~129 A.C~

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

DRAGONSTONE
The stone halls of Dragonstone still whispered with the roar of dragons as Vellena led Jacaerys gently through the torch-lit corridors. His steps were heavy. Not from injury, but the kind of exhaustion that came from grief withheld too long, from being strong too often, too loudly.

She said nothing. Not until they entered his chambers.

The door creaked open, and she led him to the jbed with care, as though afraid he might collapse if she let go. He sank down onto the edge like a marionette with cut strings.

Still silent, Vellena kicked off her boots, shed her cloak heavy with soot and wind, and moved behind him. She climbed up onto the bed and gently pulled him back, guiding his head to rest in her lap. He didn't resist.

His hair was thick and tangled from the flight and sweat and grief. She ran her fingers through it, soft and rhythmic, just the way he always liked when they were children—when storms made the castle tremble and his nightmares refused to loosen their grip.

Now, the storm was inside him.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeper.

"You never did like to cry in front of people," she murmured softly, voice just above a whisper.

Jace scoffed faintly. "I am people now, apparently." He exhaled. "Heir to the Iron Throne, future commander of dragonriders, the next hope of House Targaryen." He turned his face slightly into her skirts, bitter. "And a godsdamned wreck."

Vellena looked down at him, her fingers pausing briefly in his curls.

"You're not a wreck," she said. "You're just human. A human who's carrying the weight of a thousand dying men, and their children, and their homes."

He didn't respond.

"You will do everything you could," she went on. "You will train them. You will rally the riders. You will fly across the realm on wings of fire. You will make them believe in this war."

"And if we lose?"

"You won't."

Jace's throat worked.

"And if I die?" he asked, quieter.

Vellena stroked his hair gently, brushing a damp curl from his brow.

"Then I'll burn the world for you," she whispered. "But you won't. You're the best man I know, Jace. The best. Even if you don't always know it."

His lip quivered faintly. He didn't answer.

Just then, a faint clatter by the door broke the hush. Vellena looked up as the ajar door creaked further open, and two streaks of mischief bounded in.

"Mera!" Vellena said with delighted surprise.

The orange-striped kitten, eyes wide with excitement, launched herself onto the bed with a mewl, making a beeline for Jacaerys's lap.

Following behind, Berion, her snow-white sibling, with a dark yellow dot between his ears, trailed with the quiet confidence of a lord. He leapt up with an awkward little scramble, landing squarely on Vellena's thighs.

"Not again," Jace muttered—but a small, reluctant smile crept onto his lips as Mera curled up on his chest, purring like a tiny engine.

Vellena giggled softly as Berion tried to climb her tunic, his tiny paws batting at the clasps.

"They always know when I need cheering up," she whispered, scratching behind Berion's ears.

"I can't believe I'm lying on my sister's lap being climbed like a hill by orange chaos incarnate," Jace muttered, letting out the smallest laugh.

Vellena's smile widened, warm and lit from within. "You love them."

"Shut up," he grumbled, but his arms came up around Mera, tucking her gently against his ribs.

She laughed, soft and true, eyes crinkling and hair falling in a silver curtain over one shoulder. She was still wearing soot from her ride. Her cheeks were flushed with salt and dragonwind. Her voice was low and soothing. She was still Vellena—the stubborn, fierce, maddening storm of his youth—but in that moment, Jacaerys Velaryon saw her differently.

Not just as his sister. Not just as a princess or a fellow rider.

But as the calm in his chaos. The hand that soothed the storm. The light he couldn't look away from.

He didn't speak it. And she didn't see it. Not now.

But he held the warmth of it inside him. And didn't let go.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

OLDTOWN
The bell of the Starry Sept tolled softly in the distance, its echo ghosting across the rooftops of Oldtown like a whispered prayer. Shadows stretched long and golden along the corridors of the Hightower, the last rays of sun spilling through the narrow stained-glass windows in fractured hues of red and gold.

Alayne Hightower sat by the narrow window in her chamber, sketchbook resting forgotten on her lap. The lines she'd drawn earlier had blurred in her vision, her hand still, her thoughts far from the ink.

That kiss—gods, it hadn't left her mind.

She touched her lips unconsciously, brows furrowing.

It had been only a moment. A wild, sun-dappled moment in the grass beside Tessarion's landing site. One breath. One heartbeat. Then his lips on hers. She didn't remember who moved first—maybe it had been both of them—but it was her who'd been thinking about it endlessly since. Her who had been ignoring him.

Because it couldn't mean anything.

Not with him. Not Prince Daeron Targaryen, beloved son of Viserys the Peaceful, dragonrider of Tessarion, royal cousin and... clearly, hopelessly in love with Vellena Velaryon. Everyone knew it. Even Alayne. Even if it twisted her stomach every time she remembered.

