Lari. 29. Writer. This blog is a place for me to celebrate and write about the stories that I love. My current obsession is House of the Dragon, but I also love Game of Thrones, Pride and Prejudice, Once Upon A Time, Outlander, Star Wars, Harry Potter, Never Have I Ever, Lucifer, and so many other stories.
Hi everyone. My name is Lari Ann. I've always been a fangirl. I used to lament the fact that I couldn't contribute to my fandoms with drawings.
Of course I always loved writing fan fiction, and posting theories and analysis ,but I always wanted a three dimensional way to celebrate my fandoms.
At the end of April, I learned to crochet.
Now I can celebrate all of my fandoms with yarn.
The fandoms that I have made items for are: Disney, Pride and Prejudice, Pokemon and Harry Potter.
But I also plan on making things for the following: Marvel, DC, Outlander, Stardew Valley, Mario, Legend of Zelda, Bridgerton, Wizard of Oz/Wicked, Star Wars, Game of Thrones,Doctor Who and any other fandom that might inspire my yarn muse.
Feel free to share your fandom projects with me. I would love to see what everyone has made.
You can follow my journey into fandom crafting on these other platforms as well.
I have all the pattern authors credited on my instagram and facebook, and will post the pattern author here moving forward as well.
I started another Jafar and Jasmine story. because i'm the worst
My muse is obsessed, and doesn't want to write for any other pairing right now.
This one is a post movie fic, and the first chapter definitely has GOT vibes.
Ten years after the defeat of Jafar, Agrabah is at war with a nearby kingdom and on the brink of destruction.
Queen Jasmine of Agrabah is forced to return to the Cave of Wonders to retrieve the only thing that might save her kingdom: the black lamp.
When Jasmine summons Jafar, she learns that the laws of magic are more complicated than she imagined.
Jafar agrees to grant her two wishes if she will use her third to free him.
It is a deal with the devil, but it is one that Jasmine must make in order to save all she holds dear.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Daemon leaves Rhaenyra at her wedding feast. Rhaenyra marries Laenor. After a year of trying to do their duty and produce an heir, Rhaenyra writes to Daemon.
She needs a true Targaryen heir.
It only needs to be an arrangement of business, she says. And it would result in Daemon’s child one day taking the Iron Throne.
Daemon accepts the proposal and returns to court.
Only, ventures like these are never simple. As much as they would wish to, Daemon and Rhaenyra cannot let go of the past, or the feelings they once had for each other.
124 AC
“Muña!” Aegon the Younger cried in the middle of a stormy night.
Rhaenyra burst into her youngest son’s bedchamber at Dragonstone. She wrapped her arms around the child. “What is it, my love.”
“Egg,” Aegon said, pointing to the iron egg warmer in the fire. “Gone.”
Rhaenyra hurried over and withdrew the warmer from the fire, ignoring the heat as she opened the lid. Thank goodness true Targaryens did not burn. Her son had yet to learn this though, and was frightened by some sort of vision that had intruded his dreams.
The egg was not gone though. It had solidified into stone. A dragon would not hatch from this egg.
***
Alicent was beginning to wonder if the gods were punishing her.
Her beloved Daeron had lost his eye. The maesters had been able to save his life, but only just.
Then, the first month of the year, she had felt the quickening of a baby. To make matters worse, this pregnancy had been her most difficult yet, making her weak and bedridden since having felt the first movements. She feared that this would be the last child she could cary, which would leave her amount of heirs smaller than her rivals.
Her saving grace was that she knew this one belonged to her husband. But Ser Criston was joyful that he would soon have another child.
Alicent knew that her lover was becoming a liability, seeing as she had denied him access to her bed for months. Still, their last joining had been close enough that Criston could be convinced that the babe was his. That would keep him loyal.
But only until the babe was born and Ser Criston saw signature Targaryen features. Then her knight would turn on her and Alicent would have to dispose of him.
Alicent looked down at her rounded abdomen. She would know how to act soon enough.
***
Three months later, Alicent gave birth to a little girl with silver-gold hair and brilliant amethyst eyes.
She was named Maegelle, and declared to be the epitome of Targaryen beauty by the king.
Alicent’s lip curled in satisfaction as Viserys presented the babe to court.
Ser Criston was blessedly out of King’s Landing on a quest. Daemon, Rhaenyra, and their horde of bastard children had arrived to see the new Targaryen child.
But thanks to her father’s machinations, the false Aegon had no dragon. Alicent would ensure that Maegelle had one.
At this very moment, Criston Cole was journeying to Dragonstone to steal the last of Syrax’s most recent clutch of eggs. The foolish little bitch had left it barely protected at her ancestral seat.
The eggs in King’s Landing were tainted. But the last egg in Dragonstone was unmolested and sure to produce a dragon.
Maegelle, a true Targaryen princess, would have what she deserved.
Ser Criston would bring back an egg, and if he was caught in his attempt, Alicent would not have to dispose of him herself.
Her fortunes had turned.
***
“Must you leave us?” Rhaenyra asked, after the children were safely tucked away in their chambers.
“It will only be for one night, my love,” Dameon said, kissing her tenderly, then he bent to kiss Rhaenyra’s abdomen.
“Our new prince or princess will need a dragon egg.”
“Our next child will not be born for months, my love,” Rhaenyra said, only having felt the quickening that afternoon, but it had spurred Daemon to action.
“Perhaps not, but as much as it pains me to say, I believe it is best if we move our permanent residence to King’s Landing.”
“Why? We have been so content at Dradonstone. You have been able to maintain your position as Hand while the children have not been forced into the proximity of our enemies.”
Daemon smiled sadly. Indeed, he had been happier in the recent years than he ever had been in his life, solely because of Rhaenyra and his children. But happiness had a price. “In our absence, the Green Bitch has brought Viserys under her thrall once again. And now she has given him a daughter. You, more than anyone, know his weakness for daughters. We cannot keep travelling back and forth. We must keep a closer eye on the little harlot and her spawn.”
Rhaenyra nodded. It was a wise move to make, but the idea of living in King’s Landing full time after spending so many happy months at Dragonstone with her family made Rhaenyra’s heart ache.
Daemon seemed to sense her thoughts. “I will make the arrangements and return to you and our family as soon as I can.”
Rhaenyra nodded and squeezed his hand. “See that you do.”
***
Ser Criston Cole panted as he leaned against the damp stone wall.
The caverns of Dragonstone were nearly endless. How was he meant to find Syrax’s last egg?
His second child deserved a dragon, especially considering how poor Daeron had suffered.
Ser Criston knew his relationship with his queen had been imperfect as of late. He had been unable to bed her in months. But he still loved her, and would serve her until his dying day.
With that in mind, Ser Criston hurried through the catacombs. He would find that egg and present it to his beloved queen, and she would finally welcome him back to her bed.
So caught up in his fantasies of pleasuring Alicent, Criston was unaware of the footsteps that joined his.
A moment later, the knight felt a blade at his back. A strong arm wrapped around his neck. “What are you doing here, Ser Crispin?”
Ser Criston’s blood turned to ice.
He’d been caught. And Prince Daemon would surely stop at nothing to ensure a deadly punishment was doled out.
When Ser Criston refused to reveal his purpose—though it would surely be obvious to anyone with a modicum of intelligence—the world faded away.
***
Ser Criston awoke the following night in the dungeon of the Red Keep, his wrists shackled to the wall.
“What is the meaning of this? I am the Queen’s protector!”
A guard appeared at the door of his cell. “You were,” the man said, his voice disdainful, “And now you are guilty of treason. Your trial will take place on the morrow.”
“I need to see the Queen,” Ser Criston argued. “Surely she will pardon me. Please, I will see to it that you are rewarded with gold if you bring her here with haste.”
The guard appeared to be conflicted, but eventually the promise of gold won out.
Alicent appeared in the dungeon half an hour later, resplendent in a gown of green brocade. But her lovely face was drawn and pinched.
“You are a fool. I have no use for fools at my side in these dangerous times,” Alicent hissed.
“I went to Dragonstone on your orders,” Ser Criston argued.
“And you failed. You were caught by Prince Daemon, who has spent the day providing the king with evidence of your treachery.”
“My treachery? I have only ever done your bidding.”
Alicent smiled. “I believe you’ll find, Ser Criston, that I am completely innocent of your attempts to unlawfully obtain a dragon. The witness I sent to Prince Daemon has ensured your guilt. You will be tried and sentenced tomorrow.”
Ser Criston stared in disbelief at the queen. “Why would you do this to me? I am the father of two of your children.”
“You are the father of my third son. I was a fool to let you get me with child. You have never been the most clever or ruthless, and now, even your loyalty has run its course.”
“I would do anything for you, Alicent, and for our children.” Ser Criston protested.
Alicent’s eyes gleamed malevolently. “Would you? Maegelle is a true Targaryen with true Targaryen features. I knew the moment she was born that you would betray us. Your pride will not allow you to defend her. And so I am forced to act in the interest of her protection. Goodbye, Ser Criston.”
Alicent swept out of the dungeons, leaving Ser Criston to stew in anger and betrayal. How dare Alicent open her legs to the old king again, when she had already given Viserys three legitimate children. Ser Criston thought that his queen belonged to him, body, soul and heart.
He curled his fingers into a fist. If his fate was to die on the morrow, Criston Cole vowed that he would drag Alicent down with him.
***
All things considered, convincing Viserys of Ser Criston’s guilt had been almost too easy.
Especially when one of the Queen’s attendants came to him with a story of Ser Criston’s betrayal, swearing that the knight had acted alone in trying to procure a dragon egg. That Queen Alicent had begged him to reconsider and ordered him to go to Dorne instead of Dragonstone.
Daemon knew that Alicent was complicit. Furthermore, he was certain that Cole and the Green Bitch had conspired to steal the egg that had been presented to Daeron. Fate had taken care of that. But another attempt could not go unpunished. As it was, the attendant's testimony was a neat little tale that ensured Ser Criston’s death sentence and absolved the queen of guilt, which had been enough for Viserys. Daemon would settle for the result.
The next day, the court assembled in the throne room.
Daemon’s fingers curled around the hilt of Dark Sister as the evidence against Ser Criston was presented. Daemon kept his eyes on the Green Bitch, wondering why she had turned against her protector. Likely it was due to the birth of her daughter, who once again, had the looks of a Targaryen.
Princess Maegelle was still a half-breed, but Daemon knew that Viserys was the girl’s father.
He suppose it didn’t matter why Alicent lost faith in her lover. Soon, another in opposition to Rhaenyra’s rule would be disposed of. Daemon was certain the queen would eventually take a new lover, and when she did, Daemon would ensure that she was discovered and cast off.
