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hisfavegirl · 21 days ago

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Battle Of Desire - Maegor Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary : Maegor the Cruel. King of the Seven Kingdoms. Your brother. Your obsession. For years, you had watched him from the shadows. Admired him. Desired him. Even when others whispered of his brutality, his ruthlessness, you had seen him for what he truly was—a king who would not bend, would not yield. And more importantly, a king who deserved a queen unlike any other. And who better than you?

Word Count : 11.9k

Warning : Targcest (brother-sister), Sex before marriage, Rough Sex (more like animalistic to me), P in V, Dom!Reader, Dom!Maegor, Chocking.

Maegor Targaryen Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The Red Keep stood tall, its freshly renovated walls gleaming under the sun, a fortress of power and dominance—just like its ruler. You walked through its halls, the sound of your footsteps barely audible against the distant clang of swords. The scent of newly polished stone and burning torches lingered in the air, a reminder of the blood and sweat that had gone into rebuilding this stronghold. His stronghold.

As you stepped onto the training grounds, your gaze was immediately drawn to him. Maegor.

He stood in the center, his massive frame towering over the three guards he was sparring against. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, his muscles flexing with each powerful movement. His Valyrian steel sword moved like an extension of himself—swift, deadly, and precise. One guard lunged; Maegor sidestepped effortlessly, bringing his sword down in a brutal arc that sent the man sprawling onto the ground. The second barely had time to react before Maegor twisted, kicking him hard in the stomach, sending him crashing into the dirt. The third hesitated for a brief moment—that was his mistake. With a single strike, Maegor disarmed him, his sword clattering to the ground.

You tilted your head, watching him with quiet intensity. He is magnificent.

He was your brother, but the way your heart pounded at the sight of him was anything but familial. You had known for a long time now that your feelings for Maegor went beyond what they should. He was brutal, terrifying, and ruthless—but to you, he had always been something more.

The last guard scrambled to his feet and, despite knowing he had already lost, attempted one final attack. Maegor barely even looked as he caught the man’s wrist and twisted, forcing him to his knees with a pained grunt. With a smirk, Maegor finally released him, turning his gaze toward you.

His sharp, violet eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world around you faded.

"You've been standing there for some time," he remarked, his voice deep and rough from exertion. He took a step toward you, sword still in hand. "Enjoying the sight?"

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, but you held his gaze, refusing to look away. "Should I not admire the strength of the King?"

A slow smirk curved his lips, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. "Admiration is one thing," he murmured, closing the distance between you. "But you—" He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of silver hair from your face. "You look at me differently."

Your breath caught. Does he know?

"And how do I look at you, Maegor?" you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk widened as he leaned in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of steel and sweat. "Like you want me."

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a flustered reaction. Instead, you tilted your chin up, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. "And if I do?"

For a brief moment, something flickered in his expression—something dark, something hungry. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Maegor chuckled, stepping back slightly, though his eyes never left yours. "Careful, little sister. If you tempt a dragon, don’t be surprised when you get burned."

You inhaled sharply, watching as he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your heart hammering in your chest.

You had always known that Maegor was dangerous. But now, you knew something else.

He had noticed.

The corridors of the Red Keep were eerily quiet as you made your way to your mother’s chambers. The torches lining the stone walls flickered, casting long shadows as you walked. You knew she would be there—she rarely left her rooms these days, preferring the solitude of her own space over the constant tension of the royal court. Where once she had sat beside Maegor in the council chambers, her presence a silent yet commanding force, now she withdrew, as though the weight of everything had finally caught up to her.

As you stepped inside, the warmth of the fireplace greeted you. The scent of burning wood mixed with the faint aroma of herbal tea. Your mother, Visenya, sat in her high-backed chair, her posture as regal as ever despite the softness that age had begun to bring. She cradled a cup of tea in her hands, the steam rising gently, her sharp violet eyes flicking up to meet yours the moment you entered.

“You have been spending much time in the training yards,” she remarked, not as a question, but as a statement.

You exhaled softly, closing the door behind you before crossing the room to sit beside her. “I like watching him.”

Visenya’s expression did not change, but something in her eyes darkened. “I know.”

A silence settled between you, broken only by the distant crackling of the fire. She took another sip of her tea, then set the cup down on the small table beside her. When she finally turned to you fully, her gaze was unreadable, but her voice was firm.

“This obsession of yours with Maegor,” she said, “it must end.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you masked your reaction well. Still, she knew. Of course, she did. Nothing ever escaped your mother’s notice.

“Why?” you asked, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Because it is dangerous.”

You scoffed. “Maegor is dangerous to everyone.”

She shook her head. “That is not what I mean.”

Her gaze was piercing now, cutting through the silence like a blade. “You think I have not seen the way you look at him? The way you watch him as if he is the only thing that exists in this world? You are my daughter, and I know what is in your heart, even if you do not wish to admit it.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands tightening into fists in your lap. “And if I do admit it?”

Visenya’s expression did not waver. “Then you must let it go.”

Anger flared in your chest, but it was not just anger—it was frustration, desperation. “You want me to deny what I feel?”

“I want you to understand the reality of what you feel,” she corrected. “Maegor is a man who takes what he wants. If he has not yet taken you, it is because he chooses not to. You may think yourself different from his other wives, but you are not.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “I do not care about his other wives.”

“And yet they exist,” Visenya said sharply. “They are proof that Maegor’s heart is not yours alone to claim.”

You stood abruptly, your pulse pounding. “He is my brother.”

“He is your brother,” she echoed, rising to her feet with the same quiet grace she had always possessed. “And he is my son. Do you think I do not love him? Do you think I do not see what he is becoming?”

You swallowed hard, but she did not stop. “I forged him into what he is. I guided his hand toward power because that is what was necessary. But you—” she took a step closer, her gaze softening for the first time—“you do not need to be caught in the fire of his making.”

You felt your breath tremble as you exhaled, your resolve wavering under the weight of her words. “You do not understand.”

“I understand more than you think.” She reached out, cupping your face gently in her hands, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks as she studied you. “You are not the first Targaryen to burn for another. But love alone will not tame Maegor. He does not rule with love—he rules with fear. And fear is no foundation for what you seek.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing the ache that had lodged itself in your throat. “I do not seek to tame him.”

“Then what do you seek?”

You opened your eyes and met hers, the truth slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

Him.

Visenya sighed, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling away. “You will only hurt yourself,” she murmured.

But as she turned back to her chair, you knew that the words, though meant to dissuade you, would do no such thing.

Because no matter the warnings, no matter the risks—you had already made your choice.

The thought lingered in your mind long after you left your mother’s chambers.

She did not understand.

She thought she could dissuade you, that her warnings could cool the fire burning within you. But she had forgotten something—you are her daughter. You share the same blood, the same ruthlessness, the same hunger for power. And Maegor? He is the only one who has ever matched you in that.

You moved through the halls of the Red Keep, your steps slow but certain. The Keep had been reforged under Maegor’s rule—stronger, darker, impenetrable. Just like him. It stood as a testament to his will, towering over King’s Landing like a beast ready to devour all who opposed it.

It was fitting.

Because the man who ruled within it was no different.

As you entered the training yard once more, you saw him, just as you had earlier. Maegor stood in the center, surrounded by the fallen bodies of his sparring partners. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling beneath the blackened steel of his armor, his greatsword still dripping with sweat and dirt. He looked like a war god, a dragon in the shape of a man.

He turned at your approach, his violet eyes locking onto yours.

