The Sea Snake was not pleased when word of Viserys' decision to wed Naerys Targaryen reached Driftmark. House Velaryon had been passed over once again, his daughter, Laena, scorned just as his son, Laenor, had been scorned by the Great Council, and his wife by the Old King back in 92 AC. Only Lady Laena herself seemed untroubled.

"Her ladyship shows far more interest in flying than in boys," The maester at High Tide wrote to the Citadel.

When King Viserys took Naerys Targaryen to wife in 106 AC, House Velaryon was notable for its absence. Laughter and love ruled the Red Keep that night, whilst across Blackwater Bay, Lord Corlys, the Sea Snake, welcomed the King's brother, Prince Daemon, to a war council. The Prince had suffered all he could stand of the Vale of Arryn, Runestone, and his lady wife.

"Dark Sister was made for nobler tasks than slaughtering sheep," He told the Lord of the Tides.

"She has a thirst for blood." But it was
not rebellion that the Prince had in mind; he saw another path to power.

The Stepstones, the chain of rocky islands between Dorne and the Disputed Lands of Essos, had long been a haunt of outlaws, exiles, wreckers, and pirates. Of themselves the isles were of little worth, but placed as they were, they controlled the sea lanes to and from the Narrow Sea, and merchant ships passing through those waters were often preyed on by their inhabitants. Still, for centuries such depredations had remained no more than a nuisance.

Ten years earlier, however, the Free Cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh had put aside their ancient enmities to make common cause in a war against Volantis. After defeating the Volantenes in the Battle of the Borderland, the three victorious cities had entered into an "eternal alliance," and formed a strong new power: the Triarchy, better known in Westeros as the Kingdom of the Three Daughters, as each of the Free Cities considered itself a daughter of Valyria of old, or, more rudely, the Kingdom of the Three Whores - though this "kingdom" was without a King, being governed by a council of thirty-three magisters.

Once Volantis sued for peace and withdrew from the Disputed Lands, the Three Daughters had turned their gaze westward, sweeping over the Stepstones with their combined armies and fleets under the command of the Myrish admiral, Craghas Drahar, who earned the sobriquet Craghas "Crabfeeder" when he staked out hundreds of captured pirates on the wet sands, to drown beneath the rising tide.

The conquest and annexation of the Stepstones by the Kingdom of the Three Daughters at first met with only approval from the lords of Westeros. Order had replaced chaos, and if the Three Daughters demanded a toll of any ship passing through their waters, that seemed a small price to pay to be rid of the pirates. The avarice of Craghas Crabfeeder and his partners in conquest soon turned feelings against them, however; the toll was raised again, and yet again, soon becoming so ruinous that merchants who had once paid gladly now sought to slip past the galleys of the Triarchy as once they had the pirates.

Drahar and his Lysene and Tyroshi co-admirals seemed to be vying with each other to see who was the greediest, men complained. The Lyseni became especially loathed, for they claimed more than coin from passing ships, taking off women, girls, and comely young boys to serve in their pleasure gardens and pillow houses. Amongst those thus enslaved was Lady Johanna Swann, a fifteen-year-old niece of the Lord of Stonehelm. When her infamously niggardly uncle refused to pay the ransom, she was sold to a pillow house, where she rose to become the celebrated courtesan known as the Black Swan, and ruler of Lys in all but name.

Of all the lords of Westeros, none suffered so much from the practices as Corlys Velaryon, whose fleets had made him as wealthy and powerful as any man in the Seven Kingdoms. The Sea Snake was determined to put an end to the Triarchy's rule over the Stepstones, and in Daemon Targaryen he found a willing partner, eager for the gold and glory that victory in war would bring him. Shunning the King's wedding, they laid their plans in High Tide on the isle Driftmark. Lord Velaryon would command the fleet, Prince Daemon the army. They would be greatly outnumbered by the forces of the Three Daughters, but the Prince would also bring to battle the fires of his dragon, Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm.

The true war began two years later, in 108 AC. Prince Daemon had little difficulty assembling an army of landless adventurers and second sons, and won many victories during the first two years of the conflict. When at last he came face-to-face with Craghas Crabfeeder, he slew him single-handed and cut off his head with Dark Sister.

