[indebtedto-you]

bio & masterlist

bio

I create little worlds about anyone I would totally fall in love with irl.

MC. adult. when you know you know ig. minors dni.

masterlist

The Price I'd Pay for You. (Jacaerys Targaryen)

coming soon.

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

[indebtedto-you]

The Price I'd Pay for You

Jacaerys Valeryon

jacaerys velaryon x forbiddenlove!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 5 word count: 5772

notes: This is a long one folks. As I stated in the first chapter, I have had most of this written already in a private doc. But now that I have it posted I'm rereading it and I am realizing that a lot of things are not how I wish them to be so I've been heavily editing and rewriting. After this chapter please expect delays. Also omg poor reader she is going through it this chapter. I'd also totally love to discuss character depth with yall in the comments, if you pick up on anything that is not deliberately said please let me know I'd love to know your opinions :D

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 5

Sleep had seemed impossible, the rain that stirred you from your bed was just an excuse to finally rise. You hadn't really slept, your mind in and out of consciousness, nerves and heartbreak waking you every few minutes.

Lighting a candle that had already burned itself to its stub you sat at your window, the rain drummed against it, steady and relentless. As if the sky itself was weeping for you. You couldn't help the hot sting that filled your eyes as you imagined this to be a nightmare. That you would wake up and find yourself back in time, back when you were just ten years old and Jace was just your favorite person in the world.

Today, you would marry your brother.

Three months had passed since your nameday, since the announcement of your betrothal. Three months of your mother asking your opinion on flowers and food and linen. Three months of secret moments with Jace that felt like trying to breath underwater, desperate, suffocating. Three months of watching your life close around you like a fist.

"Princess?" A soft knock at the door. "it's time to being preparations."

You closed your eyes and took a breath, how long had you sat here, staring at the droplets of rain that cascaded down your window pane? Not long enough.

"Come," you said.

The handmaiden's flooded into your chambers like a tide, bringing with them the scent of rosewater and lavender, carrying armfuls of silk and lace. They moved around you with ease and efficiency, replacing your candles, drawing back the curtains that had lain shut for days, laying out your wedding gown with reverent care.

The dress was a masterpiece. You'd seen it being constructed over the past weeks, watched as seamstresses labored over every stitch, every bead, every thread of gold embroidery. Ivory silk that shimmered like moonlight, overlaid with Myrish lace so fine it looked like spiderweb. The bodice was fitted with tiny pearls, the sleeves long and flowing, the train was so long it would take two attendants to carry it behind you.

It was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.

It made you want to scream...

"Into the bath, my lady," one of the handmaidens said, gently guiding you toward the copper tub that had been filled with steaming water.

You let them undress you, let them run the water over your shoulders and neck, let them wash your hair with oils that smelled of jasmine and orange. You sat there like a childrens doll being prepared for display.

Your mind wandered helplessly to Jace, where was he right now? In his chambers? In the garden? Was he preparing himself? Had he decided to attend and torture himself? You'd barely seen him these past months except in small, stolen moments, that felt like dying and being reborn all at once.

You'd found him in the library after midnight. You'd sent him a message, a book left on a specific shelf, a ribbon marking a particular page. Your secret code. When you'd slipped through the door he had already been standing there by the window, silhouetted against the moonlight.

"Jace," you'd whispered.

He'd turned, the look on his face had nearly broken you. Anguish and longing and love so fierce it hurt to witness. You'd crossed the room and kissed him desperately. Your hands fisting in his tunic pulling him close, but it was never close enough.

"I dream of you," he'd whispered against your lips. "Every night I dream of you and palm trees and sand so golden it looks unreal."

"I dream of you too my Prince," you'd whispered back and then you'd kissed him again because words weren't enough for how desperately you craved him.

"Princess, it's time to dry your hair."

The handmaiden's voice pulled you back to the present. You stood, water sluicing off your skin. You let them wrap you in soft linen before they sat you at the fire and began combing through your hair, working out every tangle with patient care.

You mother arrived not soon after they had finished braiding your hair into an elaborate crown. She looked resplendent in deep green velvet, the seven pointed star glittering at her throat. She dismissed the handmaidens with a wave of her hand and then suddenly you were alone with her.

"You look beautiful," she said, studying your reflection in the mirror.

"Thank you, mother."

Your voice sounded hollow even to your own ears. Alicent's expression softened slightly, something that might have been sympathy if you'd believed she could feel such an emotion.

"I know this is difficult for you," she said quietly, her hand resting on your shoulder. "You are doing what is right. What is necessary. Not only for our families future but for the realm. This marriage will strengthen our position, will-"

"Will make me miserable for the rest of my life," you finished.

Your mothers jaw tightened only slightly, her eyes growing wide. "Happiness is a luxury we cannot afford, you are a princess, you have a duty to your house, to your family, to the realm."

"What about duty to myself?" The words escaped before you could stop them. "What about what I want?"

"What you want is irrelevant." Her voice was sharp, cutting. "You will marry Aegon, you will be a good wife to him, you will bear his children and support his claim and you will do so with dignity and grace as befits your station."

Her grip was firm now on your shoulder, almost painful.

"I know you will miss him," she said and you blood turned to oil. "Whatever you had with the boy ends today. Do you understand me? Whatever foolish infatuation you've harbored, it ends when you speak your vows."

You stared at her reflection in the mirror, unable to speak. You didn't even know how to feel, you just felt empty, unreal.

"You loyalty in the past and now belongs to the crown, your future belongs to the crown and your children will belong to the crown." She paused. "If I hear even a whisper of impropriety, if there is even a hint of scandal with the Valeryon boy, I will make sure he is sent so far from King's Landing he'll never find his way back here. Do I make myself clear?"

You could feel it again, the burning in your eyes, the torturous feeling of your chest caving in. You wanted to kick and scream and run as fast as you could to anywhere but here.

"Yes, mother."

She studied you for a long moment, watched how your nails dug into the polished wood of your chair, how your eyelids turned pink with the feeling of grief.

"Good, now the handmaidens will finish preparing you. The court is waiting."

She swept from the room leaving you alone with your reflection and the crushing weight of her threat.

The handmaiden's returned and began dressing you immediately. The chemise first, thin silk that felt like nothing against your skin. The underskirts next, layer upon layer of fabric. Then the gown itself, lifted carefully over your head, the silk whispering as it settled around you.

They laced you in, pulling the bodice tight until you could barely draw a breath. They fastened your sleeves, adjusted the train, placed the veil of lace over your hair. Finally, they hung jewels at your throat and wrists, diamonds and pearls that caught the light like tears. When you were finally finished being prepared you looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked like a queen, like something from a song. Everything a princess should be on her wedding day. Except you were marrying the wrong man.

You looked like a beautiful lie.

"It's time, Princess," one of your handmaidens said softly.

Your father was waiting for you in the great hall, he looked more sickly by the day, his face drawn pale. Yet he smiled when he saw you.

"My daughter," he said taking you hand. "You look radiant."

"Thank you, father."

He tucked your hand into the crook of his arm and began walking you through the corridors of the Red Keep. Your train whispered behind you, carried by two young girls who'd been chosen for the honor. Servants and courtiers stopped to watch as you passed, bowing their heads.

You felt like you were walking to your death.

The rain had stopped by the time you reached the Great Sept of Baelor, yet the sky remained gray and heavy with clouds. The sept's bells were ringing across King's Landing, announcing to the entire city that a royal wedding was taking place.

Inside, the sept was packed with nobles. Above you thousands of candles blazed filling the air with the scent of beeswax and incense. The stained glass windows cast colored light across the floor, red and blue and green and gold, like scattered jewels.

The High Septon waited at the altar in his crystal crown and beside him stood Aegon. Your husband to be wore black and gold, the three-headed dragon embroidered across his chest. His silver hair had been carefully arranged, his face composed into an expression of solemn duty. When your eyes met his, you saw resignation.

The musicians began to play and your father started walking you down the aisle. Each step felt like wading through deep water, the weight of everyone's eyes in the sept held you down like stones. You could hear the whispers. The murmurs of approval and disapproval, the comments about how beautiful you looked or didn't, how perfect this union would be or how it would tear down the realm.

You'd met him in the gardens, you told your ladies in waiting that you needed a moment alone. Then you slipped through a gap in the rose hedge, he was waiting on the other side.

"We can't keep doing this," you'd said, even as you moved into his arms. "My ladies, they are growing weary of me-"

He'd kissed you then, cutting off your words. You melted against him, his hands had tangled in your hair, ruining the careful arrangement your handmaidens had spent an entire hour perfecting. You loved it.

"I love you," he'd whispered against you cheek before placing another delicate peck to your skin.

"I love you," you whispered back. "All of me loves you."

Now, walking down the aisle towards another man, you felt that memory like a knife in your chest. Your throat felt tight like it was choking you before you could finish the rest. Before you could walk up the steps to your new husband.

You reached the altar, your father released your arm and stepped back. Standing beside Aegon now you could feel the heat of his body, you could smell the wine on his breath.

The High Septon began to speak, his voice echoing through the sept.

"We gather here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of Prince Aegon Targaryen and Princess X Targaryen. This marriage represents the continuation of the Targaryen bloodline, the strength of our dynasty and the promise of stability for years to come."

The words washed over you like waves. You heard them, yet they didn't feel real, nothing felt real, this was happening to someone else, some other girl in a silk dress.

"Prince Aegon," the High Septon said, turning to your brother. "Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death parts you?"

Aegon's jaw clenched and for a heartbeat you thought he might refuse, might say no and walk away. Free you both from this nightmare.

"I do," he said, voice flat.

The High Septon turned to you and your throat closed. Your eyes looked anywhere but him or Aegon, the hem of your dress, the patterns lacing Aegon's jacket, your hands clasped together.

"Princess, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love, honor and obey, until death parts you?"

The air left your lungs. In the back of the sept you could feel Jace's gaze on you, brown soft eyes pleading you.

Don't say it, he begged. Please don't say it.

Yet, you had no choice, you never had a choice. Not on your eighteenth nameday, not at seventeen or sixteen or twelve or ten. This was your duty.

You'd found him in the dragonpit one night, standing alone beside Vermax. You'd run to him and he'd caught you in his arms holding you so tightly you could barely breathe. That didn't bother you. You ran your fingers across his shoulder and pressed your lips to the side of his neck.

"How do we survive this?" you'd asked against his skin, your voice breaking.

"Together," he'd said. "However we can, whatever it takes."

You'd kissed him desperately, pouring everything you couldn't say into that kiss, all your love, all your desperation, all your grief.

"I do," you whispered.

The words felt like poison on your tongue, like a knife in Jace's chest, like the death of everything you'd ever wanted.

The High Septon smiled. "Then by the power vested in me by the Faith of the Seven, I declare you husband and wife. May the gods bless this union."

"You may kiss your bride," he spoke to Aegon.

Aegon turned to you and for a moment you just looked at each other, Two prisoners in the same cage from birth. Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, a brief, perfunctory kiss that meant nothing and everything at the same time.

The sept erupt in applause. You were now married, truly, legally, irrevocably married. Bound to your brother by vows spoken before the gods and men. Your hope had been crushed like muddled herbs, ground up and dead.

Aegon offered you his arm and you took it, letting him lead you back down the steps and down the aisle. The nobles cheered and threw flower petals above your heads, you smiled and nodded and played your part even though inside, you were dying.

The wedding feast was held in the great hall which had been transformed into something out of a dream. Heat radiated from the candles suspended above in iron chandeliers, their flames dancing across the vaulted ceilings. The scent of melted wax was mingled with roasted meats, spiced wine and the cloying sweetness of flowers arranged in towering displays along every surface. Musicians in the gallery played a relentless waltz, their strings and pipes weaving together into a sound that felt less like music and more like they were commanding the walls to close in.

Tables groaned beneath the weight of endless food, roasted pheasant and glazed ham, towers of fruit and honeycakes, goblets of wine that servants refilled before you could empty them. Nobles in their finest silks and jewels moved through the space, their minds already taken by malmsey.

The heat was suffocating, sweat gathered at the base of your spine, beneath layers of silk and brocade that suddenly felt like chains. The noise pressed against you from all sides, the scrape of chairs, the clink of goblets, the endless murmur of voices raised in toasts to your union, or rather to their endless night of food and drink.

Every piece of sensation you felt was like another lock turning, another door closing.

You sat at the high table beside Aegon, your face arranged in the perfect expression of a dutiful bride, while inside you fractured into smaller and smaller pieces. Lord after lord came to offer his and hers congratulations, your face began to ache from holding a smile and your chest ached from holding back tears.

"The first dance belongs to the bride and room," the herald announced.

