This was originally meant to be part of a multi-chapter story where Myrcella becomes the Queen in the North, but I just do not have the time or inspiration to write it atm.
Myrcella looks at her lord husband with a cool, calculated gaze. "Anyone who is not a Lannister is our enemy," her mother once said.
She looks at Robb Stark, this King in the North who fills up his chambers with his solemn face and his frosty eyes but she does not see an enemy. She sees a man who was forced to grow up too fast to become a King and continue his family's legacy. She sees a man who has lost too many loved ones because of the actions of her family.
She sees a man that she is bound to for the rest of her life, no matter how much they wish it differently.
"Why are you here?" he demands in his rough voice. Myrcella suppresses a shiver but she stares at Robb Stark with determined eyes. Since their wedding night, the man has barely looked at her let alone spoken to her. The feasts that they both happen to attend is filled with pained silences and cold looks, and damn her if she does not let it affect her. She has heard the whispers of how he has tired of her already and is sick to the stomach at even the thought of visiting her bed, of how he is afraid to get a child in her belly because of her real parentage.
The Bastard Queen, is what they call her behind scornful whispers.
Myrcella ignores her trembling fingers and unties her cloak, slipping it off of her slender shoulders until she is left before her lord husband in a sheer nightgown. With as much confidence as she can muster, Myrcella looks the King in the eye and says, "Take off your clothes."
There's a flash of surprise in the King's eyes, but his gaze otherwise remains steady and his face impassive. She does not know how long she stands before him as his cold stare does not leave her eyes. Myrcella knows that she is beautiful. She is her mother's daughter after all, and Cersei Lannister told her to own her beauty, as it is the only weapon that she will ever have.
But despite knowing it, she does not feel beautiful as this cold man looks at her with hard eyes. There's a tightness behind her eyes and she blinks away the tears before they can form. He sees me as nothing more than a foolish girl. She sighs in defeat and is about to pick up her robe and flee in embarrassment when Myrcella notices his eyes soften.
The King's eyes travel down the length of her body slowly leaving a trail of tingling skin in it's wake. He slowly approaches her with a predatory grace and for an absurd moment he looks every bit the direwolf stalking his prey. He stops just within touching distance. Something in her belly clenches as his gaze sharpens on the bare skin of her neck, slowly traveling south, stopping only to linger on her breasts. The King's eyes flare as he takes in her hardened nipples against the sheer gown and despite himself he takes another step closer until they are almost touching.
Myrcella sucks in a sharp breath and the King's eyes flick back to hers. He stares down at her, his pupils blown wide with unguarded desire, and for the first time in her life, she understands her mother's words. Her beauty has always been a part of her, something inconsequential to her until this moment. This powerful man, arguably the most powerful man in Westeros, a King, wants her, desires her. A wave of confidence sweeps over her as she meets his gaze unflinchingly.
Something changes between them in that moment. Robb Stark does not soften towards her, he does not even smile at her. When he looks upon her, he looks at her with a grudging respect and that means more to her than any kind word or smile that she could receive from the man.
Myrcella waits with bated breath as she waits for his next move. A low rumble starts in his chest and then he slowly circles around her, his eyes taking in every part of her that is bared to him. Myrcella jumps in surprise when the King presses a large palm to her stomach and pulls her against him. He presses his hips against her backside and Myrcella feels herself flush as she feels his manhood against her. She instinctively rocks back against him and the answering groan she receives is like music to her ears.
Her breath comes quickly as the King unties the laces of her nightgown with slow but sure fingers. Slipping his large hand inside, the King cups her bare breast and runs a thumb across her pebbled nipple. Myrcella moans lowly and leans her head back against the King's shoulder. She has never felt such pleasure before from just a simple touch. The King pulls at her taut nipple and she cries out, lost to this simple pleasure.
He pulls down her gown until her shoulder is bare and then he latches his mouth onto the tender skin of her neck. He continues to play with her breasts as he kisses and nips her neck, his beard harshly tickling her soft skin.
Myrcella feels the pleasure building up deep in her belly and she wants to cry out in dismay when the King takes his hand away from her breast. His kisses slow and just as she begins to think that perhaps he has changed his mind, the King in the North slips the gown from her shoulders and slowly slides it down her body until the soft material pools at the bottom of her feet.
The King releases a harsh breath behind her as he takes a step back and looks at her bare body for the first time. His large hands curve around her small waist and he gently turns her around until she is facing him. Myrcella stands bare before him. She feels as though she should be vulnerable before this powerful man whilst she is naked and he fully clothed, but instead she feels powerful. She sees the wildness in his eyes as he takes in her body. He wants me too, she thinks in delight.
