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“i never wanted to be king..." he mumbled, drinking his wine. "to keep them safe... and for what? for what!?"
your heart fell at his words. it split and shattered into a million pieces, but slowly. the pain was so slow. it froze you — held you in its grasp so the only thing you could do was stare at the king, who sank slowly into his own despair — and also his chair.
you swallowed — unsure of how to proceed.
“more wine, your grace?” you asked, hoping to appear cheerful.
with his back turned, his own answer was his outstretched hand with his goblet in his grasp.
your pour was hefty.
he sighed before he brought his chalice to his lips, taking two gulps of the deep plum liquid. you didn’t want to linger — for you knew the king enjoyed his solitude or the company of a young lady.
you wanted to make haste before he remembered either of the two.
“is there anything else i can do for you, my king?” you asked. “i can fetch you something to eat —“
“no,” he spoke. “i’m not hungry. — sit with me. pour yourself a glass.”
your eyes widened as your clutched the wine. sit — with the king? and share wine? you had never heard of such a thing. you had heard of his crude, and horrible behavior — but not this. definitely not this.
but what else were you to do but obey? nothing. absolutely nothing. you had no choice.
you pulled out the chair, and aegon pulled another glass toward his. the king... retrieved you a glass? you had set the wine down on the table so you could pull your chair out with shaking hands, hoping to keep them steady. aegon, the king, had taken it upon himself to not only get you your own chalice, but also pour wine for you.
gods, you thought. what have i found myself in?
“thank you, my king,” you spoke, settling into your seat. “would it please your grace to drink in silence?”
he tapped his fingers on the top of the table. you could not meet his eyes, for fear of upsetting him. you weren’t sure if you could feel his eyes on you, but you did not want to make the first move.
“the servant girls like you — they do not look at me,” he spoke, taking another swig of his wine. “due to my actions as a boy, no doubt. i must assure you — i am a man now. a king.”
“of course, your grace,” you answered. “we are very lucky to serve you and your family.”
“very lucky…” he scoffed, a sad smile on his face. he was not displeased with you — and you couldn’t place why, but you could tell it was not you. you surmised it was something else. “lucky? to work in this castle? when war brews closer every day?”
you swallowed thickly, unsure of how to proceed. you shouldn’t have. you really shouldn’t have — and you knew it, you could feel it in your bones — but a part of you also knew that it could do some good. maybe not a lot, but at least some. “we know that you would do anything to protect this castle — and the people inside of it, your grace. we are lucky.”
was it a lie? yes. none of the servants believed that they were safe, and those that did — they did not credit aegon. they might credit the webs alicent could weave, aemond’s dragon, or cole’s stones — but not aegon. definitely not aegon. not even aegon gave aegon, himself any credit, for he knew the truth. everyone knew the truth — but where would self pity get the king? where would his low self esteem place you and the small folk? nowhere. absolutely nowhere.
and that’s why you lied.
you lied through your fucking teeth.
you had to lie — for the good of the realm. for the good of the small folk. for your own good.
and what did he do? he laughed.
he fucking laughed.
you weren’t surprised — you knew that he was difficult to reason with, prone to expressions of raw, irrational emotion.
what you didn’t expect was that his laughs turned into tears.
you don’t know why — but you immediately stood.
sitbackdownsitbackdownsitbackdown, someone in your head chided. sitbackdownsitbackdownsitbackdown.
but you didn’t listen. you should’ve listened.
you stood and took a few steps towards the king.
thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.
your heart pounded in your ears, and soon you though you could feel it rise into your throat. you would’ve choked on it if you had waited any longer to do what you wanted to.
you reached for his hand — not really knowing what you would do if you had successfully intertwined your fingers with his. it didn’t matter — for aegon smacked your hand away. he snapped his head up to look at you, glaring.
he immediately stood from his seat, towering over you. his eyes were ablaze, consumed by anger and threats. his lips were thin in a snarl, having replaced his sadness with aggression.
“you dare touch the king?” he bit, holding you by the wrist.
you gasped as he yanked your arm, a strangled cry leaving your lips. “i wanted to offer comfort, your grace —“
“offer comfort?1” he spat once more, shaking his head in disbelief.
