{𝔸 𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕤𝕠𝕟}
EPISODE 1

129 A.C

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

(No silent readers pls thx. English is not my first language so please forgive me for any mistakes.)

DRAGONSTONE
The flickering torches along the cold stone walls of the Dragonstone dungeons cast long shadows, stretching like reaching fingers along the damp floor as Lucerys paced uneasily. His boots echoed softly, and the smell of mildew and age sat thick in the air. He had never been here before, never needed to, and every step felt like he was sinking deeper into something darker than he had expected.

He heard the slow clank of the gate opening behind him and turned to see Daemon descending the stairs, every stride purposeful, eyes sharp with restrained intent. Lucerys straightened, but said nothing.

Without a word, Daemon passed him, the keys jangling from his belt. He stopped before one of the cells and unlocked it with a metallic groan. The door creaked open.

Mysaria sat on the narrow bed inside, her back turned, her white gown stained with soot and wear, her dark hair tied loosely and falling down her spine like ash.

Daemon stepped in and shut the door behind him with a clang. He didn't stand, he lowered himself slowly beside her, a half-smile playing on his lips. His voice was smooth as a blade when he spoke.

"In your years as a merchant of gossip," he drawled, "you surely accumulated spies within the Red Keep."

Mysaria didn't move. "Your voice hasn't changed, Daemon. Still thinks itself a seduction."

Daemon chuckled under his breath. "Servants who knew the comings and goings. Who slipped through the kitchens, who changed the bedding of traitors, who lit the fires in council chambers... Tell me you remember at least one."

Mysaria scoffed bitterly. "Scheme with someone else, Daemon," she muttered, her voice cool and tired. "I was once in your thrall. But no longer."

Outside the cell, Lucerys shifted his weight. The silence between Daemon and Mysaria stretched like a rope pulled taut He let his gaze wander, idle hands fidgeting near the hilt of his sword. That was when he noticed the next cell over.

She was leaning against the bars casually, arms crossed, head tilted. Her dark hair was short and tousled, her skin kissed by the sun unlike most in the cold of Dragonstone, but what caught Lucerys off-guard were her eyes. Purple. Unmistakably Valyrian.

She was maybe a year or two older than him, and beautiful in a way that made him feel unbalanced. Boyish way.

"Never seen a dungeon before, young prince?" she asked, her tone dry and amused.

Lucerys blinked, taken aback. "I—uh..."

The girl smiled, pushing off the bars slightly and coming closer, fingers curled loosely around the iron. "You've got that look," she said softly. "Like the world's always been warm and clean and noble. Doesn't prepare you much for what's down here, does it?"

Lucerys swallowed thickly. "I know more than you think."

"Oh?" She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. "And do you know how to use that pretty little sword you're clutching?"

Lucerys narrowed his gaze. "Do you want to find out?"

In one sharp motion, he unsheathed the blade and stepped forward, thrusting it toward the bars, the tip stopping just shy of her throat. The girl didn't flinch. In fact, she laughed.

A low, full laugh that echoed off the stone like a challenge.

Lucerys's jaw tightened, unsure why his hands trembled slightly on the hilt. Her gaze didn't break his, if anything, it pierced him.

Footsteps echoed again.

Daemon reemerged from Mysaria's cell, the door slamming shut behind him. He paused at the sight of Lucerys, sword out, standing tense before the cell.

He let out a long sigh. "You let yourself be baited by a nobody. Wonderful."

Lucerys lowered his blade quickly, flushing with shame, though he still cast a heated glare at the girl, who was smiling like she had won a game.

"Come," Daemon barked, already turning away. "We have a journey ahead."

Lucerys hesitated one more moment, his brown eyes meeting the girl's again. She raised an eyebrow at him, bold, unflinching, utterly unashamed.

He gave a low growl under his breath and turned to follow his stepfather, sword still in hand, boots stomping away from the bars.

As they ascended the dungeon stairs, Maerya leaned her forehead against the iron, watching him go.

