The Northern Tyrant [Game of Thrones] Chapter 13 - Pillow Talk, Tunnel Rat & Queen's Healing II (Patreon)

Red Keep, Wylis woke up groggy that day, still dark as usual. He barely got any sleep last night. After digging the tunnel and using Earthbe

Red Keep,

Wylis woke up groggy that day, still dark as usual. He barely got any sleep last night. After digging the tunnel and using Earthbending, he would get so tired that his sleep could be called a coma. 

"Hm?"

He heard some noise from the little window and looked outside. 

It's raining? 

Although winter had started to fade away, it was still pretty cold, and the rain made it colder. So, he wore proper clothes that day. New ones that arrived yesterday. Made for his big size. Still, no armor. 

All done, he left the room and walked upstairs to stand guard in front of the Queen's bedchamber. Like usual, the four maids came some time later, and he allowed them inside. The job was so boring that he felt like sleeping while standing.

Moments later, he stepped aside and let the maids leave the bedchamber. Behind them, the Queen walked out, looking as stunning as the day before, her gown a shade of red and purple that day, somewhat off the shoulder, but not too revealing. She was a sight to behold. 

"Ser Wylis?" 

Rhaella appeared surprised for a moment. 

Wait, did she think I was going to leave last night?

Wylis smiled and, as usual, kissed the back of her hand. And as he stood up straight, he whispered to her. "Won't leave without saying goodbye, Your Grace."

A sudden, electrifying shine returned to the woman's eyes. Sadly, still no smile. He really wanted to see her smile once. 

"It is raining today, Ser Wylis." Rhaella said, "Viserys will be visiting the court. I think I shall spend the morning in the Godswood. The pavilion will do well enough to keep me dry."

Wylis nodded and started following her around. They exited Maegor's Holdfast and then crossed some walls and soon arrived in the Godswood. He wanted to survey the area for his escape, so he was focused. 

Eventually, they arrived on a one-acre lot full of alders and elms. They reached the tree-heart, an old oak tree, massive. And nearby it was the large pavilion, roofed and dry, with soft cushioned seats and a table. 

There were no servants. Rhaella didn't call for any. The woman just went ahead and sat down. She gazed at the greenery around and listened to the rain. 

Wylis kept standing close by, eyeing everything around. Knowing the directions, he tried to measure how much more he needed to dig in order to cross under the dry moat of Maegor's Holdfast. 

"Ser Wylis."

"Your Grace?"

"What do you plan to do afterwards?"

He eyed the woman. She was clearly worried that Aerys would send men after him. But Wylis couldn't tell her that the Targaryen dynasty's days were numbered. He won't be running away from the King's hounds for too long. 

"Thought I’d claim a stretch of land up North. Still got a fair bit of coin from the tourney. Might even raise a grand old manor—something with a view." Wylis revealed a more toned-down version of his real goal. "And if fate's kind, perhaps you'll come see it for yourself one day."

Rhaella nodded. "The possibility of such is low. But I shall pray for your good fortune."

"Your Grace, if your prayers are half as divine as your presence, then I'm already the most fortunate soul in the realm," he replied cheekily. 

Rhaella looked towards him at that, and her gaze lingered on his face for a while. “Be wary of giving kindness too freely, Ser Wylis. Too many will spend it carelessly, or twist it to their own ends.”

She really cares about me? Really?

At that point, he was confused whether she was genuinely being kind to him. And he expected Rhaella to be similarly confused by his kindness towards her. 

Shhhh~

The rain became heavy. They didn't talk anymore after that. In silence, they listened to the raindrops. 

"Hmm… hm…" Wylis began to hum a song that suddenly got stuck in his head, thanks to the rain. 

Rhaella looked at him, showing a very faint expression of amusement. 

Wylis did the same and verbally muttered those lyrics stuck in his head. "Raindrops are falling on my head. And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed. Nothing seems to fit…"

Honestly, he felt those lyrics fit really well. The ‘feet too big to fit’ part at least. But he was no singer, so he didn't embarrass himself for too long. 

However… It was absolutely worth it. So small, so faint, he could swear he saw a trace of a smile on Rhaella's lips. And that little thing made her beauty radiate a dozen times more. 

Slowly, a few hours passed. Wylis even took a small nap there, and the Queen didn't move. Eventually, the rain started to approach its end, although the sky only appeared darker, ominous. 

"Your Grace." 

A visitor appeared, holding something long, wrapped in cloth.

"Ser Jaime." Queen Rhaella looked at the young blonde knight. 

Jaime smiled brightly and turned to Wylis. "Ser Wylis, since the rain has stopped, and I have some time to spare. Would you do me the honor of a few passes with the blade? That is—if the Queen permits, of course."

"Right here?" Wylis asked. 

Jaime shrugged. "Why not? But I'm afraid I couldn't find a blade for your size."

“That won’t be necessary, Ser Jaime. I save the greatsword for killing. For a friendly spar? A simpler blade suits me just fine. Blunt, preferably—less mess that way.”

"Just what I have brought." Jaime unwrapped the cloth-covered swords, two of them, the same size, but blunt for training. "Let us begin."

But Wylis peeled off his vest and tunic with a smirk first. “This is the only set I’ve got that actually fits. I’d rather not ruin them."

It was true, but also. It was an excuse to showcase his shredded, muscled, massive body to the beauty who was going to watch him spar. He had no shame anymore. He took pride in doing that. 

Only then, he grabbed the sword, bare above his legs. He took a quick glance behind, as expected, the Queen's gaze was fully focused on him, her eyes as if frozen in place. That was usually the common reaction. 

"Ready, Ser Jaime?"

Even Jaime was lost for a moment. Staring at Wylis' biscuit-like abs, each defined like they were carved. The chest had muscles that rippled when Wylis moved his arms, biceps thick enough to be his legs. 

"Gods, Ser Wylis, you look mad. Like someone forged you for war and then forgot to stop," Jaime said in praise. "The recent scars suit you."

Wylis wasn't happy about the scars, however. They were recent, from the battle in the throne room. But Wylis didn't consider them to be inflicted by the Kingsguards. No, the King inflicted those on him. 

“Ready?” Wylis asked, voice deep and calm.

Jaime nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

Woosh! 

Wylis moved first, his feet splashing some rainwater puddled in the grassy ground—no feint, no flourish, just a clean, brutal overhead strike. 

Jaime barely sidestepped in time, feeling the air shudder from the swing, which was audible. The ground where the blade landed cracked slightly, dirt spraying up.

"Gods! You're a beast in flesh!" Jaime exclaimed. 

Jaime was more measured and flowed left, then right, probing with quick, precise jabs. His feet moved fast, like dancing. 

Clank! Clank!

Wylis took some steps back and parried them like swatting flies, responding with wide arcs that threatened to take Jaime’s head off. The sound of metal meeting metal rang sharp in the air.

“You’re not slow,” Jaime panted, backing off a few steps. "For your size."

“I’m not supposed to be,” Wylis replied, coming at him again—this time with a low sweep aimed at Jaime’s legs. 

Jaime jumped back, boots sliding in the wet mud. It was noticeable. Jaime was watching now, studying. How to counter a man who far exceeded him in size and strength, and didn't lack much in speed.

Wylis seemed to lead with strength. Overcommitted slightly. Jaime ducked under a shoulder-high swing and countered with a slash toward Wylis’ ribs.

Clang! 

Wylis blocked it with a twist of his wrist, using the blade as a shield.

He's learning in real time. 

Wylis was amazed by Jaime's skills. The young knight was learning and implementing changes. He could already see a proud future ahead for him.

Clash! Clash!

They locked blades. Jaime grunted as pressure pushed against him. It was like trying to brace against a charging horse. He could counter some attacks, but countering Wylis' strength was hard.

Jaime danced backward. His breaths were coming faster. He feinted a thrust, dropped low, and tried a cut to the thigh.

Wylis turned his hips, throwing his leg back, avoided the strike, and sent Jaime sprawling with a hard strike on the chest with the hilt of his sparring sword.

“You alright?” Wylis asked, sword lowered.

Jaime spat dust. “I’m learning.”

