#sweetspicystart

You and Rhaenyra were born into this world together, bathed in blood and flesh intertwined. Your mother sobbed as she cradled both bonny babes in her arms, weeping with relief and joy. Neither of you was a son, but the perfect princesses with amethyst eyes. Rhaenyra emerged mere minutes before you, making her the elder, though as you each grew, it was always side by side and never in the other’s shadow. Each had a golden dragon; hers was Syrax, and yours was Aurelyx. You oft took the skies with your sister, silver hair whipping in the wind as the sky bathed in a golden hue.

You learned long ago of a secret passage that allowed you to slip into your twin’s room easily. You loved to curl around her, listening to the soft thrum of her heart and resting your head against her chest as it rose with every breath she took. You couldn’t imagine living in this world without her. Admittedly, you were a bit jealous of her bond with Lady Alicent, but Rhaenyra was so delightful that you could hardly blame others for wanting to be in her presence. One day, you hoped she would be queen if your mother did not bless the family with a son.

Time passed, with the Stranger claiming your mother and newborn brother, and your father took Alicent Hightower to wife. Rhaenyra’s anger burned harsher and brighter than your own, especially after Aegon’s birth; she felt betrayed, though you doubted she would have been happy with Father taking Laena as his bride either. She grew colder and harder, yet it all melted away when in your presence. It was her turn to take comfort in you, sneaking into your chambers during the late hour of the owl, snuggling against you. Her head would rest on your chest as you stroked her silver braid. It would all be fine so long as you had each other.

“Princess,” Ser Harwin Strong smiled down at you as you sat in the gardens with Helaena in your lap, as a centipede crawled over her tiny hands. He held a dazzling pink rose in one hand and offered it to you.

“Many thanks, Ser Harwin,” you smiled, feeling your cheeks warm as you lifted the sweet smelling flower under your nose.

“Have a pleasant day, Princess,” he grinned, and Helaena cooed in your lap.

“You are smitten with him,” Rhaenyra teased.

“Mayhaps,” you replied, your heart thrumming like a hummingbird in your chest.

Though you were smitten with Ser Harwin, your heart would always truly belong to Rhaenyra. If only one of you had been born a son. Dragonblood called to each other, but even you understood such a union would not be looked upon highly. You and Rhaenyra kept your kisses behind closed doors, and you would never forget the first time you brought her to a wondrous release against your fingertips, then she repaid the favor with her tongue. It put neither of your virtues at risk, and thus the dalliances continued, bodies tangled together like when you first brought forth into the world.

Her wedding to Ser Laenor approached closer with every turn of the day, and you wondered when your match would come. Lord Jason Lannister had promised you a lion cub along with all the finest trinkets his golden coin could buy. Gwayne Hightower seemed an option as well.

“You should let it slip to Father; you have more negotiating room than I do, yet he allowed me to agree with Ser Laenor,” Rhaenyra said.

You might broach the topic after Rhaenyra’s wedding; you did not wish to push so much onto your father yet. You were not in a hurry to be wed, but would accept such a match when the time arrived. Rhaenyra’s wedding proved to be bloody, and the pressure for her to produce an heir began to take its toll. One morning, your father suggested you decide between Lord Jason or Ser Gwayne, and so that evening, you tucked lemon cakes into the pockets of your robe with a torch in hand as you padded through the secret passage toward your twin’s room. Very gently, you pushed the secret passage open, careful not to make much noise. You stood frozen, the torch blazing in your grip as you took in the sight before you.

Ser Harwin lay beneath your twin as she mounted him, sweat gleaming over her naked body as silver hair cascaded down her back. His large hands cupped her bare breasts as her hips rocked. Angry tears burned your eyes, and the torch clattered to the ground before you spun around on your heels to dash away. Rhaenyra’s gasp filled the room, and your sobs did not escape until you were in the privacy of your own chambers. The saltiness from your tears gathered on your lips as you pressed your face into the golden embroidered pillow. How could she? How dare she?

You nearly jumped out of your skin when a gentle hand settled on your lower back. You twisted away, scooting onto your knees and quickly backing away. Rhaenyra came into view through your blurry, tear-stained vision. 

“Please, do not be upset with me,” she begged. A red robe was draped over her petite frame.

A lump formed in your throat as your fists furled into tight fists. “How could you?” you wailed, vexed by how pathetic you sounded, but you were wounded.

“The pressure…I…Ser Harwin has been so kind to me…”

“Get out!” you roared.

She flinched, her slippers scraping against the floor as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“I cannot bear it if you are upset with me!” she pleaded.

“You care not for the consequences of your actions, Rhaenyra! Leave me! I cannot bear to look upon your face.”

She squeaked, tears rolling down her cheeks as she fled to her chambers. You had never been so angry in your whole life, and never gone so long out of the presence of your twin. Now you understood the power of anger and betrayal. You despised seeing Ser Harwin claim her in such a way, a way that should be yours alone, as foolish as that was. She was yours, and your heart ached. On the morrow, you told your father that you would marry Lord Jason Lannister as the company of a lion club and an escape to Casterly Rock seemed preferable to remaining at court.

~~

“We cannot part when we are at odds, please, sister,” Rhaenyra pleaded when she found you in the gardens, “I am sorry for what I did, knowing your feelings for Ser Harwin.”

