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Lady, Wife, Whore, Woman Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen x Female Oneshot

Summary: The story of a young married lady's dilemma when the Prince Regent makes it clear he wants her for himself.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, SMUT, Power Imbalance, Infidelity, Orgasm Denial, medieval-canon sexism, and profanity.

Word Count: 7104

Writer's Notes: The name Lady Stokeworth was used to weave some canon elements into the fic. She is female, but no physical description is given. This got a little long and her story sort of took over, but there's Aemond and smut. Enjoy!!

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Masterlist

The realm is at war because a family wars with itself, making the days darker for all who reside in Westeros, especially in the Red Keep, where each day is fraught with suspicion and danger.

When King Viserys dies, your husband becomes one of many lords imprisoned for loyalty to Princess Rhaenyra, the king's named heir, while you are locked in your chambers. One by one, the captives are brought before the king’s justice and given a last chance to swear fealty to Aegon. Some, including your husband, bend the knee to the green king. Those who do not, including Lords Hayford, Merryweather, and Harte, as well as Lady Fell, lose their heads that day.

Despite his oath of allegiance to King Aegon, you know your husband’s loyalty, and therefore your own, is still questioned. Simply asking to send a message by raven to your family can be viewed as treachery, for you are inexperienced in the conspiracy and duplicity that have spread throughout the court, and that is distressing enough.

But you, the new Lady Stokeworth, have another unwanted worry from which you cannot escape. You have no idea what you did to attract his interest, but from the moment of your first introduction months ago, the gaze of his eye has followed you.

“We should not be late. Are you ready?” Your husband’s question brings your thoughts back to the here and now.

Looking up at him, you force a smile. Though you have no wish to leave your chambers, you know attendance at this dinner is required. Smoothing your skirts as you get up, you only reply, “Yes, I’m ready.”

Placing your hand on your husband’s arm and trying to maintain a neutral expression on your face, you walk through the keep, keeping your eyes downcast in an attempt to stay oblivious to your surroundings. But you can still feel the eyes of the court following you, and you think the sounds of their whispers are louder today, making the halls of the Red Keep feel as if they are closing in on you.

The dinner is a somewhat subdued affair, not unexpected given the state of war and the horrors that even the royal family has not been spared. Musicians play, trying to keep spirits light and impress an illusion of normalcy upon the Targaryen court. The only members of the royal family present are the Prince Regent and his mother, the Dowager Queen, which is not surprising given the gravely injured King Aegon's bedridden state and the rumored madness of Queen Helaena following her son's murder.

You have little appetite; you only pick at your food. You can feel his eye on you; you don’t need to look to know he openly stares at you. Any attempts at discretion have long since ceased. Thinking back, you came to the Red Keep as the new bride of Lord Stokeworth, having only been wed a few weeks, but determined to adapt to married life as the wife of a lord from a house larger than your family’s modest one.

Upon meeting the prince, you immediately feel shy in his presence. While his appearance is striking in a handsome and dashing way, it is his unusual combination of aloofness and intensity that unsettles you. You believed there would be little contact with him, as you were only the wife of a lord. Initially, you dismiss the subtle glances or the accidental closeness he always managed to achieve, but with time, you begin to suspect that he is paying more attention to you than he should.

You and your husband are due to leave the Red Keep and return home to Castle Stokeworth, but the King’s death changes everything and forces your stay in the Red Keep. The coming days became a whirlwind of uncertainty and fear. After the coronation of Aegon II and the escape of Princess Rhaenys, hope fades that the Targaryens can peacefully resolve their differences.

The news of Prince Aemond striking the first blow by killing his nephew Lucerys, thereby ensuring open warfare between the factions of House Targaryen, shocks everyone, but it seems to bring about a change in the Prince himself. If he feels any remorse for killing his nephew, he hides it well, but he does not hide his more imposing and aggressive nature. He now basks in the admiration of many green supporters and savors the fear of others as the rider of the deadly Vhagar.

Before long, Prince Aemond takes over as ruler, becoming Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm. With the weight of the war on his shoulders and the power of a king in his hands, he feels no need to be discreet.

