Mira woke slowly in the dim candlelight of her chamber, the velvet curtains drawn against the morning sun, leaving the room in a soft yellow glow thT made her vision much blurrier as she tried to awaken. She lay still for a long moment, her body tangled in silk sheets that felt too luxurious against her skin, it felt strange when barely a week ago she was sleeping on the hard ground; yet even with the soft sheets she found herself infinitely more miserable now than she was back then.
Her eyes remained closed, clinging to the remnants of her dream. Arthur's face above her, his blonde hair catching the sunlight as he smiled down, his hands gently on her waist, pulling her close until their bodies melted together in endless warmth. He had taken her the way she dreamed, and had spilled a babe inside of her belly.
It was a dream.
And with all dreams it faded, and reality crashed in like cold water. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks as she curled tighter under the covers, her chest aching with a void that no amount of luxury could fill. Without Arthur, every day was a hollow echo, colors dulled, sounds muffled, the world became a shadow she observed but could not touch. She missed him with a pain that twisted her insides, a longing so deep it made her question if life was worth enduring alone.
She allowed herself a few more minutes to cry, silent sobs shaking her frame, her fingers clutching the pillow as if it were him. Then, with a deep breath, she composed herself, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her nightshift and sitting up. The room came into focus; the polished oak furniture, the tapestries of blooming garden, the silver mirror on the vanity reflecting a face she barely recognized, pale and gaunt from weeks of worry. She rose, her bare feet padding across the thick rug to the washbasin, where she splashed cool water on her face, the droplets tracing paths down her neck.
Dressing was a ritual of normalcy she clung to. She slipped from her nightshift, the fabric dropping down her body to pool at her feet, revealing her naked form in the mirror. Her massive breasts hung heavy, nipples hardening in the morning chill, her huge backside curving out in soft, rounded cheeks that jiggled slightly with each movement. She had always known her beauty, but now it felt like a curse, drawing eyes she didn't want, if she were not cursed with such a body then perhaps father would not have cared about her as much, perhaps her and Arthur could've left sooner.
She pulled on her undergarments, then stepped into the nice gown Willem had provided which was a deep blue wool, laced at the front to accommodate her figure, practical for her duties but elegant enough to mark her as more than a common servant.
She tied her hair back in a loose braid, strands of blonde falling free to frame her face, and pinned a small brooch at her collar; another gift from Willem, silver shaped like a vine, which she wore only because refusing felt rude. With a final glance in the mirror, she straightened her shoulders, forcing a composed expression onto her features. The day awaited, and Willem would expect her soon. She could not afford to show her devastation too much, not when Arthur's freedom depended on Willem. She then walked towards the exit to her room and left.
The manse's halls were quiet as Mira descended the stairs, the polished stone cool under her sandals, the air scented with fresh bread from the kitchens below. She moved quickly to her destination and pushed open the door to the servants' quarters where the staff gathered for the morning. The kitchen was alt was dy hectic with people moving around getting things done. Mira slipped in among them, her presence greeted with warm smiles and nods.
"Morning, Mira," called Elinor, the plump cook with flour-dusted cheeks and a gap-toothed grin, as she kneaded dough on the long oak table. "You're just in time, help me with the eggs, will you? His lordship wants them poached today, fussy as ever."
Mira returned the smile, rolling up her sleeves and joining Elinor at the table. "Of course. How many?"
"Six, as usual," Elinor replied, her hands working the dough like she had a hundred times. "And mind the herbs, use the fresh dill from the garden. You're a natural with seasoning, girl."
Mira cracked the eggs into a pot of simmering water, her fingers deft as she added a pinch of salt and a sprig of dill, the aroma rising in a pleasantt steam. The other staff bustled around her; young Tom the stableboy fetching wood for the ovens, old Agnes the washerwoman gossiping about the neighbor's scandalous affair, and Sara the other maidservant humming a tune as she sliced bread. Mira fell into place easily, chatting with them as she worked, everyone here was so nice to her, it was a small comfort, one that she needed in times like this.
"I don't know how you're always so cheerful, Mira," Sara said, her hands quick with the knife. "Even after all you've been through with your husband. How do you manage?"
Mira's smile faltered for a fraction, but she recovered quickly. "I have to believe it'll get better. Willem's been kind, giving me work here, helping with Arthur's case."