So what was that kiss?

Nothing, she decided, standing up.

Something foolish. Something fleeting.

Something that couldn't mean anything—because he couldn't possibly—

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Down the hall, Daeron Targaryen sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the silver ring on his finger.

The chamber was quiet. Firelight flickered in the hearth, dancing across the polished armor and blue-and-gold banners draped from the wall. But his thoughts were elsewhere—days ago, in the sunlit field, with red curls in his hands, and laughter on Alayne's lips.

He'd kissed her. Or maybe she'd kissed him. He didn't know anymore. He hadn't been thinking. He'd just been feeling.

And ever since... she'd ignored him. Not a word. Not a glance.

She thinks it was a mistake, he told himself.

Daeron exhaled deeply, raking a hand through his pale hair.

"Gods," he muttered. "I'm in love with her."

He stood abruptly, needing air, needing space from his own spiraling thoughts.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The corridor balcony stretched open to the evening breeze, overlooking the city. The stars blinked faintly in the indigo sky, and the Hightower cast its long shadow over the harbor.

Two doors opened at once.

Alayne stepped out, clutching her arms. And from the other end, Daeron emerged, his boots light against the stone.

They froze, staring at each other in surprise.

For a long moment, neither said a word.

Then both began to speak at once:

"I—"
"You—"

They stopped, chuckled nervously.

"Go ahead," Daeron said, nodding, voice quieter than usual. A touch unsure.

Alayne hesitated. Her hands fidgeted with the lace at her sleeve.

"I was just going to say..." she laughed weakly. "About the kiss. That kiss. That... stupid moment in the grass."

Daeron swallowed, heart hammering in his chest.

"I'm sorry," she continued quickly. "It was probably foolish. I mean, we were just—there. With Tessarion. And maybe I kissed you. Or maybe you kissed me. I don't even remember." She gave a breathless laugh, eyes glancing up to meet his before flicking away. "But it's fine. I understand. It didn't mean anything."

Daeron's lips parted, but no sound came.

That wasn't what he wanted to say. That wasn't at all what he wanted to say.

But the words choked in his throat. She thought it didn't mean anything. She was apologizing. Gods, she was pulling away. And Daeron—like the fool he was—just nodded slowly, swallowing his heart down.

"Right," he said hoarsely. "It was nothing."

Alayne smiled softly, masking the way it cracked something in her chest.

"Good," she said. "I'm glad we're... clear on that."

She stepped forward and offered her hand.

He blinked at it, confused.

"To say good night, cousin," she added awkwardly.

Daeron took her hand. Warm. Soft. His fingers lingered half a second too long.

"Good night," she said, giving it a brief shake before stepping back. "Sleep well."

She turned, skirts brushing the stone floor, her red curls swaying as she walked down the corridor without looking back.

Daeron stood motionless.

Then he sighed, dragging a hand down his face, eyes fixed where she'd vanished.

"Seven fucking hells," he muttered. "You absolute, blithering coward."

He leaned on the railing, the stars above him and his heart below.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The door to Alayne Hightower's chamber creaked shut with a soft groan. The heavy latch clicked, the sound echoing like a final word spoken too late.

She stood still for a moment in the darkened room, lit only by the flickering of a single candle. Her arms hung limp at her sides, fingers trembling, heart pounding in her throat.

She had meant to be graceful. Meant to pretend she was fine. Meant to laugh it off like a silly girl's mistake.

But the ache in her chest betrayed her.

She turned slowly, walked to the edge of her bed, and sank down without grace. Her fingers found the embroidered edge of her blanket and clutched it like a lifeline.

And then—tears fell.

Silent, unrelenting tears that stained her cheeks and made her breath catch in her throat. Not dramatic, not loud—just that quiet, pitiful kind of crying that felt worse than any sob.

She buried her face in her hands and whispered, "You fool... you stupid, stupid fool..."

She had felt something in that kiss. Something real. Something... sacred. And now it was dust. She'd destroyed it herself. And he hadn't stopped her.

Of course he hadn't.

He loves Vellena.

Alayne squeezed her eyes shut harder as her shoulders shook, trying to suppress the sob rising in her chest. She had only wanted to preserve her dignity, but instead, she had buried her hope.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Across the tower, the sound of booted feet echoed angrily through the corridor.

Prince Daeron Targaryen stormed down the hallway like a thundercloud given flesh. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached, and the fine blue doublet beneath his cloak was wrinkled from where his fists kept tightening.

He reached his door, threw it open, and slammed it shut behind him.

The room seemed colder somehow, or maybe it was just him—burning from the inside out.

He paced. Then stopped. Then paced again.