"Well," she murmured to herself, lips curling, "he is funny."

"You're reckless," came her mother's voice, hushed and sharp. "Mocking a prince while I was bargaining with a  dragon."

Maerya turned her head toward the wall separating them, smiling slightly. "He started it."

Mysaria scoffed. "You provoke him the way you used to provoke the street boys in Flea Bottom. But Lucerys Velaryon is not some gutter child with nothing to lose. He's a prince. The son of the queen we're currently imprisoned by."

Maerya looked up, her voice calm but tinged with defiance. "I don't care what crown he wears. He looked at me like I was filth."

Mysaria was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, it was softer. "You are not filth, Maerya. You are my daughter."

"Daemon's daughter too," Maerya muttered, though there was no warmth in it. "Not that he'd admit it."

Silence fell between them again.

Then Mysaria sighed. "Daemon is many things, most of them cruel, and none of them paternal. But he wants something. And I gave him something he could use."

Maerya narrowed her eyes at the wall. "What did you give him?"

Mysaria didn't answer at first. She stood and approached the bars of her cell, peering at her daughter's silhouette through the flickering torchlight. "Information," she said carefully. "About men he can trust in the Red Keep. About old channels."

Maerya rose to her feet and walked closer, frowning. "That's all?"

Mysaria hesitated. "Not all."

Maerya's frown deepened, voice low and dangerous. "Mother."

"I offered him names," Mysaria said, glancing away. "He wants to do something reckless that I don't care about"

Maerya stared at her, face hardening. "And in exchange, what? He lets us rot slower in here?"

Mysaria looked directly at her daughter then, eyes unreadable. "In exchange, he lets us out... once he returns from King's Landing."

Maerya exhaled a harsh breath and turned away, her shoulders tense. "So we sit here like lapdogs. While you hand over whatever's left of your leverage to a man who wouldn't care if we burned."

"I do this so we don't burn. So you don't burn" Mysaria said sharply, the edge in her voice returning.

Their eyes met, mirror images in the dim light. Mysaria's jaw clenched, and for a moment, she looked so much older than her years. Tired. Hardened.

Maerya said nothing, only slowly sat back down on the stone floor, arms around her knees. Her expression was unreadable, but the silence between them now wasn't angry.

It was protective. Determined. And waiting.

For whatever came next.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

WINTERFELL
The Great Hall of Winterfell had never felt so stifling.

The long stone chamber, normally so stark and cold, was now alive with golden firelight and the laughter of nobles and bannermen. Tankards clanked, fiddles played, and bodies moved in rhythm to the music that echoed against the ancient walls. Outside, the snow whispered against the windows, but inside there was warmth, merriment... and a churning pit in Aestra's stomach.

She sat at the high table, straight-backed and silent between Lady Glover and Sara Snow. Cregan sat further down beside his betrothed, Alysanne Blackwood, with his mother proudly flanking him. The old wolf was draped in Winterfell's colors, but his eyes, those eyes, kept glancing toward the goblet in his hand, or toward nothing at all.

Aestra tried not to look at him. She failed.

Just one glance. One fleeting flicker of her eyes to see how he sat beside the Blackwood girl. Alysanne was beautiful, radiant even, her long raven hair falling like silk over her shoulders, her laughter bright and effortless as she spoke with her father. Cregan's face was carved from ice, still, controlled, but unreadable. That bothered Aestra more than she wanted to admit.

Why did it bother her?

She barely knew him. Just a moon. Just enough time to learn he preferred to rise before dawn, that he sharpened his own blades, that he always left the sweet buns for last at supper and favored the mulled ale brewed in the cellar. That he sometimes looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching. That he smiled like a secret before he said something kind.

But it didn't mean anything. It shouldn't mean anything.

Her fingers curled slightly on her lap, her food untouched. Somewhere on the dance floor, a trio of flutists broke into a joyful Northern reel. Laughter rang. Voices toasted.