King Viserys, doubtless pleased to be rid of his troublesome brother, supported his efforts with regular infusions of gold but nothing more, and by 109 AC Daemon Targaryen and his army of sellswords and cutthroats controlled all but two of the islands, and the Sea Snake's fleets had taken firm control of the waters between. During this brief moment of victory, Prince Daemon declared himself King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea and Lord of Bloodstone. Lord Corlys placed a crown upon his head but their "kingdom" was far from secure.

The next year, the Kingdom of the Three Daughters dispatched a fresh invasion force under the command of a devious Tyroshi captain named Racallio Ryndoon, surely one of the most curious and flamboyant rogues in the annals of history, and Dorne joined the war in alliance with the Triarchy. Fighting resumed.

Though the Stepstones were engulfed in blood and fire, King Viserys and his court remained unperturbed.

"Let Daemon play at war," His
Grace said, "it keeps him out of trouble."

Viserys was a man of peace, and during these years King's Landing was an endless round of feasts, balls, and tourneys, where mummers and singers heralded the birth of each new Targaryen princeling.

Queen Naerys had soon proved to be as fertile as she was beautiful. In 107 AC, she bore the King a healthy son, naming him Aegon, after the Conqueror. One year later, she produced a daughter for the King,
Rhaelle; and another daughter the follwing year, Helaena. In 110 AC, she bore him a second son, Aemond, who was said to be half the size of his elder brother, but twice as fierce.

Yet Princess Rhaenyra continued to sit at the foot of the Iron Throne when her father held court, and His Grace began bringing her to meetings of the small council as well, this time not as a cup bearer, but as a member of the coulcil itself. Though many lords and
knights sought her favor, the Princess had eyes only for Ser Criston Cole, the champion of the Gold Cloaks and her constant companion.

Though the Queen had given the King not one but two male heirs, Viserys had done nothing to change the order of succession. The Princess of Dragonstone remained his acknowledged heir, with half the lords of Westeros sworn to defend her rights.

Those who asked, "What of the ruling of the Great Council of 101?" found their words falling on deaf ears.

The matter had been decided, so far as King Viserys was concerned; it was not an issue His Grace cared to revisit. Still, questions persisted, not the least from Otto Hightower himself. Pushed too far on the matter, in 109 AC Viserys stripped Ser Otto of his chain of office and named in his place the taciturn Lord of Harrenhal, Lyonel Strong.

"This Hand will not hector me," His Grace proclaimed.

Upon the return from the war in the Stepstones, Lord Corlys had his wife Rhaenys, his three sons - Laenor, Alyn and Addam - and his daughter Laena awaiting for him at home. Later on, in 110 AC, the Princess bore the Lord of the Tides another daughter, Valenya.

On the other hand, the only person awaiting for Daemon was Princess Rhaenyra herself. After gifting his brother Viserys, his own crown of the Stepstones, the King welcomed him back at court. Daemon spent long hours in her company, enthralling her with tales of his journeys and battles. He gave her pearls and silks and books, he read poems to her, dined with her, hawked with her, sailed with her, entertained her by making mock of the lords at court. He praised her beauty, declaring her to be the fairest maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.

"Please, please tell me more," Said Rhaenyra, turning to him.

"Tell me about your journeys. The places you have visited. Tell me about those things beyond the seas."

Daemon smiled. He told Rhaenyra all about the Stepstones and the war he was in, the pirates and the Triarchy - or the Three Whores, as he called it.
He told her of the journeys he'd been on, the tales he had heard, and so many new, exciting things Rhaenyra had never thought of. And at night, after her uncle's visits, Rhaenyra could barely sleep from the excitement. In her dreams, she imagined the Narrow Sea and the Jade Sea, her riding upon Syrax, fleeing pirates, and next to her was Daemons, riding Caraxes.

But everything changed when Daemon began by giving Rhaenyra kissing lessons. From there the Prince went on to show his niece how best to touch a man to bring him pleasure. Daemon taught the Princess to disrobe enticingly, suckled at her breasts to make them larger and more sensitive, and flew with her on dragonback to lonely rocks in Blackwater Bay, where they could disport naked all day unobserved, and the Princess could practice the art of pleasuring a man with her mouth. At night he would smuggle her from her rooms dressed as a page boy and take her secretly to brothels on the Street of Silk, where Rhaenyra could observe men and women in the act of love and learn more of these "womanly arts" from the harlots of King's Landing.