Aegon stood and offered you his hand, you took it and let him lead you onto the floor. The song was slow, his hand settled on your waist as yours settled on his shoulder. You'd danced with Aegon before, at feasts and other celebrations, this was different. This was nothing like ignorant fun you had as a child dancing to a song with your brothers and cousins.

Around you, the court watched and whispered and smiled. Somewhere in the crowd Jace was watching too, you could feel his gaze on you like a physical touch.

You'd passed him in the corridor outside of the throne room just two days ago. Guards and ladies in waiting flanked you, there had been no privacy for you in what had felt like forever. As you'd drawn level with him, he'd murmured in High Valyrian, so soft only you could here as he passed you like a ghost.

"Avy jorrāelan." I love you.

Your eyes instantly seeked the ground, as you walked you watched the cracks and crevices in the stone. You could almost feel his arms around you as you repeated the words over and over in your mind.

"You're trembling," Aegon said, pulling you back to the present.

"I'm fine," you said autmatically.

"You're a terrible liar."

Jace used to say that to you all the time.

Aegon spun you and when you came back to him, his grip tightened slightly. "I don't want this either, you know. In case you were wondering or cared to speak to me about it."

You looked up at him, startled by the sudden confession. You would admit you had been avoiding him since the betrothal, avoiding eye contact and leaving rooms when he entered. You wanted nothing to do with him until the very moment when you had no choice.

"I- I know." You stuttered because you didn't know, you barely had a clue other than Aegon's inept speech on the night of your eighteenth nameday.

"Do you?" His jaw clenched. "Do you know that I had my own life? My own... preferences? That I am giving all of that up because mother decided I need to marry my own sister to keep our bloodline pure?"

You stared at him, realizing for the first time that Aegon has his own form of heartbreak, his own trap. Recognition bloomed slowly, painfully. You thought about how his face had gone rigid that day, how his hands had turned white as he gripped the tables edge.

You'd been consumed by your own devastation that you'd barely registered his own loss.

"Aegon... I'm sorry I-"

"It's fine..." He paused. "We're both prisoners here, shackled together. The only difference is that I've accepted it."

The music swelled around you, other couples had joined the dance now, filling the floor with feet.

Your eyes met Aegons, he knew you were having a hard time. These last three months you have had ample opportunity to speak about this with him and yet you haven't. Using everyday to hold your grievances alone or with Jace in stolen moments.

Neither of you said anything else. The final notes of the waltz faded, he stepped back and bowed formally, releasing you from his arms. You stood there on the dance floor, pulse racing, as he walked away leaving you to your thoughts.

The rest of the feast passed in a blur, you danced with other partners, smiled at congratulations, played your part perfectly.

You caught glimpses of Jace throughout the night, he stood with his mother and brother, his face carefully blank. Yet, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

You'd met him in the servants corridors late one night when the castle was mostly asleep.

"Jace-" your words sounded breathless as he turned to you, a soft, painful smile on his face.

He pulled you into the alcove he stood in, pressing you against the wall and kissing you with an urgency that stole you breath and made heat pool between your legs.

"I can't do this," he'd whispered, lips grazing your ear. "I can't watch you marry him. I can't-"

"Shh," you'd whisper back, pressing your cheek to his. "Shh, it will be okay."

It wouldn't be okay. You were terrified. Terrified of the separation from the boy that you grew up with, that you loved, that you let take you in bed and make you his. But, you couldn't tell him that. You couldn't tell him how scared you really were, how your heart was splintering with each second that passed. So instead you held him, your fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders and spine, memorizing the feel of him because you didn't know when you'd have this again.

His hands felt hot as they framed your face now. In the dim light, you could see his face was flush, his bottom lip pouted, he was trying to be brave for you.

"I love you, all of me."

"All of me." You achoed.

Now, across the crowded hall, his eye found yours. The look on his face made something in your chest clench. You wanted to go to him and tell him that everything would be okay, you wanted to promise that this wasn't the end for you. But, you had already made promises to each other and they went unfulfilled. Anything promised now would only be a lie.

As the feast wound down, your mother appeared at your elbow.

"It is time, Princess," she said quietly.

Your stomach dropped. The bedding ceremony. The consummation. The final, irrevocable step that would make you Aegon's wife.

"Come now," Alicent said, gently taking you arm in hers.

She led you from the Great Hall, followed by a procession of ladies. They escorted you through the corridors of the Red Keep, up the stairs, to the chambers that would now be considered yours and Aegon's. It was larger than your old room, dominated by a massive bed with posts carved with dragons. Candles burned on every surface. A fire crackled in the hearth. Everything had been prepared for you, for Aegon, for this moment.

All you could think was that it should've been Jace.

The ladies began undressing you with practiced efficiency. They unlaced your gown, removed your jewels, unpinned your hair. Layer by layer they stripped away your wedding finery until you stood in nothing but a thin shift of white silk. You arms wrapped around yourself as you stood uncomfortable, it felt like you were already naked.

One of the ladies brought you a cup of wine. "To calm your nerves, Princess."

You drank it, grateful for the warmth that spread through your chest. No amount of wine could calm the panic rising in your throat though, it was hard to fathom what was about to happen to you.

"You look beautiful, Princess," one of the ladies said, adjusting your shift. "Prince Aegon is a fortunate man."

You wanted to laugh, or scream, or both.

They led you to the edge of the bed and had you sit, your mother stepped forward and placed her hand on your shoulder.

"It will be over before you know it daughter, wear your new title as wife graciously."

Then, she swept from the room, bringing the other ladies with her. The door closed behind them with a soft click and suddenly you were alone. You sat there, on the edge of the bed, and tried to remember how to draw breath. Your pulse was pounding so hard you thought it might break through your ribs. The chamber was deathly quiet, all except for the fire crackling and your own breath as you tried to catch it.

You stared at the door, waiting, dreading, knowing what was coming for you.

Time passed, it felt strange, like elastic. Then the door opened and Aegon stepped inside, still dressed in his wedding clothes. He closed the door behind him and stood there for a moment, just looking at you.

"You look... terrified," he said finally, though the words came out slurred and loose, his head tilting at an odd angle as he studied you. He swayed slightly, catching himself against the doorframe with a soft laugh. "Or maybe that's just... that's just the candlelight. Everything's so candlelit today... Weird."

He moved toward the table where a pitcher of wine sat, his gait unsteady. His fingers fumbled with the cup nearly dropping it before managing to pour. Wine sloshed over the rim and onto the table, he stared at it with the bewildered expression of a man who couldn't quite tell if he poured it into his cup or on the table.

"Blast," he muttered, than drank deeply from what remained in the vessel. He poured another immediately, as though the first had never happened. "Want some? It's very good wine. Excellent wine! The best wine in all of Westeros I'd wager."

"I've already had some," you said quietly.

"Have more." He brought you the cup, moving with exaggerated care, as though navigating treacherous waters. He nearly tripped over his own feet, droplets of wine spilling over onto the floor, before catching himself with a surprised laugh. "The floor is very... slippery, have you noticed that?"

You took the cup from his outstretched hand and he watched you drink with the intense focus of someone trying to solve a particularly difficult riddle. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks flushed with wine and warmth.

"You know what's funny?" he said, sitting beside you, the mattress dipped under his weight. "This whole thing, us, getting married. It's absolutely mad when you think about it..." He laughed, a loose, rambling sound that echoed off the stone walls.

He drank again, deeply, then gestured at you with his cup, sloshing wine dangerously close to the edge once again. "At least you're pretty. Has anyone told you that? You're very, very pretty. Like a painting." He closed an eye and waved his hands in a circle to encompass your face.

"A very... Serious painting." His nose scrunched, "one that looks like it might cry at any moment."

At that moment you took the cup from his hand and guzzled the last of what remain, your face curling in on itself after swallowing. Aegon watched you as it burned your throat and stomach when it settled there. He took the cup from you and put it aside.

"Right then," he said, his tone matter of fact. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice. You feared if you spoke, if you had spoken at all you would turn into that crying painting.

Then he kissed you.

It wasn't like kissing Jace, there was no passion, no desperation, no sense of rightness. Just... Duty. A task to be completed, a box to check.

He never removed your shift, Aegon's gaze traveled over you, a glassy sense of regret and sadness.

"Lie down," he said.

You obeyed, your pulse pounding as you lay back against the pillows. Aegon undressed with the efficiency of an armless Prince, then climbed over you and settled between your legs. It was over quickly, mechanical, dutiful, and mercifully brief. He finished with a grunt, rolled on to his back and reached immediately for his wine cup.

Silence filled the chamber.

You lay there, staring at the canopy, feeling the wrongness of it all. Aegon sat up next to you, swirling his wine, his eyes glazing over the sheets for only a split moment before his expression shifted from confusion to understanding to something that might have been dark amusement.

He turned to look at you, his eyes sharp despite the wine and let out a short, humorless laugh.

"So the rumors are true then," he said, his words beginning to slur slightly. "You weren't a maiden after all. You absolute-" He hiccupped. "You absolute legend."

You wanted to deny it, to lie, to say something, anything, yet the words wouldn't come. Your throat had closed up long ago.

"Jacaerys Velaryon," Aegon continued, gesturing dramatically with his cup and nearly spilling it once more. "The one you've been making eyes at since we were children. Gods, I always knew it, with the whispers and gossip. The two of you were always sneaking off together." He paused, squinting at you with genuine curiosity. "I just thought you were being tediously noble, not-" Another hiccup. "Not fucking in secret. That's actually brilliant. Genuinely brilliant."

Tears burned behind your eyes, you couldn't look at him, the canopy above had doves holding pieces of greenery. When Aegon spoke again, though, his voice had lost its edge entirely, replaced by something almost warm.

"Relax, wife," he said, his tone turning conspiratorial. "I'm not about to run screaming to mother about it. I'm impressed that you two idiots actually pulled it off." He took another long drink and grinned at you. "A Princess, MY sister losing her maidenhood before marriage."

You finally found your voice, though it came out as barely a whisper. "What happens now?"

Aegon was quiet for a moment, swirling the wine in his cup with exaggerated concentration. Then he sighed.

"Look," he said, his tone more serious now, though still decidedly drunk. "You think I wanted to be shackled to my own sister? To give up everything I enjoy because mother is obsessed with putting me on the throne?" He shook his head, nearly losing his balance. "We're both prisoners here. The only difference is I've had longer to accept it and more wine to cope with it."

You stared at him, not understanding where this was going.

"I'm thinking," Aegon continued, leaning back against the headboard and gesturing with his cup again. "In public, you play the dutiful wife. You smile, you're gracious, you stand by my side at court. You give me heirs, because we'll need them of course, there's no avoiding that. In private, though..." He met your eyes, his expression surprisingly sincere despite the wine. "In private, you can do whatever, or whoever, you want. As long as you're discreet about it."

Your pulse was pounding so hard you thought it might burst. "What?"

"You can keep seeing him," Aegon said bluntly, then laughed. "Jace. Your noble bastard. I don't care. Fuck him in every corner of the Red Keep for all I care, just don't make it obvious enough that people start to notice." He paused, taking another drink. "In exchange, you don't ask questions about where I go or what I do. You let me have my freedom too."

You felt like you were drowning. "Your freedom?"

"Like fucking," Aegon said flatly, then giggled, actually giggled, at his own bluntness. "Whores, they are... Far more entertaining than anything I'll find in this marriage bed, no offense. Now that I'm a married man, though, Mother will expect me to be faithful, to be proper, to stop 'embarrassing the family.'" He made a disgusted sound and took another drink. "I'm not giving that up. So here's the arrangement: you get to keep your tragic love affair with Jace, and I get to keep visiting the Street of Silk without you weeping to mother about it. We both get what we want."

It felt surreal. Like a trap disguised as mercy.

"Why would you do this?" you asked, your voice shaking.

"Because I'm not interested in making both our lives miserable," Aegon said with a shrug, his words slurred.

You stared at him, at this man who was now your husband, offering you a lifeline while thoroughly drunk.

"The sheets," you said, your voice barely audible. "In the morning, they'll be examined-"

"Oh, the sheets!" Aegon exclaimed, as if you'd just reminded him of something terribly important. He stood up, swayed slightly, then made his way to the table with exaggerated care. He picked up a small knife that had been left with the fruit and cheese, studied it with the concentration of a scholar examining ancient texts, then pressed the blade to his palm and drew it across with a grunt.

Blood welled up immediately as he made his way back to the bed, giggling to himself about something, and let several drops fall onto the sheets with the precision of a man performing a sacred ritual. Then he wrapped his hand in a cloth and held it up like he'd just accomplished something magnificent.

