you were, as did the whole castle judging by the sounds radiating from your chambers.

There was, however, one problem. Lyonel always began it.

You had let him lead at first. Partly because you had been uncertain, partly because you had been overwhelmed by the sheer force of his attention. He had never rushed you, never demanded more than you gave willingly.

But as the weeks passed, you began to notice a pattern. He reached for you, he pulled you close, he decided and you followed.

That would simply not do.

Whilst you did not know much that happened between a man and wife before you were married (luckily Lyonel had helped filled in the blanks) you knew certain things where just a matter of position and patience.

——————————————-

Lyonel was exactly where you expected to find him. In the solar, boots propped up on the table, retelling some tourney story to a pair of unfortunate knights who were clearly too polite to question the more dramatic details.

“…and the lad came straight at me,” he was saying, gesturing broadly with his goblet “arms like barrels—”

“And let me guess, you fought him with only your bare hands?” you interrupted from the doorway hearing this story before.

Both knights froze. Lyonel turned slowly toward you, that grin appeared immediately “Ah!” he said warmly “My lovely wife arrives just in time to admire my heroics” holding his arms out to you

You leaned against the doorframe, arms folded “Heroics?” you repeated dryly

The knights glanced between you nervously.

“Yes” Lyonel replied easily, smile on his features, as his gazed roamed over you always pleased when you wore his colours “Heroics”

“You mean exaggerations” you counter

The knights suddenly found their cups fascinating. Lyonel leaned back in his chair, watching you with open amusement “You doubt me dear wife?”

“I always doubt you, dear husband” you smile

His grin widened hand coming dramatically to his chest “You wound me!”

“You survived a charging mountain of a man apparently” you replied smoothly “I imagine you will endure”

The knights muttered something about needing more ale and escaped the room with impressive speed. The moment the door shut behind them, Lyonel laughed.

“You chase away my audience” he said, rising to his feet “Very rude of you”

You stepped further into the room “Your audience deserved better storytelling”

“Oh?” He smiled, coming closer, that familiar spark lighting his eyes.

“Yes” you reply, meeting his steps.

“And what would you know of fighting?” He asks eyes dark,

“Enough” you said lightly “to know when a man is bluffing”

He stopped directly in front of you “You accuse your husband of bluffing”

“I accuse my husband of being all talk” you say placing your hands on his chest.

His brows lifted “All talk?”

“Yes” You leaned closer “Storm’s End feared the great Lyonel Baratheon once” you say sultry pushing him back a step “Now I begin to wonder if it was all noise.”

For a moment he simply stared at you. Then he laughed “You are trying to start a fight.”

“Am I?” You grin seductively

“Yes” his replies eyes

“And if I am?” You whisper

He stepped forward again “You should be careful what you start ”

Your heart was racing now, but you refused to retreat. Instead, you pushed him again, this time harder.

He let you, another step backward. Then another. Until the back of his knees struck the chair behind him and he dropped into it with a surprised huff of laughter “You are bold tonight, wife”

“Am I?” Your voice lower. And before he could react, you climbed onto his lap.

Lyonel went still. That did not happen often He was watching you now with sudden, keen interest. “Well ” he murmured slowly “This is new ”

Your fingers curled in the front of his tunic. “You are not the only one allowed to start things husband”

His grin returned instantly. Gods, he looked delighted “That so?” He asked too eager for your liking.

You nodded once, deliberately shifting your weight on his lap. His breath hitched before he could stop it.

His hands lifted instinctively toward your waist. You caught his wrists immediately. “Ah” you said softly, shaking your head, pushing them back down to the arms of the chair “No”

His brows rose “No?”

“Tonight” you said, your voice lower now, “you are not allowed to touch”

For a moment he simply stared at you. Then he laughed. Deep and rough and far too pleased with the situation “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“No” you whisper against his lips.

He leaned back further, spreading his hands deliberately along the carved arms of the chair in exaggerated surrender “As my lady commands” that sending a shiver through you.

His eyes, however, never left you. Not for a second. You could feel the heat of his gaze as clearly as if it were hands. “You realize” he said slowly, voice dropping into something rougher “that you are playing a dangerous game”

You leaned closer, your mouth brushing near his ear “I thought you enjoyed a challenge”

“Oh I do” Lyonel replied immediately, hands flexing on the arms of the chair “But usually I’m the one setting the terms.”

You shifted again, deliberately slow, letting the movement grind against his rapidly hardening member, before drawing back just enough to keep him frustrated. His jaw tight.

“You told me not to start fights I couldn’t finish” you reminded him sweetly You leaned down until your lips hovered just above his “I intend to win this one”

For the first time since you had climbed onto his lap, Lyonel Baratheon looked truly undone. His chest rose slowly beneath you as he forced himself to remain perfectly still.

His voice came out lower than before “You have no idea what you’re doing to me”

Your smile deepened. “Then it seems I am learning quickly.”

His gaze burned into yours “And how long exactly” he asked quietly, “do you intend to keep me like this?”