Elinor snorted. "Kind, aye. But watch yourself around him. He's got a wandering eye, that one."
Mira nodded, her cheeks warming slightly. "I know. But he's done more for me than most would so I can handle a little lechery."
The breakfast came together swiftly, a platter of poached eggs, fresh bread slathered with butter, slices of cured ham, and a pot of steaming tea. Mira arranged it neatly on a silver tray, adding a small vase of wildflowers from the garden as a touch of color. She balanced it carefully and made her way up the staircase to Willem's chambers.
She knocked twice before entering, the door opening to a spacious room bathed in morning light from tall windows draped in silk. Willem lay in his massive four-poster bed, the sheets rumpled around him, his eyes closed in what seemed like sleep. Mira set the tray on his desk quietly, only making a little clinking noise as the tray hit against the table.
Before she could leave, Willem stirred, his eyes opening with a lazy smile. "Mira," he said, his voice thick with feigned drowsiness. He sat up, the sheets falling away to reveal his naked body, surprising her. What surprised her more was how gaunt and thin he was like a man who had skipped too many meals, his skin was pale and stretched over sharp bones. His manhood hung limp between his legs, small and unremarkable, perhaps half the size of Arthur's even soft. She had thought that a man's cock grew as they got older so it was a surprise to see how small it was.
Mira averted her eyes quickly. "I apologize, my lord," she said, turning toward the door. "I didn't mean to disturb you in... such a state."
"No need to flee," Willem replied, swinging his legs over the side of the bed without a hint of modesty. "You're my personal maidservant now. It's likely you'll see this often enough. Best get used to it."
Mira hesitated, her hand on the doorframe. She wasn't sure if that was true, her duties had been light cleaning and serving meals, not attending him in his private moments, but she lacked the experience to question it. She turned back slowly, keeping her gaze on his face. On second glance, his thinness surprised her even more due to how rich he was; he resembled Arthur during his fever. His manhood didn't stir any feeling in her—neither embarrassment nor desire. To her, it was no different from the boys she'd seen bathing in Harrowfield's streams as a girl, it was unremarkable.
Willem seemed to misinterpret her composure, his smile widening with misplaced confidence as he stood and stretched, his gaunt frame on full display. He dressed leisurely in a velvet robe, tying it loosely before sitting at his desk and gesturing to the tray. "This looks excellent, as always. Join me for a moment?"
Mira nodded and stood by the chair opposite him, her hands clasped in front of her. Willem speared an egg with his fork, chewing thoughtfully. "How did you sleep Mira?"
"It was fine, my lord," she replied neutrally. "Restful enough."
Willem nodded, his eyes lingering on her curves a moment too long before he continued. "Good. I have a busy day ahead, meetings with a trader from Pentos. If all goes well, I'll be the only merchant bringing Essosi cheeses to the Red Keep. Imagine that, Willem, supplier to the crown."
Mira forced a smile, though her heart wasn't in it. "That sounds promising, my lord."
He leaned back, his gaze sharpening. "And Arthur? I'll visit the Red Keep today, see how he's faring. The Hand's been slow with trials, but I'll push for news."
Her eyes lit up, genuine excitement breaking through her mask. "Thank you, my lord. Could... could I come with you? Just to see him, even from afar?"
Willem shook his head gently. "Afraid not, Mira. I'm already bending laws to visit a prisoner in the black cells, and it's costly each time, bribes to the guards and such. One more face would raise questions we can't afford."
Mira's shoulders slumped, but she nodded. "I understand. Thank you for trying."
He reached across the table, his hand covering hers in what he meant as comfort, though his touch lingered. "Don't thank me yet. But soon, perhaps." He paused, his tone shifting. "Speaking of which... join me for supper tonight? Just us. We can discuss this over a proper meal."
Mira hesitated, her skin prickling under his palm. She wanted to refuse, but gratitude and caution held her back, he was her only link to Arthur. "Of course, my lord," she said, withdrawing her hand politely. "I'd be honored."
Willem's smile widened, satisfied. "Excellent. Until then."
Mira took the cue and gathered the empty dishes back onto the tray. She left the room, the door clicking shut behind her, and made her way back to the kitchens, the tray balanced carefully. The staff greeted her with nods as she set it down by the washbasin. In the privacy of her thoughts, she replayed the encounter, the way Willem's eyes had roamed her body, the presumption in his touch. It unnerved her, but she buried it deep. Arthur's freedom depended on thid. For now, she would endure.
