On season 3 of smallville and the one thing Lana needs from Clark for their relationship to work is his honesty and that's literally the one thing he can't give her I'm not okay
Pairing: Modern!Prince Valarr Targaryen x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Modern AU/College AU, 2000s rom-com vibes, slow burnish, frenemies-to-lovers, slight academic rivalry, miscommunication, slight angst, each part will have its own warnings, barely any use of y/n, and not edited.
Additional Characters: Aerion, Daeron, Aegon II, Aemond, Baela Targaryen, Jace Velaryon, and Kiera.
Author's Note: I got this idea after watching Bridgerton season 4 and rewatching A Cinderella Story.
Series Overview: You've never given much thought to the royal family since getting into KLU on scholarship. You can't seem to escape the Targaryen name since they're the talk of the campus. You're either hearing about the infamous parties Aerion and Aegon Targaryen throw, or how half the campus is enamored by Jace Velaryon and his cousin Valarr Targaryen. Your hopes for a normal university experience go out the window the moment Valarr Targaryen joins your Dothraki Studies class. What's even more alarming is how he keeps questioning, borderline challenging every answer you give in class. You don't know what his problem is since you've never interacted with him before. Royalty or not, you're not afraid to tell him fuck off each time he makes a passive-aggressive comment towards you in your study group.
The only solace you find, aside from venting to your friend, is an anonymous chat room that KLU created. Ever since freshman year, you've been corresponding with norvos_19, another fellow classmate who goes to KLU. Despite your mutual agreement never to reveal your real names to each other, you two have grown close through instant messaging and email. You feel a little silly for having a crush on someone you've never met, but norvos_19 surprises you when he says he wants to finally meet in person at the KLU's charity gala masquerade ball. Even though every bone in your body wants to go, there's no way you can afford a ticket, and second, it's going to be held at The Red Keep. But then an unlikely person offers to help, and you find yourself at the ball moments away from meeting norvos_19, who ends up being the last person you expected. He's not the Prince Charming you were dreaming of. As midnight hits and you're running away, glad that you didn't take your mask off. Too bad you dropped your phone, and now norvos_19 is determined to find you.
NOTE: The Anthony Bridgerton and Kate Sharma dynamic has taken its hold on me and I’m afraid it’s never going to let go 😟 I wrote this in like a daze, theirs definitely parts that make no sense lol
The harbor of King’s Landing had reeked completely of salt and tar and heat.
You hated it at once.
Ships strained against their anchors as the waves slapped lazily against their painted hulls. Dockhands called back and forth across the pier in their crude Westerosi accents, their words harsh and alien.
Tyrosh had been a place of color: bright walls, perfumed markets, musicians playing in the streets.
King’s Landing was heavier in comparison.
Next to you, your older sister adjusted the silver clasp on her cloak, her chin held high with pride.
“Remember,” Keira whispered without looking at you, “we are guests of the royal court now. Do try not to look as if you'd rather leap back onto the ship.”
“I might,” you muttered.
Keira gave you a quick look.
“You will behave sister.”
You let out a sigh.
“Yes, sister.”
Behind you, your father was talking to the officials waiting at the docks. They wore cloaks with the three heads of the dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned on their fabric.
All of this, weeks at sea, the stifling formality—had been leading up to something incredibly important.
Keira’s betrothal to the young heir, prince Valarr Targaryen.
You looked over at the Red Keep rising above the city. This prince.
You knew little about him. Only whispers from merchants and envoys, dark chestnut hair, inherited from his dornish blood. The Targaryen shone through the silver streak in his hair, one eye of sapphire blue and the other of brown, he was the eldest son of the king’s heir.
A future king he’d be, Keira was clearly thrilled with the arrangement.
You were curious is all.
—
The Red Keep was far grander up close.
Polished marble floors sparkled like water under candlelight, and servants moved silently through the halls like ghosts.
You walked slightly behind your sister as servants escorted you through the castle. From behind you could tell Keira’s posture was flawless.
Your curiosity had gotten the better of you.
Dragons and old wars adorned the walls as tapestries. One showed a silver-haired warrior riding a dragon through a burning sky.
Westeros had a great fondness for legends.
At the doors to the receiving hall, the servants halted. “Prince Valarr awaits.”
Your sister breathed sharply, and her face lit with excitement.
You attempted not to grin.
Inside, the room was warm with firelight. And there he stood.
Prince Valarr Targaryen.
You recognized him at once.
Tall and broad-shouldered with his rumoured hair that fell loose around his collar, catching the flickering torchlight.
But it was his face that caught you. It carried a emotions as if he had spent his entire life perfecting every single one.
His violet eyes scanned the room to Keira.
Then, briefly, you.
It was only a moment. But something in the look had seemed searching.
Your father stepped forward to greet him. "My prince. It is an honor."
Valarr nodded his head in polite response. "The honor is mine."
His voice was deeper than you expected. His eyes returned to Keira. "My lady Keira."
Your sister curtsied beautifully, she bowed but even then you could see the slight reddening of her cheek. "My prince."
You stepped back a pace or so, comfortable with being unseen.
The prince and your sister had begun talking politely, about their journey, about Tyrosh, about court.
You listened with half an ear.
Until. “You must be her sister.”
You looked up. Valarr's eyes were fixed on you now.
Your heart skipped an odd, unexpected beat.
You curtsied hastily. “I am.”
“And your name?” You told him.
There was something in his eyes, something that flickered and disappeared at once.
“Welcome to King's Landing.”
You smiled graciously. “Thank you, my prince.”
He nodded his head and turned back to Keira at once.
And yet you had the feeling he had been examining you too close to be casual formalities.
—
That evening, there was a grand welcoming feast. Music filled the great hall, and courtiers glittered in their silks and jewels.
You sat beside your sister at the high table. And your sister, Keira, looked as radiant as the brightest star in the night sky.
Prince Valarr sat across from your sister. He talked to her often, politely attentive one he was.
It looked as though it were all perfect.
You should have felt relieved. But you felt a sense of observation.
Of him.
There was something restrained in him. Some kind of tension beneath his polished demeanor. Like a bowstring drawn.
When courtiers laughed boisterously around him, he smiled faintly, rarely joined in.
But when your sister spoke, he listened.
Duty it must.
It was a word you knew well.
You were halfway through your goblet of wine when suddenly, his gaze rose.
He kept it a second longer than he needed to. Then shifted his gaze.
And your stomach flipped annoyingly.
Ridiculous. You barely knew the man.
And he was to marry your sister.
—
The following morning, you managed to escape the castle. The gardens of the Red Keep were located on the cliff overlooking Blackwater Bay.
At least the air smelled clean here.
You strolled through the roses and the well-trimmed hedges. Until the sound of hoofbeats echoed through the garden.
You turned your head.
Prince Valarr rode into the garden on a black horse. He slowed his pace when he saw you.
Of course. Of course it would be him.
You curtsied politely.“My prince.”
Prince Valarr dismounted his horse. “I did not expect to find anyone here this early.”
“I could say the same.”
He smiled faintly. “Escaping the court?”
You hesitated. “Something like that.”
Prince Valarr looked at you with a sympathetic expression.“It is understandable.”
For a moment, you and the prince did not say anything.
The sea wind blew through the prince’s pale hair. He looked tired, not physically, but maybe emotionally.
“Does King’s Landing disappoint you?”
You blinked. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to my lady.”
You sighed. “It is just very different from Tyrosh.”
“How so?”
“It lacks the color.”
He laughed softly. “You are not wrong.”
Silence.
Then. “Riding?”
“Yes.”
His eyebrows went up. “Most ladies are frightened of mounts, much less ride them.”
“Most ladies are boring.”
This made him laugh.
You became aware that you were enjoying the conversation far too well. This was the man your sister was to marry.
You stood up a little straighter. “My sister has spoken very highly of you.”
His face changed immediately. Back to normal.
“I am glad.”
There was a pause. “You will make her happy,” you said politely.
His face changed again. This time to something you couldn’t quite tell.
“I will do my duty.”
His words were very practiced and he didn't seem to be happy.
You frowned.
But before you could say anything, a servant was approaching from the path. “My prince. The council awaits him.”
Valarr nodded. “Thank you.”
He turned back to you. “Enjoy the gardens my lady.”
“And you, your council meetings.”
He smiled. Then he mounted his horse and rode off.
You stood there and watched him go, your bosom uncomfortably tight within the cages of your bodice.
—
Over the course of the following weeks, you saw him often.
Always with Keira.
Always proper.
Always distant.
But still, there were moments between you two. A look across the hall, a talk during a hunt, asking your opinion instead of your sister’s, a dance with his hand brushing against yours for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
Nothing improper. Nothing anyone else would notice.
But enough to make your heart behave foolishly. You tried to tell yourself it didn’t mean anything.
It had to mean nothing, he was promised to your dear Keira.
—
Things changed, and it happened during a hunt.
Your party rode deep into the kingswood, hawks circling above.
You loved riding, loved the freedom of it all.
At one point the group had spread out in pursuit of a deer. Your horse leapt over a log—
And landed badly.
You hadn't even time to take breath before being flung to the dirt. Pain flashed through your ankle.
“Seven hells,” you hissed, hands instantly holding onto your leg.