You tilted your head slightly “Until I decide otherwise”

Lyonel exhaled a slow breath through his teeth “Gods help me”

You didn't give him time to say anything further, leaning in, you captured his mouth with yours, kissing him deeply, your tongue sliding past his lips to tangle with his. He groaned into the kiss “Seven hells, you are magnificent when you’re determined” cutting off with moan as you grind your core against him.

The friction sends sparks through your core, your pussy growing wetter with each slow roll of your hips. Lyonel groans into the kiss, his body tensing under you, but his hands stay gripped on the chair arms, knuckles white from the effort of restraint

You deepen the kiss, sucking on his lower lip before biting it lightly, drawing another muffled sound from him. Your movements stay deliberate, teasing, circling your hips to rub your clothed slit along his cock, feeling it twitch and throb in response.

You savor the control, the way his breath quickens against your mouth, you pull back kissing down his neck. As he lets out a moan mixed with a frustrated growl “Gods… you have been planning this” he say tipping his head back against the chair as you nip as his skin.

“Planning what?” You murmur, licking up his neck, pulling back enough to see the hunger in his eyes

“This little rebellion” he says, breathless and absolutely wrecked.

“You make it sound treasonous my love” you reply lips twitching as you grind slowly.

His chest heaves, voice rough as gravel “Oh it certainly fucking is” his eyes fluttering as you grind harder, But he doesn't move, doesn't dare break your rules.

Emboldened, you reach down between your bodies, fingers working quickly to unlace his breeches. His cock springs free, thick and hot, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You wrap your hand around it briefly, stroking once from base to head, making him hiss through clenched teeth “You're killing me wife”

Without a word, you shift your skirts aside, positioning yourself over him. The head of his cock nudges against your entrance, and you sink down slowly, inch by inch, until he's fully sheathed inside your tight pussy.

The stretch is exquisite, filling you completely, and you both moan at the sensation. You pause there, clenching around him deliberately, watching his face contort with the need to thrust up into you

“If you do not let me touch you soon, I may actually die” he groans forehead meeting yours as you sit unmoving on him.

You laugh breathlessly “That seems dramatic”

“I am a very dramatic man” he groans lips finding yours in a desperate bid for you to move.

You kiss him back deeply, placing your hands on his shoulders for leverage and ensuring his arms remain pinned. “I noticed’ you say say against his lips, swallowing his moan as you start moving.

You start slow at first, the move unfamiliar but quickly grow more confident, lifting your hips and slamming back down, setting a rhythm that's all yours.

Your pussy slides up and down his length, gripping him tightly with every descent. The wet sounds of your bodies joining fill the room, mingling with his ragged breaths and your soft gasps.

You grind down harder on each downstroke, circling your hips to hit that spot inside you that makes your thighs quiver. Lyonel's head falls back against the chair, eyes squeezed shut as he fights to stay still, his cock pulsing deep within you “seven fucking hells” he growls, voice breaking “So tight, perfect wife, don't stop” he stammers out

Sweat beads on his brow, his muscles straining to not take over as you bounce faster, your breasts heaving with the motion.

The pressure builds in your core, coiling tighter with every thrust of his cock into your soaking pussy. You lean forward again, capturing his mouth in another fierce kiss, tongues tangling as you ride him relentlessly. His hips buck involuntarily once, but he catches himself, cursing under his breath.

The orgasm hits you first, waves of heat crashing through you as your pussy clamps down on him, milking his cock. You cry out “Oh gods, Lyonel” against his lips, grinding through the spasms, your juices coating him.

Lyonel follows seconds later, unable to hold back any longer. His cock throbs hard inside you, spurting thick ropes of cum deep into your pussy, filling you until it leaks out around him. He groans your name, body shuddering beneath you, but his hands never leave the chair.

You slow your movements, riding out the aftershocks until you're both spent, his softening cock still buried inside you. Lyonel's eyes open, dark and sated, watching you with a mix of awe and lingering fire.

“You win this round” he rasps, a crooked smile tugging at his lip “You realize you’ve ruined me now”

You look up from where you are nuzzled into the warmth of his neck “How?”

“Well” he started with a smirk “Now I’ll be wondering every night if my wife plans to start another fight”

The first moons of your marriage had been undeniably happy.

Summerhall had softened around you. The halls once quiet now held laughter again, Rhae’s voice echoing through corridors, Daella’s thoughtful questions lingering long after lessons ended. Even Daeron had begun appearing at supper more regularly, though he pretended it had nothing to do with you.

And Maekar had proven a husband very different from the stern prince the realm believed him to be. You had learned quickly that the man possessed a great deal of restraint.

Before your wedding you had known very little of the relations between husband and wife. It had never seemed necessary knowledge. As the eldest daughter of your house you had been far more concerned with accounts, estates, and the upbringing of your sister than with whispers of marriage beds. Especially once you had been shelved as a spinster.

Your septa had certainly never offered instruction “A lady need not concern herself with such matters. Your husband will know what to do” At the time you had accepted this explanation with practical indifference, believing it would never matter to you.

How wrong you were.

Maekar, for his part, had proven both patient and attentive. The first weeks of marriage had been something of an education, though not an unpleasant one. Your husband approached intimacy with the same careful control he brought to every other aspect of his life.