“yes, your grace,” you said softly. “only comfort.”
his eyes took a moment to soften, but when they did… you regretted coming into the room altogether — even if it was your job to serve him. you could have asked someone else. could've, could've, could've.
but then...
oh, then...
a bittersweet taste rested in your mouth once you saw regret, shame, and guilt all swirl within aegon’s purple irises. all three. like three flames, all from one dragon — consuming the very thing before it until there was nothing left. his eyes, once filled with glee, then tears, and then anger, and now this? this? — you didn’t know how to proceed, or if you should at all.
he was the king — but at the end of the day, at the end of it all — he was just a young man.
just a young man.
“i am sorry, your grace,” you whispered, not daring to move. “it won’t — it won’t happen —“
“i am sorry,” he immediately blurted out.
your eyes snapped up to meet his. you seemed to be as surprised to hear his apology as he was to find himself saying it.
he dropped your arm.
“you were kind to me…” he spoke, trailing off — seemingly trying to find the words. he was looking down at you, studying your expression.
you feared the mix of emotions were present on your face, and you were worried how that would affect a safe exit from this situation. “i should not have reached for you, my king, and for that i am —“
“i shouldn’t have lashed out at you,” he interrupted you. “no one has ever…”
he didn’t finish. he couldn’t finish, you realized. and by the look on his face — he knew he couldn’t finish that sentence either.
“it’s alright,” you spoke, and meant it. “i just wanted you to know — you weren’t alone, your grace.”
he didn’t speak. he just… slowly nodded in acknowledgment and in thanks.
you repeated the gesture, curtsied, and left the room.
you did not expect to see the king again — but you also did not ever expect to be called to his chambers in the late hours of the evening.
you grew fearful and weary — what did he want with you? he had never shown interest in you, especially not since the incident a week prior. you avoided him like the stranger, and he most likely was glad for it — or so you thought.
when you entered his chamber, you found him in his night shirt and riding leathers. he was standing in the middle of the room, only illuminated by the burning hearth. the red and orange flames accented the bags under his eyes, and his teeth that were stained with wine.
“you’ve been avoiding me,” he accused suddenly.
that was all he said. small folk like yourself were not trained to… deal with accusations such as that. he was not an equal — he was the fucking king.
“i was embarrassed that i had forgotten my place,” you spoke, curtsying. “my apologies, your grace.”
“your apologies?!” he bit, tossing the empty chalice of wine onto the floor. he stalked towards you with purpose, not stopping until he was inches from your face. “apologies? what good are they if you’ve been in my goddamn head for a week?!”
he was seething then — beyond recognition. consumed by anger, unable to bring himself back to level. his skin was of a flush that suggested emotion — frustration, distrust, betrayal. his eyes, though purple, were bloodshot red. with each word he shouted, spit spewed from his lips and collected at the corners of his mouth.
and then you realized: the king wasn’t angry — he was hurt.
“what is bothering you?” you asked, ignoring his initial question while trying to keep your own resolve level.
“...what?” he demanded, confusion and anger now mixing together in his brow.
“your grace,” you began. “tell me what is wrong.”
he took a step back. his eyebrows knit together as if he didn’t recognize you — didn’t understand why you were here, who you were, or what you could want. distrust was the only thing at the forefront of his gaze, but you knew you had to break that barrier. you knew, you knew, you knew.
this time — he did not flinch when you reached for him. he did not flinch when you pressed a soft, open palm against the side of his tear-stained face. he did not flinch when you stroked your thumb on his cheekbone. he did not flinch when you placed your other hand on his other cheek, and pulled his face down to rest his forehead against yours.
“i will not avoid you again,” you whispered.
he didn’t reply, but you felt him relax against you. you entwined one of his hands with yours, and led him towards the bed.
you discarded your night robes, leaving you in your night shift. aegon watched in awe — and his jaw slightly fell open when you got on the bed, and stretched out your open arms to him.
“join me, my king?”
aegon couldn’t help himself. he glossy eyes raked over your body, barely hidden by your night shift. the cool night air of the castle caused your nipples to harden underneath the linen, leaving your breasts looking supple enough to taste. the outline of your waist and round hips were enough to make his cock stir in his leathers, but he found his hands beginning to shake. fucking delectable he found you. he may have taken off his pants, but it was not to fuck.
aegon, the king of the seven kingdoms, climbed onto the bed and rested on top of you. you wrapped your arms around his mid section as he nestled his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet smell. one of your hands began to tangle itself in his short, wavy locks — forcing aegon to relax in a way that flying, wine, or fucking could never do for him. a sigh of relief left past his lips — one that he didn’t know he was holding, nor one that he thought he was capable of releasing.
you kissed the side of his face, causing emotions to swell within his chest he never experienced before — was never prepared for. if his initial reaction wasn’t to freeze, he would’ve lashed out at you. called you names he didn’t mean. pushed you out of bed in a way he didn’t mean. and never speak to you again in a way he didn’t mean. thankfully, he froze. he froze for long enough that he convinced himself that he could relish in this sweet feeling — even if only for a short while.