Hooves pounded the earth nearby. And the next thing you knew, Valarr appeared out of the trees.
He dismounted at once. “Are you hurt?”
“I will live."
He crouched down beside you to examine your ankle. His hands were warm and steady.
“You should not try to stand yet.”
“I wasn't exactly planning to my prince.”
Valarr's brow furrowed. “You always answer like that?”
“Only when princes gives me orders.”
Valarr's lips curled up in a ghost of a smile.
But his face sobered quickly. “I will carry you back.”
“That is unnecessary.”
“It is not.”
Before you could say anything else, he picked you up, quite effortlessly.
You caught your breath. You were suddenly very aware of how close you were, Valarr’s heartbeat under your hand.
The leather and pine scent of his armor.
Valarr's eyes flickered down to meet yours. For a moment something happened.
Something dangerous. And then he looked away.
Neither of your two said anything during the ride back. But something had changed.
—
The court of King’s Landing had a way of making everything feel like a performance. Every smile meant something, every conversation was measured, it was disgusting.
You learned that quickly in the weeks following the hunt. Especially when those looks came from Valarr himself.
At first, you told yourself you imagined it. The slight hesitation when he greeted you in the mornings.
The way his eyes flickered toward you when someone else spoke.
The way his voice changed, albeit barely, when he addressed you rather than your sister.
It had to mean nothing.
Because your sister, Keira, was painfully glowing with anticipation.
Her betrothal to the prince would be announced soon. The court buzzed with whispers already. A Tyroshi alliance was valuable, and a prince needed a wife worthy of the throne he might one day inherit.
Keira fit the role perfectly. She was beautiful, clever, and poised. Everything a princess should be.
You were the sister who came with her.
And that was how things were meant to remain. Oh how you wished that was how they remained.
—
The first real problem arose during a riding lesson.
Keira had expressed interest in learning the Westerosi style of hunting before the wedding, and naturally the prince offered to guide her.
You had no intention of joining them.
Until Keira insisted.
“You must come sister,” she said that morning as servants braided her hair. “You ride far better than I do. If I embarrass myself before my future husband, at least you can distract him.”
“That seems like a terrible plan Kiera.”
“Please.”
You sighed. “You are relentless.”
“Yes it is one of my many charms.” Kiera laughed, hooking her arm with yours.
—
The training yard smelled of hay and leather when you arrived. Several horses waited in the courtyard.
Valarr stood beside them, speaking with a stablehand. When he noticed you approaching beside Keira, his posture stiffened slightly.
He bowed politely. “My lady Keira.”
Then his gaze shifted. “And my lady.”
You dipped your head. “My prince.”
Something unreadable flickered across his expression before he turned back to your sister. “I chose a gentle mare for you, she is well accustomed to riders, she will be amiable to most things.”
Keira beamed. “How thoughtful my prince.”
—
The lesson began well enough.
Valarr explained the hunting techniques used by Westerosi nobles, how to track deer through the kingswood, how to follow the movement of birds overhead, how to guide a horse at full gallop.
Keira listened attentively, but riding had never been her strength.
Within half an hour she looked exhausted.
Meanwhile, you had already circled the yard twice out of sheer restlessness.
“You ride as if the horse were your own,” he said, as you passed him.
“It is.”
He looked up. “That is not the same as owning it.”
“Maybe not in Westeros.” Your horse drew closer.
For a moment, you and the prince rode side by side. Keira had fallen back a bit.
“You have a good seat,” the prince said.
“I learned to ride along the cliffs of Tyrosh.”
“I would like to see that one day.”
The words came out easily, too easily.
The realization had both of you taken aback.
Valarr cleared his throat. “I mean-”
“I know what you mean.” Your words were softer.
“Maybe one day you will.” He clenched his jaw.
For a moment, you and the prince were silent. Then Keira shouted across the yard.
“Valarr! How do I keep the horse from turning like this?”
He turned away, he had a duty to uphold.
You suddenly felt sad, you didn’t know why, you didn’t know why you were sad, you didn’t know why you were disappointed.
But you were.
You were disappointed.
—
Court life resumed its rhythm, all the feasts, council meetings, music in the evenings.
And always the subtle tension whenever you and Valarr found yourselves in the same room.
You tried to avoid him when possible.
But apparently the castle wasn’t large enough for that.
And sometimes… Sometimes he seemed to be avoiding you too.
Until the night of the moonlight ball.
—
The great hall of the Red Keep glittered with candles. Nobles from across the realm had gathered for the celebration. Musicians played lively songs while couples filled the dance floor.
You stood near the edge of the hall with a goblet of wine, watching the crowd.
Keira was dancing with Valarr, they made a striking pair.
Targaryen blood beside Tyroshi gold.
They moved gracefully together, her laughter bright and easy. Anyone watching would think they were perfectly suited.
Your chest tightened strangely.
“Jealous?”
You nearly spilled your wine.
Turning quickly, you found Valarr’s cousin leaning beside the pillar. Prince Daeron Targaryen smirked knowingly.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve been staring at them for five minutes.”
“I have not.”
“Four minutes, then.”
You scowled. “I was simply observing my sister.”
“Of course.” His grin widened.
Daeron was far too perceptive for your liking. You’d heard he was nothing but a pathetic drunk. Lugging about the walls of the keep and occasionally the streets of silk.
Before you could respond, the music ended. Applause filled the hall.
Keira curtsied gracefully to Valarr. Then she turned toward you.
“Sister! Come dance.”
You froze.
“Oh, no-”
But she was already pulling you toward the floor. Valarr looked surprised.
The musicians began a new song. And suddenly you found yourself standing across from him.
Your heart pounded. “This is incredibly unnecessary,” you muttered.
“Agreed,” he replied quietly.
Neither of you moved for a moment.
Then the dance began.
His hand took yours, warm.
The choreography forced you close… then apart… then close again. Each step heightened the awareness between you.
“You should be dancing with my sister,” you whispered.
“I was.”
“Then why are you here?”
His jaw tightened.
“You know why.”
Your breath caught.
“No,” you said softly. “I don’t.”
He leaned slightly closer as the dance turned. His voice dropped. “Yes, you do.”
The words sent a shiver down your spine. The music ended far too soon.
You pulled your hand away quickly. “This must stop.”
His eyes flashed. “Nothing has begun my lady.”
“Exactly.”
You turned and walked away before your resolve could falter.
—
Later that night you escaped to the castle gardens again. The moon hung low over the bay, casting silver light across the paths.
Your mind refused to settle, the dance replayed over and over.
His voice.
His touch.
His confession that wasn’t quite a confession.
Footsteps sounded behind you, you knew who it was before turning.
Valarr stopped a few paces away.
“You should not follow me, my prince.”
“You left rather abruptly.”
“I thought that was the point.”
Silence settled between you, the ocean wind stirred the trees.
“You were right earlier,” he said quietly.
You frowned. “About what?”
“This must stop.”
Your chest tightened. “Then stop it.”
“I am trying.”
You laughed softly. “That’s not very convincing.”
His expression darkened. “You think this is amusing?”
“No.” Your voice softened. “I think it’s impossible.”
The words hung between you. Valarr stepped closer.
Too close.
“You are my future wife’s sister,” he said, each word deliberate.
“Yes.”
“I will marry her.”
“I know.”
“Then why,” he asked quietly, “do you look at me like that?”
Your heart hammered painfully. “How do I look at you?”
“Like you wish things were different.”
Your breath caught. “You’re imagining things, you must be tired from the festivities.”
His hand clenched slightly at his side. “I wish I were.”
For a moment the distance between you felt electric. One step closer and everything would change.
You forced yourself to step back. “We should go inside.”
“Yes.”
Neither of you moved. Then finally he turned away first, his duty winning once again.
But not without cost.
—
Later that night, lying awake in your chamber, you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts spun endlessly.
Because deep down you knew the truth.
This wasn’t harmless, nor was it fleeting. This was something far more dangerous.
And if you weren’t careful, you might both fall into a fire neither of you could escape.
—
The trouble with forbidden feelings was not that they appeared suddenly.
It was that they grew quietly.
Until one day you realized they had already taken root in places they had no right to exist.
You again tried to avoid Valarr Targaryen after the moonlight ball. Truly, you did.
For several days you remained mostly in your chambers or accompanied your sister during visits with the ladies of King’s Landing. You laughed politely when expected, spoke when spoken to, and behaved exactly as a proper noble daughter should.
But the Red Keep was a maze of stone corridors and chance encounters.
And the gods seemed intent on testing your restraint.
The first time you saw him again was at breakfast in the great hall.
You arrived late, hoping to slip quietly into a seat beside your sister. Instead, the moment you stepped through the doors, his gaze lifted.
Straight to you.
Your stomach tightened.
He looked tired.
Dark shadows rested beneath his eyes, and his expression was more guarded than usual.
Keira noticed nothing. She smiled brightly as you sat beside her. “You missed the morning council discussion,” she said cheerfully.
“I cannot imagine the tragedy.”
“It was dreadfully dull,” she admitted. “But Valarr says the hunting party tomorrow will be more entertaining.”
You froze.
“Hunting party?”
“Yes. Half the court is going.”
Your sister leaned closer.
“And you must come.”
You opened your mouth to protest.