She should've been laughing. She should've been thinking about Jace. He had left her here "for her safety," he said for your safety after their daughter had been born and named. After the fighting began in earnest. As if she were a thing to be tucked away on a high shelf until the storm passed.

Was she supposed to wait here like some glass figurine?

A hand brushed her shoulder.

"Princess," came a voice behind her light and honeyed, tinged with amusement. "You must come dance with me."

Aestra turned, startled, and came face-to-face with Lady Alysanne Blackwood, her cheeks pink from wine and joy, her dark eyes alight. She looked stunning tonight, wearing crimson and black trimmed with dark fur, her hair loosely braided down her back like a warrior-maiden of old songs.

Aestra blinked. "I—"

"I love this song," Alysanne said, tugging at her arm. "And Lord Stark refuses to dance. He's as stiff as the statues in the crypts. Come, dance with me instead."

Aestra gave a small laugh, caught off guard, cheeks coloring. "Very well, my lady."

She stood, her deep blue gown whispering against the flagstones. Her silver hair had been braided down the back of her neck in a Northern style, a simple twist looped with dark blue thread and tiny silver pins that glinted in the firelight. She looked regal, distant. Untouchable.

But when Alysanne pulled her onto the dance floor, laughing and spinning her in step, all that armor cracked a little.

They danced together among the Northern lords and ladies, two girls, not rivals, not enemies, just spinning like leaves in the wind. Alysanne joked about her shoes slipping on the floor, Aestra about stepping on her hem. Their laughter mingled like a secret language, and for a moment, the ache in Aestra's chest softened.

She could feel eyes on her. His eyes. She didn't look. Not yet.

Alysanne leaned in close, grinning. "You're not what I expected, you know. After all, you burned half of King's Landing."

Aestra raised a brow. "Not my greatest achievement. And what did you expect?"

"Something colder. Harsher. But you're... soft." Her voice was teasing, but there was a hint of curiosity there too.

Aestra smirked. "That's just the snow melting from my boots."

Alysanne threw her head back laughing, and Aestra's smile lingered longer than it should've.

She felt it then, him, watching her. Not with disapproval, not even with anger. But with something deeper. Something he tried to mask behind a stoic expression and the flick of his cup, but she could feel it in her bones.

Aestra twirled once, the hem of her gown brushing the rushes on the floor, Alysanne's laughter close behind her. She had begun to forget herself, just for a moment. The weight of war, of blood and lineage, faded like mist.

Until she collided with someone.

A tall man, broad-shouldered and wearing the crest of House Ryswell on his cloak. The impact wasn't harsh, a step off the beat, a slip of the foot, but enough that his cup sloshed, his elbow jostled, and his scowl deepened into something ugly.

"Watch it," he snapped, voice sharp and hot with ale. "Gods, do you think being a princess means you get to dance through people like they're ghosts?"

Aestra blinked, drawing back with a measured grace. "Forgive me," she said, curt but civil.

Alysanne echoed, "We meant no harm—"

The man scoffed. "Tch. A Targaryen girl, of course." His eyes dragged over Aestra's silver hair, his lip curling. "Think your blood makes you better than the rest of us? You stomp around like you're made of fire. At the end of the day, woman's still a woman. And women are good for one damn—"

He didn't finish.

Because from the corner of her eye, Aestra saw movement.

Cregan Stark had risen from the high table like a shadow uncoiling, slow, deliberate. His eyes locked on the man with a look that could freeze the heart in one's chest. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.

But before he could take a step forward, Alysanne cut in.

She smiled too sweetly and placed a hand lightly on the man's arm. "Ser," she said in a tone that made the nearby air drop in temperature. "You do know the princess did not mean it"

The man blinked. Alysanne leaned closer and whispered something in his ear. His face drained of color.

He stepped back, stammered a curse under his breath, and turned on his heel, nearly stumbling over himself to vanish into the crowd.

Aestra arched a brow, glancing sideways. "Dare I ask?"