"She thought it meant nothing," he muttered to himself. "She apologized for it." He laughed bitterly, raking his hands through his hair. "And you—gods damn you, Daeron—you agreed with her. You lying coward."

He smacked the back of a chair hard enough to make it crash to the floor. A startled raven croaked from the perch outside his window and flew off into the night.

"You could've told her," he hissed, teeth gritted. "You should have told her."

But he hadn't.

And now her smile was gone, her warmth turned distant, her hand offered only in courtesy—not longing.

And he couldn't chase after her without making a fool of them both.

Daeron sank onto the edge of his bed, head in his hands.

He remembered the kiss again—the feel of her lips, the way her fingers had curled into his sleeve, the soft gasp she made before they pulled apart—and it crushed him. Because for one brief second, he'd had something rare.

And now?

Now she was crying behind a locked door, and he was too furious at himself to do anything but sit in silence.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

ALAYNE'S DREAM
The soft silk of her gown rustled as she stood before a marble altar in the Starry Sept, the candles all around her flickering like dying hope. She stood alone, waiting, clutching a bouquet of blue roses. The cold stone beneath her bare feet chilled her bones.

Then, the doors opened—light streaming through like judgment.

Daeron walked down the aisle, silver hair gleaming like a knight from storybooks. But his violet eyes were unreadable. Behind him, Vellena followed in a stunning dress of black and red, her braid trailing behind her like a silver whip, her face glowing with victory.

Alayne stepped forward. "Daeron—"

But he didn't look at her.

He passed her as if she were a ghost.

He offered his hand to Vellena. And Vellena looked at Alayne over her shoulder and smirked—not cruelly, not kindly, but with that distant amusement of someone who already knew they'd won.

"I'm sorry," Daeron said finally, still not looking at her. His voice was a whisper on a storm. "You're sweet, but you were never... her."

The bouquet fell from Alayne's hands.

The blue petals hit the stone.

One by one.

And she awoke—breathless, eyes wet, hand on her chest like her heart had shattered in her sleep.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

DAERON'S DREAM
The firelight cast long shadows across the chamber. It flickered over pale skin and curls like red-gold flame, and there she was—Alayne. Laughing softly, lying back on silken sheets, the loose collar of her gown slipping off one shoulder. Her green eyes locked on his like they dared him.

Daeron reached out, hands shaking with something far deeper than desire—need.

He kissed her lips first, gentle, reverent.

Then her cheek.

Then her neck.

Her collarbone.

Everywhere.

Alayne gasped beneath his touch, her hands curling into his hair, whispering his name like a prayer and a secret and a sin all in one.

"Daeron..."

She didn't flinch. She didn't walk away. She pulled him closer.

"I want you," she whispered.

"I love you," he answered, voice rough, true.

Then—

He woke up.

Heart pounding. Hands clenched in the sheets. Sweat clinging to his skin like a second layer.

"Gods," he muttered, breathing hard, dragging a hand down his face. "Gods..."

He sat there, dazed, eyes wide in the dark, the echo of her voice still warm in his ears.

He buried his face in his hands, and whispered, like a confession,
"I'm in love with her."

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

DRAGONSTONE
The great stone keep was still cloaked in half-light, mist curling against the windows and halls like the breath of sleeping dragons.

Within the dim quiet of Prince Jacaerys's chambers, a strange peace lingered, one not often found in the heart of war.

She blinked slowly, cheek nestled in the warm embrace of her pillow. A soft purring sound vibrated near her ear — Berion, her snow-colored kitten, nuzzled tight against her shoulder like a tiny guard. His little yellow-marked head twitched now and then with kitten dreams.

Across her torso lay Jace, one arm looped loosely over her hip, his cheek pressed flat to her stomach, his breath slow and steady. His dark curls spilled across the fabric of her dragon gear, slightly tangled, slightly damp with sleep.

Mera, the orange-striped kitten, was nestled firmly into the hollow of Jace's chest like she belonged there. Her purr matched Berion's, and together the kittens hummed a tranquil tune.

Vellena stared at them, at this unexpected, ridiculous pile of affection—Jace and two kittens—and her lips pulled into a smile before she could stop it.

She moved slow, precise, like sneaking out of a sacred circle.

One arm slid beneath Berion, gently setting him down onto the pillow. Her other hand carefully lifted Jace's head from her stomach. He stirred but didn't wake, curling a little to the side in response, still hugging Mera like a child with a beloved toy.

She pulled her legs out from the coverlet and stood barefoot, not daring to breathe.

One step. Two.

No sound.

She reached the chamber door, turning back just once.

Jace was still fast asleep, his brow peaceful in a way it rarely was, now that war stalked every hallway.

She smiled to herself.

