꒰ঌSwan໒꒱

“In the current situation, your younger brother is next in line, but a direct male issue would put everyone at ease,” had been the last word of the session, and Aemond had contemplated it all evening, and well into the night.

Since you had been wed to King Aemond a year prior, you had taken to your role as queen with ease, and were overall beloved by the lords and ladies of the court and the smallfolk. To many outsiders, you were the perfect consort, and Aemond would have to agree, politically speaking. 

There was only one matter that cast a shadow on you—the lack of heirs. 

Aemond thought it was due to the lack of passion between yourself and him, as he had to admit, you had little in common except the duty that was yours by marriage. He was reserved by nature and loathed the stilted silences between the two of you.

From the very start he had thought that it would be easier to avoid your company in private rather than subject yourself and him to the gracelessness of attempting to know one another, with the risk of finding you abhorred the other.

A year into this arrangement, Aemond now realized it had been a grave oversight on his part, one that had to be remedied as soon as possible—on this night, if you were to comply.

No matter the truth of the matter, you knew queens were blamed for empty cradles, even though in this case, you were adamant that the blame rested entirely on your husband Aemond. While you had not expected to fall in love with him nor find pleasure in the marriage bed, you had anticipated more vigor from such a man. 

However the truth was that he rarely visited your chambers, and on the occasional nights that he did, he only instructed you to lay down while he took you, and his demeanor did not encourage you to pursue him. He was mostly silent, tucking his face away behind his long curtain of white hair, and kept his rhythm steady. 

There was no passion to it, no true desire, and while it had simply surprised you at first, now you had grown to resent it.

There was no love for him in your heart, you insisted on thinking, but it did not mean you were not affected. A queen deserved to be flattered by her husband’s desire, and instead you felt cold and dry, dreadfully unwanted. 

This night was one as any other, where you were comfortably settled into an armchair by the fire, lost in a book you had borrowed from the Maester. It was way past the hour you were usually asleep, but you could not find rest, and instead of losing yourself in your own thoughts, you decided to further your knowledge instead.

A sharp succession of knocks interrupted you, and you were instantly worried—no polite company would come at this hour, and the only explanation you could think of was that a tragedy had occurred, and you were being informed.

“Come,” you called, rising and making your way to the door, but your visitor had not waited for your invitation, and had entered your chambers as though knocking had simply been a courtesy.

If it had been anyone but your husband the king, you would have already called for your guard. 

“Has something happened?” you asked, and Aemond seemed taken aback by your question.

Aemond seemed to think for a moment, and then replied, sounding unnerved. “As a matter of fact, no, nothing has occurred and that is precisely the issue,” he said, visibly displeased, and you were confused as to what matter he was alluding to, but he clarified before you could ask. “Get on the bed.”

The command was so sharp and far removed from his usual polite demeanor that you instantly refused, which only served to irritate him further. “The court laughs behind my back, at the lack of heir, and I have come to remedy it,” he explained, taking you by the arm and attempting to drag you towards your bed.

Laughter erupted from you at the ludicrous mention and the sudden way with which he handled you, as though you were a simple whore at his service. “It seems you have come to blame me and conduct yourself in the most unbecoming manner!” you cried out, wrenching your arm free.

“It has been a year since we were wed, and you still haven’t done your duty,” Aemond pushed. 

“Mayhaps if my husband showed a bit more interest in me, I would already be round with child,” you retorted. “Once every fortnight if the weather is agreeable does not produce an heir.”

“Mayhaps if my wife did not merely lay there like a corpse, the flesh would be more willing,” he replied.

“My participation isn’t necessary for the seed to take,” you shrugged. 

“In the situation we find ourselves in, I would argue the opposite. I doubt seed could take root and blossom in such a hostile environment as you.”

“If you wanted a whore for a wife, then you should have wed one,” you protested, but he ignored you.

“Get on the bed,” he insisted, and while you loathed his sudden way, it was the most interest he had shown you in weeks. His eye was dark and blown wide, which made a spark of heat burst in your belly.

“Fine,” you snapped, turning around and pulling up at your nightgown, gathering the fabric at your waist. Aemond watched in astonishment as you bent over the foot of the bed. “Shall I moan like a whore or can your mind take you to the brothel on its own?”

“There is no need for vulgarity,” Aemond replied, but he could not ignore the way his loins stirred at the sight of your curves—he loathed to admit it, but it had been too long since he had shared your bed, and no matter your character, you were still pleasing to the eye.

“My silence unnerves you, but it does not suit you either when I propose a distraction?” you threw over your shoulder, waiting for him to come to you. The sound of fabric rustling and a bitten-off groan made you shift where you stood.