For you, that means his hints of interest in you, which were once subtle enough to be dismissed, are now too bold to be mistaken. Quick glances have now become long gazes at your full lips or the swell of your breasts. When he kisses your hand, his curved lips linger on your skin, and his long fingers hold onto you for too long.

Lords and ladies who have linked their fates and the fate of their houses to the Greens worry with every piece of bad news and every sign of the mercurial Prince Regent’s displeasure. With his desire for you, like now an open book for anyone to read, some even suggest that if having the little wife of Lord Stokeworth in his bed will help him rule, then let him have her. Whispers become hints, and soon you begin to feel pressure from the court to give in to him. Though many are surprised that he hasn’t taken what he clearly wants already, some think that he enjoys toying with the pretty lady and humiliating her husband, while others worry that the young ruler has no time for games while at war.

The thought of dishonoring you and your new husband by being the subject of such a scandal horrifies you. You were raised to be a loyal and dutiful wife; it is not in your nature to seek out this kind of attention. You can only hope that if you remain steadfast and true to your marriage, the prince will soon tire of your resistance.

“The more you resist him, the more determined he is to have you." A feminine voice beside you utters conspiratorially.

Startled, you turn to see that Lady Rosby has taken the seat next to you. Having finished their meal, most are milling about in small groups of conversation, with a few pairings taking to the dance floor in an attempt to maintain an air of unconcerned nobility. You stay seated, hoping to remain unnoticed.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Rosby,” you stammer, the discomfort of having to discuss your situation only making you feel worse.

“You have made it clear that you did not seek out the prince’s attention, but you have his attention nonetheless,” the older lady continues, pausing to take a sip of her wine. “A wise woman would consider giving him what he wants, willingly, rather than continuing to vex the dragon.”

Aghast, you can only stare open-mouthed at Lady Rosby, who is the first to blatantly suggest to your face that you dishonor yourself, your husband, and your family by willingly submitting to his lustful desires.

Lady Rosby’s face does not soften at the sight of tears forming in your eyes. “I’m telling you this for your own good. I can see that you are naive, but the harsh truth is that noble ladies have had to spread their legs for worse men than him to serve the realm.” Seeing you begin to shake your head in despair, she grabs hold of your hand. “Give him what he wants before he loses patience and decides to take it by force. Learn how to make him happy.”

Fighting to hold back your tears, you tear your hand out of her grasp, standing abruptly, needing to get away from this woman and leave this crowded hall. A now-too-familiar voice from behind you halts your progress as you quickly make your way around the end of the long table, looking for your husband.

“Hmm, leaving so soon, Lady Stokeworth, and without even gracing me with your beautiful smile or a kind word?”

You take a moment to try and compose yourself before turning to face the Prince Regent. Standing several feet from you, dressed all in black, his long leather doublet is adorned with a gold chain draped across the front, a belt around his trim waist, and the Conqueror's crown atop his silvery head. While the eye patch covers his missing eye, the other's lustful stare is enough to convey his intentions. With an ever-present smirk on his lips, he beckons you towards him with an extended hand.

Taking a deep breath as you approach, you place your smaller hand in his, feeling the roughened skin of his fingers grasp your soft skin. Somehow, despite your shaking legs, you manage to gracefully give him a deep curtsey. Finally meeting his eye, you find your voice to say, “Your Grace.”

Never taking his lilac gaze from you, he leans down, placing a kiss on your hand, letting his lips linger far longer than is proper. He straightens to his full height and tilts his head, never releasing your hand. “You seem upset, my lady,” he comments, his voice low.

His larger hand completely envelops yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your smooth skin as he draws you even closer to him. “Tis nothing, your grace. I was just going to look for my husband.”

“Then I will keep the most beautiful lady in the realm company until your dear husband is found,” he insists, while resting his other hand at your waist.