That evening the sky was painted in shades of twilight, a deep purple blending into the fiery orange as the sun began its descent. The lonely rocks, jagged and ancient, stood sentinel over the surging waves that crashed against them with a timeless rhythm. Princess Rhaenyra, her silver-gold hair billowing in the salty breeze, stood atop one of the larger stones, her eyes scanning the horizon where the sea met the sky. Daemon's eyes, dark and intense, never left her form as he closed the distance between them. Rhaenyra turned to face him, her violet eyes questioning, a hint of defiance in their depths. Behind them, not too far, their two dragon rested together.

"Why here, Daemon?" she asked, her Voice carrying over the sound of the waves. "Why bring me to this desolate place?"

Daemon's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Because, niece, it is away from prying eyes. Here, I can teach you without interruption." Daemon replied, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he stepped closer.

His hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. He kissed her then, a gentle brush of lips that sent a shiver down her spine. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her against him as he deepened the kiss. Rhaenyra's hands found their way to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as she responded to his kiss, her body awakening to the sensations he was stirring within her.
Daemon's hands roamed her body, each touch deliberate, igniting a fire that spread through her veins. Rhaenyra's breath came faster, her heart pounding in her chest.

She mirrored his movements, her hands exploring the hard planes of his body, her lips finding the sensitive spot just below his jaw. Rhaenyra felt heating pooling down her body, she was more than eager to learn how to please a man. Her right hand slid down Daemon's body, reaching the growing bulge in his breeches, she palmed him through the material and Daemon grunted at the pleasing feeling. Her hands then moved to the laces of his trousers, undoing them with swift precision as Daemon teached her.

Her lips travelled to his neck as Daemon's hand tangled to her silvery hair. She dropped to her knees, feeling the hand rocks press against her legs, with Daemon's hand still in her hair, she pushed his breeches down, freeing his hardness. His cock was right by her mouth, already growing larger as he gazed down at her face underneath him. Taking him in, Rhaenyra could feel the skin of his member; hot and with a taste like salt. It was heavy in her mouth. He looked down at her; hungry and fierce.

Both his hands grabbed the back of Rhaenyra's head, forcing more of his cock down her throat. It prevented her from breathing, yet Rhaenyra did not stop, sucking and swallowing him to the best of her ability. He rocks into her mouth, pleased grunts escaping his lips. A few more thrusts and the Princess started to feel dizzy, not receiving enough air with the Prince's manhood in her mouth and his lower belly pressed up against her nose.

Rhaenyra felt excited, his taste excited her beyond reason. Her own hand pulled up the skirts of the dress, and her fingers found her aching bud. Hot juices coated her fingers as she rubbed her pearl, just as Daemon teached her to. She couldn't help but moan around him, the pleasure was too much to bear, and the muffled noises sent vibrations down Daemon's body. A whine escaped Daemon's lips, he couldn't help but let out those sweet moans as he neared his peak.

"Rhaenyra, fuck." He choked on his words as her head bobbed back and forth on his cock.

Before he could speak again, Rhaenyra came on her own fingers with a loud moan, pushing her head further into his cock. And that was his limit. He was going insane. His mind became blurred by his orgasm, hot seed shooted down the Princess' throat, but she did not pull away, she swallowed all that Daemon was giving her.

When King Viserys was informed of the events, at first refused to believe a word of it, until Prince Daemon confirmed the tale was true.

"Wed her to me," He told his brother.
"When I offered my crown you said I could have anything, I want Rhaenyra."

"I'll take her as she is and wed her in the traditions of our house."

Lord Strong, the King's Hand, argued that the Prince should be put to death immediately as a traitor, but Septon Eustace reminded His Grace that no man is as accursed as the kinslayer. Instead King Viserys sent him into exile, never to return to the Seven Kingdoms on pain of death.

