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shesjustanothergeek · 7 months

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His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Five

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I'm in my George R. R. Martin era, besties. He told me it's okay to take my time with my writing and not force myself. I mean, who am I to say no to the king himself? As always, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: Violence, non-consensual knifeplay aka stabbing, we don't know how to cope here we have Daemon Targaryen as a father.

"Her hands do violence, but there is a different dream in her heart." - Dishonored.

The Red Keep was in upheaval. Maids hurriedly carried baskets of clothing throughout the halls, servants checked over their shoulders at every turn, and every entrance and exit was guarded with at least two Gold Cloaks. A curfew was set in place by order of the Hand. No one was to roam through the Keep past sunset unless necessary.

There were no more unaccompanied excursions to the training yard, and if Arryk hadn't been overbearing before, he was practically an extension of you now. Everywhere you went, whether to the library or the Godswood, Ser Arryk was always five paces away. He was almost breathing down your neck at every turn, hand on the pommel of his sword, ready for the unseen threat.

You did suppose it was your fault, having murdered a member of the City Watch, but it was still rather annoying. You understood, of course, why there was a need to be up in arms about it, and you couldn't blame them for it. There was a murderer in their midst, and if they could best a trained killer, a man hardened with battle, what would they do to a defenseless Lord or Lady?

No one suspected you. Of course, they wouldn't. You were just one of the many bastards of Daemon Targaryen who had the sheer luck of becoming legitimized. You were only mindless court gossip, an object for men and women to gab over, not a human being. And while you did resent the fact, it worked in your favor.

"Who do you think could've done it?" Fiora asked Jeyne as she washed your scalp. "They said it was violent, that his head was severed from his body!"

Jeyne rolled her eyes, using a bristled brush to scrub at your nails. "Do not believe such rumors, Fiora. You're just as gullible as the lot of them," the older woman dismissed, gesturing her head.

"But Jeyne, Lottie told me herself! She was the one who discovered his body; the Mother rest his soul." The younger maidservant silently prayed as she brought a curved finger to her lips, looking up to the stone ceiling.

"How did a servant discover his corpse?" you questioned with your eyes closed, body adjusting within the warm water of the bath.

"Well, you see," Fiora started, suddenly stopping her ministrations, "Ser Lorgan was known as... umm... oh, what do you call it?" You glanced over at Jeyne with a brow raised. "He... Well... Ser Lorgan Sunderly had many friends. Many."

"Oh, Gods Fiora," Jeyne blurted exasperated, rolling her eyes. "He was a harlot. He had rotations of women in his bed, only to leave them wanting and waiting in the morn. It seems only fitting that he should be discovered by one."

You frowned, though it was not one of sadness but more of a believing surprise. Judging by how easy Ser Lorgan was as you led him to bed, it made sense. As you spoke, you relaxed into the tub, shutting your lids again. "Do you think it was one of his companions? Scorned by his lack of care and repertoire of lovers?"

Jeyne snorted, placing your hand into the water as she started on the other. "That seems likely, but have done it with such," she paused, staring at the furthest wall of your chambers as she thought of the correct word, "malice. But that tends to happen when one has been slighted, no matter how insignificant it seems to another."

You nodded with her sentences as Fiora rinsed the soap from your ebony strands, massaging rose oil into it once done. As the two women assisted you in leaving the bath, wrapping a thick cotton towel around your body, a knock sounded, leaving the three of you puzzled and slightly inconvenienced. You gestured to the maids to bring the bamboo partition over to your dressing vanity so they could continue their nightly routine.

"Enter," you called from behind the intricate paneling. The artisans nailed a cream-colored canvas tarp into the wood to protect your modesty, leaving you and the others outside to see dark shadows.

"Princess," you could see the figure bowing, still keeping formalities despite the informal presence. "I beg your pardon. I am here to do my nightly rounds before rest."

You hummed, Fiora gently rubbing your hair with the towel. It weighed heavily on your scalp when wet, and you gave the servant a grateful smile to have the weight taken off your neck.

"Ser Arryk, I should have known it was you. Who else would knock at my chambers at an inconvenient hour?" Jeyne rubbed the lavender oil you loved onto your skin, mixing a few drops of clary sage to help calm your nerves before sleep.

"Forgive me, Princess, but your wellbeing is my utmost priority," he replied smoothly, not thinking of the implications his words could mean.