If you close your eyes, the velvety smooth tone of his voice would be soothing, but the way he looks at you—the sharp gleam in his eye and the covetous smile on his pointed lips—is anything but calming. He reminds you of a cunning predator stalking prey, and you are his prey. Knowing you must tread carefully with him, you offer no resistance; even when he leans so close, you can smell the wine on his breath.

“My sweet lady, you’re trembling, and you look like a frightened doe ready to run to safety,” his voice murmured in your ear. “I can assure you, there is no safer place for you than with me.”

Trying to steady your breathing, you can only plead, “Please your grace; this is most improper, and people will get the wrong impression.”

A sharp intake of breath from him hints at his annoyance. “People already know, and I don’t give a shit what they think.” His fingers dig into the flesh of your hip as he hisses, "You distract me to no end; at a time, I cannot afford to be distracted."

Although you are in a room filled with people, you have never felt more alone. You know no one will come to your aid, no matter how obvious your distress is, with the Prince Regent at your side. “If I am such a distraction, perhaps it would be best if I were to be allowed to return to Castle Stokeworth…”

“I forbid it!” his voice angrily raises, loud enough to draw looks from those nearby. Aemond now looms over you, making no effort to hide his ire. “I have been more than patient with you. You will come to me,” he insists, before turning on his heel and stalking off, motioning for the Hand of the King to follow him.

He leaves you standing alone, shaking. Glancing around, you can see everyone staring at you. Lady Rosby looks at you with disappointment on her face. You see your husband off to the side of the room, his brow furrowed and his lips drawn in a thin line, but his expression is unreadable to you. Gathering your skirts, you hastily flee the room, heedless of the people you brush past, needing to be away from the Targaryen court's stares.

By the time you reach your chambers, you are out of breath with tears streaming down your cheeks. Allowing yourself to fall onto your bed, you lay there weeping inconsolably, only rising after a short time when your maid requests entry. Though she is soft-spoken and kind, you don’t feel comfortable showing the depths of your despair around the servants.

After wiping your eyes and trying to put on a brave face, you let her help you out of your dress and into a thin nightdress to help keep you cool on these warm nights. She removes your jewelry and wipes your skin with a damp cloth. The nightly ritual helps to calm you somewhat.

Since you left the dinner early, it is not late at all. You dismiss your maid, letting her have the rest of the evening to herself since you plan to remain in your chambers, perhaps writing a letter to your older sister. She is married herself and now a mother. The two of you have always been close, and maybe confiding in her will help you. You miss your sister and your family dearly. Your family may be a small, minor house, but the faith of the Seven and a steadfastness to always act honorably have been ingrained in you since you were a little girl. Your upbringing was strict and proper for a lady, but other than clinging to your values, you have no idea how to deal with the situation you now find yourself in.

Your marriage was arranged and could hardly be called a love match, but you have no reason to complain. You are not mistreated, and Lord Stokeworth already has children from his first lady wife, who sadly died of an illness. Indeed, little is demanded of you by your husband. You do not share much closeness, and there still remains a formality to your marriage. You make every effort to engage your husband in conversation, asking about his interests, but he is a quiet man who seems content with you being more of an occasional companion than a friend or partner.

You are still deciding if you want to write a letter or try to read when the chamber door opens and your husband enters the room. The stern expression on his face worries you. He, like you, had hoped that the Prince Regent would turn his attention elsewhere.

“I’m sorry. I wanted him to see reason…” You begin before he waves you off with his hand.

Nervously twisting your fingers while you watch your husband pour himself a generous cup of wine, waiting for him to speak. The two of you have surprisingly talked little about the Prince Regent, mostly your repeated promises that you have no intention to dishonor your marriage by giving in to his desires.

“I just spoke with the Prince Regent and his Hand,” he begins after taking a deep drink before forcefully setting the cup down. He remains standing by the table, resting his hands on the surface.

Despite months of marriage, you still find it difficult to read your husband. You can tell he is clearly distressed, but with Prince Regent Aemond or with you, you cannot tell.

“In four days, I am to personally lead my men to join the garrison at Rook’s Rest. The Hand believes that Lord Mooton of Maidenpool will lead a force to try and retake it,” he informs you, his voice hard and bitter. “It will be my responsibility to hold the settlement for the greens.”