Success.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The moment Vellena pushed open the door, her maidservant Lyra startled, dropping a ribbon she'd been folding.

"My lady!" she exclaimed, looking her over. "You're still in dragon leathers?"

"I was... occupied," Vellena said, sweeping past with unbothered elegance, though her braid was half undone and her boots dusted with ash. "It's a new fashion, haven't you heard?"

Lyra rolled her eyes affectionately but said nothing, already fetching a cloth and a silver bowl of rosewater.

On the cushioned bench near the hearth, a soft red gown lay waiting — the kind of red that glowed warm rather than commanding. Simple, soft, beautiful in its quiet confidence.

"It'll bring out the fire in your eyes," Lyra murmured, helping unlace the leather gear. "You've a council meeting, and your mother asked for you to not be late as the cupbearer"

Vellena nodded absently, fingers brushing over the gown's fabric.

Her mind, however, lingered on that moment before dawn.

Jace, curled up like something fragile.
Mera, purring in his chest like a second heartbeat. And Berion, refusing to leave her side.

The war still loomed. Aemond still lived.
But for now... in the fleeting hush of morning...

She had something worth protecting.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The mists had begun to thin, burnt away by the rising sun. A bright, cool morning light slanted through the windows of Princess Vellena's chambers, catching the sheen of her newly brushed silver hair as Lyra fastened the last clasps on her gown.

It was a gown of deep red velvet, simple but masterfully cut. The sleeves fell long and loose to her wrists, lined in subtle gold thread. The bodice fit close, shaped to the curve of her waist and shoulders, with a square neckline just modest enough for court. A soft, flowing skirt swept behind her as she moved—red as dragonfire, yet warm, not severe.

Vellena admired it in the mirror for a moment — an image of power, grace, and youth all at once.

But she had other things to do.

Dragonstone's library lay cool and quiet beneath the great hall — stone walls lined with ancient tomes, scrolls, and faded ledgers that seemed older than the island itself. The scent of old parchment filled the air, a comforting fragrance to anyone who loved words.

Vellena padded softly between the high shelves, a finished book cradled in her arms: A Treatise on the Great Houses of Westeros. She slid it neatly back into its place and wandered down the aisle, fingers tracing the spines of various texts.

She paused near the table by the window.

Addam Velaryon sat there, shoulders hunched, squinting at a large volume of High Valyrian script. His tongue peeked between his lips in concentration as he scribbled notes. The corners of his mouth pulled downward in frustration.

Vellena couldn't help it. A soft chuckle escaped her lips.

Addam jerked upright, eyes wide. The chair scraped faintly as he stood and bowed quickly. "Princess! Forgive me—I didn't hear you—"

Vellena smiled warmly, lifting her hand. "No apology needed. I did not mean to startle you."

He flushed. "I... I was trying to improve my High Valyrian. It's proving... difficult."

Vellena stepped closer, glancing at the open page. "May I?"

Addam nodded eagerly.

She scanned the passage, noting several tricky conjugations. "Ah... here," she said softly, pointing with a slender finger. "This word—ōrēs—means 'hope' or 'aspiration,' not 'fear.' And this... ivestragon... you've written 'swords,' but it's more poetic—'blades of war.'"

Addam's eyes brightened. "Thank you, Princess..."

"It's Vellena, remember?" she corrected gently, the same as she had told him once before. "You are a rider now."

He hesitated, then gave a shy smile. "Vellena."

The sound of it in his accent made her laugh quietly again. "Much better."

They leaned together over the book, her red sleeves brushing his rough-spun tunic as she helped him decipher another passage. His earnestness was endearing, and she found herself enjoying the simplicity of it—no court politics here, just two young riders and the ancient words of their ancestors.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Jace stirred, brow creased. His arms reached out reflexively for the familiar form beside him—only to find cold sheets, the scent of lavender fading.

He groaned softly, eyes fluttering open.

Two small weights shifted against him: Mera curled at his chest, Berion at his side.

"Traitors," he muttered with a hoarse chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. "She left us."

Still shirtless, he gathered both kittens carefully and rose, padding barefoot to Vellena's chambers. He nudged the door open and saw the room empty.

With a sigh, he set the kittens atop her bed and straightened. "Gone already," he murmured.

Grumbling faintly to himself, Jace made his way down the main stair toward the great hall for breakfast.

But as he passed one of the library corridors, the door stood slightly ajar—and a sound drifted through: soft laughter. Her laughter.

He slowed, gaze sharp.

Through the gap, he saw Vellena, in her striking red gown, leaning close over a book beside Addam Velaryon. Their heads nearly touched, both focused on the page, Vellena smiling as she explained some subtle word.

Jace's jaw clenched.