He was deliberate, attentive, capable of undoing your composure entirely until the entire castle could hear you moaning his name through the walls,

Still, a pattern had formed. Maekar always came to you. At first you had assumed it was simply his nature, prince accustomed to command, A man who had carried responsibility long before you ever arrived at Summerhall.

But lately, the thought had begun to trouble you. You did not wish to be a burden for him to carry, especially not in the marriage bed.

You had taken your horse out that morning, needing the fresh air and the open fields. Riding had always settled your mind.

The mare moved beautifully beneath you, powerful and responsive, shifting easily with the slightest adjustment of your weight.

You guided her through the long meadow beyond the orchard, the wind tugging loose strands of hair free from your pins as you rode hard urging her into a full gallop.

The motion came easily, almost instinctive.

You smiled faintly to yourself. Riding, after all, required understanding the creature beneath you.

And suddenly the realization struck you with perfect clarity. You had spent months letting Maekar guide everything. You had never once tried to take the reins.

That seemed a mistake easily corrected.

————————————————

You found Maekar where you expected. In your chambers, the fire already burning low. He stood near the table removing his rings and pins, movements slow with the quiet fatigue of a long day.

He glanced up when you entered, his violet eyes softening “You were gone some time” he observed.

“I rode farther than intended” you say softy, dropping your cloak by your dressing table.

His gaze lingered briefly on you, your windswept hair, mussed skirts and flushed cheeks was always a look he admired “You should have taken a guard” he scolded

“I was perfectly safe” you reply softly, his care for you always warming your chest.

“I know” he said evenly “That does not mean I enjoy it”

You crossed the room without answering. Maekar sensed the difference immediately.

“You are looking at me as though you have decided something” he said quietly hands settling on your waist,

“I have” you replied your hands settling on his chest.

“Should I be concerned?” His voice lower eyes sweeping your face.

Instead of answering, you stepped closer. Your hands slid up is chest to the collar of his tunic, fingers working the first fastening loose, before the next, fingers teasing his skin,

Maekar stilled with a small shiver “Wife?” he said softly in question, unused to you being so bold.

You said nothing, instead just leaned up and kissed him, The reaction was instant, his hands at your waist pulling you closer with the quiet certainty that had defined your marriage thus far.

His hands slid up meaning to your undo your dress. You pulled back cathcing his wrists gently and moved them back down.

Then you kissed him again, slower this time, tongue gliding against his.

When his hands rose once more, instinctively seeking control, you guided them again, this time resting them deliberately against your hips.

“I will take care of you tonight” you murmured against his mouth.

He froze his brows knit slightly. You kissed him again, slower this time, your fingers moving back to next fastening at his collar, untying till it fell open, your hands roaming the taut skin of his chest, tracing the scars.

“I’m seducing you husband” you said softly as you pushed the shirt from his shoulders “Try to enjoy it”

For a moment Maekar simply looked at you. The firelight caught in his violet eyes, darkening them further. “You assume” he said slowly, voice rougher now “that I am not already” hands flexing on your hips.

You smiled faintly “Then you should stop looking so surprised”

His hands moved again, instinctive as breath, sliding from your hips upward. You caught them once more and guided them back.

Maekar exhaled through his nose, a quiet frustrated sound “Fuck me” he muttered.

You smile at that “Oh I intend to” you mutter leaning forward, kissing him again, slower this time. Your mouth lingering against his before trailing down along the edge of his jaw, sliver hairs of his beard scraping against your skin.

His restraint was thinning now. You could feel it in the tension beneath your hands “You are enjoying this far too much” he murmured.

“Yes ”Your lips brushed the corner of his mouth again “I am.”

His hands flexed against your hips but stayed where you had placed them.

“You realize” he said quietly “that my patience is not fucking infinite”

“That is why I am not wasting it ”Your hands slid back up his chest and pushed gently

Maekar stepped backward slowly, Your mouth followed him between steps, kisses stolen in brief moments that kept him moving.

When the backs of his legs met the bed, he paused. You pushed lightly and he sat.

Maekar leaned back on his hands, watching you now with an intensity that made heat spread through your chest “You are a very dangerous woman” he said quietly

You simply smile at him and step between his knees, you hands coming to the laces of your dress.

His hands rose again, going to help you at your bodice, instead you caught them. Guiding them back to your waist “Patience” you say sultry,

The word made his jaw tighten “That is a cruel command” he muttered.

“You manage it well enough everywhere else” you smile, wiggling out of your dress.

His gaze burned into yours, sweeping down your figure “Not with you, never with you”

You smile leaning down again, kissing him slow and deep, pushin him gently backward onto the bed.

Maekar let himself fall back against the mattress with a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

You climbed onto the bed with him, your nude form settling above him as your fingers slid through his hair.

His hands began to move again. This time slower, testing. You caught them again, guiding them back to your hips.

“I said I would take care of you” you smile against his lips

His breath left him in a low, rough laugh “Gods help me” he muttered.

You laugh softly as your lips trail a scorching path down his chest, tasting the salt of his skin as your tongue flicks over his nipples, drawing a low groan from deep in his throat.