“Quiet,” Aemond eventually tried to command, but his tone conveyed more of a request.

A hand at your hip was your only warning before the blunt head of his cock pressed against your folds, making you gasp. He slowly pressed inside, and a last-minute thought made you pull your gown fully over your head, not wanting to get it soiled.

“Stay still,” he instructed. He slowly pulled away, only to come back with the full force of a thrust that hit deep in your belly. You slapped a hand over your mouth, muffling the surprised cry.

Aemond groaned as he sheathed himself fully, throwing his head back. He looked at the ceiling for a second, savoring the feeling of your tightness around his length. Without a word of warning, he started a steady, purposeful rhythm as he always did, but this time the angle was dragging against a spot inside you that your fingers only knew too well.

“Silence,” he snapped again, gripping your hip in a sharp pinch, and you realized that the muffled groans you had heard were coming from you—he no doubt thought it to be an obscene performance from you, destined to irritate him, and it made shame burned the back of your neck.

The rocking of his hips was nothing like the tedious and shallow grind he usually subjected you to—each thrust was hitting deep inside you, building a thrumming heat at your core. 

Aemond groaned again when he felt you clench and shift your hips, and he wondered why he had never taken you in such a way. Whether it was the ease and freedom of not having to hold his whole weight atop you, or the tightness of your walls around his cock, he knew it would be a quick affair.

His rhythm built, his groans growing louder, and you realized with a shiver that something sharp was mounting inside of you. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing you, you lowered your chest fully onto the bed, keeping a hand to your mouth while the other, no longer holding your weight, slithered between the bed and your body.

The combined heat of him inside you and the pressure of your own fingers at your core made your head spin and your entire body quiver.

For the first time in a year, lying with your husband was not a chore but a true pleasure, and you intended to pursue it to the very end. You unraveled faster than you ever did on your own, heat coiling in your belly and your entire abdomen growing tight in anticipation.

Lost to the feeling of your walls clenching around him, it took Aemond a minute to realize the added pressure on each stroke was coming from your fingers, working fast between your thighs. 

“Are you—” he suddenly asked, then forced your hand away from your core. “You are a whore,” he admonished, and you bit the sheet under you in protest.

Aemond pulled away and you whined. “In the middle of the bed,” he ordered with a sharp slap to your rear, and to your shame, you obeyed, sighing in delight when you felt him follow you. 

He brought you to your knees, your lower back arching, making your shoulders fall into his chest. It was the first time you had ever shown any sort of interest in the act, and it incensed him. He pushed the head of his cock past your folds again, delighting in how you clenched around him. 

“Do you think it will take, this time?” you wondered out loud.

As though it was his answer, Aemond pushed into you again, in one slow thrust that dragged along the sensitive spot that made your quiver. The head of his cock hit the back of your body, making him groan, then his hands tightened at your hips as he picked up his rhythm again. 

Pleasure coiled at the apex of your thighs, all the more when he pressed his fingers to your core, drawing tight circles. “I did not think you had it in you,” you praised, melting into him, your head rolling back on his shoulder. 

“Is that what it would have taken, all this time, to treat you like the whore you are?” he taunted, but there was no heat to it anymore. 

Aemond soared at the way you surrendered to him, your entire body relying on him to keep you upright, at the mercy of his hurried thrusts.

One hand between your legs, the other playing with the curve of your breast, he brought you to your peak almost effortlessly. Quivering into his hold, you let the waves of pleasure bring you under, crashing through you into peaks that left you breathless. 

He cursed into your shoulder, spilling into you with a few muffled grunts. “There, it is done,” he said rather proudly, and you wanted to laugh at his need for confirmation. 

Aemond brought you down to the mattress, but your elbows could hardly hold you up. “Stay,” he hummed, one of his hands cradling your lower belly. He pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades, savoring the subsequent shiver that rippled along your spine. “I think it will take, this time.”

“If the seed is strong enough,” you quipped, clenching and rolling your hips back, only to hear him hiss.

Only then did he pull away, falling along with you, until you were nestled together in the middle of the bed, the sheets and pillows askew. You floated into bliss, shivering under his trailing fingers at your waist, down the curve of your hip to where you were now drenched. He seemed to take pleasure in exploring how he had soiled you, and you allowed him. 

Surprisingly tender, he pressed yet another kiss to your shoulder, humming pleasantly. “I will call on you again on the morrow,” he said, then dragged the points of his teeth across your soft skin. “Once might not be enough.”

“As my king wishes,” you replied.