“You return,” he noted.

You tilted your head, amusement flickering in your gaze. “Should I not?”

Maegor scoffed, tossing his sword aside. “You should not be here at all.”

“And yet, here I am.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. He took a step closer, and so did you.

The others in the yard knew better than to remain. Guards, knights, even the few spectators quickly dispersed, leaving only the two of you beneath the setting sun.

Maegor studied you for a moment before speaking. “Our mother has words for you, I assume.”

You let out a soft laugh. “She does.”

“And?”

You shrugged. “She thinks I should forget you.”

His eyes darkened, something dangerous flashing across his face. “And will you?”

You smiled, slow and knowing, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “Do you think I will?”

He did not answer immediately. Instead, his gaze roamed over you—your face, your lips, the bare skin exposed at the collar of your gown. His fingers twitched at his sides, as though resisting the urge to reach for you.

He had always resisted.

But you could feel it—he was tired of resisting.

“You already have many wives,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “And none of them bear the blood of the dragon.”

He inhaled sharply.

You leaned closer, your lips just barely brushing against his ear. “You are the King, Maegor. You take what you want.”

His jaw clenched. “And what if I want you?”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, a victorious smirk curling at the edges of your lips.

“Then take me.”

The words hung between you like an unspoken challenge.

For the first time, Maegor did not fight it. He did not hold back.

His hand shot out, grasping the back of your neck as he pulled you against him. His lips crashed onto yours, hard and claiming, as if he were sealing his decision in that very moment.

It was not soft. It was not gentle. It was possession. And you welcomed it.

You didn't care about the gazes of the servants and guards when Maegor carried you to his room, you didn't even care about the whispers that would stick to you the next day. he closed his bedroom door with his foot and threw you on the bed.

The heavy clang of Maegor’s armor hitting the stone floor echoed through the chamber. One by one, the blackened steel plates fell away, exposing the powerful, battle-hardened body beneath. His every movement was deliberate, his sharp violet eyes never leaving yours as he rid himself of the barriers between you.

Your breath was uneven, your pulse quickened. Not from fear—never fear—but from anticipation. From the raw energy crackling between you, something that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface.

And now, finally, there were no more obstacles.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he removed the last piece of his armor. His chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths. The torchlight cast flickering shadows over the harsh lines of his face, highlighting the controlled restraint in his expression.

“You knew this would happen,” he said, voice dark and thick with something unspoken.

You tilted your head, a slow, knowing smile curving your lips. “Of course.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with something primal. “I should not want you.”

You arched a brow. “And yet, you do.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest. In two strides, he was upon you, his hands bracing on either side of you as he loomed over you on the bed. “You test me.”

You looked up at him, unafraid, reveling in the tension that coiled between you like a dragon ready to strike. “I know.”

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes. “This will change everything.”

You reached up, your fingers tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, feeling the tension beneath his skin. “Good.”

That was all it took.

With a sound between a snarl and a groan, his mouth crashed onto yours, swallowing the triumphant laugh that bubbled in your throat. His kiss was nothing short of a conquest, demanding, claiming. But you met him with equal fervor, fingers tangling in his hair, nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him down against you.

The weight of him was intoxicating. The heat of him burned through the layers of your gown, through your very skin.

His hands roamed your body, mapping every curve, every dip and rise as if he were learning you by touch alone. And then, with one sharp tug, he ripped the fabric apart, exposing you to the cool air of the chamber.

A gasp escaped you, but he did not give you time to recover. His lips moved from your mouth to your throat, teeth grazing your skin, marking you as his.

“You knew,” he murmured against your pulse, his breath hot and uneven.

You shivered beneath him. “Yes.”

His hand slid down your waist, gripping your hip, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. “And you wanted this.”

You arched beneath him, pressing your body against his, daring him to do more. “Yes.”

His fingers tightened around your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the power he held—the power you had willingly walked into. Yet, you only smiled, tilting your head slightly, challenging him.

“You think you know me so well,” Maegor murmured, his voice rough, dangerous.

“I do.” Your voice was steady, unwavering.

His thumb traced the delicate line of your jaw, his grip firm, possessive. “Then you should know I do not take well to being manipulated.”

You laughed, soft and knowing. “Is that what you think this is? Manipulation?”

His eyes darkened, flickering with something unreadable. “You ask me to make you my queen.”

“I ask you to make me your equal.” You leaned closer, your breath warm against his lips. “You and I—we are the same, Maegor. We take what we want, regardless of who stands in our way. You rule through fear, through fire and blood. And I…” Your fingers ghosted over his bare chest, tracing the scars earned through years of battle. “I understand you in ways they never will.”

His grip on your throat flexed, his gaze searching yours. “They will never accept it.”

“They do not need to.” Your voice dropped to a whisper, intimate, coaxing. “We are dragons, Maegor. Let them burn.”

A slow smirk curved his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. “You seek power.”

“I seek you,” you corrected. “And I do not share what is mine.”

He studied you for a long moment, weighing your words, the certainty in your voice. Then, his grip loosened, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. He pulled you forward, forcing you to look up at him, forcing you to see the storm raging behind his violet eyes.

“You will regret this,” he said lowly.

You smiled, unshaken. “No, I won’t.”

His lips crashed against yours, fierce and demanding, as if he could make you take back your words, as if he could make you yield. But you kissed him back just as hard, your nails digging into his shoulders, drawing him closer.

The battle for dominance raged between you, but you both knew the truth—this was no conquest. This was fate.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, his pupils blown wide. He looked at you as if he had finally, truly seen you. And for once, Maegor the Cruel was at a loss for words.

Then, a slow, dangerous smile curved your lips. “Marry me, Maegor. Crown me, and let us rule together.”

His chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths. Then, finally, he murmured, “If I take you, there is no turning back.”

You held his gaze, unwavering. “Then don’t hold back.”

And just like that, the last of his restraint shattered.

Maegor was not a man who lost control easily. He was a conqueror, a warrior, a king forged in fire and blood. But with you, it was different. You saw it in his eyes—the way they darkened, the way his breath hitched as your fingers tangled in his hair, the way his body tensed as if fighting a losing battle.

"You hold yourself back," you whispered, pulling his hair back just enough to expose the sharp lines of his jaw, his throat. "Why?"

His teeth clenched, his grip on your hips tightening as if to steady himself. "Because if I don't—"

"You will," you interrupted, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice nothing but a sultry murmur. "You will lose control, and you will give in to me."

Maegor growled, a deep, guttural sound that sent shivers down your spine. "You do not command me."

You smirked, leaning in closer, pressing your body against his. "Don’t I?"

And that was it—the final push, the last thread of restraint snapping. With a snarl, Maegor's hands gripped your thighs, and in one swift motion, he had you beneath him, his body pressing into yours with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. His lips crashed against yours, all heat and hunger, all dominance and possession.

"You play with fire," he rasped against your lips, his voice thick with barely restrained desire.

"I am fire," you countered, your fingers digging into his scalp, pulling his hair once more.

The growl that escaped him was primal, his muscles flexing as he slammed into you with a force that had you crying out in both pleasure and triumph. You had pushed him to the edge, and now he was falling—dragging you down with him.

His pace was punishing, his grip unrelenting, his mouth everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, your lips. He was branding you, marking you as his just as much as you had claimed him for yourself.

"You wanted me like this?" he growled, his voice hoarse as he thrust deeper, making your back arch off the bed. "You wanted to break me?"

You gasped, your nails raking down his back, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath your touch. "No," you whispered breathlessly, your lips curling into a wicked smile. "I wanted to free you."