Heat flared in his chest—not jealousy, not entirely. Something sharper, tangled with anger and the stubborn need to show her.

She wanted to play this game?
Very well. He would answer.

Without a word, he turned from the door and strode down the hall toward the great hall, his steps harder than before.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The sea breeze swept cool and fresh through the stony courtyards of Dragonstone. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon moved with purpose through the castle halls, the edge in his step sharp as a blade. The scene from the library—Vellena's laughter with Addam—still burned in his mind.

If she wished to test his patience, so be it. He would give her something to think about.

And he knew just who to find.

Outside, by the dragon pit yard, the vast, jagged mouth of the Dragonmount opened wide above the cliffs. There, near the weathered rocks and the scorched earth, Sheepstealer, the large, foul-tempered brown dragon, lay in the sun, tail twitching lazily.

Nettles stood a few paces away—wild dark curls whipping about her face, slender arms braced as she attempted, for the fifth time that morning, to mount the dragon's back. She was without a saddle, struggling with the height of the beast and its shifting scales.

She muttered a curse as she tried again—and slipped.

A warm, low chuckle echoed behind her.

Nettles turned swiftly, eyes narrowing.

Jacaerys stood at ease, arms crossed, watching with amusement. His dark hair gleamed in the sun, a knowing grin curling on his lips.

"Enjoying yourself, Princess?" he asked, the tease in his voice unmistakable.

Nettles flushed but smirked, brushing curls from her eyes. "Aye, and if you're so clever, perhaps you'll show me how."

Jace stepped closer, his grin widening. "Perhaps I shall."

But he glanced at the size of Sheepstealer and shook his head. "Not yet, though. Best we start smaller. Come."

Without waiting for her to protest, he led her down to the training yard, his strides long and sure. Nettles followed, suspicion and curiosity in her gaze.

At Jace's signal, a stable boy brought forth a fine bay courser, sleek and tall. Jace dismissed the boy with a nod.

"You'll start here," he said, voice low and almost intimate. "Master your balance. Then perhaps your dragon won't buck you to your death."

Nettles eyed the horse warily, arms crossed. "I can ride."

"Not like this."

Jace moved behind her, placing his hands lightly on her waist. "Foot here," he guided her to the stirrup. "Now swing up."

With a bit of effort—and a stifled curse—Nettles climbed astride. She was barely settling when Jace vaulted up behind her, close—too close—one arm slipping around her waist, the other guiding the reins.

He leaned in, his breath warm by her ear. "See? Not so difficult... with the right teacher."

Nettles smirked, though her cheeks warmed. "I'll wager you say that to all the girls."

Jace's laugh was low, teasing. "Only the ones worth teaching."

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Down by the beach path, Vellena Velaryon strolled alone, her bow and quiver slung over one shoulder. The sea winds tugged her silver hair loose from its pins as she made her way toward the sands where she liked to train—far from prying eyes. The events of the morning still lingered in her thoughts, but the archery always calmed her.

She rounded the rocks, gaze rising toward the yard above—and stopped.

There.
Jace.
With Nettles.

Close behind her on the horse—his arm at her waist, smiling at something she'd said. Nettles laughed softly, leaning into him without seeming to notice how intimate it looked.

Vellena's heart jolted. Her breath caught.

Her fingers slipped. Her bow fell, landing softly on the sand.

For a long moment, she simply stood there—frozen, wide-eyed—unable to move.

As if sensing her, Jace glanced toward the cliffs. Their eyes met.

A slow grin crept over his face. Not innocent. Not kind.
He had seen her. And he wanted her to see this.

Vellena's throat tightened. Tears pricked her eyes—burning with anger, hurt, and something she refused to name.

She scoffed faintly, chin lifting, forcing herself to turn sharply. With quick strides, she left the beach behind—vanishing into the castle's cold stone halls.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The winds off the sea had died by nightfall, but inside Jacaerys's chest, the storm only worsened. He strode through the castle corridors, steps heavy, boots echoing in the stone halls. The afternoon lingered in his mind—Vellena's face when she saw him with Nettles. Her eyes, that wounded look. His anger had driven him—his pride had shoved the blade in further.

But now... now guilt gnawed at him.

He reached the door to his chambers—but halted.

Vellena's door stood just across the hall.

He stared at it, jaw clenching. A long breath shuddered from his lungs.

"Seven hells," he cursed low, running a hand through his hair. Without another thought, he strode to her door and shoved it open—without knocking.

Inside, the soft warmth of candlelight filled the room. Steam drifted lazily from a large marble tub near the hearth.

Vellena reclined in the bath, skin gleaming with moisture, silver hair loose and wet down her back. Lyra knelt by the side of the tub, gently scrubbing her mistress's arms with a soft cloth. The two girls were laughing—light, carefree—for once untouched by war or duty.