He's sprawled beneath you on the bed, his body tense with anticipation, his hands grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into the firm muscles honed from years of riding horses.

You shift lower, your breath hot against his abdomen, nipping lightly at the silver trail of hair leading downward. His cock strains against the fabric of his pants, hard and insistent, begging for your touch.

With deliberate slowness, you hook your fingers into his waistband and tug it down, freeing his thick shaft. It springs up, throbbing in the air, the head already glistening with pre-cum. You wrap your hand around the base, stroking firmly once, twice, feeling it pulse under your palm as he bucks slightly “Fucking gods woman” he growls head falling back “you are going to be the death of me.”

You laugh lightly crawling back up his body, kissing him as you position yourself above him. Your thighs flex, those rider's legs parting wider to guide his cock to your entrance. You're slick and ready, your pussy aching to take him in. Slowly, you sink down, inch by inch, enveloping his length in your tight heat. A shared gasp escapes you both as he fills you completely, stretching you just right.

Your head falling back with a moan at the feeling of him inside you, starching you perfectly. His hands find his way back to your hips, squeezing tightly as if begging you to move.

You start to move, rolling your hips in a rhythm that's all your own, powerful, controlled, like taming a wild stallion. Up and down, grinding against him, your clit rubbing against his pelvis with each thrust.

You move his hands putting them up to your breast as you bounce, your soft moans filling the room. His hands cup your breasts eagerly as you guide them there, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples with just the right pressure to send jolts of pleasure straight to your core “Bantis ñuha prūmia” he growls as you moan.

You bounce harder now, your strong thighs powering each rise and fall, slamming down onto his cock. Maekar's violet eyes lock onto yours, dark with raw hunger, his chest heaving as he watches your body move above him.

You lean down kissing him, your hips still slamming his The friction builds fast, your walls clenching around his cock as pleasure coils tighter in your core. He thrusts up to meet you, his face contorted in ecstasy, groans turning to desperate moans “Bantis” he murmurs against your lips “Ñuha, aō iā ñuha”

The bed creaks under the force of your movements, his cock throbbing inside you, swelling as his own climax builds.

You grind down one final time, circling your hips to rub your clit against him relentlessly, and it shatters you both. Your orgasm rips through you like a storm, pussy spasming wildly around his shaft, squeezing him in rhythmic pulses as waves of bliss crash over your body. A sharp cry escapes your throat, your back arching as you come hard “Maekar!! Ahhhh!!”

He follows with a guttural roar, thrusting up deep and holding you there, his release erupting in hot spurts that fill you completely.

You collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you panting, bodies slick and spent. His arms came around you immediately, pulling you closer as though he had no intention of letting you ever move again.

For a long moment neither of you spoke.

You shifted slightly where you lay sprawled across him, propping your chin against his chest to look up at him. Maekar’s eyes were half closed, his breathing finally steady again, one arm still wrapped firmly around your back as if you might attempt escape.

You studied him for a moment “Well, my love” you said lightly “how did you enjoy being seduced?”

A quiet huff left him, something almost like a laugh rumbling through his chest “You ambushed me”

“I seduced you” you corrected calmly with a smile.

His hand slid slowly up your back, fingers tracing idle circles along your spine “In High Valyrian” he murmured lazily, “there is a phrase for such tactics Lēda syt bantis”

You narrowed your eyes slightly “That sounds suspicious and vaguely insulting”

His mouth curved faintly as he watched you with quiet amusement.

“What does it mean?” you asked

“I believe” he said slowly “it translates loosely to a clever trap”

You huffed “That does not sound flattering at all” your hand tracing circles on his chest

“On the contrary” he replied softly, violet eyes resting on your face. “It is a compliment”

You narrowed your eyes at him again “You are making that up, speaking words I don’t know to insult me” you say in jest

He did not answer. Instead he leaned down slightly, his forehead brushing yours “Aō nyke lēkia”

You meet his eye, a slow smile spread across your face “That one” you said quietly “I know”

His arm tightened around you slightly “Yes” he murmured “I suspected you might”

You shifted closer, resting your cheek against his chest again, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

A/N: Some High Valyrian translations for you all:

Aō nyke lēkia - I love you

Bantis - Beautful

Ñuha - Mine

aō iā ñuha - You are mine

ñuha prūmia - My heart

The moons that had passed since your marriage had been bliss.

You had your place at court, a title, a feeling of belonging that had once felt impossible. Most importantly you had the most loving man in the seven kingdoms.

Each night Baelor took you to bed with devotion, throughrally undoing you, till you were sure windows shook with the sounds of your moans.

You where happy, truly. But lately, you couldn’t help thinking that you never returned the favour.

Not that Baelor had ever complained, quite the opposite. Your husband had been endlessly patient, gentle when you needed it, reverent even. Yet the pattern had always been the same. He came to you, he guided, he asked and you responded (eagerly) but you never began it.

You decided to change that.

—————————————-

Brought up as a proper lady, of a noble house, you had not been told much of the relations between a man and woman, especially when you were shelved as a spinster.

You remember asking your septa once about it, she simply replied “A lady need not know such filth. On your wedding night to simply lay back and think of the gods” that statement confused you more than ever.