You sighed, stood up, and smoothed out your violet gown, leaving your book discarded by the tree. Her words seemed genuine and true, and the look on her face seemed so distraught. You did not wish to leave when there was a crack to be mended. You reached your hands toward hers, and she rushed forward to take hold of them. Her forehead pressed against yours, and her warm breath tickled your cheeks. She was your blood, and that bond ran deep.

“I must admit to being quite shocked. Apart from hurting my feelings, you put yourself at great risk,’ you whispered, stroking your thumbs across the tops of her hands.

“I know, but I must produce an heir and Laenor….”

“Shhh, I understand. You needn’t speak of it, I cannot begin to imagine the pressure you are under.”

“I cannot do it without you by my side, and now you will be leaving me,” she sniffled.

“Casterly Rock is not far on dragonback,” you smiled.

Rhaenyra laughed softly before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Though I have told Father there is no reason to rush the wedding,” you said slyly, and she gave you a playful shove, her laughter ringing brightly through the air.

“I am glad to hear it,” she smiled.

“And truth be told, I was far more jealous of him than you,” you smirked before crashing your lips against hers in a bruising kiss, and later that evening you used your tongue to bring her to pleasure over and over.

~~

“Sister,” you breathed, opening your arms toward Rhaenyra.

Tears glistened on her porcelain skin as she rushed into your embrace, burying her face against your shoulder. Motherhood had softened the hard edges that were formed years ago.

“My heart aches at the loss of Ser Laenor and Lady Laena,” you whispered, stroking her silver braided hair. Two deaths so close together were a tragedy. Lady Laena was claimed by the burden of the birthing bed and dragon fire, and the sea claimed Ser Laenor as his sorrows were drowned.

“What am I to do now that I stand alone?” she sniffled, gripping you tightly.

“You are never alone, sweet sister. I will always be by your side. My husband understands that I must be by your side at Dragonstone during these times and allows the children to accompany me,” you hummed, swaying her softly in her arms.

“He does?” Rhaenyra asked, lifting her head to meet your gaze.

“I have provided him two sons and four daughters, as well as two dragons that have hatched to bond with his heir and firstborn daughter. When I ask for something, he is usually most agreeable.”

“This news soothes my heart, sister,” she smiled as you gently pressed your thumbs to her cheeks to wipe away her tears.

“We have been apart far too long, and while I have made a comfortable home at Casterly Rock, the call of Dragonstone beckons me. We shall fly together again and our children shall laugh and play as we did as children,” you said.

You held her hand during the funeral rites, as Lady Laena’s body was returned to the sea. Ser Laenor’s already rested with the swollen waves. You patted Rhaenyra’s arm before making your rounds, comforting the twins, your Aunt, and Lord Corlys. You made way to Daemon, pausing as you noticed him exchange a sly look with Rhaenyra. You brushed it off, offering condolences before checking on your children, who stood in a sea of dark, golden, and silver tresses with their cousins. 

Jason was lost in his cups, snoring in bed as you wiggled into slippers and a robe, making your way to your sister’s chambers. The two of you wrapped together, her nose snuggled against the back of your neck as you both slumbered. The hour of bat stretched into the hour of the eel, and you woke to an empty bed and commotion brewing throughout Castle Driftmark. Your children were still asleep in their chambers with their attending maids, and you wrapped your robe tighter around your frame as you went to investigate.

Your half-brother, Prince Aemond, had lost an eye at the hand of young Prince Lucerys as the former claimed Vhagar, which caused an upset. Where in the Gods had the guards been? The maester attended to Aemond’s slashed eye while you did your best to calm Luke and looked around for Rhaenyra. Your blood went cold when you saw her come through the door with Daemon on her heels, and both looked disheveled. A dull ache began to creep around the edges of your head, and you closed your eyes as the scene unfolded around you with Alicent’s demand for Luke’s eyes and Rhaenyra’s blood dripping onto the floor.

The last thing you remembered was Rhaenyra calling out for you as you left her behind to deal with her mess.

~~

“What do you mean you return to Casterly Rock?” Rhaenyra growled as she burst through your doors as your ladies made arrangements.

“Leave us, please,” you smiled kindly at them.

“You said you would join me at Dragonstone,” she huffed, and your eyes darted to the wound stitched neatly up her wrist and forearm.

“You seem to enjoy playing me for the fool, Rhaenyra. Your husband is barely cold, yet you run straight into our Uncle’s arms. How you cry and wail at the worry of being alone,” you seethed, fingers curling into fists.

She took a step back, a wounded look on her delicate face.

“It will never be me. I always choose you, and you always choose another,” you whispered as angry tears burned your eyes.

“No….I…you are my heart. My other half, I cannot exist without you. Daemon offers another purpose, a stronger claim.”

You could not fault that. You could not provide marriage and protection, but the hurt still throbbed fresh and raw. You sank into the wooden chair, letting your face drop into your hands as the tears fell freely. Rhaenyra settled her hand on the back of your neck, her fingers curling around your flesh. It made you feel like a part of her again. She guided you to your feet, her soft lips kissing and licking your tears away, drawing you into her. You let her hands dance over your body before unlacing your gown, and you did the same to her.

Her fingers were like gossamer as they stroked your bare skin. She pressed you down until your back rested on the bed, then spread your thighs wide, gently caressing your damp, exposed flesh until you shivered.