Long before any man had reason to doubt her innocence, the question of selecting a suitable consort for Rhaenyra had been of concern to King Viserys and his council. Great lords and dashing knights fluttered around her like moths around a flame, vying for her favor. When Rhaenyra visited the Trident in 112, the sons of Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood fought a duel over her, and a younger son of House Frey made so bold as to ask openly for her hand. Fool Frey, he was called thereafter. In the West, Ser Jason Lannister vied for her during a feast at Casterly Rock. The sons of Lord Tully of Riverrun, Lord Tyrell of Highgarden, Lord Oakheart of Old Oak, and Lord Tarly of Horn Hill paid court to the Princess, as did the Hand's eldest son, Ser Harwin Strong. Breakbones, as he was called, was heir to Harrenhal, and said to be the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

Viserys even talked of wedding Rhaenyra to the Prince of Dorne, as a way of bringing the Dornish into the realm. The best choice, King, his Hand and the small council finally agreed, would be Rhaenyra's cousin Laenor Velaryon. Though the Great Council of 101 had ruled against his claim, the Velaryon boy remained a grandson of Prince Aemon Targaryen of hallowed memory, a great-grandson of the Old King himself.

Such a match would unite and strengthen the royal bloodline, and regain the Iron Throne the friendship of the Sea Snake with his powerful fleet. One objection was raised: Laenor Velaryon was now nineteen years of age, yet had never shown any interest in women. Instead he surrounded himself with handsome squires of his own age, and was said to prefer their company. But Grand Maester Mellos dismissed this concern out of hand.

"What of it?" he said. "I do not like the taste of fish, but when fish is served, I eat it." Thus was the match decided.

King and council had neglected to consult the Princess, however, and Rhaenyra proved to be very much her father's daughter, with her own notions about whom she wished to wed. The Princess knew much and more about Laenor Velaryon, and had no wish to be his bride.

Ser Laenor was a handsome young lad, he had an aquiline nose, silver-gold hair, and sea green eyes. A dragonrider since the age of twelve, he rode Seasmoke, who was his pride and passion.

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ㅤThat night, Ser Criston Cole slipped into the Princess's bedchamber to confess his love for her. He told Rhaenyra that he had a ship waiting on the bay, and begged her to flee with him across the Narrow Sea. They would be wed in Tyrosh or Old Volantis, where her father's writ did not run. His prowess with sword was such that he did not doubt he could find some merchant Prince to take him into service. But Rhaenyra refused him. She was the blood of the dragon, and the crown itself, she reminded him, and meant for more than to live out her life as the wife of a common sellsword.

Not long thereafter, Rhaenyra set sail for Driftmark on the Sea Snake, accompanied by her handmaids, two of them the daughters of the Hand and sisters to Ser Harwin, and her new champion, none other than Breakbones himself. In 114 AC, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, took to husband Ser Laenor Velaryon, heir to Driftmark knighted a fortnight before the wedding, since it was deemed necessary the future King Consort be a knight. The bride was seventeen years old, the groom twenty, and all agreed that they made a handsome couple. The wedding was celebrated with seven days of feasts and jousting, the greatest tourney in many a year.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep is already buzzing with anticipation as lords and ladies mill about, awaiting the start of the wedding festivities. The grand doors swing open, and Ser Harrold Westerling - Lord Commander of the Kingsguard - announced in a loud, clear voice, the arrival of the members of House Lannister.

"Lord Jason of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport."

Jason Lannister strided into the hall, exuding confidence and wealth. His attire was splendid, rich fabrics in crimson and gold, the colors of House Lannister. He was accompanied by a retinue of members of House Lannister, all similarly resplendent in their house colors. The Lannisters moved through the hall with an air of superiority, nodding to other nobles as they took their seats.

Jason approached King Viserys and Queen Naerys, offering a deep bow. "Your Graces, Princess," He said, his tone courteous. "House Lannister is honored to be part of this joyous occasion."

King Viserys nodded in acknowledgment. "Welcome, Lord Jason. Your presence is most appreciated."

As Jason took his seat, Ser Harrold announced the arrival of another prominent house. "Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, with his lady wife, Princess Rhaenys of House Targaryen, their son and heir, future King Consort, Ser Laenor of House Velaryon and the noble House of Velaryon."

The doors opened again, revealing the Velaryon entourage. Lord Corlys, the Sea Snake, leads the way, his presence commanding and dignified. His wife, Princess Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was, walks beside him, her expression regal and composed. They were followed by their children, Laenor, Laena and Alyn.

Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys approached the royal table, bowing deeply. "Your Grace," Corlys intoned. "House Velaryon is honored to stand with House Targaryen on this auspicious day."

King Viserys smiled warmly. "Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys, it is always a pleasure to see you. We are grateful for your steadfast support."

With the formalities observed, the Velaryons took their seats, and King Viserys stood up to make his speach, but just about the time he started speaking, Daemon Targaryen made his entrance, fashionably late as always, not to mention unannounced and uninvited at the wedding of his niece. His arrival caused a stir, and he took his seat with a casual arrogance, casting a lingering look at Rhaenyra.

Princess Rhaenyra, dressed in an elegant gown of Targaryen red and black, took the floor with Laenor Velaryon, her betrothed. Laenor spun Rhaenyra around, her silvery hair catching the light of the chandeliers above.

"You are a vision, my lady," he said with a charming smile.

Rhaenyra returned the smile, her eyes sparkling. "As are you, my lord. We shall make a fine pair."

The courtiers watched, some in awe, others with envy. It was a moment meant to solidify alliances and showcase the unity of two powerful houses. Daemon couldn't help but let his eyes wonder at his niece Rhaenyra. The sight had been quite pleasurable. The Prince was taken in by her beauty and the fact that she was to be married so very soon. His figure approached from edge of the dance floor.

Laenor noticed Daemon's approach and slowed their dance. With a slight bow, he relinquished his hold on Rhaenyra. "It seems another wishes to dance with the Princess," he said, stepping back with a knowing look.

Rhaenyra turned to face Daemon. He extended his hand, his gaze never leaving hers. "May I have this dance, niece?"

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then, with a composed nod, Rhaenyra placed her hand in Daemon's. The music shifted, a new melody filling the hall as they began to dance. Their movements were fluid, almost hypnotic, a dance that spoke of a deep connection and unspoken words. Daemon's hand rested on Rhaenyra's waist, guiding her with a familiarity that bordered on the scandalous. Rhaenyra's eyes locked with his, a silent challenge passing between them.

"Do you enjoy stirring the pot, uncle?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice low but laced with amusement.

Daemon's lips curled into a half-smile. "Only when the stew becomes dull," he replied, his tone equally soft yet charged with meaning.

They moved together as if in a world of their own, their dance a stark contrast to the earlier display of youthful exuberance with Laenor. This was a dance of equals, each testing the other's resolve.

"Laenor is a good man and a fine knight," Daemon began speaking in High Valyrian as he looked down at Rhaenyra. "He will bore you senseless."

Rhaenyra shoot him a glance, before rolling her eyes, utterly annoyed by his words.

"Marriage is only a political arrangement, I hear." She replied.

"Mine was recently dissolved." Daemon whispered as he leaned down towards her.

Rhaenyra's eyes gleamed into the light of the candles. "So take me then. Has this not been your purpose? I am not married yet. But the hours will pass swiftly. You are surely armed, cut through my father's Kingsguard. Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife."

Those words ignited something inside of Daemon. His jaw clenched as his hands went up to Rhaenyra's face. His touch was rough, his hands covered Rhaenyra's cheeks, their lips only a few breaths away from one another. The scene caught the eye of the King, who was sat at his table enjoying the feast. He suddenly stopped when his eyes catched a glimpse of his brother and his daughter, but the people moving on the dance floor were not helping. Naerys placed a hand on his shoulder, she leaned to the side and looked at her husband.

"Husband, is there something bothering you?" She asked.

Viserys turned around and smiled at her. "No, not at all."

Amidst the celebrations, the atmosphere grows tense when Ser Criston Cole, in his gold cloak, arrived to guard the doors of the hall, his expression one of controlled emotion. His eyes often drift to Rhaenyra, a silent testament to their recent falling out. Joffrey Lonmouth approached Ser Criston, whispering to him that as the Princess and as Ser Laenor's lovers, the two of them shall protect them. But quickly the hall erupted into chaos as Ser Criston brutally attacked Joffrey. The crowd recoiled in shock, guests scrambling to get out of the way.

