Guest: He is giving Summerhall as a dowry for Arianne. It's fair for/according to him to get it back if he feels the Targs have taken "his" lands instead (it would also make Jon his vassal).

Pre-chapter warning: This chapter contains a sex scene at the end. If you do not wish to read it, stop reading at "Lemon Warning".


Margaery

The view outside the window had not changed for some time. The view from her rooms continued to show a gloomy, grey sky and the bustling capital below.

The only difference is that the Tyrell, Baratheon and Lannister banners were gone, all replaced by the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, constantly taunting her.

The dragons, both literal and figurative, had come less than a week earlier.

The legendary beasts had flown three circles over the city, striking fear and panic amidst the population. Riots had broken out, which had barely been contained by both the gold cloaks and few remaining men in the city.

There was nothing they could do. Making a stand inside the city walls would only result in devastation beyond belief, and delay the inevitable.

A negotiating party had been sent to the armies camping outside the city, in order to handle the surrender of the city in the most peaceful way possible.

To their shock, the negotiating party had come back with a negative answer: the Targaryens would not enter the city unless all the wildfire caches had been disposed of.

Immediately, search parties were sent, uncovering the unimaginable: hundreds of wildfire caches, spread across every strategic point of the city, untouched for about twenty years. Under the walls, the gates, the Sept of Baelor, Flea Bottom and even the Red Keep, not a single place was untouched. Enough to blow up the city three to four times over…

Margaery's stomach had turned, then, imagining that she had spent almost three years with her arse sitting on these hundreds of caches, which time had rendered unstable.

Shock had turned to panic when word had spread. Civilians tried to leave the city as fast as possible, creating more riots and uncertainty. Her father, Ser Kevan and Lord Rowan had to work extremely hard to contain all of the crowd movements, which, combined to the worsening food situation due to the supply routes being cut, inevitably resulted in deaths.

Six gold cloaks had perished while containing a riot in Flea Bottom, three score smallfolk had died in a stampede at the Iron Gate, five Tyrell men had been found assassinated by the river…it had not taken long before the city was in chaos.

Not to mention that the disposing of wildfire caches had not gone smoothly. On the second day, two boats tasked with throwing the substance in the middle of Blackwater Bay had gone up in a flurry of green flames, visible from the walls of the capital.

Another instance had nearly resulted in a catastrophe. While transporting the wildfire caches to the docks, a cart going over an unpaved road broke a wheel, sending several caches flying. Already unstable, the liquid leaked and reached a forge.

The disaster was unimaginable. A whole pan of King's Landing had been completely razed in a matter of moments. Thankfully, all the caches of the area had already been disposed of, averting a complete disaster.

But still, three streets had been reduced to nothing but rubble and ash, and hundreds had been killed.

The situation became so uncontrollable then, that her father almost begged the army outside to lend a hand in controlling the masses, something the dragons were almost too happy to grant.

Worse, because the men there, bearing either Stark, Tully, Arryn, Targaryen, Martell or Baratheon colors, decided to bring food and supplies with them. Tents were set up, along with food distribution areas too.

And, as such, much of the goodwill that the Tyrells had built up with the wildfire, blaming it on the ramblings of the Mad King, had gone.

The smallfolk did not care about this. All they cared was to have a full belly at the end of the day, and that, the Tyrells could not provide.

When King Aegon and Queen Daenerys made their entry into the city, it was not as conquerors, but as liberators. The crowds did not throw stones at them, but flowers, thanking them for having given them their first large meal in weeks.

There was nothing more the Tyrells could offer that the Targaryens didn't have: all they had left to do was to open the gates of the city and wait for their inevitable sentencing.

Margaery herself had sent a lone messenger several days ago, waiting for the answer she dreaded to receive. The answer she got was not reassuring, but it did give her hope.

"My offer still stands, under different conditions, we will talk when in the capital."

Different conditions.

No doubt the Prince of Dorne knew how desperate her situation was.

But what choice did she have? It was the only way she could still stay close to her home, to survive, really…

So, she had stayed with her family, anxiously waiting for the meeting that would decide her fate.

But the Targaryens did not let her even come near Prince Quentyn.