After a quarter of an hour, the evidence was presented. Viserys rose from his throne and declared the verdict. “Ser Criston Cole, you are charged with attempted theft of a dragon egg and high treason against the Crown. For this, you will be put to death.”
The crowd’s response to the declaration was mixed. Those loyal to the Blacks began to shout for Ser Criston’s head, while those loyal to the Greens looked saddened and dismayed. The Green Bitch, however, looked carefully triumphant.
Daemon supposed he could not blame her. He had always hated the Dornish knight.
To his left, Rhaenyra stood still, her beautiful face carefully composed. She had once harbored a tendré for the knight, but Daemon knew that nothing remained of that youthful infatuation. Still, Rhaenyra had always been compassionate, never taking death lightly. Her mercy and benevolence often stayed his hand, but it would not do so today.
Daemon left Rhaenyra’s side, stepping up to where Ser Criston knelt. As the Hand, and the executioner, Daemon prepared to do his duty to his king. He held Dark Sister to Ser Criston’s throat. “Do you have any last words?”
The knight drew a breath. “Yes. Prince Daeron is my son. The Queen is a traitorous whore.”
Many in the crowd gasped. Daeron the Dornish was what people called the one-eyed prince when not in hearing of the king. Daemon spared a glance for his brother, but Viserys had Alicent’s hand in his, and Daemon could tell that it would take more than this confession to turn the king against the queen. Viserys was willfully blind when it came to his family.
“You deserve each other,” Daemon sneered. Then he swung Dark Sister in a graceful arc, beheading the foolish knight at last.
Daemon leaves Rhaenyra at her wedding feast. Rhaenyra marries Laenor. After a year of trying to do their duty and produce an heir, Rhaenyra writes to Daemon.
She needs a true Targaryen heir.
It only needs to be an arrangement of business, she says. And it would result in Daemon’s child one day taking the Iron Throne.
Daemon accepts the proposal and returns to court.
Only, ventures like these are never simple. As much as they would wish to, Daemon and Rhaenyra cannot let go of the past, or the feelings they once had for each other.
123 AC
Rhaenyra Targaryen snuggled against her husband’s warm body, sleepy, sated, and more than a little bruised. She and Daemon liked it rough on occasion. Daemon’s execution of Vaemond Velaryon on her orders had made Rhaenyra tremble with a nearly unslakable lust for her lord husband, and now that he belonged to her in the eyes of gods and men alike, she had taken her pleasure, and allowed him to take his in turn.
She looked at his broad, fair chest and back, now deliciously marked. She had raked her nails into his flesh as she tumbled over the edge, and he had screamed her name. Now he was fast asleep, his arm wrapped possessively around her slender waist.
If the gods were kind, she would give Daemon another trueborn child in nine moons. Having spent the last year in a state of true happiness with her beloved and her children, she was starting to believe that the gods were kind after all.
This happiness could not make her troubles disappear, but it certainly helped to ease her burdens. Today, they had rid the realm of an enemy, and in time, the rest of those who dared oppose her reign would fall.
It was that thought that finally allowed her to sleep.
The following morning, however, brought discouraging tidings.
Aemon, her father’s cupbearer, appeared in their chambers in the light of early dawn.
“Forgive me, Princess,” he said, bowing low. “I have come on behalf of the king. Prince Daeron’s dragon egg has started to hatch. He requests your presence in the throne room, along with your entire family.”
Rhaenyra stared at the lad, dumbfounded. It was impossible that Daeron’s egg could be hatching. He had no blood of the dragon flowing through his veins.
Daemon spared her the trouble of responding, thanked the boy, and dismissed him.
His fingers curled around hers, jolting Rhaenyra out of her stunned trance.
“The Green Bitch is trying to make a statement in gathering an audience for the hatching. You and I know the truth of the princeling’s heritage, and soon, so will the rest of the court.” Daemon stole a kiss and grinned wickedly up at her.
“Come, my dearest. We do not want to miss the Queen’s public humiliation.”
Rhaenyra nodded. Surely Daemon must be correct. The hatching of the egg was a coincidence, and Prince Daeron would prove himself unworthy of such a gift.
***
Alicent stood beside her son, staring at the cracking egg with undisguised greed.
Rhaenyra’s two youngest boys still had no dragons, thanks to her father’s grand orchestrations.
Now, after three years of waiting, Daeron would receive what he deserved.
It did not trouble Alicent that her third son had no blood of the dragon. Her clever little princeling was precocious and had studied the tomes she had given him with a fierce dedication. He would be the first Andal to master a dragon.
Daeron stood erect and proud beside her, ready to greet his hatchling as soon as it emerged.
Alicent was grateful that she had concealed the dark roots of his hair with fresh dye the night before. It would not have been prudent for Daeron to appear before court looking anything less than a Targaryen. After all, appearances still needed to be maintained.
Viserys stood on Daeron’s other side, beaming with pride, the old fool. Still, Alicent thanked the gods for Viserys’s blind devotion and gullibility. It had served her well for years.
“Honored lords and ladies. I thank you for assembling so quickly to bear witness to Prince Daeron’s triumph,” Viserys said.
Alicent dared to look across the throne room, where Rhaenyra stood flanked by her husband and children. The false Aegon’s egg had yet to hatch. And Joffrey’s had turned to stone. Alicent savored the taste of victory as Daeron’s egg cracked open at last.
The small head of a silver hatchling poked out of the shattered shell and uttered the draconic equivalent of an infant’s first cry.
The high-pitched sound echoed off the stones of the throne room. The assemblage showed their delight with applause. Alicent pushed Daeron towards the hatchling.
Daeron took a deep breath and knelt before the beast, extending a shaking hand.
The baby dragon recoiled at the touch, unfurled its wings, and let out a shriek.
The attack was unexpected, leaving no time for the dragon keepers to restrain the blasted creature.
Daeron fell to the ground, wailing in agony, blood pouring from his left eye.
Alicent screamed for the beast to be contained as she clutched her son to her. She felt the sticky warmth of his blood seep through the velvet of her gown.
The lords and ladies of Westeros watched in white-faced horror as Daeron was taken away by the maesters, and the hatchling was chained and caged by the dragon keepers.
Viserys took Alicent’s arm, but in her fury, she paid no heed to his attempts at comfort. Her gaze flew to Rhaenyra and Daemon. The little bitch’s face was frozen in a passable expression of horror at the gruesome scene, but it was Prince Daemon who returned Alicent’s gaze, his purple eyes gleaming in triumph.
I will try to get back to my Daemon x Rhaenyra fic, but my guilty pleasure Disney pairing is holding my muse hostage, so if you want to try something new.... there's always that.
An Indecent Proposal is fully outlined though... so I'm hoping to finish it.
Princess Jasmine has always been a thorn in Jafar’s side, but as her sixteenth birthday approaches, he begins to see her as an object of desire. The thought of possessing her is eminently satisfying, but even more delicious is forcing her to choose him. Jafar forms a plan to seduce the princess and seize the throne for himself, knowing with certainty that he will be victorious.
Notes:
Hi everyone. So I have a confession to make, the plans for this fic have been nearly blown to pieces. But, on the bright side, you will get more chapters.
I have a vague idea of where I want to end it, but I'm also following the muse, and allowing the story to take shape on its own. With that said, I am going to continuously update the tags. You'll find that now I've added Jasmine/OC and Jasmine/Aladdin. It's a necessary evil.
This chapter is certainly more rated M, and if my suspicions are correct, next chapter, things will get significantly darker and more worthy of the trigger warnings. It will also mark the end of Act 1 of this story.
I hope you all will bear with me and enjoy the ride.
A03, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
Strong, narrow fingers moved across the planes of Jasmine’s body. A thumb tweaked the tip of her breast, making her moan in satisfaction. The other hand made a slow yet exhilarating journey to the core of her being. She knew she was slick and ready, but ready for what she could not say.
Then two of his fingers pushed into her warm depths, curling sinfully, bringing her to the brink of some unfamiliar precipice. Lips molded against hers, swallowing her virginal mewling.
Her lover increased the pace and she arched herself to meet the tips of the skillful fingers. Heat built up inside of her, and she longed for a release from the burning. She dug her fingernails into the strong body above her, breaking the skin.
“So close,” Jasmine nearly whined, but close to what?
And then her pleasure crested, her release breaking over her heated body like a wave. She cried out a name, one she had only ever said with irritation or anger. Now it was like a benediction.
“Yes, my desert bloom, come apart for me. Soon enough I will take you as my own.” The voice was familiar, sinful, and deep.
Jasmine was desperate to know what would come next, but before she could find out—
Pounding broke the silence of Jasmine’s bedchamber. Someone was banging on her door.
“Princess! It is late. Prince Khaled will be here soon. You must look your best.”
“Go away,” Jasmine murmured sleepily, wishing to return to her dream.
“Princess!”
The desperation in her handmaiden’s voice finally fully roused her. “Enter, Dalia,” Jasmine called.
Her loyal handmaiden swung open the chamber door with great relief. “Princess, thank goodness. It is unlike you to sleep so late. We have little time to waste.”
Dalia bustled across the room to the wardrobe and withdrew a sky blue gown, decorated with gold and silver embroidery.
Jasmine reluctantly rose from her bed and allowed Dalia to strip away her sleepwear in favor of the gown.
“Princess, are you well? You seem flushed, and you were making noises in your sleep.”
“I was?” Jasmine asked, recalling the private images that had filled her dreams,
“You were. You can always confide in me. Has one of the suitors finally succeeded in catching your eye?” Dalia assessed her with womanly frankness, as if she was fully aware of the nature of Jasmine’s dreams.
“Of course not,” Jasmine sputtered. Rather, someone else had been haunting her dreams incessantly since her birthday, but in the past two weeks, the dreams had taken a more sensual turn, filling her head with the most shameful desires. Why in Allah’s name had her traitorous mind latched onto the Grand Vizier of all people?
She remembered his heated kiss in the alcove after the first council meeting she had been fortunate enough to attend.
I have no wish to have a stupid, uninformed girl for my wife and queen.
His words had haunted her for the past fourteen days. If that was truly Jafar’s scheme, then she would have to select a suitor before the snake could manage to manipulate her father into changing the law.
For she would never willingly walk down the aisle to meet Jafar. She could not wed a man she despised, even if his touch ignited something primal and powerful within her.
She was sure she could find a prince who could stir a similar feeling. And then she could publicly oust her father’s most trusted advisor.
“Princess,” Dalia said. “Why do you look so wretched? Has it truly been so awful, to meet princes from all over the Arabian kingdoms, to be courted and flattered?”