They stand staring at one another. The atmosphere crackles between them as he drinks her in.
The desire she feels for this man overwhelms her.
"Take off your clothes," she demands once again, her voice strong and clear. "I want to look at you."
His mouth twitches as if he is suppressing a smile, but nonetheless he does as she says. Myrcella drinks him in with creedy eyes as strips for her slowly. Her heart beats against her rib cage uncontrollably as his scarred chest is revealed, the muscles clenching deliciously with each movement. His hands pause on his breeches, and he stares at her with challenging eyes as if daring her to ask him to stop. Myrcella raises an eyebrow but otherwise remains still. She waits with bated breath as he loosens the string and pulls them down. Myrcella swallows painfully as she takes in the sight of him.
She has never seen another naked man apart from her husband, and she probably never will. But nevertheless, she knows that he is beautiful. He is so tantalizingly close and his scent overwhelms her. His breath is hot against her skin and her heart beats in excitement at having him so close. With slow, careful steps, Myrcella circles him just as he had done to her.
Feeling bold, she trails a hand across his stomach feeling the hard, defined muscles clench at her touch. She touches the scars with light fingers, and she feels a wave of admiration for this man wash over her. Perhaps once when she was a young girl she would have thought that the torn flesh marred his beauty, but now, as a woman, she sees them as a sign that he is a strong warrior, a battle-hardened man who fought for his home and his people.
Myrcella trails her fingers down to his hip and circles around until she traces the strong curve of his arse. The King shivers against her touch as she palms the firm muscle. Her body lights up with longing as she comes to face him once more.
Her thighs are damp with her longing yet she cannot bring herself to be embarrassed. She wants him. It does not matter that her family have caused the Starks so much grief. It does not matter that her husband seems to hate her or the fact that the lords in his kingdom call her his Bastard Queen.
She wants him, and he wants her.
Myrcella pushes up on the balls of her feet and curls her fingers into his thick hair and then he is covering her mouth with his own. The King pulls her firmly against his hard body and suddenly she is surrounded by him. His lips claim her own almost violently and she's pulling at his hair in a way that must be painful, but the answering growl from the back of his throat reverberates through her. Warmth floods her as he swipes his tongue along her bottom lip and then tangling his tongue with hers. Myrcella shivers as his calloused hands trail down her soft skin until he reaches her thighs. He lifts her with ease and Myrcella gasps in surprise against his lips. She wraps her legs around his torso and tightens her fingers in his hair.
He carries her to the bed effortlessly and sits down on the edge. Myrcella wraps an arm around his broad shoulders as the King places his hands on her waist. His mouth consumes hers, she relishes the feel of his tongue against her as he devours her. Her hips rock against him and he moans into her mouth as she rubs her core against his cock. Sparks of pleasure shoot through her body and it is unlike anything she has ever felt before.
The King wrenches his mouth away from hers and dips his head and takes a nipple between his lips and tugs hard. Myrcella cries out as the sensation sweeps through her, the muscles in her groin tightening in a delicious way. She digs her fingernails deep into the King's shoulder and he hisses against her breast. He releases her taut nipple and looks at her with an intensity that almost scares her.
"Take me," Myrcella whispers, watching the way his eyes darken.
He does not reply, but his mouth takes her again with a hungry desperation. She feels his need for her with every kiss and suddenly she cannot take it anymore. "Please," she whispers against his lips.
The King does not look away from her as he guides her onto his cock. He flexes his hips and Myrcella winces at the unfamiliar sensation as he stretches her. His mouth goes slack as he holds her hips still as she gets used to the feel of him being inside of her. After a few moments, Myrcella shifts her hips a little and the King grunts in surprise. Myrcella rises and sinks down onto his cock slowly, each movement giving her small sparks of pleasure. She wraps an arm around his shoulders to steady herself as she moves on his cock a little faster. The King rests his hands on her hips and guides her movements all the while watching her with blazing eyes.
Myrcella cries out as he thrusts up into her sharply. The hands on her hips tighten until he is meeting her hips with sharp thrusts that has her a moaning, panting mess. Myrcella threads her fingers into his curls and pulls his face to hers and claiming his lips in a savage kiss. Her cries of pleasure are muffled by his lips until she feels the most intense pleasure she has ever felt in her life wash over her.
She clenches around him helplessly making the King swear under his breath and thrust erratically into her until finds his release and spills himself inside of her.
"Myrcella," he whispers so quietly against her lips that she is not even sure that he said it.