They had immediately packed her, her father, grandmother, and few cousins remaining, into her rooms, awaiting a decision regarding their fate.

Of course, they had been luckier than most. The Kingsguard were thrown into the black cells, along with Lord Kevan and Queen Dowager Cersei. A request from the Northerners it seems.

Prince Tommen was luckier, he was also sent to his own rooms, guarded by the Kingsguard at all times, if she understood correctly.

But now, it meant Margaery was a prisoner. In a gilded cage, to be sure, but still a prisoner. And this meant that she could take the brunt of her grandmother's recriminations, telling her she was a foolish girl for trusting a Dornishman, and that she should have run long ago.

A part of her heart had broken at this. Garlan dead, Loras dead, Willas…the gods only knew where Willas was now…and now, herself, probably about to be killed or sent to be a septa. Truly, she did not know what fate was worse.

There was nothing to do now but wait, and with that wait came the rumors.

Her grandmother surmised they would be killed, something her father agreed with. Their talks came to the paramountcy. To the Targaryens, they were traitors. But who would they give it to? All the houses of the Reach had fought with them.

There were only two real options: Rowan and Florent.

Rowan, because Lord Mathis was here and could make his case. Like her grandmother predicted, Lord Rowan did have a plan which involved disarming or fighting any gold cloaks, red cloaks or green cloaks that opposed a peaceful takeover of the city.

But, on the other hand, he had not contributed at all to the Targaryen war effort, and had served on the Small Council without remorse.

This left the only major house that bore a Reacher sigil in the Targaryen army: the Florents.

Houses Footly and Caswell were also present, but more because their keeps had fallen to the Targaryens than anything else. The Florents, though, had turned against the Tyrells at Storm's End. And while Tarly had disarmed most of them, with the rest lying dead at Storm's End, there were still a few men that had managed to rally around Lady Shireen Baratheon.

But would the Targaryens really grant Highgarden to Lord Alekyne Florent? If he was alive that is, because Lord Baelor made no mention of him in his ravens. Thus, he could have very well perished in the fall of the Hightower or the Sack of Oldtown. With Alester, Axell, Ryam and Imry Florent dead, the title would pass to Erren Florent, imprisoned at Highgarden…would he soon walk out of the cells of the castle as its lord?

That was something that bothered her family to no end, more than their own lives, in fact. Well, her grandmother at least. Her father had the good sense to worry more about what would happen to Willas and herself. To their cousins, if Highgarden were to fall between the Florent's greedy paws.

Couldn't her grandmother see that their ambition to rise to new heights had cost them much already? That their lives were about to be forfeit? Margaery would gladly give Highgarden up if it meant she could see Garlan or Loras again. If it meant she herself could live to see Floris grow up to be a beautiful young lady.

Now…she would not dare to think what could happen to her little girl.

She was safe, at Highgarden, but for how long?

Margaery therefore spent her days in silence, watching as her father and grandmother bickered, sometimes sparing a snide remark for her or her cousins, but she did not care.

She just stood and looked out of the window, to watch over the city that had once been under her and her family's rule slowly rise to see the dragons rule it once more.

And after three days of imprisonment, the unknown began to take a toll on her.

She began to think of ways to get out. Break down the doors, throw herself out of the window, find one of these famed passageways that apparently dotted the Red Keep…her mind raced.

And on this morning, it was also racing with silly plans, more adventurous than the other, before she heard the door creak open. She immediately stood up from her chair, along with her father and mother.

In came Queen Daenerys, clad in a red and black dress which revealed her voluptuous form, her silver-blonde hair and her purple eyes. A Targaryen, through and through, in the flesh.

Besides her was another Targaryen, though he looked nothing like one. A pretty man, to be sure, with his dark brown hair and grey eyes, he might as well have passed off for Ned Stark's son that she wouldn't have questioned it…but that is what happened didn't it? He, on the contrary, wore simple grey and dark garments, with his sword attached to him at all times. Despite being a Targaryen, however, the three-headed dragon was nowhere to be seen on his outfit, while the wolf of house Stark decorated his buttons, belt and even clothing.

King Aegon was also there, with his dashing silver hair and purple eyes. With a more impressive build than his half-brother, he still held a cane to walk, just like her brother Willas often did. And unlike his half-brother, he wore the three-headed dragon proudly on his doublet, wearing a belt without a sword.

