Memories altered
Aegon the conqueror x reader tw: blood, smut, dark aegon
"Tell me, little dove" Aegon murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of the sapphire necklace he'd just fastened around your throat, "do you enjoy watching me suffer?"
The sapphire necklace was the fourteenth gift this moon alone. You'd lost count of how many silken gowns had arrived at your chambers since your arrival, each one more absurdly expensive than the last, the fabrics so fine they felt like water slipping through your fingers.
Aegon's generosity wasn't subtle. Neither were the way his eyes lingered on the curve of your neck when you wore his gifts, or how his thumb always lingered a heartbeat too long when he kissed your hand in court.
Yesterday, he'd sent a pair of slippers embroidered with pearls, and when you'd thanked him with a polite curtsy, he'd leaned in close enough for his breath to ghost over your ear. "Wear them to my chambers tonight" he'd said, as casually as if discussing the weather. You hadn't gone. You never did.
The knock came just past midnight, three sharp raps that made you flinch where you sat by the dying fire. You knew it wasn't the servants for they always announced themselves. The door creaked open before you could answer, and Aegon filled the threshold, his silhouette haloed by torchlight from the corridor. He carried no weapon, but the way his fingers flexed at his sides made your breath hitch. "You didn't come" he said, voice low as embers.
"I never do, Your Grace" you mumbled, scrambling to stand up so quickly the chair legs screeched against stone. The sapphire necklace suddenly felt like a noose. "It is improper." The words tasted like ash, you'd said them too many times before, and they never stuck.
Aegon's laughter was a dark, velvet sound that slithered up your spine. "Improper?" He stepped inside, kicking the door shut with his boot. The latch clicked like a verdict. "You think I give a damn about propriety?" The firelight caught the fevered gleam in his eyes as he crossed the room, his strides measured, predatory. You backed into the hearth, the heat searing through your nightgown.
Your heel caught on the uneven stone of the hearth, sending you stumbling backward. Aegon caught your wrist before you could fall, his grip tightening just enough to make your pulse jump under his fingers. "Careful" he murmured, though the way his gaze dropped to your parted lips made it clear he wasn't concerned about your safety. The heat at your back was nothing compared to the slow drag of his thumb over your inner wrist, a touch that felt like ownership.
"Y-your Grace… I'm quite tired" you mumbled, even as his lips brushed your wrist, breathing in your scent before pressing a slow, open mouthed kiss to the delicate skin there. His exhale was hot, uneven, a man starved. You could feel the scrape of his teeth as he lingered, as if debating whether to bite down and mark you properly. Your pulse fluttered like a trapped bird beneath his mouth.
Aegon’s lips lingered a moment too long, the scrape of his teeth sending a jolt of panic down your spine before he finally pulled back. His grip on your wrist loosened, but before you could exhale in relief, his hands slid up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing the hollows of your cheeks with unsettling tenderness. "Yes" he murmured, voice rough with something between amusement and hunger, "sleep is needed for such beauty, I suppose." His gaze dragged over your face like a physical touch, lingering on the way your lashes fluttered against your cheekbones. "Though you’d still be perfect without it."
His thumbs still pressed against your cheekbones, Aegon exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound caught between frustration and dark amusement. “You wound me” he murmured, though the way his fingers tightened infinitesimally betrayed the lie in his honeyed tone. The firelight painted his face in flickering gold and shadow, carving the sharp angles of his jaw into something dangerously beautiful. “Fourteen moons of refusing me. Fourteen.” His breath hitched audibly, the words roughening as his gaze dropped to your mouth. “Do you know what that does to a man?”
The pressure of his fingers against your jawbone bordered on painful, his breath ragged against your lips. "I’ve dreamt of this" Aegon confessed, voice thick with something you didn’t dare name. "Dreamt of you beneath me, screaming my name loud enough to shake the stones of Dragonstone." His thumb brushed your lower lip, parting it with deliberate slowness. "But you’d rather play the dutiful lady, wouldn’t you?"
"Y-your grace flatters me, but I think it is time you head to bed…" you stammered, twisting your face away from his touch, only for his fingers to tighten, forcing your gaze back to his. The firelight made the violet of his eyes look molten, pupils blown wide with something far more dangerous than mere desire.
His grip shifted suddenly, fingers tangling in your hair as he yanked your head back hard enough to make you gasp. "Flattery?" Aegon's laugh was a low, broken thing, his breath hot against your exposed throat. "You think this is flattery?" The hand not fisted in your hair slid down your side, fingers digging into your hip with enough force to bruise. "I could have taken you a hundred times over...in your chambers, in the godswood, bent over the damned Iron Throne—" His teeth grazed your pulse point, not quite biting, not quite kissing. "But I wanted you willing."