Because now, as a married woman, you knew very well that the marriage bed contained pleasures the gods surely did not disapprove of. Still, you realized there was much you did not know. Especially what pleasures a wife could give her husband.

If knowledge is what you seeked, you felt the library was the obvious place to start.

————————————-

The library at the Red Keep had always been quiet, usually it just you, the maester and sometimes Baelor.

Tonight was different however, tonight you did not wish to be seen.

You slipped between the tall shelves with far more stealth than you thought possible. The maester wandered somewhere deeper as you tip toed past him. The candles burned low, and your heart beat far too quickly for someone merely seeking a book.

A particular book. One that you hear ladies whisper of, whilst blushing a deep scarlet.

It had taken nearly an hour to find it, clearly tucked away on a high shelf, as to not fall into unknowing hands.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ the green cover read. You opened it cautiously and flicked through the pages, not knowing what to expect, maybe some vague details like your septa’s lectures.

What you had not expected, was instruction. Vivid and detailed instructions.

Your eyes flew wide and your face burned hotter with every page you turned. Vivid descriptions of how a wife might please her husband. Of the ways a woman might guide him, touch him, invite him, seduce him.

You turned your head trying to understand some of the positions illustrated.

You tucked yourself away in the corner, devouring the passages with growing fascination, till one passage took your attention.

Your eyes widened and your breathing came faster as you read, then re-read the passage. Your thighs instinctively clenching at the thought of doing this with Bealor, breathless a smile coming to your face. So this was what you had been missing.

You snapped the book shut, determined.

You returned the book carefully to its place, cheeks flushed and thoughts far less proper than when you arrived.

Tonight, you decided, you would try your new found skill.

⸻——————————————————-

Baelor was already your shared chambers when you returned. He had shed the heavier layers of his court attire, now in only his tunic and breeches, reading by the fire. You always loved how the firelight caught the silver strands in his hair, threaded among the dark ones.

He looked up the moment you entered, expression softening immediately “There you are my love” he said gently “I was beginning to think the library had stolen you away”

You closed the door behind you, smiling despite your hammering pulse “I found something interesting” you replied, trying to sound composed despite your warm face.

Baelor smiled faintly “That is usually how libraries work”

You crossed the room slowly. Normally, this would be the moment you would sit beside him and allow him to pull you close.

Instead, you stepped directly in front of him and reached out, taking the book from his hands. Baelor blinked once in mild surprise. “My love?”

You set the book aside, your lips parting in a nervous yet excited smile. Climbing onto his lap, you straddle him, your body pressing against his, a bold declaration of your intentions.

“Are you well?” he asked surprised but intrigued, searching your face.

You leaned down, your lips brushing his jaw “Yes” you say sofly, testing.

His breath caught as your mouth traced slowly along the line of his jaw, to his chin, before finally finding his lips. Then you kissed him slowly, deliberately. His hands instinctively rose to your waist, but he did not pull you closer, he was still trying to understand what had changed.

You kissed him again, deeper this time, gasping into his mouth as his hands tightened. When you finally drew back, his mismatched eyes were darker than usual “Have I done something to deserve this sudden generosity?” he murmured, his lips trying to find yours again as you move back.

“I have been reading” you say sofly, your eyes meeting his

He studied you now with clear suspicion. “Should I be concerned?”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you shake your head "Tonight, I want to show you something new" you say quietly, your words carrying a promise "I've learned a few things, and I want to share them with you"

Baelor's breath catches, as you look into his eyes, a mix of determination and desire in your gaze "I want to show you how much I desire you" you say, your voice steady despite the flutter in your stomach.

Baelor's eyes shine with a mix of love and admiration. He understands the significance of this moment, the courage it took for you to step into this role "Lead the way, my love" he says, his voice thick with desire,

You kiss down his chest, going lower and lower keeping your eyes on his. You gently remove his hands as you slowly sink to your knees, your movements graceful yet purposeful.

Your hands go to the ties of his breeches, tugging them loose with trembling fingers. Baelor's breath catches, his eyes darkening as he watched you free his cock, his hands flexing around the arms of his char.

His cock springs out, thick and half-hard, the shaft veined and heavy, the head flushed. You wrap your hand around the base, feeling it thicken and pulse in your grip as you stroke upward slowly. Remembering the passage in the book.

You look back up at him, you can see the anticipation in his eyes, the desire mirrored in the way his breath quickens. A bead of pre-cum welled at the tip, and you lean in, your tongue flicking out to lap it up. The salty taste made you hum, and Baelor groaned, his fingers threading lightly into your hair "Gods, yes" he breathed, his hips shifting forward instinctively his head falling back.

Licking your lips, you lean forward, your breath warm against his shaft. You tease him, running your tongue along the length of his cock, leaving a trail of moisture. Baelor's moan is soft, almost a whimper, as he closes his eyes, surrendering to the sensation.

With a confident smile, you wrap your hands around his hardness, feeling the warmth and the pulse of his desire. Your mouth opens, and you take him in, slowly at first, savoring the taste and the feel of him. You suck gently, your lips stretching around his thickness, and Baelor's hands find their way into your hair, gripping gently as he encourages you.