At the sudden creak of the door and heavy footsteps, Lyra's hand froze mid-stroke.

Vellena's eyes fluttered open—and locked with Jace's.

He stood there, bold as ever, gaze burning though he fought to fix it upon her violet eyes.

A crooked smirk tugged at his lips.
"I must apologize for bursting into your quarters so late at night, sweet sister," he said, voice smooth though it barely masked the roiling beneath, "and finding you in such an... intimate manner."

His tone was almost mocking—yet his gaze remained haunted with unspoken things.

Vellena sat upright, unbothered by her bare skin, chin high in defiance. "What do you want?" she snapped.

For a moment, Jace faltered—his breath caught. The bitterness faded from his features, replaced by something weary and strained.
"Only to talk, of course."

Vellena arched a brow, utterly composed. Without shame, she rose gracefully from the tub, water running in rivulets down her curves. Jace gritted his teeth, eyes forcing themselves to remain on her face—barely succeeding.

Lyra hurried, wrapping her lady in a soft crimson night robe, tying the sash tight.

Vellena's gaze never left him.
"Do not act innocent," she said coolly, violet eyes gleaming, "as if you have not seen me before."

Jace exhaled sharply, a bitter laugh in his throat. At last, his eyes dragged back up to hers—her body now covered, but no less dangerous to his senses.

"Now talk, brother," Vellena said, voice low but firm.

Jace glanced at Lyra. "After your handmaid leaves."

Vellena's throat bobbed in a faint gulp—eyes narrowing, but she gave a curt nod.
"Go on, Lyra."

Lyra, her face pale with worry, hesitated—then with one last glance at her lady, she rose and quietly padded to the door. The soft click of the latch followed as she shut it behind her.

Jace now stood alone with Vellena, the room heavy with heat and tension.

He swallowed hard. His pride was cracking—but the words still caught in his throat.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

‼️smut warning‼️
Vellena glared as the door clicked shut behind Lyra. She turned her sharp gaze back to Jace, arms folded over her chest beneath the thin silk of her robe, her chin lifting defiantly.
"How dare you come in here like this?" she snapped.

Jace leaned a shoulder casually against the stone wall, though his jaw was tight, his dark eyes burning. "Why shouldn't I?" he said lowly. "I am your big brother, am I not?"

Vellena scoffed, stepping closer, bare feet silent on the stones. "I could have been with someone, Jacaerys. Or perhaps doing something else entirely. You think you can just barge in unannounced?"

A bitter laugh escaped him, sharp as a blade. "If you were fucking someone," he growled, "I'd murder them."

Vellena's violet eyes widened for a breath, then narrowed with dangerous amusement. "Gods, you are insufferable. Do you hear yourself? You would kill someone out of jealousy?"

Jace pushed off the wall, stalking a slow step closer. "I saw you in the library this morning." His voice deepened, barely restrained. "With Addam."

"You were spying on me now?" Vellena snapped, anger sparking in her chest.

"I passed by," Jace bit out, "and saw you laughing with him."

She shook her head in disbelief, biting back the sting of tears. "You are acting like a child. Jealous of a conversation?" she asked coldly. "Are you going to kill Addam next, is that it?"

"Maybe," Jace said, a dangerous smile curling his lips. "But not before I punish you first. Now, take that off" he gestured towards her robe while he checked her drawers of the vanity.

Vellena's breath caught. Her heart pounded. "Punish... me?" she whispered, body frozen in place.

He took another step forward, voice dark and smooth. "Have you forgotten already? The first rule of our little agreement." His eyes flicked deliberately over her body. "I will have you anytime, anywhere, however I want.''

Vellena's core tightened at his words, her defiance flickering beneath the heat rising in her. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she untied the robe and let it slip from her shoulders, pooling on the floor. Her naked body bathed in the dim candlelight, pale skin flushed. She met his gaze unwavering as he looked over his shoulder.

"Good," Jace rasped, his voice rough now. "On the bed. Crawl."

Vellena swallowed hard, her breath shaky, but obeyed. She climbed onto the bed on all fours, crawling slowly toward the headboard, her long hair cascading down her back. Jace's breath hitched at the sight of her naked form, so fuckable from behind, the tightness in his breeches near unbearable.

He moved back to her drawers, pulling free a long strip of cloth. Approaching the bed, he slid onto it behind her, chest bare now, muscles taut.

He reached for her wrists and tied them firmly together. "Stay," he commanded, voice low against her ear.

Vellena trembled, her cheek resting on the pillow. "What... what are you going to do?" she whispered, breathless.

Jace smirked. "You'll see."

"I hate you," she spat, her voice breaking faintly.

