Chapter 49: The Stormclouds Gather

"The attack… press the attack!... Where is Ser Marden?! Have him send in the reserves!"

"I'm here, your Grace… We bloodied them but failed to break through, I'm sorry… The sortie failed."

"Let it be known… Let me swear before the Old Gods that I shall take a thousand eyes of theirs for this one of mine!"

Pitching back from the weirwood, Arya Reed found herself gasping. Sucking in the damp but calming air of the swamps that she had grown up nigh all of her life breathing in. It helped steady herself and calm her lungs, which was needed after the vision she had seen. It was as if she was there. Watching the scene unfold… feeling the same pain…

"Arya… Arya!"

The daughter of the Lord of Greywater Watch looked up to see the silver-locks of Alysanne staring at her, worry in her lavender eyes. "Sorry," Arya murmured.

"What did you see?"

A shake of the head. "Nothing." While the pain of betrayal had left Alysanne quiet and secluded from the moment she arrived here, the death of King Aenys had left her inconsolable. Only Lord Reed himself and Arya were able to even talk to her, while Silverwing was never far from Aly's side. Even now, the glittering dragon perched on the many vines of the godswood of Greywater Watch, the only one of the visitors that actually seemed to enjoy her life in the swamps. I envy you. Arya would hate herself if she added to Aly's pain. "It was nothing."

But the Targaryen Princess was nothing if not stubborn. "I don't believe you." She put her hands on her hips, making Arya sigh. "Tell me now."

"Alright." Patting the boulder she sat upon, Aly took her seat next to Arya. Not a place for a Princess, but instead of a fancy dress she wore the same leathers as all the Crannogwomen did. Arya thought she still looked pretty, even in leathers. Unlike me, never pretty. Not to the one she always wanted. "There was a battle in King's Landing."

Alysanne stiffened. "Jae?"

A nod. "He insisted on leading the attack, a sortie from the Dragonpalace to break the siege drawn up by the Warrior's Sons… the sortie failed."

Gulping, Alysanne stared ahead. "And Jae?"

"Wounded," croaked Arya. "Not dead, nor seriously injured, but he lost an eye."

Closing her eyes, Alysanne seemed… composed. "He's alive, that's all that matters." But not a moment after the last word left her lips did the Princess start to sob. Arya grabbed her and hugged her tightly, unable to contain her own tears as well. Both for her and for Jaehaerys, the boy she hated, but whom was her savior as well. "He could've died," murmured Aly.

"That fool… why did he lead the attack himself?" Arya asked no one in particular once their sobs had quieted.

Alysanne rubbed her back, as she did hers. They were all each other truly had. "He's a brave one, thinks he's our uncle and he has to be that. A warrior without fear."

"No one is without fear," Arya replied. "My father taught me that."

"I know." Quietly they held each other. Silverwing swooped down and landed on Aly's shoulder, a soft cry leaving her maw as she nuzzled the Princess' neck. "My sister and uncle will rain fire and blood for this, mark my words."

Somehow, that brought satisfaction to Arya. "By the gods, I will relish that moment." Her greensight, something just discovered… it wasn't strong but she hoped the old gods would allow her to bear witness upon Aegon's victories.

"Arya?"

"Yes, Aly?"

"What's it like? Being a greenseer?"

Arya blinked. "My father is a greenseer, he told me it was like a page of drawings flashing before your eyes at once - for me, it's more a sense of flashes, of hazy images and sounds. Though to be honest, I'm not very good at it." With time she'd be better.

Alysanne accepted that. "We have dragon dreams, as Valyrians. Prophetic dreams, like that of Daenys the Dreamer that saved our family, but those aren't the same I would think… I wouldn't know about any of this, since I am a Valyrian and have no blood of the First Men."

"You are a follower of the old gods, though." Aly nodded. "Perhaps the magic is transferable?"

"I don't think so."

Before Arya could inquire further, the voice of her father rang out in the godswood. "Daughter! Princess! Are you here?!"

"We're here, father!"

If there could be a description of Greywater Watch Arya would choose, 'Safest Place in the Seven Kingdoms" would be the one. The defenses itself of the keep were meager, but being a floating island held up by the roots of its weirwood in the midst of an impenetrable swamp meant it never needed one. Dragons couldn't even find it without a guide. What better place to protect Princess Alysanne than this? Jae should've been sent here. A literal island of calm and peace as the Realm tore itself apart.

Her father arrived in his own leathers, sword at his hip. Silverwing eyed him warily, but the dragon was of a sweet demeanor and did nothing. "Greenseeing?" he asked, meeting Arya's eyes.