Maegor let out a sharp breath, his forehead pressing against yours as his movements grew rougher, more desperate. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice breaking into a groan as he buried himself deeper, forcing another cry from your lips.

You laughed between your moans, delighted by the fact that you had unraveled him so completely. "That’s the man I wanted," you murmured against his lips.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes burning with something wild, something dangerous. "And you are mine," he declared, his voice a raw promise, a vow sealed in sweat and fire.

You pulled him down into another bruising kiss, your legs tightening around his waist, dragging him deeper, demanding more. "Then prove it," you challenged.

And gods, did he.

Maegor pinned your wrists above your head, his grip unrelenting, his body a force you could no longer control. The smirk on his lips was triumphant, cruel, his amusement unmistakable as he watched you tremble beneath him.

"Where is she now?" he taunted, his voice deep and laced with satisfaction. "The little viper who dared to play with dragons?"

You gasped, your back arching as he found that spot again, the one that made your body betray you completely. A whimper escaped your lips, and Maegor chuckled darkly, his gaze burning into yours.

"You were so bold before," he mused, leaning down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Teasing me, taunting me. But now?" He pressed a slow, deliberate thrust that had you biting back a cry. "Now you have nothing to say?"

Your hands strained against his grip, but it was useless—he was too strong, too unyielding. You wanted to fight back, to retake control, but he wasn't letting you. And that only made your desire burn hotter.

"Admit it," he murmured, his free hand trailing down your body, his touch deliberate, tormenting. "You wanted this. You wanted me to break you."

Your breath hitched, your body reacting before you could form a proper response. The way he moved, the way he owned you in this moment, left no room for anything but raw, helpless pleasure.

"You can't even deny it," he chuckled, his tongue flicking over the shell of your ear. "You're shaking for me, falling apart under my hands. Tell me, little dragon—" his teeth scraped against your throat, his next thrust making stars explode behind your eyes. "Do you still think you can control me?"

Your pride warred with the overwhelming sensations flooding your body. You wanted to deny him, to tell him you still held the upper hand—but the way he had you now, completely at his mercy, made it impossible.

Still, you forced yourself to smirk, even as your voice trembled. "Perhaps I let you win this time."

Maegor stilled, his grip tightening around your wrists, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint. "Let me?"

A flash of something dark and thrilling passed between you. His expression twisted into something feral, something ruthless.

"Then let's see," he growled, lowering his body over yours completely, pressing you into the mattress, "how much more you are willing to give me."

And then, with one punishing snap of his hips, he shattered you completely.

Maegor let out a deep, guttural growl when he felt your teeth sink into his flesh, his body tensing above you. His grip on your wrists tightened, but you didn’t care—you had marked him. You had left something on him, a reminder that you were not merely his to conquer, but that he belonged to you just as much.

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across your lips as you pulled back, admiring the red mark blooming on his neck. "There," you murmured, your voice thick with pleasure and triumph. "Now everyone will see that even the mighty Maegor the Cruel is claimed."

His breath was ragged, his silver hair damp with sweat as he loomed over you, his body still moving, still demanding. His free hand came up to grasp your chin, forcing you to look into his darkened eyes. There was something dangerous in them, something feral—but also something deeply satisfied.

"You think that makes me yours?" he rumbled, voice low and threatening, but you could hear the amusement laced within it.

You tilted your head despite his grip, your smirk widening. "Are you saying it doesn’t?"

Maegor bared his teeth in something between a grin and a snarl. "Foolish girl," he muttered before capturing your lips in a searing kiss, all teeth and dominance, as if trying to consume you. His thrust became rougher, more determined, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress, ensuring you had no escape.

Yet still, your gaze burned into his, your challenge unwavering. You knew him—you knew how to play this game, how to make him feel in ways he never had before.

"You are mine," you whispered when he pulled back for air, your breath mingling with his. "Whether you admit it or not, Maegor."

His eyes darkened further, something unreadable flickering in them. Then, suddenly, he released your wrists, his large hands gripping your waist instead.

"Then prove it," he growled.

Before you could even process his words, he had flipped your positions, your body now straddling his. The sudden shift made you gasp, your hands instinctively planting themselves on his chest for balance. His smirk returned as he watched you, his grip firm on your hips.

"Show me," he demanded. "Take what you claim as yours."

Your heart pounded, your breath unsteady—but you refused to hesitate. If he wanted proof, you would give it to him.

With a slow, deliberate roll of your hips, you set the pace, your movements confident, knowing exactly how to drive him mad. His hands trembled against your skin, his jaw clenched as he let you lead, his self-control hanging by a thread.

"You are mine," you echoed, watching as his breath hitched, his grip tightening. "And I will never share you."

Maegor’s growl vibrated through his chest, his restraint slipping. His hands guided your movements now, meeting your rhythm with his own. "Then you had best make sure no one can ever take me away from you."

And with that, the battle between you continued—one of fire and desire, of dominance and submission, of two dragons unwilling to be tamed by anything but each other.

You sat atop him, your silver hair cascading over your shoulders, your body moving with deliberate confidence. Maegor, beneath you, was a vision of restraint and frustration. His head was thrown back against the pillows, his jaw clenched, his hands fisting the sheets beneath him as he fought the primal urge to take what he wanted. What you had denied him.

His breathing was ragged, his powerful chest rising and falling as he struggled against the command you had given him. Do not touch me unless I allow it.

And Maegor had obeyed. But his patience was wearing thin.

Your fingers trailed up his arms, over the scars that marked his battles, before settling around his throat. Not tight enough to hurt—just enough to claim.

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours. The violet depths burned with something dark, something dangerous, something hungry. His lips curled into a smirk, though his voice was rough when he spoke.

"Do you think you rule me, little dragon?" His words were mocking, but there was an edge of something deeper—curiosity, even admiration.

Your grip on his throat tightened slightly, your nails digging into his skin just enough to make him swallow hard. "I know I do," you whispered, leaning closer, your breath ghosting over his lips. "You are mine, Maegor. No one else."

A deep, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, his muscles tensing beneath you as if ready to throw you down and reclaim control. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. You had stripped him of that power tonight, and you both knew it.

"Arrogant," he murmured, though there was something like admiration in his voice. "Just like me."

You smiled, tilting your head slightly as you pressed a slow, taunting kiss to his jawline. "That is why we belong together."

His hands twitched, his restraint fraying at the edges. You could feel the battle raging within him—the war between his desire to dominate and the intoxicating thrill of surrendering to you, just this once.

"You tempt fate, sister," Maegor warned, his voice hoarse. "You do not know what I will do once I break free of your chains."

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze with unwavering certainty. "Then break free, Maegor."

His breath hitched. His body coiled beneath you like a dragon ready to strike. But still, he did not move.

"You see?" you whispered, pressing your lips just above his pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. "Even you cannot deny me."

His head fell back against the pillows with a low, frustrated groan, his fingers digging into the sheets as he surrendered—completely.

And you smiled. Because tonight, Maegor the Cruel belonged to you.

Maegor’s grip on the sheet tightened for a brief moment before he let out a sharp exhale, his head falling back against the pillows. His jaw clenched, muscles tensing beneath your fingers as you moved with deliberate, confident grace, your hands now firmly planted on his broad shoulders.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," he growled, his voice hoarse, strained. His hands flexed at his sides as if resisting the urge to seize control.