"There," he said, grinning at you. "Problem solved. As far as anyone knows, you were a proper maiden and I did my duty. Brilliant, really. We're both geniuses." He paused, then added with drunken sincerity, "Our secret. Yours, mine, and Jace's."

You stared at the blood on the sheets.

"Do we have a deal?" he asked, extending his uncut hand toward you like sealing a pact.

You thought of Jace. Of the possibility of still having him, still touching him, still loving him, even if it had to be in secret for the rest of your lives, even if it had to be shadowed by this marriage.

"Yes," you said. "We have a deal."

Aegon nodded, satisfied, then flopped backward onto the bed with a contented sigh. "Good. Now let's both try to get some sleep. We've got a long, tedious life ahead of us, and I'm going to have a spectacular headache in the morning."

He was snoring within moments, his breathing evening out quickly as exhaustion and wine pulled him under.

You lay awake beside him, your unexpected ally. He wasn't kind, nor noble, yet surprisingly he was not cruel. He was just a man trapped in the same cage, trying to survive the only way he knew how, with wine, whores, and sardonic detachment.

You carefully slid out of bed, your legs shaking, you found your robe, wrapping it around yourself and moved to the window. The city was dark, most of its lights extinguished. Dawn was still hours away. You pressed your forehead against the cool glass and closed your eyes.

You knew Jace lay in his bed awake as well. You knew it with the same certainty you knew your own name. He was thinking of you, imagining this night, torturing himself with images of you and Aegon. You wanted to go to him, to run through the corridors to his chambers and throw yourself into his arms, to lay with him and rest peacefully.

So you sat at the window and whispered into the darkness.

"Kesrio syt mirre tubis. Kesrio syt mirre bantis." For all days. For all nights.

Taglist: @claerysa , @nutellatacollama , @glooblyglob , @staergir1 , @ragebaittheinternet

[a-certain-slant-of-the-light]

Dark Hair

Jace comes to your room at night with a question.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

Reader: A Targaryen.

Warnings: Sexual content.

Word Count: 2k+

Note: Inspired, heavily, by @the-darklings's Jace/Lady Stark/Aemond piece, the last lines especially. From Fire & Blood/HOTD, I’m a Daemon girl—didn’t even think about Jace. But read her work and now she’s got me writing fanfic for him.

The doors to your chamber burst open. You look up from where you sit on the sofa, reading by the fire. Jacaerys. His face pale, eyes wide and dark. He comes into the room shaking with anger. “Jacaerys,” you say in measured tones. He flinches like you have threatened to hit him but does not break his pacing.

You set aside your book, rise, pour a goblet of wine from the pitcher, and hold it out to him. He seizes it in one of his passes back and forth across the room, liquid sloshing. He takes a drink—too large—a choking swallow and sets the goblet down—too hard—on a sideboard across the room. He plants his hands there, leans. 

You watch his back heaving under his black velvet surcoat. To give him time to breath, you return to the sofa, sit and watch the fire. Jacaerys moves to stand by the fireplace. You keep your eyes on the flames, but you can sense his own burning. 

Then he speaks: “Did she think I would have dark hair?”

You look at him. He steps nearer and continues, “My Mother. When she took Harwin Strong into her bed, did she think I might favor him, or did it not cross her mind?” 

And what is there to say? You just watch him. See his jaw set but eyes wet, look at whatever it is—the lies, the deceit, the nobody-can-say-but-everybody-knows, the glances and rumors, what other people have thought, imagined, in dark bedrooms—that has twisted inside of him for this many years and now slithers up, threatens to choke him. You just watch him, looking like he wants to fight, but who is there to fight but himself?

He is a prince, a dragon rider, a loyal brother, a devoted son. You have seen him train near daily in the yard. You have seen him get better at speaking to the lords and merchants and diplomats, to threaten or ease tension, to learn the language of politics. You have seen him shoulder his princely duties day after day.

Yet still—to him—it is not enough. Through all this, he can only see what he looks like to the gossips and the ambitious, distorted down to vicious whispers: not Velaryon, not Targaryen, not Targaryen enough, not enough. 

You see Jace. 

And Jace is right, in part, because the whispers do matter. Enough whispers can turn into shouts about rightful heirs and into battlefield cries of rebellion. But, Gods, Jace, you want to say, what has blood got to do with ruling. Oh, people need to think you have the right to rule, some sort of fated familial connection, but its really right of strength, right of cleverness, right of sheer dumb luck, and an ability to make everyone else see it as ordained. The best mummer—the best liar—in the Seven Kingdoms. What right by blood did Aegon the Conqueror have to any of the Seven Kingdoms, except the blood of others he was willing to shed. 

Jace. Convince them. Make them see the story you wish them to, make them take it for reality, for the truth. Convince the lords and ladies and the smallfolk that it is you, the prince, the future king. 

But then, there is Jace, in front of you, just himself. Who grew up with too many and not enough fathers. And he is here, in the Red Keep, in Targaryen colors, while there are Targaryen bastards wandering about Flea Bottom, some spend from misspent royal time in the Street of Silk. 

You look at him, at his, yes, dark hair. At his dark eyes. If what he wants if legitimacy, the crown, all these things can be gotten. Your mind already turns for him, when Jace sinks to the floor, to his knees, in front of you, and lowers his head to your lap. 

Your hands hover for a moment and then stroke his hair. Not hair-too-dark, or Strong hair, but Jace’s hair. His hands grip your skirts. You bend over him, one hand still in his hair, the other rubbing his back, his own warmth under the black velvet.

Your hair, the hair you too got from your father, Targaryen silver-gold, falls like a curtain about the two of you. In this private, silvered sphere, Jace turns his face up toward yours. He kisses you. 

A moment, and then he pushes up into you, coming to his knees, feet, standing, as he chases your mouth. He pulls you to stand with him, against him, hands on either side of your face, holding your hair back, looking at you, eyes seeking. You can feel his heart go where your chest is pressed to his. 

He bows his head to yours, a full contact, closing kiss that tips your head back and makes you grasp at, cling to, his upper arms, lean against him, because the alternative might be sinking. He slides his hands across your cheeks, jawline, goes open-fingered up into your hair to tilt you even deeper in to him. 

By the time he pulls back, you have gone disoriented, breathless, and all you can see in front of you is him, backed by red firelight, his eyes a dark glimmer. Heat has risen to your face, something gone molten inside of you.

Then its your turn to reach for Jace, for his lips, hands skimming, grasping, up into his hair. And he goes with you, open-mouthed, a forearm braces behind the curve of your back, one hand climbs up the center of your spine, flat, to hold close between your shoulder blades. 

With you like this—head tipped back, shoulders opened behind, your mouth on his and his mouth on yours—he walks you backward, thighs press into your skirts, one knee coming between yours with every other step. You surface for air, but he dives deep, hungrier, mouth moving down your neck to where your throat disappears into your dress. 

And he wants more, needs more. He works fast at laces, buckles, fabric, on him and you. His breathing is ragged, his face concentrated. Fingers fly white against the dark of his clothes. He chases your dress down, mouth to skin, collarbone exposed by the lower neckline of your shift. Hands run and press down your now bare arms like he seeks something in a dark room. Against him, you sway back and forth with each pull and press of him. Some errant strand of your hair sticks to your lips. 

Jace keeps going down, drags his nose between your breasts while he brings your dress all the way down. His hands describe your waist, dig into your hips, grasp the material of your shift, pull your pelvis against him. You place your hands in his hair for balance. Then he straightens, pulling his black surcoat over his head. His dark hair tousles. And he is back to your mouth.

The bed is behind you and he brings you both down upon it. He lies part on top of you, one hand low on your calf. You follow his hand up your leg, bending your knee. He lifts your shift as he goes, finds the back of your thigh. And he still has the open-mouthed kissing going that has hardly seemed to stop since it started. His hand continues higher and you gasp against him, a little arch both away from and into his touch. 

He shifts his lips to your hair and breaths you in. All those times he sat near you at feasts, watched as your hair went moonbeam colored in the candlelight. All those walks in gardens where the sun made your hair into a ray of light itself. All those horseback rides with the wind tugging strands loose from your braid. But he never got near enough to smell your hair, never got to touch it, to know what it was, until now. And now, his nose, his face, his mouth is buried in it, in the dim room your hair more moonlight than sunlight. 

Jace moves down the bed. He bunches your shift in both hands, lifts it clear of your body. You raise slightly to help him. You are left pale beneath him. Jace pauses, kneeling, looking. You lift yourself toward him, take him by the shoulders, turn him, and lay him down on your bed. 

With a gentle roll from its hem, you bring his shirt over his head. You brush, wipe, your palms across his face like you might be clearing cobwebs, a gentle, erasing contour. He lies, still, except for the rise and fall of his chest and his dark eyes which follow your every movement. 

You remove his remaining clothes. Plant a—near chaste—kiss to his forehead and bring your weight on top of him. You slide across him. His knees bend and hips raise to meet you. He brings his hands under your armpits, drags you up his body, so one of your breasts trails through his open mouth. A sharp intake of air. 

He sits up with you on his lap. The heat builds. You roll your hips as he slides a hand along the side of your breast, finds the line of your back. All the while, you stay open-mouthed to each other.

Where does this come from? Jace and you were friends. Just necessarily, the way the families were arranged, you spent time together. Not that proximity breeds closeness—Aegon and Aemond could not be said to be Jace’s friends—but he would walk with you in the gardens, come to you to talk, but you had not thought—unless, recently:

Your marriage had become a topic of discussion for Rhaenyra: where to deploy Targaryen blood for political ties. Out in the grounds, one day, you sat under the shade of a tree, book on your lap, while Jace shot arrows at a target in the sunshine. The twang of the bow and the thud of the arrows into the target. Rhaenyra joined you in the shade. You closed your book. She began to speak of your marriage, listed several potential suitors. It was more her thinking aloud, you knew, she would have the pick. 

Jace walked over when his mother approached, pushing his hair off his forehead, leaning bow against his leg. When Rhaenyra began to speak, you saw him tense and lift his eyes. He snatched his bow up and went back out to the target. Rhaenyra and you watched him go; she continued speaking. Jace set his stance and released an arrow—thud into the target.

Now Jace is here. He flips you, his legs between yours, hands braced. He lowers his forehead to yours. With a low breath, he slides into you. For a moment, you both pause, just breathing and hearts beating. Then Jace cocks his hips forward and you wrap your legs about him, heels seeking traction. 

As he continues to move, one of your arms goes behind his back, reaches for his opposite hip. Your other hand slides up the center of his back between his shoulder blades. Your foreheads still press together, brows furrowed now, mouths open, only breathing in Jace and him you. Things heat quickly.

You say his name, his. Not Targaryen, not Velaryon, not Strong; not even Jacaerys, the weighted history of his full name; just Jace. And Jace comes apart like that’s what he’s been waiting to hear, waiting his whole life, just him. There’s a stutter in his breath which you take with a kiss and it all pulses through you to the repetition of his name.

Jace slows. He rolls his weight off you, lies flat on his back, draws you toward him. Your arm is open across his chest, bent like the lower half of a picture frame, about his face. Your fingers play absently with his hair. You feel the steady beat of his heart, and you feel the low vibrations when he speaks, distinct:

“I want you. In my bed. At my side. I want you to have my children. But I will not be my mother. I want you beside me in the sept with my ring on your finger. I want you, with me, at court by the throne.”

[indebtedto-you]

I genuinely am sick thinking about Jace dying for no good reason other than pride…. God damn you Jacaerys

[indebtedto-you]

The Price I'd Pay for You

Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x forbiddenlove!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // suggestive content, angst, fluff, familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 4 word count: 2862

notes: I have genuinely read this chapter over and over again and I actually don't even like it anymore LOL I need to post it before I try to rewrite it from scratch. Enjoy!

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 4

Your handmaidens dressed you in green.

Of course it was green. Your mother had chosen the gown herself, deep emerald silk that caught the light like dragon scales, with gold embroidery along the bodice and sleeves. It was beautiful. It was suffocating. The fabric was heavy, weighing you down with every breath, the neckline high and formal, nothing like the simpler dresses you preferred.

"You look like a queen, my lady," one of the handmaidens said as she fastened the final clasp.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. A stranger looked back. Your silver hair had been braided and pinned into an elaborate style, woven through with gold thread and tiny emeralds. Your face was pale, your eyes too bright. You looked older than eighteen. You looked like someone playing a part in a mummer's show, costumed for tragedy.

"Thank you," you managed, your voice distant, as though it belonged to someone else.

When they finally left you alone, you stood at the window and looked out over King's Landing. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Blood and fire, the words of your house. Somewhere in the Red Keep, Jace was preparing for the feast too. You wondered what he was thinking. You wondered if his hands were shaking the way yours were.