Also present were the Lord Hand, Edmure Tully, with his bright auburn beard and hair, wearing the chain of hands that her father wore only a few days prior, with a robe of purple and red. Prince Quentyn was also there, which at least gave Margaery some hope. His gaze wandered around the room, as if searching for something, but his eyes seemed tired or disinterested. His stature also paled compared to tall men like Edmure Tully or King Aegon, though he made that up with a red-golden attire that attracted attention like flies to a light in the dark.

Finally, the Kingsguard closed the march. Ser Barristan first, in his white armor adorned with the three-headed dragon alongside his sigil, and two others that Margaery did not recognize, but one that looked quite like the Mountain, though he was even larger.

The door slammed shut.

"Your Grace," her grandmother scoffed, "have you finally decided that we have amused you long enough and have decided to remove our heads?"

"You'll find that I have quite different plans for you. Please, sit," Queen Daenerys immediately ordered as she sat at the large table the Tyrells used to eat at different hours of the day.

Margaery cautiously rose with the rest of her family, dragging herself towards the table, but taking a seat nonetheless. Herself, her grandmother, father and few cousins faced against the new most powerful people in the realm.

"You will be glad to know that your son, Ser or Lord Willas, however you wish, has bent the knee to me. The raven came a few days ago," Queen Daenerys started. "As such, and to my nephew's insistence…" Queen Daenerys' eyes darted to the Northman, "he will retain his position as Lord of Highgarden and Lord Paramount of the Reach."

Her grandmother and father seemed to breathe a huge sigh of relief.

"This does not change the fact that House Tyrell is still considered as traitorous, with you three still very much still traitors to me." Queen Daenerys narrowed her eyes, her tongue almost slipping out of her mouth, such as Margaery could have imagined a forked tongue coming out of her lips.

"House Tyrell will have to pay reparations to House Tully for their part in the war in the Riverlands." King Aegon turned to his Hand. "I believe the Lord Hand will give you some more precise estimates."

"Indeed, and House Tyrell and its vassals will also have to provide foodstuffs to the North at a fifth of the market value for the entirety of winter," Lord Tully added. "Alongside, of course, the means to transport it."

A fifth of the market value…Margaery knew the consequences. House Tyrell and the Reach would be plundered, and would not get any financial compensation for it. An action that would take decades to recover from, especially since this winter would be the longest in living memory.

"House Tyrell will also have to dispatch a consequential force to the North in order to fight the Others," Prince Daeron concluded.

"The Others?" Margaery's grandmother scoffed. "Please, you could have used a better excuse to send men do menial tasks in the North."

"Well, my lady, I would gladly escort you to the dead men Lord Tully has brought to us, but I expect that you would like to live a few more years," Prince Daeron abruptly replied. "Lord Mace, of course, will have to deal with that experience himself sooner or later, though, it would do well to bring him to them now, as he will become used to it."

"Ah yes, which brings up to our second point." Queen Daenerys smiled. "House Targaryen will offer mercy to you all. Lord Mace, you will sail for Eastwatch as soon as weather permits. You will take the Black."

Her father's face seemed to have drained of color.

"Your Grace, I…"

"If you refuse, then you may go back to Highgarden and abdicate…" King Aegon shrugged.

"Ah, thank you, Your Grace, I will leave my position to my son..."

"Not quite," Queen Daenerys said. "You will leave your position to your son, who will become steward of Highgarden, which will be given to the Tarlys."

"What?" Margaery's father opened and closed his mouth, trying to find words.

"Oh, Mace, close your bloody mouth, you look like a carp." Her grandmother handwaved him away. "Either my son takes the Black or we lose the paramountcy, is that it?"

"Indeed, it is, my lady." King Aegon nodded.

Her grandmother stared at her father sternly for a few moments. There was silence, until her father finally blurted out: "I…I will take the Black, Your Grace."

"Glad to hear it." Queen Daenerys nodded. "You will meet Lord Kevan there, it seems he took the same offer as you."

"Well, it wasn't abdication, Your Grace, it was rather giving his head to the Northmen or the Black…" Lord Tully interjected.

