#targcest

The afternoon spilled over the Red Keep atop Aegon's Hill as you adjusted your stance, planting your feet firmly on the ground, your wooden sword rising into a guard position before your younger brother.

"No, Egg. Not like that." Your voice was patient, though you'd already corrected that movement a dozen times. "Your wrist is still limp. The enemy'll disarm you before you know it."

Aegon, all of ten years old, furrowed his brow as he tightened his fingers around the practice sword's hilt. His dishevelled hair fell over blue eyes.

"But I'm trying, sister." He swung a clumsy blow toward you, which you deflected with an almost lazy movement. "You're much taller than me."

You laughed, a sweet sound that echoed softly among the courtyard's colonnades. Your dress billowed with the movement, the deep neckline revealing more skin than would've been proper for sword practice, but there was no one there to see, only Egg. And Egg didn't care about such things.

"Height's no excuse, little one." You lowered your sword and tucked a strand of your brother's hair back with an affectionate gesture. "I was smaller than you when I started training. Remember what Ser Roland Crakehall always says?"

Aegon sighed, repeating wearily: "'The sword's an extension of the arm, and the arm's an extension of the will.'" He looked up at you, a shy smile forming on his lips. "You're better than Ser Roland, sister. He only shouts."

"He shouts because he knows you can do more." You ruffled his hair, ignoring his indignant protest. "Come on, one more time. Show me what you've learned."

As Egg took his stance again, his small body tense with concentration, he remarked: "I heard Father talking today. In the Small Council."

Your eyebrow arched, but you kept your guard position.

"Oh? And what did the little rat hear?"

"I'm not a rat." Egg huffed, but curiosity won out over offence. "He was talking with Uncle Baelor about... about a lord from Dorne. With lots of lands. He said you're going to marry him."

Your heart lurched in your chest, not from surprise, exactly. You'd known your father, Prince Maekar, had been negotiating your future for months. Dorne was an important alliance, a territory that had always resisted the dragons, and another Targaryen married to one of its lords...

"And what else did Father say?" You dodged Egg's blow with a fluid movement, but your mind was no longer fully on the training.

"That the lands are rich, that it's sunny all year round, and there're fruits there we don't even have names for here." Egg lowered his sword. "You're not gonna leave me here with Aerion, are you? Promise?"

The smile that bloomed on your lips was genuine, that warmth only your youngest brothers could awaken. You knelt before him, bringing yourself to his height, and held his little face between your hands.

"I promise, Aegon. I'll show you every bit of those lands. We'll eat fruits you've never seen, walk under a sun that never sets, and you'll train with the finest Dornish warriors." You kissed his forehead. "But only if you promise to keep training. I don't want you embarrassing me there, alright?"

"Alright!" Egg agreed, grabbing his wooden sword again. "I'll be so good they'll think I'm a real knight!"

You laughed, rising and taking up your own sword.

"That's my little warrior. Now, show me that move again. This time with spirit, like I'm a Blackfyre traitor."

Egg laughed, and the sound was so pure, so childish, that for a moment you could forget the weight of the responsibilities you carried. Could forget the nights you woke with your body burning, with a man's name on your lips, with the sinful certainty that you desired something you ought to repudiate.

Could forget Aerion.

For a moment only, because then he appeared.

You felt his presence before you saw him, a tension settling in your shoulders, an uncomfortable heat starting in the centre of your chest and spreading. When you looked up at the stone steps leading to the courtyard, your heart stopped for an instant.

Aerion was there.

The same clothes as last night: the dark tunic partly open, the riding breeches, the dusty boots. His silver hair was more dishevelled than usual, and even from a distance you could see the flushed tone of his cheeks, the hazy brightness in his violet eyes.

Drunk. Or nearly.

He must have come straight from one of the Street of Silk's brothels, the ones he frequented regularly and about which your father preferred to feign ignorance. Last night, he'd been in your chamber, not to touch you, but to watch you while you bathed. He'd stood there, his eyes burning your naked skin while you, pretending not to notice, slowly washed every inch of your body.

And then he'd left, without a word, without a touch... as he always did.

"Look here." Aerion's voice echoed in the empty courtyard, slurred. "Our little princess playing at knights with the runt of the litter."

Egg stiffened beside you, his fingers gripping the wooden sword so tightly his knuckles went white. You placed a hand gently on his shoulder, a gesture for him to calm down.

"Aerion." Your voice came out controlled, polite. The older sister who knew how to handle everything. "Didn't know you'd returned to the Keep."

"Returned?" He descended the steps with slow, lazy strides. "Never left, dear sis. Just... occupied myself with matters more interesting than training children."

"Egg's learning." You positioned yourself slightly before your younger brother, a protective gesture that didn't escape Aerion's notice. "And he's a better student than you were at his age."

Aerion stopped a few paces away, and even half-drunk, even coming from a night full of whores, he was absurdly beautiful. The sunlight bathed his perfect features, his strong jaw, the lips you knew so well. Lips that had been on every part of your body.

"Oh, really?" He tilted his head, devouring you with his gaze. "Then show me. Show me what little Aegon's learned."

Before anyone could react, Aerion lunged forward and snatched the wooden sword from Egg's hands. The boy recoiled instinctively, his eyes wide, not with fear (Egg wasn't afraid of Aerion, only harboured a deep, ill-disguised hatred for him), but with surprise.

"Give it back!" Egg demanded, his voice thin but brave. "That sword's mine!"

"There." Aerion tossed the sword away, listening to the thud of wood against stone. "Not anymore. Go play elsewhere, little runt. I want to talk with your sister."

Egg didn't move immediately. He looked up at you, seeking guidance, and you felt your heart clench. The boy admired you, trusted you. And you were going to fail him now, because you couldn't tear your gaze from Aerion, couldn't think of anything but the way his open tunic revealed his collar, the start of his muscular chest, the line of his neck you loved to bite.

"It's alright, Egg." Your voice came out hoarser than you'd intended. "Go. I'll find you later."

The boy hesitated, his eyes moving between you and your brother as if he loathed the idea of leaving you alone, afraid of what Aerion might do to you. Then, without a word, he turned and left the courtyard, his small footsteps echoing until they disappeared.

You and Aerion were alone.

You waited to be sure Aegon wasn't nearby, and Aerion approached slowly, closing any distance between you. His smell reached your nostrils, something like wine, sweat, smoke, and more. Something you knew intimately... the smell of his voracious desire.

"So." He stopped before you, so close you could feel the heat emanating from his body. "You think you can teach our little runt to fight with a sword..."

His hand moved with the speed of a snake's strike, his fingers finding your dress's neckline and pulling. The fine fabric gave way slightly, exposing more of the already-revealed skin, and you caught your breath.

"...dressed in these clothes?"

His smile was cruel, but you felt the heat spread through your belly, felt your nipples harden beneath the fabric, felt your body betray any pretence of innocence you might still try to maintain.

"It's only a dress." Your voice came out steady, despite your racing heart. "And Aegon needs to learn."

"Aegon needs to learn?" Aerion repeated mockingly. His fingers were still at your neckline, slowly tracing the edge of the fabric, his fingertips grazing your skin. "And what else can you teach, dear sis? Besides holding swords, I mean."

You swallowed hard.

"Many things."

"Hmm." He leaned in, his lips so close to your ear you felt his warm breath. "Because, you see, with that dress..." His other hand found your waist, pulling you against him in a brusque movement. "...any man would think you're offering something more. Something one doesn't teach younger brothers."

"Aerion..."

"Keep quiet." He admonished. He pulled back slightly, his eyes roaming your body with a hunger that made your stomach drop. "You know what I see when I look at you now?"

You shook your head, unable to speak.

"I see the tips of your breasts nearly popping out." His voice was meant only for the two of you. "Even in this ridiculous dress, I can see perfectly how hard they are. I bet if I touched..."

He didn't touch. He never touched when he provoked you like this, only watched, waiting for your reaction.

"...they'd be nice and firm between my fingers. Ready to be bitten." He smiled, slow and wicked. "But that's not why you're here, is it? You're here playing at being the responsible sister. The perfect daughter. The Dornish bride."

The mention of Dorne made something shift in your expression, and Aerion noticed immediately. His smile widened.

"Ah, so you already know. Father didn't waste time." He circled you slowly, and you felt his eyes burning your back. "A Dornish lord. With many lands. You're going south, to the sun, away from here."

"Yes." The word came out louder than you'd intended. "I'm going to marry and have a life."

"A life." Aerion stopped behind you, so close you felt his back almost touching yours. "Away from me."

Again there was silence; you could feel his hot breath on your neck, on your nape, sending a shiver through you that made you reprimand yourself.

Then he moved.

His hand slid down your body, squeezing your breasts through the fabric, reckless and senseless, anyone could see. He squeezed hard enough to wrench a gasp from you that made him withdraw his hands and go for the wooden sword in your grip; before you could react, Aerion disarmed you with a brusque movement, and suddenly you were fighting, not really, but like the games you'd known since childhood.

He struck your ribs with the palm of his hand, and you let out a surprised squeak. You tried to dodge, but he was faster, stronger, and his proximity muddled your senses.

"Come on, little princess." His voice was a sing-song provocation. "Show me what you teach our brother. Show me how you fight."

He struck your shoulder, and you staggered sideways, a laugh escaping your lips despite everything. It was absurd. It was wrong. It was exactly what you wanted.

"You're drunk, Aerion." You managed to dodge his next blow, surprising him. "And you're cheating."

"Am I?" He feigned innocence, but he was relishing the sadistic fun. "I think you're just getting slow. Too worried about Dornishmen and marriages."

He struck your leg, and you nearly fell, balancing yourself at the last moment. The dress swirled with the movement, and you saw his gaze darken as more skin was revealed.

"Stop it." You laughed, breathless. "I'll end up hurt."

"Hurt?" He advanced again, and this time you couldn't dodge. His body collided with yours, and his hands grabbed your arms, immobilising you. "You don't even know what hurt is."

You remained like that for a moment, panting, pressed together. His body was hard against yours, and you felt... felt exactly what you shouldn't. Felt the proof of his desire pressing against your belly.

Then he turned you around.

It was quick, rough. Suddenly you were with your back to him, your back pressed against his chest, and his hand was on your neck. Not squeezing — not the way you liked — just holding, just reminding you who was in charge.

"You're trembling." He whispered in your ear, hoarse, low. "Trembling like you do when I'm inside you."

"Aerion..." Your name on his lips came out as a sigh. "You know we should've stopped by now."

"Remember how you moaned?" His lips brushed your ear, and you felt his teeth lightly nip your lobe. "How you begged for more? How you pleaded?"

The hand on your neck tightened slightly, just enough to make your breath catch.

"You're going to marry a Dornishman." The word was spat out, as if you weren't also Dornish. "You'll lie down for him, open your legs for him, let him..."

"And you'll be nothing but a lover."

"...touch what's mine." He finished, ignoring your attempt to interrupt. "Because it's mine, isn't it? Always has been. Since the first night, little sis."

You felt the truth of every uttered word burning in your chest, because since the first night, the one he touched you during dinner, the one he'd entered your chamber, the one he'd kissed you with terrifying and pleasurable hunger, the night he'd deflowered you before Balerion's skull and made you scream his name.

Every night since then — when he called you to his room, when he sucked you until you forgot your own name, when he rode you as if he were a dragon and you his rider — you'd never been able to forget what happened.

"You might not admit it, but you'll miss me, sister. If not me, then how I'm the only one who makes you feel like you're riding a dragon." He grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "You won't feel that with anyone else."

"And neither will you." You freed yourself from his grip, bringing your lips close. "I hope you wither away looking for a dragon like me."

He grabbed you by the throat, and you saw a sadistic smile, the same smile that appeared when you had rough sex in hidden corners during feasts.

Aerion pressed his body against yours, and you saw the burning desire, the obsession to see you beg and crawl for him. You held his hand, trying to loosen his grip.

Then a voice echoed toward you both.

"Aerion."

You separated brusquely, like when Egg was caught handling Prince Baelor's sword. You turned, bringing your hand to your neck, catching your breath, and saw your father standing at the courtyard entrance, his severe expression — the one you knew so well — hiding whatever emotion he might be feeling.

Maekar was a man of few words and much weight in each one. His gaze moved from you to Aerion, and you saw the weariness in his eyes, something that looked like disappointment. As if he'd already expected this.

"Father." Aerion spoke first, his voice dangerously casual. "Didn't hear you arrive."

"Clearly." Maekar entered the courtyard. He stopped a few paces away, his violet eyes (the same as all his children, except Egg's) fixed on Aerion. "I need to speak with you. And with your sister."

Aerion arched an eyebrow.

"About what?"

"About the future." Maekar shifted his gaze from his son to you. For a moment, he was just your father. The man who'd taught you to ride, who'd held you when your mother died, who'd always trusted you to care for your younger siblings. "But first, Aerion, you may withdraw. I'll speak with you later."

For an instant, you saw the fire in Aerion's gaze, the one that led him to do terrible things, things that shocked even the court. But he only smiled, that false, polite smile he used when he wanted to hide what he truly felt.

"As you wish, Father." He bowed in a mocking reverence, and before leaving, his eyes met yours for a moment.

Just a moment, but it was enough for you to feel the heat return, to remember the sensation of his hand on your neck, his body against yours.

Then he left, and you were alone with your father.

Maekar watched you with that expression you knew so well, the same one he wore when he needed to say something difficult, something that might hurt you.

"Come." He extended his hand, and you took it, allowing him to guide you to a nearby stone bench. You sat side by side, and for a moment he just held your hand in his, as he did when you were small. "Are you alright?"

The question was simple, but you knew what he was really asking: Did he hurt you? Did he touch you in ways he shouldn't? Do you need me to intervene?

"I'm fine, Father." You squeezed his hand. "We were just... playing. Like when we were children."

Maekar sighed, a deep, weary sound.

"You're not a child anymore. And your brother isn't either." He turned his face to look at you. "I see what you do, I have eyes and ears throughout this keep, and I see the way you..." He hesitated. "The way you respond."

Heat rose to your cheeks, but you didn't look away. You wouldn't lie to him. You couldn't.

"I know what you're thinking." Your voice came out low but firm. "And I know... I know I shouldn't. But..."

"But it is what it is." Maekar finished for you. "I understand more than you imagine. When I was young, I also..." He shook his head, dismissing the memory. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're going to marry, my daughter. You're going to Dorne, you're going to build a life away from here. Away from your brother."

The mention of marriage made something tighten in your chest, but you kept your expression calm.

"I know, Father, and I'm content with that just be certain you've chosen well?"

"I chose the best I could find one your mother knew well." Maekar smiled, and it was a genuine smile, full of love. "A lord of rich lands, with influence throughout the region. He's older, but respectful. He'll treat you well."

"Older?" You arched an eyebrow. "How much older?"

"Old enough to be wise. Young enough to give you as many children as you want." Maekar squeezed your hand. "You deserve a good life, with a man who respects you. Not..." He hesitated again. "Not what Aerion could offer."

You understood what he didn't say. Not what Aerion would offer, because Aerion offered nothing but nights of pleasure, broken promises, and bastards.

"He'll go to Lys." Maekar continued. "He'll spend some time there, to become a better man." The word was spoken with disgust. "If he wants to make bastards, let him do it far from here. Maybe he'll even prefer to stay there."

"I don't think Lys will make him a better man, it's a place full of people like us." You replied, fearing Aerion might find someone to replace you, someone who'd make him forget what you'd had.

Maekar looked at you for a long moment, and his answer was too honest to be comforting.

"I don't know, my daughter." He sighed. "You look so much like your mother... in every way that matters. The same kindness, the same strength, the same ability to see the best in people." He stroked your face with his free hand. "But Aerion... I don't know who he takes after. My father was hard, but not cruel. My brother has his flaws, but this... this contempt, this recklessness. Sometimes I look at him and wonder if I failed in something. If I could have done differently."

"Father."

"No, no." He interrupted gently. "I don't want you to worry about that. I want you to think about your future. About Dorne, your marriage, the life you'll build." He pulled you into a hug, and you let yourself sink into the warmth of his chest, the familiar smell. "You deserve to be happy, my daughter. You deserve someone who loves you as you deserve."

You closed your eyes and let the tears burn, but not fall. You thought of Aerion, his hands on your body. You thought of what your father said, that you deserved to be loved as you deserved.

The problem was, you weren't sure you wanted to be loved the right way.

That night, you didn't go down to dinner with your siblings.

Not that they weren't good company, after all, your favourite part was sitting between Aemon and Aegon, talking with them about what they loved most. Daeron, as drunk as he might be, tried to attend (and he said it was to keep you company); Aerion always sat across from you and pretended you didn't exist; and your sisters, they'd gone to Summerhall because your father feared they'd become as attached to Aerion as you were.

You stayed shut in your chamber the whole time, and your bath had been long because it was your favourite part, it was when you felt you could think more clearly, with the hot water, the scented herbs, and the maids' hands rubbing your skin as if they could clean something more than sweat and tension. But they couldn't.

Before the mirror, you admired your reflection, touching the points you liked most about yourself, running your hand down your skin and pushing away the thoughts that always led you back to Aerion. The nightgown you wore was... promiscuous. There was no other word. It was a gift from Aerion from two years ago, bought on one of his excursions through the city's less savoury districts. Fabric so fine it was nearly transparent, cut to reveal more than it hid, breasts partly exposed, nipples visible through the cloth, entire legs suggested by the side slit running from hip to ankle.