You smirked, leaning down so that your lips brushed against the shell of his ear. "Am I?" you whispered, tilting your head slightly to press an open-mouthed kiss against his jawline, feeling the way his body trembled in response. "I think you’re just not used to someone telling you no."

His growl deepened, but still, he did not move to stop you. You could see it in his face—the battle between his need for control and his hunger for you. He was Maegor the Cruel, a man who took whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And yet, here he was, allowing you to dictate the pace, letting you be the one in control.

You rolled your hips once more, slow and unrelenting, watching as his fingers dug into the sheets. His nostrils flared, his darkened violet eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of frustration and unbearable desire.

"Do you hate this?" you teased, dragging your nails down his chest, watching the way his muscles rippled beneath your touch. "Being beneath me?"

His eyes flashed, his lips parting as if to snarl some sharp retort—but then you moved again, and whatever words had been forming in his throat died on his tongue.

A deep, shuddering breath escaped him, and for a moment, his grip on control faltered. His hands twitched toward your hips before he caught himself, fists clenching instead. You laughed—low and victorious.

"Poor, poor Maegor," you crooned mockingly, running your fingers through his damp silver hair. "Always so strong, so unyielding… And yet here you are, trembling beneath me."

His patience snapped.

In the blink of an eye, his hands shot up, seizing your wrists and flipping your positions before you could even gasp. Your back hit the bed, your head spinning. His body caged yours beneath him, his fingers wrapping around your throat as he loomed over you, his expression a mixture of fury and unrelenting hunger.

"You truly think you can tame me?" he rasped, his voice thick with something between fury and raw, unfiltered desire. "That you can toy with me without consequence?"

You smirked up at him, your breath uneven, but your confidence unshaken. "I know I can."

His expression was unreadable for a moment, his lips slightly parted, his breath heavy. Then—slowly—his mouth curved into something dangerous, something almost proud.

"You will regret this," he warned.

But even as he said it, his lips descended upon yours once more, and you knew—there was no regret to be had.

Maegor did not hold back. His grip on your hips was ironclad, his movements relentless, driving you further and further into a state of pure, uncontrollable sensation. Your nails clawed at his shoulders, your voice breaking into incoherent pleas as he continued to push you beyond your limits.

His dark violet eyes glowed with something triumphant, something wicked. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. "What happened to all that confidence, little one?" he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Where is the fearless woman who thought she could tame me?"

You could barely breathe, let alone form a response. The intensity, the overwhelming sensation, it was too much. Your body betrayed you, trembling violently beneath him, your fingers clutching at him as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Maegor chuckled darkly, his hand sliding up to cup your throat, his thumb brushing lazily over your racing pulse. "So fragile," he murmured mockingly, tilting his head as he observed you. "And yet, you truly believed you could best me?"

You whimpered, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment, only to snap open when he suddenly stilled.

A sharp gasp left your lips as you found yourself teetering on the very edge of oblivion, your entire body burning with frustration. Your hands fisted against his chest, your breath ragged. "Maegor—"

His smirk widened. "Ah, so you do know how to beg," he mused, his grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch. "Say it again."

Your pride warred with your desperation. You wanted to defy him, to prove that you were still in control, but gods, the way he held you, the way he owned you in this moment—it shattered any semblance of resistance you had left.

"Please," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His eyes darkened, his smirk fading as something more primal took over. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, his voice a low, possessive growl. "Good girl."

And then, without warning, he moved.

A scream tore from your throat as he pulled you under, into a world where nothing existed but him—the weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the sheer power he wielded over you so effortlessly. Your vision blurred, your mind spinning as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you utterly undone beneath him.

Maegor watched you with satisfaction, his expression one of absolute victory. He slowed, his hands running possessively down your trembling form, as if to savor the sight of you like this—wrecked, breathless, completely his.

"You will never win against me," he murmured, pressing a searing kiss to your parted lips. "No matter how much you fight it, no matter how much you pretend to have control."

He pulled back just enough to meet your dazed, unfocused gaze. His fingers brushed against your cheek, almost tenderly. "You belong to me," he whispered. "And I will make sure you never forget it."

Your body trembled violently, your senses consumed entirely by him. Maegor had torn away every last fragment of control you thought you had, leaving you at his mercy—breathless, shaking, and utterly undone beneath him.

Yet, despite the exhaustion, despite the way your limbs felt like they no longer belonged to you, something deep inside you refused to surrender. You were a dragon, just as much as he was. And dragons did not bow so easily.

As the final waves of pleasure coursed through you, your arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, marking him just as he had marked you. "Maegor—" His name escaped your lips in a desperate cry, raw and unrestrained, and the sound of it seemed to push him over the edge.

A guttural growl tore from his throat as he gave in to his release, his entire body tensing above you. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing bruises into your soft flesh as he buried himself deep, claiming you in the most absolute way. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged and uneven, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something—but words failed him in that moment.

For a long time, neither of you moved. The only sound in the dimly lit chamber was the heavy rise and fall of your breathing, the lingering echoes of your shared pleasure still hanging in the air. His weight pinned you to the bed, warm and solid, as if he had no intention of letting you go.

You felt his lips brush against your temple, an almost tender gesture, so different from the ruthless dominance he had just shown. His hand slid up your body, fingers tracing along your collarbone before cupping your face. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His violet eyes were dark, still clouded with the remnants of desire—but beneath that, there was something else. Something deeper.

"You are mine," he murmured, his voice rough but certain. "And I will never let you go."

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, his mouth was on yours again, claiming, demanding. There was no space for hesitation, no room for doubt. He wanted you to understand that this—you and him—was not something temporary.

When he finally pulled away, his gaze swept over your face, as if committing every detail to memory. "Say it," he commanded, his voice softer now but no less insistent. "Say that you belong to me."

A part of you wanted to resist, to challenge him as you always had—but you knew the truth. You had belonged to him long before this night, long before either of you had dared to act on what had always simmered between you.

Your fingers traced over his jaw, your touch gentle, almost reverent. "I am yours, Maegor."

A slow, satisfied smirk curled his lips. "Good," he murmured, pressing another kiss to your lips, this one lingering, possessive. "Because I would burn the world to keep you."

The air in the chamber was thick with the scent of fire and sweat, of desire finally unleashed after years of restraint. You lay beneath Maegor, your body still tingling from the aftermath of what had just transpired between you. Your breaths mingled, your limbs tangled together, but what consumed you now was not just the physical pleasure—it was the undeniable truth that, after tonight, everything had changed.

Maegor had always been an enigma, a man of steel and fury, forged in the crucible of war and ambition. He had many wives, many women who vied for his attention, but none of them were you. None of them had shared his blood, his fire. None of them had challenged him the way you did.

And tonight, for the first time, you saw the shift in his gaze. He no longer looked at you as just his sister. He no longer saw the child who had once trailed after him in the halls of the Red Keep. No—now, he saw you, the woman, the dragon who had dared to claim him as her own.

Maegor ran a hand through his hair, his chest still rising and falling heavily as he leaned on his forearm above you. His violet eyes bore into yours, searching, filled with something unreadable. His fingers ghosted along your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. "You planned this, didn't you?" His voice was low, rough, but there was amusement beneath the accusation.

A slow, knowing smile curled at your lips. "I have always known what I wanted, Maegor," you whispered, tilting your head slightly. "And I do not lose."

His smirk widened, but there was something dangerous in the way he looked at you now. "Neither do I," he countered, gripping your chin and forcing you to hold his gaze. "Do you know what you have done?"

You reached up, trailing your fingers over the scars on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch. "I have taken what is mine."