"Good," Jace murmured darkly. His hands slid down to part her thighs, spreading her for him. "You should."

He touched her inner thighs, rough at first—his palm warm, fingers trailing where her body ached for more, parting her folds to confirm how drenched she was already. A gasp tore from Vellena's throat, muffled in the pillow.

Then out of a sudden a sharp smack landed against her exposed cunt. She whined, hips jerking instinctively.

"Jace?.." she whispered her tightened hands above her head against the headboard, fingers digging in her palms from the sudden pain.

"That's for not listening," Jace growled.

Another slap. "For snapping at me."

Another. "For laughing with Addam."

Vellena whimpered, humiliated at how her body responded, how she enjoyed it—heat building with each strike, tears pricking her eyes.

"P-please," she sobbed softly biting her pillow, not sure if she begged him to stop... or for more. As she was grinding, her nipples were rubbing against the fabric of the sheets, making her feel so good it hurt. "Please—just—fuck me."

Jace's breath shuddered. His control thinned. "You want me to fuck you, sweet sister?"

Vellena nodded against the pillow "Please... I need to... to come..."

Jace grinned slapping her again and seeing how her hips bucked, her body reacting to him.
"Do you like me slapping your cunt?" he asked teasingly.

Vellena cried into the pillow moaning a yes. Grinding and tightening her thighs but Jace won't let her, holding them apart.

"Yes... yes... Gods... please..." Vellena whimpered, Jace smirked, she was so responsive and it was maddening.

"Like to be hit on your royal twat like a common whore, haedar?" he chuckled seeing how she cried.

He sighed and bent down, pressing his mouth to the burning skin between her thighs, where he had punished her. His lips soothed, his tongue licked over her clit, slow and maddening to stop the pain. Vellena gasped aloud, trembling, tears falling freely now—but not from pain.

Pleasure built and built, her breath catching, her cries and mewls muffled in the pillow as her body tightened—but just before she could reach it, Jace pulled away.

"No... no..." Vellena whined, her insides could not practically hold together anymore, she would die if she didn't cum.

Vellena trembled beneath him, still gasping in the wanting for release, her wrists bound tightly, her flushed skin damp with sweat and pleasure. Her breath was ragged, her mind spinning. She felt him shift behind her on the bed.

Jace's voice came low and commanding. "Sit up."

She blinked, dazed, turning her head slightly on the pillow.

He lay back now, settling against the pillows with his dark hair loose over his bare chest, his gaze molten as it pinned her in place.

"Come here," he said, voice like velvet steel. "I want you to sit on my face."

Vellena's breath caught audibly. She stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "W-Why...?"

Jace smirked, though his eyes stayed dark and intense. He reached out, trailing a hand along her thigh possessively.

"If you want to cum, you'll do it exactly how I say" he murmured, his gaze sharpened.

Vellena bit her lip, her body betraying her with another wave of heat at his words. The cloth still tightened around her wrists. Her cheeks burned as she met his gaze.

"I... I hate you," she whispered again, her voice shaking.

Jace's grin deepened, slow and dangerous. "Good. Now climb up."

Vellena hesitated for a moment, her chest rising and falling quickly as she caught her breath. The room felt charged, electric with tension and desire, her heart pounding in her ears. Her wrists still bound, she shifted carefully, balancing herself as she moved forward. Every small motion was heightened—the soft rustle of fabric, the whisper of skin against skin.

Jace's breath hitched softly beneath her, his hands steadying her hips as she settled. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unyielding, a promise woven into the depths of that gaze.

When his tongue tasted her again reminding his flicks and licks, Vellena had to hold both her hands against her mouth so hard her jaw hurt.

Her soft moans filled the room, trembling and raw, as the weight of everything—the anger, the frustration, the need—rolled over her in rising tides. She cursed under her breath, bitter and sweet, the words barely audible as they tangled with her gasps and cries.

"Ja-Jace..." she mewled rocking her cunt against his mouth, his lips and tongue practically eating her.

Jace's lips and tongue traced over her with patience and hunger, reverent and demanding all at once. He tasted her like a secret he'd waited too long to learn, drawing out every sound she could give him—whimpers, sighs, the trembling release of control.

Jace groaned so hard, the sound vibrated through Vellena. He cursed silently "Fuck" and rolled her eyes back and Vellena lost it at the sight, she came so hard, all her lower body parts went limp. Her cries filled the room, raw and desperate, and Jace held her steady, grounding her through it all.

As the waves subsided, Vellena collapsed forward after Jace slid from beneath her, face pressed into the pillow, tears mingling with sweat.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The chamber was thick with the scent of skin and sweat and something deeper—unspoken words, lingering touches. Both of them lay breathless in the quiet aftermath, the dim candlelight flickering across the stone walls. Vellena's chest heaved as her breath slowed, her wrists aching slightly from the tight cloth binding them.