Jaime got back up and surged forward.

This time, Jaime didn’t aim for strikes that would fail against pure strength. He turned his speed into leverage—sidestepping and landing quick blows to Wylis’ flank. Wylis hummed, adjusting himself, but Jaime could see the rhythm shift.

Jaime stayed close, too close for Wylis’ full swings, moving like water around a rock.

Seeing through that, Wylis surged forward with a knee strike that hit Jaime’s thigh plate. Jaime stumbled sideways, off balance for a heartbeat. And that was enough, Wylis closed in the gap and disarmed the Kingsguard with a brutal hand twist. Jaime's sword fell down from his grip. 

"Your mistake is that you only think with your sword," Wylis said.

And before Jaime could get any ideas, Wylis pressed the flat side of his blade against his throat. If it were a real sword, it was over for the young knight.

Jaime stared up, panting, chest heaving in his armor. Then he laughed.

“That’ll do it.”

Wylis stepped back, helping Jaime stand straight.

“I figured something out by the end,” Jaime said. “Fight the mountain, not the mountain’s strength. I'll need to be faster to land a good blow on you.”

Wylis gave him a grin. “Next time, try harder.”

Jaime smirked. “Next time, I won’t wear the armor.”

True, the Kingsguard armor likely reduced Jaime's speed to some degree. 

"But I can see it now. No doubt, you beat them clean—fast and sharp, like you’ve eyes in the back of your head. Gods, you’re gifted, Ser Wylis."

Wylis was, indeed, gifted. But he wasn't deluded enough to believe what Jaime said. "Those three were still holding back, Ser Jaime. They weren’t going full tilt. Sure, they meant to kill, but they gave me space to work. If they were serious? I’d be meat in the dirt.”

"Cutting down a promising knight like you? When it's three against one? That would’ve been ugly work, Ser Wylis. I’m glad they had the decency to think twice."

"But where’d they vanish off to?" asked Wylis. "Haven't seen Ser Gerold and Ser Arthur since the clash."

Jaime finished tying the training swords in the cloth, prepared to head back. "Haven't seen them myself either. Last I heard, Prince Rhaegar sent them off on some errand. Might be going himself. Seven knows what for. Not like they'd tell me—too green, I guess."

It's starting! I gotta dig it all tonight, no matter what. 

Wylis' jaw clenched hard. 

"And Wylis…" Ser Jaime suddenly stepped closer and spoke in a lower voice, all the while giving Queen Rhaella a glance. "The King burned a nobleman in the court today."

"..."

Wylis became speechless. The implication of that was grave. He, too, looked at Rhaella, seated peacefully. 

Pat!

Jaime patted his shoulder. “It’ll burn your blood, Ser Wylis. Don’t let it get the better of you. She’s the one who suffers the most—we just stand outside and listen.”

With that, the young knight left. 

Wylis turned around and walked back to the pavilion. He grabbed his tunic and wore it, then the vest. He avoided looking at Rhaella. The woman he hadn't yet seen even raise her voice once was going to be…

"Something troubles you, Ser Wylis?"

Wylis heaved a deep breath and looked at Rhaella's serene face. "Ser Jaime… informed that His Grace burned someone in the court today."

Once again, all hope of a smile is lost. 

He saw her gentle, calm face turn sullen in an instant. Her bright eyes turn hazy, lost, and depressed. Fear, while not visible, was in her eyes. She knew what was coming for her that night. 

"I…" Rhaella stood up. "I wish to retire to my bedchambers, Ser Wylis."

He followed her, seeing how weak she looked at that moment. So vulnerable and hopeless. No more of those prideful strides, a high head, and a straight back. He wanted to embrace her right there, but that would be treason if seen. 

He just followed her back into Maegor's Holdfast and then to the royal apartments. But as Rhaella pushed open the doors, she looked back at Wylis, her eyes somewhat watery. 

"Please… What's to come is not for your ears, nor your honor. Flee this place before it takes you too. There is only madness here… and I would not have it touch you too."

With that, she entered her room and closed the door on Wylis. She didn't lock it from inside; she wasn't allowed to, nor was there a lock inside. 

Wylis, still on duty, stood in front of that closed door, his mind empty, his fists clenched hard. The rain resumed again soon, heavy, as if the sky was weeping. And as time went by, it started to grow dark. The servants walked past him, eyeing him with pity as they lit the torches on the walls. 

And finally, he heard the heavy clanking of armor. He looked, and sure enough, it was the Mad King, looking even madder than usual, excited, aroused even, after burning a man that day. Vile, long beard and hair, long nails, eyes as red as violet.

"Ahhh… there you are. My towering jewel, my lovely slab of steel and silence—Ser Wylis. I heard that my young son has taken a liking to you, calls you his steed. How… fitting. You know your station—such loyalty must be rewarded. Now, be a good champion and open those doors. The king has matters… tender matters… for his queen."

Wylis felt like grabbing the King's head and crushing it into a paste. He could do it with ease. But killing the man would make Rhaegar the King. And that would likely stop the rebellion from happening. Lyanna would never be safe then, nor would he find peace. 

Clack!

Ignoring Wylis, the King opened the doors himself and vanished inside the bedchamber. The two Kingsguards who had accompanied the King, Ser Jonothor Darry and Ser Oswell Whent, closed the doors with steely faces and stood on each side of the doorframe. 

Wylis stood between them.

The two men didn't speak. Even their breaths weren't audible. They stood as if frozen in place. 

So did Wylis. 

Although nothing was audible. No cries, no screams, no maddened laughters. But it was impossible not to think about it. 

Just a night before, he declared he would have battled and burned Westeros for a woman like her. And now he stood there while the King was inside.

Just once… Say it just once, Rhaella.

####

When morning came, Wylis got up like a repeating machine, dressed up, and went to stand guard in front of Rhaella's bedchamber. He'd dug more the previous night after the entire ordeal. He dug plenty, already breaching all the way through the Black Cells, and then into the deepest level, the torture chambers. He hid his tunnel well, so that it was impossible to find unless one knew where to knock. 

From there, he dug westward, pushing the earth forward before him, compressing the dirt more and more. The more he used Earthbending, the better he got at it. The better he understood how to manipulate the earth. What needed to be dug and what needed to be ripped apart? 

Sadly, he'd found a massive boulder in his way and had to stop there. He needed to cut a hole through that boulder, and it was harder than just compressing earth. He needed to actually crush a path and deal with the debris. 

Just one more night. 

"Ser Wylis."

The four maids were now five, a Septa had joined them this time. He unlocked the doors and let the five women enter. He imagined what they did inside—helping the Queen bathe, wipe her body, wash her hair, care for every part of her body, and then the Septa… healed.

Three hours later, the five women came out, but the Queen didn't follow. 

"Her Grace?" He asked them. 

The Septa looked at him once and shook her head. "She will be resting today, Ser.'

I-Is she that hurt? But there was no noise. 

Nonetheless, he stood outside her bedchamber from morning till evening. The maids came occasionally, bringing food for the Queen. At night, the Septa visited again, and after that, Wylis locked the doors for good. He ate supper and then returned to his small room. 

Pang! Pang!

This time, he knocked on the pipes, hoping for a response from above. He didn't send a parchment, worried that she might not collect it, and the maids would find it in the morning. 

Pang! Pang!

He knocked a few more times and waited. But when no reply came, he focused back on digging. That night, he dug through that big boulder and reached all the way west of Maegor's Holdfast, right underneath the Godswood, noticeable thanks to so many roots around him. 

From there, he dug further west, to cross two massive walls and reach the outside, not far from the Eel Alley, where Qyburn was settled. The plan was to leave King's Landing as quickly as possible. 

But it was an impossible task to do all that in one night. After reaching the Godswood, he returned to his room and slept. 

####

Winterfell,

"Where is Lyanna?" Rickard bellowed, his face red with fury. "Not one scrap of word—you sit here with your hands empty and your mouths shut. Robert Baratheon rides for Winterfell, and none of you can tell me where Lyanna is?! Useless! The lot of you!"