His daughter nodded. "Aye - Prince Jaehaerys led a sortie. It failed."

"I know." He produced a raven. "Lord Stark sent me this, arrived just now. I felt you and her Grace would appreciate the news of the wider world."

Alysanne looked out. "Kessa, Lord Reed. Please do."

He took a seat alongside the two girls, unfurling the scroll. "There was a sortie out of the Dragonpalace but it was repulsed. Prince Jaehaerys nevertheless took the head of Septon Alfyn."

"Good." Arya and Alysanne said it at the same time.

"The Stormlands have rallied behind Rhaena, while Prince Aegon and Princess Alys are the guests of Lord Reyne of Castamere."

"Thank the gods he's safe," murmured Aly. "What about my muna?"

"Queen Alyssa is still in Harrenhal with your brother… while the Vale has rebelled. Ser Jonos has put his brother in the dungeons of the Eyrie." Traitor. "And Lord and Lady Stark have just passed Moat Cailin with their army."

"Aunt Rhaenys will turn the tide." Arya hugged Aly closer, hoping that her sense of optimism was one that would come true.

Tapping the armrest of the stone throne, Rhaena Targaryen regarded the young boy and his older guardian with a mix of curiosity and disdain. "You're a long way from home, Ser Donnel."

Ser Donnel Arryn and his young son Rodrik, both decked in the full regalia of an unarmored knight of the Vale in spite of the latter being not but two, gulped. They chafed under the Queen's glare, and while part of the new mother wished to go easy on such an innocent child she resisted. Choosing to be a Queen. "My wife is the sister of your late companion, your Grace. A Royce of Runestone… I consider this as much home as the Eyrie."

"Hmmm…" Rhaena looked over to the side of the great hall of Runestone. This had once been the seat of the First Men Kings of the Vale, and the throne she sat upon had once been their throne. Their descendants stood off to the side, Lord Royce holding onto his elder daughter Lady Allya. Ser Donnel's wife, and from her pallor and tearstains, a devoted one. "Lady Jorelle, what do you think?"

Jorelle Mormont kept her hand on her blade, dressed in the full armor of the North. "His father and five brothers stand with their cousin Jonnel back in the Eyrie."

"That is true," mused Rhaena. "And if I'm not mistaken, they currently hold in the dungeons the rightful Lord of the Vale and their kinsmen, Lord Ronnel." A sickly sweet smile crossed her lips. "Tell me, Ser Donnel. Is it true that the dungeons of the Eyrie are open air?"

He pressed his lips together, holding his son's hand. "Aye, they are."

"Fresh air in such normally dank quarters would be a good thing if it weren't for the fact the cell opens to a drop off of a thousand feet."

"I heard that some of the cells angle down," added Jonquil Darke, more heavily armored and standing to the other side of the Queen.

"Oh? That's even worse torture, I would believe." She cocked her head at Ser Donnel. "Which cell is your cousin in, then?"

"I wouldn't know, your Grace. I swear it."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you… or your claims of loyalty." She waved over her guards… well, Lord Royce's guards assigned to her. Dreamfyre assured their loyalty rather well. "Your son can go with his mother. You, on the other hand, can stay in Runestone's more conventional cells until I can figure out the truth of your claims."

The knight hung his head. "Go to your mother, Rodrik."

"Papa, no…"

"Do as I say." The guards began to seize him, while the boy started to blubber. "Go." Stubbly legs carried him towards Lady Allya and Lord Royce - his grandfather.

While the latter scooped up the boy, Lady Allya ran before the Queen and fell on her knees. "Your Grace! Please have mercy!"

"Still yourself, woman," hissed Jorelle, the northwoman not one to appreciate such womanly displays of weakness.

She was not deterred however, and even the Queen raised her hand to halt the guards from dragging Ser Donnel away. "My husband left because he doesn't follow the Seven! He follows the old gods ever since our wedding. All because I asked it of him! He is loyal to you, not his brothers or father or cousins! Please grant him mercy!"

Silent for the longest time, Rhaena looked to Jonquil. "You were raised here for many years, Lady Darke. Is Lady Allya's trust in Ser Donnel well placed?"

Jonquil sighed. "I have seen him pray in the godswood, aye. I do not believe he is a liar, but the concern of his family's actions do make it unwise not to keep him under guard."

"I agree." Rhaena was nothing if not pragmatic, and merciful. There would be those that would need fire and blood delivered upon them but it could not be all. "Lord Royce?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, your Grace?"