You thought about how your future husband would react—if he'd only pay attention to your Valyrian features and you'd be nothing more than a Targaryen he'd conquered; or if he'd first see your breasts and bury himself in them and your arse and only afterwards ask what you liked. Or if he'd be like Aerion see you as a whole, as something he didn't want to lose.

The knock at the door interrupted you, but it was soft. You knew who it was before you even allowed entry.

"Come in, Morwen."

The door opened, revealing the septa your father had assigned you years ago. Morwen was a young woman, her face full of freckles and eyes resembling those of your cousin Valarr. She wore the usual traditional grey gown, and tonight was no different.

Her eyes widened when she saw you.

"By the Seven..." She quickly closed the door, as if she could prevent anyone else from seeing. "My princess, what is that?"

You smiled, and there was something provocative in the gesture.

"It's a nightgown, Morwen. For sleeping."

"Sleeping?" Morwen approached, her eyes roaming over the transparent fabric. "My princess, that's not sleeping clothes. That's... that's what the women in Flea Bottom wear waiting for sailors."

"It's just thin cloth for sleeping." You laughed, a low, sweet sound. "Nothing wrong with it."

"Nothing wrong?" The septa shook her head, but couldn't look away. "My princess, if your father saw you like this..."

"My father won't see." You moved from the mirror and sat on the bed, legs crossed, the nightgown opening further with the movement. "He's too busy planning my marriage to a man I've never met."

Morwen sighed, approaching the bed.

"He only wants what's best for you, my princess. We all do."

"I know." You tilted your head, watching the septa. "And you? What do you want for me?"

The blush that rose to the septa's cheeks was visible even in the candles' dim light.

"My princess..."

"You can leave if you want." Your voice was soft, silky. "But if you want to stay... I have a book here. New prayers I'd like to learn. We could pray together."

The invitation was clear to anyone who knew the code you'd both built over the years. The "prayers" Morwen had been teaching you on lonely nights, the "scripture studies" that involved much more than holy words. It had been Morwen who'd taught you early on what to do on your first time with Aerion.

The septa hesitated.

"I..." She swallowed hard. "Tonight I can't."

You arched an eyebrow.

"You can't?"

"I have obligations." Morwen looked away. "The elder septa needs me for the night prayers. It's an honour that's been granted to me, I can't refuse."

"I understand." You didn't believe it for a moment, but you didn't press either. "I'll pray alone tonight."

"My princess..." Morwen stepped forward, hesitant. "Prince Aerion..."

"What about my brother?"

"He's not..." Morwen searched for words. "He's not like others. What he wants from you... it's not pure. It's not good."

You nearly laughed. Pure. Good. As if you wanted purity or goodness. As if that was what woke you in the middle of the night with your body burning.

"I appreciate your concern." Your voice was polite. "But I can take care of myself and handle my brother."

Morwen looked at you for a long moment, as if Aerion truly were a dragon trying to devour you. Then she curtsied and left, closing the door behind her.

You remained motionless as you listened to her steps fading down the corridors, sighed with relief, and picked up a book from the bedside table, not the prayer book, but a Dornish romance your mother had loved to read. Stories of forbidden lovers, of passions that defied kings and gods.

But you tried to read... really tried. Only the words seemed to dance before your eyes, meaningless, you couldn't follow them, only because your thoughts were elsewhere in the courtyard, in Aerion's hands on your neck, in his voice whispering at your ear.

You closed the book with a thud.

The room suddenly felt too small. The walls were closing in, the air growing thin, and the bed where you sat seemed like an empty altar waiting for an offering. You rose before you could think about what you were doing.

Your bare feet found the cold stone floor, and the translucent nightgown floated around your body as you crossed the room. The door opened silently, and you found yourself in the torch-lit corridor, the silence broken only by the distant crackle of flames.

Your feet guided you through halls you'd known since childhood, up and down staircases you'd climbed thousands of times. The castle slept, or nearly did; there were guards at their posts and maids moving about. You knew how to avoid questions about why you were out of bed, how to keep whispers from reaching your father so he wouldn't ask at breakfast whether you'd gone to fetch Daeron from a ditch or visited Aerion in his chamber.

You halted your steps before the Small Council chamber door without knowing exactly why you were there, probably because the view was lovely and you could be alone.

Your heart beat so hard you could feel it in your throat, your temples, every part of your body. Your hand hesitated over the door for a moment too long — long enough to think of all the reasons you should return to your room, to your book, to your empty bed. You stood motionless for a moment, listening to your own racing heart, feeling the nightgown's fine fabric brush your skin.

The door opened silently, and you entered.

The Small Council chamber was bathed in the silver light of the moon streaming through the high windows, transforming the long oak table, the dark chairs, the tapestries on the walls into something questionable. The torches had gone out hours ago, and papers were scattered about the place that belonged to your grandfather, he must have stayed late.

Though it was Aerion sitting in the king's chair.

The chair wasn't the Iron Throne, of course, that monster of swords stood in the throne room, but this was the king's seat on the council, the position of highest authority in this room, and Aerion occupied it as if born to do so. His dirty boots rested on the table, crossed with indolence. One hand held a wine cup, the other rested on the chair's arm as if caressing a lover. He no longer wore last night's tunic. He wore something dark, simple, his shirt open at the chest. He'd certainly returned from another brothel.

His eyes were fixed on the window, on the view of King's Landing with its thousands of lights flickering in the darkness, lives he likely considered insignificant. He didn't turn even when you stumbled on the first steps of the entrance; after all, he didn't need to look, he knew you were there, just as you'd always known when he was near.

"Can't sleep either?"

You closed the door behind you.

"How did you know I'd be here?"

He finally turned his head, and that cruel smile was on his lips—the same as always.

"I didn't, but we keep finding each other, Sis."

The truth of those words hurt more than any insult he could've uttered. You always sought each other out. Since the first night, when he appeared in your chamber with that hungry expression and you didn't scream, didn't call for guards, did nothing but make space in the bed.

"You're drunk." You approached slowly, your bare feet on the cold stone. "More than this afternoon."

"I am." He agreed, raising his goblet in an empty toast. "And you're wearing that nightgown I bought."

His eyes roamed your body slowly, and you felt every inch of that gaze as if it were a touch. The fine fabric hid nothing, your partly exposed breasts, your hardened nipples which the cold night and his presence made impossible to disguise, your legs suggested by the side slit.

"The one you wear when you want me to come to your chamber." He finished, his voice slurred but his eyes on you. "The one you wore the night you let me fuck you against the wall. The one you wore when you begged me to suck you until you forgot your own name."

"Brother."

He laughed and finally took his feet off the table. The movement was lazy, feline, and when he stood, you felt the air shift in the room. He was tall — taller than you — and even drunk, even coming from a brothel, even with his crumpled clothes, he exuded a power that made your knees weak.

"Come here." It wasn't a request. It never was.

You obeyed.

Your feet carried you to him, stopping a few paces away. Close enough to smell him, wine, yes, but also something that made your stomach drop and heat spread through your belly. He watched you for a long moment, the goblet still in his hand. Then his eyes dropped again, roaming over the transparent fabric, the skin beneath, the way you trembled slightly without being able to control it.

"You look beautiful." The word came out like an insult. "Like one of the Street of Silk's whores. The expensive ones, of course. The ones lords pay fortunes to spend a night with."

The compliment disguised as humiliation made something burn in your chest.

"Why are you like this with me?"

"Like what?" He tilted his head, feigning innocence.

"Cruel." The word escaped before you could contain it. "Always so... cruel."

His smile widened, and suddenly he was closer. His free hand found your chin, holding it firmly enough to make you grunt.

"Because you like it." His voice was a whisper against your lips. "Because when I'm cruel, you tremble. When I'm cruel, you get wet. When I'm cruel, you come find me in the middle of the night for me to fuck you."

You wanted to deny it, wanted to say it wasn't true, that wasn't why, that there was something more, something deeper, something that...

"Don't lie to me." He squeezed your chin, and the pain was good, it was exactly what you needed. "I know you better than anyone. I know your body, your moans, the way you squeeze when you come. I know every sound you make, every expression, every lie you tell yourself."

The wine goblet was still in his hand, and you were so close you could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

"You came here because you can't stay away from me." He continued, his eyes burning into yours. "Because no matter how hard you try to be the perfect daughter, the responsible sister... deep down you're just mine. Mine to use. Mine to fuck. Mine to humiliate."

"Aerion..."

"You think you can just show up here in this dress and I won't do anything? You think you can provoke me and then go back to your chamber to fuck your septa?"

The movement was so fast you didn't have time to react. The wine cup tipped, and the dark red liquid spilled over your chest, soaking through the thin shift in an instant. You caught your breath, the shock of cold wine against warm skin making your nipples harden even more. The fabric, already transparent, now clung to your body, revealing every curve, every shadow, every detail.

Aerion surveyed the damage with an expression of pure sadistic satisfaction.

"There." He set the empty cup on the table. "Now you can take it off for me."

"You're a monster."

"I am." He agreed, and suddenly his hands were on the wet fabric. "But so are you… why don't you call me that when I'm fucking you?"

He tore it.

The sound of ripping fabric echoed in the chamber, and you felt the night's cold air kiss the skin that had been "covered" moments before. The shift parted from neckline to waist, your breasts completely exposed, nipples hard and pink in the moonlight. His hands found your waist, and suddenly you were being guided backwards, backwards, until your back met the stone wall near the window.

The cold of the stone against your hot skin made you gasp, but Aerion didn't give you time to adjust.

"Stay here." He ordered, stepping back.

You obeyed, pressed against the wall, your breasts exposed, wine slowly dripping down your skin, the torn shift hanging uselessly at your waist. The moon bathed your body, and you knew anyone looking through the windows could see — not at this height, but the possibility existed, and that was what mattered.

Aerion watched you for a long moment, his eyes roaming every inch of your body with a hunger that made your belly clench.

"You're going to marry." He said finally, his voice low. "You'll lie down for a man you've never seen. You'll let him kiss you, bite your breasts, shove his cock inside you. And I'll be in Lys." He paused, approaching slowly. "Making bastards on whores who aren't you. Drinking wine that doesn't taste of you. Biting skin that doesn't tremble when I touch."

He stopped before you, so close you could feel his breath.

"But before that…" His hand found your face, his thumb slowly tracing your lips. "Before that, you'll give me one last night, sister."

"Not that you deserve it," you shot back.

"Don't deserve it? I always gave you the privilege of riding a dragon, the only one you could." His thumb pressed, parting your lips, sliding inside. "I give you every moan, every climax, every tear, and you say I don't deserve it?"

You sucked his finger instinctively, and the smile that curved his lips was conquering.

"And when I'm done with you…" He removed his finger, replacing it with his lips, a brutal kiss with a painful bite. "…you'll remember. Every night in Dorne, with your husband atop you. You'll close your eyes and you'll remember me."

His hand found your neck, squeezing slightly, and you moaned against his lips.

"And you'll come thinking of me. You'll have a child and you'll lament it isn't mine."

He kissed you again, and this time you responded with everything you had. Your hands found his hair, pulling, and the taste of wine and Aerion filled your mouth, and when he drew back, both of you were breathless.

"Turn." He ordered, his voice hoarse.

You obeyed, turning your back to him, your hands braced against the cold wall. The moon bathed your body, and you felt his eyes burning your skin, your back, your buttocks barely covered by the remnants of the shift.

"You see those lights?" His voice was near your ear now, and you felt his body against your back when he abruptly turned you. "All those people down there. If they looked up now… they'd see the Targaryen princess. Naked. Offered. Ready to be fucked by her own brother."

The moan that escaped your lips was ashamed and aroused in equal measure.

"You like that." It wasn't a question. "You like being seen. You like knowing they could see. You like being mine."

"Yes." The word came out before you could contain it. "After all, it's what I should have been if you'd had the courage to face our father."

"That'd be a waste, better I take you entirely for myself, sister."

His hand slid from your neck to your back, slowly tracing your spine until it reached your buttocks. His fingers squeezed the flesh, pulling you against him, and you felt the proof of his desire pressing against you.

"Show me how much you're mine."

The air escaped your lungs as his hands squeezed your buttocks hard enough to hurt, to mark. The pain bloomed under your skin and you arched your back instinctively, offering more of yourself against the cold wall.

"Not like this." His voice was near your ear, warm and cruel. "I want to see your face when I fuck you. I want to see you beg."

He turned you with a rough pull, and suddenly you were facing him, your back against the stone. His hand found your face, his fingers squeezing your cheeks, forcing your lips apart.

"You came here to provoke me." His thumb traced your lower lip, pressing. "Came to offer yourself like the whore you are. So behave like one, sister."

"Aerion…" His name on your lips came out as a moan.

"Quiet" He silenced you with his lips, but it was brutal, it was bite and teeth and tongue that took without asking permission. The taste of wine and Aerion filled your mouth while his free hand found your breast, squeezing hard enough to make you moan against his lips.

He bit your lower lip as he drew back, pulling, and the sharp pain made your body tremble.

"Look at you." He watched you with that hungry expression, his hand still squeezing your breast, his fingers finding your hard nipple and pinching cruelly. "All wet just because I pinched your breast. All wet and I haven't even touched where you really want me."

He pinched harder, and you moaned, your head thrown back, hitting the stone.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." His hand left your breast and found your face again, forcing you to meet his eyes. "I want to see your eyes, I want to see you fall apart."

His fingers descended your body, slowly tracing the curve of your waist, your hip, until they found what remained of the shift. He tore the rest away with a sharp pull, and the fabric fell at your feet, leaving you completely naked.

For a moment, he just watched you. His eyes roamed every inch of your body, and you were exposed, vulnerable, completely at his mercy and this was exactly what you wanted.

"Beautiful." The word came out like an insult. "My perfect little sister like a dragon of Old Valyria, all naked for me. All wet for me." His hand slid between your legs, and his fingers found what they sought. "Wet. Hot."

He didn't enter, only touched, only teased, his fingers slowly sliding through your cunt, spreading the moisture, making you tremble.

"Please…"

"Please, what?" He tilted his head. "You have to say it. You have to beg, little sister."

"Please, Aerion… Anything, just…" Your voice came out trembling.

"Just what?"

"Just don't stop." You were nearly crying.

He smiled, that cruel smile you knew so well. Then his fingers finally entered. It was brutal. Two fingers at once into your cunt, no warning, no preparation beyond the wetness you already had. The pain made you cry out, but the pleasure came right behind it, a wave that started in your belly and spread through your whole body.

"That's right, I want all of King's Landing to hear."

His fingers moved inside you, finding that spot that made your legs weaken, that blurred your vision. His other hand was on your neck again, squeezing just enough to make your breathing short, to make each movement inside you intensified by the lack of air.

"You'll come like this." He said, his voice calm despite the brutal rhythm of his fingers. "You'll come on my fingers like the whore you are. And when you come, I'll turn you and I'll fuck you against this wall until you forget your own name."

"Aerion…"

"Come." He ordered, his fingers moving faster, deeper. "Come for me now."

And you obeyed.

The orgasm came violently, unexpectedly, taking over every part of your body. You screamed his name, and the hand on your neck tightened, stifling the sound, transforming it into something muffled and desperate. Your legs weakened, but he held you, his fingers still inside you, prolonging each wave of pleasure until you no longer knew where one ended and another began.

When he finally stopped, you were hanging on him, unable to support yourself. He waited, let you catch your breath, let your legs stop trembling. Then, without warning, he turned you. His hands pressed you against the wall, your back to him, your face turned toward the window, toward the lights of King's Landing below. You felt his body against your back, felt his clothes still on him, the contrast of fabric against your naked skin.

"Look at them." His voice was in your ear. "Look at all those people. They've no idea what's happening here. They've no idea their princess is with her brother."

You moaned, your hands braced against the cold stone.

"But you know." His hands found your hips, pulling you back, arching your spine. "You know exactly what's going to happen. You know I'll fuck you until you can't take anymore. And you know you'll love every second."

You heard the sound of his clothes opening, his belt falling to the floor. Then you felt it. Felt the tip of his cock pressing against your cunt, hot, hard, sliding slowly, teasing, torturing.

"Please…" You begged again, and hated how pathetic your voice sounded. "Please, Aerion…"

He entered all at once, rough, deep, and the cry that escaped your lips echoed in the empty chamber. His hand found your mouth, muffling the sound, while the other held your hip hard enough to leave marks.

"Keep quiet." His voice was a growl against your ear. "You want everyone to hear? You want Father to come see his little girl getting fucked by her brother?"

You shook your head, but your body betrayed any pretense, clenching around him, pulling him deeper.

"'Cause I wouldn't care." He began to move, slowly at first, each thrust deep. "I wish he'd see. Wish he'd see how wet you get for me. How you clench. How you moan."

He took his hand from your mouth and placed it on your neck again, squeezing.

"You're going to marry." The words were spat between thrusts. "You'll lie down for a man you've never seen." Thrust. "You'll let him touch what's mine." Thrust. "But never." Thrust. "Never." He thrust harder. "Will he fuck you like this."

His free hand left your hip and found your buttock, his palm striking hard against the skin. The pain was a shock, and you cried out, but the sound was muffled by his hand on your neck.

"There." He struck again, in the same place, and the pain burned, bloomed, mixed with the pleasure of his thrusts. "You like that."

He struck again, and again, and each slap made your body tremble, made you clench around him, made your moans grow louder.

"Ask for it." He ordered. "Ask me to hit you harder."

"Please…" You could barely speak, your voice muffled by his hand, by the lack of air, by the rhythm of his thrusts. "Hit me more."