A sharp breath left his lips, his grip tightening for just a moment before he let out a low chuckle. "So bold," he murmured, shaking his head. "So foolish."

"Foolish?" you echoed, arching a brow. "Or brave?"

His eyes darkened at that, and in one swift motion, he rolled you onto your back again, his weight pressing you into the furs beneath you. "Reckless," he corrected, his lips ghosting over yours. "You think you can have me all to yourself?"

Your nails dug into his back, a smirk playing on your lips. "I do not think, Maegor. I know."

He inhaled sharply, his fingers tangling into your hair as he pulled your head back, exposing your throat to his burning gaze. "You do not command me."

You let out a soft, breathless laugh. "And yet, here you are…"

A growl rumbled in his chest before his lips crashed against yours again, fierce and demanding. It was a battle neither of you would ever surrender.

As the night stretched on, as your bodies and wills clashed again and again, you knew one thing for certain—Maegor the Cruel had finally met his match.

You barely had time to register what was happening before you were yanked harshly from Maegor’s warmth. The lingering haze of exhaustion and pleasure still clung to your body, but the sudden forceful pull on your wrist had you snapping awake instantly.

A sharp gasp left your lips as you stumbled, barely catching yourself before falling completely. Your eyes darted to the woman standing before you, her grip on your arm firm, her expression twisted in anger.

It was Tyanna.

Her dark eyes burned with fury as she glared at you, her jaw clenched so tightly you could see the tension in her face. Behind her, you noticed the door to Maegor’s chamber was wide open, the hallway beyond it filled with the hushed murmurs of curious onlookers. Servants, guards, and even some of the other wives peered in, their faces a mix of shock, curiosity, and amusement.

You pulled your arm back forcefully, shaking off her grip as you straightened your posture. The silk sheets pooled around your waist, leaving your bare skin exposed to the cool morning air, but you refused to show any sign of weakness. You lifted your chin, meeting Tyanna’s glare with a calm, almost lazy defiance.

"You dare touch me?" you asked, your voice smooth and even, though there was an undeniable edge to it.

Tyanna scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she sneered down at you. "I should be the one asking you that," she spat, her eyes flicking toward Maegor’s still-sleeping form. "You think you can just crawl into his bed like some common whore and take what belongs to us?"

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. "I did not crawl, Tyanna," you corrected her coolly, brushing a strand of silver hair behind your ear. "I was carried."

Her face darkened in an instant.

"You think this is a game?" she hissed, stepping closer, her voice low and venomous. "You are nothing more than his latest amusement, a passing distraction."

You hummed, tilting your head. "A distraction that kept him entertained all night, it seems," you mused, glancing at the marks Maegor had left all over your body. "How unfortunate for you."

Tyanna’s hand shot out as if to slap you, but before she could strike, another hand caught her wrist mid-air.

A deep, warning growl filled the room.

Both of you froze.

Maegor.

His grip on Tyanna’s wrist was bruising, his expression a storm of barely contained rage as he loomed over the both of you. The golden morning light streamed in from the window, illuminating the sharp lines of his face, the unmistakable power in his form. His dark violet eyes flickered with fury as he turned his gaze to Tyanna.

"Touch her," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper, "and I will rip the flesh from your bones."

Tyanna stiffened, her eyes wide with shock. "Maegor—"

"Silence."

His command was absolute.

You could see her struggling to maintain her composure, but the raw authority in Maegor’s voice left no room for argument. He did not release her wrist immediately; instead, he tightened his grip just enough to make her wince before shoving her away.

She stumbled slightly, but recovered quickly, glaring at you one last time before turning on her heel and storming out of the room, her skirts billowing behind her.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Maegor exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as if the mere presence of his wives exhausted him. He turned back to you, his gaze raking over your exposed form before settling on your face. His expression softened—only slightly, but you noticed it nonetheless.

"You have a habit of causing trouble," he muttered, reaching out to brush his fingers against your jaw.

You smirked, leaning into his touch. "And yet, you never seem to mind."

His lips quirked upward in amusement before he suddenly grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze fully.

"Let them be jealous," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Let them burn with it."

Then, with a satisfied hum, he pulled you back into the bed, wrapping an arm around your waist possessively.

"You are mine now," he whispered against your skin. "And I do not share."

The laughter that filled the chamber died instantly as the heavy doors swung open.

You barely had time to react before the towering figure of Visenya Targaryen stood framed in the doorway, her presence alone enough to suck the warmth from the room.

She did not need to shout.

She did not need to brandish Dark Sister.

She did not need to utter a single word.

Her silence alone was a blade at your throat.

Maegor’s lips stilled against your skin, his body still covering yours protectively, but he did not move away. Instead, his grip on you tightened, his muscles tensing as he turned his head toward your mother. His violet eyes met hers, unreadable yet unwavering.

Visenya’s gaze was cold, calculating, as sharp as the sword she wielded. Her face betrayed no emotion, save for the slight furrow of her brow—the only indication of the storm that brewed within her.

A long silence stretched between the three of you.

Then, finally, she spoke.

“Get up.”

Her voice was not loud, but the weight of command in it was absolute.

You did not move.

Neither did Maegor.

His grip on you only tightened.

Visenya’s eyes darkened as they flicked between the two of you, her lips pressing into a thin line. She stepped forward, each movement precise, measured. When she spoke again, her tone was clipped, biting.

"Are you truly this foolish?" she asked, her gaze burning into you. "Or have you simply gone mad?"

Your fingers dug into Maegor’s arm as you sat up, but you did not look away. "Neither," you answered calmly. "I know exactly what I am doing."

Visenya’s expression remained unreadable, but you saw it—the flicker of something dangerous in her eyes.

"Do you?" she murmured.

You held her gaze.

"Yes."

Her lips curled, not quite into a smile—more like the ghost of something cruel.

"You believe you are above consequence," she mused, stepping closer. "You believe your blood, your name, will protect you from the fury of those who will see this as an affront."

You tilted your chin, refusing to cower before her.

"I believe," you said slowly, "that I am the only one worthy of him."

That made her pause.

Maegor let out a low chuckle, his grip on you loosening slightly as he leaned back against the headboard, watching the exchange with amusement. His mother’s gaze flickered to him, as if to gauge his reaction, before she exhaled sharply through her nose.

"Is that what you think?" Visenya asked, arching a brow.

"It is what I know," you corrected.

For the first time, her expression shifted. Not anger. Not disappointment.

Something closer to intrigue.

She studied you for a long moment, the firelight casting shadows across her sharp features. When she finally spoke again, her voice was quiet, but the edge remained.

"Rise," she ordered.

You hesitated only for a moment before Maegor moved first, pulling you up alongside him. The silk sheets pooled around your waist as you sat up fully, facing your mother without shame, without hesitation.

Visenya’s gaze flickered briefly to the marks along your skin—the proof of what had transpired between you and Maegor the night before.

She did not look surprised.

She did not look pleased, either.

Instead, she simply clasped her hands behind her back and said, "Dress yourself. We will speak in the Tower of the Hand."

Then, without another word, she turned and strode from the room, leaving the heavy doors open in her wake.

The moment she was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Maegor was still beside you, his hand tracing absent patterns along your thigh. You turned to him, finding his lips curved into something between amusement and satisfaction.

"She did not say no," he mused.

You smirked. "Not yet."

He chuckled, his hand tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer. "Then let us ensure she never gets the chance to."

You walked beside Maegor, your pace measured, your head held high, as if the weight of every whispered word around you did not exist.