Huffing a laugh, you raised your arms into your porcelain nightgown, the sleeves short for the late summer heat, ending just below your ankles.

"Your priority or the Crown's? Is it not you who pledged to obey the King's commands, to keep his secrets, to counsel him when requested, and to keep silent when not, to defend his name and honor?" You grinned as you recited the oath the seven members of the Kingsguard took in a mocking tone, Fiora running a comb through your damp hair at the vanity.

"Yes, Princess, but-"

"It seems near treasonous for my wellbeing to be your priority," you interrupted with a condescending tone. "Was it the King who assigned you as my shield?"

"No, Your Grace. It was the Hand." Arryk's voice lowered an octave, causing you to feel slight remorse.

"Then, why do you serve me so steadfastly? Should you not be guarding your King in these perilous times? There's a murderer on the lose, ser."

"The Hand's word is the King's," the knight countered, an odd occurrence for the obedient man.

You hummed again in response as you rose from your dressing vanity, your hair still damp and smelling faintly of flowers. You revealed yourself from behind the partition, hands clasped behind your back and chin held high.

"So it would seem," you replied lowly, stopping your movements a step away from the kingsguardmen. Arryk's eyes quickly flickered downwards before snapping to the wall behind you. "By all means, Ser Arryk, survey my chambers to ensure the killer is not hidden between my dresses."

You gestured to the space around you as you sat at the head of your bed, back resting against your pillows with your legs crossed. The knight made his rounds, looking inside your wardrobe, curtains, a trunk at the end far corner of your room filled with winter dresses, ridding leathers, and a quilt Ma sewed for you for your last nameday. You watched with an unimpressed smirk, your brows raised as he stood straight like a rod announcing his task was complete.

"Aren't you forgetting something, ser?" Arryk gazed at you, puzzled, his shoulder-length hair tied back at the base of his neck. "Why, Ser Arryk, you forgot the most obvious spot underneath my bed! Don't you want to keep me safe? As you said, there is a murderer within the castle," you teased mischievously, a toothy grin rounding your cheeks.

He begrudgingly followed your orders, ever the dutiful knight, though they were a jest. The Kingsguard's armor clanked as he kneeled at the side of your bed, using a gloved hand to balance himself on the mattress as he searched the area. As you suspected, there was no one hidden within the shadows of your room, and when Ser Arryk deemed all was safe, he rose and was met with the sight of you on your haunches, a playful expression on your face.

Once again, his eyes flickered downwards and then to the wall behind you. Your lips fell into a thin line, annoyed with his avoidance as you caught him looking again. You lowered your gaze as your skin blanched, swiftly cowering the prominent outline of your nipples, the textured skin around them peeking through the white fabric.

"You may go, Ser Cargyll," you declared hurriedly, pivoting on your knees as you hid underneath your sheets. "Why did you not tell me you could practically see my breasts beneath this gown?" You exclaimed at your maids, the two ladies staring after the door.

Fiora couldn't contain her giggles, covering her freckled cheeks as Jeyne barely withheld a smile. "We thought you knew," the older woman answered.

You groaned, rolling over in bed and shoving your face into your goose feather pillows. "You're wicked. Both of you! Leave me here to rethink of this at the last moment before I fall asleep."

They both chuckled, curtsying with their red woolen dresses before exiting and leaving you to wallow in shame and self-loathing.

***

A light rain drizzled outside the red rock walls of the Keep, a hazy grey mist blanketing all of Kings Landing. All the inhabitants, even the poor folk, hide indoors and underneath awnings, the humidity suffocating. Your daily luncheon with Helaena was eaten within her chambers instead of the typical garden surroundings, and you stared longingly out of the high-paned windows.

The rain had been perpetual for the past few days, never exceeding a delicate sprinkle. It seemed to be making up for the lack of thunderstorms that usually cracked the night sky during summer, and a part of you hoped that the Gods forsaken thing would pour and be done with it. You couldn't stand another hour trapped within the castle; it only served to remind you of your surroundings and the ache for Dragonstone.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera played a few steps away from you and the Princess's place at her dining table, a well-worn wooden dragon in one hand and a finely sewn stuffed doll in the other. The twins had grown so much in the past moons, each saying their first word within weeks of the other, and since then, they had a habit of imitating every sound they heard.