Your fingers trembled against the rough stone of the hearth as you instinctively took a step back, only to freeze when the heat of the fire licked at your bare heels. Aegon sighed through his nose, finally releasing his grip on your hair, though his fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long, trailing down the curve of your neck like a brand.
"My patience grows weak, sweet one" he murmured, voice dripping with false sweetness. The firelight carved shadows under his cheekbones, turning his smile into something jagged. "I assure you, a man having a wife has never stopped him from taking others." His gaze flicked toward the door, as if imagining the distant chambers where Visenya and Rhaenys slept, or didn’t. "Nor has it ever stopped other woman from wanting a married man."
"That is not me, your grace" you whispered, voice fraying at the edges as you pressed yourself deeper into the hearth’s unforgiving stones, the sapphire necklace cutting into your collarbone. "I would not wish my husband to take others…nor I to be with someone out of wedlock." The words tasted like cowardice even as you said them, too soft, too weak against the wild intensity of his gaze.
Aegon snorted, the sound dark and unamused, before lifting your trembling hand to his lips. His mouth was scalding against your knuckles, lingering too long, tasting the pulse that fluttered beneath your skin like a caged thing. "You are quite pious" he murmured against your skin, breath hot enough to sear. "Another reason I burn for you." The words curled around you like smoke, suffocating and inevitable.
You swallowed thickly, fingers twitching in his hold as Aegon's lips brushed your cheek, a chaste kiss that felt anything but innocent. His breath was warm against your skin, lingering just long enough to make your pulse stutter before he pulled away entirely. "I shall wait another moon" he murmured, the words thick with a promise that coiled low in your belly. You blinked, stunned by the abrupt shift in his demeanor, the sudden restraint where moments ago he'd been all teeth and hunger. The firelight caught the curve of his smile as he stepped back, the predatory grace of his movements making the distance between you feel like a taunt.
The silence after Aegon left was deafening, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you slid down the hearth, your legs refusing to hold you any longer. The sapphire necklace felt like a collar now, the weight of it pressing into your throat as if to remind you, his, his, his. You tore it off with shaking hands, the delicate clasp snapping as you hurled it into the fire, watching the gems blacken and crack in the flames. It didn’t matter. There would be another tomorrow. There was always another.
The dress arrived at dawn, wrapped in black silk so dark it drank the morning light. You ran your fingers over the embroidery of dragons coiled around the bodice in silver thread, their tails twisting down the skirt like possessive claims. It was obscenely beautiful. Obscenely his. You wore it without protest, the fabric whispering against your thighs as you walked to the great hall.
The next morning Aegon’s gaze found you the moment you stepped into the hall, his goblet freezing halfway to his lips. The chatter of courtiers faded as he stood abruptly, his chair scraping against stone. "Little love" he breathed, his voice carrying across the sudden silence. He didn’t blink as he crossed the room, the crowd parting for him like waves before a ship. His fingers brushed the dragon at your collarbone, tracing the silver thread with something like reverence. "You honor me."
"It is so very kind of you to send me such gifts" you murmured, folding your hands together with deliberate grace, the silver dragons on your bodice glinting as you dipped into a shallow curtsy. Your smile was practiced, sweet enough to charm, tight enough to betray nothing. "The least I could do is wear them."
Aegon's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Kindness has nothing to do with it" he murmured, fingers lingering on the embroidery over your ribs, too close, too intimate for court. You could feel Visenya's glare burning into your back from the high table, the weight of it heavier than the sapphires you'd burned. His thumb pressed deliberately against the silver thread, right where your heart hammered beneath. "Tonight" he said, low enough that only you could hear, "you'll wear nothing at all."
"Your Grace, you must stop with such comments" you whispered urgently, fingers twitching against the embroidered dragons on your skirt as you took a half-step back. The heat of his touch lingered where his thumb had pressed against your ribs, branding you through the fabric. "Had your wives heard—"
"They would gut you—" Aegon started with a small tilt of his head, but you quickly shook your own, cutting him off.
"They'd be hurt" you corrected sharply, fingers tightening in the folds of your skirt as you watched Aegon's smirk falter for half a heartbeat. His thumb still hovered near the embroidery over your ribs, the phantom press of it searing even through layers of silk. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, not because they were untrue, but because admitting it felt like surrender. Visenya’s knives and Rhaenys’s sweet poison had never frightened you half as much as the raw, wounded pride glittering in their eyes whenever Aegon’s attention strayed too long in your direction.
Aegon's fingers twitched against your ribs...once, twice...before he wrenched his hand away as if burned. "Gods fucking damn you" he snarled, the raw edge in his voice slicing through the court's murmured conversations. The sudden silence was deafening. His chest heaved, the embroidered dragons on his doublet straining with each ragged breath. "Fourteen moons of this...this farce!" The word dripped with venom.