Your pulse fluttered at the thought of seeing him tonight. Despite everything, despite your mother's warnings, despite Helaena's prophecies, despite the growing dread that had been building for weeks, you still felt that spark of hope. Maybe your father would surprise everyone. Maybe Rhaenyra's proposal had been reconsidered. Maybe, impossibly, there was still a chance.

You touched the emerald pendant at your throat, a gift from your mother that morning. It pressed against your skin like a brand.

A knock at the door made you turn.

"It's time, my lady," a guard said. "The court is waiting."

You took a deep breath, smoothed your skirts, walked toward whatever future had been decided for you.

The Great Hall was magnificent.

Hundreds of candles blazed in the chandeliers overhead, casting golden light across the long tables laden with food and wine. Banners hung from the high ceiling: the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, the seahorse of House Velaryon, the tower of House Hightower. Musicians played in the corner, a lively tune that felt at odds with the tension thrumming beneath the celebration like a plucked string about to snap.

Everyone who mattered was here. Lords and ladies from across the realm, dressed in their finest silks and velvets, all gathered to celebrate your eighteenth nameday. They smiled and bowed as you entered. You forced yourself to smile back, to play the part of the gracious princess.

You could feel it, though. The weight of too many eyes. The whispers that stopped when you passed. The way conversations seemed charged with something unspoken, something waiting.

You were seated at the high table, near your father. King Viserys looked tired, older than his years, the flesh of his face sagging like melted wax. He smiled when he saw you, though.

"My daughter," he said warmly, taking your hand. "Eighteen years old. How time passes."

"Thank you, Father," you said, kissing his cheek.

Your mother sat on his other side, regal in her own green gown, her expression serene. Too serene. When she looked at you, there was something in her eyes. Satisfaction, perhaps. Vindication. It made your stomach twist.

Aegon sat further down the table, already drinking heavily despite the feast having barely begun. He didn't look at you. Aemond was beside him, sharp-eyed and watchful as a hawk. Helaena sat quietly, staring at something no one else could see, her lips moving soundlessly.

Across the hall, at a table with the other highborn guests, you saw him.

He was dressed in the colors of House Velaryon, deep blue and silver, impossibly handsome in the candlelight. When your eyes met, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. He gave you a small smile, barely there. You felt it like a touch. Your chest tightened.

For a moment, you let yourself believe. You let yourself hope.

The feast began. Servants brought course after course: roasted meats, fresh bread, honeyed fruits, wine that flowed like water. You barely tasted any of it. Every bite turned to ash in your mouth. You drank wine to steady your nerves, yet it only made you feel more unmoored, more aware of the wrongness settling over the hall like a funeral shroud.

You kept glancing at Jace. He was seated beside his mother, who looked tense despite her composed expression. Luke was there too, laughing at something Jace said, oblivious to the undercurrent of dread.

Your father stood. The music stopped. The hall fell silent so quickly it was as though the air had been sucked from the room. Hundreds of faces turned toward the high table, toward King Viserys, toward you.

Your pulse began to pound in your ears.

"My lords and ladies," your father began, his voice carrying across the hall. "Thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate my daughter's eighteenth nameday. She has grown into a woman of grace and beauty, a true daughter of House Targaryen."

Polite applause rippled through the crowd. You forced yourself to smile. Your hands were trembling in your lap.

"As king, it is my duty to ensure the stability and prosperity of the realm," Viserys continued. "As a father, it is my duty to see my children well placed, their futures secured."

Your throat closed.

"Tonight, I am pleased to announce a betrothal that will strengthen our house and unite our bloodline."

The room seemed to tilt. You gripped the edge of the table, your knuckles white.

"My daughter will be wed to Prince Aegon, my eldest son."

The words hit you like a mace to the chest. For a moment, you couldn't process what you'd just heard. The sounds of the hall became muffled, distant, as though you were drowning. Aegon. Your brother. The drunken, resentful prince who could barely stand upright.

The hall erupted in applause and cheers. The sound was wrong, distorted, like hearing celebration from the bottom of a well. Your vision blurred at the edges. You felt your mother's hand on your arm, steadying you. You couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at anyone.

"This union," your father continued, his voice swelling with conviction, "will ensure that the Targaryen line remains pure and strong. It will prevent division, prevent the realm from tearing itself apart over questions of succession. This is our legacy. This is our duty."

Duty. The word echoed in your mind, hollow and cruel. You forced yourself to look up, to scan the crowd. Your eyes found him.

Jace was staring at you. The expression on his face shattered what was left of your composure.

Devastation. Pure, unfiltered devastation.

His face had gone pale as milk. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle jumping. His hands were fists on the table, knuckles white as bone. For a moment, he looked like he might stand, might shout, might do something reckless and desperate.

He didn't.

He just stared at you. In his eyes, you saw everything you felt reflected back: fury, helplessness, love, the terrible, crushing weight of finality. This was it. This was the end. The moth's wings had caught fire.

Tears spilled down your cheeks before you could stop them. You didn't care who saw. You didn't care about propriety or composure or playing the part of the dutiful princess. You just stared at Jace across the hall. He stared back. The space between you was an ocean, a chasm, the end of the world.

Beside him, Rhaenyra's face was a mask of fury barely contained. Her hand was on Jace's arm, holding him in place, keeping him from doing something that would destroy them all. She looked at you with something like pity, like sorrow. She'd tried to stop this. She'd failed.

Your mother leaned close, whispered, "Smile, daughter. This is a joyous occasion."

You wanted to scream. Aegon stood instead, raising his goblet of the reddest wine.

The hall quieted again, waiting for the prince's response. Your brother swayed slightly. He was already drunk. He steadied himself, looked out at the crowd.

"I am honored," he said, his voice flat and unconvincing, "to accept this betrothal. My sister is... a worthy match."

The words were perfunctory, empty. He didn't look at you. He stared somewhere over the crowd's heads, his expression resentful and bitter as gall.

"I will do my duty," he continued. There was an edge to his voice now, something sharp and angry. "As we all must. As we are all expected to. Duty above all else, is that not what we're taught?"

Your father frowned slightly. Aegon wasn't finished.

"I accept this union because I am a prince of House Targaryen, and princes do not have the luxury of choice. So yes, Father, I accept."

The hall was silent now, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Aegon finally looked at you. For just a moment, you saw something in his eyes. Not desire, not affection. Something almost like understanding. He knew what it was like to have your life dictated by others. He knew what it was like to be trapped in a cage of duty and expectation.

"To my future wife," he said, raising his cup in a mocking toast. "May we both survive what's been decided for us."

He drank deeply, then sat down heavily, ignoring your father's disapproving look.

The applause that followed was uncertain, scattered. People didn't know how to react to Aegon's bitter acceptance. It didn't matter. The betrothal had been announced. The decision had been made.

You were going to marry your brother. Your eyes found Jace again.

He was still staring at you. The look on his face was unbearable.

In that glance, you saw everything: every stolen kiss, every whispered promise, every night spent in each other's arms. You saw the future you'd imagined together, the life you'd dreamed of, the love you'd nurtured in secret for seven years.

You saw it all crumbling to dust.

His expression told you he understood. This wasn't a temporary setback. This wasn't something you could overcome with clever planning or desperate hope. This was the end. The final, irrevocable end.

You would marry Aegon. You would stand before the Sept and pledge yourself to your brother. You would share his bed, bear his children, live the rest of your life as his wife. Jace would have to watch.

A sob caught in your throat. You pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to hold it back. It was useless. Across the hall, Jace's jaw clenched. His eyes were bright with unshed tears. Then he stood.

The hall went quiet. Everyone turned to look at him.

"Congratulations, Princess," he said, his voice rough and strained. "I wish you every happiness."

The words were formal, appropriate, exactly what he was supposed to say. His eyes told a different story.

His eyes said I love you.

His eyes said I'm sorry.

His eyes said Remember us.

He bowed, a perfect, formal bow. Then he turned and walked out of the Great Hall.

Rhaenyra rose to follow him, not before shooting your father a look of pure fury. You watched him go, watched him disappear through the doors. Something inside you broke beyond repair.

The rest of the feast passed in a blur.

People approached you. Lords and ladies offering congratulations, speaking words you didn't hear, smiling smiles that didn't reach their eyes. You nodded and thanked them mechanically, your voice coming from somewhere far away.

Your mother appeared at your side, her hand on your shoulder.

"You did well," she said quietly. "I know this is difficult. You'll understand in time, though. This is what's best for the realm. What's best for our family."

You couldn't look at her. If you looked at her, you would say something you couldn't take back.

"He was never a real option," Alicent continued, her voice gentle yet firm. "Jacerys is a bastard, no matter what his mother and the King claim. You are a trueborn princess of House Targaryen. You deserve better than-"

"Stop," you whispered.

"Daughter-"

"Please just stop talking."

Your mother's lips pressed into a thin line. She said nothing more. After a moment, she moved away, leaving you alone in the crowd.

You saw Rhaenyra across the hall. You wanted to go to her, to thank her, to apologize for something that wasn't your fault. You couldn't move, though. You were frozen in place, drowning in a sea of congratulations and false smiles.

Finally, when you couldn't bear it anymore, you stood.

"I need air," you said to no one in particular.

You walked out of the Great Hall, your green gown trailing behind you. No one stopped you. No one followed. They let you go, let you escape, because what did it matter now? The announcement had been made. The damage was done.

Your chambers were a tomb.

You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The room was dark except for the moonlight streaming through the windows. Everything looked the same as it had this morning: your bed, your desk, your books. Nothing would ever be the same again, though.

You were betrothed to Aegon.

The reality of it crashed over you in waves, each one more suffocating than the last.

You would have to marry him. Let him kiss you in front of the realm. Share his bed. Let him touch you the way Jace had touched you. The thought made bile rise in your throat. You stumbled to the window, pressing your forehead against the cool glass, trying to think, trying to process the enormity of what had just happened.

The future you'd imagined, desperately hoped for, was gone. The promises you'd made to each other, that you'd find a way, that love would be enough, were nothing now. Love wasn't enough. It had never been enough.

You remembered the way he'd looked at you across the hall. The devastation in his eyes. The way he'd said I wish you every happiness when you both knew you would never be happy again. A sob tore from your throat, then another. Then you were crying so hard your chest ached. You sank to the floor, your elaborate gown pooling around you, let yourself break.

You cried for the future you'd lost. For the boy you loved and could never have. For the life you'd been forced into. For the duty that had destroyed everything beautiful and good.

You cried until there were no tears left, until you were empty and hollow and numb. Then you just sat there in the darkness, staring at nothing, feeling nothing.

Somewhere in the Red Keep, Jace was doing the same. You knew it with a certainty that made your chest ache. He was alone in his chambers, breaking apart the same way you were, mourning the same loss.

You couldn't go to him, though. You couldn't comfort him. You couldn't even send him a message.

That part of your life was over.

You were betrothed to Prince Aegon. Your duty was clear. The girl who had loved Jacerys Velaryon in secret, who had stolen moments in gardens and whispered promises in the dark, that girl was gone.

You had to bury her. You had to forget her. You had to become someone else. Someone who could survive this.

Outside your window, the moon rose higher, cold and distant and uncaring. The Red Keep settled into silence. The feast was over, the celebration was done. You sat alone in the darkness wearing a green dress that was a shroud. All you could do was try to figure out how to keep living when your soul had been ripped from your chest.

Tomorrow, you would have to face Aegon. Tomorrow, you would have to begin planning a wedding you didn't want. Tomorrow, you would have to pretend that everything was fine, that you were honored, that you accepted your duty with grace.

But tonight, you let yourself grieve.

You grieved for Jace. For yourself. For the love that had been beautiful and impossible and doomed from the very start. You understood, finally, what Helaena had been trying to tell you all along.

The moth sees the flame and thinks it beautiful. It doesn't see the heat. It doesn't feel the burning until it's too late.

You had flown too close to the flame and now there was nothing left but ash.

Chapter 5.

Taglist: @claerysa , @nutellatacollama , @glooblyglob

[indebtedto-you]

The Price I'd Pay for You

jacaerys velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x forbiddenlove!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // fluff, some angst, small bit of smut but nothing crazy, familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 3 word count: 3277

notes: this one is interesting, lots of fluff and a little bit of love making, my chest was warm and cold writing it... I hope you enjoy! Oh, and I made a taglist after being requested, they are lonely down there so if you do wish to be added comment and let me know!

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 3

You woke in Jacerys Velaryon's bed.

Dawn light filtered through the heavy curtains of his chambers, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. His arm was draped across your waist, his chest pressed against your back, his breath warm against your neck. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, still deep with sleep.

This had become routine. Dangerous, reckless routine.