Your mind races trying to understand the implications of this. Your husband is not a warrior; his strength lies in administering his lands and supplying food to King’s Landing. It does not take long for the true meaning of this to dawn on you.

“He will send you into battle. Because of me.“ Your heart sinks as you utter those words.

Your husband taps his fingers on the tabletop. “He also said that you could persuade him to change his mind.”

Your mouth gapes open in shock, and a knot of dread forms in the pit of your stomach. "He resorts to this to force me into his bed," you mutter quietly, as a flicker of anger lights within you. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you begin to pace. “There must be a way we can leave King’s Landing.”

Your husband’s head snaps up. “Don’t be ridiculous. There is nowhere we could go where he could not find us, and he would seize my holdings, Castle Stokeworth, and leave me with nothing!” Glaring at you, he continues, “My head would end up on a pike.”

Once again, tears begin to fill your eyes. The thought of your husband being forced to fight and possibly being killed in battle because you choose to honor your marriage vows and remain true to your husband fills you with despair.

“There is only one way to deal with this, and you must do it.”

Now it is your head that snaps up to stare at your husband. “What are you saying?”

Draining his cup of wine before refilling it, he looks at you pointedly and says, “You will go to the Prince Regent, and you will yield to his wishes.”

His words are like a slap to your face, so stunned you are. Feeling tremors throughout your body, you struggle to speak. “You would send me to another man’s bed?” you ask incredulously. “I am your wife, and you tell me to become his whore?”

Sighing, as if exasperated by the subject, he responds sullenly, “I do not care for it either, but I cannot risk my holdings, and I have no wish to die on a battlefield.” Your husband begins unfastening his doublet, walking away from you and towards the door of your chambers. Pausing to turn to you, your husband says, “There is a kingsguard waiting outside the door. It would be best not to keep the Prince Regent waiting; he is expecting you.” The tone of his voice makes it clear that he wishes for no further discussion on the subject.

Your tears are burning your eyes; you can only stammer, “Now? Like this?"

“Serving the realm sometimes means making sacrifices we do not wish to make. I see no other choice in the matter,’ he says resolutely as he opens the door and motions for the kingsguard to enter, instructing, “Please escort Lady Stokeworth to the Prince Regent.”

Shame and panic at being escorted through the Red Keep in your nightdress to be delivered to the Prince Regent threaten to overwhelm you. Anger and dismay that your own husband refuses to stand up for your honor in any way after you have spent weeks and months agonizing over Prince Aemond's advances leave you shaking. Only the lifelong teaching of obedience and your pride prevent you from falling apart completely.

Glancing at the guard, who is managing to keep his expression impassive, you allow yourself a moment to rally your composure. “One moment, please, Ser.” You walk over to a wardrobe that holds many of your clothes, searching until you find a light cloak. After you place it around your shoulders and fasten the clasp at your throat, you turn to follow the guard without another look towards your husband. Your anger is prompting your actions as you refuse to be paraded through the Keep to the Prince Regent in your nightdress for all to see.

The guard leads you part way down the corridor as you once again try to ignore your surroundings by keeping your head down. You are surprised when the guard stops and opens a door that you had never noticed before, so well concealed as part of the wall.

When he senses your hesitation, the guard quietly says, “A private passageway. We will encounter no others along the way, my lady.”

Giving him a nod, you follow him, grateful that at least half of the Keep will not see your shame at being led to the Prince Regent’s chambers. Your stomach is in knots, but strangely, you are not afraid. Your anger at your husband’s surrendering your honor and placing everything else he has above you is steeling you in an odd way. Before long, you exit the passageway, only to find yourself in an empty hallway. The kingsguard knocks on the nearest door, waiting for permission to enter. When you hear the Prince Regent’s voice bidding entry, you take a deep breath and follow him into the chambers.

“Lady Stokeworth, your grace,” announces the guard, turning to leave the room when Prince Aemond nods his head.