His hand left your neck and found your face, turning it to the side, forcing you to meet his eyes as he continued fucking you against the wall. His face was close, those violet eyes burning.

"Look at me." He ordered. "I want you to see who's fucking you. I want you to see who makes you come."

His free hand found your cunt, his fingers finding your clit and pressing, massaging in circles to the rhythm of his thrusts. The pleasure was so intense you nearly fainted, nearly lost consciousness, but his eyes held you, kept you present.

"You'll come again." It wasn't a question. "You'll come with me inside you. And when you come, I'll come too. I'll fill you with my seed. I'll leave my spend dripping down your legs, and if the gods bless us, you'll have my child. And when you're lying for your husband…" His fingers moved faster, his thrusts more brutal. "You'll remember this. You'll remember me coming inside you. You'll remember what it's like to be fucked by a dragon."

The orgasm came like a wave, but this time it was different. It was deeper, more intense, taking over every part of your body in successive waves that didn't seem to want to stop. You screamed his name, and he kissed you to muffle the sound, his tongue invading your mouth as he continued to move, prolonging every second of your pleasure.

Then he groaned against your lips, and you felt it. Felt him come inside you, hot spurts that seemed never-ending, filling you, marking you from within. He stayed still for a moment, both of you breathless, pressed together. Then he slowly drew back, and you felt his spend running down your legs, hot and sticky.

Aerion stepped back, watching you. You were still braced against the wall, trembling, unable to move. The moon bathed your naked body, his seed running down your thigh, the marks of his slaps on your buttocks, your lips swollen from so much biting.

"Look at you." His voice was low, full of cruel admiration. "All spread open for me."

You tried to speak, but no sound came out.

He approached again, and for a moment you thought he might touch you, might be gentle. But instead, his hand found your face and he slapped you. His palm struck your cheek hard, making your head turn to the side. The pain was a shock, but the pleasure came right behind it, a hot wave that made your body tremble.

"That's so you remember." He said, his voice calm. "Every time, you'll remember me."

He held your chin, turning your face back to meet his.

"Open." He ordered, his thumb pressing your lips. "Open that mouth."

You obeyed immediately, your lips parting to receive him. He pushed two fingers into your mouth, and you sucked instinctively, tasting yourself on him, tasting the mix of you both.

"Suck it like it's my cock."

You obeyed, your eyes fixed on his as you licked and sucked his fingers like they were the most precious thing in the world. He watched every movement, every contraction of your tongue, every swallow.

"Good, little sister." He removed his fingers and wiped them on your lips, a possessive gesture. "Now kneel."

The stone floor was cold against your knees, but you barely felt it. You had eyes only for him, for his cock still hard, still wet from you both. He looked beautiful there, his shirt open revealing his muscular chest, his breathing still quick, his eyes devouring you.

"Look at this." He held his cock, showing it to you. "Look how you leave me, ready to fuck your mouth."

You opened your mouth without him needing to ask, your tongue out, offering yourself. He stepped closer, the tip of his cock brushing your lips. His hand found your hair, winding the strands around his fingers hard enough to hurt. Then he pulled you forward, guiding his cock into your mouth in one rough movement. You nearly choked on the depth, but he didn't give you time to adjust.

"There." His voice was a low groan. "That greedy little mouth."

He began to move, thrusting his hips forward, each stroke hitting the back of your throat, and you fought not to gag, not to pull away, because this was exactly what you wanted. Tears began streaming from your eyes, and he saw.

"Look at you." He pulled your hair, forcing you to meet his eyes as he continued fucking your mouth. "So pretty on your knees, crying on my cock. Is this how a princess should be?"

You moaned around him, and the vibration made his eyes close for a moment.

"Shit." He gripped your hair tighter. "Do that again. Make that noise again."

You obeyed, moaning loudly around his cock, and the reaction was immediate. His thrusts grew more brutal, deeper, and you felt every inch of him sliding down your throat, felt his taste, his smell, his texture.

"Enough." He pulled your hair, drawing his cock from your mouth with a wet pop. You gasped, trying to catch your breath, saliva running down your chin, tears mixing with it.

His fingers slid inside you, wet, hot, and you moaned around him.

"Wet again." He laughed. "Incredible. I could fuck you all night and you'd stay wet."

His fingers moved inside you, finding that spot again. Pleasure began building again, and you felt your legs tremble, your hips move instinctively against his hand.

"There." He said. "Move."

You obeyed, your hips moving to the rhythm of his fingers, your mouth still occupied with his balls, sucking and licking like your life depended on it. The orgasm approached again, and you felt every muscle in your body tense, ready to explode.

"Don't come." He ordered suddenly. "Not yet."

You moaned in protest, but he gripped your hair tighter.

"I said no." His hand stopped moving inside you, his fingers still, torturing. He withdrew his fingers and stood, moving off your face. "Get up. On all fours."

You obeyed immediately, turning and bracing your hands and knees on the cold floor. The position was humiliating, exposed, and you loved every second. He positioned himself behind you, and you felt his hands on your buttocks, squeezing, spreading, exposing you completely.

"Look at that cunt." He said. "All swollen from how much I fucked it."

He spat on you.

You felt the hot saliva land on your cunt, slowly dripping down, and you moaned loudly.

Then he fucked you again, but this time it was different. Slower, deeper, each stroke reaching the deepest part, the spot that blurred your vision. His hand found your buttocks again, and the slaps returned, hard, rhythmic, in time with his thrusts... He pulled you against him, burying himself to the hilt, and stayed still for a moment, both of you breathless.

"Say it." He ordered. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours." The word escaped in a sob. "Yours, Aerion."

"Say it again, sister."

"Yours. Yours. Yours."

He groaned, a deep sound, and you felt him come again, hot spurts filling you, overflowing, running down your legs. He kept moving, prolonging both your pleasure, until finally he stopped, panting.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then he slowly drew back, and you felt the emptiness, felt his seed running, running, pooling on the stone floor. You stayed on all fours, unable to move, your body trembling, your breathing ragged.

He knelt behind you and, surprisingly, his hands found your buttocks with gentleness. His fingers traced the red marks from the slaps, the sensitive areas where your skin still burned.

"Beautiful." His voice was low, almost gentle. "All marked. All mine."

He leaned down and kissed each mark, each welt, his lips soft against your sore skin. You trembled at the contrast, at the unexpected gentleness after so much brutality.

Then he turned you, laying you on your back on the cold floor. He lay beside you, propped on one elbow, and watched you for a long moment. His hand found your face, his fingers tracing the marks from his slaps, the red that still burned on your cheeks.

"You're beautiful like this." He said, and for the first time that night, there was no cruelty in his voice. Only admiration, only desire, only something that felt dangerously close to… "All ruined."

He kissed you, and this time it was different. Slow, deep, almost… sweet. His tongue found yours in a lazy rhythm, and his hands caressed your body with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

When he drew back, both of you were breathless again, but for different reasons.

"You're leaving." He said, and it wasn't a question. "Going to Dorne."

"Yes." Your voice came out low. "I am."

He watched you for a long moment, and you saw something in his eyes you'd never seen before. Something that looked almost like… vulnerability? Loss?

"And you'll forget me."

"Never." You answered immediately, your hands finding his face. "I'll never forget you, Aerion. Never."

He smiled, but it wasn't his cruel smile. It was something sadder, more genuine.

"But until then…" He kissed you again, quick, brutal. "Until then, you're mine."

He stood and extended his hand to help you up. You took it, and when you were standing, he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"Come." He said. "I want to take you to bed."

"Here?"

"No." He laughed, and it was almost normal. "My chambers. Or yours. I don't care. I just want…" He hesitated, and you saw something rare: him searching for words. "I just want to hold you tonight."

You watched him for a moment, looking for the deceit, the hidden cruelty. But you didn't find it. Just him, just Aerion, just the brother you loved in ways you shouldn't love.

"Yes." You answered. "Let's go."

He smiled, and it was so genuine it hurt. Then he bent and lifted you into his arms as if you weighed nothing, and you left the Small Council chamber, leaving behind the remnants of the torn shift, the puddles of wine and pleasure, the moon that had witnessed everything.

The corridors were empty as he carried you to his chambers. No one saw the prince with his naked sister in his arms, the slap marks on her buttocks, the seed running down her thighs. No one saw, but for a moment, you almost wished they had. Almost wished the whole world knew you were his, and he was yours.

His chambers were dark when you entered, but he didn't light any candles. He drew you closer, his lips just a breath away, and the heat between you seemed to intensify with each passing moment. Your eyes opened, fixing on his with an intense, desirous gleam. Your hand slid gently across his chest, the touch light yet as profane as before.

Aerion responded to this gesture with a burning look, his fingers exploring the contour of your face, while your breaths intertwined, quick and ragged. You raised your hand, tracing a slow, seductive line along his neck, before whispering, in a tone barely audible:

"Māzīs." (Come)

The word was an invitation, and Aerion didn't hesitate.

He followed you with a smile, your hands intertwined as you guided him back toward the bed. The fire crackled, and you just let out a low laugh, placing the pillows that were scattered on the floor back onto the bed. When you reached the bed, you pushed him gently, your eyes alight with a passion that seemed to consume everything around you. Aerion lay down, looking at you with an expression of adoration, feeling the desire increase with each of your movements. You leaned over him, your bodies meeting with an intensity that spoke more than any words could express.

Your lips met in a deep, fervent kiss, while his hands roughly roamed your body, expressing all his longing and desire.

"Won't you really tell me how many you sought out?" you whispered near his lips, with Aerion's hands holding your face. "If you don't tell me, I'll find out and I'll get rid of them, brother."

"I'd never find you in any of those women," Aerion replied with a smile, his eyes fixed on your lips and then descending to your exposed breasts, before returning to the intensity of your eyes. "I'd rather die by the dragonfire that consumes me than think anyone could replace you, could burn with me."

"Going without touching me truly changes a dragon." You smiled ironically, sealing your lips to Aerion's and biting them before pulling away.

Aerion's calloused hands found solace on your ribcage, his thumbs slowly tracing the lower line of your breasts, making your nipples harden. The movement was almost calming, but to you it felt like a predator gripping its prey. You let out an exasperated smile as you slowly approached Aerion's lips. He held your breasts, squeezing them hard, pinching and pulling your flesh, while small sighs escaped your mouth.

Aerion seemed to know what you were thinking and decided to strike first. His lips captured yours in an ardent kiss. Aerion's tongue slid into your mouth, tasting every part of you. When you finally parted, your breaths were ragged, chests heaving, and saliva covered the lower parts of your faces. He kissed you repeatedly, becoming increasingly aggressive, biting and pulling your lips and tongue until you tasted iron on them.

Moisture slowly ran down the inside of your thighs again, and you trembled when Aerion's heavy hand turned you and laid you on the bed, pulling you closer to him. He gripped the curve of your hips, his palms sliding upward in a slow exploration that excited you.

"What do you desire?" he asked in High Valyrian.

"More," you begged, rubbing against his erection, emitting desperate moans.

When Aerion's hand descended to fondle your intimacy, you felt your skin burn with fire. Desire swelled in your throat as he ran his hand over your neck, through your hair, grabbing a handful and using it to control you. His touch was possessive and exciting.

Aerion slid inside you, and you arched your back, moaning with pleasure, filling yourself completely. His hands found purchase in your hair, anchoring himself as he deepened into your cunt. Flames of pleasure licked your walls. Ecstasy coursed through your veins like milk of the poppy, numbing and delirious, as he slid in and out of you. The warm pressure expanded, and your eyes rolled back, hearing Aerion's moans echo yours.

You hissed between your teeth. The heat, like hot iron burning flesh, intensified when Aerion's face rested on your shoulder and you could hold him tighter. Aerion bit your shoulder, and you dug your nails into his back, feeling the scars beneath your palms. However, before you could be more cautious, Aerion became even more merciless and deepened further into your cunt.

Seven Hells, you thought.

Aerion's body was covered in sweat, and each time he deepened inside you, you felt as if you were being consumed by fire. The sensation of being filled by him was almost superhuman, a mix of pleasure and pain that seemed endless. The chamber was filled with the sounds of your violent love, the creaking of the bed and the murmurs of pleasure and frustration. you were savages in your desires.

Aerion let out small moans as he pressed his forehead against yours. When he saw you part your lips and dig your nails into his skin, he knew you were close to climax. He maintained a steady rhythm, feeling your orgasm peak and soak the sheets in an uncontrollable squirt. Braced against the headboard, Aerion withdrew from you, and you trembled.

"Can you ride a dragon?" he asked, leaning over you and pushing back the hair stuck to your face. You nodded.

Aerion descended to your lips and kissed you before lying beside you on the bed. He sat up and extended his hand for you to approach. You, with your long Targaryen hair falling to your waist, crawled toward him, braced your hands on his collarbones and positioned your legs on either side of Aerion's hips, aligning your soaked intimacy with the head of his cock.

The position made your toes curl, and the way you sank down and rose repeatedly drew heavy moans from the prince. Aerion squeezed your waist, quickening the movements while admiring you with his lilac eyes, surrendering to pleasure. He felt your hands tighten on his shoulders and your moans increase as he watched your brow furrow. Aerion held your hips firmly and pushed hard, unable to contain himself.

Your lips met his briefly before you felt the warm flow of his seed inside you, running down the walls of your tight intimacy. Aerion smiled, pushing the hair from your face once more, admiring your flushed, exhausted face. You were completely tired, your body light and slow.

You lay down on Aerion, who stroked the back of your neck, while his other hand slid along your waist.

He continued stroking your neck, his fingers tracing a gentle, comforting path on your skin. His eyes, still gleaming from the recent experience, fixed on you as you remained breathless. You knew you couldn't be with Aerion, but you couldn't help burning with him.

You were blood of the same blood, destined to burn together until everything turned to ash.

The next morning, you sat at the breakfast table with your family. You wore a high-collared dress that hid the marks on your neck. Your face was slightly flushed on one side, but you disguised it with rice powder that your handmaidens had brought when they found you in your brother's chambers with him.

Egg sat beside you at the table, chattering about the sword training they'd have later. Daeron, your twin, sipped wine even at that hour of the morning, with deep shadows under his eyes. Your father read documents at the head of the table.

Aerion entered last.

He sat on the other side of the table, far from you, and didn't look in your direction even once. He ate in silence, drank his wine, and left without saying a word, as if nothing had happened. As if the previous night hadn't existed.

And for the first time, you wondered if he felt anything too, or if you were just another of his whores. The difference, you realised with a tightness in your chest, was that you couldn't stop loving him even knowing that — that you wouldn't stop seeking each other out to satisfy your own desires to ride a dragon.

He whipped around, face beet red as he saw you there. A strange mixture of embarrassment and defiance and frustration.

"You" he said, trying to regain his composure. "What are you doing here?"

“It’s…my tent?”

He frowned and looked around, confused. The anger had drove him to the wrong tent.

“Perfect”

The armor he was wearing earlier was still in some parts of his body, he definitely tried to take it off himself but couldn’t. ‘Stubborn’ you thought.

Without a word the served some wine for himself and sprawled in the chair in front of you, still angry. You stood up, close enough to caress his silver locks while he looked at you. Aerion's expression softened slightly as you ran your fingers through his hair. He was always weak to your touch, your kindness.

"Don't coddle me, sister” he muttered, but his tone lacked the usual edge. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, despite his pride.

“It was just a stupid joust, Aerion. Don’t mind about it”

He scoffed. “Everyone saw the fucker... It’s humiliating, it’s..”

“Shhh” You leaned closer, bending down enough to place your forehead with his.

“Don’t think about it yeah?” He closed his eyes and almost leaned forward when you pulled back and sat down in your chair.

“You don’t understand…it’s”

“Your pride is too high for your own good, brother, i bet you’re like this with women as well”

He snorted, folding his arms across his chest. He watched you take a sip of wine, narrowing his eyes.

"And what do you know about the women I'm with?" There was a hint of defensiveness in his tone, mixed with arrogance.

“I’m not stupid” you looked down, suddenly quite aware and embarrassed of what you said. “I know what you and Daeron do in your little ‘escapades’ from the Red Keep”

He tilted his head, finding this very amusing. His sister, the always perfect and loving princess, knew about the underworld of King’s Landing.

He laughed, loud and unrestrained.

"Oh, do you?" He wiped his eye, still grinning. "The sweet princess, spying on her brothers like some common gossipmonger."

He leaned forward, smirking. "Tell me, do you listen at doors too? Or do you just interrogate the servants?"

You blushed. You had heard strange noises coming from your brother’s chambers before. And you were no naive girl, you knew what it meant, but you were never educated on the subject so far, so you couldn’t understand exactly what the fun of that was.

“I don’t…I didn’t…hmm shut up Aerion”

He was still laughing, very amused by your shyness. He wasn’t going to lie to himself, the mere thought of you, placing your ear aganist the door of his chamber while he pleased another woman was very exciting for him.

“I just… I don’t see the entertainment of it, okay? It can’t be enjoyable…” you crossed your arms, frowning.

Your words made him raise an eyebrow, and he looked at you with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Not enjoyable? Oh, sister, you have no idea, It's...it's quite pleasurable, in fact."

You couldn’t believe your ears. Pleasurable? One of the only friends you had in life was married to a Lord just a few months ago and she send you a raven explaining how horrendous her wedding night was. Bleeding, pain and sweat.

“Pleasurable?, but… Lady Baratheon married that lord not long ago and confided me about her wedding night”

You took another sip of wine, as if processing the words.