...
Willem leaned back in his chair as the door closed behind Mira, his eyes lingering on the sway of her hips, the way her gown clung to her full curves like a lover's embrace. 'Gods, those fat tits,' he thought, his mind drifting to the swell of her breasts straining against the fabric, the way they bounced with each step, begging to be freed and ravished. And that sinful body, her wide hips perfect for birthing heirs, an ass that could drive a man to madness, plump and round, jiggling with every movement. He imagined burying his face there, his hands gripping her flesh as she moaned beneath him.
The gods had truly blessed him that day on the road. It had started as any other, his usual day scouting the paths outside King's Landing for gullible travelers, the kind who trusted a friendly face and a shared flagon. He had spotted Arthur and Mira from afar, the boy unassuming but pretty enough for Lysa's tastes, but the girl... Mira. The moment he laid eyes on her, he knew. She was perfection incarnate, her massive breasts heaving with each breath, her ass swaying like a siren's call, her face a vision of innocence wrapped in temptation. He had to have her, to claim her as his own, to bury himself in her depths night after night.
Arthur had been an afterthought, a pretty face to sell for coin, the kind Lysa paid dragons for to train into obedient playthings for her noble clients. The plan formed quickly; befriend them, spike the boy with Red Sleep and hand him off. Willem had dragged Arthur to Lysa's brothel that night, pocketing a fat purse of gold dragons for the delivery, while he whisked Mira away to his manse under the guise of protection. 'Your husband's in trouble,' he had told her, tears in his eyes for effect. 'But I'll care for you until he's free.'
She had believed him, the poor naive thing, and now she was his, working as his personal maidservant, her voluptuous body on display daily, ripe for the taking. In truth he could've had one of his guards hold her down while he emptied himself in her, but he didn't want that. He wanted a pliant loving wife, one with the beauty of a Targaryen, but the body of a Lynessi courtesan. For that he had been patient, letting her grief soften her, but soon... soon he would make his move. Supper tonight would be the start. A few more doses of subtle herbs in her wine, and she would be pliant, her sinful form writhing under him as he claimed what the gods had gifted.
Willem stood, adjusting his robe over his growing arousal, and moved to the wardrobe. The Pentoshi trader awaited, and with him, the deal that would fill his coffers further. But his mind lingered on Mira, every night he would have a woman suck his cock while he pictured it was her. But that wasn't going to do forever, he was slowly losing his composure around her so he needed to make a move soon.
Willem sat at his desk, the remnants of breakfast pushed aside, his mind wandering to the supper ahead with Mira... perhaps a touch more wine in her cup tonight, enough to soften her edges, make her more receptive to his advances. A knock shattered the thought which was followed by the door bursting open before he could respond.
A young servant, Tom, no more than fifteen with a mop of curly brown hair and wide, frightened eyes, stumbled in, his face pale and slick with sweat. "My lord! My lord, it's—"
Willem surged to his feet, his hand flashing out in a backhand slap that cracked across toms cheek, sending the boy staggering into the wall with a yelp. "Insolent whelp! You knock and wait for my word! Do you think this is a barn?"
Tom clutched his face, tears welling as he bowed low, his voice trembling. "Forgive me, my lord! Please, I beg it's an emergency! I didn't mean—"
Willem waved him off dismissively, his face flushed with irritation as he straightened his robe. "It can wait. I have meetings today, a Pentoshi trader who could make me richer than half the lords in this city. Whatever your little problem is, handle it yourself."
Tom shook his head frantically, his hands wringing together. "No, my lord, you don't understand, it's from Madame Lysa! She sent urgent word that the boy Arthur has escaped!"
Willem froze, his body going rigid as if struck, the color draining from his face in an instant. The room seemed to tilt, the words hanging in the air like a death sentence. Then rage erupted, a blood-curdling roar tearing from his throat as he swept his arm across the desk, sending plates and goblets crashing to the floor in a shatter of porcelain and glass. "Escaped? How? That can't be!" He grabbed a candlestick from the side table, hurling it against the wall where it dented the plaster and clattered down, wax splattering like blood.