But across the table Valarr was watching you again.
So intensely that your heart betrayed you with a single, traitorous beat.
—
The kingswood stretched endlessly beneath the autumn sky. Horses thundered along forest paths as nobles scattered across the hills, hawks soaring overhead.
You tried to focus on the hunt. Tried to ignore the fact that Valarr rode somewhere behind you.
Tried to ignore the way your awareness sharpened every time you heard his horse nearby.
Keira rode slightly ahead with a group of ladies.
Which left you, unfortunately, beside Lord Martyn Rowan.
He had been speaking for the better part of twenty minutes.
“And of course the orchards of Goldengrove produce the finest apples in the Reach,” he continued proudly.
“I will remember that,” you said politely.
“My lady you must visit someday.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“Nonsense! My mother would adore you.”
You nodded vaguely, he was kind enough, but painfully enthusiastic.
Your horse slowed near a clearing. Hoofbeats approached from behind. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Valarr.
His horse moved beside yours. “My lady.”
“Your grace.”
Lord Rowan looked delighted.
“Prince Valarr! We were just discussing the orchards of Goldengrove.”
Valarr’s gaze flickered briefly to you. “Were you?”
“Yes,” Rowan continued eagerly. “I was inviting her to visit.”
Your breath caught. Valarr’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly. “How generous.” His tone was perfectly polite. But you heard the steel beneath it.
Rowan, oblivious, continued happily. “Perhaps once the prince’s wedding celebrations conclude-”
Valarr cut him off. “The lady may have other obligations.”
You glanced sharply at him.
Rowan blinked.
“Of course, of course. I merely thought-”
“The hunt continues west,” Valarr said calmly. “A stag was sighted there.”
The dismissal was subtle but painfully clear.
Rowan hesitated before bowing his head slightly. “Then I shall ride ahead.”
He spurred his horse forward. Leaving you alone with the prince.
Silence settled between you.
“You are being rude. It’s unbecoming of a prince,” you said eventually.
Valarr kept his gaze forward. “I was not.”
“He was being friendly.”
“He was clearly courting you.”
Your heart skipped. “That is none of your concern.”
Finally, he looked at you, and there it was, the crack in his composure.
“I disagree.”
“Why?”
The question slipped out before you could stop it.
His jaw tightened. “You know why.”
“No,” you said softly. “I don’t.”
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Wind rustled through the trees above.
Then a distant rumble of thunder echoed across the forest.
You glanced toward the darkening sky. “That storm came quickly.”
Valarr followed your gaze. “We should return to the others.”
But the woods had grown strangely quiet. Another thunderclap rolled across the hills.
Rain began falling moments later, pouring. Your horse shifted nervously beneath you.
“The trail is flooded,” you said, looking back the way you came.
Valarr scanned the trees. “There’s an old hunting cabin nearby.”
“How do you know that?”
“I hunted here as a boy.”
Lightning split the sky.
Your horse reared slightly.
“Fine,” you muttered. “Lead the way.”
—
The cabin was small but sturdy. Rain battered the roof as you both hurried inside.
You were soaked within seconds. Water dripped from your cloak onto the wooden floor.
Valarr shut the door behind you, and the storm roared outside.
Although inside the silence was deafening. You stood near the window, arms wrapped around yourself.
“This is unfortunate.”
“Yes.” His voice sounded strained.
You glanced back.
He stood near the door, clearly trying to maintain distance.
As though the few steps between you were somehow dangerous.
“You should remove the cloak,” he said stiffly. “You’ll freeze.”
“I am not so fragile a cloak will harm me.”
“That was not my implication.”
You sighed and removed it anyway. Your dress clung damply to your skin.
Valarr looked away immediately. Which somehow made things worse.
“You can look you know,” you said dryly. “I will not be offended.”
“I would rather not.” His voice sounded tight.
The storm intensified outside, the lightning flashed again.
Your nerves felt stretched thin. “You dislike me very much today,” you observed quietly.
He laughed once, a humorless sound.
“You think that is what this is?”
“I think you’ve been short with me since the hunt began.”
“And you have been encouraging Lord Rowan.”
You stared at him. “I was being polite.”
“You were smiling, you never do that.”
“Gods forbid.”
His composure snapped slightly. “You know what you were doing.”
“And what exactly was that?”
“Making me-”
He stopped abruptly.
Your pulse quickened. “Making you what?” You were whispering now.
The storm roared louder.
Valarr ran a hand through his damp hair, pacing once across the small room.
“I should not have followed you here.”
“You didn’t.”
“I mean this situation.”
His gaze met yours again, if his gaze could burn you’d be lit by now.
“You make it very difficult to remember my duty.”
Your breath caught. “You’re marrying my sister. Do not forget.”
“I am painfully aware.”
“Then perhaps you should stop looking at me like that.”
His voice dropped dangerously low. “And how exactly do I look at you?”
You hesitated, because saying it aloud would make it real.
But he stepped closer.
One step.
Then another.
Until the distance between you vanished.
Your heartbeat thundered.
“You look at me,” you whispered, “as though you wish I were her.”
His expression changed instantly. “No.”
The word came out rough. “Never that.”
“Then what?”
His hand clenched at his side. “Do not ask questions you already know the answer to.”
“But I don’t.”
Lightning illuminated the room.
For a split second, you saw exactly how close you were standing.
Close enough to feel the warmth of him.
Close enough to ruin everything.
Valarr’s voice softened. “Every moment I spend near you is a mistake.”
Your throat tightened. “Then leave.”
“I cannot.”
“Why?”
His eyes closed briefly. As though the truth physically hurt.
“Because when you look at me,” he said quietly, “I forget who I’m supposed to be.”
The words hung between you.
You should have stepped back.
You should have ended it there.
Instead you whispered,
“Valarr…” His name on your lips broke something inside him.
He stepped forward. Just enough that your breaths mingled.
For one dangerous moment you both leaned closer. The air between you felt electric. All it would take was one more second.
One more inch.
One kiss, and everything would burn.
Then thunder cracked violently overhead. The spell shattered.
Valarr stepped back abruptly. His expression was raw with restraint. “This cannot happen.”
You nodded slowly. “I know.”
Neither of you moved for a long time, the storm eventually softened, rain faded to a quiet patter.
—
The night before the betrothal ceremony felt wrong.
The halls of the Red Keep were alive with celebration. Nobles toasted the coming union between Valarr Targaryen and your sister, Keira of Tyrosh.
Musicians played loudly and wine flowed freely.
You spent the entire evening trying not to look at the prince. Trying not to think about how tomorrow everything would be decided.
You had avoided him carefully since your conversation in the storm.
But tonight, it was impossible.
Because Valarr was drinking. He rarely drank.
Yet tonight goblet after goblet disappeared from his hand.
The princes of the realm laughed loudly beside him, clapping his shoulders, celebrating his coming marriage.
But there was something wrong in the way he smiled.
You left the feast early.
You could not watch any longer.
—
The Red Keep quieted as the night deepened. Servants extinguished candles. Courtiers retired to their chambers.
You moved through the dim corridors in a borrowed shawl, unable to sleep.
The castle had many hidden passages, old stone walkways built generations ago for servants and spies.
You had discovered several in your wandering.
Tonight, you walked them simply to escape your thoughts.
Until you heard your name.
Soft, and hoarse. Barely more than a whisper.
You froze.
The voice came again.
Your name.
You followed the sound through the narrow passage until it ended at a hidden door.
Beyond it, Prince Valarr’s chambers.
Your heart pounded as you slipped inside. The room smelled faintly of wine and smoke.
Valarr sat half-collapsed on the edge of his bed, his silver hair loose, his shirt half-open at the collar.
A goblet lay tipped on the floor beside him. He looked up slowly when the door opened.
His violet eyes were unfocused. “…You came.”
Your breath caught.
“My prince-”
“Don’t,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”
He tried to stand.
Failed.
You rushed forward instinctively. “Careful.”
He leaned heavily against you, unsteady. “You shouldn’t have drunk so much.”
“Perhaps,” he said softly. “But it was the only way I could survive this night.”
Your chest tightened painfully. You guided him back onto the bed.
He watched you with a strange, dazed intensity. “I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.
“I called for you.”
“You called my name in a daze.”
“Because you’re always there.”
Your throat burned.
Valarr reached for your hand clumsily, gripping it like a lifeline. “Stay.”
“I cannot.”
“Stay.” His voice broke slightly. “We could marry the Valyrian way.”
Your breath caught. “You are drunk.”
“I’m honest.” His grip tightened weakly.
“In old Valyria, a man married the woman he loved.” He pulled your hand closer to his chest.
“We could leave tomorrow. Before the ceremony. My dragon would take us anywhere.”
You brushed his hair gently from his face. “You do not have a dragon.”
“Then I’d steal one.”
Despite everything, a soft laugh escaped you. “You are impossible.”
“And you love me.”
The words fell between you quietly. He looked so vulnerable. So unlike the composed prince the court knew.
His voice softened again. “Stay.”
“Again, I cannot.”
“Please.” He sounded almost like a little boy now.
You leaned down gently. Pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, Valarr.”
His fingers tightened briefly around yours. Then slowly relaxed as sleep finally claimed him.
You stayed until his breathing steadied.