Still dressed from dinner, the Prince Regent sits in a chair with his long legs crossed. Though he looks relaxed, he never takes his eye off you and does not speak.

Walking a few paces closer, you give him a small nod, only greeting him with a soft “Your grace,” trying to keep your voice steady and your eyes downcast to avoid his stare.

“You’ve been crying,” he observes, noticing your red-rimmed eyes.

Standing before him, still wearing your cloak to cover your nightdress, you press your lips together before replying, “Yes, it has been a very upsetting evening.”

“It seems as though you have not changed your mind about me, yet here you are.”

Fighting the urge to tear at your fingernails, you ball your hands into fists. “It was decided that there was no choice but to come to you.”

“Decided by you or your husband?” he asks as he uncrosses his legs.

You bite your lip, unable to speak the words; your expression and silence are your answers.

Finally rising from his seat, Prince Aemond slowly comes to stand before you, reaching out to gently brush the back of his slim finger against your cheek as you try not to flinch away from his touch. “Your husband is weak. If you were mine, I would fight to the death before I let another man have you," he promises, his voice sounding oddly soft and gentle to you. “I would kill any man who even dared to think of touching you. I would protect you.”

You cannot hold back a slight huff. “Protect me? You have done nothing but torment me.” You try to keep still while Aemond slowly circles around you, staying far too close and resting his large hand on your shoulder. “Why me? I’ve never done anything to give you the impression that I want this.”

Aemond leans in to inhale the scents of the oils you use in your hair and bath, trying to identify the fragrances he finds alluring. “You have tormented my thoughts and dreams since I first saw you, a dazzling jewel that outshines all of the dull rabble that makes up this court.” He continues as he slides his hand over your cloak's clasp at the base of your throat. “Over are the days where I silently watch lesser men being given the things I deserve, things that I desire.”

With those words, he unfastens the clasp of your cloak, letting it fall from your shoulders to puddle around your slippered feet. You feel his body press against your back; his long, slim fingers gently wrap around your throat, forcing your head back to rest against his shoulder. When his arm snakes around your waist, you suck in your breath, and you feel his mouth brush against your ear, finding the spot where he can feel the beating of your heart beneath his lips.

Until you hear his whisper, “Breathe, my sweet,” you don’t realize you have been holding your breath.

“I have imagined this moment so many times and in so many different ways,” he murmurs against your skin. “When I was angry at your resistance, I wanted you on your knees, begging me to fuck you.” He pauses to suck and nips your neck hard enough to be sure it will mark you as his, before soothing the tender spot with flicks of his tongue. “When my impatience threatened to get the better of me, I thought of tearing the clothes from your body, holding you down, and fucking you so hard that you screamed.”

You gasp at hearing his vulgar descriptions of what he could do to you and what he has thought about doing to you. His grip on your throat tightens slightly, and you feel his large palm roaming over the curves of your body, with only the thin silken fabric of your nightdress as a barrier to his touch.

But his touch is having an effect on you, despite your wish to remain unmoved by him.

Your head instinctively turns toward Aemond’s face, and he seizes the opportunity to kiss your lips. His kiss is not soft; it is hungry and demanding, with his tongue pushing past your teeth and exploring your mouth. You do not resist, letting him have his way as your hand moves to grip his leather-sleeved arm to steady yourself.

Barely pausing for breath, he maneuvers you so that you are now facing him, wrapping his sinewy arms around you, holding you tightly as he grinds himself against you, while his lips never cease kissing you, only pausing to quickly murmur, “My cock aches for you.”

You can only manage a whispered "Your grace..." before he smothers your words with his lips against yours, then softly growls, "No, use my name."

Your arms have wrapped around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in his long silken hair. Shock that he is stirring feelings inside you that you have never felt before pierces through the haze of your mind. A flash of shame that your body is coming alive with pleasure that you have never felt from your husband’s touch is quickly brushed aside. When you utter his name and begin to return his kisses with equal fervor, he takes it as your accedence to his desires.