“They only flatter me because they want the throne. None of the suitors I have met thus far have cared for any aspect of me as a person. Not my mind, or my wit, or any other admirable trait instilled in me by my noble parents. All they see is a crown, and a vessel for their future sons.”
Dalia’s features softened with sympathy as she continued to style Jasmine’s voluminous tresses. “You will find someone deserving of you, Princess. You only have to keep an open mind and heart.”
“I will have to satisfy myself with an open book today, and pray that Prince Khaled is enlightened enough to believe that women should be allowed to improve themselves through the written word.” Though Jasmine did not hold out hope.
When Jasmine was deemed suitable to meet the prince, she grabbed one of the ancient tomes Jafar had sent to her mother’s study. Jasmine went to wait in the garden, where she always met with her suitors. She had insisted to her father that if she must meet with all the nobles in Arabia, she would do so in the place where she felt most at ease.
Jasmine perched at the edge of the fountain and opened the book. It was a history of the Sultans of Agrabah, detailing their trials and victories. She found it to be a stimulating and challenging read, so much so that she was tempted to thank Jafar, but she would not risk it. Once again, she had gone back to avoiding him.
This had been impossible to do during the three council meetings she had attended, as Jafar sat to her right. She had been wise enough to refrain from speaking, and therefore had spared herself from being pulled into curtained alcoves and scolded. . . among other things.
Jasmine spent the meetings trying to study each of the men of her father’s council, to discern their motives and loyalties. Admittedly she had yet to make much progress. The Minister of Finance still irked her. The Minister of Agriculture was a man of science and logic. The Minister of War was eager to spill the blood of Agrabah’s enemies. As for the others, she could not be certain. It would take more time to understand the royal council.
More often than not, Jasmine admired the commanding way Jafar led the council meetings, even when her father deigned to be present. As much as she hated to extend any compliment to the bastard, she had to admit that Jafar was a born statesman. Which shouldn’t have surprised her, knowing what she did of his background.
Jafar had been born in the slums of Agrabah. His staggering intellect at the age of ten had gained him a spot in the Arabian Royal Academy. Oh, how Jasmine used to long to attend that noble institution, to be taught the art of diplomacy.
But alas, she was a woman, and would only ever be the wife of a ruler, not a ruler in her own right.
Jafar had graduated top of his class at age twenty, serving on the councils of foreign sultans before he had finally made his way back to Agrabah fifteen years ago. He had risen to Grand Vizier quickly, favored by her father, and even by her mother, attaining the noble office after a mere three years of service. Jafar had been, at the age of twenty-eight, the youngest Grand Vizier appointed in the history of Agrabah. He had held the position ever since, and admittedly, it suited him well. Though now Jasmine knew Jafar had higher aspirations, and he meant to achieve them through her.
But she would never allow that to happen. No matter how capable Jafar was, he was still ruthless and vicious. If she were ever fool enough to put her faith in him, she would suffer the consequences.
Better to be rid of him when she became queen. The only sure way to dispose of a snake was to chop off its head.
And if a traitorous voice whispered that no other man could elicit such passion within her, she ignored it. Better to rule with a clear head and a manageable husband, rather than to risk playing with fire, only to be immolated later.
___________
Jafar was eminently satisfied with his progress in the past two weeks. Jasmine been impressively docile and attentive during the council meetings. He had spied her on several occasions with her nose in the ancient tomes he had provided her with; they were books of history, politics, and philosophy.
But by far the best indication of his success in regards to Jasmine, were the delicious noises of satisfaction she made as he dreamed of him. He could not help but conceal himself and wait by her chamber door each night, using his magic to listen to the happenings within. He heard as she moaned, and panted, and best of all, cried his name. He was certain that after a few more weeks of this delightful torment that she would come to him to seek satisfaction, and he, gentleman that he was, would give into her every amorous whim. It never occurred to him that he was getting ahead of himself.
It was not as though he could conduct his seduction of the princess as freely as he would have wished. The palace guards were loyal to him. He paid them in what truly mattered, gold. The Sultan only treated them with kindness, and as such, Jafar was ultimately in control of the palace guards. They would not reveal his dealings with the princess if they caught them in a compromising position. And Jasmine herself, for whatever reason, had not confided in her father about their heated encounter in the alcove.
It was yet another indication that in time, Jasmine would willingly agree to be his queen. He could wait for her hatred to fade, for her desire for him to peak. He was a patient man, and the jewel of Agrabah and the throne that accompanied her was well worth the waiting. But Jafar disliked having only one plan. He needed a Plan B, should his seduction not prove to be successful by the appointed time.
And so, Jafar returned to a quest he had long since abandoned. A quest for a magical lamp.
_______________
Prince Khaled of Potamia was unique among Jasmine’s suitors thus far, in that he arrived on an elegant chestnut stallion flanked by a small retinue.
He did not throw himself at her feet and insist that she was the most wonderous jewel in all of Arabia.
Instead, he bowed low over her hand and asked if she would honor him by showing him the palace gardens.
Jasmine was stunned, and nodded dumbly in acceptance. His hand was large and warm and he tucked her smaller hand in the crook of his arm and drew her to his side.
Rajah followed them as they weaved between trees and bushes and fountains. Every square foot of the garden had been immaculately and elegantly designed by Jasmine’s mother.
She found herself shyly admitting this to Khaled.
Prince Khaled gave her a sad smile. “She must have been a remarkable person to create such beauty. I am sorry that you lost her. I, too, know what it is like to have lost a mother. The pain never quite leaves you, does it?”
Jasmine shook her head, slightly awed by his sincerity. “I am sorry that you have suffered so, Prince Khaled. I would not wish such pain upon my worst enemy.”
“It is my hope, Princess, that we will be far from enemies, but let us begin with friendship.” Khaled flashed her a charming smile and Jasmine’s heart fluttered ever so slightly.
When they returned to the fountain, Prince Khaled saw the book Jasmine had been reading before his introduction. “You like to read?”
“I love to read,” Jasmine said, admittedly her love of the activity was rather nascent, but true nonetheless.
“I am impressed. Most princesses I’ve med are content to embroider, play an instrument, dance, and practice perfect etiquette. I look forward to knowing you better.”
“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Jasmine said.
They parted, somewhat reluctantly, so that they could both prepare for dinner. Jasmine hummed to herself as she walked back to her chambers. Today had not been a disaster after all. Perhaps Dalia had been correct when she told Jasmine to approach meeting suitors with an open heart. If Khaled continued to impress her, he would certainly be a prospect for her future husband and sultan.
And if a minuscule part of her whispered that the position was already occupied, the larger more rational part insisted that with a prince like Khaled at her side, she might have a chance at exacting her own influence over the kingdom, and she would most certainly thwart any schemes the Grand Vizier had.
________
The fool was touching what belonged to him. Jafar scowled into his wine goblet.
Jasmine’s laughter floated through the air. Jafar wanted to punish her for daring to play the coquette to one of her suitors.
It was true that Jafar had no legitimate claim upon Jasmine, but he knew, he knew, with every fiber of his being that she was meant to be his wife and queen. He had always been a possessive, jealous, and covetous man. If this nonsense continued, and the foolish prince became a legitimate rival, Jafar would have to dispose of him.
“Jafar, are you quite well?” The Sultan asked, tearing his eyes away from his smiling daughter.
Jafar kept his voice calm. “I am perfectly well, your highness. I am only suspicious of our guest.”
The Sultan raised a feathery brow. “Of Prince Khaled?” The Sultan kept his voice low, but Jafar doubted that either of the infatuated twits were paying them any mind. Jafar would take delight in punishing Jasmine as well, when the time came.
“He is a perfectly amiable and charming young man. He will be with us for a fortnight, longer if Jasmine consents to it.”
Jafar resisted the urge to scowl as Jasmine’s laughter rang through the room again. She was being an insipid little girl and he longed to throttle her. He would be sure to fill her dreams with possessive fantasies tonight. Then perhaps she would not dare to smile at the foolish prince of Potamia.
____________
Chains. Metal against stone. Terror. Punishment.
But for what, Jasmine did not know.
She was swathed in red, her abdomen bare, her chest barely covered. Cool metal rested on her right upper arm, ruby eyes glinted from the carving of a cobra.
Jasmine shivered hard, causing the chains at her wrists to vibrate.
The dungeon door creaked open, and Jasmine swallowed hard as Jafar entered. His dark eyes glimmered with menace, and his grip on her chin was bruising.
“You are mine,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Say it.”
“No,” Jasmine said.
The sound of flesh against flesh echoed in the room. Her cheek burned. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
His hands were on her neck now.
“Say it.”
“No.” Jasmine tried to fight back, but the grip tightened on her throat and she gasped for air.
Her harem pants were yanked down. Jafar forced her thighs apart. An unwelcome intrusion accompanied by pain.
“Say it. Say that you belong to me.”
“Never,” Jasmine sneered.
A third finger was added. The pace rough and punishing. The other hand gripped her thigh tightly, enough to bruise. “Say it.”
Jasmine could not protest, for a wave of pleasure rocked through her. And then he was pushing inside her, his hands moving to the sides of her head, caging her to him.
Jasmine wrapped her legs around his hips, her hips rising to meet his stroke for stroke. The heavy chains hit the stone wall over and over again. It was the most exquisite pain she had ever experienced, and though she knew she would scarcely be able to walk the next day, she didn’t want it to ever stop.
“Say that you’re mine. That no other man will ever claim you.”
“No,” Jasmine protested, for she could still not submit. It would not be right.
Jasmine’s cries were swallowed by an intoxicating kiss. Pain. Her mouth filled with blood, her lip split by this kiss of the viper. She dug her nails into his back, intent upon drawing blood as well.
And then, he was spilling his seed into her. Jafar shuddered and clung to her. His voice was hard and dangerous as he whispered in her ear. “You are mine. You will never allow another man to claim you. If you do, you will suffer for your disloyalty. Now say it.”
“I am yours,” Jasmine said before she could stop herself, hating herself for breaking. The chains melted away. His arms wrapped tightly around her, and his lips claimed hers with ferocity..
A familiar voice--her own?-- pierced the haze of her dream. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Fight him. Or die trying.
“Jafar, no!” Jasmine cried, her eyes flying open. Her body was thrumming with arousal, demanding release.
She felt disgusting. This had gone far enough.
She would marry Prince Khaled at the end of his sojourn, if only to rid herself of Jafar and his maddening grip on her dreams.
The dream would not come to fruition. She was safe. She had to be. After all, Jafar was her father’s most trusted advisor. He would never dare harm her for fear of losing his head.
But Jasmine was too inexperienced to know how desire could corrupt and darken a man’s heart. She was too blind to realize that her choices could have painful and deadly consequences.
__________
The snake staff shattered into thousands of tiny pieces.