“She says that she bleeded. How can it be enjoyable if you bleed?”

Aerion rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Oh, please. That's just a maiden's issue, then it gets...better."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Your friend just married some inexperienced brute, probably."

You were blushing and quite embarrassed. You mentally cursed your Septa for not telling you enough on the subject and just resuming it to ‘Marriage, carnal act, pregnancy’.

Aerion softened slightly—just slightly—at the sight of your blush. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry sister, when the time comes, let's hope your husband isn't as clueless as you are."

He frowned at his own words just by the thought of you married, another man. No, no common lord, no dornish prince deserved you. They didn’t deserve the blood of the Dragon.

He had always kept an eye on you, watching closely your interactions, your intimate friends, and once—just once—your routine before bed. Wich included bath time…

A pause. Then, grinning: "Or maybe I should teach you."

“What?” Your head snapped back to him, was he suggesting….?

Aerion chuckled at your wide-eyed reaction, taking another sip of wine. "You heard me."

He set his cup aside and stood, walking closer to where you sat. "I could teach you. Since you seem so curious."

You considered his proposal. Was this wrong? Yes. Was this inappropriate? Yes. Did you want to stay your whole life naive and ignorant? No. Was the strange feeling in your stomach fading away? No.

He leaned closer, his eyes on yours. "I'll...show you." He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of silver hair behind your ear. "Only if...you're open to it."

You swallowed hard and nodded.

“Sister…this stays between us, understood..?” you nodded again, his touch on your cheek lingering.

He leaned enough to be at your height where you were sitting, while you avoided his gaze.

“Close your eyes” you did as he said and his lips found yours. You weren’t experienced on this. The only time you placed your lips in someone else’s was a quick peck, nothing like what Aerion was trying to do with your mouth.

He chuckled softly against your lips, amused by your innocence. He pulled back for a moment, foreheads touching, his breath warm against your skin.

"Relax," he murmured. "Don't think so much."

Then, he was kissing you again, a little more insistently this time. His tongue ran along the seam of your lips, a silent request for entrance.

Aerion exhaled sharply when you hesitated, his patience fraying. he pressed his thumb against your lower lip. "Open”

When you finally yielded, his tongue slipped past, teasingly slow, teaching you by example.

His hand slid behind your neck, tilting your head further back as the kiss deepened, indulgent and thorough.

"See?" he murmured against your mouth when you parted, breathless. “That was enjoyable."

His smirk was wide, but his breathing wasn’t as steady as he pretended. You smiled.

He led his thumb trail down to your collarbone. He leaned in, pressing a feathery kiss to your jaw, then your throat—then your neck.

He moved you without you noticing and put you against the table, both standing. His tongue was exploring more of your neck, while you gasped.

“Isn’t this…isn’t this wrong, Aerion?” You breathed.

Aerion pulled you closer, bodies flush against each other. His hand on your hip pressed you into him, his own need more obvious.

“Want me to stop?” he rasped, his fingers toying with the ribbons on your dress.

“No” you said, too quickly and made him chuckle.

He turned you, back pressing against him as he slowly, he began to unlace the back of your dress, his lips still exploring your neck, his fingers shaking.

"Lift your hair” he whispered against your skin, his voice a low, ragged command. "Let me look at you."

You did as he said, Aerion's breathing hitched at the sight of your bare back. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a woman like this, but this was different. It was you.

His fingers traced the exposed skin, a trail of fire following his touch.

He pulled you closer, his lips finding the curve of your shoulder. “What do you want me to do?”

His hands roamed freely now, mapping every contour, every dip and curve.

“I don’t know…what do men do to their wives?” His hands slid around to your front, untying the remaining laces.

"Mmhmm." He began to gently push the dress off, letting it fall away. The turned you back to face him, in the shadows of the tent, his gaze hungrily roamed your breasts, and then you realized how naked you were, in front of your brother. “Many things”

"Some use their fingers." He traced a feather-light path from your collarbone to your hip. "Some use their mouth."

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck. "Or both."

You gasped when he trailed his fingers along the edge of your undergarments, his touch teasing.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, his hand gently guiding you to lean back against the table. In a quick movement he took off his shirt and you could see his bare chest, something you had never seen before, you licked your lips while his hand found the knot of your garments. "Shall I show you?"

You nodded again. At this point any word would come out as a soft whimper.

Your soft moans made his blood run hot, trailing kisses down your chest, when his lips met the soft swell of your breast, he lingered, sucking gently at the sensitive skin of your nipple, a sensation so strange to you but so pleasant, his fingers sliding further down.

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing a path to your inner thigh, his touch light. "Can I?"

“Yes” you breathed, impatiently.

Aerion chuckled at your impatience, his fingers finally—finally—dipping beneath the fabric. He reveled in the way you tensed, the gasp that escaped your lips.

Your face twisted with unfamiliar pleasure.

He traced slow, deliberate circles, not doing anything quite yet.

"You're so wet” he mused, breath ragged.

His thumb pressed down, just a little firmer, as he leaned in to capture your gasp with another kiss.

Aerion groaned into the kiss, his fingers never stilling, only speeding up slightly, matching the growing urgency of your response. Slowly, he began to stretch you open for him, sliding one finger inside you.

He could feel your body reacting to him, trembling under his touch, and it fueled his own desperation. He added another finger and you audibly gasped.

He kissed you again, his fingers curling inside you in that burning pleasure you’ve never felt before. When he pulled back, pressing his forehead against you, breath coming in short bursts.

"Do you want more?"

His fingers curled deeper, pressing against that sensitive spot, drawing another gasp from you. "I can give you more."

“Please” you closed your eyes as his fingers worked with newfound urgency now, his body pressed against yours, all restraint on the brink of snapping.

Aerion's gaze darkened, his eyes drinking in every shiver, every gasp. He'd never seen you like this before, so needy. It was a vision he'd have guiltily dreamed of a thousand times.

“Yes, please”

Without another word, Aerion shifted his position, gently maneuvering you to the edge of the table so he could kneel between your legs. He ran rough hands down your sides, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Lift your hips” he commanded, his voice a low, ragged thing.

His hands found the edge of your undergarments again, his fingers hooking into the fabric as he looked up at you, seeking permission. "Can I..?"

You nodded pathetically, already missing his touch.

"I'll be gentle. And you can tell me to stop anytime, alright?"

With your nod, he pulled your garments down, leaving you completely bare before him. He exhaled sharply as he drank in the sight, his fingers trembling slightly.

"Beautiful."

Aerion chuckled, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin. His fingers played with your folds, his mouth in your inner thighs.

He finally leaned in, his tongue replacing his fingers.

You arched beneath him with a sharp gasp, and he groaned against you. He held your hips as his tongue did incredible movements aganist you, from slow licks in your clit to completely devouring you. Your hands found his silver hair, pulling.

He groaned as your fingers twined in his hair, his hands tightened on your thighs, his movements becoming more relentless, driven by desperation and lust.

He pushed higher, seeking a place he knew would drive you wild. "Let go” he rasped, his gaze fixed on yours while he spat on your cunt to use his fingers as well.

You did, the most inexplicable but pleasurable wave of relief filled you and stole the air from your lungs.

He didn’t even let you have a second breath when his restraint shattered.

Aerion surged up from between your thighs, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you to the bed of your tent. The mattress groaned under your combined weight as he pressed you down onto it, his mouth crashing onto you, tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Mine now” he snarled against your lips.

His hands shook as he fumbled with his breeches, desperate to be inside you.

And then just as suddenly, he froze.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breathing ragged.

"You know what the Moon Tea is?” he forced out between clenched teeth.

“No” you breathed, scared but also excited by the sight of his hard cock inside his breeches.

“I’ll bring you one tomorrow. You’ll need it”

His hips bucked against you, the proof of his desire undeniable. You moaned, scared when his cock was fully free from his breeches, hard against your thigh.

“Shhh…it’ll hurt just for a little while..”

With that, he pushed inside.

Your gasp was swallowed by his kiss, your legs wrapping around his waist as he slowly drove deeper, you were holding your tears for him.

"Gods” he groaned against your lips as he was desperate to move. "So warm"

After a few moments of pain you squeezed his bicep a little, telling him to move. And he did. His thrusts were slow, careful for not to hurt you, but when you moaned so beautifully in his ear, when your nails digged into his back and your legs wrapped around his hips, he couldn’t hold it.

None of his sinful fantasies, none of the dreams, could have prepared him for the intensity, for the sheer overwhelming pleasure of being so intimately connected to you. And no possible advice from the Septa could have prepared you for this.

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. His hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering as he lost himself in your warmth, in the tightness of your body wrapped around him.

He came, hard, shuddering against you, his forehead pressed against yours as his climax tore through him, you could feel his hot seed inside you as the wave of pleasure hit you too.

For several moments, neither moved, just lost in the aftermath, the reality of what you’ve done settling over you. ‘I already have a place in the seven hells for this’ you thought.

Eventually, Aerion lifted his head, his gaze hazy and dazed. “My beautiful sister”

He pressed his forehead against yours, caressing your hair softly.

“This is us, blood of the same blood. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s wrong”

You kissed him, slowly, softly. “Blood of the same blood”

The Red Keep was alive with the sort of boisterous, glittering life that only a royal feast could summon. A hundred tallow candles burned in silver sconces along the stone walls, their light dancing across the long tables laden with food. You sat at the high table, a world away from the chaos, yet at its very centre.

"Another?" Your father, Baelor, leaned in, his voice a low, warm rumble that cut through the din with ease. He held a silver pitcher, the light from the massive chandeliers glinting off the intricate dragon heads that formed its handle. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked at you.

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "No, Father. I am quite well." You placed a hand over his, where it rested on the table. You were his youngest, his only daughter, and the absolute, unchallenged centre of his world. Of course, he loved your brothers, but you; you were his greatest treasure, his clear favourite. You went everywhere with him, from the small council chambers to the royal sept, and you spoke with him about everything and nothing, a comfortable stream of chatter that he seemed to absorb like sunlight.

He gave your hand a squeeze before releasing it, turning to speak with a lord who had approached. Your gaze drifted over the hall, not missing the way men watched you. Knights and lords from every corner of the realm, their eyes speculative and hungry. To win your favour was to win the ear of the future king, a fact you were not naive enough to ignore. Though you were polite to them all, offering a kind word or a practised smile, your heart remained a still, unmoved pool within your chest.

A shadow fell over your side of the table, and you did not need to look up to know who it was.

"Cousin," Aerion's voice was a silken purr, laced with the arrogance that came so naturally to him. He slid beside you, far closer than propriety strictly allowed. "You look like a star fallen to earth tonight."

You turned your head, meeting his pale lilac eyes. He was handsome, there was no denying it, but his beauty was cold and brittle, much like him.

"Aerion, you are in high spirits."

"Always, when I am near you," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Do you not feel it? How the fire in our blood calls to one another. You need a man who understands your true nature. These suitors are an insult to you."

You had heard a version of this from him at least a hundred times. A litany of fire and blood and destiny.

"It is not I whom you must convince, dear cousin," you replied, turning your attention back to your goblet of watered wine. "Perhaps you should save your grand pronouncements for my father."

He chuckled, a low, smug sound. "You and I both know that is a lie."

You said nothing, merely tracing a condensation ring on the table with your fingertip. Your father, finished with his conversation, glanced over at Aerion, his expression hardening almost imperceptibly. Baelor was fiercely protective, skeptical of every man who dared to look at you with a sliver of interest. He had made his position clear to you. You would marry who you chose, in your own time, or not at all. He would sooner see you live out your days as an unmarried spinster princess in the Red Keep than force you into a bed and a life you did not want.

Before you could rebuff Aerion politely, your father's voice cut in, cool and sharp. "Aerion. My daughter is tired." He placed a hand on your shoulder, a gesture of both affection and possession. "And I believe Valarr wished to speak with you about the upcoming tournament."

It was a dismissal, clear and absolute. Aerion's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before the smooth mask slid back into place. He gave you a short, sharp bow. "Princess. Your Grace."

You let out a breath you had not realised you were holding. "Thank you, Father."

Baelor's hand remained on your shoulder. "Where did your uncle go wrong with him?"

Your eyes scanned the hall again, looking for the aforementioned uncle. He was seated several chairs down, a figure carved from shadow and sternness, not participating in the revelry. He sat with his back straight, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his dark tunic, a goblet of wine untouched before him. He was a man hollowed out by grief.

You had always thought him handsome, in a severe, imposing way. Even as a girl, you had admired his strength, the way he carried himself with the unshakeable confidence of a warrior. But that was before his wife had died. The light in him had gone out, replaced by a cold, impenetrable gloom. He had become gruff, impatient, and quick to dismiss any attempt at conversation. Yet you, for reasons you could not fully explain, had made it your mission to bring that light back.

You would find him in the library, pulling out a book you had no intention of reading, just to sit in the same quiet space. You would accidentally find him walking in the gardens and fall into step beside him, filling the silence with stories about your day. You would sometimes even seek him out in the training yard and watch him practice. He never sent you away.

"Does your father encourage this incessant chatter?" he had grunted one afternoon as you sat with him in a quiet solar, detailing the drama between two of your ladies-in-waiting. He was staring into the fire, his profile sharp and severe.

You had flinched, your shoulders slumping, suddenly feeling foolish. The light in your eyes dimmed, and you had looked down at your feet, unable to meet his gaze. "I… I am sorry, Uncle. I did not mean to be a pest."

Maekar turned to look at you and saw the genuine hurt on your face, the way your lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly. He let out a long, slow breath, the anger seeming to drain out of him.

"I know you are in grief. I understand. I just, I do not want to see you in it forever. It is eating you alive."

Something in your words, in their raw, unvarnished honesty, had broken through his armour. He felt a pang of guilt, sharp and unpleasant. He, a grown man, a prince, had made his niece, who was nothing but kindness and stubborn concern, feel small. He had to admit, if only to himself, that in the long, silent months since Dyanna's death, your persistent, cheerful presence was the only thing that brought him a sliver of joy. You were spoiled and often said silly things, but you were also passionate and sweet. The only person who had consistently tried to reach him through the thick fog of his sorrow, and he appreciated it. He truly did.

"I apologize," he said, his voice gruff but no longer harsh. "That was unkind of me. Do not stop speaking, it is not unwelcome."

A slow, hesitant smile had spread across your face, your eyes sparkling. "Truly?"

He gave a curt nod, a faint flush on his pale cheeks. "Truly. Now, what did Lady Celia say?"

From that day on, the dynamic between you had shifted. You still did most of the talking, a constant, flowing river of words about court gossip, about books you were reading, about a particularly stubborn falcon you were trying to train. He was content to listen, offering a grunt of acknowledgment, a nod of his head, or a rare, dry comment that never failed to make you laugh. He found himself looking forward to your appearances, to the way you could fill the crushing silence of his rooms with your vibrant energy. He had grown fond of your company, more than he would ever admit.

Watching him now, a resolve firmed in your chest. The feast was loud, Aerion was persistent, and your father's love, while a shield, was also a gilded cage. You needed air, and the calm you only ever seemed to find near him.

You excused yourself from the table, ignoring Baelor's questioning look, and made your way to Maekar. He did not look up.

"Uncle," you said, your voice soft.

His gaze lifted slowly. "Should you not be attending to your admirers?"

"They can entertain themselves for a while," you replied, a hint of your usual playful tone in your voice. "I was wondering… the weather is supposed to be fair tomorrow. Would you accompany me for a ride?" You held your breath, expecting the usual refusal, a gruff excuse about duties, or a simple, unadorned no.

But then he gave a short, sharp nod. "Very well."

A genuine, unforced smile bloomed on your face. "Wonderful. I will meet you in the stables after the morning meal."

He did not reply, just gave a slight inclination of his head, dismissing you.

The next morning, the air was crisp and cool, carrying the damp scent of earth and leaves. You found Maekar in the stables, already mounted on a powerful black stallion, a beast as dark and formidable as its rider.

"You are prompt," he noted, his voice a low rumble.

"I did not want to give you time to change your mind."

He almost smiled. "A wise assumption."

You rode out of the city gates, the noise and chaos of King's Landing fading behind you, replaced by the rhythmic thud of hooves on dirt and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. The ride was more pleasant than he had anticipated. He found himself relaxing, the perpetual knot of tension in his shoulders loosening for the first time in a long while. Maekar was enjoying himself, enjoying being near you.

He turned his head to look at you. You had tilted your face up to the sun, your eyes closed, a look of pure contentment on your face. The wind had loosened several strands of your hair from its braid, and they curled around your cheeks and throat. In that moment, he was struck by a thought so clear it was ridiculous he had never noticed. You were truly, breathtakingly beautiful. Not in the delicate, porcelain way of court ladies, but with a vibrant, wild beauty that was all your own. He realised, with a certainty that was both terrifying and comforting, that he wanted you in his life like this forever. This easy peace, this quiet companionship; it was the first true happiness he had felt since Dyanna died.

You must have felt his gaze, for you opened your eyes and turned to him, a wide, untroubled smile gracing your lips. The smile was for him, a gift freely given.

And then another thought, darker and hotter, slithered into his mind, unbidden and monstrous. It was a dirty, base thought that had no place in the sun-dappled peace of the woods. He wanted to pull you from that horse, tear the green leather from your body, and take you. He wanted to claim you, to possess you, to prove to you the man he was, to erase the memory of every foppish lord and foolish cousin who had ever dared to look at you. Gods, how he wanted to make you his.