"He goes to the Wall and his son inherits the Rock, does he not?" Queen Daenerys shrugged. "Then, why bother, it is more of the same. Though, you will sign one last act as Lord of Highgarden and Lord Paramount of the Reach."

"What would that be, Your Grace?" her father asked, dreading the question.

"Reinstating Samwell Tarly as heir, or I should rather say, as Lord of Horn Hill," Prince Daeron simply said. "He was coerced into joining the Watch, by his father, under pain of death. I would have asked for his father's head for such an act, but it seems the Dornish have done so for me. Thus, I will ask you to sign the document reinstating him as heir."

"Watch vows are for life, are they not?" Margaery spoke up for the first time in this conversation.

"They are, but a king's word may break them," Prince Daeron replied. "My brother Robb broke mine, and his word then extended to Samwell. As such, he is to receive his birthright, at once."

"Of course…" her father mumbled.

"And what about myself?" Her grandmother asked. "And my daughter? I suppose you don't expect us both to take the Black as well?"

"No." Prince Daeron shook his head.

"Lady Olenna, you will be exiled to the Arbor," King Aegon announced. "If you ever step foot on the continent again, you will be put to death."

"Hardly a mercy." Her grandmother sank back into her chair. "There's a reason I hated that island."

"You'll find the Ironborn did not really leave much of it untouched, unfortunately." Queen Daenerys sighed. "All of your cousins, though, will leave for Highgarden at once."

Margaery could hear a sigh of relief coming from next to her.

All of this, though, left one person.

Her.

"Lady Margaery, you will be sent to the Silent Sisters-" Queen Daenerys started, while Margaery tilted her head downwards, tears starting to flow, but was cut off by a new voice

"No."

Margaery raised her teary-eyed face back to face the Targaryens, who all faced Prince Quentyn.

"Princess Margaery will not go to the Silent Sisters," Prince Quentyn said with utter confidence.

"We agreed on this." Queen Daenerys frowned.

"Not with me." Prince Quentyn shook his head. "Princess Margaery is married to me."

"What?" King Aegon laughed.

Queen Daenerys blinked while Lord Tully and Prince Daeron looked at each other, both in disbelief and confusion.

"Lady Margaery was married to Tommen Waters, the boy destined for the Wall." King Aegon half-chuckled.

"That marriage is invalid." Prince Quentyn looked directly into the monarch's eyes. "I wed Princess Margaery in the Red Keep's sept three days after King Joffrey's death."

"This is preposterous!" Queen Daenerys spit out. "You were never wed!"

"I hid such a wedding so as to not be accused of either collusion with the enemy or favoring the Tyrells in any discussion, Your Grace," Prince Quentyn countered calmly.

"Any ceremony has to be overseen by the Faith," King Aegon pointed out.

"It was," Margaery made out in a small voice. "Septon…Septon Junicer wed us…you can ask him…he has the documents."

Margaery blurted out the name of one of four Tyrell septons that had joined the host in order to perform ceremonies for the small garrison in the castle's sept.

Prince Quentyn reached into his pocket and withdrew several papers, which he handed to the monarchs.

"Septon Harlan, my sweet."

The Dornish prince smiled at her slightly, which Margaery answered with a kind nod.

"In any case," Queen Daenerys angrily pushed the papers away, "a marriage is not valid until it has been consummated. If you wed her all these days ago, then she would be pregnant with your child by now."

"Clearly, all marriages are supposed to conceive a babe on their wedding night," Prince Quentyn scoffed. "Thus, I could ask you how far along you are in your own pregnancy, Your Grace. The marriage has been consummated; you have my word."

"And I suppose you wish to claim Floris Flowers as your own?" King Aegon questioned in an angry tone.

"No, but I wish to spare an innocent girl from a terrible fate." Prince Quentyn answered. "Give Floris Flowers to me, to be raised in the Water Gardens. She will not leave Dorne, I can swear this."

The Targaryen monarchs looked at each other with half-annoyed, half-worried faces.