"While Ser Donnel is your goodson, you will see to it that my orders are carried out?"

"You have no more loyal servant than I. Name your orders and I will follow."

A nod. "I will grant mercy to him, provided he show his loyalty in the coming moons as the crisis in the Vale continues to develop. Have him kept under guard and restricted, but in chambers befitting being your goodson and of the ruling house of the Vale."

He seemed to relax visibly. "Of course, my Queen."

"Thank you, my Queen," cried Lady Allya. Ser Donnel himself deflated, his life no longer in danger as the guards hauled him away - their touch gentler than before.

Seeing matters as having concluded, Rhaena rose from the throne and bid the court of Runestone - swollen with those refugees of the Vale loyal to House Targaryen or having secretly retained faith in the old gods - farewell. Making for her own guest chambers within the keep. When finally inside, she sighed and slumped against the wall. "Damn these fools for making my task harder than it is."

"Just fly to the Eyrie and burn the bastards," Jorelle commented, crossing her arms. "I don't see why this has to be so hard."

"Think about it, Jor," Rhaena replied, annoyed but not at her. "I can torch the Eyrie but that would mean killing Lord Ronnel at the same time. I cannot allow that to happen."

"You have Ser Donnel, or his son at least, and he's half-Royce anyway."

Jonquil rolled her eyes in front of the Queen before looking at Jorelle. "Foregoing the fact that her ensuring the death of a loyal Lord Paramount in captivity would set a horrible precedent only short of kinslaying, what's to stop one of Ser Hubert's other sons or Jonos himself to merely disappear into the countryside and continue the war much like Dorne did?"

Blinking, the Mormont warrior ended up looking away. "Mayhaps I hadn't realized that."

"Don't discount your aggressive inclination, Jor," Rhaena noted, going about her own experiences in the Vulture War. "It is needed in the Vale, but we must be sparing with our dragons since they know we'll be using it."

"What are your inclinations in this war, then… your Grace?" asked Jonquil.

"You may call me Rhaena, my dear," the Queen replied, smiling as she sat down. A smile matched by the pretty young warrior. I will definitely need to find her a proper husband. Someone that was comfortable with a warrior for a wife. "And to answer your question, this shall be where I am most aggressive. Lord Royce will attack with everything he has, and I will support him on Dreamfyre if he needs it. As you said, make them hole up in the Eyrie."

"May I make a suggestion in that regard?"

She leaned forward. "Please do."

"Open dialogue with the Hill Tribes of the Vale. They follow the old gods and could be used to tie down a lot of the Faith's forces."

"Bandits, aren't they?"

"For the most part, but can be offered lands back… they never attack the Royces given their House is well-regarded as the last kingly house of the Vale First Men."

Stroking her chin, Rhaena thought for a moment. When she made a decision, it was quick and decisive. "I shall meet with their representatives myself and make the offer, will that be plenty to secure their alliance and trust?" Jonquil only grinned in response.

The Freys of the Twins were the most… interesting noble house of the Riverlands, and it didn't shock Rhaenys as to why once she was a guest of theirs. In a region dominated by intrigue and militarism, the Freys were… rather crude and commercial in their outlook.

Riverlords found it one of derision, but with Harrenhal, Raventree Hall, Pinkmaiden, and the lands of the Harroways being the only other keeps that hadn't answered the call of the Faith or simply answered no call, Rhaenys found it refreshing. The Twins lacked the ostentatiousness of the southern keeps even though the river crossing made Lord Frey rich. Richer than many great houses, its spartan tastes meaning the coin and bullion was hoarded. And the crown would need that coin.

Which made him more than enthusiastic to offer his home and his army for their use. "Follow me, Princess. Lord Stark."

"I trust it isn't a chore to make use of your private dining hall as for our war council," she asked, having exchanged her thick northern dress for Valyrian black leather. Only fitting for leaving her Kingdom and entering a warzone. The Twins is the last safety we'll endure for a long time.

Lord Goren Frey was a slight man but that didn't diminish his strength and energy. A competent fighter whom had won several jousts ten years ago, in his third decade his true talent was in figures and how to apply them to financial matters. A… needed if unglamorous ally. "It is my honor, Princess. My house and my banners are yours, as is the coin."

"Angling for the interest on the loans, no doubt?" asked Brandon curtly.

"Seven hells, such a thing hasn't crossed my mind," gasped Lord Goren, which caused Rhaenys to meet eyes with her husband. He says this now, but will clearly think differently once he's with Rhaena rather than I.