Then slipped silently back into the passages.
Your heart breaking with every step.
—
Morning came far too soon. You expected to avoid him again. But fate had other plans.
The hallway outside the library was empty when you turned the corner, and froze.
Valarr stood there.
Waiting.
He looked terrible, his skin pale, his hair loosely tied back. But his eyes, his eyes were clear.
“Good morning,” he said quietly.
You tried to steady your voice. “My prince.”
“Don’t.” The word was sharp. “Not today.”
Before you could react. He dropped to his knees.
Your breath left your lungs entirely.In his hand, a ring.
Heavy gold bearing the dragon sigil of House Targaryen.
“My family’s ring,” he said hoarsely.
“Valarr-”
“I am done pretending.”His voice shook with raw emotion. “I cannot marry your sister.”
“Please don't do this”
“I love you.”
The words hit you like a blow. He clenched the ring tightly, tight enough to make the tip of his fingers turn red.
“I will speak to my father. To my grandsire. To the entire court if I must.” His voice grew desperate.
“You are still a noblewoman of Tyrosh. This match would still strengthen the alliance. I will convince them.”
Tears burned your eyes.
“Valarr-”
“I will do anything,” he whispered.
His hand clutched the fabric of your dress.
“Just say yes.”
Your heart shattered.
Because you loved him.
Gods, you loved him.
But. “Keira.”
His expression faltered.
“She loves you.”
He shook his head. “She believes she does.”
“And if she does?” you asked softly.
“If she wakes tomorrow and realizes the man she was meant to marry chose her sister instead?”
Your voice broke. “I cannot do that to her.”
Valarr closed his eyes, he was now biting his lip, brows furrowed, panic flickering across his face.
“I know.”
Silence stretched painfully.
Then slowly, he nodded.
“I understand.”
He stood slowly.
But before stepping away, he reached for his sword.
The blade slid free with a quiet ring.
Your eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
Valarr raised the sword solemnly. “I swear this on my honor.”
His violet eyes burned with fierce determination. “If your sister gives us her blessing to wed…”
He lowered the blade toward the floor. “…you must marry me.”
Your heart pounded. “Valarr-”
“Swear it.”His voice was steady now.
You hesitated.
Then whispered, “I swear.”
He sheathed the sword slowly. The decision hung heavy in the air.
Neither of you spoke again for the rest of the day.
—
That night you slept uneasily. Until soft footsteps woke you. You sat up as the door creaked open.
Keira stood there.
Wrapped in a light shawl over her sleepwear.
Your heart dropped. “Sister?”
She stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind her.
“Valarr told me everything.”
Your stomach twisted painfully. “I never meant-”
She held up a hand gently. “I know.”
Silence lingered between you. You expected anger, betrayal even, tears, anything.
Instead, she smiled softly.
“As much as I should hate you…I cannot.”
Your eyes filled with tears.
“We are sisters,” she said simply. “And I know you.”
She moved to sit on the edge of your bed. “I did fall for him,” she admitted.
Your heart twisted. “But watching you both…I realized something.”
She laughed quietly.
“It was never really my story.”
You stared at her.
“Besides…”
A playful spark returned to her eyes.
“That lord from the hunt? The one who kept inviting you to visit his orchards?”
“Lord Rowan?”
“Yes.”
She smiled shyly. “He’s actually quite charming.”
You blinked in disbelief.
“He laughs at my jokes.”
“Well that’s rare.”
She nudged you.
“And he is very handsome.”
Your chest loosened with relief.
“And kind.”
She leaned against you gently. “I think he might make me happy.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks. Keira wiped them away softly.
“May I sleep here tonight?”
You laughed weakly. “Like when we were girls?”
“Exactly like that.” She curled beside you beneath the blankets.
Your arms wrapped around each other instinctively.
Just like the nights when you were children dreaming of castles and husbands.
Both of you cried quietly, but they were soft tears.
Healing ones.
And eventually you fell asleep in each other’s embrace.
—
The following days were chaos.
Plans changed.
Messengers rode between noble houses. The court buzzed with scandal and excitement.
But somehow everything fell into place. And when you passed Valarr in the halls, his eyes burned with quiet happiness.
You rarely had time alone, except at night.
Through the hidden passage between your chambers.
There, in the quiet darkness of the castle walls, you found each other again.
Whispered laughter, and stolen kisses.
And the promise of a future neither of you had dared hope for, a future born from fire.
Summary: Your husband might be the blood of the dragon, but you are a lioness. Consumed by hatred, you hatch a plan most unfit for a wife to bear… until you get what you deserve.
CW: 18+ MDNI, some fluff, slow burn smut, one-shot, a bit of angst, alternate universe, no one dies, Baelor is King and Maekar is the Hand, arranged marriage, marital conflict, husband!Valarr, wife!reader, Lannister!reader, mean!reader, lots of arguing, mention of blood, one dagger use, mention of past events, attempted murder, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, talk of pregnancy, p-in-v, teasing, a touch of switch, praises, face-sitting, breeding kink, well this is Westeros.
Word count: 9.1k.
Note: This is so random of me to write about Valarr, but that sweet man deserves a better ending so... enjoy!
All characters are fictional and adults. Characters and setting are based on GRRM's works. Read at your own discretion. I’m not responsible for your media consumption.
"If you dare touch me without my permission, I will murder you in your sleep, dear husband."
That was the first thing you said to Valarr Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne, after you had shortly arrived in Dragonstone for the first time.
The Young Prince was stunned by your threat, but he knew better than to be your foe. He was the one who decided to wed you after all, despite your harshness toward him.
Days have passed, and the marriage has not been consummated. Though none may know the truth, save you and your husband. He had refused the bedding ceremony back in King's Landing, where the two of you were wed, and rather insisted on bringing you to Dragonstone, away from the capital.
You know it is your duty to give him heirs. Valarr is the eldest son of King Baelor II Targaryen after all. And you will be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms when the time comes. Your firstborn son will be heir to the Iron Throne after your husband. You are well aware of that.
But the thought of giving yourself to Valarr Targaryen disgusts you. A dragon of all people. It fills you with hatred and pure rage, somehow.
As you eat your grapes, you recall the first night you spent with Valarr here in this very chamber of yours...
"You have nothing to fear from me, my lady," your husband muttered as he walked closer to you that night in your bedchamber, "I promise I will not... force myself on you if that is what you fear. You have my word."
You chuckled at that. "You do not fear me," you said as you looked up at him, "I don't care about your word. I don't care about you."
Valarr sighed softly. "You do realize we have to consummate the marriage sooner rather than late, do you?" he stared deep into your eyes, "You agreed to this marriage."
"I did not agree," you muttered, "You did."
"Yet here you are."
You shook your head and turned to gaze down at the unfamiliar view of Dragonstone. "Yet here I am," you mumbled.
"It does not have to be this way," your husband murmured, "You do not have to be so... hateful."
You turned to look at him and scoffed. "I am a Lannister of Casterly Rock, the daughter of the Grey Lion," you said, meeting his gaze, "but here I am. Traded like a sheep. Toothless against the dragons. Hateful is too slight a word for it, dear husband."
His eyes softened, then he tried to touch your hand, yet you tore it from his grasp.
"I suppose the maester will send a raven to King's Landing about— well... our proper wedding night. To inform the king that my heir has already been planted in your— I mean... in you," he said before retreating from you to sit on the edge of the bed.
You grabbed a cup from the table and took a sip. When you eventually turned to look at Valarr, his face was already reddened down to his neck. Your irritation slid away slowly when you realized he was getting a little embarrassed from only saying that.
In that moment, you were sure there was something about Valarr that made him different from other highborn men you knew. The prince seemed so soft that you thought you might eat a man such as he with ease, yet there was something about his presence that warned you not to take him lightly.
You sighed and met his gaze. "Then what? You want us to fuck?" you muttered, and he startled a bit when he heard such a lady say that word so carelessly. "Forgive me, my prince," you said as you walked closer to him, "It's not going to happen soon."
Then you seized his dagger and cut your palm, letting the fresh blood stain the bedding.
"Have you lost your mind?!" Valarr shouted in surprise as he took the dagger from you.
"There," you muttered, pointing at the bloodstain on the bedding, "That is your wedding night."
The prince watched you in disbelief as he shook his head. There was a slight regret there in his eyes. Perhaps he regretted that he ever wed you, or chose you as his wife, or even laid his eyes on you.
"Not to worry, husband, I will make sure the maester sends my regards to King's Landing as well."
You smile as you recall how shocked he looked that night and continue chewing the grape, feeling the sweet juice on your tongue. It has been weeks since that night, and not once has he asked about consummating the marriage since then. No one suspects anything. Not the maester, not the servants, not your handmaids. You were clever enough to leave proof that night.
And no one dares to question you.
Your husband might be the blood of the dragon, but you are a lioness. You will not make it easy for him. You will not let him mistake you for a sheep.
One day, your husband summons you to the library in the castle where he usually spends his time studying, surrounded by books and ancient Valyrian scrolls.
"Yes, my prince?" you ask as you stand there in front of him, feeling bothered already.
Valarr looks up from his book. "That gown looks lovely on you. It fits your Lannister gold necklace perfectly," he murmurs, staring at your neck, then your face, meeting your eyes, "You look... very pretty."