Jafar stared at the ground in disbelief. Perhaps he had gone too far, but his jealousy had been potent fuel for his magic. Jasmine was stronger than he ever would have imagined to resist its pull.
Her strength of will would have deterred a lesser man. But it only made Jafar more desperate to break her, to possess her. To win.
The games were over. The stakes now higher than ever.
Princess Jasmine has always been a thorn in Jafar’s side, but as her sixteenth birthday approaches, he begins to see her as an object of desire. The thought of possessing her is eminently satisfying, but even more delicious is forcing her to choose him. Jafar forms a plan to seduce the princess and seize the throne for himself, knowing with certainty that he will be victorious.
Notes:
Here is another chapterI Before diving in, I wanted to talk about the Jafar I picture when writing and reading J&J stories. Of course, I started liking this pairing because of the animated film. Jonathan Freeman's voice work is flawless. But I believe the perfect Jafar, and the one I picture as I write, is a combination of iterations.
My Jafar is about 40, with the looks of Oded Fehr (the Once Upon a Time Jafar), the voice and twisted ruthlessness of the animated version, and some backstory elements from Marwan Kenzari and Oded Fehr's iterations.
So for this story the age difference between Jasmine and Jafar is about 24 years. I can't help it, the underage nature is part of what makes this pairing more interesting. Fehr was in his late 40s when he played Jafar, and he did it to perfection.
Without further ado, I present to you chapter 3, which is still rated T, but we are slowly approaching M territory.
A03, Chapter 1, Chapter 2
_________________
A month had passed since Jasmine’s birthday, and she had been forced to meet with new suitors each week. They all arrived in the same fashion, parading through the streets of Agrabah, displaying their wealth and finery, only to kneel before her and vow that she was the loveliest creature they had ever beheld.
Jasmine had been disgusted with each of them, and had used a combination of intimidation and acerbic, cutting wit to send them on their way. It was ridiculously easy to manage her perspective suitors, almost too easy.
Jasmine relished the challenge of outmaneuvering a man, but the only one in the palace that was not cowed by her fiery temperament was Jafar. And she had been trying to avoid the vizier at all costs.
After the feast, he had begun to appear in her dreams, and slowly, the dreams grew more vivid and enticing. Dreams of sensuous kisses and embraces, the feel of silk against her flesh, and a heat so intoxicating that she arched to press herself against a well-muscled chest. She would often wake in the middle of the night flushed and panting, the spot at the apex of her thighs pulsing with need. And then she would remember the identity of her dream lover and shiver in revulsion and shame.
The few times Jasmine had been unable to avoid her father’s advisor, he had met her with a knowing smirk before she forced herself to avert her gaze, flushing with embarrassment. She wanted more than ever to strangle Jafar where he stood, much as a king cobra did to its prey.
Jasmine sat at the edge of the massive white marble fountain in the palace gardens. Rajah was curled up at her feet. There was a soft breeze rustling the tree leaves and the air was scented with the rich fragrance of summer blooms. It was utterly peaceful.
Which is why Jasmine scowled when her father interrupted this peace.
“Jasmine, my dearest, I have some news that I hope will make you happy. I know these last weeks have been trying.”
“They would not have to be if you were not forcing me to receive every prince in the surrounding kingdoms.”
“Now, now, Jasmine, you must be wed. There is no escaping that, but I realize that the marriage is not just about ensuring your welfare. You will be Queen soon, and you must be prepared.”
Jasmine sucked in a breath. She was almost afraid to ask for clarification of his meaning, lest she misunderstand the intentions behind this discussion.
The Sultan was oblivious to her conflict, and continued to speak. “Jafar brought it to my attention that eleven months is hardly enough time to teach the art of ruling and diplomacy but that it was necessary to begin your education as soon as possible.”
Jasmine was immediately suspicious of Jafar’s intentions. She knew that he coveted the throne. Surely he would not want his rival to become a competent ruler. It would make her even more of a threat. “And how am I meant to be educated in these matters?” Jasmine asked.
“You will attend all council meetings of course. Jafar will provide you with a collection of books, maps, and your mother’s study will be opened for your personal use.”
Jasmine was stunned. The Sultana’s quarters had been closed since her sudden death so many years ago.
“And will I be able to leave the palace walls? A future queen should be permitted to walk the streets of her own kingdom.”
“No,” her father said. “It is far too dangerous for you. When you are wed, you shall walk the streets with your husband when he deems it appropriate.”
Jasmine was about to scowl, but she knew that the opportunity to learn to rule was too good to squander. She rose and kissed her father’s cheek. “Thank you, Father. I will be pleased to learn all I can. I want to be a worthy queen.”
The Sultan patted her hand. “And you will, my dearest, much like your mother before you. The council convenes in an hour. Please ensure you are appropriately attired and join us in the council chambers.”
Jasmine nodded. She suspected that she would need to dress more conservatively for these meetings. Jasmine did not want to give any of her father’s advisors any reason to declare her unfit.
Jasmine still wondered why Jafar had felt compelled to advocate on her behalf. She was certain he had some nefarious purpose, but she would take advantage of his generosity, and then make him regret it when she finally took her place as queen.
_______________
When Jasmine arrived in front of the guarded council chamber doors, it was to find Jafar waiting for her, rather than her father.
Jafar’s voice was smooth and oily as he greeted her, but like the falsely subservient tone he used upon the Sultan. It made Jasmine’s skin crawl, but not as much as it did when Jafar took her hand and kissed it, lingering longer than was strictly appropriate. “You shall be very welcome in this gathering, Princess. You shall be the decoration this assemblage is desperately in need of.”
Jasmine wanted to smack that condescending smirk off his face. As though he sensed what she was thinking, he clutched her hand hard enough to make her wince, and pulled her to his side. “You will comport yourself with grace, Princess. You will not be allowed to humiliate the crown.”
Ah, so there it was. It was a test. The Sultan did not care to educate her in the ways of ruling. He was simply bringing her before his advisors knowing that when her temper got the better of her, he would have an excuse to lock her away more tightly than ever before. Naturally, this was Jafar’s hope as well.
“Where is my father?” Jasmine asked through clenched teeth. “I do not need to be escorted by you.”
“Your father is late as usual. In a moment we will enter and I shall begin the proceedings, but not until you give me your word that you will only listen. You do not know enough to contribute. You are here to learn.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes. “I will not consent to being a Princess who is seen and not heard. And have you forgotten that you cannot order me about. I outrank you.”
Jafar twisted her wrist so painfully that Jasmine’s words of protest died on her lips.
With a raised brow and a smug grin, Jafar said, “Give me your word, or I shall tell your father that I spoke too hastily in making my recommendation that you be allowed to attend council meetings.”
Jasmine glowered at him but at length silently consented with a nod of her head.
Jafar kept her by his side as he led her into the chamber. The grand room had high, vaulted ceilings and the space was dominated by a gleaming mahogany banquet table, surrounded by a dozen royal advisors.
They rose as the Royal Vizier and the Princess crossed the room to take their places near the center of the table. Jafar pulled out an ornate chair beside the throne and indicated that Jasmine should sit.
His fingers brushed the bare skin of her shoulders as he took the seat to her right. Jasmine shivered at the contact. It was true that her embroidered gown was far more modest than her usual attire, but her shoulders were still bare, and the faintest hint of her decolletage was on display for the royal advisors to see.
She straightened her back and surveyed the group of men, hoping that they would each have some sort of wisdom she could use.
Jafar began the proceedings and plunged into a discussion of the kingdom’s foreign trade connections and how the new recent influx of goods from Pascua was impacting the fortunes of the kingdom.
Jasmine was surprised at how articulate Jafar was, always believing him to simply be a conniving snake who wanted the throne to satisfy his own ego. And while it was true that Jafar was overconfident in his addresses, and harsh in his dismissals of ideas of other council members, after only half an hour, Jasmine could tell that the vizier wanted to make Agrabah more prosperous.
He seemed to understand the most intricate inner workings of the kingdom, and Jasmine could not help but be slightly mesmerized by his commanding voice.
The spell was interrupted when the subject moved to the state of the poor in Agrabah.
“This capitol city is growing,” said the Agrabah’s Minister of Finance. “There is not enough housing to meet the needs. The number of street dwellers has increased. I suggest we banish those who cannot afford a dwelling.”
“You can’t,” Jasmine cried.
All eyes turned to her, and worse, Jasmine felt Jafar’s finger squeeze her thigh beneath the table in silent warning.
“I beg your pardon, Princess, but you have no way of knowing the conditions in the capitol. Crime is rife in the market district, and it is because of ruffians and thieves who have no business in our city.” The minister’s chest puffed with self-importance. Jasmine instantly disliked him.
“As royalty, it is my job to be concerned with every citizen of my kingdom. We cannot simply banish those who have fallen upon hard times. The need assistance from the crown and from the royal coffers.”
Jafar’s grip tightened on her thigh, and Jasmine bit back a wince. The Minister of Finance began to wave away her words when Jafar said, “If we banish those we deem unworthy, the crown will be accused of being cruel. Resentment will rise and cause further difficulties in the poorer parts of the city. A shelter should be constructed for those needing aid. This will provide more opportunities for employment. By all means, banish the petty criminals, but for Agrabah to be considered truly great, there must be a minimal standard of living for all.”
“But the coffers can ill afford—”
Jafar’s eyes narrowed. “I believe you will find that our coffers are more than replenished with the trade profits with Pascua. The council will fund this new project without complaint.” Jafar turned to a man with a thick grey beard before the Minister of Finance. “Now we shall hear from the Minister of Law.”
Jasmine was stunned that Jafar possessed even a streak of altruism. He had not defended her outright, and Jasmine was certain she would have bruises from his silencing grip, but he had put the pompous minister in his place. Her father could have never done so, she was certain, especially considering that he had not even deigned to appear.
Much to her dismay, her father did not enter until the council was addressing its last issue: that being the approaching arrival of Prince Khaled of Potamia.
“He is famously particular in his accommodations,” one advisor said.
“The prince will have whatever he needs, whatever this expense,” the Sultan declared.
The Minister of Finance looked as though he would very much like to protest, but was silenced by one dangerous look from Jafar. Jasmine idly thought that the Minister of Finance would be one of the most trying aspects of her new obligation. Still, she was dismayed that her father appeared to be so cavalier about spending the royal coffers on people with no loyalty to the kingdom. It must be his idea of further swaying the suitors into offering for her hand.
After the details of Prince Khaled’s stay were settled, her father dismissed the council. The men filed out one by one leaving the Sultan with his most trusted advisor and his daughter.
“Well, my dearest, how did you enjoy your first meeting?”