The men of House Stark all looked down, with no answers. They had already searched for the runaway daughter of House Stark. There was no sign of her anywhere. No inns, no towns, no villagers seeing her pass by.

"You!" Lord Stark looked at his eldest son. "You always turned a blind eye to her wildness. If you’ve any shred of sense, you’ll find your sister. Bring me Lyanna—now—or else—"

"Or else what, Father? You'll lock me up, too?" Brandon scoffed at his father, no longer bothered that others heard them. "You forced her hand. You stole her freedom, her joy—riding, archery, the woods, all of it. You crushed her spirit, and now you’re angry she broke free? You made her a prisoner, Father. She only did what any bird would do: fly away."

Lord Stark turned red and turned to his other son, Eddard. "Ned, take all the men you need. Find me Lyanna. Any word of her."

Ever so dutiful, Eddard nodded and left. 

Brandon scoffed, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. 

####

Red Keep,

This is getting frustrating. 

Wylis stood before the Queen's bedchamber once again. It was the second day since that night, and she still hadn't come out. The Septa who went inside told him that the Queen would rest for the day. 

He wanted to talk to her before leaving for good. He wanted to see if she was alright. But he couldn't just barge into her room. There were too many eyes around him, even if not noticeable. 

Still, he hoped to help. He sent Ser Jaime out of the Red Keep that day to meet with Qyburn. Jaime was to deliver a sealed letter and bring back a healing ointment that he and Qyburn had made together. 

He promised Jaime a few more spars in return. And thankfully, the young knight delivered. 

When the night fell, Wylis once again tapped on the pipe to get a response from her. He wanted to give her the ointment. But the bottle was too big to be sent through the pipe. And giving it to the Septa or the maids was risky. 

Pang! Pang!

He waited two hours. When no response came, he once again returned to digging. 

That night, he went all out. He crossed the entire Godswood and then went underneath the final wall of the Red Keep. As the castle sat on top of a hill, the place where he came out was a decently rough, short cliff. Above him was the Red Keep's wall, and underneath, some distance away, was the city. 

He could easily climb down and vanish into the streets. But that night, he covered the cave opening and returned to his small room. Qyburn would need time to understand his cryptic letter and implement everything. 

Tomorrow night. For good. 

But before that, he had made up his mind. He was going to see the Queen himself and bid her farewell. 

####

As expected, Rhaella didn't come out on the third day either. Wylis didn't react to that and spent the day as usual. Standing guard, bored, sleepy. When finally the night approached, his final night there, he ate a hearty meal. 

Then, he retired to his tiny room. He locked it for good and then packed his items. He didn't have many; his greatsword was broken, so he only had a simple short sword in his possession.

Aerys will likely send men after me. I still got no clue what the fuck he planned for me. 

Done with everything, he wrote on a parchment once again. A small, but threatening note for the Queen. 

[Please respond, Your Grace. Or I will come to you myself.]

Wooosh!

With a small pebble, he sent the crumpled paper up. She probably thought he was blowing into that pipe to push the message up. 

Shhh~

"Finally!"

He got a response really fast. 

[No! You must not! Someone could be watching the door.]

"Oh? So she's not against it?"

With that indirect confirmation, Wylis made up his mind to climb up. Instead of the wall with the pipe, he stood up on his bed and easily touched the stone ceiling. 

Hmm… It's empty above. 

Ensuring he wasn't going to emerge underneath a bed or some other furniture, he used Earthbending. He loosened a few large blocks of stone and then started pushing them up one by one. 

As Rhaella's door was locked from the outside, and he had the key, he wasn't scared of finding someone else inside. But he still kept it quiet. 

One stone, then two large stones, and finally the third. With that, he had enough space. He jumped up, hooked his hands above the edge, and pulled his body up with ease. 

Tight squeeze, but enough for him. It was his first time inside the Queen's bedchamber, so he looked around with his head first. The Queen wasn't anywhere. 

Smells… like flowers? 

There were candles around the large bedchamber, divided into parts for sitting, study, and bed. There was carpet around the floor, but not where he had emerged. And to his surprise, he had emerged very close to the bed. 

Looking in the direction of where the pipe was, he realized it was right beside Rhaella's bed. 

At last, he pulled himself up for good and fully stood up, tall, hulking. He glanced towards the large bed and sure enough, the Queen was lying there, covered by a quilt, turned sideways, her ashen hair loosely tied like usual in a braid. Even the jewelry wasn't removed, as if she had planned to go out. 

Did she avoid going out because I was outside? Her face looks unharmed. 

She was looking at the communication pipe beside her bed. Underneath its opening was a small table, where his responses likely fell. 

Still hasn't noticed me? 

In her defense, the fire in the hearth was sizzling loudly. 

"Didn't say I'd use the doors to come to you, Your Grace."

"Hm?!" Rhaella jolted in shock and sat up on the bed, frightened, her eyes wide in fear. "Wylis? H-How?"

"..."

But Wylis was more stunned than her, his eyes not locked on her face but below. She was nude underneath that quilt, and at the moment, the quilt had fallen over her lap. Her entire bust lay bare before him, and the more he looked, the more it enraged him than aroused him. 

There were bruises, dark blue, on her shoulders. One of her full, round breasts with just a hint of sag had… a bite mark on one side. He could see it was healing now. It must have been painful, and far deeper three days ago. 

But then he noticed her forearm, and there were deep, long claw marks, as if a beast had attacked her. He couldn't see anything below, but he knew there was more. 

"No!" Rhaella woke up from the shock and quickly covered her nude chest with the quilt again. "Y-You shouldn't be here, Ser Wylis."

Wylis spoke no words. His eyes hauntingly wide, he moved closer to the bed and got on top from the footside, boots knocked away. His gaze never blinked, focused entirely on her face as his knees kept shifting closer and closer towards the Queen. 

It was treason. It was a crime worth beheading. But in his eyes, there was no Queen. Just a woman, hurt, left alone to suffer. 

"S-Ser… Wylis…"

Rhaella shifted backward until her naked back was pressed hard against the cold headboard. She pulled her knees up, seeing Wylis' massive frame come closer and loom over her, casting a shadow on her. 

Yet, not a single thought in her mind told her to scream or run away. The opposite, she felt her heart pound, thrash within her chest. Her mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. She was lost, lost in his intense blue eyes, enchanted by them. 

"Rhaella." 

She felt that. The change in his tone. No longer calling her Queen or Your Grace. It felt right and respectful. Not out of her title, her status, but just his true feeling of gentleness. 

"Mm… Ser…" 

She felt him so close. Stopped only when his knees were planted where her feet were underneath the quilt. Since she had pulled her knees flat against her chest, he was close, and so big. She had to look up to face him. 

And then, Rhaella felt it. He reached for her with his masculine, large, wide palm. They looked so rough, but then that warm hand gently flattened around the side of her face, near her jaw, his thumb on her chin, his fingers digging back around under her ear, into her silvery locks. 

It felt electrifying when he tilted her face further up for direct eye contact. Then his other hand softly tucked away the locks of hair falling over her face. 

"Rhaella," Wylis whispered to her, a voice filled with absoluteness. Every word from his mouth was genuine. "Say it once… Just say it and I will… kill him."

Rhaella's eyes widened in shock. But looking into his deep blue gaze, she found no lies. She found absolute confidence. And she hated herself because she felt tempted. He felt like a god at that moment. A god offering her a way out. 

"Not a soul will know how he met his end, Rhaella. And none will ever know who did it."

There was silence. Her heart palpitated, and her breath picked up. The warmth of his hand melted her. Those mighty walls hiding her emotions crumbled with his touch. Tears… fell from her eyes. 

And he… that massive, beastly man with the voice of a charmer, and body carved by gods, never let those tears mark her cheeks. His thumb brushed them aside, as if comforting her without a word spoken. 

"Ser Wylis… I…"

His thumb gently tapped on her soft lips, halting her words. 

"Just Wylis… No ‘Ser,’ no this or that."

Her eyes teared up even more. The moment felt so intimate to her that it took over her mind, as if reverting her back to her young self. The one that had been lost somewhere, pushed down into silence. 