Still, the crown couldn't afford to only take those without ulterior motives. "Have any other Riverlords arrived?"

In this did Goren wince. "Lord Blackwood's elder son managed to ride here with a hundred horse, but they've sieged Raventree Hall. I sent a raven to Lord Malliser in Seaguard, but he replied back indicating that he would 'Enjoy dismembering me piece by piece for daring to commit sacrilege against the Seven Who are One.'"

Brandon snorted. "How juvenile."

"He's my cousin by birth, so it hurts."

Aside from Lord Goren, his bastard younger brother Walder, and the aforementioned Lucas Blackwood, all the men present were from North of the Neck. Rogar Bolton, Maron Umber, the Lords of Bear Island, Karhold, Hornwood, and Barrowtown, and the wildlings Ralla and Gelina. The latter two drew not a little tension, Gelina most so, but no one took it above glares. Especially as both were placed at an honored position close to Rhaenys.

Clearing her throat, the Princess began the council. "I have received a Raven from my niece, the Queen."

"Long may she reign," they all spoke.

"Long may she reign."

Lady Stark,

Lord Rogar Baratheon is calling his banners, but the Dornish Prince has concluded an alliance with the Faith and intends to march his forces to link up with the gathering horde currently planning to invade the northern Reach.

Rogar Bolton spat on the floor. "Fucking Dornish." A small scar above his eye gave credence to his hatred of those beneath the Red Mountains. Rhaenys didn't blame him.

I am seeking out the Lords of the Vale inclined to oppose Jonos Arryn's usurpation, but my brother is besieged at Castamere by Tyrion Lannister. For now he is restrained by his father, Lord Loren, but the former King of the Rock is ill and may not last long. I need you in King's Landing with your soldiers, but Aegon is trapped and the Lannister army is a danger that cannot be ignored.

Use your best judgment and may the gods be with you.

Rhaena, First of her Name.

"Can't say the Faith thinks little of us, then," snorted Maron Umber, snickering a bit.

Rhaenys set down the scroll, face hard as she gazed now upon the map table. The forces of the Faith were gathering, significant masses within the Riverlands and Crownlands while a major grouping in the highland plains of the Westerlands between Castemere and Casterly Rock. She knew which one was the most fearful of regarding the supply lines to the North. "Riverrun can wait. We need not of it."

"Your Grace?" asked Lord Umber.

"The Queen wishes us to do two things at once, something we cannot do in one massed force. To block the Lannisters from advancing to the northern Riverlands while also advancing towards Maidenpool and cutting off the Vale rebels from the mass of traitors going between King's Landing and Harrenhal."

"Ah, that shouldn't be hard," smirked Lord Frey. "The main army of the Faith is in the south… or forced to maintain a siege in King's Landing."

"Never underestimate a foe, Lord Frey."

Garon scoffed at Rogar Bolton. "Please, I know the Riverlands like the palm of my hand, and I know the capabilities of fighting within it. This isn't Dorne, so a dragon riding with us would prevent any partisan tactics to sweep us aside… if we are to reach Maidenpool, if not even King's Landing, speed is essential." He pointed to the south of Westeros. "Their main army gathers, and if they don't march for the capital then I shall eat my hat."

"There will be no eating of headgear necessary, Lord Garon." Rhaenys stifled a chuckle at her husband's dry wit, but grew serious as Brandon stroked his chin. Mind whirring. "How many men can you supply, Lord Frey?"

"Five thousand. Six if you count the other crown vassals in the region," he insisted. "Very few appreciate the rule of the Tullys here."

A nod, Brandon leaning over the table himself to assemble the further markers that represented Frey's banners. Most Lords would have a page or squire do it, but Brandon was not so demanding as to not do it himself. "That leaves our host as thirty-eight thousand strong, one that will be difficult to keep supplied lest we fan out, but then we're devastating our Queen's own land."

"Go on, husband," Rhaenys insisted, eager to see where he was going. She wouldn't delude herself into thinking she was a military mind.

Clicking his tongue, Brandon made two sweeping motions with his hands. "We divide our forces. House Frey's Rivermen and the mountain clans of the North will march with Princess Rhaenys towards Maidenpool, while I'll lead the main bulk of thirty-thousand to confront Tyrion Lannister and relieve the Prince besieged in Castamere."