He didn't touch you again. Instead, he took three deliberate steps back, his boots striking the stone like hammer blows. The violet in his eyes had darkened to near-black, pupils swallowing the light. "I am growing tired..." he bit out, each syllable sharp enough to draw blood, "of you rejecting me for such reasons." The last word cracked like a whip.
You opened your mouth, to protest, to placate, to lie...but Aegon was already turning on his heel. The crowd scattered before him, nobles tripping over their own silks to clear his path. He didn't look back. Not when Visenya rose from the high table with her hand on Dark Sister's hilt. Not when Rhaenys' melodic laughter cut off mid note. He simply kept walking, the great hall doors shuddering shut behind him with a finality that echoed in your bones.
The absence of Aegon's voice was louder than his presence had ever been. For two days, he did not speak to you, did not send gifts, did not corner you in shadowed alcoves with promises that tasted like threats. But his silence was a lie. You felt the weight of his gaze like a hand between your shoulder blades, burning through silk and skin alike. At meals, he lounged in his carved chair with a goblet dangling from careless fingers, watching you over the rim with eyes that never blinked. In the courtyard, you'd turn from the training yard's clamor only to catch the glint of silver hair from an upper balcony, motionless as a predator assessing its prey.
That night the door didn't just open, it exploded inward with a crash that sent splinters skittering across the floor. You barely had time to drop the hairbrush before Aegon was there, his boots crushing the scattered shards of wood beneath him like bones. Moonlight caught the wild sheen in his eyes, turning violet irises into something nearly feral. "Your grace?" you whispered, the words catching in your throat as he took another step forward.
The hairbrush clattered to the floor as you stumbled back, your heel catching on the hem of your nightgown. Aegon didn't pause. Didn't hesitate. His hands closed around your upper arms with bruising force, hauling you forward so abruptly your scream tore itself raw against your teeth. "Enough!" he growled, the word vibrating through his chest and into yours where you were pressed against him. His breath smelled of wine and something darker, sharper, like the metallic tang of a blade left too long unsheathed.
"Stop moving, I'm not going to—" Aegon started, but your scream tore through the chamber like shattered glass, raw and primal. You twisted violently in his grip, nails raking down his forearms as you wrenched yourself backward, only for his fingers to slip. The moment he let go, regret flashed across his face, but it was too late. Your bare foot slid on the polished stone, your body arching backward in a terrible fall. The sickening crack of your skull against the wrought iron bedpost echoed like a death knell.
Aegon swore, the sound guttural and raw, as your body crumpled to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs and pooling nightgown. Blood seeped into your hairline instantly, dark as wine in the moonlight. He dropped to his knees beside you, hands hovering uselessly over your still form, half afraid to touch, half desperate to shake you awake. "No, no, fuck—" His fingers trembled as they brushed your throat, searching for a pulse. When he found it, thready but there, his breath left him in a rush that bordered on prayer.
"Stupid girl." Aegon sighed, lifting your limp body with an ease that belied the tremor in his hands. The blood smeared across your temple was still warm, sticky against his fingers as he cradled your head against his chest. His boots crunched over the shattered wood of your door as he carried you into the corridor, where a wide eyed servant stood frozen. "Clean it." he snapped without breaking stride. The servant's choked gasp followed him down the hall, but Aegon didn't turn. He didn't need to see the carnage to know what it looked like, the overturned furniture, the shattered vase you'd hurled at him, the dark stain spreading where your skull had met iron.
The guards at his chamber door stiffened at the sight of their king carrying an unconscious woman, but they knew better than to speak. Aegon kicked the door shut behind him with a force that rattled the tapestries, depositing you gently on the bed before turning to the nearest man. "Remove her lord father from court" he said, voice eerily calm. "Him and all his kin." The guard hesitated, your father was Master of Coin, after all but one look at Aegon's face had him bowing sharply. "Burn their letters before they leave" Aegon added as the man retreated. He didn't need spies whispering to your family about bloodstains and midnight screams.
Aegon's fingers came away from your temple slick with blood, the metallic scent filling his nostrils as he swore again, low and vicious. The wound wasn't deep...he'd seen enough battle wounds to know that, but the way your head lolled against his arm sent something primal clawing up his throat. "Fuck" he hissed, pressing his sleeve against the bleeding gash as he strode to the door, bellowing for a guard. The man appeared instantly, his eyes widening at the sight of your limp form. "Fetch the fucking maester," Aegon snarled, "and if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll feed you to Balerion in pieces."