Part of your loose gown slips down your arm, exposing more skin for his lips to taste as he trails hot, wet kisses along the contours of your shoulder while allowing him to slip his hand inside, marveling at how your breast fills his large hand.

A soft moan escapes your mouth as he rubs his thumb over your nipple, causing it to stiffen into a firm peak. Your small hand grasps the back of his neck, squeezing the way his hand held your throat. You barely notice when he pushes your gown further down until it slides off your body to join your discarded cloak because he has lowered his lips to your bosom, sucking and teasing your nipple with his mouth while his hand kneads your other breast, rolling your hard, sensitive peak between his long fingers.

"Perfect tits, so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin before flicking his tongue over your nipple. Wonderful sensations spread throughout your body, and warmth pools between your legs as you watch him toy with your breasts.

As slender fingers prod your folds and uncover the moisture that seeps from your cunt, you softly whimper. Your head leans against his chest when he slides two long fingers knuckle deep inside you and teases little circles around your pearl with the calloused pad of his thumb.

"Gods, you're fucking soaked," he grunts in your ear, over the sloppy wet sounds coming from between your legs. “Tell me you want my cock. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from answering, not willing to shame yourself by uttering the words he wants to hear, but you cannot bring yourself to tell him to stop either. Only your arm around his shoulders and your weight against him hold you up.

With a curse, he abruptly stops, withdraws his hand, and scoops you up in his arms, carrying you over to his bed and dropping you down on top of the covers.

The realization that you are completely naked to his gaze pushes through the fog of your mind, but the sight of him ripping the buckles of his doublet open and tossing it to the floor before he continues to strip himself as naked as you, save his eye patch, keeps you in place. You can’t help but stare at his lithe, muscled body, decorated with patches of fine, pale hair in the center of his chest and between his lean legs, where his hard cock juts out.

"I want to taste your cunt," he said, his voice sounding like a low, strained growl as strong hands yank you closer to him.

Your eyes go wide when he pushes your legs wide apart so he can kneel between them. When you feel his tongue start licking your most private parts, you can’t hold back the soft shriek you make. You're not sure whether it's the sensation or the shock of what he is doing.

Aemond looks up at your face curiously for a second before asking, “Your husband has never done this to you, has he?”

The slight shake of your head with your lips parted in surprise puts a smirk on his face, knowing that he will be the first to taste your dripping cunt. He keeps his eye on you as he places a kiss on your sensitive bud before he starts swirling his tongue around your cunt, loving the expressions on your face.

You try to maintain eye contact, but soon the intensifying sensations have you throwing your head back and biting your lip to keep from moaning out loud. Before long, his alternating licking and sucking have your thighs quivering as a winding tightness deep inside you threatens to snap.

Just as your body is about to experience your release, he takes his mouth from your folds, resting his chin on your thigh. He watches you whimper as tears of frustration threaten to spill from your eyes.

“My dear Lady Stokeworth,” he purrs against your skin. “I wonder, how does your husband fuck you? Does he just have you lie there with your nightdress pulled up while he ruts into you?"

You feel the burn of his words' accuracy on your skin, but you will not acknowledge them. Forcing yourself up to rest on your elbows to look at him as tears roll from your eyes, you know he sees the truth all over your face.

Between wet kisses on the flesh of your thigh, he murmurs, “Tell me you want me, and I will give you your release and so much more.”

Choking back a sob and looking away from him, you barely whisper a yes, accepting that you want to feel more of the pleasure he can give you—pleasure that your husband does not.

“Look at me,” he demands. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you."

As you struggle with yourself, you feel a long finger slide inside you as a teasing reminder of the pleasure you seek, your need compelling you to give in to his wishes. “Don’t stop…please.”

He inflames your arousal further by flicking your stimulated pearl with his tongue. “You will have to do better than that, my lady. You know what I want to hear; now say it." His voice was a low growl.

As you moan your capitulation, the last shreds of your resistance shatters, leaving you with one last spark of rebellion. "Yes, Aemond. I will be your whore. Please don’t torment me any longer, just fuck me,” your voice trailing into a needy whine as tears flow freely now.