Helaena was delighted when her little Jaehaera mimicked a noise that sounded like "eat," though when she prompted her daughter to repeat it; it was the prefix elongated. Still, you smiled and matched her excited expression, trying to coax more words out of the tot. Jaehaerys followed a fortnight later, but it was a less joyful experience. The young boy was amid his infamous tantrums, screaming, "Up, up, up." The nursemaids were at a loss of what to do when he kept wailing in their arms.

You were unsure of how they concluded, but soon, you were brought into the nursery, having been the only person able to calm Jaehaerys down in the past, and it worked. Soon, the only sound out of the boy's mouth was "up," which sadly meant he wanted you and would scream and cry until he was in your arms. Being at someone's beck and call was irksome, but you couldn't deny the warm feeling and bright smile at being wanted.

Helaena's muttering threw you from your thoughts, her lilac eyes glassy as she stared at her children before her. Her fingers pressed against her thin, peony lips as if she were in a trance, feeling the soft muscles as they contorted.

"Beast beneath the boards... a fool's parsley... a sacrifice... peace reborn." The delicate words left her mouth in mumbles, straining your ears to fill in the missing gaps in her sentences.

Nothing made sense. It was all scattered pieces and fervent rambling, purple eyes flickering too fast for Helaena to genuinely see what was in front of her. You had seen her like this before, but it was many moons past, and some of you thought you might have made the two instances up since it had yet to happen since then.

She continued her words, her trance unbreakable as her son whacked his twin with his toy, causing the poor girl to burst into screaming tears, the nursemaids rushing to their sides. Jaehaerys soon began to cry like his sister, too young to understand that what he did was wrong and why his sister was crying.

"Helaena," you gently called, placing a timid but reassuring hand on her silken tan gown sleeve.

"Up! Up!" Jaehaerys began to wail, waddling over to your seat with his Mother. You delicately dismiss the boy, motioning to the nursemaid.

"Your Grace?" you repeated more forcefully, squeezing her forearm. "Princess, are you all right?"

Suddenly, in time with her son's sobs, Helaena's wide eyes met with your concerned ones, gripping your wrist with a strength you hadn't known she possessed.

"A sacrifice of blood; peace reborn in flames," she nearly shouted, causing you to flinch at the abrupt shift in her mood.

"Up!"

You turn to Jaehaerys, standing and scooping the upset child in your embrace as you tenderly stroke his soft silver hair, leaning his face into the crook of your neck. Helaena plugged her ears, moving away from the crying children as she stared at the tapestry of a viridian meadow, sheep, and lambs grazing on the tall grass, unblinking.

After a few moments, the twins finally calmed, the pain of poor Jaehaera's injury subsiding and her brother content in your arms. The poor maidservants looked exhausted after the situation, frizzy strands of hair peeking from their white caps as one placed a cool, damp cloth on the sniffling girl's afflicted area.

The Princess released a shaky breath, removing her thin fingers from her ears as she faced adequately in her chair, taking a sip of juice from her cup and eating a slice of the goat cheese she requested. You gave Jaehaerys to the unoccupied nursemaid, the boy releasing an unhappy coo as you stroked his plump cheek with the knuckle of your index before returning to your place at the dining table.

You both continued to eat in silence. The only sound was occasional sniffling from one of the two tots and your chewing. The atmosphere had never been uncomfortable with Helaena, even with the rare appearance of her Queen Mother, and you were unsure of what to do, your lip curling between your teeth.

"I am with child again," Helaena spoke, her announcement cutting through the quiet like the blade of Dark Sister. She placed her hand affectionately on her lower stomach, a small smile on her angelic visage.

Your heart stopped at the revelation, sucking in a sharp breath as your nose began to itch, a telltale sign of tears. You were at a loss for words, not immediately congratulating her as was expected. A maelstrom of emotions surged through you, all in conflict with each other. Of course, you were happy for Helaena; you knew how much she loved being a mother. How much joy she held even when her children overwhelmed her. You bristled at the notion that some women were meant to be mothers, an idea you felt reduced the woman to her offspring rather than her being with autonomy, but with the Princess, it did not seem to dwindle her humanity. It was simply a quality of her that made Helaena all the more endearing.

"My congratulations, Princess. I am certain you'll birth another healthy babe as before," you responded. Your words were precise and calculated, as if you were speaking to a Lord and not your closest friend.