The guard fled. Aegon turned back to you, his chest tight as he laid you carefully on the bed. Blood had seeped into the linen sheets already, blooming like some grotesque flower beneath your head. He tore a strip from the hem of his own tunic, dipping it into the basin of water by the bedside with hands that shook, whether from rage or fear, he couldn't tell. The water pinkened as he wrung out the cloth, pressing it gently to your temple. "Stubborn girl" he muttered, though his fingers were feather light as they brushed the hair from your face. "Always fighting me." The words tasted like ash. He hadn't meant to hurt you...hadn't meant for any of this.
The maester's fingers stilled mid replacing your bandage when your eyelashes fluttered, a butterfly's wing against his wrinkled knuckles. He exhaled sharply through his nose, adjusting the linen strip with practiced ease even as your head twitched weakly against the pillow. "Your Grace" the maester murmured, not taking his eyes from your face, "she stirs."
Aegon's chair screeched against stone as he lunged forward, his wine goblet forgotten where it rolled across the floor, staining the rushes crimson. He barely noticed. His entire world narrowed to the infinitesimal tremor of your fingers where they lay limp atop the coverlet, the first movement in three days of stillness so absolute he'd pressed a mirror to your lips hourly, watching for fog.
"Forgive me…" you mumbled, your voice raspy and eyes blinking hazily. The words felt strange on your tongue, like trying to recite a poem in a language you'd only ever heard whispered. "I am a bit confused… and my head hurts." Your hand drifted up toward your temple, fingers twitching instinctively toward the ache, but the maester intercepted your wrist with surprising speed. His grip was gentle but unyielding.
"Best not to disturb the wound, my lady" he murmured, pressing your hand back down onto the coverlet with wrinkled fingers that smelled of bitter poultices. The linen bandage wrapped around your head felt stiff against your skin, crusted with something dried and flaking. The maester leaned closer, his breath sour with sleep deprivation. "Do you remember your name?"
You opened your mouth and froze. The answer should have been there, resting on the tip of your tongue like a familiar sweet. Instead, there was only a yawning void where your name should have been. Your brows furrowed, sending a fresh lance of pain through your skull as you strained against the blankness. "I…" The syllable hung in the air, brittle and uncertain. Panic curled low in your belly, cold and slick.
A chair scraped violently against stone. Suddenly Aegon was there, looming over the maester's shoulder, his shadow swallowing the candlelight whole. His face was carved marble in the flickering gloom, too still, too perfect. The maester glanced between you both, then cleared his throat. "Memory loss isn't uncommon with head injuries" he said carefully, though his eyes darted to Aegon's clenched fists. "It may return in hours… or days."
"Who… who are you?" you mumbled, your voice thin as parchment. The man with violet eyes, so intense they seemed to glow in the dim light, approached slowly, the weight of his presence pressing down on you like a stormcloud. The maester opened his mouth, his lips curling into an obsequious smile. "His Grace the King—"
Aegon's hand shot out, fingers clamping over the old man's wrist hard enough to whiten knuckles. The maester's breath hitched, his words dying in his throat as Aegon leaned over you, his other hand cradling your face with terrifying gentleness. The lie slipped from his tongue like honeyed poison. "Your husband." His thumb brushed your cheekbone, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the shape of you.
The maester's breath hitched audibly, his wrinkled hands freezing midair as Aegon's grip tightened on your cheeks. His thumbs pressed into the hollows beneath your eyes, not painfully, but with a possession that made your pulse stutter. "Shh" Aegon murmured, his voice roughened by three days of silence and smoke. The pad of his thumb brushed your lower lip, lingering just long enough for you to taste the salt of his skin. "You hit your head, my love. The maester says you may be confused."
"Husband?" you questioned, staring up at him. The word felt foreign, like trying to recite a line from a play you'd never read. The man looming over you, his silver hair catching the candlelight like molten metal, held your gaze with an intensity that made your breath hitch. Something primal stirred in your gut, a flicker of recognition drowned beneath the pounding in your skull. "You're… the king?"
The maester coughed discreetly, shuffling backward as Aegon's fingers tightened imperceptibly around your jaw. "Yes..." Aegon said, voice low as embers banking in a hearth. His thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, too intimate, too familiar. "And you are my queen."
Aegon's fingers twitched against your jaw, too tight, then abruptly gentle, as if he'd caught himself. His breath smelled of wine and something darker, something that made your stomach twist in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. "Aegon" he murmured, his thumb dragging across your lower lip again, slower this time. "And you…" His pause was barely perceptible, his gaze flickering to the maester, who had suddenly found the ceiling beams fascinating as your name fell from his lips.