Alysanne smirked and gave a lazy shrug, still swaying to the music. "He knows what I said wasn't a jest."

Aestra chuckled softly, the heat from earlier flickering away, but she could still feel Cregan's eyes on her. Still standing. Still watching.

She didn't look again. She simply reached out and caught Alysanne's hand, spinning them both into the next movement of the dance, their laughter slipping through the air like silk.

And when the song finally drew to its end, both girls flushed from motion and heat, they returned to the high table.

Cregan Stark sat once more, his expression a bit softer now, but his goblet remained untouched. Aestra's heart beat faster than it should've.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

KING'S LANDING
The night air was thick with the smell of smoke and salt as the small boat bumped against the dock. Daemon was first to disembark, his boots landing on the damp planks without a sound. Lucerys followed, his hood drawn tight, his heart hammering as if it wanted to escape his chest.

Daemon flipped a coin to the oarsman, who bowed his head quickly and pushed off without a word.

"Keep your hood low," Daemon muttered as they strode toward the looming gates. "And your mouth shut."

Luke swallowed and nodded, doing his best to match his uncle's long, confident strides. The shadows of the Red Keep loomed high above them, the banners of House Targaryen covered in the green of House Hightower fluttering where once the Targaryen red and black colors had flown.

At the gate, a knight in white cloak passed with his torch, his face drawn into a scowl. Daemon whistled softly, catching his attention.

The knight growled, ready to bark, until Daemon's voice cut through the dark. "I've heard whispers you've little love for the Hightowers."

The knight sneered. "Fuck the Hightowers." His grip tightened on his spear. Then his eyes adjusted, squinting beneath the torchlight and he froze. "Seven hells," he muttered. "Prince Daemon Targaryen."

Daemon smirked, tilting his chin in acknowledgment. Recognition hung between them like a blade.

"You remember me," Daemon said low, almost like a challenge.

The knight nodded stiffly. "The Prince of the City. Captain of the Cloaks." He spat to the side. "Aye, I remember."
Daemon stepped closer. "Then you'll let us through."

There was no hesitation. The knight moved aside, opening the way into the city. His voice, however, carried a rasp of warning. "Careful where you walk, prince. Vultures have claimed these streets."

Daemon only smirked again, pulling Lucerys forward.

They slipped through the gate, the streets unfolding before them broken cobbles, crooked lanterns, and silence heavy as a tomb. Half the city was blackened ruins, houses nothing more than skeleton frames clawing at the sky.

The faint smell of char lingered still, mingling with ash and seawater.
Lucerys slowed, his eyes wide at the devastation. "What... what happened here?" he asked, feigning ignorance though his chest already knew the answer.

A grumble came from the knight behind them, his voice bitter and resentful as it carried through the night. "The She-Drake of King's Landing. That witch and her three dragons. Burned half the city in her wrath."

Luke inhaled sharply, heart stuttering in his chest. His stepsister's name wasn't spoken but he heard it all the same. Beside him, Daemon's lips curled into a grin, wicked and sharp. He did not slow. He did not look back.

"Come, boy," Daemon said, voice low with satisfaction. "We've much to do before dawn."

And together, they disappeared deeper into the charred veins of King's Landing.

The knight led them through the blackened veins of King's Landing, down twisting alleys where the lanterns guttered and the air stank of damp ash.

Lucerys kept his hood drawn low, every shadow seeming to whisper treachery. Daemon, however, walked with the same easy stride he'd wear in his own hall as though the city were still his.

They turned into a narrow lane, and there, crouched upon a barrel, was a wiry man gnawing at a red apple. His hair was greasy, his nails black with dirt, but his eyes were sharp.

"The ratcatcher," the knight muttered.
Daemon smirked. "The White Worm spoke true, then. She said you knew the tunnels of the Red Keep better than any man alive."

The ratcatcher grinned around his bite of apple. "Might be she was right." Juice dribbled down his chin, but he licked it away with ease.