Jace's gaze lingered on her, something fierce and fragile warring in his dark eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted to her side and reached for her bound hands. His fingers worked the knot loose with surprising gentleness, the cloth falling away. He looked at her wrists for a moment, running his thumb softly over the faint red marks, before rising from the bed without a word.

Vellena followed him with her eyes, her body still trembling, her mind clouded with emotion. She watched as Jace strode to her dresser, yanked her robe off the floor, and tossed it toward her. The fabric landed across her lap. Wordlessly, she pulled it around herself, the soft material doing little to shield her from the cold that had nothing to do with the air.

Jace dragged on a loose white shirt, still unbuttoned, and hooked his tunic over his arm. For a long, heavy moment, the two of them simply stared at one another—uncertain, unwilling to speak the truth in their throats.

Then finally, Jace exhaled hard and broke the silence. "We must stop."

Vellena blinked, her pulse leaping. Her throat felt dry. "What...?" her voice cracked.

Jace's jaw worked, strained. He forced himself to keep going, though every word felt like tearing himself apart.
"You are clearly better with the bow... and you wield a blade well enough. You're part of mother's riders now. You don't need my permission to go into battle anymore."

The words sounded flat. Hollow. Like the lie that they were.

Vellena pushed the robe tighter around her, scrambling on her knees to the edge of the bed. She reached out, fingers wrapping around Jace's hand. Her touch was desperate, trembling. "Don't," she whispered. "Please—don't do this."

But Jace shook his head roughly, pulling his hand from her grasp and turning away, shoulders tense. He couldn't look at her—not now. Not when his heart was betraying him. He knew this couldn't go on. Not like this. Because the truth clawed at his chest with every breath: he loved her. Gods help him, he loved her. She was his other half, his destiny—but if he didn't stop now, he would ruin her. Himself. Everything.

The sound of Vellena's quiet sob caught him, twisting the knife deeper.

She stumbled off the bed, bare feet silent on the stone. Her tears streaked her cheeks as she caught him by the arm, forcing him to turn back toward her. Then, with a breathless, furious sob, she pulled him down into a kiss—soft lips trembling, fierce and full of everything unsaid. For a heartbeat, Jace faltered, his body aching to give in, to pull her against him and never let go. His heart screamed for her.

But then he broke the kiss, pulling away, breath ragged. He couldn't. Not now.

Vellena bit her lip hard, blinking through her tears. Her voice was bitter, raw. "So. You've grown bored of your little whore?"

Jace let out a harsh exhale, pain flickering through his eyes. "Yes," he ground out—his voice sharp, cutting. The truth was far more complicated, but he couldn't say it. Not now. Not here. I'm in love with you. I can't live or breath without you. You're my everything. You're important than my life. You're my heart, Vellena.

And without another word, he turned and strode from her chamber, leaving the door open behind him.

Vellena stood in the silence of her room, trembling, tears streaking her cheeks—her heart left in pieces once again.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The door creaked softly as it swung shut behind Jace, the sound echoing like finality in the still chamber. For a long moment, Vellena stood there, frozen where she'd been left—robe barely clutched around her, trembling.

The weight of everything that had just happened—his words, his retreat—sank into her bones. Her throat burned. Her chest ached.

And then the first sob broke free.

She stumbled backward to the bed, her legs weak beneath her, collapsing onto the edge of the mattress. The tears came fast now, thick and bitter, her breath hitching with every strangled sound. Her fists clutched the folds of her robe tightly over her chest, as if to hold herself together when she felt utterly broken.

"How dare he..." she whispered, voice shaking. "How dare he..."

She wiped at her tears, angrily now, but they kept falling. Her body shook with helpless sobs. Her heart screamed with pain, with betrayal, with the longing she hated herself for still feeling.

And through the tears, through the storm of emotion, a cold thought crystallized in her mind—sharp, clear, cutting through the haze.

No more.

"No more," she whispered to the empty chamber. "I will not... forgive this." Her voice hardened. "I will not... let him back in. Not again."

She clenched her jaw, her fingernails digging into her palms.

"It's over."

The words hung there, filling the air with a kind of grim certainty.

Whatever they had been—whatever they could have been—she would bury it. She would lock it away behind steel and stone. No matter how her heart ached, how her body betrayed her with longing, how the memory of his touch still burned on her skin—she would not allow this to happen again.

Never again.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

I PROMISE WE ARE GETTING CLOSER TO HIS FORGIVENESS AND THEM BEING HAPPY. ALSO THIS IS THE LAST TIME, HE IS BEING A DICK👍🏻😁