You shifted slightly, and his arm tightened around you, pulling you closer. A soft sound escaped him, something between a sigh and a groan, and then his lips were on your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to your bare skin.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning." You turned in his arms to face him, and gods, he was beautiful like this. Hair mussed from sleep and your fingers, eyes still heavy-lidded, a small smile playing at his lips. "We should get up. Someone will come by soon-"

"Let them," he said, and kissed you.

It was different now, seven months after that night. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty. You knew each other's bodies as well as your own. You knew that he loved when you kissed the hollow of his throat, that he could make you come apart with just his fingers and his voice in your ear, that afterward he always held you like you were something precious.

The kiss deepened, and you felt him hardening against your thigh. Your hand slid down his chest, his stomach, lower...

A knock at the door made you both freeze.

"My prince?" A servant's voice, muffled through the heavy wood. "Your mother requests your presence at breakfast."

Jace pulled back with a frustrated groan. "I'll be there shortly," he called out.

Footsteps retreated down the corridor.

"I should go," you said, but made no move to leave his arms.

"You should," he agreed, but his hand was tracing patterns on your hip, your waist, the curve of your breast. "In a moment."

"Jace-"

He kissed you again, slow and thorough, until you were breathless and aching. "Tonight," he promised against your lips. "Come back tonight."

"Of course, my prince..."

You dressed quickly, stealing his tunic because yours had somehow ended up across the room. It smelled like him and you buried your face in it for a moment before pulling it on.

"Keep it," he said, watching you with dark eyes. "I like seeing you in my clothes."

"Possessive," you teased.

"Always." He crossed to you, cupping your face in his hands. "And I want everyone to know it."

"They will," you said. "Soon."

It was a promise you'd been making for months now. Soon they would have to acknowledge what was between you. Soon they would have to let you be together. Soon, soon, soon.

But soon never seemed to come.

You slipped out through the hidden passage that connected his chambers to the lower levels, the same route you'd taken dozens of times before. The servants knew, of course. Everyone knew. But no one spoke of it directly, and that was enough.

For now.

Breakfast was a tense affair.

You arrived late, still wearing Jace's tunic under your dress, and took your seat beside Helaena. Your mother's eyes tracked your every movement, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Across the table, Aegon smirked into his wine.

"Late night?" he asked innocently.

"Aegon," your mother warned.

"What? I'm simply asking after my dear sister's well-being. She looks tired. Doesn't she look tired to you, Aemond?"

Aemond didn't look up from his plate. "I don't concern myself with such matters."

"How wise of you," you said sweetly, and reached for the bread.

Jace arrived moments later with Rhaenyra, Luke, and Joffrey in tow. His hair was still damp from a hasty washing, and when his eyes met yours across the table, something hot and intimate passed between you. You felt your cheeks flush.

Your mother noticed. She noticed everything.

"Princess," Rhaenyra said warmly, taking her seat. "You look lovely this morning. That color suits you."

"Thank you, Princess Rhaenyra."

"Doesn't she, Jacerys?" Rhaenyra's tone was pointed, deliberate.

Jace's lips quirked. "She does."

The tension at the table ratcheted up several notches. Your mother's knuckles were white around her fork. Aegon looked delighted. Even your father, usually oblivious to such undercurrents, seemed to sense something was amiss.

"Perhaps," Viserys said carefully, "we should discuss the upcoming celebrations. Your eighteenth nameday approaches, daughter. We should begin planning the feast."

Your stomach dropped. Your eighteenth nameday. Three weeks away.

"Of course, Father," you said, keeping your voice steady.

Under the table, you felt Jace's foot brush against yours. A small comfort, but you clung to it.

The rest of breakfast passed in uncomfortable silence, broken only by the clatter of silverware and Joffrey's occasional questions. When it finally ended, you escaped to the gardens with Helaena, desperate for air.

"You're being reckless," Helaena said quietly as you walked among the roses.

"I know."

"Mother is furious. She knows where you spend your nights."

"I know that too."

Helaena stopped, turning to face you. Her eyes, usually so distant, so dreamy, were sharp and focused. "The moth flies closer to the flame. Soon it will burn."

"Helaena please stop."

"I'm not speaking in riddles," she said. "I'm telling you plainly. Whatever you think you have with Jacerys, whatever you think will happen, it won't. They won't allow it. And your nameday..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

She walked away before you could respond, leaving you alone among the roses with a growing sense of dread.

That afternoon, you flew with Jace.

It had become your escape, your sanctuary. Up in the sky, there were no disapproving mothers, no smirking brothers, no political machinations. There was only wind and clouds and the powerful beat of dragon wings beneath you. Starfyre and Vermax flew in tandem, so close their wings nearly touched. You could see Jace on Vermax's back, his face turned toward you, grinning with pure joy. This was where he was most himself, free, unbound by duty or expectation.

You raced to the cliffs, and this time he won. When you landed beside him, breathless and laughing, he was already dismounting.

"I let you win," you said.

"Liar." He caught you as you slid from Starfyre's back, his hands on your waist, and pulled you close. "Admit defeat gracefully, princess."

"Never."

He kissed you there on the clifftop, with both dragons watching and the whole world spread out below. His hands slid into your hair, tilting your head back, and you melted into him. Seven months, and every kiss still felt like the first. Every touch still made your heart race.

"I love you," he said against your lips.

"I love you too."

"When we're married-"

"Jace I-"

"When we're married," he continued stubbornly, "we'll do this every day. Fly together, race, make love on clifftops where no one can find us."

"That sounds perfect," you said, even as your heart ached. Because you both knew it was a fantasy. A beautiful, impossible fantasy.

"My mother spoke to yours," Jace said suddenly. "And to your father. She proposed a betrothal between us."

You pulled back to look at him. "What?"

"Two weeks ago. She made a formal proposal. Said it would unite our families, strengthen Rhaenyra's claim, give legitimacy to-" He stopped, jaw clenching. "She argued for us. Passionately."

Hope bloomed in your chest, fragile and desperate. "And?"

"They refused." His voice was flat, defeated. "Your mother really. She said it was out of the question. That you were... that you had other duties."

The hope died as quickly as it had sparked. "Other duties," you repeated numbly.

"I'm sorry." He pulled you close again, his arms tight around you. "I thought, I hoped..."

"So did I." You pressed your face against his chest, breathing him in. "What do we do now?"

"We keep going," he said fiercely. "We keep loving each other. We keep fighting. Maybe if we're persistent enough, if we show them we're serious."

"Jace." You looked up at him. "You know that's not how this works. We're not children anymore. They're not going to change their minds because we want them to."

"Then what?" His voice cracked. "I'm supposed to just accept that I can't have you? That they're going to give you to someone else?"

"I don't know," you whispered. "I don't know."

You stood there on the clifftop, holding each other as the sun began to set, and for the first time, you let yourself truly feel the weight of your situation. This wasn't a game. This wasn't a romance story leaving the mouth of a bard. This was real, and it was impossible, and it was going to break both of you.

But not yet. Not today.

"Tonight," Jace said. "Come to my chambers tonight. Let me love you. Let me pretend, just for a few hours, that you're mine and I'm yours and nothing else matters."

"I am yours," you said. "I'll always be yours."

"Then come to me tonight."

"I will."

Your mother was waiting in your chambers when you returned.

She stood by the window, her back to you, her posture rigid with barely contained fury. You knew this confrontation had been coming. You'd been avoiding it for months.

"Mother-"

"Don't." She turned, and the look on her face made you step back. "Don't say anything. Just listen."

You closed the door and waited.

"I know where you've been spending your nights," she said. "I know what you've been doing. The entire court knows. Do you understand what that means? Do you understand what you've done to your reputation?"

"I love him," you said.

"Love." She laughed. "You think love matters? You think love will protect you when the realm tears itself apart? When your father dies and Rhaenyra tries to take the throne and we're all forced to choose sides?"

"That's not-"

"It is exactly what will happen," she snapped. "And when it does, you will need to be positioned correctly. You will need to be married to someone who can protect you, who can secure your future. Not some-" She stopped herself, but you heard the unspoken words anyway. Not some bastard.

"Don't," you said, your voice dangerous. "Don't you dare."

"It's what everyone is thinking. What everyone is saying. Rhaenyra's bastard and the princess, playing at love while the realm burns around them."

"We're not playing at anything. I love him. He loves me. Why can't that be enough?"

"Because it isn't!" Your mother's composure finally cracked. "Because love doesn't matter when it comes to duty, to family, to survival. I thought I taught you better than this. I thought you understood-"

"Understood what? That I'm just a piece to be moved around a board? That my feelings don't matter as long as I serve the family?"

"Yes," she said simply. "That is exactly what you are. What we all are. And the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."

"Easier for whom?"

She looked at you for a long moment, and something in her expression softened. "For you, daughter. I'm trying to protect you. This path you're on, it leads nowhere good. It leads to heartbreak and ruin. Please. Please stop this before it's too late."

"It's already too late," you said. "I'm his. Completely. And nothing you say will change that."

Your mother closed her eyes. "Your nameday is in three weeks. Your father will make an announcement then. A betrothal."

The world tilted. "To whom?"

"I don't know yet. But it won't be Jacerys Velaryon. That much is certain."

She left without another word, and you stood there in your chambers, shaking with rage and fear and desperate, clawing grief.

Three weeks. You had three weeks left.

That night, you went to Jace's chambers as promised.

He was waiting for you, pacing like a caged animal. The moment you entered, he pulled you into his arms.

"I heard," he said. "My mother told me. Your nameday-"

"I know."

"We have to do something. We have to-"

You kissed him to stop the words. Kissed him desperately, hungrily, like you could pour all your fear and love and rage into this one connection. He responded immediately, his hands fisting in your hair, his body pressing you back against the door.

"Make me forget," you gasped against his mouth. "Please, Jace. Make me forget everything except this."

He did.

He undressed you slowly, reverently, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he revealed. He laid you on his bed and worshipped your body with his hands and mouth until you were writhing beneath him, begging for more. When he finally entered you, it felt like coming home.

You made love slowly at first, savoring every touch, every kiss, every whispered declaration. Then faster, more desperately, as if you could somehow hold back the future through sheer force of passion. You came apart in his arms, crying his name, and he followed moments later, burying his face in your neck.

Afterward, you lay tangled together, your head on his chest, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare shoulder.

"Run away with me," he said suddenly.

You lifted your head to look at him. "What?"

"Run away with me. Tonight. We'll take our dragons and fly somewhere they can't find us. Essos, maybe. Or beyond the Wall. Somewhere we can be together."

"Jace-"

"I'm serious." He sat up, pulling you with him. "We could do it. We could leave all of this behind, the politics, the duty, the expectations. We could just be us."

"And what about your mother? Your brothers? Your claim to Driftmark?"

"I don't care about any of that. I only care about you."

"You say that now," you said gently. "But you would care. Eventually, you would resent me for making you give it all up. And I would resent myself for letting you."

"So what, then?" His voice broke. "We just accept this? We let them tear us apart?"

"I don't know." You cupped his face in your hands. "I don't know what we do. But running away isn't the answer. We both know that."

He pulled you close again, and you felt wetness on your shoulder. He was crying. Jacerys Velaryon, who never cried, who was always strong, always brave, he was crying.

"I can't lose you," he whispered. "I can't."

"You won't," you promised, even though you both knew it was a lie. "I'm yours. No matter what happens, no matter who they make me marry, I'm yours. Always."

"Always," he repeated, and kissed you again.

You stayed in his arms until dawn, neither of you sleeping, both of you clinging to these last precious hours. Because you could feel it now, the end approaching like a storm on the horizon. Dark and inevitable and devastating.

The next two weeks passed in a blur of stolen moments and mounting dread.

You and Jace grew bolder, more reckless. You held hands in the corridors. You spent entire days together, riding dragons, walking the battlements, sitting in the gardens. You acted like a couple, like you were already betrothed, and let the court whisper.

Your mother's warnings grew more frequent, more desperate. Rhaenyra, conversely, seemed to encourage your defiance. She smiled when she saw you together. She made pointed comments about how well-suited you were. She was fighting for you in her own way, even though she'd already lost.

The political situation deteriorated daily. Your father's health was failing. Rhaenyra's position grew more precarious. Aegon grew more resentful. Aemond grew harder, colder. The realm was fracturing, everyone could feel it and through it all, you and Jace loved each other with increasing desperation.

You made love in his chambers, in your chambers, once even in the library late at night when you couldn't bear to be apart. Every touch felt like it might be the last. Every kiss tasted of goodbye.

Three days before your nameday, Rhaenyra found you alone in the gardens.

"Princess," she said, sitting beside you on the bench. "May I speak plainly?"