The halls of the Red Keep were alive with murmurs—maids clutching their cleaning rags, their eyes wide with scandalous delight; courtiers pausing mid-step, turning to murmur behind their hands as their gazes flickered between you and Maegor.

They were not subtle.

Some did not even bother to whisper.

Yet you paid them no mind.

You had chosen your gown deliberately. The dark velvet fabric clung to your form, the heavy embroidery glinting under the torchlight. The neckline—low enough to reveal the bruises Maegor had left upon you—was not an accident, nor was the way you allowed your hair to tumble freely over your shoulders, rather than pinned in the modest fashion expected of noblewomen.

You wanted them to see.

You wanted them to talk.

And they would.

Maegor, at your side, was silent but imposing. His presence alone sent a chill through the air, making those in your path step aside without hesitation. His dark armor gleamed, his black cloak billowing behind him as he walked, his hand resting idly upon the pommel of his sword.

He did not look at you, nor did he acknowledge the stares—but you knew he was aware of them.

Just as you were.

And when you finally reached the doors to the chamber where Visenya awaited, he turned his head ever so slightly, his lips curving in the faintest of smirks.

He was enjoying this.

The tension.

The spectacle.

The knowledge that every person in this castle now knew that you belonged to him.

He reached for the doors and shoved them open without hesitation.

Inside, Visenya stood near the hearth, her hands clasped behind her back, her silver hair catching the firelight. She did not turn as you entered, but you could feel the weight of her presence, the sharpness of her mind already dissecting your every move before you even made them.

"You are bold," she said at last, her voice measured, calm. "Perhaps too bold."

You stepped forward, your chin lifted. "You did not summon us here to discuss my wardrobe."

That made her turn.

Her eyes—those same sharp, calculating violet eyes that you and Maegor shared—landed upon you first. They lingered on the marks upon your skin, the way your gown so purposefully displayed them.

Then, slowly, she shifted her gaze to Maegor.

"You should have more sense than this," she told him. "But perhaps I overestimated you."

Maegor did not flinch. He did not look away. "You overestimate your own authority, Mother, if you think to dictate whom I take to my bed."

Visenya exhaled sharply through her nose, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"This is not merely about a bed, and you know it." She turned back to you. "What is your endgame, child? What exactly do you hope to gain from this?"

You held her gaze.

"I do not hope for anything," you said simply. "I will have what is mine."

Her brows lifted ever so slightly. "And what, pray tell, do you believe is yours?"

You glanced at Maegor then, at the way he stood beside you, solid and unmoving, his hand still resting upon his sword as if daring anyone to challenge his right to be at your side.

Then, with the confidence that had been carved into your very bones, you turned back to Visenya and answered:

"The throne."

Silence.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the crackling of the fire.

Then—slowly, very slowly—Visenya smiled.

It was not a warm smile.

It was not a pleased smile.

It was sharp. Calculating.

Like the first flicker of a flame before it consumes everything in its path.

She exhaled softly and stepped closer, so close you could see the faint lines around her mouth, the weight of years spent shaping the destiny of House Targaryen.

"If you wish to wear a crown," she murmured, her voice almost gentle, "then you must be willing to bleed for it."

You did not blink.

You did not waver.

You smiled.

"Then let the bleeding begin."

Visenya's words hung in the air like a blade suspended by a thread.

"I should have agreed when your father wanted you to marry Aenys."

The room fell into a heavy silence.

Maegor’s jaw clenched so tightly you could hear the grind of his teeth. His hand, still resting upon the pommel of his sword, curled into a fist. The flickering firelight cast deep shadows upon his face, making him look even more menacing than usual.

You, however, could only stare at your mother, shock momentarily robbing you of speech.

"Aenys?" you echoed, as if you had misheard her.

Visenya did not waver. "Yes. He was our brother’s son, of pure Valyrian blood. A match that would have been appropriate—unlike this… madness."

Madness.

She was calling this madness.

She, of all people.

You almost laughed at the irony.

"You—" Maegor’s voice was a low, warning growl. "You would have given her to him?"

Visenya’s expression remained unreadable. "It would have been better than what she has chosen for herself."

A muscle twitched in Maegor’s jaw. His grip tightened upon his sword.

You saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way his nostrils flared—the barely restrained rage simmering beneath his skin.

And yet, beneath that rage…

There was something else.

Something dark and possessive and utterly furious.

You swallowed, regaining your voice. "You would have had me wed a man who would sooner hide behind his councilors than make a decision for himself?"

Visenya’s gaze flickered back to you. "Aenys was weak," she admitted. "But he was still our blood. And a union between you and him would have ensured—"

"Would have ensured that I spent my life shackled to a man unworthy of me." You lifted your chin, voice sharp. "Would have ensured that I wasted away in the shadows while he simpered before the lords of Westeros."

Visenya exhaled sharply. "And now you would shackle yourself to Maegor instead?"

At that, Maegor let out a low, mirthless chuckle. "No," he murmured darkly, stepping closer. "She does not shackle herself to me." His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist in an iron grip. "She belongs to me."

A possessive declaration. A claim.

One that left no room for argument.

Your heartbeat quickened.

Visenya’s eyes darkened. "Belongs to you?" she repeated, her tone edged with something unreadable. "Is that what you believe?"

Maegor smirked, tilting his head. "I know it."

Visenya inhaled slowly, measuring his words—measuring you.

"And you?" she finally asked, her gaze settling upon you.

You met her stare without flinching.

"Yes."

A single word. Steady. Unshaken.

Visenya studied you for a long moment, and for the first time, something flickered in her gaze.

Not anger.

Not disappointment.

But recognition.

"You are a fool," she murmured. "Both of you."

You said nothing.

She sighed, running a hand over her temple as if you had given her a headache. "Do you even understand what you invite upon yourself?"

You held her gaze. "I understand more than you think."

Visenya shook her head. "You think you understand. But power is not given—it is taken. And once you take it, there is no going back."

You did not hesitate. "I do not intend to go back."

A beat of silence.

Then Visenya exhaled softly, something almost like resignation flickering across her face.

"You will regret this," she murmured. "Both of you will."

Maegor smirked. "Doubtful."

Visenya stared at him for a long moment, then at you. Then, without another word, she turned and strode toward the doors.

But just before she exited, she paused.

"You should pray," she said over her shoulder, "that you never find out why I wanted you to wed Aenys instead."

And then she was gone.

The room remained heavy with her words.

You turned to Maegor. "Why would she say that?"

He was still staring at the door, his jaw set.

Finally, he exhaled and looked at you.

"Because she knows," he murmured, stepping closer, his hands settling upon your waist. "That I do not intend to share what is mine."

His grip tightened.

His gaze burned.

And despite the warning still lingering in the air—

You smiled.

The doors to the council chamber swung open with a resounding thud, and the air inside shifted, thick with tension as you and Maegor stepped inside.

Every eye in the room turned to you.

The lords of the realm—the men who had served under your father, Aegon the Conqueror, and now bowed before his son—stared at you in stunned silence.

Their gazes flickered between you and Maegor, their shock evident, though none dared to speak first.

For they knew who you were.

You were not just Maegor’s sister.

You were the daughter of Aegon the Conqueror and Visenya Targaryen. A dragon born of dragons.

And now—now—you were something more.

Maegor strode to the head of the table, his presence commanding as he turned to face them all. His hand, large and possessive, rested upon your lower back, the warmth of his touch burning through the fabric of your gown.