“Mine, sister,” she breathed before slipping between your thighs and pressing her mouth against your dripping sex, tongue swirling over your.

Your ringed fingers tangled in her mussed, loose hair as you rocked against her mouth while she suckled on your swollen pearl until white stars burst behind your eyelids. Your ambrosia soaked her mouth and tongue as she greedily lapped it all up, swallowing every drop of you down. It took you a moment to recover before you pounced on her, raking your nails down her back before tenderly kissing the wound on her arm, feeling the raised flesh beneath your tongue. She groaned, twisting into the sweet blur of pain and pleasure.

She was beautiful and flushed as she writhed under your fingers, wisps of her silver hair sticking to her damp cheeks as a throaty moan spilled from her rosy mouth. The sight of her took your breath away.

“So beautiful, sister,” you purred, grazing your thumb over her swollen pearl.

She arched before spilling over your fingertips. You hovered over her, hands resting against the sides of her head before lowering to capture her in a kiss. Your teeth sank into her lower lip, her ruby blood spilling over your tongue. Rhaenyra hissed softly before splitting your lip open as well and drinking you in. One in blood, one in flesh. Two halves of a whole. Nothing could truly rip you apart from her; destiny seemed to draw you close together, no matter what the strife.

“Please come to Dragonstone, I want you by my side,” Rhaenyra begged, gathering you against her naked chest. She was choosing you.

“I can think of nowhere else I’d rather be,” you whispered against the curve of her neck, basking in the warm glow of the morning, with your and Rhaenyra’s fingers intertwined.

“Good morning, my love," he whispered as he caressed her cheek. Today is your first birthday.

Steve responded with a soft babble. The room was small. The walls were a little chipped, the wallpaper was starting to peel in the corners, but she didn't mind. That morning, she had put a fresh flower in a glass jar on the table. And on the stove, a loaf of oatmeal and honey bread was beginning to puff its aroma throughout the apartment.

There were no balloons.

There were no expensive gifts. No music.

Sarah bent down next to her son, lifted him in her arms, kissed him on the forehead, and sang him a little song that his mother sang to her in Ireland.

After breakfast, she sat him in the safest chair in the house: an old wooden chair that she had padded with rags. On the table, she put a small cake she had prepared the night before: flour, egg, a little sugar, and it had a little candle.

“Make a wish, Steve," she said, though she knew she couldn't speak. And she blew out the candle herself. Then she hugged him tightly.

Steve's last birthday

It was a cloudy day. The sky had that gray tone that presages rain. Steve would be 186 years old.

You found him sitting on the porch, a blanket over his legs, a cup of hot tea in his hands, and his eyes lost in the horizon. He was no longer Captain America. He no longer had the serum. He no longer ran, no longer fought, and no longer carried shields.

“Good morning, happy birthday," you said, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“I didn't think I'd get that far," he joked softly.

“And yet, here you are," you replied, intertwining your fingers with his.

You went back inside and brought the cake. Chocolate, your favorite, with a single candle on top“. Come on, Rogers. Make a wish.

He looked at you. And he didn't blow out the candle.

“I've got it," he said, looking at you. It's you. Then he kissed your hand.

You spent the day together. You read old letters. You looked at photographs. He asked you to tell him what it was like the first time you saw him, even though he already knew. He asked you to sit next to him as the afternoon began to cool. His breathing slowed. Calmer.

And then you knew what was going on.

You hugged him tightly. You pressed your face against his neck. You felt his pulse. And you kissed him on the lips.

That was his last birthday. And that was the last kiss.

You were always brought to her under the cover of night. Stars shimmered overhead against a velvety black backdrop as you remained concealed under your cloak, escorted by a member of the City Watch, before being passed to a Kingsguard who guided you the rest of the way. Plenty of coins passed plenty of hands to ensure silence and a blind eye turned. By now, you were used to the routine, following the well-trodden path quietly until you were secure in the Queen Consort’s private chambers. It was only then that you would disrobe, letting the black velvet cloak puddle around your feet.

Alicent rose from her chair by the crackling fire, lifting two goblets filled with sweet Arbor gold before pressing one into your hand.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you murmured before taking a deep swig.

She nodded, swirling hers, the liquid sloshing in the golden cup before she took a well-measured sip. Her dark eyes raked over your body and appearance before reaching out to glide her fingertips down your silver hair.

“It has gotten mussed on your journey. Come, allow me to brush it for you,” she stated, guiding you over to her vanity.

You sat, cradling the cup in your hands as she glided an ivory brush through your hair until it shone like molten silver.

“Much better,” she smiled, allowing her hands to rest on your shoulders, her thumbs brushing the exposed skin. You did not wear the proper gowns that proper ladies did; instead, you were clad in revealing silks chosen for you by Mysaria, which were paid for by your father, no doubt. Being the bastard of Daemon Targaryen did have its benefits.

“I’m happy to please you, Your Grace,” you smiled, your purple eyes gleaming in the soft firelight of the room.

Her hand slipped under your chin, tilting your gaze as she studied you. Her thumb slipped across your lips, and you obediently parted them to draw in her finger.

“You are most pleasing, sweetling, always,” Alicent breathed, her brown eyes soft and almost pleading. You wondered who else saw her this vulnerable. Perhaps the one she loved long ago and lost, the one she pretended that you were.