"Of course."

"I tried," she said. "I want you to know that. I proposed the match to your mother and father. I argued for it. I told them you and Jacerys love each other, that you would be happy together, that it would strengthen both our families."

"I know," you said. "Jace told me."

"They refused. Your mother- she has... other plans for you."

"Do you know what they are?"

Rhaenyra hesitated. "I have suspicions. But I hope I'm wrong."

That didn't sound promising.

"I'm sorry," she continued. "If I had more power, if my position were more secure, I could push harder. But as it stands..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. You deserve better than this. You both do."

"Thank you," you said. "For trying."

"Jacerys loves you very much," she said. "I've never seen him like this with anyone. You've made him happy. Whatever happens, I want you to know that."

"He's made me happy too," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "Happier than I ever thought possible."

Rhaenyra squeezed your hand and left you alone with your thoughts.

The night before your eighteenth nameday, you couldn't sleep.

You lay in Jace's arms, listening to his heartbeat, trying to memorize the feeling of his skin against yours. Tomorrow, everything would change. Tomorrow, your father would make his announcement, and this fragile happiness would shatter.

"What are you thinking?" Jace asked softly.

"That I wish we could stay like this forever."

"We can," he said. "In here, in this moment, we can stay like this forever."

"That's not how time works."

"Then we'll make our own time. Our own world. One where tomorrow never comes."

You turned in his arms to face him. In the darkness, you could barely see his face, but you knew every line of it by heart. "I love you," you said. "More than anything. More than duty or family or my own life. I need you to know that."

"I know," he said. "I love you too. And whatever happens tomorrow, whatever they announce, whatever they try to do, it won't change that. Nothing will ever change that."

"Promise me something," you said.

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll remember this. Remember us. Remember how much we loved each other. Even if-" Your voice broke. "Even if we can't be together. Promise me you'll remember."

"I promise," he said fiercely. "I could never forget. Even if I wanted to, even if I tried, I could never forget you."

You kissed him then, pouring everything into it, all your love, all your fear, all your desperate hope that somehow, impossibly, this wouldn't be the end.

You made love one last time as the night deepened toward dawn. Slowly, tenderly, like you were trying to memorize each other's bodies. Every touch was a promise. Every kiss was a prayer. Every whispered "I love you" was a vow that transcended whatever announcement tomorrow would bring.

When it was over, you lay in his arms and watched the sky begin to lighten outside his window.

"It's almost dawn," you whispered.

"Then we still have time," he said, holding you tighter. "We still have now."

But you could feel it, the future pressing in, inevitable and cruel. Tomorrow you would turn eighteen. Tomorrow your father would announce your betrothal. Tomorrow, this beautiful, impossible love would be tested in ways you weren't sure either of you could survive.

But right now, right now you were still his and he was still yours.

Chapter 4.

Taglist: @claerysa

[g0ssipgirl25]

i don’t know but i miss jace

[indebtedto-you]

The Price I'd Pay for You

jacaerys velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x forbiddenlove!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. // smut, Jace takes MCs virginity, familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 2 word count: 3253

notes: Honestly, chapter 1 is doing so well I’m dropping Chapter 2, if this one does as well I'll go ahead and drop 3 tonight or early tomorrow :)... This one I could read over and over again, I'm so proud of myself and the way the story is going here.

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

Chapter 2

A year passed. A year of stolen moments and desperate kisses, of secret signals and whispered promises. A year of loving Jacerys Velaryon with everything you had while knowing it could never be enough.

You were seventeen now. He was eighteen, and tonight would be different.

The plan had taken weeks to arrange. A trusted handmaiden who owed you a favor. A carefully constructed alibi about feeling ill and needing rest. A cloak borrowed from Helaena's wardrobe, dark enough to blend into shadows. Every detail had to be flawless because tonight, you weren't just stealing an hour in the gardens.

Tonight, you were stealing the whole night.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you slipped through the hidden passage that led from your chambers to the lower levels of the Red Keep. The stone was cool beneath your fingertips, the air damp and musty. You'd walked this path a hundred times before, yet never like this. Never with this sense of purpose, this trembling anticipation that made your whole body feel alive.

The gardens were silver-washed in moonlight when you finally emerged. Summer had settled over King's Landing like a warm blanket, and the air was thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and roses. Your secret spot, the alcove hidden behind the tall hedge, beckoned like a sanctuary. This place had kept your secrets for years. It would keep this one too.

Jace stood beneath the flowering tree, his back to you, hands clasped behind him. Even in silhouette, you knew every line of him. The breadth of his shoulders. The way he held himself, caught between the boy you'd grown up with and the man he was becoming. Your chest tightened with love so fierce it almost hurt.

"Jace," you breathed.

He turned, and the look on his face, seven hells, the look on his face. Relief and desire and something deeper, something that made your knees weak. In three strides, he crossed the distance between you and pulled you into his arms.

"You're here," he murmured against your hair, breathing you in.

"Where else would I be?"

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding down your arms to capture your hands. In the moonlight, his eyes were dark, intense. "Do you know how lovely you are?"

"Please I-"

"No, I mean it." His gaze roamed your face like he was memorizing every detail. "Sometimes I look at you and I can't believe you're real. That you're here. That you love me."

"I do love you," you whispered. "So much it consumes me."

He kissed you then, and it was different from every kiss before. There was no hesitation, no fear of being interrupted. This kiss was claiming, possessive, a promise of what was to come. You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest to curl around his neck. The kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you opened for him with a soft gasp.

Heat pooled low in your belly as his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel every hard plane of his body through the thin fabric of your dress, and the sensation made you dizzy with want.

"I brought blankets," Jace said, his voice rough. He gestured to a pile you hadn't noticed before, carefully arranged on the grass beneath the tree. Thick, soft blankets that would cushion you from the ground. "Wine too. I wanted tonight to be right."

"It already is," you said, though you let him lead you to the makeshift bed he'd prepared.

The blankets were soft beneath you as you settled onto them, and Jace sat beside you, close enough that your thighs touched. He poured wine into two cups, his hands steady despite the intensity in his eyes. You took a sip, the sweet liquid warming you from the inside, though you hardly needed it. Your whole body felt like it was on fire.

"To us," Jace said, raising his cup. "To tonight."

"To us," you echoed, and drank.

He set the cups aside and turned to you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "I've dreamed about this," he admitted. "About you. About us like this, with the whole night ahead of us."

"So have I," you confessed. "Every night."

His thumb brushed across your lower lip, and you couldn't help but part your lips, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. He made a low sound in his throat, then he was kissing you again, bearing you back onto the blankets.

The weight of him above you felt right, true. His hips settled between your thighs, and even through layers of fabric, you could feel the hard length of him pressing against you. The sensation made you gasp into his mouth, your hips rolling up instinctively to meet his.

"Seven hells," he breathed against your lips. "You're going to be the death of me."

"Then we'll die together," you said, and pulled him back down for another kiss.

His hands began to explore, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips. When his palm cupped your breast through your dress, you arched into his touch with a moan. He squeezed gently, his thumb finding your nipple and circling it until it hardened beneath the fabric.

"I want to see you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "All of you. I've imagined it so many times, I need to see you."

"Then look," you said, sitting up enough to reach for the fastenings of your dress. "Help me."

His fingers joined yours, working at the small buttons that ran down the front of your gown. There was something intimate about this, the two of you working together to bare your body to him. When the last button came free, he helped you slide the dress off your shoulders, down your arms, until it pooled at your waist.

You wore only a thin chemise beneath, and in the moonlight, you might as well have been naked. The fabric was nearly transparent, showing the dark peaks of your nipples, the curve of your breasts. Jace's breath caught, his pupils dilating as he drank in the sight of you.

"Exquisite," he murmured.

His hands came up to cup your breasts, and even through the thin fabric, the heat of his palms made you gasp. He explored you with reverent touches, learning the weight of you, the shape of you. When his thumbs brushed over your nipples, you couldn't suppress a moan.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, doing it again.

"Yes-" you breathed. "Yes."

He lowered his head, pressing kisses to your collarbone, your throat, the swell of your breast. When his mouth closed over your nipple through the fabric, you cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair. The sensation was overwhelming, wet heat and gentle suction that sent pleasure shooting straight through you.

"Jace," you gasped. "Please."

He lifted his head, meeting your gaze. "Please what? Tell me what you want."

"I want to feel your skin against mine. I want-" you tugged at his tunic. "Take this off."

He sat back on his heels and pulled his tunic over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. The sight of him, bare-chested in the moonlight, all lean muscle and smooth skin, made your mouth go dry. You'd seen him shirtless before, during training or swimming, never like this though. Never with the knowledge that you could touch him, that he was yours.

You reached out, your palms sliding over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your hands. His skin was warm, smooth except for a few scars from training. You traced them with your fingers, learning every line of him.

"Your turn," he said, his voice rough. His hands found the hem of your chemise, and you lifted your arms, letting him pull it over your head.

The night air kissed your bare skin, raising goosebumps. Though, Jace's gaze was hotter than any summer breeze. He stared at you like you were something precious, something sacred. His hands hovered, uncertain, until you took them and placed them on your bare breasts.

The first touch of his palms against your naked skin made you both gasp. He explored you with careful hands, learning what made you sigh, what made you arch into his touch. When he lowered his head to take your nipple into his mouth, no barrier between you now, you moaned his name.

He lavished attention on your breasts, his mouth and hands working in tandem until you were writhing beneath him, desperate for more. Your hands roamed his back, his shoulders, feeling the flex of muscle beneath skin. When you reached for the laces of his breeches, he groaned against your breast.

"Are you sure?" he asked, lifting his head to look at you. "We don't have to, if you're not ready,"

"I'm sure," you said firmly. "I want this. I want you. All of you."

He helped you with his laces, then he was kicking off his breeches, his smallclothes, until he was as bare as the night sky. You couldn't help but stare. You'd felt him pressed against you before, seeing him was different though. He was hard, thick, and the sight of him made heat pool between your thighs.

"You're staring," he said. There was no embarrassment in his voice, though. Only warmth, and desire.

"I'm allowed to stare at what's mine," you said, echoing words he'd spoken before.

Something flashed in his eyes at that. "Yours," he repeated, voice rough. "I am yours. Always have been. Always will be."

"I'm yours too," you said. "Completely."

He reached for the skirt of your dress, still bunched around your waist, and you lifted your hips to let him pull it down your legs. Your smallclothes followed, until you were both completely bare beneath the stars.

For a moment, you just looked at each other. There was vulnerability in this, in being seen so completely. There was also rightness, though. This was Jace. Your Jace. The boy who'd held your hand when you were ten, who'd kissed you when you were fourteen, who'd told you he loved you when you were sixteen.

The man you loved with your whole heart.

He settled between your thighs again, and the feel of his bare skin against yours was almost too much. You could feel every inch of him, the hard planes of his chest, the muscles of his stomach, the thick length of him pressed against your core.

"I love you," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "I need you to know that. This isn't just- I love you. With everything I am."

"I love you too," you whispered. "Show me. Please, Jace. Show me."

His hand slid down your body, over your stomach, your hip, until his fingers found the heat between your thighs. You gasped at the first touch, your hips lifting instinctively. He explored you carefully, his fingers sliding through your wetness.

"Seven hells," he breathed. "Is this all for me?"

You moaned. "Only for you."

He found the sensitive bundle of nerves at your apex and circled it with gentle pressure. Pleasure sparked through you, building with each stroke of his fingers. When he slid one finger inside you, you cried out, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"Does that hurt?" he asked, stilling immediately.

"No," you gasped. "It feels, it feels good. Don't stop."

He worked you carefully, adding a second finger, stretching you, preparing you. His thumb continued to circle that sensitive spot, and the dual sensation was overwhelming. Pleasure built in waves, each one higher than the last, until you were trembling beneath him.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice rough with desire. "Let go. I want to watch you come apart."

The peak crashed over you like a wave, stealing your breath, making stars burst behind your eyelids. You cried out his name, your body clenching around his fingers, pleasure rolling through you in endless waves. When you came back to yourself, he was watching you with such tenderness it made your chest ache.

"Lovely," he murmured. "You're so lovely when you unravel."

You pulled him down for a kiss. "I want you inside me," you whispered against his mouth. "I want to feel you. All of you."

He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of him pressing against you. "Tell me if it hurts," he said. "If you need me to stop,"

"I won't," you promised. "I want this. I want you."

He pushed inside slowly, carefully, and you gasped at the stretch of it. There was a moment of sharp discomfort as he breached you, it faded quickly though, replaced by a sense of fullness, of completion. When he was fully seated inside you, you both stilled, breathing hard.