Daemon chuckled, lowering himself onto a crate across from him. From his belt, he tossed a small leather bag that landed with a heavy clink. The ratcatcher caught it, weighed it in his palm, then slid it inside his filthy cloak.

"Half now," Daemon said smoothly. "The rest when the work is done."

The ratcatcher's grin widened. "And what work might that be, m'lord?"

Daemon leaned forward, his voice like a blade being unsheathed. "This knight will be your shadow tonight. You'll lead him through the tunnels, into the Keep. Together, you'll find and slay Prince Aemond Targaryen."

The ratcatcher froze mid-bite. The knight stiffened. The words hung in the air like smoke.

The ratcatcher and the knight exchanged a wary look. Finally, the ratcatcher asked, "And... what if the prince can't be found?"

Daemon's grin spread slow, sharp, dangerous. "Then someone else must die tonight."

Lucerys's breath caught. He swung his gaze to Daemon, disbelief in his eyes.
As the ratcatcher and knight muttered their reluctant agreement, Daemon rose, dusting off his hands as though the matter were settled. He strode back through the ruined street, Lucerys trailing behind, stiff with unease.

Halfway to the gate, Luke grabbed Daemon's arm, yanking him to a halt. "What the hell do you mean 'someone else must die'?" he hissed, his voice breaking between fear and fury.

Daemon's eyes flicked to him, cool and unreadable. Then he sighed, as though weary of a child's tantrum. "War does not wait for clean hands, boy."

Lucerys's grip tightened. "Who the fuck is going to die, Daemon?"

Daemon only shrugged, shaking off the boy's hand as he pushed past him. His stride never faltered.

Luke stood frozen, horror churning in his gut as the weight of the words sank in. He stumbled after Daemon, his mind burning with images of blood, shadows, and the cold certainty that this night would not end without a corpse.

They passed back through the gates without a word, the knight's torchlight fading behind them, and made for the waiting boat, the river black and still as death itself.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

WINTERFELL
The night air over Winterfell was crisp, sharp with snow, and Aestra leaned against the carved wooden rail of the balcony, her silver hair tugged gently by the wind. The Great Hall's laughter and music echoed faintly behind her, muffled by heavy doors. She closed her eyes, pressing a hand against her chest.

Daena. Her daughter's laugh, her warmth, the weight of her tiny fingers curled in hers it ached, leaving her hollow. And Jace... Seven hells, Jace. A moron, abandoning her here in the North under the pretense of safety, as though she were some fragile vase to be put on a high shelf. Her jaw clenched, breath curling in the cold.

The creak of the balcony door broke her thoughts. Aestra straightened, turning to see Sara Snow step outside. Cregan's half-sister was wrapped in a dark cloak, her dark hair falling down her shoulders. She regarded Aestra with a softness that disarmed her, blue eyes sharp but not unkind.

"Are you alright, Princess?" Sara asked, her voice low, almost conspiratorial.

Aestra exhaled through her nose, lips curving faintly. "I just needed a bit of peace. All that noise in there—" she nodded toward the hall, "—it feels like it might swallow me whole."

Sara tilted her head, studying her. Then, slowly, she licked her lips, as though weighing whether to speak. A mischievous smile tugged at her mouth.

"I have an idea," she said finally, her voice slipping into a smirk.

Aestra arched a brow, the edge of her own lips curving in response. "Oh? And what sort of idea is this?"

Sara leaned closer, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret. "One that involves escaping the feast without anyone noticing. But..." her eyes glinted, "...we'll need to change clothes first."

Aestra's brows shot up, a surprised laugh escaping her. "Change clothes?"

"Meet me in the yard," Sara said, her smirk widening. "And you'll see."