"Nnnf…"

She sniffled and leaned into his towering frame. Her vulnerable arms wrapped around his wide waist, and her head pressed into his hard abdomen. She cared no more that the quilt felt and exposed her chest; she felt safe and comforted in his presence. 

"I can't… I can't… Wylis." She cried into his tunic, drenching it with her tears. As a Queen, she felt embarrassed by herself, revealing such a disgusting side of herself. But when she felt his big hands, one caressing her back, and the other gently caressing the back of her head, she wept even more. 

Years of locked emotions and tears spilled out. Years of abuse and pain in the form of her muffled wails. 

"I loathe him… that man… he's no man… a vile demon, a creature of filth." She cursed and cried. "I wish he had died in Summerhall, I wish… I had died in Summerhall…" 

She felt his arms tighten around her. He lowered himself to hold her better and stretched his lengthy legs on either side of her vulnerable frame. But she didn't want him to see her ugly face. So she leaped forward, rising herself on her knees, and wrapped her bare arms around his neck, her equally bare chest smushed into his chest. 

And even in that embarrassment, she only found comfort when his mighty arms wrapped her frame. They circled around her nude back and almost covered her entirely. As he squeezed her tighter, she felt warmth. 

She sniffled, her face pressed against his neck onto his shoulder. She hugged his neck even tighter, and tighter, mumbling all her complaints.

"I… I want to, Wylis, but I mustn't. For my sons, for Rhaenys, for Aegon… I must endure…" 

Wylis said nothing. He kept his eyes shut while holding her fragile frame. He knew she was bare entirely, but all he could think of was how many more wounds there were. He just wanted to tie her up and take her away from there. But that was no better than being Aerys, no matter his intentions. 

He held her, the scent of her messy hair soothed him. As her wails slowly calmed, it calmed his own mind. He really didn't understand men like Aerys, Robert, and even Gregor Clegane. Abusing their wives or women in general simply because they could. Where was honor in that? Where was chivalry in that? 

Yes, he was a scoundrel, too. But his intention was never to hurt a woman. Not even indirectly, through childbirth. He'd gone out of his way to recruit Qyburn for that. To him, women like Rhaella deserved nothing but peace and bliss for all they've suffered. That was the least they expected after giving their husbands a son. Of course, not all cases were the same, but abuse was never an option. 

"I can understand you, Rhaella," he whispered back gently. He caressed her back with his hand, only the upper part, never hinting that he was taking advantage of her bare body. "You are bound by your duty. But I'm afraid I'm too selfish to look beyond the abuse you suffer."

"You are too kind to me, Wylis," she whispered into his ear. 

"Kindness costs nothing."

"And yet… It's amongst the rarest things in this world." Rhaella pulled her face back, relaxing her arms around his neck. Sipping in a deep breath, she looked at his face directly and… smiled. 

Wylis gulped, really feeling his heart skipping a few beats. She was already gorgeous, but when she smiled, revealing her pearl white teeth, she looked ethereal. 

"It's a sin to hide that smile, Rhaella."

She smiled even more warmly at that and softly pressed her forehead against his. She lingered there for a moment, her eyes closed. "I… didn't know I had it in me anymore."

This is… Not good for my heart. 

Wylis felt moved by her words. Just like a man's parental instincts. He felt some strange instincts to just snatch this woman, take her far away, and give her all the happiness in the world. It felt weird, but it was true. 

Letting out a deep breath, he stopped caressing her back and gently placed both hands on her soft, curving waist. "You should hold onto it then. It can brighten a man's day."

"Your day?" She asked, pulling her face back again. Her soft, delicate hands now rubbed his face, as if imprinting his features into her memory. Her fingers traced his jaw, and her thumb traced just below his lower lip. Her eyes, those beautiful, violet orbs, focused there as well.

"Oh, for me. Just a look at your stunning face is enough," he declared.

Rhaella breathily chuckled. "You are perilous to my heart, Wylis."

"Want me to snatch you away?" He possessively hardened his grip on her deliriously soft waist.

"Umm…" Rhaella's eyes dried and revealed a beautiful shine that was never there before. Her fingers caressed his face more possessively. "You are… a womanizer, Ser Wylis."

Wylis chuckled. Her mature voice, her actions, her body, her beauty, and her scent. It started to affect him at last. He felt warmth in his body, but he was able to ignore it. He had come to say goodbye to her, not expecting anything. 

"Wylis…" She cooed, her hands freezing on each side of his face. 

"Rhaella?"

Her violet eyes moved and looked down at his perfect lips. "Wylis… will you make love to me?"

"..."

His jaw tightened, and without trying to, his brows creased. He really didn't want to be a man taking advantage of a vulnerable woman. Yes, he was charmed by her beauty, but that didn't mean it was an open invitation. 

But something told him that she was certain about it. Her eyes were focused, resolute. And then they wavered. 

"No, no…" She looked away, as if embarrassed. "Forget this. Just a broken woman's rambling. I'm scarred, worn, old, and…"

"Rhaella!" Wylis raised his voice, absolute. His single hand cradled her face from one side. With heated intent, he locked eyes. "You… are… beautiful."

And then he leaned in.

Not like a man claiming a prize; not like someone hungry to possess. He kissed her slowly, reverently. A breath of a kiss, barely there at first. His lips brushed hers with aching caution, testing, savoring, worshiping. A moment suspended in air. He closed his eyes as he felt her, the warmth of her mouth, the soft tremble of emotion beneath it, the faint sweetness of her breath, like summer berries and sorrow. 

Her lips were velvety, full, carrying the memory of both youth and grief.

He could have lost himself right there.

But Rhaella… She didn’t pull away.

She clung to him, her arms rising once more to loop around his thick neck, locking them in a fragile, precious hold. She kissed him back, with aching, unfiltered want. Not the lust of a tavern whore or the forced obedience of a royal consort, but a woman tasting tenderness for the first time. 

Her lips parted first, uncertainly, and the kiss deepened, still gentle but wetter now, a sheen of heat forming between them. She tilted her head, the movement almost clumsy, hungry, as though learning to breathe again.

“Hmm..” A soft sound spilled from her throat. A hum, tender and yearning, her body warming.

Her legs moved.

From kneeling, she shifted forward, spreading her legs around him, sliding into his lap. The quilt fell further, exposing the full length of her pale form to him, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t hide. She stretched her creamy legs around his waist, enveloping him in a gentle hold as her hips settled into his lap. Her bare underthighs pressed softly against his groin, her body warm, vulnerable—and so stunning he could barely breathe.

Wylis didn’t move fast. His hands rested on her succulent, soft hips that filled his palms completely. She was plush there, womanly, with that faint give beneath his fingers that made him want to hold her tighter, sink into her. He lifted her just slightly, pulling her closer, until their foreheads nearly touched again. The kiss hadn’t broken. Their lips lingered still, mouths brushing, mouths learning.

She was pale as moonlight, her skin glowing in the candlelit chamber. Not flawless like the young maids, but ripened, lived-in, real. Her breasts, full and naturally heavy, pressed against his chest with a smothering bounce, their softness spreading under the muscle of his torso. They were still firm in their own right, generous, with the faintest sag that only made her seem more real… More woman.

Her belly had a slight plush, a gentle swell that pressed against his lower abdomen when she breathed in, and again when she sighed against his lips. He felt it, that quiet pressure, and he adored it. A body shaped by motherhood, by time, by strength and sacrifice. Her thighs curled around him, creamy and thick with a regal shape, their cool skin warming against the heat of his sides.

"Mmh…" Rhaella broke the kiss then and admired his face, all smiles. Her violent, drunken eyes seemed to smile as well. She could feel his racing heartbeat as her shapely breasts pressed into his chest. "That was… my first ever kiss, Wylis. Thank you for making it magical."

"First?" He asked, shocked, brows high. It seemed impossible. She was a married woman. But again, not a happily married one. 

“Shh…” Rhaella's breath was soft as a breeze when she raised her hand again and laid a single finger across his lips. Her skin trembled faintly against him, but her eyes held steady, bold now, bolder than he’d ever seen them.