He did not wait for anyone to find their voices.

"I have summoned you all here to inform you of a decision," he declared, his voice a low rumble of finality.

Your lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile as you watched them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"The women who call themselves my wives," Maegor continued, his tone edged with disdain, "are no longer so. As of this moment, I renounce them. I annul every marriage."

A ripple of shock swept through the chamber. The lords exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to interrupt.

You could hear the sharp inhale of Lord Rogar Baratheon, see the way Lord Tully's hands twitched upon the table. Even Lord Celtigar, one of the most loyal supporters of House Targaryen, looked taken aback.

But Maegor was not finished.

"In their place, I will take one wife."

He turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto yours.

Your breath hitched.

Not because you were surprised—no, this was what you had wanted.

This was what you had orchestrated.

But because, in this moment, standing beside him as he declared to the realm that you were his—

You felt it.

You felt the power shift.

The inevitability of it.

"The woman I will wed," Maegor continued, his voice dark and possessive, "is my sister."

The chamber erupted.

"My king —!" Lord Baratheon shot to his feet, but he was silenced by the sound of Maegor unsheathing Blackfyre and slamming it against the table.

The great Valyrian steel blade sent goblets spilling over, the clang of metal against wood ringing through the air like a war drum.

The lords flinched.

You did not.

Maegor’s eyes burned as he surveyed them, daring them to challenge him.

"I am your king," he reminded them coldly. "You will not interrupt me again."

A thick silence fell over the room.

Even Lord Baratheon, still standing, hesitated before slowly lowering himself back into his seat.

Satisfied, Maegor continued.

"There is no woman in the realm more worthy of my throne than my own blood," he declared. "No one more fit to rule at my side than my own sister. A dragon belongs with a dragon."

Your heart pounded as his words wrapped around you, solidifying the reality of what you had fought for.

The lords were stunned into silence, their minds scrambling to grasp what this meant—what you meant.

And then, finally, someone found their voice.

"Your Grace," Lord Tully said hesitantly, his face pale. "The Faith—"

Maegor turned his burning gaze onto him. "The Faith will bend. Or I will break them."

A chill swept through the room.

Everyone knew what that meant.

The memories of the last Faith uprising were still fresh—bodies impaled upon spikes, the Great Sept desecrated, the streets of King's Landing running red with blood.

No one wanted to challenge Maegor on this.

No one could.

And so, they remained silent.

You smiled.

Because in this moment—

You had won.

Maegor turned to you, his dark gaze locking onto yours, his lips curling into a smirk.

"You will be my wife," he said, his voice lower now, meant only for you. "And you will rule at my side."

Your hand reached up, fingers brushing his jawline, tilting his face toward yours.

"And I will never share you," you whispered back, your eyes alight with triumph.

Maegor exhaled a slow, deep chuckle, his grip tightening upon you.

"Then it seems," he murmured, "we understand each other perfectly."

As the heavy doors of the council chamber slammed shut, the lingering echoes of Maegor’s decree still clung to the air like a storm waiting to break. The lords had left in silence, their faces pale, their minds racing with the weight of what had just transpired.

But you—

You remained.

Alone with him.

Maegor leaned back in his chair, the great seat carved for kings, his fingers drumming against the armrest. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those dark, molten pools—were fixed upon you, watching, waiting.

A slow smile curled upon your lips.

With deliberate steps, you approached the long table that had been the site of so many political discussions, so many power struggles—where the realm had just learned that you had triumphed over them all.

You placed one hand on the polished wood and then, with a graceful ease, lifted yourself onto the table, sitting directly in front of him, your legs on either side of his.

His gaze darkened.

Maegor’s hands found your waist instantly, his grip firm, possessive, pulling you closer until there was nothing but breath and heat between you.

Your arms slid around his neck, fingers threading into the thick silver strands of his hair.

"That went well," you mused, tilting your head, your voice laced with amusement. "They did not dare to argue for long."

Maegor let out a low chuckle, one of satisfaction. "Because they fear me," he murmured against your skin, his lips grazing the sensitive point of your jaw. "As they should."

You hummed in agreement, your nails lightly scraping against the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

"And now," you whispered, leaning in until your lips nearly brushed his, "they will fear me as well."

Maegor’s grip tightened.

"Good," he rumbled. "Let them."

His hands slid down, rough palms pressing against your thighs before gripping your hips, pulling you forward until you were flush against him.

"You did not even hesitate," he said, his breath warm against your lips. "Did you ever?"

You laughed softly, brushing your nose against his.

"Never," you admitted. "You are mine, Maegor. And I do not share."

His pupils dilated at your words, a growl of approval escaping him.

"Neither do I."

Then his lips crashed against yours, and you let yourself be claimed—just as you had claimed him.

The fire between you and Maegor was not one that could be tamed. It was raw, untamed, a hunger that no one else could ever understand.

His lips crashed against yours once more, neither of you willing to yield, both fighting for dominance in a battle that neither truly wanted to win. His hand slid up your back, fingers pressing into your spine as he pulled you impossibly closer. The warmth of his body, the sheer power of him, sent a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard, making him groan against your mouth. It was a sound of frustration and pleasure all at once. His hands tightened on your waist, his grip possessive, almost punishing.

"Still trying to control me, little dragon?" he murmured against your lips, his breath hot, teasing.

You smirked, your nails scraping against the back of his neck. "You belong to me, Maegor. Do you doubt it?"

He let out a low chuckle, one filled with dark amusement. "I do not doubt it," he admitted, his lips trailing along your jawline, down to the curve of your neck. He bit down—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. "But you belong to me just the same."

Your head tilted back as his mouth worked its way lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat. Your heartbeat pounded against your ribs, a rhythm that matched the fire burning in your veins.

Your legs tightened around his waist, your body molding against his as his hands roamed, his touch leaving trails of heat wherever it landed. You could feel his breath against your collarbone, feel the way he fought to keep his control intact.

"You are holding back," you whispered, your fingers threading through his silver hair, tugging once more. "Why?"

Maegor growled, his hands gripping your waist harder. "You test me," he murmured, his lips pressing against your skin, his breath warm, teasing. "You have always tested me."

"And you have always loved it."

His eyes met yours then, dark and filled with something deeper than mere desire.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice low, dangerous. "I have."

Then, with a sudden movement, he lifted you off the table with ease, carrying you as if you weighed nothing. You gasped, your arms tightening around his neck as he turned, stalking toward his chambers with a determination that sent a thrill down your spine.

"Where are we going?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.

He smirked, his grip tightening on you. "To make sure the entire Red Keep knows exactly who you belong to."

Maegor was never a patient man. You knew that better than anyone. And yet, as you lay beneath him, watching his fingers fumble in his urgency to rid himself of his armor, you couldn’t help but laugh.

His head snapped up at the sound, eyes narrowing. “You find something amusing?” His voice was a growl, low and dangerous, but there was a glint in his eye—a flicker of something that was reserved only for you.

You reached up, brushing a strand of damp silver hair away from his forehead. “Only that the mighty Maegor the Cruel is in such a hurry,” you teased, your fingers grazing along his jawline. “Where is your control, brother?”

His hands found your wrists before you could move away, pinning them to the mattress on either side of your head. The sudden force made you gasp, your amusement flickering into something else—something deeper, darker.

“My control?” He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. “It is you who shatters it every time.”

You shivered as his lips brushed against your jaw, trailing down to your throat. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin, his grip on your wrists tightening as your body arched beneath him. He was fire—burning, all-consuming—and you had always been drawn to the flames.