Your mouth works him, a slow, sensual rhythm, your tongue dancing along his sensitive tip. You remember what the book said and hollow your cheeks, creating a vacuum, Baelor's eyes flutter, his head tilts back, and a soft groan escapes his throat, a curse in a language you don’t understand leaving his lips.

You continue, your eyes never leaving his face. Your hands move to cup his balls, massaging gently, adding another layer of pleasure, a sound leaving his lips that you had never head before, something between a growl and a whimper. Baelor's hips begin to thrust up, meeting your mouth, his movements guided by the rhythm you set.

As you continue, your confidence grows. You take him deeper, your throat relaxing, accommodating his size. Baelor's hands tighten in your hair, as he moans.

"That's it, my sweet seductress, ñuha dāria" he murmurs, his voice hoarse “my love, Ñuha jorrāelagon, my everything”

Your mouth works him with a fervor, a determination to please, to give him an experience unlike any other. You feel his cock pulse against your tongue, and you quicken your pace, wanting to bring him over the edge.

Baelor's eyes are closed now, his face a mask of pleasure, his body tense with the build-up. You can sense his control slipping, his groans growing louder, more desperate. "I'm close, please my love, please don't stop, Ñuha prūmia!"

His cum fills your mouth, a warm, salty rush, and you swallow, taking it all, milking every drop. Baelor's body shudders, his eyes snapping open, a look of pure ecstasy on his face as he goes boneless.

You pull away with a soft pop, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. Wiping the corner of your mouth as you rise to straddle him again, his arms coming automatically around you as though they had always belonged there.

Baelor looked thoroughly undone, His eyes were half-lidded and glazed, a sated smile-curving his lips “That was…………” he murmured, his voice rough with lingering pleasure “beyond words”

You could not help the small, proud smile that answered his “That is fortunate” you replied lightly, hand caressing his face “I found a book most informative and I suspect I have only begun studying” you tease

Baelor’s hands tightened fractionally at your waist as he exhaled a soft, incredulous laugh “Gods help me” he murmured, tilting his head back against the chair as he looked up at you, admiration plain in his mismatched eyes.

You laughed softly, leaning down until your forehead rested against his, planning many more recreations from the passages.

A/N: Some High Valyrian translations for you all:

Ñuha jorrāelagon - My Beloved

ñuha dāria - My Queen

Warnings: Kissing, cursing - never proof read

The wind off Shipbreaker Bay was sharp that morning, pulling at your hair and skirts as it swept across the training yard.

“You are holding it wrong” you say, your voice carrying through he wind to your husband, who stood in the yard with his bow drawn.

Lyonel did not even turn, loosing his arrow with practiced ease. It struck the target with a solid thud, not poorly placed, but not cleanly centred either “I am not” he replied easily, grinning.

“You are” you said again coming closer to his. Your arms folding as you watched the slight tension in his shoulders “You are forcing it”

He turned then, grin already forming “It hit, did it not?”

“Yes” you agreed mildly “It did” tilting your head, eyes fixed on him.

His eyes narrowed just slightly, recognising the tone “You are about to say something insufferably brilliant, aren’t you?”

You smiled sweetly, your husband knowing you too well “It could have been better”

Lyonel let out a laugh, lowering the bow as he looked at you properly now “Better?” he echoed “My darling wife, I have been hunting since I could walk” he challenged, interest blazing in his dark eyes.

“And yet” you said, stepping forward to him “you still grip the bow like you are trying to wrestle it into submission. Like one of the stags in your famed stories” you tease. You hold out your hand “Give it to me. Let me show you proper form ”

His grin widened at that “Oh, this I must see” passing you the bow, curiosity winning out easily.

“You use too much strength here” you said, adjusting your grip as you turned it in your hands “and not enough control here.”

You stepped into position without ceremony, movements smooth and practiced.

Lyonel’s amusement faded into something more focused “Where did you learn this?” he asked, quieter now.

“I had time” you replied simply. You nocked the arrow and drew the string back “A spinster has a lot of time on her hands when her daily duties are done” You caught the way his eyes darkened at the word, his expression tightening for just a moment, he had never liked that particular description of you and had no intention of starting now.

You held the string taut. There was no strain in your shoulders, no unnecessary force. You paused a moment, turning to smile at him, then released.

The arrow struck dead centre.

Lyonel stared at the target. Then at you. Then back at the target again “Well” he said slowly “that was…..” he trailed, his expression shifting into something else entirely.

You held the bow out to him again “Your turn”

He took it, but his attention had shifted entirely “Show me again” he said, voice a bit lower than before.

“You seemed very confident a moment ago” you tease, already knowing what he was doing.

“I was wrong” he replied easily, his gaze raking over you.

“Fine” you said, a small smile playing at your lips. Your hands found his without hesitation, adjusting his grip “Loosen this” you murmured, shifting his fingers slightly, warm under your touch “You are wasting strength”

He did not look at his hands. His gaze remained fixed on you.

“Focus” you said, though your tone lacked bite.

“I am” he replied his voice carrying that rough edge you knew all too well.