Knowing that he finally has your complete submission, Aemond can't resist one last dig: "Tonight, you finally learn how a real man fucks."

With an arm wrapped around your hip to hold you in place, his mouth descends upon your cunt while pumping two long fingers in and out of your tight walls. Fastening his lips to your bud, he relentlessly licks and sucks like a starving man finally allowed to feast.

Your back arches from the bolts of pleasure taking over your body as you fist the blanket you lay on. It does not take long for him to bring you back to the edge of delirium, and this time you do not resist, allowing yourself to be swept away when the warm tightness deep inside you snaps. Your peak leaves you whimpering and shuddering, moreso because he does not cease swirling his tongue through your folds, lapping up the sweet juices that flow from you throughout your release.

Panting, you begin to beg, ”Please, too much.” Your hand goes to the top of his silvery head, weakly trying to push him back.

Surprisingly, he does pull back and rise to his feet before joining you on the bed. “I could spend hours tasting you, but I have waited long enough. My cock aches to be inside you.”

When he moves your body as if you were a doll, you compliantly let him. When you manage to open your eyes, he is kneeling between your legs, stroking his long, hard cock as he takes in the vision of you sprawled wantonly on his bed.

Your breath catches at the sight of him now that your tears have stopped. His sharp features, sculpted limbs, and pale skin capture your attention before he presses the reddish weeping tip of his length against your soaking cunt, coating himself in your wetness.

He does not hesitate when he lines his cock with your entrance, thrusting deeply and sheathing himself fully within you with a soft grunt. Pausing for a few seconds to revel in the warm tightness surrounding his cock, his eye stares down, enjoying the sight of your now joined bodies. He slowly withdraws before plunging back in to the hilt, just to savor the image his eye sees.

His size makes you gasp—not from pain, but from a wondrous, stretching fullness that you've never felt before. Instinctively, you spread your legs wider, bend your knees for his slim hips, and arch up to fully receive him.

“Gods, woman, you’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs as he gazes at your body, now completely open to him. With a muffled growl, he takes hold of your arms, allowing one of his strong hands to pin your slender wrists above your head.

As his hard thrusts find a steady rhythm, you feel the palm of his hand moving down your body, pausing to fondle a breast as they bounce from the force of his hips rocking into yours, his heavy stones slapping against your flesh every time he buries himself in you. His cock moves over the bundle of nerves in your walls, pulling soft whimpers from your lips.

He is not fucking you gently; he has waited too long to be gentle. The bed creaks from his forceful thrusts, which fill you again and again. You can see him looming over you, with long strands of hair flowing over his shoulders and sweat glistening on his skin. As he relentlessly fucks you, his curved lips pull back, baring his teeth as his eye roams over your face and body as if trying to commit the sight to memory.

"Ahh, you're taking my cock so well," he murmurs, breathing hard with his own exertion and building pleasure. ‘Fuck, you feel too good.”

You find his praise strangely thrilling, and you strain against his hand gripping your wrists, wanting to cling to him as the nerves inside your walls blaze with each powerful stroke of his cock, but you are only able to writhe helplessly, pinned as you are beneath him as your body rocks with each hard thrust.

The tightening coil of pressure is building deep within you, and when you bite your lip to keep from moaning loudly, he admonishes gruffly, “No, I want to hear you. I want everyone to know that you are mine.”

Finally letting go of your wrists so he can move his hand between your bodies, he finds your swollen bud and starts rubbing with the roughened pads of his fingers, making it impossible to stay quiet.

A strangled cry escapes you as a burst of euphoria races through your body, every nerve coming alive at once, causing you to dig your nails into his fair skin as you cling to him as waves of bliss carry you.

As your own peak washes over you, your walls clench around his cock. His thrusts become more erratic as his own release follows quickly. Giving one final deep stroke, his body shudders as his cock twitches and spurts his seed deep inside you.

Both of you lay together, with more of his weight pressing down on you, hearts pounding and bodies trembling and entwined. His breath is hot against your skin as he nuzzles his nose along your neck while your bodies try to calm.