“What sort of game would you enjoy tonight, Your Grace?” you whispered around her thumb still in your mouth.

The game was always dependent upon her moods. There were times when she took on the skin of a firm, cruel queen who put the princess at her mercy, and other times she was a submissive, disgraced queen at the mercy of the rightful heir who had taken her crown. Sometimes she preferred the role of a strict stepmother punishing her wild stepdaughter, and on the rare occasion, Alicent enjoyed the part of two lovers sharing a passionate night. And there was that one time you were a stern septa who wielded a cane, striking Alicent whenever she messed up a prayer to the Gods.

She withdrew her thumb from your mouth before walking over to the large chest with the Hightower sigil carved into its dark wood and lifted out the golden chains. Ah. Submissive, disgraced queen, it was.

“I am at your mercy this evening,” she whispered, dropping to her knees before you with the chains cradled in her lap.

You stood, removing the chains from her lap and placing them on the bed. An almost cruel smirk slashed across your face like a sharp dagger.

“You won’t require your clothes then. Stand up,” you ordered.

Her lower lip trembled as she stood on shaking legs. You took your time removing her robe and sliding the demure nightgown that covered her from the neck to her ankles until she stood bare before you. Her body was alluring, slender in the waist, yet her backside had a beautiful curve and fullness to it, as did her breasts. Two dusky nipples stood stiff, and a dusting of red curls covered her sex. You lifted the chains as she instinctively stretched out her arms, allowing you to snap the manacles into place. You secured her ankles as well, tugging on the chains to guide her.

She shuffled, the chains tinkling together, until you bent her over the bed with that beautiful backside on perfect display. Her feet just touched the floor as she shifted on her toes, her thighs parting to reveal her already glistening cunt.

“You think to take my place?” you whispered in her ear, bending across her naked body, your pelvis flush against her bare rump.

“P…please, I was misguided,” she whimpered.

“Excuses! Take responsibility for your actions,” you growled, standing up and slapping your hand against her backside.

Alicent gasped and shifted from foot to foot.

“I was greedy. I craved power,” she sniffled. Your hand cracked down thrice more, a lovely pink blossoming over her unblemished ivory skin.

“And what becomes of greedy girls grasping at power?” you asked, raking your nails down her sensitive skin.

She hissed, her body trembling as her pleasure dripped down her thighs, making them sticky.

“They fall, and are punished for it,” Alicent gasped.

“Indeed,” you hummed in agreement, your palm continually smacking her vulnerable, shaking backside until her skin bloomed red and felt like fire beneath your hands.

By the time you finished her punishment, wet tears clung to her minky lashes and streaked her cheeks. Her rosy mouth was bitten and swollen, and she shook as she tried to measure her breathing.

“There, there,” you soothed, gently stroking her enflamed skin, “I will teach you to be a good little servant for your queen.”

Silk puddled around your feet as you stepped out of your dress before climbing onto the bed, settling against the plush ivory pillows, and spreading your thighs wide. Mysaria took a straight razor to you every two weeks, leaving your cunt smooth and bare. You tugged on the chains, watching Alicent scramble further onto the bed until she was positioned between your thighs. How undignified she looked on all fours with a glowing, red arse as her head lowered between your legs. Her pink tongue darted out, swiping gently against your wet skin.

You sighed softly, pressing your cunt closer against her mouth and her tongue delved inside you for a brief moment. It was a sweet pressure gone all too soon.

“You are being sloppy tonight. If you cannot please me, I will not please you,” you scolded, your violet eyes harsh and narrowed.

“I…I’m sorry,” she sniffled, her fiery red hair clinging to her clammy skin.

You toyed with one of your nipples, rolling the flesh between the soft pads of your fingers as you studied her before reaching down to tangle your hand in her hair. You guided her to your breast, her lips wrapping around your pebbled nipple, and she suckled softly. The gentle bite of her teeth grazed over your sensitive flesh.

“There’s my good girl,” you cooed before pressing her back between your splayed thighs.

Alicent bristled at the praise, her mouth eagerly attached against your cunt as her tongue pleasure you. The brisk movements against your swollen pearl made you moan with delight. Your legs shook as the heat built through your body until you crashed into a heavy wave of pleasure and soaked the Queen’s mouth. When you regained your strength and the dizzy feeling disappeared, you pulled Alicent against your chest, her back pressed against your front.

The chains rattled as you pinched her nipples and made her twist and turn. Your fingertips danced down her belly before your palm slipped over her dripping sex to cup it, letting the wetness seep into your skin. Your thumb teased her slit, making her gasp and moan until finally two of your fingers filled her.

“My good girl,” you purred in her ear while your fingers kept a steady pace until she released over them.

She panted, curling in your embrace as she gently lapped and sucked your fingers clean while trembling against you. She was a demure little creature, well spanked, chained, and blissed out, docile and sweet in your arms. You stayed with her for most of the night until the hour of the wolf arrived, and you were snuck back to the streets of silk still under the cover of darkness. A heavy, burlap bag of golden coins was secured beneath your cloak, and you slept peacefully after a cup of sweet wine, wondering when you would be summoned again.