"I know that already," you mutter, already annoyed at his compliment, "You sent for me? Why?"
"Have you eaten?" he asks, closing his book.
"Why am I here?"
"You did not answer my question."
"Yes, I have eaten this morning," you answer as you roll your eyes at him. "Why did you send for me? To question me about food? This is such nonsense."
"I heard you left the castle at first light."
"I was only wandering along the stone steps and the shores. I needed fresh air."
"So it seems," your husband murmurs, "Was it pleasant?"
"It was," you mutter, "Until you sent for me and fucking ruined my day."
"Why are you always mad at me?" the prince asks, "I was only being nice to you. Must you be so hateful all the time?"
"I don't wish you to be nice to me. I don't need you to be nice."
"I am your husband," Valarr mutters before standing from his seat and walking toward you. "I have been your husband for a while now, but you have pushed me away every chance you got. Why?"
"Because I hate you."
The Young Prince walks closer and closer until you have to look up to meet his gaze. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare into his eyes. This is the first time you notice how mesmerizing the colour of his mismatched eyes is.
"You hate me," he chuckles, "Yet you do not even know me that well for you to claim that you hate me, my lady. If you believe it is so, then tell me, have I done you any wrong?"
You are silent at that, still glaring at him.
Valarr smirks at your silence. "So I thought," he murmurs. "We are man and wife. I only wish us to behave like one."
"We behave just fine," you say as you look away.
"I do not ask you to love me, if that is what you are concerned about. I only ask you to give me a chance to get to know you," Valarr murmurs, "Spend one night with me in my bedchamber every three days."
You turn to look at him. "So you can finally fuck me?" you ask with a sneer.
"No, I do not care about that. Not yet, I believe," he says, "I only wish to be closer to my lady wife. I want to get to know you."
His eyes are honest. You can see it and feel it as you stare into his eyes. There was no mischief in them.
"What do I get in return?" you ask.
Your husband laughs a bit. "In return?" he chuckles, "Not everything has to be political, you know."
"Everything is political," you mutter, "Every aspect in our lives is political. Including our marriage."
"You are not wrong in that," he smiles. "Very well. What do you wish for?"
You pull away from him. "I have nothing to wish for. Not yet, I believe," you say with a smile, "But when the time comes when I need your favor, I'll let you know."
A night with the Young Prince every three days turned out to be acceptable for you. The first time you shared a bed with Valarr felt rather odd. Still, you did not let him touch you at all that night.
The second time you spent the night in his chamber, somehow the conversation took a turn with the two of you arguing about something foolish after you dined together until voices were raised in that chamber.
The dragon and the lioness had both lost their tempers.
And the night ended poorly, with you being sure you wanted to see his head on a spike.
"You know what, Valarr? You Targaryens fucking deserve all the tragedies that have happened to your house. I wish you would die screaming, as your dragons did."
You remember saying that to his face before leaving his bedchamber around the hour of the bat. You do realize you could have lost your head for saying that to the prince of Dragonstone, the heir to the Iron Throne, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms. What you said to him was considered treason to the crown. But you did say all that, out of anger.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
You have threatened him many times before without any fear, but that was the very first time he looked truly mad. You could see the rage in his gaze. Eyes burning with dragon's wrath as he stared at you in anger before you left him.
What if he is going to execute you? Will he?
Then there is a knock on your door.
Fuck.
"My lady?" your handmaid asks, behind the door. "Shall I have a bath prepared for you, my lady?"
Oh. It is daytime already. You have been dwelling on thoughts of your husband all night.
You let out a sigh of relief and let her in.
"Have you seen my husband this morning?" you ask as she prepares the bath.
"I'm afraid I have not, my lady," she says, before helping you take off your garments, "All I know is that Prince Valarr was not in the library this morning as he usually does."
That is odd of him. Your husband always spends his mornings in the library. Either reading books or letters, or even practicing his High Valyrian.
Valarr must be very mad at you.
You get in the tub, and your handmaid pours scented oils into the steaming water.
"How do the Targaryens execute people here in Dragonstone?" you ask, staring at the water.
"Pardon me, my lady?" she asks, looking confused by your question.
You sigh and turn to look at her. "You have served me for many years, we both know that. My father assigned you to be my handmaid since you were but a young girl," you mutter, and she smiles at you. "But are you truly loyal to me?" you ask her.
"I am, my lady. I am loyal to you and the crown."
"No," you shake your head, "Not the crown. Only to me."
"As you say, my lady. Only to you," she pledges, "I have been loyal to House Lannister since your lord father rescued me from those men at that tavern and made me your handmaid. I am yours, my lady."
"I need you to do something for me," you mutter, staring at her. "Gather my father's men. Discreetly. I need at least two of them guarding my door at all times. And the rest that are here to prepare a ship for me, should it be required when the time comes. Do this without my husband or any of the Kingsguard and others knowing about it. I only trust you. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes, my lady. I can."
"If any of you get caught, then lie and abandon the plan," you command, "Speak not of me. I can't save your head from a spike if you drag my name into it. I will pay all of you either way, you know I always do."
"I will not disappoint you, my lady," she says, sincere in her voice.
"I know," you nod. "Soon, we will leave Dragonstone for good," you mutter, then you take both her hands in yours. "And... I need you to promise me... Should anything befall the prince, you are to know nothing of it. Nothing at all. Even when some trouble shall happen to me, I would not have your blood on my hands. Burn the fucking ship if you have to. Swear it."
She looks surprised by that. "My lady..." she whispers, frightened at your words, "Don't do it, my lady, please... Prince Valarr is your husband. The bond between man and wife is sacred. Such cruelty seldom ends well."
"Sacred or not, there is no bond between Valarr and me. We have no love for each other in this marriage."
There is a sorrow in her eyes when she hears the truth. "This plan is treacherous, my lady. We commit treason by conspiring to do this," she whispers as she meets your gaze, "His Grace is heir to the throne."
It is treason indeed. To even scheme about this. To intend on killing the king's firstborn son. But you will not let him have you beheaded. If there is a chance that he might take your life, you would rather take his first. Better him than you.
And you will figure out how to get away with it later on. As long as you can keep your head attached to your body longer.
"It's not treason if you keep your mouth shut," you say to your handmaid, holding her hands even tighter. "If you do this for me, I will make sure you will be a rich girl after I safely arrive in Casterly Rock. My father will pay you with more gold than you could ever imagine. And you know the saying... a Lannister always pays his debts."
It is not even dawn yet when you wake up with a chill settling in your bones.
Something is wrong. Something feels bizarre with your body. You remember having dreams in your sleep, but they were too dark for you to remember clearly.
It does not feel like a passing cold, but one that settles deep in your bones, as though your very own marrow has begun to rot within you.
"A fever, my lady," the maester says after he examines you while your husband stands there beside him. Then the maester turns to look at your husband, "My prince, I fear the fever runs high. The lady is very ill."
"Will it be gone soon?" Valarr asks him.
"I'm afraid it will take time, my prince," the maester explains, "The body is yet unaccustomed to this place, most like. With rest, the fever will leave her body in time... we shall hope so."
"Am I dying?" you ask, looking up at the maester and your husband.
"No, you are not," Valarr mutters as he sits on the edge of your bed to see you better, then he touches your cheek with his palm. "You will recover in time," he says, his face cold and still.
The day before, you would have slapped him in the face if he dared to touch you this way, but somehow, there is no rage within you as you feel his skin on yours. Perhaps you are too weak to feel any rage in this condition.
"For your own safety, my prince, you should keep some distance. The lady is most unwell," the maester says, "If it please you, I can have the handmaids to watch over her instead... until she gets better."
"No need for that," the prince says, "I will stay with my wife. Day and night if I have to."
You hate being vulnerable. There is nothing you despise more. And now you are as vulnerable as a sheep in front of a dragon.
After the maester leaves the chamber, you turn to look at your husband. "He said true. You must keep some distance from me," you mutter.
"I will not leave you alone while you must suffer from this... fever," Valarr murmurs as he stares deep into your eyes. "I took a vow to bring you under my protection," he says, taking your hand in his. "Worry not. You will get better."
You watch your hand in his bigger one before your sight starts to blur from taking the remedy the maester gave you, and then all you see is darkness.
The fever brings you dreadful dreams in your sleep. It has been a day since the fever first struck you, yet the dreadful dreams have not lessened.
You get woken up around the hour of the owl, and you notice that Valarr has fallen asleep in the chair beside your bed, a quilt draped over him.
His bright streak of hair gleams in the candlelight. You notice the way the silver glistens among his dark hair, making him look more unusual than other Targaryens. Every feature of his face catches your attention as he sleeps. Valarr looks very handsome somehow. It pains you to admit that to yourself, even in your weakened state.
And then you cough. And he wakes.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
You wish you did not have to cough. He catches your gaze instantly. You can feel even more heat on your cheeks, feeling slightly ashamed for getting caught watching him sleep.
"Do you find any relief?" he asks, staring at you.
"What?" you ask in surprise.
"Do you feel any better? Has the fever lessened?"
"Oh," you say, then you shake your head. "I don't know. But it's not getting worse, to say the least."