The maester's lips parted, whether to protest or confirm, you'd never know. Aegon's glare silenced him before a single syllable escaped. The old man bowed stiffly and retreated toward the door, his robes whispering against stone like a guilty secret. When the latch clicked shut, Aegon exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers sliding from your face to cradle the back of your head instead. His palm was warm against your scalp, avoiding the bandage with surprising tenderness. "You fell" he murmured, thumb tracing the shell of your ear. "Three days ago."
"That is so sad" you murmured, your voice distant, as if commenting on some tragic tale told by a minstrel rather than your own missing memories. Your fingers twitched toward his, hesitant, uncertain, before finally curling around his calloused palm. The warmth of his skin startled you, sending an odd shiver up your arm. "You must have been so worried… as you are my husband." The word tasted strange in your mouth, like some fruit you'd never bitten into before.
Aegon's breath caught when your fingers tightened around his, hesitant, trusting. The tremor in his hands stilled as if you'd cast some silent spell. His gaze dropped to where your skin met his, the contrast of your pale fingers against his knuckles sending heat coiling low in his belly. "Worried?" he echoed, voice rough as he lifted your joined hands to his lips. His kiss burned against your knuckles, lingering too long to be proper. "You have no idea."
The maester's hands trembled slightly as he unwound the linen bandage from your temple on the seventh morning. Aegon loomed behind him, his shadow stretching across the bed like a dragon's wing. You barely noticed the old man's nervousness, too busy leaning into Aegon's thigh where it pressed against the mattress, your fingers idly tracing the embroidery on his breeches. The wound had scabbed over nicely, leaving only a thin white line barely visible beneath your hairline. "No sign of infection" the maester murmured, avoiding your gaze as he dabbed the scar with mint smelling salve. "Though headaches may persist…"
"Does she remember?" Aegon interrupted, his voice deliberately casual. His fingers slid into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp in a way that made you sigh and press closer. The maester's throat worked as he glanced between you, pliant and drowsy against Aegon's leg, and the king's too calm expression.
The maester's fingers twitched around his salve jar, his throat bobbing as if swallowing a stone. "You would have to ask her, my king" he murmured, gaze darting to where your hand rested on Aegon's thigh, your thumb rubbing absent circles through the fine wool.
You frowned, shaking your head slowly. The movement sent a dull throb through your temple, but it was the hollow ache behind your eyes that truly unsettled you. "I'm sorry, husband" you whispered, pressing your forehead against Aegon's hip in silent apology. His fingers stilled in your hair. "I don't."
Aegon exhaled through his nose, long and slow, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear in a gesture that might have been comforting if not for the tension coiled in his shoulders. The maester hesitated, then bowed so low his beard brushed the rushes. "The memories may yet return in time, Your Grace. Or…" His pause was heavy, weighted. "They may not."
Aegon's lips curled at the edges as he watched the maester gather his ointments and rolled bandages, a slow, secretive smile that didn't reach his eyes. You didn't see it, too busy tracing the embroidered dragons on his sleeve with a fingertip, marveling at how the silver threads caught the firelight. "We may make new memories, my love" he murmured, his breath stirring the loose strands of your hair where you leaned against his thigh. The words tasted like victory, thick and sweet on his tongue.
The maester's hands faltered as he cinched his leather satchel shut, the buckle clinking like a distant prison chain. He didn't dare look up, not when Aegon's fingers slid from your hair to cradle your chin, tilting your face upward with a gentleness that bordered on reverence. "Tell me" Aegon coaxed, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, "what would please you first? A feast with singers? A hunt in the kingswood?" His voice dropped to a whisper only you could hear, roughened by seven nights of watching you sleep. "Or shall I show you how a king worships his queen?"
Aegon's fingers stilled against your cheekbone, too long, too deliberate...before he turned his head sharply toward the maester. "Out" he commanded, the word cracking like a whip. The old man scurried backward, nearly tripping over his own robes in his haste to obey. The door clicked shut with finality, leaving only the sound of your breathing, too quick, too shallow and the distant crackle of the hearth.
"You've been unwell" Aegon murmured, his thumb resuming its slow arc along your jawline. His pupils swallowed the violet of his irises, black as the space between stars. "I wouldn't…" His voice roughened, his free hand flexing against the bedsheets where he braced himself above you. "I wouldn't take you while you couldn't remember the pleasure of it."
Your lips parted, not in protest, but in something softer, warmer. The way his gaze dipped to your mouth sent heat pooling low in your belly, unfamiliar yet intoxicating. "Oh..." you breathed, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. The scent of him, smoke and salt and something indefinably male, filled your lungs as you leaned closer. "That's… kind of you."
Aegon's laugh was dark, unamused. His teeth flashed white as his lips peeled back from them. "Kind?" He pressed forward, his knee slotting between your thighs with devastating precision. The contact drew a gasp from you, half shock, half something else entirely. "I've been fucking my hand every night imagining this." he growled against your temple, his breath scalding where it seared your skin. "There's nothing kind about what I'm going to do to you."