~~

Her hand was tight around your neck, golden rings glistening in the candlelight. Bruises would be left, no doubt. Purple and blue ones that you would run your fingers over as you rutted against your hand until your eyes rolled in the back of your head. She was no longer Queen Consort, but now the Dowager Queen as Helaena slipped into the previous role. King Viserys rotted in the ground, and all hell threatened to break loose. Alicent was not the docile doe tonight. Instead, she was an angry queen with fire boiling inside her as red as her hair.

“You will head my instructions,” she growled. She donned her golden crown and emerald green gown threaded with gold. Every inch a regal queen.

“Yes, Your Grace,” you gasped, desire leaking down your thighs as you trembled, naked, in her tight grasp.

“You will obey me and remember your place,” she seethed.

“I would not dare disobey the queen,” you whispered.

“Yet you’ve done so at every turn,” she lectured, bending you across the chaise.

“Then I beg for your forgiveness, Your Grace,” you pleaded.

Alicent scoffed, stroking one hand down your bare arse. “Perhaps you shall have it, if I’m feeling merciful.”

“You are most gracious, Your Grace,” you breathed out, your naked breasts pressed tightly against the cushion beneath you.

The tawse stung with a duel sharp bite with each lash she gave to your vulnerable backside. You were no stranger to pain and enjoyed these sorts of sessions with a variety of clients, but preferred them at the queen’s hand. You loved it when this side of her came out, and you bore the consequences. It spurred the desire boiling in your lower belly, and your pearl throbbed with need. By the time she finished, your arse was on fire and beaded with a few welts. Marks you would wear with pride, along with the bruises on your neck. She nudged your thighs further apart.

“Glistening just like a disgusting whore,” she growled, swiping a finger down your dripping cunt.

You heard the rustling of fabric, gasping when her cunt rubbed against your enflamed backside. Her wetness seeped onto your hot skin as she rutted against you. She kept her skirts bunched on one hand while the other gripped your hip as her pelvis slapped against the curve of your arse over and over until she reached her peak, leaving a sticky trail of her release on your skin. 

“I can never stay angry with you,” she whispered, her hand tenderly stroking your abused and sticky skin.

“I am most thankful for that, Your Grace,” you replied, need twisting through your stomach.

She had you remain bent over the chaise, knees digging into the stone beneath them as her fingers toyed with your soaked cunt. She teased your pearl with slow, dragging circles before two fingers suddenly filled you. It did not take long for you to spill over her fingers as the desire had been building inside you all night, and you needed but a simple push to topple over the edge. The rest of the night was a blur as the two of you took turns pleasing each other until exhaustion took over, leaving flesh raw and aching. When you returned to Mysaria’s pleasure house with a leather pouch overflowing with coin, you downed a glass of sweet wine as your fingers plunged between your thighs, stroking your raw, overstimulated flesh. At the same time, your other hand traced the bruises on your neck before toppling into sleep.

~~

You were surprised one afternoon when a hooded woman appeared with a simple green gown for you to wear and escorted you to the Red Keep. In broad daylight? Mysaria resided on Dragonstone now, and you fended for yourself just fine, as your father’s and Queen Alicent’s coin afforded you a good life. You were led through the main entrance and escorted into a solar that resides in The Tower of the Hand. You blinked with surprise as you stood before Queen Alicent, Ser Criston Cole, and who you could only presume was Prince Regent Aemond, judging from the black patch covering his right eye. You lowered yourself in an appropriate curtsey and waited for one of them to speak.

Alicent offered a kind smile. “We have a proposition for you. We require your service.”

Surprise and confusion seemed an understatement as to what you were feeling. “I would be happy to assist the crown in whatever they require of me,” you responded, unsure of what you were getting yourself into.

“The pretender is using sullied blood to lay claim to dragons to grow her army,” Aemond stated bluntly, anger seething through every part of his body.

“I had heard those rumors,” you admitted, keeping the part that you had pondered voyage to Dragonstone to attempt for yourself.

“I informed Aemond that I was aware of a young woman who was the bastard daughter of Daemon Targaryen, that mayhaps might try to claim one of the young dragons that lives in the dragonpit,” Alicent explained when it became clear that Aemond would not. He was not wholly committed to this particular cause, but numbers were not in their favour as of this moment.

Your eyes widened. “I would be willing to try, but I cannot guarantee a bond,” you said, your gaze locking onto Alicent’s and becoming lost in those doe eyes. A soft smile spread across the Dowager Queen’s face.

“That is all we can ask and hope for, the attempt with the promising outcome that you will bond with Azurelean,” Ser Criston Cole chimed in, giving the Prince Regent a pointed look.

“I have not heard that one’s name before,” you smiled.

“A hatchling of Dreamfyre named by Princess Helaena when she was small, who was without a name for five years before. She could not decide if the dragon was the shade of azure or cerulean, thus the hybrid name,” Criston clarified, and you noted the fondness in his voice and the softness in his eyes.

“I look forward to meeting her,” you said, your cheeks turning hot as you pondered why you said such a foolish thing.

Aemond scoffed. “If you’re lucky, she won’t burn you to death,” he said, spinning on the heels of his boots before leaving the solar.

“I apologize for the Prince Regent’s behavior, but we are out of options and we must meet dragon with dragon. The dragonkeepers and I will accompany you to the pit, and if the bond is made, then we will ensure you learn the commands and training for battle,” Criston said.

“Thank you, Ser Criston,” Alicent smiled before the man left.