The thought was so visceral, so shocking in its intensity, that he recoiled as a wave of disgust washed over him. You were his niece. Baelor's daughter. He was a monster. A foul, wretched creature.

He wrenched his gaze away from you, staring blindly into the dense, shadowed woods. He pulled sharply on his reins, his powerful horse dancing beneath him, its muscles bunching in protest. Every muscle in his own body went rigid. The easy peace was shattered.

He felt your eyes on him, questioning. "Uncle? Is everything alright? Did you see something?"

"No," he bit out, his voice harsh, foreign. He could not look at you. He could not bear to see that trusting, beautiful face. "It is nothing. We are heading back. Immediately."

The light in your face vanished, replaced by a confusion that quickly melted into a deep, palpable sadness. Your shoulders slumped, your hands stilling on the reins. You simply gave a small, resigned nod and turned your horse, urging it back toward the path you had taken.

The ride back was suffocatingly silent. You rode slightly behind him, watching his rigid back. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by the familiar, cold storm. You did not understand. The two of you had been so happy, so content, and then in a single moment it had all curdled. You replayed that look, that intense, searching gaze, trying to understand what you had seen, what you had done wrong.

When you finally reached the stables, the grooms rushed forward to take the horses. Maekar dismounted with stiff, jerky movements, his gloved hands adjusting the reins before passing them off without a word. You slid from your saddle, your boots landing softly in the straw, and approached him cautiously.

"Are you cross with me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What have I done?"

Maekar turned to face you, his expression unreadable but for the slight tightening around his eyes. "I am not angry with you," he said, his tone clipped and formal. "But this will not continue anymore."

"This?" you questioned, stepping closer. "What do you mean?"

"This," he gestured vaguely between you. "These rides, these conversations. I have too much to do to spend my time babysitting you."

The word stung, sharp and dismissive. "I thought… I thought we were becoming friends."

"We are not friends. You are my niece, and I am your uncle. That is all we can be. You will stop wasting your time on me." He ran a hand through his silver-blonde hair, dislodging a few strands from their careful arrangement. "Go to your father. Pick a husband from your sea of admirers. Leave me be."

Instead of retreating as he clearly intended, you moved closer still, until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "And what if the man I want is right here in front of me?" you asked, your voice soft but deliberate. "Should I still go to my father then?"

Maekar took a sharp step back, his violet eyes widening in shock. "Do you hear yourself? The things you are suggesting..."

You followed his retreat, refusing to let him escape. "Is it mad to want you, Uncle? It was not my intention, and yet, I want you all the same. The one person who actually sees me, not just the princess or the prize."

"This attraction,"  his voice strained, "it is unnatural. Sinful. Vile. We are family. Blood."

"No one protests when Aerion pursues me day after day," you pressed, your hand reaching out to rest on his chest. You felt his heart hammering beneath your palm. 

He caught your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "That is not the same."

You whispered, leaning into him.  "Tell me you do not feel it too. Tell me you do not want me as I want you."

For a long moment he simply stared at you, his internal war visible in the shifting expressions on his face. The stern prince, the grieving widower, the man who had been alone for too long. Then something in him seemed to break, to shatter under the weight of denial.

"Gods help me," he breathed, and then his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was nothing like you might have imagined from your stern uncle. His hands moved from your wrists to cup your face, holding you steady as he devoured your mouth. His tongue swept inside, claiming, tasting, exploring as if he had been starving for this moment. You responded with equal fervour, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing heavily, your lips swollen and tingling. "We are damned." 

"Then let us be damned together," you replied, and pulled him back for another kiss.

That kiss in the stable yard marked the beginning of your secret affair. From that day forward, Maekar became yours in every way that mattered. The guilt occasionally haunted him; you could see it in the shadows behind his eyes when he watched you, in the way he sometimes pulled away after your bodies were sated and tangled in his sheets. But those moments of remorse grew fewer as your passion intensified.

You made it impossible for him to regret what you shared. Most nights, you found ways to slip away to his chambers. Sometimes he would come to find you naked and waiting in his bed, your body already slick with anticipation. Other times, you wore your finest gowns, letting him peel away the layers like unwrapping a precious gift.

Maekar ruined you for any other man. At his age, he had the experience and patience of a lover who knew exactly how to please a woman. He learned every curve, every sensitive spot, every secret that made you gasp and writhe beneath him. He loved watching you prepare for him, loved how your body responded to his touch. Sometimes he would make you wait, teasing you with his fingers and tongue until you were begging for his cock.

"Please, Maekar," you would whimper, your hips bucking against his mouth. "I need you inside me."

Only when you were completely undone would he position himself between your thighs, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds. "Tell me what you need," he would demand, his voice husky with desire.

"You, only you."

He would enter you then, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch as he stretched you open. The first thrust always made you cry out — it was almost too much, his size overwhelming in the best way. He would pause, letting you adjust, his violet eyes dark with lust as he watched your face.

"More," you would beg, and he would comply, setting a rhythm that drove you both toward ecstasy.

Maekar was insatiable once he let go of his inhibitions, taking you for hours, exploring every position, every angle. He loved taking you from behind, gripping your hips as he drove into you. He loved watching you ride him, your breasts bouncing as you impaled yourself on his cock again and again. But his favourite was when you lay on your back, your legs wrapped around his waist as he held you and kissed you.

The months passed in a blur of stolen moments and secret rendezvous. You became experts at discretion, but comfort breeds complacency, and secrets have a way of revealing themselves. The day it happened started like any other. The castle was relatively quiet, most courtiers napping or attending to their own affairs, when you slipped into Maekar's solar.

He was standing at his desk, his back to you as he looked out over the courtyard. The afternoon light caught the silver strands in his hair, making him seem almost ethereal. He turned as you entered, and the look in his eyes made your breath catch.

"Come here," he commanded, his voice already thick with desire.

You obeyed, settling in his arms as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you against him for a searing kiss.

"I have been thinking about you all morning." 

Heat pooled between your thighs at his words. "Then why are we still talking?" you challenged, reaching down to palm the hard ridge of his cock through his breeches.

He spun you around, pushing you face-down over the desk. Papers scattered as your breasts met the polished wood, your nipples hardening at the sudden contact. Maekar made quick work of your gown, yanking it up over your hips and tearing at the ties of your bodice until your breasts spilled free.

"Look at you," he said, running his hands over your bare backside. "So ready for me. So eager."

You wiggled your hips in invitation, spreading your legs wider. "Please, I need you. I have been empty for too long."

He chuckled darkly and positioned himself behind you, the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. "Empty? We must see to that." With one smooth thrust he buried himself to the hilt, drawing a sharp cry from your lips. "Better?"

"Gods, yes," you moaned, pushing back against him. "Fuck me, now."

His hand wrapped around your throat, not choking you but holding you in place, asserting his dominance in a way that made you clench around him. "So demanding," he murmured, beginning to move in earnest.

He set a punishing pace, each thrust driving you forward against the desk. You were already so close, so aroused from his words and the sheer recklessness of it. It only took moments before you were tumbling over the edge, your walls convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

"That is it," he praised, his movements becoming more erratic. "Gods, yes..."

You were still coming down from your release when the door to the solar swung open.

Time seemed to slow. You and Maekar froze in position, your bodies locked in the most compromising of poses. And there in the doorway stood Baelor.

Baelor's face registered a storm of emotions in rapid succession: confusion, disbelief, horror, anger, betrayal, hurt. Then his face hardened, his expression shuttering completely, and without a word, he turned away and slammed the door shut with such force that the entire room seemed to shake.

⭒ uncle!aerion, whose eyes would follow you everywhere like a moth drawn to the light.

⭒ uncle!aerion, whose actions would leave you tossing and turning all night, wondering whether or not your close relationship has blossomed into something more… intimate.

You and your uncle have always been awfully close, your bond going beyond what most would consider normal. Despite your family’s warnings to keep your distance from him, claiming he was ‘mad’, you felt he was misunderstood.

At first, Aerion wasn’t particularly pleased about you following him around like a shadow, but when he learned that you, too, were just as interested in dragons as he was, a switch in him flipped. Soon enough, the pair of you found comfort in each other. Where he lacked generosity, you lacked the courage to stand up for yourself and so, you made a surprisingly fine match.

Though your father was visibly concerned about your ‘friendship’ with his unstable younger brother, he trusted your empathy and hoped that with age, you would come to realise the kind of man he was. Much to his dismay, you did not. If anything, your infatuation with your uncle had only deepened.

You found that whenever you were in the presence of your uncle, whispers would follow. After all, no one could understand what the realm’s delight and its mad Targaryen prince shared that made them so fond of each other. You were kind-natured, full of compassion while your uncle was — well, he was the complete opposite.

But opposites attract, right?

Temptation has a way of finding everyone, even the most obedient children have something or someone that draws them toward rebellion and for you, that had always been your uncle. As a child, you often found yourself sneaking off to meet him and the two of you would disappear into your own little world.

Now that you were a woman grown, your outings with your uncle didn’t consist of watching some lifeless play — no, it appeared that the more you matured, the more dangerous the places he took you to spend your time together in became. Aerion would often tell you that he’d ‘put a dragon in you one day’, making you giggle, unaware of the dark meaning behind his words, taking them for nothing more than a jest. If only you knew.

“You see my darling niece, the rest of our family isn’t like us.” He explained as the two of you lay cuddled together, hands intertwined, in a tiny room of a brothel. “They aren’t dragons, they wouldn’t understand the bond we share.” He continued in a soft voice, gently tucking your silver hair behind your ear before leaning in to kiss your temple.

It made perfect sense, just like everything that your darling uncle has ever said made sense. Anytime you came to him with any concerns, he knew exactly what to say to ease your nerves and like the young, naive girl you were, you believed every word that came out of his mouth. No matter how bizarre it sounded, you would simply nod, glossy eyes filled with admiration. After all, who were you to question him, the dragon himself?

For now, Aerion’s touches still remained fairly innocent — gentle pecks on the lips from time to time, laying with his head against your plush breasts as you stroked his hair to sleep. That was until one day, everything changed and those small pecks turned into heated make outs with you straddling your uncle’s lap.

Of course, poor, innocent you couldn’t grasp just how intimate your actions were. Over the years, you had grown so accustomed to your uncle’s lingering hands on your body that this seemed like another one of your games. When you were younger, Aerion could suppress his desires for you — but now, that your body had matured into one of a woman, he found himself unable to continue to do so.

“Mhm!” You squealed as you felt something hard press against your lower thigh. Confused, you pulled away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting the two of you. When you asked your uncle about what exactly that was, he only chuckled at your innocence, finding it the most adorable thing. Perhaps, if you hadn’t skipped so many lessons with your septa to sneak out with your uncle, you wouldn’t be in this position.

“You’ll learn soon enough, zaldrītsos (little dragon), hm?” He’d say. Despite your eagerness to know, you also knew better than to argue with him. He smiled at your obedience and cupped your rosy-tinted cheek with his large hand. Closing your eyes, you nuzzled into his touch, letting yourself forget about all of your responsibilities as a princess. Here, in your darling uncle’s arms, none of it mattered.

Maybe if Daeron had watched over his first-born daughter more carefully, if he had not been so quick to dismiss your closeness with your uncle, everything might have turned out differently. Maybe if had he paid closer attention, his younger brother would never have gotten his filthy hands on you — would never have groomed you into becoming his perfect little doll. His perfect little princess to carry his heirs.

But that was just a maybe.

Worst of all, you remained completely unaware. As you rested peacefully on your uncle’s bare chest, feeling safe, too blinded by your twisted idea of love to realise that safety was the last thing you should have felt.

you felt your heart beat too fast, though you would never admit it. today’s stage was completely different from the previous ones: all the weak knights and minor lords were gone, and now it was his turn to ride out onto the field.

technically, the tournament did not involve deaths — usually the losers yielded after a couple of precise lance strikes — but the dread did not let you go. you did not know what scared you more: that something might happen to him, or that he himself might do something terrible.

while noble ladies in silk slowly took their seats, and lords lazily discussed taxes and other men’s brides, the smallfolk already pushed near the barrier.

“look! the first rides out!” a boy cried out wildly as he climbed onto a post, and all eyes turned at once to the entrance.

aerion appeared in shining steel, holding his helm in his hands. his opponent — a stately lord from distant lands — looked no less impressive, clearly inspired by the chance for a great victory. aerion’s eyes instantly found you in the crowd: his gaze slowly, almost tangibly, slid over your scarlet dress and your arranged hair before meeting your eyes again.

noticing that the rival lord smiled brightly at you and respectfully inclined his head, you involuntarily answered him with a soft smile. aerion, who did not miss this fleeting gesture, only gave a short, predatory smirk, after which both riders guided their horses toward your stand.

the smallfolk grew quiet when you rose from your seat, and the two riders stopped right before your box.

the dark-haired knight, whose gaze shone with sincere excitement, inclined his head. “my lady, i know i have no right to ask for such a thing… but if you grant me the high honor and allow me to carry your favor into battle, i swear i will fight ten times fiercer.”

you turned your gaze to aerion. he did not even grant his opponent a passing glance — all his attention was fixed only on you. he did not speak gallant words or give compliments; he only silently raised a brow, as if your ribbon already belonged to him by right.

you looked at each other for some time — the silence between you lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity — and then you lowered your eyes and look back at the lord, softly smile dat him, removing the white ribbon from your wrist, carefully tied in the morning by nana’s hands, and hand it to him with. “may it bring you luck.” the young man smiled from ear to ear, and there was such sincere delight in his eyes. “all for you, my princess.”

it seemed the whole field freezed for a moment — or maybe it only seemed so to you, because blood rushed to your cheeks, and you shyly lowered your gaze down, but not for long. nearby, a quiet chuckle from aerion sounded — short, but you heard it clearly, like the crack of a whip, and you lifted your eyes. he was already looking at you, and there was such confidence in his gaze that it made you want to strike him, like before.

then he slowly raised his lance — and you saw that a ribbon was already tied to it. red, old — faded, almost pink with time, but still holding firm, and you recognised it the same second you realize what you were looking at.

aerion lifted the corner of his lips. “i already received my best favor when it was the most important.”

and in that moment a sharp, burning memory struck you straight in the heart.

you ran toward the tent with the black dragon, laughed, lifting the hem of your long dress with your hands so you would not trip, and did not look back at the people who called your name — you did not care about them at all right now.

it was after his first victory at a small tournament, where no one expected that a boy in fitted armor would last longer than the first round, and he rode out onto the lists and took down all three opponents one after another, as if it was nothing.

you rushed inside while he still pulled off his armor, threw yourself at him, grabbed his shoulders and kissed his cheek — bright, happy, without thinking about propriety or who might see. “i knew you would win!” you breathed out, shining and looking at him in a way that made your cheeks ache from smiling. “i told everyone, and they did not believe me!”

aerion frowned, but the corner of his lips betrayed him and twitched upward. “i will scratch you with iron if you do not step back,” but instead of pushing you away, his hands settled on your waist, carefully pulling you closer, and you felt how he exhaled, how the tension left his shoulders.

“take it off,” you commanded, nodding at the remains of the armor. “i brought you something.”

the squire hurriedly finished with the clasps and slipped out of the tent, clearly not wanting to be a third wheel, and you waited until aerion remained in only a shirt, sitting on the bench, and then you reached to your hair — today it was braided into one long, thick braid, tied with a red ribbon.

“what are you doing?” he asked, and all the sharpness suddenly left his voice, leaving only quiet curiosity, almost childlike.

you did not answer — you walked to his lance, which stood leaning against the tent pole, and began wrapping the ribbon around it. the ribbon still held the warmth of your hair. “father said that victors should wear their lady’s favor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“my lady?” he raised a brow and stood from the bench, stepping closer, and you felt his presence behind you, but you did not turn, because otherwise you would surely ruin the knot.

you fumbled with it for what felt like an eternity — your fingers trembled from excitement, the ribbon slipped, and the knot refused to tighten properly, and you already wanted to click your tongue and just hand it to him so he could deal with it himself, when aerion stepped behind you and covered your hands with his.

his fingers were warm, rough from calluses — marks of long training, and you froze, feeling his breath at the top of your head, feeling how his chest touched your back, and everything inside turned over because he was so close. “like this,” he said quietly and finished the knot himself, firm, secure, so it would not come undone, and you watched his fingers as they adjusted the ribbon.

you turned to him and ended up very close — he looked at you, and there was no smirk on his face, only something warm.

you lifted your chin, looked him straight in the eyes. “if you lose it, do not expect anything more from me.”

he was silent, and then instead of answering, with one hand he pulled you closer by the waist, so you pressed your nose into his shoulder and felt his heart beating — just as loud as yours — and with the other hand he slowly ran through your hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers, from the crown to the very ends, gently. you froze from the touch — it was soft, almost intimate, and you felt how his fingers lingered at the back of your head, calming, pressing your head to his shoulder. your heart pounded somewhere in your throat, and you were afraid he would hear how loud it beat.