“you are so sweet,” he whispered, before drifting off to sleep.
you fell asleep for a short while later, letting yourself enjoy the weight of the prince above you. it calmed a certain anxiety in your chest, and you were selfish with it — hoping to take whatever the king would give.
you felt him stirring on top of you after some time — well into the night, and well into where only hot coals rested in the hearth at the center of the room. they glowed red, but there was not enough heat nor light to reach you and aegon. you held him tighter for warmth, pulling the blanket up over the two of you in the cold darkness.
“surprised you haven’t told me i’m crushing you yet,” he spoke into your neck, breath hot against your skin.
a small laugh died in your throat. “i’m very comfortable, my king.”
you began to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck, twirling the curls in between your fingers. he hummed at the sensation, obviously enjoying it. one of his hands was dragged up the length from the top of your thigh, to your breast. the fabric of your linen pulled with his hand, but it stopped when his hand found the curve of your breast.
aegon stared at the sweet, delectable looking nipple that was poking through the linen due to the night chill. he held the weight of your breast in his palm, and used his thumb to draw circles on the nub. the roughness of the linen, coupled with the cool sensitivity of your bud, and the rising tension in the air made warmth spread throughout your body. aegon, well… aegon watched you watch his hand. he watched for any sign of displeasure — because he would’ve withdrew. he would’ve withdrew if you did not look as though you would enjoy it if he continued.
“tell me to stop if you wish,” his voice was soft and cautious in the lack of light as he played with your nipple. he would’ve stopped, he so would’ve — but he was hoping so desperately that you would let him wrap his lips around your sensitive nub and suckle, possibly with his other hand between your thighs as he played with your supple folds. “if you tell me to stop, i will stop.”
“…i don’t want you to stop,” you whispered into the darkness, no longer trapped in fear, shyness, or insecurity.
something in aegon’s chest leapt.
through his pink lips, his tongue poked through and wrapped around your sensitive nipple through your night shift. the taste of linen was foreign and strange, but aegon craved to see the look on your face when you felt the combination of the cool air, his warm, wet mouth, and the linen all working together to create the most delicious feeling of friction you had ever felt on such a sensitive area.
and by the look on your face — aegon was right.
aegon grew confident — bold even. selfish. he lightly bit the sensitive nub, causing a sharp intake of breath from you. he chuckled against you — pleased with your frustration in response to his teasing.
“a good king would show equal attention to both breasts, wouldn’t he?” he asked, in between kisses to your nipple. “can i take off your shift and show you?”
“please,” you whispered, shivering with chill and pleasure.
though your shift was opaque and did not leave much to the imagination, aegon could not believe his eyes when he took of your shift. he would burn all shifts if he could — therefore barring you from every covering up your beautiful body. your beautiful, perfect skin caught what light the fire could spare and aegon watched as goosebumps rose on your skin with every pass of his hand. you watched him as he stared at every bit of your front, letting his hands run up and down your body.
"i have never felt anything so soft," he spoke, before leaning his head forward.
he couldn't help himself. how could he? he was the fucking king. he didn't have to waste time with pleasantries. he had your consent, and he had your willingness, and he had the most beautiful breasts he had ever seen right before his eyes. he was greedy as he suckled at your breast; pulling and tugging the sensitive nub between his lips and rolling it. he did the same with your other breast, but with his hand. he could play with your breasts all night long if you let him, and he considered asking.
but then... oh, then... then he smelled the faint sweet aroma of your slick building and trying to escape from your lustrous folds in between your thighs.
that had never happened... with a woman he hadn't paid...
your nipple popped from his mouth, and now he played with both nipples in between his thumb and index fingers. you gasped at the sensation — so sensitive. you glanced down at aegon through your thick lashes and flushed cheeks.
he was peacefully smiling — while you were on the cusp of insanity.
"i feel as though i have been neglecting other parts of you," he spoke with a knowing smile. his beautiful eyes were no longer red and teary, but bright and hopeful. "as a good king, will you let me make it up to you?"