She could feel him. That massive bulge pulsing beneath her, thick and firm, trapped beneath his trousers but growing harder with every moment her soft body shifted in his lap. Her bare entrance hovered just over it, and already she could feel the way her own heat seeped to the fabric.

“Wylis,” she whispered, “Make love to me. Not distract me… not to silence the pain. But to remind me I’m still a woman. As if I'm the only woman left in this broken world. Like I’m still worth… being cherished.”

A shaky breath passed her lips. “Erase him. Just for tonight. Not with anger… not with force. With you.”

The words weren’t desperate; they were real. A request not born of weakness but longing. She wasn’t reaching for lust alone, but for something deeper. A need to feel her body adored again, not desecrated. To rewrite the story of her skin, her soul.

To be kissed, to be touched, not with intent to harm, but to pleasure, and cherish. 

Wylis’s breath caught in his throat.

His hands slid lower. He gripped her ass.  And gods… it was perfect.

She was soft. Full. Gloriously, gluttonously womanly. His massive palms spread wide to cup her entire peach, his thumbs pressing into the center while his fingers curled along the undercurve. Her flesh gave under his palms like heated butter, flesh plush as a dough-filled pillow, her skin warm and creamy. When he squeezed, they molded to his hands.

And beneath all that softness, faint traces of stretched skin. Barely there, but real. Pale lines etched across the delicate underside of her thighs, up near where they met the curve of her ass. He didn’t flinch; he loved them. Loved what they said about her. This was a body that had given life. Had endured. A woman who bore her first child at a mere thirteen or fourteen, who still held her head high despite being tied to a monster. And now, here she was, in his arms.

He kissed her again. No restraint now.

One hand slid up the curve of her back, trailing upward until it curled into the hair behind her head. He tilted her slightly, guiding her to him, and then he claimed her mouth. Not like a brute. But like a worshiper, kissing a goddess draped in the veil of sorrow.

His lips crushed hers, tongue pushing gently but firmly between them, tasting the slick walls of her inner mouth. Her drool slicked over his tongue like honeyed nectar. He wanted to drink her in, memorize the shape of her moans, kiss her until time forgot them both.

And she kissed him back. Her lips moved with a need that contradicted her soft body. Her tongue slid against his, wet and eager, her mouth opening wider as she melted into him.

“Mmmmh…”

Her moan broke between them. Small, soft, utterly feminine, as her hips started to move. Slow at first. Testing. But then more certain.

She rocked forward, the delicate petals of her cunt dragging slowly over the thick, clothed ridge of his swollen manhood. The friction made her breath stutter in her throat. She did it again, and again, slow strokes that left wet heat soaking into the fabric of his trousers. Each pass smeared more of her arousal across him, warmth and slickness that made him twitch beneath her.

She was nude. Unashamed. Riding the shape of his cock through cloth, her full thighs tightening around his waist. The way her soft belly pressed against him as she moved, the way her breasts swayed gently with every roll of her hips; he could’ve sworn the gods themselves would envy him.

They couldn’t stop. 

Their mouths stayed fused, lips messy and parted. Each slick connection, each breathless exhale into one another’s mouths, just made the need spiral deeper.

He was massive; all brute force and raw masculine power, forged of iron and muscle. She was delicate; a silver-haired queen with skin like moonlight and a voice made for song. But as she straddled his clothed manhood, her thighs clamped around his hips, their mouths a battlefield of lust, there was no knight nor queen between them. No bloodline. No duty.

Only hunger.

“Ummmh… Oh, Wylis,” she moaned softly.

Wylis finally pulled back, just an inch, panting. Their lips glistened. Wet, swollen, and smeared with each other. Her spit shone on his lower lip, his chin damp with desire. They locked eyes in that small space, faces flushed, utterly drunk on each other.

"Take me," she urged.

“In time, Rhaella.”

Before she could speak, he moved. One thick arm curled around her upper back, the other strong at her hip. He cradled her with shocking gentleness and laid her down onto the bed, lowering her like she was spun from gold. Her silver hair spread across the pillow as she stared up at him, her chest rising and falling, her breath trembling in her throat.

He hovered above her like a tidal wave held back by will alone. Broad shoulders and thick arms boxed her in, his knees still tucked beneath her thighs, his massive frame perfectly balanced so none of his weight crushed her. 

But she felt him, utterly. The heat of his covered shaft dragging along her wet folds, clothed still but searing against her sensitive core. It was maddening, delicious.

His eyes lingered for a moment on the small, ornate circlet that still clung to her head. Slightly tilted, yet somehow still regal. It suited her perfectly.

"Let me treasure the Queen first."

Then he braced himself, lowering down, and pressed his lips back to hers. His elbows landed softly beside her ears, framing her in his strength, and he drowned her. The kiss was no longer tender. It was deep. Possessive. Tongue, lips, and breath. He consumed her until her toes curled, like a man giving her everything.

His legs stretched wider under his weight, her thighs spread, forcing her knees to lift higher and fold around him. The angle parted her completely. She could feel more of it now, not just the weight of him, but the hard length of his cock, dragging against her sensitive heat.

Every shift of his hips sent pressure pulsing against her cunt, dry humping her with maddening friction.

His tongue moved like a tide she couldn’t fight. Relentless, overwhelming, leaving her gasping between the strokes of his tongue. She couldn’t breathe. Not properly. His kiss sucked the air from her lungs and replaced it with heat, with hunger, with him. He was the one moving, dominating, claiming her with breathless precision… but she was the one left shaking.

Abruptly, Wylis pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet. His lips hovered above hers, and he exhaled with a hunger he barely kept in check.

“It’s getting in the way, isn’t it?”

Without waiting for her reply, he sat up, his thick thighs still locking her hips in place. He didn’t shift away, didn’t even pull out of that perfect alignment. Instead, he reached for the hem of his tunic and yanked it over his head in one smooth, brutal motion.

And Rhaella… stared. Her breath, a sharp inhale.

His body, sun-kissed, chiseled, forged in the brutal fire of a hard life, was on full display now. Wide, heavy pecs with the faintest dusting of hair. Veins crawling along boulder-thick biceps. An abdomen carved into ridges of taut muscle, flexing with every breath. Hard-earned.

Her violet eyes widened, drinking him in like a vision. Her lips parted, and something warm pooled low in her belly.

He came back down.

No hesitation now, deeper than before, more demanding. Passion poured through the kiss like a flood. Their bodies met, skin to skin, no more barriers. His bare chest pressed firmly down against her full breasts, flattening them with delicious pressure. The heat of him poured into her, and she moaned into his mouth.

Her hands were no longer shy.

They drifted up, palms dragging over the curves of his wide shoulders, feeling the dense strength there. Her fingers slid across his back, marveling at the terrain. The defined valleys of muscle, the ridges along his spine, each bulge earned in steel and sweat. She dragged her nails slowly down his back, just enough pressure to feel him shudder.

She didn’t guide him. She didn’t need to. She wanted this. She needed this. And so, she let him lead. Let him make her forget.

And it worked.

The past… blurred. Those nights, those bruises, the sharp pain, the shame. It all faded under his kiss, under his weight, under the scent of clean sweat and firelight and the feel of this man who wanted her.

She found herself again. A woman. A lover. Not a vessel. Not a prisoner.

His lips moved lower.

Wylis trailed down, first to her chin, grazing it with gentle reverence. Then lower still, dragging along the graceful column of her neck. He paused at the base, where her ornate necklace, all rubies and gold, still lay against her skin. He nudged it aside with his nose and kissed the now-bared spot with care.

“Umm..” A sudden, breathy noise from her throat told him she liked it.

He didn’t nibble. He didn’t bruise. Just soft, slow kisses. His lips were warm and wet against her skin, moving deliberately along the most delicate places. The fluttering pulse beneath her jaw, the soft dip beneath her ear, the ridge of her collarbone. Each kiss lingered. His breath was fire against her skin. 

“Ah—” She twitched and squeezed her own neck instinctively, her fingers brushing over the spot he kissed as if to hold the warmth there.