Once alone, Alicent rushed forward to gather you in her arms.

“I am sorry for the secrecy,” she whispered.

“I understand,” you replied. You had been surrounded by secrecy your whole life.

“Your agreement in this matter means a great deal to me,” she said, running her thumb over your knuckles.

“Who could turn down the possibility of having a dragon?” you teased.

She chuckled softly. “And now I can have you in my presence more often.”

Your heart thrummed in your chest. You never imagined a Queen falling in love with a whore. “Another wonderful prospect.”

Your lips melted against hers in a soft, rosy kiss. You were no longer filling the void of the woman from the past, but embodied the woman of Alicent’s future. It would remain a secret, but you were not a stranger to that and did not require a public declaration of her love. The words passed between the two of you were enough.

You spent your days strengthening your bond with Azurelean and committing the Valyrian commands to memory. You spent your nights warming Alicent’s bed, committing the map of her naked body to memory. There were times Prince Aemond scowled behind you while in the dragonpit, a sharp barb or insult falling with ease from his tongue. They were easy enough to ignore as you reminded yourself that your tongue was buried in his mother’s cunt the night before. Your fingers brushed over the glimmering blue scales of your new dragon as you turned to face him.

“You whine just like your mother,” you smiled, watching the color drain from his face as the confusion took over.

The wind whipped through your loose silver hair as you urged the black mare between your legs to gallop faster. She was sleek with long legs and met your command obediently as she gained speed. It was a rare time when you were allowed to escape the confines of the city of Oldtown, enjoying the respite of lush greenery and open spaces, greeted by the howls of the Whispering Sound. Your pale yellow dragon flew overhead, and she was the only reason you were permitted to go alone, though you suspected a few Hightower guards lingered through the hills.

When your mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, took the Iron Throne after King Viserys I's death, you were sent to foster at the Reach with the Hightowers as a broker of peace, as a sign that your mother did not intend to plunge the realm into war. Your twin brother, Jacaerys, remained behind as he was her heir and should be trained appropriately as her successor. It had broken your heart to leave your family behind at the age of six and ten, but you put on a brave facade and accepted your role despite the first heartbreak you ever felt.. Lord Ormund had high hopes of marrying you to his eldest son, Lyonel, who was two years your younger, but you had no interest in the silly boy.

Your Uncle Daeron had also been sent to ward at Oldtown when he was much younger, and there were hopes you might marry him as well, but again, he held no interest in you. You much preferred his dazzling blue dragon, Tessarion. Your heart belonged to another, a match you were certain neither side would approve of, but your affections belonged to Ser Gwayne Hightower, a man closer in age to your mother than you.

He had been the one to welcome you first to the Reach, ever the proper gentleman as his lips grazed your knuckles and his warm, dark eyes locked onto yours.

“It is a pleasure to welcome you to Oldtown, princess,” he murmured, a soft smile spreading over his face. Even though his cousin, Lord Ormund, was head of House Hightower, Gwayne had accepted the position of making sure you settled well in Oldtown.

You found yourself charmed by his pleasant nature and oddly endeared to his trepidation around your dragon, despite Daeron having his own, and should have gotten the man used to them by now.

“You needn’t be fearful, Ser,” you smiled, stroking Sunburst’s butter yellow head, “Come, let her grow used to you.”

You motioned him closer, and Gwayne took measured steps, straightening his spine before allowing you to guide his hand to your dragon’s massive head. She huffed softly, but made no move to pull away as your hand stroked her side.

“She won’t burn you unless I command it,” you said cheekily, and it made Gwayne emit a stifled laugh.

“That leaves me most reassured, princess,” he teased, his dark eyes sparkling.

The next morning, you woke to a gift of a shimmering ruby necklace that shimmered like fire in the sunlight, and a seamstress to construct a new gown for you at Ser Gwayne’s expense and behest.

Two years had passed since you first arrived in the Reach, and you had grown comfortable in your new home, though you still yearned for your family. You could not put off the prospect of marriage much longer, either. A decision would have to be made, and it plagued your mind, sending you into the wide open to clear your mind. Sunburst swooped down, her pale yellow body blooming a richer, dazzling gold as the sun struck her, illuminating her orange membranes and making her appear as her namesake.

She landed on the lush, green ground with a loud thud as you dismounted your horse, letting her graze as you unpacked a blanket from the saddle bag after tugging your riding gloves off with your teeth. You removed a pomegranate from the bag as well, using the dagger strapped to your calf to split it open before scooping up the bloody red seeds from the fruit and popping them beneath your teeth. Sunburst stretched you her long, slender body, soaking in the warmth as a soft huff escaped her. You gently nudged her massive maw with your boot, making her peel open a green eye before she returned to her slumber.

After consuming the pomegranate, you wiped your ruby-stained fingers and hands clean with a cloth before settling on the blanket and pondering what future you wished to take shape for you. You wondered if writing your mother a letter to plead your case in marrying Gwayne Hightower would soften her resolve and ultimately receive her permission. It couldn’t hurt. You twisted the slender Valyrian steel ring around your finger and sighed.

Sunburst rumbled in her sleep, soothing you as you closed your eyes and let the pleasant weather carry you off into a light slumber. The thunderous sound of hooves, followed by Sunburst’s loud roar, startled you awake.