Beside her, Gelina's expression to Rhae clearly noted her assessment of the plan - utter stupidity. Rhaenys frowned, opinion not entirely dissimilar to her new Wildling friend but said nothing, knowing she couldn't disagree with her husband in front of the others. Our loyal allies for the most part, but each with the capacity of being vultures. Would one turn on them, offered support by Hugor Flowers to supplant the Starks as King in the North independent of the Holy Dominion of New Andalos? She couldn't tell, so it wasn't until everyone departed that she voiced her opinion. "I don't like this, Bran?"

Leaning against the wall, Brandon seemed to realize her discomfort. "You wish to come with me, then?"

A nod. "Muna or Rhaena can give cover to the army marching for King's Landing. I shan't have you risk yourself."

"Tyrion Lannister is a hothead eager for battle but as long as his father's alive he will be restrained… I need to force him into the open and if Arrax is with us he will be hesitant to do so."

"It's too big a risk. They know the hilly land while you don't."

Brandon nodded but came to Rhaenys, hugging her waist. "Northern scouts are the best there are. I shan't blunder into anything… besides, we don't know how long Lord Reyne or your nephew can hold out. If all I do is evacuate Prince Aegon to safety, it'll be worth it."

He had a point, but Rhaenys bit her lip. "I don't want to lose you, Bran." Arranged their marriage was, but Rhaenys had fallen madly for her direwolf. She couldn't picture a life without him. "You're a competent commander, excellent even, but those battles were with me by your side."

He chuckled and kissed her deeply. "Worry not, my love. We Northmen are survivors, and have done so without dragons for centuries." Another kiss, and the wolf lifted the dragon onto the table, Rhaenys yelping at the gesture but not at all in disagreement. "You'll not be cold on the winter's nights, I promise."

When he kissed her, she accepted it. When he laid her flat on the table, hiking up her dress, she moaned wantonly. When he joined their bodies frantically, Rhaenys met him thrust for thrust.

The Targaryen Princess trusted him.

"I must speak to his Grace."

Tyanna frowned, wishing she could toss the Dornish Ambassador out on his ass as a meal for Balerion. But the man had been given guest right - even a Pentoshi foreigner like herself knew the sacred nature of bread and salt. "His Grace is indisposed. You may speak to me as a member of his and her Grace's Small Council."

Bristling, Lord Agor Allyrion's offense proved delicious to Tyanna. While she couldn't have him eaten, scandalized and insulted was a different animal entirely - the Dornish tended to be more egalitarian than the rest of Westeros, but a breach in protocol by an ambassador being forced to meet with a junior member of the Small Council still stung. "I come bringing peace terms from his Grace, the Prince of Dorne."

"If it is anything else than an apology and a war indemnity, we're not interested."

He ignored her, clearing his throat. "In exchange for one million gold dragons and the Rainwood lands of the former Storm Kingdom, his Grace shall remove all Dornish soldiers from territory claimed by the Targaryen Crown and cease monetary and military cooperation with the Holy Dominion of New Andalos."

Tyanna took a copy of the scroll, unfurled it, and let it drop on the ground. Wiping her boots upon it to Lord Allyrion's shock. "It's a shame to clean my boots on the beautiful carpets."

"You… you whore! Dorne shall not forget this slight!"

"The dragons shan't forget any of your slights, either. Begone before I give into temptation and give Balerion a spicy Dornish snack." While he stormed off, the hint of fear in the ambassador's eyes did satisfy Tyanna greatly.

"You just ensured Dorne's maximum involvement in the war," Lord Commander Gawen remarked as they were left alone. "Their Prince is a glorified child playing toy warrior, all anger and delusions of grandeur… and Malcolm Wyl is ready, willing, and able to encourage that in him."

Tyanna shrugged. "Mayhaps I should convince Maegor to have the boy assassinated. He has a cousin that can succeed him, no?"

Gawen nodded. "Nymeria Sand, bastard granddaughter of Deria Martell. She's an able fighter and will likely be helping to lead their armies - just birthed a child as well. Another daughter."

"And the Prince is unmarried and without issue."

"Correct, though that is likely to change."

"Still, she's his heir - and does she support the war?"

Gawen pursed his lips. "She was close to her grandmother, and associated with those of her pro-peace party, though since I can't be sure. No one knows who the father of her babe was."

Tyanna sighed. "Better than nothing, then. Best to notify the King of this."

Dragonstone was, in all effects, a military camp. What soldiers weren't needed to guard the various loyal keeps of the Crownlands had been gathered here, alongside the banners of Houses Velaryon and Celtigar. What had to be a hundred ships were moored in its harbor, and above them Balerion soared through the sky. Ever majestic, and ever an indicator that the King was here.