Then she giggled, actually giggled, as his lips ghosted over the side of her neck. A tender, innocent sound that hadn’t escaped her in years. Her fingers curled reflexively at the sensation, squeezing the curve of her own neck as if trying to trap the warmth inside her flesh. She was already lost to him. Fully, passionately, recklessly lost.

"God! You're burning hot, Rhaella." Wylis murmured against her skin.

And he meant it. Her body radiated like a hearthfire, molten with need. He trailed lower, kissing her collarbone with reverence. Then slower, even lower, until his lips hovered over a bruise. A vicious, sickening blue mark stained the flawless fairness of her shoulder.

He didn’t hesitate.

His mouth fell open and drooled warmth onto it, lips sealing wetly over the injury as if he could suck the pain away. She flinched, the pain still fresh, but her voice betrayed her.

“Oh… Wylis…”

It came out breathy, yearning. Not from the bruise, but from his mouth. His intention. The warmth of his tongue.

He moved again, mirrored the kiss on her other shoulder where another dark mark had bloomed. Then down her upper chest. His large hands closed around her bosom, so delicate against his own.

Then, the claw marks on her forearm.

He kissed each one. Slowly. Deeply. Like penance.

Rhaella's lips trembled.

“Oh…”

It hit her then. Not just the passion, not just the pleasure, but what he was doing. Why he was doing it. This wasn’t about seduction anymore. This was his way of relieving her. Each kiss was a blade severing her from the ghosts of her abuse. Where once a claw had torn her skin, now a warm kiss lingered. Not to ravage, but to heal.

She knew it was her mind playing tricks. No kiss could erase what had been done. But still… she felt it. She felt him. And that illusion was a balm, a relief covering her open scars.

Then his hands slid down her body, broad, hot palms cupping the underside of her breasts. He lifted them, worshipful in how gently he gathered the soft weight of them. Full, supple, swaying with just the movement of her breath. They were ample, more than a handful each, and her nipples stood pink and ripe like sweet buttons begging to be kissed.

"Rhaella." He looked up at her from between the pale swell of her bosom.

"Hm?" she whispered, dazed.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

She barely managed a soft laugh before it turned into a breathless moan. His mouth had closed over one of her nipples, warm and damp, his tongue swirling in lazy, unhurried strokes while his lips suckled greedily. Her head lifted with a startled gasp, eyes fluttering, hands threading into his dark hair.

He suckled her with the desperation of a man starved of kindness.

But then his brows furrowed. His gaze locked on the side of her left breast. A mark. Another bite; Not a love mark. Not a teasing nibble in the heat of passion. No, this one was cruel. Planted to mark her, not love her.

Wylis’ blood boiled.

Fucking animal.

He growled low under his breath, but never let it ruin the moment. Instead, he focused harder, hummed against her breast like a man spellbound. He licked, kissed, and mouthed every soft curve with maddening devotion, letting her feel what it meant to be wanted.

She was a cloud of flesh beneath him. He couldn’t get over it, how soft she was everywhere. How delicate, yet how durable. How she quivered when he kissed her nipples, arched when he licked. What a woman, he thought.

Sliding further down, he kissed the side of her belly, where another deep bruise had bloomed. His lips lingered longer there, and she whimpered again, but not from pain. Her fingers sank into the sheets, knuckles white.

Then, he moved lower.

Her legs were already parted, but he pushed them up gently, spreading her thighs wide with his hands sunk deep into the supple curve of her underthighs. Her body obeyed him willingly, melting under every guided press.

And there she was.

He paused, just to look. To see her.

Her entrance was glistening, exposed, slick, and flushed with need. Her petals were slightly parted already, pink and needy, trembling. Even after all the trials of childbirth, and heartbreak, and time; her cunt was art. Targaryen blood, through and through. No hair save a delicate little tuft above, her bloom perfectly visible, sinful and beautiful all at once.

His fingers held the sides of her thighs, massaging tenderly. His thumbs brushed near the edges of her soaked folds, admiring, memorizing. He saw faint stretch marks, delicate and silvered across her underthighs. They weren’t flaws. They were history. Her history. She had survived, endured. And still, here she was, wet, gorgeous, and begging.

He lowered his face and kissed those marks.

"Ooooh~" She gasped.

Rhaella arched the moment she felt it; his tongue, his breath. A moan escaped her lips, uncontrolled. Her legs trembled, spreading wider on instinct. His breath alone had lit a fuse inside her, but when his tongue met her clit, slow and curling, she lost it. 

She wasn’t a queen anymore. She was a woman unraveling, drowning in sensation.

Wylis lapped at her like a beast turned worshiper. His lips surrounded her bundle of nerves, his tongue, broad and strong—licked in slow, steady, almost reverent swirls. He circled her swollen bud until she was panting, leaking onto the sheets. His tongue tip danced across her clit, flicking with devilish precision.

With a deep breath, he eased back, his face slick with her arousal. He looked at her with raw hunger in his eyes, then muttered hoarsely, "Forgive me… but it's getting painful for me down there."

He stood on the bed fully.

He untied the laces of his trousers and let them fall; and there it was. His flesh sword. Freed, dangling heavy and thick, a veined slab of pure, throbbing manhood. His shaft curved slightly upward, fat and flushed, with a cockhead so swollen it looked like it had been trapped for hours. His balls hung low, weighty with need. He didn’t move. He just stood there, offering himself. Letting her see.

"I… I am ready, Wylis," she whispered, breath hot and scattered, her eyes locked on the pulsing column of flesh. "But… be gentle with that. You're… magnificent."

His lips twitched with a smirk, and he knelt between her spread legs again. Slowly, respectfully, but with fire still burning behind his eyes. He didn’t want to fold her up, didn’t want to pound her into the mattress. No, he wanted this to mean something to her.

So he moved her gently onto her side, just a little, her thick, creamy thigh pushed up by his hand. Just one leg grabbed under the knee, pushing, guiding the stretch, letting her feel safe.

"Rhaella," he said. Gentle but not soft, possessive. His voice was full of heat and hunger. "Unless you don’t want me to… I’ll be nothing but gentle."

Then he reached down and stroked himself. His cockhead gleamed from her slick, his shaft pulsing with veins. He guided himself lower and started teasing her glistening folds, dragging his cockhead over her slit again and again. Each slow pass of that flushed crown smeared her nectar over both of them.

The size difference was shocking. That swollen tip dwarfed her pink entrance. Her lips quivered as he rubbed it against her, soft but needy, her slit drooling like it was begging him to come in.

"Mmmh!" she whimpered, breath fluttering.

This wasn’t just physical anymore. Her mind spun with emotion: need, healing, surrender. For the first time in her life, a man was in her bed who actually wanted her. Not her bloodline. Not her title. Her. A man she’d invited herself.

She felt loved.

Wylis lifted her leg just a bit more and pushed his flushed mushroom head forward. Slow and steady.

Her mouth opened into a silent expression of awe, the feeling overwhelming her entirely.

His thickness forced her wet, inner walls open, parting her inch by glorious inch. The stretch was insane. Her pussy clung to him, gripping and resisting, but surrendering anyway.

But then, her hips jolted.

Her belly quivered. Her back arched, and her thighs shook.

“Oooohhhh…!”

She came. Hard. Her body spasmed as a powerful flood burst from her. She squirted, gushing onto him with force. Her hands flew up to cover her face, shame washing over her even as pleasure still wracked her spine.

She couldn’t stop. Her hips jerked again, her body tensing up. Another squirt sprayed out. She was making a mess. Soaking the bed. Soaking him.

His cock fell out of her twitching pussy with a lewd pop, coated in her slick. His abs, his thighs, drenched in her climax. Her cunt was dripping, quivering, pulsing open.

So much pent-up desire. Wylis thought in awe and even more desire now. 

She whimpered, "F-Forgive me… Wylis…"

“What?” he frowned, genuinely stunned, then smirked, dirty and wild. He slapped his cockhead right back on her soaked entrance with a wet smack.

"Rhaella, that was the most beautiful thing a woman can show a man. That’s not shame—it’s a fucking badge of honor. That tells a man he’s worthy. That he’s good in bed. That he’s good… for her cunt."