“i will not lose it.”

you blinked, and the memory scattered like smoke in the wind.

again — the noise of the tournament, the cries of heralds, the neighing of horses. again — sand under your feet, the burning sun, the heavy smell of metal and sweat. and he stood before you.

you looked at the ribbon — and could not look away. it had faded to pink, worn at the edges, but it was here.

you raised your eyes to his face — he slightly tilted his head, watching you, and there was so much in his gaze that you could not bear it and you looked away.

aerion slowly shifted his gaze to the boy beside him. “time to face the dragon, little knight.” you felt his eyes lift to yours one last time, linger for a moment, and then he put on his helm and the metal closed over his face.

your eyes closed on their own, because watching him leave was too painful. a lump stood in your throat, and you could not swallow it, and you did not understand — why? why did he want to hurt you like this? did he hate you so much that he would do anything to make you suffer forever?

suddenly, someone touched your hand, making you open your eyes and see valarr. he stood beside you — having approached unnoticed, silent, as always — and looked at you without words, because his gaze replaced them. he gave you a quiet nod — once, barely noticeable, and his hand squeezed yours, and you felt how it became a little easier from it. not much. but enough to endure.

it turned out to be not enough to endure.

in one moment you saw how aerion’s lance lightly touched the chest of the dark-haired man, and he fell to the ground — he did not yield, just lost his balance, and you managed to exhale, thinking that now it would end, that the opponent would stand up and brush himself off. but in the next second aerion had already dismounted, his sword shone in the sun, and the blade drove into the fallen man’s chest several times — without mercy, without stopping.

blood splashed in all directions — scarlet, thick, it flooded the sand, flooded the armor, flooded the pale face of that boy, making the ladies in the stands scream in fear. the smallfolk, on the contrary, shouted in delight, almost crushing each other just to watch.

“i yield!” the dark-haired knight screamed. “i yield, i yield, i yield!”

but aerion did not stop. he drove the blade in again and again, and his movements looked almost bored, as if his opponent had been a ten-year-old boy, not a fully trained lord.

you looked at it, and everything inside turned over, because it was unacceptable. any honorable man should stop the moment the other yields. that was the point of a tournament — not to kill, but to make the other lose. to show superiority, not to drown it in blood.

but aerion seemed to have forgotten that. or he did not care.

you squeezed your brother’s hand so hard that your knuckles went white, and you could not say a word. you only watched as before your eyes someone’s brother, son, future husband died.

and then — sudden silence. aerion stopped. his sword froze in the air, not reaching the chest of the defeated man, who no longer screamed, did not move, only rasped, covered in blood, choking on it. the field was quiet — so quiet that you heard the sand crunch under aerion’s boots when he stepped back.

he lifted his visor and slowly looked over the field, and you felt how he searched for you — because he always found you, always knew where you were.

“he is dead,” aerion said, and his voice was even, almost casual, as if he spoke of a sunday prayer. “it is over.”

somewhere in the distance a woman sobbed — maybe the boy’s mother, or maybe just someone who could not bear it.

aerion bent down, pulled the lance out of the sand — slowly, his fingers slid along the shaft upward, reaching your red ribbon. he untied the knot carefully, almost gently, without haste, as if he did not want to tear the fabric that was already worn by time. the ribbon remained in his hand, and he clenched it as he threw the lance aside, raising a cloud of dust, and walked away.

the doors to his chambers burst open from your push — you did not even think to knock, did not think about propriety. the guards at the entrance tried to gently explain that it would be better for you to come tomorrow, but you walked past them without listening.

you stepped inside just as the old maester was about to leave — he said something to aerion, listing instructions, dry and clinical. he stood in the middle of the chambers, wearing only a shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and he tied a bandage around his left wrist, pulling the knot tight with his teeth. he looked tired — shadows under his eyes, hair stuck together with sweat, a fresh bruise on his cheek.

they both turned at the sound of the door. the maester immediately nodded to you — hurriedly and a little guiltily. “my princess, i am very sorry! i am sure you came for an important matter, but the prince needs rest for now an—”

he did not finish, because aerion lifted his bandaged hand, and the gesture stopped the maester mid-sentence. “she may enter whenever she wants,” he said, not looking at the old man, but at you, and his voice sounded even.

the maester looked from you to him, then back at you — your dress was still stained with blood that you had picked up somewhere along the way — and in the end he exhaled and nodded. “then i will leave you.”

when the door closed behind the maester, you could not hold back. you walked up to him — quickly, almost too close, so that you saw every scratch on his face, every drop of sweat that had not yet dried at his temple.

“are you really so pathetic that you enjoy tormenting those who are weaker than you?”

aerion froze, holding a heavy silence. he simply looked at you with that unreadable, burning gaze, and then his lips touched with a fleeting, bitter smirk.

“and is that not the whole point of a tournament?” he threw out carelessly.

“the point of a tournament is to overcome your opponent, to prove your skill, not to kill!” you exclaimed, almost breaking into a shout.

aerion smirked again, but this time a dangerous fire flashed in his eyes. before you could pull away, he sharply caught your hand. you tried to break free, but he only tightened his grip and forcefully pressed your palm to his bare chest — to the place where his heart beat fiercely under the skin.

“he struck me with his lance right here,” aerion said, and his voice grew lower, heavier, and he pressed your hand harder against that spot, so you felt the hard iron of a bruise under your fingers. “if he missed even by an inch, you would be mourning my corpse now. i only found it fair to repay him the same.”

he fell silent, not taking his eyes off you, and then shifted his hold on your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. aerion suddenly pulled you closer, closing the distance between you to something dangerous, his voice became quieter.

“and maybe i was a little more… insistent than usual. simply because he did not deserve your favor.”

you stood so close to him that there was no air, no distance left. his breath touched your cheek — hot, uneven, mixing with yours. your fingers were still intertwined — he did not let go, only held tighter.

aerion looked at you with such intensity that you wanted to close your eyes — but you could not. there was something hungry in his gaze, long restrained.

“i missed you every fucking day,” he said quietly, his voice low, hoarse, almost inaudible. “my little dragon.”

the words hit the breath out of you — because only he used to call you that, because that nickname died many years ago.

his gaze dropped to your lips. lingered there — for a moment, for an eternity, you did not know. you felt the blood rush to your face, how your heart started pounding somewhere in your throat, how your whole body went still in anticipation of what was about to happen. he leaned in — slowly, almost teasingly, and you saw how his lashes lowered, how he came closer, felt the heat coming from his bare chest, and you were already ready to close your eyes, waiting for the inevitable—

“princess?”

the voice behind your back sounded like a crack of a whip. you let out a startled cry and sharply pushed away from aerion, almost stumbling over the hem of your own dress. your heart pounded somewhere in your ribs, loud, painful, and you felt it beat through your whole body — in your temples, in your fingers, in the tips of your ears. you barely caught your breath and took a step back, then another, and only then turned toward the voice.

tristan.

“i did not mean to interrupt you,” tristan said, and his voice sounded too strained. “whatever… whatever that was, my princess.”

you raised your eyes to him — and something in his face made you freeze for a moment. he smiled, but his smile was different from his usual warm one. the corners of his lips were raised, but his gaze stayed cold, studying.

the feast went on — some danced, some laughed at foolish jokes, some were already drunk senseless, just to be seen by the princes, to earn their attention. the air was hot, stifling, the smell of roasted meat and expensive perfumes made you feel sick. you barely touched your food — the meat on your plate had long gone cold, the fat hardened into an unappetizing layer, but you did not care. you felt nothing but nausea and that strange emptiness in your chest.

all your thoughts circled around what happened just moments ago. how could you allow it? just a few sweet words from him — and you almost believed, almost gave in. again.

again you fell for words that probably meant nothing. as if there had not been a time when he fed you the same empty lies. and all it took was for him to appear — and you were ready to fall into his arms, like a foolish, trusting, worthless idiot.

“princess?” tristan leaned closer to you, and you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, blinked, returning to reality. “are you alright?”

you swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “yes… it is very stifling here. i think i will step outside.”

he immediately offered his hand. “allow me to escort you.”

you shook your head. you smiled — probably crooked and strained, because tristan narrowed his eyes slightly, noticing the falseness. “there is no need. i will go alone.”

for a few moments, silence hung in the air — tense. tristan looked at you with a long, strange gaze, then glanced around, searching for someone — maybe aerion, maybe someone who could see this scene — and you noticed how his jaw tightened, how the muscles moved under his skin, how his fingers clenched into a fist before he forced himself to relax. he gave a short nod and stepped aside, giving you way.

you rose from the table and walked away — from the noise in your head and from his gaze that drilled into your back all the way to the exit. and only when you walked along the path leading into the garden did you take your first proper breath of the evening.

you did not manage to go far into the garden — you only reached the first stone column, hidden from sight by the castle arches, when suddenly a familiar low voice came from the darkness.

“another moment — and he would have climbed under your dress.”

you stopped. you did not see him at the feast — he never appeared in the hall after the maester treated his wounds. where did he…

everything inside you twisted. it was too much. too much for one day. tristan with his strange looks, the feast, the tournament, and now him.

you slowly turned, raised a brow and tried to make your voice sound mocking, not trembling. “i thought the maester told you to lie down. or did you decide his advice meant nothing to you?”

aerion did not answer, just stepped closer — smooth, silent, like a predator that had already chosen its prey and only amused itself before striking. he smelled of smoke, the metallic scent of blood, and herbs used to treat his wounds.

“are you worried about me, little dragon?” his voice was low, almost gentle.

you closed your eyes in irritation, clenched your fists. “do not call me that.”

he did not listen. of course not. he stepped closer — and you stepped back, not breaking eye contact, not lowering your head, until your back hit the cold stone of the column. and then he loomed over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, trapping you.

“i see,” he said slowly, tilting his head. “you want me to call you what that dog does? princess? or maybe some other false shit he made up for you?”

“don't you dare speak about him like that.”

he smirked — short, and there was not a drop of amusement in it. “interesting. what did he do to earn your defense? spin around you for years like a chained dog, wait for you to grow tired, whine and hope for scraps?”

“at least he is not a coward,” your voice grew firmer, and you lifted your chin higher. “and he actually loves me.”

the smirk vanished from his face so sharply as if it was blown away by the wind, all amusement in his eyes gone. “careful.”

that made you smirk. “or what? your threats are as empty as your promises? i am almost sure you will forget those too, and then pretend nothing happened.”

aerion slowly leaned closer — so close that you felt his breath on your lips, felt the heat coming from his body. at the last moment you raised a finger, pressing it to his chest, not breaking eye contact. “if you come any closer, i will scream.”

he did not pull away, instead his eyes locked into yours, and there was no doubt in them. “you will not.”

you opened your mouth to prove him wrong, to call for valarr or even tristan — but you did not manage to make a sound before his lips crashed onto yours.

there was not a drop of tenderness in that kiss, only open, primal hunger. he pressed you into the stone column, and the cold of it bit into your back even through the thick fabric of your dress — but you felt nothing except his mouth, his tongue, his teeth that bit your lower lip.

he kissed as if he wanted to drink you dry, to burn your taste into his memory so he would never forget again. his breath was uneven, mixed with yours, and you did not understand where you ended and he began. his fingers dug hard into your waist, and his other hand slid higher, to your neck, fingers tangling into the hair at the back of your head, pulling your head back, opening you for his mouth that moved along your jaw, to the corner of your lips, to your cheek, and then back to your lips again, making you let out a quiet breath.

and you, damn you, did not push him away. because you wanted this. because no matter how much you lied to yourself, convinced yourself that you hated him, swore it was the last time — you wanted this. you always did. and now, when his tongue pushed into your mouth, rough and demanding, tasting you — you melted like wax, gave in to this man who never left your thoughts.

your fingers tightened on the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, as much as it was even possible. he groaned into your lips — a low, dull sound that echoed through you, and you felt it in every nerve.

when there was too little air left, he broke the kiss, but did not pull away. his forehead pressed to yours, his breathing uneven, hot, mixing with yours.

“marry me,” he whispered, his lips almost touching yours. “marry me and i will stop all this. i will do anything you want.”

you froze. his words fell into the silence of the garden like heavy stones, but instead of warming you, they poured over you like ice water and brought you back to your senses.

what were you letting happen? you were in the castle garden, where any lord, any servant, gods, even your father could come out and see you pressed to the stone column, his hands on your hips, your fingers still clutching the collar of his shirt.

you pushed him away — sharp, so that he, losing balance, stepped back, stumbling over the wet grass. and before he could straighten, you raised your hand and struck his face. the sharp crack of the blow tore through the silence, his head snapped to the side, and for a moment he froze, pressing his palm to his burning cheek.

you breathed heavily, fast, your chest rising and falling, your eyes filled with moisture — but you would not let the tears fall.

“don't you dare do this,” your voice trembled, but you held it with all your strength. “i let you fool me once. i will not let you do it again.”

you pressed your lips together and shook your head — loose strands from your disheveled braid fell over your face, making you look more vulnerable, more defenseless. “i've had enough.”

you pushed yourself away from the cold stone, walked past him and headed back toward the castle. tears treacherously gathered, ready to fall, and you barely saw the path, but your feet carried you forward — away, far from this man, from his lying words, from the kiss that still burned on your lips and scorched you from the inside with shame. you did not think about how you looked — disheveled, with red eyes and heavy breathing — you just walked, faster with each step.

but you did not manage even ten steps — a hand caught your wrist, iron grip pulling you back, turning you toward him. you, without thinking, raised your free hand to strike, but he caught it too, pressing your wrists to his chest, trapping you — his fingers closed around your bones, not painfully, but so tight you could not break free.

“i was a fool,” he said, and his voice sounded low, strained. “i did terrible things. but i never lied to you.”

the first tear slipped from your lashes and rolled down your cheek — hot in the cold night air. you smirked, crooked, bitter. “you really have no conscience, do you?”

he leaned closer — so close that his lips almost touched yours, and you felt his breath. “every word i told you was the truth,” he whispered hoarsely. “i fucking always told the truth when it came to you.”

you jerked, trying to free your hands, but he held firm — and you stayed trapped, looking through wet lashes, through tears already streaming down your face.

“oh yes, you were honest,” your voice broke, became quieter, but heavier, as if every word had to be torn from your chest along with a piece of flesh. “and when you left me alone that day, when you were supposed to tell everyone — most of all my father — that you loved me? i noticed how honest you were while i stood there, in front of everyone, and waited for you until the very end. like a stupid, naive fool.”

he frowned — so deeply that a shadow settled between his brows — and his eyes locked onto yours with some kind of wild confusion.

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

you glanced around — at the empty garden, at the tree trunks, at the castle glowing with candles in the distance — and let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“do not pretend you do not know. it does not suit you, aerion. i sent you a lette—”

“yes, a letter where you said you would rather commit treason and let them flay you alive before the smallfolk than marry me.”

that made you frown and look up at him. you heard his words, but they did not reach your mind — they drifted, distorted, as if through thick, icy water.

“what?”

more of aerion & akotsk! 𖾕𖾝꙼ᩚ𛲕𖾟 part 4 is in process ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

note: Aerion’s part is longer than I expectrd because… well I got carried away! I really have to rewatch daemyra’s scene sooo I can put it rightin my imagination and I also used rhae’s clothing that scene to use here in the fic too.

Being the youngest daughter of Maekar Targaryen means living in the shadow of a father whose heart turned to stone the moment Dyanna Dayne took her last breath. Your own mother was a political marriage to satisfy the both parties, and she birthed you with silver hair and lilac eyes that you inherited from your father, but she also gave you other features she passed down, like your skin. You might look the part of being a Targaryen, but you’re a ghost in your own home, and your father stares at you as if he’s searching for a face he’ll never see again. He looks for a resemblance to Dyanna that you don't have, while your other sisters carry her memory in their faces. You’re just a reminder of a necessity, and it left a void that no amount of power could ever truly fill.

The rest of your siblings are just a mess of broken pieces, and you’re always watching them from the shadows of the big halls. Daeron is the oldest, but he’s usually lost in the drink in his goblet while he tries to escape from his own dreams. Aerion is a brother who hates you because you don’t share his whole blood, and he treats you like an outsider every chance he gets. Aemon stays away from the family, and your sisters are busy with their own lives, while your beloved Egg is always sneaking off to escape Aerion, too. You’ve learned to do things in the way only a princess like you can, and that means testing the patience of the one man who actually looks at you.

Baelor Targaryen is the Hand and the heir to the throne, but to you, he’s just the uncle who holds your leash too tight. He doesn't have a daughter of his own, so he has taken you under his wing, and he tries to keep you shielded from the world while your own father forgets you exist. He treats you like a doll that might break while he ensures you remain untouched because he wants to save your hand for a high lord you deserve, and he treats your name as if it’s his own to defend. You feel trapped by his kindness, and his constant worry makes the whole place feel like a cage that gets smaller as time passes. Your beloved brother knows about the complicated relationship you have with your uncle, and Aerion loves to mess with your head because of it.

He whispers that Baelor is just another man trying to own you, and he pushes you to break the Prince’s heart just to see what freedom feels like. He always loved to toy with you, even when you were younger, because you and he don’t share the same mother. So it was nothing that he spent weeks filling your ears with stories about common folk beyond the Red Keep, because that was the easiest way to build an image for you, and he promised to show you things Baelor would never allow. He talks about walking through the realm without a single knight at your back, and he tells you the people in the streets have more life in them than anyone in this cold place.

That promise of freedom is what leads you to the small scrap of parchment paper hidden under your pillow, and you read his handwriting by the light of the fire. The note tells you exactly where the hidden door is and gives you instructions on how to get out without anyone knowing. You wait until the halls are quiet and the knight in charge thinks you’re already out for the day. The only sound you can hear is the wind passing by while you walk toward the corner of your chambers. The chair in front of the exit is heavy, but you manage to shove it aside, and the wood scrapes quietly against the floor as you clear the way to the wall. You press your hand against the stone, and it swings open to reveal a dark pathway.