"Seven hells," Jace groaned. "You feel, I can't-"

"Move," you urged. "Please, Jace. I need you to move."

He pulled back and thrust in again, setting a slow, steady rhythm. The discomfort faded completely, replaced by pleasure that built with each stroke. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he moaned your name.

"Harder, Jace. Please."

His hips snapped forward, driving deeper, and you cried out at the sensation. He set a faster pace, each thrust hitting something inside you that made pleasure spark through your entire body. The sounds you made together, gasps and moans and whispered endearments, mingled with the night sounds of the garden.

"I love you," he panted. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you moaned. "You're mine, Jace."

"Yours," he agreed.

His hand slipped between your bodies, finding that sensitive spot again, and the dual sensation of his fingers and his cock was too much. You came apart with a cry, clenching around him, and he followed seconds later with a groan, spilling inside you.

For a long moment, you just held each other, hearts racing, bodies slick with sweat despite the cool night air. Jace pressed kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips, soft, reverent touches that made your eyes sting with emotion.

"Are you alright?" he asked finally, pulling back to look at you.

"More than alright," you said, smiling up at him.

He withdrew carefully, and you winced slightly at the sensitivity. He noticed immediately, concern creasing his brow.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No," you assured him. "Or, maybe a little, it's normal though. It's fine, Jace. Better than fine. That was everything I'd hoped it would be."

He settled beside you, pulling you into his arms and arranging the blankets over your cooling bodies. You nestled against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling more content than you'd ever been.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," you murmured.

"So do I." His fingers traced lazy patterns on your shoulder. "In another world, we'd be married. We'd have our own chambers. I'd wake up beside you every morning and fall asleep holding you every night."

"Tell me about it..." you said. "Our other world."

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "We'd have a home by the sea. Somewhere we could fly our dragons every day. Somewhere far from court politics and family expectations. Just us."

"What else?"

"We'd have children. At least three. They'd have your eyes and your spirit. They'd be brave and kind and free."

You laughed softly. "They'd have your stubbornness."

"Probably," he admitted with a smile you could hear in his voice. "We'd grow old together. I'd love you when your hair turned silver, well, more silver, and when your face had lines from smiling. I'd love you until my last breath and beyond."

"That sounds right."

"It does, doesn't it?" His arms tightened around you. "I hate that we can't have it."

"We have this," you said fiercely. "We have tonight. We have each other, even if it's in secret. That's more than nothing."

"You're right." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm grateful for every moment. Every stolen kiss. Every secret meeting. Every time I get to hold you like this."

You tilted your head back to look at him. "Make love to me again."

His pupils dilated. "Are you sure? You must be sore,"

"I don't care," you said. "We have all night, and I want to spend every moment of it loving you."

He kissed you deeply, and you felt him hardening against your hip. This time, when you made love, it was slower, more exploratory. You learned each other's bodies with patient attention, what touches made him gasp, what kisses made you moan. You discovered that he was sensitive behind his ear, that kissing down his chest made his breath hitch. That saying his name made him melt into you. He learned that you loved when he sucked marks into your neck, that you came apart when he whispered how much he loved you.

You made love again as the night deepened, this time with you on top, learning how to move, how to take your pleasure. The sight of him beneath you, head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted in bliss, was something you'd treasure forever.

Again near dawn, with desperate urgency, knowing your time was running out. This time he took you from behind, his chest pressed to your back, his hand between your legs, whispering in your ear about how right you felt, how much he loved you, how you were his and he was yours.

When the sky began to lighten in the east, you lay tangled together, exhausted and sated. Your body ached in new ways, marked by his touch, his kisses, the evidence of your lovemaking. You could feel the pleasant soreness between your thighs, the tender spots on your neck where he'd sucked marks into your skin.

"We should get dressed," Jace said reluctantly, though he made no move to let you go.

"Not yet," you said. "Just a few more minutes."

Those minutes stretched as neither of you could bear to be the first to pull away. Eventually, the sky grew too bright though, and you knew you had to return before your absence was noticed. You dressed slowly, stealing kisses between each piece of clothing. When you were both fully clothed again, Jace pulled you close one last time.

"When can we do this again?" he asked.

"Soon," you promised. "Maybe next week? In my chambers, if we are quiet."

"I'll count every hour until then."

"So will I." You cupped his face in your hands. "I love you."

"I love you too." He kissed you one last time, deep and thorough.

You slipped away as the sun crested the horizon, your body aching, your heart full to bursting. You'd given yourself to Jacerys Velaryon completely, irrevocably. You were his, and he was yours. No matter what the future held, no one could take that away from you.

That night had been yours. And there would be more nights, you promised yourself. As many as you could steal before the world came crashing down around you. For now, that was enough.

Chapter 3

[indebtedto-you]

The Price I'd Pay for You

jacaerys velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x forbiddenlove!reader

In the Red Keep, you are a Targaryen princess caught between duty and desire, a living sacrifice to political alliances. Since childhood, you've harbored a forbidden love for Jacerys Velaryon, a love he's always returned. But when your father arranges your betrothal to your own brother, Aegon, everything you've hoped for comes crashing down.

A story of forbidden love, political intrigue, and the impossible choice between the duty you were born to and the life you were meant to have.

genre/warnings: suggestive content, 18+ minors do not interact! childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, yearning and longing and all the things that make something desirable to read. //smut, familial sexual relationships, its GOT universe you know the vibe.

chapter 1 word count: 4315

notes: I have most of this story completed and thought, why don't I start posting again... So here I am Tumblr I'm back. I love Jace and I would steal him away and lock him in my bedroom so he doesn't get obliterated by the triarchy. Enjoy Chapter 1!

© INDEBTEDTO-YOU. Do not copy, repost, modify or feed my work in to AI.

CHAPTER ONE

You were ten years old when Jacerys Velaryon became your favorite person in the world.

Not in the way Helaena was your favorite sister, or the way you preferred lemon tarts to honey cakes. This was different, deeper, more essential. Being with Jace felt like breathing. Natural. Necessary. Right in a way you couldn't explain yet didn't need to.

You'd grown up together at court. Jace was Rhaenyra's eldest son, heir to Driftmark, while you were King Viserys's daughter, younger than Aegon and Aemond, older than Helaena. Your mothers had ensured you were raised alongside each other, a careful political dance meant to keep the family united despite the whispers about Jace's parentage.

Those whispers didn't matter to you. You'd never cared that his hair was brown instead of silver, that his eyes were dark instead of violet. He was Jace, kind and funny and brave in ways your brothers weren't. He made you laugh. He listened when you talked. He understood things about you that no one else seemed to notice.

"You're not paying attention," he said one day in the library, nudging your foot under the table.

You blinked, realizing you'd been watching him instead of reading. "I am."

"Then what did Maester Mellos just say about the Conquest?"

You had no idea. You'd been watching the way Jace's fingers traced the words on the page, the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated. It was more interesting than anything the maester was saying.

"Something about... dragons?" you tried.

Jace laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made you want to laugh too. "You're hopeless."

"I'm distracted," you corrected.

"By what?"

By you.

You couldn't say that. You were ten, he was eleven, and you had no words for what you felt. You just knew that being near him made everything better.

"By how boring Maester Mellos is," you said instead. Jace laughed again.

It started with small things. The way Jace would save you a seat beside him during lessons, even when Aegon tried to claim it. The way he'd slip you candied lemons from the kitchens because he knew they were your favorite. The way his face would light up when you entered a room.

"There you are," he'd say, like he'd been waiting. "I was hoping you'd come."

You always did because wherever Jace was felt like where you were supposed to be.

You developed a language of your own, small gestures and inside jokes that no one else understood. A particular look across the dinner table that meant this is unbearably boring, let's escape. A tap on the wrist that meant meet me in the gardens after. A smile that meant I'm glad you're here.

Your mother noticed, of course. Alicent was too observant not to.

"You spend a great deal of time with Prince Jacerys," she remarked one evening as she brushed your hair before bed.

"He's my friend," you said simply. "My best friend."

"I know, my dear." Her hands were gentle, methodical. "I'm glad you have such a close companion. Yet you must remember, he is Rhaenyra's son. You are mine. There are... expectations for both of you."

You didn't really understand what she meant. Jace was Jace. What did it matter whose son he was?

"Yes, Mother," you said anyway.

That night, you lay awake thinking about the way Jace had squeezed your hand earlier when you'd been upset about something Aegon said. The way he always seemed to know when you needed comfort. The way being near him felt like home.

Jacerys Velaryon was the most important person in your world.

The gardens became your sanctuary. There was a spot, hidden behind a tall hedge of roses, with a stone bench beneath a flowering tree where no one ever seemed to go. You'd discovered it by accident one afternoon while trying to escape Aegon's teasing. You showed it to Jace the next day.

"It's wonderful," he'd said, spinning in a circle to take it all in. "Our secret place."

"Promise you won't tell anyone?"

He'd held out his hand, pinky extended. "Promise."

You'd linked your pinky with his. The gesture had felt important. Binding. Like you were making a real oath.

You met there often after that. Sometimes to read together, sometimes to talk, sometimes just to sit in comfortable silence. It was the one place where you could be yourselves, not a princess and a prince, just you and Jace.

One afternoon, when you were both ten, you were sitting on the bench when Jace suddenly said, "Do you ever wish you were someone else?"

You looked up from your book. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know." He was staring at the sky. "Someone without all these expectations. Someone who could just... be."

You understood immediately. The weight of being Rhaenyra's heir, the whispers about his legitimacy, the way people watched him constantly, it bothered him, even if he tried not to show it.

"Sometimes," you admitted. "I wish I could just fly away on Starfyre and never come back."

"Where would you go?"

"Somewhere warm. With beaches and palm trees. Somewhere no one knows my name."

Jace smiled. "That sounds nice."

"You could come with me."

The words came out naturally, easily. Of course Jace would come. You couldn't imagine going anywhere without him.

"Yeah," he said, something in his voice making you look at him. "I could."

For a moment, you just looked at each other. Then Aegon's voice echoed from somewhere in the gardens, calling your name. You both jumped up.

"We should go," you said.

"Yeah."

As you walked back toward the Keep together, Jace reached out and took your hand. It wasn't unusual, you held hands all the time, yet something about it felt different today. Important. You squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. Neither of you let go until you absolutely had to.

By the time you were eleven, people had started to notice how close you were. Not in a bad way, not yet. Just... noticing.

"Those two are inseparable," you'd heard a servant say once.

"Like two peas in a pod," another had agreed, smiling.

It was true. You and Jace did everything together. Lessons, meals, dragon riding, exploring the castle. When you weren't together, you were thinking about when you'd see him next.

The first real moment of awareness came during a feast celebrating your father's nameday. The Great Hall was packed with nobles, the tables laden with food and wine. You were seated with your family at the high table, Jace and his family several seats away. You'd been glancing at him all evening. More than once you'd caught him looking back.

After the meal, when the musicians began to play, your father called for dancing. Lords and ladies flooded the floor.

You didn't think about it. You just stood up, walked across the hall to where Jace was standing with Luke, and said, "Dance with me."

Jace's eyes widened. "What?"

"Everyone's dancing. Come on."

So Jace took your hand and led you onto the floor.

The moment his hand settled on your waist, something shifted. You were eleven, he was twelve, and suddenly you were very aware of how close you were standing. You could feel the warmth of his palm through the fabric of your dress. Could see the way his dark eyes caught the candlelight.

"You're staring," he murmured as you began to move.

"So are you."

He smiled. Your pulse quickened, a strange flutter in your chest you'd never felt before.

You danced through two songs. It felt like flying. Jace was a good dancer, better than your brothers, and he led you effortlessly across the floor. You were laughing at something he'd said when you noticed your mother watching from the high table.

Your laughter faded.

"What's wrong?" Jace asked immediately.

"My mother."

Jace glanced over, then back at you. "Should we stop?"

You didn't want to stop. Didn't want to let go of him. Something in your mother's expression made you nervous, though.

"Maybe we should," you said reluctantly.

Jace nodded and led you off the floor. As you parted ways, him returning to his family, you to yours, you felt the loss of his touch like something physical.

That night, your mother came to your chambers.

"You danced with Prince Jacerys tonight," she said.

"Yes." You kept your voice steady. "We were just dancing, Mother. Everyone was dancing."

"I know." She sat on the edge of your bed. "Yet you must be careful. You're both growing up. People notice things. They talk."

"About what? We're friends."

"I know you are." Her expression softened. "I'm glad. As you get older, though, people may... misunderstand. Do you see?"

You didn't, really. You nodded anyway.

"Yes, Mother."

She kissed your forehead and left. You lay awake for a long time, thinking about the way Jace's hand had felt on your hip. The way your pulse had raced when he smiled at you.