Valarr gets closer to you and touches your forehead. "The fever is still there. You need to rest more," he murmurs before sitting back in the chair.
"You should go back to your chamber."
"No."
You sigh in desperation. "Much as I would see you dead, I would not have it be by a fever I have," you say before you cough even more.
You do feel guilty somehow, knowing you did plot to murder him with Tears of Lys you stole from the maester's quarters that you were going to put in his drink right before you caught the fever.
"I am not leaving you."
"Valarr."
"I am not leaving you," he insists, "I took a vow to bring you under my protection. I am staying here. With you."
The prince sounds too sincere for his own good. This only makes it harder to keep hating him. Though if he catches the fever and dies naturally, it would save your head from beheading.
But why would he insist on staying with you and risking his own life if he wants to take your head?
"I must know the truth," you say, looking into his eyes, "Do you mean to have me executed?"
"What? Why would I do that?"
You blink in disbelief. "So you're not."
"No," your husband assures. "Has the fever made you lose your sanity?" he asks, frowning at you as he touches your forehead again, then your neck.
"No, I thought—" you pause, noticing concern in his eyes, then continue, "I thought you were going to behead me after I... well… after we fought that night. You seemed very mad at me. And what I said to you was... considered treason to the crown, I believe."
Valarr pulls his hand from you as he chuckles at that. "I was... mad at you, yes. But I was not going to behead you over some argument. Married people argue all the time, my dear," he mutters before settling back in the chair.
You want to thank him for not beheading you, but your pride does not want to.
"I was so mad at you, I could not find any sleep that night. Nor the day after," your husband admits. "But when the Kingsguard told me that you sent for the maester due to some illness, I could feel my heart stop beating at the time. I rushed to your bedchamber so fast I could not see anything else, thinking that you were hurting and alone."
He what?
You are left wordless after hearing all that. You know he tells no lie. And the way he said it...
I could not see anything else, thinking that you were hurting and alone.
It reminds you of that first night. The night when you cut your palm with his dagger. That night, you refused to see the maester, saying it was only a cut. And Valarr insisted on treating the wound himself. You mocked him that night, not believing that a prince knew how to treat a wound. But he did it anyway. He told you that his squire taught him how. And he told you that he hates seeing you hurting.
It did not mean anything to you back then.
But now...
You cannot believe you almost poisoned this man. Perhaps you deserve to be beheaded after all.
"Get some rest," he says as he draws the quilt back over himself.
"You need your rest as well," you murmur, "You should go back to your bedchamber."
"I can rest here just fine."
"You are a prince of the realm. You cannot sleep in a chair all night."
"I like this chair. It is quite comfortable."
You shake your head at his stubbornness and try to sit up to grab a cup from the small table near your bed.
"Here, let me help you," he says as he brings the cup of water to your hand. Your husband watches you drink and takes the cup from you, and puts it back on the small table. Then he gently wipes the water from your lips with his thumb. "Go back to sleep. You need your rest. I will watch over you from here," he murmurs as he sits back in the chair, as though the moment bears no trace of tenderness between the two of you.
Then a silence fills the chamber. Even the wind sounds too loud from how silent the chamber is.
Then you look up and try to meet his gaze in the darkened chamber.
"I have done nothing but wrong you, Valarr," you say, breaking the silence, "Even in my place as your wife. I have forsaken my duty and proven myself a wicked woman. Then why do you still show me such kindness?"
The prince sighs as he reaches to hold your hand in his. "I did not take my vows lightly. As you are," he says with a smile, making you smile back at him for a moment. "Rest now, love," he pats your hand and lets go slowly.
"I owe you an apology," you mutter, "I didn't mean what I said the other night. About your house and all that. I'm sorry."
"I know. I should not have raised my voice at you as well," he admits, "I must beg your forgiveness for that."
You smile at him and nod, then he covers your body with a warm quilt.
"Perhaps I deserve this. This fever must be a punishment for me. I did curse you and your house while I was living here in your ancestral home," you say, then Valarr shakes his head and smiles at you. "And I also... had ill intentions toward you. The most unfit for a wife to have," you admit, feeling regretful, "For that... I am truly sorry, Valarr."
"I forgive you."
That is all he said. Without question.
You stare at him with tears in your eyes. Somehow, you feel like you do not deserve this man. You do not deserve his kindness.
"Why?" you ask, as tears fall down your cheeks, "You don't even ask what my intentions were. How can you forgive me?"
Valarr reaches to embrace you. "I do not need to know," he whispers as he rubs your back with his hand, "All I need to know is that you are sorry. And I know it pains your pride to even say that to me. I know you are truly sorry."
You hug him back. "I do not wish to die," you mumble, "but I feel like I'm dying."
Your husband pulls back to see your face. "You are not going to die," he says, shaking his head. Then he wipes your tears with his thumbs, "You will heal. And you will live."
"We should not get too close," you mutter, pulling away from him, "I don't wish you to catch the fever as well."
"Do you remember our vows?" he asks out of nowhere. You nod, then he says, "Remind me of it."
"One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."
"There," your husband says, "If I shall have the fever, then so be it. We are one flesh."
He kisses your forehead. His lips feel cold on your burning skin.
"You should not have done that," you mutter when he pulls back to look at your face.
"Why? You will murder me in my sleep?" Valarr smirks, caressing your cheek, "I do not think you are in a position as such, love."
Then he gets up from the bed to sit back on the chair.
"Valarr."
The prince turns his head to look at you. "Yes?"
"If it is so... will you share my bed this night?"
Valarr smiles and nods as he walks toward the other side of the bed. The moment he lies beside you on the bed, you draw close to him, finding comfort at his side.
"Sleep," he mutters as you nestle against him.
"Is it true that Aegon the Conqueror was born here on Dragonstone?"
Your husband chuckles at your question. He knows you only ask that because you do not wish to sleep soon. "Yes, he did, and died here as well," he mutters, then he notices your slightly frightened face, "I did not mean to frighten you."
Fuck.
What if it is his ancestors' ghosts that haunt your sleep, angered by the intent in your heart?
The Targaryens are indeed known for their blood magic.
"I'm not frightened," you lie.
"Of course you are not," your husband says with a smirk, "You have to sleep now. I mean it."
Then you close your eyes and sail away to sleep.
It took seven days for the fever to leave your body.
Nothing happened between you and him so far. Not in that way.
The two of you mostly talked during those nights you spent together, before the remedy the maester brought you made you fall asleep right in your husband's arms.
This night, you leave your chamber and walk toward his. When you open his door, you see him standing by the table in his room. Valarr is reading a book with his back to you. Silver streak of hair glows in the pale moonlight. His upper body bare, and one hand bracing upon the table near the book.
Fuck.
You feel your cheeks warm at the sight of him. His bare, wide shoulders. Fuck...
"Valarr," you call his name.
Your husband turns to see you in surprise. "My love," he murmurs, "What brings you here? I did not expect you. Surely we do not plan to share this chamber tonight?"
It feels even more embarrassing to you now. It is true what he said. You had only been here the night before to spend that one night in three days. The arrangement you agreed to. But having to spend the time together with him during those times when you were ill makes you want to be near him more, somehow. You have a feeling that he is slowly becoming your friend.
You nod. "Yes, you are right. It seems I have come at the wrong time. Forgive me, husband. I shall leave you to it," you say as you walk toward the door.
"No, no. Please. Come back here," he begs as he walks closer to you and takes your hand in his to lead you further into his chamber, to his bed.
You try to hide your smile as you walk with him, knowing how easy this game is to you.
"Comfortable?" he asks, watching you sit on his bed with a pillow behind you. Then he watches your face and realizes he is bare to the waist. He clears his throat and pulls on his clothes, covering that strong frame of his.
"Yes. Very comfortable," you mutter. "What were you reading this late?" you ask, trying to hide your blush.
"History."
"Why do you like to read so much?"
"I will rule someday. A good king must learn from the past to... avoid repeating its mistakes. My father told me that," Valarr says with a smile. "I wish to be a great king as he is someday."
"Perhaps you will," you mutter, smiling back at him. "You are his heir, but why didn't he choose you as his Hand?" you ask, "Your father was Hand of the King during your grandsire's reign, was he not?"
"It is not that simple," the prince shakes his head. "My father needs someone with experience. And also someone who can advise him without being so... self-interested. He needs a loyal Hand. Someone like my uncle Maekar."
"The Hammer and the Anvil."
"Yes," Valarr grins at you and nods, "The Hammer and the Anvil."
Your husband closes his book and walks to you on the bed.
"I like you this way," he says before reaching for your hand and holding it in his, "This... not so hateful woman you turn out to be."
You laugh at that, and he pulls you closer to him.
You have softened to him compared to what you were when you first arrived in Dragonstone. Valarr has a way to carve his way into your wicked heart. The way he was fully devoted to you during those darker times. The way he refused to leave you alone, even when he was risking his own life. Somehow, he managed to show how much he cares for you, even more than your own family ever showed. More than your own kin. More than blood.
"Can I kiss you?" your husband asks.
Then you pull him closer to you and kiss him first. You kiss his lips so hard until you are on top of him on the bed, with his hand on your waist and the other on the side of your neck.
Everything feels right for a moment until something in your stomach churns, and you pull away from him. You pull back and sit on the bed, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Is... is something wrong?" he asks, worry in his voice, "Did I hurt you?"