She turned on her heel, slipping back inside before Aestra could question further. Left on the balcony, the princess found herself grinning softly, curiosity stirring in her chest like an ember catching flame.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

WINTERFELL SQUARE
The chamber had never felt so small. Aestra slipped out of her fine gown and into common woolen clothes, the sort a serving girl might wear: a plain tunic, a dark pants, and boots softened from use. She wrapped herself in a heavy brown cloak, tugging the hood low so her silver hair would not betray her under the lanterns. She fastened the clasp with shaking fingers, her heart thundering with a thrill she hadn't known she craved.

The yard was quiet save for the crunch of frost. Sara waited there, already cloaked, her dark hair tucked out of sight. When she saw Aestra approach, a grin broke across her lips. Without hesitation, she reached for Aestra's hand, fingers warm in the cold night.

"Come," Sara whispered. "Let me show you how the north lives."

They slipped out the gates and down into Winter Town. The night was alive lanterns bobbing, fires burning in pits, fiddles and pipes screaming joy into the air. Men and women danced in circles, mugs sloshing ale, children darted between legs chasing each other, laughter rising above the chaos.
From one shadowed wall came the sound of moans and giggles, the blunt transaction of flesh for coin.

Aestra's eyes were wide, lips parted. She had grown up in courts of stone and fire, but here was something raw, unguarded people living loudly, without fear of crowns or dragons.

They drifted through the market, pausing by tables of trinkets and charms, leatherwork, jars of honey and spice. That was when Aestra's steps faltered.

An old woman sat hunched beneath a threadbare canopy, her table covered in bones, beads, and scraps of parchment. Her eyes, sharp beneath a ragged shawl, locked onto Aestra instantly.

"Pretty girl," she crooned. "Would you like to know your future?"

Aestra blinked, surprised, and before she could speak Sara tugged her elbow sharply.

"No," Sara whispered firmly into her ear. "Not safe. Women like this prey on silly hearts and stolen coin."

Aestra's lips curved into a laugh. "It's just a joke, Sara. I only want to try."
Sara sighed heavily, resigned, but did not let go of her hand.

Aestra held out her palm. The old woman's gnarled fingers traced the lines, her brow furrowing, her expression shifting. Then she gasped.

Aestra's heart clenched. "What?"

The woman's voice fell low, rasping. "A sin weighs on you, girl. A secret love you cannot speak... it will mark you."

Her nails grazed the line of Aestra's lifeline. "You will know loss, again and again. Children you should bear stolen from you by a lie. A poison dressed as kindness."

Aestra's breath caught in her chest, a chill stabbing through her.

But the woman was not done. Her eyes widened further, as though peering through Aestra's skin. "And soon very soon you will carry life once more. But it will come with blood. With danger. Perhaps with your own ending."

Aestra yanked her hand back, stumbling a step, her chest heaving. "No..." she whispered, shaking her head.

Sara caught her name softly." Aestra—"

But the princess was already spinning, her cloak whipping behind her. She bolted down the market street, weaving past drunkards and dancers, her breath sharp and panicked.

"Aestra!" Sara cried, sprinting after her, her voice swallowed by music and laughter.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The alley was narrow, the stone walls damp with frost, the air heavy with distant laughter from the market. Aestra's breaths came quick, uneven, as though her chest was too small for her own heart. She pressed her palms against her cloak, trying to will the shaking to stop.

Sara found her there, and at once the sharp worry in her face softened to relief. She crossed the space quickly, arms wrapping around Aestra's shoulders and pulling her into the warmth of her body.

"You frightened me," Sara whispered, her cheek against Aestra's silver hair. "I told you not to listen. Now your head is full of shadows."

"I'm sorry," Aestra murmured, staring at the cobblestones, eyes wet. "But the things she said... the children, the—"

Her voice broke, and she bit her lip hard, trying to steady herself.

Sara sighed, brushing a strand of hair from Aestra's flushed face. "Lies, little dragon. Nothing but lies meant to unsettle you. Look at me."

Aestra swallowed and raised her gaze.

Blue eyes met pale grey, and Sara began to breathe slowly, deliberately, guiding her. "With me. In... and out."