You didn't understand what was happening. You just knew that something had shifted.

The second moment came in the library. You'd been studying with Jace and Luke, working through a particularly boring text, when Luke announced he needed to use the privy.

"Don't do anything interesting while I'm gone," he said, grinning as he left.

The moment he was gone, you and Jace looked at each other.

"Finally," Jace said. "I thought he'd never leave."

You laughed. "He's not that bad."

"He's my brother. He's always that bad." Jace shifted closer to you on the bench. "I feel like we never get to just talk anymore. There's always someone around."

It was true. Between lessons and meals and duties, you were rarely alone together anymore.

"I miss it," you admitted. "Our spot in the gardens. Just us."

"Me too."

Jace reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. It was a simple gesture, he'd done it a hundred times before, yet this time it made your breath catch. Made your skin feel warm where his fingers had touched.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his hand lingering near your cheek.

"Yes. I just-" you didn't know how to explain it. "I don't know."

Jace's hand dropped, though he was still sitting close. Close enough that your shoulders were touching. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.

"Sometimes I feel strange," he said quietly. "When I'm around you. Like... I don't know. Different."

"Different how?"

"I don't know how to explain it." He looked at you. There was something in his eyes you'd never seen before. Something that made your pulse race. "Do you ever feel like that?"

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

Then you heard footsteps in the corridor outside. You both jerked apart just as Maester Mellos entered.

"Ah, Princess, Prince Jacerys," he said. "Still studying, I see. Excellent."

"Yes, Maester," you managed.

Your chest was still tight, though. When you glanced at Jace, you saw that his hands were shaking slightly.

Something was happening between you. Something you didn't have words for yet. Something that felt both wonderful and terrifying.

By the time you turned thirteen, the confusion had grown into something you couldn't ignore anymore.

You'd started spending more time in the Dragonpit, partly because you loved flying, partly because you knew Jace would be there. Your dragon, Starfyre, was beautiful, scales that shimmered like moonlight on water. She was smaller than Vermax, Jace's dragon, yet faster.

The dragons seemed to understand something you didn't. The way Starfyre would croon softly whenever Jace approached. The way Vermax would lower his head for you to scratch behind his horns.

"I think they like each other," Jace said one afternoon as you watched the two dragons curl up together, Starfyre's head resting on Vermax's flank.

"Of course they do," you said. "They're ours."

Jace looked at you. Something in his expression made your stomach flip. "Ours," he repeated softly.

The word felt heavy. Important.

"Race you to the cliffs?" you said quickly, needing to break whatever was building between you.

Jace grinned. "You're going to lose."

"We'll see about that."

The moment you were airborne, everything else fell away. Up here, it was just you and Jace and the endless sky. No confusion, no strange feelings you couldn't name, just freedom.

Starfyre shot forward, her wings cutting through the air. You leaned low against her neck, laughing as the wind whipped your hair back. Behind you, you could hear Jace shouting something, though his words were lost to the wind.

You reached the cliffs first. Jace arrived moments later. When he slid off Vermax's back, he was grinning.

"You cheated," he said, walking over to you.

"I did not!"

"You had a head start."

"That's called strategy."

He stopped in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look at him. When had he gotten so tall?

"You're impossible," he said, though he was smiling.

"You're a sore loser."

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt charged, heavy. Jace's gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes. Suddenly your pulse was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the flight.

You couldn't say what was happening. Just that something was.

Then Vermax huffed, breaking the moment. Jace stepped back.

"Let's head back," he said quietly.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

As you flew back to the Red Keep, you couldn't stop thinking about the way Jace had looked at you. The way your whole body had felt warm and strange and alive.

That night, you couldn't sleep. You kept thinking about Jace, the way he smiled, the way his voice sounded when he said your name, the way your pulse raced whenever he was near.

Finally, you gave up on sleep and slipped him a message under his door: Meet me in our spot. Midnight.

He came. Of course he came.

You were sitting on the stone bench when he appeared through the hedge, slightly out of breath.

"Is everything all right?" he asked immediately.

"I don't know," you admitted. "I just... I needed to see you."

Jace sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders touched. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I-" you took a breath. "Do you ever think about the future?"

"Sometimes."

"What do you see?"

Jace was quiet for a moment. "I see Driftmark. My mother as Queen. Duty and responsibility." He paused. "You. I always see you."

Your breath stopped. "Me?"

"I can't imagine a future without you in it," he said simply. "I don't want to."

"I feel the same way," you whispered. "About you."

Jace turned to look at you. In the moonlight his eyes were almost black. "Sometimes I feel like... like there's something I'm supposed to understand. About us. I don't know what it is, though."

"Me too."

"Do you think," he stopped, then started again. "Do you think we're different? From other people?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the way we are together. The way I feel when I'm with you. Is that... normal?"

You couldn't say. You'd never felt this way about anyone else. Didn't know if other people felt this way about their friends.

"I don't know," you admitted. "I don't care, though. I just know that being with you feels right."

"Yeah," Jace said softly. "It does."

You sat there in silence for a while, your shoulders touching, both of you trying to understand something you didn't have words for yet.

Finally, Jace stood. "We should go back. Before someone notices we're gone."

You nodded and stood too. Before you could leave, though, Jace reached out and pulled you into a hug.

It wasn't unusual, you hugged all the time. This was different, though. Tighter. More desperate. Like he was trying to hold onto something he was afraid of losing.

"Goodnight," he whispered against your hair.

"Goodnight."

You pulled apart. For just a moment, Jace's hand lingered on your cheek. His thumb brushed your cheekbone. Your breath caught.

Then he was gone, disappearing through the hedge. You were left standing there with your pulse racing and your skin tingling where he'd touched you.

By fourteen, the confusion had crystallized into something sharper. Something that made your chest ache and your hands shake and your thoughts scatter whenever Jace was near.

You'd started noticing things you'd never noticed before. The way his voice had deepened. The way his shoulders had broadened. The way he looked at you sometimes, like he was trying to figure something out.

Your mother's warnings had become more frequent.

"You're spending too much time with Prince Jacerys," she'd say. "People are starting to talk."

"We're just friends, Mother."

"I know. You're both growing up, though. It's different now."

You didn't want it to be different. You wanted things to stay the way they'd always been, simple and easy and right. They weren't, though. Not anymore.

It was late spring when everything shifted.

You'd been sitting in your secret spot in the gardens, reading, when Jace appeared through the hedge.

"I've been looking for you," he said.

You set your book aside. "I needed some air."

Jace sat beside you. You were immediately aware of how close he was. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. Close enough that your pulse started racing.

"I've been thinking," he said quietly.

"About what?"

"About us." He turned to look at you. "About the way I feel when I'm with you."

Your breath caught. "Jace-"

"I don't understand it," he continued. "I don't know what it means. I know that when I'm with you, everything feels right. When I'm not with you, I feel like something's missing."

"I feel that way too," you whispered.

"Do you?" His eyes searched yours. "Because sometimes I think I'm going mad. Sometimes I think about you so much I can't concentrate on anything else. I don't know if that's normal or if there's something wrong with me,"

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"Then what is this?" His voice was almost desperate.

You couldn't say. You just knew that whatever it was, it was important. Essential.

"I don't know," you admitted. "I don't want it to stop, though."

Jace's gaze dropped to your lips. Suddenly the air between you felt charged. Heavy.

"Can I-" he stopped, swallowed. "Can I try something?"

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

Jace leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away. You didn't. You couldn't. When his lips touched yours, it was soft. Tentative. Uncertain. It felt like everything was clicking into place.

You made a small sound, surprise or relief or something else entirely. Jace pulled back, his eyes wide.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I shouldn't have-"

You kissed him again.

This time it was less tentative. More certain. Your hands came up to grip his tunic. His hands framed your face. For a moment the whole world narrowed down to just this, just him, just you, just this feeling of rightness.

When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathing hard.

"What was that?" you whispered.

"I don't know." Jace's forehead pressed against yours. "I think, I think maybe this is what people mean when they talk about-"

He didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to. You understood. This wasn't just friendship anymore. Wasn't just closeness. This was something else. Something bigger. Something that made your chest ache and your hands shake and your whole world tilt on its axis.

"We can't tell anyone," you said quietly.

"I know."

"If they found out-"

"I know."

Neither of you moved, though. You stayed there, foreheads pressed together, trying to understand what had just happened. Trying to understand what it meant.

You'd just had your first real kiss. Nothing would ever be the same again.

The next year passed in a haze of stolen moments and growing desperation.

Now that you understood what you felt, now that you had a name for it, everything was different. Every touch felt charged. Every look felt weighted. Every moment together felt both precious and dangerous.

You were fifteen. Jace was sixteen. You were in love. The word terrified you. It was true, though.

You'd meet in the gardens late at night, when the rest of the court was asleep. You'd find excuses to be alone together, a ride to the Dragonpit, a walk along the battlements, a quiet corner of the library.

You'd kiss. Gods, you'd kiss.

Every kiss felt like it might be your last. Every touch was tinged with the knowledge that this couldn't last forever.

"I hate this," Jace said one night. You were in your secret spot, his arms wrapped around you. "I hate that we have to hide."

"I know."

"I want to tell everyone. I want to claim you properly."

"We can't."

"I know." His grip tightened. "I want to, though."

You pulled back to look at him. "What do you think would happen? If they found out?"

Jace's jaw clenched. "Nothing good."

"They'd separate us."

"Yes."

"They'd marry us off to other people."

The thought made you feel sick. The idea of being married to someone else, of belonging to someone else, of never being able to touch Jace again...

"We'll be careful," you said. "We'll be so careful they'll never know."

You both knew it was only a matter of time, though.

The stolen moments became more frequent. More desperate. You developed new signals, new ways of communicating without words. A particular way of folding a napkin at dinner that meant meet me tonight. A certain book left on a specific shelf in the library that meant I need to see you. A flower tucked behind your ear that meant I'm thinking about you.

Helaena noticed, of course. She always noticed.

"The moths are drawn to flame," she said one afternoon while you were embroidering together. "Even though they know it will burn them."

You looked up sharply. "What?"

Helaena had already drifted away, though, her attention back on her needlework.

Helaena never said anything directly. She just made her cryptic comments and watched you with those pale, knowing eyes.

You were sixteen when Jace told you he loved you.

It was a warm summer night. You were lying in the grass together in your hidden spot. The stars were bright overhead. Jace's hand was intertwined with yours.

"I love you," he said suddenly.

You turned to look at him, your throat tight.

"I know I shouldn't say it," he continued. "I know this is impossible. I love you, though. I've loved you for so long I can't remember when it started."

Tears pricked your eyes. "Jace-"

"You don't have to say it back. I just needed you to know."

You did say it back, though. Because it was true. Because you'd been carrying it inside you for years, this huge, impossible feeling.

"I love you too," you whispered.

Jace pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost hurt. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him, smoke and leather and something uniquely Jace.

"What are we going to do?" you asked.

"They'll never let us be together."

You pulled back to look at him. "Then we'll take what we can. However long we have, whatever moments we can steal, we'll take them."

Jace kissed you then, slow and deep and full of promise. His hands slid down your sides. You arched into his touch, wanting more of him, needing more.

He pulled back, though, his breathing ragged. "Not yet. Not like this. When we, if we, I want it to be right."

You nodded, even though your body ached with wanting him.

"One day," he promised. "When we're free of all this. One day I'll make you mine properly, under an arch with flowers and silk... Maybe I'll even buy you a horse."

You kissed him again, softer this time. "I'm already yours, Jace. I always have been."

Freedom never came, though.

The months passed. The political situation grew more tense. Rhaenyra's position as heir was constantly challenged. Aegon grew more resentful. Aemond became harder, more ambitious. You and Jace continued to steal moments whenever you could, knowing that time was running out.

The desperation grew with each passing week. Every kiss felt like it might be your last. Every touch was tinged with the knowledge that this couldn't last forever.

"I hate this," Jace said one night, his voice breaking. You were in the gardens again, his arms wrapped around you. "I want to marry you. I want to wake up beside you every morning. I want to have a life with you."

Your vision blurred with emotion. "I want that too."

The reality of it was crushing. You were a princess, a valuable political pawn. He was Rhaenyra's heir, his future already mapped out. There was no world in which you could be together openly.

"Promise me something," Jace said, pulling back to look at you.

"Anything."

"Promise me that no matter what happens, no matter who they make you marry, no matter where life takes us, you'll remember this. Remember us."

"I could never forget," you whispered. "Even if I wanted to."

He kissed you then, desperate and aching. You kissed him back with everything you had because you both knew, deep down, that this wasn't forever. Chapter 2.