"Prince Quentyn does well seem to be wed to Lady Margaery, Your Grace." Prince Daeron showed them the documents again. "They were indeed wed before Lady Margaery married Tommen Waters…"

"And the consummation leaves no doubt." Lord Tully scoffed. "Dornish…"

"And I suppose you can prove this consummation too?" Queen Daenerys asked.

"I don't suppose you want me to describe things that would very well be very degrading for my lady wife?" Prince Quentyn annoyingly replied. "And no, you are not welcome to watch, either."

"You claim that Lady Margaery is your wife, yet you have not shown her a single sign of affection since we arrived here, nor did you worry for her health when that area of King's Landing exploded." Queen Daenerys continued to dig into the Prince, trying to find some sort of response.

"At what point? I knew Princess Margaery would be in the Red Keep, and when I finally entered it, I was told that she was confined to her rooms with her family, with no one but the Kingsguard allowed to visit." Prince Quentyn frowned. "If it is a sign of affection you wish…"

Prince Quentyn rose up, made his way around the table, and beckoned Margaery to stand by extending his hand. He then nodded at her with a wink, brought her cheeks towards him, and kissed her fiercely, much more than the stolen kiss they had shared all these moons ago, in the same room. This time, the kiss lasted for longer, with his tongue entering her own mouth, seeking hers, before retreating again.

He then helped her sit back down and addressed the Queen once more.

"There. You have your sign of affection. Now, do I need to make love to her here, in front of everyone, as well?" he asked without a moment of hesitation.

"I think that is quite enough." Lord Tully chuckled, amused.

Queen Daenerys looked at Margaery with fire in her eyes, and turned to Quentyn, her voice completely annoyed now. But before she could even speak, Prince Quentyn smirked and added: "Oh, I almost forgot, we never really settled the issue of the dowry. Starpike and Dunstonbury and their lands around will do, I do need a castle for my little brother and his wife."

"Starpike will do," Queen Daenerys angrily grumbled. "We are done here."

With a gruff motion, the Queen stood up and left the room, clearly annoyed. King Aegon, though, stayed a little while longer, his gaze still fixed on all three of them.

"I expect you to have signed my brother's document before the end of the day, Lord Mace," the silver-haired man simply said. "As for the rest, you are still confined to your rooms, though I expect Princess Margaery can see her husband if she likes, but under strict guard."

Margaery breathed a huge sigh of relief, sinking back into her chair.

As soon as the whole party was gone, leaving only the Reachmen, her grandmother addressed her: "You foolish girl! This was your plan? To fake a marriage with the Prince of Dorne?"

"He promised that as long as he were not wed, I could be his wife should I wanted to," Margaery simply replied.

"And you believed him?" Her grandmother shook her head. "Bah, it does not matter. The boy did agree to it, and falsified some documents gods only know how…"

"How could you give yourself away to this…this Dornishman, Marge!" her father admonished her.

"It did not go beyond a kiss. I swear this. Prince Quentyn did not do anything untowards me at all…" Margaery looked at him, her eyes pleading.

"It would have been better if he did." Her grandmother sighed. "The Queen is not happy that you have escaped her wrath, and she will find any excuse to annul this union."

Margaery froze. Her grandmother was right. The Queen was prideful and seemed to have taken this as an insult. But to do anything, she would have to go to Prince Quentyn.

She decided to get ready.

With the help of her cousins, she put on a green-blue dress, took her most beautiful jewellery and braided her hair. Once this was done, she asked the guards to escort her to Prince Quentyn's rooms, where she was let in without any difficulty.

It was the same rooms he'd spent his King's Landing days in, just refurbished somewhat.

She was surprised not to find Prince Quentyn on his bed or relaxed in a chair somewhere. It is only when she ventured into the room further that she found him, laying in a bath, humming a song.

"As you deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal. Let the Hero born of women, crush the serpent with his heel…"

His face turned to her, immediately settling into a frown.

"Who let you in?" he asked.

"Well, I am your wife, am I not?" Margaery shot back.

Quentyn sighed and took a towel, pulling the curtain slightly to hide his naked form, before coming out with the towel covering everything under the belt.

"Indeed, at least, for as long as I say so." Quentyn nodded, moving to a chair.

She looked around the room, trying to see if the Snake was listening somewhere.

"If you are looking for Nymeria, she is with Arianne, she won't be back for a while. She knows about us, if you wish to know everything."