You swallowed the feeling of anger and crushed the green claws of jealousy. Emotions you had no right to bear. Aegon was her husband by law and the divine. Their duty was to create as many heirs as possible, but the sheer rage burning within saw no reason. You felt scorned by Aegon. Betrayed. The whore Prince wasted no time stuffing his cock inside anything it would fit, and you felt foolish to think he would ever do anything else.

He never cared for you, as he claimed. You were just a plaything to use and discard whenever you were unwilling. Did he indeed mean what he said? That the years you spent tucked away at Dragonstone were agony for him, or was that some ploy to disarm you and make you pliant in his bed? Aegon was an intelligent man, but you did not think him cunning.

Perhaps you would accept Ser Dalton Greyjoy's proposal and have the realm descend into madness. You would have the Greyjoy's fleet, army, and the Houses who already pledged loyalty to your Mother. Aegon would be dead before the end of that year if he were ever to take the Iron Throne.

"Yes. I will be a mother once more," Helaena spoke, a slight blush on her porcelain skin. "You are my closest friend, sweet cousin," she began, becoming bashful. "I would like you to assist with my birth in the coming moons. I-I know it's not for quite some time, but it would ease me greatly if you did."

You inhaled a shuddering breath, your polite smile slightly faltering. The idea of witnessing a birth firsthand frightened you deeply. You knew of the complications that could happen during the process and after it and how painful it was. You often wondered why women were chosen for such an act. It was men who ruled the world. Why was it not them who dealt with the burden? Men were free to do as they wished, take as many mistresses as they pleased, and govern countries as they saw fit. Why did they not have to carry the burdens of life? Why must it fall on women?

"Of course, Princess," you answered, your tone clipped though it seemed lost on the dreamy-eyed girl. She smiled in thanks, her lithe fingers intertwining with yours.

"Soon you shall be married and you'll understand the joys of child bearing. You're already so good with Jaehaerys. Some might even think he's your own if they did not know better." You couldn't hide the involuntary downward twitch of your mouth, your gaze changing into that of a frightened doe as she spoke. "I've heard whispers of Lord Dalton Greyjoy considering a betrothal. I wouldn't want you so far from me and the children, but I know you will do your duty should it come to that."

Helaena, oblivious to your discomfort, continued about different Houses that would be worthy of your hand, absentmindedly stroking your knuckles with her thumb.

In the naivety of your younger years, you believed your bastard status would prevent Lords from seeking a marriage. You planned to stay with your family for the rest of your days, assisting in politics and courtly matters while Rhaenyra ruled the Seven Kingdoms. Your life as a spinster would be happy without worrying about dying in the birthing bed like your Mother. But as all things did, the Gods seemed to have different plans for you.

You cleared your throat of the lump that had formed during Helaena's conversation, tentatively patting the back of her hand as you made up some excuse of promising Ser Arryk that you'd meet him in the library after your luncheon. The Princess was downtrodden to see you go but understood nevertheless, placing quick kisses on the tops of the twin's heads.

You exited Helaena's chambers in a flurry of gold embroidered black skirts, your sworn shield struggling to match your pace. The thick air of the Keep made sweat instantly seep from your pores, your exposed skin becoming sticky and uncomfortable.

You couldn't take it. The tears you had kept at bay finally stung your eyes, blurring your vision as you furiously wiped them away. Even when Aegon wasn't near you, he still affected your life. He was like a disease, infecting your mind with his plague, making you unable to think clearly and feel things you had no control over. Aegon's rot festered inside you like mold, its inky black tendrils invading your heart until it was a cold, immovable stone.

"Your Grace, wait!" Arryk called, his heavy silver armor clanking with his hurried movements. "Your Grace, what," he paused, inhaling an exerted breath as he saw your tears, "what's wrong?"

The knight placed a comforting hand on your shoulder that you shoved away as if it burned. "Nothing, Ser Arryk. I simply tire of the soupy weather."

He stepped back, a mixture of shock and hurt gracing his features. You had never rejected his affections before, and Arryk was at a loss for how to proceed.

"Princess, what ails you?" he insisted.

You flashed an indignant look at the knight, grimacing. "What ails me is nothing of your concern, Ser Cargyll," you snapped, continuing your brisk pace to your rooms.

