Chapter 3: Court of Flames
You woke up with the taste of smoke and sin still on your tongue.
The heavy silk sheets of Aemond's bed clung to your bare skin like they knew your secrets. Sunlight barely crept through the thick curtains, but your body already remembered everything from last night — the freezing wind, Vhagar's powerful wings, the way Aemond had fucked you so deep in the sky that you'd forgotten which way was down. Your thighs ached. Between your legs you were still slick and sore, a warm reminder of how much he'd filled you.
A low chuckle rumbled beside you.
"Morning, little traitor."
Aemond was already awake, propped on one elbow, silver hair falling messily over his scarred face. That single violet eye watched you like you were the only thing worth looking at in the entire Red Keep. His fingers traced lazy circles over the bite mark on your collarbone — the one he'd left while you came on his cock thousands of feet above the city.
"You slept like the dead," he murmured, voice still rough from sleep and last night's growls. "Dreaming of me, I hope."
Before you could answer, his hand slid down your stomach, possessive and slow, until two fingers dipped between your folds. You gasped, hips twitching. He was right — you were still wet. Still ready. He smirked, pushing those fingers inside you with no warning, curling them just right.
"Still full of me," he whispered against your ear, pumping slowly. "Good girl."
You bit your lip hard, trying not to moan too loud. His thumb found your clit and circled it lazily while his fingers kept stroking that spot inside you that made your toes curl. Pleasure built fast — too fast. Your hand flew to his wrist, not sure if you wanted to push him away or pull him deeper.
"Aemond… court… we have to—"
"Shh." He kissed your neck, sucking another mark right over the old one. "You'll sit beside me today. My personal attendant. And you'll keep that pretty mouth shut while I play with what's mine under the table."
He pulled his fingers out just as you were about to come, leaving you throbbing and empty. You whimpered in protest. He only licked his fingers clean, eyes dark with satisfaction.
"Get dressed. Something easy to lift."
---
The Small Council chamber felt smaller than usual.
Aegon slouched on the throne-like chair at the head, looking bored and half-drunk already. Otto Hightower droned on about supply lines and dragon reports. Alicent sat stiff-backed, eyes flicking to everyone like she could sense the tension in the air. You stood behind Aemond's chair like the obedient attendant you were supposed to be, heart hammering so loud you were sure the whole table could hear it.
Aemond didn't even look at you.
But under the heavy oak table, his hand was already on your thigh.
He'd pulled you down onto the small stool right beside his leg the moment the meeting started. Now his fingers were sliding up under your skirts, slow and deliberate, while Lord Tyland talked about grain shipments. Two fingers pushed inside you without a single word. You gripped the back of his chair, nails digging into the wood.
He didn't move them at first. Just kept them buried deep, letting you feel the stretch while the council argued about Rhaenyra's latest movements. Then his thumb found your clit and started those same lazy circles from this morning.
Your knees shook.
You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. A tiny whimper almost escaped. Aemond's lips twitched — the only sign he was enjoying this. He added a third finger, stretching you wider, pumping them in and out in tiny, filthy movements that matched the rhythm of the conversation.
"...and there have been reports of a dragon sighted last night near the city gates," one of the lords said.
Aemond's fingers curled hard against that perfect spot. Your vision blurred. You were so close already — the risk, the voices, the way he was owning you right in front of his entire family and council. Heat flooded your face. Your thighs clenched around his hand.
He leaned back slightly, looking perfectly calm, and pressed his thumb harder.
You came silently, biting your lip until it bled, walls fluttering wildly around his fingers. Pleasure crashed through you in waves while the men kept talking about grain and war. Aemond didn't stop. He kept stroking you through it, drawing it out until your legs trembled and you had to grip his shoulder for support.
Only when the meeting finally ended did he pull his hand away. He wiped his fingers on his cloak like nothing had happened, then stood up smoothly.
"Leave us," he told the servants. "All of you."
The room emptied fast.
The second the heavy doors shut, Aemond had you pinned against the stone wall in the small alcove just outside the council chamber. His mouth crashed into yours, hungry and furious.
"You came so beautifully for me," he growled against your lips, hiking your skirt up with one hand while the other freed his cock. "Now you're going to come again. Louder this time."
He thrust into you in one hard stroke, burying himself to the hilt. You cried out — loud enough that anyone passing in the corridor might hear. He didn't care. He fucked you like he owned every inch of you, hips snapping fast and deep, one hand around your throat squeezing just enough to make stars dance behind your eyes.
"Mine," he snarled, biting your lower lip. "Say it."
"I'm yours—fuck—Aemond—"
He lifted one of your legs higher, changing the angle so he hit that spot with every thrust. The wet slap of skin echoed in the alcove. You were still sensitive from the table, still leaking from this morning, and the overstimulation made you sob with pleasure.
A knock sounded on the outer door. Someone calling for the prince.
Aemond only fucked you harder, hand tightening on your throat.
"Quiet," he hissed, but his smirk said he loved the risk.
You came again, harder than before, muffling your scream against his shoulder as your whole body shook. Aemond followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low, broken groan that vibrated against your skin.
For a moment the only sound was both of you breathing hard.
Then he pulled back just enough to look at you — flushed, marked, dripping with his cum down your thighs.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folded letter, the seal already broken.
"Found this in your cloak last night," he said softly. Too softly. His eye was cold fire. "Coded messages. For Rhaenyra's men. The same men who saw Vhagar rise."
Your stomach dropped.
Aemond's lips curved into a dangerous smile as he tucked the letter back into his tunic.
"Now the real punishment begins, little spy."
He kissed your forehead almost gently, but his hand was already sliding back between your legs, fingers pushing his release deeper inside you.
"Get ready," he whispered. "Because this time… I won't be gentle."
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To Be Continued...