"I…was told there were conditions," Margaery stammered.

"Indeed. As Princess-Consort, you would know what your duties would entail?" he asked.

Margaery nodded.

"Well, then, you would also know that as my wife, you would also take my name. This means that from this day, you are no longer a Tyrell, but a Martell, and as such, I require loyalty from you to this effect. Am I clear?" Quentyn leaned forwards.

"You wish that I push the interest of House Martell before mine own House?" she asked.

"Indeed." Quentyn nodded, leaning back into his chair, adjusting one of the orange cushions as he did so. "In addition, you will be my wife, but I cannot offer you any love. You will bear me at least an heir and a spare, and then any children you wish to have. I will not deny you any paramours, it would be untowards of me, but I will not allow them while you bear my children, is that understood?"

Margaery nodded again.

"Good. The last point is that you will have to deal with mine and Nymeria's relationship. If you stand in our way, I will not need to hurt you, Nymeria will do that quite well. I will not shy away from my duties as a husband, but you will have to live with the fact that you are to be second to someone else for your entire life. Is that also understood?"

"It is clear." Margaery nodded. "Is that all?"

"It should be all, indeed." Quentyn sighed. "Do you have any questions?"

"Not a question, but I wish to impose a certain condition." Margaery looked him in the eyes.

"What would that be?" Quentyn asked, confused.

"The Queen clearly wishes to find any way of annulling this marriage, and she will find an excuse. The only way she can find is to somehow prove the marriage was not consummated, which she could obtain. You and I have never laid together." Margaery stepped forwards, confident. "You know that the only way for our marriage to be secure is for you to put a babe in me, and you need to do it soon."

Margaery then pulled the straps from her dress, revealing her entire body to him.

"I wish for you to do it now. If we are wed, then bed me."

*LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING**LEMON WARNING*

Quentyn stood up, looked her up and down, with a confused look.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Margaery nodded.

"Very well." Quentyn approached her, slowly touching her arms, before his gaze met hers.

"If you wish for me to stop, tell me. If I am hurting you, tell me. Do you understand?" Quentyn asked.

"Yes." Margaery nodded once again.

Quentyn thus kissed her on the lips, claiming hers as he dropped his towel to the ground. His tongue tasted of sugar and honey. It was so sweet, she had a hard time letting go.

By now, Quentyn had pushed her onto the bed, on which she laid naked.

She expected him to immediately claim her, but, instead, Quentyn grinned and kissed her neck, before slowly roaming down her body.

He attacked her breasts, slowly twisting his tongue around her nipples, causing her to arch her back in surprise. She moaned deeply while her prince continued to nibble and bite at her breasts.

Though, he finally let go, and roamed down her belly, placing kisses up to her folds.

There, Quentyn knelt on the side of the bed, and began licking at it, his tongue entering her.

Margaery let out a moan as she felt pleasure take the best of her. She roughly grabbed the sheets, eyes turned towards the ceiling. Quentyn was sending her to a heaven she did not know up until now. His tongue kept circling around her, hitting all the right spots. She felt her head go dizzy, overwhelmed by the urge to cry out obscenities.

Instead, her hands went to Quentyn's dark hair, keeping it in place, right where she wanted him, lapping at her cunt. His movements became faster, his tongue went deeper, and Margaery's moans grew louder.

Suddenly, in one shriek, Margaery felt a wave of pleasure take her. Her whole body shook as she felt a spasm, and then finally rested, her heart beating faster than she could ever imagine.

After a brief moment, she looked at Quentyn, who had risen from between her legs and was licking his fingers and running his tongue around his lips.

"Well, it seems you Tyrells do taste like rosewater."

Quentyn got onto the bed and positioned himself over Margaery.

Her hands roamed his chest, feeling his muscles and his scars, eventually settling for looking him in the eyes, not wanting to witness him taking her.

"I'll put it in." Quentyn told her.

Margaery closed her eyes and nodded.

She felt a touch between her folds, then something seeking entry.

By reflex, she latched onto Quentyn's back, her nails digging into him, tears starting to flow.

"Should I stop?" he asked.

"No, please, continue." Margaery almost pleaded.