"But Princess-"

"No," you interrupted, turning to face him and clenching your fists with your teeth bared. "Tis nothing of your concern. You are my sworn shield, not my friend. It would do you well to remember that."

The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them, regret taking hold of you. Arryk's usual stiff posture slackened, his shoulders slightly slumping, mouth parted in shock, and blue eyes wide with hurt. You wanted to rescind the vile sentences, but it was too late, for they had already cut the man deeper than any sword.

Sighing, you buried your face in your palms, hoping to rub the sweat and shame away. There was no purpose in apologizing. If you did, you wouldn't know if Arryk truly accepted it. He would follow your orders mindlessly, forever upholding his duty to the royal family. You looked away from the kingsguardmen, taking a breath to speak, but closed your mouth instead, resigning to your fate.

"Once you escort me to my rooms, you are dismissed for the day," you expressed, your voice holding a hint of passivity as you gesture.

Arryk nodded curtly, his body resuming its normal posture as he followed behind wordlessly.

***

As Jeyne and Fiora braided the last few strands of your ebony hair, you played with one of your daggers, observing the flickering metal in the vanity mirror as you spun it with the tip of your finger. Your eyes reflected someone who was not yourself.

Once bright orbs that burst with a ring of purple were now dull and lackluster, with a thin veil of fog clouding their color. Blue half circles decorated your lower eyelids, your cheeks devoid of the typical pink glow they held. Your lips were red, splotches of white skin healing from where you had bitten them raw.

Was this a sudden change, or did the features of you slowly drain until there was nothing left but a husk of your joyful self? The image of Queen Alicent flashed in your mind's eye; the woman always shrouded in green and pain you could never put a name to. For a moment, you felt pity for the poor woman, forced to marry a man twice her senior when she was but a girl, producing heirs for the King before your Mother was married, moved to sacrifice her girlhood for the sake of the kingdom, her family, and duty.

You released the dagger from your finger, letting it clatter on the polished vanity as Fiora flicked rose water into your braided hair. You would not let yourself feel pity for the woman who stood idle when shown the death of two innocents. She deserved whatever harm befell her and whatever pain is to come, the green bitch.

"Will you leave the window open tonight, along with a water basin? The room is still quite stuffy from the day, and I'm afraid I'll grow hot throughout the night," you asked the two maids, who nodded in acquiescence, forever kind and dutiful.

You would never let trouble befall them. They were innocents like Lyra and Sara. They needn't know more difficulty than what was already their station. Fiora and Jeyne left with small bows, bidding you a peaceful night's rest and promising to bring some citrus tea in the morning.

You stared at the stone ceiling above, the dark oak rafters, and a crisscross of different beams connecting like trails on a map. No spiderwebs were spun in the corners of the wood like Ma's little house. Every minute detail was accounted for. There was no dust resting on any surface like the pillow house. No loud lecherous moans sounded through thin straw-packed walls or rhythmic banging that used to lull you to sleep.

You sometimes missed the groans and whines that accompanied Ma's establishment. On your first night alone in the Red Keep, you could barely find rest in the silence, not because of the anxiety of what lay ahead but because it was noiseless, bone-chillingly so. One could sneeze, and the entire castle would hear it. Now, you had grown accustomed to the quiet and were sure that if you spent a night in your old bed, you would not find sleep.

You needed to visit Madame soon. It felt like an era since the last time you spoke to her, and she most certainly felt that, too. Despite what people believed, she was an excellent maternal figure in your life. She did her best to teach you the ways of life at a young age, and perhaps she did too well at that, for you knew things no child should know at the fresh age of one and ten. You learned how to steal, sew, and cook by eight, and by ten, you could lure men faster to the brothel than any whore could. At the time, you were proud of it, proud to excel in a task someone you looked up to gave you, but you understood now why you were so good at it, the hairs on your arms standing.

Swallowing your thoughts, you rose from the bed, going to your wardrobe and securing a long robe across your body. You stared at the discarded dagger atop your dressing vanity, the curved blade engraved with the body of a dragon, its head emerging from the widest end. The black leather of the hilt felt comforting against your scorching skin, tracing the smooth scale pattern that separated the silver dragon head that consisted of the cross guard and pommel.

You couldn't recall where or who gave you the thing, most likely another gift from Daemon. If you didn't know any better, you swore that your Father believed you to be a boy with the Harvest, Maiden Day, Yule, and nameday gifts he gave you.