The King…

For someone with so fearsome a reputation, finding Maegor Targaryen cradling the little Prince Daemon in his arms and singing a Valyrian lullaby was a scene that tugged at her heart. Aye, Tyanna of Pentos, one so long ago resolved never to be in that family manner was that way now. "Your Grace?"

He looked up from his son - Prince Daemon fast asleep swaddled tight - and smiled. Such a powerful man smiling so serenely. Is this what made Rhaena fall for him? After… everything, Tyanna couldn't blame her. "Ah, Lady Tyanna. Is this a matter of state or a personal matter?"

Personal… I want to see you. Alas, it wasn't that. "Matter of state."

A sigh. "Oh well, it was fun while it lasted." Maegor kissed his son's forehead and settled him in the crib. "We can talk here, as long as we're not loud."

"Of course." Tyanna cared for the babe, Rhaena's sweet babe. "The Dornish offered peace, only if we turned over half the Stormlands."

"I hope you told them where they could shove their peace offer."

"I did," she giggled. "But we're forced to face them in battle now. An additional twenty-five thousand soldiers to add to the Faith's army."

His brow rose. "Twenty-five only? I would've expected much more than that."

"They are not the Reach, so less of a base population. They could rely on imports of food, but only if Volantis cooperates. Braavos won't cause we owe them plenty of coin for the construction of the Dragonpalace."

"Good, good." He rubbed the back of his head. "If only my nephew wasn't there, stuck in the midst of that. I can only blame myself."

Why was he blaming himself? Tyanna couldn't help the urge to walk to him, putting her hand on his arm. "It's not your fault."

But he shook his head. "He hates me… had he not I likely could've gotten him on Dragonstone, but he refused." A sigh. "He's as stubborn as me, sometimes."

"You cannot blame yourself." When Maegor turned to look at her, she stilled. Staring into the same violet eyes as Rhaena and feeling her insides clench. Why? It made no sense. Tyanna didn't favor men, and the delicate yet inwardly strong beauties she was drawn to - like Rhaena - could've been no more different than the King. He was powerful, he was strong and fierce…

The attraction was there. Something that had bubbled since the moment she saved Daemon's life during the birth. She and Rhaena, lovers - mayhaps it was fate to fall for the same man. Smiling at the thought, Tyanna acted before he could say anything else. Reaching up to grab the taller man's neck and pull him down for a kiss.

It was unavoidable.

Maegor reacted first by tensing, stiffening in her arms and hands rising. Tyanna knew he was about to push her away and felt her cheeks burn. That did not happen. Instead he relaxed and touched her sides. The kiss was soon reciprocated and it got deeper, tongues wrestling with a gentle eagerness. As if seeking each other out for the first time. Tyanna moaned, one hand remaining at the back of his neck while the other fisted his tunic.

For lack of breath, she finally had to break apart the kiss. Tyanna inhaled deeply, finding her head spinning as she was forced to rest her forehead against his. "You… you're a fine kisser, my King."

He chuckled. "I am married to two women, Lady Tyanna. I had plenty of practice," Maegor replied.

Tyanna smiled as well. "So you feel this too?"

Her heart soared when he nodded. "Since you saved my son." Maegor pulled away slightly, but tangled his fingers around her palm and drew it up, clasping it between his hands while stroking the back of it with his thumb. "Do you still love Rhaena?"

Biting her lips, Tyanna nodded. "I prefer the fairer sex, and considering how beautiful and wonderful Rhaena is it is more surprising to me that I fancy you as well… my King."

"Are you sure you're not a poet?"

She giggled. "I could write poetry if you like, though it may be pretty fierce… and in High Valyrian."

"A woman after my own heart." Maegor drew her back and kissed her again, and again did Tyanna mewl into his mouth and feel desire pooling in her core. Something she never before had with a man, but it did not bother her. Rhaena will be so thrilled. As was she - Tyanna could have them both.

But alas, he broke apart from her yet again. "I want to bed you, Lady Tyanna, but I won't without Rhaena here."

Sighing, nevertheless she nodded. "I understand. You are a true knight." Back in Pentos they mocked knightly chivalry, but seeing its true form from Maegor it excited her. "I'd very much like to bed her as well."

"We share that in common, don't we?" They laughed again before Maegor kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, my Lady."

"Goodnight, your Grace." Alone in the chamber, Tyanna cupped her cheek and fell against the wall - sliding to the floor. Gods, she felt a little girl again. Rhaena, my love, please hurry back…