"I'm sorry," you say, still avoiding his gaze.
Valarr sits up and tries to touch you, but then he pauses and pulls his hand back.
"I guess I owe you an explanation…" you murmur.
"For what?" he asks, staring at you.
"The reason why I was so hateful to you and House Targaryen in our early days of marriage," you mutter, then he sits next to you on the bed without saying a word. "It was not merely because this marriage was against my will. There was a reason," you admit, "Well... I was quite fond of this… man for some time back in Casterly Rock. And the moment you wished to choose me as your wife, my father had this innocent man locked up in a dungeon cell."
You pause, looking down at your lap, then continue, "He was found dead a few days later."
"How did he die?"
You shake your head. "I never knew. I was not allowed to see him. But I knew there was a raven before my father put that man in a cell," you say, then you turn to look up at him to meet his gaze, "Did you order his death?"
"Why would I do such a thing? Am I so damned in your eyes?"
You shrug, looking down again. "My father was never one to torment a man, save by the order of the crown. He would do anything to make me your future queen. And he had always been desperate to see his blood ascend the throne someday."
"I did not order his death, if that is what you are accusing me," the prince says, facing you, "Nor did the king."
"You don't know that," you argue, "It is possible that King Baelor gave the command, behind your back."
"No... I know that. I know my father," Valarr mutters, reaching to touch your cheek with his hand. "He is not the kind of man who would give an order to kill an innocent. My father never gave that order. I swear this," he says, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "Do you believe me?"
You wish you did not believe him, but you do. His eyes tell you that everything he said is true.
Then you nod.
And he sighs and pulls you closer to him. You soften into him as he hugs you tight in his arms.
A moment passes as he holds you tight, and then Valarr asks, "Did you ever see the body with your own eyes?"
"It doesn't matter. You never saw how horrible those dungeon cells in Casterly Rock were," you sigh, "Even the servants told me they saw him dead and bloody."
"The servants your father paid," the prince mutters, making you look up at him. "There is a chance this man is still alive," he pauses, then brushes your hair back with his fingers, "But you are right. It does not matter. You are my wife now."
The way he says that so softly yet stern causes your stomach to stir. In a good way, somehow. You do believe that your husband has nothing to do with any of this. Valarr has done nothing but good to you the whole time, unlike your own father, who probably lied to you for the benefit of your house. He has always been a cunning man after all. And it is all starting to make sense now.
The chamber is silent for a while.
Valarr lies back on the bed with you on his chest while caressing your hair with his fingers, and occasionally kisses the top of your head softly.
"We met years ago, you know," he murmurs, breaking the silence, "The first time I saw you was in Casterly Rock, not King's Landing."
You blink in confusion. "What? No, we didn't."
"Yes, we did," the prince chuckles, "It was your brother's nameday. Many years ago. My father was still Hand of the King back then, and he brought me along with him for the tourney."
You are still staring at him as you try to remember which tourney this was.
"You were very mean to me even back then, and I remember thinking, why would a girl so pretty as you have to be the meanest creature in the realm?"
You chuckle at that. "Meanest creature?" you ask in disbelief as the two of you laugh, "You wound me, husband."
"I said so pretty as well, in case you did not hear."
"Sure."
Valarr smiles before he speaks again, "But on the same day, when your brother was showing me around the garden, I saw you giving water to a stray cat, cupping it in your hand. It was a long summer, and you insisted on feeding that skinny cat some meat scraps and water even as your hair got ruined from the heat."
He grins as he watches your face while listening to him.
Then he continues, "And I saw your mother scold you for ruining your hair that day, but you did not tell her the reason and kept on being rude to everyone else at the feast, yet you had but moments ago saved a cat's life."
"I remember that day now," you admit with a smile on your face. "It was the day I found Ser Claw," you mutter, "He's a fat cat now. And he's a knight. My brother knighted him."
"A knight?" Valarr asks in disbelief before he laughs, "But he is a cat."
His gaze meets yours as you stare at him. "Wait... you are certain?"
"Yes," you answer.
"You made your brother knight your cat?"
"That's why his name is Ser Claw."
Valarr tries to hold back a laugh, trying not to make fun of you. "Very well then," he mutters, still trying not to laugh and embarrass you, "That is a very... clever name."
You give him a look, and he cannot hold his laughter anymore.
"I must apologize, my love," he says after catching his breath from laughing too much, "I did not mean to offend you. I was only imagining the cat being knighted in my head. Sorry."
You roll your eyes at him. "It's fine. I know it's foolish to you. Not that I care what you think."
"I do not think it is foolish," Valarr mutters as he cups your face in his hand. "I think it is sweet. Well, I think you are sweet."
You frown at him. "I am anything but."
"My mistake," the prince says, "You are right. You are not sweet." Then he shifts slowly, guiding you onto your back until he is above you, his eyes search your face. "You are a hateful woman. My hateful little wife," he murmurs before kissing your lips.
You melt to the kiss. Your hands sneak inside his clothes, touching his bare body as you kiss him. Valarr breaks the kiss and smiles for a moment before taking his clothes off, making you look up to stare at his bare upper body. Then he kisses your lips again.
The heat rises as his kiss travels down your neck, causing you to moan when you feel his warmth there as his hands slowly rid you of your nightgown. The prince suckles on one of your tits as his hand travels south toward your cunt. You hold onto the back of his head and whine when you feel his fingers rubbing you down there, one finger teasing on your entrance.
And then he stops, making you glare at him.
"Do I have your permission?" Valarr asks with a smirk on his face as he gazes at you with those beautiful eyes, "Or will you murder me in my sleep after this?"
Seven hells. How dare he use your own words against you now, of all times?
"Shut up," you mutter, rolling your eyes in annoyance. Then he chuckles and pulls away from you. "Wait... where the fuck are you going?" you ask.
"I am not going anywhere," the prince mumbles as he lies back down on the other side of the bed. "Come here," he murmurs, meeting your gaze, "Come sit on my face."
"What?"
"You heard me, love."
You stare at him in disbelief as heat creeps all over your body.
"Come here," Valarr murmurs, pulling you closer against him, "A rightful seat for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, my face is."
You brace yourself above him, your knees placed on either side of his head. The prince grazes his fingertips on your thighs as he looks up at you with those eyes of his before he begins to devour your cunt.
"Valarr," you whine, "Oh... fuck."
You grab and pull his hair as you grind onto his face even more. Both his hands are grabbing your rear, clawing at your skin. The slight pain only rouses your arousal.
"Yes," you moan, feeling so close to the edge as he sucks your cunt, "I— uh—" you try to pull away from him, "It's too much."
"No," your husband mutters as he holds onto you tighter, forcing you to sit on his face against your will. "Come for me," he says, "On. My. Face."
You feel too much pressure and pleasure at the same time. Valarr eventually lets go of you after you wet his handsome face. He smiles at you when you lie on your back, catching your breath.
"So beautiful..." your husband murmurs, staring at you, "My wife... You are the most beautiful."
His face is wet from your arousal, while his hair is a mess from your grasp.
"You're a mess," you mutter as you stare back at him. "I made a mess of the heir to the Iron Throne," you tease, "I must beg your forgiveness then, Your Grace."
Valarr chuckles. "Shall I have you whipped for that?"
"Do not tempt me with such an offer," you say, making him laugh.
The prince reaches to hold you. "How are you feeling? Are you all right?"
"I feel great," you smile, "You were... good."
"I believe I am good at some other matters as well," he murmurs as he positions himself on top of you, completely bare.
"Do you?" you look up at him, staring into his eyes, teasing him as he starts rubbing his hard cock against your soaked cunt, "Mmmm, shall I be the judge of that, Your Grace?"
Valarr chuckles softly, shaking his head in disbelief at your teasing before entering you. Your jaw drops when you feel how big his cock is inside you, even just the tip.
"Fuuck..." you moan, one hand pressing onto his stomach, holding him from pushing his cock deeper, "Wait, wait, wait..."
"What?" the prince asks with a smirk on his face. Not that he listens to you as he pushes deeper.
"Too much..." you admit, "Too much cock."
"I think you can take it just fine," Valarr murmurs as he pushes deeper, scratching your womb with his veiny cock. "You have the wettest cunt in the realm, my love," he smirks. "Fuck..." he moans when he feels his dick entirely inside you.
That is the first time you hear your husband saying such crude words. Only then do you realize you have never heard him curse before. His manner is that of a prince, but when he fucks you, all that princely grace in him vanishes. Perhaps you have awakened the dragon in him.
You want to scream when he starts to move again. Whether it is from the pain or pleasure, you cannot say.
"Are you all right?" the prince asks, slowing his movement while looking deep into your eyes.
"Just kiss me."
Valarr kisses you as if it were your last night in this world. His lips devour yours while his cock keeps slamming into your cunt.
Heavy breathing and sighs fill the chamber as he thrusts in and out of you. His soft moans give you more pleasure beyond your imagination.
When your eyes meet his in that moment, your body yields and collides beneath him. You can feel the gush between your thighs, soaking you both a little.
"Oh— fuck. I'm sorry..." you mutter in shock as you look down, "I didn't know I could do that."