Grabbing your dagger's holster, you buckled it just below your knee, admiring the contrast it created against your skin before dropping the hem of your nightdress. You brushed your digits through your braided hair, releasing a breath.

The maids left a single candlestick in its holder lit on your dining table, letters strewn about the obsidian-colored wood. You stared at the most recent letter of Lord Greyjoy, stating there had been sightings of a dragon near the border of the Iron Isles, burning the small plots of fields of his bannermen, though nobody had seen the coloring of it to be sure of who it belonged to. You knew it couldn't be your Father. Daemon liked to make statements with the Blood Wyrm and would be sure to be seen. Your Mother would never do such a thing, and Jace and Luke had no reason to fly across the entire continent of Westeros to burn little Lordling fields.

Vhagar was a beast in the skies, so one would see her flying. Dreamfyre, Tessarion, and their accompanying riders would only venture so far and reek dragon fire on unsuspecting people. Aegon was the only one whom you needed clarification on. His dragon was not particularly fast, but the golden scales of Sunfyre would reflect the sun's rays and blind those below. Still, you couldn't understand why the first son of the King would burn crops of unsuspecting civilians, but then again, Aegon was not the man you believed him to be, and he continued to prove that true.

You were unsure why you did it as the candle's flames licked the inked parchment, watching as the soft glow became bright orange, consuming the letter whole.

You cared not for any word of Lord Dalton since the announcement of his marriage proposal. The time your Father granted you to think made the reasoning for a refusal all the more apparent. The Lord Reaper of Pyke was a bloodthirsty man who was uncaring for the women in his life if adding three new Salt Wives since your courting was any indication. He was cruel to them, and you knew you would be treated no differently. Women were just commodities to the man, tiny tokens and treasure he collected on his travels to use as he pleased. You would not become his ornament nor any other man's so long as the dragon's blood flowed through your veins.

Once you reduced the letter to ashes, you pressed your ear against the chamber doors, listening in the silence of the night for the evening guard to snore. It was not more than twenty minutes before you heard the telltale noise emanate from the back of his throat, exiting the room with noiseless steps.

Your bare feet were sure in their strides, carrying you swiftly to your destination, knowing when to hide behind a corner and when to turn. You had traversed this pathway before, though it had been in the day and not lit by a single candle. The white streak in your hair was stark compared to your ebony locks, a single silver strand glowing in the moonlight as you padded to the lower barracks of the White Sword Tower.

Ser Edder would be readying for bed. He often spoke of his love for a good tome before sleep; you had even recommended some of your own. You didn't know why. Perhaps it was a tactic to soothe the guilt that knocked on your ribcage whenever you smiled too wide for what could be called acting. It was no matter. A man would be found dead by sunrise, and your pain would be vindicated.

There would be more men guarding the entrance to the knight's quarters, but it was late, the hour of the eel before the night's watch, and they would be craving rest like a drunkard to a bottle. You quickly slipped past a sleeping pair, found some awake, and threw a loose pebble left on the floor from insufficient cleaning.

Immediately striding to the door you knew was Edder's, you knocked thrice, glancing over your shoulders. You heard a soft shuffling from behind the wooden slab, a metal clanking, and then the creek of a hinge. Ser Edder's sword tip was pointed swiftly at your chest, eliciting a soft gasp from parted lips.

"Princess? What are you doing here? It's not safe," he chastised, placing his sword against the wall.

"I-" you stuttered, bringing your fingers to your lips as you looked around nervously. "I do not feel safe in my chambers, Ser Edder."

The knight glanced down both ends of the hall, staring at you briefly before opening the door wider. You stepped into his space, observing your surroundings much like Ser Lorgan's, save for a bookshelf filled with the appropriate items.

You turned towards Edder. Your body curled in on itself as you placed your candle and its holder on a small table. "I apologize for the impropriety of this visit, but I do not feel safe here."

Edder stepped closer, keeping a respectable distance as he observed your attire. "Princess, you are a member of the royal family. You're more guarded than the walls to Casterly Rock."