There’s an unpleasant smell and wet stone, while you can see a small bundle of fabric sitting on the floor of the passage. You lean through the opening while your hands grip the edge of the stone frame, and you peer into the hallway to check if the coast is clear. Once you’re on the other side, you reach for the bundle, and you start to strip your heavy clothes. It lands on the floor, and you leave it right where Aerion’s gift had been waiting as if you're swapping one identity for another. You put on the brown tunic, then tie the laces at the front before slipping into the sturdy breeches and the dark grey doublet. The fabric is rough against your skin, but it has more life than anything you’ve worn in years.

You sit on the cold ground to pull on the boots, and you tug the laces tight until they’re secure enough for a long walk. You finish the look by tucking your silver hair under a cap, and you finally look like just another smallfolk in the city. Sevens, you even look like a boy in such a state. You stand up, and you shove the stone back toward the way it was, but you make sure to leave a tiny gap. You don't close it all the way because you need to be able to get back inside before the sun comes up and people come looking for you. You begin to walk down the narrow stone stairs once you're sure everything is good, and the air gets colder the further you go. The walls are damp, and the only light comes from the small torches flickering in the distance as you follow the path deeper.

You keep your steps quiet as you watch the uneven way beneath your feet while moving through the hallways and along the silent tunnels. The path eventually leads deep under the Red Keep, where the altar of the massive skull of Balerion is sitting. You take a moment to look at its enormous size before walking past it, then follow the hallway as it leads toward more steps. You finally feel the cold air of a chilly night after you reach the bottom, and you see a figure leaning against the wall. Aerion looks up as you approach, and he gives you a crooked smile. “Took you long enough.” Aerion doesn't wait for an answer before he reaches out to grab your hand with a firm grip.

He tugs you forward, and you follow him as he leads the way out of the keep and toward the city. Both of you hurried to reach the bottom of the stairs, and the silence of the Red Keep is replaced by the distant noise of King's Landing at night. Aerion keeps a fast pace while he guides you through the streets. “Stay close and do not let go of my hand,” he says as he looks over his shoulder to check on you. He turns a corner where the street is filled with brothels, and you realize he’s taking you toward the Street of Silk. You keep your head down while you clutch his hand tightly when you step into this kind of crowd for the first time.

“Is this it?” you ask while you try to process what you see and the strange faces. “It is,” Aerion laughs, and he leads you deeper into the noise. “Baelor would be mad if he could see you now.” You follow him inside a crowded building, where you can’t describe very well what the scent is that you smell. Someone snatches the doublet right off your shoulders as you push through the people, and it disappears into the crowd, but Aerion doesn't even try to stop them. He just yanks his own hood back to reveal his silver hair, and he stands tall as he leads you further into the room. “Let them have it,” he says while he looks back at you. “You do not need it here,” he adds.

You look around the room, and you see why he isn't worried about you missing your clothes. People are showing all of their skin everywhere you look, and you see women with exposed breasts while men walk around with their cocks hanging between their legs. In every corner, there are people fucking without any shame while the rest of the crowd just watches or drinks. You see bodies entwined together, and the sight makes your face hot, but Aerion just keeps moving as if this is the most natural thing in the world. It’s almost like he’s always here and used to it. Aerion leads you into a massive room where the room is filled with gasping breaths and sounds of pleasure.

You see people fucking on every surface, and some are sprawled across the cushions, while others are pinned against the walls or just doing it without shame on the floor. The sight of so many men and women thrusting or bouncing out in the open makes your heart race. He guides you toward the side of the room, and he doesn't stop until your back is pressed against a cold wall. Aerion looks down at you with a grin, and his fingers reach for the laces of your tunic. “You are shaking,” he whispers while he starts to undo the knots with slow movements. “Is the little princess scared of a few naked bodies, or is it just that you have never seen how people live?”

He loosens the fabric until it hangs open, and he shoves his hand inside to grope your breast. His calloused palm squeezes your flesh, and he watches your face for any sign of pleasure. “Look at them,” he orders while he yanks on the laces to open the shirt even further. “Do not turn away like a coward. You wanted to see behind the walls of the Keep, so you might as well see all of it.” His other hand drops to the waistband of your breeches, and he starts fumbling with it. You try to look away from the people nearby, looking at the two of you, but he grips your chin, and he forces you to keep your eyes on the room. He yanks the breeches down past your hips with a sudden movement, and they fall to your ankles.

“Much better,” he murmurs as he looks at you from your head to your toes while you stand there and have never felt more exposed than before. “Now you look like you actually belong here.” Aerion doesn't waste another second before he silences your protest with his mouth, and he crushes his lips against yours in a harsh kiss. You feel the warmth of his body as he pins you harder against the cold wall while his hand slides down between your legs. His fingers find your pearl, and he starts to grind his palm against your center with a harsh pressure that makes your knees weak. You try to gasp, but the sound is trapped in your throat as he slides his tongue into your mouth, and he rubs his thumb over the sensitive bud. The sensation is overwhelming while he toys with what’s between your folds, and you let out a muffled whine into the kiss because of the way he teases you.

He smirks against your lips when he hears the high-pitched moan you make, and he only increases the speed of his hand to make sure you can’t think of anything but him. “Good,” he murmurs while he breaks the kiss just enough to look at your expression. “Make those pretty sounds for me while everyone watches.” Aerion shifts his weight while he watches your face for any sign that you’re close to finishing, and he shoves two fingers deep into your cunt without any warning. The sudden fullness of your cunt makes you arch against the stone as the pain from the stretch of his fingers affects you while you try to clench around him. "Hngh-! ” You let out a choked gasp, and your fingers sink into the skin of his shoulders while you try to find your breath.

He doesn't slow down or give you a moment to adjust, but instead, he thrusts his fingers deeper until they’re knuckle deep. He smirks at the way tears start to pool in your eyes before he leans in close, and you can feel his breath against your skin. “Mmph... Ah! Enough... Aerion- nnngh,” you whimper while you squirm against his hand, but he only takes it to push his fingers deeper inside you. “Enough?” he mocks you before he starts to move his fingers at a rough pace. “If the High Lords of the realm could see their little Princess now... legs wide and sobbing in a brothel, do you think a single one of them would still want to marry you? You are tainted now,” he sneers while he increases the speed of his hand. “No one wants a girl who has been opened by her brother while commoners watch her make those sounds.”

“Hah... P-please," you whimper while the pain mixes with the pleasure, and your head lolls back against the wall as he shoves his fingers deep into you. He just watches you while your tears start to flow out because it’s all becoming too much. “You want more?” Aerion murmurs against your skin, and he suddenly drops to his knees while your breeches stay bunched at your ankles. You let out a broken gasp as he forces your knees apart with his other hand until the fabric of your breeches tugs against your skin and your wet pearl pulses from the feeling of the cold air. He keeps his fingers buried deep inside you while his tongue swipes across your folds at the same time.

“A-Ae-! Gods,” you cry out, and your fingers find his hair while he buries his face between your thighs to taste you out. The feeling of his mouth makes you grind against him as he sucks on your bud while his hand pumps inside. His other hand grips your hip to keep you pinned against the wall while you heave and sob his name. The way he licks and moves his fingers inside you is something you have never felt before, and you attempt to keep your legs from shaking too hard, but always fail. “Look at me,” he growls against your skin while he looks up at you with hunger, and he continues to flick his tongue against you until you’re sobbing from how he does it.

Aerion buries his face even deeper between your thighs while his tongue licks the line of your folds, and he uses the tip of his tongue to flick at your swollen pearl. You let out a loud moan that echoes through the place because you don’t even care if the other people here see your brother between your legs. The shame doesn’t matter if he uses his mouth to suck on your cunt that way, and you only think about the way he shoves his fingers deeper into you. You don’t care about the people watching or the fact that he’s your brother because the way he moves his tongue makes you forget it. You only want to feel more of him as you watch his dark hair move against your skin while he gulps down the slick around it.

You strive to open your legs further, even though the breeches at your ankles stop you, while you lean your head back against the stone, and you let your cries fill the air. “Emā se sȳrje orvorta eman mirre ēdas,” (You have the best cunt I have ever had) he mumbles against your skin while he swipes his tongue over you again, and his fingers pump deeper inside you until you feel something you can’t even describe. You grind your cunt against his mouth while you seek more relief, but he suddenly yanks his face away. You let out a frustrated whine that almost sounds like you’re complaining, which makes him slap your clit with his other hand in response, and he shoves his fingers deeper.

The way he uses his mouth and the thrust of his fingers make you moan loudly because you need his mouth back against your cunt. Aerion doesn’t put his face back between your legs yet, and it almost feels like he doesn’t want to, especially the way he stays there while he continues to use his hand. He watches your reaction while his fingers move fast around you, and the way his eyes stare at you is too much, as if you can even feel it touch you. “L-lēkia- A-Aerion… P-please- kostilus dīnagon aōha relgos arlī va nyke,” (Brother, put your mouth back on me) you cry out as you look down at him.

He smiles at you from below while he finally moves his face back against your center to start working his mouth again. He flicks his tongue up and down your folds with a greed that makes you sob while he sucks at you as if he is starving. You feel his fingers continue to pump, and his mouth focuses on the pearl until your entire body shakes from the pressure. He devours you while he ignores the sounds of the brothel around you because he only cares about the way you taste. Aerion gives you a few more hard thrusts before he yanks his fingers out where he leaves you gaping and empty. He stands up fast, and you immediately feel the cold air of the brothel on your skin when the warmth of his body against you disappears.

He doesn’t say a word when he turns his back on you, and he starts walking fast toward the exit as if he doesn’t want you to catch him. You are left heaving against the wall with your breeches pooled at your ankles and your shirt hanging open that reveals your exposed breasts to the entire room. “Aerion-! N-nngh- hah... wait!” you gasp while you strive to find your balance. You clutch at your open tunic to hide your chest, but you can't even move to follow him because your legs are still shaking from his touch. You watch his silver hair disappear into the group of naked bodies, and you realize he’s actually leaving you here. “Lēkia! Sevens- Aerion!” you call out again, but the sounds of people moaning nearby drown your voice.

You feel the pulsing feeling between your legs, and you hurried to tug your breeches back up before anyone else decides to take advantage of you. “Damn him,” you hiss while you angrily fix your beeches with clumsy fingers. You put your breasts back into the tunic, and you yank the ties shut as fast as you can while your heart beats fast against your ribs. You look around the room with a panicked expression and notice a few men staring at you with hungry eyes. The sight makes you finish tucking in your shirt quickly, and you run toward the exit to try to find him before you're truly lost around the city. You stumble out of the brothel, and the cold air touches your skin like it’s a slap in your title that you’re walking out like this.

You don’t even realize the cap that hid your silver hair is gone, and you just keep walking as the wind blows those strands away. Your clothes are messy, and the way you tuck your tunic is not even proper, but you don’t care because you just want to get away from that place. A few drunkards hanging around in the alley stop to stare as you pass over them. “Is that... silver?” one of them mutters while he squints his eyes through the dark as if he’s trying to confirm if it’s one of the Targaryen bastards because who could even have silver hair but in such a state like you have right now? No highborn will wear that filthy fabric. “Cannot be,” another responds, and he leans against a wooden post. “What would a dragon be doing coming out of a hole like this?”

“Look at the way she walks,” the first one whispers while he watches your shaky legs. “Someone definitely had their way with her there.” You really tried to keep your head down and not fight with them because you would just get yourself caught. You pick up your pace while your heart thumps against your ribs like you are wishing no one would ever recognize you. Every person you’re walking by feels like a hand reaching for you, and every muffled laugh from a nearby window sounds like a mockery of your shame. You reach the side entrance of the Red Keep, and you slip through the door while the silence of the castle swallows you whole. Thanks to the Sevens that the knight on duty was distracted by another night, so they didn’t even blink an eye in your direction.

The halls are empty except for the rats lingering around and the fire from the torches. Everyone is asleep, and the only sound you can hear is the scuff of your boots against the floor. You feel small in the big corridor while you hug your arms around your chest as a poor attempt to feel fully covered, despite the fact that you’re even clothed, and because you can’t stop trembling from the cold. You walk past the closed doors and along the walls as your messy hair falls over your face while you keep your eyes on the floor to avoid being seen. You can feel the air on your swollen lips as you realize how exposed you feel without your doublet because you are only wearing a tunic.

A few of the laces are still untied at the top, but you don’t even bother to fix them. You just want to be in your chamber and hide, so you pick up your pace, which makes your boots thud louder against the floor. You reach the hallway, turn at the end of it, and you almost start running until a tall figure steps out from the shadows and blocks your path. You nearly crash into his chest, and you stumble back while you struggle to keep your balance. You saw the dark hair and stern expression of Baelor when the dim torchlight fell on his face. He stands there with his arms crossed over his chest while he looks down at your messy hair and your untied tunic with a look of pure disgust.

“Where have you been?” he asks, and his voice sounds like he’s mad. You try to walk past him by taking a step to the side, but he moves to block you again, and he stays put. “I asked you a question,” he says before he steps closer, and he forces you back toward the stone wall. You just shake your head, and you try to look away from his gaze because you can’t bear the way he’s judging you. It’s almost like he sees a different person right now, and it’s not the lovely niece he knows. “Did you hear me?” Baelor asks again while his voice rises a little, but not enough to wake people, and he looms over you. “I want to know which brothel you crawled out of and which whorehouse allowed you in.”

His words stirred emotions deep inside you, and what he said is probably worse than a slap. You look up at him and try to stand tall, like you are gathering your confidence to talk back to him. “It is no concern of yours where I spend my time,” you said while you met his eyes. “You are neither my father nor my King, and I do not owe you an account of my activities!” you said with annoyance before you tried to push past him again, but Baelor reaches out, and he catches your wrist. He yanks you back toward him, and he holds you so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“It became my concern the moment you brought shame to this house,” he hisses while he stares at your messy hair and tunic. “Was it Aerion? Did you let that boy drag you into the mud?” You let out a bitter laugh before you twist your arm, but he doesn’t let go, and his eyes are now eyeing you angrily at your swollen lips. “Aerion knows how to spend his time,” you spit out, and you lean in toward his face while your eyebrows knit together. “But you are so occupied with the King’s business and the duties of the Hand that you likely have not laid hands on a woman in years.” Baelor’s jaw tightens, and his grip on your wrist gets even tighter until it hurts. He doesn’t say anything for a second, but you can see the rage behind his eyes as he stares at your swollen lips and your slightly opened tunic that will surely reveal your chest if he pulls the tie more.

“Is that what you believe?” he asks, and his voice is strained as he yanks you closer to his chest. “That I have lost my way?” He doesn’t drag you away, but instead he shoves you back against the cold stone of the corridor wall with a sudden force that knocks the whine out of you. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, and he uses his other hand to grip your throat. It’s not enough to knock you out, but it's enough to catch you off guard. The hallway is empty, and the dim torchlight makes his shadow loom over you as you can feel the warmth of his body. “You think I am too old and too tired for the likes of you,” he whispers after he leans down and his breath touches your ear. “But look at you. You walk back here in this state, and you expect me to ignore how you ruin yourself for a night with Aerion.”

You look up at him, and a taunting smile spreads across your face because you can see how much you’re getting under his skin. You almost look like you enjoy the way he’s towering over you, and you only smiled for a moment before it disappeared. You widen your eyes, and your eyes start to water while you stare at him with a frightened look. Luckily for you, you have a talent for faking your emotions. “You are hurting me,” you whisper, and your voice sounds small in the empty hallway. His hand is still tight against your neck, and you can feel the heat from his palm against your skin. You’re not actually in pain, but you watch his expression for any sign of hesitation. You lean your head back against the wall, and you let a single tear roll down your cheek while you keep your eyes looking at him.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, and you let your voice tremble just enough. “Are you truly going to hurt your only girl because of Aerion? I thought I meant more to you than a reason to lose your temper.” Baelor’s grip doesn’t loosen, but you see a flicker of something in his eyes when you call yourself his girl. He looks down at your swollen lips and then back at your watering eyes while his chest heaves against yours. He leans in closer until his nose brushes against yours, and you can feel his anger. He can easily see through the act, and his eyes darken when he realizes you are trying to play him. “You are not a girl,” he says roughly. “You are a woman who does not know her place, and you think you can play these games with me because I have been kind to you in the past?”

He tightens his grip around your throat, but it’s not in a way that will choke you out of air; instead, he wants you to feel the pressure while he looms over you. He lets go of your wrists, and they drop to your sides, but you’re pinned too firmly against the wall to move. “Do not play the victim with me when you were just in the arms of a prince who cares nothing for your safety,” he growls, and his face is inches from yours. He slides his free hand down your chest, and he slips it under the hem of your tunic. His palm is hot against your skin as he moves upward, and he finds your breast under his palm. He squeezes your flesh firmly, and his thumb brushes over your nipples while he watches your tears dry up.

“Nnngh... H-hah n..." you moan breathily as you arch your back against the wall. The sound makes his jaw clench, and he moves the hand that is already at your neck to slide his fingers up until they touch your lips. He shoves them into your mouth to make you choke on them while his palm is firm against your chin to hold your head from looking away. He forces your jaw open with two fingers he placed over your tongue to keep you quiet. He pressed his weight into you so you could feel the hardness of his cock under his clothes, and he kept his other hand busy under your shirt. “Keep your mouth shut,” he commands, and his voice is gritty. “You will wake the people in this wing.”