You rolled your eyes but continued, adjusting his stance, your hand at his elbow, guiding him into place. You were close now, close enough to feel the heat of him despite the wind

“Draw” you instructed, unable to resist whispering it near his ear.

He did. You corrected the angle of his arm, then stepped just slightly to the side “There” you said with a satisfied smile.

He released. The arrow struck closer to centre this time, cleaner than before.

You nodded once “Better” you smile at them.

Lyonel did not lower the bow immediately. Instead, he let out a quiet breath “Gods”

You frowned faintly “It was not that impressive”

“No” he said, turning to you fully now “but you are”

The way he said it made your breath catch.

His grin returned then, slower, more deliberate “You have been keeping this from me, wife” he teased.

“It never came up” you replied lightly “Isn’t it part of the fun? Learning new things about each other”

“Mm” he mused, stepping close “I marry a woman who can run my household better than I can” he said, voice lowering “and now outshoot me as well”

You smile at him, hands setting on his shoulders “Those are not bad things”

He laughed softly, then leaned in, his voice dropping near your ear “Gods help me” he murmured “I have never wanted you more than I do in this moment”

Your breath hitched “Because I corrected your aim?” you asked, your face drifting closer to his.

“Because” he said, his hand settling firmly at your waist “you are brilliant”

Your pulse jumped beneath your skin.

He did not look away, his grip tightening just slightly as his grin softened into something more intent “And now” he added quietly, “I am going to spend the rest of the morning deciding whether I want to improve my aim or abandon it entirely”

You arched a brow, already knowing the answer “You were very enthusiastic about improving a moment ago”

“I still am enthusiastic” he said easily, pulling you closer, his lips grazing yours “just not about that”

The solar was not quiet. It rarely was when Maekar was inside it counting through the books

“Then the numbers are fucking wrong” he snapped, one hand braced against the table, the other dragging through his hair in clear irritation.

“They cannot all be wrong, Your Grace” the steward insisted, sweating faintly as he shuffled the parchments “These accounts were tallied twice”

“And yet they still do not fucking match” Maekar cut in sharply, violet eyes flashing as he looked down at the figures again “So either they are wrong, or you are”

The steward swallowed.

You paused just inside the doorway, unnoticed for the moment. It was not unusual to find him like this. Frustration sat poorly on Maekar, often resulting in a great deal of cursing, and occasionally sulking, to your amusement.

“Husband, swear at the numbers all you wish but, they will not correct themselves” you say, stepping into the room.

His violet eyes snapping up to you, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at the sight of you.

You stepped closer, your gaze drifting over the spread of ledgers and loose parchment. Grain tallies. Store inventories. Shipment records.

It took only a moment “I believe are counting it twice” The words slipped out before you had fully decided to speak.

Silence followed. Maekar’s head turned slowly toward you.

The steward blinked.

Maekar’s gaze sharpened “Explain” he asked settling behind you as you leaned over the books.

Your eyes scanning the columns again “This shipment,” you said, tapping one figure lightly “is recorded here when it arrives” Your finger shifted down the page “And again here, when it is distributed”

The steward frowned “That is standard practice my lady”

“Yes” you agreed mildly “if the distribution is subtracted from the total” You lifted your gaze briefly “But it was not”

Silence. Maekar leaned closer, his chest brushing your back.

You turned one of the ledgers toward him, adjusting it slightly “You are adding both values to your stores” you continued “Which makes it appear as though you have more than you do. Then when the actual count is taken, it falls short”

The steward’s mouth opened. Then closed. Maekar said nothing.

You reached for a scrap of parchment, already writing, your movements efficient and unhurried. “If you remove the duplication here” you said, striking through a column, “and carry this value instead” You turned the parchment back toward him “There” you say with proud smile.

He looked at it. Then back at the ledgers. Then again at your figures.

“I apologise, Your Grace. I did not realise I had gone so wrong” the steward breathed faintly.

Maekar did not speak.

You straightened slightly, brushing your fingers together as though it had been nothing of consequence “It is a simple error” you said lightly easing the mans fear that Meakar might strike him down where he stood “It happens often when accounts are copied between hands”

“Fuck off” Meakar said to the steward, his eyes fixed on you.

“That was rude” you say to your husband, watching the steward scurry off.

Turning to find his eyes on you “Where” he said slowly “did you learn to see that so quickly?”

You met his eyes easily “I managed my father’s household for years” you voice dropping slightly quieter “If you misplace coin in a household, you feel it by winter”

Something shifted in his expression, something darker, heavier, touched with the knowledge of what had been placed on your shoulders far too young. His jaw tightened faintly, like he would very much like to take issue with a past he could not change.

Instead he focused back on you. The woman who had survived that, his brilliant wife.

“Do it again” he said stepping closer.

You blinked once “It is already corrected”

“I am aware” he said, voice lower now “Do it again”

You knew that tone. This was no longer about the numbers.

You reached for another column, adjusting it with the same ease, walking him through the figures without hesitation. You did not slow your explanation. Did not simplify it.

You assumed he would follow. He did.

But he was not watching the page. He was watching you. The way you thought through it. The quiet certainty in your voice.