"Oh!" She cried out. The words, the slap, him; all of it hit her like fire.

He slid back in, this time deeper. Her folds parted with reactive reluctance, her slippery cunt still pulsing from her euphoric release. His cock filled her like nothing ever had.

She clapped her hands over her mouth in panic. She wanted to scream. She wanted to howl in pleasure.

Her pussy wrapped around him, spasming, sucking him in. She was soaked, gushing, and still, it felt like too much. He was thick. Veins dragging along her inner walls, pushing deeper. And yet, she never wanted it to end. It was too much. Too good.

His hips started to move, slow, grinding waves that stirred every nerve inside her. Wylis fucked her like he meant it. Not fast, not hard; not yet. Just the steady, molten drag of a thick cock easing deeper and deeper into her embracing cunt. And at first, he thought she was loose, just as any woman who had given life would be.

But then he felt it.

Her pussy tightened.

A pulse. A twitch. Then a clamp.

He looked down in awe. His cock wasn’t even all the way in. He was barely halfway buried inside her. And already, her folds were hugging him like a velvet glove. Holding him. Wanting him. Needing him.

He kept thrusting, controlled and patient. Each pull coaxed her open, and each push forced her to accept more of him. The wet, sticky schlick of his molten member pushing in and out filled the room in obscene harmony with the slap of flesh.

Rhaella tried to be quiet. But the moans still slipped out, bitten into her lips, muffled behind both trembling hands. Her expression twisted with overwhelming bliss, brows furrowed, lips parted around desperate gasps. She was losing herself, helplessly.

Shlk… shlk… shlk…

He fucked her slowly as they stared, locked in a rhythm. Every thrust felt like a promise. Every pull, a tease. By the time he finally bottomed out, his cock sheathed to the hilt, her cunt felt like it was devouring him. Tight, hot, and so fucking wet. Each withdrawal pulled at her lips like they didn’t want to let him go, and each plunge earned him a greedy squelch as her walls clamped with scorching heat.

Rhaella felt like a virgin again, a real one. Every inch he gave her made her feel reborn. Her eyes fluttered…

And she came.

It exploded out of her like lightning. Sudden. Fierce. Her thighs jerked. Her belly knotted up. Her cunt spasmed around his cock, milking him while her lips trembled in stunned euphoria.

Wylis groaned—Fuck, she’s tight.

He gritted his teeth, fucking through it as her orgasm coated him inside. Squelch after squelch, her juices bubbling up around his shaft. His balls were aching. His cock, pulsing. He was right on the edge.

"Uh… Rhaella…" he groaned, voice thick with lust, and leaned forward. One hand slid under her jaw, his thick thumb gliding over her trembling lower lip. The other hand still cradled her thigh, pushing it up with reverent control.

"Mmm… More… More… Wylis… I can take more…" she begged, drunk on sensation, on him.

And so he gave her more.

He bent over her, keeping her leg lifted higher, and kissed her mouth just as he slammed his sinewy length back inside with one clean, controlled drive—balls deep. His hips met her ass with a heavy slap. The royal bed creaked underneath.

And there—he came.

With a shudder that wracked his massive frame, Wylis unleashed everything inside her. The first pump was hot; burning, heavy. The second flooded her. Each gush of cum poured into her womb like a molten blessing. 

Her inner walls squeezed, trying to contain it, but the sheer amount… it was too much.

Rhaella moaned into his mouth as her eyes rolled, then whimpered as she felt it. All of it. That primal, gooey claim. She wrapped her legs around his back, her heels digging into his thighs, trying to keep him deep. To lock him in.

She wanted it all. The weight. The stretch. The gift.

She felt him throb inside, over and over, as thick ropes painted her walls. Her belly felt warm and full. Like she’d been bred, not just fucked, but blessed. Her cunt still spasmed.

"Now… I know… why she was so loud!" She whimpered, delirious, lips curled into a dizzy smile, high on pleasure and soaked in sin. Remembering the moans she’d heard from the floor below that night. 

Squish–slurp… Squelch!

The mess was filthy. Slippery cream spilled from her swollen pussy, already slick from her own juices. The mixture of their fluids made a sticky, decadent mess. Her thighs were glazed. His cock, still lodged deep, was slathered in their lust.

It dripped from her slit like nectar from a ruined bloom.

Like a bee had ravaged a withered flower, pumping it full of life, pollinating her with molten love. He had given her everything, and now… she was blooming again.

"You are…" Wylis felt his climax subside, and while still inside, stopped kissing her and looked at her face intimately. "You're making it harder for me to decide."

"Decide… W-What?" She asked, too sore to focus, delirious with her life's first, actually enjoyable sex, and she felt so stretched and desired. 

Wylis chuckled and licked her nipple with his flat tongue. "To not tie you up and take you with me."

"Mmmm…"

Rhaella smiled, aware he was only teasing. But somewhere deep down, she wished she could say yes to that idea. 

"Can you… Wylis… do more?"

And here I thought she didn't have any more energy left.

Wylis smiled and nodded passionately. He pecked her lips and pulled himself back. "With you, I feel I can last all night."

Rhaella gave him back a beautiful, heart-stealing smile and spread both her knees wide. 

Seeing that, Wylis felt a little awkward. It seemed she only knew one position for it. But since he was leaving that night, he decided to do more. 

"Can you get on your hands and knees, Rhaella?"

She nodded with a smile as soft as a sigh and turned over, positioning herself just as he asked. And Gods! He almost lost his breath. 

The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms on all fours in the candlelight, silver hair, her fair back arching into moonlight curves, hips tilted up, ass heart-shaped and full. No bruises, no welts. No reminders of what had been taken from her. Just soft skin, blushing, and flawless.

He dropped to his knees behind her and sank his fingers into her doughy hips, molding her like warm bread, kneading her softness. She was warm, succulent, and so perfect he could’ve wept. He spread her open and saw her in full; her untouched star winked tight and pretty, and beneath it, that ravished, glistening slit. Reddened, swollen, still leaking, the thick remains of his batter like the fountain of sin.

He exhaled roughly and shifted her hips higher, guiding her gently into a more inviting tilt. She let him move her without resistance, trusting him fully.

Then, slowly, his cock slid back inside her.

The fit was slick but snug, her walls clamping with renewed heat, fluttering around him as if she’d never taken anything so deep. He held back, slower than before, but firmer too. 

She groaned into the pillow, face buried in the linen to smother her cries, and her body trembled with wave after wave.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

The sound of it, wet, lewd—filled the air. His thighs slapped her ass in a rhythmic frenzy, each thrust carving deeper into her fluttering heat. His hands never stopped moving, kneading her asscheeks, watching them jiggle beneath his grip, pulling them apart just to see it again. That frothy white mess around his cock as it traveled in and out, her pussy painting him with every plunge.

As her royal pussylips stretched out when he pulled, caved in when he thrust, the stretch was simply too tight, and his fat cock wasn’t making it any easy for her.

He looked down and watched it. Watched her take him.

If someone walked in now, he’d be dead. A traitor to the crown. But he wouldn’t stop. No gods, no kings, no laws could pull him away from this moment. He would do it again. A thousand times more. He wanted this to be the only memory of sex Rhaella Targaryen ever held in her mind.

"Mmmh… mh-mh!"

She screamed into the pillow again, muffled, raw—as her walls clamped tight. Her thighs trembled, knees sliding wide as she lost control. 

She came again. And again. And again.

And that was it. He followed. A groan like thunder tore from his chest, hips jerking one last time as he came inside the queen again, deep and heavy.

She collapsed beneath him, legs straight, arms limp, body reduced to sweet, shivering exhaustion.

Wylis draped over her like a warm pelt, chest pressed to her sweating back, lips pressing soft kisses to her nape.

Rhaella turned her head sideways, a dreamy smile gracing her flushed face, her silver hair splayed like silk. There were no words, just that look. That glow.

Fuck. She’s stunning, Wylis thought, breath caught in awe. Even more so now. Maybe this is what she was meant to look like…

"W-Wylis…" She weakly murmured, eyes barely open. "Can… I… I be on top?"

More? Holy… She's insatiable now! A lovely addict. 