Quentyn's member continued to sheath itself into her. She could feel it making its way to her core, which in turn enticed cries of pain.

"Does it hurt?" he asked again.

"Yes, but don't stop…don't…" Margaery was pleading now.

His member inched ever forward into her, stretching her walls, before finally, it stopped, and she felt Quentyn's skin gently brisk her own. Then, slowly, Quentyn pulled back, starting to move inside of her.

Her walls clenched around the member, drawing a breath from the Dornish Prince, who kissed her languidly whilst he retreated out of her. The second pace was much smoother, as the pain left its way to pleasure, her folds begging him to stay in.

Margaery cried out in pleasure.

"Yes!" she threw her head back, "Don't…don't stop, just like this."

Quentyn kissed her neck, roaming her body, taking a nipple in between his fingers or biting her elbows. With every short thrust, she felt her walls continue to clench, wanting to release something building up deep inside.

Margaery was a mess now. Her brown hair was completely tossed aside, her watery eyes were almost rolled to the back of her head, losing herself in a world of pleasure she had never experienced. Quentyn's cock was stretching her, claiming her, driving her mad.

The pleasure and pain of each of the prince's gradually faster thrusts made Margaery cry out things she would have never dreamt of saying just a few days before, but now had lost control over her body. She needed more, craved more. Her energetic moans coaxed Quentyn into going faster, her nails drew bloody circles in his back, but she did not care.

She came with a massive shudder, her body shaking even more than the first time.

"S…Sorry about…the…nails…" she panted.

"It's fine, I like when it hurts." Quentyn replied.

Margaery fell back, her body limp, her vision hazy, while Quentyn retreated out.

"Did you…spill?" she asked, chest heaving.

"No." Quentyn replied. "Sorry, I can't spill unless I'm rougher with you, and it wouldn't be too enjoyable for you."

"N…no…be rougher." Margaery looked up at him. "I'll handle it."

"Are you sure?" Quentyn asked. "You might pass out, considering how exhausted you are, Marge. We're done."

"No!" Marge gasped. "Just…do it. I can take it. Please."

Quentyn stared at her for a moment, but sighed, relenting.

"If at any point, you want to stop, either tell me or push the orange cushion to the right." Quentyn pointed to the cushion she had been resting on. "Turn around, on all fours."

Margaery obliged and presented her arse to him.

This time, Quentyn was not slow. She felt him penetrate her in an instant, and she cried out in both pleasure and pain.

Quentyn's hands reached for her hair, pulling it as he roughly pumped into her, causing her to go almost blind, her vision already hazy after her second orgasm. She could feel Quentyn's skin impacting her arsecheeks, his member seeking the deepest part of her cunt, whilst she moaned uncontrollably, trying to soften the words with cushions, as if they could hide the pure filth she was saying.

Then, to her shock, Quentyn inserted a finger into her arse, causing her to recoil in shock. He leaned in and whispered into her ear whilst completely sheathed in her.

"Your maidenhead may not have been mine, but I promise that I will have this one."

Margaery groaned, her body almost limp with the hard fucking she had been subjected to, but she urged him on. He needed to be rough to be able to reach his peak, and if it meant he had to use her, she would allow it.

His thrusts were erratic, fast and without any mercy. For Margaery, it was too much, she was moaning between the pillows, having surrendered herself to the heavens a long time ago.

She cried out one last time as she peaked for the third time, her walls clenching around Quentyn's rigid member, saliva drooling onto the bed. But Quentyn did not stop, instead fucking her right through her orgasm. She wanted to breathe, but no words left her mouth, the feeling was too good, like a sweet wine, she was drunk on him.

Finally, though, after a few more thrusts, she could feel something spewing inside of her. A thick, creamy liquid which warmed her insides, shooting into her core. Then, she felt emptiness inside of her as Quentyn definitively retreated from her, leaving her breathless on the bed, chest heaving.

"Fuck…that…was…amazing…" Margaery tried to breathe slowly, catching her breath, drifting into unconsciousness, bliss or sleep, gods only knew.

The last thing she heard before closing her eyes was a female voice.

"Well, I told you she was too tender for our bed. Now, I hope you left some energy for me, love."