Arianne shrugged, slid her arm around the young queen's shoulder, subtly pulling the pair closer together. "Call it instinct. I have grown fond of you, Your Grace. I don't like to see you sad."
...
A genuine smile graced her Tyrell features as she drank. "As I have grown fond of you, princess." She snorted, the slightest spark of playful mirth alighting in her eyes. "Your advances on my husband besides."
Perhaps all this effort has not been wasted after all, Arianne mused, letting the thought distract her from her own recently-felt unease. "I may have made advances on your husband, Your Grace, but only because I knew he would not accept them. Truthfully, he was not the one who caught my eye."
"Oh?" the queen asked, taking a sip of her wine to hide the slight blush in her cheeks. How many cups had she had? "Then who?"
The little rose begs to be plucked, Arianne thought. To be seduced, distracted, swept away from her worries, if only for a moment. "During your wedding men gave toasts to your beauty," Arianne said. "The greatest in all Seven Kingdoms, they said. Is it any wonder I find myself bewitched by your charms?"
"I am wed," she said, though the smile did not leave her face.
"King Robert took lovers, did he not?" Arianne asked. "I would be more than happy to share you with His Grace. To play the wanton. To play any character you would like, so long as I can have you."
Margaery's face adopted a mischievous look, her gaze drifting down Arianne's body. "His Grace would be most pleased, I expect," she said, pale fingers tracing the curve of Arianne's breasts over the thin fabric of her dress.
"Though your charms are somewhat less subtle than mine." Arianne felt her heart inflame with desire. She leaned forwards, and the queen succumbed. Lips met lips, and Arianne took the offensive. The kiss was tender, patient, almost prudish. Hesitancy laced the little queen's manner, but Arianne swept her doubts aside, leading the relentless forward march.
Soon enough, the queen was flushed, giggling, biting her lip. Arianne kissed her shoulders, her nose, her cheeks, her neck. All the while, she kept an eye to the entrance of the terrace, careful not to be caught in her daring. Yet something was suspicious about this.
The queen's blushes were too obvious, her hesitance too fragile, her manner just a tad too eager once the dam had broken. Is she bored with her husband? Arianne knew she would have been bored, being married to a man like Tommen Baratheon. All his charm could not change the mundanity of the life he had seemingly chosen to lead.
Or maybe she is just a slut, Arianne thought, and kissed the queen again, fingers slipping down to the neck of the queen's gown and pulling it down to reveal the curve of her shoulders and breast, a health pair the size of apples resting upon a rib-lined chest. The queen returned the gesture, tugging at Arianne's gown to let free her teats.
Arianne smiled and worked her way down, leaving a trail of kisses down the queen's neck to the valley between her breasts, gently caressing the little queen's curves, lifting the queen's skirt and sliding her palm up Margaery's slender legs, her efforts rewarded by little moans and shudders.
And then, under the weight of her ministrations, the queen stiffened. Arianne quickened her motions, anticipating an oncoming release, only for the little queen to reach down and hurriedly push her away. Arianne retreated, puzzled, looked up and saw the queen with her head turned. Arianne turned her gaze to where Margaery looked, and saw the king standing silently, watching them.
"No, please," he said, tone utterly flat, dangerously unimpressed, eyes locked on his wife, "don't let me stop you."
"Your Grace," the queen pleaded, pulling up her dress with trembling hands. "I went too far into my cups, we both had-"
"Don't," he interrupted her. "Just don't. Drunkenness is no excuse, not for a queen. Did you tell her anything?"
Margaery shook her head insistently. "Nothing, I swear it."
"I can't honestly say I'm surprised by this. Very little seems to surprise me these days..." His face took on a contemplative quality. "But I am disappointed. Your grandmother extolled your virtues to me. I expected better. I thought..." He shook his head in dismay. "My father strayed so often from my mother's bed that it turned her bitter. She was not always the way she is today. I swore when we wed that I would never do the same."
"There is a difference between straying and sharing, Your Grace," Arianne interjected, letting go of her restraint. She knew part of her breasts were brazenly exposed, that her hair was tousled in a torrid way. This was her chance, the best she was likely to get. "And I doubt Her Grace would mind much if you took a paramour. I could give you both much pleasure if you'd allow me. You might think it strange, but in Dorne it is perfectly natural."
The king turned his gaze to her, his eyes alight, lingering for the first time she could remember, considering her with his head cocked. "I can see that," he finally said.
"I wouldn't mind at all," Margaery chimed in. "The princess is a... talented woman."
The king's gaze drifted back to his wife. "I am sure she is," he tepidly agreed. "Yet I won't sire a bastard, and I'm not eager to catch some pox. What of our vows? I don't know about you, but I swore mine not only before the realm but before the gods as well. Such oaths are not so easily broken. And then there's the political risk.
How do I know this isn't what Doran wanted to begin with? To place a spy in that most private of places - my bed? Why do you think I ignored her advances for so long? Do you think I simply didn't notice her manner? Do you think I had no urges or indecent thoughts? No desires of my own I knew better than to indulge?"
"I'm not a spy," Arianne said, feigning offense at the accusation. "You don't have to share your secrets to share your bed. Nor am I some whore. I don't have a pox. And, if it'll please Your Grace, I am more than happy to partake in moon tea."
"Quiet, girl," he bit out, though the look in his eyes and the growing bulge in his breeches betrayed him as he advanced. Arianne felt elated. After all this time, she finally had him! "You have overstepped your bounds. Just be glad you're a woman, and a princess at that. If you were a man I'd have you flogged and gelded for your gall. Remember the Baratheon words."
"You can punish me another way, if you'd like," Arianne said with a wanton leer, her confidence slowly growing. "If it'd satisfy your fury." This king is all roar and no rage, she reckoned. He fancies himself too honourable to do me any real harm.
The king slapped her. Arianne maintained her leer, letting it curl into a daring smirk as she met the king's gaze. Tommen seemed to contemplate hitting her again, ardour and anger briefly making war on his face. Instead he retreated a step, let out a long-suffering breath and loosened himself.
Cold emerald callouses flanked the king's nose in place of the furious green of wildfire that had marked his features just a few moments ago. Only the slight unease in his stance hinted at any underlying emotion. The king's guard had been raised, his true feelings pushed down. His gaze locked on his wife, firmly ignoring Arianne. "I have more important issues to tend to than this. For the next week you will sleep alone. Should anyone ask, I will say I am too sore from the yard for love. I trust in that time you will be able to stay decent?"
Margaery nodded.
"Good," the king said. "This... incident, will not be forgotten, but if you can stop yourself from similar transgressions in future, then perhaps it can be forgiven." His gaze then swung over to Arianne, uncertain. "As for you... You best count yourself lucky I am not eager for scandal. I'll even allow you to continue meeting with my wife, if only to spare myself from the rumours. I warn you now that my patience for these antics wears thin. I mislike having to waste my time working against those meant to be my allies. You might well be an alluring woman, princess, a tempting prospect, but I'm afraid a prospect is all you'll ever be to me."
"Of course, Your Grace," Arianne acquiesced, bowing her head and making a show of reluctantly lifting up the front of her gown, hiding a small smile at the king's confession as he turned and stiffly strode away.
I'll haunt his thoughts tonight, she knew. No need to rush. Tommen won't soon forget the sight of me. Of us.
Arianne turned to offer Margaery a reassuring smile.
Just like his queen, the king wants to succumb.
...
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