"Do not be sorry," your husband murmurs before thrusting into you again, "I love that you could do that. I love seeing you pleased."
"Yeah?" you ask with a smile, still in a daze, "You love pleasing me?"
"Mmhm."
"I don't hate you anymore, dear husband," you say, caressing his cheek, "In case you did not already know."
Valarr smiles at you as he takes your hand and kisses your palm. "I know that," he murmurs as he keeps thrusting. "Do I have your permission to come inside your tight cunt?" he asks, mischief in his eyes as he stares into yours.
Oh. Your husband teases you with your own words for the second time this night. This man wants to play with you.
"Perhaps I should think about that for a while..." you tease, caressing his lips with your thumb as his thrusts get slower. "Would you beg for it, my prince?"
The prince reddens even more. He looks as if he is right there at the edge. Even his jaw hardens as he holds it a while longer, not wanting to lose this game he started. He eventually closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, muttering a curse.
Valarr looks like he regrets playing this game with you.
"Why would I want to do that?" he murmurs between his slow thrusts, trying not to let go.
"You asked for my permission, dear husband," you murmur, brushing his hair back with your fingers, "and you're the one who needs to put an heir in me, so... I think you should beg for it. Should you not?"
If looks could kill, he would kill you this instant.
But he needs this. He cannot think of his pride at the moment. He cannot think at all when his cock is buried deep inside your tight cunt.
"I— ah— fuck..." Valarr pauses, closing his eyes again for a second before meeting your gaze. "Please... Can I come inside you?" he begs with those eyes of his.
"All right. You can come."
Your husband does a few hard thrusts before filling your womb with his seed.
"Good boy, my prince," you tease as you pat his cheek, making him glare at you with that look again.
"Shut up."
You smile when he lies beside you. Even when he scowls at you for making him beg earlier, he still pulls you close into his arms. Then you chuckle and twirl his silver streak of hair with your fingers as he catches his breath.
"You truly did well at these other matters. As the judge, I am pleased," you murmur, "We shall do this more often."
Valarr kisses the top of your head and closes his eyes. "We have plenty of time. Let us sleep now, my love."
You wake up to the sound of someone walking around the chamber.
"I beg your pardon, my lady. Did I wake you?"
You sit up on the bed and stare at your handmaid. "It's fine. Why are you here at such an early hour?" you ask, your voice still thick with sleep.
"It is well past noon, my lady," she says.
Your eyes open wide at that. "It is what?" you ask in surprise.
Your handmaid nods, "I was waiting in front of your bedchamber earlier, my lady, but Prince Valarr sent for me to prepare your bath for the day in his bedchamber instead."
After helping you with your bath and putting on your dress for the day, your handmaid is about to change the bedding before noticing that the bedding is stained from your night with the prince.
She turns to you, her face bright with surprise as she looks at you.
You cannot hold your laugh after seeing her face, and you both fill the chamber with laughter.
"Must be a pleasant night," she teases. "I am glad beyond words that your marriage with the prince has grown so... well, my lady," she grins at you.
"I am glad as well," you say, reaching to hug her, "Thank you. For being loyal to me. For not betraying me, even when I was in the wrong. And for reminding me that the bond between man and wife is sacred. You were right."
Your handmaid nods as she smiles at you.
"Come with me to my chamber," you say to her, "I'll assign others to tend in here."
She follows you to your bedchamber. You walk toward the table and open a small carved chest as she stands behind you.
"Here. Take this," you give her one of your heavy gold necklaces, "It's yours."
"My lady... I can't. I can't accept this."
"Yes, you can. I promised that you would be a rich girl if you helped me, and you did. This necklace is of great value," you say to her, "And I already told you. I always pay my debts."
Many moons have turned since then.
Your days and nights are rather different now. This morning, you are sitting on your husband's lap with his hand holding you while his other hand flips pages of a book, muttering some High Valyrian.
You pull his attention from the book, drawing his face closer to meet your eyes.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing."
"Do you wish to go again?"
"What?" you chuckle, "No!"
The prince stares at you, waiting for you to speak.
You smile and put your hand on his cheek. "I am grateful for you, dear husband."
"Is this some kind of jest?" your husband asks, watching you with suspicion.
You laugh, "No!"
"You are scaring me, my love. What is it with you?"
"I only want to say I'm grateful for you."
Your husband stares at you in disbelief. "That is odd coming from you."
"It's just that... you make me realize something."
"Realize what?"
"From the time we have spent together... you make me realize that I was blind before I saw the world through your eyes," you murmur, and his gaze eventually softens, "I was a very hateful person. Filled with hatred. Blinded with rage. But you were never like that. You are filled with love. You are full of love, Valarr. And you have shown me that in the end... love wins."
Valarr kisses the top of your head. "You were not filled with hatred. Well... perhaps a little hateful, most of the time. But you have loved as well."
"I never claim to love you."
"I did not mean me. I mean your Ser Claw."
You laugh at that and nestle closer to his neck as you sit upon his lap, his arms holding you close. The two of you stay there in peaceful silence for a moment.
"Valarr," you murmur as you look up at him, breaking the silence.
"Mhm?"
“When you are king… can we bring Ser Claw to King's Landing?”
"Why not bring the cat here sooner?"
"Ser Claw would get sick on the sea crossing to Dragonstone," you chuckle, "King's Landing suits him far better. The road from Casterly Rock to King's Landing is the easier way."
Your husband nods. "The mother of my child shall get all she wishes," he murmurs, putting his hand on top of your swelling belly.
You smile and put your hand on top of his. "Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?" you ask, meeting his eyes.
"Perhaps a girl."
You chuckle. "A girl?" you ask in disbelief, "Why not a boy? Men usually wish to get an heir as soon as they can."
Valarr shrugs. "I could not say," he says, "Perhaps I want my firstborn to be as pretty as you. Though I hope she does not have your... temper."
You glare at him.
Your husband laughs and kisses your cheek. "A girl or a boy matters not to me," he murmurs, "The babe will be ours. Yours and mine."
It is almost your due. The king commands you and your husband to return to King's Landing, for he will hold a tourney to celebrate the birth of his first grandchild.
"Father," your husband greets the king.
King Baelor hugs Valarr the moment he sees his son upon your arrival in the Red Keep. "It has been so long..." the king mutters, delight on his face as he stares at the prince, "You should have come home sooner, son."
Valarr smiles at his father, then the king turns to look at you.
"Your Grace," you greet him.
"My lady," King Baelor smiles, "I hope your pregnancy has been kind to you. How fares your condition?"
"It fares well, Your Grace," you say, "There have been... difficult mornings, but my dear husband has been there to comfort me, as he always has."
"I am glad to hear that. I pray your labor will be an easy one," the king mutters to you before turning to look at Valarr, "I am most proud of what you have become, my boy."
"Without doubt," Prince Maekar mutters with a smirk as he walks closer toward his brother and glances at his nephew, "His grace never shuts up about you, boy."
King Baelor turns to stare at his brother, and the Young Prince chuckles at his uncle's comment. "Uncle," he greets him.
"You shall be a father soon. Congratulations, boy," Prince Maekar mutters to him, then turns to greet you, "My lady."
You greet the Hand of the king as well, and then your husband asks him, "Well then... Uncle, do you have any counsel for a new father?"
Prince Maekar chuckles, sharing a glance with his brother before turning to Valarr, "Fatherhood is no easy task, but I am sure you will do it well, as your father has."
At evenfall, when you return to the chamber assigned to you after spending time with your husband and his family, there is a scratching sound from the other side of the chamber. You follow the sound while holding your swollen belly with your hand.
Your heart almost leaps out of joy as you see him.
"Ser Claw!"
The cat gives a sharp hiss at first when you catch him in the chamber, but when you call his name, he recognizes you and comes to you, rubbing his head against you.
You are hugging the cat in your arms when Valarr walks in with a smile on his face.
"I see you two have been reunited," he mutters, walking closer to you.
You turn to look at him. "Oh, thank you..." you say, beaming while holding your cat, "Thank you... for arranging this for me, Valarr."
Your husband kisses your forehead. "I told you, I love seeing you pleased."
"Here," you give the cat to his arms, "Hold him."
Valarr grins as he pets the cat with his fingers. Then you hold your husband's face in your hands before kissing him on the lips.
"I thought I would get more than a kiss."
You smile at that. "Oh, you will get more," you mutter, taking Ser Claw from him. "What would happen to him when we eventually get back to Dragonstone?" you ask.
"My cousin Egg would love to take care of him," Valarr murmurs, "Worry not, my love. The cat will be in good hands with my cousin."
PLS DON'T LET AERION PUT HIS HAND ON THAT CAT!!! LMAOOO. I had a great time writing this one and some mood swings, so… yeah. Didn't think I would ever write something about Valarr Targaryen tho. It came to me on a random night. Also, I didn't plan this to be this long. Thank you for reading it all if you did. Wrote this from the bottom of my heart and my chaotic head. I wanted to have an ending where everyone gets to be happy. Maekar gets to spend his life with Baelor beside him, Valarr gets to see his father become king and grow old, and Egg gets to have a cat!
This is a one-shot. Not really proofread, sorry.
I'd love it if you leave a note on what you think about this. Reblog would be appreciated. Love y'all 🤍
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