You let out a muffled moan against his hand, and you look up at him with wide eyes while your heart thuds against your ribs. He let out a deep groan from his throat, and he started to grope your flesh with pressure that makes your legs feel weak. You try to say something back to him, but you can only make a whine around his fingers while he stares at your face. You look up at him through your lashes, and you reach down with your free hand to find the heavy shape of his cock through his breeches. You wrap your fingers around the length of him, and you feel him throb under your touch when you squeeze him. Baelor lets out a deep grunt, and he closes his eyes for a second as he reacts to your hand.

He doesn’t pull away, and instead, he uses his hand on your face to control your mouth. He shoves his index and middle fingers deeper into your throat while he uses his thumb and his remaining fingers to grip your jaw tightly. He forces your mouth open wider, and he curls his fingers over your tongue to keep you from speaking or biting down. “Mmmph... Hngh! ”You gasp, and your eyes water for real this time when you feel his fingers reach close to your throat. “Seven hells,” Baelor curses, and his voice is hoarse as he leans his forehead against yours. “You are a bold little whore, and you think you can handle a man like me just because you have been playing with Aerion.”

He keeps his fingers buried in your mouth, and he moves his other hand from your breast down to your waist. He fumbles with the ties of your breeches, and he yanks them open with a harsh tug. He doesn’t stop there, and he slides his hand inside to find your wet cunt while your hand keeps working on his cock through the fabric. He finds your bud, and he rubs his thumb against it with a force that makes your knees buckle. "Nngh-! Mmmf!” you cry out against his fingers, and your cunt gets wetter as he pleases you with his thumb. “You want to be used?” he whispers, and he stares into your eyes while he works his fingers inside your mouth with his hand inside your cheeks. “I will give you exactly what you deserve.”

Baelor pulls his hand away from your cunt and mouth before he turns you around with a surprising movement that leaves you breathless. He pushes your face against the cold wall, and he yanks your breeches down to your knees. He holds your ass, and he feels the softness of them for a moment before he leans closer and grinds his clothed cock against you. He wraps one arm around your body, and he slides his hand underneath your tunic so that it rests firmly on your breast while he stays close against your back. “Iksan vaoreznuni,” (I am sorry) he starts apologizing in Valyrian against your ear, and his voice is laced with a guilt that wasn’t there before. “I did not mean to be so harsh with you, my little dove.”

He keeps grinding against you while his hand kneads your chest, and he nuzzles the side of your neck as if he wants to be even closer to you. His anger turns into a desperate affection as he holds you tightly against the wall while his breath hitches. “You just do not understand what it does to me when I think of you in those places,” he murmurs gently, and he closes his eyes as he feels the warmth of your body. You move your hips back against him, and you feel him through his breeches. You grind your arse against his front, and he lets out a heavy groan. You lean your head back against his shoulder before you smile.

“Are you jealous?” you ask softly. “Does it bother you that I was there with my legs open while other men watched? Does it eat at you to think that any one of them could have taken me on the floor and used me until I could not walk?” You feel his heart thudding against your back, and his grip on your breast gets tighter because of what you’re saying. You chuckle, and you move your arse against him again to make sure he feels you against him. “Aerion is young, and he has the fire for it, but you are just an old man who thinks an apology will make me forget how you just had your fingers down my throat,” you whisper, and you shove your arse back into his pelvis.

You feel his breath against your ear while you move your hips to feel his thick cock against your soft flesh. He makes a rough sound, and his fingers sink into your skin. You don’t stop, and you close your eyes while you mock him with your movements. “You are slowing down… Maybe you are just scared that you do not have enough blood left in you, actually, to handle a woman like me,” you murmur, and your hair brushes his face when you lean your head more to his shoulder. He let out a snarl, and he yanked his breeches down past his hips with a single motion. He doesn’t give you a second to prepare before he grabs your waist with both hands, and he positions himself at your entrance.

He pushes into you with a sudden thrust that buries his cock inside you in an instant, and the force of it makes you cry out. You have no choice but to place your palms against the wall to keep your body from falling while he pins you there with the weight of his body. He moves his hands, so they’re both holding onto your hips before he begins to work you against him with a hard force. He isn’t just thrusting into you, but instead he is yanking your hips back to meet every ram of his cock, and the impact makes your face uncomfortably rub against the wall. “You want to talk about Aerion?” he growls in your ear, and his voice is filled with ugly rage. “You think that boy has the fire for this when he could not even keep you for a whole night? He left you in the dirt like a used whore because he is a coward who only knows how to play instead of being a man.”

He pounds into you even harder, and his fingers on your skin are enough to start bruising with how he puts pressure on it while he uses your hips to control the depth of every plunge. “I was going to be kind to you… I was going to take you back to your chambers to- " He cuts himself off while he buries himself inside you to the hilt. “To give you the gentle touch you deserve,” he taunts as he yanks your hips back to meet every ram of his cock, and the impact makes your forehead bang against the wall. “But, no, you just had to keep your tongue wagging,” he hisses while he pounds into you without any plan to stop this any sooner. “Look at you now,” he grunts when you clench around him. “You’re being used in a hallway by the old man you look down on.”

He keeps a tight grip on your waist while he pistons into you. “You’re taking every inch of me while your precious brother is probably with another whore’s cunt." Baelor lets out a moan against your neck, and he moves one of his hands from your hip to your arse. He grips the soft flesh painfully before he pulls back just enough to hit one of your arses with a loud slap that can be heard through the corridor. He doesn’t even care if someone hears the sound or if your father, Maekar, happens to walk around the corner and find his youngest daughter being used by his dear brother. He doesn’t want to hide anymore, and instead, he looks like he wants the whole castle to know exactly who is fucking you like a hound.

“Go on then,” he growls, and he pushes his hips into you with a thrust that makes your toes curl against the floor. “Do not hold back your voice for my sake.” He buries his entire length inside you, and he stays there for a heartbeat to let you feel the fullness of it. “I want you to moan so loudly that every guard and every servant in the Red Keep knows what you are.” He lets his cock throb inside you, and his thickness makes your breath hitch. “Let them all hear how the future king handles a slut like you.” A slap to your arse makes you arch your back with a loud moan to hear from it. His hips start to hammer into you again with a relentless pace and don’t stop for breath. He keeps yanking your hips back to meet him so that you take every bit of him.

His eyes focus on the side of your face, and you can only gasp for air while he seems possessed by the need to have you. “I want them to know,” he murmurs while he kneads your skin. “I want Maekar to hear his youngest daughter making these sounds for me while Aerion sleeps alone in his bed.” You keep your palms pressed against the cold stone, and your arse is arched high to meet him while he works behind you. Baelor doesn’t just thrust anymore, but instead he digs his fingers into your waist so he can force your arse to slide over his cock, and he makes you take every inch of him with each drag. He decides how the pace will go by yanking you back against him while he drags your ass forward to force a moan out of you, and he doesn't let you move an inch unless he’s the one guiding you.

The sounds of both of your skin contacting are loud in the empty hall, and he groans when he feels you clench around him with every slide of his cock. He isn’t gentle at all, and he seems surprised by the way your body welcomes him like that. “You are so tight,” he grunts in your ear, and his voice is strained while he tries to keep his pace. “How can you be this tight after a night with that boy? Did he even touch you at all, or are you just built to take a man this way?”

You let out a broken moan while your back arches even more, and you feel the weight of him filling you completely. You turn your head just enough to look at him, and you let a small smile show on your face even as he hammers into you.

“Do you like it, Uncle?” you gasp, and you shove your arse back to meet him while your heart thumps. “Nngh- do you like how t-tight I am for you? Mmn- tell me.” Baelor lets out a sound that is almost a growl, and he nods while he buries his face in your hair. “Sīkudi nopāzmi" (seven hells), he mutters, and he leans closer into your back while his cock pulses inside you. “Damn you… You know I do- " You let out a laugh, and you wiggle against him, taking him more deeply as you purposely clench around him. “Aerion never put his cock in me,” you whisper while you feel him slow down from his movements behind you. “He only used his fingers and tongue. You are the only one who has been inside me tonight.” Baelor stops for a split second after he hears you, and then he pounds into you, which almost knocks your palms off the wall.

He doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath, and he just pounds himself against your arse while he grips your waist so hard that his knuckles turn white. He sounds like he’s losing his mind, and he shoves his face into your neck while he keeps the same pace without any mercy. “Tonight?” he spat out, and his voice was laced with surprise. “You say I am the only one who has been inside you tonight, but what of the nights before this one?” He yanks you back against him to shove himself deeper inside you, and he holds you there while you feel him twitch. “How many men have used you?” He moves your hips in a slow circle to make his cock rub against your womb, and he watches the way your back arches. “How many times have you given yourself away while I was not looking?”

You gasp as his palm smacks your arse again, and your back arches until your spine feels like it might snap. You feel him filling you, and you shake your head while you try to keep your palms on the wall. “N-no one, uncle- " you cry out, and you shove your arse back to meet his pelvis. “I am a maiden, and no man has ever had me. I have never done this with anyone but you.” The words make him groan while he guides your hips back to meet his thrust. He isn’t even holding back now, and he slaps your arse again while he fucks into you. He looks like a man possessed after hearing that you were a maiden, and he keeps his eyes on the back of your head while he claims you in the middle of the hallway. “A maiden,” he repeats, and he sounds almost disgusted with himself even as he keeps ramming into you. “You are a daughter of the Prince, and you have a name to uphold, yet you let Aerion drag you into that filth?”

He leans his chest against your back to crush you into the stone while he shoves his cock deeper into you to show his anger. “Did you not even think about what would happen to you if someone else had found you first?” He doesn’t even seem to realize the irony of his words while he’s having his way with you here in the open. “You are lucky I am the one who caught you because any other man would have just taken what he wanted and left you ruined in the street.” You clench around him because of what he said, and the pleasure is so good that you finish right there against the stone. You squeeze him tightly, and you feel yourself getting soaked while you let out a loud cry. Baelor lets out a groan when he feels how much you got soaked compared to a few seconds ago, and he realizes you just spilled around his cock while he’s still moving.

You let out a whine, and you turn your head over your shoulder to look at him. “No one else will take me now anyway- " you whisper while you feel him throbbing inside you. “After all, you have already taken my maidenhood in a hallway.” You feel his breath on your neck, and you lean your forehead against the wall to catch your breath while his cock pulses inside you. “Who would want me after the Hand of the King has had his way with me?” You say those words to hurt him, and you feel your knees wobble. The reminder of what he has done makes him snap, and the way he shoves his cock into you almost knocks the wind out of you. He doesn’t stop, and instead, he uses your hips to drive himself even deeper while his face is twisted with rage.

He’s breathing raggedly, and he looks at you with a look that shows he’s done playing games. “Then you will learn to lie like the rest of them,” he growls, and he pounds into you so fast that your head hits against the wall again. “Many a lady has fooled her husband before, and you will simply do the same. If you wanted to stay pure, then you should not have gone out with Aerion.” He slaps your arse just to let out what he’s feeling, but he also likes how it bounces, and the sound it makes is loud. Baelor pounds into you even harder while he’s starting to feel that he’s close to his own release. He moves his hands away from your arse, and he wraps one arm around your neck to hold you steady while his other hand slams over your mouth. He’s trying to silence you because the way he’s fucking you made you let out a loud scream that will wake the other.

It’s ironic because he was just telling you to be loud not so long ago, but now he’s panicked that someone might actually come looking for the source of the noise. Your chest is still pressed against the wall, and you can only make muffled sounds against his palm while he moves on your back. “Mmmph! Nnngh-! ” you cry out behind his fingers, and your eyes open widely while you feel him hit the spot inside you that you didn’t know existed. Your back is arched, and your hips are tilted up to take every inch of him while he can’t control his temper. “Quiet,” he grunts in your ear, and he pants while he’s working to catch the feeling of release. “Bloody- you are too tight, and you are going to get us caught with those sounds.”

He keeps his hand clamped over your face while he shoves his cock into you with a heavy pounding that hits the back of your womb. He’s not thinking about anything but how you feel, so he’s just trying to get as deep as he can before he can’t control himself to pull away. You feel his fingers dig into your cheek, and you can only moan into his palm when his cock throbs inside you. “Hngh... haah...” he lets out a heavy sound, and his body goes rigid while he finally cums inside you. He keeps you pinned to the wall, and he doesn’t let go of your mouth until he’s sure you won’t scream again. Baelor pulls out just as he’s about to lose it, and he spills white seed right against your arse instead of inside you.

He lets out a sound that is almost like a whine while he coats your skin because he wasn’t planning on leaving a babe in your belly just yet. He’s breathing hard, and he immediately shoves back into your cunt after pouring all of the drops on your arse. You can feel that he’s still throbbing, and he’s trying to push his seed inside you, even though he’s already spent it all on the outside. He keeps his hand clamped over your mouth while he forces himself back in. "Mmmf-! ”You moan against his palm, and your arse grinds into him while you feel full again. You can feel his seed clinging to your skin while the remnants drop down to your thighs. “Look at the mess you made me do,” he says while he tries to recover, and he keeps his hand over your face to stifle your moans.

He’s acting on pure instinct now, and he grinds his cock against your walls to shove the slickness from your arse back inside you. You can only let out muffled gasps while he holds you, and he doesn’t pull away until he’s satisfied with it. Baelor finally pulls away before he looks down at your arse to see how his seed covered it, and the sight makes him let out a groan. He’s clearly affected by the mess he made, and he moves his hand away from your mouth before he lets go of your neck. He turns you around to make you face him, and he takes a look at your messy state while you try to catch your breath. He’s breathing hard, and his eyes move to where your breeches are yanked down to the ground. He reaches down, and he pulls them up first because he wants to make you look presentable before he even thinks about fixing his own clothes.

doesn’t say a word while he tugs the fabric into place, and his hands are a little shaky as he tries to hide away the evidence of what just happened. “Look at me,” he commands, and he hooks a finger under your chin to lift your head while he’s finishing with your clothes. “We cannot have anyone seeing you in this state.” You lean your weight against him because you can’t feel your legs, and you look up at his face while he tries to fix your hair. “Your chambers are closer than mine,” you whisper, and you watch his jaw tighten at the suggestion. “You cannot exactly let me walk looking like this.” He clearly doesn’t want to bring you there and risk people seeing him carry his niece into his room, or, even worse, someone seeing you leave in the morrow.

He knows the gossip would be hell if anyone caught a glimpse of you slipping out of his door in the morning, but he looks at the state of your clothes, and he knows you’re right. He lets out a frustrated huff, and he suddenly leans down to scoop you up into his arms while he ignores that he didn’t properly put his breeches on. He carries you down the hall with hurried steps as if he’s running in a race, and he doesn’t stop until he reaches his door. He brings you straight to his bed, and he tosses you onto it while he finally turns to lock the door. Baelor stands by the door for a moment while he tries to catch his breath, and he finally turns to look at you, where you’re sprawled on his bed.

He looks at your tunic, and he sees how dirty it is, which makes him let out a frustrated sigh because he knows those clothes have already touched the mattress. You aren't making it easy for him, though, and you start to roll across the fine sheets while knowing it’s a filthy thing. “Stop that,” he said before walking towards you, and he lunges forward to catch your waist before you can ruin the entire bed. “You are going to dirty it, and I will not sleep in a bed that smells like shit.” He ignores your stubborn look, and he begins to help you out of the fabric. He pulls the tunic out of your body before he yanks the breeches down, while his fingers brush against your skin, and he doesn’t say a word until your clothes are tossed onto the floor.

He reaches into a chest at the end of his bed, and he pulls out one of his own nightclothes before he offers it to you. “Put this on,” he mutters, and his voice is still hoarse while he looks at your state. You look at the fabric, and then you look at him while you bat your eyelashes as you slowly push the garment away. You make it very clear that you have no intention of wearing his clothes, and you lie back against the pillows while you don’t wear a thing. Baelor stares at you for a long moment, and he feels his resolve slipping while he takes in the sight of his niece in his bed. “Fine,” he grunts, and he turns his back to you so he can finally strip out of his layers, too.

“If you wish to be difficult, then you can sleep… like that, but do not complain if you get cold.” He starts to change his own things, but then he feels your gaze on him, and it makes him pause halfway through. He looks over his shoulder, and he sees the way you're watching him, and he decides to abandon his own night clothes as well. He climbs into the bed while he's showing skin as you do, and he pulls the heavy covers up to hide both of you. He stays on his side of the bed, and he stares at the ceiling while attempting to ignore the fact that you’re lying there completely naked right next to him. You aren't about to let him keep that distance, though, and you slide across the distance until your skin brushes against his.

You wrap your arms around his chest so you can cling to him while you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, and you can feel the way his heart beats against his chest. “Still so tense, Uncle?”You," you murmur, and you breathe against his throat. He doesn't try to push you away, but his hand moves up to rest on your hip with a firm grip. “You should be asleep,” he mutters. “Tomorrow is going to be… You aren't helping.” You let out a small laugh, and you nuzzle deeper into his body while you enjoy how he feels against you. “You're being a sour old man just because you finally got what you wanted,” you tease, and you tilt your head up to look at his defined jawline.

“Though for all your stern looks and your seriousness... You still fuck like a man on his deathbed.” Baelor finally looks at you like he will drink you in with the way you’re batting your eyelashes and your grin. “Is that so?” he asks before he rolls onto his side to face you properly. “Perhaps the old man has more endurance than you can handle if you keep testing his patience in his own bed.” Baelor pulls you closer, if that’s even possible, until there’s no space between your bodies, and he doesn’t say another word. He just closes his eyes, and he accepts that his life as he knew it ended the moment he tasted you because now he would rather burn the Seven Kingdoms to the ground than let you belong to anyone else.

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⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

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