Tom stepped forward, his hands raised in placation. "My lord, please calm yourself, Madame Lysa said—"
"Calm?" Willem whirled on him, his eyes bulging with fury, and seized the boy by the collar, slamming him against the wardrobe. "You tell me to calm when everything crumbles around me?" He bashed the candlestick into Toms side, the metal thudding against ribs with a sickening crack. Tom gasped, trying to twist away, but Willem jumped on him as he fell, straddling his chest and clawing at his face, fingers gouging into his eyes with savage force. "Why now? Why him!!!?" He shouted
Tom screamed, his hands flailing to push Willem off, but Willem pressed harder, popping his eyes deeper until the boy's cries turned to gurgles, his body convulsing, then going still.
Willem rose, his hands slick with blood, his chest heaving as he stared at the ruined face on the floor. Panic flooded him then, drowning the rage. Arthur was free. How? The boy should have been broken by now, a mindless slave addicted to Red Sleep, pliant and making Madame Lysa a nice profit. Two moons of dosing and training, how had he shaken it off? "This can't be," Willem muttered, pacing the room, his robe stained red. "The gods promised me this. Mira is mine... mine! Did I not sacrifice enough? Have the Seven turned their backs on me?"
He stopped, the reality sinking in like a blade. If Arthur reached Mira, it was over. She would learn the truth, flee with him, and Willem's dreams of her as his wife would shatter. He would be left with scraps, perhaps a servant girl to warm his sheets, but not her. Not the perfect woman who haunted his every thought. "Damn you, Arthur!" he screamed, kicking the boy's corpse. "You were supposed to rot!" Even if he killed Arthur, and kept Mira she would never become his wife.
He stormed to the door, flinging it open, and bellowed into the hall. "You! Bring Lunk and Karl now!"
A servant girl passing with a tray jumped, nearly dropping it, her eyes wide with terror at his bloodied state. She nodded frantically and scurried off, her footsteps echoing down the stairs.
Willem slammed the door and resumed pacing, his mind a whirlwind of panic and calculation. Arthur was loose in the city, likely hunting for Mira, piecing together the betrayal. If he found her first, Willem's web would unravel, the lies about the black cells, the "accident," all exposed. "How did he break free?" he whispered, raking his fingers through his hair. "Red Sleep doesn't fail. It can't. The gods favored me… why this betrayal?"
The door burst open again, Karl striding in first, his ugly face twisted in annoyance, his dark hair disheveled as if pulled from bed. "What in the seven hells, Willem? I was in the middle of enjoying my wife, couldn't this wait?"
Lunk followed, his massive bulk filling the doorway, his simple face creasing in confusion. He spotted the boy's body on the floor, blood pooling around the gouged eyes, and his expression crumpled. "Tom? Tom no..." Lunk knelt beside the corpse, his ham-sized hands hovering as if to shake him awake, tears welling in his squinting eyes. "Who hurt Tom?"
Willem whirled on them. "Shut up about the boy! Everything's fucked, it's all ruined! Arthur, the husband of the woman I plan to marry, has broken free from Madame Lysa. He's out there now, in King's Landing, and he'll be trying to find Mira. If he does, it's over, everything I've planned, gone!"
Karl crossed his arms. "Calm yourself, Willem. Sit down and tell me exactly what happened. From the start."
Willem collapsed into his chair, his hands shaking as he raked them over his face. "Lysa sent word, the boy Arthur escaped. He was supposed to be tame, addicted to Red Sleep, working the high rooms for her noble clients. But he's free, and if he contacts Mira, she'll know the truth. The 'accident,' the black cells lie, all of it crumbles. I lose her forever!"
Lunk still knelt by the body, his broad shoulders shaking. "Tom was nice. Gave Lunk extra bread sometimes."
Willem's rage flared again. "Shut up, you oaf! Deal with the body, throw it in the river or burn it, I don't care, but make sure no one sees. Go!"
Lunk's face fell further, but he nodded, tears streaking his cheeks. "Lunk do it." He lifted the boy's limp form gently, as if carrying a sleeping child, and lumbered out the door.
Karl watched him go, then turned back to Willem, patting his shoulder with a hand. "Don't worry. I'll handle it. Arthur won't get far, we'll find him before he reaches her."
Willem nodded, his panic easing slightly under Karl's angry gaze. "Make it quick. And make it hurt."
(AN: Bit of an interlude chapter, but it's important to know what's happening with other characters too. Karl is going to be a semi important character too and he'll be expanded on later. Anyway hope you enjoyed.)
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