“It was enlightening, Father,” Jasmine said truthfully. “I thank you for the privilege.”
“You should thank Jafar, dearest. The idea was entirely his.” With that, the Sultan kissed his daughter’s cheek and made to leave. Before he did though, he looked over his shoulder. “Jafar, please escort my daughter back to her chambers. I am sure she is exhausted from the day’s events. It will not be long before she must meet her next suitor. She must be well-rested.”
“Of course, my liege,” Jafar said, inclining his head.
Jasmine glared at him. It was insulting that her father believed she was in need of an escort. She did not take Jafar’s proffered hand and swept out of the chamber ahead of him.
Unfortunately, Jafar’s height allowed him to catch up to her quickly. His fingers closed around her upper arm. “You did not keep your word,” he hissed. “You will be punished.”
“I am not a child, and the Minister of Finance is cruel, and a fool. My people deserve better.”
“His idiocy does not matter,” Jafar said. “It was not your place to offer an opinion. You may contribute once you have read the books I had sent to your mother’s study and when you have attended several more council meetings.”
“If you think I am so ill equipped to participate, why did you convince Father to allow me to attend?” Jasmine demanded of the vizier.
He drew her into a curtained alcove. Drawing himself to his full height as a method of intimidation, he said, “Because, Jasmine, I have no wish to have a stupid, uninformed girl for my wife and queen.”
Jasmine gaped at him, dumbstruck by his matter-of-fact tone. “How dare you presume that I would ever choose you as a husband. I will never be your wife.”
Jafar pressed her against the smooth brick of the alcove, his hot breath tickling the flesh of her cheek. “We shall see, my dear. I know you have been dreaming of me.” His hand caressed her breast, and the silk did little to minimize the heat of his caress. She curse herself even as she leaned into his touch. How does he know I’ve dreamt of him? Am I truly so transparent?
Jafar’s thumb lightly circled the sensitive tip of her breast as he spoke with sultry tones. “You feel something for me that you have not felt for the dozen suitors you have met thus far. Given time, you will come to realize that I am the one you wish to be at your side.” Jafar raised his staff to her, its eyes glowing menacingly. “I will teach you the intricacies of ruling, and in return, you will fall at my feet in gratitude and grant me the honor of becoming your husband and the next Sultan.”
“Never,” Jasmine spat, the sinfully delicious sensations he was creating within her body were not enough to overpower her hatred of him. She raised her hand to strike him for his affrontery.
But Jafar caught it in his and crushed her to him, claiming her lips in a fierce caress. Against her will, her body surrendered, and she allowed her tongue to glide against his. This created a shot of liquid fire that went straight to her center. When he pulled away at last, Jasmine was panting heavily.
Jafar gave her a wicked grin, his hand dropping to her side, only to caress the curve of her hip. “I’ve been longing to do that for a month, my insolent princess. Continue to defy me, and you will find your honor compromised and we will be forced to wed. I trust you can make it the rest of the way to your chambers, where I am certain that my touch will enliven your fantasies.”
Jasmine’s fingers curled into a tight fist. The bastard had the gall to wink before he bowed and swept away.
She longed to tell her father of the vizier’s inappropriate advances, but she knew he would never believe her. Jafar was too capable of manipulating him.
Not for the first time, Jasmine wondered about the snake staff with its glowing ruby eyes. But if it did indeed have power, she intended to be strong enough to resist.
_____________
Jafar’s heart pounded as he entered his secret tower. That tempestuous little witch had resisted his hypnotism.
It was evident that he could not rely upon hypnosis when it came to his conquest. He could only seek to manipulate her dreams, as he had been doing for the last several weeks. He took pride in that stroke of genius, knowing that before too long, Jasmine would be so intrigued that she would instigate a compromising encounter.
Jafar had known the effect his work was having upon her sensibilities by the furious way she blushed when in his company. She had responded, however innocently to his illicit touch. And once again, she had responded to his kiss, allowing him to deepen it. He was certain that she loathed him, but that was no matter.
Perhaps Jafar had overplayed his hand, but his longing for her had gotten the better of him. He would have to be more circumspect in the future. He would not bring up the matter of marriage for the time being, but now, the possibility was in her head, and Jafar fully intended to show her flashes of what being his wife would entail.
If he could not make her fully submit to him in the waking hours, Jafar would have to settle for haunting her dreams.
Princess Jasmine has always been a thorn in Jafar's side, but as her sixteenth birthday approaches, he begins to see her as an object of desire. The thought of possessing her is eminently satisfying, but even more delicious is forcing her to choose him. Jafar forms a plan to seduce the princess and seize the throne for himself, knowing with certainty that he will be victorious.
Notes:
And here is the second chapter. This one is also rated T. I'm honestly not quite sure when the story will have rated M scenes, because the muse apparently wants this story to be way longer than I intended.
A03, Chapter 1
Jasmine rose early on the morning of her sixteenth birthday. A group of handmaidens bustled in to make her presentable, the epitome of a princess of marriageable age.
Her hair was elaborately curled, dressed, and decorated with rubies and diamonds that winked merrily in the summer sun. Her entire body was rubbed down with floral oils. A handmaiden lined her dark eyes with heavy kohl, while another painted her lips with scarlet.
Her dress was far more modest than her usual attire, fashioned out of shimmering gold fabric. Her abdomen was covered, but the gown was cut low enough to highlight her décolletage in an enticing manner. Jewelry of gold, ruby, and diamond decorated her neck, wrists, and ears. She was the very picture of opulence.
After hours of preparation, Jasmine studied herself in the mirror. Objectively, she was a vision, and she should feel proud and confident. But she knew it was all for a bevy of witless, pompous suitors who would spend the next year flattering her with meaningless compliments. Those with less honor were certain to attempt to take liberties with her. She would have to keep Rajah close when suitors came to call. The next year would be unbearable.
The thought of dishonorable suitors brought to the surface memories of being kissed, strong hands caressing the lines of her body, and dark words making heat pool in her core. But they made no sense. Jasmine had never been kissed, yet, she felt her lips tingle, as if her body remembered something she did not. Jasmine shut her eyes and buried the memories deep inside, terrified to examine them too closely.
It was true that she had dreamt of being touched in recent years. She had heard whispers of the female servants as they spoke of encounters in empty rooms of the palace, mostly with the royal guard. But Jasmine was an innocent, and sheltered to the point that her only male connections were her father, the royal guards, and—she shuddered inwardly—Jafar.
As if she would ever fantasize about the Royal Vizier. He could have been deemed alluring with that silky, deep voice and dangerous charm. It did not even matter that he was not classically handsome. It was the way he carried himself. It was his dark and penetrating gaze that made it seem that he was looking right into your soul. Jasmine had heard enough titters and whispers from the female servants over the years to know that Jafar was desirable.
But certainly not to her. She loathed him with an unbridled passion. And she vowed that she would dispose of him as soon as she was declared legally wed.
Even so. . . there was something about him that drew her to him.
But the princess was still naïve enough to believe that hatred was the opposite of love.
______________
Hypnosis had made Jasmine forget their encounter, Jafar knew, but for him, it had only stoked his desire for her.
Her mouth had been delectable. The whimpers elicited from his skillful caress had made him harder than he’d been in ages. He’d pictured her image and recalled the shape of Jasmine’s ample body as he’d spent himself inside a harlot from the brothel in the city.
One day, he would take her maidenhood, and brand her as his, but first there would be months of subtle persuasion. He was sure he’d be rebuffed countless times before she accepted, but this would make her acceptance all the sweeter. And, even if she refused with her words, Jasmine had kissed him back the night before. She had responded to his touch. She was an innocent, but Jafar was experienced enough to recognize the signs of desire in a woman.
Jasmine would not recognize her own desire for him for months, he was sure, but he was equally certain she would feel it more with every moment he stole.
Becoming Sultan was his ultimate aim behind the seduction of the princess, but that did not mean he would not enjoy each step of his wicked scheme.
Jafar had donned more formal attire for the festivities. His ensemble was all black, embroidered with brilliant gold. The matching turban held a glinting ruby, surrounded by an intricate tracery of golden thread. Jafar knew he would not be the most desirable man in attendance this evening, but he was in possession of a dangerous combination of charm and manipulation, and he would use this to his advantage.
“Jafar, you seem oddly pleased with yourself,” Iago commented from where he sat on his perch. “Surely you are not looking forward to the festivities.”
Jafar glowered at the bird. “I will not be needing your company tonight, Iago.”
Iago tilted his scarlet head. “Then how may I be of service to you, my evil one?”
“You will spy upon the attendees, particularly any of Jasmine’s suitors. Any useful knowledge you glean shall be rewarded.”
“As you wish,” Iago said. And he took off through the open window, into the evening sky.
The festivities were to begin soon. Jafar secured his tower room and made his way to the banquet hall, taking his highly respected position at the Sultan’s right hand.
_______________
“You are the most exquisite creature I have seen in all my life, Princess Jasmine. If you were to become my wife, I would give you everything your heart desires.” Prince Omar of Zeidan declared, bowing over her hand.
Jasmine yearned to yank her hand away, but a voice somewhere deep told her to comport herself with dignity worthy of her station.
The prince’s lips lingered on her hand a little too long. Jasmine raised her eyes to glance at Jafar of all people. The vizier was looking at the prince in barely veiled disgust.
For some reason, unbeknownst to her, Jasmine wanted to set the prince down in a way that would make her father’s advisor proud, royal comportment be damned.
Jasmine looked at the prince, contemplating just how insolent she would be. “And yet, you are the fifth son of the Sultan’s fourth wife. You hold the lowest position in your family, except, perhaps for any of your sisters. Tell me, Prince Omar, how are you supposed to provide me with everything I desire. It seems to me that you would be the main beneficiary of any match between us.”
“Jasmine,” her father scolded. The little Sultan turned to Prince Omar. “Please forgive my daughter. It is rather stifling in the room.”
Prince Omar, however, merely glowered. “I have never been so insulted. I will not remain here a moment longer.” And he stormed away, elbowing his way through the crush of people in attendance.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Prince Omar,” Jasmine called out after him. Her voice sickeningly sweet.
The Sultan sighed heavily and summoned a servant to pour him more wine. Jasmine dared do look at Jafar, who smiled wickedly at her in approval. Jasmine hated that she was so pleased by this show of support.
She swept away to do her duty and dance a promised set with a prince of Pascua. This one, at least had not promised to grant her all she desired within one moment of meeting her, but she did not hold out hope that Prince Mohammed would be much better than Prince Omar, or any of the other arrogant peacocks she had been forced to fraternize with this evening.
Prince Mohammed eagerly took her hand guided her to the dance floor. “I am honored to share a dance with you, Princess. I am sure your grace is unsurpassed.”