You laughed mirthlessly, a glint of bitterness behind your gaze. "You think too highly of the Hand, Ser. I believe they would sooner have me dead than waste a guard that could go toward his kin." You took a calming breath, placing the palms of your hands on your stomach to unwrap your robe, placing it next to your candle. "I'm frightened that the murderer will come for me. I was acquaintances with Ser Lorgan. What if I am next on his list? The Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks would not think twice before leaving me to protect the King."

Edder extended a comforting hand to your bicep but quickly placed it back at his side, turning it into a blanched fist. You had to fight the urge to smile.

Men are easy, simple creatures.

"You have your sworn shield, Ser Cargyll. He would stop at nothing to protect you, your grace," he protested softly, speaking like you were an untamed horse.

You hastily closed the distance between the two of you, grabbing his arm the same way he wished to do to you. "He cannot protect me at all hours of the day. The guard outside my room was asleep. That's how I was able get here. If-if I could so easily sneak by him undetected, how would I survive a trained killer? I would be dead by morn and no one would be none the wiser." You rambled to the knight above you, his moss-green eyes boring into your peculiar ones.

Edder thought they shimmered like a pool of amethyst, the purple and brown glimmering with undeniable beauty. You were enchanting, and the Gold Cloak was momentarily distracted by it in the dim glow of the room. You were the pure embodiment of the Maiden as you gazed up at him, your plump lips quivering with intensity.

It was only a moment, but you noticed how Ser Edder's gaze flickered downwards before returning to yours. His emotions were written plainly on his face, a picture book straightforward enough to read for even the simple-minded. You were pleasantly surprised how effortless it was to make him melt. All you needed to do was bat your pretty eyelashes and pout your plush lips.

"Will you protect me, Ser Edder? I fear no one else will," you pleaded doeishly.

"I-" You could spot the hesitancy in his voice as his muscles rippled beneath his cotton undershirt.

"Please, Ser, I beseech you." Edder swallowed thickly, the notch in his throat bobbing. "I need you, Ed. Please."

And that was all it took for the man to fall, his hand resting over yours as he nodded. You swiftly embraced him, hoping the action would ease him of regret or second-guessing. The knight slowly reciprocated the affection, loosening his tense posture.

Gods. Would they all act like this if a lady came crying and begging for their services? Would they forget propriety and respect simply due to a woman's moment of weakness? Or was it because you were a bastard, a Lady in name only, that Edder and Ser Lorgan felt comfortable enough to act in such a way? The thought only served to fuel your anger, and you squeezed His broad torso tighter.

"Thank you, Ser, thank you," you said breathlessly, releasing your hold as you gazed back into his.

You left no room to protest as you slammed your mouth onto his, all teeth and panting breaths as his lips remained stock still. You tangled your fingers into his cropped hair, digging them into his scalp to force him to reciprocate, but failed. Pulling away, you sucked in a much-needed breath, your eyes searching his face for any response to your actions.

Ser Edder looked down with reddened cheeks and bruised lips, a mixture of shock and pity on his features. Your body flared with the burn of rejection, your stomach churning with disgust at yourself, at your actions. Bile burned at the back of your throat, threatening to spill past your tongue as you separated from him as if his mere touch scorned you. You should've killed him before entering the room and saved yourself from this embarrassment.

"Princess," Ser Edder began, his voice so soft and kind that it made you want to scream. You turned away from him, cheeks flaming as you held your stomach, a wave of vile shame overtaking you. "Let me escort you back to your chambers."

You stepped toward the table where your candle was and gripped the edge, bracing yourself on the side of it as you inhaled deeply.

"Tis not safe for you to venture back alone, your grace," he continued. You rolled your eyes in response, your white-knuckled grip loosening as you faced him.

"You're correct, Ser Edder. It is not safe. Please escort me back to my rooms." The knight nodded, reaching the door as you hastily rucked up your nightdress and unsheathed your dagger.

Your legs carried your body on quick limbs, plunging the curved blade into the space between Ser Edder's shoulder and spine. The man hollered in pain as you jumped on his back, attempting to slice his throat, more wildling than a woman. He effortlessly pushed you to the side, falling onto the stone floor like a ragdoll, cracking your skull against the stone floor. Your vision swam, unable to open your eyes as fast as your mind told them to as you felt a hand grasp the wrist holding the knife.

"Princess, stop this. You're feeling unwell." You yanked your arm from his grasp, blinking rapidly to try and clear your head.