Aestra matched her, shaky at first, then steadier, until the panic loosened its grip. Their breaths fell into rhythm, the only sound between them.

Something in Aestra snapped perhaps relief, perhaps desperation. She leaned in before she could stop herself, pressing her lips to Sara's.

Sara stiffened in surprise, then melted, her lips parting as the kiss deepened. Aestra's fingers trembled against her cheek, pulling her closer, while Sara's hands slipped around her waist, firm and grounding.

"I'm sorry," Aestra whispered against her mouth, breathless, "I just... I wanted this for so long."

Sara's soft laugh was swallowed in another kiss. "Then don't be sorry," she murmured, her voice low and rough, "because I needed this too."

Her lips traced Aestra's jawline, her earlobe, the curve of her throat, each touch sending warmth rippling through the chill of the night. Aestra clutched at her cloak, her head tilting back, a soft sound caught in her throat before Sara silenced her again with another kiss, tender and claiming.

"Have you ever been touched by a woman, princess?" Sara whispered tracing Aestra's inner thighs so torturously gentle and tracing a line over Aestra's womanhood through her pants, it made Aestra squirm as she shook her head.

Sara's lips broke from Aestra's with a soft, hungry gasp. She threaded their fingers together, tugging the princess from the alley with a glint in her eyes that made Aestra's pulse race.

"Come with me," Sara whispered, half a command, half a promise.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

‼️smut warning ‼️
They wound through the lantern-lit streets until they reached a low house spilling laughter and moans into the night. Aestra faltered at the threshold, cheeks pinking when she realized what kind of place it was. She had never stepped into a brothel, though she'd heard whispers enough.

Sara only smirked, squeezing her hand. "Don't look so frightened. No one here will judge us for wanting."

A coin exchanged hands, and a woman gestured them toward a quiet chamber. Sara pushed the door shut behind them with her heel, and the room fell into a hush broken only by the thud of Aestra's heart. A simple bed waited in the center, rumpled sheets heavy with the scent of heat and perfume.

Before Aestra could speak, Sara pressed her back against the door and captured her mouth in another bruising kiss. Fingers made quick work of her cloak, tugging it down, then her shirt. Sara's touch was impatient, greedy, but threaded with reverence, as though unwrapping something too long denied.

Aestra gasped when cool air kissed her skin, her own trembling hands fumbling at Sara's waist.

"You blush like a maiden," Sara teased, her voice low, wicked. "But you kiss like you've been starving."

"I—" Aestra tried, but her words dissolved into a whimper as Sara's lips trailed down her throat.

"You want this," Sara murmured against her skin, biting gently at the curve of her collarbone. "Say it."

"I... want this," Aestra breathed, arching against her, her head tipping back as if surrendering.

Sara laughed softly, the sound dark and triumphant. She pushed Aestra toward the bed, the princess stumbling back until the back of her knees struck the mattress. Sara followed, pressing her down, her lips moving hungrily across pale skin.

"I've dreamt of this," Sara admitted between kisses, her hands roaming over her chest and pinching one of her nipples. "Of having you beneath me. Of making the Targaryen princess whimper."

Aestra's breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut as Sara's knee pressed between her thighs. Heat pooled low in her belly, sharp and dizzying.

"Sara..." Aestra whispered, her voice breaking with need, her fingers gripping at the sheets.

Sara leaned up, lips brushing Aestra's ear, her voice a wicked promise. "I'll fuck you better than your prince."

Aestra mumbled incoherent words as Sara's knee rubbed up and down against her cunt, hard and fast but not quite where Aestra needed.

"Please, please, oh my Gods..." Aestra whimpered, turning her head to the side and biting on her bottom lip.

Sara's knee kept on moving while her mouth closed around one of Aestra's nipples sucking on it.

Aestra's chest heaved, her mind spinning with sensations she had never known. Every brush of Sara's hand, every whisper in her ear, sent shivers crawling across her skin. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she felt dizzy with a strange, delicious tension.