Jasmine was tempted to smile, but only out of pity. Naturally, she had been taught to dance, but she had rarely practiced as her father had little interest in hosting soirees at the palace. Add to this that Jasmine was fully expecting to stomp on the prince’s foot some point through the set. She would be satisfied with that punishment, so for now, she simpered, “You are too kind, Prince Mohammed. Tell me about your kingdom.”
“I am third son of a second wife,” Prince Mohammed acknowledged. “But my father treats each of his children well. We each have a significant inheritance. Mine would certainly prove useful in bettering your kingdom.”
“And how would you make Agrabah better?” Jasmine asked, vaguely curious. This prince was by far the best she had encountered thus far, albeit the standards being ridiculously low.
“I would hire more guards and remove all the homeless people on the streets. The dungeons in Pascua are large enough for thousands, and we utilize them. In Agrabah, there are far too many street rats. The wealthier merchants and nobles should not have their home sullied by undesirables.”
Jasmine frowned. It was a monstrous thing to say. Even Jafar, as awful and sadistic as he could be when it came to punishing criminals, did not resort to locking up every single person too poor to afford housing. Jasmine had never been outside the palace walls, but she knew that the royal dungeons were certainly not overflowing.
“You will love the results of the initiative, I assure you. But let us speak no more of politics. I would much prefer to discuss your many desirable attributes.” Prince Mohammed had moved in closer, despite the fact that the dance demanded a proper distance. His breath was hot on her neck, and the hand that was not holding hers squeezed the curves of her bottom before the steps of the dance forced them to separate.
Repulsed, Jasmine stomped hard on his foot, causing the prince to glower at her. “Why you little—”
A shadow came over them and Jasmine looked up to see Jafar. His dark eyes met Prince Mohammed’s, and his voice was dangerously low when he spoke. “You are unworthy of the princess. Be gone from the celebrations.”
Prince Mohammed was sensible enough to not cause a scene. With a surreptitious glance at Jasmine, he departed.
“You did not need to do that,” Jasmine said, addressing Jafar.
Jafar made no reply. He took Jasmine’s hand and together they rejoined the circle of dancers. “One of my duties is protecting the royal family. You needed to be protected.”
His tone was beyond condescending. “I do not need to be rescued, and certainly not by you,” Jasmine huffed. She tried to pull away, but Jafar’s grip tightened around her forearm until it was painful.
“Do not make a scene,” Jafar threatened. “We will finish the dance and I will return you to your father.”
“You are a bastard,” Jasmine said, her voice the barest whisper. Though, a small part of her was grateful he had interceded. She would die before ever admitting it.”
“And you are an insolent little shrew,” Jafar answered smoothly, “But you are mine to protect. I will do my duty.”
Jasmine shivered at his proximity and the way his voice sounded as he claimed her. “I will never be yours, Jafar.”
The vizier did not answer. He simply guided her through the steps of the dance with surprising grace. When the set ended, Jafar took her hand and kissed it. His lips burned into her flesh, and she wanted to strike him for his familiarity, but before she could do so, he pulled her forcefully to his side, tucking her captured hand into the crook of his arm.
The Sultan smiled as they approached. Her father was with yet another prince. Jafar presented her to her father and bowed low. “I must beg your leave to go, my liege,” Jafar said. “A matter has arisen that I must see to personally.”
“Certainly, Jafar,” the Sultan said, waving his hand idly.
Jasmine watched as the dark man melted into the crush of guests, wondering what he must be sneaking off to do. Something nefarious, she was certain, but her father would not share her suspicions. As it was, she tried to smile placidly while yet another prince attempted to win her.
After tonight, she was almost grateful that suitors would only arrive one by one. She would be more equipped to send them away, especially with Rajah at her side.
______________
Jafar swept through the empty palace halls, accompanied by Razoul, a second guard Hakim, and Iago. Iago was pleased with himself, having learned that the kingdom of Pascua was in possession of many valuable trade goods. Pascua had not bartered with Agrabah in decades, but tonight Jafar would ensure that the trade routes between the two kingdoms would be reestablished, among other matters.
“I hope you have sharpened your sword, Razoul,” Jafar said.
“Naturally, my lord. One cannot bring a dull blade to a royal feast.”
“The prince of Pascua was lingering in the courtyard,” Iago informed Jafar. “Cursing both you and our princess.”
Jafar grinned menacingly. “Then he shall be punished accordingly.”
The prince was indeed pacing the courtyard. His eyes narrowed as Jafar approached.
Jafar’s expression was carefully composed as he said, “I believe you were told to leave the palace.”
“Only the Sultan can send me away. The Royal Vizier holds no true power,” Prince Mohammed scoffed.
“Regardless of your views, you still dared to insult the princess, and for that, you will be most grievously punished. Seize him.”
Hakim took the prince roughly by the shoulders and forced him to kneel before Jafar. The guard suspected what Jafar had in mind after years of service and pressed one of the prince’s arm to the sandstone of the courtyard.
“You have dared to touch what doesn’t belong to you, Prince Mohammed. Now you will suffer the consequences.”
The prince tried to cry out, but Jafar silenced him with magic after summoning his snake staff. Razoul drew his sword, held it high, and brought it down with deadly grace and accuracy.
Blood oozed from Prince Mohammed’s left wrist. The hand lay motionless on the stones.
Jafar waved his staff and bandaged the prince’s stump. Its eyes glowed red. Jafar knelt before the unworthy prince. He was weak-minded and insignificant and had dared to take liberties with Jasmine. “You will tell your father that you lost the hand when you were attacked by bandits. And you will tell your father that though your suit was refused, Pascua should resume its trade agreements with Agrabah. You will never return here. Is that clear?”
The prince nodded, successfully hypnotized.
“Take the prince to his horse. He has a long journey home.” Jafar rose and left his guards to deal with Prince Mohammed.
“That was nicely done, my evil one,” Iago said. “But tell me, why were you so bent on punishing him for his dealings with the princess?”
“She will be my wife someday,” Jafar said. “I will not share her.”
“So you will punish every suitor who comes to call?”
Jafar shook his head. “Only the ones who forget their place. It would be far too messy otherwise.”
And with that, Jafar returned to the ballroom, and resumed his position at the Sultan’s right hand.
Summary: Princess Jasmine has always been a thorn in Jafar's side, but as her sixteenth birthday approaches, he begins to see her as an object of desire. The thought of possessing her is eminently satisfying, but even more delicious is forcing her to choose him. Jafar forms a plan to seduce the princess and seize the throne for himself, knowing with certainty that he will be victorious.
Notes:
Recently, I have been revisiting an old guilty pleasure pairing, and felt compelled to write a story of my own. While I did select the Rape/Non-con warning, please know that I did that more so to cover my bases. There will be no explicit rape. The non-consensual aspects of this story will be limited to kissing and minor touching. The rest is dubious consent or full consent.
This story was going to be a one shot, but it appears that I am incapable of writing a one shot for this pairing. I expect the story to have 5-10 chapters. Dark themes will be explored, violence, psychological torment, and acts of dubious consent. This first chapter, and possibly the next few, is more rated T, but the rating will slowly go up as the chapters progress.
Without further ado, I present to you, The Serpent's Conquest.
A03
__________________
It began on the day before Princess Jasmine’s sixteenth birthday.
The viperous young girl had always been a thorn in Jafar’s side. Her insolence infuriated him and made him want to crush her beneath his heel. Her father, the Sultan, was his willing puppet, but Jasmine refused to be subjugated.
The day in question, the Sultan had called Jafar into the throne room to discuss the final preparations for Jasmine’s birthday feast, on which the Sultan would announce that she was of marriageable age. The feast would be attended by all the prominent royal families of the surrounding kingdoms.
The law of Agrabah declared that Princess Jasmine must wed a suitable royal prince by her seventeenth birthday.
Jafar had been out of the palace for a fortnight, seeing to the Sultan’s exceedingly long list of requests for the celebration, and it his last nerve was wearing thin. Why that was, he could not quite place, that is until Princess Jasmine appeared in the throne room in a whirl of righteous fury.
Jafar had always seen her as girl, one who vexed him to no end. But as he beheld the way she walked with her chin held high, her dark eyes sparking with impotent fury, and the swing of her luxuriant hair and ample hips, Jafar began to see her as a woman. One he desperately wanted to possess for himself.
“How dare you,” Jasmine hissed through clenched teeth, looking from the Royal Vizier to the Sultan. “I will not allow either of you to auction me off to the highest bidder like some prized chattel. When I do choose to marry, it will be to someone whom I deem worthy.”
The Sultan’s light eyes filled with guilt as he nearly prostrated himself before his daughter. “Dearest, I am aware that you are against the idea of meeting suitors tomorrow, but the law must be followed. You need not end the feast as an engaged woman. You may have the entire year to meet and select an appropriate suitor.”
Jasmine’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze flicked to Jafar before she addressed her father. “Suitors that are deemed appropriate by you and your twisted, conniving vizier. Your judgement on the matter is hardly laudable.”
Jafar’s blood boiled at her insolent words, but he forced himself to remain calm. “Princess, my only wish is to serve you an your father well. I shall only allow the finest of suitors to cross the threshold of this palace.” It was a lie, of course, and one that was sufficient to sway the father, but not the daughter.
Jasmine rose to the tips of her toes, her gaze deadly, and her bosom heaving with indignation. Admittedly, it was an alluring sight. Jafar allowed his gaze to rove her body as she stood before him. She would not be cowed or fooled. “I will never marry anyone of your choosing,” Jasmine hissed, ever the viperous wench.
If not for her father’s presence, Jafar would have closed his fingers around her wrist and dragged her to him, whispering threats of dominance in her ear. As it was, he simply bowed and forced an expression of abject humility upon his dark features.
Jasmine turned on her heel and stormed out of the throne room, despite the Sultan’s protests.
“Jafar, what am I going to do with her? I desperately need your aid in taking her to task,” the Sultan said.
“Of course, Your Majesty. I will ensure that the law is carried out.” Jafar brought his bronze snake staff close to the Sultan’s face. Its ruby eyes glowed and the feeble-minded Sultan immediately fell into a trance. “Trust me, my liege. Your daughter will be wed by the appointed time.”
The Sultan looked up at his most trusted advisor, his expression glazed. “You have my trust, Jafar, and my permission to do as you will with Jasmine.”
Jafar’s lips curled into a sinister smile as he bowed and took his leave of the Sultan.
_______________
Iago’s irritated voice rang in Jafar’s ear. “I can’t believe we have to keep sucking up to that chump Sultan and that chump daughter for the rest of our lives.”