The vulgarity should have repelled you. Instead, your body arched instinctively into his, your hips canting against the hard muscle of his thigh. Aegon's groan vibrated through you as his hands slid down your sides, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. "Seven hells" he rasped, "you're even more responsive than I dreamed." His lips traced the shell of your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste the sensitive skin beneath. "Were you always like this? Or is this my reward for patience?"
Your breath hitched, not from fear, but from the way his teeth scraped along your pulse point. "I don't… remember" you admitted, your voice trembling. The confession should have been terrifying, but with Aegon's hands mapping your body like a man starved, it felt inconsequential. His thumb brushed the peak of your nipple through the thin fabric of your shift, and you cried out, your fingers twisting in his hair.
Aegon shuddered, his hips grinding against yours in an unmistakable rhythm. "Gods..." he gritted out, "you're perfect." His fingers made quick work of the laces at your bodice, the fabric parting like petals under his touch. Cool air kissed your bared skin, but his gaze burned hotter than any flame. "Look at you" he murmured, his palm skimming your ribcage. "Made for me."
You gasped as his mouth closed over your nipple, his tongue swirling in wicked circles. Pleasure shot through you like lightning, your back bowing off the bed. "Aegon—" His name tumbled from your lips, broken and desperate. His answering growl vibrated against your skin as his hand slid between your thighs, fingers teasing through slick folds.
"You're dripping" he observed, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Do you know how long I've dreamed of this?" His fingers circled your clit with agonizing precision, your hips bucking against his hand. "Tell me you want this" he demanded, his breath hot against your throat. "Tell me you're mine."
"I—" Your words dissolved into a moan as his fingers plunged inside you, curling just right. Stars exploded behind your eyelids, your body tightening around him. "Yours" you gasped, nails scoring his shoulders. "Always yours."
Aegon's restraint shattered. He surged forward, pinning you beneath him as his cock nudged your entrance. "Look at me" he commanded, his voice ragged. Violet eyes burned into yours as he sheathed himself fully in one brutal thrust. Your scream echoed off the stone walls, pleasure and pain blurring into overwhelming sensation.
The moment Aegon pulled out, his cock glistening with your shared arousal, he froze. A dark streak smeared across his thigh, not just slickness, but blood. Crimson bloomed bright against his pale skin, stark as dragonfire on snow. His breath hitched, fingers tightening where they gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. "Fuck" he rasped, staring down at the proof of your untouched state with something akin to reverence. "You were a maiden."
"What?" you mumbled breathlessly, fingers clutching the rumpled sheets beneath you. Your thighs still trembled from the force of his claiming, but confusion furrowed your brow as you glanced down at the blood smeared across his skin. A giggle bubbled up, light, airy, as you swatted his chest. "We were surely intimate before this, husband. You're teasing me." The words tasted like honeyed wine, sweet with the certainty of shared history that didn't exist.
Aegon's expression flickered, something dark and hungry shifting behind his eyes before he schooled his features into a mask of tender amusement. His thumb brushed your lower lip, coming away damp from where you'd bitten it during his relentless thrusts. "Clever girl" he murmured, though his voice carried an odd thickness. His cock twitched against your thigh, still slick with your virgin's blood. "Perhaps I liked pretending you were untouched. Perhaps…" His hips rolled lazily, the head of his cock catching at your sensitive entrance, "…I wanted to break you open all over again."
The chamber reeked of sweat and sex, the heavy velvet drapes doing little to stifle the sounds still echoing off the stone, your breathy whimpers, Aegon's guttural growls, the wet slap of skin meeting skin with each relentless thrust. He hadn't let you rest, hadn't paused except to flip you onto your stomach, your cheek pressed into the mattress as he hiked your hips up and plunged back in with a groan that rattled his chest.
The castle had fallen silent by the third hour, though the walls still hummed with the aftershocks of Aegon's possession. You lay sprawled across the rumpled sheets, legs trembling too violently to close, his spend dripping down your inner thighs. Aegon traced the mess with possessive satisfaction, his fingers painting lazy patterns through the sticky warmth before bringing them to his lips. "Sweet" he murmured, tongue darting out to taste you with unhurried relish. "Sweeter than I imagined."
The castle woke to silence the next morning, the kind of silence that came when servants walked on tiptoes and maids exchanged knowing glances over their scrubbing brushes. You stirred beneath the silk sheets, your body aching in places you didn't know could ache, the scent of sex clinging to your skin. Aegon's arm was a dead weight across your waist, his fingers still twitching possessively even in sleep.