After a few moments, he rolls to lay beside you, his arm bringing you with him to almost reverse positions, with you now resting on his chest as he holds you tightly. Being so close to him, you begin to notice little details. There is something exotic about the way he smells: masculine scents of smoke and leather, faint hints of sweat mixed with sandalwood and musk. You think it strange that your mind chooses to mull over what he smells like at a time like this, after what you have just done.

“You are not leaving; you will stay with me tonight,” he tells you, his voice soft but making it clear that he will have no argument from you.

He gets his way after both of you rise briefly to clean yourselves. You return to find him standing by his bed, the blankets now turned down, waiting to ensure your return. You discover that he has no qualms about walking about his chambers naked, and he discourages you from retrieving your nightdress from the floor.

Neither of you speak much; both of you seem lost in your thoughts. You have no idea what to say; your mind is filled with conflicting feelings. Your night is spent in his large bed with his warm body stretched out behind you, his arm over your waist, holding you close. Soon, the room is silent, with only the sounds of Aemond’s steady breathing coming from behind you. Because your mind cannot rest, sleep does not come as quickly for you.

You are not upset with the prospect of spending the night in the prince’s bed, for you have no wish to be with your husband right now. Your anger and disappointment are too fresh, but you realize you should not be surprised. You’ve experienced more in a few short hours than in the past months of your marriage. Aemond made you feel wanted and gave you pleasure that you did not know existed—his ardor and prowess are something you do not think your husband is even capable of.

Even this, simply laying together and being held, is new to you. Normally, once your marital relations are finished, you return to your separate beds. Here you feel a warm body against yours, the hairs on his legs against your smooth skin as your limbs entwine.

As his warmth lulls you to sleep, you think that though you may be called the Prince Regent’s whore by the court, you could grow to like being in these chambers.

“Are you ready? We should not keep your husband waiting.” Aemond comes to stand next to you, taking your hand in his. The conqueror’s crown already sits atop his head, and his kingsguard stands by the door.

Returning his smile with one of your own as he places your hand on his arm, you begin your walk to see the men off to battle, including your husband, Lord Stokeworth, leading his compliment of men. You have not seen your husband since you were escorted to the prince’s chambers. The next morning, Aemond ordered your belongings moved to his royal chambers and asked you to remain there.

Since then, the two of you have spent every possible moment together. Aemond has not neglected his duties, but he has returned to you as quickly as he can. You’ve had supper together in his chambers every evening and spent the nights exploring each other’s bodies in his bed and a few other places as well. Since Aemond insisted on showering you with gifts, you've spent your days with dressmakers and jewelers.

You can see the stares and hear the gasps as people part to make way for the Prince Regent, as he escorts you on his arm through the Keep as if you were his queen. No longer will you try to ignore the stares by keeping your eyes downcast, for the man who wears the conqueror’s crown and rides the largest dragon has promised you will be treated with the utmost respect as his lady. Along the way, Lady Rosby catches your eye with a sly smile and nods her head.

This is the first time you have been seen publicly with Aemond since being sent to his bed by your own dear husband. For months, the prince’s attention filled you with shame, and you thought submitting to his desires would devastate you; instead, the opposite happened. Your night with Aemond showed you how a man could make you feel, as well as how cold and empty your marriage was.

Your husband may have sent you to Aemond's bed, but you will gladly stay there by choice and enjoy it for as long as it lasts.

Stepping out of the Keep and into the hazy sunlight, you see a small crowd has gathered, not to wish farewell to men possibly heading off to their deaths in battle but to see the Prince Regent send the husband of his long-sought-after bedmate off to his possible death.

After a short speech from the Hand of the King with words of duty, honor, and glory in battle, the men begin to ride past to start their journey. To your Lord Stokeworth’s credit, he does not even glance at you as he rides past.

You know he believed that by sending you to Aemond, the order sending him to battle would be rescinded, allowing him to continue to serve here in the safety of the Red Keep. He trusted that you would beg Aemond to spare him; you could have, but you didn't.

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