“No, Iago, only until she finds a chump husband. Then she will have us banished, or beheaded.” The idea of anyone else possessing Jasmine filled Jafar with impotent rage. He would have to prevent it at all costs.
Jafar slammed the door leading to his secret tower. Surely there was a solution within his library. Hypnosis, he knew would not solely be effective. The princess was far too strong-willed. Though, perhaps it would soften her will, if only marginally, leaving her vulnerable to other methods of persuasion.
“Jafar,” Iago suddenly cried, his voice redolent with twisted excitement.
“What is it?” Jafar snapped with biting irritation. Iago’s ideas were rarely useable.
“What if you become the chump husband? Then you would become sultan.”
Jafar’s lip curled in satisfaction at the thought of having Jasmine underneath him, dressed in a wedding gown, torn to the hip so he could consummate the union quickly. “Ah, marry the shrew. The idea has merit.”
“Yes, merit,” Iago cackled. “Then we can drop papa in law and the little woman off a cliff.” The bird mimicked the action by leaping off the serpent head of Jafar’s staff.
“I would gladly dispose of the Sultan, after I have claimed his daughter and throne, but as for Jasmine, I intend to keep her alive and in my power.” But how to get her to submit? No. He wanted more than just her submission. He wanted her to beg for his hand in marriage, and tonight he would enact the first step of a yearlong plan to bend her to his will.
_______________
Jasmine sat in her chambers, dressed in a filmy blue night gown, her mind still reeling with anger at her father and his treacherous vizier. How dare they plan to sell her off. She did not care what the law said. She was her father’s only heir, and should be given her own choice regardless of her sex.
But Jasmine knew that was but a dream.
She would instead be forced to select the least offensive of the suitors who approached her. Preferably someone she could browbeat into submission. And then once they wed, she could finally, finally, be rid of Jafar.
It was the only advantage of her impending forced matrimony. As queen, she would have the power to banish him, or better yet, behead him. The idea of the vizier prostrated at her feet and begging her for mercy sent tingles of anticipation down her spine. He was the only one in the palace whom she could not dominate with her sheer willpower and stubbornness.
Their power games had begun the day she turned fifteen, when she realized whom her true opponent was. Not her father, for though the sultan would force her into a loveless union, his reasons for doing so undoubtedly came from a place of love.
However, she recognized a lust for power and control in the Royal Vizier, and the willingness to do whatever it took to get it. Something, she was beginning to think had lain dormant within herself, until it suddenly flared to life this year. Jasmine knew that Jafar was an obstacle in her seizing her rightful place as Queen of Agrabah, even if she was forced to have some worthless suitor at her side to do it.
As she dragged her golden hairbrush through her voluminous locks, she vowed to destroy the vile cobra. She would only have to suffer his company for another year.
A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts and she snapped at the person on the other side to leave her in peace. She was not decent enough to receive any visitor, and even if she were still dressed in her day attire, she had no wish to see anyone.
But her caller had never been one to submit. The door swung open to reveal Jafar. Without her leave, he entered her sanctuary, his robes sweeping behind him. He used his snake staff to close and bolt the door, leaving her trapped and vulnerable. Jasmine knew she should have cried out for help, but that would be admitting weakness to her opponent. An unacceptable choice. Instead, she rose, disregarding her state of dishabille.
“How dare you enter my private chambers. I will have you punished for this,” Jasmine hissed.
They circled each other, and Jasmine couldn’t ignore Jafar’s burning gaze as he silently studied her. It created an unfamiliar heat in the core of her being, one that was not necessarily unpleasant.
“I have come to deliver a message,” Jafar drawled, sweeping closer to her, his large hand reaching out.
She should have smacked it away, but she allowed Jafar’s fingers to curl around her wrist and drag her closer to his body. In doing so, he sparked the embers burning in the pit of her stomach. Something flared to life within her, and she knew with absolute certainty that she needed to destroy the man before her, whatever the cost.
“Speak and be gone,” Jasmine said, trying to keep her voice from wavering.
The ruby eyes of the snake staff glinted, and she found herself unable to look away, distracted as she was but his unnerving closeness.
“You will present yourself at the feast tomorrow, dressed in your best finery. You will comport yourself with the dignity and grace of your station. And you will select a suitor to wed a year hence,” Jafar said, his lips were centimeters from her ears, and Jasmine could feel the heat of his breath on her flesh. Again, this was not a strictly unpleasant sensation. She cursed herself for her weakness, a weakness she hadn’t even known she possessed when it came to her dealings with Jafar.
“And if I do not?” she asked, her gaze meeting Jafar’s. The vizier’s fingers moved to her neck and forced her to look at the cobra head of his staff. Jasmine felt her thoughts dull, but only in the slightest. Only enough to make her amenable to hearing the consequences of her disobedience.
“You will.” Jafar said, his deep voice reverberated through her being, and though she had never been tempted to listen to him before, she was now.
Jafar somehow seemed to understand what she would never voice. “But before a throng of suitors throw themselves at your feet, I will have my say.”
Jasmine nodded, and allowed herself to be brought closer, until only the thin fabric of her nightgown, and the slightly thicker fabric of Jafar’s garb stood between them.
Jafar, however, did not speak. Instead, his arms snaked themselves around her, one hand splayed against her lower back, the other resting at the nape of her neck.
A stifled voice demanded that she remove herself from the embrace and strike Jafar for his insolence, but a voice with stentorian, honeyed tones, insisted she give into the temptation. After all, she was a woman now.
Jafar’s lips curled in a sinister fashion. “That’s better,” he said. “You are a singular desert bloom, Jasmine, and before the sunset of your seventeenth birthday, you will belong to me. And what’s more, the choice to submit will be entirely yours.”
Before Jasmine could answer, Jafar’s mouth covered hers in a bruising kiss.
Instinct demanded that she clamp her lips shut, especially when she felt his snakelike tongue attempt to enter the depths of her mouth.
Jafar was unfazed by her defiance. The hand at the nape of her neck wrapped itself around the mass of her hair and yanked sharply. Jasmine gasped in pain. Jafar seized the moment to deepen the kiss and plunder her mouth. Jasmine’s traitorous knees buckled and she pressed herself closer to him.
When Jafar pulled away, his dark eyes were opiated with desire. “That was—”
The mesmerizing contact of his lips now broken, Jasmine struck him. The sound echoed off the walls of her bedchamber.
She broke free of his dark embrace and said. “At least some good will come of my being forced to marry. When I am queen I will have the power to be—”
But she never got to finish her declaration, for Jafar had stifled the words with another searing kiss. And despite her better judgement, Jasmine gave into the dark passion it evoked within her. Her voice of reason and fierce independence muffled by the seductive hiss of Jafar’s promise that she would one day choose him.
I can't believe there is a steamy Mafia AU featuring my favorite guilty pleasure/taboo Disney relationship, published by a New York Times best selling author.
I only read the sample, but I'm looking forward to reading Desparate Measures by Katee Robert.
I respect her for writing and publishing Disney Villain fanfiction.
Edited to add my thoughts.
Basically this was 50 Shades crossed with Mafia crossed with Disney Characters. Spoilers Below.
I found it more readable than 50 Shades (which I only read once for a college assignment that required us to read the worst book ever and then write a scathing review,) This is probably because I liked Jasmine and Jafar way better than Christian & Anna. Even so, the writing was cringeworthy in many places. And repetitive.
The smut was also cringeworthy in places.
I'll never be a fan of female characters calling their lovers "Daddy"
But what really stood out was the snippets of the story that went beyond the smut and cringe. Though there was a lot of those aforementioned aspects of the story, so the satisfying elements were very rushed.
I really enjoyed Jafar as a character. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a morally grey romantic lead who swears emotions won't cloud his ambitions, only to end up falling in love and changing for the better. Although he didn't change that much from where he started. It still worked.
I was less satisfied with Jasmine to be honest. I liked where she ended, but how she got there could have been better developed.
The Wicked Villain series is something like 6 or 7 books, each covering a different Disney Hero/Villain couple. I'm not inclined to read the rest. But if you ever enjoyed the Jasmine and Jafar dynamic, in any iteration of Aladdin, Desperate Measures is worth a read. The ebook is the price of a coffee.
Also please note that my criticism of the writing and style doesn't come from a bad place. I respect the heck out of Katee Robert for making part of her living on Disney Villain fanfiction. I just wish it had been done a bit better. Still, it was entertaining for what it was.
Daemon leaves Rhaenyra at her wedding feast. Rhaenyra marries Laenor. After a year of trying to do their duty and produce an heir, Rhaenyra writes to Daemon.
She needs a true Targaryen heir.
It only needs to be an arrangement of business, she says. And it would result in Daemon’s child one day taking the Iron Throne.
Daemon accepts the proposal and returns to court.
Only, ventures like these are never simple. As much as they would wish to, Daemon and Rhaenyra cannot let go of the past, or the feelings they once had for each other.
123 AC
Corlys Velaryon only truly cared about three things in this world. His lady wife, his children, and the future and legacy of House Velaryon.
Before his death, Laenor had asked that his son Lucerys be named heir to Driftmark.
But now, it had been revealed to him that Laenor had no true heirs. Prince Lucerys, in fact, belonged to Prince Daemon.
This very problem haunted Corlys as he fell ill, suffering from a dreadful sickness the maesters declared to be from Essos.
If he was meant to go to the Stranger, then who would inherit Driftmark?
As he saw it, three options stood before him. His daughter Laena. His brother Vaemond. Or Lucerys Targaryen.
Laena was married, and quite happy in King’s Landing. Eventually, she and her husband would go to Harrenhal, which Ser Harwin stood to inherit. Corlys did not think she would have much interest in returning to her childhood home.
Vaemond had no wife or children, and while he was still young enough to produce heirs, he was reckless and irresponsible. Under his rule, Driftmark might fall to ruin.
Then there was Lucerys Targaryen. He was not his blood, and no longer had the Velaryon name since he was legitimized by the King. But he was young, engaged to Corlys’s own granddaughter, and with the history of intermarriage between House Targaryen and House Velaryon, perhaps the prince was in possession of some amount of Velaryon blood.
But in truth, none of these three options was the ideal heir to Driftmark.
And so, he called his beloved wife back home.
Rhaenys arrived on the back of Meleys on a stormy day, drenched to the bone. Her gown clung to her body, and though his own body was overcome with fever, he still longed for her as he always had.
Rhaenys kissed her husband. “How are you faring, my love?”
“Not well at all,” Corlys said, “and yet, I still wish to rip that gown off and have my wicked way with you.”
Rhaenys smiled. “There will be time enough for that once you are recovered.”
“And if I do not recover?”
“You will. I command you to.”
“Rhaenys, we must discuss the matter, if only for my peace of mind. We must choose an heir.”