You refused to dignify the man with a response, freeing yourself from Ser Edder as you scrabbled away, putting your body in between him and the door. You assumed a guarded position as the knight glanced at the sword on the wall beside you. Before Edder could think to reach for it, you lunged forward, using the height difference to your advantage as he tumbled to the ground below you. You poised the dagger above your head, ready to drive it downward, but Ser Edder blocked it.

Your years of training were little compared to his lifetime as you struggled, using your body weight to aid the force. His arms shook below you, realizing his life would be forfeit if he didn't think of some way to stop you. Edder brought his knee to your side, faulting your movements as the blade slipped between his hands and cut through the meat of his shoulder, letting out a cry of pain.

You groaned in displeasure, curling in on your side as you regained your balance, gritting your teeth and smacking your head against his. Blood trickled from his nose, the positioning slightly out of place as he blinked rapidly. You repositioned the dagger, plunging it into his chest with a growl. Edder's squirming caused you to miss the vital area of his heart, puncturing his lung as you went to do it again, only to be stopped by a strong arm, thumb digging into the tendons of your wrist until you dropped the weapon.

You clabbered off the knight as you crawled to the knife, your fingers dusting the leather hilt as you were pulled across the flagstone floor, nails scraping. Kicking and flailing your legs, Ser Edder subdued you, kneeling on your back to keep you flush with the floor as he pinned your hands behind you.

"Princess, we must get you to a Maester. You are not well. I'll explain to him that it was a bout of Hysteria and we shall forget the whole thing," the Gold Cloak attempted to reason, only to be met with a feral snarling as you wriggled beneath him.

"Get off of me you, bastard! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you for what you did!" you screamed, the muscles in your neck and back cramping.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Princess. I-I apologize for not returning your affections, but I am a man sworn to the City's Watch, my duty comes before-"

"You stupid fucking man! You are dead! You're fucking dead for what you did to them! I'll have your head sitting on a spike just as you did for them!"

Edder was silent above you, and you kicked your heel into his back, his grip loosening enough to where you could wiggle your arms free, propelling upwards and hitting your crown against his already injured nose. You grabbed the sides of his head before he could recover, slamming his bloodied face into your knee as he collapsed. You swung your bare foot into his stomach next, then his chest, knocking the escaping air out.

Scooping the dagger up from the ground, you quickly stabbed it between his ribs, ensuring it pierced past the flesh and into his guts, just as your Father taught you. Blood poured out of the line-shaped hole, staining his undershirt and the soles of your feet. Edder's arms immediately went to the wound as you kneeled, grabbing him by the roots of his perfectly cropped hair, sneering.

"Years ago, you and Ser Lorgan Sunderly put two innocent women to death. One a humble servant to the realm and the other a whore. My only family, and you killed them. Chopped off their heads and left them for the birds and maggots to eat. I wish I could afford you the same treatment, but," you pause, inhaling a deep breath as Ser Edder slapped weakly at your face, "we can't all get what we want. I wonder how your dearest Mother will fare after the news of your gruesome murder reaches her. Will she weep for you as I did? Will she curse the Gods for taking away her beloved son?" You chuckled darkly, the sound foreign, like it didn't belong to you.

"If the Gods are truly as merciful as we believe, perhaps the stranger will greet the woman before long. I wouldn't want her to live with the pain." You released Ser Edder's sweat-dampened hair, rising from your knees as you wet to his cot, wiping the blood from your hands and face.

Soft groans sounded behind you, and you turned to see the man standing, staggering toward the door and cradling his side as if that would change his fate. He would bleed out before any guard came to his rescue; you ensured that. You observed him silently as he stumbled to the wooden door of his chamber, tilting your head in a peculiar curiosity as if you were studying one of Helaena's insects. Edder's attempted escape was endearing, and it almost hurt your heart as you walked towards him.

With the curve of your blade pointed towards you, you wrapped your free arm around his skull, slowly sliding the hair-like edge across the thin flesh of his throat as blood sprayed onto his only exit. His body dropped to an unmoving heap on the floor, his gurgling drowned out by the crimson liquid spurting from his neck as it seeped into the cracked stone below.

Masterlist of Series

Yes, I support women's rights, but most importantly, I support women's wrongs. Like, yeeeesss, get it, girl. Slay! SLAY YOUR ENEMIES! SMITE DOWN THOSE WHO OPPOSE YOU! She's such a girl boss.

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