"yes," you gasped, trying to fight the urge to rock your hips into him. "please, your grace."
he wasted no time.
he slid down the length of your abdomen and threw your legs over his shoulders. his breath was hot and heavy on your cunt, making you shiver at the juxtaposition of the cool night air. you could hear him humming — pleased — below you as he spread your wet lips. aegon watched as the small flames caught the wetness and let ghosts of past flames dance on your more precious spot.
he couldn't help himself. he licked up the length of your slit.
you immediately threw your head back, gasping. your fingers fisted the silk sheets of aegon's bed, hoping to ground yourself.
you heard a scoff from below you before aegon grabbed one of your hands, and put it on his head. you cooed in response — pleased — before tanging your fingers throughout his strands. he hummed in approval against your clit, making you shiver once more.
"you taste so sweet," he whispered. "like nectar."
he spread your folds before he wrapped his lips around your most sensitive bud, sucking on it. two of his fingers found your leaking hole and pressed in slowly, nudging at the inner wall. your hips were writhing at this point as your head filled with all sorts of nonsense. heat and pleasure and smoke and wine — they curled in your psyche like beings in the water, playing together. aegon was relentless with how he lapped up your juices, greedy for more and more.
he couldn't stop. he wouldn't stop. the way your fingers curled on his scalp — scratching and soothing — was all of the encouragement he needed to keep going. he let your writhing hips work on his face. a good king would never deny a lady the extra friction she needed to reach her peak. your peak. all he wanted to do was bring you to your peak so he could see the fucked out look on your face. he wanted it so badly he began to dig his own his against the silk sheets, cock straining to find any sort of relief. he was beginning to grow feverish, which only inspired him to work a your faster and messier. he wanted your climax. he had earned your climax.
"'m so close," you whined. "'m so close, my king. please don't stop... please..."
he found himself pushing a third finger in, demanding your orgasm from you. that orgasm was no longer yours — but something he could give and also take from you. you would experience it, but it would be his. his win. his glory. his trophy.
and when your hips snapped up... he knew he had you.
he slammed your hips down onto the bed to keep you from moving — keep you from moving away from his tongue. his tongue was relentless in the way it continued its work on your clit as you came. you shoved your head into the pillow as all of your muscles went taut, letting wave after wave after wave after wave crash over you and pull you under. you were gasping for air, twisting and turnin away from aegon as the sensitivity became so much. too much. bittersweet, making you push him away but wanting to pull him towards you.
he ripped himself from you when he was finished, your juices flowing still caught on his chin. through your post-orgasm haze and half closed eyes, you watched him through your half-closed eyelids. there, aegon stood over you, fisting his cock over your body.
"inside me, your grace," you whispered. "please."
that was all aegon needed. with one swoop, his cock had bested the threshold of your cunt. his lips found one of your breasts, suckling on the nipple, as he began thrusting his length inside of you.
your hands found the back of his head, pulling at the roots of his hair. your small gasps were music to his ears as he rocked his hips against yours, chasing his high.
"you're so good, aegon..." you whined at the feeling of aegon taking every sensitive area for his own. "so sweet..."
his heart strings were pulling at her words as a flush reached his cheeks. he was not embarrassed, no — he was encouraged. a woman — a perfect, beautiful, and supple woman lay before him and begged for his touch. for his caress. for the pleasure he could bring her — the both of them. she held him so close to her breast as he fucked his cock into her. the intimacy of the position had awakened something carnal in him; something sick and twisted that wanted more, and more, and more.
"that's it... just like that..." you spoke. "take what you need, my sweet. you're so good..."
his hips were beginning to stir at your words, foreign to his ears. he was rutting into you like an animal now at your praise, sure to leave bruises on your breasts by the sunrise.
"all yours..."
fuck. fuck. fuck.
he didn't know what to do.
it had never crept up on him so fast.
a blush was rising to his cheeks he had not known since his first orgasm. an exasperated gasp was rising and falling in his throat, ready to escape and fill the room.
"so good for me," were your final words.
aegon came with a sob. a fucking sob. he snapped his hips twice into your sopping wet cunt before his balls tightened, tightened, and tightened — shooting whatever he could into you. thick, hot, white ropes decorated the inside of your cunt in the most pathetic and desperate manner. his hips continued to rut his spend into you, desperate for his release. you could hear his whines and cries in your ear, working himself through his own orgasm as your sweet words of praise guided him to where he needed to be.
"that's it, sweetheart," you spoke against his ear, causing him to shiver. "you're just so good for me, my king."
all he needed was a bit of comfort.