King Viserys desperately called for order, but the damage was done. The joyous occasion was marred by violence and bloodshed. Guards rushed to restrain Ser Criston, but it was too late. Joffrey lied motionless on the floor in a pool of blood.

In the aftermath, the grand feast was abruptly ended. The wedding ceremony was conducted hastily and in a much more subdued manner. Rhaenyra and Laenor exchanged their vows, their expressions somber. The weight of the day's events hanged heavily over them, casting a shadow on what should have been a joyous union.

Later that night, the Princess and her husband found themselves in the bedchambers. The newlyweds' chambers were dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long, wavering shadows on the stone walls.
The grand bed, adorned with silken sheets and rich furs, stood at the center of the room, but it might as well have been a battleground. The air was thick with unspoken grief and the heavy burden of duty.

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen stood by the window, dressed in a long white nightgown, her eyes lost in the darkness beyond. The echoes of the day's horrors reverberated in her mind, the gruesome sight of Joffrey Lonmouth's bloodied face refusing to leave her mind. Behind her, Laenor sat on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She could not imagine the pain that Laenor was going through. Their agreement, the happy life they thought they would all have together - it was all lost. Laenor's sobs ringed in her ears, it stinged. She wanted to provide some comfort, any kind of comfort. She wanted to hold him and tell him that everything would be just fine, but what could she tell a man who just lost his lover?

"Laenor" Rhaenyra began, her voice soft but steady, "we don't have to consummate this marriage tonight. I understand your pain."

Laenor looked up, his eyes red and swollen. The anguish in them cut through Rhaenyra, but he shook his head. As much as he was repulsed by the idea of bedding a woman, it was his duty, as his father had reminded him numerous times since the betrothal.

"No, Rhaenyra. They will check for proof in the morning. We have to give them what they expect, what they demand."

Rhaenyra turned to face him fully, her heart aching for the man before her. Laenor was a good man, a kind and gentle man, like no others in Seven Kingdoms. "This is cruelty, Laenor. To expect this of you now...it's monstrous."

"lt is our duty," He replied, though his
voice broke on the last word. "We must perform it."

Rhaenyra crossed the room and sat beside him, placing a gentle hand on his. She could feel the coldness of his skin, the tremors that coursed through him. His once beautiful face ruined by grief and pain. She sighed as she looked around, her mind racing with thoughts, ideas, ways to find a solution.

"Then let us outwit them," She said suddenly as her gaze fell upon the golden dagger resting at Laenor's hip. She reached for it. The handle was shaped as a seahorse and its golden blade was glinting ominously in the candlelight. Laenor's eyes widened in alarm, his brows knitting together as his eyes flickered between Rhaenyra and the dagger in her hand.

"Rhaenyra, what are you-?" He tried to speak.

"We will give them the proof they seek, but not at the cost of our dignity." She interrupted, shaking her heads, her expression was bitter at the thought of her father and Lord Corlys. What father would ask their child to consummate the marriage after the horrors that occured at the wedding.

With swift precision, she drew the blade across her wrist, wincing slightly as the sharp pain seared through her. Blood welled up, rich and red, she crawled into the bed and pressed her wrist to the center of the pristine white sheet, staining it in crimson. Laenor watched her with a mixture of horror and awe as the blood began to stain the fabric, spreading out in a dark ink blotch.

"You shouldn't have to do this, I should be the one doing it." He whispered as she looked up into her eyes.

Rhaenyra looked back at him as she sat down on the bed. "We are both trapped in this, Laenor. Together. And you already had a terrible day."

She leaned back against the bed frame, feeling the dizziness that followed the loss of blood, but she held herself steady. Laenor quickly got up and ripped the edge of his under shirt, he gently took her arm, his houch tentative and reverent as he bandaged the wound with the strip of cloth. Rhaenyra's eyes stared up at him.

"I will tell the maester that I cut myself during the wedding feast...in the chaos...and I didn't took notice of it until it was too late." Rhaenyra whispered as she dragged her theet across her bottom lip. Laenor nodded in agreement and sat next to her.

In the silence that followed, they both lay down on the bed, close but not touching. The act they had performed bound them in a way far more profound than any physical union could. They had shared their pain, their defiance, and a silent promise to face whatever came next together.