The morning light bled through the heavy drapes in slanted amber stripes, painting Aegon's bare chest in molten gold as he watched you stir. His fingers traced idle patterns along your hipbone, not tenderly, but with the proprietary satisfaction of a dragon circling its hoard. You blinked up at him through sleep heavy lashes, your thighs instinctively pressing together at the memory of his roughness. The movement made his lips twitch.
The first thing you noticed was the ache, deep and throbbing between your legs, a pulsing reminder of what Aegon had taken from you. The second was the warmth of his palm splayed possessively over your belly, fingers dipping just beneath the silk sheets as if marking territory. His breath ghosted across your shoulder, slow and even, but the tension in his body betrayed his wakefulness.
The rustle of silk against bare skin was the only sound as you stretched beneath the sheets, wincing at the dull protest of sore muscles. Aegon's fingers tightened imperceptibly on your hip, not restraining, just present, a brand seared into your flesh as surely as the bruises blooming along your throat. When you turned to face him, his eyes were already open, violet dark and unreadable in the dawn light.
You had spent the morning in the tub, the water sloshed over the copper tub's rim when you flicked your fingers at Aegon, droplets catching fire in the morning light as they arced toward his face. His answering growl sent heat pooling low in your belly, half threat, half promise, before he lunged, dragging you against his chest with a splash that soaked the rushes. "Cheeky" he murmured against your temple, his erection pressing insistently against your lower back. You could feel the water ripple around it, the teasing bob of his cock stirring currents against your thighs.
One of the maids had left lavender oil by the basin, its scent clung to the steam rising between you, thick as the tension coiling in Aegon's shoulders when you reached back to trail soap slick fingers along his inner thigh. His breath hitched, sharp enough that you felt it in your own lungs, before his hand clamped over yours, guiding you higher. "Here" he rasped, your palm enveloped in heat and hardness. The water did nothing to disguise the way his pulse jumped under your fingertips, the rapid throb of veins beneath silken skin.
"It'll be easier if you face me" Aegon whispered, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as he turned you in the water. The movement sent ripples cascading over the tub's edge, but you barely noticed, not when his hands settled on your hips, guiding you until your knees bracketed his thighs. The second he placed your palm against him again, your fingers twitched instinctively around his hardness. You bit your lip, the taste of lavender and salt sharp on your tongue. "W-what do I do…?"
Aegon's exhale was ragged, his cock pulsing against your tentative grip. His thumb traced the crease of your wrist, pressing gently until your fingers tightened just so. "Like this" he murmured, his own hand covering yours, demonstrating the slow drag of your fist along his length. Water sluiced between your joined fingers, making the glide effortless, sinful. His head tipped back against the copper rim, veins standing stark along his throat as his hips jerked into your touch. "Fuck. Just like that."
You watched, transfixed, as a bead of moisture welled at his tip, not bathwater, something thicker, and your thumb brushed over it without thinking. The groan that tore from Aegon's chest was raw, his fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave marks. "Curious little wife" he rasped, his other hand tangling in your hair, tugging until your lips were a breath from his. "Taste."
Aegon's fingers glistened in the steam heavy air, his thumb slick with his own release as it brushed your lower lip. You gasped, not in protest, but in startled arousal as he pressed insistently against the seam of your mouth until your lips parted on a shuddering exhale. The taste burst across your tongue like lightning, salty, musky, something indefinably him and your lashes fluttered shut instinctively. His groan vibrated through your chest where he held you flush against him, the water sloshing wildly as his hips jerked upward.
The copper tub groaned under Aegon's sudden movement, water sloshing onto the stone floor as he hauled you onto his lap. Your startled yelp dissolved into a moan when his cock slid against your slick folds, the blunt head catching at your entrance with delicious pressure. "You asked what to do" he growled into the crook of your neck, teeth scraping your pulse point. His hands molded your hips, guiding you down with agonizing slowness until you gasped at the stretch, still tender from last night's ravaging. "This is what you do."
The water had gone cold by the time Aegon finally lifted you from the tub, his arms trembling with the effort of holding himself back. You clung to him, dripping and breathless, your thighs marked with crescent shaped impressions where your nails had bitten into flesh. He didn’t bother with towels, just carried you, shivering and slick, to the nearest flat surface of a carved oak table cluttered with scrolls and quills. They scattered to the floor as he laid you down, the parchment crinkling beneath his knees when he climbed atop you.
The quill snapped under Aegon's knee with a sound like breaking bones. Ink bled across an unfinished letter, some lord's petition about grain stores as he pinned your wrists above your head, his hips grinding against yours with deliberate, maddening slowness. "Look at you" he breathed, watching your nipples pebble in the morning chill, your thighs already parting in silent invitation. "Still hungry for me after last night."