“I am but your hostage, my Queen,” he rumbled, rolling to his back beside her. “Do as you please.”

Rhaella climbed on top, trembling with effort but driven by lust. Her thighs quivered, but she mounted him anyway, eyes locked onto the half-erect shaft that still lay between them, sticky and twitching. She didn’t know if this was normal. 

Frankly, neither did Wylis. The woman just tickled him in all the right ways. His cock refused to stand down.

She sank down slowly, closing her eyes as his half-hardened cock nestled back into her spent, soaked, bred slit. Her body trembled uncontrollably. As she settled fully, stretched and filled once more, her chin tilted toward the ceiling, and her lips parted in a quiet gasp.

Wylis’s hands found her breasts, cupping their warmth, thumbs brushing softly over her nipples. She smiled faintly at his touch, because this was different. This wasn’t duty. This wasn’t about title and blood.

This was for her. For Rhaella. For the woman beneath the crown.

And then, with no warning, no sob, no tremble—tears started to flow from her eyes. Silent, clean streaks slipped down her cheeks.

That was the thing.

Wylis saw them. And it broke something in him. It's hard to let go when you know what you can have, and what you can never keep.

She didn’t stop. Slowly, she started to move, rocking back and forth on his throbbing hardness, breath simmering in small, heated whimpers. Each motion was needy. Desperate. 

Squelch–Squelch…

Wet sounds rose between them, squelching, sloshing. Her thighs slapped his as she rode the waves, grinding down, chasing something she wasn’t ready to lose.

Wylis hardened fully inside her again, almost impossibly, and she felt it.

She placed one trembling hand over her belly and gasped at the feeling of him moving deep inside her. So deep she swore she could trace him with her palm.

She looked down at him. His face, glazed in awe, in desire. His fingers rolled her nipples between them, and her mouth opened again in a moan she couldn’t bite back.

“I’ll e-etch…” she panted. “This memory… into my mind… forever—aaah!”

And just like that, it took her again.

She broke. One final time.

Her whole body shook, a messy, liquid climax dripping down his shaft and soaking his thighs. Her moans turned into wordless cries, quiet and cracked as if torn from her very soul.

He felt her shudder, her insides clenching his cock like an angry fist, and let himself go.

His hands gripped her hips and held her there as he spilled one final time inside her, flooding her with everything he had. Coating the Queen’s cunt with his virile, thick batter.

She gasped as it filled her again; so warm, so heavy, it felt like a promise. A goodbye. A piece of him left behind for her. Their juices churned inside, messy and unbearably hot.

Rhaella collapsed forward, chest against his, head tucked beneath his chin. She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her body, stretched, sore, thoroughly ravished, could only tremble in the aftermath.

Wylis wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, holding her tight, cock still buried inside, slowly relaxing.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. They just lay there, their sweat cooling against each other’s skin.

Their breath mixed, time went by, possibly an hour, Wylis reckoned. He didn't move, nor did he speak. With eyes slightly tired, he stared at the lavish ceiling. Their worlds were so different, yet he had entered hers. He didn't want to let her go, yet he had no choice. 

Ting!

Feeling her adorable weight on his body, drowned in the scent of sex, the sound of her breath, and the heat of her warm body, a blue screen flashed before his eyes. Unlike other times, it didn't excite him much. He already expected it.

[Tyrant’s Title Acquired - Breeder & Lover of the Queen, Enemy of the Seven Kingdoms, Enemy of the Faith of the Seven, Traitor of House Martell, Tyrell, Redwyne, Hightower, Fell, Blount, Velaryon, and the Kingsguard. 

Description - Bedding noble ladies is one thing, but the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms is another. Yet you didn't just bed, you bred, as expected from the Tyrant. You take what you desire, but often it comes at a price. Beware, hide the secrets well to avoid hell.

Effect: Making love to Queen Rhaella Targaryen will make you stronger by 0.05% each time.] 

Point five? So it's more for a queen? 

That only made him want to steal her away more. Yes, selfish, but justified in his heart. 

Ting!

[2X Multiplier in effect!] 

[Updated Effect: Making love to Queen Rhaella Targaryen will make you stronger by 0.10% each time.]

That's… a lot. 

Wylis bit his lip. There was no question left. He had to have Rhaella. If not now, then in the future. 

Ting!

[Trueborns & Bastards Triggered!

[Name: Rhaella Targaryen

Age: 37

Occupation: Queen, Mother, Grandmother, King's Toy

Current Loyalty: 82%

Status: Impregnated]

Wylis' mouth fell agape. It was expected, but eighty percent loyalty was unexpected. Rhaella seemed to really, genuinely trust him. 

"You must go. Now. Quickly," Rhaella suddenly rolled over from his chest and pulled the quilt over her body. "Forget me, Wylis. We never met. This never happened."

Like hell I can, Rhaella. I want you even more now. 

"That's impossible." He turned sideways towards her, shifted closer, and caressed her face. “You have my word—I’ll be there when you need me most. You’re never alone. Not now, not ever.”

With that, he pulled himself back and got out of bed. He wiped himself with the bedsheets, knowing that tomorrow was going to be full of drama. The King would be busy looking for him, instead of worrying why the Queen's chamber reeked of sex. 

He wore his trousers and then the tunic. Then, he took out the small bottle he'd forgotten to give before. 

"This is a medicinal ointment, Rhaella. Use this on your wounds. It'll heal you better." He placed the bottle on the table beside her bed and gave her one last look. She had tears in her eyes. 

He walked back to the hole in the floor and threw the stones down first. 

"Wylis."

He looked at the bed again. She was now seated, her legs dangling off the edge. But clearly, she couldn't stand, too sore for that. 

Then, she stretched her arms towards him, tearful. 

Fuck! It's getting harder to leave. 

He ran back to her and embraced her tightly in his arms. He did more and lifted her clear off the bed, squeezing her into himself. That was no older woman, no queen in his arms. Just a sad, scared, now hopeful lady. 

As Rhaella's feet dangled, she achingly wrapped them around his waist, and her arms around his neck. His hands supported her bottom and saved her from the sore pain. 

"I'll pray to the Seven," she said. "I'll pray that this isn't the last time I see you, Wylis."

"And I'll make it so that we not only meet, but never have to be apart again." He declared with confidence. 

Rhaella smiled one last time for him and kissed him passionately. No tongue, just lips, but wet. They both seemed as if not ready to move apart. Their lips were like magnets. But the night was passing, and Wylis didn't have enough time. 

"Be well, Wylis."

He placed her back on the bed and even tucked her into the quilt. "You too, Rhaella."

Ting!

[Queen Rhaella Loyalty Updated - 100%]

Ting!

[Tyrant’s Title Updated - Breeder & Lover Of the Queen -> Life Partner of the Queen

Description - You not only bedded her, but also earned her heart, her trust, her mind, and her soul. You are a Tyrant worthy of love, as much as fear. 

Effect: Making love to Queen Rhaella Targaryen will make you stronger by 0.10% each time.

Effect: All Targaryens are now genetically fearful and fond of Tyrant's blood.]

They’re what now?!

Ting!

[2X Multiplier in effect!] 

[Updated Effect: Making love to Queen Rhaella Targaryen will make you stronger by 0.20% each time.]

Holy fuck! What the hell is all this? 

He once again looked back at Rhaella. Desperately wanting to take that woman with him. She was not only beautiful, adorable, kind, and trusting, but also beneficial to him combatively. 

However, sometimes, gifts also bring about doom. With Targaryen blood genetically fearful and fond of him, the next ping he received raised goosebumps all over his skin. 

Ting!

[Mad King's Admiration Triggered]
[Mad King's Current [Censored] - 100%]

Ting!

[Unnatural Censors Removed!]

[Mad King's Current Bloodlust - 100%]

Ting!

[Tyrant's Squire's Emergency Warning Triggered!]

[Warning! Warning! Warning!]

The blue screen suddenly turned red, and all options vanished. A timer appeared, going in reverse—two hours and ten minutes left and counting. 

[Escape! Escape! Escape! Escape!]

What the fuck is this?!