Rhaenyra reached out and took Laenor's hand. He squeezed it in return, a lifeline in the sea of their shared sorrow. They lay there, connected by duty and expectations.

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ㅤAlicent Hightower stood by the window of her chamber in the High Tower, gazing out at the sprawling city of Oldtown. The news of her arranged marriage to Ser Ryam Pommingham had come swiftly, leaving little time for her to process the monumental shift her life was about to take. She knew of him only through reputation-a landed knight, the Knight of Pommingham, head of his house, man from an influential noble house, known for his valor and honor on the battlefield. Yet, the thought of marrying a stranger filled her with trepidation.

The weeks between Rhaenyra's wedding and her own seemed to fly. Much to her dispair she was not be able to attend the Princess' wedding. But she was hopeful that Rhaenyra would attend hers, at least that would bring her some sort of consolation in a day such as that one.

The morning of her wedding Alicent was nervous, she never even met this man before in her life. How did he looked like? Was he handsome? Was he kind and gentle, at least with her, she hoped. The door of her quarters creaked open, and her handmaiden entered, carrying the bridal gown - a stunning creation of silk and lace, embroidered with the High Tower, symbol of her House and the traditional promegranate, symbol of House Pommingham.

Alicent turned, forcing a smile. "Is it time already, Mya?"

Mya nodded, her eyes sympathetic. "Aye, my lady. The sept is prepared, today is the day."

"Do you have any news of Princess Rhaenyra?" Alicent asked as she picked on her nails.

"They did not inform you, my lady? The Princess and her husband will attend the wedding, they arrived last night on dragonback." Mya explained.

Alicent took a deep breath, summoning her courage upon hearing the news of Rhaenyra's arrival. She allowed Mya to help her into the gown, the fabric cool and luxurious against her skin. As the final touches were made, Alicent's thoughts wandered to her future husband. Could this union bring her happiness? Or would it be yet another duty she must bear with grace?

The sept was filled with nobles, their eyes turning to her as she made her way down the aisle. Ryam stood at the altar, tall and handsome in his red and white tunic. His dark red hair was neatly combed, and his green eyes watched her with an intensity that made her heart race. As she approached, she noted the softness in his gaze, a stark contrast to the hardened expressions she was used to seeing in Oldtown.

The ceremony was a blur, the vows exchanged with solemnity and grace. Alicent's hand trembled. When it was time for the customary kiss, he leaned in slowly, giving her a chance to pull away if she wished. She didn't. Their lips met in a chaste, tender kiss, sealing their union.

After the ceremony, a grand feast was held in the hall of the High Tower Alicent found herself seated next to Ryam at the high table. She picked at her food, nerves getting the better of her.

Ryam noticed and leaned in to whisper, "If you're not hungry, you needn't force yourself. It has been a long day."

Alicent looked up, surprised by his consideration. "Thank you, Ser Ryam," she replied softly.

"Please, call me Ryam," He said with a warm smile. "We are husband and wife now, after all."

She returned his smile, albeit shyly. As the evening wore on, Ryam engaged her in conversation, asking about her interests and sharing stories of his own adventures. She found herself laughing at his witty remarks and feeling at ease in his presence. He spoke of his family with affection and of his lands with pride, revealing a depth personality that intrigued her.

When the feast concluded, Ryam escorted Alicent to their chambers. The walk through the dimly lit corridors was silent, but not uncomfortable. Once inside, he turned to her, his expression serious.

"Alicent, I want you to know that I understand the fears you might have. This marriage was arranged, but that does not mean it has to be devoid of affection or respect. I will not force anything upon you. We will proceed at your pace."

Alicent felt a surge of relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Ryam. That means more to me than you know. I shall...like to...consummate the marriage."