You finished, setting the parchment down “There is no loss” you concluded “Only poor recording”

“You solved in moments” Maekar said slowly “what has had me cursing for the better part of an day”

You tilted your head slightly fighting the urge to smile “It was not difficult”

“No” he said quietly, stepping closer, “it is. You simply make it look otherwise”

Your breath caught, just slightly. His hand came to the table beside you, caging you in without quite touching. Heat radiated from him, steady, consuming.

Your breath hitched.

The ledgers lay forgotten between you as his mouth seized yours.

The balcony was warm in the late afternoon sun.

A soft breeze drifted in from the gardens below, carrying the scent of citrus and distant fountains. It was one of the few places in the Red Keep untouched by court where, your family’s could truly be alone.

Baelor sat at the small carved table, composed as ever.

Opposite him, Valarr was very clearly enjoying himself.

“You are going to lose” Valarr said pleasantly, moving a piece with far more confidence than usual.

Baelor’s expression did not change “Am I?”

“Yes” Valarr replied easily “Decisively”

A soft laugh sounded from the side. Kiera lounged nearby, entirely at ease, watching the board with open amusement. “I have never seen you this confident during chess” she remarked lightly.

“I have had no reason to be” Valarr said, not looking up “except right now I am crushing my father”

Baelor’s fingers rested lightly against the table, unmoving.

You paused in the archway, taking in the scene. The board was not in Baelor’s favour. Not at all.

You stepped forward quietly “Should I come back later?” you asked mildly

Baelor’s gaze lifted at once. The shift in him was immediate, subtle but unmistakable “No” he said, softer now “Stay”

You smiled and crossed the space between you, settling lightly on the arm of his chair. His hand found your waist without thought.

Valarr’s brow lifted faintly “That seems like an unfair advantage”

“I have not done anything” you replied sweetly.

“Yet” Kiera added, clearly entertained.

You glanced down at the board. Then back at your husband. He looked entirely composed.

You knew better.

The faint tension in his jaw, the stillness of his hand. He hated losing.

Valarr moved again, pressing the advantage “Your move, Father”

Baelor studied the board.

You leaned slightly closer, close enough that only he could hear “You are about to lose, my love” you murmured.

His fingers shifted ever so slightly against your waist “I am aware” he replied under his breath.

You smiled. Then, softer, your lips brushing near his ear “Bishop. Two forward”

You felt it instantly. The way his breath caught. The faint shiver beneath your touch, barely there, but real.

His next move followed your words exactly.

Valarr paused, his eyes narrowing slightly “That was unexpected”

Baelor said nothing. Kiera’s smile widened.

The game continued.

Valarr still pressed forward, but slower now. Watching more carefully.

Your fingers traced lightly against Baelor’s shoulder as you watched. Then again, you leaned in “Now wait” you whispered “Let him think he has it”

Baelor’s hand stilled.

Valarr smirked. “You are hesitating”

Baelor inclined his head “Am I?”

“You are” Valarr said, far too pleased with himself “You should not. It will not help you”

Kiera laughed softly “You sound very certain husband”

“I am certain, my love” Valarr replied with a confident smile.

You smiled against Baelor’s ear. Then, barely a breath “Now”

Baelor moved his queen.

Valarr’s expression faltered “Wait” he said, leaning forward. “No, that does not” Then slowly looked up “You were losing”

Baelor sat back slightly “Was I?”

“You absolutely were” Valarr insisted.

Kiera laughed outright now “He was” she agreed cheerfully “Quite badly, in fact”

Valarr’s gaze shifted to you “You helped him” he said in mock outrage

You smiled, entirely unrepentant “I merely offered perspective and collaboration”

“That is cheating” Valarr said.

“That is marriage” Kiera corrected, still laughing.

Baelor’s hand tightened slightly at your waist, his composure just barely intact.

Valarr pushed back from the table, shaking his head. “I refuse to play either of you again”

“That seems sensible” you said lightly.

He pointed at his father “You are supposed to be better than this”

Baelor’s mouth curved, just faintly.

Kiera rose, still smiling “Come, my love. Leave them to their….… collaboration” she finished with a laugh.

Valarr gave you one last mock accusing look, though he was clearly amused, and followed her inside.

The balcony fell quiet again.

Baelor did not move immediately. Then his hand shifted, drawing you slightly closer “You intervened” he said quietly.

You tilted your head “You were losing”

“I was managing” he corrected.

You smiled “Poorly”

A breath left him, something almost like a laugh. Then his gaze lifted to yours “You knew exactly how to win”

“I have had practice” you said lightly.

“With whom?” he asked.

You hesitated only briefly “My septa” you said “There was not much else to occupy the time”

Something in him stilled. His hand rose, brushing softly along your jaw “You spent your days learning how to win games no one else thought to teach you” he said quietly.

You smiled faintly “A spinster must entertain herself somehow”

His expression shifted at the word. His thumb traced lightly against your cheek. “Do not call yourself that” he said softly. Then he leaned in.

The kiss was unhurried. Certain. His hand steady at your waist, grounding, as though he had no intention of letting you go.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

“You are extraordinary” he murmured.

Your lips curved softly. “Because I saved you from losing?”