“Lucerys is your heir,” Rhaenys said.
“Lucerys is not our grandson. In name or blood.”
“It was Laenor’s final wish,” Rhaenys said. “Would you seriously consider giving the title to Vaemond? He would destroy everything you have worked so hard to build.”
“There is Laena,” Corlys said.
Rhaenys shook her head. “Laena doesn’t want it. She told me so before I left.”
“You truly wish for me to pass Driftmark to a Targaryen?”
“Yes. Luke is betrothed to Baela. One day they will have a son of their own, one with Velaryon blood. If you deny Lucerys, you will insult Rhaenyra and Daemon, and more importantly, you will insult Laenor.”
“Laenor is dead,” Corlys said. “He was the last trueborn Velaryon son and he died without issue.”
Rhaenys paled and her mouth tightened.
“What is it?” Corlys asked.
“I am going to tell you a secret, and you must never share it with another soul.” Rhaenys leaned over her husband and shared the secret she had been keeping for nearly three years.
Corlys’s expression darkened. “You and Laena have been lying to me.”
“We had to,” Rhaenys said. “You have been in the Stepstones, and we could not put such a thing in writing. I am sorry for the deception, but you can rest assured knowing that both of our children are leading happy lives.”
“And this is why you have pledged your loyalty to Princess Rhaenyra?”
“Yes. Their marriage was a sham, but Laenor loved Rhaenyra, and he respected Daemon. He made me swear that I would support them. But even without that, Rhaenyra is the best hope for a brighter future. She is capable and idealistic. She will make the realm better.”
“And her son?”
“Luke is a sweet boy. We can arrange for him to be your ward. You can teach him the traditions of our house, and he will honor them. I am sure of it.”
Corlys sat in silence for a long while after that, but at length he said, “Very well. Lucerys shall remain my heir.”
He was rewarded with a long and passionate kiss. “You will not regret it, my love.”
“I only hope Lucerys will not inherit my position for many years to come.”
***
Alicent left Viserys sated and sleepy. She prayed that this coupling would result in a child, for she did not know how much longer she could bear to have him touch her.
She was still furious that he had legitimized Rhaenyra’s bastards. Her own children were now so far down the line of succession that it would be impossible for Aegon to take the throne without fist slaughtering his half-sister, uncle, and every one of his nieces and nephews.
Her father had assured her that this was not the end of the world. When Viserys was out of the way, they would deal with Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their children, he had written. But Alicent was not so sure. They had six dragon between them, even if four were only hatchlings, and Alicent’s children had none.
Several missives sat on the desk in Alicent’s chambers. The top one was written in an unfamiliar hand. Alicent tore the letter open and read.
My Queen,
My brother Lord Corlys is gravely ill. He is intent upon keeping Lucerys Targaryen as his heir. This is an insult. I would not have the greatest navy in the Seven Kingdoms controlled by a boy of six. Nor would I have my birthright passed out of my family for the sake of a bastard boy.
I write to beg for your support before I travel to King’s Landing to petition the Crown.
If you grant me your support in this matter, than my ships and men will be at your disposal when your eldest makes a claim for the throne.
Vaemond Velaryon
This was an insult to honor and decency. Rhaenyra and her children had already stolen away Aegon’s birthright. She would not allow the bastard boy to claim Driftmark. It did not matter that her foolish husband had legitimized the brats.
With the rumors of Rhaenyra’s children settled, the small folk had turned their attention back to whispering about Daeron who was growing to resemble his father more and more with every passing moon, despite the effort she made to dye his hair.
Alicent penned a quick response and sent to Vaemond Velaryon. She would punish Rhaenyra and her bastards and gain access to the finest fleet in all of Westeros in one fell swoop.
***
Rhaenys Targaryen was loyal to a fault. As soon as she heard of Vaemond’s planned challenge, she flew back to King’s Landing to inform Rhaenyra and Daemon in person.
So it was that on a day in the sixth moon of 123 AC that Rhaenys met with the Princess, Prince Consort, and Lucerys Targaryen in the Godswood.
Luke was dressed in Targaryen colors. The boy ran to Rhaenys and embraced her. In the years since Laenor’s flight, she had taken care to spend time with him. After all, he would one day be the Lord of High Tide and husband to her granddaughter. But the boy had drawn her in with his sweetness and charm. He called her grandmother, despite the fact that they both knew it to be a falsehood.
Rhaenys ruffled the boy’s hair and kissed his brow. “Good morrow, sweet boy. Tell me, how are your lessons with the dragon keepers going.”
“Muña and Kepus say that Meraxes, Vermax, and Arrax will soon be big enough to mount. They grew quickly in Dragonstone.”
“That is excellent news, my dear. But now we all must speak of something serious. Come to the table. Your mother called for your favorite lemon cakes.”
Rhaenys took the boy’s hand and led him back to his parents. Then she took the seat beside him at the iron table.
“What news do you bring from Driftmark, Cousin?” Daemon asked.
“Corlys has taken a turn for the worse. His survival is not guaranteed. As such, Vaemond intends to challenge Luke’s claim to Driftmark.”
“He cannot,” Rhaenyra said.
“Unfortunately, he can,” Daemon said. “But he will need the support of the Crown. Which he will not get. Viserys will defend Luke’s claim.”
“Are you certain? Vaemond was planning on seeking the Queen’s support, and Viserys has been rather enamored as of late.”
“He will,” Daemon said, though he sounded less than certain.
“Lucerys has our unfailing support. I intend to speak for Corlys when Vaemond makes his claim.”
“Kepus, Muña, Grandmother, I do not want Lord Corlys to die!” Fat tears were welling in Luke’s violet eyes.
Rhaenyra put an arm around Luke. “I know, sweet boy. But he is strong.”
“If he dies, I will have to leave home. I don’t want that,” Luke said.
“Ser Laenor wanted you to inherit his title, my love. One day, your brother and sister will rule the Seven Kingdoms, and you will support them. Driftmark and Dragonstone have always stood together.”
Luke looked from his mother to Rhaenys, his lip quivering.
“All will be well, Luke,” Rhaenys said. “My husband is strong. And one day, you and Baela will be happy at Driftmark. Many of us must leave home. It is our duty.”
Luke did love his cousin Baela, though she was three years his junior and too young to join them in their lessons. But he loved his life with his dragon, parents, and siblings. He did not want everything to change. “Would it be terrible if Vaemond was the heir instead of me?”
All three of the adults assured him that it would be. Lucerys Targaryen had been raised to follow duty and honor, and though he was a decade away from reaching his majority, he took this upbringing seriously. If he was meant to be the Lord of High Tide, he would do his best to meet the expectations of his family. He supposed the first challenge of that undertaking was standing before the Iron Throne against Vaemond Velaryon. But for the moment, he chose to eat another lemon cake.
***
Three days later, hundreds of people gathered in the throne room to witness the dispute over the future heir of Driftmark.
Rhaenyra, Daemon and their children stood in the throne room, dressed in their Targaryen best. They were joined by Rhaenys, Laena, and her twins, who were unfailingly loyal, and in support of Luke’s claim to Driftmark.
Alicent and her children were wearing the green of House Hightower and standing beside Vaemond Velaryon.
Rhaenyra wondered if she would ever be able to convince Viserys that Alicent was manipulating him for her own ends. Though Rhaenyra loved her father, he was loyal to a fault, and Alicent had earned his loyalty years ago, comforting him in the wake of Aemma’s death.
Viserys sat on the Iron Throne.
“We have gathered here today in the wake of Lord Corlys’s illness,” Viserys began. “Should he succumb to it, Driftmark will pass into the hands of a new heir. Alas, there is some dispute over who that heir might be. Princess Rhaenyra may speak first on behalf of her son.”
Rhaenyra stepped forward. “Your Grace, Driftmark should go to my son, Prince Lucerys Targaryen. It is true that he is not a Velaryon by blood, but Ser Laenor’s final wish was for Prince Lucerys to be named heir to Driftmark. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys support Lucerys’s claim, as does the Lady Laena Strong. Lady Baela will one day marry Prince Lucerys, and she is the granddaughter of the current Lord of the Tides. House Velaryon and House Targaryen have always enjoyed a strong alliance. To pass over Prince Lucerys would be a grievous mistake.”
Viserys nodded and Rhaenyra stepped back.
Vaemond Velaryon approached the throne. “Your Grace, I am Lord Corlys’s brother. Lucerys Targaryen is a boy of six. By tradition, I should be the heir of Driftmark. I will make a strong match and produce true Velaryon heirs.”
“Is this all you have to say in the defense of your claims?” Viserys asked. “Have you any legitimate support? Princess Rhaenys, what do you have to say about your good-brother’s claim?”
Rhaenys stepped forward. “My good-brother is a scoundrel. He would be a disgrace to Driftmark and House Velaryon. Prince Lucerys is an excellent young man. With proper training, he will make House Velaryon proud, regardless his parentage. My son, Ser Laenor, claimed Lucerys as his own and knew that he was the correct choice.”
Rhaenyra watched Alicent carefully. The woman’s expression was guarded. Vaemond Velaryon, however, was infuriated. “Honor and decency support my claim to Driftmark.”
“And what exactly do you mean by this?” Viserys demanded in a booming voice.
“I do not care that they have been legitimized. My nephew was a fool. Prince Lucerys is a bastard. And his mother is a whore.”
Viserys rose from the throne and drew his dagger. “That is treason. I will have your tongue for this.”
But Rhaenyra looked to Daemon. “There will be no need, Father. Prince Daemon will bring me his head.”
Daemon drew Dark Sister and with one mighty swing, Vaemond Velaryon’s life was over.
Several women and children screamed, but Daemon merely turned to the king, wiped the blood off Dark Sister and said, “He can keep his tongue, Your Grace.”
Viserys was stunned but soon regained his composure. “Prince Lucerys Targaryen will remain the heir of Driftmark. We shall all pray for Lord Corlys’s swift recovery.”
“Your Grace,” Rhaenys said, stepping forward again, firmly ignoring the broken body of her kin.
“Yes, Princess?”
“I propose that when my husband recovers, Prince Lucerys goes to Driftmark as a ward. Lord Corlys will teach him how to be a proper Lord of the Tides.”
Viserys looked to Rhaenyra. “Princess Rhaenyra, does this meet with your approval?”
Rhaenyra nodded. “It would be our honor.”
“Very well. Consider this matter settled.”
Rhaenyra and Daemon led their children out of the throne room. Once they were in the courtyard Luke gathered his courage and approached his parents. “Muña, I am afraid for the future.”
“There is no need to be afraid, my love.” Rhaenyra said. “You will learn and you will make everyone proud.”