The courtyard outside your chambers was unnaturally still the next afternoon, no clatter of armor, no chatter of serving girls, as if the entire castle held its breath. The only sound was the rhythmic creak of the bedframe and Aegon's guttural growls punctuating your broken cries. He had you bent over the window ledge, your fingers scrabbling against the sun-warmed stone as he pounded into you from behind, each thrust sending your breasts bouncing against the cool surface. "Louder" he commanded, his palm cracking against your ass in a sharp sting that made you yelp. The sound ricocheted off the Red Keep's towers, carried by the sea wind to every open window below.
"Look down" he snarled, his hand fisting in your hair to wrench your head forward. Below the window, a cluster of servants froze mid task, their upturned faces pale as milk. Aegon's hips snapped harder, his teeth sinking into your nape. "Let them see their queen well used."
Aegon traced the curve of your sleeping shoulder with the edge of his dagger, not enough to break skin, just enough to feel the heat of you beneath the cold steel. The blade caught the candlelight as he dragged it lower, following the dip of your waist where bruises bloomed in the shape of his fingers. He'd kept you abed for three days straight, fucking you raw every time you stirred, whispering false histories against your sweat slick skin until you repeated them back to him like prayers.
The dagger's tip lingered just below your collarbone, catching the predawn light in a thin silver gleam. Aegon's breath fogged the steel as he exhaled slowly, watching the rise and fall of your chest with something between worship and hunger. The gods had already answered one prayer...your pliant body, your trusting eyes, the way you arched into his touch like a flower seeking sun. Now he sent another into the silence between heartbeats... "Let her stay this way"
Your lashes fluttered as the cold metal traced a lazy path toward your nipple. A soft sound escaped your lips, not fear, not protest, but the sleepy murmur of his name. Aegon's gut tightened. He could count every time you'd said it without prompting since the injury…sacred utterances that meant you'd begun stitching him into the blank tapestry of your mind. The dagger trembled in his grip. "Let her never remember."
The dagger clattered to the floor when you reached for him in sleep, your fingers curling around his wrist with instinctive trust. Aegon froze, watching the way your thumb brushed his pulse point, softer than the touch he deserved, gentler than the violence thrumming through his veins. His free hand hovered above your throat, trembling with the need to claim even this fragile moment.
The dagger's clatter jolted you halfway awake, your fingers still wrapped around Aegon's wrist like a shackle made of silk. His pulse hammered against your thumb, wild as a trapped bird, until you made a soft, questioning noise in your throat and pressed your lips to his knuckles. The tension bled from his muscles all at once, his free hand cradling your jaw with terrifying gentleness.
All good things have things that can ruin them.
The parchment crumpled in Aegon’s fist as he paced the solar, the ink of his latest decree bleeding through the fibers like poison. Through the arched windows, he could see the courtyard below, lords and ladies milling about in their silks and velvets, blissfully unaware of the viper in their midst. His jaw clenched. Someone would talk. Someone always did. A serving girl with loose lips, a knight who’d once seen him beg at your door, a fucking stable boy who remembered how you’d recoiled from his touch. The thought made his fingers twitch toward the dagger at his belt.
You shifted in the chair by the hearth, the furs pooled around your waist slipping to reveal the bruises he’d left along your hip. The sight stilled him mid stride. Even now...especially now, your innocence was unbearable. You blinked up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, fingers toying with the embroidery on your sleeve. “Will I meet them soon?” you asked, your voice soft as the firelight gilded your throat. “Your sisters… our ladies? I'm sure I have before but I'd like to again seeing as I can't remember.”
Aegon’s gut twisted. He crossed the room in three strides, caging you against the chair with his body until your breath hitched. His thumb brushed your lower lip, smearing the question away. “Not yet” he murmured, tasting the lie like bile on his tongue. His other hand slid possessively up your thigh, fingers digging into the tender flesh. “The maester said no excitement. No strain.” The word dripped with double meaning as his knee nudged your legs apart. “Would you disobey his orders, sweet wife?”
You whimpered, but your hips arched into his touch all the same, always so fucking pliant, so his. It made the panic in his chest recede, if only for a moment. He could control this. Could control you. His lips found the shell of your ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “I’ll bring them to you” he lied smoothly, his hand sliding higher until your nails bit into his forearm. “When you’re ready. When I say.”
Beyond the chamber door, a serving girl’s footsteps paused, too close, too curious. Aegon snarled against your neck, his free hand darting to the dagger at his belt. The footsteps scurried away. His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your face up to his. “No one sees you until I’ve prepared them.” The words were velvet wrapped steel. “Do you understand?”
You nodded, breathless and dazed, your pupils blown wide with trust. Aegon’s chest ached with something vile and victorious. He kissed you then, hard enough to bruise...to seal the lie between your teeth.