"Sara—" but just when Aestra thought she would reach it, Sara pulled her knee away making Aestra moan in disappointment.

Sara's lips left Aestra's breast, both of them flushed and breathless. Their clothes lay scattered, the dim candlelight painting warmth across bare skin.

"Do you trust me?" Sara whispered teasingly.

Aestra blinked up at her, lips parted, still trembling from Sara's hand. She nodded quickly, her silver hair fanning across the pillows.

Sara shifted, guiding Aestra with firm but gentle hands until they were both lying on their sides, facing each other. Their thighs tangled awkwardly at first, Aestra let out a nervous laugh.

"What are you—?" Aestra whispered, her breath hitching.

"You'll see... just follow me" Sara spoke in a low voice with a smirk.

She slid her leg higher, hooking it around Aestra's, pressing their bodies closer until their hips aligned. Their bare skin brushed, heat sparking at the contact. Aestra gasped sharply, her hand clutching Sara's arm.

"Seven hells..." Aestra whimpered softly, almost pleading.

Sara rocked her hips gently, the motion slow, deliberate letting Aestra feel the friction, the intimacy of the position. Aestra's eyes fluttered shut, her head tipping back into the pillow.

"That's it... move with me" Sara whispered against the Princess's lips.

Aestra obeyed, shy at first, then bolder pressing, grinding against her as their legs locked tighter like entwined vines. Their gasps mingled, every shift drawing them closer together, every stroke a little harder.

Sara kissed her deeply, swallowing Aestra's whimpers. Aestra shifted positions, sitting on top of Sara, their legs still intertwined the same way as the grinding grew deeper and harder,

"I never— gods— never thought—" Aestra whispered breathlessly rocking harder, one hand roaming over her body while the other clutched the sheets.

"That's... my princess..." Sara moaned watching Aestra and clutching the pillow. Aestra lowered herself kissing Sara again, while she gripped Aestra's hips and fastened their thrusting.

Their rhythm grew messy, desperate, the grinding consuming them both, pulling low moans from both as they finally reached their peak together.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Aestra fell next to Sara on the bed, breathless and exhausted, eyes closed for a moment before she glanced at Sara who watched her softly then offered a smile. Aestra chuckled covering her face with her hands, Sara laughed shaking her head as she pulled Aestra's hands away and pecked her lips.

"You weren't half bad for a first timer" Sara smirked teasingly.

Aestra snorted, hiding her face in Sara's neck, trying to hide the pink of her cheeks.

"Oh please... it was different than the usual but I enjoyed it" Aestra grinned cutely.

"It's better with women believe. Learnt that long ago" Sara laughed brushing hair from Aestra's face.

Aestra peeked up at her, a shy smile tugging at her lips as she mumbled "I thought... I thought it would be awkward. But... it wasn't. It felt... right."

"Good. I wasn't planning on letting you sleep with regret tonight." Sara grinned playfully.

They laughed quietly, the tension from earlier melting into warmth. Aestra tucked a strand of her silver hair behind her ear, glancing away, still a little shy.

"Promise we... don't have to tell anyone?" The princess whispered shyly.

"Only if you want to. It's ours, Aestra. Just ours" Sara reassured her, squeezing her hand.

Aestra's smile widened, small and genuine, and she rested her head against Sara's shoulder, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

"I'm glad... it's you" Aestra murmured, almost to herself.

"Me too" Sara smiled, brushing a thumb across Aestra's arm.

They stayed there for a long moment, laughing quietly, exchanging soft teasing glances, and simply enjoying the warmth of each other's company in the aftermath of something that had felt forbidden, exhilarating, and entirely theirs.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

We are done with ep 1 season 2, and the next chapters Cregan and Alysanne get married but he also gets together with Aestra  secretly then Jace will go back to Winterfell to tell Aestra what Daemon did... and yk Cregan x Aestra x Jace throuple will happen...🎀🫶🏻