Ryam nodded, appreciating her willingness. As they settled into bed, a comfortable silence enveloped them. Alicent found herself lying close to Ryam, the warmth of his body a comforting presence. He leaned down to kiss her, it was soft and tender. Her hands went up to hold his face while Ryam's hands creeped on the front of her nightgown, undoing the laces. He could not resist, not when she was so eager for him, so sweet - she tasted so sweet. Ryam's left hand cupped one of Alicent's breasts, she yelped in response of his action and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. Alicent let out a muffled whine. She had never imagined that her wedding night could be so pleasurable

Ryam moved his head down to her neck, kissing and sucking her soft skin. Alicent could feel heat pooling down in her belly, her hands grasped Ryam's copper mane, her digits scratching delicately over his scalp. A gasp escaped her lips when his mouth attached to her exposed breast, his right hand pinching and rolling her nipple with his long fingers. She had no idea what was happening to her body. All those sensations were new and they felt too good for her to even properly process what was happening. Sooner than she could realize that Ryam sucked a red mark on her breast, she felt something poking at her thigh. Her mind became dizzy, her mouth parted and her eyes closed. Ryam couldn't help but smile at how adorable she looked. Her eyebrows furrowed when she felt his hand slipping between her legs, his middle finger found her folds.

"You're so wet for me." He whispered leaning down towards her war. Alicent moaned in response and he chuckled at her reaction.

Her big brown eyes opened, a silent plea for Ryam to go further. He leaned down and kissed her again, this time it was more heated. A kiss filled with want and desire. His finger found her entrance, and he slowly pushed it inside her warm heat. Alicent's legs parted more instinctively. His movements were slow, wanting to make her adjust to the feeling, although he couldn't stop thinking of how she would feel around is cock. It was maddening almost. His attention was brought back to reality by the sound of Alicent's moans. He sighed and let his forehead fall against her shoulder. Ryam had no idea how long he could restrain himself. He could feel his breeches becoming uncomfortably tight and he was sure that if he looked down he could see the stain of precum marking the dark material of his trousers.

"Is...everything alright, my lord?" Alicent breathed out. Ryam nodded against her shoulder in response.

"You're making me mad." He whispered, as he raised his head to look down into her eyes. "You're so beautiful and...the sounds you make..." He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain composure.

He slowly slid a second finger inside Alicent, the action made her yelp. The feeling of her cunt being stretched out was painful at first, but soon enough it became so pleasurable that her eyes filled with tears. Ryam knew perfectly which sweet spot to hit.

"Does it feel good?" He asked, but Alicent was unable to respond.

"By the Gods, look at you." Ryam almost grunted at the sight. "I barely fucked you with my fingers and you're already unable to speak?"

After a few minutes, he removed his fingers from her, Alicent whined at the loss and opened her eyes. She was blessed with the sight of Ryam's toned body, his hands worked fast the laces of his breeches, pushing them down his thighs. He stroked his cock before leaning down and pressing a kiss on Alicent's forehead.

"Can I?" He asked, and Alicent nodded. Her heart beating fast as her hands trembled reaching for his face.

He lined up his cock with Alicent's entrance before sliding it inside her core, although he did not went all the way, fearing that he might hurt her. But it was enough. Gods, it was more than enough. His mind became fuzzy with desire, almost blacking out for the rest of the act. The only thing Ryam recalled were Alicent's eyes, staring back at his own as they both reached their climax. Alicent then shifted umcofortably at the feeling of warm seed spilling inside of her. He pulled out slowly, admiring how the seed dripped out of her heat into the sheets. Both Ryam and Alicent were spent and tired that night, and fell asleep into each other's arms without even feeling the need to cleaning up.

In the days that followed, Alicent and Ryam's bond grew stronger after arriving in Pommingham. He proved to be a kind and attentive husband, always considerate of her feelings and desires. They spent time together in the gardens, took long walks through the castle, and shared quiet evenings by the fire. Ryam's gentle nature and unwavering support helped Alicent shed her initial fears and embrace their marriage with an open heart.

One evening, as they sat together watching the sunset from the hills of Pommingham. It was a romantic scenario, nothing less, the life that Alicent never knew she truly wanted for herself.

She turned to Ryam and said, "I was so afraid when I learned of our marriage. I feared I would be trapped in a loveless union. But you have shown me kindness and respect beyond my expectations. Thank you for that."

Ryam took her hand, his thumb gently caressing her palm. "I am glad to have eased your fears, dearest. You deserve happiness, and I intend to do my best to ensure you have it."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the city, Alicent realized that her marriage to Ryam Pommingham might indeed be a new beginning-one filled with love, respect, and the promise of a bright future together.