“I should make you beg,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with restraint.

You tilted your head, a smirk curving your lips even as your pulse raced. “And yet, here you are, trembling with need.”

Maegor let out a low growl, his fingers curling around the fabric of your dress. With one sharp tug, the fine material tore, slipping from your shoulders like silk.

“Careful, brother,” you purred, your breath hitching as his lips found the curve of your collarbone. “You might just lose yourself.”

His golden eyes met yours, dark and smoldering. “I already have.”

And then, with a force that stole the breath from your lungs, he claimed you—wholly, utterly, as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

Maegor moved with a brutal, unrelenting pace, forcing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding on as he claimed you with the same ruthless determination he wielded in battle.

His grip on your hips tightened, ensuring you had nowhere to go—not that you wanted to escape. Your legs wrapped securely around his waist, locking him in place. The motion made him groan, his head falling to the crook of your neck.

“Fucking,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough, strained.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was breathless, tinged with the heat coursing through your veins. “Losing control already, brother?”

His teeth found your throat in response, biting just hard enough to leave a mark before soothing the sting with his tongue. You shivered at the sensation, fingers tangling in his hair as he moved.

“You provoke me,” he growled, his breath hot against your skin. “Every damn time.”

You tilted your head, giving him better access, enjoying the way he took exactly what he wanted. “And yet, you always give in.”

Maegor pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, filled with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “You will be mine.”

You smirked, running your nails down his back, delighting in the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. “I already am.”

The words sent him into a frenzy, his movements growing more intense, more desperate. His control—so carefully maintained in every other aspect of his life—was shattered here, with you.

And gods, you loved knowing that no one else could ever break him the way you did.

Maegor straightened, pulling your hips flush against him with a sudden, forceful grip that tore a sharp cry from your lips. He laughed—low, dark, victorious—as he held you there, refusing to let you pull away even an inch.

"Look at me," he commanded, fingers grasping your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his.

Your breath hitched, body trembling, but you refused to surrender so easily. Even as he held you, as he dominated you, you still wanted to push him, still wanted to fight.

"You think you’ve won?" you taunted, voice uneven but defiant.

His grip on your chin tightened ever so slightly, his smirk widening. "I know I have."

You clenched your jaw, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your submission. But Maegor knew you too well—he could see the struggle, the way your body reacted despite your mind’s resistance.

"You fight me," he murmured, eyes gleaming with something dangerous, something hungry. "But you want this. You always do."

Your nails dug into his arms, your chest rising and falling with every rapid breath. "And you need me to want it," you shot back, voice shaking. "Because without me, you're nothing."

His expression darkened, but instead of anger, it was something far more dangerous—something primal. His hold on you became firmer, possessive.

"You think you control me?" he whispered, his breath hot against your lips. "You think you own me?"

You smirked, despite the way your body quivered in his grasp. "I know I do."

That was his breaking point. With a low growl, he moved—fast, overpowering—his mouth crashing against yours as he silenced your defiance the only way he knew how. You gasped, but he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of his dominance into it.

Maegor would never yield. He would never bow. But neither would you.

And that was why he would always come back to you.

Maegor’s roar of anger echoed through the chamber as the heavy wooden doors burst open, slamming against the stone walls with a force that sent a gust of cold air rushing into the room.

You barely had the presence of mind to register what had happened before laughter bubbled up from your lips. It was sharp, mocking, delighted, because standing in the doorway, frozen in shock and horror, were the women who had once called themselves his wives.

Or rather, his former wives.

Tyanna’s dark eyes were wide, disbelief flashing across her sharp features as she clutched the doorframe. Jeyne’s hand covered her mouth, her soft, delicate face drained of all color. And poor Ceryse— hands curled into fists, trembling as she stared at you, at him, at what the two of you had become.

"What," Maegor snarled, his voice like rolling thunder, "do you think you’re doing?"

The weight of his fury struck them hard. Even Tyanna, who had always been the boldest, flinched under the intensity of his glare.

"We—" Jeyne tried to speak, but her voice cracked. She swallowed thickly and straightened, eyes flickering between you and the man who now held you so possessively. "We heard rumors, Maegor. That you—that she—"

Her words failed her, but the meaning was clear enough. They had hoped, perhaps, that the whispers had been false. That the court had exaggerated. That there was no way their husband—their king—could be found in such a compromising position with his own sister.

But the truth was laid bare before them.

You, tangled in Maegor’s embrace, your skin still flushed, your body still trembling from the intensity of your shared pleasure. Him, his arm wrapped around you, holding you to him like a claim that no one could challenge. The scent of sweat and passion still lingered in the air, thick and undeniable.

You tilted your head back against Maegor’s shoulder, looking at them through half-lidded eyes, utterly unbothered. "Now you come running?" you mused, amusement dripping from every word. "How pathetic."

Ceryse took a step forward, her body tense with rage. "You’re his sister!" she spat, voice shaking. "This is—this is madness!"

You sighed, rolling your eyes. "Is it? Because to me, it looks a lot like destiny."

"You’ve bewitched him," Jeyne whispered, staring at you with something close to fear.

At that, Maegor laughed. It was a low, cruel sound, reverberating through his chest as he held you tighter. "Do you take me for a fool, Jeyne? You think I do not choose this?" His voice dropped into something even darker. "You think I would let anyone—even her—command me?"

Tyanna’s lips parted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across her face. But Ceryse wasn’t so easily silenced.

"You promised me," she hissed, stepping forward again. "You promised me you would honor our vows."

Maegor’s expression was unreadable, but you felt the tension in his body shift—something hard, something dangerous. "And now," he said coldly, "I break them."

Ceryse let out a sharp, wounded breath.

Jeyne was the first to recover, her gaze dropping to the floor as she took an unsteady step back. "So it’s true," she murmured. "You mean to cast us aside."

"I already have," Maegor corrected, his voice void of any remorse.

Tyanna was silent. But the way her hands curled into her skirts, the way her gaze darted to yours, full of dark calculation, told you that she was already plotting her next move.

You, however, had no such worries.

Instead, you merely smirked, turning your face up to look at Maegor, your fingers tracing absent patterns over his bare chest. "Tell me, my love," you purred, voice dripping with mockery, "shall I have them thrown out? Or shall we let them stay and watch?"

Ceryse recoiled as if struck, and Jeyne let out a horrified gasp.

Maegor exhaled sharply through his nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He liked your cruelty. He liked that you enjoyed this as much as he did.

But he was not a man of patience.

"Get out," he growled, his tone brooking no argument.

Jeyne was the first to obey, turning on her heel and all but fleeing from the room. Ceryse lingered for just a moment longer, her hands trembling, her blue eyes filled with unshed tears—then she turned sharply and stormed after her.

Tyanna, however, was different. She lingered, her dark gaze locking with yours, a knowing smirk playing at her lips.

"You may have him now," she murmured, voice slow, measured. "But we shall see how long you can keep him."

And then, without another word, she slipped away into the shadows, disappearing into the halls beyond.

Silence fell over the room.

Then Maegor sighed, pulling you against him once more, burying his face in your hair. "Fools," he muttered darkly. "All of them."

You laughed softly, nuzzling into his warmth. "Let them talk," you whispered. "Let them watch."

Maegor’s grip on you tightened, his lips brushing against your ear. "Let them fear."

And they would.

Because after tonight, the world would know—Maegor the Cruel did not love, did not belong to anyone.

But you… you were the exception.

Tag List : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @callsignwidow @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry

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