“Lykiri,” you soothed, reaching out to touch her, and recognized the Hightower Sigil on the green tabard and the spark of red of the rider’s hair as the sunlight hit it. Gwayne.

He slowed his chestnut horse down to a steady gait as he approached.

“Couldn’t let me enjoy my solitude for long?” you teased, patting the horse’s hindquarters.

“A missive arrived from Queen Rhaenyra. She is calling for the noble houses to come swear their obsience to Prince Jacaerys as her heir,” Gwayne explained.

“News that could wait until I returned,” you sighed, giving a playful roll of your eyes because you were pleased to see him.

“I suppose, yet she sent a missive for your eyes only, and I thought to deliver it personally,” Gwayne said, procuring the sealed parchment from the saddle bag and pressing it into your hands.

“That is most kind,” you smiled, turning the letter over in your hand before breaking the seal.

My dearest daughter,

I am glad Oldtown is treating you well as the years pass, and that the Hightowers have been the most gracious hosts. You are missed dearly at court, your presence leaves a hole that none could replace. I hope you have understood why I made the decision to send you away. I only mean to keep peace in the realm, and you played a key role.

I have called Lord Ormund to court and have insisted that he bring you as well, for I long to hold you in my embrace again, dear girl. There is another pressing matter at hand involving your betrothal. A matter that I dearly hope we can figure out together.

I shall see you soon, my sweetling.

Your fingers traced over her signature, and you smiled. It would be good to be with your family again, and an opportunity had presented itself.

“Good news?” Gwayne asked, resting his hand on your shoulder.

“Yes, and I’m delighted you delivered this, for I have a matter to discuss with you,” you smiled, turning to face him.

“Now I am most curious,” he chuckled, his cheeks tinging pink.

“My mother wishes to discuss bethrothal opportunities, and I would like to present you as the optimal choice,” you stated.

“I would love nothing more than to be your husband, yet…”

“Yet?” You raised an eyebrow.

“You wish to remain forever tied to an old man like me.” A smirk twitched in the corner of his mouth.

“You are still in the prime of life, and I cannot begin to imagine my life with anyone else. My heart is yours, Gwayne Hightower, and it has been since the day we met,” you whispered.

“And mine is yours, princess,” he replied, tracing his thumb over the curve of your cheek.

“I very much look forward to the day you call me wife instead of princess,” you teased, furling your fingers around his tabard and drawing him close for a passionate kiss.

His arms looped around your waist as his warm mouth claimed yours.

~~

You could hardly believe how big Senya had gotten as you scooped your two year old half sister into your arms, nuzzling her scaled cheek. Her silver curls brushed her shoulders, one eye of green and one eye of violet sparkling. She instinctively knew who you were, and you suspected your brothers had informed her well.

“It is just you and I, dear sister, just the two of us amongst this sea of strapping boys,” you whispered into her ear, making her giggle, though you doubted if she truly understood you.

You balanced the smell girl on your hip, taking turns hugging your brothers. You were amazed at how fast the younger four had grown while Jacaerys looked the same. Baela was glowing, in the mid-stages of her pregnancy, and everyone bustled with excitement about the babe’s arrival.

“Pregnancy suits you, sweet sister,” you smiled, kissing her cheek.

“I will be glad once it’s over,” she chuckled softly.

You spent the afternoon with your siblings, Aunt Helaena, and her children. Jaehaerys seemed quite taken with little Visenya. Rhaenyra had permitted Prince Aegon to explore the free cities on the back of Sunfyre. Prince Aemond now donned a snowy cloak and served as a trusted member of the Queensguard, serving as Jacaerys’s shield. It was humiliating at first, but Prince Aemond took to his role with honor. Gwayne had visited with his sister, Dowager Queen Alicent, and his father, Ser Otto Hightower, no longer Hand, but Rhaenyra allowed him a place on her small council as Master of Laws. Rhaenyra had insisted that her father would not want bloodshed, her half-siblings, or Alicent, to be spat out and disgraced, so she allowed them to reside in the Red Keep.

Later that evening, your mother held a feast for the family, Daemon loyally by her side. You had been taken by surprise when she had married him so quickly after your father’s, Laenor, death, but when you saw the love they held for each other in their eyes, you knew it was meant to be. All you desired from that day was to find the one who looked at you in such a way, and now you had in Gwayne. He gazed over the roasted duck and leeks, smiling as he locked eyes with you from his place by Alicent’s side. Your heart thrummed in your chest.

When the feast was over, your mother whisked you away to her chambers to have a private moment with you.

“Finally, I may hold you in my arms,” she smiled, drawing you close.

You melted in her warm embrace, letting your cheek press against her shoulder.

“I have missed you,” she sighed, stroking your silver hair, “I was hoping we might broach the topic on the morrow before gathering the great council.”

You lifted your head, gently stepping back out of her embrace. “There is no need. My heart has belonged to one for two years now, and I hope you will approve.”

Rhaenyra looked rather surprised. “Whom?”

“Gwayne Hightower,” you stated evenly.

Your mother paced silently for a bit, twisting her rings around her fingers and lost in her thoughts, before stepping over to hold your face in her hands.

“Would that be your true desire? He is much older than you,” she stated.

“As Daemon is older than you,” you quipped, making her laugh abruptly and shake her head.

“Well, I can broker no argument there, I simply want to be sure that Gwayne is not forcing your hand in this matter,” she clarified.

“No one can force me to do anything, apart from you,” you teased.

“And I will always be grateful for the sacrifice you made, and if your heart lies with Gwayne Hightower, then I shall agree to the match. I will not deny you true love,” she replied before kissing your forehead.

Tears of happiness dribbled down your cheeks. “Thank you, mother.”

You felt giddy as you rushed down the corridors, skirts billowing behind you as you navigated through the secret tunnels toward the hidden door that led to Gwayne’s chambers. You dissolved into laughter at his terrified shriek when you emerged.

“Seven Hells!” he yelped, stumbling back with a dagger drawn in his hand.

“It is only me,” you shrugged.

“You nearly frightened me to death, and it is most improper for you to be in here,” he scolded, his cheeks flushed crimson.

“I assure you, I have a very good reason!”

“I am waiting to hear it.” He placed the dagger down and folded his arms across his chest.

“My mother has agreed to our betrothal,” you beamed.

His expression softened, and he stepped wordlessly over to you, scooping you into his arms and kissing you fiercely, with more passion and fire than previously experienced. It drew all the air out of your lungs and made your head spin.

“That is most wondrous news,” he whispered against your flushed mouth.

An invisible spark cracked through the room as passions were brought to a head.

“Take me,” you begged, your voice shaking as heat pooled in your belly.

You expected another scolding and for him to send you away with a smack to the backside, but he did not. Instead, he carried you over to his bed and placed you down.

“I will not spill in you, I shall save that for our wedding night,” he whispered before undressing.

You could not sit still, rolling to your feet to help him as your hands explored his pale skin dotted with a few pink, mottled scars. You kissed each one, very fond of the one on the curve of his hip where a lance had pierced through the weak point of his armor. He spun you around, taking care to unlace your gown and lay you bare before him. His large hands cupped your breasts, stroking your velvety, tawny nipples until they drew stiff. You whimpered as the heat in your belly pooled lower.

Your hand slipped down his stomach to stroke his cock, clumisly at first before growing more confident. You turned, letting your hair brush against his nose and the swell of your bottom press against his stiff cock before bending across the bed.

“No, I want to see you,” Gwayne insisted, using his strong arms to flip you onto your back.

You gasped, thighs parting for him as wetness gathered between your legs.

He climbed between your splayed thighs, the tip of his cock teasing your opening. There was an intense pressure, uncomfortable at first as Gwayne slowly entered you, but once you grew accustomed to it, it felt rather good to be filled by your love. Gwayne’s forehead pressed against yours.

“How do you feel?” he asked, one hand stroking your hip.

“Full, but rather nice,” you smiled, reaching up to cup his face.

He gave a slow roll of his hips, thrusting deeper inside and making you whimper. He continued the slow, steady movements, making you gasp and moan. You shook with pleasure, mouth agape as the heat coiled into a tight band, threatening to snap. His hand found its way between your legs, finding a delicious sweet spot to tenderly rub that made the band snap in your body as an intense wave of pleasure crashed over you.

“Beautiful,” Gwanye whispered in your ear, rutting against you before slipping out and allowing his seed to coat your belly.

You felt warm and hazy, toes curling and mewling happily as you remained spread naked on the bed. Now you understood why people enjoyed this act so much.

~~

You were married to Gwayne in the Starry Sept of Oldtown in a grand affair attended by nobles and smallfolk alike. Sunburst flew overhead, blazing the sky with hot golden flames to mark the occasion. True to his word, Gwayne spilled his seed inside you on the wedding night, and nine moons later, your first daughter was born. Your union proved most fruitful as the Gods blessed you with ten children in all. Gwayne, being unable to keep his hands off you, certainly assisted in the matter.

You woke one morning, the pads of your fingers tracing over the lines and indentations of his face, a map of the passage of time. Yet it hadn’t robbed him of his handsomeness. His lashes fluttered, chest rising and falling with each gentle breath he took. Your thumb traced over his plush lips before gently brushing a lock of hair from out of his eyes. The once rich copper color had faded to an almost rosy gold, and soon the snowy white would set in.

“I can feel you staring at me,” Gwayne murmured, his eyes still closed.

“Simply admiring my handsome husband,” you smiled, nuzzling the curve of his neck.

“I’m glad to meet your approval after all this time, wife.” Oh, you loved how he called you such, even after all these years. He drew you close, his hand settling on your lower back.

“I fear you shall never fall out of it,” you giggled.

“Then I am truly the luckiest man alive,” he grinned, rolling on top of you to kiss you passionately.

You did not protest as his mouth moved lower, as he slipped your cotton sheath up under your arms. His warm mouth suckled each of your stiff nipples tenderly before kissing down your stomach, a bit softer and rounder from the birth of ten children, though your thighs remained strong from all your riding. His tongue delved between your folds, stroking your wet flesh and drawing soft mewls from your lips. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he brought you to pleasure with his tongue.

“My favorite way to break my fast,” he said wickedly as his head emerged from between your thighs, letting his cheek rest against your stomach.

You chuckled softly, basking in the warm sunlight that streamed through the room.

Your first heartbreak had been from the separation of your family, which led to the birth of a new one. The last heartbreak you suffered was when the Stranger claimed Gwayne’s life, but in a peaceful way, in bed with his wife and children surrounding him.